Chapter 1

Hammond carefully pinched out the contents of the cigarette ends into his tin. This was a good haul and would keep him going for a few days. There was perhaps enough to swap with the other down-and-outers outside the mission. Yes, he was quite pleased with himself.

The bar had always provided rich pickings. It was one of the few that didn't lock up their trash behind wrought iron gates topped with spikes. He didn't need any more tears in his Salvation Army provided clothes.

He took a last survey of the back alley, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything valuable, and made his way back to the street with his tin full of dank, smelly, pre-owned tobacco.

The alley opened on to King George Street, one of the main uptown shopping districts. It was glittering with the signs of frenzied commerce. Respectably dressed people thronging past, and in, extravagantly decorated shops, frantically buying those last minute presents before Christmas.

As he made his way down the street, everyone called it KG, the shoppers parted like the Red Sea around him. Occasionally someone would glance pitiably at him, but most just looked away, prescribing an arc in his or her progress.

Hammond hated KG and all the streets like it. It reminded him of what he'd once been, or still could have been, if he hadn't been fired. Sure, he'd embezzled a few grand from the Company but it was sweet revenge for the way they'd treated him. The resentment had built up over the two years since he'd been shafted by that bloody manager until finally, he'd worked out a scheme to get his own back.

So how was an Accountant going to find work after being canned for embezzlement? Word got around pretty fast and soon he couldn't get any work.

So it was the meagre unemployment benefit, the cheap boarding house and meals at the city mission.

"Hey Prof.'," Doc' yelled at him when he arrived outside the mission building, "I've got something you might like."

Hammond followed the old tramp around the back of the building. He wished folks would use his real name but they called him 'Prof.', because of his glasses, and 'Prof.' it became.

"Look!" the old man, said, "interested?"

'Doc' extracted a cigar from his bundle and showed it to Hammond.

"This old guy stops next to me... big limo it was... he passes it to me out the window... says 'merry Christmas'... you want to trade?"

"Sure," said Hammond, "what do you want?"

"That old flask you have... the shiny one... I like that."

Hammond took out his old hip flask. He'd found it in a trash can and taken a fancy to it. He handed it to 'Doc'.

"Done," he said.

'Doc' ran his fingers over the chrome flask, caressing it, a smile broke over his grubby, wrinkled face.

"Shiny... very shiny," Doc' said, wandering off.

Hammond stood in the dim light at the back of the Mission and took out his old lighter. With a smile of pleasure he puffed on the long 'Churchill'. Blowing a smoke ring into the still night, he said to himself,

"Havana... hand-rolled... Manzanillo, if I'm not mistaken." He prided himself on his knowledge of the finer things of life.

On the other side of town, and a world away from Hammond, a sleek limousine pulled into the driveway of a large mansion. It paused while the ornate high gate slid aside, then whisked its occupant towards the Romanesque porticullo.

The chauffeur sprang from the driver's door and stood rigidly as Harriet alighted.

"Thank you Frederic, that will be all tonight. I have the hairdresser's at eleven then you may go home to your family."

"Yes ma'am, than you ma'am," the chauffeur replied and closed the door with a soft click.

As she climbed the three steps the elaborate door swung open to reveal the bowing figure of her Butler.

"Good evening ma'am," he said.

"Thank you Graham," Harriet said, nodding at the man, "I think you can lock up... has Georgette gone to bed?"

"Yes ma'am, Mr. Tempsky is in the parlour."

"Thank you."

Harriet believed in treating the staff in a civil manner.

Having finished his meal at the City Mission, Hammond decided to seek treatment for an infected cut he'd received in last night's forage. The only free clinic available, nowadays, was the 'People's Health Centre, ' down near the docks. This had recently been set up by the Communist Party and was staffed with volunteers.

The old public health service had long been sold off to private enterprise. Although subsidies were available to the unemployed, costs had outpaced those to the point where many still couldn't afford minor medical treatment. Until, of course, the Party stepped into the breach.

The only problem at the Health Centre was, having to wait. It was always busy, day and night. It took him an hour before the doctor saw him. While he waited he began to talk to some of the young Party activists that always hovered around. Young types with fire in their eyes and passion in their hearts that would bore the crap out of him as long as he waited.

"Property is theft," the young guy was saying, "rocks are worth nothing in the ground. It's the workers who provide those rocks with value with their sweat and the ruling class who get rich."

It was a message he'd heard a thousand times before, but this time something snapped. He was bored to death with life. He was resentful towards wealth and privilege and this democracy really was only a sham. He'd had enough living from day to day and living off the crumbs of the rich. It was time to change society.

During the next year Hammond rose quickly through the Party hierarchy to become Branch Secretary. He was a natural organiser and his accountancy and managerial skills stood him in good stead. He soon gained the respect of those above him.

Society was beginning to unravel for both Harriet and Hammond, but it would have diametrically opposite effects for each of them.

For Hammond, the global economic crisis brought unprecedented support for the revolutionary movement and the Party became a major player in the political scene.

For Harriet, it brought her husband's companies to the brink of bankruptcy and their personal fortunes began to tumble. Strikes at the factories were finishing off the work of the worldwide depression.

5 years later Harriet and her 13 year old daughter Georgette lined up with all the other women and girls as they alighted from the buses. They stood staring at the bleak surroundings and barbed wire that would be their home for the next year.

They had been told that 're-education' would require a year but Harriet had a foreboding that they would never be allowed to leave or see Mr. Tempsky, her husband, ever again.

The camp guards were a mixture of women and men, all wore the same shapeless, olive fatigues. Their caps all displayed the red star. Each guard had a sub-machine gun slung over their shoulder.

Harriet noted what must be the officers. Their uniforms had a better fit and each carried a collar patch denoting their rank. She particularly noted a rather average looking man wearing cavalry boots with rather more stars on his patch than any of the others. He carried a riding crop that he tapped impatiently on his left leg. His glasses made him look like a jumped-up bank clerk.

Harriet didn't like his eyes, or rather the way he was scanning the crowd of women and girls. It seemed to her that he was like a farmer appraising a heard of cattle. As his eyes drifted towards her she decided to stare right back at him. She hoped she would show this bank clerk that she, Harriet Tempsky, wasn't going to be intimidated.