The Romanian Question

FROZEN ALIVE

The lawyers and doctors, almost without exception, remained in Cernauti when the Russians took it over; a number of Bukovina Jews, who had been living in Bucharest, left for Cernauti when the Russians came, stating that they preferred to live under Russian domination and subsist on dry bread than to live under Roumanian rule and be considered below contempt.

King Carol, Hitler and Lupescu

“LOATHSOME, UNCOUTH, LOUTISH.” Bishop Beesley waved an eloquent Yorkie.” Or am I being unjust, do you think, to that scum of the earth. I like you, my dear sir, I really do. You’re a wag, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Nobody paid him any attention. The going was proving unexpectedly hard and it was all Shakey Mo could do to keep the armoured car on course. “I still say it’s no part of the Lake District.”

Major Nye wanted to offer them his definition of a gentle-man.

Eventually, to take their minds off their discomfort, they gave in, though Mo Collier’s snorts and mutterings remained in the background.

“A gentleman,” Major Nye announced, “should be courteous to all and considerate of all, respectful of all, no matter what their station or their sex.

He should be thoroughly read in the literature of the day as well as that of the past, and should be conversant on matters of Science, Nature and the Arts, have some practical reading in moral philosophy and some practical understanding of all these things; he should also have a good knowledge of cookery, fencing, fancy sewing, water colouring, medicine and, of course, riding. He should always be able, with coolness and self-knowledge, to defend his actions, both moral-ly and socially. He should have some accountancy and com-parative religion, some household management, some training in the care of the sick and injured as well as the elderly. He must know the arts of self-defence, perhaps both Karate and Tai Chi, and certain aspects of infant responsibility. His education should emphasise courses in algebra, geography, history and politics, but should otherwise share the common curriculum.”

“You’re a determinist then, Major Nye?” Professor Hira was the only one who had been listening.

“Not in the strictest of senses, old boy, no. In fact I think politics, like religion, are a man’s own damned affair, pardon my French. But live and let live, eh?”

“Have you ever run across such a paragon as you describe, Major?”

Professor Hira adjusted his ear-piece. The radio had, for days, been delivering Radio One, set to some antiseptic cycle of current singles repeated one after the other every hour for forty-eight hours until two sides were replaced, until another forty-eight hours had passed, and so on.

Professor Hira thought it a miraculous little system and was irritated by any suggestion that it was already hopelessly out of date. Modern technology could randomise anything these days.

“Not in this century, no, old boy.”

“Sometimes,” said Mo, “you don’t even need to do any kind of programme. It’s the very latest in pseudo-technology. Wow!” His fingers played over endless invisible keys. He was pro-gramming air-computer. His days were truly filled. “Cerebral, man. Punch that code!” He could still function on simple levels and was useful for his old, instinctive skills. “Bam!

Psychedelic! Post-modern! Wow! Chaos!”