Red North

Five

Norman led me to the Coach and Horses, a pub where the landlord, Tony, was on the make: laundering illegal hard currency to buy cigarettes and spirits from the South, which he sold at a premium. He had some policeman friends who turned a blind eye, providing that he plied them with liquor and other contraband. 

In return he led a better life than most. He'd procured a government car which ran off petrol instead of liquid natural gas. The Republic could only buy oil from Scotland, which was expensive. But they had nationalized the gas rigs in Morecambe Bay, with which they could manufacture enough fuel to power the Republic's antiquated vehicles. 

The rest of the country's fuel came from coal and town gas, which was still made from coal, he told me. 

Tony was very happy to exchange my Sterling for the local Peoples Pounds, which were still denominated in Pounds, Shillings and Pence. And then he sold me a pack of cigarettes – Capstans! I didn’t think I’d ever seen them, not even as a child, but I knew my Grandad had smoked them years ago. Tony said they were smuggled in from the South, so he was surprised I’d not seen them there.

He was fascinated to find out why I'd come to the North. I was tempted to tell my story, but refrained, fearing the derision that I would undoubtedly receive. 

"So what the hell are you doin' in this dump then?" Tony asked.

"I'm looking for my girlfriend. She's up here somewhere. We got stranded and I lost her" I replied.

"What's her name? What does she look like? I might have seen her you know. Most Southerners who get stuck in Bolton tend to find their way here eventually."

"Oh, she isn't a Southerner. She's from Spain originally. Her name's Alicia Ortera."

'Shit! Spanish you say. You'd best be careful round 'ere. They hate the Spanish more than Southerners. What, after what that General Carreras Bianco, whatsisname did..'

The name Carreras Blanco seemed familiar. I tried to remember my Spanish history. Wasn't he the Admiral who the old dictator Franco chose to be his successor? Hadn’t he been assassinated by ETA, the Basque Revolutionaries?

"What did Carreras Blanco do?" I asked. "I thought he was dead."

"Come on. Your 'avin me on. You say your from the South and you don't know who the leader of your Spanish allies is? The bloke who captured and killed five hundred innocent sailors from the Republic, just because we tried to help the poor buggers who’d tried to kill 'im."  

"But he was killed! ETA assassinated him and when Franco died Spain became a democracy. The King rejected totalitarianism and drew up a democratic constitution. I know that much. My girlfriend's Spanish for Christ's sake."

I looked to Norman for support, but the three whiskies I'd bought him since our arrival had such a profound effect that he was no longer coherent. His beard drooped into the slops of beer on the bar. He was bleary-eyed and all he would say was: “Cheers mate. Not bin so pissed in years. Tony's right yer know. Always is."

"Hang on a minute," Tony said. "Bet you think we won the war don't you?"

"What bloody war?" I said irately. "War against whom?"

"Against the Germans of course. 'Itler an' them lot' You know, 1940."

At this point I really wanted to know whether I had somehow travelled through time. It seems stupid. But I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I turned to my copy of the Bolton Victory to look at the date. It was true. This was the here and now, give or take a few days, but I had no idea what was going on. 

"1945" I replied to Tony's question. "We won the war against Hitler in 1945, along with the US, France and Russia, sorry; the Soviet Union as it then was. But why am I telling you this? Is this some trick question or something?"

"No shit, lad!" was Tony's reply. "You really think that. We had a guy come 'ere a couple o' years ago. Believed the same as you. What was 'is name Norman?: Philip or something".

"Dave Philips," Norman managed to pronounce before descending into a fit of spluttering.

"Do you want another drink Norman?" I asked. "You don't sound too good just now". 

"Oh go on. I'll 'ave anuther wisky. An Amurican one if thi' 'ave it." 

I bought Norman the drink of his choice and decided to join him. I bought Tony one too. He wasn't supposed to drink on duty but had to close at one o' clock anyway: lunchtime curfew. No doubt his policemen friends would be round.

"You don't by any chance have a room I can hire do you, Tony? It's just that I'm tired and I'd rather stay here than go some place else," I asked.

"Since you mention it, I do. I've a room what I let out to professionals. You know, women for 't' soldiers an' that. So's thi can 'ave a good time when they come back from t'front. Well, it's clean now an' its midweek, so yer might as well 'ave it. Besides, I'd like to talk to you some more 'bout 'ow yer got 'ere."