An Even Cheerier End to 1984.

I felt I should respond to a barrage (three people) of criticism that my cheerier last chapter of 1984 wasn’t that cheerful. As I said to one complainant:

“I couldn't make 1984 completely cheerful, I wanted to but it just wouldn't fit. I was trying to make it into a sort of Trumanesque game show where he won at the end and everyone came back to life and they had a massive party, but I couldn't get around the fact that they'd starved him, beaten him to a pulp and pulled his teeth out. They wouldn't even do that on Japanese TV, so I went for authenticity instead and gave Winston a bit of a break. I did hint that it might be all right with Julia. Do you know there's no such word as "alright"? I was quite shocked.”

On reflection and re-reading, I have to admit my version isn’t as fun-filled as it seemed when I was writing it. Remember I had just read the book which is pretty stark and you have to admit my ending is a bit less dour than Orwell’s, (although I’d still have to give him the edge on style and skill. Yes, yes and grammar).

Anyway, you’re right. I should have taken advantage of the fact that instead of dying from tuberculosis on a remote Scottish island, I’m at home in Brighton, in rude, cheerful health, drinking coffee while listening to Madeleine Peyroux and waiting for Goldfinger to come on.

What I’m trying to say, in my roundabout way is “stick this up your trumpet”:

Part Four

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1

“Winston dear, is there time for another woo woo before your broadcast?”

Winston shielded his eyes against the evening sun that dappled through the trees and shone a halo around Julia.

“There’s always time for woo woo,” he said, “let’s have it Georgia peach style.”

Julia turned to the house and raised her voice:

“O’Brien! Another pitcher of woo woo. Is there any rum left?”

“Yes madam,” O’Brien appeared in the doorway, “a quarter of a bottle or so.”

“Then we’ll have it Georgia peach style. You haven’t started tea yet have you?”

“No madam, the children won’t be back until around seven.”

“Oh yes, I forgot, said Winston, “They said they’d be watching it round at the Parsons’ tonight, Tom will drop them back here.”

Winston reached up and pulled Julia down onto his lap. There was a dangerous creak of wicker as the chair flexed and she slapped him playfully. She leaned against him and gazed at the sun through the trees. Winston gazed at her. God he loved her. Her dark hair was a little greyer now (Winston wished she’d colour it but since he was now bald as a billiard ball, he had an inadequate power base for negotiation), but she was, in fact, more beautiful than in her youth. There was something in her strength of character, her basic decency that had allowed her to grow into her years, in some indefinable way. He looked down at her t-shirt and smiled. His face was on there, back when he’d had at least some hair left. His eyes glared sternly out and beneath was the slogan “BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING…”

O’Brien arrived with the drinks. “It’s almost time for your broadcast sir,” he said, “shall I turn on the telescreen?”

“No, don’t worry old man,” Winston stretched as Julia disengaged and stood up, “We’ll sort it out. We’ll give you a call if we need you.”

“Very good, sir” O’Brien withdrew.

“Good man, O’Brien,” said Winston as they made their way inside, “Very loyal, considering.”

Julia turned on the telescreen and they settled onto the sofa, woo woo within reach. Winston’s face appeared, filling most of the screen, stern and forbidding; the omniscient eyes glared out. The slogan appeared, slamming into the space under the face with a leaden sound effect. An iron voice read the words: “BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING…” The sentence was completed by a ragged, shouting choir of child voices: “DINOSAURS!!!”

The face was replaced with the brightly coloured interior of a television studio. Seated among an audience of plainly excited children was Winston, his shirt loud and patterned, his lined face creased into smiles.

“That’s right!” He momentarily lost the camera as the shot changed, which the children found hilarious. “That’s right,” he repeated, “tonight we’re going to be talking dinosaurs! In the studio we’ve got not one, not two but THREE professors from the Ministry of Evidence Based History, and not only that we’re going GLOBAL! Later on we’ll be linking live to digs in Eurasia AND Eastasia…”

Winston poured the cocktails and lounged back on the sofa. He never really watched his broadcasts, after the first minute he was lost in memories. The prerogative of age he called it when his children caught him out. Julia merely held him closer.

His reflections gave him a great deal of pleasure. After his reorganisation of the ministries (not popular in all quarters, but the ruthless iron boot of absolute power had seen him get his way), he had dismantled the Party and its mechanisms of power and brought back popular elections. Both ex-Party members and Prole leaders had petitioned him to stand for leader but as Winston pointed out: “No one should have the intention of grabbing power who hasn’t got much better things to do once they’ve achieved what they want with it. Life’s too bloody short.”

He’d spent his political retirement reforming the telescreen system into something much more useful and had ended up producing and hosting the most popular children’s programme in the world. After the end of the war it began broadcasting with subtitles in Eastasia and Eurasia.

His attention wandered back to the screen where his beshirted self was stamping around in a custard tar pit, tyrannosaur hands held in front of him. He roared with laughter.

“You idiot!” He megaphoned his hands around his mouth “Where’s your self respect?”

Julia pinched his arm:

“There haven’t been microphones in those things for fifteen years. You’re the one who banned them!”

“Quite right too,” Winston reached for his woo woo, “but it makes no difference because when we were filming, I knew I’d be shouting that.”

As he spoke, his screen self mock-saluted the camera with an almost unnoticeable flick of the eyebrows.

“O’Brien will be settled by now,” he said, “let’s ring him.”

“Why, what do you want?”

“Oh, nothing, really.”

“You’re a devil. Let me do it!”

They both rang together giggling mischievously.

Winston was having the time of his life.

The End