The mounted policeman’s voice was loud and clear, still steady. ‘We’re following official orders. You’re causing a breach of the peace, sir. Move on or you’ll be taken into custody.’
Then, letting go Sarah’s arm, Mrs Templeman stepped out into the road. She walked up to the old musician and stood beside him. Sarah could see she was trembling, grey curls shaking beneath the fur hat.
‘Fuck this,’ the policeman nearest Sarah said, fingering his holster. The Jews were shifting uneasily, looking frightened.
‘Right, that’s it,’ the sergeant said. ‘You two are both under arrest.’ The musician looked appealingly across to those of his people who remained standing on the pavement. They looked at each other. Three more men walked away. One young man carrying a violin case stood where he was with an agonized expression on his face, but the four remaining others stepped hesitantly into the road, walked across and stood beside the old man and Mrs Templeman. The sergeant called over his shoulder, waving an arm. ‘Get these people out of the road!’
‘You turn this world into hell!’ the old musician shouted. He was beside himself, spittle at the corner of his mouth. Along the line, some of the Auxies began to move forward, reaching for the batons at their belts. Sarah’s heart began to pound, thumping in her chest. Mrs Templeman looked at the approaching Auxies and then suddenly sat down on the cold tarmac, the skirts of her coat billowing out, fat stockinged thighs exposed. Her white face was determined now. The old man stared at her for a moment, then sat down as well, stiffly putting a hand on her shoulder as he got down. The four other men, all younger, hesitated for a moment then sat down too. On the pavement, the one who hadn’t been able to make up his mind turned and walked away.
Four of the Auxies ran forward, past the horses. The one ridden by the young policeman bucked and reared. The rider cried out, trying to bring the animal under control. It jolted forward and Sarah watched in horror as a big flailing hoof struck Mrs Templeman on the forehead. She gave a little moan and fell backwards, her hat and the fox-fur stole falling off onto the road. She lay quite still, her arms flung out backwards, blood spilling from a huge gash on her forehead and dripping, shockingly red, onto the grey tarmac. Her eyes were as still and glassy as Charlie’s had been that terrible day, and Sarah realized with horror that she was dead. The demonstrators and the Auxies both looked at the bucking horse; somehow amid the mayhem, the young policeman managed to bring it under control.
On the kerb Sarah froze. All the instincts of self-preservation made her want to do what the young man with the violin case had done, turn and walk away. An image of David flashed into her mind, of home and safety. Then something firm and cold rose up in her and she gripped her handbag tightly and strode into the road. As soon as she stepped off the pavement she thought, quite coolly, there, that’s it, everything’s over. Two Auxies had grabbed the white-haired musician under the arms and were hauling him to the pavement. He was shouting and struggling furiously. Sarah went over to where Mrs Templeman lay sprawled on the street in that awful indignity, and sat down beside her body. She looked over at the pavement, hoping desperately that others would follow her example. A thin young man in a muffler stepped out and sat down with them, sweating with fear. Four more Auxies ran forward. Sarah stared at them, her heart pounding so fast it made her gasp.
The Jews stood huddled together, terrified, though some of the younger ones were looking around them now, perhaps wondering if they could run. The remaining Auxies pulled out their pistols, covering the prisoners. The old musician had been pushed roughly down onto the pavement but was still struggling, shouting and swearing. The other Auxies began hauling the demonstrators to their feet. Sarah felt hard, strong hands grip her under the arms and pull her up. One of the musicians tried to resist and was hit over the head with a truncheon, slumping forward unconscious. As Sarah was lifted up she realized she might never see David again and thought, how I love him.
Then she heard more shouts. Glancing round, she saw half a dozen Jive Boys rushing down the street towards them, quiffs bouncing absurdly, the tails of their long coats flapping behind. They looked the worse for wear, unshaven. One had a black eye, another carried a near-empty whisky bottle. They were probably on their way home from a long night out, drawn by the noise. One shouted, ‘It’s a ruck! Pig down! Get the fuckers!’ The whisky bottle sailed up and out, just missing the sergeant, as the Jivers pitched into the Auxies who were moving the demonstrators. The one who was lifting Sarah said, ‘Shit!’ as one of the boys went for him. Sarah saw the flash of a blade in the Jiver’s hand. The Auxie let her go and she fell sideways into the road. The sergeant pulled out his pistol and fired into the air. It was too much for the nervous horse. It reared right up on its hind legs, throwing the young policeman into the road. He lay there, screaming and clutching his leg, as the horse turned and ran off down the empty road, hooves clattering. The sergeant’s horse was uneasy now too, trying to turn in a circle. It was pandemonium. Sarah looked wildly round, and saw a glimpse of Mrs Templeman’s dead face, her bloodied head.
Then the group of Jewish prisoners seemed to surge outwards, like a wave, as some began to run. Others, the older ones mostly, huddled closer together. The woman with the pram leaned protectively over her baby. Half a dozen of the younger Jews ran into the fight. A shot was fired and one of the Jive Boys pitched forward, his chest gushing blood. There were screams, another shot.
Sarah felt herself being picked up again and hauled to the pavement. She lunged out and an angry Yorkshire voice shouted in her ear, ‘We’re trying to get you out of here, you stupid cow!’ She turned and saw it was the boy with the university scarf and duffel coat she had noticed earlier, the girl beside him. Sarah scrambled to her feet and joined them, running for the pavement. Other Jews were fleeing all round them now, making for a little alleyway that ran down the side of a pub. There were more shots, loud cracks. Beside her Sarah saw the old Jew in the bowler hat tumble over. On the other side of the road the shop assistant who had been putting up Christmas decorations could be seen cowering behind a counter. A long piece of tinsel hung forlornly in the window.
Sarah followed the young couple into another alley. Then the boy ran into the open door of some flats, leading them into a dark, smelly hallway. They stopped, taking long whooping breaths. Other people ran past, feet pounding on the paving stones. In the distance Sarah heard more shots, then the sound of a police whistle being blown, over and over again.
‘Joe,’ the girl said breathlessly. ‘We’ve got to run!’ She had a middle-class accent like Sarah’s.
The boy shook his head impatiently. ‘No. There’ll be dozens of them here in a minute. Hide under here.’ He pushed his way into a dank alcove under the stairs. The girl followed. ‘Come on, lady,’ he said impatiently to Sarah. She squeezed in beside them, feeling the warmth of their bodies. There was a big metal dustbin there, stinking of rotten vegetables. Sarah felt cold and clammy, though strangely calm.
‘Bloody hell,’ Joe said. ‘I thought we were stuffed.’
The long wail of a police siren sounded in the distance. The girl began to cry. ‘They shot people, they’ve killed people.’ Her voice was rising hysterically. Sarah grasped her shoulders. ‘Please, please,’ she said. ‘We have to keep quiet.’
The girl took a couple of heaving sobs, then looked past Sarah at the boy. ‘What are we going to do, Joe? Where can we go?’
‘Wait till dark, then we’ll head out to Mark’s friend in Watford.’ He raised a hand to the yellow badge on the front of his coat. ‘I’m getting rid of this fookin’ thing. The identity cards can go too.’ He pulled at the badge but his fingers were shaking and he couldn’t get it off. The girl, calmer now, laid a hand on his. ‘No Joe, unpin it. If they see you with a tear on your coat they’ll realize you’ve pulled something off.’