There followed an interview with a man in civilian clothing, who questioned me at great length on subjects central to my overall character and personality. It was a distasteful interview and I was glad when it was over. I recall that in its course I revealed my former membership in the pro-Afrim society at the college.
A week later I received a duplicated letter which stated that my medical examination had revealed a liver complaint and that my temporary commission was accordingly terminated.
The day before this letter arrived I had seen conscription reintroduced by the Ministry of Internal Security and a corresponding increase in militant Afrim activities. A month later, with the massacre of the Nationalist troops at Coichester barracks and the arrival of the first American aircraft-carrier in the Irish Sea, I saw that the military situation was more serious than I had imagined. Though relieved at my own lack of personal involvement, day-to-day life became less easy and my own experiences as a civilian were not better than anyone else’s.
After receiving the letter from the military I visited my own doctor and had the complaint in my liver investigated. After a few days of deliberation I was informed that there was nothing wrong with it.
We encountered a large band of Negroes and were at once uncertain of what was to happen. We had the choice of three courses of action: run from them, show our defensive ability with the rifle or meet them.
What disconcerted us most was that they were not wearing Afrim uniforms, but were clad in the same sort of clothes as ourselves. It was possible that they were a group of civilian refugees, but we had heard that Nationalist troops treated such people with extreme callousness. The result of this was that most Negro civilians had surrendered themselves to the welfare organizations, and those few who remained had integrated themselves with white groups.
The men we met were friendly, well-fed and appeared to be unarmed. They did have three large handcarts near to which we were not allowed to approach, and it is possible that these contained weapons.
We spoke for several minutes, exchanging the usual pieces of news which were the only real currency on the refugee network. The blacks showed no signs of nerves, nor any awareness that we had a guarded attitude towards them.
They did however reveal certain signs of excitement, a cause for which we were unable to determine. Our main concern during the encounter was for our own sakes, and as such we were not judging their behaviour as much as we might at another time. But it seemed to me that they behaved as if jubilant, or as if anticipating something.
In the end we moved on, leaving the blacks near a wood. We crossed a field, then passed out of sight. Lateef called me over to him.
“They were Afrim guerrillas,” he said. “Did you notice their identity-bracelets?”
Sally and I waited for a few hours to see whether Isobel was going to return. I felt in no need to explain to Sally why she had left us; on the contrary, I deduced from the child’s manner that she had anticipated some such act. I think that she regretted that it had had to come, but that she was capable of accepting the new situation.
Isobel had taken with her exactly half of our remaining money, in addition to a suitcase of her own clothes and some of the food. All the camping and sleeping equipment she had left with us.
By midday it was clear that lsobel was not coming back. I began to make preparations for a meal, but Sally said she would do it. I allowed her to take over and meanwhile packed our gear. At this point I had made no decision about what we were to do, but I felt that it was time to leave this particular location.
When we had eaten, I explained to Sally as best I could what we could do.
My predominant feeling at this time was a sense of inadequacy. This extended to my ability to make the right decision regarding our movements, as well as giving me severe doubts as to the real reasons for the breakdown of my marriage. I felt that Sally was in potential danger as I could, through my inadequacy, make more mistakes. In consulting her on the next move we should take, I felt I was not only giving Sally some participation, but was assisting myself to come to terms with my own weaknesses.
I explained to Sally that her mother and I had agreed that we were to return to London, while she went on to Bristol. We were not going to return to our house, but we were going to find somewhere new to live. Sally told me that she understood.
I then went into some detail about the difficulties confronting us: that we were out of touch with the political situation, that we had very little money, that it would not be possible to go back by car, that we would probably have to hike for the major part of the way.
Sally said: “But couldn’t we go on a train, Daddy?”
Children have a facility for cutting sideways across a problem and seeing possible solutions that have not occurred to their parents. In the time we had been living in the countryside I had completely overlooked the existence of the railway system. I wondered if Isobel had similarly not thought of it, or whether she was intending to reach Bristol that way.
“It’s a question of money,” I replied. “We probably haven’t got enough. We’ll have to find out. Is that what you’d like to do?”
“Yes. I don’t want to live in the tent any more.”
I had learned that it was not possible to plan too far ahead. But I couldn’t avoid returning to the question of what we would do if the situation in London was as bad as when we had left. If the occupation by militant Afrims of houses was continuing, and the law-enforcement agencies were divided, then we would not be the only people looking for accommodation. If the situation was as bad as I feared, we might well be obliged to leave London once more. If that happened, then the only place I could think of going to was my younger brother’s house in Carlisle. Even if we were able to go there, the practical difficulty of travelling three hundred miles was still to be faced. Unfortunately, I could see no alternative — he was the only remaining member of my family after the death of my parents four years before, and of Clive, my elder brother, in the confrontation at Bradford.
As far as Sally was concerned, though, the matter was settled, and we collected the remainder of our belongings and packed them. I carried our remaining suitcase and the rucksack, and Sally carried the other bag containing our clothes. We walked eastwards, not knowing the location of the nearest railway station, but moving in that direction as we felt it was the right one.
We came, after about a mile and a half, to a macadamed road. We followed this in a northerly direction until we encountered a telephone-box. As a matter of course, I lifted the receiver to find out whether it was working. In the past we had found that although the receivers had not been damaged in any way, the lines were dead.
On this occasion there was a short series of clicks, and then a woman’s voice answered.
“Exchange. Which number do you require?”
I hesitated. I had not expected a reply and was thus unprepared.
“I’d like to make a call … to Carlisle, please.”
“I’m sorry, caller. All trunk lines are engaged.”
There was a note of finality to her voice, as if she were about to close the connection.
“Er — could you get me a London number then, please?”
“I’m sorry, caller. All lines to London are engaged.”
“Would you ring me back when they are free?”
“This exchange is open for local calls only.” That final tone again.
I said quickly: “Look, I wonder if you can help me. I’m trying to get to the railway station. Could you direct me to it, please?”