Agent 118# Dr Richard Proctor
Born Liverpool , Allerton 1890. Attended Edinburgh University before joining up with the Kings Regiment as a medical officer in 1914 . Commended for bravery whilst tending to injured men whilst under enemy fire and receiving a shrapnel wound to left shoulder.
On returning to civi-street Dr Proctor opened his own medical practise in Hadley Wood North London, he started to move in high circles joining the Free Masons and working two days a week for the London Metropolitan Police.
One night Dr Proctor got an emergency call to attend a dingy apartment , a young girl bleeding profusely from a botched back street abortion. Their was little the doctor could do to save her and as it turned out she was the mistress of a high up Lord.
Dr Proctor was blamed and struck off .
Travelling to Spain to offer his services to the Republican forces he felt alive again doing what he did best tending field injuries and saving lives , however after three months service he received a fascist bullet to the thigh , he was thrown over the back of a pack mule and has retuned to England to recover .
Proctor has now volunteered his services to A.L.F.I.E.S.
Dr Proctor is quite striking in appearance standing 6,4” shaved head and handle bar moustache .
Handy with a rifle, he prefers his trusty webley service revolver. Proctor smokes a Calabash mahogany pipe which he lovingly packs with Captain Blacks cherry tobacco , a casual observer would almost compare this ritual akin to a Japanese tea ceremony
Doctor Proctor was killed in action during the end of Operation APHID. He had been instrumental in the success of the mission which saw him save an extractee’s life with his medical skills, shoot out a Royal Highway Patrol Group HMG, initiate the so called ‘Norley Massacre’ (a friendly fire incident between the Cheshire Public Schools Battalion and a RHPG Patrol,) and make the radio contact with Liverpool that saw the mission successfully completed.
In the course of his extraction from Prestatyn beach he was shot through the heart by a as yet unidentified sniper using a .375 express calibre rile from a distance of circa 500 yards. he died alongside a irish adviser to the local BRC detachment, a Navy able seamen and a member of the Mary Hay Martyrs Brigade (Mancunian Resistance,) dispatched by the same sniper.
The Good Doctor was buried in Allerton Cemetry in a family plot with full Free State military honours, a guard of honour from his former regiment and ALFIES colleagues and superiors in attendence.
(Dr Richard Proctor’s Player – Jim)
Ernest Hemingway and the Liverpool Free State
Hemingway came to Britain in early 1938 after recovering in Key West from a year in Spain for the North American Newspaper Alliance, a period he spent mostly in Madrid writing his play “The Fifth Column”. However with the civil war in the UK escalating, his illicit girlfriend (Hemingway is married to Pauline Pfeiffer but they have become estranged) and war correspondence Martha Gellhorn is posted to
London and Hemingway joins her there to report on the conflict.
He finds London stifling, and in attempt to get away from the BUF controlled streets he makes contact with suspected communist sympathiser and documentarian John Grierson who was leaving the city to film conditions in the Northern mining towns hit by insurrection and oppression, if not out-and-out revolt, as well as keep out of the hands of Fascist Militas. With a camera team in tow Martha and Ernest chartered a plane to Manchester, but were mistaken for a “rebel” aircraft and shot down just north of Birmingham, where they were picked up by a convoy of “Peoples Brigade” volunteers heading to Liverpool to bolster the Free State as the crisis there was brewing.
Since arriving at the city Ernest and Martha have made themselves comfortable at the Adelphi Hotel whilst Grierson has started to produce reels of film of the “Free People of the Free State” preparing to defend their homes. Both sympathetic to the Spanish Republican cause, if critical of its leadership, and seeing its demise from Britain, Ernest and Martha have taken up the Free State as cause celebre, becoming increasingly active in the city. Ernest particularly has taken to drilling with the militias (much to his distant editor’s horror) and even gone so far as to accompany them on patrol into the surrounding countryside.
(Written by my partner in podcasting matt Farr on twitter as @theGrampus)
While being protected by ALFIES Agents in the course of Operation Daddy Long Legs Hemingway was subject to a kidnap attempt. The assault was largely a consequence of his own wild and erratic carousing. This was a point ALFIES agent Percy Thomas took out by shooting the unconscious Hemingway in the head at the missions conclusion. See Rogue Agents and Operation Daddy long Legs mission brief and mission report for details.
Hemingway was buried at sea from the deck of Mersey Ferry with a honor guard of Irish, docker, labour party and US volunteer militias, Irish pipes and Liverpool Police insisting on providing the security.
Agent #105 Dick Monroe
He was born Richard Charles Oberon Munroe in the Year of our Lord 1889, in an alley out the back of a Glaswegian cathouse. His mother, Hettie, was chucked out because she refused to give the boy up to orphanage or church (the common practice for whores who couldn’t afford an abortion.) Taken in and later ill used by a local gangster Hettie was disfigured and nearly killed. The entreaties of her three year old boy saw her given sanctuary and healing in a kirk nearby, but once she was out of danger they had to move out and on. The early years were hard on mother and son, driven from place to place, homeless for long periods of time and often on the edge of starvation.
It was a train driver took pity on the woman and her child, one lunch time as he finished his meal. He got her and her boy some food, shaking off her protestations and her tears of gratitude with a firm yet gentle determination. He’d never seen a boy so thin, nor a woman in so much misery. She tried to take him round the side of the building to thank her in the only way she knew how, and was astonished at his refusal. Later that day he smuggled the pair onto the train and took them away from the stinking urban junkyard they’d called home to England, his own country.
They became a peculiar sort of family, Albert often away on the trains but acting as father to Dick and somewhere between a father and something of a husband to Hetty. When he was old enough he was taken on the trains with Albert as coal boy and eventually engineer. They were the happiest days of Dick’s life. Then the Great War came.
Losing his mother to tuberculosis was hard on the boy, but to lose Albert so soon after – and not even in defence of his country, but to a poxy gang of train robbers – was harder still. He walked away from the engines, couldn’t bear to be in one without his father by his side. He became bitter and started to drink. After a third night in the cells in the space of a month one of the coppers took him to one side and prised the scales from his eyes. It didn’t have to be this way, he wasn’t like the other shits they kept as guests of the crown – he could do some good for folk hereabouts if he wanted, if he’d the courage to try.
It started as a bit of work stooling. Background stuff, very little risk, but he started to get deeper and deeper entrenched in the workings of the local rackets it became obvious that not only did he have a talent for the job but he’d have to be inducted officially into the police force before he got sucked under. He did so with pride, only wearing the uniform once on the day he was Made, before hitting the streets and alleys once more. Got a long way before he was discovered, broke two gangs and was close to a third – but then hell broke loose and he found himself with a knife in his guts.
The move saved his life. It was the only sensible thing to do, though it broke his heart to leave. Going to Liverpool now was as alien to him as Yorkshire had been to the five year old scottish boy he’d been all those years ago on that first train ride.
He’d never picked up the Liverpuddlian accent, though it skewed his Yorkshire tones somewhat. He’d never fit in on the streets here but he could do other police work, he could still hammer at the type of men that killed his father, that ruined his mother, that stuck him like a pig and left him a jaundiced yellow.
Dick was 5’8″ with reasonably broad shoulders. Dick was assigned to the Operation Earwig building up resistance to the BUF government in the Lake District, hoping to distrupt Government supply lines. After a successful raid on Kendal he was captured by a government agent staking out their digs and killed in a resulting shoot out.
Ken was buried in St Marys Church, Ambleside with a honour guard and twenty one gun salute by members of Ambleside Defence Force he had helped to train and inspire.