The Sacred Band

This chapter will not make a whit of sense if you have not been following the story.

The Sacred Band chapter eighteen

Epilogue.

told by Laura.

Well of course we had a party to celebrate our freedom from Rotkoff, and every now and again from then 'til now we have got together at the Mardi Gras Roadhouse for an evening of reminiscence and remembrance.

Our friendships were baked hard in the fire of those events of 1956, and (to mix a metaphor) the bonds have never loosened. Philip and I truly feel that we owe our lives to the Sacred Band. Without them our choice was between surrender and death.

***

Fifteen years have now passed since Rotkoff was put down. Fifteen momentous years. Here are some of the edited highlights:

Philip and I got married the week after I graduated with Upper Second class honours and an offer of a PhD place. We are still living in Muriel Road, but since Madge, Philip's mum, sadly died, we have taken over the whole house.

We miss Madge's courage and cheerfulness, her easy acceptance and her wisdom, every day of our lives. The great comfort we have is that she lived to greet her grandchildren and smile an atheist's blessing on their young lives.

I have a career of my own, several times interrupted by babies. Alongside my degree courses, in order to support Philip, I took a book-keeping course run by the University Extension people. I got the bug, and did my postgraduate work on the history of bookkeeping.

I must be one of the few academic historians who is also a Chartered Accountant. The direction of my research led to my learning Italian (it was called the Italian system of double-entry bookkeeping after all), and spending a term a year in Rome as a research student.

Unsuspected by myself and my supervisors, I had hit on a hot topic. My Ph.D thesis provided the nucleus of a book on the history of book-keeping that sold very well, and the publishers immediately demanded a follow-up workbook for students.

I am now a senior lecturer in the History department, and I teach a successful M.A course in the history of bookkeeping. It is a very hands-on programme, involving reading and interpreting accounts books up to five hundred years old. This year we recruited 17 students from 9 countries, including (would you believe?) two from Italy.

Each year Philip and I go to Berkeley, California for my semester as a visiting professor. Harvard and Cambridge have approached me with offers of a tenured professorship but I shall never leave Leicester. (Stop press: Leicester have got the funding to make me a full professor in 1975!)

Philip's business has expanded greatly. Besides the ever-expanding business as financial analyst, we now have a thriving property development company with four shareholders, Don, Denise, Philip and myself.

By nature of his job, Bruno cannot be on the board, but, as deputy County Surveyor since the recent local government amalgamations, his disinterested advice is always at our disposal.

It was the demolition of Wharf street, with its twin rows of small shops (one of them very dear to my heart) that inspired us into action. We buy old houses and shops and convert them into flats.

Our latest project is to restore a cinema built in 1911, which is a grade 2 listed building. One of our priorities is to try in a small way to protect the city against the rapine of the Poulsons and T. Dan Smiths of this world.

Philip Cheshire Associates now really has some associates. He employs a small but very well-qualified staff; five women and one man, all with post-grad degrees and two with MBA's. Being my lovely Philip, he spanks them all regularly, and they often show their appreciation by sucking him off. How did that come about, you ask?

Simple really. They are self-selected. Philip puts heavily encoded advertisements into some specialised magazines. People who are not attracted to work in a "disciplined" environment, simply don't present themselves for interview.

Philip lays out the ground rules at the interview, and as often as not they offer to take their knickers down then and there. One lovely girl cried in gratitude for having been offered a job.

My latest fellow concubine, Shirelle, flew in to her interview from Perth, Western Australia. She had sent copies of her first class degree at Melbourne University and her MBA, plus a set of photographs of herself naked, bound and gagged. I am not generally attracted to girls, but I almost wet myself when I saw the pictures.

Wait a bit; I said he spanks them all. Not strictly true. The male staff member, Garry, has a special ritual of his own. When he needs a spanking, Philip gives him a chitty to take to George and Ada's nephew Roland and his beautiful wife Shirley.

George and Ada retired when Wharf Street was scheduled for demolition, and Rollie and Shirley took over the business and moved it to the gym they run over the old Co-op on Welford Road.

They are very successful. Shirley spanks the men and Rollie spanks the women; thus is the sexual division of labour maintained. We pay them a retainer as personnel consultants, and, consequently, Garry's spankings are tax-deductible.

Around the time Philip and I got married, Judy began to go out with a policeman, and went to live with him in Husband's Bosworth. Bob has all she needs to make her fantasies come alive, including the policeman's uniform and the handcuffs and truncheon. They came under pressure from Bob's employers to get married. Judy has a real, deep moral disapproval of marriage, but she gave in after a while.

She is godmother to our two children, so we see them almost every week. When the children are asleep, Judy and I are as naughty as ever, and we play four-handed. Bob spanks Judy and Philip spanks me. No, we don't change partners, and probably never will.

Since then a number of fellow concubines or slave-girls have passed through our lives, and lived for a time in our house. As I said, the latest is our stunning Aussie, Shirelle. I was present at her interview (I'm present at all the interviews) and when Philip introduced me she sweetly came over, knelt and reverently kissed my hand. I think she may be with us for the rest of our lives. I'm still the naughty slave-girl at heart, but nowadays I bring a bit more conviction to the role of Chief Concubine/Hürrem Sultan.

Ivy, Ginnie, Donald and Bruno did buy a house together. Ginny now has two children and Ivy one. Thanks to Ginny's genius with the turkey baster, Donald and Bruno have the joy of being fathers. Ivy often jokes that that it must be unusual for babies to be conceived as a result of two separate, but co-ordinated acts of love.

Their three adorable children, two boys and a girl are Philip's and my god-children, and we could not be more proud. I remember when the youngest, Philip, was three, he took some little friends around the house, saying proudly:

"My mummies live downstairs and my daddies live upstairs. Mummy Ivy sings in Daddy Bruno's band. She is brilliant. She's made a record; would you like me to play it for you?"

As soon as the Rotkoff business was cleared away, Denise and Andy got married. Recently Andy has been having some heart problems, but they keep going, as much in love as ever. Denise bought him a motor-mower for his birthday, and he can spend the Summer days in the garden with his immaculate lawns and prize-winning roses and chrysanthemums.

Sadly, Jamie Gillespie died a couple of years after the Rotkoff incident. I worried that he might have worn himself out in helping us, but Dolly says, on the contrary, that he stayed alive and strong just so that he could help us. She says it was the proudest moment of his life, and she will always be grateful to us for including him.

Joan flew back from South Africa to attend the memorial we held for him, so all the members of the Sacred Band were present, and many tears were shed What took us all by surprise is that people came from all over the country and so many people wanted to give tributes that his memorial service at the Secular Hall lasted over an hour. Ivy sang Every time we say goodbye to Bruno's guitar. Discussion of the funeral music brought the first smile to Dolly's face since he died, when she suggested That old black magic as a suitable hymn.

Whenever I think about Jamie, I see him in the bookshop in his black oversleeves, his old cardigan and narrow tie, and I see again the light in his bright, piercing eyes as he looked at me; a timid girl in school uniform, just entering adolescence; and I see him smiling his little, crinkly, knowing smile.

The end.

If you have had the stamina and forgiving temperament to pursue this tale to its end; thank you.

I should be pleased to hear any reactions, criticisms or suggestions, that might help me in producing a revised version in course of time.

Meantime: watch out for the prequel:

The Mardi Gras Roadhouse.