The Members' Lobby sits between
Central Lobby and the House of Commons Chamber. It’s a large square room,
mainly in marble, and features the statues of former Prime Ministers. It’s also
an area where MP’s collect their messages and important papers, and hang around
chatting before going into Chamber.
Standing in
bronze, with his hands on his hips, is Sir Winston Churchill. Prime Minister
during the Second World War and perhaps looked upon as a one of Britain’s
heroes; what with all that he did for the country. Whereas the whole of him is
in a crinkly dull brown texture, his left shoe has been polished to a lighter
colour. It’s as if he’s wearing odd shoes. It is said that touching his foot
brings an MP good luck as they enter the Chamber and over the decades, this has
made it shiny.
The MP for Oldham
was about to do just that. He reached out with his left hand, one eye on where
he was going and the other on Winston’s shoe.
The shoe moved.
The MP looked up
into the face of the statue, his left hand still suspended over where the shoe
had been. His brain tried to comprehend what had just happened.
The statue of Winston Churchill has actually
pulled his foot back.
Oldham’s Member
of Parliament wanted to fall over. He stood with his mouth open; other MP’s
were also motionless, open mouthed as if copying him. It was obvious that the
shoe was now in a different position.
The statue moved
again.
Slowly and
stiffly, Churchill started to straighten up. Still with his hands on his hips,
he turned his head cautiously, as if suffering from an old neck injury.
The MP uttered
something incomprehensible. Surely, this must be some sort of stunt, the Prime
Minister trying to get everyone’s attention about something or other. There, he
thought, the Prime Minister is just entering the room, right on cue. Clever,
very clever indeed.
What was even
cleverer was when the statue spoke.
“Since when has
the MP for Oldham had to rely on luck?” said the statue.
The MP, who had
now taken a sort of defensive crouch with his fists clenched, looked at the
Prime Minister, seeking some confirmation that all this was his doing. The PM
was looking as stunned as he was.
There was
movement next to the Prime Minister. A bodyguard was pulling out his gun.
“Armed Police. Keep
still.”
The bodyguard
held the gun out in front of him with both hands. He pointed it at the statue of
Churchill then at the MP for Oldham, as if not quite sure where the threat was.
“Clear the room,
clear the room,” someone else shouted.
Another
bodyguard entered and immediately took up a position in front of the Prime
Minister. The PM was ushered out through the door, being steered in a crouched
position and looking as if something was about to drop on his head.
There was a buzz
and a noise in Chambers that someone would later describe as a right hullabaloo.
This was complete madness.
The MP for
Oldham wondered if it was all his fault.
The statue of
Winston Churchill appeared to be smiling.
Within
the hour, the Prime Minister was staring at the statue: his personal bodyguards
were still present in the room. Winston Churchill had asked for a glass of
cognac and a cigar, stating that he knew of the no-smoking policy, but as it
had been a while, perhaps they could make an exception. Under the
circumstances, no one felt in a position to argue. In fact, several of the MP’s
were only too willing to join him.
Everyone had
shaken his hand, as much because it was Sir Winston Churchill as to see what it
actually felt like.
The
PM had gathered a handful of key politicians and Sir Winston into one of the
Select Committee rooms, keeping away from rooms 10 and 14, which were wired
with cameras and sound. He had given instruction that for the time being, the
broadcast from the Chamber was to ‘experience technical difficulties’ knowing
that this couldn’t possibly go out live, not until they understood what the
hell it was they were dealing with. There’s no way the public could handle
something like this. It was unprecedented.
There was
chatter in the room from nervousness on the part of the MP’s, some of whom made
silly jokes and comments about the situation.
Churchill was
looking stern. He was answering their simple questions, and this was beginning
to irritate him. It became clear when he’d had enough and wanted to say
something. He paused to allow the cigar smoke to clear from in front of his
face and to ensure he had their undivided attention. The room fell silent.
“Who, could
possibly have, ever, imagined?” he
said. His delivery was easily recognisable. Slow but powerful as he punched out
the words. Panning his hand around
the room, still with the cigar between his fingers, he looked from person to
person.
“I shall try and
explain what is happening here, and then answer your questions,” the statue
said.
There was a
noticeable sigh of relief around the room.
“When I died, I
went to a place. It was not here. It was not England. It is difficult to
describe. However, when you erected this statue of me, I became aware of what
was here and what was going on around me. I could see and hear things,
understand things. I have been doing so, ever since.”
The voice was
definitely that of Winston Churchill. When he moved, it was almost like a
living person, just slower and with fewer actions. The bronze he was made from
appeared to mould to his movements, solid but pliable. There were fewer facial expressions
and when he spoke, there was little lip movement, as though he was imitating a
poor ventriloquist. There was also no evidence, such as a rising and falling of
his chest that he was breathing.
The MP’s sat in
silence. One or two looked at each other; perhaps reassuring glances to check
that this was real and they hadn’t fallen asleep during Prime Minister’s
Question Time, and that this was some bizarre dream.
“We have been amongst you for centuries,” said
Churchill. “Not in a physical sense, call us spirits, or an energy source, but
something happens to the human soul when it is embodied as a statue or
sculpture. It is as though it creates a connection, a link between two worlds. A
higher, more informative and advanced world, and here. That link also opens up
a telepathic communication between all statues, and we have been able to share
thoughts and knowledge.”
The statue
rapped his knuckles on his metal chest. “You haven’t discovered yet how to
control the molecules of solid objects but that is exactly what I am doing
now.”
The Prime
Minister wanted to ask a question.
Churchill spoke
again, “You’re going to ask why I am here? There will be others like me. Other
statues will come to life this morning, to help give you a message. A very
important message. So important that it was necessary to get your attention in
such a way that you would take the message seriously. Something so unbelievable
that you would be left in no doubt.”
Churchill paused
for a moment as part of his build up.
“The world is coming
to an end,” he said. “The balance of the natural world, of all things living, has
tipped.”
There was another
short pause.
“Over the years,
we have listened to your plans on conservation. Your thoughts on the control of
pollution, of greenhouse gases, combustion, the ozone layer. What you are doing
‒ it isn’t enough. If your actions were just leading to some major catastrophe
– we wouldn’t get involved, it wouldn’t be our place to. But this isn’t just
some disaster. It is leading to The End. As a species, you are going to be
wiped out and even though some may initially survive, they too will perish.”
A silent alarm
showed on everyone’s face. This was incredible. Unbelievably incredible.
The Prime
Minister spoke. “How long have we got?”
“Not long,” said
Churchill.
* * *