CHAPTER TWO - Working and Speaking

Jon had been at the Fox and Geese for three weeks. He found the work adequate, but tension rose each night. The barmaid, a sultry woman, skinny and flat both back and front, made it clear that she wanted to date her fellow worker.

"Cum arn, toots, dont say you can't cum wiv me to-night. Not again. You said that last night." She grinned close to his face as he passed the bar counter balancing a load of dirty plates on his arm. Jon was getting angry with her. Part of him shirked from hurting her feelings, part of him rejected her thin form, and the smell of beer and stale clothes.

"Yer funkie, yer are. Oi Won't urt yer. Got a nice place, oi ave. Why dont yer come fer a drink?" She went on goading him.

"I'm busy," Jon replied. "Even when I've finished here I've got work to do."

"Work, my foot. Bet all yer do is bend yer elbow. Bet yer got a cunt waiting fer yer. Pretendin to be all goody-goody. Alrigh. Wont ask yer again. Shammer, thats wot yer look loike." She banged a glass of beer on the counter, and it spilled. Customers were looking her way, laughing, enjoying the spectacle. "Just a bloody shammer." Jon said nothing, took his coat off the hook, and went to find the boss.

"My money, please. As much as you owe me, and no more. I'm not going to put up with this abuse."

"Sorry, Jon," spluttered the landlord. "I've been watching whats been going on. That womans a fool, but shes a good worker and the locals like her. I'll miss you. Got used to your funny ways. You seemed to attract the customers." He said no more for he saw the rage in Jons face. Jon left by the back door still angry.

Shammer. Me, a shammer! Thats the last thing I am. Blast that bloody woman. Right upset me, it has. My whole life I've worked against that sort of thing.

He walked down two more streets, and went into another pub where he sat in a corner, and drank himself into a stupor. He was led out at closing time, and then zigzagged down the road. He found a small alleyway, and spotted a dustbin and a wooden crate. He sat jerkily on the crate, leaning on the dustbin, too full of drink to appreciate his situation. Several hours later an inquisitive cat looking for food disturbed him.

Lucky it isnt the law. Come, on puss, let me give you a tickle. I really am trespassing this time, but I havent hurt anything. But I feel all wet. Oh, hell, I've peed myself. Still, can't be helped. Itll soon dry off the ground and Won't show. Must find a bath and a hot drink to clear my head. Is this what life is going to be like? For ever and ever like this? Lucky I've got money, money enough for a bath and a tip to the attendant to let me wash my clothes. Won't take long if I can use the hot pipes to dry things on.

He walked slowly towards Victoria, and the public baths, his mouth feeling like a bird cage with his head throbbing. After a long soak in soothing hot water and a general clean-up, the longed for cup of tea tasted like nectar. Apart from the episode at the Fox and Geese the first month had gone smoothly. He had no other confrontations, and had time to watch the crowds at Speakers Corner and think of a core for his next speech. He knew it was time for him to speak again, and he knew he must find another job. It was the second Sunday in September at midday when he stood on a small box, a little away from the other people, who were listening to the tub thumpers. He said nothing for a some moments, just chatted quietly to a few of the crowd who had gathered.

Then he spoke. "Good morning, my friends, and hello. To-day I want to talk about "Revolutionaries." He paused for a moment watching the interest deepening in the faces before him

"Thats a rum start," called a voice from the back of the crowd.

"Never mind that, but "Revolutionaries" is a word that sometimes makes people afraid. Communism, Fascism, Neo-Nazism, all these names come to the fore. I'm for none of that. I'm for change, change that leads to truth." Another short pause.

"Goin to be a gas-bag, are yer?", chipped in the same voice.

Jon disregarded the interruption. "The old revolutionaries who hit the headlines with what they called truth are labelled wrongly. Their aims were wrong, their values were wrong, and their priorities were wrong. But they have one thing in common, they have lied and they still lie, but they lie differently."

Jon paused. He heard murmurs in the crowd which was swelling at the edges. Stern poker faced men were watching.

Wonder who they are? Plain clothes police? Informers? They look like the Gestapo, same shape, different clothes, same stern faces. Wonder if theyd give me the same treatment that I had in the cells? Rifle butting, cigarette burning, the lot. Damn it, I was only a boy. Dont expect I could put up with that hard regime at my age.

Before he could continue with his speech he had to put those thoughts out of his mind.

"Cum arn, tell us ow different. Lie is a lie. can't fiddle bart wi tha".

Again Jon continued ignoring the interruption. "The true and real revolutionary works in a different way. They are the old and young and in-betweens. Nurses, who work long hours for love rather than money, doctors who slave through the night without any recognition, people who care steadfastly and selflessly for the old and infirm without support or financial help. I'm sure most of you have come across these silent heros." He looked across the sea of faces and saw some nodding sagely.

"Thats like me Elsie here." A stout onlooker put his arm round his even stouter wife.

"Thats fine," replied Jon, nodding to the stout man. Then he continued, "but I've never known a bookmaker who was a revolutionary." There was a small laugh from the crowd. Jon expalined, "The revolutionary who I classify as useful to humanity at large does not need a five minute mindless yelling spree in front of the media, kicking in a coppers head, breaking windows or burning homes. Those bastards reach the bastard class long before verbal violence is committed. These morons have been aggravated into this brutal form of expression either because they can't make out fully in life as an individual or because they are deranged."

"oo yer pointin finger at, Mister?"

Jon disregarded the same nagging voice from the back of the crowd. "My form of revolutionary is for the young to show respect for the old, to go through the door last, and get up in a bus if There's no spare seat. It is for the old to encourage and enjoy the efforts of the young, not to mock their ideas and laugh at their different habits, their informal clothes. This is a small and easy way for change. There are many others." He paused again.

The stout man and his Elsie both murmured, "Hear, hear."

"But I think you must all agree that the only reason for change is that there must be a better quality of life for all." He looked around, there were nods of assent. "Now, we seem to agree that change is needed. I must add strongly that change is needed NOW and that change must be drastic. There must be a UNIVERSAL time limit. I would suggest a year. In this year there must be a cessation of all violent activities on a global scale. The needs of people are real and an immediate start on those needs could be begun. Trade and commerce could be re-assessed giving priority to those at the bottom of the pile, and by peeling off needless costs put on by managements and those in control. Voluntary hostages could be held in complex areas to ensure the safety of national ethnic and religious interests. Wars on behalf of a God should be abandoned. We should speak with a World authority."

The crowd were very quiet, save for the voice from the back. "Load o balls. Load o balls. Wish Oid stay ome."

"Sssh, sssh," hissed a section of the crowd near him.

John finished his speech in a low voice. He said slowly, "Justice is only done when it is really done for rich and poor alike. Slip off your role of manipulator of mankind, and become the servant of mankind. Then you will know the personal cost of a true revolution. I say to you, start now. It is the only way to stop the slide into chaos." He stepped down off his box, and slipped away, tired with his efforts. He realised that he had still given the crowd little opportunity to enter a discussion, that he had talked at them, not involved them.

Maybe I'll get better. I've never spoken to an unknown crowd before. Only addressed a crowd of military when I was in Intelligence. That was different. Only factual. Must go carefully now, till I'm sure of a job and more money. Dont really fancy sleeping in the open tonight. Although its only September its quite chilly. Could be real cold before dawn. Think I'll try the trains at Victoria. Try for a kip in one that is being cleaned. If I lie low they may not spot me.

He walked along the curved road down to the station, Buckingham Palace tucked securely behind the high spiked walls on one side, hotels and clubs in tall well built houses on the other. An elderly man, hat lobsided and collar of his coat tucked in, joined him. "Wouldnt be in the Queens place for a million pounds," Jon felt the temperature of the strangers monarchistic feelings.

"Shes alright," the man muttered, a cigarette hanging sloppily from his lip. "Its the hangers on. Too much money spent on them. Could do with a corner in one of their palaces. Queen Mums' my favrite. Bless her heart."

"Overall, I think they earn their living," Jon countered. " Think how much money they attract by tourism. There's no other country with so much pomp and ceremony. We put on a show better than anywhere, and its only because weve a Monarch. Lots of people envy us. And think of all the stress they have, and all that ghastly formality."

"S'ppose you're right. Proper monarchist arent you? Well, what do you think of the swell people that lives in them houses?" The stranger pointed to the large houses with well lit high ceilinged rooms. "Only half a mile away you've got the poor and the likes of me in bed and breakfast. Reckon things should be more equal. Its a long time since I had a Sunday dinner. Cor, I couldnt half do with some roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and gravy, lots and lots of gravy." The cigarette fell to the ground, and the man left it on the pavement.

Filthy habit. I'll promise to myself never to leave anything around, not even a matchstick. can't make you out, old boy. You dont talk too badly, and your trousers are ironed, but you're so untidy. Youre younger than me. Been turned out of home? can't tell. Why the bed and breakfast? Feel you've got a lot of angry feelings tucked away inside you. Dont want to be saddled with him all evening. I'll offer him a cuppa, and say I've only half an hour free. Hell, no. That wouldnt be the truth. I've the whole effing evening with nothing to do. Woner if he knows I'm dossing. Dont think so. Still feel a bit tetchy about it, sort of ashamed.

"I'm off to the station. Come and have a cuppa while I wait?"

"Thanks ever so, but no. Must get to my lodgings and claim the bed I like the best. I make claims on the one by the window. With five in the room the beds at the back get a bit stuffy." Jons temporary companion shuffled off passed St Michaels Church. Jon spent a long time in the station restaurant, writing on his pad and watching the crowd. He talked to anyone who sat by him, they all seemed self-sufficient and interested only in their own worlds. It was a long Sunday evening without the hustle and bustle of the rush hour. He saw a group of porters standing round a dark old fashioned brazier at the side of the platform. He walked up to them slowly.

"Evening," he called, testing the wavelengths.

"Evening, sir," replied a cheerful grubby man.

"Dont call me sir," Jon laughed. "In the state that I am I dont even qualify to be called mister."

It was the turn of the three men to laugh. "Want a warm up? What about a cuppa? No hurry, are you?"

Jon instantly felt these men could be his allies. A large enamel mug brimming with strong sweet tea was put into his hands. In return Jon passed his packet of cigarettes around. Conversation flowed evenly, sometimes there was silence but it was not uneasy. Talk was about their homes, their duty hours, and their beer. No politics, no acrimony. They seemed content with their lot. Waves of relief swept over him, for these good people took him as he was, no questions, no probing. After a long while Jon left them. The station was emptying, and this time he did not feel like incriminating the men should he be found on railway premises at an unauthorised time. He moved on towards the embankment. The cold air made him realise that he had not eaten properly all day, and that his half jacket was not a match for the night air.

He had another smoke and curled up on a bench. Shortly another figure appeared, well muffled. He could not see if it was male or female.

He could only smell a smell of a dirty human being. It took him back to the days to his prison camp in Poland when water was short and the weather hot, and there were too many men crammed together, smelling of unwashed bodies. The muffled figure sat on the next bench and stretched its legs. From the size of the broken down boots Jon knew it was a man.

"Like a smoke, chum ?", Jon called.

"Like ell oi would," answered the form on the bench. "Jest finished me last." Jon crossed over and helped the man to light up. All that was visible in the night light was a pair of bloodshot eyes peeping out of a fringe of hair. They were not old eyes, just eyes full of puzzlement. Jon returned to his bench where he could get the weight of his body off his legs. He was close enough to hold a conversation. He talked to the young man, but soon realised that it was the young man who wanted to talk to him. For several hours the youngster talked, sadly bitterly, and sometimes poetically. From his command of the spoken word, Jon assessed he had been well educated. Jon interjected a few words, but he felt it was the listening that mattered. Strangely the young man broke off in the middle of a sentence, and Jon realised that he had fallen asleep. Jon tried to do the same but with not much success. He smoked and shivered, got up and stamped his feet, and sat down again in a different position. Sleep eluded him.

My, its taking a long time for dawn. This IS a lesson to me. Its only autumn. Whats it going to be like mid-winter? Must try to doss down on a full stomach. AND work, blooming work. Thats top priority.

Leaving the youngster with only his forehead showing still asleep, Jon peed in some nearby rhododendron bushes and then walked to Picadilly and found a Lyons restaurant opening up. There were several people who appeared as unshaven as he was, so he did not feel out of place. He ordered tea and a bacon sandwich and took as long as he could to eat it. It was only when the young lad came fluttering at his table with a dirty white cloth to clear the crockery that he got up to go to the toilets, where he emptied his bowels.

Thats a good job done. Thats going to be a bit of a problem now. Peeing is easy, but this needs some negotiating. There's nobody here, so I am going to have a jolly good wash and shave. Lucky I dont have to shave every day with my beard. Ah! Whats this for an idea. Im sure I could do just as well as that young lad with the dirty cloth. I could clear tables. Did it in the pub. I'll try here and see if There's a vacancy. Big enough concern. Must have a large turnover. Nothing to be lost in trying.

Still carrying his small holdall he went into the main hall and asked at the glass fronted desk. "Well, sir, what can I do for you?" There stood a young girl, smartly dressed, with large sad eyes.

"I was looking for the Personnel Manager. I'm wondering if you have a vacancy for a waiter for any part of the day. I've previous experience." Jon did not say that his previous experience was nearly forty years ago when he worked as a lad in a Leeds hotel.

"I'm the Personnel Manager for those looking for temporary employment. Come into my office and sit down."

"I was expecting somebody longer in the tooth than you," laughed Jon as he sat on the leather chair. "Mind if I smoke?"

"Well, truthfully I dont like it, but if you must you can. There's no smoking in the restaurant area and in the kitchens. Does that make any difference to wanting a job?" The young girl looked at Jon keenly, obviously trying to work out how and why he was sitting in front of her asking for a menial job.

"No, I want work." Jon paused. "I want work where I can be left alone to get on with it. What have you got to offer?"

This girl studied her chart. "Well," she said after a pause, "I've got a vacancy from 7am till 2 pm, six days a week, or from 6 pm till midnight. Thats six days a week too. Both sessions There's half an hours break when you can get a free meal in the staff canteen. There both for clearing and washing up. We dont put people straight on to serving til we see how they work out. Are you sure this is what you want?" The girl looked quizzically at Jon. "Its flat rates only, doesnt come to much but it would be regular money."

"I'll take the morning shift," Jon replied straight away. "Suit me fine. But what do I call you? Dont feel like calling you Madam, and cant call you Miss as you've got a ring on your finger."

"Most of the temps call me Mrs Baines, cept the older ones. They call me Kate. I think you come into that category, dont you?" and she gave a whimsical smile. Jon saw sadness flash across her face as she handed the papers across the table to sign.

"Just a formality. I'm here myself till two-thirty, then I have to go home. Let me know if you want anything. You can start to-morrow on level four. I'll warn the kitchen superintendent."

"Youll get good service from me as long as I'm left alone and not bossed about too much. I'm just an ordinary guy who can't go through any door without it being open, and I can't work miracles."

Kate laughed. "Youll do. I'm sure youll do. Excuse me now, I've got to go to a meeting. Maybe I'll see you to-morrow. Youll be given an overall."

Jon walked slowly down the wide shallow concrete stairs, and stepped out onto the pavement.

Now lets see how I stand. Morning work, thats good. One meal, thats better. Must get tidy before I arrive, thats not so good. Good toilet facilities, thats good. No smoking, thats difficult. And I wonder why that Kate has such a sad look. I feel quite lighthearted, no more competition, no more having to live surrounded by pretence. Its up to me, and me alone, how I work for this revolutinary change. Must look out for the needs of anyone I come across. Must keep myself open to eye signals.

The work kept Jon on the move, but he was quite relaxed. Between 11 am and 11.30 am he went for his break, and had a good meal. Often he saw Kate sitting alone, staring out of the window. She seemed quite detached.

After Jon had worked for two weeks he saw Kate, alone again, and again staring out of the window with her large serious eyes.

"Do you mind if I sit here with you?" Jon asked. "I think my age gives me the liberty to break conventions, dont you?"

"Yes, yes, do come." Kate was pleased to see him. "I've had good reports about you. You've made a great hit with the rest of the staff."

"Its not that I want to talk about. Its that you look so sad. I've watched you looking out of the window, just looking so sad. Is there anyway I could be of help?"

Kate's eyes misted over. "No one has ever noticed that before. Yes, Jon, I am sad. Thats the reason why I have to go home for the afternoon. I feel I can't leave Jack, hes my husband, for too long." Kate paused, and Jon felt she needed some encourgement before she could continue.

"Things not alright there?" Jon asked so opening up the dialogue.

"We're fine between us. There's nothing wrong between us. You mustnt think there is. I love that man, and always will. But last month he lost his job, got the accounts into a muddle. His boss is saying its all his fault. Jack is a dreamer, hes not suited for accounting and tidy factual work. Dont know why his parents made him take up that line. And now he can't get a job and he feels a failure. He hates being dependent on me, and is getting more and more morose. He hates being on his own. It just seems to go round and round. Oh dear, why am I talking to you like this?"

"Because I asked you to, my dear. I felt there was something that was troubling you. I am where I am because I didnt fit, so I can understand a bit how he feels. Perhaps he isnt a failure at all, perhaps he is learning to live if he can see things in perspective."

"He's such a worrier, worrying what his parents will think, and what the neighbours will say when they go on seeing him at home all day and me going out to work," Kates forehead crinkled into small lines, all the semblance of efficiency as a personnel manager slipping away.

"Thats where you come in, Kate," replied Jon. "Love him as he is and for what he is. Give him back his self-esteem. It doesnt matter if he doesnt go back to accountancy if he is more at peace with the world doing something else. Why should he be made to work at something that leads to failure? For those learning to live I give a toast. Pity its only in tea!"

There was a pause. Jon looked at his watch. "That crowd in there'll think I'm sucking up to the boss, better I go and finish the piles of dirty dishes." Kate was still sitting silently, but now a small smile played around her lips. "Good-bye," she said quietly. "And thanks."

Jon went back to the sink, the place was very quiet and the superintendent looked at him angrily. Cheekily Jon looked at his watch, "I've been away thirty one and a half minutes. Going to make a fuss of that?"

"Its not usual for kitchen staff to sit with the Personnel Manager. Stay with your own kind."

"Dont you tell me how to behave," Jon snapped. "Tell me what to do as far as the job goes. Thats all. I'm not a sheep playing follow-my-leader. There's not one person here thats been hurt by me. How many people feel uncomfortable and unimportant after you've been speaking to them?" There were a few sniggers from the tables. The superintendent was not a popular man. Jon felt he had said enough for one day. "Now just let me get on with my work, and you get on with yours." Jon went through the swing doors, picked up a tray and went to the main restaurant.

"You pricked that fellows bubble," mumbled one of the fellow staff as they passed in the narrow space between the tables.

"Shouldnt take advantage of his position," Jon whispered. "Were all just people inside. Why not talk to anyone and everyone. Must off. Young beady eyes is watching." Jon moved on collecting more and more dirty plates, smiling and quipping with the customers.

Must watch myself with that conceited pompous ass. Wonder how long I can stick his pettiness. Pity, the job suits me fine, but I'm not going to kow-tow to the likes of him. Time for off. Good-oh. Wonder what will happen this next few days?

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