Dominion Read Free Page A

expressionless, only raising a hand occasionally, his body angled away from Hitler’s. Afterwards David’s father had said ‘enough’, that was it, he was off
to live with his brother in New Zealand, and David would come too if he knew what was good for him, never mind his Civil Service job. Thank God, he added feelingly, David’s mother
hadn’t lived to see this.
    Sarah was looking at the Queen. ‘Poor woman,’ she said.
    David glanced over. He said very quietly, ‘She shouldn’t have let them make her their puppet.’
    ‘What alternative did she have?’
    David didn’t answer.
    People in the crowd glanced at their watches, then they all fell silent, removing hats and caps as, across Westminster, Big Ben boomed out eleven times. Then, shockingly loud in the still air,
came the sound of a big gun firing, marking the moment the guns had stopped in 1918. Everyone bowed their heads for the two minutes’ silence, remembering the terrible costs of Britain’s
victory in the Great War, or perhaps, like David, those of her defeat in 1940. Two minutes later the field-gun on Horse Guards Parade fired again, ending the silence. A bugler sounded the notes of
the last post, indescribably haunting and sad. The crowd listened, bareheaded in the winter cold, the only sound an occasional stifled cough. Every time he attended the ceremony David wondered that
nobody in the crowd ever burst out crying, or, remembering the recent past, fell shrieking to the ground.
    The last note died away. Then, to the sound of the ‘Funeral March’ played by the band of the Brigade of Guards, the young Queen bore a wreath of poppies that looked too big for her
to carry, laid it down on the Cenotaph, and stood with bowed head. She walked slowly back to her place and the Queen Mother followed. ‘So young to be a widow,’ Sarah said.
    ‘Yes.’ David had noticed a faint smoky tang in the air and, looking up Whitehall for a moment, saw a slight haze. There would be fog tonight.
    The rest of the Royal Family laid their wreaths, followed by the military leaders, the Prime Minister and politicians, and representatives of the Empire governments. The base of the stark,
simple monument was now carpeted in the dark green wreaths with their red poppies. Then Germany’s ambassador, Erwin Rommel, one of the victors of the 1940 campaign in France, stepped forward,
trim and military, Iron Cross pinned to his breast, his handsome face stern and sad. The wreath he bore was enormous, larger even than the Queen’s. In the centre, on a white background, was a
swastika. He laid the wreath and stood, head bowed, for a long moment before turning away. Behind him Joseph Kennedy, the veteran American ambassador, waited. It was his turn next.
    Then, from behind David, came a sudden shouting. ‘End Nazi control! Democracy now! Up the Resistance!’ Something sailed over the heads of the crowd and crashed at Rommel’s
feet. Sarah gasped. Irene and some of the other women in the crowd screamed. The steps of the Cenotaph and the bottom of Rommel’s coat were instantly streaked with red and for a moment David
thought it was blood, that someone had thrown a bomb, but then he saw a paint-pot rattle down the steps onto the pavement. Rommel did not flinch, just stood where he was. Ambassador Kennedy,
though, had jumped back in panic. Policemen were reaching for truncheons and pistols. A group of soldiers, rifles at the ready, stepped forward. David saw the Royal Family being hurried away.
    ‘Nazis out!’ someone called from the crowd. ‘We want Churchill!’ Policemen were vaulting the barriers now. A couple of men in the crowd had also produced guns and looked
fiercely around: Special Branch undercover men. David pulled Sarah to him. The crowd parted to let the police through, and he glimpsed a struggle off to his right. He saw a baton raised, heard
someone call out, ‘Get the bastards!’ encouragingly to the police.
    Sarah said, ‘Oh God, what are