The Three R's Pt. 01 by freddieclegg,freddieclegg

The barman was slow to respond. He was a tall, wiry man and moved as though worried that his limbs might not be entirely under his own control. He ran his hand across the top of his head, taking so much time to speak that Norm felt something of importance was going to be said. In the end he was non-committal. “Well, there’s a lot of Dannies,” the barman replied. “And a lot of Monahans too. Why would an Englishman be looking for any of them? And why would he be looking in my bar?”

“A friend of his suggested I should look him up.”

“A friend? Now that’s a rare thing. And for Danny too! Even rarer.”

Norm was beginning to get irritated. “Do you know where I can find him or not, because if not I’ll pay you for this drink and let you get on with your day.” He had hardly finished speaking when he was aware that someone was standing right beside him.

“I’m Danny,” a slow, quiet, voice said. “Who the fuck are you?”

Norm looked around. The voice had come from a man a good six inches taller than he was and a fair bit wider too. The barman had found something else to do at the other end of the room. “Eddie said I should look you up. He seemed to think I might be of some use.”

“And why would that be?”

By now Norm was feeling that he had very little to lose. “I’m not sure but it’s possibly got something to do with the fact that I’m just over the border from the north, I spent last night sleeping in a barn, that I’ve got no papers and no place to go and that when I’ve paid for this drink I’ll have the princely sum of 50 euros left in my pocket. Apart from that I’m pissed off that the only way I could get somewhere to have a quiet drink without worrying about some police bitches breaking up the party was to come all the way over here.”

The man beside him laughed heartily, clapped him on the back. “Sure, that sounds like the finest reasons imaginable. Let me buy you another drink.”

It was the start of a heavy evening.

They found a room for Norm upstairs from the bar. It was small and cramped. He was sharing it with several dozen cases of Irish whiskey. It wasn’t great but it was a great deal better than the barn he had slept in on his first night and given that it hadn’t stopped raining since, Norm was grateful that he’d bumped into the van driver.

When he woke next morning his head was telling him just how many too many whiskeys he’d had. Danny was standing in the doorway, looking annoyingly to be without any sign of a hangover. “It seems like you are what you say your are,” he said.

“That’s comforting. And there was me wondering if I was really someone else,” Norm replied. He was feeling that he hadn’t put in all this effort to get away from bullying women so that he could be bullied by someone else.

“Did your girl really want to go for you with one of those strap-on things, then?”

“That’s when I decided I’d had enough.”

“Jeez, there’s no telling what they’ll get up to next. We’re doing what we can here to help the fellers over in the six counties and we’re trying to make sure that none of your woman Johannsen’s crazy ideas catch on in the Dáil. You’re welcome to stay here. Eamonn here needs a potman and if you can see your way to helping us out in what we’re doing for the lads over the border then all the better.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Well, nothing very illegal. Least ways, not illegal here as long as no one tells the police about it. There’s a rare market over the border for ident-cards that look the part but don’t have those nasty ‘oh, there you are’ chips in them. We can produce good enough facsimiles. Plus of course there’s more conventional comforts — like in those cases.” He nodded towards the boxes of Bushmills.

“Whiskey? Unless things have got really bad in the last couple of weeks you can still get a drink.”

“Have a look.”

Norm opened the case nearest to him. Inside was stacked a pile of pornographic magazines.

“I think,” said Danny, “that those girls in the New Order thing might consider that all a bit contrary to their ‘Respect Agenda’, don’t you?”

“I’m not so sure. A girl like this is well deserving of respect!” Norm replied holding up a magazine with a centre spread of a girl with a chest that looked built for comfort rather than speed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen anything similar. The date on the magazine cover was 1978. It was obviously a reprint and the colour reproduction wasn’t great but he didn’t imagine that would stop someone enjoying the pictures.

“I can see you and I are going to get on just fine,” said Danny.

Chapter 6: Jack’s Room

Jack was lucky. He had managed to get an entire room to himself in a large Edwardian house not far from Hampstead Heath. The ceiling leaked and one of the windows was cracked. He wasn’t sure how long he would be able to go on paying the rent but at least he had a door that he could close to leave himself on his own. It was better than living in one of the university hostels.

As he got through the door he noticed a letter on the mat. He was pretty sure what it would say. It could wait for a while.

He kicked off his shoe and pulled out the folded up pamphlet from where he’d hidden it. He’d had it under his foot all the way back from the bar and it was looking pretty dog-eared. He put it down on the table and tried to smooth it out to get rid of the worst of the creases.

“MANifesto” the title page read in a hand-printed headline. The words “Men organising to protect their rights.”

Jack decided that his first thoughts about how it had been produced had been correct. The pamphlet had probably been typed on an old- fashioned manual machine and then photocopied. You wouldn’t want to do this sort of thing on a computer that might be sending whatever you typed in off to who knew where. The front page article listed all the rights that the authors felt New Order had taken away from men. The wording was simple, the messages clear. There was no attempt to stir up anger, just a calm documenting of the erosion of rights that had gone on over the last few years since New Order came to power.

Inside there was a call to action. “Three steps to reclaiming your rights” the heading said before going on to call on men to resist regulation, reject sponsorship and reverse the erosion of male rights. The last one wasn’t going to be easy to achieve, Jack thought, especially since there wasn’t going to be another election for four years at best. The first two steps, though, looked like something men could get behind, and take some political action. Too many men had gone along with regulations and the sponsorship scheme without really seeing what an impact they would have on their lives. Maybe some form of civil disobedience would be enough to convince New Order to roll back some of their more oppressive ideas?

He turned over another page. On one was an announcement of a rally to protest the male segregation regulations; the rules that kept men indoors after 6:00pm, forced them on to certain buses and banned them from certain streets. It was taking place on the coming Saturday in Fitzroy Square. “In the shadow of London’s Phallic Symbol” the text said beside a drawing of the Post Office Tower that had been altered to exaggerate its similarity to the male reproductive organ. Jack smiled, he could imagine the drawing would annoy a lot of people in government. On the other hand it would appeal to just the audience it was intended to reach. On the opposite page was a picture. It was a pin-up, from the 1990’s Jack guessed, with a busty girl displaying her assets while smiling out happily at the reader. He’d had a collection of similar pictures in his teens. “Remember when this was how women looked?” the caption read, “It’s time to change the rules.” It certainly wouldn’t meet with the approval of anyone keen on New Order’s Respect Agenda but, while Jack didn’t think such images were a good idea, there was a long way from thinking that to thinking that such pictures should be banned, as they were.

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