1984 - INTSEC 3/19
Entry posted by PaternosterRow
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The arch infills and girder bridge are now completed.
There are no station names in 1984, only Newspeak abbreviations. The station is known only as INTSEC 3/19 (Intersection of Main Line 3 and tube station 19) - you can make your own mind up as to which North London Station it represents!
Winston stands alone on the platform and watches a B set pull in amid the smoke and steam - I must get around to giving him a pair of eyes!
I figured that seeing how Orwell wrote this in 1948/9 BR would have already come into existence. Praries and Mark 1 coaches would have therefore been used and continued to have been used in his alternative future.
The Prole area - Old London, although bombed and derelict, still exists under the concrete monoliths of Big Brother. Under the official party posters Winston could make out various prole advertisements. As long as they remained dormant, the majority of the population were allowed their cheap thrills and entertainment. Party members were strictly forbidden from attending these events, but if offered a glimpse of how the world was before INGSOC.
Winston had met Parsons on the way in. He had a low level job at the Ministry of the Truth and was therefore Winston's colleague. He also lived on the same floor of his apartment block so it was difficult to avoid the man. Short and rotund, Parsons was full of boyish enthusiasm and was endlessly attending meetings, community hikes, demonstrations and the like. He was a leading member of the INGSOC Sports committee and cut a ridiculous figure especially when bounding about in his jogging shorts. It was Parson's sort of unquestioning devotion, along with thousands of others just like him, that the party depended on. A blind faith that was more important to its survival than the Thought Police. He and his ilk irritated Winston with their slogans and doubleplusgood mindset. Parsons had been discussing some or other droll event with a couple of members of the anti-sex league in the subway entrance. The tall blond women, with a scarlet sash wound tightly round her waist, the vile symbol of self imposed purity, reminded Winston of his own wife, another empty-headed party devotee. The memory of her chilled him and he'd been relieved when they had decided to part ten years earlier. Their type had survived the endless purges of the last 30 years until they now dominated the ranks of the outer party; any chance of a counter revolution had therefore long since vanished. Winston was dead, he'd known that the minute he'd committed his first thought crime, but Parsons and his type would thrive and the party would endure for a thousand years because of it.
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