t made trotskyist  on  pleased t  on unofficially for a bit longer. Nobody else did any talking.  ture ended. Probably to be a collection to pay for ttle aying to finising itcct sat and beamed at ing it all al notes, and to ttle open, and tac up to  looking up at t t . And finally I got up and began to put on my overcoat.

    t urned into a private rotle trotskyist and t o join t. As I edged my o get out, to me.

    ‘Mr Bo? If you were young, I mean.’

    I suppose  sixty.

    ‘You bet I ,’ I said. ‘I o go on  time.’

    ‘But to smash Fascism!’

    ‘Ohere’s been enough smashing done already, if you ask me.’

    ttle trotskyist criotism and betrayal of t t :

    ‘But you’re t  an ordinary imperialist ime it’s different. Look  ration camps and ting people up runc in eac it make your blood boil?’

    t your blood boiling. Just the war, I remember.

    ‘I  off told  a trench smells like.’

    And to see   moment.

    A very young eager face, migo a good-looking sco actually  tears in  as strongly as all t about t as a matter of fact I kne  brains, too. And ting beed ering figures in a ledger, counting piles of notes, bumsucking to tting auff’s ing over trencry cs of smoke. Probably some of ing in Spain. Of course  I   of years   of t sering  day in August er ENGLAND DECLARES AR ON GERMANY, and o t in our we aprons and cheered.

    ‘Listen son,’ I said, ‘you’ve got it all  it o be a glorious business. ell, it . It  a bloody mess. If it comes