Four o'clock in the morning really is the inspirational hour for me. That's when I get my best ideas ! This moring from sleep to a great idea for the writing project loving our NHS.
5.30am I am here at the laptop. In a few hours time I'll be off to the post office with letters to: University Hospital Milton Keynes, Bristol Childrens Hospital, Luton & Dunstable Hospital, Good Hope Hospital Sutton Coldfield, a letter anc copy of the presentation has already been sent to Stoke manderville Hospital in Aylesbury. Tomorrow letters and presentations go to Sheffield Childrens Hospital, Guys Hospital London and Churchill Hospital Oxford.
If just one hospital gets involved and generates £1,000 of support I will be delighted. If ten become involved and each raised £10,000 for its work I will be over the moon. If fifty get on board and make £10k each I will be pinching myself 24/7 to check it is real.
Do you work in the NHS, have you a special story within your family for a hospital ? Please tell me so I can invite that hospital to become involved.
I have to get everything onto my website so you can check the details of the project. I will try
to get that done asap.
I need to come up with a catrchy name and a logo for the project. At 4am today I was thinmking of ONE MILLION WORDS OF LOVE.
What do you think.
I did a bit of writing for my book BILLY WESTALL yesterday. This will be my last writing project before hitting the one million words in January. At 4am inspiration hit me for something special to inject into the chapter.
Watch this space.
To conclude let me play for you what will become the anthem for this project. Anotrher space to watch - my YouTube Channel where 1,000,000 words of love will soon publish its version.]
They say you should not count your chickens until they are hatched. Following YESTERDAY'S BLOG PAGE there has been a lot of interest in the writing project I want to undertake across 2021 to support our NHS.
No, you should not count your chickens before they are hatched but it looks now as if this is going to happen.
I am going to write 1,000,000 words across 2021 which I will publish on my Amazon Bookshelf. People will sponsr the words for as many hospitals as I can enthuse to be a part of the project.
I am now starting to mail out the presentation inviting people to get onboard. Fingers crossed
and not counting my chickens.
I want to dedicate my life during the year to this project. I will continue my work as a local councillor and as chairman of the police community forum but outside this all of my energy will be given to loving our NHS writing one million words.
On Friday 18th December providing there is enough support to make everything work I will stop counting my chickens and all will then start on Friday 1st January 2021.
The first e-book within the project will be to edit, re-write and re-publish IN SEARCH OF THE LEONS, something I did at Leon School with students in 1991 - 40 years ago.
Having already published my memories from the 1950's - You Never Grow Old With Rock And Roll, the 1960's - Swinging Through The Sixties, the 1970's - Life Is A Disco So Dance the second 2021 writing project will be to cast my mind back to the 1980's - The Reto Eighties.
But I must not count my chickens before they are hatched. Today I will be contacting University Hospital Miltin Keynes inviting their involvement.
Each hospital will set up its own donation system. I am setting a simple target of £1,000 for each hospital but hope for more. Simply people will donate against my one million words writing.
Do you work in the NHS, does your family have a special story to tell of love from the NHS. Please tell me and let's try to bring your hospital on board.
2020 THE YEAR THAT NEVER WAS Doubly hard for me as this was the year when I officially became an old man. I am not living comfortably with that I can assure you.
When The Beatles had a hit in the magical year of 1967 with WHEN I'M SIXT FOUR it was impossible for me to conceive being that age. Now I would give anything to be sixty-four.
2021 ?
I the year 2021 I am going to donate my life to the NHS.
For the past week I have been working on a plan which will see me writing ONE MILLION WORDS across the entire year. These will then be published in TWENTY-FIVE e-books on Amazon.
Barbra Cartland holds the record writing 23 books in a single year. By writing an average of 2,740 words a day. I can easily manage to write that number of words in a day - BUT EVERY DAY FOR 365 DAYS ?
I want to invite people to sponsor my writing by making a donation to UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL MILTON KEYNES. On Friday I will be contacting the hospital's Chairman inviting acceptance of my idea. The hospital will set up the donation system and manage all the money. I can not both write and manage the donations.
I then want to invite other hospitals to set up their own donation programmes and lock them into my writing. ANY and EVERY hospital accross the country can link in but initially I plan to invite hospitals where I have a personal connection.
1.Good Hope Hospital Sutton Coldfield
2.Sheffield
Childrens Hospital
3.Birmingham Childrens Hospital
4.Bristol Childrens Hospital
5.Stole Manderville Hospital
6.Luton And Dunstable Hospital
7.Churchill Hospital – Oxford
8.Guys Hospital London
PLEASE if you have any conmtact with any hospital in the country TELL ME so an invitation can be issued to the hospital.
If an individual hospital can generate 1p sponsorship for every 10 words I write that would be £1,000 and that is the target I am setting.
However, I am hoping that each hospitakl can generate sponsorship of 1p for every word so bringing in £10,000.
The invitations go out at the end of this week inviting those hospitals which want to get involved to indicate so by FRIDAY 18th DECEMBER.
So do you have a connection with a hospital ? Do you work in a hospital ? Please get in contact with me and let's help bring it into the project.
Yesterday on this diary page I said that each morning at four o'clock my head filles with ideas, this is my inspirational hour. So it was BIG TIME this morning. But more of that later.
Trialing how many words I can comfortably write in a day as I plan the possible project to write one million words across the year 2021, yesterday I hit 3,184 words.
Friday 13th November 2,672
Saturday 14th November 2,829
Sunday 15th November 3,184
Those words took me to the end of THE KA OF TIMOTHY FORD-NEWMAN. Today I have to check the text ahead of pubication on my AMAZON BOOKSHELF.
As I wrote I had my headphone on listening to a special compilation on YouTube. That music injected inspiration to my words, all three thousand one hundred and eight-four of them.
I also used Google to find some images of children in Vietnam during the war. I feature them all in the chapter.
I would like to include one of the images here at this point but Google Blogger is totally useless at oage formatting so I will add all three later.
First here is that pice of music.
And now for the pictures:
And:
And one more:
So what about the inspirational hour ?
Following the publication of THE KA OF TIMOTHY FORD-HAMILTON I have sitting waiting for
me an idea for a new work BILLY WESTALL. (PLEASE NOTE - Google Blogger is again screwing up the page formatting ! Where do companies like this find their thick stupid design geeks ?)
I knew what the book is to be about. I am writing it for my grandson, Adam. I had even written the opening few words. Here they are:
Billy Westall had won his schools essay prize for three
years running but he wanted more. A lot more.
What I did not have is what Andrew Lloyd-Webber calles THE WAY IN. At 4am as I was slowly waking up this morning the WAY IN filled my head and I can not wait to start writing.
Perhaps that will be today but I have first to publish THE KA OF TIMOTHY FORD-NEWMAN.
I have shown that I am able to write one million words across 2021 but for it to happen I have to have a strong and dedicated support team around me.
Four o'clock in the morning is my most creative time of the day. So it was this morning and here I am now at 5.12am tring to empty my mind of a thousand thoughts to put them into words and hard copy.
Yesterday I hit my target and wrote 2,849 words for my latest book THE KA OF TIMOTHY FORD-NEWMAN. That is 44 words more than the average I will need to write if I go ahead with the project I have been debating these past few days.
In addition I scribbled 1,647 words for the plan to make this writing project happen. That project is for me to write a minimum of 24 works across 2021 with a minimum of one million
words. All nof this tio be sponsored in support of the work done at University Hospital Milton Keynes. I went to bed last night convinced that I should abandon the idea as I will not be able to gather the support around me.Yesterday's blog page attracted only eleven readers and sharing it on facebook there was not a single like. NOT ONE. Common sense says GIVE UP.
However, at 4am I decided not to give up - well not yet.
I am going to finish writing a detauiled plan for the project, to print off copies and post them to specific people on FRIDAY 20th NOVEMBER asking thenm to take on specific management rioles in a team supporting my writing. I will write, I know I can achieve one million words within the coming year BUT I can not also manage the project and generate the sponsorship support for University Hospital Milton Keynes.
I will then give the recipients of my plan until MONDAY 14th DECEMBER to offer support and form the management team. If all positions are not in place by that day then I will abandon the idea.
So what did I write yesterday.
In my book THE KA OF TIMOTHY FORD-NEWMAN Tim's spirit or Ka - Ka is the Ancient Egyptian word for Spirit, is floating about on the Astral Plane having one adventure after another. That is if Adventure is the right word.
Thes adventures do not flow in any logical order. That will be explained in the very last paragraphs of the last chapter.
After having written what I hope readers will find a moving chapter with Timothy serving as a doctor in the early years of World War One this should have moved to him working as a British volunteer doctor in the American Vietnam War. However, having poured so much emotion into that chapter I could not find that I needed to do the same in another war.
The movement of Timothy's spirit does not move in a logical, chronological order so I decided to begin work on the final chapter which is called DANGEROUS MOONLIGHT.
The chapter is set in the present day with Doctor Timothy Ford-Newman in prison, in prison serving a life sentence for murder. He does not regret the murder even though he has dedicated his life to saving the lives of others,
He receives a visitor in prison from a Miss Pearce who is part of The Special Operations Executive in World War Two. I have cheated slightly by basing this character on one in a TV cop drama.
I have deliberately not finished the chapter, leaving the ending to be the last part of the book I write.
You can read what I scribbled yesterday in a moment.
Before bed I decided today I would work on the penultimate chapter for the book which I am titling: SCHOOL PHOTOGRAPH. Before sleeping I wrote these words ready for today's writing:
School should be banned ! That was Tim's philosophy.
In Australia, in the Outback they have radio schools on the air. Very easy, just forget to charge the radio batteries.
Australia was short of people. anyone could emigrate there with all expences paid for twenty pounds.
Australia had flying doctors, perhaps Tim should become a doctor. Being a pilot could be a good idea, how about a dual profession ?
Schools should be banned.
At four o'clock in the moring the entire chapter serendipity came to me. All I have to do today
is to extract it from my brain and write it.
Back to yesterday. When Miss Pearce leaves HMP Becklington she takes Prisoner F56198 Doctor Timothy Ford-Newman with her to become Operative Wagner in SOE's mission Valkyrie.
If anyone is interested these are the 2,849 words from yesterday.
DANGEROUS MOONLIGHT
The gun pointed to the back of his head, Timothy
Ford-Newman was drifting in and out of consciousness. Just a microsecond
separated the pulling of the trigger to a bullet smashing his scull then
tearing through his brain. The Ka now moved to a permanent residence where it
was greeted with a warm golden glow.
“You have a visitor.”
“No I don’t. I do not accept visitors, you
know that it is on my file.”
“This is an official visit.”
“I don’t use a solicitor, that is also on my
file.”
“This is not a solicitor. It’s an official of
some kind as in official visit.”
“The only official visit I will accept is
someone coming to tell me that the death penalty has been reintroduced and I
qualify.”
“I do not think that is the purpose of this
official but you may find the end result is the same.”
Timothy Newman considered for a moment, he
was going to reject the visitor of course he was but something was filling his
being with a desire to meet him. It was a him wasn’t it of course ?
“She has been waiting for almost an hour and
I do not think she will go away.”
She ? She of the female persuasion. “I will
see her but not in some vising room, if she wants to talk with me it will be
here.”
“In your cell ? You never leave your cell and
your self-imposed solitary confinement.”
“Why should I ? I am dead and this is my coffin.”
“I will bring her down.”
“I will see her alone, no guard.”
“It will be just the two of us,” the visitor
said. “No guard listening in to what I have to say.”
“We do not have guards,” the wing governor
said. “We have officers, prison officers.”
“You do not have prison officers who have
signed The Official Secrets Act so I will see Prisoner Newman alone.”
“If you insist officially Madam.”
“I do insist and it is official. It is Miss
and not Madam.”
“Lock the door and nobody is to stand outside.”
“Very well Miss.” He emphasised the Miss.
“Doctor Ford-Newman I am Miss Pierce.”
“In here I am Prisoner Newman F56198, the
doctor and Ford bit left me a while ago.”
“When you committed the murder ?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll not beat about the bush Doctor, there
is not time. You speak German ?”
“I do, I had a friend once who was German. I
also speak French.”
“French will not be necessary. This is from
when you served in the Great War ?”
“Yes. I also served in Vietnam but I do not
speak Chinese ?”
“As with French Chinese will not be necessary
for what you are going to do.”
“I am not going to do anything beyond sit in
this prison cell for the rest of my days.”
“We will see about that Doctor Ford-Newman.
We will see about that Timothy.”
“Will we ?”
“You are going to need this.” Miss Pearce
handed Doctor Timothy Ford-Newman a photograph. “You have in your time collected
photographs but this will be your most important.”
“Where is this ?”
“I will tell you later.”
Timothy after that initial glance set aside
the picture to study the woman who was with him in his prison cell. Enigma
filled every cell of her body. She looked to be seventy or more but she was
probably in her mid-forties and no more. Her face was lined beyond her years,
possibly though the work she was doing. Her eyes while not sparkling with
delight shone with a light that penetrated his very depth. This Miss Pearce had
grey hair but Tim suspected it was dyed. Why had she done that.
“Valkyrie,
Operation Valkyrie you are going to be a part of it.”
She did not ask and she did not invite, she
instructed.
“Can I just check my diary with you,” Doctor
Timothy said the department manager. “I have been asked to take on an
additional shift next week at the clinic.”
“The addiction clinic ?”
“That’s the one. Thursday evening.”
The keyboard was rattled. “It is very noble of you
to do these extra duties at the clinic. How many evenings a week do you work ?”
“Usually two but I have been asked to do an extra
shift next week.”
“Like I say it is very noble of you.”
“Not at all. My philosophy, the philosophy of every
doctor throughout the world is not to treat patients but to care for them. An addict
is a victim, not a bad person, who needs double, treble the love and care given
to someone who has an appendicitis or a broken leg.”
Doctor Tim believed that all life was sacred, he
was a vegetarian and had been since his late teens. No man had the right to
take the life of any other living creature. He could remember when the death
penalty was in common use, if ever it returned he would give his own life in
exchange for a condemned man. That without exception save for drug dealers. Any
one drug dealer destroyed more lives than did every single serial killer since
Jack The Ripper, given the opportunity Tim would welcome the death penalty for
every drug dealer operating at any level. That was never going to be the law,
criminals daily worked their mission to destroy innocent addicts. Tim would
volunteer for any shifts at the clinic to help. In such a situation he did not
treat his patients, he did not care for them, he loved them.
“You can now look at the photograph,” Miss Pearce instructed.
“Three aircraft flew to take that image, two were
destroyed by enemy fire with all crew members killed.”
Enemy ? In The
Great War, the war to end all wars, Tim had found distinguishing between the
enemy and not the enemy. Was this war different ?
“You are looking at Peenemünde German Army Research Centre. It needs to be
destroyed but more importantly those working there need to be destroyed, eliminated,
killed.”
“Murdered ?”
Tim questioned.
“Executed,” Miss Pearce corrected him.
Tim wanted to ask why but knew if he kept
silent his question would be answered. It was.
“Scientists and engineers are building
non-piloted weapons, rockets carrying bombs. Alongside this other scientists
are developing a bomb which can destroy an entire city. Combine the two
together and not only will we lose the war but there is a very real possibility
our entire country will be destroyed. Every single man, woman and child. Every
living form. Operation Valkyrie is our only
hope.”
“I have been to war twice Miss Pearce.”
“I know you have. You conducted yourself with honour
and dignity in The Great War and you did not have to fight in Vietnam, you went
as a volunteer. But now today in 1944 Operation Valkyrie
needs Doctor Timothy Ford-Newman.”
“Allow me to correct you Miss Pearce; I did not
fight in any war, I did not fight but as a doctor saved lives.”
“If I remember rightly you were part of more than
one execution squads shooting soldiers at dawn.”
The lines on the lady‘s face deepened and her eyes
penetrated more deeply. Tim wondered if she played chess. She was playing chess
with him but she was still in her opening gambit.
“I am sorry,” Tim began, “your key worker is
off today and I am standing in. Can I say what a pleasure it is to meet you. I
have your file but these are only words. He set
the buff folder aside. Tell me about yourself, the real you.”
David had never met Doctor Tim before but he
knew him by reputation, every client of the clinic knew him by reputation.
“I am an addict. I am addicted to heroine and
to cocaine. I am an addict.”
“So what. I wear a watch on my left wrist and
never take it off. Tell me what is the difference ?”
David was confused but he knew Doctor Tim had
to be talking sense.
“You spend your day needing a fix,” Time said. “No
fix and you can not live through the day. My fix is my watch, I must look at it
ten or more times every hour. I cannot live without it.”
“Operation
Valkyrie needs your medical skills.”
“To murder, or as you would put it to execute,
everyone in this picture. He waved the photograph in Miss Pearce’s direction.”
“Partly.”
“Why not bomb it flat ?”
“You anticipate me Doctor Ford-Newman.” Miss Pearce was strategically moving the
pieces on her side of the chess board.
“So ?”
“This is probably the most closely guarded site
within The Third Reich when it comes to a bombing attack. Getting the picture
you are now holding was perhaps the most carefully planned and undertaken
mission The Royal Air Force has had and will have in its history. Two aircraft
had to be sacrificed to allow the third to get through.”
“You mean men were deliberately sent to their
deaths ?”
“Isn’t that what happened in the war you fought in
?”
“I have told you I am a doctor, I never fought
anyone.”
Miss Pearce shrugged her shoulders and continued
moving the pieces on the chess board. “The need is to kill the occupants
of The Peenemünde German Army Research Centre, all save for two who
we need to capture and bring to England where persuasion will see them working
for our side.”
“So we can with one flick of destruction
destroy a city, say Berlin, in Germany.”
“Probably not Berlin.”
“How long have you been an addict David ?”
“Since I was seventeen.”
“And you are still a user even though you
attend this clinic.”
“I can not help it, the prescription does
nothing for me.”
“How do you find your habit ? You do not look
to me like someone who would steal.”
“It’s in the file doctor.”
“I am not interested in your file and its
words, I am interested in you David.”
“Can’t you hypnotise me or something ?”
“I could give you a watch,” Time laughed.
“You are Doctor Ford-Newman a convicted
murderer who is serving a prison sentence for the crime.”
“I am.”
“So you have committed one murder, why not
another ?”
Timothy did not answer.
“Just as well I am not asking you within Operation Valkyrie your role will not be to kill
anyone.”
Check.
“You will be the one who rescues the two we need to
bring back to England.”
“So we can with one flick of destruction
destroy a city, if not Berlin then Hamburg ?”
“When The Fuehrer knows we have access to his technology
and he does not then the war can end, and not to mention the Japanese and the
Russians.”
“The Russians are on our
side.”
“Are they ? The Americans then.”
Checkmate.
Those eyes, those lines on
Miss Pearce’s face, was she hypnotising him ?
“Seriously Doctor, could you
hypnotise me and rid me of this addiction ?”
“I am a surgeon and not a
psychologist so hypnosis is outside my skill remit.”
“But what you have been
saying,” David hesitated. “The watch stuff and all that.”
“You didn’t tell me how you
fund your addiction, where you get the money from to pay your dealer.”
David looked to the floor.
“Well ?”
“My Grandfather.”
“He pays for your habit ?
“Sort of. When he died he
left his money jointly to my brother and to me.”
“So your grandfather is
funding your addiction ? Did you love
him.”
“Of course I did. I did not
start using until he died.”
“When you were seventeen ?”
“Yes.”
David took his watch off his
wrist and handed it to David. “Wear this, put it on. Every time you think about
a fix look at the watch and think of your grandfather.”
David accepted the watch
with thanks and gratitude.
“What did your brother do
with his half of the money. Sam is two years older than I am, he used his half
to set himself up in business. He is my dealer.”
“Rotting here in prison has
destroyed your life and all your have achieved across the lives your spirit has
explored. I and my colleagues are not asking you to commit murder, murder you have
shown yourself to be capable of but to prevent mass murder,” Pearce continued
to manipulate her subject even though the game was over.
Timothy closed his eyes and
thought. He thought of David from the addiction clinic, David who had been
stabbed and killed by his drug dealer older brother. What was David’s Ka doing
at that very moment ? Somehow David’s Ka and his own were intertwined. Was that
why Timothy had executed the brother ?
What would David want him to do ?
The clinic rang the
department manager’s office and asked for Doctor Timothy Ford-Newman to call back when he was
free. He did call back then drove immediately to the clinic.
“I only met him the once but
he was special. He was a lovely man who had a chance. What happened ?”
“It isn’t properly known,
the police found his body in a park. He had been stabbed in the neck.”
“Who by ?”
“The police are appealing
for witnesses ?”
Timothy knew who was
responsible.
“Who did he list as his next
of kin ?”
“His brother.”
“Address ?”
“Let me check.”
Timothy returned to the hospital,
he had to collect something and he had to explain he would be taking time off
due to a bereavement.
Lights were on, Sam was
inside and a car in the drive. Tim would wait until the brother began his next
delivery drop. He did not have to wait long.
“Excuse me,” he said as
genuinely as he could put words into his mouth.”
Sam looked round.
“I have been told you can
help me.” Those words were spoken mezzo
piano. “I need two dark and one light, can you help ?”
Before David’s older brother Sam could think,
before he could speak Tim had the scalpel out of his pocked then with his
surgeon’s skill cut the jugular vein. Ten minutes later Timothy Ford-Newman was
speaking to the member of staff on the police station reception desk confessing
to murder. Never mind any spirit, never mind any Ka his life was over.
Miss Pearce pressed the call button, every cell
in Her Majesty’s Prison Becklington had one, it was the first time it had been
used since its present occupant had moved in.
Doctor Ford-Newman will be leaving, he is
coming with me.
“I think not Madam.”
“It is Miss Mr Wing Governor. Doctor Ford
Newman, former prisoner F56198 is
leaving with me now !”
While the two had been talking Wing Governor Richard
Nuthall at Her Majesty’s Prison Becklington
had been informed that the word of Miss Pearce of Her Majesty’s Special
Services was to be obeyed immediately and without question. Did that extend to
removing a prisoner properly tried and sentenced ?
“He does not need to take anything with him,
all is prepared.”
“Yes Miss, Yes Miss Pearce.”
Tim had not met the formidable yet enigmatic
Miss Pearce before anywhere in his Ka’s activities but he knew that he had
encountered her driver somewhere. Although the Ka of Timothy Ford-Newman had
built a wall around each separate experience the wall was starting to be take
down. Slowly, not everything was clear but he was certain he and Miss Pearce
had not met before.
“Forget Timothy Ford-Newman, from now on you
will use only your code name which is Wager, that is pronounced Vagner.”
Timothy knew that, he could after all speak German.
“It will be you code name throughout Operation Valkyrie, when you are in Germany you
will be Lukas Wagner.”
“Not Richard Wagner then ? He wrote the Ride Of the Valkyrie.”
“You play a good game of chess Wagner.”
Tim had never played chess in his life but this was
not life was it ? What was the date of his discharge from Her Majesty’s Prison Becklington ? Did he have
a discharge certificate from The Great War ?
What about Vietnam ? What about a school leaving certificate ? Everything
was merging together, was this part of Miss Pearce’s plan ?
“The first thing you have to do when we arrive
Wagner is to sign The Official Secrets Act then you will officially be a member
of SOE.”
“SOE ?”
“Special Operations Executive, I cannot tell
you anymore until you have signed The Official Secrets Act.”
“Where are we going ?”
“I will answer that for you Wagner, we are
going to a safe house.” Miss Pearce enigmatically
replied.
Only twelve people read the actual blog. Twenty-seven checked it out on Facebook and two even went so far as to say they liked it.
I do want to run this project right accross 2021 and plan to call it LIFE IS A NOVEL. It can ONLY happen if I can gather the right support around me, if I can not then nothing is going to happen.
For the next few days I am going to carefully count the number of words I write. To complete one million words across the year I need to write an average of 2,740 a day. Yesterday I fell short by 113. No big deal.
I have to be certain that if I do undertake the challenge I do not mess up part way through. Currently I am writing a book THE KA OF TIMOTHY FORD-NEWMAN. You KA is the spirit which lives within your body.
Yesterday I really was into the swing of writing the chapter A PHOTOGRAPH OF MUD AND DEATH. I scribbled all of the words into a notepad then typed them up later. As I typed I listened on YouTube to Beethoven's Für Elise, the music changed some of the words and I believe drove a spirit into the story line.
As I went to bed I knew I was going to find it hard making the end of that chapter flow into the next: AN UPDATED VIEW I did not think today was going to be prolific and certainly I would not reach anything like 2,740 words. Then around 4am an idea hit me to skip everything and write the final chapter. From this I would work backwards to where I left off yesterday.
The title I intended to use for that final chapter was THE SECRET PICTURE but this changed. Half awake and half asleep, the KA in me was listening to The Warsaw Piano Concerto.
This was the theme from a film DANGEROUS MOONLIGHT and that now becomes the name for my final chapter. 5.30am I composed the opening fifty-five words.
The gun pointed to the back of his head, Timothy
Ford-Newman was drifting in and out of consciousness. Just a microsecond
separated the pulling of the trigger to a bullet smashing his scull then
tearing through his brain. The Ka now moved to a permanent residence where it
was greeted with a warm golden glow.
I just know I am going to write many, many, many more today. Perhaps I will even finish the chapter.
Here are the 4,465 words from the second chapter in the book including that I wrote yestetrday. I hasten to say this is a DRAFT. It may not make complete sense to you without reading the opening chapter but see what you think:
Beethoven's Für Elise was not a long enough piece to use whil typing up all of the text so I also listened to Moonlight Sonata.
A PHOTOGRAPH OF MUD AND DEATH
It was not the picture that Tim expected to
see. It was not a single picture, as Tim turned it and the light came in from a
different angle so it changed.
“Major Ford – Newman.”
“Colonel ? What brings you to the medical
post ?”
“You do Major, things are quiet now and this
is the first opportunity I have had to come and speak with you.”
“With me Colonel ?”
“Don’t pretend Major, you know what we have
to discuss.”
Major Timothy Ford – Newman knew very well
what Colonel Rioch wanted to discuss, needed to discuss, had to discuss. He
knew where he was and when he was but not why he was there, he had expected to
be somewhere else.
“We have a problem Major.”
Doctor Ford-Newman knew this only too well
but being a doctor overrode Major Ford – Newman. “I am a doctor Colonel, I can
not sign a certificate saying a man is fit and well when he is not.”
“I appreciate that but the condemned man had
to die, he was a coward.”
“He was a child Colonel.”
“He was old enough to serve his country and
old enough to die, die he did in front of a firing squad. The paperwork has to
be tidied up.”
Tim did not answer.
“The paperwork has been signed, both the
fitness to die and the death certificate.”
That did not make any sense. “I haven’t
signed anything.”
“I know Doctor, the sergeant in charge of the
firing squad signed on your behalf.”
“No !”
“No Doctor he should not have done that but unless
I ignore his actions, unless you accept the situation he will face a court
martial.”
“And you will shoot him !”
“No Doctor he will not be shot but his life
will be marred.”
Doctor Ford-Newman thought carefully before
speaking again. He then thought again.
“Colonel I am a doctor. Being a major in the
British Army is incidental. I serve my country by doing all I can to save
lives, it is against my sworn medical ethic to take a life. If you are able to
assign someone other than myself to sign certificates at all future executions
for cowardice then I will set aside the who unfortunate incident and the actions
of the sergeant.”
Colonel Rioch thought carefully before
speaking again. He then thought again.
“I will ensure you are never again required
to undertake such a task Doctor.” Throughout the conversation Rioch had tried
to call Timothy Doctor, only at the beginning using his military rank. He now
used the word task deliberately and not duty.
The two shook hands.
The first aid station was a small dugout in
the side of the trench, the walls and roof were supported by wood while the
floor was made of mud. Too much of Major Ford-Newman’s work was certifying dead
the bodies recovered from no man’s land.
“It’s a Blighty,” Tim said. “Private Albon
you are going home.”
The soldier could not hear him, shell
explosion after shell explosion had damaged his hearing beyond the limit where
it would be safe for him to remain on the front.
“Will his hearing get better Major ?” The
medic asked.
“It will improve but it will never recover
properly. He is on his way home.”
“I will process him Sir. There are two more
cases waiting for your attention.”
Two young soldiers stood in the mud outside
the first aid post.
“Trench foot Sir.”
“What’s your name soldier ?”
“Robert but everyone calls me Bob.”
Bob could hardly stand and sitting down was
painful. He moved to take off his boots.
“Leave them Bob, I am going to ship you back
to the hospital. They can take your boots off. How old are you ?”
“Twenty-three Sir.”
Twenty-three and he would be lucky if only
one of his feet was amputated. Another Blighty, another survivor.”
Lance Corporal Foster, also twenty-three
years of age, would not be going back to Blighty, he would live to fight and
die another day. His uniform was torn where he had caught himself on barbed
wire. His flesh was ripped but this was not a Blighty, he would be patched up
there and then in the first aid station. The mud would continue to be his home.
Would Tim one day receive a Blighty ?He did not want to go back to England. He was
a doctor and his place was exactly where he was. Was he a doctor ?His Ka was and his Ka was doing a good job.
Please do not let the dream end, not while there are people in the photograph
whose lives he could save.
Rats, there were rats in the trenches and
rats spread disease. God forbid with the limited resources available to him that
Doctor Tim would have to deal with any plague in the soldiers under his care.
Those under his care were in the trench stretching for a mile in either
direction. Which would be the better way to die ? Shot, killed in an explosion
as a shell hit the trench or the plague ?
“Colonel. What brings you back ?”
“We need to talk.”
“We did talk, just a few hours ago.”
“A few hours ago ? I was last here a week
ago.”
Was he ?To Tim’s Ka it was only a few hours ago. Major Ford – Newman thought
quickly.“I am sorry Sir, life can be a
bit crazy up here. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“That is why I am here Doctor. I assigned
your former duty to First Aid Station D7.”
“I am grateful for that Sir.”
“I respect your position Doctor, you are a
good man, a great man. You have served our country at this post for a long time.”
“Seven weeks Sir.”
“That Doctor is a very long time. I think
your abilities would be better employed behind the lines at the hospital.”
“No !”
“Doctor ?”
“I am sorry Sir, please Sir do not transfer
me I need to be here.”
Colonel Rioch was not going to be dissuaded,
Doctor Ford-Newman’s skills and dedication to work would repair more lives at
the hospital than in his present location. With the rank of Major he would be
appointed Chief Surgeon. Remaining on the front line his life was in danger and
he was covering just a small area of the trench. Men were being lost every day,
Doctor Tim could not be allowed to become one of them.
“My name is Michael,” The Colonel said. “Can
we set aside rank where I am your superior officer ? Can we please set aside
ability where you outrank me by a mile and a half ? Can we talk as two men who
are friends ?
“Sir ?”
Rioch shook his head. “Michael please.”
He went on to explain his thinking then as
one friend asking another friend to do him a big favour he asked Timothy to
become the hospital’s chief surgeon. He tried to create a situation where
Doctor Ford-Newman or Major Ford-Newman could refuse. He would become chief
surgeon at the hospital, he would live there. Tim was prepared to do as his
friend was asking but he would not leave the trench.
“You have a batman Tim ?”
“Not really, not in the military way, just a
medic who looks out for me.”
“What rank is he ?”
“A private.”
“Then promote him to lance corporal and bring
him with you to the hospital.”
Tim agreed. He agreed but what about the
picture ?Would it change with the light
and view the hospital ? He was indeed leaving the aid station but he was not
going away from the trench so the picture did not need to change.
Duties would commence the next day, Tim would
rest but he could not sleep. He was already asleep and dreaming so it was just
not possible to sleep while already dreaming. It was the Ka who had been
working at the aid station and it would be the Ka working as chief surgeon at
the hospital.
There were nurses at the hospital, female
nurses. Tim had not seen a woman for a while. He would change the way he had
been working and draw upon the nursing skills of these ladies but that would be
tomorrow. Right now he was going to sleep. Rest and sleep. Rest, sleep and
dream.
How many lives had Doctor Tim saved ?Not enough. How many dead soldiers had he
managed to recover and send to a dignified burial ? In the scheme of things
hardly any ? Why could not those dignified burials be at home in England ?The logistics were in place, every day bring
more young men to the font, every day bringing more ammunition. Why could the
empty transport not take back the dead ? No political will.
Most of those who gave their young lives in
this futility of war sank into the mud to rot and be lost for ever. Many, too
many, were in pieces which separately sank into the mud to be lost. By day
Doctor Timothy Ford-Newman would save as many lives as his medical skills would
allow. Then by night Major Ford-Newman would rescue the dead from the hell of
the mud to help them towards rest in a dignified grave.
“Corporal, are you feeling well ?”
“Just the change Sir, being away from the
trenches and now dry inthe hospital. I
am feeling a little chesty.”
Tim did not have the same symptoms. He and
his batman medic had left the trench at the same time. He would keep a special
eye on his colleague.
The hospital ward was vast and extended
across two floors. “How many of these are
Blighties ?”
“Sadly less than half,” the nurse explained.
Tim thought he recognised her. He knew he recognised her. Who was she ? “It
would be better if an injury resulted in an arm or a leg being amputate than
being fixed so the soldier can return to fight and die. A cat may have nine
lives but a soldier in this war has just one.”
Walking round the ward all of the patients
looked the same. Older men living in the bodies of youth. Those bodies of youth
became one, all merged into a single life.
“This is Private Gordon,” the nurse
explained. “He came in with a fever, he is responding well to treatment.”
“Gordon ?is that your Christian or surname ?”
“Private James Gordon Doctor, 178913 Private
James Gordon.”
“How old are you James ?”
“Nineteen.”
“What were you doing before the war ?”
“I was an apprentice toolmaker.”
“And I can tell from your accent that you
come from the same part of the world as I do.”
“Birmingham, Doctor ?”
“Born and bred,” Tim smiled as he thought
back to his time in England’s second city. Britain’s second city. Britain,
England the difference was confusing.”
“I am going to be able to go back and fight ?”
It was a statement and not a question. Tim
answered with a question. “Why would you want to go back to the mud and death ?”
“Because it is my duty Sir. Laying here in
hospital with nothing more than a cold is cowardice. They shoot men for being
cowards Sir.”
Doctor Timothy Ford-Newman knew that only too
well.
“I am not a coward Doctor.”
Doctor ?Sir ?Which was Tim ? Almost as
confusing as England and Britain.
“No you are not a coward Private Gordon. No
you are not a coward James.”
Way behind the lines, further back even than
the hospital. Senior officers were planning an offensive, another offence, to
kick off in forty-eight hours time. With
little fighting the hospital as quiet but the quiet had to be prepared for the
change forty-eight hours would bring. In those forty-eight hours the lucky few
would go home while the unlucky majority would return to mud and to death.
Forty-eight quiet hours to prepare if the
distant commanders had their way but not so if the enemy had different plans.
Indeed during that day the hospital was quiet
, with night the trench also quiet but the area between it and the enemy
location it was not quiet. It could not have been more busy.
Hundreds and hundreds, thousand and thousands
of soldiers from both sides were aimlessly walking about. They were all dead,
it was their spirits who Timothy was watching. The spirits of the dead, they
could see one another and Timothy could see them all but not a single spirit
could see him. Not a single spirit could see Doctor Timothy Ford-Newman and not
a single dead spirit could see Major Timothy Ford-Newman.
Although dead from wounds not a single spirit
showed any sign of injury. Their fatally wounded bodies lay in the mud, some on
the surface but most hidden yet Tim could see through the mud. He could see the
bodies even if they had been blown to dust.
Timothy reached into the filth below his feet
and picked up a man. With life exploded from his body the soldier was not
heavy. The doctor carried to him to the aid station where the army major
carefully placed him where in daylight he could be found. Twice more Tim
repeated his mission. The three were dead but they would not be forgotten and
their bodies would receive a proper burial.
Then, almost as an afterthought, Tim picked
up and carried an enemy German soldier to his trench. German ? Enemy ? What was
an enemy ? This enemy was as young and innocent as the British, should that be
English, soldier he had been trying to save. Enemy ? His family: mother,
father, brothers and sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles they were not going
to grieve their young relative as a name who had rotted in the mud and been
eaten by rats. As Tim placed him down a tear formed in his eye.
“Goodbye my friend, you are not my enemy.”
The guns were firing ahead of the offensive.
Back at the hospital it was difficult to speak above their thunder. Where the
fighting would happen the sound had to be deafening. It was deafening. Had not
Doctor Tim treated and sent back to England a soldier who had lost his hearing.
What was his name ? Tim could not remember.
“I am sorry I cannot hear you doctor.”
“Sorry Nurse, I will shout.” Nurse ? Time knew her from somewhere, what
was her name ?
How many guns were pounding the enemy. Enemy
? Just how many guns and shells were pounding young lives ? Those guns thundered all day and were still
firing as Timothy engaged upon his second night helping the dead.
“Good evening soldier.” Although in the middle of the world’s biggest
ever thunderstorm the guns did not take away the words which Tim heard clearly.
He looked towards the source of the words.
“Good evening soldier,” he replied. “Good evening German Soldier”, he
added silently.
The soldier, the German soldier, the enemy
soldier smiled gently. It was dark but the darkness did not obscure vision.
This soldier could see Timothy and Timothy could see the soldier. Around them
thousands of dead soldiers’ spirits were walking but none could see the duo. So
was this German soldier dead like the others ?
“Can I help you tonight Soldier ? Can I help you move the dead to their graves
?”
How did he know that was what Tim had been
doing. Soldier ? “My name is Timothy,” he said. “Tim.”
“And my name is David.”
“David ? That does not sound very German.”
“David is universal and crosses all
nationalities. David in the Bible was a Jew but he has been adopted by Christianity.
David is English, or should that be British, and David is German.”
Timothy instinctively reached out his hand
and offered it in friendship. David responded. Not only could they see one
another they could feel each other’s hand.
“Please come with me and help me save the
mass of tangled body parts in our trench.” When he said our trench he not
only meant his side in the war but included Tim in his invitation.
The guns were continuously pounding, why was
the other side not responding ? Instead young men were being mangled and torn.
Together the repatriated and rebuilt two of the mangled and torn towards a
dignified final end.
“You are a doctor are you not ?” David said.
“I am. Is that what you are doing in this war
?”
“Not quite, I am a doctor of horses, I am a veterinarian
taking care of the horses in the transport system.”
David a vet ?
Somehow Tim thought he should have known that.
Overnight they rescued more fallen, five on
each side.
“I will see you again tomorrow ?” David said
in part question and part confirming statement.
“I shall look forward to it my friend.”
How could anyone look forward to death ? It
was not the death Tim was looking forward to but dignity in death.
“Nurse can you come and help me ?”
Lance Corporal James Gordon was unwell and
this was not a cold or a heavy chest. Tim put his stethoscope to Batman Medic
Gordon’s chest. In another year it would be a century since the stethoscope was
invented.
“What can I do to help Doctor ?”
“Nurse Tanya can you check his temperature
and pulse then take his blood pressure.”
Tanya ?
Nurse Tanya ? How did Doctor
Timothy Ford-Newman know her name was Tanya ?
And where had he seen her before ?
“When did you last smoke David ?”
“I don’t smoke tobacco Sir, I do not like the
taste. Perhaps when this war is over someone will invent soothing that tastes
nicer to smoke.”
“Chocolate flavoured tobacco,” Nurse Tanya
smiled. “Ladies do not smoke but I would love a puff or two of chocolate
flavoured backy.”
“I need to run some tests before I can sign
the documentation,” Doctor Tim explained, “but if I am right you are going home.
You are going home to Blighty.”
“What is wrong with me Doctor ?”
Nurse Tanya looked to the patient, to Doctor
Timothy and then back as reassuringly as she could to lance Corporal James
Gordon.
“You have Tuberculosis but back in England
there are treatments.”
“TB !” Corporal James Gordon knew there were
treatments, the whole country knew of the disease. There were treatments to
extend life but no treatments to prolong it and no method of treatment to save
life.
“It is good to see you Tim, David greeted his
friend.”
“Hello again.”
“A pleasure to meet up with a fellow ghost.”
“Whatever did he mean by that ? Tim dismissed it thinking it to be a
reference to their mission.
The guns were not quite so loud, just
occasional shells but their numbers were
not be counted in single digits. Why was the other side, why was David’s side
in the war, not responding ?
Music, beautiful music could be heard in the
air. Softly it took away the terrible sound of the guns. Could the spirits of
the dead hear it ? Could David hear it ?
He could.
“Beethoven,” David said, “he was my
countryman but he gave his music not to Germany, he gave it to the whole world.
During this war people all round the world listen to Beethoven.”
The music the two friends could hear was
Moonlight Sinatra. Although Tim had not heard it before he knew its melody
well. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata but there was no moonlight that night only
the flashes of the guns. During that night the moon was too ashamed to show its
face.
Work began on the British, or was it the
English, side of the shame. Handful ls of dust were taken from the mud and
reformed into a soldier. He was older than the predominately young mens’
spirits walking round oblivious to Tim and David’s presence. Did this
particular solder have a wife and family at
home ? Had they yet heard of his death ?
How many children would not grow up without their father ?
Two more rescued then David spoke. “If there
is a god,” he said, “then on whose side is he ?”
Tim did not hesitate with his answer. “There
is no god but if there was he would without question be on the side of the
devil.” There was no god and t here was no devil but if there was the devil would
certainly be smiling.
“Your king and my Keiser are cousins.”
“So is Tzar Nicholas of Russia.”
“Why must so many die to enable their
squabble ?”
“Who understands war ? Who understands this or any war ?”
“Perhaps we should have been born Americans,”
David suggested.
“America will join the war sooner or later.”
“The only safety in war,” David added, “is to
be a ghost.” He was right.
“A ghost David, are you a ghost ?”
“Of course I am, you are a ghost are you not
?
What was a ghost ? Tim decided to reveal his ignorance. “What
about all these dead soldiers ?”
David smiled, he was good at smiling. “These
are not ghosts, they are only spirits.”
“Lost spirits,” Tim said.
The music s topped playing, time to return
along their different pathways.
“The offensive has started,” Tanya said.
Of course it had, attacks on the enemy line
always started at dawn.
“The ward will soon be full again,” Nurse
Tanya explained,
“And I will have a full list of patients to
operate on,” Chief Surgeon Doctor major Timothy Ford-Newman sighed.
As the word medic was screamed for help
almost as many times as there were guns firing fell, as they fell they hoped
somebody would respond to the call for help. The person calling for help passed
forward where soon someone would scream medic in the hope help came to their
aid.
How many injured would actually have a medic
rescue an individual and take him to the first aid station ? How many would
survive time at the first aid station and be transported to the hospital ? How
many would fall, how many would be seen to fall without another calling for a
medic ? How many would have a medic
attend ? How many would die and await rescue in death from David and Timothy ?
Doctor Timothy Ford-Newman cut away the blood
stained fabric of his patient’s trousers. In his own trouser pocket was the
photograph, he could not see it but how was the light catching its image ?
There were three bullet holes. How many shots could a machine gun fire in a
single second. Two of the bullets were lodged in the leg, Doctor Timothy would
have to remove them. The third had passed right through the leg leaving two
wounds. Three shots, four open wounds. How many shots of pain did the patient
feel ?
“Will I live Doctor ?”
“You most certainly will. Have a little sleep
and dream while I operate on you.”
One bullet did not always mean a Blighty, two
probably but not always certain, three that was definite.
What was David doing ? How many of his horses were being hit by the
advancing fire so needing his veterinary help ?
Surely any horses would be fare behind the line to be in any danger but
something must have happened to Veterinary Surgeon David at some time for his
friend to have become a ghost.
The next patient had been shot in the
shoulder, his right shoulder.
Patient after patient but just a fraction of
those who were being injured during the offensive and a tiny fraction of those
laying on the ground waiting to die without any help ? How many ?
How many had been overtake with fear only to
have run away and ensure their lives would end in another way ? What became of
those who were shot at dawn ?
Bullet would after bullet wound. This one
right through the palm of a right hand. It had cut the tendons of three
fingers. Tim hoped his patient was not an artist or a concert pianist. What job
could a person do without a properly functioning right hand ? He certainly
could not fire a gun. Tim hoped his patient was not left handed.
Throughout each operation Nurse Tanya was at
his side. She had not spoken very much, instinctively knowing what assistance the
doctor needed from her. What she then said hit Doctor Tim harder than any
machine gun bullet.
“Have you heard about the ghosts of Nomansland
?”
Doctor Timothy Ford Newman froze. He did not
freeze physically as a stature but his mind was frozen as solid as an iceberg.
“What ?”
“Somebody, it has to be a ghost, is each
night collecting dead bodies from Nomansland and placing them into our trenches.”
“That sounds to me like a myth.”
“The evidence is in the mortuary wing. The
bodies have been brought back from the front line.”
“Surely not, they must have died where they
were found.”
“That is not what the evidence says Doctor,
everyone thinks it is a ghost. The Ghost of Nomansland.”
Timothy did not believe what he was being
told but he knew it was true.
Just what was a ghost ? Doctor Timothy Ford-Newman, Major Timothy
Ford-Newman was not a ghost. At that precise moment he was a spirit, he was a
Ka living and working on the Astral Plane. But what about when he went to sleep
at night ? How could a Ka, how could a spirit which had already left a person’s
physical being to exist on the Astral Plane go to sleep again and have a second spiritual form
leave the original ? Logic said it could
only happen in the second spirit was a ghost.
David was a ghost. He was a ghost. It was
going to be hard to sleep thatnight.
Tim felt something strange pressing against
his right thigh. He could not reach down to touch the area as his hands were
fully involved in sewing up the patient’s wound. It was not a scratch his leg
needed, this was not an itch but an ache. For how long had he been standing at
the operating table ? A long time, that was for certain, this was only a touch
of cramp.
