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oman with red hair was knitting a jumper。 one plain； two purl； drop one； and knit two together。 the lecturer was describing how the nazis chop people’s heads off for treason and sometimes the executioner makes a bosh shot。 there was one other woman in the audience； a girl with dark hair； one of the teachers at the council school。 unlike the other she was really listening； sitting forward with her big round eyes fixed on the lecturer and her mouth a little bit open； drinking it all in。
just behind her two old blokes from the local labour party were sitting。 one had grey hair cropped very short； the other had a bald head and a droopy moustache。 both wearing their overcoats。 you know the type。 been in the labour party since the year dot。 lives given up to the movement。 twenty years of being blacklisted by employers； and another ten of badgering the council to do something about the slums。 suddenly everything’s changed； the old labour party stuff doesn’t matter any longer。 find themselves pitchforked into foreign politics—hitler； stalin； bombs； machine… guns； rubber truncheons； rome…berlin axis； popular front； anti… intern pact。 can’t make head or tail of it。 immediately in front of me the local munist party branch were sitting。 all three of them very young。 one of them’s got money and is something in the hesperides estate pany； in fact i believe he’s old crum’s nephew。 another’s a clerk at one of the banks。 he cashes cheques for me occasionally。 a nice boy； with a round； very young； eager face； blue eyes like a baby； and hair so fair that you’d think he peroxided it。 he only looks about seventeen； though i suppose he’s twenty。 he was wearing a cheap blue suit and a bright blue tie that went with his hair。 next to these three another munist was sitting。 but this one； it seems； is a different kind of munist and not…quite； because he’s what they call a trotskyist。 the others have got a down on him。 he’s even younger； a very thin； very dark； nervous…looking boy。 clever face。 jew； of course。 these four were taking the lecture quite differently from the others。 you knew they’d be on their feet the moment question…time started。 you could see them kind of twitching already。 and the little trotskyist working himself from side to side on his bum in his anxiety to get in ahead of the others。
i’d stopped listening to the actual words of the lecture。 but there are more ways than one of listening。 i shut my eyes for a moment。 the effect of that was curious。 i seemed to see the fellow much better when i could only hear his voice。
it was a voice that sounded as if it could go on for a fortnight without stopping。 it’s a ghastly thing； really； to have a sort of human barrel…organ shooting propaganda at you by the hour。 the same thing over and over again。 hate； hate； hate。 let’s all get together and have a good hate。 over and over。 it gives you the feeling that something has got inside your skull and is hammering down on your brain。 but for a moment； with my eyes shut； i managed to turn the tables on him。 i got inside his skull。 it was a peculiar sensation。 for about a second i was inside him； you might almost say i was him。 at any rate； i felt what he was feeling。
i saw the vision that he was seeing。 and it wasn’t at all the kind of vision that can be talked about。 what he’s saying is merely that hitler’s after us and we must all get together and have a good hate。 doesn’t go into details。 leaves it all respectable。 but what he’s seeing is something quite different。 it’s a picture of himself smashing people’s faces in with a spanner。 fascist faces； of course。 i know that’s what he was seeing。 it was what i saw myself for the second or two that i was inside him。 smash！ right in the middle！ the bones cave in like an eggshell and what was a face a minute ago is just a great big blob of strawberry jam。 smash！ there goes another！ that’s what’s in his mind； waking and sleeping； and the more he thinks of it the more he likes it。 and it’s all o。k。 because the smashed faces belong to fascists。 you could hear all that in the tone of his voice。
but why？ likeliest explanation； because he’s scared。 every thinking person nowadays is stiff with fright。 this is merely a chap who’s got sufficient foresight to be a little more frightened than the others。 hitler’s after us！ quick！ let’s all grab a spanner and get together； and perhaps if we smash in enough faces they won’t smash ours。 gang up； choose your leader。 hitler’s black and stalin’s white。 but it might just as well be the other way about； because in the little chap’s mind both hitler and stalin are the same。 both mean spanners and smashed faces。
war！ i started thinking about it again。 it’s ing soon； that’s certain。 but who’s afraid of war？ that’s to say； who’s afraid of the bombs and the machine…guns？ ‘you are’； you say。 yes； i am； and so’s anybody who’s ever seen them。 but it isn’t the war that matters； it’s the after…war。 the world we’re going down into； the kind of hate…world； slogan…world。 the coloured shirts； the barbed wire； the rubber truncheons。 the secret cells where the electric light burns night and day； and the detectives watching you while you sleep。 and the processions and the posters with enormous faces； and the crowds of a million people all cheering for the leader till they deafen themselves into thinking that they really worship him； and all the time； underneath； they hate him so that they want to puke。 it’s all going to happen。 or isn’t it？ some days i know it’s impossible； other days i know it’s inevitable。 that night； at any rate； i knew it was going to happen。 it was all in the sound of the little lecturer’s voice。
so perhaps after all there is a significance in this mingy little crowd that’ll turn out on a winter night to listen to a lecture of this kind。 or at any rate in the five or six who can grasp what it’s all about。 they’re simply the outposts of an enormous army。 they’re the long…sighted ones； the first rats to spot that the ship is sinking。 quick； quick！ the fascists are ing！ spanners ready； boys！ smash others or they’ll smash you。 so terrified of the future that we’re jumping straight into it like a rabbit diving down a boa…constrictor’s throat。
and what’ll happen to chaps like me when we get fascism in england？ the truth is it probably won’t make the slightest difference。 as for the lecturer and those four munists in the audience； yes； it’ll make plenty of difference to them。 they’ll be smashing faces； or having their own smashed； according to who’s winning。 but the ordinary middling chaps like me will be carrying on just as usual。 and yet it frightens me—i tell you it frightens me。 i’d just started to wonder why when the lecturer stopped and sat down。
there was the usual hollow little sound of clapping that you get when there are only about fifteen people in the audience； and then old witchett said his piece； and before you could say jack robinson the four munists were on their feet together。 they had a good dog…fight that went on for about ten minutes； full of a lot of stuff that nobody else understood； such as dialectical materialism and the destiny of the proletariat and what lenin s