The Memorialisation Committee by Helen Rana, espresso

‘Right, let’s get started.’  The High Sheriff, an esteemed personage in this city, sat at the head of the table as usual.  She turned to Dwayne, the young man tasked with taking the minutes.  ‘Ready?’  He nodded, hands hovering eagerly above his keyboard.  ‘Good.  Before we start working through this list, I would like to commend the committee on our achievements to date in reducing the vestiges of colonialism, nepotistic merchant benefactors and the slave trade.  It is never easy to identify people and events who will remain significant and admirable now and in the future, but I know we are all committed to the task.  Your efforts are keenly appreciated.’

The Memorialisation Committee was responsible for the city’s collective remembrance – things like street and building names, museums, statues, plaques and monuments.  Before the High Sheriff had taken over, her predecessor had led several decades of radical change in the city.  His legacy was many more problematic names.

‘Felicia, would you like to read out today’s names of concern?’

Felicia was deeply embedded in the social warp and weft of the city.  The proactive founder and director of a vital local charity, her abhorrence of unfairness and injustice made her one of the most committed and capable members.  She viewed her printed piece of paper with distaste.  ‘Let’s start with the Prospect Estate.  I think we need to change the name of every single road there.’

‘Surely not,’ protested the aged Nailah Shah.  She was always pushing for the recognition of international political figures.

Felicia stabbed pointedly at the list with her biro.  ‘You’re right. Nelson Mandela Way can stay.  But we need to rename Muhammar Gadaffi Avenue, Robert Mugabe Close, Saddam Hussein Street and Nicolae Ceausescu Grove.’

‘That’ll make the residents happy,’ Ayman grinned.  ‘It’s been a nightmare for them having to spell that every time they give someone their address.  Can you imagine – C-e-a-u…?’  Ayman Abadi served in two capacities on the committee – as both the City Council’s representative, and as the token youngster, that is, someone not yet forty.

‘So we’ll just leave Nelson Mandela – agreed?’ said the Chair.

‘Agreed.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Definitely.’

‘Please continue.’

‘The Jimmy Saville Playing Fields.’

‘Ah,’ Roger scratched his head and looked around the room, his mouth turned down, his jaw taut.

‘How did he get away with it for so long?’ demanded Karen.  ‘Everyone knew he was up to something.’ 

‘Not necessarily,’ Roger demurred.  ‘We thought – well, some people thought – that he was just a classic English eccentric.  He raised a substantial amount of money for charity and he was always volunteering in hospitals.  You can’t deny that he did a lot of good.’  Roger West was the oldest person in the room.  Some of his views were slightly out of step with the others.

Karen shot him a cold, hard stare.  As CEO of the Chamber of Commerce, she had a highly effective stare for every occasion.

‘As well as all the terrible things he did, of course,’ Roger conceded.

‘Yes, that certainly needs to change,’ the Chair said.  ‘Carry on.’

‘The plaques on the American Cultural Exchange.’

‘Which are?’ Jeremy asked.

‘OJ Simpson, Lance Armstrong, Bill Cosby, Tiger Woods and Harvey Weinstein.’

‘That’s not within our purview,’ the Chair asserted.  ‘It’s privately owned.  Next?’

‘Have you noticed how many men are corrupted by power and money?’ asked Karen.  ‘We need to commemorate more women.  They do fewer things wrong.’

‘Margaret Thatcher,’ Felicia read on.  ‘That statue outside the new shopping mall.’

‘Margaret Thatcher!’ exclaimed Roger.  ‘Over my dead body!’

‘Yes, why is she on the list?’

Felicia shrugged.

Roger was enraged.  ‘She has neither defamed, disgraced or brought into disrepute either herself or the city.’

‘And we do need to commemorate more women,’ Karen repeated.

Roger thundered on.  ‘Now, you may not have liked her policies.  I understand that she was not for everyone.’

‘“There’s no such thing as society”,’ Nailah quoted the former prime minister in a sarcastic tone.  Felicia smirked in agreement at the fatuousness of Thatcher’s pronouncement.

‘But, but, but –’ Roger blustered.  ‘She was the first woman prime minister of Great Britain.  An outstanding individual in international affairs who led us to victory in the Falklands War.  I certainly cannot, and will not – will never – approve taking that away.’

‘I’m with Roger on this one,’ said Ayman.  ‘That one doesn’t meet any of our pulling-down statues criteria.’

‘At least she was a woman who did something in public life,’ Karen concurred.

‘Tear down Margaret Thatcher indeed!’ Roger went on, indignantly.  ‘I’ve heard it all now!  This is even worse than “Rhodes Must Fall”!’  His face was bright red and, as he reached for a sip of water, the glass shook in his trembling hand.  ‘I am most affronted by the very thought!’

‘Have you got that, Dwayne?’ asked the Chair.

Dwayne typed, ‘Roger is most affronted’ into the minutes.

‘There’s several contentious names at the universities and the college,’ Felicia continued.  ‘The Rebekah Brooks Library.’

‘What’s wrong with Rebekah Brooks?’ Karen enquired.  ‘She’s a successful newspaper editor – a good role model for girls.’

‘Two words,’ replied Jeremy Marsden, a forty-something metrosexual who spread himself thin amongst many of the city’s cultural boards.  ‘Phone hacking.’  He didn’t usually say much, focused on his mobile phone beneath the table, his mind only partially present in any room.

‘And the Max Clifford Media Centre.’

‘What did he get done for?’ asked Ayman.

‘Sex,’ Felicia answered.

‘Sex what?’

‘Sexual misconduct or impropriety,’ the Chair answered.  ‘The usual.’

‘Who was he anyway?’

‘A PR guru,’ Karen told him, ‘with the tabloid press’.

‘Oh, right!’  Ayman exclaimed, as if that explained everything.

‘The Fred Goodwin Entrepreneurs’ Hub.’

‘Ah yes,’ Jeremy said.  ‘Financial mismanagement.’

‘And a complete disregard for human decency,’ Nailah added.

‘Not within our remit,’ Roger remarked.  ‘We are not the Moralisation Committee.’

Felicia carried on reading her list.  ‘The Oscar Pistorius Enablement Centre.’

‘Shame,’ Karen tutted.  ‘The Blade Runner.’

‘Well that’s easy,’ said Ayman.  ‘We can replace him with Richard Whitehead.  The British Blade Runner.’

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ directed the Chair.  ‘Our job is to assess whether these things really do require replacing before we start proposing any ideas.  Then we will go through the public consultation process as usual.  We facilitate the change, we do not make it ourselves.’

‘Well, you’ve got to put Richard Whitehead down as someone to consider.’

‘Yeah, he’s a no-brainer,’ agreed Karen. 

‘Or Jonnie Peacock,’ Jeremy offered.

Dwayne was rapidly typing all of the members’ points.

‘Why isn’t that bust of Jeffrey Archer on the list?’ Nailah queried.  ‘The one in front of the sports complex?’

Felicia checked her sheet of paper, but his name was not on it.  ‘I don’t know.’

‘Is it because it’s a private monument?  He might have paid for it himself.’

‘Possibly.’

‘Need that be removed?’ Roger argued.  ‘Hasn’t he redeemed himself?’

‘Several times,’ retorted Karen.  ‘He seems to always be in prison or in parliament.’

‘Or writing bestsellers,’ said Jeremy.  ‘Prison, parliament or publishing – all the Ps.’

‘An interesting character,’ Karen observed.

‘Indeed,’ agreed the Chair.  ‘I don’t think we need to take any action on that particular piece.  What else have you got there, Felicia?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Thank you very much.  Any other issues people would like to raise?’

Ayman spoke first.  ‘I’ve had a complaint about the renovated co-working space near the station.  I made a note of it.’  He swiped on his mobile phone, searching for the memo.  ‘Hang on, I’ll find it in a minute.’

The others waited patiently.  Roger turned to Karen.  ‘Do you know who I think we should erect a statue to?  Bruce Forsyth.  Or Bob Monkhouse.  One of those old-time entertainers who never got into trouble of any sort, worked their cotton socks off and who raised the country’s spirits.’

Karen raised her eyebrows.  Those weren’t the sort of figures she would call heroes.  She was determined to get more female politicians, businesspeople and social activists recognised by this city.  That’s why she had joined the committee.

‘Here we go.’  Ayman read from his phone.  ‘Yeah.  They’re naming each wing of the block after a Soviet spy. I had to write them down because I didn’t know the names: Anthony Blunt, Kim Philby, Donald Maclean, George Blake and Melissa Norwood.’

‘Melita,’ Roger corrected him.

‘Melita, right.’

‘Well, at least there’s a woman in there,’ Karen commented.

‘That’s also privately owned,’ said the Chair, ‘so they can call their buildings whatever they like, however questionable.’ 

Jeremy leant forward, finally ready to contribute.  ‘What should we do with the mural Rolf Harris painted down by the canal?’

‘You look a bit like Rolf Harris,’ Karen told Roger.

He stroked his grey beard.  He did.

‘That’s an interesting one,’ the Chair stated.  ‘Is it a mural of Rolf Harris or by Rolf Harris?’

‘By.  It’s a canal scene.  But it’s got a massive signature on it and everyone knows it’s by Rolf Harris.’

‘But it doesn’t depict Rolf Harris?’ pressed the Chair.

‘We had something like that before,’ Nailah put in.  ‘There used to be that mosaic about Jonathan King.’

‘No, that was completely different,’ Karen countered.  ‘That was about Jonathan King, not by him.’

‘Where’s this?’ Ayman asked.  ‘I’ve never noticed it.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ said Karen.  ‘They bulldozed it.’

‘Jonathan King?’ Felicia was astounded.  ‘Why on earth was there a mosaic about him?’

‘This was years ago, in the 1970s.  He was quite big around these parts back then.  I think it was some student project and I think he led it himself.’

‘The mind boggles,’ Felicia said.

‘Colleagues, please,’ said the Chair.  ‘That ex-mosaic is a moot point.  Does anybody have any thoughts about Rolf Harris?’

‘I’m sure we had something like this once,’ Nailah persisted.  ‘A few years ago.  I can check in my old minutes.’

‘If you would, please.  Report back to Dwayne.  And Dwayne, would you please make a note to carefully check through the committee’s terms of reference and see if there’s anything in there that might help us with this matter?’

‘Yep.’ Dwayne noted the action point for himself.

Jeremy eyed the young man keenly.  ‘Just out of interest, Dwayne, if you could choose anyone to commemorate, who would it be?’

Dwayne sank lower into his chair.  He had chosen to work in administrative support so that he could be at the heart of decision making but would never be asked to speak up in meetings.  ‘Um,’ he muttered, staring fixedly at his laptop.  ‘Someone normal, I suppose.  Relatable.’

‘Audley Harrison?’ suggested Roger.  ‘Frank Bruno, Nigel Benn?’

Dwayne was taken aback.  He blushed furiously.  ‘Probably not a boxer.’

‘Why have you immediately chosen sportsmen?’ challenged Nailah.  ‘Is it because Dwayne is black?’

Roger was unabashed, smiling at Dwayne.  ‘Not at all.  I don’t judge a man by the colour of his skin.  They’re good role models for a young man like yourself.  Hard working, successful.’

‘Who would you go for?’ Karen was intrigued.

Dwayne hesitated before answering.  ‘Someone to look up to.  A person who lived in this city and did good things without just doing it to get power and wealth for themselves.’

‘I second that,’ said Felicia.

‘Well, this is a Memorialisation Committee,’ scoffed Roger.  ‘We have to commemorate people who are acknowledged leaders in their field.  Otherwise the city would just be immortalising ordinary people who haven’t particularly achieved anything.’

Dwayne typed something very rude about Roger into his notes.  He would delete that later, but it made him feel better for now to swear covertly.

‘Moving on,’ said the Chair.  ‘Let’s not get distracted.’ 

‘There was a proposal for a plaque to commemorate the women weavers’ strike of eighteen-hundred-and-something, I forget the exact date,’ Felicia stated.

‘Very good.  We’ll carry that forward to the next proposals meeting.  The purpose of today’s meeting is not to recommend who we would like to see memorialised, however, it’s to decide who deserves to be stripped of their recognition.  Unfortunately, as we all know, certain people and events do not always retain their standing in our changing society.’

‘Yes, we are the arbiters of good taste,’ Nailah affirmed.

‘Actually,’ drawled Jeremy, ‘we’re the arbiters of good history’.

 

Bio:

Helen is a member of the Writers’ Guild of Great Britain and was a Creative Writing Associate at Bath Spa University. Her short stories have been published in anthologies, and her eight full-length and eight short screenplays have all been selected for film festivals or won awards. www.helenrana.com

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)