Read Online Days of Your Fathers by Geoffrey Household - Free Book Online

don’t think Melman is like that,’ the vicar protested. ‘I was much impressed by his gentleness on that … that sad occasion, and I blame myself for ever thinking he was cold. Besides, one sees how the children love him.’
    They didn’t. They treated him as an animated slot machine. The Major, however, was too good-natured to say so. Mr Melman lived in a pretty white-and-yellow cottage on a lane which was used by a dozen children on their wayto school. At that hour – for he was an early riser – he was generally to be seen trimming his neat privet hedge or digging the kitchen garden. The children were inclined to stop and inspect him very warily over the hedge. When they did, he was quick and eager to distribute sweets. That was the idyllic picture to which the vicar referred, but the Major doubted if any real affection was in it. To stare at Melman was cheaper than dropping a coin in a machine and nearly as dependable.
    â€˜The point is: do you like him?’ the Major asked.
    â€˜Yes. Oh, yes! I would call him a dedicated man in a curious way – so dedicated that he treats me as if I were some sort of official. I suppose I am, though I hope there is more to it than that.’
    â€˜Well, we mustn’t press him too hard. He has a right to his peace. I expect he got as tired of doing his duty as the rest of us.’
    â€˜But would you sound him? You know him better than anyone.’
    Better than anyone? The Major was well aware that he knew nothing of him. But it was at least evident that he and Melman treated each other with respect. That was perhaps how the myth of understanding had grown.
    Rather unwillingly he tackled him over the usual garden gate, reassuring himself by the thought that the job of churchwarden would relieve Melman’s loneliness, whatever effect he was likely to have on the vicar. He was unaccountably relieved, like Fred Emerson, when the man showed no eagerness.
    â€˜If you tell me I should …’ Melman began.
    â€˜It might suit you. I don’t know. But if you want me to ask you to take it on – well, I’ve no right to say you should.’
    â€˜As good as anyone’s, Major. Obedience – that’s what I understand. It helps one to get accustomed to one’s duty. It’s like what you were saying the other day about killing in war.’
    â€˜Obedience is no excuse at all. Nothing to do with it!’ the Major exclaimed, and then, feeling that he had been unwarrantably brusque, added: ‘I’ll tell you a thing I’venever told anyone. I had to supervise an execution once. Unofficial, but I obeyed. We shot him in the back of the neck. Didn’t do it myself, but I can’t get out of it that way. We is we, if you see what I mean.
    â€˜I’ve no objection to capital punishment in principle. None at all! A very useful deterrent! Nine times out of ten the world is better without the man who is executed. Those damned professional liberals have got the argument all wrong. The State has every right to take life. What it doesn’t have is the right to order somebody to take it. And whether you hang or press a button or shoot, a human hand has to do it. I won’t have that. Society has no right to demand it. Killing in cold blood is murder of the soul which kills.’
    To the Major’s surprise, Mr Melman for the first time strongly disagreed with him.
    â€˜You’re wrong about that,’ he said. ‘Now, strictly between ourselves – you always take me just as I am, Major, and I know I can trust you – strictly between ourselves, I was the official hangman. It’s a police job like any other. And I don’t think it has made any difference to me at all.’

Women’s Lib
    Wasn’t there some old Greek tragedy in which a band of women tore a civil authority into small pieces because he had no gold braid on his cap? I’m pretty sure that the Ancient