Nothing left to lose
© Stuart Allison 2010
My thanks to PW for his all encouragement with this project and to CDM and RAM to whom Lisa owes so much.
Chapter 1
I saw the tree 200 yards ahead as I rounded the bend on the dual carriageway , it was set back on the grass verge ten feet or so on the in front of the office of some rural estate building. I found myself looking at it and wondering how fast I would need to hit it to end my misery. I didn’t want to live without Jane, the only woman I have ever truly loved; without her life was bleak and pointless. With a trunk about a foot thick, would the tree be enough to write off the Saab and me with it? Ultimately, I was a coward, I might have nothing left to live for, but if I was going to do it, I didn’t fancy making a hash of it, seriously injuring myself and still surviving. I cursed that I was driving a Saab, not two hundred pound Vauxhall Nova. Looking forward I saw the concrete support of a bridge, a far better option, but metal crash barriers had been erected to thwart that possibility. Despite the air conditioning, my palms became greasy with sweat on the wheel and then the shakes set in; that had been very close.
Perhaps I better explain. My name is Ian West, I’m a 52 year old teacher and seven days ago, my wife of thirty years had told me it was over and she was leaving. Popular myth has it that news like this is like a blow to the pit of your stomach; it’s not, it’s higher than that, just under your ribs; a blow wears off, this is more like a hand twisting and tearing at your insides and it doesn’t stop. To say I was a mess would be the understatement of the year. Our relationship had been in trouble for some time, but self-delusion had always been my strong suit. What I had thought to be cracks in our marriage, were yawning chasms that were unbridgeable for my wife. Jane was not just my wife, she was my best friend; she did not know it, but she meant everything to me, I had just never taken enough trouble to tell her, or show her. Without her I felt helpless, for over thirty years Jane had been the foundation on which I had built my world and now she was gone and my world was disintegrating around me. She wanted things to be amicable, which they would be; we had too many years together and the kids to think about, for it to be anything else.
Nevertheless, I was devastated, a failure as a husband and as person. Life seemed to have little to offer; the future looked desolate and solitary. Lucy, my daughter, lived in Manchester, where she was studying for her Masters in Political Science. She had been sympathetic enough on the phone, but her way of dealing was to distance herself. Rob my son was touchingly concerned. He wanted to be there for me, but he had gone travelling his girlfriend, prior to going to university. He wanted to come home from New Zealand to be with me, I refused to countenance it. Staying away from this mess would be the best thing for him. I was damaged enough; I did not want my son to be. What had been driving the car that day, was a few pieces of me held together by the tranquillisers and antidepressants prescribed by my sympathetic GP.
Still deeply shaken by my near miss, I pulled on to the drive of my soon to be ex-home, not only had I lost Jane, but I was losing my home too, the prospect of life in the sort of house I had started in thirty years ago, merely served to rub salt into the wound; I had nothing left to lose. Still shaking I got out of the car and locked it. I went in, an empty man into an empty house and turned on the TV to blot out the oppressive silence. Sky News came on, an in-depth interview with Richard Sinclair, the charismatic and appealing leader of the British National Regeneration Alliance. An election was just weeks away and public dissatisfaction and disillusion with all the conventional political parties was at an all-time high, following press accusations of MPs profiteering from expenses and general corruption. The minor parties like the BNRA were expected to be the main beneficiaries at the polls. I looked at the carefully contrived appearance that Sinclair presented; a little younger than me, urbane, smooth and handsome, his mellifluous public school voice made his carefully presented mixture of ultra-nationalism, xenophobia and understated racism seem reasonable.
“Great, the acceptable face of fascism, that’s all I need.” I growled as I stabbed at the remote to change the channel.
I sat and allowed an episode of an American TV cop series to wash over me and anaesthetise my mind; I poached an egg and forced myself to eat. Appetite had been a problem since Jane left and I had lost 10lbs, - every cloud has a silver lining. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, six feet tall, only slightly overweight, though less so now, brown hair greying only a little, blue grey eyes, a reasonably good looking man, who could have passed for ten years younger, were it not for the watery redness of my eyes. I settled to more mindless TV, before giving up and heading for bed. On my way I stopped off at my study and idly logged on to my Facebook account, I needed to see that life was still going on elsewhere. Facebook was my way of keeping in contact with my former students. As the page loaded, there were a number of comments on my wall from various member of my sixth form who had just left. One comment stood out, it was from Lisa, a former student, now in her mid-twenties. I had taught her throughout her school career and had seen her develop from a cute kid into an attractive and intelligent young woman. She was the type of girl who had it all, looks, an outgoing personality and a talented sportswoman, yet she had an appealing modesty, never really believing how good she was. Her message was simple.
“I need your help, please read my email.
Lisa x”
I logged on to my email and sure enough there, amongst the spam, was an email from Lisa dated three days ago. I clicked on the message.
Hi,
I’m home for a few days and could do with a hand with my latest assignment. I called in at school, but they said you were away. Any chance we could meet up so I could pick your brain? You know more about Nazi Germany that anyone I know and I need your opinion on something.
See you soon
Lisa
My first instinct was to decline, I didn’t want to face people, but I knew I could spend the day staring at the walls fighting back the tears, or I could get out and do something positive. I emailed her back.
Hi Lisa,
Glad to help if I can. How about Starbucks in the Market Square tomorrow at 2.00? Let me know if you can make it.
Ian
I began to work through the rest of the backlog of emails, within a few minutes a reply from Lisa popped up.
Thanks see you then.
Lisa.
I finished off sorting the email and went to bed. More pills and I fell into a deep but disturbed sleep.
I slept in late the following morning; with nothing to do until 2.00, I lay in bed and read for an hour or so. There was no work for me, the doctor had signed me off and the summer holiday, six weeks of solitude, loomed in a week or so. I got up at 12.00 and showered, as I shaved, I noticed just how haggard I was looking, not the face I really wanted to present to the world – not that I wanted to face the world at all at the moment, a deep dark hole had a greater appeal. I pushed the thought away quickly; self-pity was not an attractive trait.
I pulled on jeans and tee shirt and a pair of trainers and set off for town.
At 2.00 I walked through the bright July sun across the market square flanked by mediaeval and Georgian buildings. Pushing open the door, I welcomed the air-conditioned chill of the dim interior. I saw Lisa at once, she was quite noticeable, just twenty-five, light blonde hair tumbling to her shoulders, with an attractive heart-shaped face and the most remarkable and expressive dark blue eyes, a small straight nose and full lips that were made to smile; she also had the figure to go with it, she was the sort of girl who turned heads in the street. Today she was wearing tight blue jeans, turned up to her mid-calf, and a white clinging top. Her sunglasses had bee
n pushed up on top of her head, where they contrasted severely with the blonde hair that was tucked behind her ears and cascaded down to her almost bare shoulders. She was stunning. I had always had a soft spot for her and the fact she was so easy on the eye didn’t made being with her a hardship. As I approached her table she looked up and saw me. With a smile she gave a little wave.
‘Hiya, I got you a cappuccino, that ok?’ She looked more closely at me. ‘Are you okay, because you look like crap. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you.’
‘Thanks a lot! I’m okay’ I said ‘Mental rather than physical. My marriage has just gone down the toilet and I’m having a hard time dealing.’ I bit my lip as the tears welled up in my eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she looked at me with genuine sympathy. ‘I know how hard it can be, I saw what it did to my parents when they divorced and they had only been married for sixteen years, nowhere near as long as you. Dad was seriously messed up for two years, and mum won’t ever marry again. Is there anything I can do?’
‘Yeah, you can tell me how I can help; I really need something to occupy my mind at the moment.’
‘Okay, if you’re sure. I’ve got this gig as a researcher for a TV company, I’ve been looking into Moseley and the British Union of Fascists in the 1930s and I’ve come across something… …peculiar. What can you tell me about the Reichstag fire?
‘Reichstag fire? 27th February 1933, Hitler had only been Chancellor of a minority government for a month. A week before the election the Reichstag building burned down. Hitler claimed it was the signal for a communist revolt, persuaded President Hindenburg to give him emergency powers, the Decree for the Protection of People and State, which allowed him to arrest the leadership of the communist KPD and their Reichstag Deputies. It gave Hitler’s government the power to arrest without trial, search private homes, censor post and telephone calls and restrict the freedom of assembly and expression. Opposition, that was communist and socialist, newspapers were banned as were their meetings. Not surprisingly, the Nazis won the election, though not as well as they expected to. The whole episode gave the Nazis powers that were to become the cornerstone of Hitler’s dictatorship. That enough?’
She smiled ‘I remember most of that from your A level lessons all those years ago. But what else do you know about the fire itself?’
‘Let me see…There’s always been some controversy. The fire was noticed about 9.30 at night, apparently it started in multiple locations, implying arson and the building was gutted. A Dutch communist called van der Lubbe was arrested at the scene, confessed to acting alone and was later executed. Some historians have always questioned the convenience of the timing just before the election, allowing the Nazis to take out their biggest rivals. There are theories that the Berlin Storm trooper leader Karl Ernst was responsible, working under the orders of Goering. An investigation in 1962 in West Germany concluded that van der Lubbe worked alone and there was no plot, but a subsequent investigation in 1970 cleared him totally. The thing I think is most telling is that by 28th February, the following day, the Nazis rounded up and arrested over 4,000 leading Communists. That’s a pretty short time to arrange a purge of that magnitude unless they knew in advance and were prepared. Now tell me what this is all about.’
She reached into a canvas shopping bag by her feet and drew out a pink manila folder. Putting it on the table between us she opened it and pulled out a sheaf of photocopies. She passed me the top one.
‘This is a copy of the diary of Francis Self; he was secretary and unofficial right hand man to Alexander Raven Thomson. Raven, as he was called, was to become Moseley’s Director of Policy and Self was right alongside him throughout. These are the curious extracts.’ She handed me the first sheet, an entry in the centre of the page was highlighted.
Tuesday 14th February 1933
Department Z sent a delegation led by Anderson to congratulate the Fuhrer on his accession to power. Arranged to have Miller included in the delegation, due his longstanding links with the National Socialists from his days with the IFL. Those contacts could fruitful for the future, especially if we can emulate what Hitler has achieved.
‘Ok,’ I said ‘So the BUF sent a delegation to congratulate Hitler on coming to office. Not much of a surprise. What’s the IFL?’
‘The Imperial Fascist League, forerunner of the BUP, formed around 1929 and heavily Nazi in outlook.” She grinned at me. ‘Hey look at me teaching you, how times change. And the story continues beyond the obvious.’ She handed me a second sheet, highlighted on it was
Monday 6th March 1933
Anderson’s delegation returned today. From his report it looks as if we will have a firm ally in the Fuhrer, who should be in our debt after the ardent assistance of Miller in the events of 27h February. It is gratifying that our movement should have played such a central role in defeating Bolshevism in Germany.
‘Right, this looks a bit more intriguing, but doesn't prove an awful lot.’ I said
‘I know’ Lisa said ‘but don't you see the play on words here ardent... burning? Is it possible that this Miller character was somehow involved in the burning down of the Reichstag? Because if it was, it would make an awesome story.’
‘You're going to need far more than this to support that hypothesis’ I said ‘I thought I taught you better than that about the use of evidence. Yes, you’ve got an intriguing hint here, but I don't think it's enough you to go to your bosses with, certainly not if they’re a making factual programme rather than fiction. It’s interesting, but not sufficient.’
‘I know that there's not enough here to hang my theory on, but I'm not finished yet,’ she said ‘there's one more page I’d like you to read.’ She handed over a third sheet; the top two entries were highlighted.
Wednesday 15th March 1933
I received a full account from Miller regarding his part in the events in Germany. It seems beyond belief that a member of our movement should have played such a pivotal role in, what I am sure will be, a turning point in the history of modern Europe. Sending Miller, or should I call him Hauptsturmfuhrer Miller, appears to have paid dividends. It certainly appears that the Fuhrer is in our debt and he's not a man to forget his friends. I have a meeting with Raven and OM tomorrow and I will ensure that they see this report in its entirety.
I looked up, ‘OM? Oswald Mosley himself?’
She nodded ‘I think it must be; who else with those initials would be meeting with Raven? But look at the next entry.’
Thursday 16th March 1933
OM and Raven very impressed by Miller's report. Both agree he could be destined for great things in the Party. I too received my share of kudos for attaching him to Anderson's delegation. OM however is concerned that having members of the movement involved in illegal activities in a foreign country could be detrimental to us if word got out to our political enemies; the Jewish press would have a field day. He has ordered me to destroy the report and make it clear to Miller that his part in this can never be made public. I have my doubts about destroying such a crucial document, only four of us know of its existence, OM, Raven, Miller and I. I have instructed Miller to remain silent on the issue as OM ordered, but the report I will secrete amongst my other papers, hidden in plain sight as it were. I feel that Germany is destined for greatness under Hitler and evidence to remind him of the service the BUF has rendered him may well be advantageous to us in the future.
‘Don’t you see?’ Lisa went on excitedly ‘That report may still exist. These final entries certainly imply that Miller played some sort of central role in events, though I don't quite get the reference to Hauptsturmfuhrer Miller.’
‘Mmm, Hauptsturmfuhrer was a rank equivalent to captain in the Allgemeine SS, if it had been an SA or Storm Trooper rank it would have been a Sturmhauptfuhrer. Don’t even ask me how I know that, I need to get a life!’ I choked up as the irony of these words sank in and I had to take a deep breath to regain my composure. To her credit Lisa pretended not to notice my mom
entary lapse.
‘I think I know where to look to find Miller's report, if it still exists. This would totally prove my theory, if we could find it. My research has shown me that all of Self’s papers were left to his nephew when he died in 1953. The nephew had no use for them and donated them to the politics department at Queen Mary’s College, London. I’ve contacted QM and spoken to their archivist. They've still got all the papers, though they've never been catalogued or sorted and apparently there are a lot of them. What I really want to know….’ Here she paused.
‘Go on,’ I said
‘No, you've got enough on your plate; it's not fair for me to intrude at a time like this. You got better things to think about than my research into the Reichstag Fire.’
‘I noticed the ‘if we could find it’ earlier. I’m in!’ I declared ‘The only other option is moping around feeling sorry for myself. The best therapy is to keep occupied, the problems will still be there when I’ve finished. At least, that is if you’re asking me to help.’
‘If you’re cool with it, I’d really appreciate your help, especially if there’s the quantity of papers I think there might be. My expenses should run to a week in a hotel in London for you, to save you driving down each day. I’ve made an appointment to start sifting through the archive the day after tomorrow, if you’re up for it.’
‘I’ll be there.’ I said. I did not realise where the road I had just embarked on was to lead me.
Chapter 2
Nothing left to lose Page 1