Candle in Barbed Wire (standard:drama, 3277 words)
Author: Ian Hobson	Added: Dec 20 2004	Views/Reads: 4019/2620	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A group of Amnesty International members come together for their monthly meeting… Perhaps not the easiest of reads, but hopefully the ending will make the effort worthwhile.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

up to the head of the double table, sitting down, and then standing 
again to place eight copies of the typed agenda around it. 

Roger propped his umbrella against the wall, walked over to the table
and sat down.  ‘How's the new hip doing, Winifred,' he asked. 

‘It's fine, Roger.  I'm walking without a stick again.' Winifred sat
down opposite Roger and began to empty out her three envelopes and look 
through the documents that they'd contained. 

‘That's good...  Is Mary coming tonight?' 

‘We don't know, Roger,' replied Christine. ‘We've not heard from her.' 

There were voices outside the door and it squeaked once more as David
followed Cynthia through it.  ‘...and did you have good weather?' 

‘It was showery the second week but the first week was very good.' 

‘Hello,' said Roger.  ‘Have you been on holiday, Cynthia?' 

‘Hello...Yes, I've been to Turkey,' Cynthia took off her coat and looked
for a chair to drape it over.  She was small, slim and ginger-haired, 
and very sun-tanned. 

‘Turkey!' exclaimed Christine.  ‘I wouldn't go there.  They've a
terrible human rights reputation.' 

‘Hello, David,' said Winifred.  ‘I've not seen you since the Flag Day.' 

‘They're very nice people, though, the Turks,' said Cynthia. 

David scratched at his goatee beard as he sat down beside Winifred. 
‘No, well, I've been very busy at work, and my mother's been poorly 
again.' 

‘Oh dear,' said Winifred. 

‘Christine, can I have five minutes on the Arms Campaign?' Cynthia
asked, as she pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. 

‘What's the matter with her, David?'  Winifred asked. 

‘Yes,' replied Christine, answering Cynthia's question.  'Will it do
under any other business?  No, I'll tell you what.  We'll tag it on to 
the end of the Torture Campaign.'  She made a note on her copy of the 
agenda. 

‘She keeps having dizzy spells,' replied David, answering Winifred's
question.  ‘The doctor's put her on some new medication...  I think 
it's time we got her into a home.' 

‘Is Mary coming tonight?' asked Cynthia. 

‘I think she might be,' answered David.  ‘I saw her in Sainsbury's at
the weekend.' 

The door squeaked, interrupting the conversations, and in walked
Michael, tall, gaunt and also bearded.  ‘Evening all.  Lovely weather.' 
 He propped his umbrella against the wall beside Roger's and walked 
over to the table. 

‘Hi, Mike,' said Roger and Cynthia, simultaneously. 

They all chatted for a while before Christine said, ‘Shall we make a
start, then? It's almost twenty to eight.' 

‘Ready when you are,' said Roger. 

‘Does anyone have any apologies for absence, then?' asked Christine. 

‘Just from Bernard and Rosemary, as far as I know,' Winifred answered. 

‘Susan sends hers,' said Michael.  ‘Her mother's ill.' 

‘David's mother's ill, as well,' interrupted Cynthia. 

‘That sounds like a contradiction in terms,' said Roger.  Cynthia gave
Roger a puzzled look. 

‘Can we move on, please?' pleaded Christine.  ‘Shall we take the minutes
as read?' 

‘Fine by me,' said Roger.  There were nods of agreement around the
table. 

‘Okay, any matters arising from the minutes?'  This was met by blank
looks.  ‘No?  Well, we'll move on to the Secretary's Report, then, 
please.' 

The door squeaked again and in walked a tall and elegantly dressed
blond.  ‘Sorry I'm late.' 

‘That's okay, Mary, we've just started,' said Michael. 

‘Hello, Mary,' said Cynthia. 

Mary slipped off her coat and scarf and laid them across one of the
spare tables before sitting down opposite Christine.  She smiled at her 
fellow group members, then picked up the nearer of the two remaining 
copies of the agenda and began to read it. 

‘We were just about to hear from Winifred,' Roger explained. 

Winifred moved her copy of the agenda to one side and scanned the letter
that had lay beneath it.  ‘I've had a letter from a group in 
Australia,' she began.  ‘They're working on the same Action File as us: 
the one for the Vietnamese Prisoner of Conscience.  They're suggesting 
that all the groups involved, send petitions asking for his release, to 
the Vietnamese authorities in time for their New Year festivities.  For 
them, that's at the end of January.' 

‘That's a good idea,' said David. 

‘How many groups are involved?' asked Mary. 

‘Oh, I think...' Winifred looked through her papers.  ‘Oh, yes, there
are eight all together including us, and in... four different 
countries.  I wrote to each group about six months ago, but I only got 
a reply from three of them.' 

‘We could ask people to sign a petition at the Victorian Fair in
December,' suggested Cynthia. 

‘Have we got a stall booked for that?' asked David. 

‘Yes it's err... December the fifth,' confirmed Winifred, after looking
in her diary. 

‘Are we doing the Mulled wine, again?' asked Cynthia. 

‘I should think so,' said Mary.  ‘I hope we get a better night than
this, though.' 

‘Shall we discuss that when we come to it on the agenda?' suggested
Christine, trying to keep the meeting on track.  She looked pointedly 
at Winifred. 

‘Err, I've also had a letter from the Bristol Group,' continued
Winifred.  ‘They're very keen on female genital mutilation.' 

‘I would have thought they'd have been against it,' said Roger,
maintaining a serious expression, but managing to turn most of the 
grimaces around the table into smiles. 

‘Well, you know what I mean,' said Winifred, with a chuckle.  ‘They want
us to write to the authorities in...' She looked through her papers 
again.  ‘It's here somewhere... a country in Africa...  Err, I seem to 
have mislaid it.  Err, shall I write on behalf of the group?' 

‘Yes, if you don't mind,' replied Christine.  ‘Is there a deadline?' 

‘No, I don't think so.' 

‘What about drafting a letter for us to sign at the next meeting, then?'


‘Excellent idea,' proclaimed Roger. 

‘Okay, I'll do that, then...  Err... we've a Quick Action to do on Saudi
Arabia.  Amnesty UK want us to sign this letter to the Foreign 
Secretary about the arbitrary use of torture by the Saudi police.'  
Winifred passed the letter to David, who signed it and passed it to 
Michael.  Michael took his time studying it, preferring not to sign 
anything without reading it first. 

‘Is that all, Winifred?' Christine enquired. 

‘Yes, apart from a survey about the USA Campaign, but I can fill that in
and send it off myself...  Oh, and there are three copies of the groups 
magazine and two more books of raffle tickets.'  Winifred laid them in 
the center of the table, and Roger picked up a copy of the magazine and 
began to leaf through it. 

‘Okay, thank you, Winifred.  We'll move on to the Treasurer's report
then, please.' 

David put on his glasses, referred to his notes, and cleared his throat.
 ‘There's not a lot to report, really,' he said.  ‘We have a balance of 
three hundred and nineteen pounds and thirty-six pence in the bank...  
I've had a letter from AIUK thanking us for the five hundred pounds I 
sent them after the Flag Day.  Some of that came from the concert that 
the Clayton Ensemble held for us at Saint Mary's... oh, and the money 
from Eileen Shaw.' 

‘Who's Eileen Shaw?'  Michael enquired. 

‘She used to be a member.  She has Coffee Mornings for us sometimes and
still comes to some of the letter writing meetings,' replied Christine. 
‘She's turned eighty.' 

‘She's eighty-three, I think,' said Winifred. 

‘How much did the Flag Day make?' asked Roger. 

‘Three hundred and eighty-eight pounds,' answered David.  ‘Err... I
think that's me done then.  Unless there are any expenses.' 

‘I've got some,' said Winifred, handing David a receipt slip.  ‘It's
just for postage for the letters I sent after the last meeting.' 

‘Shall we break for coffee, now?' Cynthia asked.  ‘I think it's my turn
to make it.'  There were nods of approval as Cynthia pushed back her 
chair and stood up. 

‘I'll give you a hand,' David volunteered, following Cynthia into the
small adjoining kitchen. 

‘Have you ordered the Christmas cards?' Winifred asked Mary. 

‘Yes, and the diaries and the calendars, and the Amnesty brooch that
Cynthia wanted.'  Rain lashed against the windows again.  ‘It's an 
awful night, isn't it?' 

‘Does everyone want coffee?' David shouted from the kitchen. 

‘I'd prefer tea if you don't mind,' replied Winifred. 

‘I hope we manage to sell them all this year,' remarked Christine. 
‘Didn't we have two calendars left over last year?' 

‘Tea for me too, please,' said Michael. 

‘Yes, but I bought them and gave them as Christmas presents,' replied
Mary. 

‘Two teas, five coffees,' confirmed David.  The remaining group members
chatted with each other whilst signing and passing on the Quick Action 
letter, and leafing through the three copies of the Groups Newsletter. 

‘Errm...  Shall we make a start on the campaigns now?' asked Christine,
generating a few nods of agreement.  ‘Anything to report on the Torture 
Campaign, Roger?' 

‘Yes, I just received an update from the Groups Office the other day. 
As usual, there's a lot of repetition of what's already been said, and 
they've sent more postcards and another sample of the poster...' 

‘What, the one with the horrible photograph?' asked Cynthia, as she set
a plate of biscuits on the table. 

‘No, not that one.  That one was for the... you know, that campaign that
Bernard did...  It was a bit bloody.' 

‘It was still horrible.' 

‘Anyway,' continued Roger, ‘they want us to do more to raise awareness
and to try and get some publicity in the local papers...  Ah, coffee.'  
Mary cleared a space at the end of the table for the coffee tray, and 
David set it down. 

‘What about holding a stall in the high street again?' suggested
Cynthia.  ‘Like we did for the Arms Campaign.' 

‘I think they'd prefer a publicity stunt of some sort,' said Roger, as
he reached for a chocolate biscuit.  ‘Like that time when we put David 
and Bernard in a cage in Market Square and their photo was on the front 
page of the Gazette.' 

‘Can you pass the sugar, please, Mary,' said Michael. 

‘Shall we all give it some thought and bring our ideas to the next
meeting?' suggested Christine. 

‘Yeah, that's okay with me,' replied Roger. 

‘I'll minute that, then' said Winifred, making notes.  ‘Oh, has everyone
signed the Quick Action letter?' 

‘Yes, I think so,' replied Christine, realising that she still had it in
front of her and handing it back to Winifred. ‘Do you want to talk 
about the Arms Campaign now, Cynthia?' 

‘I thought we'd finished the Arms campaign,' said David, before taking a
sip of his coffee. 

‘No they've extended it,' said Cynthia.  ‘They want us to write to our
Member of Parliament and to the Trade and Industry Secretary.  I've 
drafted a letter.' Cynthia handed out three photocopies of the letter, 
and there were a few seconds of quiet as they were read. 

‘This is very well written,' said Roger. 

‘Oh, thank you, Roger,' said Cynthia.  ‘If I take care of the letter to
our MP, can some of you send similar letters to the DTI?' 

‘I'll write one,' volunteered Winifred. 

‘Me too,' said Roger. 

‘And me,' said Mary. 

‘I will as well, if you have another copy,' said Christine.  ‘Shall we
move on to...' She looked at her copy of the agenda, ‘...the 
Newsletter?  Anything to report, David?' 

‘No, not really.  I've made a start on it, but I think I'm still a month
or two away from publishing.  Oh, that reminds me.  An IT pall of mine 
has offered to do us a web-site.  I'm in touch with him by e-mail.' 

‘Excellent,' said Roger.  ‘Several groups have them now, and I think
there's a web-ring.' 

‘What's IT?' asked Cynthia. 

‘Information Technology,' replied David and Mary in unison. 

‘I thought high tea was something served at six o'clock,' said Roger. 

‘You get worse, Roger,' observed David. 

Winifred thought about asking what a web-ring was but decided not to. 

‘Did you say you'd ordered my brooch?' Cynthia asked Mary, quietly. 

‘Okay then,' said Christine, ‘that just leaves the Greeting Card
Campaign and the Victorian Fair.' 

‘Yes,' said Mary.  ‘I've ordered one for my sister as well.' 

‘How is your sister?' 

‘She's fine.  She's pregnant again.' 

‘Can we move on please?' said Christine, raising her voice a little. 

‘Sorry,' said Mary, as another gust of wind rattled each of the windows
in turn. 

‘Yes,' replied Winifred.  ‘The Card Campaign's organised for Saturday
fifteenth of November, outside Sainsbury's as usual.  I've not got the 
details of the prisoners yet, but they always arrive in time...' 

‘If the prisoners come, that'll save us sending the cards to them,'
joked Roger, undeterred by David's last remark. 

‘...and I already have a list of volunteers for that,' continued
Winifred, ignoring Roger's interruption.  ‘And the Victorian Fair 
stall's booked for December the twelfth.  We just need to decide who's 
going... oh, and will your Andrew be able to do mulled wine again, 
Mary?' 

‘I thought you said it was December the fifth,' said Roger. 

‘That's what I thought you said,' added Christine. 

‘Well, I've got the twelfth down on this sheet.' Winifred reached for
her diary. 

‘Whenever it is,' said Mary, ‘Andy and I will do the mulled wine.  And
I'll bring the Christmas Cards.' 

‘Yes, don't forget those,' said Cynthia, ‘they always sell well.' 

‘I think the fair was going to be held on the twelfth, but it was
brought forward a week,' explained Michael. 

‘Oh yes, you're right, it's Friday the fifth of December,' confirmed
Winifred.  ‘I can't go though.  I'm going to stay with my daughter that 
weekend.' 

‘Coming back to the prisoners,' interrupted David.  ‘My boss thought
that Amnesty worked for the release of all prisoners, including 
criminals.' 

‘I hope you put him right,' said Michael. 

‘I did.  I explained that Prisoners of Conscience were people imprisoned
for their political or religious beliefs, and that those are the ones 
that we try to get released.' 

‘Good for you,' exclaimed Cynthia. 

‘Any more volunteers to help with the Victorian Fair, then?' asked
Christine. 

‘Put me down,' said Roger. 

‘Best suggestion you've made all evening,' replied David. 

‘I'll come,' said Cynthia. 

‘I'll come if I can,' said Christine.  ‘Any other business, then,
please?... No? Well I declare the meeting closed, and thank you all for 
attending.' 

‘Oh, there's just one thing,' said Cynthia, halting the scraping of
chairs.  ‘My next-door-but-one neighbour's a teacher at the 
Comprehensive School, and she's going to try to arrange for me to give 
a talk to one of her classes, if anyone would like to come along.' 

‘I'll come,' said Winifred, as she stacked her papers on top of the ring
binder and put them back into her shopping bag. 

‘Thanks, Winifred.  I'll phone you when I have a date.' 

‘I can't come on a Thursday afternoon, though.  I'm doing a yoga class.'


‘Really?' exclaimed Mary. 

‘Good for you,' said Roger, obviously impressed. 

Mary collected the cups, and she and Cynthia carried them back to the
kitchen to wash them, whilst Roger helped Christine put the tables back 
into their usual positions.  And gradually, after a few private 
conversations, the group members put their coats back on and collected 
their umbrellas, and one by one, said their goodnights, and, to the 
accompaniment of the squeaky door, were on their way home. 

The door squeaked for one last time as Winifred retrieved her sign and
turned out the lights, before dropping the latch on the outer door and 
stepping out into the street, where, to her surprise, the rain had 
stopped. 

Thousands of miles away in a different time zone, a man imprisoned for
writing a song that was less than complementary to the government of 
his homeland, was hauled out of his cell and taken to the governor's 
office.  The prisoner was shaking because he thought that he was about 
to be tortured again.  He had not been tortured for many months. 

The governor looked up from the papers on his desk.  ‘You have caused me
far more trouble than you are worth,' he said, glancing at two sacks 
full of letters in the corner of the room.  ‘Now go.'  He gestured to 
the guards, and they led the prisoner to the gates and set him free. 


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