Ban the Bomb!. Martin Levy

rivals, when one boy put a question which, I think, was troubling many in the class. What effect, he asked, did the excommunication have on the individual concerned? Welch looked puzzled for a moment, then, realising what the boy was driving at, replied ‘You mean on the future of his immortal soul? Oh, none whatsoever!’

      Another history teacher whom I liked a lot was a very genial monk called Father Dunstan. He was very partial to betting on the horses!

      I once asked another priest, the man in charge of the junior school, Father Norbert Bill, if people who had been Catholic but lost their faith would be destined to go to hell. It was an important question for me as it wasn’t long since my father had ceased to be a Catholic. ‘We always have to trust in the mercy of Almighty God,’ he replied. ‘But it is a grim outlook!’

      By the way, one of Welch’s books was about Mirabeau and the French Revolution. But the history lessons I remember best were about the English Revolution. That said, by the time that I was about fourteen or fifteen, I was most absorbed in Irish history. I even had an argument in class with Father Ignatius Rice on the subject. He put forward an English point of view about the Ulster settlement. I think his line was that the north of Ireland was underpopulated, so it was reasonable for Scots and English people to settle there. I put forward an Irish republican position. But then, later that day, when I was walking in one of the cloisters, he tapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Some day you should talk to Mr Welch about Ireland. He’s just been destroying all my theories.’ This conversation took place at about the same time as I was in the habit of teasing some of the boys with the Irish nationalist ballads, some of which I’d learned from Uncle Tom. You could probably say that I had become a bit of a rebel! I remember upsetting one boy by reciting the opening lines of one very anti-British ballad, which I’d come across in an Irish songbook. It began:

      God’s curse be on you, England,

      God strike your London Town,

      And cursed be every Irishman

      Alive or yet to live,

      Who’ll e’er forget the death they died

      Who’ll ever dare forgive.

       Were there any other subjects that you enjoyed besides history?

      English. I’ve always read a lot. But at that stage it became a bit of a passion. One Christmas, while we were still living in Ireland, I was given a copy of Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe as a present and I absolutely loved it. Then I read Scott’s other books, none of which, by the way, lived up to that first one. Another writer who was very popular with the boys at Douai was G.A. Henty, despite his being an old-school imperialist. I remember, in particular, his novel St George for England about the war in France during the reign of Edward III. It celebrated the English victories at Crécy and Poitiers.

       What about activities outside of school? Were you taken to the pictures, for instance?

      Oh, better than that. Once a week during the winter and spring terms we had our own film shows. These were another one of Father Dunstan’s responsibilities. He used to operate the projector. It was great when it worked, not so great when it broke down which was fairly regularly Then, occasionally, some American airmen from the nearby Aldermaston air base would drop by with some of their films, which, bearing in mind my later activities, seems a bit ironic. At Cabra we’d also had film shows, but much less frequently. I remember my sister, Margaret, telling me about one film which included a scene in which a woman was undressing. The nun in charge put a card in front of the lens so the pupils wouldn’t see it.

       Before we leave your schooling, what exams did you take? I think children took the School Certificate in those days.

      That’s right. At Douai, I took the School Certificate when I was sixteen and just scraped through. I got a distinction in English and did well too in history. Then I also passed the French exam.

      Actually, I was keen to stay on at school for another year or two, partly because I wanted to play regularly in the rugby first team. But my father did not think that was sufficient reason to spend more on school fees!

       So, what then? You found a job?

      My dad apprenticed me, as it were, to a City firm called Sharp, Perrin and Company, which carried on a wholesale business in clothing and which dealt with dad’s factory. It was situated bang opposite the Old Bailey. I worked there in a couple of departments, the idea being that they’d train me to take over my father’s business. But I hated it there; I got increasingly fed up and only lasted about a year. However, to avoid a confrontation I didn’t tell my dad. I just gave in my notice and left. Then I took on another job as an orderly in a children’s hospital in the Banstead Heath area.

      Every morning I would go through this pantomime of leaving the house for the London train at the usual time, but walk instead to the hospital. But then, eventually, he found out. Talk about the shit hitting the fan. My God!

      Then, when that one finished, I applied for a job at Tribune and then for another one with a local newspaper. But I was very naive. In the latter case, I didn’t even sign the letter. I remember receiving this very snotty reply, something along the lines of thank you for your unsigned letter, but we’re sorry to tell you that there’s no vacancy here [laughs].

      But, anyway, I suppose that what I really wanted to be was a writer. I used to go home in the evenings and write a bit. I even published an article in a magazine for young people. But then other things took over.

2. The Birth of a Satyagrahi

       Michael, you mentioned in our last conversation that like many young people you wanted to be a writer. Any favourite authors after Sir Walter Scott and Henty?

      Aldous Huxley. I read several of his books and really liked them.

       Why?

      Well, for starters I liked Huxley’s style. Then, he put forward a quite radical view of politics and life which I found sympathetic.

      Did any particular books appeal to you? One title that I have in mind is Ape and Essence, his post-nuclear apocalypse novel of 1948.

      I don’t remember reading that. I did, however, read Brave New World, but some time later. No, the Huxley book that I read then and which stuck with me wasn’t a novel at all, but an anthology of readings from the mystics. It was called The Perennial Philosophy. I was profoundly influenced by it.

       On the subject of religion, were you still a Catholic at this point? I take it that you’d been confirmed.

      I’ve mentioned already my father’s return to Anglicanism. Well, as time went by I too became very critical, not just of the clericalism, but also of the hierarchical side of Catholicism. In part I came to these opinions myself, but then I was also hugely influenced by a very good friend of my father’s, a Dr Errington Kerr, who came from somewhere in the West Indies and practiced as a GP in North Cheam. Dr Kerr had also had a Catholic upbringing, but he had become a convinced atheist. I remember him saying that though he was still attracted to the ritual and to the music, he didn’t believe in God. And I think that that was more or less where I ended up. Even today, I’m moved by plainchant and other choral religious music. So, I suppose, at that level only, once a Catholic always a Catholic!

      Anyway, yes, I was confirmed, and at that time and for some time after leaving school I remained a Catholic.

       What made you decide to be a conscientious objector?

      There were a number of things. But certainly talking to Dr Kerr was one of them. Kerr was a conscientious objector himself. He was also a vegetarian.

       What about your father’s influence? Wasn’t that also important?

      Yes indeed. In fact, it was my father who encouraged me to talk to Dr Kerr in the first place. And then my mother too played a role. I particularly remember having a conversation