The Forgotten by Mary Chamberlain

Author:Mary Chamberlain
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786079084
Publisher: Oneworld Publications

CHAPTER NINETEEN

London: August 1958

This was not what she wanted to do for the rest of her life, typing out patents and partners’ correspondence. Dear Sirs, Further to my communication of the 5th, inst. Her eyes had been opened, dazzled, as if her past life had been a chrysalis and now she was free to fly. The typing pool was a stupid use of her talents. She would like to write. Forget her dreams of travel, living among the aborigines. She could be a journalist. A serious writer. The U & LR had encouraged her, but she had nothing new to say that they’d be interested in. The bomb would blow them all up. There was nothing distinctive to write about that, not as a woman, except to point out that it was men who were the bellicose ones and women who picked up the pieces, and if women wanted to ban the bomb they should back up principles with action. What was original in that?

She wanted to write about Lieselotte, what had happened to her, what happened to women in war. Most of her new friends in the Partisan Coffee House had left the Communist Party after Hungary, but they still had a soft spot for Russia. No Soviet soldier would do that, comrade. Communism respects women as equals. Well, that wasn’t true, but they’d never believe her. Besides, she wanted to know if those husband-comrades helped around the house or whether the women went home from work and did the laundry and the cleaning and the mending. She doubted there was equality in revolution. Women were invisible.

She wanted to say more, that rape wasn’t just in Germany. It had happened to Russian women by German soldiers. Chinese women by Japanese. Rape had no borders, no ideology. Rape was a weapon, every bit as vicious as a bayonet or a pistol. But who would agree with her? They wanted to read about imperialism and the Third World, Stalinism and Communism. They wanted to read about the Cold War and proxy war, NATO and disarmament, culture and consumption, and even though they said to draw on personal experience, she wasn’t sure it meant her experience. Well, if they didn’t want it, then Peace News might be interested.

Still, she liked going to the Partisan, even if she was a bit in awe of everyone. There was always something happening, the New Left Club and the Direct Action Committee, music, talks, films, theatre. You name it. It was – she reached for the word – affirming. No, exciting. Banning the bomb wasn’t just about being against things. It was for things, for life, for living, for fun and gaiety, health and happiness. Being young and active, having a cause. It was a new kind of politics, of being together. It was exhilarating. Joyous. Life sparkled. It was for the day, for light, for the sun. It smothered the nightmares that plagued her, the firestorms, the peeling skin, the charred flesh. Berlin. Dresden. Hiroshima.

She used to wonder if John ever went there, and if she met him, what she’d do.

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