member. It was over twenty years since Labour had last won an election.
"These bloody Tories have ruined everything. Look at the price of fish," went on Arnold. "We never paid this much under Wilson. Fish and chips, mushy peas, two slices and a cup of tea costs me an hour's wages."
"It's even worse on a pension, brother," chipped in a superannuated Stalinist who had once worked the line at Fords.
"Yes, our pensions are among the worst in Europe, you know," added a little old lady in the corner of the cafe, wearing a heavy overcoat, hat and gloves, and steaming in the damp heat.
"Best pensions around are in Italy, they've got a sliding scale there, keeps pace with price increases. Pensioners there have got real political power, and they use it, " said a gaunt, whitehaired man, finishing a battered sausage.
"Get away with you, you do alright with your bus passes and that," said a British capitalism:
from others in the cafe. said the young bloke. people. To his workmates he was Arnold the Sensible. But they also regarded him as a bit of a Trot. Arnold was a strong union man, and had been known to buy one or two of those small circulation left wing papers that slag off the Labour leaders as too right wing. He could be roused to righteous anger. And his arrival in Eastbourne was to trigger the downfall of long Communist Party member. "There's a meeting going on. It'll pass the time till it stops raining."
Three dozen or more pensioners, many of whom were already fired up with a few glasses of stout or barley wine, switched course and marched into the cafe, catching one of Stan's more rabble-rousing passages and whooping their applause.
The cafe owner was none too pleased. His seats were filling up, but nobody was buying anything; instead he was caught up in an impromptu leftie meeting.
"Thanks very much, break it up now," he called out ineffectually as Stan paused for breath between sen• This annoyed Arnold, who was not only enthused by the speech, but also had his beady eye on Rosa by the window. He wanted to impress her.
"That's just like a bloody capitalist, that is, trying to shut us up," he shouted at the proprietor. Do we want to be ordered around by profiteering buggers like him? Look at the price of "You're right, son," said Stan, regaining the initiative. "Isn't he right?" he asked the responsive crowd. "Yes!" was the bellowed response.
"Hey, steady on..." whimpered the cafe owner.
"Free chips for the pensioners, and a cup of tea each!" shouted Arnold. "Give them something for nothing, you can afford that from the profits you've been making."
"Free chips, free chips..." went up The sound spread to the pavement, where the word went round: mass ac tion by pensioners had secured a free meal in Fred's Fish Bar - - in an Eastbourne cafe!
It was a group of wrinklies from Welwyn who next took the initiative -as soon as they heard the rumour They were peckish from their journey, but didn't fancy fish. Ten of them spontaneously agreed to invade a burger bar and demand a free mea They won instant support from the
The mood was spreading, fanned on by Chinese whisper exaggerations of what had happened. An off-licence was expropriated. Workers' control was established in was cleared out by an alliance of pensioners and holiday-making workers. soggy and ripped-off families already sitting in the wreckage of their styrofoar cups and meal boxes.
"Yeah you've made a fortune out of all of us, you can easily give these old folks a free meal," yelled a formidably huge scaffolder from Liverpool, still reeling from the cost of buying junk food for his wife and three kids.
The Welwyn Provisionals, with their daunting ally, won their demands — McRubbish meals all round - and the word spread further, exaggerated with each re-telling.
The Hackney pensioners (who had eaten earlier had the bright idea of branching out from cafes to chain stores, demanding free clothing. Hundreds of steaming, knackered and ripped-oft holiday families in Marx's cheered them on as they confronted the confused supervisors. Nobody had ever asked for free cardigans, knickers, support tights or corsets before: but why not? Marx and Spender's made a fortune out of ordinary men and women, and could afford to give something back.
The mood was spreading, fanned on by Chinese whisper exaggerations of what had happened. An off-licence was expropriated. Workers' control was established in one, then two hyperA shoe shop was cleared out by an alliance of pensioners and holiday-making workers.
The press and TV arrived, as did a bewildered constabulary. It was like a huge party. Tills were silent as shop workers helped pensioners and others to find the correct sizes of garments to take away. Wine counters rapidly emptied, and groups of sozzied pensioners debatea were to so next for a ree meal. WHERE were the senior management? The relentless casualisation of retail and catering work had meant that none of the biggest stores or fast food joints were staffed at higher than supervisor level that afternoon, and many supervisors, themselves not well paid, had parents eking out life on a pension. None of them wanted to be the one to call in the cops and cause a wrinkly to be banged up.
Now buses were being commandeered, taking flying pensioners' groups to spread the word along the coast - towards Brighton and the pensioners' bastions of Worthing and Littlehafnpton to the west, and to Folkestone, Dover to the east. The group from Fred's Fish Bar, having enrolled Arnold and Rosa as honorary pensioners, boarded a bus to Brighton.
The TV and radio had beaten them to it: as their merry band clambered off the bus, the streets were thronged with organised groups of pensioners, Love and revolution in Eastbourne keenly following the Eastbourne example. Stores were doing a roaring trade — but taking no money. Unemployed youth and poverty-stricken parents were joining in, demanding free food and an ever-expanding array of consumer goods.
Managers, alerted by the press reports, had dashed into shops and restaurants — only to find casual staff they barely recognised giving away their stock. Their threats carried little weight against low-paid workers.
"Who the hell are you, baldy? Piss off," one managing director was told by a pimply youth as he obligingly packed cardigans for pensioners.
Production workers were starting to catch on. Arnold helped get the first lot going when he and Rosa burst in on a local bakery as the new shift was starting work. Staff recognised his moustache from the press reports: an instant meeting formed to hear him.
"I've worked in a place like this for twelve years, but the best I've had is crumbs from the bosses' table," he told them. "Today we can change all that. We don't just want a bigger slice of cake: we do all the real work, we want the bloody bakery!"
Rosa spoke too, stirring cheers of support from the women when she told them: "My old man didn't want to join in this movement, so I left him behind in Eastbourne"
After loud applause, the workers voted to lock out the management, and fashioned a banner from flour sacks which proclaimed the bakery "under workers' control".
The rain had stopped, and the sunset was glowing red as Arnold and Rosa walked hand in hand along the prom. Word was that the channel ferries and Channel Tunnel were under workers' control, and that the movement had reached London. That night local factories and neighbourhoods all over the country echoed with impromptu meetings setting up representative committees. Factory councils discussed redrawing work schedules to cut working hours and create new jobs for local unemployed — with the costs carved out of the company profits and management perks. "Make the buggers pay" was the popular slogan.
mation in nearby parks, and sions. bourhoods all over the country echoed create new jobs for local unemployed - with the costs carved out of the perks. "Make the buggers pay" was When Arnold and Rosa awoke tobright sunlight coming through their had grabbed morning TV headlines by publishing embarrassing details of the accounts of the stinking rich and big too. loans to companies under workers' nounce a cancellation of third world Farm... TELECOM staff declared that domestic users were to be exempt from charges, the costs covered by big business. Power workers soon followed suit.
Police dispatched to picket lines in the midlands where managers had staged pre-emptive lock-outs decided en route not to go. Their Instant Response Unit vans drew up in circle for- it Stan? spontaneous meetings passed resolutions condemning the Tories in general and Michael Howard in particular. When they returned to base they found their soon-to-be-made-redundant senior officers had come to similar concluSOCIALIST OUTLOOK No. 67, August 1994, Page 21 Army bases saw parade grounds utilised for mass meetings electing committees from which officers were excluded: but the officer corps, too, disgruntled by Tory cuts was unwilling to move against the growing tide of protest.
Tory ministers arrived to find civil service picket lines uniting all the grades they had been attempting to privatise. Bishops were making inflammatory speeches. ONLY LABOUR'S right wing leadership and a handful of judges were openly allied with the attempt to restore order. The government had so totally isolated itself by its policies that only the absence of any coordinated leadership could enable the Tories to hang on.....
Outside the hotel, Arnold found a waiting pack of news hounds who had tracked down the 'British Zapata'. He hoped Gary hadn't tracked them down "You seem to have the government on the run, " the woman from the Daily Mail told him. "What are you going to do next, Mr Jenkins?"
"To misquote somebody famous, we have fought them on the beaches, and we have shown them that our Dads' Army is a match for them, " he began. But somebody was nudging his "Wake up, mate, you're snoring something rotten, " said a loud voice in Arnold's ear.
With a start Arnold jerked back in his deck chair. Miserably and with a real struggle he opened his eyes. He was on the prom, near the band stand.
Two seats along, the angry pensioner who had woken him from his dream watched him suspiciously. Was It had all been going so well, too.
Oh well, thought Arnold, perhaps there's something in this revolution lark after all. It is the stuff that dreams are made on. Best get some lunch at Fred's....
SOCIALIST OUTLOOK No. 67, August 1994, Page 22