June 2020 – Those Days Are Gone Forever”

I was driving home today. The sun shone hard on my arm and face. The music app on my phone was set to random and started playing Don Henley’s, The Boys of Summer. He sang of seeing his lover’s skin shining in the sun, and how his love would last beyond the time when boys of summer had gone.

* * *

STORIES OF THE PAST, STORIES OF THE FUTURE

Stories about the past tend to have a nostalgic air about them, even when it’s clear people’s lives were exceptionally difficult. Meanwhile, futuristic stories, even dystopian ones, are often technologically and materialistically rich, but emotionally and spiritually empty. Perhaps it’s just storytellers who require tension to make things interesting, or could it be we’re ‘hard-wired’ to believe physical comfort will lead to emotional suffering? After all, is this not a major tenet of most religions? Of course, these beliefs haven’t stopped humans from seeking more and more convenience, luxury and material wealth. Is this based on another, far more popular belief, that the greater the physical comfort, the higher our spiritual development will be?

One day in 1981, the local library was selling off some of its old books. I bought one called Chastity, Poverty and Obedience: The True Virtues. I wasn’t drawn to it with a view to suddenly becoming religious but was intrigued by the philosophies it advocated. At the same time, I bought a few other psychology books. It was as if I recognised that my unhappiness required a two-pronged approach. One involved exploring the universal issues we all must face, whilst the other sought to address matters that were particular to me.

As I began to move towards adulthood, I realised I was embarking on a journey which involved making significant choices. These would not just be about qualifications and career, but also which values should take precedence in my life. Amongst these were: money, relationships, spiritual matters, emotional well-being and political concerns. What I didn’t consider though, was just how many of those decisions would be taken by the more irrational parts of my mind, no matter what I decided on a conscious level.

* * *

1997 – THERAPY

Simon: Sometimes I try my best to behave in a certain way, but the next moment I’m unable to stick to my principles.

Therapist: Going through life is like riding a horse bareback. You can point it in a certain direction, but outside of that, you’ll barely have any control.

Simon: Now you tell me. Can I have a refund, please?

Therapist [laughing]: No.

* * *

THE FUTURE (PART1)

The words we use to communicate with each other are stories in themselves, handed down to us from our ancestors. Stories of the past, history, must be one of the most interesting and important subjects in the school curriculum, yet you’d never know it from the version we were taught. Instead of being told stories that’d touch our hearts, which in turn may have made us want to learn the copious lists we were supposed to remember, all we got were the lists. There’s a hint for teachers in the phrase ‘learn by heart’.

I didn’t sit history O-level, instead, I studied British Constitution. This was a subject that sold itself and was interesting to me from the outset. It mainly covered the basics of law and how our political and legal systems worked. Even though our teacher was massively overweight, so much so, he’d occasionally have a trickle of urine showing on his trousers, he made the subject interesting. Also, unlike a lot of school subjects, this one came to my aid many times throughout my life, especially when challenging parking tickets, thinking about legal issues and arguing about politics.

In my forties, I became re-acquainted with history and the etymology of words. Words are not only the building blocks of stories but are individual time capsules full of stories in themselves. Of course, it’s not just words that were handed down to us by our ancestors, but also their dreams. For instance, someone once imagined a house, had plans drawn up and had it built. Now, 130 years later I live in such a building, a house of someone’s dreams. Likewise, every law, every piece of art, in fact almost everything created by humans started as a thought, realisation, feeling or dream, which once materialised led to further ones.

For thousands of years, people were barely able to subsist let alone come up with revolutionary ideas. For them, staving off hunger, creating shelter, and protecting themselves from violence or conversely, acquiring food, shelter and wealth through violent means, were their main preoccupations. However, around 600 years ago things started to progress at a much greater pace. There wasn’t a single catalyst that brought this about, but instead, a whole set of factors that resulted in people looking way beyond their own horizons.

Improved optics led to new ways of seeing the world and space, printing presses led to newspapers and the distribution of books, and the knowledge and the dissemination of different ideas meant people’s thoughts, dreams and imagination were broadened too. It’s the same today. Nowadays we know of the existence of atoms and consequently, we dream of controlling them, and at the other end of the spectrum, we’ve discovered the existence of billions of galaxies, so now we dream of exploring them.

* * *

At first I didn’t know I didn’t know

Then I knew I didn’t know

Then I knew I knew

Then I didn’t know I knew

* * *

THE “CROW”

I left my client in the front room as I checked out the commotion at the back of the house. I realised the loud noise I’d heard was coming from the room where strange sounds emanated these last few days. As I got closer, I saw a black bird standing in the middle of the room. It was motionless except for a slight eye movement. Before it could panic, I shut the door.

The room it was trapped in also had another entrance that could be opened from the outside and I realised by opening it, the bird could escape. Time was of the essence, as there is no end to the carnage a scared bird can inflict on a room. I went outside via another door and got there as quickly as possible then slowly opened the door. There, standing on a bucket was the bird I’d just seen and next to it was another. Without getting into confusing details, the route these birds had found to escape the chimney was technically impossible, but somehow, they’d managed it. Whilst officially, they were not blackbirds or crows as mentioned in my dream, they were pigeons that were either very dark or had been covered in soot from the chimney. I stepped back out of view and within a few seconds, they flew out of the room, settling on another chimney across the road.

Had birds ever learned to tell folk stories, there would be a tale about 2 stupid birds who showed off just how high their chimney-top nests were. The horror of the pigeon pie that they became would have stuck in the mind of any baby birds who ever heard this tale and consequently, for the rest of their lives, they’d have avoided building nests on chimneys. Given birds talk so much you’d have thought storytelling would have been an evolutionary certainty, but as this pair’s behaviour suggests, it wasn’t.

* * *

RĒZEKNE 1889 – RUTH

A few days after Boruch returned home, Nechama sent Chaya and one of the younger girls, Ruth, to forage for wild vegetables and herbs. The day was unusually hot for this time of year, so they wandered down towards the lake. Chaya wanted to teach Ruth what to look for, so she picked two similar-looking mushrooms and asked her if she could smell the difference between them.

“This one is sweet, and this one is like wet wood,” Ruth said, pushing the mushroom to her nose.

Chaya pulled the mushrooms away from her, “One of them is dangerous, can you tell which?”

Ruth, again went to pull the mushrooms closer, but Chaya’s grip became even firmer. Ruth took a guess and pointed to the one on the right.

“Yes,” you’re right,” Chaya said smiling, “Did you just guess that, or did mamma show you this one already?”

“I just guessed,” Ruth laughed.

“Well, here’s the basket, try to find some more, and I will look over there. Don’t wander off, keep where I can see you.” Chaya’s words were as firm as her grip. “Don’t go near the water, there are fish in there that will eat you with one bite!”

Ruth looked worried and nodded. Chaya tried not to laugh, then ambled across to where the woods met the lakeside and carefully loaded her basket.

“Chaya! Come here,” a voice loudly whispered from nearby.

Chaya looked in the direction of the sound, “I can’t, I’m watching over Ruth”.

“Then I shall come to you. I need to hold you.”

For a moment Chaya became lost in his words.

“No! Don’t!” Chaya almost shouted. “Not now.”

Ruth looked up to see what was going on.

“What Chaya? What is it?” Ruth shouted across the 50 metres between them.

“It’s nothing, carry on,” Chaya shouted back while flipping her hand in a go-away motion.

“I didn’t do anything,” Ruth shouted back.

Chaya looked to the ground and then whispered loudly, “Just go away, Kristian. I will try to see you another time.”

Kristian, no longer whispering, said, “I miss you, Chaya.”

Chaya smiled and looked at him, “I miss you as well, but it’s too dangerous!”

Chaya wanted to rush into the woods and steal a moment with Kristian, but she knew this was the script of many a folk story she’d heard. So, she remained where she was, focusing on her job and keeping an eye on Ruth.

* * *

1981 – AUGUST EXAM RESULTS

When the results of my ‘O’ level exams came through in August I was surprised by how well I’d done. Although I’d failed English Language (Don’t ask!) and Engineering Drawing, I’d still passed seven which was more than adequate to get me into sixth form at Wilson’s to do ‘A’ levels.

I was beginning to consider a career in social work, but I hadn’t thought it through at all, still, the idea of helping others appealed to me. Maybe I desired to become what I felt I needed for myself. But, with hindsight, I don’t think I was cut out for that line of work at all.

* * *

JANUARY 2020 – ANN

I have already mentioned my Mum’s cousin, Paul’s wife Ann. She would almost become a second mother to me and was kindness personified. But I’m going to start at the end with her because it was during the months this chapter was written that she died.

I had gone to visit Ann and Paul, as Ann had been seriously ill with breast cancer over the previous six months. Each time she told me of her trials with the National Health Service I was filled with anger. Initially, she’d gone to see her doctor with an abscess on her chest and on seeing it, the doctor told her it was serious and referred her to her local hospital which then did nothing for a further two months. By then it had spread to her lungs. This miracle of social evolution, The National Health Service, in this instance failed, but Ann seemed to take it in her stride. Normally she would be the one fighting for other people’s rights, but when it came to her own, she didn’t want to be too much trouble. When I visited her that last time, she insisted on cooking dinner even though she couldn’t breathe well. She wanted to live as normally as possible, for as long as she could.

As I left I said, “I better not hug you as there’s all this talk of a virus and I don’t want to give you anything,” but she put her arms around me and gave me a little squeeze. I did my best not to breathe on her and as I walked out to my car, she came outside to wave goodbye. I said, “Don’t stand out in the cold, I’m going to be a few minutes getting the satnav set up.”

“Oh, ok,” she said and then mumbled something to Paul who’d also come out. At the time, I didn’t pay much attention to what she was saying to him, but later I realised it was something along the lines of her not seeing me again. I said I’d be coming up in the next week or so, so I’d see her then, but I was wrong.

A few days later she had her final escapade with the National Health, this time she was made to wait to be seen for seven hours in casualty, and when she was, they put her straight into a ward. Over the next week, as much as they tried to drain off the fluid building up in her lungs and around her heart, all they could do was try their best to make her last days less uncomfortable. Then one morning Paul called me and said, “It’s bad news I’m afraid.”

* * *

RĒZEKNE – THE LAKE

Ruth was cautiously smelling each mushroom she came across and in time it became a game to her. Every now and again she would check on Chaya to see if she was still in sight, which she was.

“Have you seen this?” came a voice from about five metres away, just close to the edge of the lake.

Ruth turned and saw a man in a big dark coat and wide-brimmed hat pointing over the reeds towards the lake. The man seemed old to her, but he was most likely in his 40s. He was bearded, a cross between someone with money and a traveller.

“What is it?” Ruth said, slightly scared but curious still.

“It’s a family of otters, look, the babies are having their first swim.”

Ruth stood on her tiptoes. “I can’t see them.”

“Hold on, I’ll show you,” the man put his arms out offering to pick her up.

Ruth nodded, so he did.

“Oh yes, I can see them, I’ve never seen a family of otters before, they’re so sweet.” She savoured the sight and the thrill of being held up high.

“I know,” the man laughed, “They are wonderful.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, “How do you know it’s their first swim?”

“You are a clever one,” he smiled, “you’re right, I don’t know for sure.”

“Ruth get down.” Chaya’s shouted, “Get down now!”

“But I’m just looking at the baby otters, Chaya!” Ruth protested.

“Get down now! I am sorry sir, but she should not have allowed you to pick her up.” Chaya bowed to the man as she spoke.

The man lowered Ruth to the ground whilst she held on as long as she could.

“I suppose you are right,” he said, “but she didn’t come to any harm, I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

Chaya shook her head, “I can see that sir, but she didn’t know that, and she has been told never to talk to strangers. I’m very disappointed Ruth. Get your basket, it’s time to go home.”

“But we haven’t finished yet!” she cried.

Chaya, still looking downwards continued, “I’m sorry sir, thank you for your kindness.”

Then swivelling around, she stared at Ruth who was stamping steps of anger. Chaya grabbed her hand and said, “Come on, we’re going. Come on now!”

The man lowered his head and apologised as they passed him.

Chaya turned, and looking back at the man asked, “You’re not from here, are you?”

He pointed westwards adding, “No, I’m just passing through.”

Chaya, who wasn’t one to be shy, looked at the man sternly, “Around here men do not speak with women they do not know. It’s forbidden. I’m sorry but we must leave, and sir I would ask, please do not speak to us any further.”

The man stood aside, took off his hat and bowed his head as they passed. He gave a little wave at Ruth who waved back at him. As they walked off, he watched them until they were out of sight, then he turned in the other direction and stopped for a moment as he realised there was someone else nearby watching. He placed his hat back on his head and walked towards the woods.

* * *

THE WILD, WILDWOOD

Most of the languages that influenced English were very likely to have stemmed from Proto-Indo-European languages about 6500 years ago. Anglo-Saxon, from Northern Europe, and Latin and French from Middle and Southern Europe make up about 84% of present-day English. The majority of our single-syllable words are derived from Anglo-Saxon, whereas most of the multi-syllabic ones are Latin, French or Greek based. So, the word ‘wood’, being mono-syllabic, derives from the Germanic family of languages.

A long time before humans ever populated Europe, our pre-Homo-Sapiens ancestors lived in forests and jungles. The trees were their home and even now, somewhere in our DNA, we are deeply connected to the world of trees. There is also much of our physical structure that is tree-like (dendritic) too. Our brain, nervous, lung and venous systems are all dendritic. Even on the outside, we look like trees. We have a trunk, a crown with foliage on top and branches. If we don’t have a full-length branch, then what remains is often referred to as a stump. Such thoughts are nothing new, the Celts, for instance, believed we were descended from ‘The Great Oak’.

As we’ve become more cultivated and less involved with nature, or should I say, tame, the thought of the woods for most modern humans is a scary place. For us, the woods are the wilds, and the wilds are an unknown quantity. For our ancestors 6500 years ago, and for much of the ensuing time, the wilds were very well known. The Germanic word ‘waldes’, was equivalent to the present-day separate words ‘wild’ and ‘wood’. But when we think of the word ‘wood’ nowadays, we no longer associate it with its wild past.

* * *

1972 – ROUNDSHAW

The name Roundshaw means a circular group of trees, but I doubt many people who lived there were aware of that. I certainly wasn’t. Soon after we’d moved onto the estate, I opened one of the new cupboards in the front room, put my head inside it and inhaled deeply. I loved the smell of the wood, it was heaven to me.

Almost 50 years later we are still heavily dependent on trees, but people now would rarely consider spending any time treating the wood in their house. Instead, we’d prefer timber that’s been reduced to a form of chippings or dust which then requires toxic chemicals to bond it. Consequently, it barely lasts a fraction of the time well-seasoned timber would have. But then, to keep furniture for decades also means not keeping up with the trends and that, for many, would be sacrilegious. As a child, I felt the presence of wood all around me. At night, I would look into the grain on the wardrobe doors in my bedroom, see scary faces and quickly close my eyes. Maybe wood reminds us of reality and that’s why we’re so keen to banish it from our modern world.

* * *

THE WOOD AND CROSS

Tree worship, known as dendrolatry, has been featured in many religions throughout the world, and the cut-down version of a tree, the cross has been a spiritual symbol for many thousands of years right up to today. The symbol of the crucifix was not introduced into Christianity until centuries after Jesus’s death. Whilst the Bible states Jesus died on the cross, its design was not described, so, could have been a number of different shapes. Whatever type of crucifix was used to kill Jesus, it would have been a shape used by previous religions, so there was no way of avoiding the link between old religions and this new one. The cross was connected to wood and trees within early Christianity, and even before then, the Old Testament mentions it in Hebrew as ‘êç,”(wood). According to some Christian legends, the upright part of The Crucifix was derived from wood grown from a branch of the Tree of Knowledge. However, other legends contradict that. The thing is trees, woods and wood continued to play a part both spiritually and metaphorically within Christianity. Noah, for instance, used a wooden stronghold to protect wild animals and even the word paradise, originally meaning a ‘walled garden’, is a metaphor for bringing the wild to order. After all, is that not what gardens are? Even from the outset ‘The Tree of Knowledge’ figured as a central theme, as did the first mention of paradise, The Garden of Eden.

For many pagan religions, there were further astronomical connections to the cross, including marking out the sun’s pathway in relation to the horizon, as well as time-related patterns too. Within old stone circles, there were cross-shaped patterns that predate Christianity by millennia. Some people argue that when Constantine chose the shape of the cross we currently use, he did it partly as a means of bringing together the symbols of pagan beliefs and Christianity. The cross itself can be additionally symbolic, in terms of him bringing together two faiths of opposing directions. Whether that is true or not there is something poetic in the image of pagans seeing the crucifix as a tree, whilst simultaneously Christians seeing it as a highly significant symbol.

In many societies, apart from religion, the symbolism of trees, forests and the wild was prevalent. When Vikings or Anglo-Saxons cast out wrongdoers, they would often end up living in the forest. As opposed to visiting it as a resource. The trees came to demarcate the boundaries of the civilisation, so, to end up living there meant a loss of honour. In Old English, the word wōd also came to mean ‘mad’, ‘senseless’, or ‘blasphemous’ and even now the term, someone ‘went wild’ connects with similar notions. Fortunately, we haven’t completely forgotten the importance of trees. After all, trees still form a central pillar within our modern-day belief systems, especially with them being recognised as the lungs of the world and our very survival being tied up with them.

* * *

1981 – BACK TO SCHOOL

I was a little excited about returning to Wilson’s after the summer break. It was almost as if I was starting at a new school. Our uniform was slightly different, we had powers over the younger boys which we hadn’t had before, and there was a whole area set aside for us to relax and study in which even had its own kitchen. We would also have fewer lessons because much of our studying was to be done in our own time. I was set to take three academic ‘A’ levels and two Art ones. This meant that some of my time would be spent at Sutton College of Liberal Arts, (SCOLA), which is where I’d been doing my life drawing studies for the last few years.

* * *

SCOLA

I’ve already mentioned Sutton College of Liberal Arts, SCOLA, being a part of the same building complex as Sutton Library. At the time it was built, the library was seen as cutting-edge architecture, okay that’s pushing it, but it was a bit modern, but when it came to its sister building, SCOLA, there was nothing to write home about. If I think about how to describe it to you, the first thing that comes to mind is the dark orange nylon carpeted areas, especially in the café, which was large, probably twenty-five metres by ten meters with big windows that looked out onto the main road and the backs of shops. It’s possible the carpet wasn’t that colour at all, but either way, that’s the impression it left on me.

The classrooms were spacious but had a harder, more utilitarian feel. There was a trace of the 1930s in their design, especially the black metal framed windows, white walls, and grey tiled floors. While the architects were going for a hint of Bauhaus minimalism, that was put a stop to by the clutter of real life which mainly consisted of art materials; equipment; and rubbish art left leaning against the walls by students till the next week’s lesson.

I often got the sense that their work had been positioned in the hope that someone of influence in the Art World would pass by and be blown away by their interpretation of their cat. But, unless the Art World’s scout was looking for a toilet, it was very unlikely they’d ever be sauntering through in the first place. I am not saying this to disrespect SCOLA, but as I became more acquainted with the Art World, I came to recognise the divisions that existed. Those same people who headed the Art World and would make art all about class war and social justice, couldn’t help but look down their noses at the lower-class artists.

* * *

1981 – Backdrops

The sixth form centre, Sutton Library, SCOLA and Tweeddale Karate Club were going to be the main backdrops to my life for the next two years. Whilst this had already been so for the last two years there was a different texture to them now. I was, without realising it, becoming part of ‘the establishment’. This came about at first when I got asked to provide some artwork not only for the school magazine but also for the national karate magazine.

* * *

THE FUTURE (PART 2)

When we look at the fundamental problems humankind faces today, most of us would agree that a far smaller world population of humans would help matters. For a start, we’d have less pollution, there’d be less need for resources, and greater social cohesion because everyone could have what they needed. However, paradoxically, we might also say it would be good if we could live longer, stay youthful, and not have to suffer. If possible, it’d be perfect if we could live forever or at least till we decided to die. These may have been the aspirations of all humans throughout history, but the difference is, we are on the precipice of being able to do these things. These are the dreams of today, and many of us believe they will be the realities of tomorrow’s world.

* * *

RĒZEKNE – SUPPER

When Chaya and Ruth returned home, they explained to their mother what had happened with the man, and that was why their baskets were only half full. Nechama was happy they were safe and said she’d tell her neighbours about the stranger.

“What’s father doing?” Chaya asked.

“He’s making a surprise for tonight, why don’t you see if he wants any help?”

So, Chaya and Ruth wandered slowly towards where he sat in the sunlight.

He looked up at them, “Ah, what good timing,” he laughed, “You can help me cut and peel these vegetables.”

* * *

1980 – THE COMPETITION

Grant, my karate teacher, was very inclusive when it came to me. So, when he asked me to enter a kata competition I was touched and said yes. In karate, there are sets of movements, a bit like dances, and these are called katas.

On the day of the competition, a few of us met up outside the karate club at 7 am, then bundled into Grant’s VW camper van, and after an hour or so’s drive to the other side of London, we entered the sports centre and nervously waited for our turn. Kata competitions are judged on how well the katas are performed which is a bit like Strictly Come Dancing but not so romantic.

Grant brought a black and white video camera with a separate video recording unit, which at the time was very high-tech, and said this was going to be useful for us to look back on how we did.

When it came to my go, I was put up against another kid and won that round, but in the next, I lost. I was already aware that in a way it was unfair on the other participant because lots of my techniques were changed because of my disability. Whilst such things as power, timing, focus, balance, and speed could be compared between me and someone with a full set of limbs, there was a lot that couldn’t be.

As I watched myself back on the video, I was faced with something I’ve always found very hard to deal with, and that is being confronted with what I really look like. For most people, this is normally quite difficult anyway, but for me, it was, and still is, especially so, because in my mind I look quite different.

“You know Grant,” I said, “I don’t think it’s fair on those who go up against me.”

He looked at me quizzically, “Really? Why do you say that?”

So, I explained what I thought, and he said, “Well, as long as you know, it’s your decision, and if you ever want to compete again, I’ll happily support you.”

And so, from then on, I didn’t enter a competition again. Even for fighting ones, it would have been too complicated. My artificial leg is a dangerous weapon, striking with elbows isn’t normally allowed and when it comes to arm strikes, they are my primary weapons. I also have to wear shoes, which is an advantage too, and then there’d be the psychological disadvantage an opponent would have as they’d most likely think, “What would everyone think if I hurt him, or even worse if he hurts me?”

I was beginning to come to terms with some of the complexities of disability-related issues. Sometimes people would be too quick to prohibit me from being included unfairly, but there was also a responsibility for me to understand when it might not be appropriate that I do certain things, even when people would be happy for me to do so.

When it came to getting into scraps on the street, however, I was far less concerned with what the other person thought. I didn’t go out looking for fights, but I wouldn’t back down if an opportunity arose either.

* * *

1981 – The Lost World Within Me

Although things were going well in my outer world, inside I still felt something was amiss. For many decades, I would continue struggling with such issues, as I am sure many other people do too. I truly felt as if there was this outer me who did okay, but then there was a whole other sense of who I was that felt empty and lonely a lot of the time. The other strange side effect of this was I didn’t enjoy my successes much, and even though I came across as very egocentric, I didn’t and still don’t feel much in those terms. Where I mostly felt my emotions, was in the lost world within me.

Even writing this now I am aware that some people might feel I have some kind of psychological hero complex, that I have to write my version of history in which I come out looking good, even if that’s done by making myself look bad. But, as I’ve mentioned before, the feeling of connection with others is my main driving force.

* * *

1981 November 11th – Courage

A few weeks after starting back at school our careers advisor asked me if I’d like to be entered into a Triumph Over Adversity Awards scheme organised by Barnardo’s. Even at 16, I was very aware that firstly, my existence didn’t rely on me being courageous, secondly, even if it did, courage was more of a predisposition rather than a choice, and thirdly, by accepting such a reward it would make me feel as if I was not trying to live a normal life. It reeked of a double standard to me, and whilst being a hypocrite doesn’t normally stop me from getting myself into all sorts of difficult positions, in this instance, it made me feel uncomfortable enough not to go for it.

At 16, when it came to disability issues, I didn’t have a cohesive approach or clearly defined understanding. On one hand, I would follow scripts, for instance doing things because people expected me not to. On the other though, I would expect discrimination, yet subconsciously encourage it in the way I approached situations. For instance, I could sow the seeds of doubt in others so that they might feel confused as to whether to allow me to do something or not. Had I known better I could have approached such matters in a more positive way which would have inspired confidence in others. Here’s an example of what I mean. When I was about 19, I was looking for a room to rent so I called a number I’d seen in a paper advertising one. A friendly guy answered and when I mentioned my disability, he said, “No problem.” Instead of just going to meet him I then listed all the reasons why it might be difficult, so, by the end of the conversation, he became a bit doubtful it would be suitable for me. Maybe just hearing me being negative, was enough to put him off. But, looking back now, I can see there were times when I played a significant part in the rejection process.

There were other occasions though when I was ahead of the times. One evening, John’s Mum and Dad came around. John had obviously primed them beforehand because, within a couple of minutes, they were making it very clear they thought people who modelled naked for artists were the lowest of the low and I should not be mixing with them. When I said that one of the models was a fireman and another was a yoga teacher, they wouldn’t have it. Seeing that they were not persuading me, they went for another tack. The issue of Mum letting me have my benefit money directly instead of pocket money was ‘checkmate’ as far as they were concerned.

John’s mum laughed, “Well you say you want to be treated the same as everyone else, but you’re quite happy to take money from the state.”

His dad nodded and added, “When we were your age we were already going to work. You can’t have any pride in yourself taking benefit money.”

In a way, I respected them for not making an allowance for me, but I genuinely felt that there were far fewer opportunities for me to work than for others. So, I saw the benefit money as compensation for society’s lack of accommodation for people with disabilities. On one hand, society would be praising me for being brave but on the other, there was a sign that clearly stated “No Entry”. I explained this to them but there was just an uncomfortable silence afterwards.

Mum walked into the room and recognised the same atmosphere created by the cats after they’d been fighting, so quickly intervened, “Does anyone want another cup of tea?” She smiled a big smile but looked me in the eye, a look that said, “What the fuck have you been up to now?”

I was already recognising that disability tended to be experienced in both a physical and social way. Later I’d come to learn this was titled the medical and social models. This means that whilst some things are made difficult because of an ‘impairment’ (the medical model), it’s also possible society could make things less disabling (the social model). For instance, a wheelchair user may find stairs a barrier but a ramp useful. So, are they disabled by their impairment or the choice their wider community makes as to whether a ramp is provided?

* * *

1997 – CORFU

I was sitting on the beach, and my partner’s white skin was shining in the sun. I’d tried to read but couldn’t get comfortable and was feeling bored. I watched people paragliding, so, I walked over to the guy who was in charge of the rides.

“Hi,” I said smiling.

He nodded, the way someone who’s owed money nods.

“I’d like to have a go at paragliding?” I said as if I was ordering a drink from a bar.

He looked me up and down. “I’m not sure if my insurance would cover you.”

I was tempted to look myself up and down too and say, “Oh, don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it looks,” but what came out was, “Don’t worry, if I die, I die”.

He paused for a second, then shouted at one of his workers to fetch the harness.

Had we been in the UK, a letter from my doctor would have been required, disclaimer forms filled, and probably someone else would have had to accompany me. But within five minutes I was running along the jetty as the boat sped off and the cables quickly pulled into position. I got the biggest jolt of my life, as they took hold and flung me forwards and upwards.

“Fuck!” I semi-yelped, and the air got knocked out of me for a second. Within seconds I was rising higher and higher. The boat looked very small, and the people were little dots on the beach. It was slightly windy but silent. It crossed my mind that at any point I might fall to my death, but I felt calm, in a way too calm. A bit of fear may have given it more of an edge, but I hung there in the sky, happily alone, waiting to be reeled in and back to the noise.

After they’d dropped me into the sea, I thanked the guy for letting me on with so little fuss. If anything, having my opinion of my capabilities taken seriously meant as much to me as the ride itself.

When I got back to my partner she asked where I’d got to – Okay, that bit’s not true, she took photos of me, however, what came out was a few pictures of the sky with a little dot in the middle that was me.

* * *

2018 NOVEMBER – Netflix

I got a message from a production company that makes documentaries for Netflix. They were interested in making a programme about me. At first, I was a bit taken with the idea, not so much because of the flattery of it but for pragmatic reasons. By raising my profile, I could build up my career more, but, after consideration, I realised if I got involved with it, it would be at a cost.

After a few days of email discussions, I stated that if I had already had some success in at least one of my creative pursuits, then it might make sense to also do a programme that touched on my disability. But as I haven’t had much success, then outside of my disability, why would they want to do a programme about me? I realised if I went ahead with this project then I’d be going against one of my fundamental principles, which is my artwork and music should be judged on their own merit and not measured with a different yardstick because of my disability, because in my mind that would be no success at all.

Even writing this book had me questioning whether my disability would become its main focus. However, I felt that while, of course, it’s a part of it, there were many other matters that I’d be covering too as you may have noticed.

* * *

1981 – KARATE

Although I’d come to accept it was difficult to include me when it came to kata and fighting competitions, I was still very interested in passing my belts. Having a high grade in karate acts as a warning to others to keep away whilst at the same garnering respect. These might not be good reasons to go for a karate belt, but they are probably many people’s true initial motivations. The paradox was, the higher a grade I became, the more I realised that belts have very little to do with proficiency at fighting. That isn’t to say many high grades are not good fighters, because a lot are, but it’s not as simple as A plus B equals C.

The more I learned about fighting the more I realised I was never going to be as good a fighter as I’d like to be. So, I had to ask myself what the point of training was, and the conclusion I came to was, that in the unlikely event that I may need to protect myself or others, I ought to be as well prepared as possible. That wouldn’t mean I’d ever be a great fighter, but instead, having some confidence I could deliver a powerful enough blow to knock someone out or at least stun them as well as being able to fend off an attack. Having those skills would be better than being a helpless target.

Karate means “Empty Hand”, so for me to choose to focus on doing it probably involved some subconscious ironic humour. Also, a great deal of karate does indeed focus on hand techniques, so it was not lost on many people that I was at a big disadvantage. The way people reacted was either they didn’t want me there, or they backed off because they didn’t want to hurt me, or they gave me a good whack to put me back in my box.

Diary Entry: 11 Sept 81 Neil Kicked me in the head at karate.

The reason Neil kicked me was because I deserved it. Just beforehand I was fighting a guy called Tony who was in his 50s. I decided Tony would be a good person to practice my spinning kicks on. Neil, who was instructing that day told me off afterwards and said I was to fight him next. Instead of being apologetic I immediately did a fast-spinning back kick and got it through Neil’s defence. I think I laughed. The next thing I knew I was seeing stars and getting up off the floor a little bit dazed. Not only was it a lesson learned but I was grateful for not being treated differently, and judging by the number of kickings I got, I was generally being treated similarly to most of the others. That’s not to say they abused me, but they certainly liked to give me regular, not-so-gentle, reality checks.

* * *

1981 – MARTIAL ARTS TEACHING

Over the last 40 years, the way martial arts are taught has changed significantly. Whilst some aspects have done so for the worse there have also been drastic improvements. In 1981 there were still a lot of people teaching who were abusive both physically and psychologically. Whilst it is possible to argue martial arts require hard discipline and some physical pain, what I started to witness as I looked into other martial arts was something akin to the baddie in the film ‘The Karate Kid’.

Diary Entry: 19/8/81

“This evening we watched a Kung-Fu class. It was a beginner’s one. The teacher was a young bully of a black belt. It was like watching a dark comedy film.”

People recognised in the ensuing years, not just in the martial arts world but in teaching in general, that the personality of the teacher was extremely influential in terms of both the success and failure of the students. What this led to was an attempt within the mainstream education systems to take the teacher’s personality out of the equation.

Teachers were taught to look at how students learned best and adapt their teaching styles to match accordingly. In other words, just as computers began to dominate our world, the idea of turning teachers into ‘computers’ became a big part of the ideology. This may well have been in the service of ultimately replacing teachers with computers. But, will these computers recognise those pupils who want the teacher to be a bit renegade too, will they bring personality back into the equation, or instead, will it be a sterile learning environment?

* * *

2000 – TEACHING

When I was teaching computer classes for beginners for the local authority in Fulham, London, I would split the lessons up into several sections. The final one would normally be about the fun aspect of using computers. Amongst other things, it might be playing online games with real people, talking to AI chatbots, or accessing music or videos. One lesson I’d give would be about playing online Karaoke songs. To start that section, I would play a song and break out into a singing and dancing routine much to my students’ hysterical laughter or horror, I wasn’t always sure which. If a computer were to do the same, I get the feeling it wouldn’t be quite the same, plus I doubt those programming the teacher-bots would ever consider anything out of the ordinary in the first place.

* * *

2020/2021 – MARK

Mark continued his demands for his earrings, so I sent him a copy of the video of them being packed and the CCTV video of him picking up that bag. Things went quiet for a while, until one night, drunk, he messaged me to say he was coming to pick up all his belongings and had booked a van. I informed him that only a few items were left so a van wouldn’t be necessary. He insisted the van couldn’t be cancelled and he would come as soon as possible. His belongings were placed in an accessible place but of course, he didn’t turn up. He then continued his threats, so I told him not to call again unless it was to arrange to pick up the remaining items.

A year later, he contacted me again, by this time there was just a box of his bits left. He paid for a courier, the parcel got picked up and I hoped that was the last I’d ever hear from him.

To some, Mark’s a victim, both of circumstances and himself and no doubt he has a tragic story behind his addiction. For me, though, protecting myself from his madness was my main priority, because, let’s face it, he may well be the cause of one of those unlikely events that I’ve spent so much of my life training for. You can try to understand and feel sorry for someone who’s threatened you as much as you want, but it won’t take the threat away.

* * *

Rēzekne – Supper

When the children came to take their places for dinner, they were confronted with a big saucepan on the table which wasn’t normal for them at all. Once the blessings were said Boruch lifted the lid and tilted the open pan to each child, one at a time.

“Go on, take one each,”

“What are they?” one of the boys asked.

“You will see in just a minute.”

“I know what they are,” Ruth said.

Her father laughed, “Well of course you do, you helped make them.”

Each child held a vegetable that had been carved.

“Now,” he said, “they will not last very long so enjoy them while you can. Put the smaller end in your mouth and blow.”

Within a second there was a cacophony of shrill whistles. Both Nechama and Boruch joined in too, laughing and whistling, whilst also trying to cover their ears. Ruth got off her chair, walked over to her father and made a big gesture of wiping a tear from her eye while simultaneously showing him her half-eaten carrot whistle. He pulled her close, gave her a comforting hug and handed her his.

* * *

1981 – Baby Driver

One day Gwynne, the civil servant I mentioned a few chapters ago, called me to ask if I’d like a driving lesson on a private track. I was still too young to get a provisional licence so was not allowed to practice driving on public roads. To get around this, he came all the way down from central London to pick me up, then drove me to another county, and after giving me a lesson brought me back.

Gwynne had a bit of an obsession with amputees, (I didn’t particularly understand this back then, but such people are known as “Devotees”). However, even then, I sensed he might have some ulterior motives but didn’t care, I was going to get a free driving lesson and without it, it was going to be a very boring Sunday.

When we got to the track it was an area with a load of roadways laid out which aimed to emulate normal roads. There were traffic lights, give way signs, and speed limits. Gwynne started me off by getting me used to keeping the revs to a certain level, and then we set off. After a while, I began to feel very comfortable so decided to take a sharp bend at 30 mph and that was when the lesson came to an abrupt end. Had I known about his passion for stumps I probably could have bartered another 30 minutes out of him for a stroke of my arm, but I didn’t, so it ended there.

I wouldn’t drive a car again for another five years but when I did, I started taking corners at much higher speeds. But that’s another story. However, Gwynne’s words, “Good driving goes unnoticed” stuck with me from then on. Not that I adhered to them though.

* * *

1981 – Three Parts to a Conversation

Gwynne once told me he believed there were three parts to a conversation. One was when one person spoke, the other was when the other replied, and the third bit was when both parties thought about what had been said, before speaking further.

He then looked at me with a slight frown. I thought for a minute but stayed silent. He just shook his head and raised his eyes to the heavens.

* * *

1981 – The Quiet

From September to December my life seemed to plod along nicely. I enjoyed studying, practising karate and socialising, it was also during this time we did the karate demonstration for the Duke of Edinburgh. But maybe it’s because I have a subconscious desire to sabotage myself that I’ve come to recognise these periods as the quiet before a storm. Even though my diary was peppered with melancholia during this time, it was manageable. But there was a part of me that wasn’t happy unless I wasn’t happy, and it was only willing to be silenced for a while.

* * *

2020 – Politics

Although the last few years have been politically turbulent, what with Brexit and Trump, 2020 has exceeded all other recent times with COVID-19 and its combination of the above plus issues relating to racism. I will try to keep away from the political issues just listed because no matter what I say it will alienate some readers, and just like them, I get very pissed off when an artist I like starts pontificating their political beliefs, especially if I don’t agree with them. Some artists brand themselves as political mouthpieces from the outset, for instance, Billy Bragg, so I don’t feel let down by them. But outside of a few areas such as disability issues, it’s probably best I don’t get involved here with some of the more contentious political subjects. I hope you’ll forgive me.

* * *

2005 – London – A40/A406 – Racism

It’s rush hour traffic, autumn early dark sky, I’m trying to get around a large roundabout on the North Circular near Wembley. A flashy large white car cuts me up causing me to slam my brakes on. It then continues to do the same to a few other people. A few minutes later, I catch up with the car, put my window down and say, “You’re being way too aggressive.”

The guy, puts his window down, he’s black with short dreadlocks, and shouts, “What did you say?”

I said, “You’re driving very aggressively.”

He sneers at me and shouts, “Fuck off you white cunt”.

I disapprovingly shake my head from side to side slightly, and shout back, “That’s a bit racist”.

He pauses for a second then shouts back, this time with a little more forethought, “Fuck off you cunt”.

“That’s better”, I say, this time moving my head more approvingly, and for a moment, all was right with the world.

* * *

1981 – Protest Songs

In my mid-20s I attended quite a few disability issue-based demonstrations and protests but the first protest I ever joined was at school. A few months into being a sixth former we were told that playing music in our department was no longer permissible. A petition was drawn up which everyone except one student signed, there’s always one and it’s normally me, but this time it wasn’t. Then to make our voices heard we congregated in the main foyer near the headmaster’s office and sang two hymns, Jerusalem and To Be a Pilgrim.

I don’t remember if we got a formal change of the rule, but music was heard at times, if at a somewhat low volume. Fortunately, technology came to the rescue as personal stereo cassette players started to become affordable.

* * *

1981 – The Hungry Heart

One evening we had Speech Day at school which was a ceremony we had to attend involving, you guessed it, lots of boring speeches. A few years previously my mum had come to one of them, fell asleep and snored loudly. So, for everyone’s sake, she didn’t attend anymore.

Afterwards, we all gave a sigh of relief that it was over and congregated in the main foyer where one of the younger boys introduced me to his older sister, Joanna H. There was an immediate spark between us that both of us felt (for a change). As we bantered and laughed, we arranged to meet up again soon, and just as we were about to part, she kissed me, I described it as a salty kiss in my diary, but that was probably because I was very hungry.

When we met up next it was at her house where her mum invited me to stay for dinner. Maybe Jo told her she sensed I was hungry when we kissed. We all got on well and there seemed to be a promise of a relationship in the air. But, instead of feeling happy, when I woke up the next day, I felt depressed. Without her saying anything I’d picked up subconsciously that the promise of more was probably a little ambitious. Even so, later that day we met up at Sutton Library, did a bit of homework together then went to MacDonald’s for something to eat. I should have realised Pizza Hut was the way to a girl’s heart in 1981, but I liked the Hot Apple Pies that MacDonald’s served so I thought she’d feel the same too. I should have listened closer to Joe Jackson’s hit single, It’s Different for Girls, but I was probably too busy still listening to Elvis.

As we walked back to her place, she told me I’d upset her when I mentioned something about her teeth. When I got home I wrote in my diary I was devastated by my lack of tact, and I vowed to make an extra effort to be more diplomatic with everyone from then on. Needless to say, that invaluable rule was to be broken countless times throughout my life. But at least now I can blame that wayward bareback horse my therapist mentioned.

Jo and I met up a few more times over the next few weeks. She told me she didn’t want to get involved and preferred to remain free. I read between the lines that she was waiting for a ‘past love’, whereas all I needed to do was read the neon writing on the wall, which funnily enough was the same as what she’d said to me, which was, “I don’t want to get involved with you”.

* * *

1981 – Sutton Library

Sutton Library was one of the biggest libraries in Europe at the time. It had five floors, but Level 5 was a bit like a balcony that sat above and overlooked the level below it. All along this top floor were desks that faced the open area. This is where we would go to study, it was also a good place to meet other students (girls). As time passed, I got to get to know the regulars and would often do a circuit of the fifth floor first to see who to sit next to and not do any work with. Usually, after half an hour of pretending to study, we’d all decide to go down to the café, where I’d sometimes get a cup of tea, a microwaved sausage roll and an Eccles Cake. Once in the café, there’d be other people to join up with, so we’d push the tables together and before long it’d be a mini party. There aren’t many libraries in the world where girls and boys would get dressed up to go there, but for us, that was normal.

* * *

The Future – Part 3

To solve the issue of an overpopulated planet without killing billions in one go, the governments of the world decided on a softer approach. By encouraging people via financial incentives to only have a maximum of two children, populations began to reduce significantly within 50 years. This was partly because not every couple had children plus a lot of individuals opted for cyborg partners. Within 200 years, the world population was lowered to just over three billion people and was still decreasing.

Technology had advanced to the point where to an extent, for those who could afford it, there was an option of eternal life, of sorts. For those who couldn’t, an offer of resurrection was made on the condition a copy of them would be part of a mission to search for other habitable planets.

Not surprisingly millions chose not to have any children but send themselves into the future instead. Once signed up, their atomic structure was assessed and saved, and it was that record of them, which would be sent into space. Meanwhile, their original selves would live out their days on earth where they would die, as normal.

During the two centuries that passed whilst these plans came together, several offshoots of the human genus also developed. The main one was a much stronger regenerative, almost everlasting one, only available to several hundred leaders. The second type was edited to be as divine as possible. They didn’t feel anger, lust, hatred, or violent impulses, in fact, they barely felt anything that we’d recognise as desire. As computer-like as they were though, they could feel love and compassion.

On every craft, atomic records of all the new human types were kept as well as the normal humans. So, whilst the humans of all three branches knew they were seeking out new places to live, they were also aware they were pursuing the ultimate meaning of life. Meanwhile, though, they were enacting biology’s primary purpose, survival.

As long as the ships had access to energy, they could not only use their atomic rebuilders to resurrect their recorded “occupants”, but they could create new ships, new rebuilders, and copies of the recorded archives. In time, trillions of humans came to explore the universe.

Without getting into technicalities, some ships could apply an acceleration that felt similar to the gravity we feel, and by doing so they reached phenomenal speeds within a few years. To keep the sensation of gravity they’d oscillate between accelerating and decelerating for long periods of time. As you may remember, I mentioned earlier that as we approach the speed of light, we experience time much more slowly than someone observing us who was not going at such a speed. For those live humans on the ships, millions of light years could be covered in decades. As you already know, most of the travellers were just digital records of people, but having a few live humans was seen as a way to deal with things the A-I’s and robots couldn’t.

For some, the option of choosing everlasting death became appealing, but they knew they’d never know if another version of themselves lived on in the universe and that thought would leave them wondering if there was such a thing as a soul and, if so, how would it cope with having multiple mortal coils?

* * *

1981 – SCOLA – The Unknown Beginnings of Journeys

Just as with the library, the lessons in SCOLA became a social event, especially during the breaks. I was going in at least twice a week, mainly for life drawing, and was beginning to become part of the furniture as I’d been going there for over three years. Whilst I tended to behave in Melody’s classes, I would muck around quite a bit in the others. I held Melody in high esteem, as she had studied at the prestigious Slade School of Art and was a working illustrator. Her work was exquisitely delicate, beautiful and precise, just like her. There was also something about her vulnerability that made mucking about too much of a betrayal for me to bear, so, I’d just get on with drawing in her classes. Okay, I still chatted up the female models or any girls sitting near me, but for me, that was well-behaved.

One Saturday, early in December, after Melody’s morning session, I spent the afternoon in Sutton Library with four others I’d met in the college. On our way out of the college, I started running to the office so I could ask the model for her address. (Yes, like you, I am sitting here shaking my head in disbelief). Unfortunately, my artificial foot came off, so I went flying. I was more embarrassed than anything. My new-found friends were worried for me, maybe a little impressed too, in fact so much so they may well have thought it worthwhile waiting to see what my next trick would be. Either way, this was a meeting that would be the root of many other connections and journeys far beyond that time in my life.

My four new acquaintances consisted of Scarlet, who was Canadian, Dee, who was half Italian but sounded American, Juan who was English whom I thought might have a learning disability, but only because he was even more inappropriate than me, and Jules who was quite reserved but laughed at my jokes, so I liked her. We went record shopping in Sutton High Street, then back to Scarlett’s place to chat, where we had some tea and biscuits and listened to one of the albums they’d just bought, The Police’s 999.

After all this excitement, I went back to Jules’s family home where we chatted more. Jules was a little taller than me, she had brown hair, big brown eyes, and an air of stoic sadness about her, but she was quick-witted and funny too. That evening she played me the album she’d bought. It was Bruce Springsteen’s “The River”. I didn’t register it then but that was when I first discovered an artist who’d be a part of my life even till now. That was the day I lost my ‘Bruce Cherry’.

I also got to meet Jules’s parents and brother. They lived in a well-to-do area, and I immediately got the feeling I was being assessed rather than warmly welcomed. At 16, when visiting a girl’s house that tended to be the stock reaction, so, it almost went unnoticed by me. Jules and I had a good chat and said our goodbyes, there wasn’t any romance in the air, but I genuinely liked being with her.

When I got home it was late, but not so late John and I couldn’t argue. Even then, the day was not over for me. I grabbed my karate kit and said I’d be back the following day. My Karate club was holding a 24-hour sponsored marathon training session, split into shifts. So, I got the bus there, where we trained and took turns sleeping till Sunday night. When I got back home, I was aching and tired, but John was still gunning for me.

I couldn’t wait to leave home. Home to me was somewhere else out in the world that I’d have to discover later, although there were times when I could see it in the eyes of perfect strangers, the laughter of friends, or the echoes of my karate kias. (Pronounced like key-eyes). Home was to be found in the freedom of my possible futures.

* * *

1981 – The Blizzard

We were experiencing the worst snow blizzards for 30 years, house lights stayed on all day, and barely any drivers dared to risk the roads in this monochrome world. We got sent home early from school so made our way on foot. As we slipped and fell on the icy pavements we laughed at each other, our arses wet from the not-so-soft icy landings, our faces burning from being hit by snowballs. Once home, the windows were like big screens showing a faded grey and white movie. It was a cold world out there, but I wanted to be out in it and as soon as the buses were running again.

* * *

1981 – NATIONAL THEATRE

I’d bought tickets for Joanna and me to go to a play in London that our English Literature teacher had organised for our class, but Joanna called me a few days beforehand to say she couldn’t come. Had I not just met Jules, I’d probably have been a bit pissed off but, being rather fickle, the thought of inviting Jules seemed a far better option given Jo had told me she didn’t want to get involved. So, I called her and she said yes.

Going to the theatre, even if it was technically a school trip, seemed a very grown-up thing to do. The venue was the National Theatre which was a modern building on the South Bank of the Thames. Once inside there was a dark feeling about the place. It was almost as if we’d entered a slightly dreamy world.

I was the only one in our group to bring an outsider. Even so, my classmates didn’t show off particularly or make a move on her. Instead, they may have wanted to help me get a girlfriend. Either way, they were a little curious to see what the nature of our relationship was.

When I look back on this time, I see how unaware I was of what Jules might have been thinking or feeling. I don’t want to be too hard on my 16-year-old self because most 16-year-olds are pretty stupid, and at any age, it’s hard to know what’s going on in someone else’s mind and very easy to think someone else may react similarly to how we might. That’s known as projective identification in some psychoanalytic circles. Paradoxically, the more I’ve become aware of how others think, the more I realise I don’t have a clue, but still, being concerned about how those around us feel is a worthy pursuit even if it has its limitations.

* * *

1981 – Transition

I liked Jules a lot, and although we got on very well, I didn’t push for a relationship. When I missed her calls, I didn’t feel bad. To me, she was a new friend, and anyway, it was a busy time with the lead-up to Christmas, with its parties and socialising. All the same, there was a lighter feeling running through my veins. Maybe it was because I sensed Jules was interested in me, even if it was just as a friend, and that was new to me. She’d call when normally it was me doing the calling. She invited me over to her place, sent me a Christmas card and even gave me a peg that had “Hello” written on it. Meanwhile, Joanna asked if we could still be friends even if she didn’t want it to go any further, which I was more than happy with. Getting over rejection is so much easier when someone else of interest is interested too. This became more apparent when Jules came to visit me one evening and told me her parents had asked her not to get involved with me. The way she said it though, sounded like ‘getting involved’ was on the cards and their concerns were even more reason to do so.

I didn’t realise this then, but I would come to recognise a pattern in many of my relationships in time. This generally involved me feeling aloof during the initial period, which possibly caused the other person to become proactive in terms of developing a relationship with me. Then there’d be a time when I’d become equally interested in them too and then, just like a ball thrown in the air, there’d be a moment when it seemed to hover, and that was about the length of time that there was true equality between, but from that point onwards the balance shifted. It’s hard to tell why and when this happens as it does, and what causes the shift, but once it does, it’s a downward trajectory from then on.

* * *

1981 – Christmas

By the time Christmas came, I started thinking about Jules all the time. So much so that I couldn’t enjoy Christmas. In my diary, I wrote:

“I didn’t really enjoy today. There was a lot of tension in the air. Mum was in a hectic-go-happy mood”.

It is Mum and John I now feel for as she wanted things to be joyous, but John and I weren’t going to let that happen. John couldn’t forgive her for not being the good wife he’d dreamt of, and I wouldn’t forgive her for not being the mother I’d wanted. We didn’t know that consciously at the time and neither of us attempted to love her for who she was.

* * *

1981 – First Kiss

On Boxing Day, the day after Christmas Day, Jules asked me to come over. It was snowing still and only a few buses were running, I must have been desperate to see her as I even paid a taxi to take me on the last leg of the journey.

Her parents said I could only stay for a short while, so we sat on the floor in the front room and listened to Bruce singing about Mary. As we did, I passed Jules a letter I’d written which told her I had strong feelings for her. I lay next to her while she read it and should have stuck my paws in the air like a submissive dog, but instead, I lay as still as possible on my side waiting for her reaction.

Maybe I should have whimpered a bit, but fortunately, such displays weren’t necessary. After reading it, she leaned down and kissed me. Unfortunately, I’d got myself into such a strange position that I was very uncomfortable but not wanting to spoil the moment I put up with it. She most likely thought I was shaking because of nerves, but it was mainly muscle strain. Her parents became aware of the 15 minutes of silence, so they got her brother to knock on the door, who offered me a lift home. I probably could have floated home anyway, but after paying £4 for a taxi I thought it prudent to take him up on his offer anyway.

The next day Jules came around to my place. We lay in the front room kissing, at one point the cat climbed the Christmas tree which then fell on us. I was intoxicated by the whole situation, and even though her parents reiterated to her not to get involved, she told me she loved me, and we met up every day over the following week. When we did, we’d kiss and she’d hold my arm wherever we went. When we were together I felt happy, when we were apart I’d feel a little low. I told myself off for feeling so infatuated, but in the next breath, I’d be convincing myself I would love her more than myself.

* * *

1981 – The Looming Break

Just like in the scenario with Monica and Kate, there was a time looming when she’d be going away for a week, and just as in those situations, I dreaded it because I knew it would bring out a darker part of me.

* * *

Therapy – How Many Psychoanalysts Does It Take

During my psychoanalytic journey, I didn’t have just one therapist. As things turned out I had to end the first therapy prematurely because there was a time limit imposed on both the patients and the therapists as it was funded by the National Health Service. A few years after I finished the first therapy I went through a year of tears. If I ever write the next tome you’ll get to hear more about that. Anyway, I called my original therapist to ask if I could see her. She gave me a session but said she couldn’t offer me anything more at that time, however, she could refer me to another therapist who I’ll call Diana. Soon after, I went to meet Diana and even though she was quite old, we clicked and for the next 11 years, I would visit her three times a week, so it was somewhat intense at times. If you know anything about psychoanalytic psychotherapy, you’ll probably have heard of a process called transference. Principally, what happens is the presumptions and baggage you bring to many of your relationships can be observed by what you think and feel about the therapist. This tends to rely on the therapist being an empty canvas upon which you can project these thoughts and feelings. So, with that in mind the less you know about the therapist the better. Of course, though, there’s a lot you pick up about someone, even if you can’t see them because you’re lying down and they’re sitting out of sight, especially when they start snoring.

* * *

2015 – 50, The Beginning of The End

When I hit 50 years old, I was certain this was the beginning of the end. Fifty is very likely to be way past the midway point of most people’s lives, indeed for most of us, the halfway marker is more likely to be somewhere between 35 and 44. But, there’s something about 50 that makes it a significant milestone. If 16 was the end of being a child, then 50 is the beginning of being old.

There is something very compelling about endings. Many of us will spend a lot of our lives considering and preparing for our finale. Likewise, when it comes to relationships, the very thought of their endings may dominate one or both partners during the relationship and paradoxically bring about, or at least hasten its end.

When it comes to storytelling, I’ve often felt very disappointed by bad endings, even ones that were otherwise very well told. Just as a title can be a key to the meaning of a book or a film, a story’s ending is the fulcrum upon which its meaning is balanced. It’s the same with most jokes too, the punch line must always be remembered before embarking on its recounting, no matter how well the rest is told. So, when it comes to telling a tale, the storyteller will most likely fare far better if they start with their ending envisioned before the first word is ever spoken or written, and yes, I do know how this book ends, it happens on Battersea Bridge, or at least that was my plan.

* * *

The Future – Part 4

For millions of years, the explorer crafts moved throughout the universe at great speed. Although a few humans existed on board, everything was mainly controlled by artificial intelligence, but to those who were resurrected, it was as if they had closed their eyes for a second.

As each planet was arrived at, the AI would work out if it was feasible for humans to live on it, and if not, the mission would move on to the next way station. Even when planets were seen to be viable, the main craft would eventually move on to the next “venue” after dropping its payload, and creating a new population where it would set off to repeat the same process.

One of the things the AI would occasionally report to the travelling humans was far faster craft had passed them millions of light years beforehand, leaving messages that they would be venturing far deeper into the universe than these crafts could ever go. The immediate query that most of the humans asked was why hadn’t the more developed humans passed on their technology to them.

* * *

2020 – The Covid-19 Virus

There had been news items from before Christmas that mentioned a virus in China. We’d had MERS, SARS and Bird Flu during the past decades, all of which came and went without affecting our lives, but by February this new virus was rapidly spreading around the world. People, including me, were playing down its death rate, or at least comparing it to a bad flu epidemic. In the UK, some health experts were warning it might kill up to 500 thousand people in Britain alone, whilst others said if we started to practice social distancing procedures it might be as low as 20 thousand. By the time we got to March the death rate was escalating in other countries and with that, a sense of panic started to move through the population. I’d often hear people say they felt they were in some disaster movie as a surreal quiet before the storm settled all around us. With each passing day, the government spoke of new restrictions, people started panic buying, and society braced itself for what looked like a possible Armageddon.

* * *

1981 – Camaraderie

I began to recognise that friendships often helped alleviate my feelings of being disconnected from myself. But I also found that seeing people just for the sake of it, especially when there wasn’t a good connection, sometimes resulted in me feeling even more lonely. It’s hard to put one’s finger on what it is that makes us feel more connected to some rather than others.

When people say they only have a handful of true friends in life, that doesn’t mean all their other friendships are meaningless and only distractions to help them pass the time. There are many levels of friendship and it’s quite possible to feel a wavelength connection with people we deal with even on a superficial level. We may never become any more than acquainted with them, but all the same, there is something of great value in these connections. With some of those I spoke to on the bus, there was something significant, an understanding, or recognition of a similar light that shone in them too. And at school too, certain students, teachers or other members of staff, made the world a far less lonely place. All around us are people who want to connect with us just as we wish to with them.

* * *

2020 – Camaraderie

During the first week of lockdown, a call to applaud the health staff and key workers was made on social media. So, at 8 pm every Thursday, people would come to their front doors, balconies, gardens and windows to clap, bang pots and pans or just cheer. For many people, this was the only contact they’d have with others during this time so there was a strong feeling of camaraderie in those two minutes. But after a few weeks, there were also murmurings about those who didn’t appear to join in, and after a few more it lost its sense of meaning, it became part of a routine ritual. There was something of the coercive spirit of the Soviet era starting to accompany it too. After all, to not clap was tantamount to not appreciating the great sacrifice of the workers, and that, as we all know, is a no-no.

* * *

2020 – Covid 19 March to July

For a lot of people, it was the end of the world. Up till now, July 1st there have been possibly around 60,000 people who may have died as a result of catching COVID-19 in the UK. For many of those who died and their loved ones, it was also made worse because they were not allowed to be together in their last moments as the possibility of infection was so great it was deemed too dangerous.

By March 23rd, most of the economy was closed and people were ordered to stay indoors except for an hour’s exercise and essential journeys, such as shopping for food. Meanwhile, the government made provisions for some sections of society to help them ride the economic downturn. Each day there’d be a governmental briefing on TV. At first, that was the highlight of the day, but in time it became so repetitive and uninformative that I, and many other people, stopped watching it. Meanwhile, the media came over as so partisan that it was barely worth watching the news. In time the daily routine of getting up late, being creative, watching streaming services, eating, going for a cycle ride and sleeping became quite pleasurable. Outside of meeting friends, I didn’t seem to miss much of the life I’d known before lockdown, so, by the time the government started to lift the restrictions, my immediate response was to continue isolating.

* * *

2020 – May 28th Nobody on The Road, Nobody On The Beach

I look out from my balcony to the sea. It’s a very hot sunny day. There are lots of people walking around, sitting on the beach, meeting up with friends, and buying ice cream from the ice cream van. It’s like a typical summer’s day but it doesn’t feel right. Nothing has felt right for a while.

The government has relaxed restrictions here slightly, but many people have seen this as a green light to go back to normal. Meanwhile, the virus is still out there, so, people are predicting a second wave. Of course, if the elderly and vulnerable continue to isolate then it might not be so bad. After all, most young people will only get mild symptoms and very, very few have died from it so far. Maybe this is the way we should have approached it in the first place. But when it first started spreading so little was known about it the authorities were rightly fearful. It’s easy to look back now and say, “What was all the fuss about,” but whilst hindsight is a wonderful thing it’s also useless.

* * *

1889 – Rēzekne

Had Boruch taken the other route to the station, he would have heard the newspaper seller heralding the arrival of a new deadly pandemic and that would have given him several days’ extra time, which might have made the world of difference. But even when news of it did manage to travel ahead, a million people still died because of it.

I could focus on the passing of Ruth and Chaya, as many storytellers would. Even though we know it’s a bit of a cheap trick, we still find something touches us deeply when we witness the passing of the innocent. But there’s something disrespectful to me about using their deaths to entertain you. Ruth and Chaya (Although their names were slightly different), were two of the thirteen children in my family to die from the Russian Flu. You may remember me mentioning this incident in the first chapter. Chaya was the first to show symptoms, she felt like cold water was running down her back and legs, and then she would flit between feeling very hot, and a bit later cold again. Her sense of taste and smell diminished and soon after she lost all her energy. When Chaya stopped breathing all her siblings had entered the final stages too. Nechama, Boruch and the doctors who visited could do nothing to help. Over the next few days, each one took their last gasp for air, except one of the older boys, another sister and Esther. Her brother lived long enough to witness the Nazis and local collaborators systematically kill most of the Rēzekne Jews in the same woods where Kristian was murdered by the man in the coat. It’s always possible to see some silver linings, even in the worst of tragedies, not that that negates the loss. But for Chaya, news of Kristian’s murder was something she wouldn’t have to bear. Had she lived, his death would have driven a fault line through her entire being, so, she’d never truly love another man properly and had this virus not appeared then, Ruth would have been Kristian’s killer’s next target. Together though, the virus and Ruth brought the psychopath’s reign of destruction to an end. When he picked her up, she passed the virus on to him and as he became ill, he found a hollowed tree, climbed in and died there.

It’s no consolation to Esther’s 13 siblings that they avoided whatever other tragedies they would have had to face. For them, just like us, they would rather have lived and suffered. We cannot expect not to suffer if we choose to live. This is the unsaid deal all of us have to accept.

Nechama and Boruch prayed to be taken instead of any of their children, but neither of them showed any symptoms, they could only ask the same questions any parent would, why would God do this to their sweet innocent children? What had they or their children done to deserve this? If there was a silver lining for them, they couldn’t see it. For Esther, though, there was one. When the Spanish Flu appeared in 1918 most older people were immune, possibly because many had acquired some immunity after surviving Russian Flu, although this is merely conjecture. While she would never remember having the virus, she carried the weight of being one of the few survivors. She was painfully aware from an early age that she was extra precious to her parents, and while at the same time she felt some guilt for surviving she also felt a pressure to be worthy of that survival.

The ghosts of her siblings, these brothers and sisters she’d never got to know, accompanied her throughout her whole life. In her last days, she pictured Ruth and Chaya and the others standing by her bed and took comfort from their love and presence.

When I look at the photographs of Esther, there is a heaviness weighing down upon her, so it was no surprise that when Boris came along exhibiting the lightness of his being, she could only try to beat it out of him. But in those last days, her inner and outer cores became more differentiated, as they often do for many when they endure extreme pain. But, still, she felt some relief as she came to recognise the importance of both the weight and lightness within us. Just as my grandmother reached out to me to ask for forgiveness, Esther reached out to Boris. It wasn’t the forgiveness borne of duty, but that which comes from the truest love and understanding.

* * *

The Future – Part 5

Initial opinions had given the universe another six billion years to go, and this may have sounded like a fair amount of time, but six billion years can go by in a flash when you can be kept on file for hundreds of millions of years and travel close to the speed of light. Even though some humans lived thousands of lifetimes, many of which they’d enjoyed on one planet and then another until the local star or stars became unstable, but for all those lifetimes, they knew eventually there wouldn’t be anywhere to run to.

This was why the more developed humans had not tried to help them, they realised that even though, to a point, they were immortal, it was what they were, what they were made of, that wouldn’t allow them to go to the “next stage”, and that was because the next stage could only be accessed by a completely different being. How can a human that has evolved within a universe of certain laws of physics enter another where those laws do not apply?

Those streaks of light that passed the original explorers millions of light years previously hadn’t found the meaning of life but instead developed themselves to search for it in another universe. Did they find God, or did they become God, even they were not sure? But in this new universe horizons and dreams did not exist and as they entered it, there was a moment, almost like waking from a dream, where they felt all their memories of the old universe slipped away. The experience of existing or being conscious in this sphere was not comparable to our universe and because it was so different it is pointless trying to describe it. How could we understand a thought that does not exist in time?

If there is a God then maybe God would be laughing because in this new universe they entered, everything that had lived and existed in our universe connected with them. Humans had pretty much defeated death to get there, but it turned out that death was the quickest way to enter it anyway.

* * *

2020 – Ann’s Funeral

Ann’s funeral was held in a large glass room in the middle of a field. Her son spoke about her and reminded us of her many qualities. She had started her own life surrounded by fields in a valley near the Welsh border. Her parents were dysfunctional, so she was brought up by her grandparents who’d let her roam the countryside alone. As an adult, she was very independent, practical, ferocious when it came to dealing with injustice, extremely creative, and did everything possible to nurture others, especially via food. There were not many high-end chefs who could have outdone her when it came to style and taste. One day I said to her that I thought she’d become what she’d always needed. She looked at me and said in a slightly sad tone, “You’re probably right darling”. Then she jumped up and said with a giggle, “Right there’s some cake that needs eating, do you want some?”

* * *

2010 Rēzekne – Stories

After Boris died in 2010, I went to Latvia for a short holiday. One day I decided to visit Rēzekne which involved a long train journey. I could only stay there for a few hours as I had to get back to Riga that night. I had the name of the road where my father had lived as a child and sure enough, when I got a local minicab driver to take me there, there were a few of those traditional houses still standing. The story I’ve told about my ancestors in Rēzekne is partly true, 13 of the 16 children did die of Russian Flu, but the rest of it was mostly something pieced together, just as history predominantly is. That’s why the word “his story” is so appropriate. If my memory is so full of gaps, as is probably true for most people, how can we hope to recall things that are not affected by our internal narratives and desires? In that way, we become a story, created in part by the influence of so many other stories, including less obvious ones such as our genetic, evolutionary, family and dream ones.

As I stood on that dusty dried-out mud track I thought about those children and Boris’s grandparents. I wondered if they could see me come to say hello. Since then, I have often wondered that if there is an afterlife, would my ancestors come to greet me upon my arrival, maybe even my descendants would come too if it’s a timeless place.

As I research these chapters I often read through my diary, and even though I know what happened I’m still interested to read the next page. Stories underpin our culture, our history, and our ethical and moral principles, and help pass away the hours, especially nowadays with multiple streaming services and TV stations.

In the twentieth century, many artists tried to veer away from creating narrative art, instead, they wanted to focus on the medium itself. So, for instance, abstract art became about paint and mark making, poetry became about the sound of words and filmmaking, the image. But for all that, every one of those artists loved a good story.

* * *

Rēzekne 1889 – Before the Russian Flu

When a reading from the Torah was to be the highlight of the service at the synagogue, only the elders and a few dedicated worshippers would turn up. But when parables were conveyed the attendance would be very high and at the end of each tale, people would nod their heads, whilst murmuring in appreciation of not only being entertained but also being shown a glimpse of truth.

* * *

2020 – Stories

I tend to watch a movie on my iPad most evenings, and what’s funny is how unmemorable most of them are. Sometimes I’m halfway through a film when I realise I’ve seen it before, but a good story gets lodged in your memory for a lifetime.

I remember hearing this next story when I was young and it’s stuck with me ever since. I’ll warn you now, it’s disturbing, so if you’re feeling delicate maybe jump to the next page. As with so many dark folk tales, they are echoes from our ancestors and often reach back thousands of years. This one is known as The Faithful Hound. Versions of it range from Lady and The Tramp to Old Shep, and The Tale of Gelert.

There once was a king who had a dog he truly loved; they had grown up together and were inseparable, but as the dog reached its final days, the king would leave it behind to help guard the queen and his firstborn child. But this day he came home to find his wife was nowhere to be found and when he went to check his baby’s cot there was a pool of blood around it. In his panic, he called his dog’s name. The dog came to him but to his dismay, the dog’s mouth and teeth were covered in blood. At that moment, he realised what had happened so pulled out his sword and raised it above his head. The dog knew what was about to happen and whimpered, but it was no good, the king brought down the sword, the dog yelped and was killed. There was a cold silence but then from behind the bed, the king heard his child cry out. He ran to where the noise was coming from and there was his baby, completely safe, while next to the child lay a dead wolf. When the king realised what he’d just done he became full of remorse. Even though the ceremony he put on for the dog was a lavish one, he could not stop thinking of his betrayal.

By the way, given we now live in a very caring world, allegedly, I would just like to point out that no animals were hurt in the telling of that tale, and even though a wolf was used to illustrate a point, most wolves are very nice, fluffy and very scared of humans, so are not as much of a threat as people think. However, if you’re a sheep, please do take care. If you’re not a sheep though, you should be okay.

* * *

Finale

You’re at a theatre.

The curtains open, and the auditorium lights fade.

[In the centre of the stage is a young good-looking man posed and decorated to resemble a tree. There’s a rope tied around his waist that goes off in two directions and disappears on either side of the stage.]

[A king and his dog walk on stage. The king raises his sword. The dog seems to wince and cower.]

King: Stop milking it, I’ve already said sorry a million times.

[The King throws him a treat. The dog catches it and looks happy with himself. He then trots merrily towards the tree.]

King: Let the competition commence!

[The dog pees on the tree.]

King to the tree: I’m terribly sorry about that. He’s in therapy.

The Tree: Don’t worry, I’m used to it.

[The king throws a treat at the tree man who catches it in his mouth and mouths, “Thank you” to him.]

[There is the sound of men groaning and heaving. A few druids appear on the left side of the stage holding the rope whilst some bishops emerge on the right side also pulling their end of it. The tree slowly starts to move towards the bishops.]

[The lights gently fade down whilst another spotlight shines on Ruth in the sky. She is holding a vegetable flute. She nods her head as she counts herself in.]

[There is the sound of a beautiful whistle which plays the music for To be a Pilgrim]

[Another spotlight shines on the bishops who start to sing the words of the hymn. As they sing, Chaya and Kristian appear next to Ruth and join in playing the music.]

[The sound of a church organ plays, and as it does another spotlight illuminates Ann sitting at an organ in the sky.]

[A few seconds later the black background disappears and is replaced by a multiple mirror system which makes all those in the sky have infinite reflections behind them.]

[Four astronauts slowly float down towards Chaya, Ruth, Kristian and Ann and proceed to move them upwards above the stage and out of view.]

[The music fades, and the lights dim.]

[A spotlight shines on the centre of the stage. The man in the hat and coat from the lake stands motionless for a second then shouts, “No one is completely good or evil.” He throws off his coat. His torso is bare. He has a beautiful athletic body.]

[As Bruce Springsteen’s Brilliant Disguise plays, the man dances gracefully in a Ballet/Flamenco style to it. As he does so, the audience is illuminated and can see their own disjointed reflections in the mirrored background too.]

I’ll paraphrase the song for copyright reasons.

Bruce sings to his woman, he wants her to see he’s struggling to do everything right, but when he does, everything falls apart. He knows he walks in wealth but still feels like a lonely pilgrim and doesn’t know if it’s his woman he can’t trust or if it’s just himself. So, he warns her, when she looks at him, it’d be best to look twice, because is it him or just a brilliant disguise?

[At the end of the song there is silence.]

[The man from the lake takes a bow, looks at the audience and applauds them, some of the audience join in. He bows once more and walks off stage.]

[The lights remain on so the audience can continue to see themselves in the infinite and disjointed reflections.]

[Slowly the curtains close.]

You hear the teenage couple in the seats next to you talking. You look to your right and see Teenage Simon sitting next to you, and beside him is Jules.

Jules asks Simon, “So, what did you think of it then?”.

Simon lets out a slightly exasperated sigh, then adds, “Well, I liked the Springsteen song.”

As they prepare to leave, Teenage Simon looks at you and smiles a hello smile.

* * *

TO SEE OTHER CHAPTERS CLICK HERE