A New Jerusalem
“Remember that we expect from you conduct of a quite different order from that of the mass of mankind. Your purpose - to escape the bondage of time, to obtain mastery over yourselves, and thus over your environment - must never waver... This discipline has one aim, the acquisition of power, and by power freedom.” – The Aerodrome, Rex Warner.
Patterns of vapour arced across the air as a trio of Sentinel’s spun around one another, daredevil pilots pushing themselves to the limit in the sky above London. They had just whizzed through the open Tower Bridge, and their stunts were reaching new heights with every moment, to the adoration of a massed crowd of joyous Londoners. Monty’s boys had reached Paris and smashed the Second Continental System’s lines completely – the Bosch and the Frogs were in full retreat. There was so much for the valiant British people to rejoice about.
The Secretary of State for Air always felt proud when he saw these displays. The boys in those planes, some of the first of the new “Jets” that were being developed by the Ministry’s boffins, had been deployed from the Aerodrome on the side of the Thames; that great symbol of modernity and the rebirth of Britain, built out of the ruins that the German Blitzkrieg had left there. It had been the Air Secretary, Charles’, brain child in the beginning, but soon the PM and the Secretary for Economic Affairs had taken up its cause as well. It was the first step to their construction of a new world. A New Jerusalem, as one of those hacks implementing the new health policy had called it.
He stood on one of the many balconies of the Ministry building, just over a mile from the Aerodrome, and took a long drag of the thin cigarette clasped between his fingers. Inside there was a myriad of politicians, military figures, senior Civil Servants and business leaders all invited by the Ministry to celebrate the success of the Airforce in helping to break the French lines outside Paris. They were the old elite, conspiring, parasitic, cockroaches seeking power for power’s sake, unable to glimpse the PM’s vision of the future.
The glass doors behind him were opened gently, and another man joined him on the balcony silently. Charles turned, and it took him a few minutes to work out who it was – that That Blair chap; one of Moseley’s lot from the New Party crowd and Minister of Information, but also his chief enforcer amongst the variously ambitious Secretaries of State. He smiled from beneath a thin moustache and then began to light up a cigarette of his own. The white smoke was pronounced in the cool evening air and Blair, dressed in a suit rather than the customary military uniform amongst the upper tier of government, seemed a tad trite and old fashioned.
“Good evening secretary.” He said, his tone polite and mannered but laced with indifference.
“And you Secretary.” Charles nodded, “I assumed you aren’t here simply to congratulate the Ministry?”
“No. Though some of your lots work is a marvellous gift to my lot.”
“Thank you.” Charles snubbed out his cigarette and then turned back to Blair, “How can I help you?”
“Nothing is official, of course, but Oswald has a proposal for you. It has the PM’s assent.” Blair replied. A proposal from Tom himself? But one too important for just one of their friendly little chats… not that he’d seen the man in a while, of course.
“Oh?” Charles asked, feigning disinterest.
“Yes.” Blair looked out at the city wistfully, “He and the PM agree that you’re reliable, Londonderry. You understand their vision. Much better than those bloody Liberals.”
“Why thank you, sir. I wasn’t aware that the PM and the Secretary had so much faith in me.”
“Well they do.” Said Blair, “And they think you’re ready to be moved up a rung. Oswald wants you at Foreign.” Charles nearly dropped the now cold cigarette.
“What an unexpected honour.” The Air Minister remarked, still slightly stunned.
“Yes well the PM is happy to reward a fellow veteran of the last war. And you distinguished yourself in Baldwin's National Government and in this one. They admired your use of the air force to quell the socialists in twenty six.”
“Aha, compared to his exploits amongst the Arabs my involvement was quite minor. I was just another foot soldier in the five long years of mud and blood in the west. And the General strike was nothing,” He said with feigned modesty at some of his best work, "I was just following my orders. The socialists and their strike had to be put down for the good of the country."
“That may be the case, but Oswald sees something in you and Tom concurs with him.”
“May I ask why they need someone new there?” Charles asked.
“The current chap is one of Lloyd George’s lot.” Blair said, as if it needed no elaboration but, upon realising it did, he spoke, “The National Liberals got the New Deal for Britain, but they don’t get the new world we’re building. After the war ends they’re going to be dropped anyway, and we have a majority without them – or at least enough Liberals are willing to defect to us to ensure one. Next Lloyd George will be out.”
“So there’s an opening for Chancellor as well?”
“Yes, not that you’d want it these days.” Blair laughed, “Oswald’s Department of Economic Affairs has neutered it. Lloyd George is a lame duck, and one that the PM is willing to shoot in the head if needs be.”
“And the war’s coming to an end?”
“Yes,” At that Blair grinned, “The Chinese are retreating along the Tibetan Plateau and the Japanese are days away from taking Beijing. Paris has fallen too, and Berlin won’t be long now. Musso’s soldiers have crossed the Alps into Austria and Bavaria. Germany can’t hold both frontiers.”
“The new world’s nearly here then.” Charles remarked with his own smile.
“Yes, yes it is.”
“In response to your question; yes. I’ll move to foreign.” Charles said, back on subject, “It would be my honour.”
Behind them another jet shot into the sky, rising higher and higher, piercing the clouds and then swooping back down to hover just above the surface of the Thames. Marvels of engineering, modernity embodied in elegantly crafted metal and glass, instruments whirring away with exact and perfect accuracy under a specially crafted hull. The two men on the balcony were not the New Jerusalem, the men and women milling around on the ground weren’t, the pilots at the Aerodrome weren’t, and the petty aristocrats certainly weren’t. Those tow crafts soaring through the city were the world to come.
“That’s that settled then.” Blair said with a nod, “Expect to see your face on some of our new posters soon. Someone else will be here to let you know when you’ve got the job. For what it’s worth, Londonderry, I think you’re the best man for it. It’s true you’re a Tory, but so is Tom, and he’s the best PM this country’s ever had. Anyway I’ll bid you adieu.” Blair nodded, and exited.
Charles wondered where Oswald and Tom were right now, were they with the King? He couldn’t be sure, but he doubted it – Edward had been receptive to them at first, but at the end of the day he was just another ageing aristocrat, he was getting uncomfortable with the speed of progress. But no Windsor was needed; Lawrence and Mosely would guide the country ahead into the new world.
Into the future.
Patterns of vapour arced across the air as a trio of Sentinel’s spun around one another, daredevil pilots pushing themselves to the limit in the sky above London. They had just whizzed through the open Tower Bridge, and their stunts were reaching new heights with every moment, to the adoration of a massed crowd of joyous Londoners. Monty’s boys had reached Paris and smashed the Second Continental System’s lines completely – the Bosch and the Frogs were in full retreat. There was so much for the valiant British people to rejoice about.
The Secretary of State for Air always felt proud when he saw these displays. The boys in those planes, some of the first of the new “Jets” that were being developed by the Ministry’s boffins, had been deployed from the Aerodrome on the side of the Thames; that great symbol of modernity and the rebirth of Britain, built out of the ruins that the German Blitzkrieg had left there. It had been the Air Secretary, Charles’, brain child in the beginning, but soon the PM and the Secretary for Economic Affairs had taken up its cause as well. It was the first step to their construction of a new world. A New Jerusalem, as one of those hacks implementing the new health policy had called it.
He stood on one of the many balconies of the Ministry building, just over a mile from the Aerodrome, and took a long drag of the thin cigarette clasped between his fingers. Inside there was a myriad of politicians, military figures, senior Civil Servants and business leaders all invited by the Ministry to celebrate the success of the Airforce in helping to break the French lines outside Paris. They were the old elite, conspiring, parasitic, cockroaches seeking power for power’s sake, unable to glimpse the PM’s vision of the future.
The glass doors behind him were opened gently, and another man joined him on the balcony silently. Charles turned, and it took him a few minutes to work out who it was – that That Blair chap; one of Moseley’s lot from the New Party crowd and Minister of Information, but also his chief enforcer amongst the variously ambitious Secretaries of State. He smiled from beneath a thin moustache and then began to light up a cigarette of his own. The white smoke was pronounced in the cool evening air and Blair, dressed in a suit rather than the customary military uniform amongst the upper tier of government, seemed a tad trite and old fashioned.
“Good evening secretary.” He said, his tone polite and mannered but laced with indifference.
“And you Secretary.” Charles nodded, “I assumed you aren’t here simply to congratulate the Ministry?”
“No. Though some of your lots work is a marvellous gift to my lot.”
“Thank you.” Charles snubbed out his cigarette and then turned back to Blair, “How can I help you?”
“Nothing is official, of course, but Oswald has a proposal for you. It has the PM’s assent.” Blair replied. A proposal from Tom himself? But one too important for just one of their friendly little chats… not that he’d seen the man in a while, of course.
“Oh?” Charles asked, feigning disinterest.
“Yes.” Blair looked out at the city wistfully, “He and the PM agree that you’re reliable, Londonderry. You understand their vision. Much better than those bloody Liberals.”
“Why thank you, sir. I wasn’t aware that the PM and the Secretary had so much faith in me.”
“Well they do.” Said Blair, “And they think you’re ready to be moved up a rung. Oswald wants you at Foreign.” Charles nearly dropped the now cold cigarette.
“What an unexpected honour.” The Air Minister remarked, still slightly stunned.
“Yes well the PM is happy to reward a fellow veteran of the last war. And you distinguished yourself in Baldwin's National Government and in this one. They admired your use of the air force to quell the socialists in twenty six.”
“Aha, compared to his exploits amongst the Arabs my involvement was quite minor. I was just another foot soldier in the five long years of mud and blood in the west. And the General strike was nothing,” He said with feigned modesty at some of his best work, "I was just following my orders. The socialists and their strike had to be put down for the good of the country."
“That may be the case, but Oswald sees something in you and Tom concurs with him.”
“May I ask why they need someone new there?” Charles asked.
“The current chap is one of Lloyd George’s lot.” Blair said, as if it needed no elaboration but, upon realising it did, he spoke, “The National Liberals got the New Deal for Britain, but they don’t get the new world we’re building. After the war ends they’re going to be dropped anyway, and we have a majority without them – or at least enough Liberals are willing to defect to us to ensure one. Next Lloyd George will be out.”
“So there’s an opening for Chancellor as well?”
“Yes, not that you’d want it these days.” Blair laughed, “Oswald’s Department of Economic Affairs has neutered it. Lloyd George is a lame duck, and one that the PM is willing to shoot in the head if needs be.”
“And the war’s coming to an end?”
“Yes,” At that Blair grinned, “The Chinese are retreating along the Tibetan Plateau and the Japanese are days away from taking Beijing. Paris has fallen too, and Berlin won’t be long now. Musso’s soldiers have crossed the Alps into Austria and Bavaria. Germany can’t hold both frontiers.”
“The new world’s nearly here then.” Charles remarked with his own smile.
“Yes, yes it is.”
“In response to your question; yes. I’ll move to foreign.” Charles said, back on subject, “It would be my honour.”
Behind them another jet shot into the sky, rising higher and higher, piercing the clouds and then swooping back down to hover just above the surface of the Thames. Marvels of engineering, modernity embodied in elegantly crafted metal and glass, instruments whirring away with exact and perfect accuracy under a specially crafted hull. The two men on the balcony were not the New Jerusalem, the men and women milling around on the ground weren’t, the pilots at the Aerodrome weren’t, and the petty aristocrats certainly weren’t. Those tow crafts soaring through the city were the world to come.
“That’s that settled then.” Blair said with a nod, “Expect to see your face on some of our new posters soon. Someone else will be here to let you know when you’ve got the job. For what it’s worth, Londonderry, I think you’re the best man for it. It’s true you’re a Tory, but so is Tom, and he’s the best PM this country’s ever had. Anyway I’ll bid you adieu.” Blair nodded, and exited.
Charles wondered where Oswald and Tom were right now, were they with the King? He couldn’t be sure, but he doubted it – Edward had been receptive to them at first, but at the end of the day he was just another ageing aristocrat, he was getting uncomfortable with the speed of progress. But no Windsor was needed; Lawrence and Mosely would guide the country ahead into the new world.
Into the future.
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