(A pen name for Bill Rose/Turner)
Having refreshed himself he would then, in company with his fellow émigré revolutionaries, make his way home with frequent stops en route. It is said that as they neared Hampstead they would often deviate considerably from the Marxist path. On some occasions they amused themselves by throwing stones at the gas lights, as a result of which they were pursued by the forces of capitalist order.
A few weeks back a group of present-day Marxists, members of the International Marxist Group and the I.L.P., agreed that it would be a worthy way of commemorating this 150th anniversary year of his birth by a pilgrimage over the aforementioned route. It would also be a useful way of raising funds for the Vietnam demonstration. Accordingly on the evening of October 12 some 70 militants representing almost every faction of the London movement, set out with eager hearts and dry throats. Research has show that twenty-seven of the public houses which Marx was known to have visited, or could have visited, were still in existence.
I.L.P. MAKES IT
The object was to take at least one drink in each of these, arriving finally (if possible) at the' Bird In Hand' at Hampstead. I am proud to say that of the seven or so comrades who were able to participate in the final round at the last port of call, three were members of the Independent Labour Party-- Hugh O'Hara, Central London Branch; Paul Gillman, Poplar Branch; and Bill Turner, Tower Hamlets Branch.
There was a prize for the comrade who was first to finish his drink in the last pub. This was won by Peter O' Toole of the Irish Workers' Group. The trophy was the door-knocker salvaged from the recently demolished house were Lenin lived in Finsbury.
Some of those comrades whom I last saw in this vicinity have not been seen since, and it was therefore fortunate that our depleted ranks at Hampstead were reinforced by new comrades who had not possessed the revolutionary fortitude of Karl Marx to undertake the whole journey.
As readers will understand, the details of our progress are somewhat hazy in my mind, but on comparing notes the next day with others I have the impression that no more than a minority of those who set out from Tottenham Court Road got beyond the 'Mother Red Cap' in Camden Town. It was in this pub that my own progress was somewhat retarded by a lengthy discussion with the Time-Life reporting team.
My last reasonably clear recollection was of comrades dispersing after singing the Internationale. I have now made a complete recovery, enabling me not only to write this belated report but also to recover fully my full vigour in time for October 27.
Autumn 1968
hose of our readers who have familiarised themselves not only with the work and teachings of Karl Marx, but with his personal life, will be aware that it was not always his custom to go straight home on completion of a hard day' s work in the Reading Room of the British Museum. When the doors finally closed upon his scholarly back he would often make his way to the nearest tavern.
