I've been busy with other things, but after a gentle boot up the derrière from one or two impatient fans, I give you another chapter of my political thriller  .......... those of a nervous disposition should look away .........

Chapter Five

Just after lunchtime that Monday the Echo hit the streets. Political Editor Nick Costigan pulled no punches.

“Once again a certain red-top tabloid has seen fit to print lies and unfounded allegations concerning a prominent Liverpool personality. Their cowardice is compounded by the fact that the person concerned, Labour MP Pamela Baird, is no longer amongst us to speak for herself.”
“We find it equally unacceptable that the paper makes no allowance for her surviving sister, MP Angela Baird, to grieve in private. Instead, she finds herself accused of behaviour which ranges from a lewd and indecent act to outright profanity if the worst excesses they hint at are considered.”
“We would remind all Merseysiders – particularly those too young to have any personal memory of these incidents – of this paper’s hate campaign against the city in the aftermath of the football tragedies at Hillsborough and Heysel.”
“We will be asking our readers to consider severing all connection with this newspaper, and contribute the price of a daily newspaper to our “Non-SUN-ce Fund” which has been established on our website …………. ”

For only the third time in the Echo’s history this Editorial occupied the whole of the front page, apart from a few discreet advertisements in the margins and a modest box in the bottom right hand corner of the page listing the candidates who had declared that they would be standing in the by-election, plus results and statistics from the previous General Election in 2005. Above the box, a three word heading in chunky bold typeface declared: “New Party Represented”. There was a reference to a further article on pages 4 – 5.

The newspaper lay, open at the article, on a coffee table between JRK and Roger Woods, the Presenter of a Live chat show on Radio Merseyside each lunchtime. Roger was known to be a fair but robust interviewer, fond of playing ‘Devil’s Advocate’ and not above giving his victim a slow, thorough “roasting” on occasion.

Roger took the article and read aloud from it.

“Together with the candidates for the three main parties, Independent John Rathbone Kirwan has tossed his hat into the ring. He told our reporter: ‘I want to concentrate on local issues. These are a major concern to the majority of constituents’ and went on to describe the main selling points of the Radical Regionalist party.”

Roger paused, and waved the newspaper.

“John, this is quite a statement: but you must admit, you don’t have a great deal of experience in local and national politics?”

“First of all, Roger, I’d like to thank you for this opportunity to introduce myself and set out the stall, so to speak, for the Radical Regionalist party!”

“As far as experience is concerned, I’ll grant you that I’ve not stood before in local or national elections, but I’ve always had a keen personal interest in politics. In fact, I had already decided to stand in the Childwall constituency at the next elections, and this by-election opportunity was simply too good a chance to miss!”

“But surely your lack of experience must be a handicap?”
“In many ways, Roger, I’d say it can work in quite the opposite way: I could say that I’m approaching the contest openly and honestly, without any of the various underhand tactics we’ve all heard about! I’m not saying that these have become commonplace in politics, but on the other hand we’ve all heard stories about it! Rather than inexperienced, I’d prefer to say that I can offer an original approach, based on listening to what the electorate have to say, and then going out and attempting to do something about it!”

JRK had warmed to his subject now: the words and phrases came smoothly but without haste, demonstrating that he had done his homework. He continued:

“Let me put it this way. I hope to be elected by the residents of Childwall on the strength of my ability to look after their best interests – in other words, represent them and their concerns at national level, but without ever losing sight of the local issues which were the main reason for them putting their confidence in me personally. What it boils down to, really, is Local Solutions for Local Issues.”

Roger Woods could only agree to the logic of this argument: JRK pressed onwards:

“Granted I’ll have to spend a certain amount of time at Westminster, but I also intend to spend more of my time here in my constituency. If I’m elected, one of the first changes you’ll see is that I intend to extend my weekend and spend both Friday and Monday here, available for local electors in an ‘open door’ surgery. I would hope to clear my national responsibilities in the three remaining days, from Tuesday to Thursday. When all’s said and done, it’s only an hour from here to London by plane. On a bad day it can take me that long to get from here in town centre to Liverpool Airport – and last time I checked, it was also cheaper than the train!”

“Fine, John: I can understand that, and it all sounds very reasonable. But can we talk for a moment about hard, cold figures. You’re expecting – or at least hoping! – to over turn a sizeable majority which Pamela Baird had over the other main parties in the 2005 General Election. Does that concern you at all?”

“On the face of it, Roger, a majority of just over five thousand on a turnout of thirty-five thousand looks comfortable, I agree. However …” JRK paused, achieving the dramatic effect he was angling for.

“ …. Remember, if you will, that the turnout was barely 50%, or half the total number of potential voters in Childwall. Put another way: the 18000 people who voted Labour in the last election represent 25% or one in four of those in Childwall eligible to vote! Now to me, that doesn’t sound as if the will of the majority is being heard! I’m offering them – all of them! – a chance to be heard, and have their concerns addressed!”

“Let’s assume then, John, that you can pull this off and get yourself elected. What are the local issues which you would have at the top of your list of priorities?”

“Transport, Roger: and especially, I’d want to encourage people to make more effective use of Public Transport.”

“Childwall has always had its own problems as a suburban area. Five major arterial routes criss-cross the borough, and as a result through traffic – which isn’t even heading for a destination anywhere in Childwall! – is the biggest problem, especially during the morning and evening peak periods.”
“However: three of the five main roads which meet up at Childwall Fiveways are dual carriageways. They could easily be adapted to introduce …..” JRK paused, ostensibly to take a breath but in reality to “stage” heightened dramatic effect

“ …….. or, rather: to re-introduce a fast tram or trolleybus service along the unused centre of the roads. Each carriage would have an independent motor, of course, run directly from the overhead gantries, and they can be quickly coupled together or split up according to levels of passenger traffic at different times of day! Oh, and by the bye” he added, as if in afterthought, “There’s no reason we can’t investigate the economics of running the service 24/7. Tram networks in other towns already do this, and Liverpool is fast becoming a 24-hour city, especially with the rapid expansion and growth of no less than four Universities in the city centre: students can’t afford taxis to get back to their lodgings after the bus services finish for the night, and a night network of trams covering the main routes in and out of town would be a practical alternative. If we want to make Liverpool a welcoming, friendly place to study, there’s every chance the students will opt to remain here and contribute to the local economy after they’ve qualified. You only have to look at how public transport works in other European locations – Amsterdam, Paris, Munich, Gothenberg, Copenhagen – to appreciate that it can be done quite easily!”

“And what about the cost?”

Roger Woods’ voice indicated a subtle change in mood. He appeared to have put aside his role as Devil’s Advocate, sounded much warmer, more encouraging.

“Well for a start, the rails have already been bought and paid for. If you recall the abortive attempt to introduce a tram service from City Centre to Kirkby, and how much that debacle cost each household ………..?”

Roger remembered the incident only too well, and had no doubt that every adult on Merseyside remembered only too well. It had cost over 120 million pounds to set up, and had fallen by the wayside when the national government reneged on a promise to support the project.

“If you remember” JRK pressed on “ … the rails themselves were ordered, bought and paid for. Since then they’ve lain rusting in a stockyard out along the waterfront.”

“That’s a good point ……..”

“And don’t forget that there are parts of all the routes I have in mind where the OLD tram tracks were simply tarmaced over, rather than ripped up. It should be perfectly possible simply to strip back the road surface until they’re exposed again, and can be used. That would also leave more cash in the kitty to buy the rolling stock itself!”

The radio’s central switchboard lit up as the interview progressed, and went into meltdown before the interview (which far overran the allotted ten-minute slot) was over. It took an army of experienced volunteers the rest of the afternoon to remedy the turmoil caused by the sheer volume of calls.

***

“Do you have any idea what you’ve started?”

Nuala lay in wait as JRK opened his front door. He was accustomed to her teasing mannerism of pretending to scold like a fishwife when they were alone together and took it in good part, as Nuala had intended. He’d caught a glimpse of her watching from the window as he parked the car. Chris and Paul stood at his shoulder, ready to follow him inside once the formalities of greeting and introduction were completed.

“Who, moi?” he queried, mock-petulantly. “All I can see is, you’ve had an excuse to invite the girls over for tea an’ biccies …. Oof!”

Though he knew he deserved it, Nuala’s well-planted fist in his midriff still caught him by surprise.

“Okay, I can see you’ve done the necessary and summoned the troops to manage the calls – now, promise not to hit quite so hard next time or there won’t be a candidate for the Radical Regionalists after all! It’s a good job these two are old friends of mine, or they might get the wrong impression: Nuala, this is Paul Freeman, Old Xav: and if you recognise Chris Traynor, from TV News….? Good, I thought you might: yes, he’s also Old Xav. I’ll tell you how they fit into the picture later, when we have a moment, but take it from me they’ve both got very useful skills and contacts which will be of great use to the Campaign! Now, how about a quick SitRep, and will someone tell me in two words what’s been happening?”

The front room of the semi had been set up and furnished for the purpose of running a campaign office, and planned that way even before John and Nuala had moved in. Extra phone jacks had been installed at various strategic points on the skirting along each wall: a wireless recharge unit in which most UK and European model mobiles could be “docked” was in one corner. Most of the room was fitted with standard issue Formica tables: at each table sat one of the ‘girls’ JRK had referred to, dealing with a non-stop barrage of calls. A “traffic light” call monitor above the door ticked from red to amber as he stood and took it all in, inspiring a faint, ironic cheer from the hard-pressed telephone team.

“I’ve got this breakdown of the calls during the last hour, up to ten o’clock” Nuala said, fishing a sheet of A4 out of a file she carried under her arm. JRK took it, studied it closely, ad passed it over to Paul and Chris.

“Don’t know how much you can read from it, but it seems to be mostly “Best Wishes” so far, with a few offers of cash donations, others wanting to get involved, offering time and assistance – which is even better than cash!

Paul looked a bit dubious. Chris was openly sceptical and asked, sharply:

“How can you tell all that just by glancing at a few columns of figures?”
JRK nodded.

“Fair question! It’s a sort of colour-coded shorthand system I’ve devised: it seems to work fairly well! For example ….”

He tapped the first column with his index finger.

“In this column, a tally of calls, made at the end of each hour. This is an overview of calls from 2100 to 2200 tonight, total 89 – or about 8/9 calls per operator, averaging 5 minutes or so each call if they’re working flat out – which they’d have to be, to answer 89 calls in an hour!”
“Then they’re colour-coded. Red for Immediate Action (whatever the reason) is pretty obvious! Green is for Donations and Pledges – the colour of money!” he added with a grin, and continued:

“Blue for people wanting to get involved: Yellow for longer-term action, or matters of less urgency. Calls with no colour are simply “Good Luck” calls: no action needed, but we like to know how many we get of this type!”

“And these with a black box around them?” Chris asked.

“Thankfully not too many of them, but important in their own way. Those are calls which are in one way or another ‘negative’ – complaints, criticism, abuse ….. yes, we get our share of them, too: but so far only a handful, although I admit it’s early days!”

Nuala re-entered the room, this time carrying the tray of “tea and biccies” which JRK had teased her about. She glared at him, daring him to repeat the jibe, but he realised the wisdom in keeping his own counsel on this occasion and waited until the drinks had been dispensed to the team before helping himself to a plastic cup and filling it with coffee.

“Okay, Chris: what more do you need to know? Is what you’ve seen tonight a well-organised campaign HQ? Are you happy to throw your muscle behind us?”

“Just like school days all over again!” Chris nodded, with the ghost of a smile:
“All the way with JRK!”