Chapter 18 in the serialisation of the book 'Insurrection' 4th book in the 'Corpalism' series

18

“A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history.”
Mahatma Gandhi


"What's this, a mother's meeting?" asked Harry, poking his head round the shed door with difficulty. He looked back over his shoulder, "Here, Sticky, I told you they was having a secret meeting, didn't I."

"Not very secret, clearly," said Alb, a deep line of irritation scoring his forehead. This meeting of the Great and Good was turning out to be the worst kept secret of the decade. "How many you got out there?"

"Just me and the lads, we've been up the cemetery for a bit of a nose, see who's snuffed it lately." He beckoned the others, Sticky and Tom, Dave following behind, pausing every few feet for a breather.

"There's no room," protested Ken, his voice distorted by the blood congested in his nose.

"Leave the door open," Harry was determined to be in on it now he'd found them, "we can listen up, and hey, there's a deck chair here that Dave can have."

"Well I was saying...." began Alb.

"No, you were not, Albert," said a petulant Val, "I was." Everyone stared at her. "Well I was."

"Seconded," said Vera.

"You don't second things like that, Vera," said Bill, rolling his eyes.

"Over here, Dave," Harry yelled, “I've commandeered you a deck chair."

"I can't sit on that," Dave was emphatic, breathless but emphatic, "I'll never get down there for starters, gotta keep my leg straight, won't bend anymore, not with me scar tightening like it does."

"Well, okay Val," said Alb, coldly, viewing her with unusual distaste, “what were you saying?"

"Got room for one more?" Mort, sounding querulous but determined, obviously not content to be left at home, was attempting forcible entry, pushing his way through the group clustered round the door.
They fell back in deference to his mental state, no one ever sure how much he understood.

"No!" snapped Alb and Gerry together.

"Why not?" demanded Mort, his mind for once rapier sharp, "I thought you said we were all in this together."

"We are, Morty," Mags said, already moving backwards regardless of who was behind her, treading on Ron who finally decided to give up his crate and struggled to his feet, "there's room, if everyone just squeezes up a bit."

"Ouch!" yelped Vera, "that's my bunions, you blithering idiot, Ron."

"Oops, sorry," said Ron, trying to pull back and bashing into Jonesey, who groaned theatrically. "Sorry, Jonesey," Ron said, stepping back onto Mort's foot.

"Ow, ow," said Mort, still half in and half out of the door, "that's my bad foot." He stumbled and, reaching out for something to hold, poked Gerry in the eye. Gerry yelped.

"Is everyone alright?" demanded Val, "I'm a nurse and I'm here if you need me."

"For fuck's sake, you're not a nurse, woman," snapped Wilf.

"Language, Wilf," said Gerry, his hand pasted to his eye, whilst nodding in Mag's direction.

"Right, what's all the kerfuffle? Thought this was a serious meeting?" asked Tom, poking his head into the shed and eyeballing Alb.

"We're here to work out a plan," stated Alb forcefully, bending with difficulty and producing an extendable pointer from under the table. He made sure Val was looking, then with a smug look he flicked his wrist; the stick shot out whacking Jonesey in the face, he let out a scream and fell off his chair, landing on Vera's bunion, she yelled abuse and pulled her foot out from under him, falling back against Mags in the process who fell onto the table which flipped through the air and smacked Wilf in the face, just as he was bending down to see if he could help Jonesey. He fell forward, crushing Jonesey underneath.

"What the hell are you doing, Alb?" yelled Bill, "You'll have someone's eye out with that."

"Sorry, sorry," said Alb, surveying the chaos with genuine horror, "really sorry everyone, I didn't realise how long it was."

"Somebody take that bloody thing away from him," hissed Wilf, holding his mouth and gingerly checking his few remaining teeth, "bloody menace."

"Idiot," moaned Ron, who'd used the opportunity to reclaim his crate.

"Sorry Ron, sorry Wilf....really sorry everyone," repeated Alb, to general muttering and angry looks, "erm...if we can...erm," he looked to Gerry for support.

"Er, yes," said Gerry, who, despite his eye, now watering happily, had been struggling not to laugh the whole time, "Er...I think we should just plug on, where were we? Er, Alb, I think you were about to say something."

"I was Gerry," said Alb, "thank you...." He watched as everyone struggled back to their original positions, the table now discarded at the back of the shed.

"We're here to discuss the overall subject first," said Val, "I mean it's a bit early to say that we agree with your crazy notion of, what was it? Fighting back?"

"What time is it?" demanded Wilf.

"Why?" said Mags.

"Corrie," said Wilf, “it'll take me 15 minutes to get back to my place."

"You could make it in 10 if you ran," said Gerry.

"Yeah," said Alb, "make it part of your fitness training."

"Sod off," said Wilf.

"I propose we convene a meeting to discuss avenues other than armed conflict," Val's voice was sharp with sarcasm, "like a strongly-worded petition or a sit down protest at the town hall or something more in keeping with our status."

"Oh, what a marvellous idea," said Ken, desperate to get back into Val's good books.

"Thank you, Ken," she murmured, duly rewarding his effort.

Alb looked at them both with unconcealed loathing; he'd had his fill of their bleating, "We're way beyond 'sit downs' here. This is going to be hard core."

Mags started to speak but Alb shoved her with his elbow, fearing some outburst about 'ends not justifying means' or some such left wing, pacifist nonsense.

"Look," said Gerry, "people with more influence than us have protested peacefully, people with better connections than us, but they've all got nowhere, you've got to ask yourself, why?"

"Well, I'm sure I don't know, Gerald," said Val, "but I seriously think we should consider the benefits of such a protest."

"Never achieved anything," stated Bill, nodding solemnly at his own point.

Ron wanted to disagree but found for once that he couldn't, in all honesty, so he kept schtum.

"What about Gandhi?" said Ken.

"I'll have a shandy" Harry yelled from the doorway.

"They got booze in there?" asked Dave.

"You got booze in there?" demanded Sticky, "'cause it's bloody dry out here."

"I'll have a shandy," said Dave.

"No-one's having a shandy," snapped Alb.

"But Ken said...." pressed Harry.

"No he didn't," said Ron, his voice emerging from Mags' skirts.

"I could've sworn...."

"I thought he said something about a handy?"

"A handy?" said Mags, "what's a handy, Ken?"

"Er...what?" said Ken.

"She said, 'what's a handy'?" demanded Gerry.

"I don't know," said Ken.

"But you just said 'who wants a handy'," offered Mags.

"No, he didn't," said Val, "he said, 'what about Gandhi'?"

"Oh yes," said Ken, "what about Gandhi?"

"What about him?" demanded Gerry.

"Oh," muttered Ken, "well, I don't know."

"For god's sake, speak up Ken," said Gerry.

"You meant regarding peaceful protests," said Val.

"Oh yes, of course," said Ken, "Gandhi achieved everything by peaceful protest."

"Different situation," said Wilf, "we couldn't have held India. God knows how we ruled it in the first place, when you consider how many of them there are."

"Well I disagree," said Ken, "Gandhi's one of my personal heroes. Like Martin Luther...."

"Dead," stated Wilf.

"Or JFK," said Val.

"Dead," said Wilf.

"Then like John Le..."

"Also dead."

"I still believe there's room for peaceful protest," said Val.

A commotion at the door dried Alb's retort on his lips; he closed his eyes and counted to ten.

"Is this the hot bed of revolution then?" asked an enthusiastic Gray. Behind him stood Gil, with Reg leaning unsteadily against him. Harry had moved away from the door on their arrival and was perched on the edge of a wheelbarrow talking to Dave. Sticky and Tom were resting comfortably on a bench, Sticky, having got bored with trying to listen in, was regaling Tom with stories of how he lost half his lung; that Tom had heard the story many times was evident by the closed eyes and stiff expression.

"No room," stated Alb.

"You can have my space," said Wilf, "I'm leaving in a minute to watch Corrie."

"No, you're not," said Alb, "Quick, Gray, come on in."
Gray squeezed past Ron at the door and found himself crushed into a tiny space between Mags and Jonesey. He realised they were all crammed tight, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh and saw no point complaining, although he rather wished he'd stayed outside with Gil and Reg.

"Well, when do we start?" he asked, hoping they'd almost finished

Val's words dashed that, "We're discussing exactly what it is we're going to start," she said, hoping to forestall Alb.

"I thought it was the big fight back," said Gray, "you know, Zorro style."

"Exactly," said Alb, trying to raise his fist in revolutionary gesture but everyone was squeezed in so tight he could barely move, "we must make an assertive act."

"What on earth are you going on about?" said Val, "what's an assertive act when it's at home?" She felt a hand where a hand had no business being and stepped back abruptly, hoping to cause pain. The hand did not return.

"We must do something that will make them sit up and take notice," said Gerry.

"Okay," said Wilf, keen to end the meeting, "we need to kill someone, to make a point, some politician or something."

"Oh, my god no, not you as well, Wilf," said Val.

"Christ Almighty, woman, if the Mau Mau can do it, why can't we?"

"Mau Mau..." squeaked Vera, "Wilf, that was years ago..."

"Now that’s more like it," said Alb, wanting to rub his hands together but too restricted to do more than fidget, "we use our military training to start our own revolution."

"Make it a Tory," said Ron, enjoying the banter.

"Typical," hissed Bill, too far away from Ron to make eye contact.

"We're goin’ta kill a Tory," said Ron, luxuriating in the enforced distance.

"No, you're not," Bill was incensed.

"At last, someone with some common sense," said Val.

Then Bill continued, "If we're going to kill anyone it should be a Labour lout, they're the ones who let all these damned foreigners in."

"No, they're not," said Ron, "it was the bloody Tories."

"Labour signed that European Treaty that allowed them all to come over."

"It was the Tories who took us into the Common Market in the first place," Ron flashed back.

"Ok …enough," shouted Alb, "We'll kill a LibDem."

"Seconded," said Wilf, struggling to raise his arm.

"Oh no," said Ken, stoutly, "I don't think that would be a good idea, I mean, what have the Liberals done?
They've never really been in power, have they, not by themselves."

"Well, I think it's a good idea," said Tom, who'd given up pretending to listen to Sticky and had rejoined Harry at the door.

"What about a banker?" offered Ken. His son-in-law was a banker and a more arrogant, pompous self satisfied prick he could not imagine. Widowing his daughter was to do her a great service even if it might take her a while to realise it.

There was a general silence for a moment. Then some audible grunting noises as they mulled over the idea. Even Val had nothing to say and was frowning in a considering sort of way.

"Banker's a good idea," said Alb, tipping back his head to view Ken the better.

"Yeah," said Gerry, "Not bad, at all...Val?"

She took a deep breath, and then said slowly, "Well, I don't see anything really wrong with killing a banker."

"At last," said Wilf, "agreement...can I go now?"

"But what've they to do with immigration?" asked Gil, poking his head in under Tom's arm.

"Good point," Gray's support of Gil was instant and unequivocal.

"Nothing really," said Bill, "but I still think it's a good idea."

"Yes," said Mags, "I think we should definitely kill some bankers."

"I could get some names for you," offered Ken.

They all looked at him, impressed at his sudden enthusiasm.

"Okay," said Alb, his voice vibrating with happiness, "we've agreed that we're going to kill some bankers, some big wigs in the city. But I still think we need to kill a politician."

"Or some politicians," said Gerry.

"Why not all of them?" said Val sarcastically.

They all looked at her.

"Good idea," said Alb and Gerry in unison.

"What's that?" Vera’s voice was shrill as she pointed down at Ron’s feet.

"What's what?"

"That thing by your feet, it moved."

Wilf, seeing his chance to clear the shed, screeched as loud as he could, "Aaghh, a rat!"

Cheers

Arun







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