Anton's Ideas

Anton Wills-Eve on world news & random ideas

ONCE YOU READ ME, NOW YOU WON’T


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fleeting/”>Fleeting</a&gt;

ONCE YOU READ ME, NOW YOU WON’T

I was tempted to title this ‘the last post’, but only for a fleeting moment. I’m never that pessimistic! A very apposite title for this blog prompt though. My visits to WordPress have recently been very ‘fleeting’ and so I feel I owe all my readers and friends an explanation. Here it is. As you may know, a couple of months ago I had my fifth stroke, my cancer has once again become aggressive, my spinal fusion has partially paralysed one leg and this, added to three other critical illnesses from which I suffer, has made my doctors rather gloomy. Ergo I have been unable to produce much original work lately and, worse, it now seems that this will continue to be the case for quite a while.

I can make the odd comment on your posts, but have been told it could be another six months, if at all, before I can contribute anything of substance myself. Nevertheless I am able to continue editing two books which are lying round, almost finished, and finishing a spiritual autobiography which I have been putting off for some time. I may yet post that (Posthumously??). Meanwhile, perhaps the odd short verse to amuse, but not much else. If Trump goes any further, however, it may well rouse me to make it a last trump for both of us.

But for those of you with humour and imagination,  you’ll be glad to know I can play some music with six fingers, but it is so frustrating I’ve been told it’s bad for me! Anyway, what would be very welcome would be something like this.,

a kindly thought to me from you

and maybe even a prayer or two,

only, of course, from those who do.

but if you find it very hard to pray,

please say twice as many, anyway,

for, after all, one may work one day!

Love you all

Anton.

CLUBS ARE TRUMPS DIAMONDS ARE HILARY’S


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/divide/”>Divide</a&gt;

Well I had to get better by super Tuesday even though typing with only four fingers!

CLUBS ARE TRUMPS’ DIAMONDS ARE HILARY’S

So now we know the new President. The first women to call the oval office her own. Okay, Bernie may run alongside for a while but she’s made it. And won’t it be a wonderful pair of of firsts! She’ll be the first female President of the US and Bill will be the first First Gentleman. Yeah he’s been president, but never top man. But hang on, why am I assuming everything is done and dusted eight months before the nation votes? It’s obvious.

I have no idea why the US has such an insane method of nominating candidates, but when Donald gets past the number of delegates he needs  they have to follow him through the nomination process. Surely the GOP realises that he hasn’t a hope in hell of winning a popular vote against anyone because he is ignorant, brain dead, big mouthed and unpleasant. On top of that his own party don’t like him and don’t want him. The tragedy is he hasn’t got the charisma of a Kennedy so nobody can be bothered to assassinate him.

I have been covering US elections since Stevenson and Eisenhower first had a go at each other in 1952 and this is by far the easiest campaign to wrap up so early. The unelectable  will retire to his golf clubs while the only politician with any domestic and foreign policy experience will walk into the White House with diamonds round her neck. I was looking forward to a fun election year, too. Oh well at least my beloved Broncos won the super bowl. If the Pirates win the World Series it could yet be my greatest American year.

But going back to 1950 – I may only have been ten years old but was writing European reaction pieces on the merits of the candidates as UPI was rather pushed for informed comment over here in those days – I know one thing. I never thought that in my lifetime I would see first a catholic President, then a coloured one and finally a lady. The Saturday Evening post had only prepared me for Norman Rockwell’s images of life over the water!

AWE

TWO FUNNY STORIES


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/alma-mater/”>Alma Mater</a>

just to show I’m still here I thought you’d like a couple of jokes.

TWO FUNNY STORIES

 

  1. Best dumb blonde story ever.

There were two pretty  young blonde  girls working for the council. The first one went down the grass verge beside the road and dug a hole every ten yards. Then the second one followed up and filled it in with the earth the first one had dug up. When they had done seven of them a passer by couldn’t resist asking the first girl what on earth they were doing. She replied ,

“Well there are usually three of us but the middle girl who plants the trees phoned in sick today.”

2. A new inspector at the mental asylum asked the chief doctor how they decided whether a patient should be kept there or allowed home. The doctor explained.

“We fill a normal bath with water and then give the patient a teaspoon, a coffee cup and a bucket. We ask them to empty the bath.”

“I see.”said the inspector, “If they use the bucket they are sane and you let them leave.”

The doctor looked at him sadly and said “No. we only let them go if they pull the plug out. Your bed’s by the window”

AWE

PATRICK FOWLDS’ LAST LESSON


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/quote- me/”>Quote Me</a>

another repeat to keep up the numbers.

RECITATIVE 12

PATRICK FOWLDS’ LAST LESSON

Conticuere omnes intentique ora tenebant.

Johnson! Yes you, boy. Put that mobile phone away and pay attention to the text. This is a Latin class not a computer lesson. These words of Virgil were written two thousand years ago and deserve your full respect. The language may virtually be dead, but I still teach it because of the wonderful stories that have been written in it!”

At this another fifteen year old interrupted, his questioning hand waving loftily above his head.

Yes Mitchel?”

Please Sir, how many years have you been teaching Latin, Sir?” Patrick Fowlds could see genuine interest in the eyes of the pupil so answered him honestly.

Since I was twenty two. That is forty four years ago and I shall be retiring at the end of this year. I only hope my subject does not retire with me. It is full of such super tales.”

The class actually began to feel a little sorry for their teacher, so often the butt of schoolboy humour and even laughed at when his laboured jokes completely misfired. He greatly envied those popular masters who also taught cricket and football and were the heroes of their students. In recent years he also had to compete in the popularity stakes with young female teachers who had even more enticing ways to attract their charges. The staff in general tolerated rather than encouraged Patrick to join in their amusements, but it is probably true to say that hardly anyone would miss him when he left.

How many years had he told Mitchel? Was it really forty four? Well at least he had spent those years in the company he liked more than anything else – his classics books. He cast a glance round the form room before continuing. It was odd, he felt a bit dizzy and his tie was tighter than usual under his collar. He tried to continue the lesson but had to ask,

Sims! Could you open that window by you please? It’s getting very stuffy here.” The boys watched transfixed as Mr.Fowlds suddenly clapped a hand to his chest and almost shouted out the first line of the second book of The Aeneid again. “Conticuere omnes, intentique ora tenebant!” Then he crumpled in a heap on the floor of the dais in front of the blackboard. All twenty three boys rushed to his aid, one of them dialing for an ambulance on his cell phone. Harper tried to give him some cola which he kept in his desk, then just before another pupil suggested trying to resuscitate him, Mitchel asked the dying man, out of sympathy more than interest,

Tell us, Sir. That line you’ve just read, what does it mean, Sir?” And with his last breath he told them,

It says…it means … all gathered round him eagerly waiting to hear the story unfold.”

But the boys never heard the story; not how King Agamemnon sent a fleet of a thousand ships across the Hellespont to bring back his daughter, Helen, who had fled to her lover Paris in Troy. Of how the Greeks entered the city via a Trojan Horse, nor Cassandra’s prophecy, or Achilles dying with an arrow in his heel, and the towers of Illium crashing down and killing king Priam.

They knew nothing of Helen watching as her lover Paris was killed by Hector, or Laocoon and his sons being crushed to death by the sea serpent for foretelling their nation’s doom. And, above all, Aeneas’ flight through secret passages and tunnels to escape and fulfil his great mission, to sail the world, as it was then known, even if it meant deceiving Queen Dido, and finally establishing ‘the city on the seven hills’ that was destined to become the Empire of Rome.

No, Patrick Fowlds took the greatest story ever written in verse to his grave with him. But that evening after school, Mitchel stopped off in the school library and took out an English translation of the book. He felt he owed the old man that much.

AWE

BODY AND SOUL


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/yawn/”>( YAWN )</a>

slowly getting better. meanwhile another repeat.

RECITATIVE 3

        BODY AND SOUL

In May, the lovers’ month, before day’s dawn

My soul first saw our world one Sunday morn

As I, gently, from my mother’s womb was torn.

My eyes were shut, yet my soul could clearly see

The severed cord that had fed and bonded me.

Preparing the body in which it ever was to be

My other self, protecting and loving but also sad

When my will was stronger than it and I was bad.

And yet I loved its heavy censure for I was daily glad

Whenever united with God in prayer and holy love.

As I grew up my soul bound me to Heaven above.

But even a soul can wield iron fist in velvet glove

If correction is the way it shows its sacred care

For our salvation and makes us, in confession, bare

Our forbidden actions – be she the fairest of the fair.

If how we love is outside God’s laws, and thus a sin,

The soul is our conscience which draws us back within

Heaven’s family, God’s children, His kith and kin.

Yet love twixt boy and girl is beautiful and pure

If they in constancy let their passionate hearts endure

A lifetime of keeping their loving vows and so ensure

Temptations of the flesh lead them never so astray

That lust or jealousy leads either one to have to pay

The sorry price of admitting faltering, even for a day.

The soul, our sacred messenger and spiritual friend,

Knows our worst misdeeds. It tells us how to mend

Our ways and thus try to live our lives unto their end

In such a way that God will be with us for all time

And smile on how we tried, ‘oft slipping, still to climb

The steepest mountains to our final goal sublime.

But, if I can live a life from which all bad deeds are hurled

Back to hell. Then may  I truly say, with all hope unfurled,

I paid for all  my sins and so all is well with the world.

AWE

EXCUSE ME ARE YOU A POLICEMAN?


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/witness-protection/”>Witness Protection</a>

continuing  my repeats  while recovering

RECITATIVE 2

 

EXCUSE ME ARE YOU A POLICEMAN?

We were faced with a crisis once, the whole family, and it was my little boy Freddie, aged eleven, who whispered in his sister Ginny’s, ear an idea of how to save us all. She ran to the front door and shouted, “Help, Rape! Rape!” 

 

Imagine for a start our dilemma. We had just received a last demand for payment on an item we still owed about two hundred dollars on. At first sight Ginny’s action outlined above would appear completely useless. But just think. Who would you get flocking round your house?

The Police? Yes that’s a good answer. About ten of them, three women and seven men. The chief male cop burst into our hall screaming, “Let me get at the bastard. Where is the little girl? ” This is the point where granny came in very useful. 

“I was the victim, officer, 52 years ago. You know, down by the canal on a sunny evening. Young Jimmy Johnson went just that bit too far, you know how fellas do, and I whacked him a backhander that sent him straight into the water amongst those iron girders and other rubbish. He didn’t try that again, did you Jimmy?”

“No I Goddam didn’t, wheezed grandad from his Norman Rockwell pose in the kitchen nook. But see here, officer. Next time I saw Jessie here she was awful nice and forgave me and was real sorry for cutting my leg so badly. We told our parents about my acident and they left us at home, even though we was too young, and that’s when we first had it off, while she was bandaging me up. Tricky position, officer, you should try it some day.”

“Then the woman cop said to the chief, “Heston, your weapon’s slipping out,…..”

“Yeah, just what Jessie said to me , ma’m,” grandad butted in and effectively closed the conversation. But think how much we benefitted. The newspaper  reporters were round en masse, and they got quite a different picture. My eighteen year old girl was crying, prostrate across her mother’s lap, and I was screaming obscenities throught the open French windows into an empty garden.

“Yes sir, he was about six foot seven and muscles like a wrestler. Little Ginny here didn’t have a chance ’til my wife spun round with the skillet and nearly knocked him out. But he still got away. All these police are chasing after him even now. These are just the few who stayed to make sure we was alright.”

Then A lot of the people who lived in our street started using our house as a museum, open to the public for just one day, and started calculating the value of all our possessions. But when Hal Billbender tried to pocket my silver pen holder enough was enough and I grabbed a cop and said “That fellow looks very like the guy”, and pointed at Hal. I’ve never seen a man put a silver penholder back on a desk so fast. But a few of the others got the message and a lot of our things were given back in haste when the felons saw we really were prepared to shop them.

Eventually the crisis cooled down as my daughter refused a medical examination, although grandrad got quite chatty and suggested the chief cop ought to have one. He also asked the chief woman cop if she’d heard the one about the police station that put up a notice ‘man wanted for rape’ and they got a hundred volunteers in ten minutes. Through gritted teeth she told him she had, many times. One of the reporters had heard it too and thinking it was a party at which such stories should be told  the female cop smacked her baton across the back of his hand breaking his quarter bottle of bourbon. The neighbours gradually left. Finally at one in the morning everything was back to normal and we went to bed.

The next day the local papers were full of “Brave Ginny beats off band of abusers” and such like headlines, but it was a huge help at eleven am. That was when a smart dressed man in a necktie and glasses rang the door bell. I asked him what he wanted.

“Oh how do you do Sir. I am sure this won’t take a moment. I believe you have gotten some two hundreed dollars behind in your … Oh my God.”

“Ginny appeared behind me with a hankie to her face and grasping my arm. Not more of them dad. Oh please I couldn’t recite it all again.”

The impeccably dressed man told me he would not dream of intruding at such an awful time for us and told me not think any more about the bill.

I didn’t. But I often think about how to deal with a crisis.

AWE

RECITATIVE 1


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/reason-to-believe/”>Reason to Believe

after yesterday’s disaster I am repeating some of my favourites as I cannot type properly following my stroke ten days ago. I shall resume proper blogging in about 2 weeks more. worst is I can’t play the piano!. My wife typed this, wish me luck. 

 

                   RECITATIVE  1

 

Heartbreak Daybreak

The starless, sunless stroke of daybreak
Was not the only sunless overture that day.
The place beside me, as I awoke early,
Was deserted. My lover had gone away.

The night before, as she seduced me,
I ignored my heart and placed my trust
In her passionate words of true devotion,
Believing they betokened love not lust.

Tears flooded down my sunken cheeks
As the sun appeared in the Eastern sky.
Yet even then I could not bring my mind
To picture her face and to say goodbye.

Now, I wonder, will my soul ever know
So cancerous an emotion or heart so sore?
If she never returns how can I forgive her?
For I would, she has only to open my door.

No note, no sign that all she wanted
Was carnal pleasure at my expense.
She was lovely, as only those we love are;
Against her smile I had no defence.

The dawn, to morning, fast is changing,
The heat of the day will soon burn all.
And yet my heart will stay cold as ice
And my hopes as empty as trees in Fall.

Darling, I beg you, return again to hold me.
Please let us enjoy one more night of desire.
For then, if again, you should try to leave me,
I shall feel no chill while rekindling our fire.

AWE

 

LIFE LONG LETS LTD.


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/worst-case-scenario/”>Worst Case Scenario</a>

a dream under anaesthetic for major surgery

                                      LIFE LONG LETS LTD.

I was walking along this dreary suburban road in a town I had never see before and the whole place was deserted with the shops all closed and no people in sight. I was frightened and lost and felt a panic attack of loneliness and desertion coming on. Then I was suddenly in front of a real estate agent’s window which had only two advertisements showing. On the left hand window was  the following.

INCREDIBLE OFFER note terms and conditions at the discretion of the landlord.

2. Downhill Way,Gomorrah. And 22, Fast Lane, Sodom

Attractive basement apartments to let for incredibly low rent. They guarantee you centrally heated two room accommodation with opportunity to try them out for an initial period before moving in permanently. On signing the contract you will be given use of a free booze stocked fridge bar, regular visits from friends of either sex with overnight sleeping rights if desired. Also as much gourmet food as you can eat. Each apartment has a free television channel with all the porn you want. Also gamblers will be staked for as much as they wish, with a guarantee of winning big pots at least once a week. The landlord’s decision is final in any disputes arising over living conditions once permanent tenancy applies.

The rent is the minimal charge of just one soul, but please note. Once you have moved in permanently there is no cancellation or get out clause. 

The other window had the following advertisement and between the two was a large glass door with two salesmen each touting for custom. On the left was a man with horns above his ears and on the right a man all in white, a gold shining light round his head. His advertisement read.

BEST APARTMENTS EVER – and ever, Amen.

1. Paradise Buildings, Happy Valley.

Penthouse suite apartments to rent. Beautiful views over hillside with happy shepherds and permanently contented sheep. No charge if suitable applicant is prepared to live and work with fun team of charity workers. CV essential and must include proof of reasonable period of good work. Samaritan experience an advantage. Landlord noted for his forgiving nature and ability to get on with anyone who wants to help him. Hence his special monthly fatted calf dinners for all his prodigal sons and daughters. Also many occupants of the block find they meet up with old friends and are guaranteed they can be happy with them for ever and ever.

NB. As no rent is charged there is no deposit, everyone is taken in good faith.

Then both men looked at me and said in unison. “You have to pick one, there is nowhere else to go.” I still don’t know whether the operation was a success as I have yet to wake up. I don’t want to go to the left  but feel I am not good enough to deserve the right. I feel very odd indeed, my soul suspended between the two.

AWE

RESTSOLUTION


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/resolved/”>Resolved</a&gt;

a brief memory

RESTSOLUTION

I resolved to resist loving fair Chloe for a year,

Though success cost me many a sigh and a tear.

And yet, on reflection, I am quite sure I was right.

As I slept so very soundly throughout every night.

AWE

PRESENT TENSE


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/write-here-write-now/”>Write Here, Write Now</a>

I think I managed the prompt .

 

                  PRESENT TENSE

I can feel a phobic panic attack about to start,

And expecting it is the most frightening part.

I cannot escape as it relentlessly draws near,

Apprehension is far worse than the final fear.

 

By then helpless terror has me in its grasp,

Choking I cannot shout, or breathe or gasp.

I am at the mercy of all I irrationally dread;

Oh. God please take me. Would I were dead!”

 

I cannot move, screwed to where I stand

Unable to seek help with voice or hand.

Instinctively I fight, faint, fall, and sweat,

I Suffer awful mental pain, and yet…

 

Now, when it is over, and once again I’m sane,

And have restored my control of limbs and brain,

I try hard to relax, but remain totally quite numb

Mind and  body awaiting the next attack to come!

AWE

MY MIDNIGHT STROKE


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/stroke-of-midnight/”>Stroke of Midnight</a>

I went to bed early last night, so here’s an old one !

                                      MY MIDNIGHT STROKE

    This story of a New Year revel takes me back many moons to the thirty first of December when I was seventeen and a half and left to my own devices at the year’s close for the first time in my life. My grandmother was on a world tour, my father on business in America, my sister staying with two school friends and my mother in hospital feeling very cut up after some serious surgical intervention. Being Scottish mama insisted one should always usher in the new year. So, true to family tradition, at around eight pm that evening I set out around the cinemas of our capital city to find myself an usherette.

    An usherette, in the Britain in which I grew up, was the girl in the cinema with a torch who showed you to your seat if you arrived in the middle of a film. During various intermissions she would double up as the popcorn and ice cream seller. If you went to a really posh cinema in London’s West End a quite superior harpy would take your coat and hang it up for you, but such luxuries were seldom found in the suburbs. I lived in a very rich suburb, but this largesse did not extend to palaces of black and white screens and giggling back row couples. The Odeon was a popular place for cuddles in the back row stalls and I felt sure I would be able to find an usherette to my liking. My sole aim was to take her somewhere for a midnight drink after the last film and keep up the family tradition.

As luck would have it the main film that weekend was Frank Sinatra and Debbie Reynolds in ‘The Tender Trap’. Are any of you old enough to remember this run of the mill musical? It followed the previous week’s showing of ‘White Christmas’, you know Danny Kaye, Bing Crosby, Rosemary Clooney and Vera Ellen making the ultimate Christmas film of all time. What we had to put up with when we were young! But back to my nocturnal pursuits. As I bought my ticket and entered the cinema the usherette came up to me to light my way to a seat when she saw who I was. Have you ever stiffled an exclamation of joyous surprise just as Frank and Debbie were about to embrace? It goes like this.

    “My God, Anton!”

    “ShShSh”

    I, sotto voce, “Kate! But you’re far too young to do this when there may be X rated films on!”

    “Oh,”shshshsh, “Sorry! Thanks, but I can easily look old enough when I have to!”

   “Not twenty one you can’t!”

   “Look, do you want to park your Arkansas or shall I call the manager and have you thrown out?”       Totally muffled guffaws from both parties. I slid into the very back row just two seats along as the first five were empty. I also skillfully switched off Kate’s torch. Then I whispered in her ear as I pulled her into the seat next to me,

   “I bet they paid you before the last house and this is just a one week holiday job. The manager will probably even have gone to a party by now. They never get full houses on New Year’s Eve. Am I right?” She nodded.

   “Then, my sweet, you have just gone off duty and when this rubbish ends in twenty minutes we needn’t wait for the newsreel and ads we can just leave.”

    “Oh, can we? And what makes you think I .. oh,..oh… no stop it. Well, I suppose it is New Year. …mmm…..okay you win. Where shall we go?”

    An arm slid round her shoulders and I snatched a kiss on her neck while starting to whisper…”Back to my place. I have 37 empty rooms. The family are all away. We can tell your mum we’re at a party.”

    “Can we? Some cheek! ….oh,oh… yes,… whose party, Anton? She knows your mum’s ill. Is your elder sister throwing a bash?” I smiled.

    “No, she’s round at Linda’s for the night, but I feel too Garboesque to join anyone. Well not including you if you are all alone at such a time. So sad.”

   “Don’t do that!… We’d better go now while I can still sneak out without being seen. Come on, Romeo. I never imagined tonight would be such fun. Have you brought your car?”

   “No, dad’s Jaguar. He won’t mind he’s in New York. Also if I’m driving I have to behave myself in the car.”

  “Never stopped you before, “ was her grinning answer. We arrived at my family mansion around half past ten. Now Kate was only a couple of months younger than I but even so I did not want to offer her any alcohol she was not used to. Apart from anything else I had known her for several years and liked her too much to take advntage of her. But she was not looking at the bottles of booze or even at me. Our Christmas decorations seemed to mesmerise her.

   “Oh, Anton you have done the house up beautifully. I have always loved this drawing room, but the streamers over the piano and the huge Christmas tree through the doors in the conservatory, it’s just like fairyland. What shall we do?” I suddenly realised I hadn’t got a clue. Television was a big no, no at New Year and I’ve explained the drinking problem, so I was just about to suggest we sit down on the huge, comfy sofa when she really surprised me.

    “Could I ask for a New Year’s gift? It won’t cost you anything.” I momentarily thought the floor was about to open up beneath me and take my morals with it. What did she want? I never thought she’d suggest it!

    “Anton everyone tells me how well you play the piano, and yet I have never heard you because ..well..oh dear this is awkward.. you see mummy says….”

    “I gave her an affectionately understanding look. “Don’t feel any embarrassment, Kate, I know what everyone says behind my back. ‘He’s got this terrible mental illness and can’t do anything he’s good at in front of other people’. Or some such rubbish. I’m right aren’t I?”

   A tear rolled down her cheek. “Yes, I am sorry. People do say awful things about you, but so very few of us have ever heard you play. It’s said you can only play for one person at a time. Is that true, and if it is could it be me tonight? Jacqueline says you are a brilliant classical pianist and I love really good music. Would you play me something? Please!” Actually I had never felt more like playing something I really liked. But I asked her to choose. I told her I had a fairly large repertoire. Then it was my turn to be staggered.

   “I believe you love Liszt and your music master has told people you can actually play the whole of the twelve transcendetal etudes right through. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse, and even if takes just over an hour we’ll still have time to cuddle up on the couch with a drink to bring in the new year”. I could hardly believe it. I agreed at once and we both settled down to an hour of quite unusual and unexpected pleasure.

   It was twenty minutes to midnight when I finished and went to the fridge and opened a bottle of Champagne. This won’t knock you out or make you ill will it?

   “After that music, nothing you could offer me could do anything other than make me happier than I’ve ever been. This is a great, great New Year’s Eve. My best ever, thank you.” So we snuggled up in front of the log fire, a glass of bubbly in our free hands and our other arms round each other as we just smiled and kissed affectionately for a few minutes. Then I turned on the radio to hear Big Ben chime midnight and say goodbye to 1959.

   “Got any really important resolutions, Kate?” I asked, gently brushing the blonde curls from in front of her eyes. She had a far away look in her eyes and troubled expression that was half really happy yet half sad.

   “I had thought I was going to be really good this year and try to help as many people in need as I could. But after tonight I have to be honest, Anton. What I really want in 1960 is to fall in love. But that’s not something you can plan or arrange, is it? It either happens or it doesn’t. What’s your resolution?”

   I almost couldn’t tell her. “As we’re being honest Kate, I hoped that by the end of the year I would have made love to someone for the first time in my life. But like you, that’s not something I can plan or arrange. You see I could only bring myself to do it if the girl was as fond of me as I would have to be of her. And if I met her I might not even know at first. So we both seem to have landed ourselves with obvious but probably impossible resolutions.”

    It was the way she let me stroke her hair so gently as we held each other very close, and downed the last drop of Champagne half an hour later, that left us both lost. We looked quizzically at each other and then collapsed in each other’s arms.

    And do you know something? Later that day around noon neither of us knew whether we had yet kept our resolutions or not.

AWE

NO CHANGE IN MY PURSE


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/a-brand-new-you-effective-tomorrow/”>A Brand New You, Effective Tomorrow</a>

Tomorrow you get to become anyone in the world that you wish. Who are you? You can choose to be anyone alive today, or someone gone long ago.

 

                               NO CHANGE IN MY PURSE  

 

At last, a prompt after my own heart! It might win it too. What a choice. My first inclination was to go for someone from ages past, Cleopatra.

Do I see raised eyebrows around the yuletide fire? I have a reason. Think of all the money it would save me not having to go to Brasil for an extremely expensive sex change operation. Yes, but then I would have to want to become a woman, and I don’t. I have not long mastered the art of being totally male, masculine as well, so I think being queen of the Nile would not attract me that much. And all that fiddling with the asp. God what a way to go. No I’ll stay gendered as I am.

But the question still arises shall I be someone whose life I know in full or someone still with us? A tricky question that. You see if I knew when I was born, how I lived and when I died I would have no more surprises left. But I would have the advantage of knowing all the mysteries of the next life. Yet then I would have to choose to be someone who was deemed almost a saint while on earth. Hmm…. I’m not sure I could quite manage to resist as much temptation as that. But I would like to be certain that Heaven lay in wait for me because I really would miss my friends in paradise.

But on looking around at the people alive today the choice is awful. Age is very important. Would I want to be a young, shy, lovelorn youth tongue tied whenever he met a girl who tickled his fancy? No, I couldn’t go through all that again. It’s fun to look back on but was hell to go through.

Well would I like to be a dashing hero in his early twenties, king of pop, God of sport or Hollywood actor who had every female in the world panting after him? Well good looking enough, yes, but fighting them off? Oh no. That would put me off passion fruit for life, and true love might pass me by completely.

Well, how about a successful 40 something with loads of cash and able to shower everything he wished on his adored wife and kids? Yes, but it could become boring. And much as I loved her she might be enamoured of ‘another’ and where would that leave me? With enough money to get drunk in my misery every night and die of alcoholic poisoning at an early age.

This is actually getting quite tricky. The problem with aiming to be someone aged 60 plus would mean keeping up a variety of interests to stop me reflecting on nearing my end while entering the last quarter of my allotted span. Well if I could be a head of  state or government that might serve, but look at the crowd we’ve got around today. I cannot think of any government leader with whom I would swap places. But there would be many, I am sure, who might be happy to live as obscurely as I do.

So I think that in the end I might just settle for being me. Okay I am seriously ill – 2016 might never change its last digit – but at least I can look back with pleasure on those I have loved in my life, on the happy as well as the sad moments and, above all, reflect that all in all I haven’t had such a bad time. Okay I’ve been caught up in seven wars, but I have also covered four olympic games, many top sporting events including a lot of major golf and tennis tournaments. Also I have made friends both with heads of state and workers in the poorest quarters of the world helping the ill, the old, the destitute and the bereaved. And most importantly of all I know I have not lived the life of a hero or a saint, but those moments when my courage has failed me, or temptation has been too great for me to resist, have never depressed me so much that I have lost my love of God or the people he created.

No, I’ll brave it out and see how much longer I have to go. But the one regret I will always have is that I will not be around to see how all the grand designs for the future, as set out by today’s ideologists, actually pan out. But maybe a friend or two in Heaven might let me have a peek at earth in 3000 AD if I’m a very good boy!

AWE

NEARLY ELECTION YEAR


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/childhood-revisited/”>Childhood Revisited</a>

My earliest memory (7 months) is not detailed enough  so here is a latest look into the future instead.

 WHO WILL YOU VOTE FOR DADDY?

It’ll be new year in a couple of days and the new year will be a presidential election year. Now I wonder how many of us can name all the people running for their parties’ nominations. In the US maybe a lot of you, but over the pond here in the UK and Europe probably only Trump and Clinton. That really is worrying because usually by this time most informed Brits and Europeans can name at least three possible front runners from each party at the start of a year when a president has to stand down. I may be the exception because I follow US politics, but beware of world opinion at the moment. Most people neither know nor care who becomes president because Obama has shown that the job, hard though he tried, is one which carries very little meaningful influence and absolutely no personal power – unless you are a mentally unabalanced multi billionaire like Trump.

Current polls over here place Hilary on 70% and Donald on 30% in a head to head vote and can’t name anyone else. For those of us who can comment on the subject I personally expect the GOP to shoot itself in the foot and eventually choose Trump, only to watch a late surge by Kerry, the Secretary of State, become the next president. He would be a good choice. Wouldn’t it be great if he re-wrote the first and second clauses of the constitution! Imagine what he could do. By straightening out the first one people would be free to express their ideas and feelings again, not just follow politically correct legislation which accentuates  putative offensive stances rather than making them disappear. Acts of discrimination of any type, religious, sexual, ethnic etc are already criminal offences under other sections of the law.

And if the second one was scrapped altogether nobody could carry a gun except in time of war, and then only in a federal army. The police might not like having to enforce the law without killing people, but it would actually be rather pleasant. They would also have to earn their salaries too. But I have no vote in the US, even though I hold the rank of lieutenant colonel in the US army, but I have a lot of close blood relations in four states and certainly care what sort of a world they will have to live in after next November’s ballot.  It would be nice to think that no guns and no fear of arrest whenever you opened your mouth could both disappear from my families’ lives. More tomorrow on 2016.

 

AWE

 

 

AN EXAMPLE OF AN INSANE PROMPT.


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fearless-fantasies/”>Fearless Fantasies</a>

How would your life be different if you were incapable of feeling fear?

 

                                                  AN EXAMPLE OF AN INSANE PROMPT.

 

1 Were a human being incapable of feeling fear that would mean they could never be afraid.

2 Fear is a necessary natural feeling for everyone to have in order to be unhappy. But without being able to feel unhappy one cannot know what it is to feel happy either, there being nothing with which to compare it or by which to measure it.

3 Therefore no fear = no happiness.

4 Ergo no fear also = no human feelings at all.

5 Without feelings no human could exist.

6 Ergo, the person postulated in the prompt simply could not exist, well not as a human.

AWE.

 

 

 

FOR EVER AND EVER AND EVER


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/unfaithful/”>Un/Faithful</a&gt;

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/young-at-heart/”>Young At Heart</a>

two for the price of one, my seasonal prompt post to yesterday and today!

 

FOR EVER AND EVER AND EVER

 

I have included a lot of references in my 250 odd bloggs in the past couple of years to the spiritual side of my life and how I regard  both faith (yesterday’s prompt) and existence (today’s). So I thought a short but precise definition of how I regard both topics, which I consider to be one and the same, would be both seasonal and serve the prompter’s demands.

Well my Faith  is one of three cardinal virtues which exist and are available for all of us to put to good use in our lives as we have both a human (terrestrial) and spiritual (heavenly) nature. That is we each have a body and a soul. It is what we do throughout our lives in our human time that usually determines how we want to spend the whole of our existence  in the second. So what do I believe? And do note I say ‘believe’ because I cannot prove my beliefs any more than those of us who deny the existence of their spiritual soul and its function  can empirically prove that denial. If we could prove either then faith would not come into it. We would not need it would we? So given that I have a soul which does not cease to exist when my mortal body packs up, what do I actually think happens to me when I die?

Well, to start with I am a practising Christian, a Catholic one, whose soul was created by God. “Dear me”, do I hear some of you ask? Who on earth, or anywhere else for that matter, is this God of which you write? Indeed what is He, or She if such things as human gender even apply in  Heaven and hell and all that sort of spiritual world? I have a simple answer to that. I haven’t a clue! But that is where my Faith comes in. My belief in God and the whole question of creation is for me, and indeed everyone, a complete mystery. It is the ultimate mystery the explanation of which I cannot know while in human form.

But it’s not as daft as I make it sound. Let me explain. I was born into the world, universe, cosmos call it what you will, that people inhabit in human form by the biological process which God created in order to make us able to procreate limitless people like ourselves. Over billions of human years we have developed until we have become the humans which science explains us as today. But that is all science can explain. This is just the medical history of our human physiological development and, therefore, also how we anatomically work and keep alive while in human form. Where science cannot tell us anything  more is how we, or any cosmological atomic matter, was created out of nothing. That is the empirical and logical  limitation of scientific knowledge. We can always carry on our human and cosmological research ad infinitum because our brains are clever enough, but we will never be able to know everything because there is no limit to knowledge. Does anyone know of a number to which we cannot add one? No, ergo there is no limit to abstract mathematical thought. Is there any limit to the number of times we can halve an atom or atomic particle? No. And why, because we are capable of rationally accepting that all matter can be divided into two parts however small. So in short we can never know the physical limitations of our world.

But there is a part of us which can think about these things. There is a part of us that can wonder about  imponderable matters, without that being contradictory or tautologous. So we can pose the questions, which we cannot answer in the negative or affirmative, how did we become human and how did the world in which we live start? The big bang is no answer for all it does is hypothesise that something existed which could explode or implode in whatever way it did. Where did that come from? I don’t know. And nor does anyone. Atheists are people who choose to live within that part of existence which they can explore through physics, chemistry and mathematics, but always ignoring the spiritual side of their own selves. I know I have a spiritual nature because I use it to help me live. I am going to explain what I mean by that, but first I would like to mention the third type of human, the agnostic. That is someone who experiences the spiritual side of their natures but just cannot bring themselves to believe in a God or the idea even of a creator who made them. Fair enough. For many of us that is a very difficult thing to do if nothing sparks it off. But we all still have to decide whether we prefer the idea of atheistic infinity – nothing any more forever, or the hope that there is spiritual life for our souls after death. And the reason why we have to decide which of these eternal states exist for us is because they are the only possible ones there can be. So why am I a Christian who does believe, I would rather say knows, that there is a possible happy eternity for me? Let me tell you.

Above, I mentioned three cardinal, or most important, virtues that are available to all of us. These are faith, hope and charity, at least those are the Christian words for the three spiritual elements that exist in all people of all religions or none. But how do they make me believe in the Christian idea of a creator God, and most importantly a God who created me out of His love for me? From what I have said so far it is obvious that either a person is content to live without trying to explore the possibility of God creating them or they are not. That statement cannot be disputed by any form of human proof. Therefore everyone either decides, and it is a conscious decision, that life ends when they die or they try to find a way of keeping their souls alive and with a God who loves them for ever. Surely only a really hopeless person would choose the former. Everyone can and does practise the virtue of charity, which is simply showing their love for others by loving them, helping them and caring for them. That is the loveliest part of our human and spiritual natures that God created.

For those who do feel the spiritual attraction of a loving God with whom they can live for ever, if they believe God is theirs to be found, they will be happy on earth as well as for eternity. That is the virtue of faith. It is best defined by belief in what we want but the existence of which we cannot empirically prove.

But my Christianity is founded in its entirety on the fact that I spiritually and physically fell in love with God at a very young age, three and a half years, and He has never ceased loving me back. There are rules of conduct by which we should live, and  thus know when we have hurt someone we love and so we know when we have sinned. But the one thing without which I certainly could not live is Hope. Hope that when this world is over I will love God as much as I have always done, and he and his  Saints  will reciprocate that love, as they have always done, and I shall spend eternity in peace and love. And They will explain to me why so much suffering has to be endured on earth first, for although I accept this I still do not understand it.  

Finally, why on earth would any sane person not want the prospect of a happy eternity if they knew they could ask God to grant it to them? Okay, it’s not easy always being good, and I certainly have my fair share of sins piled high on my my shoulders. However I have an overwhelming feeling of so much love for my God that I cannot bring mself not to do all I can to help and pray for all my fellow men and women who do not know Him. Because He made them, He loves them and so, therefore, do I. All humans live dreadful lives at times, but that hope of everlasting light at the end of the tunnel can keep us going through the worst horrors of this world, and does if we ask for it. That really is all anyone has to do if, like me, they know God loves them.

AWE 

CHRISTMAS NIGHT


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/ebb-and-flow/”>Ebb and Flow</a>

the prompt asks me to imagine I am blogging in three years time.

It’s Christmas Eve again so, as every year, my post comes in the form of a Christmas poem for you all.

 

                                          CHISTMAS NIGHT

 

It’s Christmas ! It’s Christmas with snow on the ground

We’ve a fire and a tree and streamers all round.

Our house looks so lovely by candlelight

We’re all very excited – it’s Christmas night.

 

There’ll be presents, surprises and all sorts of treats,

Mince pies, Christmas pudding, our favourite sweets.

But we must write to Santa and send him our list;

If we don’t do it quickly our house may be missed.

 

We’ve asked for a doll and soft toys galore,

And a big wooden horse that rocks on the floor.

Some soldiers, a football and all kinds of games;

A tiger, an elephant – we’ll have fun with their names.

 

Some story books, paints, real golden rings,

Puzzles, a Teddy – Oh so many nice things.

They say Santa has got such a wonderful store

There’s nothing at all that you can’t ask him for.

 

We’re tucked up in bed rubbing sleep from our eyes

Hoping Santa will bring us a REAL surprise:

Something to show just what Christmas can be,

A present for everyone – not just you and me.

 

We’ve hung up our stockings, the family’s asleep,

But hush! Someone’s coming – we’d better not peep.

Let’s dive down in bed for a few moments more

So we won’t see a thing as he comes through the door.

 

When we open our eyes again – oh! what a sight!

The room is all filled with a wondrous bright light.

On our tree, near the crib,  there’s a shining white dove

And like the first Christmas star, it’s bringing us love.

 

Now we always have stars and a dove on our tree

So we and our friends and relations can see,

How each year our festivities remind us again

That Christmas brings peace and goodwill to all men!

 

AWE

 

MY “FAN”TASY WORLD


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fandom/”>Fandom</a&gt;

Are you a sports fan? Tell us about fandom. If you’re not, tell us why not.

 

                                       MY “FAN”TASY WORLD

Yes I am a sports fan, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, because I follow most sports with a deep and admiring passion. Also I am a sports fan in  the specific sense that I support particular teams and sportsmen and women above others in many different sports. I have also enjoyed playing a lot of sports very competitively, some very well, myself.

But I am afraid that I cannot discuss the subject of ‘fandom’, as the prompt setter requests, for the word does not exist. Shame really because the true lover of sport actually lives in a FANtasy world. Think about it. As a supporter of any team or person the true fan gets far more fun out of making up their own version  of what will happen before a contest in which they see their heroes winning, than having to live in the real world where no side or contestant ever wins every single time they play!

But being a fan only reflects what one would like to happen. The real sports follower is the person who actually supports their team or player by going to watch them, paying out money to be there and savour the moment be it glory or despair. But I am too ill now to go to live sports events and have to watch my heroes and heroines on television. But I still get worked up. My doctor says dangerously so and has banned me watching some sports teams in case they make me ill. If Scotland win a rugby international, Jenson Button wins a formula one motor race or Neil Robertson a snooker tournament I get quite animated and have to take tranqilisers. This applies to specific tournaments as well. The golf and tennis majors get me very uptight just because of their importance, and as for the Olympic Games, winter or summer, it’s the quest for British or Australian gold that turns me to jelly.

Now I live in a family where we are all as bad as each other. My late parents were cricket, soccer and rugby mad, my sons are keen followers of everything sporting and my daughter-in-law  cannot get enough track and field, gymnastics or tennis. I support Surrey at cricket and my wife Lancashire. Believe me when they play four-day long games against each other twice every summer not only do we have the daily eight hour, ball by ball, commentary on our separate tablets, but we hardly exchnge a civil word! You really can get that involved. Luckily we both support the same sides in everything else or our beautiful marriage would not be anything like as idyllic as it is.

But I have to admit that I really do place a large percentage of the greatest moments in my life  on sports fields or in arenas and at circuits  where great deeds  have been performed. And of all the sporting moments I have seen and gone over the moon about in 67 years the greatest is still back in October 1960. It was when Bill Maseroski hit that home run off the last pitch in the last inning of the last game to give the Pirates a 4-3 world series win over the Yankees in the greatest contest in any sport in my lifetime. Odd, isn’t it, because I have never been to a baseball match or played the game, but the fire my Pennsylvanian uncle put in my belly when talking about his team lit up like a beacon as I followed those seven games on the radio when I was at university in Paris.

I wish I understood what motivates sports FANatics. I mean just imagine my calm, sedate wife leaping six feet in the air off the lounge sofa and pumping the air with both fists when Button came from last to overtake the entire field in the last few laps and passed, the then unstoppable, Sebastien Vettel on the last corner to win that year’s Canadian Grand Prix motor race. That’s not love, it’s not charity – heavens only knows what it is. But if you suffer from bouts of human reaction at sports events like we all do then you know what I’m talking about. I just wish I did.

AWE

 

LOVE, FEAR AND SURVIVAL


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/safety-first/”>Safety First</a>

The closest I have ever come to death.

 

LOVE, FEAR AND SURVIVAL

The only way to discover whether or not the main force of the rebel troops was on the Vietnamese side of the river when dawn broke was to risk taking helicopter reconnaisance flights along the edge of the river. This way we hoped to spot them before they took cover in the dense forest a few miles north of the temporary press corps H.Q.

It was a question of who would travel in the main helicopter, which held some 20 people, and who would fly in the little observation craft which only had room for the pilot and a gunner or journalist. The 23 members of the press who were assembled agreed to draw lots so 20 would go in the large Chinook and three would be alone in a small aircraft with just the pilot. Lucy had come out of the tent to watch. She was obviously very nervous and implored me not to go.

Darling do you have to? You could ask the others what’s happening when they return.” No way. I shook my head as I kissed and hugged her. She broke down and said she could not whatch them drawing lots for the unlucky three, so returned to a safer point. I drew a short straw.

The small helicopter I was in had an an excellent view of a wide strip of the River and I could see there were no troops anywhere near our position. I ordered the craft to return to base, but at that moment several shots rang out. The pilot, Charlie, shouted over the noise of the engine and rotor blades, “Don’t worry Sir, I can land her”. I was not so sure. In fact I was petrified and felt an awful panic attack starting.

The aircraft started to drift towards the treetops on the river bank getting further and further away from the press tents, until eventually they could not be seen at all. It was only then that Charlie admitted he thought the had lost a rotor blade and might not get the chopper down. I started to sweat and choke as we descended fast into the edge of the forest. About 25 feet from the ground I could risk no more ,

I’m going to jump Charlie, you will never land this thing”, were the last words I shouted. In desperation I pushed the gun mounting across my lap to one side, unfastened my straps and jumped. A branch almost hit me in the face but I somehow managed to hang onto it for a second or two slowing down my fall. Then I watched in horror as the whole aircraft exploded in a fireball above me. The branch snapped and I fell a long way before hitting the ground in agony and sank into merciful unconsciousness. I did not know it but I was trapped between a tree and the river bed half in the water and half wedged between two tree roots. Before entering the water, I learned later, my back had cracked against the tree trunk as I slid towards the Mekong.

I have decided to write the next part of this episode in my life in the third person, as my friends later described to me everything that happened on that last day that I worked with Lucy in Indo China. She had insisted on coming to Cambodia on my third posting there, saying that waiting for news of me in Singapore or Saigon was far worse.

———————

The Chinook had not taken off when a helicopter was seen descending fast into the trees to the north of the journalists’ camp. Military personnel rushed towards the direction in which it was coming down when an almighty explosion totally destroyed the aircraft and its remains showered down into the trees. Nobody knew who was in it but radio contact with all three observation craft was made immediately. The pressmen on the large craft streamed off to see what was happening and the senior officer told them what had happened. He was still talking when Lucy raced up. Mike saw her and stopped her, putting his arms round her shoulder.

Luce, we don’t know which chopper it is yet, but they are checking the other two by radio now. I think we’d better wait here till we know who’s been lost. I’m afraid Anton, Joe and the Belgian radio man were the three in the small craft.” She almost fainted on Mike’s chest. Then she fell to her knees,

Oh dear God, not Anton. Please, not my ‘Ton.” She had seen so much horror in her time in Indo China that Mike knew she could not take this if it was her husband. They listened as the colonel updated everyone.

Ladies and gentlemen the two helicopters that are still airborne and safe contain Mr Joseph Williams of the United Press and Monsieur Guy Bichaud of the Belgian radio. We have no news of the condition or whereabouts of th…..at this point Lucy collapsed completely round Mike’s ankles and he knelt down and put his arms round her. He could not see her face but other friends and colleagues who approached them saw the tears streaming down his face. Of the people in that jungle clearing he was not the only one who could not control his feelings.

As the inferno that many of the military had seen explode in the trees by the waters’ edge was still crackling in the jungle, it was accepted that Anton and the pilot had both perished. The question of what to do with and for Lucy seemed to be the biggest problem. It was arranged that a small convoy would return to Saigon when she was recovered enough. However, this took several hours and it was well after noon before everyone was ready to set off. But just as they were about to leave one of the native scouts came running into the clearing waving his arms and then making for the US officers’ headquarters. He was met by one of the Americans, who spoke Vietnamese, and he in turn signalled to the convoy to wait. Then he ran across to the jeep that Mike and Lucy were in.

Mrs.Wills-Eve, hang on we may have some news. But please don’t hold out too much hope.” Lucy had been given some tranquilisers and did not seem too clear what was going on. Just as well. “Some native villagers on the riverbank have reported seeing a man jump from that helicopter before it exploded. He swung on a branch for a minute or two and then fell. But although they have searched the area they have found nothing. But I have told the colonel and he says we must have a proper search before it gets too dark. Some men have set off already.” The effect of this news on a confused Lucy was odd. She seemed to assume her husband had been found, but could not understand why he wasn’t with her. Mike took her back to the tent to calm her down.

The search went on until the very quick sunset began over the Mekong, and they were just giving up when an unmistakable whimper rather than a cry was heard coming from the bank. Two troopers reached Anton first and then stood back in horror.

He’s alive sir,” they said to their officer, “but he seems hurt real bad. Do we have a medic with this team?” They did, and men with a makeshift stretcher were also on hand. In the fading light the doctor could not see how badly hurt the patient was, but from the angle of his back, the length of time he must have been half in the water and the pitiful soft groans that were now constant, they all knew he had to be got to a hospital as quickly as possible. They carried him gently but speedily to the HQ where has was transferred to a proper ambulance to be driven to Saigon.

Lucy gradually returned to normal and could not contain her hope that they had reached her husband in time. She was present when he was carried towards the ambulance and dashed over to him. She looked down at him and realised how badly hurt he was. But as she got into the ambulance she thanked God that at least he was alive.

—————————————–

I have no recollection of anything before waking up in a sunny ward in a military hospital with an awful pain in my back and unable to move my legs. I was on my own and only the US flag on the wall of the ward told me where I was. But within minutes a male nurse came in and seeing I was awake imediately rushed to tell doctors, nurses and best of all Lucy. Without even knowing how badly hurt I was she put her arms round my neck and kissed me, the tears streaming down her face. I tried to raise my hands to touch her face but the pain was too much. I could barely speak, either and yet I had to ask her to let go of me as she was hurting me so much. She shot back in horror and then collapsed on a chair by the bed, her head in her hands.

The next few days, I had no idea it was more than a week at the time , were taken up with getting me sufficiently fit enough to be told I was being flown to hospital in America and my wife was coming with me. The day before we left Mike put his head round the door and was allowed to chat to me for a few minutes. Lucy told me how much he had helped her, but all he said was,

“You know how much I owe you, fellah, it was the least I could do.” The journey from the hospital to the plane was dreadfully painful but Lucy’s hand was better than any pain killers. She told me she had given the medical authorities a full run down on my health and soon I could feel the aircraft taking off as we set out on a new chapter in our life. How I would cope with my partial paralysis or occasional memory loss I had no idea. But I had my Lucy and what we did next is another story which you must remind me to tell you some time.

AWE

 

EYE TO I


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/the-artists-eye/”>The Artist’s Eye</a>

let he who as eyes to see, behold……

 

EYE TO I

I refuse to believe that anybody alive who has seen a painting, sculpture or any similar type of work of art has not reacted either positively or negatively to it in some way. I do not mean that everyone is an art lover, heavens no, but that art does not draw some level of response from the beholder I find very difficult to accept.

In my own case I am very lucky that I have travelled widely around the globe and seen many of the most beautiful paintings of all time. But which do I admire most in the sense that they have had the longest lasting, or made the strongest impression on me? Well given that I used to take visiting friends round the main galleries in Paris, London and Florence when I was at University you would probably expect me to be primarily a lover of Western Art. And then again a trip to the USA and their museums followed by my almost four years in the Far East could have touched a chord in me that reacted melifluously with Eastern art, but you would be wrong. Ever since I was about ten years old I was always fascinated by Byzantine inspired iconography and this reached its apotheosis when, in 1971, I spent a few days in Moscow and fell hopelessly under the spell of Andrei Rublev (c 1362 to 1429). Most art historians’ consider him to have been the greatest Russian Mediaeval painter. There are many, I included, who place him the greatest of all time.

But why should such basically not fully developed artistic works move me so much compared to the many later masters of other genres? A simple, single word answer. Love. He portrayed it as few others have ever managed, and more consistently peacefully and spiritually than anyone else at all. This is an example of his famous painting of the Holy Trinity, (see below) kept today in Moscow and through all Russia’s turbulent ages since it was painted around 1410, was always revered and guarded as a national treasure. It is the quiet, happy quality of the expressions of the mystery of God, his son and the Holy Spirit, happy and tranquil in their Trinity, that are literally a century earlier than any other school of art depicted anywhere.

Andrey_Rublev_-_Св._Троица_-_Google_Art_Project

Now my univrsity studies, mediaeval history, iconography, hagiography and philosophy never had any bearing on my future career as a journalist. But as I said it did give me the opportunity to take friends and relatives round famous galleries where most of them drooled over Leonardo, or the impressionists or cubists, – though how you could drool while squinting I cannot imagine – . Yet I always found myself going back to my early roots and to Byzantium and its following centuries of influence over Eastern European art for nearly a thousand years. I found myself lost in the universal good sense of the artist in realising, and managing to portray at the same time, the quality that is most important in spiritual love. His portraits show that anyone can love and forgive anyone else if they keep their feelings and emotions of revenge, anger and violence under total control when separating the person, the sinner if you like, from the the evil deeds they may have committed. Look at Rublev’s portrait of saint Paul, (below), that hangs in a Moscow gallery. Who else has ever depicted the writer of so many important letters on how men should live and behave to please others, and ultimately God, without a suggestion of censure in the face? And even more clever, note the way the majority of the head is bald, suggesting a wisdom beyond the ordinary. Few, if any, painters have captured those dual aspects of the author of so many early epistles.

800px-Rublev_Paul

But my favourite painting (below) of Rublev’s, which Mocow at the hight of the cold war also blessed me with, was Rublev’s beautiful picture of the Angel Gabriel telling the Virgin Mary reassuringly, “Don’t worry my dear. There’s nothing wrong. God has done something wonderful for you, you are to have his son.” And as Gabriel smiles, so we can just see the light of an uncertain joy starting to form on the face of our Lady. You may not believe the Christmas story, but if, like me, you do, then that work of art sums up the most beautiful moment in our history more perfectly than anything else I have ever seen. I may be a Catholic but I am so glad the Orthodox church canonised Rublev in 1988.

Annunciation_from_Vasilyevskiy_chin_(1408,_Tretyakov_gallery)

So all I have left to say to all of you, whatever you believe or like looking at, is have a very Happy Christmas, for that is what Andrei Rublev would have wanted you to have.

AWE

OUR PRODUCTIVE HOURS


<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/because-the-night/”>Because the Night</a>

the most productive time of day, or is it night?

                OUR PRODUCTIVE HOURS

Isn’t it lucky I’m not a woman? No, listen; not that way! I mean in the context of the prompt. If I was a woman then I would know what  my most productive time was, all my kids would be born at times the doctors noted as they delivered the babies. It’s easy for the the fair sex to know such things beyond doubt.

But it’s very unfair on the unfair sex. How are we supposed to remember? I mean my late first wife and current second wife were gorgeous and eminently loveable at any time of the day. I am no prude but you surely don’t want me to go into details do you?

You do!? Okay, well firstly I have to count up the children I have and see if I can work it out. No, you’re right it’s hopeless. Gemma, my little girl who was killed, could have been begotten  at any one of four times between midnight and eight am. Then The twins were almost certainly sometime in the late afternoon. My eldest boy was the victim of gestation on a Malayan Beach at around 3.00am, I think, and my youngest son was definitely around eleven at night, in a hotel by the seaside in England. Then…..

What are you looking at me like that for? How the hell should I know how many more I’ve got? Some women never tell you anything!

 

AWE