WhenIcamehomethateveningIwasstillindoubtastowhatI’dspendmyseventeenquidon.

    HildasaidshewasgoingtotheLeftBookClubmeeting.ItseemedthatthereingdownfromLondoure,thoughneedlesstosayHildadidn’tknowwhatthelecturewasgoingtobeabout.ItoldherI’dgowithher.InageneralwayI’mnotmuchofaoneforlectures,butthevisionsofwarI’dhadthatm,startingwiththebomberflyihetrain,hadputmeintoakindofthoughtfulmood.Aftertheusualargumehekidstobedearlyandclearedoffihelecture,whichwasbilledfhto’clock.

    Itwasamistykindofevening,andthehallwascoldandnottoowelllighted.It’salittlewoodenhallwithatinroof,thepropertyofsomeNonistsectorother,andyouhireitfortenbob.Theusualcrowdoffifteenorsixteenpeoplehadrolledup.Onthefrontoftheplatformtherewasayellowplacardannoungthatthelecturewason‘TheMenaceofFascism’.Thisdidn’taltogethersurpriseme.MrWitchett,whoactsaschairmanofthesemeetingsandwhoinprivatelifeissomethinginanarchitect’soffice,wastakiurerround,introdughimtoeveryoneasMrSo-and-so(Ifethishewell-knownanti-Fascist’,verymuchasyoumightcallsomebody‘thewell-knownpianist’.Thelecturerwasalittlechapofaboutforty,inadarksuit,withabaldheadwhichhe’dtriedratherunsuccessfullytocoverupwithwispsofhair.

    Meetingsofthiskindartohere’saleriodofhangingaboutoeperhapsafewmorepeoplearegoingtoturnup.Itwasabouttwenty-fivepasteightwhenWitchetttappedoableanddidhisstuff.Witchett’samild-lookingchap,ink,baby’sbottomkindoffacethat’salwayscoveredinsmiles.Ibelievehe’ssecretaryofthelocalLiberalParty,andhe’salsoontheParishdactsasM.C.atthemagit