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ting with the bomber flying over the train； had put me into a kind of thoughtful mood。 after the usual argument we got the kids to bed early and cleared off in time for the lecture； which was billed for eight o’clock。
it was a misty kind of evening； and the hall was cold and not too well lighted。 it’s a little wooden hall with a tin roof； the property of some nonconformist sect or other； and you can hire it for ten bob。 the usual crowd of fifteen or sixteen people had rolled up。 on the front of the platform there was a yellow placard announcing that the lecture was on ‘the menace of fascism’。 this didn’t altogether surprise me。 mr witchett； who acts as chairman of these meetings and who in private life is something in an architect’s office； was taking the lecturer round； introducing him to everyone as mr so…and…so （i forget his name） ‘the well…known anti…fascist’； very much as you might call somebody ‘the well…known pianist’。 the lecturer was a little chap of about forty； in a dark suit； with a bald head which he’d tried rather unsuccessfully to cover up with wisps of hair。
meetings of this kind never start on time。 there’s always a period of hanging about on the pretence that perhaps a few more people are going to turn up。 it was about twenty…five past eight when witchett tapped on the table and did his stuff。 witchett’s a mild… looking chap； with a pink； baby’s bottom kind of face that’s always covered in smiles。 i believe he’s secretary of the local liberal party； and he’s also on the parish council and acts as m。c。 at the magic lantern lectures for the mothers’ union。 he’s what you might call a born chairman。 when he tells you how delighted we all are to have mr so…and…so on the platform tonight； you can see that he believes it。 i never look at him without thinking that he’s probably a virgin。 the little lecturer took out a wad of notes； chiefly newspaper cuttings； and pinned them down with his glass of water。 then he gave a quick lick at his lips and began to shoot。
do you ever go to lectures； public meetings； and what…not？
when i go to one myself； there’s always a moment during the evening when i find myself thinking the same thought： why the hell are we doing this？ why is it that people will turn out on a winter night for this kind of thing？ i looked round the hall。 i was sitting in the back row。 i don’t ever remember going to any kind of public meeting when i didn’t sit in the back row if i could manage it。 hilda and the others had planked themselves in front； as usual。 it was rather a gloomy little hall。 you know the kind of place。 pitch…pine walls； corrugated iron roof； and enough draughts to make you want to keep your overcoat on。 the little knot of us were sitting in the light round the platform； with about thirty rows of empty chairs behind us。 and the seats of all the chairs were dusty。 on the platform behind the lecturer there was a huge square thing draped in dust…cloths which might have been an enormous coffin under a pall。 actually it was a piano。
at the beginning i wasn’t exactly listening。 the lecturer was rather a mean…looking little chap； but a good speaker。 white face； very mobile mouth； and the rather grating voice that they get from constant speaking。 of course he was pitching into hitler and the nazis。 i wasn’t particularly keen to hear what he was saying—get the same stuff in the news chronicle every morning—but his voice came across to me as a kind of burr…burr…burr； with now and again a phrase that struck out and caught my attention。
‘bestial atrocities。 。 。 。 hideous outbursts of sadism。 。 。 。 rubber truncheons。 。 。 。 concentration camps。 。 。 。 iniquitous persecution of the jews。 。 。 。 back to the dark ages。 。 。 。 european civilization。 。 。 。 act before it is too late。 。 。 。 indignation of all decent peoples。 。 。 。 alliance of the democratic nations。 。 。 。 firm stand。 。 。 。 defence of democracy。 。 。 。 democracy。 。 。 。 fascism。 。 。 。 democracy。 。 。 。 fascism。 。 。 。 democracy。 。 。 。’
you know the line of talk。 these chaps can churn it out by the hour。 just like a gramophone。 turn the handle； press the button； and it starts。 democracy； fascism； democracy。 but somehow it interested me to watch him。 a rather mean little man； with a white face and a bald head； standing on a platform； shooting out slogans。 what’s he doing？ quite deliberately； and quite openly； he’s stirring up hatred。 doing his damnedest to make you hate certain foreigners called fascists。 it’s a queer thing； i thought； to be known as ‘mr so…and…so； the well…known anti…fascist’。 a queer trade； anti…fascism。 this fellow； i suppose； makes his living by writing books against hitler。 but what did he do before hitler came along？ and what’ll he do if hitler ever disappears？ same question applies to doctors； detectives； rat…catchers； and so forth； of course。 but the grating voice went on and on； and another thought struck me。 he means it。 not faking at all—feels every word he’s saying。 he’s trying to work up hatred in the audience； but that’s nothing to the hatred he feels himself。 every slogan’s gospel truth to him。 if you cut him open all you’d find inside would be democracy…fascism…democracy。 interesting to know a chap like that in private life。 but does he have a private life？ or does he only go round from platform to platform； working up hatred？ perhaps even his dreams are slogans。
as well as i could from the back row i had a look at the audience。 i suppose； if you e to think of it； we people who’ll turn out on winter nights to sit in draughty halls listening to left book club lectures （and i consider that i’m entitled to the ‘we’； seeing that i’d done it myself on this occasion） have a certain significance。 we’re the west bletchley revolutionaries。 doesn’t look hopeful at first sight。 it struck me as i looked round the audience that only about half a dozen of them had really grasped what the lecturer was talking about； though by this time he’d been pitching into hitler and the nazis for over half an hour。 it’s always like that with meetings of this kind。 invariably half the people e away without a notion of what it’s all about。 in his chair beside the table witchet