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The poor men didn’t stand a chance and the boat sank, the bodies were never recovered.
     
    That must have been awful, I’m sorry.
    Oh it was years ago now love, this sort of thing ‘appens in war. There were lots of guesses by the men at what ‘ad ‘appened, but I’ll tell you this, the men are careful about going too far out to sea now! Anyway life for me is fine, and we’re doing well, Mr. Shipham is looking after us – in fact, I better run soon, ‘e’s taking me to the dance tonight!
     
    Like so much of life these days, it seems down in Port Isaac, it is a case of least said, soonest mended. And I did come home with a lovely hamper of fresh vegetables, newly laid eggs and some bacon. The pilchards were a nice thought, but I swapped those in the first pub I came to that was still open on the way home; they could do with something to supplement the bar snacks and I was just desperate after all that fresh sea air for a nice stiff gin.
     
     
     
     
     

 
    ATTENTION!
    ADVANCE WARNING.
    PORT ISAAC IS NO LONGER ACCEPTING outsiders. WE DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH FOOD TO FEED OUR OWN! MOVE ALONG.
     
    GO BEYOND THIS SIGN AT YOUR PERIL.
    -           PORT ISAAC CIVIL COMMITTEE

 
    ‘Wathmere calling, Wathmere calling. A betrayal, a betrayal I denounce, of the most despicable. Where words and noise clang like iron and steel, forged into weapons on the great anvil of lies. To make a mockery of the great halls and pull back the curtains and for what? Do you wish to applaud you fools? Applaud the masks and the dances and think not on their meaning or their purpose. Parade me then like a perverse Aesop, parade me and let me be your whipping boy. Let the blood on the cobbled streets be my signature, let the ash and smoke rise in my likeness if that is what you must believe. Peace, peace is the sound that cannot be overheard by jeering mobs and screaming babes. Vile and odious it must seem, dire, dire, and may clarity reach you when the moans have quietened and the raging seas calmed. Are we the architects of our own design, or but pathetic and pitiful reeds that blow and bend in violent storms? - Earl Wathmere, BUS Radio

 
    THE ENTREPRENEUR

     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Name: Sir Montgomery Brown
Location: London
Occupation: [omitted]
Threat level: [omitted]
Article clearance: [omitted]
Case file: [omitted]
     
    Interviewing Sir Montgomery Brown is not easy. First, one must get past his small army of minders and secretaries and then into his home in Kensington, which is fortified to an extreme and some may say excessive degree. I was marched, at rifle point, into his presence having been searched by a none-too-gentle woman guard. The following interview has been checked by Sir Montgomery’s staff, although I have since been able to add back in things which I had managed to jot down on my cuff. To avoid unduly influencing my readers, I have not indicated these sections – see if you can tell for yourself. Finally, if I disappear, or anything happens to me, I would like to tell my entire readership that Sir Montgomery and his entourage should be where any investigations, should any be allowed, must begin.
     
    Sir Montgomery, what attracted you to the British Union of Survivors?
    Before I start it is important to remember that the BUS in the early days compared to what you see now were very different animals. The Black-shirt thugs, who are fortunately now a minority, are unrecognisable in their ideals and methods from the BUS’ foundations. As often happens to well-meaning ideas, as history teaches us, it was hijacked by violent men.
    After the Battle of Crawley, there was a national outcry for peace, myself included; I wanted peace with the Reich. The war was clearly a lost cause; how many more men would have to die before we sued for peace? How much unnecessary suffering would there be before the inevitable defeat?
    We must remember that the British government were the aggressors in this conflict.