Recently, a friend of mine (I'll call her Mary) decided to have an abortion and, boy, did that bring out the Righteous Ones, the Ones Who Know and the Ones With Spears of Judgment.
You see, my country has never been attacked and I fondly imagine that, if it was, I'd choose not to fight, for two reasons. Firstly, I've always won my fights by a hundred yards and, second, I know of no war in which there has been a winner. Wars are only for losers. However, I know that I do not know what I'd actually do if that terrible time ever came about - it's a lottery as to whether I'd crouch in cowardly supplication, proudly stand in defiance of fighting or take up arms with the rest of them.
It's all very well to theorise about what we might do, what we should do, but it's quite another thing when the time actually comes. It therefore behoves me not to judge those who either take up arms or those who do not. I don't know what I'd do and I cannot in clear conscience make a ruling on others.
And so with Mary: I know some anti-abortionists who tossed their theories away when they, themselves, became pregnant. Theory is fine, especially when we're talking about what someone else (not us) should do. Theory is all very well when we're talking about some nebulous possibility.
In the spirit of that, then, I just do not understand "friends" who tell Mary that she's a bad person, that she did the wrong thing and that they know better than her what decisions she must make in her life.
Believe it or not, having to make the decision of to abort or not to abort was not the favourite time of Mary's life - it was an absolutely crappy time and the whole thing brought her down in depression, self-doubt and a whole lot of other negative feelings. It was not a time that she had the strength to easily withstand the slings and arrows of those who she thought were friends … that was the last thing she needed.
What she actually needed, my friends, is not judgement and being right but support and being there - practical friendship and not theoretical nonsense. Your thoughts?
And now to Mary Collins who has very few friends ... continued from the previous blog ...
The next day she had shrugged off all those silly notions and questions and had girded herself in the warrior's black suit. She'd even donned a black tie to prove she was done with all that prissy, crying stuff.
She'd stormed into the office, rearranged the organisation chart and then, when everybody had arrived, she held a ten-minute meeting to tell everyone who was promoted, demoted and moved sideways. She knew that some of the rearrangements weren't entirely logical but decided that the whole place needed a damned good shake-up anyway - keep the buggers on their toes. That afternoon she had formed two new policies that she should have obtained approval from Commonwealth Insurance's Washington head office for, but she wasn't in the mood for all the paperwork, justifications and two months of procrastination, so she went ahead anyway. It was fortuitous that her boss was on extended leave and that his deputy, the chinless wonder of an Operations Director, had a terror of ferocious women and had conceded to Mary's bizarre ideas without a whimper of objection.
The first policy was that no claims, from any client for any reason, would be accepted on first application. Certain minor claims would also be rejected on second application. It saved a lot of paperwork and money and if clients had the gumption to make a claim after being rejected twice, they probably deserved the money and so it was investigated.
The second policy was actually a protection racket, marketed as a pretence of caring for clients. It was a simple matter of creating a new type of policy to cover people who had made claims and didn't want to lose their no-claims bonus - they paid the insurance company a new premium so they wouldn't increase their premiums! The new premium was 12% higher than the no-claims bonus would have been so the company made more money and got more clients who, weirdly, thought the insurance company was caring and protective of them. Of course, Mary had to clear the idea with the statisticians but none of them could fault her logic or maths.
When head office found out about it they were up in arms. How dare she break protocol and go over the heads of her superiors? Of course, an example had to be made of her, a young upstart. Can't have people thinking out of line, acting like renegades and encouraging others to do the same - where would things be if chaos reigned? She was summarily dismissed and the insurance club, the British Insurance Institute, was told never to hire her for she was nothing but trouble, uncontrollable, disrespectful and the rest. Of course, everyone at the club heartily agreed with Commonwealth Insurance's representative's sentiments and commiserated on his company's misfortune in hiring her in the first place. Within days, through the mist of her shock and depression, there appeared letters and phone calls from nearly every member of the insurance club, very healthy offers of employment. Mary chuckled at the duplicity - they held no trust of honour to their clients and here, she realised, they held none to one another.
Though strangely comical, it was also a sad moment for Mary as she realised what a greedy, faithless world she'd thrown herself into. Though she had rejected the plodding poverty of her parents, she realised what good and honest people they were and she yearned for that for herself.
Though there was pressure from the job offers to answer quickly, she decided to return to her native Scotland for a holiday. Before she did, however, something made her decide to have one interview before she went. Perhaps it was sort of insurance or a way of providing comfort, knowing that something would be organised for when she got back. Anyway, she called Sam Lord of Allied Insurance Limited, dressed in her favourite "power" clothes and arrived like a virgin, more nervous than she could have guessed at, three hours later.
As he introduced himself, he held her hand a little longer than was usual, while looking deeply into her eyes. She was surprised - intimidated and thrilled, somehow - and felt a little unsure about how to respond. His plump white hands had never performed manual labour, she surmised, and one of them gently grazed her shoulder and she felt comforted to be steered towards a family of lounge chairs in one corner of his massive office. As she eased herself into the ample folds of the black leather chair, she wondered if it was such a good idea to have worn a clinging knee-length skirt. As she wondered how to extricate herself gracefully, she surveyed the oak-panelled office that looked more like a library than an office. Deep green carpet soaked up the sounds and the absence of technology suggested that the modern, outside world stayed outside. This serene and stately island amid the mayhem of the world's financial capital spoke of a guardian with taste and a determination to rule his world his way. She accepted a coffee - Columbian - that appeared almost as soon as she chose it, at the hand of Mr Lord's threateningly young secretary.
He seemed to be in no hurry to talk of business or her career and he was most interested in her family and personal interests. He had a way of coaxing out her intimate details without causing discomfort and, on more than one occasion, she had the strange feeling that he already knew the answers to his questions. When he did, eventually, move on to her experience and career aspirations, she knew for sure that he had done his research thoroughly. She felt comforted by his genuine interest - and flattered, in fact - and a little trapped. She knew, without a doubt, there would be no comfort in this position, no safe place to fall as his subordinate. The soft and nurturing glove of his considerable charm, she just knew, could easily and quickly be exchanged for the sharp steel gauntlet of his anger. A far cry from the insipid niceness with which she had previously been surrounded, her spirit felt the call of the wild - a challenge she knew would test her and one she knew she couldn't walk away from.
"So, Mary, what do you think you're worth to us?" he asked, giving her the unexpected challenge of putting a value on herself.
His brazenness emboldened her. "I don't have the answer right now, Mr Lord ..."
"Sam. Please do call me Sam," he said, interrupting her.
"Oh, ah, Sam," said Mary, trying to recover when she was just getting under way. "You're asking a direct question that I have no answer for." He smiled patiently. "I've been totally engrossed in the insurance industry since I left school and, as you know, my world has been rocked and I have a sense that my whole perspective on anything, especially my work, is severely out of kilter."
"Such honestly and self-awareness from one so young," he mused. "What would help the return of your right perspective?"
"Time out," said Mary, blushing at the compliment and at the embarrassment of wondering if she should really be here, looking for a job. "I've decided I need to get out of the industry, out of the city, and reconnect with my roots for a while. Then I'll be ready for work."
"Not for too long, I hope," said Sam, leaning forward, interested.
"I don't know," said Mary, leaning back, acting more nonchalant than she felt. "It may be a week, it may be a month. I just don't know - the last few weeks have been very trying and I want to return to work fully restored."
"Return to the work of insurance, I hope," said Sam.
"Well, it's all I've ever done and I do seem to be very good at it," said Mary, surprising herself. "But, I do find myself treading on very sensitive toes at times."
"You sure do!" said Sam laughing and clapping his hands as he settled back into his chair. "That, my dear, is just what we need here and why we're having this conversation. Things need shaking up around here, around the insurance industry in general, and I'm looking for a co-shaker. As I said, that's why we're having this conversation, Mary."
"I suppose it is," said Mary musing. "I'm just finding it hard to believe an insurance mogul, like yourself, could be a stirrer - I didn't think they existed in these large corporations. They all seem to be so ..."
"Insipid!" said Sam, finishing her exact thought. "Let me just say, Mary, that when - not if - you come to work here, you'll have a lot of pleasant surprises," he said, looking meaningfully at her.
"Yes, right," said Mary, unsure if the surprises would be business or personal ones. "Let me take my mini-sabbatical and I'll call you as soon as I'm back on balance and ready to commit."
Eek, I've broken my own rule of publishing something each and every day. I missed yesterday and should probably be hung, drawn and quartered, shot and sent to the Russian Front! Any, we now leave Arthur Bayly for a wee while and follow Mary Collins' story. Mary and Arthur will meet up soon ...
Life hadn't worked out as Mary had hoped, not at all. In fact, if she'd had a plan (which she didn't) this definitely wouldn't have been it.
In a strange way, her life had gone fast and slow at the same time. In her honest moments, she was able to admit that most days were interminably slow, like wading through a swamp. At the same time her life had seemed to flash by so fast for her to ever to have grabbed it by the lapels or even the bloody neck, and say, "Now, look here, Life, we're going this damned way. OK!"
Of course, there had been some bright spots (just enough to stop her giving it all up), some glimpses of hope that kept her believing that the elusive happiness state was just around the next wee glass of wine … glimpses of hope that usually died a sad old death that chocolate and red wine could not help her forget though, God forbid, she tried hard enough to forget that way!
She still had her dreams of long, languid, luscious Sunday mornings, rural views, sun filtering in, breakfast together, reading together, crosswords together, cuddling together, making love together … yet again. And long, languid, loud Sunday mornings with the same luscious chap and their two toddlers, all hugging, chatting and laughing in bed together, planning the day and wasting time the best way possible.
Somehow, that luscious chap had never materialised - well, not in any bed on any Sunday morning. There had been a few interested and quite-luscious chaps but, though there'd been dinners out, movies together and furtive snoggings in dark pub cubicles, none of them had gone the distance - any distance, really - and she now believed herself, at 37, to be too old for a first marriage and children and too young for someone else's second marriage. She just seemed to fall between the cracks in everyone's life … in her own life, too, it seemed.
She had left Dunfermline with such hope. This Scottish town, the birthplace of Andrew Carnegie, the wealthiest man of his time, had absorbed little of Carnegie's wealth and her parents had absorbed even less. Her father, a butcher who left the house at 4.30am every day … perhaps that's why she dreamed of long Sunday mornings as she'd had none … never owned the three-bedroom brick, terraced house his parents had rented. Determined not to follow her family's dogged wretchedness - her brother, Angus, also worked with his hands, as a welder - she had left with high hopes of emulating Mr Carnegie. Her slim five-foot three-inch frame, topped with long, luscious, black tresses, strode from the house that day, oozing confidence while her mind struggled, in vain, to hide her fear of the big, wild world out there.
She stayed with her Uncle Hughie, as arranged, in London. His Camden flat was no more than a bachelor pad and she soon found a job and a flat of her own. Hughie was fun to stay with but some story in her mind had it that she'd never make it if she was saddled down by others - success came to those who walked the high road alone. Perhaps, she sometimes ruminated, that was why she was still single … though where the making it was, she never knew.
She always loved the fuzziness of the mist over the heath, with the sun quietly filtering through but, somehow, she'd ended up in jobs with no fuzziness at all - all sharp edges, objective and serious stuff … and all very urgent. She discovered her mind was more astute than others' - she'd easily see what needed to be done, how to do it and who best to do it. Sometimes she'd get down and dirty, as Uncle Hughie would say, but she really couldn't see why she should when she could order three people to do three jobs and do triple the work she'd do alone.
It wasn't long before she was developing the hard edge of the business world she fell so effortlessly into. Her long locks were gone, replaced by a coiffure that needed little prissing and her blacks suits echoed those of the men she worked with.
Of course, her apartments had always been in the City, only minutes' walk from work. What a stupid waste of time, spending hours a day on some train, tube or other, when you could jolly well be at work doing something useful. Mary was always the first to work, the last to leave and the first one home. Stupid to do otherwise.
Her brusqueness enabled things to get done and, though her Scottish burr softened the long, cold English vowels she'd developed, she was more feared than loved, more admired than liked. Maybe, unconsciously, her quick tongue kept people at bay, avoiding connection, closeness, and disappointment. Maybe …
One psychic told her that she had put on so much weight to insulate herself from the harsh realities of the world. Another suggested it was an unconscious attempt to make her look less attractive and then avoid the abuse her mother had faced. Well, yes, there was a thinner woman in there, not screaming to get out but certainly enveloped, maybe hiding.
She did wonder why it was she often found herself back at Uncle Hughie's lively little flat, surrounded by his theatrical and New Agey friends - all bright colours, edges as soft as the mist, quick, inconsequential and harmless tongues and no urgency about anything. Nothing mattered and yet everything did, with great passion. So unlike the sterile, uncommitted and cynical types she worked with. Maybe she just needed balance. Maybe, deep down, this lively Scottish lass was really a romantic, an artist, in disguise. A creator not a commander. Who knows?
One of Uncle Hughie's more insightful friends had told her, sitting in his small garden on a Sunday afternoon amid a respectable collection of empty wine bottles, that she should grow her hair - that it was beautiful and it shone like the dew on heather. She had smiled, held herself in and later gone home to cry herself to sleep. As she'd lain there, she wondered, between sobs, if she'd lost something of herself or if there was another part she'd been afraid to lose.
-------------------
The next day she had shrugged off all those silly notions and questions and had girded herself in the warrior's black suit. She'd even donned a black tie to prove she was done with all that prissy, crying stuff.
She'd stormed into the office, rearranged the organisation chart and then, when everybody had arrived, she held a ten-minute meeting to tell everyone who was promoted, demoted and moved sideways. She knew that some of the rearrangements weren't entirely logical but decided that the whole place needed a damned good shake-up anyway - keep the buggers on their toes. That afternoon she had formed two new policies that she should have obtained approval from Commonwealth Insurance's Washington head office for, but she wasn't in the mood for all the paperwork, justifications and two months of procrastination, so she went ahead anyway. It was fortuitous that her boss was on extended leave and that his deputy, the chinless wonder of an Operations Director, had a terror of ferocious women and had conceded to Mary's bizarre ideas without a whimper of objection.
The first policy was that no claims, from any client for any reason, would be accepted on first application. Certain minor claims would also be rejected on second application. It saved a lot of paperwork and money and if clients had the gumption to make a claim after being rejected twice, they probably deserved the money and so it was investigated.
The second policy was actually a protection racket, marketed as a pretence of caring for clients. It was a simple matter of creating a new type of policy to cover people who had made claims and didn't want to lose their no-claims bonus - they paid the insurance company a new premium so they wouldn't increase their premiums! The new premium was 12% higher than the no-claims bonus would have been so the company made more money and got more clients who, weirdly, thought the insurance company was caring and protective of them. Of course, Mary had to clear the idea with the statisticians but none of them could fault her logic or maths.
What would England be if everyone had a pink car? A pink car-nation! The joke is less important than your reaction ...
1. If you groaned at it, that it means that you have an inferiority complex about your intellect - low self-esteem. Get some assertiveness training as you're probably quite depressing to be around.
2. If you giggled inwardly or a little, it means you are well balanced within yourself and are peaceful and/or uplifting to be around.
3. If you laughed out loud, you're probably quite an unbearable bore - get some social skills.
Actually, I just made all that up, just this minute. However, does it sound any less convincing, when you first read it, than any of the hundreds of personal assessment questionnaires around? It's so easy to become an expert today: put something in writing (anything!) and someone will believe you.
As a writer I get asked to do writing projects for people and organisations and I find that most of them go right against my sense of integrity. Companies wanting to advertise their products or services - without it looking like advertising - ask writers to find other writers' articles on topics to do with their industry. These rewriters, as they're called, are then asked to rewrite these "expert" articles in such a way that at least 20% (or some stated percentage) of the article does not resemble the original one. The article is then published in magazines websites and blogs, parading as some expert, impartial and amazed writer's reactions to their employer's "amazing" products/services.
There are 3 things here:
1. Advertising parading as something else,
2. Blatant plagiarism with no acknowledgement of the original and expert writer, and
3. An amateur (non-expert) parading as an expert, for a fee.
These are not isolated articles - there are hundreds of thousands of such articles done every day and there has arisen a whole new rewriting industry - thousands of writers doing it for a living, computer programs are created to calculate how much (as a percentage) alike the copy is to the original and huge amounts of money changes hands every day.
I'm not sure about you but I just cannot feel right about such dishonesty … or am I being picky? Let me know your thoughts.
And now to a brilliant and original piece of writing - Arthur Bayly's story, continued from yesterday's blog ... less words today as we start Mary's story tomorrow and then their indivudual stories mesh together at some later time. Can't tell you when as I don't know!
"A lottery where cronies of the government, with inside connections, favours and knowledge of available contracts, can take advantage of, like our Lord Atkinson," said Arthur, suddenly understanding much about the insurance claim that he didn't before.
"Well, yes, we need to be careful of who we're accusing of what, just yet," said Martin in solicitor mode, "but it seems there's intense competition for these contracts - hand out a million or so, with little checking how you spend it - quite a gift for someone with profit in mind!"
"And anyone giving out millions of British pounds to poorer people would gain a lot of friends and favours from those poorer people!" said Arthur, grimly.
"My God, Dad, you should have been a detective!"
"Just my cynical insurance mind in overdrive," said Arthur.
"So, we have the perfect scenario for tossing around government money - many governments' money - to great benefit to the wrong people," said Martin, smiling at his father with unaccustomed admiration. "And the governments themselves are into it too. For example, the European Union, the EU, aid programme provides huge amounts of funds to UE governments to provide aid and the checking at the EU is as shoddy as in here in England. Some of these governments - the Spanish and Italian ones are apparently the worst offenders - just don't get around to spending all the UE funds they receive and it's a great source of revenue for them - helps their balance of payments deficits considerably!"
"But that's OUR money, Martin! Don't they care about that?" asked Joan, astounded.
"Why should they?" asked Martin. "It's not their money and it's free to them!"
"Well, you look after other peoples' money, other peoples' interests ..."
"Yes, Mum, most people do but when you've got access to large amounts of power and money, those thoughts of others just seem to slip out the window, somehow. When you create a house with lots of holes and lots of cheese on the floor, the rats turn up!"
"Oh dear, so what should I do about this job offer back at AIL then?" asked Arthur.
"And what's happened that they suddenly want you back when they were so laid-back before?" asked Martin.
"Yes, it all sounds a bit desperate, a bit … well, dangerous, if you ask me!" said Joan.
"It also sounds like a lot of fun!" said Martin, rubbing his hands together with glee.
"Insurance has never been exciting before, for me," said Arthur, feeling a tingle of adventure in his veins. "And, maybe, I could help get some of your money back from these scoundrels."
"Yes Darling, maybe you could, but I don't like the sound of it at all," said Joan, "and we were just starting to get along and we've got mother's funeral and Martin needs help and you now want to go back to work?"
"Well, I could do much of it at home," said Arthur, seeing opportunities everywhere. "I don't need to be at the office or to work eight hours a day. I could fit the work in between our family needs."
"I don't know Arthur ..."
"Look Mum, Dad needs some excitement in his life," said Martin, standing forward for his father for the first time ever. "This could be his chance for that and a chance to really do some good."
"Yes Dear, I would rather relish a challenge like this - you never know where it could lead to!" said Arthur, wondering why he was talking about other unknown opportunities, while he took her hands and looked into her eyes earnestly.
"Oh, I don't know ..."
"Look Dear, let's you and I sit down later and work out what we need to do for each other, for the funeral, for Martin and then I can put a proposal to Mary about what I'm prepared to do for them and any other conditions we can set. They seem keen to have me at any cost."
"Yes, but why?" asked Joan, still concerned.
"And if it doesn't work out, I can simply stop doing the work and hand it back," said Arthur.
"I don't know about the work but I do know I've never seen you so fired up about anything before," said Joan, still looking concerned. "Maybe it is your chance to do something really special … I don't know ..."
"Look, you two," said Martin, "the world won't stop spinning if you do nothing for a day. Leave it till tomorrow and call AIL then. If they want an answer before then, just tell them they can't have one - you'll let them know tomorrow at, say, three o'clock. This is your decision, not theirs."
The real problem with our problems is that they're too small, too mundane and too boring.
Look at the people who've had the biggest problems - Nelson Mandela, Jesus Christ, Joan of Arc, Barak Obama, Mother Teresa, Gandhi - and we'll see that they've also got the biggest lives. The news of the day, ladies and gentlemen, is that no one has no problems. Problems are part of being human and they'll never not be there. Whether we deal with them, avoid them, give them to others or try to minimise them, we'll always be with them … and they with us. If we get rid of one, another will turn up … and another and another. They're like flies - kill one and the whole family comes to the funeral!
So, if we're stuck with them, no matter what we do about them, what to do? Make them bigger!
If we have a problem of not finding work, why not expand the problem to be one of helping hundreds of people to find work?
If you do not like being abused (in your relationship, at work or wherever) why not create the problem of helping thousands of others to deal with abuse?
Whatever we do, the problems won't go but our lives will grow. After all, how has what you've been doing to date, to get rid of problems, been working? So, in the interests of sanity, why not try doing something different … just an idea!
And here is the continuing story of Arthur Bayly's problems, continued from previous blogs ...
"Yes, well, we just thought you might like to come in for a short while," said Mary with unaccustomed reserve, "just tidy up some things."
"But you said there were others who would be able to take over the Atkinson case ..."
"Well, yes, there could be," said Mary, "but with the reorganisation … and you do, of course, have such a lot of experience in this area."
"There's been a reorganisation since I left yesterday?" asked Arthur, trying to imagine what trauma had happened in one afternoon to leave them with no one to complete the Atkinson case. "There wasn't any great hurry for that case, was there?"
"No, there isn't … wasn't," said Mary. "But some new developments have occurred and, with your specialist knowledge, we thought it might be expedited with your valuable input." Arthur had never before heard so many compliments from Mary.
"So, has it become urgent, now?" asked Arthur, trying to understand what had happened in half a day.
"Look Arthur, we can explain it all when you get in here," said Mary, her voice rising a semitone. "If it's easier, we're happy for you to work from home."
"Well, I'm not sure, Mary, we've had a few upsets over the last little while and I'll need time to think about it - to talk about it with Joan." said Arthur.
"Look, Arthur, we can make a special reimbursement, a special rate for this assignment, we can put you on contract … whatever is best for you," said Mary, sweetening the incentive.
"Yes, yes, I appreciate that, thank you," said Arthur, trying to absorb and understand the new developments. "But things are quite … ah, quite tender here and I do need to talk to my wife about this. When would you like me to start?"
"Well, this afternoon would be great," said Mary, anticipating some progress. "We thought that £60 an hour would be a fair recompense."
"Gosh, that soon!" said Arthur, remembering that she'd said something about 'no problem at all' a minute ago and that £60 an hour was treble the wage he had previously been on. "Yes, well, I'll talk to my wife and ring you back."
"Well, please do, Arthur, yes, please do," said Mary, speaking as if she was unable to breathe. "Now do you have a pen and paper there, Arthur?"
"Ah, yes ..."
"Good, then call me back on 0208 656 3900 - that's my direct dial number. Save you going through the reception. Much quicker," said Mary, quickly.
"Right, yes, I'll do that," said Arthur, surprised that direct numbers existed in his old firm.
"You'll ring me right back, yeah?" asked Mary, begging.
"Yes, yes, I will Mary," said Arthur, still trying to absorb the rising sense of urgency coming at him. As he put the phone down and pondered, the children rushed past him to the lounge.
"So what was that all about?" asked Joan, coming up to him. "You look a little shaky."
"Do I? Yes, well, it seems they want me back at work," he said, more to himself than to her, shaking his head.
"You look like you need a hug, too," she said, throwing her arms around him.
"That's the only thing that's normal or understandable, isn't it?" he said with a sheepish smile.
"What is?"
"Well, hugs and you and our family," he said into her shoulder.
"Nothing else makes any sense any more."
"Mmm."
"I don't know, life used to be regular, stable, predictable," Arthur said as tears filled his eyes. "I keep doing what I've always done and it suddenly isn't good enough any more … and then it is and they want to pay me treble for it! I sit on a park bench, minding my own business and become a hero. Your mother dies and we're supposed to be bereft but it's brought us closer together. And then there's Martin's situation … and there's all these Australians and New Zealanders popping up ..."
"Well, dear, you have to admit that every insane thing you've mentioned has brought us closer," she said, standing back a little and looking into his eyes. "Not just my mother's death but everything has reconnected us. Maybe that's what it's all about, do you think?"
"Actually, my love, I just don't know what to think!"
As they returned to the lounge, Arthur explained to Martin what the call had been about.
"So, Dad, what's so important about this job that they want you back onto it?" asked Martin.
"The Atkinson case?" said Arthur.
"Huh, it's not the Lord Atkinson case, is it?" asked Martin, laughing.
"Well, he is a lord, actually ..." said Arthur, looking quizzical and feeling a chill in his bones.
"Oh my God!" said Martin, the laugh quickly falling from his face. "Not the one with the hunting lodge in Ludlow, the apartment in Kensington and the resort in Jamaica? The one with the race horses?"
"Exactly the one," said Arthur, incredulously. "How did you know?"
"Oh, one of my partners has been working for one of Lord Atkinson's larger claimants, the Colonial Agents Bank, the CAB. You know, the development bank that used to be a crown agent - an agent for the crown, supplying everything from railways to cutlery for the ambassadors."
"Yes, yes, I know the bank," said Arthur quickly. "They're claiming money for some project in Nigeria ..."
"Absolutely, that's the one," said Martin, excitedly. "After the bank was privatised in 1998, it really got into funding in developing countries, using aid money from, mainly, the English, Japanese and Swedish governments."
"So what's the project in Nigeria?" asked Joan.
"I'm not sure but what I do know is that the CAB has been having a few slip-ups, lately," said Martin. "You see, it's over 150 years old and, for most of that time, was a government department, dispensing help to colonial governments around the world."
"What sort of slip-ups? Large ones?" asked Arthur.
"All sorts, really - big and small," said Martin, warming to his favourite subject, commercial intrigue. "Since the British colonies have dwindled over the last 100 years, they needed to diversify to keep all the jobs for the boys and girls there. So, they privatised the bank, sort-of, and became an agent for many governments, beside the British one … and the United Nations aid programme."
"Sounds like a good cause to me," said Joan.
"Yes, and that's the problem," said Martin. "When people are dealing with what seems like benevolent work, others are loathe to question or audit that work. For example, the British government's aid department, Department for International Development, or DfID, runs no aid programmes but just gives CAB money to dispense as per its requirements."
"But the DfID must audit or check that spending," suggested Arthur.
"Well, yes it does, but only superficially, not wanting to take away any jobs from people in the government 'club' and afraid of interrupting 'benevolent' acts of helping people in developing countries," said Martin. "So, the two-yearly audit is simply a matter of visiting friends at the CAB's London head office, enjoying drinkies and food and listening to two or three inspiring talks on the great works of CAB and watching a CAB video of their amazing success."
"But they must be doing a lot of good helping these poorer nations, surely?" asked Joan.
"Oh, absolutely," said Martin, "much of the money does go in the right direction but no one knows how much … not even CAB! No one in government - or from anywhere else, for that matter - traces each pound … or even a million pounds. They pay the money to CAB, see a result and assume they're linked!"
"So where does our Lord Atkinson come into this," asked Arthur.
"A good question and no one's quite sure, yet," said Martin. "But Simon Cruickshank, the partner I mentioned, knows that Atkinson is great friends with many in the current government and he has, over the years, provided large sums of money to both Labour and Conservative administrations."
"You're talking about bribery! Surely not!" said Joan, astounded.
"Not sure. However, what we're very sure about is that the privatisation and the change in direction has created some holes in the organisation," said Martin. "Instead of employing experts in international development, they've favoured existing staff and moving them sideways, some to their levels of incompetence, one might say. So, when they're able to admit that they can't do something, they do the quick-fix thing by bringing in a short-term consultant … who never remains short-term. Because they know little of the function they're hiring the consultant for, they don't know whether they're getting valuable consultants or charlatans - it's a bit of a lottery, really."
Sometimes I just don't know what to say so I'll just say nothing ... and write down the next part of Arthur Bayly's story ... continued from yesterday's blog ...
"No, no, no, Dad. A man," said Martin, smiling through the tears that had started down his cheeks. He wiped his hand on over his face quickly. "It's a man, a bloody man."
"Oh, Martin, there's no need to swear…"
"I'm sorry Dad, but she says she's fallen in love with him. She wants to leave me," said Martin quickly. "There, I've said it. I was too scared to think it, now I've said it!"
"Oh, Martin, golly …" said Arthur, feeling out of his depth. "Oh, son, oh, gosh."
"Yes, gosh and bugger and damn!" said Martin. "It's all a bit … bloody much. Sorry Dad, I just want to use every swear word I know. What else can I say?"
"Yes, yes I suppose these times are what swear words are for," said Arthur, seeing the pain on his son's face and the need for comic relief. He felt he should comfort Martin, somehow, but wasn't sure what to do. "Can I help?"
"Well, actually Dad, right now, I'd like a great big hug!" Arthur nodded dumbly and both men stood and hugged each other for the first time in twenty years. Arthur could feel Martin's sobs shaking his body. He patted Martin's back, feeling decidedly awkward but not wanting to pull away.
"Oh, hell Dad, this is such a mess," said Martin through is tears, "and I'm supposed to be here to support you two."
"Look, Martin," said Arthur standing back with his hands on Martin's shoulders. "We've had four deaths here in the last day ..."
"Four deaths?"
"Yes, four. I've lost my job. I think I ended someone's criminal career. Your grandmother has died and now your, ah, situation," said Arthur, finding clarity through the confusion. "None of us quite knows what to do about any of it. And, as they say, if you're at the crossroads and don't know what to do, do nothing," he said wondering who they were and where he'd heard that before … maybe he just made it up.
"You've lost your job, Dad?" asked Martin, picking up on one piece of Arthur's speech. "Ah, yes, you said something last night."
"Yes, well, they put it down to the credit crunch and having to cut back," said Arthur. "Coincidentally I want me out too. Of course, I'm worried about the money but I just don't want to go back, not ever again."
"Hell, gosh, Dad, I thought you'd never leave that place," said Martin, probably relieved to be talking about someone else's problem.
"Mmm, nor did I!" said Arthur, dropping his hands and wiping his tear-streaked cheeks. "I don't know quite what to do, actually. But, being the wise old man that I am, I'm doing nothing. Just cogitating on it at the moment."
"Hmm, maybe that's what I probably need to do right now," said Martin, plumping himself down on the sofa. "Just stop trying to fix everything, just get through the day."
"Very wise," said Arthur, stepping aside as cups of tea and a plate of biscuits were brought in.
"Thank you children, now you can bring your glasses of juice in, if you like," said Joan, sitting beside Martin.
"But they might spill juice on the carpet, we can't have that," said Martin, reverting to his more usual control-self.
"Darling, with what's happened, do you think spilled juice is a big concern right now?" asked Joan handing him his cup of tea.
"No, I don't suppose so," Martin said, smiling.
"Now, dear, weren't you off to a conference somewhere?" asked Joan.
"Oh, yes I was, a conference in Geneva for four days but I'm not going now, I've cancelled out," said Martin. "Seems like there's enough going on here at the moment!"
"And do the children know?" asked Arthur, quietly, as they left to get their drinks.
"Oh, sort of. They think Mummy wants a holiday for a while," said Martin, sighing. "I just can't bring myself to tell them … or even what to say. I don't think I'm dealing with it very well."
"What did Mary tell the children?" asked Joan. "She must have said something to them."
"I don't think she said anything," said Martin. "She just turned up in the evening, a bit late, acted normal with them, put them to bed, told me her news, stayed the night and left in the morning. I don't even know when she's coming back to get her stuff or what's going on. All I know is that he's an Australian and she met him through work, somehow."
"Oh, Martin, you poor thing, you must be feeling so confused," said Joan, putting her arm around his shoulder.
Uncharacteristically, Martin leaned into her as the children returned. "Are you crying, Daddy," asked Timothy.
"Oh, no, not really," said Martin, wiping his face quickly. "Just feeling a bit tired, Timmy. Now, did you know that Grandad is a hero - he caught a criminal for the police yesterday."
"Grandad did?" asked Kate, wide-eyed.
"You did?" asked Timothy, wide-eyed.
"Well, it wasn't quite like that," said Arthur, embarrassed. "I just happened to be there and he sort of stumbled over me." Martin picked up his paper and read the article out - an article that was remarkably accurate considering no reporters were there, thought Arthur. And it did, he thought, make him sound very heroic. As Martin showed everyone the photo, Arthur wondered who took it - it showed him talking to the mother and child on the park seat and identified them as the people he had saved from this dangerous and wanted criminal.
----------------------------
The telephone cut across their conversation with its electronic insistence and the three adults looked at each other in mute surprise, as if insulted that the outside world should interrupt them … surprised, even, to be reminded that another world existed outside their several dramas. Children react quicker, in the moment, having less history to drag along with them and so Timothy found himself bounding, like a gazelle, out the door and into the dining room, to answer the phone.
"Hello, Timothy here," he said as he had been taught. He was soon back in the lounge, sipping on his drink.
"Timothy, who was that on the phone?" asked Martin, the first to arouse himself.
"Oh, it was a wrong number," said Timothy, importantly, "they wanted Arthur Bayly and so I said he didn't live here."
"Ah, Timothy," said Arthur, "I'm Arthur Bayly."
"But you're Grandad," said Timothy, confused.
"Timothy!" said Martin, in irritation, "you don't answer other peoples' phones. Haven't I told you that before! It's not your property so leave well alone."
Timothy began to sob and Joan picked him up and held him on her knee. "Would you like another piece of cake, dear? And Kate?" Timothy hopped down and he and his sister leaped upon the sponge cake with enthusiasm.
"Hey, you two!" said Martin, his voice steadily rising, "put that down, now, you know better than to scoff it down like yobbos!"
The children stopped, stunned, with cake and cream on their faces and hands, looking guilty and confused.
"Put it down, now!" yelled Martin, going quite red. "Now go and wash yourselves up. You know better than that, don't you!"
"Come on, dears," said Joan cheerfully, "let's get your faces sparkling clean, shall we?" The children followed meekly, furtively looking back at their father.
As they walked out the phone sounded again and Timothy leaped forward, unable to resist his instinctive fight or flight reaction to the phone.
"Timothy! Stop!" yelled Martin, leaping up. "I told you to leave the phone!"
"It's alright Martin," said Arthur, getting up and striding across the room and out to the phone. He patted Timothy on the head as he passed. "You'll make someone a grand secretary one day, won't you?" he said, smiling down at the boy.
Timothy went red and smiled, embarrassment mixed with gratitude all over his face, as Arthur picked up the phone.
"Good morning, Arthur speaking."
"Ah, Arthur, I thought I might have a wrong number," came the unmistakable voice of Mary Collins. AIL Insurance seemed such a long way off, now, almost off the new map his life was drawing.
"No, it was my grandson, Timothy ..."
"Yes, well, good to talk to you, Arthur," said Mary. "I heard you've had a bereavement. Are you OK?"
"Oh, yes, well, we've had a few things happen and ..."
"Yes, yes, OK, I'm sure it's been a particularly trying time, then," said Mary, bulldozing through the conversation as usual. "Now, Arthur, there has been … ah, a new development with that Atkinson case you were working on and we'd like, ah, we wondered if you'd like to give us a little more help with clearing up the loose ends. You've got such a lot of experience in that area."
"Oh, well, I thought I was off the case," said Arthur, tentatively, unsure of his position now.
In January 2009 I lost my job as a corporate trainer for Crown Agents Bank Ltd. Because we're foreigners, we don't have access to government hand-outs and so we were without an income and, with a credit crunch, accountants and others working in the finance field weren't at the top of the list for getting jobs! We had to move as we could see that, if nothing changed, we wouldn't be able to afford our accommodation in Croydon. Of course, I applied for zillions of jobs but no bites. Eek!
No job, no accommodation, no immediate prospects - we were up that street without gumboots and we were panicked!
We lost countless nights of sleep, worried constantly, prayed a lot, planned and schemed about how to get out of our predicament and there just didn't seem to be any light at the end of our dark tunnel. However, the world didn't come to an end and our lives continued. At the 11th hour, we were offered the use of a Hymer motor home to live in for a few months and so we made the most of it, wandering round and enjoying the south of England in the spring - how awful could that be! I continued to apply for jobs from the Hymer and eventually landed one in June. Whew!
Because of our commitment to ourselves, each other and to our marriage, we are committed to continual personal and spiritual development and it's paying off.
Last week we were told we must move from the rent-free house we're living in as the owner cannot afford not to rent it out. Eek! No house, little income, and nowhere else to live. The difference, this time, is that we are not panicked. Two things have changed:
1. We now have more trust in ourselves and that we're in the hands of God, all the time, and
2. We've now had so many close calls, and survived, that our trust in God is confirmed.
We now know, without a doubt, that however justified our dismissal or how illegally it was done, it is the perfect thing for us to move on for greater opportunities to be presented to us by the universe, God or whatever you want to that which is greater than us. And, yes, there are the occasional "oh heck" moments when we return to the fear of the past but, every time, we bring our thoughts back into alignment with peace and we're still and serene again. A change of mind and a total change of state, this time … thank God!
Now, to continue Arthur Bayly's story from the previous blog ...
As they lay back in each other's arms, feeling hazy and sweet, Arthur felt that familiar, urgent and unpleasant call to arms. He moved as if to leap out of bed and caught himself quickly - today was different - pleasantly, oddly different.
"You're jumpy dear," said Joan dreamily, "are you off to work now that you've had your wicked way with me?"
"Hmm, I nearly was, actually," said Arthur smiling as he settled back into the warmth of her embrace. "It's hard to shake off years of training at the front."
"The front?"
"A military term. I feel like a soldier who'd volunteered to sacrifice himself for some dratted cause I knew nothing about and, now, I've gone AWOL and feel guilty about that."
"Well you can always go back but today you're being ordered by Colonel Joan to stay right here while you are served breakfast!"
"Yes Sir ... Ma'am," he said as she slipped out of the bed and down stairs. 'So this is what it's like not to work,' he thought, 'a bit unnerving, really.'
After a hearty English breakfast of fried sausages, bacon, eggs and baked beans, soldier Arthur was ready to tackle the work, which he did at a leisurely pace. At nine o'clock he reported for duty by phoning his work, just as his son reported for duty with his two children. The latter were hushed and hustled into the lounge while Arthur made contact.
"Good morning, AIL Insurance, Halee speaking."
"Ah, good morning Halee, it's Arthur Bayly here."
"Oh, sir, are you OK?" asked Halee, concerned.
"Oh! Ah, I suppose I am," said Arthur, savouring the question.
"Actually, I'm strangely peaceful, despite my reason for not being at work today."
"So you've slipped through a crack?"
"Slipped through a crack?"
"Slipped through a crack in the map," explained Halee, "It's a phrase they use in fairy stores when someone slips out of their regular life, the way they'd mapped it out. Some slip back and some don't."
"Golly, what an interesting thought," said Arthur, then quickly remembering that he had a reason to call. "I won't be in today or for the next few days as my mother-in-law has just died."
"Oh, I'm so sorry about that, Sir."
"Yes, thank you Halee, but Joan and I feel oddly happy about what's happened," said Arthur, surprised that he found himself explaining this to a girl he hardly knew.
"Well, sir, good luck on your journey," said Halee. "I guess we won't see you back then."
"Oh dear no, I will probably be back next week," Arthur protested.
"Sorry, sir, but you probably won't," said Halee firmly. "When you slip through a crack in the map and are feeling right about it, despite any circumstances, you don't usually want to come back. You might try but the old map's never the same again with that rip in it."
"Gosh," said Arthur, at a loss for words.
"Oh sir, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't be telling you what to do…"
"Oh, that's perfectly OK," said Arthur, smiling. "In fact, what you say sounds quite logical. How do you know this?"
"Because I slipped through a crack in my map," said Halee. "My parents had me mapped out to be a nurse and then a wife and mother, breeding lots of grandchildren for them. I tried it and I didn't fit. I had to get away from New Zealand and here I am in London and enjoying every bit of it."
"Oh, oh, do you think I'll have to move … you know, to another country?" asked Arthur.
"You may not need to but if you do, it will be much easier than it was before," said Halee and Arthur smiled that he should be asking questions about his life from a mere slip of a girl.
"Hmm, well thank you Halee," said Arthur, not quite knowing what to say next and reluctant to hang up the phone. "I suppose we shall speak later in the week?"
"Of course, Sir, and don't forget to listen to your heart."
"What? Do you think I might have a heart attack?" asked Arthur, suddenly alarmed.
"No, no, no Sir!" said Halee, chuckling, "No, nothing like that. I just meant to listen to your heart for guidance, for decisions. Hear that quiet voice of peace."
"Peace?"
"Yes. If you're stewing over a decision, make the choice that brings you that deep sense of peace," explained Halee, "any other decision can be rejected."
"Oh, gosh, I'd never heard of that before," said Arthur, wondering how a young lass could propound so much wisdom. "You're quite a wise young thing, aren't you?"
"I'm your angel for today Sir," said Halee brightly, "and you'll be someone else's angel for today. We all get a turn every day. Cool, aye?"
"Well, yes, quite," said Arthur, wondering how such a mundane phone call could become philosophical so easily. "So you'll tell Mary that I am indisposed and I'll ring her later in the week?"
"Absolutely, sir, and you take care of yourself."
As Arthur hung up the phone, he felt quite at peace, and a little annoyed at having to look after two youngsters, cute as they were, right now. He sat a while and Joan eventually came in and put her arms around him.
"Apparently, dear, I've slipped through the map," he said smiling into her hair.
"Hmm, maybe it's been more active than that," said Joan, "maybe you leaped off the end of the map. You played your part in this, you know."
"Hmm," said Arthur, vaguely wondering what any of it meant.
"Now, Arthur, you didn't tell me you were the local hero," said Joan leaning back and looking into his eyes.
"Local hero?"
"Yes, Martin's bought this morning's paper and there's a more of your story. It appears you tackled a local drug dealer, quite a vicious man, apparently. And you saved a woman and her child and the police have been after him for six months and you did it single handed!" said Joan with tears spilling out with the words. "Someone took a photo. It's definitely you!"
"Yes, yes, I told you about it and I'm not sure it happened quite the way they say there," said Arthur, feeling that his memory had slipped through some crack or other. "But I do remember they seemed quite pleased to have him caught. But perhaps we'd better let Martin get off to his work and we can look at more then."
As they entered the lounge he was surprised that his frenetic son and lively grandchildren were peacefully playing on the floor - something he'd never seen before. Arthur found himself easing down with them and, instead of the usual flurry and screaming, the children quietly sidled sideways into his arms.
"Hello Granddad, you look sad and happy at the same time," said Timothy, looking into Arthur's eyes.
"Well, Timothy, you could well be right," said Arthur, hugging him. "And how are you, my young man?"
"I'm staying here with you and Nana," said Timothy, his big smile answering the question.
"And how are you, young lady?" asked Arthur.
"Hmm, I like hugging you, Grandad," said Katie, snuggling in closer.
Arthur looked across at Martin, who looked up from the child's puzzle he was doing with red round his eyes.
"Are you alright, Martin? I thought you wanted to rush off to a conference somewhere?" asked Arthur.
"Yes, I was Dad," said Martin quietly. "Look, I know this is an awful time for you and mum with Grandie dying and everything. And I've got some news too. It's all happening at once, isn't it?"
"Is it bad news, Martin?"
"I'm afraid so, Dad."
"Look everyone, perhaps I'll go and make a pot of tea for all of us," said Joan quickly. "Come on Timothy and Katie, you can help Nana with the biscuits."
"The English remedy for any problem under the sun - a good old cup of tea!" said Martin, smiling sadly.
"Yes, a cup of tea and a chat might be what we all need," said Joan taking the children's little hands in her own. "Isn't that right Doctor Katie and Doctor Timothy?"
"Yes, Nana, we'll make some medicine to make everyone better," said Katie as the three skipped out to the kitchen.
"So Martin, your news?" asked Arthur.
"Oh, Dad, you've got enough of your own stuff going on," said Martin, uncharacteristically avoiding discussion about himself.
"Martin," said Arthur sternly, "I want to know what's happening for you. There's plenty of time for our things."
"Well, Dad, Ruth says she's … she's met someone."
"Met who?" asked Arthur not comprehending what was so important about someone Martin's wife had met.
"A man…"
"A man to do with work? Could this be a promotion?" asked Arthur, knowing Martin's sole topic of conversation.
Once upon a time there was a Great White Hunter, in pith hat and safari suit, exploring the jungles of Africa. Ahead of him were his jungle boys, slashing a path with their machetes and, behind were his porters, carrying all his necessary supplies. He had been exploring thus for many months - no white man had ever been so deep into the jungle - when, suddenly, they came upon a clearing. In the middle of this clearing was a massive bull elephant, lying on its side, recently killed. Beside it was a little native man, arms akimbo, one foot on the elephant, obviously proud of his kill.
"My gosh, did you kill this elephant?" asked the Great White Hunter, astonished.
"Yep," said the little native man, smiling hugely.
"But how did you do it?" asked the Great White Hunter, no less astonished.
"With my club," said the little native man.
"Might I see this club?" asked the Great White Hunter, intrigued.
"Oh, there's about twelve of us," said the little native man.
Nothing we ever achieve is done alone. No statesman, no Olympic athlete, no successful businessman, no great artist ever did it alone.
Most of us are waiting for that "moment", that flash of enlightenment that transforms our being, as occurred with Jesus after 40 days in the desert and with Buddha after 49 days under the Bodhi tree. However, that moment of enlightenment, that abiding peace of God, eludes us, no matter what we do - we become vegetarian, give up smoking and alcohol, meditate, think happy thoughts, do nice deeds, say positive affirmations and become as "good" as we can ever be. That moment still eludes us and we feel disappointed, let down, by an uncaring (spiteful, even) God.
However, as Jesus says, "I trust my brothers who are one with me."
It is not done, he would suggest, by being good but by being one … by realising our oneness and that none of us becomes enlightened alone. Only when we see the peace of God shining in every person we encounter, will we realise it in ourselves. Only when we see the peace (not spite) of God shining in God, will we realise it in ourselves. As Jesus says, every encounter with another is a holy encounter with ourselves.
So, as an exercise, perhaps we could start with seeing the Christ in Raoul Moat, the "Northumberland killer", and also seeing it in his parents, his victims, their families, the police and everyone else involved. When we see the holiness in everyone - perpetrator, victim, bystander, fixer - equally, we may just begin to realise it in ourselves.
Then we can make the exercise more difficult, more personal. We can attempt to see the Christ in everyone we meet - our lover, the postman, the boss who fires us, the hairdresser who makes us glamorous, the neighbour who runs over our cat, the other neighbour who saves our cat. We don't actually do anything - we just see them differently.
What we often forget is that none of it is about us (our smallness) but it's all about Us (our grandness) which is so because of our oneness, our connection with all that is. When we see our path to enlightenment (however we define enlightenment) as a path along which we help our fellow humans find their enlightenment (however they define theirs), we might just … unexpectedly, accidentally … have the moment we've been waiting for … seeing in others that which we wish to experience for ourselves.
And now Arthur Bayly's story continues from previous blogs ...
Arthur thought he was unfazed by the Australian incident, as he called it, but when the busyness stopped, that queezy, hollow feeling returned to his stomach. It just sat there mocking him while he worried about who might be watching them. He went over to the drawn curtains and peered out at the deepening gloom. 'Deepening gloom,' he thought to himself, 'it's everywhere - outside and right here inside.'
"Are you OK, Arthur?" asked Joan. "You look nervous."
"Oh, ah, yes, I'm fine dear," he said, unable to look her in the eye.
"Well, stop pacing - you look like you're being stalked," she said.
"Well, if you must know, that Australian chappie has me quite rattled," Arthur said. "I just can't shake the feeling of … of …"
"Of being followed," said Joan, finishing off.
"Yes, yes, of being followed," he said, not really wanting to say it but feeling fractionally better now that he had. "I don't know why and I don't know what it might mean for us. I mean, what is it, exactly, that we're not to do? I just don't understand," he said as a shudder coursed up his spine.
"Oh, Arthur, my dear," said Joan embracing him in a bear hug. "I'm worried too … no, I'm frightened, I'm frightened. Let's be honest about it. We're both frightened and we don't know what to do about it."
"Oh Joan," said Arthur, feeling the warmth of her body and lost for any more words. He didn't want to let her go, it felt so safe and comforting … like a little boy needing his mother's hugs. Quite pathetic, really, he surmised. He went to pull away.
"Don't go now, Arthur," said Joan quietly. "I feel like a little girl needing a really big hug from Daddy. Bit pathetic, really, but there you are."
Arthur smiled and relaxed into her again. Then an idea struck him. "You know, Joan, I daresay the more we stay in here, the more we'll feel trapped. You know, not seeing or facing the enemy," he said, pulling back a little and looking into her tear-stained face. "Why don't we go for a walk, face the rotten sods … I don't know, maybe just prove to ourselves we're safe and we can do normal things."
"Brilliant, Arthur, brilliant!" said Joan, brightening. "Let's do it now!" She strode off and returned with coats and keys.
-------------------
After the deepest sleep he could remember, his body woke him up with a jolt at his habitual time of 6.30 am. He struggled out of bed, feeling his usual oppression and sense of futility at a life less lived. As he opened his wardrobe to pick out one of his several grey suits, he stopped, embarrassed. Uncertainly. Smiling childishly to himself. A hazy glow of light began to penetrate his usual cloud of foreboding, evaporating it with a lightness he was unused to. His overwhelming sense of duty to march off to work, grim and stolid, evaporated with that shaft of gentle light. He plumped down on the edge of the bed.
If today had been any previous day, he would have obeyed the soldier's call, reluctantly. He would have wearily saluted that insanely barking sergeant-major - red-faced and veins swelling - in his head, and gone to war against an enemy that was not his own. His overriding sense of duty to that crazy and fearful man in the parade ground of his mind, bellowing at him to shoulder arms and march off to vanquish an invisible enemy for the sake of work and family.
Only now, work didn't care, he'd discovered, and family expected no pound of flesh at all … never had and never will. That monstrous and grotesque parade ground screamer slowly shrank before his mind's eye and became a silly little man, mouthing senseless nothings. Arthur realised that the soldiers of war and work killed no one but themselves as they pompously strutted their loyalty to a country or a company that cared not a jot. Afraid of being seen as weak, they bowed in mute compliance to the insane rantings of a stamping, storming authority that was more afraid of them … than him.
Such strange thoughts had never entered his mind before and he wondered where his inner poet had turned up from.
As he pondered a lifetime of obedience and fear, to such insane demands - illusory demands, even - he saw the silly side of his own drivenness, his own blindness and his plodding forever onward on a mission that could never be accomplished. He saw the whole futility of generations of dumb cattle being herded to the milking shed every day, rain or shine, in sickness or in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do us part. And, in these dark economic times, the death was usually of the employer rather than the employed, as in previous centuries. Chewing on their meagre cud, the doe-eyed cows knew that no amount of milk would ever be enough to satisfy the appetites of those who had more than they needed. As these bizarre thoughts zipped round his mind, he realised - without knowing how he knew this as he'd never tasted power or affluence - that the more he had, the more he had to fear … and that fear fuelled the desperate need for more power, money and toys. With surprising clarity he realised just how lucky he was, never having risen to the exalted position of fear of those beneath him - those who had nothing to lose but the odd night's sleep … those beneath him who he would have constantly pretended to be all-knowing while hiding the shame of his all-consuming fear and sense of separation.
He had become reunited with Joan, a person and a reason that felt more real than anything else he had known. As he felt himself plugging back into his marriage, that huge welded plug into his work began to melt and drop away.
He sat on the corner of their bed, not sure whether to laugh or cry and he found himself humming an old tune:
Ringa ringa rosy, a pocketful of posy
Atishoo, atishoo, we all fall down ...
"Darling, you're singing!" said Joan, smiling from under the bedclothes.
"Oh, I didn't know you were awake!" he said swinging around, startled out of his reverie.
"Oh, I've been watching you for some time," she said. "What's going through that busy head of yours?"
"Mmm," he said, not quite knowing where to start. "We just seem to go round and round and have nothing more to show for it than a pocketful of posies … then we all fall down … whatever that means!" He smiled at her and at his own nonsense.
"Gosh, that's a bit deep for this early!" Joan said. "You're not going to work are you?"
"No, no, I was just realising that I don't have to today and feeling a trifle odd about that," he said, "and I know I don't have to but I seem to be a bit guilty about it all. My duty, you know."
"Your duty?"
"Well, yes, I was just thinking that there are so many duties one is raised to honour," Arthur said hesitantly, "and I realised, for the first time, you are my first duty … my first concern and work just doesn't have the hold it had before. I'm not sure what's happened."
"So what is your momentous decision, dear?" she asked, "to flee or not to flee?"
"Not to flee it is," he said smiling, "although, if it wasn't today, the decision would have been different - I'd be off to work, unquestionably but, somehow, I've been unplugged from that ... not sure what's happened."
"Well, why don't you plug yourself back into bed, here, and I'll bring the master up some breakfast," said Joan, throwing back the bedclothes on his side.
"But, I ... I ... should, we should ..."
"We should be getting ready for the funeral on Thursday and doing all sorts of other things but it's not even seven o'clock," said Joan firmly, "so get into this maiden's bed and we could perhaps plug into each other, somehow ..."
"Oh, ah," said Arthur, feeling a tingle rising within. "Gosh yes, well, if you insist!" He gingerly crept back into bed feeling as if he was slightly to the side of himself, watching a strange little play he didn't know the script for ... yet he was also the writer, happily unsure of what to write next. As they snuggled together he had a deep and warm feeling of coming home.
"This, my dear ... why didn't we do this more often?" he asked, brushing a stray hair back from her face. "It's ... it's just, well, so comfortable."
"Comfortable? Comfortable!" said Joan in mock horror. "So you think I'm fat?"
"No, no dear, not at all," said Arthur trying to recover lost ground. "I didn't mean physical comfortable. It just feels, well, comfortable like, oh, I don't know. All I can say is it's like coming home. It just feels right, so right."
"Yes darling, I know what you mean," said Joan quietly as her free hand moved down his body.
There are times the world seems against us. There are times we just don't know what to do, which decision to make. There are times everything seems to be closing in on us, threatening to engulf us in its ugliness. We want it to end. Indeed, there are times we just want to end it all in some way. These are the times, my friend, that tell of your greatest potential and of your gift to the world. And, no, these may not feel like times for words like potential and gifts, especially concerning you! Indeed no!
They seem like times of potential and gifts for everyone else … but not you. They may seem to be times that you're singled out by God for misery and dread, while everyone else has potential and gifts. Why me? Why now? Why this? When will it end? How can I end it?
The questions rage round your mind like viscious dogs, snapping at your every good thought, every quiet moment, every desperate attempt to believe in something holy about yourself. They bark and snap and tear at the very fabric of your being, giving you no rest, no peace and nothing left to grasp for.
Whatever is left for you to cling to crumbles to dust as their claws flail the ground beneath you. The cliff edge your bleeding fingers weekly claw at is falling, stone by stone, to the abyss below you. You will follow soon. You know this is inevitable but still you grasp another stone … that drops away … and you grasp another and another.
Though the inevitable is ready to take you, you cling on there, ever more desperately and despairingly each moment. Something keeps you here. You are still here. Against all odds you are still here and, despite the ferocity of the gnashing dogs in your scull, you can afford yourself a smile - a grim smile that you're still here, a soft smile as a small light glows, however dimly through the dust and blackness. As your smile softens, that light, that dim light moves, changes, imperceptibly. This light … is it growing? Is it moving? Yes! It is moving toward you, growing, growing ever so slowly. Your soft smile spreads across your face, around your fevered brain and down your neck. The light is closer, bigger, brighter, stronger, as your smile flows down your body, through your arms. The light is an arm's length away. You want to touch it, feel its warmth but you do not let go. Your smile flows down into your legs, your feet, your finger tips. The light warms you, lightens you. There is less weight on your finger tips and you're tempted to let go, to touch the light … indeed, to dissolve into the light.
It seems so easy to let go, to stop grasping, to fall into the light. You are tempted to give up, to give in to the warm glow of peace that envelops you, that seems to lift you. Should you let go? The decision seems to float off, somehow, for there is just inevitability.
You give in. You smile. You unclench your fingers, ready to drop. You give up and wait for the terrifying fall … it doesn't happen. The crumbling cliff and the furious dogs have somehow dissolved into the light and you have gone nowhere. You are still held in the warm light, held and embraced. You are home. You are home at last. There is nothing to do … nothing to do but smile and weep your tears of relief as the light enfolds you as a father's arms around his precious child. There is nothing else to do, my friend, but let go, smile softly and weep thankfully.
This is your moment, my friend. Savour it.
Now, here is another moment for Arthur Bayly, continued from the previous posting ...
"Oh hell!" said Amanda, looking down, sighing. She put down her knife and fork and looked directly at Joan, then at Arthur. The silence was palpable. "Look, I'm really sorry. I've overstepped the mark. I shouldn't have said what I'm working on. I just felt so comfortable with you two - the first two really friendly people I've met in the six months I've been here. I'm so sorry, I just should not have said anything ..."
"Amanda dear, Amanda," said Joan, patting her hand, "it's OK, it really is. We're not police informants, we're not secret agents, we're not going to tell anyone. It's OK dear."
"Oh Joan, Arthur, you're such lovely people and you've had a horrible, shocking day and I go and blab my mouth off!" said Amanda, wiping tears from her face.
"Well, perhaps this is another of those miraculous moments you keep having!" said Arthur, trying to lighten the mood, while wondering how such words found their way into his brain and out his mouth - perhaps he was going mad too. Amanda looked into his eyes and smiled and sighed. Arthur felt quite tearful himself.
"By gosh, Arthur, you're probably right!" exclaimed Joan. "Maybe we're meant to know about this for some reason. It might explain that young Australian man or something ..."
"Yes, maybe you're right, Arthur," said Amanda, wiping the last of her tears as she sat up purposefully. "OK, I can't take back what I've told you and I can't give you any more details. I'd be out of the police force quick smart and no goodbyes! But what you do know is what you saw today, in the middle of Croydon and that, yes AIL is part of our investigation. You're not there any more so you should be fine. But please, please, please don't tell anyone I said any of this. NO ONE. PLEASE!"
"Amanda, dear Amanda, of course we won't," said Joan patting her arm. "And, as long as we can get through the next three days, we'll be fine with my mother's protection after that!" They all giggled. Even Arthur, though that spider had taken a slightly sinister feel in his tummy now. Still, he'd always dreamed of being a secret agent, a James Bond. Maybe this was his chance to savour some secret agenting.
"Look Amanda, I'm not at AIL any more and I ... well, I was there for a long time but I was hardly in any position of power," said Arthur, feeling a stirring of anxiety about what else was going to come out of his disobedient mouth, "but if there is anything you need to know that I can help you with, please do ask. As I said, I don't know any deep and dark secrets there but I might be able to steer you in the right direction. I do know how their systems work and who does what and when and all that. I probably know more than I think I do, if I think about it, after all these years ..."
"Oh Arthur, I really don't want to get you into any trouble," said Amanda seriously. "Some of these people are quite without conscience, quite ... well, quite viscious, if I must be blunt. There's a lot at stake - probably a lot more than I know, actually."
"I think it's time for another cup of tea, don't you?" suggested Joan, obviously more comfortable with spirits and miracles than with criminals. She gathered up the plates and was gone before Amanda or Arthur had a chance to move. They looked at each other and smiled.
"Look Amanda, you could be right that I don't know what I'd be in for," said Arthur. "I know nothing of the criminal world and I definitely don't want to put Joan in danger. But, well, I've had some strange dreams ... or thoughts, I suppose ... about Australia, lately, and then I meet two New Zealand ladies today and then I witness New Zealanders in a police scuffle and then his young Australian man turns up ... oh, I don't know about all this mad spirit stuff but, well, maybe we're not as much in control of our lives as we think ..."
"Yes, Arthur, I think I know what you mean," said Amanda, smiling at his attempts to put meaning to mess.
"Maybe there's a kind of destiny, a sort of inevitability, and certain things are going to happen anyway and the only choice, the only free will we have is how we deal with them. I don't know ..."
"Mmm, I don't about any of that," said Arthur, feeling the conversation turning towards those dark and creepy depths again. "But when I look at my life - and I've been shocked into doing that today - I haven't done much of note. I haven't made much of a splash in the swimming pool of life, if you like. Now maybe, just maybe, this is my chance to do something ... oh, I don't know ... to make a difference, somehow." They both sat looking at each other and, in the silence, they knew no words were necessary. After a moment that seemed to stretch for eternity, Amanda began to cry.
"Oh, Arthur, I wish you had been my father!" she said between sobs. "I know it's an awful thing to say but ... aah, I don't know, I just feel a real connection with you."
--------------------------------
After Amanda left, they both sat down, sighing to each other. The phone stabbed through the peace of the moment, shrill and jarring. Arthur was momentarily stunned and then reluctantly moved to pick it up.
"Where have you been? I've been trying to call you time and again," said Martin, obviously in a mood. "And why don't you get yourselves an answer phone? You really must get up to date and it's so rude not to let people contact you or leave messages. I don't know how many times I've told you about this, why don't you get one ..."
"Martin," Arthur said wearily, wondering who was father and who was son for an instant, his quietness stopping the tirade in mid-stream. "Martin, we don't have one because we don't want one."
"But I've told you, it's so rude and so damned annoying when people really want to contact you and you don't even have mobile phones, like you should and it's like you're in the last century and you really need ..."
"Martin," said Arthur, quietly, "I've had quite enough of this. Now, what is it that you want?"
"Well, yes, it's still so rude and backward not to have an answer phone or a mobile, everyone else has them ..."
"Martin," said Arthur quietly, again. "I'm going to say this one thing and then I'm going to hang up. OK?"
"Uh, oh, OK!" said Martin, surprised by this unaccustomed shortness from his father.
"Now, you haven't told us what you want so I'll tell you where we've been," said Arthur in measured tones. "We've recently got back from the funeral parlour because your grandma died today. I've also lost my job, I think. The funeral is on Thursday and we really hope you and Ruth and the children can all be there. Good night."
No sooner had Arthur sat down, under the admiring gaze of his wife, than the phone screamed again.
"Ah, I'm, ah, I didn't know, Dad," said Martin, coming the closest he ever had to an apology. "We just didn't know."
"Well, now you do, Martin, and we did leave a message on your home answer phone and I left a message with your secretary. I hope you can all be there to support your mother and I," said Arthur. "Now, what was it you wanted us so urgently for?"
"Ah, oh, well, I was wanting to know if you could look after the kids for four days ... Ah hell, I didn't know, I'm really sorry, Dad."
"Yes, so are we, Martin," said Arthur in a more conciliatory tone than before. "So, when would you like us to look after the children?"
"Well, we had hoped we could drop them off first thing in the morning ..." said Martin, trailing off.
"Look Martin, it's been a big day so let me have a talk to Mum and we'll call you back within half an hour. Is that OK?"
"Of course, Dad. That's fine. I'm really so sorry ..."
Later, when Arthur's and Joan's minds had cleared a little, they rang Martin to tell him to bring the children round tomorrow - perhaps they'd provide some pleasant diversion from their current concerns.
Recently, a friend of mine (I'll call her Mary) decided to have an abortion and, boy, did that bring out the Righteous Ones, the Ones Who Know and the Ones With Spears of Judgment.
