Dot and Sam 33

Dorothy Philpot. Landlady of The Harbour Light pub
Sam Philpot. Drag-queen and lifelong companion of Dot’s.
Billy Parkins Doorkeeper.
Jessica Merlot The town’ and county archaeologist.
Josephine MacDonald The town and county archivist.
Richard Drummond Town planning inspector
Robert Vincent. Junior planning inspector.
Georgina. (Georgie) Homeless Transgender girl previously known as George.
Bobby Gay boy on the school bus.
Marty Girl on the school bus. (She becomes Georgie’s best friend and lover)
Jack. Marty’s twin brother (Keen runner).
Trevor Aitkins, Georgie’s Biological father.
Lucinda Aitkins Georgie’s biological mother
Terence Georgie’s step-dad
Peter Terence’s homophobic son.
Allison. Old school friend of Trevor & Retired Solicitor
Fred Allison’s husband
Elizabeth Aitkins (Beth) Georgie’s younger biological sister. Later proves to be sympathetic to her ‘sister’
Jonathon Aitkins (Johnny) Georgie’s younger biological brother.
Rosie the Rivetter Terf Gang Leader on campus.

Chapter 33

As everybody knows, the internet is more than just a double-edged sword. In fact, it is a veritable Swiss army knife when used as a small ‘hand-weapon’ for low-key operations.

My first secretive moves were untraceable leaks distributed on slips of paper to various addresses around London where the mullahs believed their ‘enemies of allah’ lived. It was not difficult to get these addresses because the mullahs, in their arrogance, openly discussed these enemies and their locations during their ‘discussion-groups’ in the library annex next to the student’s common room.

A couple of weeks of careful electronic eves-dropping soon told me where the mullahs believed the organisers of these anti-islamic groups lived. It simply remained for me to visit their homes and slip untraceable scissored notes through their letterboxes detailing where the ‘morality patrols’ intended to stage their protests next.

Within a month of correlating the information in my notes concerning the ‘morality patrol events, my endeavours had led to several small conflicts around some low-key political marches. The anti-islamic gang leaders soon realised that the crudely assembled notes dropped through their letter-boxes contained valuable inside information about islamist morality patrols.

Naturally, the gangs started searching the internet for any pointers that might identify or locate their much-appreciated informant but nothing was forthcoming. I was hiding my tracks by staying OFF the internet and not revealing any of my activities to anybody; including Marty my erstwhile life partner.

If a secret is to remain a secret, then only ONE person should know of it!

Having established one very effective tendril of mischief-making, I lowered the temperature in that quarter then started to infiltrate the TERFS. This was easier because they conducted their affairs in English and their targets were always the same, the transgender events.

Before the easter vacation I was setting things up for a grand climactic protest involving TERFS, islamic patrol groups and anti-islamic gangs.
The most difficult part of my plan was determining what sort of event would most likely bring the Terfs, the anti-islamists and the morality patrols together simultaneously.

Here. I was initially stumped, for the most dangerous scenario could involve my trans siblings being attacked by Terfs and Islamic patrols simultaneously while anti-islamist gangs simultaneously attacked the morality patrols to protect the LGBT community’s British right to assemble and protest publicly.

The consequent ‘three-cornered’ conflict and subsequent public disorder could reduce any marching demonstration to chaos. A chaos that might eventually move the governments, the LGBT community, the Religious communities and the police to actually do something constructive about transphobia and its consequences.

Eventually, an opportunity presented itself to me. It appeared that the Dhuran government had become embroiled in some intense religious conflict over ‘water-rights’ associated with tribal land thefts connected to their endeavours to ‘green the desert. This had led to yet more violent clashes across the middle east and naturally the conflict had coalesced, as it almost invariably does, around religious polarisations between the tribes and the Dhuranian government.

As I kept track of the political fall-out I slowly began to recognise a way of setting islamic extremists against LGBT, against anti-islamic gangs who were protesting against any more muslim immigration or islamic bigotry affecting the UK.

After quietly studying the various aspects of the assorted issues concerning the aforementioned groups. I decided to wait awhile until the ‘protest season’ took off during the summer months. Meanwhile I would continue gathering information by my electronic eavesdropping or keeping my ear to the ground when within ear-shot of the TERFS.

Slowly during March and April I accumulated sufficient material to gain a good understanding of the motivations and ambitions of the various group’s leaders.

‘My god!’ I told myself as the situation made itself clearer, ‘Information is all!’

It seemed as if the various groups were almost doing my work for me as I found myself in April with three excellent opportunities to play all three sides against each other.

The first opportunity was presenting itself on the early May bank holiday when a protest march was being organised to support the Dhuranian tribesmen who were fighting to stop their tribal lands from being confiscated by the Dhuranian government to start greening the desert.

“For the life of me, I failed to see why these tribesmen should not want their lands to be greened and hopefully made fertile but there was also the issue of ownership of the land and any oil that might later be discovered at some later date. Dhuran was thought to be virtually floating on oil.

However, mine not to reason why, mine but to play it fly.

Paying great care to keep my endeavours secret, I arranged to distribute some leaflets amongst the anti-muslim gang leaders implying that some muslim morality organisers were objecting to having LGBT protesters attending the march and they were intent on stopping them at the very start of the march in Hyde Parke at speaker’s corner.

It wasn’t long before my electronic eves-dropping confirmed that the muslim Morality patrols were preparing to prevent the LGBT ‘satanists’ from joining the march. I also picked up a few Terf threads around our campus about the large transgender element who were supporting the march to show solidarity with the oppressed tribesmen.

“It only remained for me drop a few hints about the LGBT interest and the time of joining the protest, then I would just sit back in my room and watch the weekend news on that May 1st Saturday night.

Patience was a virtue I told myself as I left the pot to boil while not doing a single thing in the final weeks leading up to the demonstration.

For the remainder of March through to May, I kept a fairly low profile at college and I occupied my time by helping Marty with some of the maths coursework that she found difficult. She could grasp it, but some of the trickier maths needed explaining twice or sometimes thrice before she finally got the jist of the problem. The main benefit to me was that my constant attendance at Marty’s side gave me a perfect alibi if anybody came looking for the unknown organiser of the disorders that were occasionally breaking out during protest marches and demonstrations.

My activities were not discoverable because I was NOT organising the conflicts. I was simply providing information, and information was the ammunition these hate groups needed to indulge their endeavours. Soon, tit-for-tat fights were occurring at meetings all around the city.

Two weeks before the big Mayday demonstration there was a serious disturbance down the east end of London between Islamists and the ‘Defenders-of-the-realm’ gang that finally forced the police to come out publicly and reveal their suspicions. They believed that the fights were being organised by agent-provocateurs that were as yet unidentified.

During the Sunday lunch on the weekend of that Saturday night riot, the police paid visits to many college campuses and handed out leaflets expressing their suspicions while inviting anybody to express their own thoughts.

Marty and I were reading one of the leaflets when ‘Rosie the rivetter’ appeared looming over our shoulders.

“It seems these riots are being organised. Have you heard anything?” She asked us.

“Organised by whom, or what?” I asked feigning disinterest.

“The police believe there’s an organisation at play. I’ve just come from one of their briefings.”

“A what?! An organisation?” Marty pooh-hooed the idea. “There’s enough hate in those groups to kill the city. It doesn’t need much organising, just look at your mob.”

“Well that’s what the police believe. Their investigations point to a person or persons unknown, feeding information to the different groups. Sort of lighting the touch paper and standing back.”

“A person?!” I scoffed. “What? You mean like Macavity?!”

“No, they don’t think the IRA is involved.” Rosie replied as Marty nearly choked on the Terfs’ ignorance then explained to her.

“Macavity the cat you bloody idiot!” Marty snorted with amusement. “ You know; T.S. Eliot’s poem!! Jeeze, how did you ever get into Uni?” Marty asked no-one in particular as the groups nearest to us sniggered.

Rosie’s eyes blazed as she snapped.

“It’s not bloody funny, people are getting hurt!”

“Well don’t go out making trouble, then nobody’ll get hurt.” Marty riposted. It’s groups like yours that foment trouble and hurt people!”

“We’re only protecting women’s spaces.”

“Yeah, by attacking trans-people. Well just remember. What goes around, - comes around! The islamists are only protecting their beliefs, the defenders are only protecting their idea of English rights and traditions, and you Terfs are only protecting women’s lavatories and blah, blah, blah.”

Reading the room, I realised several of the college Terfs were beginning to get angry so I stood up and motioned to Marty.

“Let’s get some coffee love.”

As I said this, I glanced pointedly around the room then frowned concernedly and stepped towards the exit. I hadn’t said anything significant, but my actions said it all and some of the more observant Terfs had realised this. I was deliberately displaying the sort of fear that their activities precipitated; though in truth, I was more angry than afraid.

One of the Terfs who might have had some sense of guilt or conscience called to me as I stepped away.

“There’s no need to run away. We’re not likely to harm you.”

“No, not here perhaps, in parliament more likely.” I called back, leaving my remark to sink in.

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I've always loved this poem.

Macavity by TS Eliot

And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

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