Capital Union, A Read Free Page B

out just to show Mrs MacDougall, if she was keeking out her curtains , that I didn’t agree with the bad things she’d said about Jeff and Douglas. It was good to be out together, and if it hadn’t been for all the brown tape stuck to the windows in criss-cross patterns, I could have believed there wasn’t a war on. I took a deep breath and pretended it was all over, and this was how it would be, me and Jeff walking in the sun, arm in arm.
    Women were sitting on the benches on Bruntsfield Links with their wee ones propped up in great big prams, shoogling the ones that were crying. One of the bairns looked like a flower with a halo of woolly loops on her wee, pink bonnet. The warm air and the sound of the women talking made it feel asif their men were nearby, and not far away overseas in danger. They looked up with thin faces as Jeff passed, wondering why he was there and not in uniform, but he looked straight ahead and I had to walk a bit faster to keep up with him. He only slowed down when the path opened out onto the Meadows with its view of Arthur’s Seat. Boys were playing pitch and putt and an old man with an unlit pipe between his teeth stood in a booth taking money and handing out clubs.
    We turned past Barclay Church and down onto Lothian Road with all its shops and bars, but we didn’t see a crowd of folk until we got to the Shandwick Galleries at the West End. It was a very smart sandstone building, about four storeys high, with big, glass windows, which were boarded up on the first floor. A printed banner outside read, ‘SNP Annual Conference’, and a Saltire flag drooped beside it. Jeff passed me his copy of the agenda so that I could fan my face. He began to wave and nod to various people as we went in, and led us proudly up to the front where Douglas had reserved him a seat. He hoped we could both squeeze in and, sure enough, a kind, old man gave up his seat for me and moved to the second row.
    ‘Best seats in the house,’ said Jeff, smiling, but I was worried that if I got bored, I wouldn’t be able to leave without being rude. The agenda was very long with the typing close together to save paper.
    ‘I think you’ll find this very informative, Pip,’ Jeff whispered.
    I didn’t think so, but I was just glad to be there and hoped to meet some of his friends. People didn’t drop by the house in Edinburgh the way they did on the farm.
    Jeff pointed out who was sitting on the platform, naming all the men in their smart suits. They looked a bit het up. John MacGilvray, who Jeff said had started the Party, kept looking over at Douglas as if he was cross, and saying something to an older man called William Strang, who nodded and adjusted his tie as if it was too tight.
    ‘Douglas is standing for Chairman against William Strang,’ said Jeff.
    Douglas was the only one smiling, and even sitting down he was almost eye-to-eye with the men standing beside him at the end of the table. He looked over but didn’t seem to see me. Then he waved at Jeff and gave me a smile as he realised who I was. Perhaps he hadn’t recognised me in my hat. The noise of people talking and chairs scraping got louder and louder, and Mr MacGilvray had to bang his gavel on the table several times before the room settled down.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the SNP annual conference of 1942, and although the sun has seen fit to shine on us, I particularly thank you for coming in such challenging circumstances . As you know, there has been considerable debate in the press, and in our own ranks, with regard to our position vis-à-vis the interests of Scotland in this time of war. A particular debate has been opened by the conviction served on Douglas Grant by the tribunal in Glasgow’s Sheriff Court with regard to the issue of conscription in Scotland. I can confirm that whatever stand might be taken by individual members, the SNP is the enemy of fascism and the friend of freedom.’
    There were shouts from the floor of