route of reducing salaries but increasing bonuses and other benefits related to performance.
So now the country was faced with another dilemma. The people had sought a genuine reform, the proper effect of which was evident to all. Their wishes had been thwarted and it was clear that the government was acquiescent in allowing further abuse.
Worse than that, in a way, was the new unemployment that had flowed directly from the attempt to reform. Although the jobs and salaries of workers transferred to private companies were protected, there was no protection for existing employees. Perhaps understandably the private contractors set about streamlining their own concerns. They had suddenly inherited large groups of workers, many of whom were clearly surplus to requirements. These workers couldn’t be sacked, but they could be required to work flexibly and, until natural wasteage took its toll, there would be no need to employ anybody else, would there.
Within a year the unemployment figures had ballooned out of control. The press was awash with stories of hardship. Parliament fiddled while the country burned.
Towards the end of two thousand and thirteen The Guardian published an edition given over completely to the ten-times story. It looked in great detail at the effect of the legislation and could find no case where the spirit of the legislation had been followed. Worse, it demonstrated that the fat-cat targets of the legislation had increased their own salaries and benefits even further during the previous year.
Perhaps if all this had been happening in a different age the country would just have accepted defeat and put the whole matter into the ‘too hard’ basket. Political apathy was, traditionally, an honourable state of mind. The link between Parliament and the People had always been tenuous at best and, for most, it was easier to just carry on living their normal lives in the full and certain knowledge that ‘nobody was going to ever give them a hand so they might as well just get on with it.’
But the 2012 Olympics and Paralympics had subtly changed things. The lead up to those games was full of doubt and criticism. The cost had been enormous and the country’s propensity for development disasters well known. Almost as many people tuned in to the opening ceremony to see an embarrassing shambles as to celebrate a success. As it turned out the ceremony was a huge success and went straight to the heart of national pride. The games themselves were even better than the wildest optomist had dreampt and literally millions made the effort to visit the Olympic Park and share the experience.
Some commentators have traced the earliest sign of what became a public revolt to an obscure sideshow of the games. While millions had tried to buy tickets for all events, only to be told that there were none available, in the early days there were huge seating areas totally empty. It transpired that these seats had been given to various olympic bodies and others who could not be bothered to make sure they were used, nor had the common sense to pass them on to the wider public who would be glad to use them. The public reaction was caustic. We had payed, were paying, for these games and had the right to see them. What right had these anonymous people got to show such disrespect to us.
Whatever the particular view may have been the Olympic Effect was to create a feeling of national identity, belief and expectation throughout the land. We had all seen, particularly with the Paralympics, modest people from humble and diverse backgrounds who, through hardship had risen to achieve a great thing. We all took this on board subliminally and each of us felt in some way empowered by sharing this ‘national’ achievement.
So, when the first petition came around, many more of us took the trouble to sign up than would otherwise have been the case.
Once again, I’m sorry to be so long winded in this history lesson. Perhaps now would be a good time for a break. Perhaps you’d like some time to have a coffee on the terrace and get to know one another before meeting back here in an hour’.
Imogen had visited the Houses of Parliament on a school trip in 2011, when she was a fifteen year old about to take her GCSEs at the local high. Her memory had been of overweight and overdressed men and women talking in corners and studiously ignoring the school-age rabble that now descended upon them. Much had apparently changed. Now, there didn’t seem to be any common factor connecting the small groups talking animatedly across the terrace. She could identify many who, like her, were obviously new members on their induction, but only because they were most obviously so. Her group had been guided down here by Mr. Parminter but were now left to their own devises, each sporting a shiny new official pass round the neck. At Liverpool Street she had been met by one of the ‘housekeepers’ and taken by taxi to her ‘residence’ in Victoria. A small flat with one bedroom and a sofa bed for visitors. Hers rent-free for the duration,’ just make sure you pay the council tax.’ The way this came out obviously implied some history but she found herself more interested in the view of Victoria station from the window than in following the conversation further. A quick dumping of bags and exchange of keys and she was off again to Westminster. Rarely had a Monday morning been so busy for her, more used to a bit of a lie-in after the hectic weekend sessions at the Dragon.
‘Hi, I’m Henry, Henry Halliday, fresh off the sleeper from Glasgow and all alone and friendless in the big city.’
Imogen already knew his name from the list but this was the first opportunity to pass judgement on a fellow member. This was someone she would probably have to deal with from now on, like it or not, so, bite the bullet, say hello.
‘Imogen Black, Suffolk East. Apparently that’s my identity for now, although it’s going to take a bit of getting used to. And I know you can’t be either alone or friendless having already been here for two years.’
‘Well, I am at least fresh off the sleeper, and I’m certainly alone and friendless in this company. I’ve got the job of helping you new members settle in and become productive members of our little society. Would it be too early to ask for first impressions and opinions ?’
‘I think so. I’ve hardly got my foot in the door and it’s all a bit of a whirl at the moment. We’re just having a break before returning to Mr. Parminter’s history lesson.
‘John’s one of the good guys. He’s been really helpful to a lot of us. Some think he’s a bit long winded but you would never doubt how seriously he takes his role as ‘protector of democracy’. His actual job title is House Manager, which seems pretty appropriate for this particular theatre of dreams, but most of us call him God behind his back. He was one of the architects of this system and won’t give the detractors any quarter when it comes to defending it.
‘Henry-I think I’d better introduce myself to the rest of my group. They all seem to be getting to know each other over there and I suppose I should join them. Will I see you again this week ?
‘Tomorrow. I’ll be taking over where John leaves off. See you then.’
Imogen drifted over to her group. Including herself, ten people between mid twenties and late fifties. Five men and five women. Altogether a pretty impressive cross section of life as she knew it. She introduced herself and spent the next half hour sharing in the mundanities of travel and accommodation.
‘So, something had changed in the national psyche. This had led to a stalemate between the
