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Miller H Caldwell, click here
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Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Things boil over
Tony was anxious to get the group back together again and concentrate on their musical initiative. He requested them to gather at his office at 7 p.m. the following Friday. By Friday morning he had heard of no development in either police case. He wondered if Superintendent Graham may have to involve other constabularies to increase his detective capabilities. Even the Standard had dropped the story to the letters page except from a three line quote from the Superintendent.
Marti set up her drum kit while Ivan assembled his clarinet. Karen set her music on her keyboard’s stand; Tony presented his reed-filled mouth piece to the saxophone as Paul blew down his trombone and opened the drain button.
They played a varied programme starting with Cym Rhondda played to the swell of the brass and keyboard organ instruments. Alan gave a solo of Red Sails in the Sunset and they all played Baker Street with Tony taking on the saxophone solo. Their break was well deserved.
‘I think we have a programme we can deliver,’ suggested Alan.
‘Bit early isn’t it?’ questioned Paul.
‘Why?’ asked Lizzie in a curt manner.
Paul scratched his left calf. ‘You know, Farook. He was our driver wasn’t he?’
‘Yes but he’s dead and buried. In the arms of the Lord and I don’t for minute believe he is not with us in spirit,’ said Lizzie.
‘I used to think like that,’ Paul replied in a down hearted manner.
‘It’s not about thinking, it’s faith Paul. Surely that was the practice of the Salvation Army?’
‘Yes it was but I’ve had a change of heart.’
The coffees arrived. Marti offered a coffee to Paul. ‘You two are looking serious,’ she said.
‘Yes, Paul is having a crisis of faith.’
‘Not a bad thing Lizzie. So did I. I left my church and joined the Baha’i faith. Never looked back. Give him time, there’s no rush in such matters.
Tony brought his tea over to the assembled trio.
‘I sometimes think religion is for a certain type of personality.’
‘What do you mean Tony?’ snapped Lizzie.
‘Well... er... and I’m thinking this through as I speak. If I was born in southern Ireland, I’d probably be a Roman Catholic. Likewise if I was born in Islamabad, I’d be Muslim. So there is a cultural element.’
‘Maybe so but America has no traditional State religion and France has practically divorced itself from the church in a drive towards a secular state.’
‘I don’t get what you are saying.’
With an uncertain smile Lizzie said; ‘Culture is only part of it. The central tenants of religion are that there is one God and all accept that.’
‘What if I don’t? I mean, who is God; where can I find Him; will he speak to me? I tell you it was easy being a Salvationist. I held my faith in my instrument.’
‘So Paul why the change of belief?’ asked Lizzie.
‘Because I had fallen out of the Salvationist tradition and could not find a new home for my beliefs.’
‘Have you given up looking?’
‘I suppose I have. Just waiting for the answers to fall into place.’
Lizzie’s look was one of pity laced with frustration. ‘You’ll find your life with God if you try a bit harder Paul and pray, yes don’t forget to pray.’
The superintendent was up early on Saturday morning. So too was Tony because he had had a poor night’s sleep. Dogged by the memory of Frank and his demise and the lack of police progress in the case as confirmed in the local Friday paper, he stirred his morning tea without looking at it. His stare was in his back garden seeing the nuthatch eat his column of ground nuts in his upside down fashion. If waking, eating and sleeping were his only chores he would not mind returning to this world again someday as a bird. Not a nuthatch however, working upside down was for Australians. He laughed at his surreal thoughts.
Superintendent Graham had no smile on his face. He was already in the control room overlooking the road traffic as it entered the town. Police intelligence was warning him of buses from Edinburgh in the north and Manchester in the south setting off for the town’s Muslim demonstration. They would arrive at 2 p.m. an hour before kick-off at Palmerston Park.
As the hour hit noon, the skies darkened. The first of the Muslim demonstrators had gone to the Mosque for prayers while others searched for halal shop vendors. By word of mouth the Muslim brotherhood were fed spiritually and nourished to satisfaction. The early football supports has also been fed at the cafes buying sausage rolls, pies and Tunnock’s caramel wafers. Many washed their mobile lunch down with cans of beer. Other supporters were in the Lion’s Head ensuring by the time of kick off, they were sufficiently fired up to shout out support for their team and derision for the opponents and their supporters.
Circulating around the town were police cars and police officers were in close communication as they took up strategic positions along the route. The Muslim brotherhood assembled and their umbrellas were opening.
Rain, thought superintendant Graham, just what was needed to quell any confrontations. But the voices were being raised and confrontation seemed to be in the football supporters’ minds.
A bolt of thunder made the superintendent think it was the starting gun. The sky was heavy. It had an angry bruising colour. Its strength to retain the rain could not hold. A flash of lightning preceded the tremendous downfall which followed. It did not stop. Gutter water was running in retreat towards leaf-blocked drains and cars were pulling off the road as drivers struggled to see ahead. The Muslim demonstrators were made of sterner stuff. They had organised their selves to march through the centre of the town and congregate in the local Park at the southern side. That was near the venue of the football match.
Still the rain fell making the ink-stained letters of the banners run and eliminate their visual protest. This led to chants being heard. “Allah Akbar. Allah Akbar. Muslims Targeted, Muslims Together, Allah Akbar”.
Through the empty town streets the procession slowly walked chanting while from shop fronts and shop windows the public looked on dismayed both at the weather and the marchers. A smile or two came the marchers’ way out of pity for their right to march was not in question but the day was. They had not chosen well.
At Palmerston Park the referee made a pitch inspection as the terraces were filling. He consulted his two linesmen as they squished over the green surface gingerly. Their boots sank gradually in the waterlogged penalty area. They returned to their dressing rooms with their decision to be made. Supporters of both teams looked on from under their covered terraces to the rain still falling heavily. Even they were beginning to accept the game was too dangerous in its current wet condition and not one silver lining could be seen around any cloud. Rain had set in for the afternoon, at least. It was not a surprise when the Tannoy speaker came to life and declared the game abandoned. Both set of supporters gave a groan of disappointment but without much further delay, they set off towards the pubs in the town.
Superintendent Graham heard the game was abandoned and that meant the supporters were leaving the ground in their droves and heading for town and a possible confrontation. He had to redeploy his officers to the centre of town and try to guide the Muslim marchers along a parallel road and out of the path of the supporters.
The disappointed supporters of both teams heard the foreign chants and then the marchers came into focus. For a moment they stood still eyeing one anothet, taking stock. They may not be outnumbered but the Muslim marchers were six deep and progressing in an unhurried pace.
A police car arrived and instructed the march to turn left then right again to keep them on their circuitous way to their park. However the car had arrived too late. The front marchers were already beyond the exit route and were closing ranks as the supporters approached. The football supporters began to chant. “Integrate and speak English. Ban Sharia law.” The Muslim marchers continued to march ignoring the supporters. ‘Muslims together; not to be targeted.’
The away supporters were enlightened about the death of the Imam and the bomb at the crematorium, by chatty home supporters. Most had heard about the offences while others received the news for the first time. Hostilities had been suspended between supporters. They had a common enemy now. Fuelled with drink and bravado the first stone was thrown.
Soon the two forces mingled throwing punches stones and hoardings at each other. Scuffles broke out. Some continued their wrestling on the damp ground. Shouts of pain and injury from both sides were heard while the police used a loudspeaker ordering the combatants to desist. Police notified them that they were on CCTV and offenders would be identified and prosecuted.
That did not seem to matter. The fighting grew tenser as the younger members of each group tried to settle scores while protecting their elderly supporters.
Superintendent Graham knew his forces were stretched. He telephoned the Chief Fire and Rescue officer. A water cannon was requested. It seemed a strange request as the rain had not stopped and the foes were soaked to the bone.
Police reinforcements were summoned and the local TV crew arrived with their reporter who glided between the confrontational foes to gauge the true feeling of the combatants.
For over an hour the volume of excited Urdu voices and aggressive ramblings of football supporters mingled. The fans were venting their abandoned afternoon field of conflict to the streets of confrontation. The sound of ambulances drew nearer as police strived to divide the foes. It was a thankless task. Neither enemy wished to give ground. Fists flew and blood ran down faces sped on by the streams of falling rain.
The water cannon arrived gushing between the rivals and arced its powerful spray equally causing the warring factions to part. Most away-supporters made their way to the rail station after that. The Moslem demonstrators then called their protest off, blaming the weather as much as the unexpected opposition. The local support dwindled, trampling over the Muslim banners as they took to side streets to avoid police identification. The rain subsided. The demonstrations were over. The ambulances carried off a few bloodied combatants and the police were stood down shortly afterwards.
The superintendent returned to his office to make a report of the afternoon events. He flung his luminous jacket over a wooden chair and looked at his watch. An hour should be enough he thought and took a pen from his tunic.
‘Bugger it,’ he shouted. His pen had leaked ink.
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Web Site:
A Clinical Murder
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You are very astute storyteller, weaving current events into your stories in a way that is both compelling and so realistic… kudos.
Ron
“Except from [for] a three line…” and [tenet] instead of tenant.