There's No Story There by Inez Holden

Author:Inez Holden
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Handheld Press
Published: 2020-12-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine.

Check Up

The day after King the comedian came down to Statevale it was given out, on every group, that the check-up on the identity cards had now been completed. The workers were to hand in their temporary passes to the policemen on duty at the inspection gate in exchange for their new cards.

When the White shift went out the men called out their names and numbers and handed in their cards, the policeman repeated the name and number, looked through the index files at his elbow, took in the temporary card, and gave out the permanent pass. The girls went through the same process, but they grumbled more than the men this time because they were more tired.

‘It doesn’t half take a time.’

‘Yes, we shall be back at work before we’ve got out of the place if it goes on like it.’

‘Number 1843217.’

‘Your name?’

‘Rose Waley.’

‘Here you are then.’

‘I wonder what’s for dinner up at the hostel.’

‘Whatever it is, it’ll be cold by the time we get it.’

‘Linnet Shore, number 1772041.’

‘That’s right; here’s your new card.’

Old Charlie said, ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if they were handing out meat pies, would it?’

‘Or pound notes.’

‘No; that would be all right, that would.’

The man in the blue beret just ahead of Old Charlie was stopped. ‘No pass for you, mate; you’ve got to go inside.’

‘No pass for ’im?’

‘No pasaron.’

The man in the blue beret looked round to see who had said this, and saw that it was the Welsh preacher’s son; the blue beret man began to laugh, his thin bony shoulders shaking, then he went into the inspection hut. A man from Stepney said, ‘I betcha they stop Old Charlie, they always stop him.’

Charlie reached the gate. ‘Number 18485831,’ he said.

‘Your name?’

‘Charles Dickson.’

‘That’s right. Chas Dickson, Number 18485832. You said 31.’ ‘I meant 32,’ said Charlie.

‘Here’s your card, then.’

The line of workers from the Blue shift went on.

‘What! you ain’t been stopped, Charlie? How’s that then?’

‘Jameson must be falling down on his job these days; that’s the third or fourth time they haven’t stopped Old Charlie at the gate.’

A hundred and ninety-eight more workers went through without incident, and then Lofty spoke out his number. ‘6245843,’ he said.

‘What’s your name?’

Lofty thought, ‘Bluddy policeman, he should know all the foremen by sight. He hasn’t got much else to do except to walk about memorizing faces’; but aloud he said, ‘Thomas Loft’s my name.’

‘In there mate,’ the policeman said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

‘Silly sod must have made a mistake,’ thought Lofty, and walked into the inspection room. A tall policeman stood by a table watching another policeman laboriously entering names, addresses, and times in a big book.

‘In there,’ said the tall policeman. ‘The old man wants to see you.’

‘What does he want to see me about?’

‘About your identity card.’

Lofty knew there was nothing wrong with his card; he wondered if the policeman had been chosen for his tallness with the purpose of intimidating those who did not have any unnecessary height. Lofty was a short man himself.

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