Again, the even-handed god saw to it that the bitterest winter in living memory was followed by a most beautiful spring.
Slowly, slowly, the war tightened its grip.
‘We shall have to keep The Party going between the two of us, Sam, the best we can.’
‘Keep the membership going anyway, Vern. We might have a social or two.’
‘That’s if there’s anywhere not commandeered by the army. But the Women’s Section could keep their afternoons going.’
‘Hh… fat chance of finding a woman home in the afternoons these days. Is there any of them left who isn’t off out doing something or other?’
‘The Party needs to keep a bit of cash coming in somehow. We’ll need it for the election, soon as This Lot’s over.’
‘Bit of good though, Vern. We got your seat on the Council guaranteed till the war’s over.’
‘Only trouble is, all the rest of them will keep theirs. I always hoped you’d get on one day, Sam. Never mind, drink up and put the books away, our day’s going to come.’
And so, in the Tap Room of the King William, the Markham Labour Party was wound up for the duration. This reluctant action on the part of the old guard was an admission that this war was going to be a long one.
The winter snows melted, and the grass seemed to grow extraordinarily green; along the hedgerows of Hampshire every tree and shrub that was capable of flowering did so exuberantly. On the Council Estate the many fruit trees blossomed white and pink. Lord Palmerston’s bronze eyes looked out from a funk-hole on his old estate, disdained horse-chestnut candles unfurling against clear blue skies, and glowered at early butterflies which had no business to be flittering about so early in the year.
Deanna from the Post Office disappeared and was soon forgotten.
Small, small changes. Tops of red pillar-boxes were painted green, stirrup-pumps and buckets of sand for putting out fire-bombs were allocated, a few more brick air-raid shelters appeared, fire-engines were painted grey and more and more and more ordinary workmen put on uniform for two shillings a day, from which pay those who were married must make an allowance to their families.
Gradually, gradually, the war gained momentum.
And the Prime Minister was losing the confidence of the people.
‘Hitler has missed the bus,’ he declared in a speech. But within days Germany invaded Norway and Denmark, and, within weeks, amidst muddle and chaos, the British forces were in retreat in France.
‘That bugger’s got to go, Sam.’
‘Nye Bevan’s the man.’
‘Aye Sam, Nye’d soon get things hotted up. Ever heard him speak?’
‘No, but he’s the man to turn this country about.’
‘But it’s Churchill we shall get – you mark my words.’
The Markham stalwarts brooded into their pints at the prospect.
‘Ah well, he can’t be worse than the bugger we got now.’
‘Don’t you ever forget Sidney Street, Vern. People got short memories.’
‘I haven’t. I haven’t forgotten that other old swine who used to stand in the Market Place – I haven’t forgotten him.’
‘Don’t do to say these days.’
‘True. Nora keeps telling me – you’ll a get yourself locked up, Vern Greenaway, talking like that against your own government. Drink up, Sam.’
‘My turn.’
The old Bolshies of Markham were not dead but, like Sleeping Beauty, waiting for the prince of peace to come and awaken them to the new world they were sure would come.