In 1981, Women began a blockade of RAF Greenham Common in Berkshire, England. A number of women’s peace camps were established over the next nineteen years, in protest against the decision of the British government to allow cruise missiles to be stored there.
Gerald stared absently out of the carriage window as the train whizzed through the Hampshire countryside towards the capital. He might have opened his briefcase and pored over the latest sets of finance figures in preparation for the forthcoming meeting but after three decades of studying such reports, he could quote, with great accuracy, the latest stock market prices, chapter and verse. Instead, he pursed his lips as he chewed over Hilary’s latest bombshell. She had decided, with some enthusiasm, to join a women’s protest group and campaign for the removal of cruise missiles, chaining herself to the fence at the American Air Base at Greenham Common.
She had thrown herself into her new venture with a zeal, spurred by thoughts of saving the world from a nuclear catastrophe. She would be a modern day heroine. He should not have been particularly surprised. He could have predicted that the pottery course might fail to fulfil her ambitions, or the part time crèche assistant, assistant librarian, or any of the numerous posts, positions and placements she had been attracted to these last few years, would not live up to expectation.
The train began to brake and he glanced up at the information board, but knew instinctively that they were pulling into Basingstoke and that it was on time. The doors opened and seconds later, the commuters surged onboard. He spotted the woman with the silver hair who worked in reception. She saw him too and they gave each other the briefest of nods as she passed.
The train pulled away and he slid back into his dreamlike world, with Hilary happily and gainfully deployed in saving the planet from inter-continental missile warfare. He wondered fleetingly how he would cope at home alone with his scant knowledge of domesticity and cooking skills, but he thought that the pros outweighed the cons. He was still in dreamland when the screech of brakes told him that they had reached their destination.
He had survived the week of solitude without setting the house alight though his ventures into the world of catering had produced some disappointing results, but he had survived.
He strolled unhurriedly from the station on Friday evening, his mind preoccupied with the weekend all alone, but as he opened the gate, he was shaken from his reverie to hear music coming from the house. He opened the front door to a scene of utter chaos. A row of black bin liners sat side by side, and along the hall a bundle of dirty coats hung from the banister. A strange middle aged woman in grubby bra and pants descended the stairs and gave him a dirty look. Another, in similar attire, sat on the sofa, nursing a glass of red wine.
“Hello love, you must be Jerry, I’m Rosie,” she announced.
Others, in similar degrees of undress sauntered in and out of the sitting room. He stared, speechless at the piles of dirty boots scattered across the shagpile. He was stunned into silence as Hilary appeared in her housecoat at the foot of the stairs.
“Oh, hello darling, I’ve brought some friends for the weekend. There’s a shopping list by the sink. Be a love and pop down to M&S, get enough for dinner for six, get a box of red and a box of white wine. Also, get some breakfast stuff and I’ll sort food the rest of the weekend tomorrow morning. You’re looking pale; are you all right?”
He spent a most unpleasant evening being educated by Rosie on the numerous aspects of female inequality, the injustice of employment laws and the promises of changes to come and the lengths women’s groups were about to embark on. She sent shivers down his spine.
He disappeared early next morning, played eighteen holes, lunched in the clubhouse and then played another round. He joined them for another politically charged dinner and retired early.
Sunday followed a similar course and when he returned home, he found silence but a great deal of clearing up, dirty carpets, a large M&S bill and a note from Hilary taped to the fridge.
“Sorry about the mess. Ring Sandi and ask her to clean up, change bedding, put bins out. Ask her to stock the fridge. We are coming down again for rest and relaxation on Friday.”
He rang Sandi and explained the situation and asked her to clean the house and leave her bill.
He barely slept, rose early, showered, cut himself shaving, spilt coffee on his trousers, gathered his briefcase, stood by the back door and stared at the bombsite of the interior, then gulped at the horror of a repeat next weekend. He shook his head and locked the door.
When they stopped in Basingstoke, he failed to notice the silver haired lady until she sidled into the next seat. “Morning, Mr Ross, okay if I join you? Train’s a bit full today.”
“Oh, oh, yes of course, it’s er, er.....”
“Dorothy, I work in reception. Are you okay? You look rather shell shocked.”
“It’s been a most trying weekend and I have a rather demanding meeting today.”
“Oh dear, that Monday morning feeling, eh?”
He survived the meeting but the Managing Director had picked up on his lack of sparkle and took Gerald by the arm into a quiet corner. “What’s up old boy, had a bad weekend?”
“Dreadful, domestic situation arising, I might need to take some time off, sir.”
“Listen, you’re my top man on European markets, I want you in top form, especially this week with the German delegation coming here. Anything I can do, let me know.”
He put on a brave face and struggled through more meetings and more decision making. He was feeling the fatigue of his lost sleep and struggled through the last couple of hours of the day. As he walked through reception, he saw silver haired Dorothy waiting. She came towards him and said, “Tell me to mind my own business, but I was rather concerned about you after seeing you this morning. I thought I’d accompany you as far as Basingstoke. Is that okay?”
“Yes, yes, very kind, I’ve had a challenging day.”
When they arrived at the station, she edged him towards the coffee stall. “Let’s have a chat.” He nodded like an obedient schoolboy and as they sipped their coffee she slowly wheedled the whole sorry story out of him and his anguish at the prospect of the repeat visit next weekend.
As he was leaving on Tuesday afternoon, he saw her standing in reception and she caught his eye. En route to the station, she said, “Tell me to butt out but I’ve been to Personnel and told them you have an important meeting next Monday and family visiting and they will fund three days in a hotel.”
“Really?” he said with relief.
When he went home the following Monday evening, he found the house trashed again and another note and instructions taped to the fridge. He told Dorothy the next day, but she had already detected his despair. “This is likely to become a weekly event, Gerald. It is time to take drastic action.”
Next day, she presented him with a small envelope. It contained a pair of red ladies panties and some perfume. “Just leave them at the bottom to the bed for her to find. Put two drops of perfume on her pillow. If she asks about the panties, play dumb and deny everything!”
A week later, following a few days of ‘domestic leave’, he joined her on the train. “Clever little trick of yours, Dorothy. She hasn’t said a word about the panties but she’s given the protest mob the heave-ho and we have returned to our boring little existence. Many thanks!”
Gerald stared absently out of the carriage window as the train whizzed through the Hampshire countryside towards the capital. He might have opened his briefcase and pored over the latest sets of finance figures in preparation for the forthcoming meeting but after three decades of studying such reports, he could quote, with great accuracy, the latest stock market prices, chapter and verse. Instead, he pursed his lips as he chewed over Hilary’s latest bombshell. She had decided, with some enthusiasm, to join a women’s protest group and campaign for the removal of cruise missiles, chaining herself to the fence at the American Air Base at Greenham Common.
She had thrown herself into her new venture with a zeal, spurred by thoughts of saving the world from a nuclear catastrophe. She would be a modern day heroine. He should not have been particularly surprised. He could have predicted that the pottery course might fail to fulfil her ambitions, or the part time crèche assistant, assistant librarian, or any of the numerous posts, positions and placements she had been attracted to these last few years, would not live up to expectation.
The train began to brake and he glanced up at the information board, but knew instinctively that they were pulling into Basingstoke and that it was on time. The doors opened and seconds later, the commuters surged onboard. He spotted the woman with the silver hair who worked in reception. She saw him too and they gave each other the briefest of nods as she passed.
The train pulled away and he slid back into his dreamlike world, with Hilary happily and gainfully deployed in saving the planet from inter-continental missile warfare. He wondered fleetingly how he would cope at home alone with his scant knowledge of domesticity and cooking skills, but he thought that the pros outweighed the cons. He was still in dreamland when the screech of brakes told him that they had reached their destination.
He had survived the week of solitude without setting the house alight though his ventures into the world of catering had produced some disappointing results, but he had survived.
He strolled unhurriedly from the station on Friday evening, his mind preoccupied with the weekend all alone, but as he opened the gate, he was shaken from his reverie to hear music coming from the house. He opened the front door to a scene of utter chaos. A row of black bin liners sat side by side, and along the hall a bundle of dirty coats hung from the banister. A strange middle aged woman in grubby bra and pants descended the stairs and gave him a dirty look. Another, in similar attire, sat on the sofa, nursing a glass of red wine.
“Hello love, you must be Jerry, I’m Rosie,” she announced.
Others, in similar degrees of undress sauntered in and out of the sitting room. He stared, speechless at the piles of dirty boots scattered across the shagpile. He was stunned into silence as Hilary appeared in her housecoat at the foot of the stairs.
“Oh, hello darling, I’ve brought some friends for the weekend. There’s a shopping list by the sink. Be a love and pop down to M&S, get enough for dinner for six, get a box of red and a box of white wine. Also, get some breakfast stuff and I’ll sort food the rest of the weekend tomorrow morning. You’re looking pale; are you all right?”
He spent a most unpleasant evening being educated by Rosie on the numerous aspects of female inequality, the injustice of employment laws and the promises of changes to come and the lengths women’s groups were about to embark on. She sent shivers down his spine.
He disappeared early next morning, played eighteen holes, lunched in the clubhouse and then played another round. He joined them for another politically charged dinner and retired early.
Sunday followed a similar course and when he returned home, he found silence but a great deal of clearing up, dirty carpets, a large M&S bill and a note from Hilary taped to the fridge.
“Sorry about the mess. Ring Sandi and ask her to clean up, change bedding, put bins out. Ask her to stock the fridge. We are coming down again for rest and relaxation on Friday.”
He rang Sandi and explained the situation and asked her to clean the house and leave her bill.
He barely slept, rose early, showered, cut himself shaving, spilt coffee on his trousers, gathered his briefcase, stood by the back door and stared at the bombsite of the interior, then gulped at the horror of a repeat next weekend. He shook his head and locked the door.
When they stopped in Basingstoke, he failed to notice the silver haired lady until she sidled into the next seat. “Morning, Mr Ross, okay if I join you? Train’s a bit full today.”
“Oh, oh, yes of course, it’s er, er.....”
“Dorothy, I work in reception. Are you okay? You look rather shell shocked.”
“It’s been a most trying weekend and I have a rather demanding meeting today.”
“Oh dear, that Monday morning feeling, eh?”
He survived the meeting but the Managing Director had picked up on his lack of sparkle and took Gerald by the arm into a quiet corner. “What’s up old boy, had a bad weekend?”
“Dreadful, domestic situation arising, I might need to take some time off, sir.”
“Listen, you’re my top man on European markets, I want you in top form, especially this week with the German delegation coming here. Anything I can do, let me know.”
He put on a brave face and struggled through more meetings and more decision making. He was feeling the fatigue of his lost sleep and struggled through the last couple of hours of the day. As he walked through reception, he saw silver haired Dorothy waiting. She came towards him and said, “Tell me to mind my own business, but I was rather concerned about you after seeing you this morning. I thought I’d accompany you as far as Basingstoke. Is that okay?”
“Yes, yes, very kind, I’ve had a challenging day.”
When they arrived at the station, she edged him towards the coffee stall. “Let’s have a chat.” He nodded like an obedient schoolboy and as they sipped their coffee she slowly wheedled the whole sorry story out of him and his anguish at the prospect of the repeat visit next weekend.
As he was leaving on Tuesday afternoon, he saw her standing in reception and she caught his eye. En route to the station, she said, “Tell me to butt out but I’ve been to Personnel and told them you have an important meeting next Monday and family visiting and they will fund three days in a hotel.”
“Really?” he said with relief.
When he went home the following Monday evening, he found the house trashed again and another note and instructions taped to the fridge. He told Dorothy the next day, but she had already detected his despair. “This is likely to become a weekly event, Gerald. It is time to take drastic action.”
Next day, she presented him with a small envelope. It contained a pair of red ladies panties and some perfume. “Just leave them at the bottom to the bed for her to find. Put two drops of perfume on her pillow. If she asks about the panties, play dumb and deny everything!”
A week later, following a few days of ‘domestic leave’, he joined her on the train. “Clever little trick of yours, Dorothy. She hasn’t said a word about the panties but she’s given the protest mob the heave-ho and we have returned to our boring little existence. Many thanks!”