Nick Albert
Wrecking Crew
For Austin
ONE
Charles Rathbone had less than two hours to live. The people watching him were unaware of this, even though they would ultimately be held responsible for his death. The chain of events that would lead to his demise had begun many months before, and like most things in politics, was driven by greed, envy, and lust.
In the scenic village of Finchingfield in the English County of Essex, one of the most photographed villages in England, time seemed to pass with exquisite patience. With a picturesque duck pond and village green sitting at the base of a steep hill, surrounded by Georgian and mediaeval cottages, their white painted walls gleaming bright in the fall sunshine, one could be forgiven for thinking it was a Wednesday afternoon in October 1800. This illusion is quickly disproved by dozens of tourist cars haphazardly parked around the village and the subliminal roar of yet another jet approaching London Stansted airport.
To the casual observer, this is just another normal day in a beautiful, but otherwise ordinary Essex village. Standing by the village pond, an old woman is feeding the ducks with a few bread crusts from a brown paper bag. Sitting at a bench table outside the Fox Inn, five German tourists are resting their aching legs whilst enjoying an excellent lunch, washed down with a few pints of Best Bitter. Across the road, a young man is laboriously riding his bicycle up the steep hill towards the village post office; soon he wearies of his sluggish progress, climbs off, and begins to walk.
After a while, the elderly woman pauses and cocks her head towards the distinctive sound of an approaching car. She brings her left hand to her head, as if to brush a loose hair from her ear, and whispers into the microphone concealed within her sleeve.
“Subject approaching.”
The elderly woman listens to the reply in her earpiece, nodding subliminally.
“Acknowledged,” she answers and returns to feeding the ducks.
Charles Rathbone loved his car. For a man educated in the ways of frugal living by his Scottish mother, it was his one true extravagance. Although being such a tall man, the little 1966 Austin Healey Sprite was hardly a suitable mode of transport. A recently disowned girlfriend once commented that it made him look a bit like he had stolen a child’s pedal car, but Charles didn’t care. The Sprite was a fully restored open topped, two-seater, in classic British Racing Green. Its little four-cylinder 1275cc engine produced a minuscule 65 horsepower, which by modern standards was insignificant, but in such a small car, it was sufficient to provide an exhilarating driving experience.
Charles was a naturally cautious man — at least more cautious than one might expect from someone who was awarded the George Cross for ‘The most conspicuous courage in circumstances of extreme danger’ — but today he was allowing his little Austin to stretch its legs. From his house near Sible Hedingham he made short work of the miles to Wethersfield, where he turned right and accelerated hard, powering on past the entrance to the old United States of America Air Force base. With the soft top down, the little sports car flew along the narrow road towards Finchingfield.
Charles worked the four-speed transmission hard, making the engine roar and the throaty exhaust pipe growl like an angry lion. At 80mph, with almost reckless abandon, he aggressively maneuvered the car through the final bends before the village. As the tires squealed in complaint, flicking the car violently left and right at the very edge of control, Charles giggled and gave a child-like whoop of delight. He was still laughing aloud when he slowed to a more sedate 30mph and entered the village. With his foot lightly on the brake, he coasted slowly down Church Hill towards the duck pond, enjoying the cracking and popping of the exhaust as it echoed off the buildings. With a little spurt of acceleration, he bounded across the humpbacked bridge, giving a friendly wave to the tourists outside the Fox Inn as he passed.
At the junction, he turned to the left, and with a final exuberant burst of acceleration, he drove for another two hundred yards towards the village post office. He parked neatly on the opposite side of the road, perfectly aligned, six inches from the curb. Even after such an exhilarating drive, he could not resist giving one final burst of power, before switching off the engine. Rathbone sat for a moment enjoying the sun on his face and listening to a blackbird singing along to the gentle tick of the cooling engine.
With a sigh of regret, he climbed out of the car and walked across the road towards the post office, nodding politely at a young man on a bicycle along the way. A casual observer may have noted Rathbone’s posture and bearing, and guessed that he was a former military man. Someone with a more trained eye may have also noticed that he favored his left leg, and concluded that perhaps he was still feeling the effects of some old sporting injury. In either case, they would have seen a tall, slim, handsome man in his early sixties, well dressed, with a confident air and a ready smile. The sort of man you would like from the moment you first met. An honest man, someone you felt you could trust, a man of true character and integrity — in short, the perfect political candidate.
The majority of people agreed that Charles Rathbone, GC (George Cross), was the perfect candidate for a parliamentary seat in the imminent general election. A native lad and the son of a local farmer, he performed well at school before going to Cambridge University where he achieved firsts in engineering and politics. Later he excelled at Sandhurst, the Royal Military Academy, and after receiving his commission, he joined the Royal Engineers.
The unfortunate climax to his outstanding military career came in Afghanistan with an act of extraordinary bravery. Despite being badly wounded by a land mine explosion, he twice entered a mined area to rescue his injured colleagues. His bravery and selflessness won him the George Cross but cost him his right leg below the knee. Unwilling to take a desk job, Charles left the Army, took over the family farm, and in due course turned his eye towards politics.
Disheartened by media reports that less people had voted in the last general election than for a popular television game show, Rathbone put his sharp mind towards finding a way to re-engage voters. Freed from the need to earn a living by his Army pension, Charles was able to take time away from the farm to meet with prospective voters from across the country and explore the reasons behind their antipathy for the current political system. The answers were consistent: ‘With this two party system, you are always faced with the same choices’ and ‘it doesn’t matter who you vote for, nothing will change — so what’s the point of voting?’ Although to begin with he had no political ambition, Charles soon became a vocal advocate for political reform — principally through the concept of the ‘None of the above’ vote along with holding regular referenda. Soon the concept of the ‘True Democracy’ party was born.
The idea of such a ‘No’ vote being included in a ballot was not new, it had been used as the basis for a film comedy in the 1980’s; but Charles was the first realistic candidate to campaign for such political reform in a British election. The notion was shockingly simple, yet frighteningly effective — especially if you were a sitting Member of Parliament (MP) or a political lobbyist. Rathbone was proposing that at every election, local, county, national and European, the ballot should include an option to reject all of the candidates that had been presented.
Critics protested that such a system would throw the election process into disarray, making Britain a laughing stock around the world. Charles countered that giving such power to the electorate was true democracy. In his opinion a ‘No’ vote — or the fear of it — would result in many more acceptable candidates standing for election. He predicted that in future they would have to present realistic policies that they could deliver, rather than the empty promises that had been the cause of such voter apathy in the past. Giving such a democratic voice to the public would, he predicted, led to a much higher percentage of the population voting, which must be a good thing — at least for the public.