The Talisman (31 page)

‘You should take it as a compliment – only picking the chaps with specially high IQs. Never know, Walt, you may yet make a career for yourself in the Foreign Office.’

Walter picked at his spots, squinted and moaned that he was just completing an analysis of specimens down in the lab, he doubted if he’d be allowed to complete even that. Edward offered to take a look, and together they walked over to Downing Laboratory.

His hands stuffed in his pockets, Walter kept complaining until Edward patted him on the shoulder. ‘Think of it this way, you’ve got all the London cinemas – most of the pictures at the locals here are years out of date . . .’

Walter cheered visibly, and began talking about the possibility of working with microfilm. He lost Edward in the technical pros and cons of film-making.

But Edward was anything but lost when he read the results of Walter’s research – it was too interesting. They sat in the library, discussing Walter’s tests, then together they went over to the chemical laboratories.

Walter had drawn maps and detailed diagrams of many of the famous mines of South Africa. His tiny, meticulous print was difficult for Edward to read.

‘What I’ve done is to take all the famous mines and break them down into scales – where the strikes occurred, how they were discovered. This one, for example, is the De Veer mine, coming in at the west side angle – the west-end shaft was burnt out – check down the layers of basaltic rock, black shale, mela-phyre, and at eight hundred feet they hit quartzite. Smack in the middle you’ve got the different reef levels. Now, I reckon you should be able to tell the quality of the quartzite areas by the texture of the top basaltic rock – see? Look at the difference in quality – all those listed in Chart A, Chart B, have the same consistency. Now then, look at the mines that struck lucky, and look at the chemical formation of the top layer . . .’

They continued their talk until late that night. Walter was enthusiastic, excited. He believed he could, given the time, find some method of testing the top layer of rock and know, without have to spend millions on drills and pumps, just as they were able to test for oil, what areas were more likely to contain the precious minerals.

Edward asked if he could hold on to Walter’s precious papers and read them overnight. After hesitating for a moment, Walter agreed, and went off to pack his clothes. He was due to leave the following morning.

By dawn, Edward had copied all the notes. He congratulated Walter, saying he was certainly on to something, and he hoped they wouldn’t keep him away from college for too long.

Edward worked hard, taking Walter’s theories a step further, and was excited that he would have one hell of a paper for the end-of-term exams.

T
he prisoners were all gathered in the canteen for their dinner. The Governor called for silence. He had a speech prepared, but only got as far as telling the men that the war was officially over, Germany was taken and Hitler was dead, the long nightmare was over. The men cheered and shouted, and the rest of the speech was lost as the prisoners roared their approval.

The fact that the country was at long last at peace really meant very little to those serving sentences, but they celebrated along with the rest of England, the rest of the world. They filed into chapel and offered prayers for the dead, prayers for peace to be long lasting.

All across England the long-awaited peace gave rise to street parties and celebrations. Not everyone celebrated – peace would bring an end to the black-market racketeers, and night clubs folded overnight. Soldiers, sailors and airmen arrived home first to cheers and then disillusion as they tried to readjust to civilian life, to the fact that they had missed their children’s growth, their jobs were lost, in many cases their wives were gone, and mass unemployment loomed again.

Men trapped in the insulated world of the prisons were given film shows of the invasions, the signing of the peace treaty. Newsreels were shown, and the prisoners on their rows of hard-backed wooden chairs watched the screen with awe, which turned to horror when they saw footage of the liberation of Hitler’s concentration camps. Many hardened criminals wept at the appalling atrocities on the screen.

Alex lay on his bunk, still trapped in the nightmare of those starving millions, the skeletal shapes of men’s, women’s and children’s bodies being tipped into the anonymity of the mass graves. The haunting, pitiful faces were so remote, so unreal, that they hung over his head like a cloud, part of a terrible dream.

‘Alex, you think them films were real? I mean, really real? Like, I know some of us inside here have done things in their lives, like meself even, but, but no one could really do what we saw, could they? Starve all those people like animals, I mean, they didn’t even look human . . . were they?’

Alex sighed and turned over, looked at the big, bull-necked man who was so disturbed, so disbelieving . . . He was like a child. ‘Takes all kinds, George. It wasn’t just one man what done it, it’s a whole country. They must all be as bad as each other.’

George swung his legs down from his bunk. ‘You tellin’ me that ordinary people stood by and let it go on wivout doing nuffink? I mean, there was kids operated on wivout anyfing to put ’em out! Jesus, they wouldn’t even do that in the nick.’

Alex didn’t want to talk, he was as overwhelmed as George by what they had seen. He rolled over to face the wall, but George continued, ‘I get my hands on that bastard, on Hitler, I’d bleedin’ kill him, I would. I’d give him his own torture, then shove ’im in the gas chambers. I’d round up the Gerry bastards and gas the whole fuckin’ lot of them. Not one of them should be allowed to live, gas the bleedin’ lot.’

Alex told him quietly that if he did that he would be no better than the Germans.

‘I believe in an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, that’s in the Bible, that’s in the bleedin’ Bible.’

Alex was unable to get any peace with George banging around the cell, picking up his comic books and slapping them down again. ‘One million Jews die, so they should take one million Germans and wipe ’em off the face of the earth . . . I’d not leave one SS officer alive – not one of those cunts would survive – that’s what I’d do. For however many Jews was gassed, pay ’em back. What you say, Alex, never mind this trial. What they doing, anyway, givin’ them animals a trial? Fuckin’ hell – you and me know what a good lawyer can do, they’ll walk away, you watch ’em, walk away and . . .’ George Windsor, ‘Mister Tough’, ‘Mister No-Talk’, ‘Mister Stay-Off-My-Back’, broke down in tears, his square, muscular body shaking as he sobbed his heart out.

George was not the only man in the prison unable to face what had gone on outside, beyond their safe world, and it caused a mass outbreak of rioting and destruction. No more films were to be shown until the prisoners had settled back into their daily routines. But the films had another, more positive effect on many of the men. They all volunteered to work in the Red Cross department making blankets, to contribute in some small way. Jew-haters suddenly wanted to help Jewish prisoners.

George soon began to drive Alex nuts. He had to slink off to the library to read, and George even pursued him there.

‘You mind if I ask you somefing personal, Alex? It’s just that, well, I’ve been thinkin’ over some of the things what you told me, and, like, I got anovver year . . . Well, look, Alex, will yer teach me ter read and write like what you do?’

Alex led him along the rows of books and found a children’s story book, took it back to his table. He was now a ‘trusty’, allowed in the library and able to borrow books at will.

‘I’ll work wiv yer in the gym, if you like. I was a trainer, see, a boxer, an’ there’s nothin’ I don’t know about the ’uman body – injuries, the lot, so it’d be a fair swap, all right, mate?’

So George began learning to read and write. He looked up to Alex as if he were some kind of hero, because of his superior intelligence.

At first Alex ignored George’s offer to help in the gym, but eventually he let George begin training him. His already large, six-foot-two-inch frame changed radically. His wide shoulders tapered down to a firm, tight waist, and he built up his legs and arms on the weights.

One day while George was barking out the time like a drill sergeant and Alex did press-ups, he stopped counting. ‘Alex, your name’s Stubbs, ain’t it? You related to a boxer, ex-champ?’

Alex picked up a towel and wiped his forehead. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Well, it’s the name, like, he was called Freedom Stubbs. Bit before my time, mind, but me old man, my dad, he was one of his sparrin’ partners down at this big country house. Always said he was one of the finest men he’d ever seen box, man was like lightning, with one hell of a reach. He was an enormous geezer, six foot four, used to wear his hair long like, yer know, he was a gyppo.’

Alex tossed his towel aside, for a moment he was tempted to tell George.

‘Never heard of him.’

‘Yer know in the washrooms – well, last cubicle, ’is name’s scratched into the wall. He must’ve served time ’ere . . . He was British Heavyweight Champion, oh, must’ve been, now let me think . . . 1925 or ’26 . . .’

Alex walked along the cubicles and into the stall at the far end. He found his father’s name scrawled beside a date. He leaned against the tiled wall, feeling sick, and tried to remember the dates his father had been away, but it was all so long ago, a blur.

George was released four months later, but he promised to write, and to arrange a place for Alex to live. Alex had the cell to himself for a month. He now had the best bunk, and he waited to see who they would put in with him.

Brian Welland was a pretty boy, and Alex knew at a glance that he was queer. He tossed his book down and stared hard. ‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-seven, sir.’

‘What you in fer?’

‘Fraud.’

Alex came on as the heavy ‘con’ at first, almost repeating George Windsor’s welcome when Alex had first arrived at Durham. Brian was well educated, his speech refined. But it was the row of books that Brian carefully laid out by his bunk that interested Alex. Classical volumes, with a few thicker books on banking and taxation. Brian gave Alex a sheepish smile, expecting a crude remark, but instead Alex picked one of the books up and asked if he could read it.

‘I doubt if that one will interest you, it’s accountancy.’

‘That what you are then? An accountant?’

‘Was, I was . . . and I doubt if I’ll be allowed to practise when I get out.’

‘I’ll make a deal wiv you. You could get a lot of aggro – I’ll see the blokes leave you alone. In return, I want you to teach me everyfing you know . . .’

This was the last thing Brian expected. He was so relieved he would have promised anything to have Alex on his side – he had been terrified while being held on remand. But he did not anticipate Alex’s almost obsessive desire to study – the moment he woke up he reached for a book. Every moment he didn’t spend in the gym he spent with Brian, ploughing through everything they could get from the library. Brian was a good teacher, and had worked for the Inland Revenue. As a fledgeling tax inspector, he was able to guide Alex through the complex taxation system.

Brian had become involved with a man who had manipulated him into a banking and taxation fraud. He had been used, but in the course of the scam he had travelled extensively, and organized tax havens for his friend in Jersey and Switzerland.

Alex was fascinated, and questioned him on everything, often until the early hours of the morning . . . and the relationship deepened. Alex, not Brian, made the first move. He had already had a number of homosexual so-called affairs, but Brian was different. Alex actually cared for him, and the feelings were reciprocated and eventually consummated. Alex learnt a great deal more than accountancy from his lover, who now corrected his grammar and picked him up on his dropped ‘aitches’. At first Alex had been temperamental about being constantly corrected, but he soon realized it was done out of affection. In the end he worked just as hard on speech defects as on his other studies. Being with Brian gave Alex a new confidence in himself. He was less aggressive, more quietly assertive than he had ever been.

Brian was broken-hearted when Alex left. They promised to write, and Alex gave his word that as soon as he had a place to stay he would send Brian his address. But he had no intention of ever seeing him again, the relationship was over. For Alex, like most prisoners, homosexual practices until Brian had been a pure necessity . . . but there would be no more Brians, he had served his purpose. He would have one label, ‘ex-con’, and he didn’t want another.

Alex set his sights on climbing back to the top of the mountain, to breathe that clean, fresh air once more. He vowed to himself that he would never see the inside of a prison again.

True to his promise, George Windsor was waiting for Alex outside the gates of the prison. He had rented a small flat in Dulwich. The next day they bought a second-hand suit for Alex. Being ‘outside’ was not easy at first, and he had to hide his shyness at talking to strangers. The next step was to find a job, but with hundreds of soldiers back from the war, work was hard to come by. Alex began a depressing round of job interviews, arranged by his probation officer.

Edward walked out of the examination room, exhausted. His head ached from concentrating and his shoulders were stiff from hunching over the exam papers. He breathed in the lovely, fresh spring air as he walked across the quad. He had done well, he knew it. Not one question had beaten him. It had been his last exam in two weeks of finals, and now all that was left were the results and freedom. He felt almost light-headed as he walked along the river bank.

The May Ball signified the end of term, and everyone was excitedly looking forward to it. But Edward decided he would give it a miss and await his results in London.

Edward’s bedmaker was just finishing his room, and told him a letter had just arrived – it was on his desk. ‘You do well, you think, sir? In the exams, sir? I hope so, you’ve certainly worked for it if I may say so. Very dedicated student if I may say so, pleasure to bedmake for you, sir.’