The following is a work of fiction – I imagine…
In a dimly-lit room, a little over five hundred men waited for their leader, seated on old wooden chairs, which the men found prearranged upon their arrival…
To say that the expectant audience was nervous would be an extreme understatement; they were beyond apprehensive and paranoid at suddenly – and without warning – having being summoned—by ‘him’.
Some checked their watches as others checked their phones to ascertain the time.
Murmured voices spoke of the man being late; the assembled group had already waited thirty minutes for his arrival. The men were becoming anxious, the slightest noise causing them to tense up in expectation of conflict, with several men even withdrawing knives and pistols…
The group had never assembled previously, which may have explained their anxiety and caution, with no one member having previously met another. All were strangers who had but one thing in common, they were members of an underground organisation, the PRF—The People’s Revolutionary Front.
The leader of the group, who his devoted followers dutifully waited for, had communicated to each member separately over the years, over many years, but had insisted that the group remain as ‘Lone Wolves’, which caused many PRF members to now suspect that the hastily called meeting was some kind of set-up, some kind of trap, arranged by the authorities or their political enemies…
The ‘leader’ wasn’t running late, he was already in the room with the others, seated towards the back with a balaclava over his face—he was indistinguishable from his followers, as they too were masked.
The man had wished to be amongst his faithful PRF members for as long as possible before he addressed them, wishing to see how they handled the unexpected – and he knew stressful – situation of meeting one another for the first time, and in unfamiliar surroundings…
He recognised a few of his followers by their clothing, others by their build; however, he knew that even the dozen or more that he couldn’t identify were ‘his men’ judging solely by their ‘Right-Wing’ tattoos—every second or third man bore Swastikas on his arm, neck or upper chest.
‘It’s time!’ the leader of the People’s Revolutionary Front suddenly announced. ‘He’s here,’ he continued, ‘I’m here!’
The man everyone had been waiting for stood up slowly, as if summoned by an unseen force to the podium, which stood at the other end of the long room.
A much larger man blocked his path as he slowly strode between the lines of chairs. ‘How do we know you’re HIM? You could be anyone!’
Men jostled, weapons appeared once more, eyes flashed between the two men ‘standing off’ in the centre of the room and the only exit was the door they had entered through. And then he spoke, the man who claimed to be their leader, who not a single one of them had ever seen but who had seen them, advised them, taught them and led them for many decades. The men were on edge; for them, this meeting was tantamount to a religious experience, their leader had promised time and time again over the long years that they would know him when finally they were permitted to see him.
Muffled shouts of, ‘Take his mask off,’ and, ‘Take YOUR mask off,’ echoed through the room.
Pulses raced and tension grew as the man who claimed to be the leader of the PRF said aloud, ‘Hear me, brothers. I am your leader. Look,’ the man said, removing his mask, ‘now do you understand? Now do you believe me?’
The larger man took two steps backwards in abject shock before collapsing back down into his seat. ‘But you’re, but … but you’re Jeremy bloody Corbyn!’
‘Thank you for the introduction, my friend,’ Corbyn replied before pulling the balaclava back down over his face and walking towards the small podium, which Jeremy was in two minds about yet at the eleventh hour had decided to include in proceedings to add extra weight and ‘gravitas’ to his prepared speech.
As the Labour MP and leader of the U.K. Labour Party took to the small stage and stood behind the modest podium he found his speech from his jacket pocket and placed it down before him.
‘Before I get started, I guess I should begin by telling you why you’ve been assembled… You men were all handpicked as future leaders of ‘New Britain’—you will each now become leaders of new organisations modelled on the PRF, which I created solely to bring you all together, in this place, in this moment…
‘Once your individual organisations have reached a following of five hundred men, you will deliver the speech that I am making to you now to YOUR followers; however, you each have only twelve months to accomplish this goal. The time for action is now; I know none of you will let me or one another down—you are the best of men!’
Jeremy paused for a moment as he found the second page of his hour-long speech. Placing the first page down upon the podium, the man scanned the room seeing all eyes were upon him.
The men sat in silence, many in disbelief but far more in awe of Jeremy’s career-long deception. He owed them answers; he knew he did, so in that moment he chose to take questions from his loyal adherents rather than waiting until after his speech as he’d formerly planned.
‘Are there any questions at this stage?’ the PRF leader asked—over one hundred hands rose…
‘I see… You, you there, at the front, please … ask your question.’
Hands lowered in an instant, all attention shifted to the man in the leather jacket at the front, whose beard protruded from his balaclava, a man Corbyn recognised as being one of his first followers, one of his first PRF disciples…
‘So, how long, just how long have you been planning this? How long have you been “one of us”?’
‘Good question, comrade. When I was a nineteen, I saw the dangers of Communism and Socialism and knew that to fight against such doctrines would ultimately lead to civil war and destruction of our nation…
‘It was in that moment – when everyone around me was becoming redder and redder – that I conceived the PRF, knowing I could sit in the shadows and infiltrate the right groups (the unions and the Labour Party) until, I knew, eventually I would become the leader of the Far Left and be able to destroy it from within…’
Less than half of the men were convinced; after all, their mysterious leader had continually urged them over many years via letter, SMS and email to remain vigilant and paranoid even in their dealings with other ‘apparent’ like-minded individuals. However, as Jeremy finished answering the question, fifty or more PRF members stood and began to clap loudly; the rest followed suit until the sound of enthusiastic and congratulatory clapping was near deafening.
Corbyn gestured for the men to be seated; they obeyed without question.
‘And, you, sir, your hand was raised before, please…’
‘About the anti-Semitism claims against the Labour Party, are they actually, you know, true?’
‘What do you think?’ Jeremy replied, laughing as he raised his right arm, mimicking a Nazi salute, which all of the men instantly replicated. Feet now stomped throughout the room.
‘You see,’ Jeremy said, lowering his arm, ‘if I had led the Labour Party to the best of my abilities, who knows, we may have been in power by now; but the PRF were not ready, at least not before today. Now you are assembled and now you have your individual tasks; I will be ‘purging’ anti-Semitism, it will seem, from the Labour Party and will even be friendlier to Israel…
‘Every action I’ve taken since becoming the leader of the Labour Party has been to damage the Left in an attempt to keep it weak and suppress Communism and Globalism for as long as possible until such a time as now. It is because of you men, in this room, that the U.K. Labour Party will now rise … replacing the UKIPs and Brexit Parties of this world as the true and real “voice of the disaffected Right”!
‘Together, brothers, we will make history! Any more questions?’
Not a single man raised his arm, they all felt as though they had ‘come home’, with Corbyn – a man they each had loathed for decades – now becoming their saviour and leader. All saw the man’s speech in his hand, none wished to say another word; they only cared to listen.
‘Very well then.’ Jeremy Corbyn viewed the second page of his speech for a moment before continuing, ‘Within twelve months, Great Britain will change. Listen carefully as the future of the kingdom depends on the following plan being enacted by all of you…’
If you enjoyed seeing Jeremy Corbyn MP in a fictional setting, you may very well enjoy David Lammy on the Run – A Political Comedy Adventure, which guest stars the veteran Labour leader!
‘David Lammy on the Run – A Political Comedy Adventure.’
Political Satire will never be the same again!
Read the first six chapters FREE of charge here: http://brucemasters.com/david-lammy-on-the-run-free-sample/
Paperback – http://amazon.co.uk/dp/B07YNZ18YS