Dominion Read Free Page B

they doing?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Irene was holding Betty, the old woman weeping, while Steve was staring at the melee with a face like thunder. The whole crowd was talking now, a susurrating
murmur from which the occasional shout could be heard. ‘Bloody Communists, beat their heads in!’ ‘They’re right, get the Germans out!’
    A British general, a thin man with a sunburned face and grey moustache, climbed the steps of the Cenotaph, carrying a megaphone, picking his way through the wreaths, and called for order from
the crowd.
    ‘Did they get them?’ Sarah asked David. ‘I couldn’t see.’
    ‘Yes. I think there were just a few.’
    ‘It’s bloody treason!’ Steve said. ‘I hope they hang the buggers!’
    The ceremony continued with the rest of the wreath-laying and then a short service led by Archbishop Headlam. He spoke a prayer, the microphone giving his voice an odd, tinny
echo.
    ‘O Lord, look down on us as we remember the brave men who have died fighting for Britain. We remember the legions who fell between 1914 and 1918, that great and tragic conflict which
still marks us all, here and across all Europe. Lord, remember the pain of those gathered here today who have lost loved ones. Comfort them, comfort them.’
    Then came the march past, the thousands of soldiers, many old now, marching proudly along in lines as the band played popular tunes from the Great War, each contingent laying a wreath. As always
David and his family looked out for Sarah’s father, but they didn’t see him. The steps of the Cenotaph were still splotched with red, Rommel’s swastika prominent among the
wreaths. David wondered who the demonstrators had been. One of the independent pacifist groups perhaps; the Resistance would have shot Rommel, would have shot a lot of the Nazis stationed in
Britain, but for the fear of reprisals. Poor devils, whoever they were; they would be getting a beating in a Special Branch Interrogation Centre now, or perhaps even in the basement of Senate
House, the German embassy. As it had been an attack on Rommel, the British police might have handed the demonstrators over. He felt powerless. He hadn’t even contradicted Steve. But he had to
keep his cover intact, never step out of line, try to play the model civil servant. All the more because of Sarah’s family’s past. David felt a stab of unreasonable irritation against
his wife.
    His eyes were drawn back to the veterans. An old man of about sixty, his face stern and defiant, was marching past, his chest thrust out proudly. On one side of his coat was pinned a row of
medals but on the other was sewn a large, bright yellow Star of David. Jews knew to stay out of the limelight now, not to attract attention, but the old man had defied common sense to go on the
march wearing a prominent star, although he could have got away with the little Star of David lapel badge all Jews had to wear now, very British and discreet.
    Someone in the crowd shouted out ‘Kike!’ The old man did not flinch but David did, anger coursing through him. He knew that under the law he too should have worn a yellow badge, and
should not be working in government service, an employment forbidden to Jews. But David’s father, twelve thousand miles away, was the only other person who knew his mother had been that rare
thing, an Irish Jew. And half a Jew was a Jew in Britain now; the penalty for concealing your identity was indefinite detention. In the 1941 census, when people were asked for the first time to
state their religion, he had declared himself a Catholic. He had done the same thing whenever renewing his identity card, and the same again in the 1951 census, which this time also asked about
Jewish parents or grandparents. But however often David pushed it all to the back of his mind, sometimes, in the night, he woke up terrified.
    The rest of the ceremony went ahead without interruption, and afterwards they met up with Jim, Sarah’s father, and