78
PARTISAN REVIEW
nothing to do with the film work which has brought me to England."
Scotty picked up a letter.
It
was addressed to
Left Review
at a
Charing Cross bookshop that sold revolutionary literature.
"Are you a member of the I.W.W.
?",
asked Young Lochinvar.
"No. That letter says I am a member of the John Reed Club.
It
is
an organization of writers and artists opposed to fascism and war. All
the other letters say I am a writer."
They went through my trunk. They made me bring in my valise
and combed through that. The immigration man gave me a slip of paper,
an official notice denying me the right to land. The reason given was
Section 13a. The Scotland Yard fellow gathered up my manuscripts and
letters and put them in his portfolio.
"You've no right to take those papers," I said.
"They are in the custody of the police."
"This is an American ship, you have no authority here."
"They are in the custody of the police," he answered.
"I demand an itemi zed receipt," I said. But he didn't answer. He
closed his portfolio,, instructed an oHicer that I was not to leave the ship,
and I was left alone in the deserted salon.
I went out on deck. Fog had crept in from the Channel during the
hour I was below with the Immigration and Scotland Yard men. It was
yellow and heavy, one almost had to push it aside to walk. The sky was
low, mottled and swollen like an abscess. England had welcomed me.
I walked intently around the deck till I was tired. I could see nothing
but the heavy fog rolling past. I went below, stretched out on my bunk,
and counted the rivets in the ceiling.
Later when I tried to go out again there was a member of the crew
standing watch at my door. He was ashamed and apologetic but the
orders were that I was not to leave my cabin till further notice. I asked
to see an officer and when he came he promised to phone a friend of mine
and to bring me newspapers. When he brought the papers he said my
friend sent his greetings, that he would come as soon as he could, and that
he was going to get a lawyer on the case.
I felt a lot better. Here I was in a foreign country yet I couldn't
ever be completely alone. There would always be comrades in arms, and
the kinship would be there, though we had never met.
I settled down to wait. In the newspapers I could see that the
English were creating their modern mythology in the Duke of Kent–
Princess Marina wedding. They were giving the English people the
equivalent of the Lindbergh saga. Heroes and circuses. And the circuses
were necessary. In Wales, and in the North of England, according to
the papers, unemployment was increasing. It was doubtful whether thou-
