Free Young Lions by Andrew Mackay Page A

food scraps.
    “Come on, Sam,” Alan grabbed Sam’s blazer as he stood up. “We’d better leave. I’ve got to go to tea.”
    “Alright,” Sam wiped away tears of laughter.
    Alan turned around. “Oh, hello sir,” he said in surprise.
    “Hallo, Alan. Hallo, Sam,” Peter Ansett, Alan’s Housemaster said.
    How long had he been standing behind them? Alan asked himself.
    “Hallo, sir,” Sam said. How much had he heard?
    “Enjoying the entertainment, are we?” Ansett asked.
    “Yes, sir,” Alan answered. “It’s better than watching Laurel and Hardy!”
    “Before you laugh so much that you wet your trousers, boys,” which only encouraged the boys to laugh some more, “you might take time to remember that you should never laugh at another person’s expense.”
    “Even if they’re the enemy?” Sam abruptly stopped laughing.
    “Even if they’re the enemy, Sam. Remember, every one of those boys is a mother’s son.”
    “Yes, sir.” Who is this man?
    The boys were shocked into silence. Mr. Ansett, Sam’s History teacher, Alan’s housemaster – a collaborator?
    “Are you going to tea now, Alan?” Ansett asked.
    “Yes, sir.” He was too flabbergasted to give more than one syllable answers.
    “Then I’ll walk along with you if I may. Goodbye, Sam. See you tomorrow in History.”
    Alan did not even acknowledge Sam’s reciprocal farewell and walked home on automatic pilot, lost in his own thoughts with his mind in turmoil. How far had this “live and let live-treat others as you would have them treat you” nonsense spread? How many more people had become infected with this defeatist disease? How many more people had Ansett managed to contaminate through his classes? Was Ansett a passive collaborator or an active traitor pushing and promoting the Nazi view that Britain should take its rightful place alongside her continental brothers in the New European Order? Did Ansett agree with puppet Prime Minister Mosley’s Government of National Unity’s message of peace and reconciliation? Whatever the answer was, however deep Ansett’s treachery ran, he would have to be carefully watched. From now on. Alan would have to be especially careful when he sneaked out of his boarding house in the future. And if the risks became too great then Ansett would have to be cut out like a cancer before his sickness could spread any further.
     
    “I have agreed to hold a Remembrance Day Parade at the request of the Royal British Legion in the interest of Inter-Service Unity and put the bad blood of the past few weeks behind us,” Schuster explained. “A chance to bury the hatchet and smoke the peace pipe. This can be a day of reconciliation between the three services and also a day of reconciliation between the British and German peoples. People without politics remembering our War dead together, praying that THIS war will be the war to end all wars.”
    “Masterful, sir,” Zorn said with grudging admiration. Word would get to London if Schuster allowed the parade to take place and if it was successful, word would get to Berlin. Or perhaps Schuster would tell his old comrade in arms, Hitler, himself? This parade could be the prototype for a program of reconciliation between the conquered countries and Germany. Schuster was a wily old fox. It was evident that he wished to extend his interests and influence from the military world into the world of politics. What would happen to old soldiers when the war was over? After all, the war wouldn’t last forever. A man had to start carving out his niche in the post-war world now. When it was all over it would be too late. Schuster would not be content to remain Military Governor of Hereward. But Military Governor of England? Or perhaps even of Britain? Now that would be something. Perhaps Zorn should attach himself to Schuster’s rising star? Zorn asked himself. His thoughts wandered. Brigadefuhreur Zorn, Military Governor of London. He smiled. Yes, that would do nicely,