Based on the story What if Gordon Banks Had Played? by Anthony Wells, with some differences.

The point of divergence: during the 1970 World Cup, England's goalkeeper Gordon Banks was able to play their quarter-final match against West Germany. England went on to win the match 2-1, and advanced to the semi-finals against Italy.

1.

It was March 15th, 1980. A day forever etched into the memories of the British people. Early that morning, Enoch Powell’s black Jaguar was seen hurriedly moving to Buckingham Palace. The route was lined with armed troops, keeping any protestors clogging up Central London from getting within view as the Jaguar passed through the military checkpoint at the Admiralty Arch. In his extensive memoirs, Powell made mention that as he watched rifle-carrying soldiers atop the Victoria Memorial, “I finally understood what kind of country we had made.” No shots were fired, and the Prime Minister of six years entered the Palace for his final audience with Her Majesty. It was to be an awkward meeting at best. Her so-called Royal Dissent to the suspension of the next general election had brought him down amid the general strike, near-civil war, and occupation of Ireland. Now he faced her, not to demand her abdication as some in the Cabinet suggested, but to tender his resignation. Presumably biting his lip or clenching his fists, he recommended Lord Howe be invited to form a government.

Geoffrey Howe, Lord of Tandridge, had been the unofficial leader of opposition to the Powell regime over the last few years amongst exiled British politicians. Since his unceremonious sacking from the Cabinet in 1977, he had tried to serve his country as best he could from France and played a major role in lobbying the European Community to press sanctions against Britain. His anti-Powell credentials were impeccable and that was all many people needed. With seemingly no Prime Minister, the Queen personally ordered her Armed Forces to fetch him. With surprisingly little argument from a quietly relieved Civil Service, No. 24 Squadron RAF dispatched a lone C-130 Hercules to Paris, where Geoffrey Howe waited at Charles de Gaulle Airport after three years in exile. Touching down at RAF Lyneham in Wiltshire, near Chippenham, Mr Howe emerged from the vast cargo bay with a platoon of soldiers at his side before quickly being ferried into a waiting Jaguar identical to that which Powell had taken to the Palace. A fairly small group of reporters and photographers observed, only to be disappointed when no press conference or indeed even a speech from the tarmac followed. Downing Street was waiting.

Yet already other elements were in motion. At BBC Television Centre in west London, David Dimbleby was being broadcast to both BBC channels (at the time, Britain had only three television channels, the third being ITV) announcing the momentous events of the day. The government censor, Ben Branson, had been barricaded inside a bathroom to keep him from thwarting the first free news broadcast in five years. Ironically, this only served for the BBC to stay neutral on topics of their own choosing, rather than treat the events as positive or negative. As Dimbleby spoke to the cameras, his words unknowingly encouraging people in their thousands, then millions, to leave their homes and begin congregating in town centres to celebrate, a convoy of armoured vehicles pulled up outside the studio. Soldiers emerged led by General Sir Walter Walker, a former commander-in-chief of NATO who had become Powell’s favourite man in uniform, and would later face war crimes charges for his actions in Northern Ireland. The men marched into the studio as General Walker announced that it was being put under military control, acting under the authority of what he called the Emergency Government. The cameras turned off, and television screens across the nation fell to static. The Chief Operating Officer, seeing soldiers literally approaching from down the corridor, made an urgent phone call to New Broadcasting House in Manchester. From there, broadcasts would continue as other soldiers already present in case of terrorist attacks chose to ignore the so-called Emergency Government.

Just outside London, the convoy taking Geoffrey Howe to Downing Street came to a halt. An Army roadblock on the M4 just south of Reading blocked their way, and troops approached. They said only that they were under government orders to seal off London, and threatened to place Howe under arrest if he did not cooperate. They too claimed to be acting on the order of an Emergency Government. It was starting to become pretty clear what was going on.

The convoy turned around, but made for a nearby country road. On the way, Geoffrey Howe made a desperate phone call to the Palace. From there, he warned Her Majesty that he feared a military coup was taking place. She replied that Heathrow had just shut down and armoured vehicles were on the tarmac, so said the still-free Radio Four. Howe, kicking himself for not doing so sooner, turned on Radio Four to learn that Heathrow had fallen. The Cabinet Office had also been occupied, taking control of Whitehall’s central nervous system, while Downing Street remained unmolested for the time being.

Queen Elizabeth II chose to take matters into her own hands. Marching down the steps of the Palace, she climbed into her Land Rover still waiting to be returned to Balmoral, and demanded to be driven to Television Centre herself. Prince Philip nearly came with her, only to be told to ensure the Queen’s Guard stayed at their posts. The Queen’s Land Rover sped to the BBC studios, while outside the capital Geoffrey Howe’s convoy snuck through unguarded country roads before reaching a main road in Maidenhead. They encountered soldiers again, but these ones hadn’t even heard of an Emergency Government. This coup didn’t seem so slickly organised as Howe feared.

The Queen soon reached west London; her Land Rover was stopped by an Army barricade, only to be quickly let through by alarmed soldiers after they saw who was in the back seat. The soldiers guarding the studio watched silently as Elizabeth II, Queen of the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand, Head of the Commonwealth and the Church of England, marched into Television Centre, guided to the main news desk. General Walker was sat before the cameras at that time, ranting about communism and homosexuals to an audience which he had no idea were non-existent as the crew behind the scenes pretended to broadcast. Then, spotting the Queen appear behind the cameras (which soldiers were manning as the BBC staff refused to cooperate), he stopped and demanded they cease broadcasting. “We never were,” shouted one production assistant. The Queen approached General Walker and told him, “General, I order you to stand down this instant.” With tears in his eyes, Walker obeyed. He was then asked the most important question of the day; “who is behind this?” The answer was Lord Mountbatten.

Admiral of the Fleet Louis Mountbatten, 1st Earl Mountbatten of Burma, was a remarkable man. The last Viceroy of India, uncle of Prince Philip and second cousin to the Queen, Supreme Allied Commander South East Asia Command in the war, First Sea Lord, Chief of the Defence Staff, and Chairman of the NATO Military Committee. There had been whispers of his involvement in plots before, against Harold Wilson’s government, but never taken seriously. Now it seemed the seventy-nine year old was trying to use the chaos and confusion of Powell’s resignation to make a grab for power himself.

The Queen then sat before the cameras herself, to broadcast her now-mythical appeal to the nation. She called for calm, for people to return to work, and specifically stated that “I have asked Lord Geoffrey Howe to form a government.” Having already become the one person most credited with bringing down Powell, her place in the hearts of the British people was unassailable. With that speech, the coup was dead. But where was its head?

At that time Mountbatten was in the air, flying from Belfast to Heathrow in preparation for taking power. He had chartered a private flight but, as the small jet passed over the Isle of Man a pair of RAF Harrier jets intercepted the aircraft and forced it to land at RAF Speke outside Liverpool. He was promptly arrested. Handed over to the Metropolitan Police, he was intensely questioned by Special Branch and the Security Service, quickly coughing up the names of his co-conspirators. Admiral of the Fleet Varyl Begg, founder of the Special Air Service David Stirling, Sir Maurice Oldfield, former director of MI6, three former and current generals of the Army and four colonels were named as participating in the plot. Only David Stirling would be acquitted in the subsequent investigation, which would practically turn the country upside down amid Operation Sugarplum, led by the Metropolitan Police Service, to uncover every detail of the plot. Over the next five years more than 1,200 people would be prosecuted, most of them members of the militias formed to seize power. Others would include disgruntled right-wing members of the intelligence services, the powerful newspaper magnate Viscount Rothermere, owner of the Daily Mail, its editor Sir David English, Cecil King, head of the International Publishing Corporation and former head of the Bank of England, Conservative leader John Morse, the comedian Michael Bentine, and the industrialist Lord Cayzer. The list of arrests read like a who’s who of the British Establishment.

Operation Sugarplum would dominate British life throughout the early 1980s, ensuring a deep and lasting suspicion of the privileged sectors of society which provided plenty of capital for governments to strip away the power of the Establishment. Many historians believe that Britain may have become a republic in this anti-establishment mood were it not for the actions of the Queen on that day. When a year later Operation Mustard began to scoop up former politicians and celebrities in a massive paedophilia investigation including Edward Heath, the former conservative leader, and beloved children’s entertainer Jimmy Savile, all because of a single slip of the tongue by Viscount Rothermere in a police interview, the anger towards the Establishment turned to a revulsion which would never go away. But it also meant a crisis of confidence even deeper than the one which the end of the Powell era brought. As the dark underbelly of the country was revealed for all to see, the maze of secrecy penetrating all corners of society, many began to wonder what kind of country Britain really was.

For the time being, the present was what mattered. The coup had failed. What would be known as the Mountbatten Plot had relied on poorly organised private armies, too small to seize control and led by eccentric former officers. It was the last gasp of an Establishment trying to cling to power, and it was over.

So too was the darkest period of modern British history. It would take time but it seemed as though the Troubles, once a term only applied to Ireland, were over.

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2.

After what must have been the most dramatic car ride of his life, Geoffrey Howe finally reached Downing Street at sunset. Huge crowds lined the roads for more than two miles, watching the new Prime Minister pass by. Many had already cheered the sight of truckloads of soldiers withdrawing from around Buckingham Palace, just as they had when troops had disobeyed Cabinet orders to fire on protestors and allowed them to pass into Central London unhindered several days earlier. “We gave Howe a certain messianic image on that day,” recalled the comedian Eddie Izzard in a 2013 article for The Guardian.

Unlike at RAF Lyneham, a swarm of press awaited the new premier’s entry to Downing Street. He was soaked in white camera flashes as he emerged from his official car, before offering words to those assembled; “I have today accepted Her Majesty’s invitation to form a government, and I intend to offer invitations to all major parties in the House of Commons to put together a transitional, caretaker authority until elections can be held. The British people have made it through one of our most difficult, painful moments in our history. The road ahead will be difficult, and it will take much time and effort to heal.” He then quoted Virgil’s Aeneid, as Enoch Powell had done in his infamous 1968 speech, but this time to offer hope that the future might be brighter: “The gates of hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labour lies.”

Over the next three days, this caretaker authority began to take shape. The first National Government since 1945, Geoffrey Howe took the title of Prime Minister while the Labour leader, Merlyn Rees, became Deputy Prime Minister and Leader of the House of Commons. Among others appointed included the Liberal leader, Beatrice Seear, who became Foreign Secretary while Labour’s Roy Jenkins and Barbara Castle headed the Home Office and Education respectively. Labour also took up the posts of Health and Social Security, Information, Employment, Energy, Trade and Industry, Wales, Scotland, and Transport. Yet among the nineteen Cabinet members were included seven peers and nine people from outside Parliament entirely, including Moss Evans, assistant general secretary of the Transport and General Workers Union, who had just been released from house arrest while Enoch Powell entered it at his home in Eaton Square, where he would write regular letters to The Times. The British executive was meant to be drawn from the Commons; the interim administration was unique in breaking this, raising huge constitutional questions.

A whole new, rather more democratic conflict erupted the moment the new government formed. This time, the conflict was within the Conservative Party as different factions began to jostle. Ever since the 1977 general election and its massive Conservative landslide, the backbenches had been teaming with far-right Powell supporters. When Geoffrey Howe stood before the despatch box for the first time as premier, he was greeted by perhaps a hundred Tories chanting “Traitor!” It quickly became apparent that one of the great legacies of Enoch Powell was that the House of Commons had been rendered, for the moment, inert. As a result, much like with the previous dictatorship, opposition was lacklustre where it existed. Despite this, little primary legislation was put forward as the government from its first breath was looking towards crafting the ideal circumstances for a general election sooner rather than later. Appearing on the BBC, Merlyn Rees claimed that a general election was vital even if for simply symbolic reasons, to re-establish trust in British government. But to achieve that, both Labour and the Liberals were insisting that reform of Britain’s electoral system, known as First Past the Post, had to come before the election. Even Geoffrey Howe, who knew the Conservatives had the most to lose from such a change by effectively ending the possibility of single-party government, was rapidly won over.

So it was that, using the same statutory instruments wielded so viciously by Enoch Powell, an Order in Council replaced First Past the Post in one swift stroke. There had been much debate over what system should come in its place; a close runner up had been known as the Single Transferable Vote, but in the end a general settlement came around an altered form of the Sainte-Laguë method, already in use in Sweden, Norway, New Zealand, and the West German Bundestag. It was modified to remove any electoral threshold, meaning to win a seat in the 635-member Commons one needed only 0.08% of the vote, while also including an open party-list system. This modified version would come to be known as the Howe model.

Immediately upon taking office, the new government had ordered a full-scale withdrawal of British forces from the Republic of Ireland, which they had occupied for five months and where they fought a bloody guerrilla war. After intense discussions through secretive back channels, the Irish Republican Army agreed to a provisional ceasefire amid the withdrawal and fresh negotiations. Gerry Adams, in calling the ceasefire just before his return to Ireland after exile in the United States, told the press that “I’m very confident that this new British administration is sincere, that it wants peace. Lord Howe is a good man, that’s why he refused to be tainted by the evils of Enoch Powell and his minions, and so I believe all Irishmen must give him a chance to prove that what has been wronged can be made right.” Others disagreed; IRA leader Martin McGuinness claimed from prison that “the British are trying to paint themselves as victims.” Whether or not Britain was justified in its actions against the Republic, including in occupation, would become a major tenet of British nationalism in the years and decades ahead. Utilising Orders in Council, the Irish internment camps (already being called concentration camps even by the British media) were shut down. Originally the interim government had discussed a gradual process to prevent genuine dangerous criminals being let loose but it quickly became clear that all those imprisoned within their walls were there without any involvement of the rule of law, and so their imprisonment was illegitimate as far as the law was concerned.

The most infamous of these camps was at Seskinore, south of Omagh. There, British troops and international observers began to excavate a mass grave containing 1,382 former prisoners. Among the dead were women and children, including 36 identified babies. Amid the horror, the government surprised the world when it became the first to declare the actions at Seskinore genocide. Three days after the discovery, Lord Howe visited the site himself despite the fear of assassination. The visit culminated in his laying of a wreath at a makeshift memorial, before silently kneeling before it in the drizzle. The act was immediately compared to West German Chancellor Willy Brandt’s Warschauer Kniefall, when he knelt before a memorial to victims of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising ten years previously. It was to be a small but vital step in restoring peace to Northern Ireland; on July 17th a formal ceasefire was signed in Belfast while in Dublin the government cautiously restored diplomatic relations with the United Kingdom. It was not the end, but it was perhaps the beginning of the end.

Howe faced a series of immediate crises. Inflation had reached 25% amid international sanctions, its highest level since the First World War, while unemployment had climbed to 20%, with joblessness among the young being even higher at 40%. North Sea oil had not yet quite come to fruition, meaning the realm was, like the rest of the world, embroiled in the energy crisis unleashed by America’s ruinous war in Iran. Britain’s economy was in the doldrums; from Scotland to Cornwall lay empty factories and whole high streets with cardboard in their windows as recession bit ever deeper. The markets had responded well to the fall of Enoch Powell, and President Reagan’s announcement that sanctions would be lifted following the British withdrawal from Ireland was quickly followed by the European Community, but nevertheless the new government had a mighty job on its hands.

By October, the strains in the interim government were blatantly obvious. Howe, recognising that Labour was about to pull out amid intense pressure from its radicalised membership, finally called the general election for November 4th. He believed more time was needed to stabilise the economy, even if the Bank of England was reporting that investor confidence was picking up while decent balance of trade figures were released, but the country was no longer willing to wait. Howe's job was done.

The six-week election campaign was as chaotic as it could be while remaining politely British. The only Britons seemingly unprepared to keep things peaceful were certain Northern Irish figures; two days after Parliament was dissolved, police in Manchester narrowly prevented a car bomb from going off outside a railway station in Tameside. In Northern Ireland itself the campaign was tumultuous at best; political rallies regularly saw violence as militant rivals broke them up in scenes reminiscent of Weimar Germany. Pelting soldiers with stones, with the regular reply of rubber bullets, was a daily ritual during the campaign. Meanwhile it seemed that Geoffrey Howe was spending more time trying to win over his own party than the rest of the country. For the first time, the party failed to produce an election manifesto and instead resorted to vague “pledges” as Howe fruitlessly tried to tame the rabid Powellite faction of the party led by John Morse, a newcomer to the Commons in 1977 already being touted as a future leader despite his truly foul speeches. Ultimately it would turn out that people such as Morse and his devoted friends resided in an echo chamber which no-one, not even the Tory faithful, wanted anything to do with. This didn’t stop them crisscrossing the country in a hired train, singing patriotic songs including football chants in a scene which one journalist called “Millwall with rosettes.” Howe went as far as calling the Powellite rump a “cancerous blight” upon the party, disavowing them completely, but it did little to lift them.

Labour’s story was little better. Since he led rebellion against Harold Wilson’s attempts to join the European Community, Tony Benn had become the certain leader of the party’s hard left wing, in daily battles with Merlyn Rees from tabloid to television. When Labour’s manifesto was released, with its proudly social democratic mantras, Benn condemned it and published his own, calling for unification of Ireland, abolition of the monarchy and nuclear weapons, sky-high taxes, and a siege economy. “He’s hijacking the fucking party,” Rees was overheard muttering while visiting Sheffield. Yet Benn found himself with a mighty army of “Red Guards,” as the left-wing party membership came to be derisively known. The days of Enoch Powell had radicalised many Labour members, many of whom now saw anything that wasn’t hard-left as being “as foul as Powell,” including their own party leadership. A belated attempt to call a truce by Rees failed when Benn was refused his demands of control over the Treasury and far greater democratisation of the party. One rally in support of Benn, under a new umbrella organisation calling itself Resistance and supported by the Morning Star newspaper, took place in Hull involving several thousand dockers and quickly descended into chaos as demonstrators clashed with police, overturned one of the coaches meant to take them home, and burned down the office of the local Conservative MP. It was clear to all observers just how frenzied British politics had become after the days of Enoch Powell. Despite it all, Resistance by the date of the election had grown to 100,000 members. Merlyn Rees hardly gave the public much reason to have faith in his leadership when, during an interview, he was asked if Resistance had become a thorn in his side. He replied, “more like a broadsword.”

Only the Liberals had any degree of unity. Beatrice Seear had abandoned the House of Lords in 1977 to become the new party leader, sensing the way the wind was blowing and recognising the need for passionate opposition to Powell. Completely unknown until then, she came to be affectionately known by much of the public simply as “Bea,” a kindly matriarchal figure who could put things right instead of squabbling with her own mad party. A native of Croydon who had seen the horror of Nazism first-hand during her time in Germany during the 1930s, Seear was already one of the country’s biggest champions for women’s rights when she was thrust into leadership of the party. Returning to usage of her first name instead of her middle, Nancy, on a press officer’s advice that it would be more endearing to the public, she was the reassuring image the public wanted. Seear campaigned with vigour and displayed a formidable intellect when she appeared on the BBC’s first ever televised election debate against Geoffrey Howe and Merlyn Rees, correcting the Prime Minister on economic figures down to three-figure decimals. Within just two weeks the Liberals had soared to the top of the opinion polls; one poll even suggested they could win 600 seats in the general election. Seear herself pointed out that the poll had been taken among Liberal members, joking that “I’m rather disappointed we couldn’t win those last 50 from them.” For a woman of 67, some were concerned by the level of energy her campaigning demonstrated, not least when she arrived by helicopter aboard an oil rig in the North Sea. On the day before the election, not even the Daily Mail could bring itself to support the Conservatives, instead endorsing Beatrice Seear as “the woman who can save Britain.”

The election results were arguably the most dramatic in British history. With 625 seats available and 313 needed for a majority the Liberals roared to first place, an accomplishment not seen in seventy years, with 50% of the vote and 250 seats. Labour came a poor second, with 22.5% of the vote and 140 seats. The Conservatives were, in the words of Geoffrey Howe at his own result count, emasculated, winning just 15% of the vote and 93 seats. Even Howe lost his Surrey seat to a 27 year old Liberal called Anthony Blair. The Scottish National Party shot up to 12 seats, while various Northern Irish parties too numerous to list gained seats and parties new to the Commons such as environmentalist Ecology, the Trotskyist Worker’s Revolutionary Party, or Cornish nationalist Mebyon Kernow gained their first seats.

In the subsequent back and forth to form a coalition government, the Conservatives found themselves locked out completely. Neither the Liberals nor Labour were willing to entertain the possibility of bringing the party of Powell into government once again. “Right is Wrong,” chanted the Labour supporters outside Conservative Party HQ the day after the result, shortly before (and after) breaking a few windows. Tony Benn, to the surprise of all concerned, played ball with the negotiations, quietly making his own plots to seize the Labour leadership once it was a party of government. Merlyn Rees was hardly oblivious to the scheming but there was little he could do, though in one heated argument behind closed doors he hissed at the militant Benn “if you want this country to be more of a shambles than it already is, piss off and start your own party!” As it ended up, after six days a coalition deal was negotiation. The Liberals and Labour shook hands and united, with a powerful majority in the form of 390 seats. Some were concerned that, with the rump Conservatives already tearing themselves to shreds, Parliament was still not quite the place for credible opposition. Beatrice Seear rode into Downing Street triumphantly, as Britain’s first female leader, to begin a new chapter in this island story.

What of the New Right? This grand experiment in neoliberalism had been tested simultaneously in the United States and United Kingdom, and failed in both. The disastrous recession which gripped the world by 1980, the worst economic turmoil since the 1930s, lay at the feet of the architects of the new mould of right-wing thought. Its legacy of deregulation and privatisation would, in time, yield wealth but this was invisible to observers at the time. Edward Kennedy’s landslide victory against President Reagan on November 4, just two days before the British election, appeared to symbolise the final triumph of liberalism and the soft left after a decade of bitter conflict. Howe would remain as Conservative leader for a year and a half, trying in vain to hold back his party as it did its best to commit suicide in public. But ultimately one of the costs of the Powell era, of which there were many, would be the Conservative party. The party which gave the world men such as Sir Robert Peel, Benjamin Disraeli, and Winston Churchill lay down and died as a new era of progressive politics in Britain began.

Two days later, the country was reminded that the election was not the end of the challenges facing it. Just after dusk, a bomb tore through the departure lounge at Edinburgh Airport, killing 10 people. The Real IRA took responsibility, beginning a new policy of eschewing any warnings of its attacks. Britain had “attempted to enslave” all of Ireland, and now its civilians would pay the price.

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Well, the first difference I see is that the Queen survived (she died in the Gordon Banks TL). Did the Parliament bombing still happen here?

Waiting for more...
 
Might be a good idea to actually read some Enoch Powell, plus a good biography before writing an ATL about his premiership. Powell was certainly something of a racist but he was not a fascist and had a good grasp of constitutional law and economics. He didn't play well with others but was progressive in his economic ideas and ran the National Health Service rather well in the early sixties. A Powell premiership would have been more of a right wing version of Gordon Brown -feared and detested by his Cabinet colleagues but none of them daring to challenge him as he was believed to have had a formidable intellect and a deep understanding of economics. Main difference, Powell actually did have a formidable intellect and a deep understanding of economics. Also, a (rather grim) sense of humour. If Powell had been in power for ten years or more there would have been as enormous a social transformation as in 1979 -1989 only not quite the same. Powell wasn't Thatcher and Thatcher wasn't Powell. Thatcher was less interested in issues of race and immigration and, indeed, very comfortable with the Jewish and Chinese communities in particular. Powell was more nationalistic than Thatcher in terms of economic issues. Mightn't have sold off the state owned businesses or not in quite the same way. But also certainly would have changed the British economy so much that returning exiles (themselves an unlikely concept, Powell had a profound belief in the British constitution) would have been hopelessly out of touch and elbowed out of the way by those who had stayed on rather than taking up the reins of power. And the working classes might not have been that keen on a return to government by the left, Powell was quite populist and there would be a strong current of "don't knock Enoch". I can't see him running death camps either, he was very critical of some of the measures used to combat the Mau Mau in Kenya in the fifties. Northern Ireland wouldn't have gone quite the same way either, Powell wasn't a fan of sending the Army in or proroguing Stormont in 1973.

Ethnic minorities would not be as large as currently and the economy would have developed differently but there would have been development. A socialist would probably not have enjoyed a Powell premiership but would probably have agreed with some of the decisions taken, Powell was neither a caricature colonel or Maggie Thatcher on steroids.

Likewise, General Walker was a rabid homophobe but quite an able general. If he had been in charge of the armed forces and decided to launch a military coup, there would have been a military coup (and a Royal Signals Unit outside Broadcasting House confirming transmission) and Howe et al arrested/shot trying to escape after their arrival in Britain and Her Majesty politely escorted back to the palace. Just because people are nasty doesn't mean they are necessarily incompetent.
 
I've been working on a timeline similar to this, and I have to agree with the above post about Powell himself. That being said, I'm very engrossed in what's happening. Keep it up!
 
Interesting take on the original timeline! It would be interesting also to here more about the trials of both the Powell Cabinet and of the coup plotters (who I'm assuming would be charged with, and very possibly hanged for, treason). Keep it up!
 
I cant seem to find the original timeline, it seems the host site has been taken down. Has anyone got a link to it?
 
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