GUERRILLA WARFARE

Evening Star, Issue 21966, 28 February 1935, Page 12

GUERRILLA WARFARE

[By John Masks, in the ‘ Spectator.’] ' The ticket inspector sounded very annoved. It was a third class carriage, and you could hear his annoyance distinctly at an interval of several wpoden partitions and slumbering peasants. Only, I had been in that carnage pH day and I wanted to know whether one changed at the next station, ban Vicente; it would hare been something to do, and one might even get home quicker. But that was just what he ivaa annoyed about; someone who woutd or wouldn’t change at San Vicente, it had been getting dark, and was quite dark at the next station. There was another train there waiting, cold and empty, so 1 sought out the station master and asked him: “ Does one change here for Barcelona? He said yes, if one liked. I admitted that it was indeed my dearest wish, but which waa the train for Barcelona ? Me answered “Both,” I might take either, he went on to explain, the one on my right, for instance, or, if I preferred, the one on my left, It seemed, as'an invitation, .cordial enough, and 1 noticed that many of my fellow-passen-gers were busy deliberating, making their little choice. “ This, then, seems to be the Barcelona train?” 1 exclaimed as insouciantly as possible. ‘lt is assuredly,” the station master said. “ But then, if the Senor prefers, so is the other. You see,” he explained, “we have two trains.” I had gathered that much, and, truth to tell, I felt very tired. I told the station master so. “ Travelling is awfully tiring,” he agreed.: “Now which would you say ? got there quicker?’' I shot the quesSon at him, hoping to catch him unaware*. “Ah, quicker? Why, this one to your right,” he said. Ot course. Three-quarters of an hour sooner.” , , , 'So I took it. But that was extremely unfortunate. For either the station master was wrong or the engine driver of the second train was unnecessarily gallant, . . . The first train passed us five miles farther up the line. ...» ♦ *■ * Evidently there was some mistake, or . maybe there were several. It was the eve of election day, and elections had been scarce for many years now; it was felt to b© terribly important. Nobody knew what mightn’t happen—•o everybody had conifc out into the streets to see if it did. But I had been asked to broadcast and say what 1 thought might. A voice, friendly, suave, and English, had told me over the wires that it was child’s play, the microphone was a positively guileless thing, and there was no need to bother. An official and myself looked at this particular microphone, and I sparred » little with it so that we should both get used to each other. The morning’s ‘ Gazette ’ had published an order that nothing, no, nothing at all was to no broadcast, except music, from now on until further notice’. Even Mr Thrip- * wiek-Jones was not to give his usual I Saturday evening English lesson. Still, I I was broadcasting in a foreign lan--1 guage, being relayed out of Spam, and if all the terrible things I was going to I cay had been translated and examined 4 by first the police and then the Ministry r ef the Interior.' ■ _ j t To make sure, I went round to Police | Headquarters, where in the doorway r there were severi policemen of three { different kinds—for that is what hap- .* pens when elections are rare. It was j ‘ an eminently cordial interview. Three counter-orders came through from Somebody of Great Importance in seven minutes. But the Secretary of Police was not ruffled in’the least. In fact, he ' admitted'to mC . afterwards that the orders were tiresome, necessary, but meaningless. He telephoned the Minister on my behalf, as it was getting late, and was very kind and said that I had the Government’s permission to apeak,, that it was an honour to be allowed to be of the slightest service to me, that we live in interesting times, and he hoped it wouldn’t rain, as then so few people would vote. The microphone was still there when I got back, though Mr Thripwick-Jones had gone and the technical staff was still jovially slapping various people who came in. The telephone belt rang 1 every few minutes to say something totally different and equally unexpected, and while some thought this humorous enough many felt it was a bore. It was largely a question of which day and at what time and for how long, if at all, the President would speak; jt was also a question of what or whether to play if he didn’t, and of this foreigner who had been accorded the Government’s permission to hroad- : cast that evening, despite the censorship, and had merely taken the Minister’s word for it. No, he hadn’t thought of waiting for it in writing, hut was content to expect that written permission would arrive simply because it had been promised! Outside, .a thick carpet of election leaflets covered the asphalt of the street, and every available inch of wall space blistered the eye with posters. .Upstairs a by now gloomy little group sat exchanging rumours, each more tre- . mendous than the last, and eyeing first the crowds below and then the telephony which shortly afterwards, at precisely the moment when cancellation would be most of an upheaval, conveyed the Minister’s own voice suavely and firmly prohibiting the broadcasting of anything except music—yes, yes, that included any foreign broadcasts—until after the Election ’or Revolution or whatever it was that would be taking place on the morrow. Someone meanwhile, and no, one knew who, very busily