2020

by Kenneth Steven

  *

  I SUPPOSE I would have been there in all for about two hours; it might have been longer. Basically I had been up in the Sudburgh area for a bike show and I was going home that day. I had no idea this march was taking place and I literally walked right into the middle of it. That is the honest truth. A lot of my London friends were simply incredulous—not because they didn’t believe me or thought I was making it up, but because they couldn’t get over the fact that I didn’t know there was going to be this massive march!

  We had been at a pub outside Sudburgh the night before and it had turned into a pretty heavy session. I was the only one actually up some time around noon. I had promised my girlfriend I would be back in London that evening and I simply got my stuff and went. I was on my way to the bus station and I ran right across the path of the march. I literally banged straight into the middle of it, came out of a side street and found myself in the wild west. It was really bizarre. I was hungover and going through all these back streets, happy to have a bit of quiet, and without any warning I was just out into a war zone. I was actually scared witless for the first few minutes, and I’m not exactly the kind of guy that normally is: I’m a biker and I’m powerfully built. I’d happily hammer someone if I think they’re out of order, and I’ve done it many times in the past.

  And right beside me was this guy tearing off a Muslim woman’s veil. He had a knife and at some point he must have stabbed her; whether it was before I got there or after I don’t know. Everything’s a blur at a time like that, and even more so if you’ve just blundered into it! At any rate, I grabbed him and put his lights out. I think it was just a single punch and that was him down, but I reckon that someone must have got me at that point because I found myself on the ground and just realised something was seriously wrong. I felt absolutely no pain, that’s the strange thing. I still felt weirdly out of things because of the night before. It’s a bit like feeling you’re wrapped in cotton wool; the world goes on operating all round you, but you feel strangely absent. So I found myself down on the ground and not feeling the slightest thing, and I realised I was holding the hand of the Muslim woman. I can remember thinking how tiny it was. That was the only thing in my head. It’s strange how clear and calm my thinking was. The place was just mayhem round me, and yet I felt this curious sense of well-being, somehow that everything was going to be all right. And then I realised, however much later it was, that the woman’s grip had lessened. Her hand was cold.

  *

  THIRTEEN PEOPLE ARE now confirmed dead after the violence that broke out during a march organised by the militant right-wing organisation White Rose through the centre of Sudburgh earlier this afternoon. Police fear the death toll may rise as sporadic violence has continued in some side streets and in several housing schemes where the organisation has been particularly active over the past year in the wake of the Burroway bombing. Many community leaders are still expressing their dismay and disbelief that the march, supposedly in memory of Terry Radcliffe from White Rose, was ever allowed to take place. There is still no progress in the hunt for Eric Semple, abducted from his house by masked men late on Thursday evening. No group has claimed responsibility for the kidnapping, and the police continue to stress that there is no conclusive evidence that this was the work of any militant Islamic network established to counter the activities of White Rose. The police have been severely criticised by community leaders in Sudburgh for what they describe as a woefully inadequate response to today’s march. They claim that for a time the situation was completely out of control, and maintain that no real attempt was made to shield members of the Asian community, who were left feeling utterly vulnerable. It does seem apparent that for a time the situation was totally chaotic. George Macbeth, who has worked with rival gangs in Sudburgh over the past fifteen years, described the city centre as reminiscent of a scene from a horror movie. He has called on the Prime Minister to visit the city as a matter of urgency, to reassure groups on both sides of the divide that measures will be taken to “heal a wound that has bled too long,” as he expressed it. Tonight there are renewed fears of violence, though police have stressed that the city centre itself is absolutely safe. It is still very much closed to traffic, but it is expected that most side streets will be open as normal tomorrow morning.

  *

  THERE’S NO DOUBT it was a crisis, that there was a sense of panic in government. All this evidence is being heard in secret and I still—despite the passage of time—wouldn’t be revealing all this otherwise. I think that’s as much from a sense of loyalty as anything. You’re so conditioned to keeping things within the walls of Whitehall, so terribly aware of the possibility of leaks. It’s actually, by and large, what I will describe as a watertight environment. And thank God for that; it’s simply the way it should be and has to be! What I’m saying is that even though that particular crisis has now passed, my in-built sense of loyalty, of tight-lippedness, so to speak, is still very much there. All right, I’ve seen that you’ve got the message, and I’ll seek to be as open as I possibly can be.

  I think the worst of it was knowing, or not knowing, what to do next. I was part of the Cabinet, and the Cabinet was totally divided. One or two—and I’m sorry but I’m not going to reveal names—wanted to send in the army. I was absolutely opposed to that. I believe it would have acted as a recruiting sergeant to both sides. There’s no doubt that the militant Islamic groups were on the point of galvanising their forces. Yes, I do believe they had access to weapons and to bomb-making equipment. There is a report that was prepared by MI5 at the time, and which provides ample evidence; I’d be happy to provide the relevant sections, though I can’t supply the document in its entirety. I think the reasons for that are obvious. If you want to take that further then you will have to deal with MI5.

  One need only look back to the days of the Troubles in Northern Ireland to see that the army became more of a target than a deterrent. I think we’ve come a fair distance since then; I like to hope some lessons have been learned. The problem on the other hand was that the worst elements of White Rose had been let out of their cages; I’m afraid that’s how we perceived it. It was clear the leadership had little or no control over their activities: you have the age-old problem of reasonably well-educated leaders and a membership that’s composed mainly of thugs. I accept it’s a crass generalisation, but let’s call it a useful shorthand instead. Certainly it’s the case that you have a membership composed of some genuine believers in the cause, and some who are there because it beats watching television on a Saturday night. Again, look at Northern Ireland. The question for the leadership of White Rose was no different in many ways from the question posed to us: how do you reach that following? And for us it was most certainly: how do you go about pacifying that following?

  Finally, I think that Enoch Powell was actually absolutely right: you send some people home. That may sound impossible and ridiculous, but I don’t think it is. You certainly send home those who have committed criminal offences, and I mean transgressed the law in even the most limited of ways. And you offer incentives to others to leave. I think that would send out very clear and valuable messages to both sides. I think immigrants would cease to think of this country as a soft touch, and the fact is that they do so at present. And I believe that the intelligent elements of White Rose would be pacified, at least to some extent. Of course it wouldn’t go far enough for many of them, but it might well take a healthy amount of wind from their sails. I believe education, by the way, is the other half of that particular challenge, but much tougher legislation about criminal activity, past and present, would be more than valuable as a first step. Why hasn’t it been introduced? Well, that’s a good question. I fear that a decent answer might take at least the best part of a day to provide.

  *

  I THINK I didn’t sleep for three whole nights: I mean, I think I didn’t actually sleep for a single moment of those first three nights. I was given medication in the end and I did sleep,
though I didn’t really feel it made any difference. I’m sorry, I was assuming you all knew my name and didn’t need any formal introduction. I’m Patricia Semple and Eric was my husband.

  I did actually feel from the beginning—I mean, after the time he was taken from the house—that it was all over. I just felt within myself that he wouldn’t come back alive. And yes, a lot of that did come down to the dream I’d had. I think once before in my life, right back when I was a teenager, I’d had a dream about a fire and a member of my family being burned. I never said a word about it afterwards and it happened pretty much as I had seen it. So that was only once, but this dream or vision or whatever you want to call it had been so vivid. Even if I think about it now I can see individual faces. It was like a photograph; it was as though a photograph had been slotted into my head. I was somehow there, standing at the back of this underground room. I felt that I could see people but that they couldn’t see me. My children still don’t know anything about this: I saw no real reason to share it with them at the time—it would have felt far more like inflicting it on them. I think that Eric did believe me, it was just too late by then. He had come so far and given so much. I’m not sure that it’s true that he didn’t believe he could win; I think it’s more he didn’t even care whether he won or not. He had somehow burned through to something else, and I realise that doesn’t make a lot of sense. He had changed so much in that time. So it’s not a case of him not having believed me; it’s more that it didn’t matter. In a terrible way it was too late. He had to see this through. He wanted to make people think: that was always at the heart of what he believed. He didn’t want people blindly marching and putting up barricades—and I certainly don’t believe he wanted people resorting to violence. Not before everything else possible had been tried.

  Anyway, yes, I apologise. I had shared the dream with one close friend. I suppose I almost regretted it; it had been that first day when the police were swarming over the place and they didn’t need me any more. This friend just took me away for an hour or so—to get me away from myself, if you like. And actually it didn’t work like that. I just poured out the whole thing, all about Eric and the things that had happened in the past. I must have talked for over two hours and in fact it did a hell of a lot of good. I came back to the house able to face the police again, able to look at the kids.

  And then on the morning of the fourth day she just arrived and said she was going to drive me around; we were going to look for the place I’d seen. I didn’t even quite understand what she meant to begin with; I had never really thought of that place I’d seen in the dream as somewhere you could look for. I left a brief note for the kids; told them who I was going with so there would be no worry, and we just drove. I think it was a comfort simply knowing someone else believed me. She didn’t actually say whether she did or not, but she certainly believed it was worth doing. She had thought herself about places it might be, and we basically drove for what seemed like hours. I don’t suppose it matters, but it might have been an hour and a half. And we got out of the car now and again to have a look at places, and I just didn’t feel anything was right. It’s impossible to explain what I mean by that, but it’s really the only way I can express it. Perhaps the best way I’ve ever felt I could describe it is feeling like you’re a metal detector; when you get close to something or when you’re right over it you just know.

  Sudburgh was still in a state of shock after what had happened on the day of the march, and before it. There were banners carrying Terry’s name, but there were plenty with Eric’s too. They were hanging from windows, often with a white rose painted in one corner. I remember feeling that the whole city was in mourning for Eric. I don’t mean that to sound arrogant or self-obsessed—I’m not sure what the best word would be. It was actually a kind of comfort; it just meant a lot to know he was remembered. I had been in that house and felt so alone, especially during the nights. Of course I talked to the kids, but I also had to hold myself together. I had to.

  Anyway, we came to this field on the edge of town and there was something there; I could see something up by the fence but it was too far away to make it out properly. And I just called for her to stop the car because I knew it was there; I knew we were close.

  It wasn’t a nice area: there was a lot of rubbish and dog mess. I remember seeing needles; I’m always terrified of standing on one. And neither of us had on the right footwear, but we climbed over a fence and started walking. There was a block of flats to one side and we could see people watching us from the balconies. Yes, it did seem as though it was an Asian district—we both had that impression. And there were just these concrete steps going down into the ground. I’ve no idea what the place had been or why it was still there. There was a kind of overhang; I’m not sure I can describe it accurately. I suppose it felt like an old bomb shelter. There was just broken glass, a lot of mess; the concrete was cracked and grass was growing up through it. And we went underneath, right down below this overhang and inside. And then I just stood in that one spot and I knew I was exactly where I had been in the dream. But I knew I had been wrong about one thing. It hadn’t happened; it was still waiting to happen.

  *

  “WE ARE HERE today to remember those who have died over the past days of violence here in Sudburgh. We have come neither to condemn nor condone: we have come to remember the victims. Not only the fifteen who have now died, but the many others who are still fighting for their lives in hospital, some of whom will be disfigured for life. We are here in a Christian place of worship, but we bring together our different faiths today in a sign that there does not have to be enmity along political and religious lines, that we can learn to come together as members of a human family to ask that we may begin again. Because if the past days teach us anything it is that we fail and go on failing; we are truly human, with feet of clay.

  “And we come here today too because we know it is by no means all over. Eric Semple is still missing, and no word of his whereabouts has been heard. So we are here too to pray for his safe return. There was new violence on the outskirts of Sudburgh last night with further casualties, and at this time we do not know if that situation has been brought under control. Many feel under the shadow of fear, on all sides of our rainbow community. All we can do this morning is to join together as one and ask for our Maker’s forgiveness, and for guidance on the way ahead.

  “I want to tell you about one of the victims of the horrendous bloodshed this Saturday. Every word of his story is true because I was there; I saw it with my own eyes. We had been warned by the police that there were certain parts of Sudburgh we should not visit; it felt as though we were almost told not to go out at all after dark. I had to say that such orders, or quasi-orders, bring out the worst in me. I am a woman and I have worked in war situations in Africa. I have learned that there are times when it is not worth waiting for the right person to do the job: it is best to do it yourself. And having listened, as I’m sure you did, to news updates through the hours, and having seen some of the live pictures from the city centre, I felt paralysed. So when I heard that we were being advised not to go out, or told not to—however you interpret what was said—I just sat there to begin with. I was numb as most of us were numb. And then I thought of a man I had come to know in recent months. He lived in a tower block, four flights up, and on a number of occasions we had met to talk; in other words, I had sought him out and we had talked. He was from Afghanistan and he had fled the country after his family was massacred by insurgents. He had learned English by listening to a radio, literally by pressing it to his ear through the night to learn a little, bit by bit. He had a beautiful voice; he spoke softly and slowly, because he knew that he was still learning. And at last he had been granted permission to come to England. He had lost everything when the insurgents destroyed his village; he arrived with almost nothing.

  “I used to go to visit this quiet man because I knew that he had met God. I saw that in his eyes and heard it in his hea
rt. I went to visit him not because I felt sorrow for an asylum seeker (though that was why I went there in the beginning). I went to find him because I recognised his wisdom and I left again with many wise words. He was only thirty-four, but somehow he had lived long beyond his years. But I wanted also to be a friend to him because I knew that he had had dog mess pushed through his letterbox and paint sprayed on his walls. I knew that a warning white rose had been put on his door, a sign that he was in danger of being attacked, that he had been earmarked. I prayed with him and he prayed with me, even though we came from different religious worlds and believed many different things. I can truly say he was one of the best men I ever met, and in saying that I think of all those I knew at theological college, and all those I encountered at conferences and retreat days and services for the great and the good in cathedrals. This man was one of the best I ever met.