Introductory Note:-
After more than a decade of writing factual blogs based on my Christian faith, travel, and my testimony, I thought about turning to fiction and allowing my imagination to roam, yet remaining within the boundaries of Biblical truth.
Around 35 years ago, not long after I bought an Amstrad Word Processor that took over the Sinclair Spectrum home computer, I began to practice typewriting for future prosperity. My only qualification I had was a GCE in English Grammar, which I achieved as a mature student at an evening class I attended voluntarily.
As a Christian believer, I have Bible study books touching on subjects such as salvation and eschatology, the study of the end of current human history. From learning what the Bible has to say about the future, in the early nineties, I wrote a fictional story. It was original, with characters and situations arising from my own knowledge, laced with imagination.
This story is the one I wrote around 34 years ago, modified to fit today's current circumstances. For example, in the early 1990s, the UK was a member of the European Economic Community, the forerunner of the European Union. At present, Brexit has left Britain rather isolated from its nearest trading community.
The characters are fictional and bear no resemblance to any person living or dead. However, the locations on which the story is set are real and located on a map.
To avoid too much on a single screen, the story is segregated into weekly episodes.
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1
After a shower, Phil Banks stood topless in front of his life-size mirror in his rented apartment, which he shared with two other students. Not that he was particularly fond of his physique, for he was rather thin for his six-foot height, which gave him an emaciated appearance. Rather, he was proud of his tattoo on his right arm just beneath his shoulder. The tattooed image was that of a growling bulldog surrounded by the colours of the Union Jack. Under the image were the words, Land of Hope and Glory.
Phil then went to his wardrobe and selected a clean white shirt, checking to see whether it was properly ironed. Satisfied, he put it on, then checked his appearance in the mirror again. He gloried in his finesse, as his white shirt contrasted with his navy blue trousers. He stood for a long time staring at himself. Such idiosyncrasy he only indulged if he was alone, as the other two students had already gone home for the summer break.
Checking the time, he saw that there was another half hour before Steve Wright would call for him, and another student, George Bolton, to go out for a meal at a restaurant in Windsor to celebrate the end of another academic year at Royal Holloway College, part of London University, where all three would return for their final year in the Autumn.
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| Royal Holloway College, Egham, Surrey. |
He looked out over the copse of trees separating each apartment block, then settled in his armchair, allowing his thoughts to dwell on current and economic affairs, a favourite subject for a student in Politics.
Somewhat over forty minutes later, and wondering what was happening to Steve, he reached for his tie hanging on the tie rack and selected a navy blue from a variety of colours. He hadn't yet fastened the knot in place when the doorbell rang.
Steve Wright stood outside, smartly dressed in a white shirt and burgundy tie. Phil let him in as he finished with his own attire.
What's the matter? Steve asked. You look thoughtful.
Phil answered, Oh, I'm sad that our country was forced back into the EU after the disaster of Brexit!
Federal Europe, isn't it? Now that all the European countries have amalgamated into a single empire. Steve concluded.
Yes, Phil answered. New Headquarters in Rome after moving there from Brussels. My! It is as though the old Roman Empire has revived!
The Empire's throne is vacant, though. Steve responded. No head of state seems to have the right qualifications or character to reign, although there are some possible candidates.
There is one hopeful, Phil replied as he suddenly brightened and looked optimistic. That handsome Italian fellow, who was born and bred in Rome.
Steve gasped. You don't mean Gaius Caligula?
Yes, I do mean him! Phil answered. I can't help thinking that he will solve much of the present economic crisis, and on top of that, he promised to hand back our national sovereignty.
You don't say!
Well, I have full confidence in him. Judging by his manifesto, my word, he has to be some sort of god. Anyway, Steve, I'm ready to go when you are.
Okay, let's go.
The two students made their way towards a bright red, four-seater Ferrari, parked just outside the entrance to Phil's apartment block.
Damn good car you have there! Phil gasped.
A gift from Dad for doing so well in my studies and flying through my last couple of exams. Steve explained. He can afford such things, the position he is in.
Phil answered, Yes, it must be great to be the son of a company's top-notch, especially the size of the corporation your old man is involved in.
As the car pulled out, Steve spoke. We have a fourth person coming with us. His name is Roger Padula. He is half English, half Italian. Eccentric, I reckon, but his heart is in the right place.
How do you know him? Phil asked.
He repaired my old car free of charge, not long before I acquired this one. Steve answered. So I invited him to join us tonight. He's a bit of a religious nut. He takes the Bible seriously and lays great emphasis on Jesus.
Phil was visibly angry. If you think that I'm going to be swamped by such garbage coming from someone fit for an asylum, then you can turn back and drop me back home!
Calm yourself. Steve pleaded. Roger is a very generous and sensitive mate. He is slightly older than us, a skilled motor mechanic, whose father is the manager of a car showroom.
Working class, eh? You know that I cannot associate with such plebs! It's beneath my dignity.
Please, Phil, be reasonable. Steve again pleaded. Roger has been a good mate of mine for some time. He has been more helpful than many of my college friends. Besides...Steve turned and winked at Phil. With people like Roger making up the working-class stratum, you should be proud of your own status! Without the working classes, WE would be at the bottom of the social strata! Steve exclaimed, hoping that he had buttered up his friend with enough nonsense to calm his temper.
Phil's truculent mood did change to one of mirth. We can forgive the poor guy for his crackpot beliefs! Phil said, smiling. Steve drove the short distance to George's apartment.
2
It was quiet in my own apartment as I straightened out the knot of my own tie, a burgundy stripe contrasting with the whiteness of my shirt. As I finished, the doorbell jingled.
Steve and Phil, I do believe. I muttered under my breath. As I opened the door, Steve stood there and cried out, SNAP! Noticing my puzzled look, Steve followed with, Identical attire, George.
Good Lord, I gasped. You have gone up in the world!
Oh, you mean the car. Steve responded as we approached the exit of the building and headed towards the shimmering vehicle. Dad's gift for my brain power, Steve replied as he winked.
As the car cruised quietly with Steve at the wheel, we felt and looked like three cock-of-the-walks, realising that the world was our oyster. Not that our careers were certain in Federal Europe, with spiralling unemployment, but with the Third World Countries rapidly developing, we were set to be great assets abroad. It was Steve who brought us back to the present with his statement, Only Roger Padula to pick up.
Roger? Didn't you mention him some months ago? I asked.
Yep. A mate of mine who fixed my other car a short time ago. Steve answered. He is a skilled motor mechanic.
A Worker among us? I cried, shocked. I wasn't prepared...
Easy now! Phil cut in. What Steve says about him, he seems a generous fellow. But he is superstitious and believes in a lot of fairy tales. He is someone we can laugh at.
You don't say, I responded.
Yeah, Christ and the Bible. Things like that, Phil said.
You are joking! I cried. No one believes in that stuff anymore.
Phil went on. It's true, though - damn - next thing he'll tell us is that Cinderella and the magic pumpkin were also history.
Poor Roger, I contributed. After all, if he's only a manual worker, like you say he is, we'll let him live in his cloud-cuckoo land.
That is enough now! Steve felt the need to defend Roger. We have the right to our own beliefs.
Our beliefs are in the real world, with problems only science can solve, Phil answered, raising his voice. Take a look at the current problems we had a few years ago. It was science which solved the growing rate of Third World starvation, giving people in those regions a chance to develop. We are teaching them scientific technology, not religious claptrap. Then these viral infections - Covid, Hantavirus, even AIDS - were all arrested with a vaccine. You should know that, George, as it's your line of study. Not to mention communications, transportation, and... Phil broke off, allowing his rising temper to cool.
I felt resigned. In this day and age, I find it amazing that there are some mentally inane people in this country.
ENOUGH OF THAT! Admonished Steve, as his car slowed down to pull up outside a detached suburban house.
The front door immediately opened, and Roger ran out towards the waiting car, his face looking radiant.
He must have been waiting at the window when we pulled up. I commented.
Roger was quite different in his appearance from the rest of us. While our hair was short and neatly groomed, Roger's hair was dark and long, protecting the nape of his neck and touching his shoulders. Also, his brightly-coloured T-shirt and denim shorts were a stark contrast with the collar-and-tie attire befitting a committee of executives. On the yellow shirt was a blue logo in large letters, JESUS SAVES. Underneath, in smaller lettering, the logo read, you, that is, not his money!
Roger suddenly looked embarrassed. I...I didn't expect any of you to be all dressed up. If you just wait a jiffy, I'll nip back in to dress in more appropriate clothing.
No, don't bother. Steve said as he glanced at his watch. We have a table booked at nine, and we still have to get there.
Roger climbed into the back seat, next to me, and as he turned to greet us all, I noticed his blue eyes, indicating his pedigree. He had an Italian father and an English mother.
After the car pulled out, Steve twisted a dial, and soft, easy-listening music filled the air with a soothing melody. Presently, the music gave way to a rich female voice, which announced,
This is Radio Two from the BBC. It is now nine o'clock, and here is the news from Duncan Stewart.
A male voice filled the airwaves.
Good evening. The grave concern that the Russian Premier has over the poverty of his country due to crop failure over the past three years is a serious worry for Rome, delegates stated earlier today. Some experts believe that the Premier has his eyes on Israel, and unofficial and conflicting reports are coming in about a mobilisation of Russian troops along with military forces from Eastern European and Former Slovak countries.
Rome has sent diplomats to Moscow to investigate, although with their superior military arsenal rebuilt after their defeat in Ukraine, the best Rome can hope for is a settlement through peace talks...
Steve turned off the radio and sighed. Let us not get bogged down tonight by current affairs. Tonight is a night to celebrate.
I'm amazed by Israel, Phil spoke up. In the last few years, Israel has become a flourishing breadbasket, not only for its huge immigration of Jews, but also now for its neighbouring Arab countries with whom it made peace in exchange for its exports. It is now true to say that Israel at present upholds the economy of its neighbouring Arab countries.
From between the trees, Windsor Castle loomed into view.
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To be continued.
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