Buried for Pleasure. Edmund Crispin

to the good? I don’t see—’

      ‘The point is, old boy,’ Captain Watkyn interrupted, ‘that you get quite an advantage by starting your campaign late. You acquire the charm of novelty. Start too early, and you’ll find people get sick of seeing your silly face peering at them from the hoardings (no offence meant). Now, you’re going to come down on them,’ he said, waxing suddenly picturesque, ‘like the Assyrian on whatever it was. They’ll be bowled over. They won’t have a chance to look about. Then along comes Polling Day, and you’re in.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Fen dubiously. ‘I dare say that’s so.’

      ‘You may depend on it, old boy. The old firm knows what it’s doing, believe you me. Now then, we must get down to brass tacks. The posters have been distributed, and they’ll be up by tomorrow.’

      ‘What is on them?’

      ‘Well, your photograph, of course,’ Captain Watkyn replied dreamily. ‘And underneath that they say: “Vote for Fen and a Brave New World”.’

      ‘I scarcely think—’

      ‘Now, I know what you’re going to say.’ Captain Watkyn raised one finger monitorily. ‘I know just exactly what you’re going to say. You’re going to say that’s exaggerated, and I agree; I’m with you entirely, make no mistake about that. But we’ve got to face it, old boy: these elections are all a lot of hocus-pocus from beginning to end. It’s what people expect. It’s what people want. And you won’t get into Parliament by saying: “Vote for Fen and a Slightly Better World if you’re Lucky”.’

      ‘Well, no, I suppose not… All right, then. What about the leaflets?’

      ‘I have some here.’ Captain Watkyn groped in his pocket and produced a handful of primed matter, which he passed to Fen. ‘The Candidate Who Will Look After Your Interests’ it said on the outside.

      Fen studied it bemusedly, while Captain Watkyn went off to get another round of drinks.

      ‘You’ll like that, I know,’ Captain Watkyn said complacently on his return. ‘It’s one of the best things in its line I’ve ever done.’

      ‘But all this… it isn’t what I wrote to you.’

      ‘Well, no, not exactly what you wrote to me,’ Captain Watkyn admitted. ‘But you see, old boy, it’s no use trying to stray away from the usual Independent line: you’ll get nowhere if you do.’

      ‘But what is the usual Independent line?’

      ‘Just Judging Every Issue on its Own Merits: Freedom from the Party Caucus: that sort of thing.’

      ‘Oh. But look here: this says I advocate the abolition of capital punishment, and really, you know, I’m not at all sure that I do.’

      ‘My dear sir, it doesn’t matter whether you do or not,’ said Captain Watkyn with candour. ‘You must rid yourself of the idea that you have to try and implement any of these promises once you’re actually elected. The thing is to get votes, and with an Independent candidate you have to fill up election pamphlets with non-Party issues like capital punishment, because the only thing you say about major issues is that everything will be Judged on its Own Merits.’

      ‘I see. Then when I make speeches I have to stick to these non-Party things?’

      ‘No, no,’ said Captain Watkyn patiently, ‘you mustn’t on any account do that. You must talk a great deal about the major issues, but you must keep to pious aspirations, mainly.’ An idea occurred to him. ‘Let’s have a test. Imagine I’m a heckler. I say: “What about exports, eh? What about exports?” And your reply is—’

      Fen considered for a moment and then said:

      ‘Ah, I’m glad you asked that question, my friend, because it deals with one of the most important problems facing this country today – a problem, I should add, which can be only imperfectly solved by any of the rigid, prejudiced Party policies.

      ‘“What about exports?” you say. And I reply: “What about imports?”

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen, there is no need for me to talk down to you. Politics are a matter of common sense – and common sense is that sphere in which ordinary men and women excel. Apply that criterion to this question of exports; cut through the meaningless tangle of Party verbiage with a clean, bright sword. And what do you find? You find that exports mean imports and imports mean exports. If we wish to import, we must export. If we wish to export, we must import. And the same applies to every other people, of whatever race or creed. The matter is as simple as that.

      ‘“Simple,” did I say? Yes, but vitally important, too, as our friend so rightly suggests. All of us want to see England prosperous; all of us want to build for our children and our children’s children a future free from the hideous threat of war. And I’m sure you won’t consider it a selfish aspiration if I say that all of us would like to see a few years of that future ourselves. And why not? It’s a great ideal we’re fighting for, but it isn’t an impossible ideal…

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the world is at the cross-roads: we can go triumphantly forward – or we can relapse into barbarism and fear. And it is for you – everyone of you – to choose which way we shall go.

      ‘Well, sir, I think perhaps that answers your question. There may be some points I’ve missed, as the monkey said when he fell over the hedgehog…’

      Captain Watkyn was professionally impressed.

      ‘You’re a natural, old boy,’ he said soberly. ‘Can you keep that sort of thing up?’

      ‘Indefinitely,’ Fen assured him. ‘The command of cliché comes of having had a literary training.’

      ‘Then we’re in the money,’ said Captain Watkyn. ‘Here, we must have another drink on that.’

      They had another drink, and Captain Watkyn, sighing contentedly, said:

      ‘Well, I don’t mind telling you now, Professor Fen, that I was a bit nervous at first about how you were going to turn out. I’ve had some queer customers to handle in my time, and sometimes it’s been touch-and-go whether they could put a complete sentence together impromptu. Thank God we don’t have to worry about that.

      ‘Now let’s map out a plan of campaign. My idea, in addition to the regulation meetings, is to make a separate appeal to each section of the community.’

      ‘In what way?’

      ‘Well, I’ve been over the ground pretty thoroughly,’ said Captain Watkyn, ‘and I think I’ve got a fair notion of what we’re up against. This is an easy constituency in a way, because it’s completely apathetic: half the people won’t vote at all, for anyone. And a good proportion of that half are the women. These country women tend to think the whole thing’s a lot of idiotic humbug suited only to men, and I won’t say,’ Captain Watkyn added handsomely, ‘that I think they’re far wrong… Anyway, we don’t have to appeal to the women so much as we should elsewhere, so you can tone down the brave-resourceful-queueing-housewife-and- mother angle.’

      ‘And that leaves what?’

      ‘It leaves the farmers and farm-labourers, chiefly. Do you know anything about farming?’

      ‘Nothing whatever.’

      ‘It’s just as well, perhaps. Your best line with them will be to attack the Ministry of Agriculture, which they all detest. I’ll try and collect some actual local cases of meddling for you to use, but you can always get on in the meanwhile with the usual man-on-the-spot-knows-a-sight-more-about-the-job-than-a-pack-of-Civil-Servants-in-Whitehall angle.’

      ‘I can manage that all right,’ said Fen. ‘Who else is there?’

      ‘There’s the Sanford Morvel crowd, mostly shopkeepers. The small-trader-is-the-backbone-of-national-prosperity will do