England Away

by John King

  – They might think you are an idiot because you were sick but you aren’t, and you didn’t care. Do you understand?

  Harry wasn’t sure. He nodded all the same because he didn’t see why she’d want to make fun of him. It must be the language barrier.

  – Anyway, I thought you were attractive so it was a good excuse to talk to you.

  Harry felt his knob flutter, because that’s what he wanted to hear. The green light was beaming and boyfriend or not he was in. Maybe she was kinky or something, getting turned on by the bulldog emptying his guts over young girls, but as long as she didn’t expect a repeat performance he was happy enough, because he was the lover boy on tour and didn’t need to splash out on prostitutes tonight. She was a fucking nympho this one, he could feel it in his bones and he could feel it in his bollocks. She was moving around on the stool and he could see the skirt shifting up her legs again, and this time he was less careful whether she noticed him having a peep. She did notice and smiled, and told him to look out of the window, and when Harry did as he was told he saw a strange sight. Two prostitutes in stockings and suspenders were walking down the street with a Turkish-looking bloke who must’ve been the pimp. They were well-built girls but not ugly. It was like something off a stage and he couldn’t believe they were patrolling this street with its line of new bars. It was like in France where the girls waited for truck drivers by the side of the motorways dressed up to the nines in full view of everyone. It was a lot different to England where they were driven down side streets and kept away from the light, operating in shadows, and it was another European tradition he wouldn’t mind England absorbing into everyday life.

  – They walk up and down every night, Ingrid said. Do you think they are attractive?

  Harry said they were okay, but nothing special. He watched them pass and turn the corner. He didn’t care about prostitutes because he had something better and cheaper lined up. The windows in Amsterdam were strange, but seeing a couple of girls walking down the road in stockings was mental. You wouldn’t get that round his way and it was a shame, it added a lot of spice. He knew The Unity would be packed to the ceiling twenty-four hours a day with crumpet like that marching past.

  – Look at this, Ingrid said, pointing outside.

  Harry followed her finger and saw this mob coming down the street, heading their way but stopping and steaming into another place. He could hear the glass going and when he leant forward he could’ve sworn Harris was in there somewhere, but knew they were Germans by the way they dressed. Fuck, there was another bloke who looked like Billy Bright, and it just went to show how international the English look had become, because now they were copying the fucking faces. Either that or Ingrid had been putting something in his drink.

  The mob started moving again and passed the bar, and they were making a lot of noise, but Harry couldn’t work out what they were doing down here when most of the English were over in West Berlin. Maybe it was too early and they were having a warm-up before they tried to take on England. He watched them go and was thinking he’d have to tell the rest of the lads about this and, fucking hell, he was seeing things because right there on the other side of the glass was Tom pointing his way. Mark came over and they were moving away from the others and heading for the bar. Maybe it was an English firm, but he didn’t think so, didn’t understand what was going on, realising it was too late to duck his head and avoid unwanted company.

  – Shall we go somewhere else? Ingrid asked. There’s a good club down the road if you would like to see some other places.

  Harry thought it was a good idea but they were too late, Tom and Mark coming in and introducing themselves, then pissing off to the bar. They couldn’t just walk out now and, anyway, Ingrid was looking at them and asking who they were, and she laughed when he said they were mates of his from London, and she said they seemed very happy to see him.

  This was all he fucking needed and it was typical, because here he was out on the pull and doing well when these two turn up out of nowhere. They were either pissed or on something the way they were acting, the way they looked, and it was like he would never be able to escape his mates and their influence. Looking away from Ingrid he saw Billy Bright and Harris coming into the bar. Maybe someone was selling tickets. He wondered where Carter was.

  – I thought I recognised the name, Brighty said.

  – Hello darling, Harris said, leaning over and introducing himself to Ingrid.

  Billy was standing next to Ingrid and staring at her legs.

  – Very nice, he said, swaying.

  When they went over to the bar Harry asked Ingrid if she wanted to go somewhere else. The others wouldn’t mind and there was enough of them not to miss him.

  – No, she said, your friends seem very nice. We can all have fun together.

  Harry groaned. He didn’t need this and knew the kind of fun the rest of the boys would enjoy. He looked over and saw Mark hanging over the bar saying something to the barman, who shrugged his shoulders.

  – Why’s this place called Bang? Billy asked, back from the bar. It sounds like a fucking queer place, but I can’t see any poofs. A lot of wankers, but no obvious shirt-lifters.

  – It is just a sound, Ingrid said. I don’t know why they chose it.

  – Do you want a drink? Billy asked. That’s what I’ve come back for. We had to jump in here because the old bill have started nicking Nazis, suppressing free speech. Some blokes Harris knows. I’ll tell you later.

  Harry watched Billy push through to Harris and noticed the others chatting up some girls. This was his big chance to get out before he was lumbered. They were pissed and he could see trouble brewing. Fuck knows what they were doing with those Germans. Maybe he was getting things confused but he thought it was a football match coming up and that the English were the enemy. He’d got hold of something worthwhile here and wasn’t going to let the rest of the lads fuck it up, because the same thing had happened enough times in the past. He could see the rest of the night and how it would develop with Ingrid either storming off or, worse than that, pulling one of the others. They were in better shape, but there again he was a sick bastard and Ingrid liked her men sick.

  – Why don’t you want to stay with your friends? She asked as they walked down the road. I don’t mind if you want to talk with them.

  – Just fancy going to that club you mentioned, Harry said, wondering where the fuck they were going to end up.

  To be honest, Bang had started getting on his nerves. He’d come to Germany to see something German and instead he was in a fucking theme bar. It was like the rich cunts buying into certain areas of London who couldn’t make do with the local boozers and had to have them ripped apart and rebuilt, killing the character. You could be anywhere. No, he fancied a few beers in a German bar, but Ingrid had other ideas.

  She stopped a cab and he was sitting in the back while Ingrid did the honours, telling the driver where to go. They were driving along and then they were snogging in the back and Harry started to think that the driver was probably watching them in the mirror, the dirty cunt, but he didn’t want to let the girl down. She broke off and said something else to the driver and he swore and did a big U-turn, making sure he burnt lots of rubber, the fucking slag. Harry didn’t ask what she’d said and sat back watching the streets flash past. He was playing things easy now because he was in and didn’t have any more work to do. He felt bad about walking out like that, but none of the others would notice or care. He knew tonight could well end in tears, and there were going to be murders tomorrow, the day of the game.

  They were going on a long drive and Harry sat in silence listening to the radio. He got into the sound of the woman speaking and thought how German was a nice language. He knew people said it was hard and ugly, but Harry liked it. Then the woman stopped speaking and classical music filled the car. There was something grand about Berlin at night, with the street lights and music, a feeling Amsterdam didn’t have. It probably depended on y
our mood, but driving through Berlin with this soundtrack was perfect. He leant back in the seat wondering if he’d fuck things up trying to get Ingrid to give him a blow job in the taxi, dismissing the idea and concentrating on the passing city. This was something he’d always remember.

  They drove by the Reichstag and Harry thought long and hard, remembering the building from old war footage. He could also see images of Russian soldiers raising the red flag over a burning Berlin, and wondered if it was the same place. Where were the English when this was happening? He started recognising streets and eventually saw these West Berlin bars packed with drinking and singing Englishmen. There were police vans nearby but no German mob in sight. He didn’t know if there’d been any trouble yet, imagining that most of the English would either be here or wandering around nearby, enjoying the nightlife. Tomorrow was D-Day. There must’ve been at least a thousand English milling around, with more tucked down side streets, mobbing the bars. Harris reckoned there’d be seven or eight thousand English attending the game, but you never could tell exactly.

  The cab had to slow down and looking out of the window Harry tried to spot Carter, but there were too many people. They were cheering something or other and the old bill were looking nervous, and there were a lot of coppers as well. Someone had hung a big SCARBOROUGH Union Jack over a bar window and there was a couple of Crosses of St George with CHARLTON and CARLISLE on either side. The bars were jammed and everyone was having a laugh. Part of Harry wanted to jump out and go and join in the fun, leave this bird alone and get pissed, but there was time enough for that tomorrow and he couldn’t let Ingrid down. He had to do his duty for England and keep the girl happy, because she said her flat was only five minutes away and did he mind listening to some music there instead of in a noisy club, because then they could be alone?

  – That’s alright with me.

  – There’s a lot of England supporters here, Ingrid said. They look very dangerous, don’t they? I wouldn’t like to be a German hooligan fighting with the English, but the police are very strict here and will stop anything that happens.

  The England boys were singing GOD SAVE THE QUEEN as they passed and Harry couldn’t help feeling proud that he was English and proud of the country’s hooligan element. It was the feeling of power you could only get from everyone mobbing together. Sex gave you something, but the threat and use of violence was something else. It let you play God for a while, like you could do whatever the fuck you wanted and nothing could touch you and make you pay a price. He put his hand on Ingrid’s leg and agreed that the police would know what to do with the hooligans.

  It’s one of those miracles that come round a couple of times in your life. Because I’m lying here thinking of last night. It’s a bit after ten and I’m a lazy cunt, stuck in bed. Pulling the different strands apart. Fuck knows what time we got in but Abdul was awake and drinking coffee. Listening to the night-time sounds with a hotel full of pissed English sleeping off the drink. Last thing I remember is walking back from that street with the bars. Looked down this alley and there’s two tarts in stockings. The alley’s pitch black with an open door letting out a beam of light. They’re standing around having a fag. On their tea break maybe. Real old grinders. I couldn’t handle it and thought it was some kind of bad trip. Fat old girls with beer guts. Fuck that. I didn’t tell the others and we kept on walking. Next thing we’re by this bunker.

  Couldn’t believe it was right there beside us, that those things were still standing. You’d think the communists would’ve bulldozed the bunkers right away. It still had bullet and rocket dents in the brickwork and the entrance was made from this carved wood. Same as the porch of a Norman church in an English village. The others had disappeared round the corner and me and Mark were left standing there looking at this thing.

  We were down a small street and the place was deserted. Mark goes up to the door and tries to open it, but it was locked with a padlock and thick chains. The links were old but strong. We backed off and just stood there for five minutes looking at this square block with tiny windows. I was slowing down. Finding this relic was clearing my head. Thinking of what the torturers got up to inside those walls. You wouldn’t have a chance if the Gestapo got you in there. I’m standing in the middle of this fucking street lost in Berlin thinking about torture chambers and medical instruments. Mad cunts in white coats stripping the skin from men’s legs while some nonce in a black leather coat asks where it’s going off tomorrow. Where the England boys are mobbing up. Eventually we left the bunker because we had a long journey home and I didn’t have a clue where we were going. We were looking for the Nigerians, but they were long gone, so we waved down a passing cab and the driver brought us back here.

  The miracle is I don’t have a hangover. Maybe it’s the excitement of the game coming through and washing away the drink and chemicals, because the build-up starts here. There’s this wave that comes from somewhere. I know it’s going to be a great day out. I’m a kid in a way, even though I’m into my thirties now, because this is how I felt when I was a boy just thinking about going to see Chelsea play football. Now there’s the other side. The chance to go on the rampage. See what the Germans can do. It’s all bottled and ready to go and most of the England boys will be feeling the same way. All the preliminaries are over. Everyone will get in tight and target the enemy. Give it another ten minutes and I’ll get up, because last night was mental and that part-time Nazi effort was a dream really, mixing drink and drugs and fucking up the newspaper headlines.

  Today will be different. Time to be on our guard. Thinking of that meeting makes me laugh. Fuck knows what it was all about. There’s going to be some bigger boys over here with better connections. First the Nazis, then the bar and those birds we were chatting up. Then the trek back here after they blew us out. Must’ve been something we said. Or Billy grabbing that bird’s arse. Right up the crack. I think we even saw Harry in a bar with some decent bird. But that’s got to be another dream, because one minute he’s there and the next he’s gone. The bird I thought I saw him with was too good for a fat cunt like that.

  – What time is it? Mark asks.

  His voice sounds rough as fuck. I tell him ten.

  – That’s alright. It’s still early.

  There’s silence. I stretch.

  – Do you remember that bunker? he asks. We tried to get inside.

  Mark tried to break the chain but it was a heavy duty effort. No chance. I tell him we were lucky the sound didn’t wake the dead. Worse than that the living. They wouldn’t have liked us breaking into the vaults because most Germans want to forget the past. Don’t want to hear us singing about two World Wars and one World Cup.

  – You think what it would’ve been like in there, Mark says. The Russians must’ve gone through the place and closed it, left everything how it was. It’s funny they never got around to knocking it down.

  – Probably left it as a reminder. Or maybe they didn’t have the time or money for the bulldozers. You look round this area here and there’s not a lot to remind you of the Third Reich, is there?

  – That’s because we bombed fuck out of the cunts. No-one’s ever going to forget with that fucking bunker right there. It was built to last. There were other buildings I saw in East Berlin that had bullet holes in them. All those years and they’ve still got the scars.

  He stops talking and is quiet for a while. Then the cunt’s out of bed and opening the curtains, telling me to get up, and don’t I feel like shit? He starts going on about how I was mouthing off with those birds and that’s why they fucked off, but I say it was Bright Spark squeezing that bird’s arse and cunt, and Mark nods. Do I remember walking in and seeing Fat Harry with the Page 3 girl? We wonder what happened to them, but you have to fear the worst. The bloke’s been sniffing around ever since we got to Europe and all the time I thought Carter was supposed to be the sex machine. Maybe it’s to do with his mate getting topped. Sometimes blokes take that kind of thing out on women. Not
hurting them, but getting in there and shagging them silly. It’s like in a war, where all that death makes you want to make babies. Maybe he’s gone soft in his old age, because by rights he should be hanging about with the rest of the boys a bit more.

  It’s another half-hour before we’re across the road having some breakfast. Carter’s sitting there with a cooked meal and an English paper he’s dug up from somewhere. There’s scare stories about the trouble that’s coming to Berlin. Comments from various upright establishment figures. Rent-a-quote, do-nothing cunts trotting out the same old bollocks their mums and dads were using twenty years ago.

  – You missed a good night, Carter said. We were out till gone two when the old bill started closing the bars. It was all going alright, just good clean fun and that, but they have to come along and start winding everyone up. They soon realised the English were up for it and backed off.

  He cuts into a chunky-looking sausage and suddenly I’m starving hungry. This is better than the shit we were getting in Holland. More like English cooking. Something that’ll give you energy. Good old-fashioned grease and gristle. Kevin’s sitting at the next table with Crewe and they give us a nod. Ask where we got to last night. Laugh when Mark mentions the bunker.

  – Have you seen Harry? Carter asks. He didn’t come home last night.

  – He was in this bar in East Berlin, Mark says, sitting down and pulling a couple of pages out from the middle of the paper. We saw him with some bird. She was fucking beautiful as well. I don’t think you need to worry about him, because they seemed happy enough. She had this fucking mini-skirt on and the smallest pair of knickers you’ve ever seen.

  Carter stops eating. Doesn’t look too impressed.

  – I don’t know what’s happened to the bloke, he says, with some moral distaste in his voice. How the fuck did he end up over there? One minute he’s here, the next he’s on the other side of the city. That’s not Harry’s style. Normally he’s at the bar the whole time getting pissed.