Part 4 - By-election (Friday, May 1, 1942) It was a May Day to remember. Despite the war, despite rationing, the people of Thaxted spared no efforts in their celebrations. May pole dancing. Morris dancing. The playing of the music of Thaxted's favourite son, Gustav Holst. Especially his piece named for the town. Normally Father Conrad Noel only allowed 'Thaxted' to be played as an instrumental. He considered the lyric that accompanied the tune, 'I Vow to Thee, My Country', to be imperialist claptrap[1]. This year he relented, because of the war, and allowed the song to be sung in St John the Baptist, Our Lady and St Lawrence at the special May Day mass for the feast of Jesus the Worker. But it was still the Red Flag that flew from the steeple of St John's with its hand-stitched slogan of 'He hath made of one blood all nations'.[2] St John's steeple was no place for the Union Jack, even in war time. There are limits.

(Wednesday, May 13, 1942) Peggy came home from the services canteen, where she had been serving refreshments to RAF other ranks, to find her father busying himself on the dining table that was now covered with pamphlets. "Oh, hullo Margaret! These are just in. Brochures for the by-election." Alfred Roberts held up one of the flyers. It had a red banner at the top. Some of the ink from already folded pamphlets had stained his finders. Alfred looked at his fingers in disappointment. "It was the best coloured ink we could get. I would have preferred blue. Rationing!" Peggy remembered. The special election that was being held next month because old what's-his-face had died. There was getting to be a number of these. Well, it was only to expected. There hadn't been a general election since 1935. Some of those elected were no spring chickens back then and were now 7 years older. No wonder they were dropping off the twig. Alfred resumed his folding enthusiastically. Face down, bottom third over the middle third then fold the top third down. "This'll be your first real election, Margaret. We were moving house back in '35. Fortunately Sir Stanley[3] won without us. And there was a by-election in our old constituency of Grantham a month ago. Some independent beat Sir Arthur Longmore. Well, we won't have an independent beating Richard Hunt!" He held up a folded leaflet with a photograph of the said Richard Hunt's face visible. "Particularly when this independent is fresh out of the Communist Party." "Who is he?" Peggy asked. "Chap with a foreign name. Dry-rot-sky or some such." Alfred noticed Peggy moving to go upstairs. "I say Margaret! Will you give me a hand with these?" "I'm sorry Father, I've simply loads of Latin homework to do. I mustn't allow my work in the NAAFI to let me get behind in my studies." With this Peggy fled upstairs. It _was_ almost true. Although she had completed he homework before going out, some more revision wouldn't hurt. The examinations would be soon. It wasn't just any university she had applied to enter but Oxford.

(Saturday, May 17, 1942) There was a small sign in Green's the butchers: "Independent Candidate for Maldon, Tom Driberg, to speak at St John's 2pm Sunday 18 May on 'The Way Ahead'. Free admission." Peggy was running errands for her mother, Beatrice. One didn't buy meat from the butcher's these days - coupons for a family of three would barely get you enough mince to hide behind a postage stamp. Instead Peggy bought cheese and, a luxury, real eggs. These days they didn't have a Sunday joint as the Sabbath mid-day meal but Macaroni Cheese à la Canadien. Driberg. This must be the foreign-sounding independent her father had told her about. Father Conrad would know what was going on. She decided to call into the vicarage on the way home.

The Driberg candidacy had gone some way to healing the rift in the vicarage. Father Jack approved of Tom Driberg because the candidate had been a member of the Communist Party of Great Britain. Father Conrad approved of Driberg because he was an *ex*-member of the CPGB. In a way the candidate was a symbol of each priest's hopes for the future. Father Jack opened the vicarage door to Peggy's knocking and invited her in. Father Conrad was delighted that she'd come to ask about the morrow's speech. "Tom specifically asked if there was a young person who could show him around the town tomorrow morning. You know, give him a feel for the place before he speaks."

(Sunday, May 18, 1942) After Matins, Peggy came to the vicarage door, as arranged. A slightly beady-eyed gentlemen in a grey flannel suit opened the door. "You must be Mr Driberg. I'm to show you around Thaxted." Tom's lips formed a faint moue of displeasure as his eyes took in the length of Peggy's blond hair and the unmistakable form of her figure despite the severe cut of her coat. "So you're Roberts, then?" "Yes sir. Peggy Roberts." Tom forced a smile that he did not feel. He'd asked for a young, politically active person to show him around but he hadn't expected a girl. And this one _was_ a girl, she could only be sixteen or so. Usually the young men who escorted him were a good two or three years older than that. "Well, normally I get my guides to show me the public lavatories first thing but in this case... ah... can you show me your famous windmill, young Peggy?" Peggy took Tom to Webb's Mill and, with a series of "if you'll just let me continue"s, showed him the old Guild Hall and all the other landmarks of the town before returning him to the cathedralesque splendour of St John's. Tom thanked Peggy profusely at the end of the walk. "You conduct a very good tour, for a girl." Peggy drew herself up to her full height. "Girl? I'm not a girl! I'm a conductrix!" [If you'll just let me continue.]

Tom Driberg won Maldon by 5993 votes, the same margin of votes as in our timeline. It seems that Alfred and Peggy Roberts's campaigning efforts must have exactly cancelled the other out. [1] The Western hemispherically gifted among my tender readers may be unfamiliar with the words and music. These can be found at: http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/i/v/ivow2the.htm [4] [2] The Acts of the Apostles, chapter 17, verse 26. [3] Sir Stanley Baldwin. Britain has had a regular turn-over of Prime Ministers since then, despite the lack of general elections. [4] "This hymn is not appropriate for a wedding, unless you happen to be a princess marrying the future king. Likewise, this hymn does not seem appropriate for a funeral, unless you were that princess." http://www.oremus.org/hymnal/i/i039.html