Operation White Birch – Part 2

Yippie, the second installment of my literary-panorama-changing story is here! Read Part 1 first, if you missed it:

Operation White Birch – Part 1

London's finest: Boodle's gentlemen's club interior

The Brit's office was a small room with a cosy, gentlemen's club decor, furnished with two slightly worn green velvet Chesterfield armchairs, an oak bookcase filled with dictionaries, old volumes and thick tomes, a brass floor lamp with green shade, and a desk with a central leather cover. The air was faintly redolent with a mixture of Blenheim Bouquet and tea.

He saw me stroking the smooth fabric, when I sat down on one of the Chesterfields. "I don't know what they were thinking. How on Earth would I want to spend my time in a place that reminds me of one of the most snobbish, conceited, and arrogant institutions in the world? I suppose that they did it in order to annoy me, although I may be reading too much into it, and they just wanted me to feel at home, somehow."

Then, his accent shifting from cut-glass to a slight Cockney twang: "I presume comrade Barabanchik has already filled you in on why we're interested in what you can offer us."

"Yes, sir, I'm ever so flattered.”

"Don't be. Your class, what a bunch of idiots. You just happened to be the less disappointing one out of the whole bloody lot. God forbid one, or two of them, are sent on a mission to dear old Blighty – to Salisbury, or somewhere like that – making a hash of whatever they are supposed to do. The very thought ... But, then again, I can't understand for the life of me, why they should recruit a foreigner like you, and a spaghetti-bender at that. Have I ever told you the story about how the Italian tanks have 6 gears, five go in reverse and one forward, in case they get attacked from behind?"

"You have indeed, sir, many a time and with plenty of details. It's an endlessly fascinating story, if I may say so myself."

"Being clever, are we now, comrade smarty-pants? Listen up, try to save it for our next project. I can't tell you more right now, but stand by. It involves reading and writing, lots of writing. Creative writing even, very, very creative. Cuppa?"

The Brit produced a Toby jug filled with what I assumed was brandy, and offered it to me. I politely refused the brandy, looking with curiosity at the charmingly grotesque object.

A Toby Jug from 1784. © The Trustees of the British Museum

He poured the brandy into his tea. “This? This is one of the very few things I took away with me, when I left the British Isles for good. It used to have pride of place in my dear mother's pub."

He noticed my surprise. We all thought The Brit was the scion of an aristocratic family with a grand mansion in the English countryside, or a castle on the Scottish Highlands, an Oxbridge educated toff with money to burn.

"Oh no, that was all smoke and mirrors. The comrades thought it would be far more interesting to catch and convert an aristocrat, instead of a prole. Of course a member of the Lumpenproletariat would harbour left-wing views, right? Wrong, but never let the truth get in the way of a good story. I let them get away with it, because I find it funny too. Take that, upper class! One of yours is going to the other side. But the truth is completely different."

"Before you go, please take these books with you. Peruse, study, and digest them: The Complete and Unabridged Dictionary of English Idioms, and The Agitprop Style Manual."

Operation White Birch – Part 3

Operation White Birch – Part 3 will land in your email inboxes on May 31st.

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