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May. 27th, 2015 03:14 pmподпольная группа "волосатики"
"I knew my dad was a funny sort of policeman, and that he was part of this strange secret thing called “The Hairies”. I’m not sure anybody told me this in a direct way. I just grew up knowing.
Looking back, I can see my family was like an undercover cop version of The Sopranos. We attempted to live a normal life in the suburbs, turning a blind eye to my father’s membership of this clandestine organisation. The secrecy about my dad’s work was my normality. As a child, I was told not to talk about his job. My parents didn’t explicitly give me a cover story for my dad. I told people he was a policeman, and usually left it at that.
Of course, I was curious. I must have opened a mental file, classified it “confidential” and filled it with my observations: a child’s eye view of her peculiar father and the dark arts of the secret state. At some point in the early 70s, my dad grew a prolific beard. Sitting in the garden, I asked him why and he told me he was a hairy. I must have guessed the beard was part of some subterfuge. I asked him if it was his disguise.
“No,” he said. “The disguise is when I shave it off.” That reply captures the essence of my father and my relationship with him. He was always bantering. I never knew whether he was being serious or not, and I’m not sure he did either. I suspect that, like many undercover agents, particularly those involved in monitoring political organisations, he wasn’t always entirely certain on which side of the line he stood."
http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/may/26/my-dad-undercover-policeman-cop-clare-carson
"I knew my dad was a funny sort of policeman, and that he was part of this strange secret thing called “The Hairies”. I’m not sure anybody told me this in a direct way. I just grew up knowing.
Looking back, I can see my family was like an undercover cop version of The Sopranos. We attempted to live a normal life in the suburbs, turning a blind eye to my father’s membership of this clandestine organisation. The secrecy about my dad’s work was my normality. As a child, I was told not to talk about his job. My parents didn’t explicitly give me a cover story for my dad. I told people he was a policeman, and usually left it at that.
Of course, I was curious. I must have opened a mental file, classified it “confidential” and filled it with my observations: a child’s eye view of her peculiar father and the dark arts of the secret state. At some point in the early 70s, my dad grew a prolific beard. Sitting in the garden, I asked him why and he told me he was a hairy. I must have guessed the beard was part of some subterfuge. I asked him if it was his disguise.
“No,” he said. “The disguise is when I shave it off.” That reply captures the essence of my father and my relationship with him. He was always bantering. I never knew whether he was being serious or not, and I’m not sure he did either. I suspect that, like many undercover agents, particularly those involved in monitoring political organisations, he wasn’t always entirely certain on which side of the line he stood."
http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/may/26/my-dad-undercover-policeman-cop-clare-carson
