Part 22 - Ono no Komachi (Wednesday, 4 June, 1969.) "Hullo, John!" "Hullo, John!" It was the standard greeting for the two friends. The had much in common besides their names. Buddhism, opposition to the wars in Vietnam and Ireland, rock music and a seriousness about nuts and berries. There were differences. John saw humour in the absurdity of situations while John liked wordplay. John was lead singer in the world's most popular band whereas John was trying to eke out a solo career after the implosion of his group. "Gorra new bird I'd like you to meet," said John. John winced. Although The Feminine Eunuch[1] was still two years from being written he still enough to feel uncomfortable at John's objectification of women, worrying what this did to John's worldview and his ability to relate to females as equals. He wondered if the lady-friend would be anything like Cynthia. In fact, she was entirely unlike Cyn. A Japanese woman. John was put in mind of Ono no Komachi, the 9th century waka poet and beauty of whom he had recently read. He immediately dubbed John's new girlfriend with the nickname. She seemed quietly pleased. Ono was an artist. Her intensity and focus complemented John's amiable anxiety. John hoped he would still get to see his old friend now he had a new lover. Sometimes women could be possessive.

(Thursday, 19 June, 1969) "Mine, I think," said Peggy taking the last piece of bacon at breakfast. She scanned the headlines in the papers. Morning Star was suitably snaky about the new manifesto 'In Place of Oppression'. While not finding fault with the content, they bemoaned the lack of consultation with the few remaining Communist controlled unions. And why was a so-called manifesto being released so far in advance of the due date of the election? "Moaning minnies," she sniffed. Communists were such traditionalists. The Guardian was much more effusive, although they consistently misspelled 'place'. The Times would surely counter tomorrow with 'Guardian Sees New Manifesto As Fishy'.

(Thursday, 19 June, 1969) "I think there's something fishy," said Charles Haughey Robert Kennedy gave a please-continue nod suggesting an agreement he did not feel. Normally the Secretary of State's Thursday mornings were spent meeting the President's National Security Adviser. But Hank had begged off the regular appointment a few days ago. He had to do something special for the President. "How come I don't know about it?" asked Kennedy. Hank had simply tapped the side of his nose with his index finger and said, "Security." The Taoiseach-in-exile had taken advantage of the gap in Kennedy's diary and insinuated himself into the Secretary of State's schedule The man had been a nuisance ever since helicopters from the USS Oriskany had picked him up from his hideaway on Dingle Bay. Kennedy didn't believe the rumours about Haughey being a gun runner. But he could still be a vexatious and disagreeable man. "Britain says they're your best ally," the Irishman continued, "yet they refuse to leave my country when you ask. What kind of ally are they?" "Mr Prime Minister, Britain is a firm ally to America. They are fighting at our side in defense of freedom in South Vietnam. And as NATO partners they stand with us in deterring Soviet aggression in Western Europe. Even Ireland is a beneficiary of the protection NATO provides." "Yes, heaven save us from foreign invaders," said Haughey, the irony dripping so heavily in his voice that even the American noticed. Haughey had a point, thought Kennedy. Britain had a very different view of the alliance from America. Powell didn't think in terms of reciprocity or give-and-take. Everything had to be in Britain's national interest or per a prior agreement otherwise Powell's response was a clipped "No." Signing the Test Ban treaty, strengthening the IMF, multilateral trade agreements, firming up extradition treaties or agreeing to a new Law of the Sea; it didn't matter. Even if it was in the overwhelming interest of the people of the world if there wasn't an immediate benefit to the UK the answer was always, "No." Kennedy was getting pretty sick of Lord Home, his British counterpart, saying, "Our interests are eternal." The Secretary of State assumed the British insularity was a response to their loss of empire; whereas a younger, more confident America was still seeking new frontiers and engaging with the world. "Mr Haughey, I assure you America is taking all possible diplomatic steps to secure an early withdrawal of British troops from your country." Haughey snorted, "You won't get rid of the Brits with words. And you won't fob me of with words, either. I'll be back." "I'm sure we'll see each other soon."

(Saturday, 21 June, 1969) John was pleased to be able to see John again so soon. Sometimes a woman was possessive of her new man. But Ono was cool. In fact, she seemed just as pleased to see him as John was.

(Sunday, 6 July, 1969) "Prynhawn Da, I'm pleased to see you," said Gwynfor Evans, as he welcomed Caio Evans into his home, Talar Wen, on a pleasant Sunday afternoon. "Pleased! How can you be pleased when Powell's English are murdering Celts in Ireland and that Englishwoman Wedgwood Benn is calling you a Fascist?" Dr Evans, the leader of Plaid Cymru[2], sighed, "Ah, yes. How often violence begets violence. And an internationalist like Mrs Wedgwood Benn can so easily miss the fact that the nationalist's love of country does not preclude love of humanity." "Well something has to be done," declared Evans, the leader of Y Gweriniaethwyr[3], "We just can't lie back and let the English walk all over us." "We have to stand up to the English, yes[4]. But violence is the last refuge of the incompetent." "I never thought that I would hear a putative heir of Prince Owain Glyndwr eschewing the sword." It was time to see the visitor off. "Hwyl Fawr," said Evans. "Hwyl Fawr. But we of the FWA mean business, Dr Evans."

(Thursday, 10 July, 1969) The last item of cabinet business was the New Year's Honours List. It was only summer and New Year's Day, 1970, seemed like a political eternity away. But nominees had to be vetted, sounded out. The long lead time was necessary. Edward du Cann, the Heritage and Culture Secretary, diffidently put forward the names of the members of the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band. "Tremendous contribution to British exports, Mr Prime Minister." Enoch leaned back. The Bonzos. He'd heard their song New Jerusalem Man. A lot of bally noise, one couldn't make out the words. But he had read the lyrics, written out in a condemnatory Telegraph editorial. Pure Marxism. Could have come from the pen of Peggy Stansgate herself. "No, I think not," he declared, "Why can't we have musicians that can make rhymes, like 'moon', 'June' and 'spoon'?" Edward was prepared for such an eventuality, "Perhaps Val Doonican instead? He is a clean-cut crooner and giving him an OBE would put to rest the canard that the Government is anti-Irish." Enoch waved one hand, "Make it so."

(Friday, 11 July, 1969) So. It had come to this. John realised that he could not live without his Ono no Komachi. But she was not his. She belonged to John. If only he could tell her how he felt, subtle like, so she could make up her own mind.

(Bastille Day, 1969) Dave Nellist had made up his mind. He might be young but there was so much to do and so little time. It was impossible to see Mrs Wedgwood Benn, she was too surrounded by people and too busy. He thought an approach to her husband might work. Tony was friendly but abrupt, referring him on to a young assistant, Peter Taaffe. There have been several accounts of the Taafe-Nellist meeting. The most commonly accepted version goes like this... Comrade Taaffe eyed cast an appraising eye over the new volunteer. "Can you drive?" he asked.

(Saturday, 19 July, 1969) There have been several different versions of Ono. Many people swear by the simplicity of the acoustic, 'unplugged' version. Yet for anyone who was in Wembley Stadium on That Night in the summer of '69, there can only be one Ono. Bill is in the spotlight on stage, plucking out a classic R&B lick on his electric banjo. The spotlights fall on Roger, Dennis and Vivian with guitar, slide guitar and bass. Playing in D minor, a virtual wall of sound emerges from the stacked speakers. Then John is illuminated on stage, dancing jerkily like a bald, elongated marionette, bawling out the first verse, desperately trying to be heard as the chord sequence moves into C.       What'll you do when he gets grumpy       Reliving all of his past glory?       You need someone who can keep you comfy.       You'll share in millions more with me. Neil provides back-up vocals and Bill's banjo rejoins the fray as the Bonzos power into the chorus:       Ono! You're distant as the moon.       Ono! I've needed you since June.       Ono! Darling won't you spoon,       With me real soon?

The lorry drivers' strike meant that shops in Brighton were fast running out of staples. Seasiders could not buy ice-cream. Worse, the bar at the Grand Hotel had run out of tonic water, and Denis was reduced to having bitter lemon with his Tanqueray, which wasn't the same. Bloody trade unions! All of Denis' fellow drinkers agreed Something Had To Be Done about those blighters at Transport House[5]. The place was much quieter without the lorries, it was true. The motor cars and the charabancs added their ambience during the day but at night it was quiet, too quiet. The pub was getting quiet, too. Tomorrow was the biggest day of the conference and most of the regulars had turned in for the night. Still, time for a nightcap before bed, eh what? And then Denis heard it. The unmistakable sound of a lorry approaching the hotel. Perhaps the strike was over. [If you'll just let me continue.]

[1] No, it's not quite as powerful as the OTL title, is it? Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique (1963) has been written in the Thaxted timeline but very few rock stars have read it even six years after its publication. [2] 'Party of Wales' [3] 'Free Wales Army' or FWA. [4] Evans does not actually use the English word 'yes' here, but a Welsh phrase meaning 'does a one legged duck swim in circles?'. [5] The headquarters of the Trades Union Congress. Equivalent to ACTU House in Melbourne but without all the flavour chilled out of the beer.