odespinner

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There wasn’t much scope for a man of no discernible talent apart from his compulsion to tell tall tales. Benjamin came from a stetl in the Prussian town of Lugendorf. Driven out by one of the most violent pogroms their community had ever suffered, his family escaped by stealing horses from the Prussian cavalry.

Riding through the night they stowed away on a Baltic steamship bound for Harwich, which the father wrongly assumed was in Canada. Knowing a little English, they made their way to the nearest synagogue to seek help and monetary assistance. The rabbi put them in touch with a local farmer.

They slept in the barn and were woken at dawn to labour in the fields until dusk. Eating the raw turnips straight from the fields made them suffer terrible stomach ache.The farmer’s wife took pity on them and brought them a thin soup with stale bread.

When they were feeling better they stole a chicken and started the long walk South. Sleeping in ditches and cooking the chicken over a makeshift fire they kept up a good pace arriving in the capital as celebrations started for the new queen. Mounted police cleared the main highways of tramps and thieves, but the parks were full of people camping out.

Tempted to catch the plentiful ducks, geese and swans they were warned off such foolishness by a kindly soul sleeping rough close by. “Are you here for the coronation?” asked their neighbour. “Yes” lied Benjamin “exciting isn’t it?” Grenadier guards marched up and down the Mall in perfect time with their marching band. Flags on sticks were handed out to the waiting crowds lining the route the queen’s carriage would take.

When the procession started a protester broke through the police cordon and ran towards the carriage. He was tackled by two police officers and dragged away shouting insults at the royal party. Benjamin picked up one of the leaflets the protester had scattered as he was hauled off

Civil rights not divine rights! the headline proclaimed. There was an article about republicanism and political injustice in England. Benjamin wanted to know more and noted the address and time of the next meeting. His father would skin him alive if he suspected his son was becoming a radical.

The coronation was over, the street celebrations a happy memory and those people sleeping rough were moved on. Benjamin had secured a position as a stable lad and his father was hawking goods on London’s busy streets. Their rooms in Hackney were clean and the neighbours friendly.

Attending the republican meeting was a mistake. The meeting was raided and Benjamin found himself at West End Central police station being questioned by an angry detective who handed out slaps with generosity. “I’ve told you I don’t know anything. I was just curious and that’s the truth!” After a bit more slapping around Benjamin was put in a cell overnight. In the morning he was released without charge.

At the stables he told them in great detail about his father’s heart attack and the long wait at the hospital. His horse looked at him suspiciously but said nothing. His parents had been frantic with worry when he didn’t come home, but fussed over him when he explained about the poor horse and the difficult birth. His part in delivering the dappled foal was heroic and told without a hint of modesty.

Just when life seemed to be on an even keel, Benjamin’s father was beaten up and robbed of his wares. He needed bed rest and calm. Benjamin wondered what could be done. His father didn’t want to involve the police even though he got a good look at his attackers. He asked Benjamin if he knew anything about the two thugs. Benjamin said no, but he’d ask around.

At the next meeting of the republican association Benjamin described what had happened to his father and gave a good description of the two men. “Leave that to us , Benjamin” said one of the activists that Benjamin recognised from the police station. Benjamin didn’t put much faith in those words, but stayed behind to give further details about where his father sold his wares and how much money had been taken.

A few days later there was a knock at their door and a small boy stood there holding out a padded envelope. Benjamin took it through to his father’s bedroom where he was sitting up reading a newspaper. “What have you got there, son?” Benjamin handed over the envelope and watched as his father emptied out a wad of banknotes. There was a note that said “we have exercised your right to community restorative justice. You shouldn’t have any more trouble.”

“Who on earth is doing this?” Benjamin’s father exclaimed. Benjamin shrugged despite being fairly sure who had taken steps to put right a wrong in their community. It made him even keener to get involved. Living in the city had opened his eyes to many inequalities and injustices.

Benjamin’s mother, Rachel, was not content with being just the homemaker. She was keen to play her part in the struggle for the rights of women. The protests and hunger strikes had pricked her conscience so she joined the struggle to get voting rights for women.