Albion

By Jon Gale

Can the EDL offer hope? Jack is joining up
Jon Gale was winner of Writing on the Wall's 'Pulp Idol competition' in 2012.
Jack Garrity is a disaffected, frustrated and damaged eighteen year old, growing up in twenty first century Britain. His search for identity leads him into the far right movement and the newly formed English Defence League.
With the recent death of his mother and disintegrating relationship with his father, Jack finds a surrogate family and a purpose that he always sought after.
Within this violent world Jack is forced to hide his sensitivity and his dream of becoming an architect. That is until he meets, Naomi, who reignites a spark within him.
With Jack wishing to go to University and realise his ambition he must come to terms with his grieving father, the enigmatic Naomi and the bitter hold that Richie and the EDL have over him.
Praise for Jon Gale and the Pulp Idol finalists
'Impressed me enormously' LUKE BROWN, Tindal Street Press
'Some of the most powerful and original prose I've read in a long time.' HELEN WALSH
As Jack sees his friends buying into the EDL and their politics will he stay or go? Download the story now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Salt
• Release date: Jun 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781784630027

Jon Gale

Jon Gale was born and raised in Liverpool. He’s been scribbling away since High school. After finishing his creative writing degree he’s worked as a cleaner, a butcher and a chef. All the while reading and writing as much as he can.

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ALBION

Can the EDL offer hope? Jack is joining up

Jon Gale was winner of Writing on the Wall’s ‘Pulp Idol competition’ in 2012.

Jack Garrity is a disaffected, frustrated and damaged eighteen year old, growing up in twenty first century Britain. His search for identity leads him into the far right movement and the newly formed English Defence League.

With the recent death of his mother and disintegrating relationship with his father, Jack finds a surrogate family and a purpose that he always sought after.

Within this violent world Jack is forced to hide his sensitivity and his dream of becoming an architect. That is until he meets, Naomi, who reignites a spark within him.

With Jack wishing to go to University and realise his ambition he must come to terms with his grieving father, the enigmatic Naomi and the bitter hold that Richie and the EDL have over him.

Praise for Jon Gale and the Pulp Idol finalists

‘Impressed me enormously’ —LUKE BROWN, Tindal Street Press

‘Some of the most powerful and original prose I’ve read in a long time.’ —HELEN WALSH

As Jack sees his friends buying into the EDL and their politics will he stay or go?

JON GALE was born and raised in Liverpool. He started writing seriously in his late teens and went on to study Creative Writing at John Moores University. He has had short stories published, along with a couple of short plays put on, but his biggest passion and demon is prose. After winning Writing on the Wall’s Pulp Idol competition he continued to work on the novella, Albion for two years. His plans for the next two years are to write a novel set ten years into the future, drink gin and read as much as he can.

Published by Salt Publishing Ltd

12 Norwich Road, Cromer, Norfolk NR27 0AX

All rights reserved

Copyright © Jon Gale, 2014

The right of Jon Gale to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This book is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Salt Publishing.

Salt Publishing 2014

Created by Salt Publishing Ltd

This book is sold subject to the conditions that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

ISBN 978-1-78463-002-7 electronic

For James

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

THE BIZZIES HAD made a stretch for us to march down. They used metal barriers to cram us into a column four men wide. They were riot police, hiding behind plastic shields. There were hundreds of us; some lads had their hoods pulled up, white hockey masks with red crosses painted on covering their mouths. Me and Lewis were given an England flag to share. We filed down the stretch singing I’m England till I die. Richie wasn’t singing. He was bouncing up and down, looking through gaps in the line.

‘I can’t see the UAF, probably haven’t turned up, the shithouses.’

Everyone carried England flags above their heads or draped around their shoulders. A lad in his late twenties put his arm around my neck and drew me close. I pushed him off, he just smiled. His breath smelt of dog shit and cigars. I moved away from him back to Richie. Our own stewards wore luminous orange jackets. They were interspersed with us and the police, trying to calm people down. But they had no chance.

The bizzies stood outside the Tesco Express like doormen. Lewis broke away from us and darted towards the Tesco. Richie grabbed his elbow.

‘Where are you going?’ Richie asked.

‘Just going to get a few tinnies.’

‘And do you think they’re going to let you in? Get back next to Jack, soft arse.’

I still wasn’t sure about taking the piss out of Lewis. It was only banter but every jibe from Richie looked like it winded him. He trudged along next to me and mumbled. ‘And I’m starving.’

‘What was that?’ Richie said.

‘Nothing.’

Richie pulled a Double Decker out of his inside pocket. ‘Here you go, Mardy Arse.’

Lewis grinned and snapped the gooey bar in two. ‘Want half?’ he asked me.

I shook my head. I couldn’t have kept it down.

River Island hadn’t put its shutters up. An auld girl in her forties was shaking her fist shouting something I couldn’t hear. Someone doused her in water from his bottle. He bolted through the crowd taking in the applause. A bizzie thought about chasing him but retreated and ushered the woman back into the shop. A few lads ran into the shop and tipped the mannequins over. The security guard, with a gut that sagged that low it looked like it could trip him up, shook his head and walked back inside.

Three Pakis had the cheek to stand next to the memorial statue. Only twenty bizzies penned them in. The crowd swerved towards them. The bizzies knew if we got through we’d tear them apart. They dragged the Pakis over the grass and towards the vans that would be full in a couple of hours. The loose poppies from the memorial had scattered on the ground in front of us.

‘You Paki-loving bastards!’ Richie shouted at the bizzies. He put his arm around me, ‘Stay close to me now. Looks like they’re up for it today.’

A placard twatted me in the back of the head. I turned around, thinking some whopper would hold his hands up and say sorry. He had his back to me, a skinny fella with a Lacoste polo three sizes too big. He threw wild swings, slaps at a black-capped lad. A small pit erupted. Richie guided me away.

‘Fucking idiots. Leave them to it,’ he said.

I don’t know what it was over, might have been a Nazi salute or placard to the back of the head. The news that the UAF were up ahead rippled through the crowd. The pit split up and we broke out into a small jog, standing on the backs