It was Cynthia broached the topic of the Masters'' involvement in politics. I could tell something was niggling at her that she wanted to confess. "I never went to the meetings, Mary, not after that first time," she said. "I went with my husband to hear Mosley speak at the Southport Floral Hall almost seven years ago, in July during a hot spell, just after the big rally at Olympia which had been in all the newspapers because it turned so violent. Thank goodness Christopher hadn''t been there. So many Blackshirts were injured. It was reported that there were twelve thousand supporters and another two thousand rabble-rousers outside - mostly Communists and Jews - who ganged up on them." She laid down her knife and fork and reached into her handbag for one of her Turkish Abdullah cigarettes, a sure sign that she was upset.
She was so beautiful with her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. She had a beauty like my sister Deirdre, but different because she''s English. Why is it that people look like who they are - Meg with her Romany Gypsy blood, me with my Irishness, and Cynthia so very English? "There was a big crowd in Southport and everyone was chanting as we waited - Mosley! Mosley ." She clamped her hand over her mouth and looked around to make sure no-one had heard, then she whispered his name - "Mosley!" and giggled. She continued but in a quieter voice, "When he finally entered the Hall there was a hush, as though we couldn''t believe it was really him, then a gasp from the women as he mounted the steps and marched across the platform. He paused, his head and shoulders framed in semi-profile, held at a slightly uplifted angle against the background of two crossed flags. With his arms akimbo and his chin jutting he stood a moment, then he came to life with that infectious grin, like a little boy playing at soldiers. Everyone was jostling for position, and I had to hang on tightly to my handbag because there were some unsavory looking types in the crowd and I was afraid of another outburst of violence.
There was a huge banner on the stage behind him - ''Mosley Speaks,'' it said, and that he did, for more than an hour. I''ve never seen anyone so sure of himself. You just knew that he could have anything he wanted, and I could see the crowd being drawn in, feeling that they could have what they wanted too, and live a life they hadn''t even dared to consider. It was possible, entirely possible to imagine anything through that man. So you see, Mary, I began to understand how my husband was influenced by him." "What did he say?" I asked, all ears, as though I too were drawn in by his spell. She looked puzzled, and a little frown furrowed her brow. "I don''t remember exactly," she shrugged, as though his message were of no importance.
"Something about appeasement, I suppose. Everybody was talking about appeasement in those days, trying to curry favor with Hitler and the Germans." She puffed on her cigarette, threw back her head and blew a stream of smoke into the air. "Oh yes, I remember! He talked about women, about all the women involved with the BUF, like Mary Richardson who''d worked with Mrs. Pankhurst for women''s suffrage and had then become Chief Organizer for the Women''s Section of the BUF. He talked about the Lancashire cotton mills too and the Party''s plans to boost industry, and . oh yes, he said this dreadful thing I''ll never forget. He was talking about .
hmm .international finance, the economy, that sort of thing, and he made mention of ." Here she paused, for effect I felt, now that she was in full swing and remembering it all after she''d claimed not to. ".''the grasping little tradesmen of Whitechapel.'' He was referring of course to the Jews of London''s East End. Well, that''s not the sort of thing you say in public. We all have our opinions, but some of them are best kept under cover.
My father says that''s what did Mosley in, letting anti-Semites join the BUF. They caused the violence that eventually turned public opinion against him." She paused to take another cigarette which she lit from the stub of her previous one before she crushed it in the ash tray and looked directly into my eyes. I felt she was waiting for me to speak, but I had nothing to say. I was thinking only that perhaps our tinkers are the closest we come to having Jews in Ireland, but as Cynthia had remarked some opinions are best kept under cover."My husband is not . of that opinion, Mary. Christopher is a good man, a decent, upstanding man.
" She looked intently at me, waiting again for some pronouncement."What happened next?" I blurted. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, disappointed in me perhaps. She sucked on her cigarette and blew a stream of smoke before she continued."Oh, we all crowded into the back room of the Hall. It was a dingy place, but there were sandwiches and urns of tea. Christopher was terribly excited, trying to push his way through to talk to Mosley - they''d met, you see, here in Manchester and were quite pally. Or so he''d like to think," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"But then I lost sight of Chris, and it was I who ended up standing across the table from the great man. I was holding a cup of tea in my hand and was about to drink when he caught my eye. I thought he was going to speak to me, I''m sure he was, but just then a young woman came up behind him and addressed him boldly. ''Sir Oswald?'' she asked, as though she couldn''t believe it was actually him. He turned towards her, a sandwich in his hand, half way to his mouth. ''I was just going to ask you if .'' she began. Then, with his free hand he reached out .
"Cynthia leaned across the white tablecloth, her eyes locked on mine as she continued in a whisper. "He reached out and stroked her bottom. He cupped one buttock in his palm and pulled her against him. ''Vote for me,'' he said, ''when the time comes.'' I heard him quite clearly though his voice was low and intimate. ''Vote for me and I''ll think you as I make love to my wife.''""He said that?""Yes, Mary. And then he released her and bit into his sandwich and chewed hungrily, holding her with his eyes.
".