The two black saloon cars had been there all morning. Not many had noticed them, tucked away in an off-road lane. And, if they had, they had not made a fuss. The people of River, however reluctantly, had become used to seeing strange people doing strange things in their serene village. Not too long ago, the peace of the farmland had been broken by the thunderous voice of a Pastor contending for his Christian faith. It had all started when new owners had arrived at River House. They had quickly renamed it Kingdom House. It was as if a shadow followed the new inhabitants; a dark cloud that washed over the village. Almost everyone in the village knew that these men and women were fascists, and that at least all of the men had been interred in a prison camp for most of the war. The villagers hadn’t accepted them with open arms. But they had been respectful. Then, the newspapers started to report that these people were trying to bring in a massive bust of Hitler’s head to the house. To their village. Their fathers, brothers, sons and friends had fought and died in a war trying to defeat the evil of Hitler and his regime. Now, they were expected to accept a bastion of this ideology, in their village? Not only this, these people, this League of Christian Reformers, were worshiping him. That’s why the Pastor had come, that’s why the atmosphere of the village had shifted. 

The government had done nothing. And said they wouldn’t do anything. Inaction had been tolerated long enough.

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