The Secret Party

The History of the Post-Capitalist World

Chapter 6: The Secret Party

It was midnight by the time Alex Salmond personally raised the saltire above Westminster. There was no wind that evening so the old Union Jack was burned beneath the flagpole to provide an up draft and stop the flag from hanging limp. According to reports Salmond cried and toasted a ‘wee dram’ to the memory of Nicola Sturgeon – killed exactly a year earlier by Tory insurgents.

It all happened so quickly. Nobody saw it coming. The BBC had been too busy focusing on John Swinney’s SNP to care too much about Salmond’s retirement. Another referendum was just around the corner, they said. Perhaps even Wales might follow suit. Newscasters spoke of Sturgeon’s murder provoking a ‘nationwide political upheaval’. Though London, of course, was largely unaffected. David Cameron denounced the Tory ‘rogues’ and went back to Brussels, still grinding away at getting ‘a fairer deal’ in Europe three years after the British public decidedly snubbed Brexit. Scotland was in turmoil, but after the initial period of shock things returned to normal in the Houses of Parliament. That is until what came to be known as the Secret Party stormed the capital.

The reality was that Alex Salmond had not retired. While the media thought he was putting his feet up in an Aberdeenshire cottage, mourning the loss of his successor, he was, in fact, forming what came to be known as the Scottish Liberation Force – or the SLF. From the depths of Dumfries to the barren slopes of Shetland, the SLF recruited patriots thirsty for revenge – wee Nicola would not die in vain. Secrecy was integral. Not a word was spoken about the SLF in public. Children were kept ignorant. E-mail and phone conversations about the SLF were strictly prohibited, causing a resurgence in the use of the postal service. Pilgrims travelled to Dundee, the unofficial headquarters, to crystallize their confidentiality by signing their names in blood. Traitors and their families were threatened with exile to St. Kilda, severed from communication until after the Tartan Revolution. Arms were sought and plans devised. A slogan was settled upon and repeated under the breaths of Scots all over the country: 'Haud yer wheesht… Freedom is coming'. The people waited for Salmond’s order.

In the early hours of an April morning the order came. At 3am thousands gathered at a bus depot on the outskirts of Perth, where Brian Soutar’s complimentary fleet of buses grumbled in the darkness, awaiting their cargo. By the time the convoy passed the border John Swinney had declared a state of emergency in Scotland, claiming another terrorist attack had taken place in Edinburgh. And indeed it had, although not a real one. A few dozen SLF members had set fire to a derelict plane at the airport, and Swinney stoked the rumours of an attack well into the afternoon, by which time the SLF convoy had slipped into London relatively undetected by the national media. Salmond’s plan was working.

At exactly 7pm the unofficial Tartan Army streamed down Whitehall and Horse Guards road, choking off access to and from Downing Street. The Metropolitan Police, being largely unarmed, were too terrified by the sight of a few thousand Scotsman wearing kilts and brandishing AK-47s to offer much resistance. Before the military could be mobilized, Swinney let loose to the BBC the fact that Trident was pointing squarely at Buckingham Palace, remarking live on television to a stunned Evan Davis: ‘At long last the Scots have found a use for nuclear weapons’. Cameron’s attempts to escape were foiled by the SLF’s use of ‘greetin’ gas’ – an electric blue tear-gas that was shot through the windows of his office. The SLF, within a few turbulent minutes, had commandeered the helm of the entire country.

By the time exploratory American drones flew over the skies of London, Salmond had Cameron informing the nation of the various changes that were to be enacted immediately. Scotland was now an independent country, and would most certainly be allowed to use the pound. George Osborne was to be locked in the Tower of London until it could be scientifically proved that he possessed empathy. Theresa May would be placed under house arrest, surveillance camera’s punctuating the walls in every room of her house. Jeremy Hunt was to be trained as a nurse and made to work in the Accident and Emergency ward of Ninewells Hospital in Dundee for the considerable future. The Queen’s Highland residence of Balmoral Castle was to be exchanged for a tenement flat in the Springburn area of Glasgow. The Welsh would hold an independence referendum immediately and the Northern Irish and English would embark upon another election within the week. Voting Tory was permitted, though extremely discouraged. Trident was to be destroyed and nuclear weapons indefinitely banned from the once United Kingdom. Finally, a vote would be held to decide the fate of David Cameron himself. Since the death of Nicola Sturgeon, and much before the SLF revolution, his popularity rates had plummeted, even among the upper classes. The vote was to be the last decision made by a four-nation United Kingdom. Citizens were encouraged to discuss their ideas on social media via the page ‘Cameron’s Fate’ and write their requests on their ballot papers in the coming week.

As he stood there, making his last speech at the lectern in-front of 10 Downing Street, David Cameron was visibly shaking. After relaying Salmond’s demands – all of which were greeted with unanimous warmth, in Scotland and beyond – Cameron’s face, gleaming with nervous sweat and its usual varnish, appeared to contort into what The Guardian later described as ‘an attempt at sincere regret’. In the coming weeks, when the decision to publically humiliate and then extradite David Cameron and his family was settled upon, The Times reported that he actually shed a tear (though this fact is much disputed). He now lives in Saudi Arabia.

However, not all of the SLF’s requests came to fruition. George Osborne, having locked himself in his office, was found dead a few hours after Cameron’s broadcast. The legend goes that in an attempt to locate his CV amongst the various documents connected to the withering British economy, he disturbed a rather lofty stack and was killed by his own unbalanced budget. A state funeral was not provided.

The Britain of today would be unrecognizable to someone existing in a pre-Tartan Revolution Britain. Stephen Fry’s position as Head of State for England and Northern Ireland might well surprise citizens familiar with the monarchy. The switch to a 100% renewable energy grid, a movement spearheaded by Caroline Lucas, would also shock those used to oilrigs instead of solar floats bobbing around the North Sea. However, perhaps the most startling difference would be found on the faces of the people. In pre-Revolution Britain various social issues, from extreme poverty to lack of affordable education, blighted the lives of the majority of British citizens. However, these ailments have largely been eradicated. While America imploded under the notoriously disastrous rein of President Trump (see Chapter 10), a new age of British excellence emerged. Thanks to the extension of free healthcare and education to all of its citizens, the land that was once known as the United Kingdom can now call itself, courtesy of a recent mental health poll by the WHO, ‘the happiest cluster of nations on earth’. The so-called Secret Party pulled off the most peaceful and most successful revolution the world has ever seen.

A statue of Nicola Sturgeon now stands in Trafalgar Square, beneath which the words ‘Haud yer wheesht’ are emblazoned on a block of granite. Every year thousands of Scots make the pilgrimage from Perth to London in celebration of the SLF’s achievements and to commemorate ‘wee Nic’. The statue is the official end-point and the spot where Alex Salmond makes an annual toast to her memory on the anniversary of the revolution. ‘To the wee girl fae Irvine’ he booms to a crowd of thousands ‘who made the free world’.