The Daily Worker Newspaper, June 11, 1927, Page 9

“Arcos” and the “ Eight-Fifteen” HE “8-15” to London Bridge was under steam. The driver’s head poked out of the cab of the panting engine and looked down the platform to where the guard stood with one eye on the station clock and the other eye on the station entrance for late-comers. Inside the train well-dressed and well- fed gentlemen settled down comfortably into corner seats with their newspapers before them. The “8-15” starts every morning from Hampton Court and carries a very select load into town. There is always plenty of room, for the train only fills up later on. In the meantime the comfortable citi- zens of Hampton Court and the near-by stations have always bagged the best seats. The last stragglers scurried along the platform and wrenched open the carriage doors. The green flag of the guard waved in the air and a sharp blast sounded on his whistle. 8.15 a. m. and the train slowly slid out of the station gathering speed and rushing through the beautiful countryside fresh in the morning sun. Hampton Court is a very select residential quarter. It has been since the sixteenth century when Cardinal Wolsey built a palace there and presented it to the English Bluebird, Henry VII. No factory smoke ever sullies its skies. In- dustry is banished from its breast and the smell of jam and pickle factories never offends its delicate nostrils. The only smoke that curls around under its placid skies is the peaceful, friendly smoke of the English fireside or the long romantic trailing smoke from the funnels of hurrying trains. In the roomy carriages of the “8-15” lawyers greeted better-class estate-agents whilst stockbrok- ers discussed the latest news with other professional and business men of all descriptions. The smoker quickly became animated. “Good morning.” “Ah, good morning, how d’you do?” “Have you read that about ‘Arcos’?” “Why of course, splendid pieée of work. Ought to have been done long ago.” “You're right sir. I have the impression that this Joynson-Hicks is a very capable person and he cer- tainly has very fine men under him. There is, noth- ing to beat our police sir.” “No, you’re right, finest body of men in the world. High time they kicked those damned Rus- sians out, bag and baggage!” “T can’t understand what the government was thinking about to let it go so far. Seven tons of documents, and all in Russian! Just think of that!” “Yes, and secret safes let into the walls and hid- den with wall-paper. Something fishy about that, what?” “Arms have also been found.” “What? Arms! You don’t say so?” “Yes sir, there it stands in black and white.” “And that’s only the so-called trading establish- ment. What do you think a search of the embassy would reveal!” “That’s right. I don’t know what the government are about I’m sure. The murderous rabble ignore all the normal rules of civilized conduct, it’s far too decent of us to treat them with kid gloves.” “What do you think of that suggestion as seen from the legal point of view Mr. Cholmondeley?” The pompous gentleman in the corner thus defer- entially addressed looked up from his scrutiny of a bundle of papers tied with red tape and the strain on his row of double chins relaxed a little. He peered over his gold-rimmed pince-nez at his fellow travellers, cleared his throat with a little cough and declared ponderously: “In my opinion one may reason from the present case of the trade institution to the embassy, ab uno disce omnes. The law officers of the crown are undoubtedly in possession of a mass of evidence showing that the representatives and institutions of a so-called friendly nation are systematically violating all the laws of nations, jus gentium. We are aware of the habits of these individuals in their own countries, why then should we suppose that they will act differently here, coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare curunt. Under these cir- cumstances I am convinced that there is, to say the least of it, an argumentum ad judicium for declaring the diplomatic immunity of the Bolshevicks null and void.” His hearers were deeply intduenio’ and gratified to hear their own opinion confirmed in such digni- fied language and by such a famous legal luminary. And all the way from Hampton Court through Thames Ditton, Surbiton, Coombe and Malden and Raynes Park, the new arrivals swelled the anti- Soviet chorus. Unanimity complete and absolute prevailed. If anyone didn’t quite agree, they didn’t say so. At Wimbledon the lesser fry began to fill up the carriages, Their neatly brushed and carefully pressed clothes, their stiff high collars and the shamefaced way in which they tried to hide their sandwiches marked them out as clerks. Clerks to lawvers, estate-agents, banks, stockbrokers, to busi- ness men of all sorts. They listened approvingly for the most part to the conversation of their bet- ters, occasionally offering respectful comments of their own, oer PETERS: | | At Hampton Court, cigars and the “Times” with eggs and bacon and coffee for breakfast had held undisputed sway. At Wimbledon, however, cigar- ettes and the “Daily Mail” with tea, bread and butter, marmelade, Quaker Oats, etc., for break- fast, began to get the upper hand. At Earlsfield a liberal-minded bank clerk, the sec- retary of his debating society clambered into the smoker and actually began to‘east mild doubts upon the advisability of the government’s action. He was instantly bombarded with sags sag from the ring of excited’ gentlemen. “No,” he declared, “I really must maintain the opinion that diplomatic rights are infrangible. I do this all the more because I am‘no Bolshevik. I con- sider that, it is just such blunders as the present one which adds fuel to the unrest which is at pres- ent disturbing the laboring classes.” The inspiring example of the idealistic bank clerk caused one or two other gentlemen who had not previously dared to express any opinion, to air mild doubts also and up to Clapham Junction the dissen- tient Liberals wriggled under the attacks of their more pugnacious conservative brethren. But at Clapham Junction a change came o’er the spirit of the scene. New arrivals came in consid- erable force and occupied most of the still vacant seats. A big broad-shouldered man bore the first pipe into the smoker like a standard of battle. He was followed by others. Having taken a seat he bent over sideways to drag a doubled-up newspaper from his side pocket. In doing so he tipped the top hat of a fat stockbroker over his eyes. “Sorry Mister. Couldn’t be helped.” And with a final wrench the newspaper came out. Its owner straightened it out. The first “Daily Her- ald”! There were others. A fat Conservative encouraged by the previous weight of opinion on his side, leaned forward. “Well, and what do you think of that my man?” he asked loftily. “Seven tons of documents, arms, secret safes, letters in code!” PAVING STONES AND ASPHALT L I had a dream, > And dreamed that the Revolution Would be founded Upon paving stones. Fondly I viewed them, Piled high by laborers in the cities, Newly chisled, Or lately torn from old streets By strong hands, A red flag stuck in each pile, A red lantern by night. Paving stones, Each a hundredweight, Light missiles for strong men on house-tops, Excellent material for barricades— And Labor temples! IL. I had a dream, And dreamed of wide boulevards Built of smooth asphalt (Polished like glass For wheels of swift pleasure cars.) Soft in the fierce heat— The steel-shod feet Of marching multitudes Are held fast in black mire! —HENRY REICH, JR. ay By ANDREW WILLMER The broad-shouldered man looked up and met the challenge. “Ym not your man, guvnor. And if you want to know what I think about it, well, I think it’s the dirtiest, meanest bit of. blackguardism I’ve seen for many a long day. “What?” ‘“What’s that?” “The man’s a Bolshe- vik!” “Why, what do you mean sir?” burst from the startled gentlemen from Hampton Court to Wimble- don. Sounds of agreement with the broad-shouldered one came from some of the new arrivals. “What do I mean? Well, I mean this: the people who are always talking about honor and loyalty, the members of the gentlemanly party, the Conserva- tive Die-hards have broken the plighted word of the British ‘government as though ‘it were worth less than nothing. They have raided rooms which were guaranteed immunity by themselves, smashed open doors, stolen diplomatic correspondence, ill-treated the employes, let the women be searched on the body by male police and in general conducted themselves like their Chinese bandits.” . There was a moment or two’s silence of sheer paralysis. The speaker went on, “The Conservatives accused the Russians again and again of breaches of agreement, but when they were asked to prove it, they couldn’t prove one single concrete instance.” By this time his listeners had recovered from their ° astonishment and there were almost roars of dissent from the irate Conservatives, but the broad- should- ered one stuck to his guns. “Can anyone of you prove one concrete practical breach of the trade agreement?” he persisted. “If you can, then-you can do more than Chamberlain has been able to do.” Half a dozen voices assailed him with, “But the propaganda. -” “Communism!” “Bolshevism!” “That’s no argument,” declared the stalwart. “The propaganda doesn’t come from Moorgate Street, most of it comes from King Street. And I remember just such propaganda years before ever an official representative of the Soviet government set foot on our shores, befcre the Soviet government existed in fact.” “That may be so,” interposed an apoplectic look- ing old gentleman, “but we have certain proof now that the Russians have subsidized and encouraged this anti-constitutional propaganda.” “Ho! Ho! Ho!” laughed the man with the pipe, “you are jolly fine ones to talk about the constitu- tion, when your party has just proved that it is ready to fling all the laws of the land into the sea to get it’s own way!” “But the seven tons of documents, the arms, the secret safes!” they bombarded him. “Seven tons of fiddlesticks!” said another man near the door, speaking for the first e. He also was broad-shouldered with big red hands and heavy hob-nailed boots. Between his feet there was a tin ean which obviously contained his dinner. “Fiddle- sticks!” he repeated energetically whilst his friends laughed. “If you went into any big business con- cern and pinched all the papers you could lay hands on, I dare say you'd get seven tons of ‘documents’ too if you weighed ‘em!” There was renewed laughter and one or two of the well-dressed passengers looked a little foolish. “I suppose you think the Russians have been care- fully writing down all their conspiracies and savin’ ’em up until they got seven tons of documents all ready for the narks in nice little ’eaps.” There were roars of laughter. No one made any attempt to answer. “And as for the arms,” said a thin young man with a union hadge wedged in between a brace of stock- brokers, “they were shot guns for export to Siberia. Who thinks you can make a revolution with shot guns?” At the next station, Vauxhall, matters got still worse. More men with smelly pipes and caps on their heads got into the smoker. They all had their food in billy cans which they deposited on the floor of the carriage. There was not a pair of spats to be seen amongst the lot of them, and some of them even wore chokers instead of decent collars and ties. In consequence the relation of class forces, as the Marxists call it, changed still further to the dis- advantage of the citizens from Hampton Court to Wimbledon, “The fact of the matter is,” snapped a hooked- nose solicitor from Raynes Park, “that these for- eign spies have captured British state documents of paramount importance, and ‘the government is en- titled in sheer self-defense, to use every possible means to recover them.” And his little beady eyes glittered angrily at the broad-shouldered man who had first taken up the cudgels. But the latter was not in the least put out. “Tell that to the horse marines, Mister. This seven tons of documents the police have taken were all in Russian. You said that yourself just now. You even seemed to think it was particularly de- ceitful for Russians to write in Russian. But Brit- ish state documents are written in English which means that the dullest bluebottle would be able to find 'em in a jiffy if they were really there.” (Reomtinmed em Page Six) v