Four Gated City (101 page)

Practically and immediately: we wanted to see that on the west coast of Ireland there were places where people might go when the time came. The west because the prevailing winds are from west to east. We bought a holiday place for the children and a family moved in to caretake while we looked for other places.

And now started a ludicrous and frustrating time. We couldn’t get people to move, to do anything but talk. We were helped by chance. It was to do with the buying of the first house in Ireland. There had been a rift between Paul and ourselves. Not a serious rift, more a weakening of sympathy. He might visit us for a week-end, and we would meet in London. But we joked that we had drifted apart. I told him if he spent more time with us, he wouldn’t feel estranged. But his life was in Fashionable London, seeing dozens of people a week. He had married a childhood sweetheart, who was later a sort of prostitute, model ‘sixties and ‘seventies. Not really a prostitute: sex was not the essence of what they offered or what was wanted from them. Girls like Zena
were prized for their
style
, a highly dramatized and self-conscious ‘I am a lost soul’ quality. They drifted listlessly, displaying their psychological wounds like medals, or as if saying: this is what you have made of me. But I bear you no grudge. Please hit me again! (You’ll see I didn’t like her-that antipathy is alive still! And for a woman who is dead … Paul died with her. He died trying to get her out of the contaminated areas, but she wouldn’t go.) When married they lived in two different halves of the same house and I don’t think they met oftener than before they married. Of course they didn’t have children! Paul took her out to big parties or theatre nights: there were photographs in the papers: Mr and Mrs. Paul Coldridge. They were fantastically handsome, like a pair of gorgeous butterflies mounted side by side on a twig. When he came to see us (always without her), he’d say that our simplicity was what he longed for; but after two or three days he’d always go back to London. He was very rich:

He had joined my father and Willy Perkins in the Coldridge-Esse Perkins rescue enterprises very early. But public philanthropy and getting rich went hand in hand. He kept giving it away: it flooded back to him. I’ve never known anyone as generous. He’d give money to everyone he even heard of who needed it. He’d give away hundreds to friends of ours when he came for the week-end-particularly if they had children.

And suddenly I got a letter from him which was-mad. It was a mad letter. I took it to Martha. She said to take no notice, something triggered it off in him, always had. It would pass. Meanwhile I should go and see him. Before I could leave for London there was another letter. He accused us of making off with funds, cooking books, goodness knows what. Buying the house in Ireland was ‘behind his back’. We had betrayed him. In London I telephoned him: he was shrilly abusive. I was served with a summons in the hotel. The thing had become crazier still. Paul was wanting to be repaid half the original sum of money he had given us when we started. From this had been deducted arbitrary sums for staying with us ‘one dozen days in 1971’ and ‘sums for fresh fruit and cream during 1973’. That kind of thing. The point was that the sum he wanted was nothing to him, it was five thousand pounds by the time his deductions had been made. ‘£374 19s 6d for repainting my old friend Jack Sumerson’s house in 1970.’ Mad. I saw a lawyer though I knew what he’d say. If the thing was allowed to get into court it would be one of the cases where everyone concerned would look a fool. We had never accounted for his money separately-or anybody’s, for that matter. It wasn’t in the spirit of the thing. People put money in-and that was it.

Before returning to Wiltshire I managed to see him. He was not himself, but he wasn’t the person who had instructed a lawyer to send me that insane document. He was low, and sulky, and looked as people do when they’ve had a bad headache for days. I realized this was
another example of that phenomenon-someone taking leave of their senses for an hour, a day, or a week. I knew he would recover. He did. He came down to Wiltshire full of apologies and consternation. Meanwhile it was in all the newspapers. Paul was a high-minded philanthropist given to whimsically impulsive generosity, which had been abused by his pack of seedily eccentric relations. We were presented as some kind of sinister secret society which believed in the imminent end of the world, and which spread alarm and despondency for undefined private ends. We were supposed to take money from victims to line our own pockets. Reporters came down, and detectives. All this was fairly routine mud-slinging, nothing new or even surprising about it. It was run-of-the-mill too because charges were vague and could not be answered; accusations were levelled, withdrawn, re-levelled, changed-all this created an atmosphere of unpleasantness and distrust.

It would have been easier if we had some label, some guise. What drove the investigators into a frenzy of suspicion was that we had none. We went through unpleasant weeks. It was a war of nerves. I recognized it from childhood experiences during the long forgotten Cold War. The intention was, to frighten us. Government in Britain in times of stress has always been by threat. And not even threat of prison or physical ill-treatment-social ostracism, social disapproval has been enough. What they wanted of us was some sort of recantation on the model of so many recent ones. We should publicly promise to be good, as it were, abjure former evil thoughts, that kind of thing. We did not. Suddenly the Government issued an order for our dispersal. We had not expected this. For one thing, legally it would have taxed them to discover who ‘we’ were. We hardly knew ourselves. How would they define it? While we were still absorbing this, and its implications-the Order was signed by Phoebe Coldridge, your grandmother-it was as arbitrarily withdrawn.

Then we decided to move. The decision was made ‘by feel’, as it were, without even formal discussions. The detectives who by then attended our every occasion were even more baffled, because from the way their minds worked, no decision had been taken. It was like birds migrating. We didn’t stay together-that is, within an area. There was nothing to stay together for. So many other groups of people had ‘opted out’ as the old phrase was, and were living quietly together in various places: if someone went away from us, they left individuals, not a way of life. Living simply is living simply, it is a matter of temperament. Half a hundred people went off to other places where they had friends, in this way spreading the information that an accident of some sort was expected. And. quietly, groups and families moved off to the west coast and lived there as before, without fuss or making demands or drawing attention to themselves. By the time we moved you were twelve or thirteen years old, so you will remember as well as I do how we lived and how we prepared. I attach the names of all the people I
can still remember who survive and where they are now as far as I know, excluding those who are with you in the Northern National Area. I will ask the people in Delhi to send you the material put together by Lynda from the work done by her group and by the associated groups.

The names are divided into: (a) Those people who were with us for any reason at all, including those who came at the last moment because of our offers to look after and save anyone who came to our places on the coasts. Of course I don’t have all the names, there was much too much confusion at the end. (b) The small number with capacities of ESP who were divided among the others in such a way that every group would have some sort of specially qualified help. These names are not to be kept written down, only to be remembered, (c) Those who left Britain before the accident to warn people in other countries of possible repercussions, (d) Those who we think might still be in sealed-off Britain, either in a shelter (as you know this is considered impossible) or on one of the islands.

My greetings to your husband. I was invited to the Mongolian National Area last year as a fraternal guest to their Pan-Asian Conference. I made excuses in case this would prejudice my chances of being invited by your government to the conference on Pan-Europe and Russia. Any chance do you think? I’d like to meet your husband. My love to you and to the children …

IV

Public statement on the Notice of Disbandment and Dispersal served on the Community on the White Boar Farm and Environs. Signed by Phoebe Coldridge as Minister
.

We have taken this step in the interests of the community as a whole and for the preservation of democracy. This is a singularly unpleasant cult which divides families, purports to provide a ‘healthy’ way of life while inculcating principles inimical to those held by the majority of the people in this country, and, as we have become satisfied, financially disreputable. We have therefore ordered its dispersal.

V

Portion of a letter from Paul Coldridge to Phoebe
.

… you’re putting me in such a position! I am wondering how much of this is my fault? The lawyers got hold of the wrong end of the stick. I was ill that week, or I’d never have let them go ahead. A detective visited me yesterday. I was asked if I would give evidence against them if it came to court. I said no, of course not. Surely you’d never expect … (a line crossed out). Jill is (three lines crossed out) happier than I’ve seen her
ever
. I
know
it’s not your way of life, nor is it mine. Yes, I do agree when people say it is affected of them. When I was down last time I felt they got increasingly
away
from the problems of ordinary people. But I have friends there. I’m a kind of father figure to some of them. Yes, I suppose that is funny. I feel it is dangerous to say to you, Phoebe (I
can’t
believe this is
happening1
.) that I put money into this right in the beginning and as far as I was concerned Francis was free to use it. The lawyers misunderstood. Francis is very competent. I mean the
last
thing I’d want
anybody
to think is that he’d been capable of misusing funds! Yes I suppose he is high-handed sometimes, but then look at the responsibility. Everybody puts things on to him and then they criticize when they go wrong-an old story,
isn’t it, Phoebe
? Please, please, I do beg you, is there anything now you can do to …

VI

Letter from Phoebe to Paul, the envelope marked Private and Confidential, the letter delivered by band
.

The order has been rescinded, as you’ll probably have seen by now. I acted on the advice of my officials. Of course what you say in your letter has made a difference. I hope I do not have to ask you not to let your letter or this letter become public? I shall issue another statement to the papers and let it be understood that we would be glad if the thing was dropped.

My personal feeling is that these so-called simple life places should be forbidden. I can see the attraction of course-who can’t? But it’s a very selfish way of living. It withdraws much-needed skilled labour. If some of the riff-raff and troublemakers would only go off and occupy
themselves on the farms-but no, it has to be people who could give something to the country if they didn’t think they had better things to do. With our poor country in the state it is and every hand needed at the wheel, I’m not surprised public opinion is so hostile to these people. The fact that my daughters have chosen that way of life has nothing to do with it. I hope I can be trusted at my age to separate public and personal feelings. I may say that while Gwen is kind enough to see me occasionally, I haven’t so much as had a postcard from Jill for years. Nor does Francis honour me with his confidence. I do not see my grandchildren. And how are you? Why didn’t you ask for an interview and come and see me rather than writing. (Pleasanter and safer!!) If you people had ever troubled to keep in touch, to explain, then this unfortunate incident would not have happened. Unfortunate for this poor Government, but I don’t suppose any of you care about that. I hear your efforts on behalf of the Coldridge bandwagon are well thought of.

Yours affectionately,
Phoebe.

VII

Portion of a Letter from Martha Hesse addressed to Francis Coldridge. It was written in an old school exercise book. When it came into Francis’s hands he wrapped it in Top Strength Barrier Paper and wrote on the outside: From the contaminated island of Faris, off the North-West Coast of Scotland: Dangerous Material
.

Is it you I am writing to, Francis? I hope so. I shall die soon and that’s why I feel I should write things down. Memories might have become precious. To what an extent they have the young ones will find when they leave here. I know you have gathered where we are. I have gathered where you are. I have often heard you. You have had a hard time? I’ve heard your father. He is very unhappy. I’ve tried to talk to him-but I was never very good. I’ve imagined once or twice talking to you? But I’ve been afraid to say too much, in case it was picked up by the wrong people: will it surprise you to hear that no group of people cast away on an island have been less anxious to be rescued? If this letter is to you. dear Francis, then I need start only at that moment when the last panic began. You’ll know the rest.

I lost touch with you the last three weeks. It was three years before I gathered you had got safely away with your party. My trouble was I lost Lynda. We had planned that each unit concerned with rescue
should keep with them a first-class ‘listener’, a first-class ‘seer’. Ours was Lynda (who was both by then). We didn’t begin to foresee how great the confusion would be. For one thing, there was our decision that so many of us had links with mental hospitals was a mistake and that this should be changed: it made no difference at all. (That was in 1977, if you remember.) In the hysteria of the end, they were hauling in anybody and everybody and locking them up on the grounds that they were crazy. Lynda had been living out of hospital for some time but they arrested her and put her into a closed wing of a hospital. They called these arrests ‘taking people into custody for their own protection’. The paradox was that those who were already in the hospital were free to move as they liked just as usual. The ones they scooped up at the end were not. So during the last weeks some of our best were locked up and didn’t get out till the very last minute. If at all. They were of no help when we needed them most. They were the last to reach the embarkation points. I heard Lynda had got out but I did not see her again.