Semper Eadem -a forward

'Semper Eadem' is the motto of the city of Leicester. It means 'always the same'. This story ties to find a time when human existence was 'primative' and timeless.  It tries to find a theme which might be recognised across all human existence,

Is it possible to see, think and feel through the body of a early human child from perhaps 50,000 years ago? Perhaps not, but this story attempts to imagine a world where none of the belief structures that surround me and affect my daily life are present.  The story is told through the eyes of a child of indeterminant race, gender and age.  The reader is invited to fix all these features themselves, and fill in any gaps left in the narrative.

I have taken my inspiration from Yuval Noah Harari's book 'Homo Sapien' which describes the virtues of 'hunter-gather' existences before the farming revolution. I have wondered how the core beliefs of my faith might be expressed if everything that is culturally determined has been removed and redefined.    Other source material I have used comes from a book that Margaret and I brought back from Austraila which was designed to help urban aboriginal children understand some of their cultural history.  I also found some inspiration from hearing a fascinating description by Sarah Marquis from surviving three months in the Kimberleys, North Western Australia, broadcast by the BBC World Service. Also a BBC documentary films about life in the Amazon jungle.

This story tries to express something about the timeless essence of human existence.  It searches for a strong, permanent and all encompassing definition of hope, meaning and purpose.

I am hoping that this story might be read by 10 to 13 year olds.

More favourite bits

Everything is ticking along nicely.  Godfrey is wooing Nacey Lammeter during the Cass family New Years Eve party.  Then the story takes a sudden new twist.

"Do you want me to go? Said Godfrey, looking at Nancy, who was now standing up by Priscilla's order.
"As you like," said Nancy, trying to recover all her former coldness, and looking carefully at the hem of her gown.
"Then I like to stay," said Godfrey, with a reckless determination to get as much of  this joy as he could tonight, and think nothing of the morrow.
Chapter Twelve
"While Godfrey Cass was taking draughts of forgetfulness from the sweet presence of Nancy, willingly losing all sense of that hidden bond which at other moments galled and fretted him so as to mingle irritation with the very sunshine, Godfrey's wife was walking with slow uncertain steps through the snow-covered Raveloe lanes, carrying her child in her arms. 

Dolly, kind Dolly, who later becomes Ebbie's mother-in-law, comforts Silas after the theft of his money.  She visits with her young son, and a gift of landicake.

Dolly sighed gently as she held out the cakes to Silas, who thanked her kindly, and looked very close at them, absently, being accustomed to look so at everything he took into his hand - eyed all the while by the wondering bright orbs of the small Aaron, who had made an outwork of his mother's chair, and was peeping round from behind it.
"There's letters pricked on 'em," said Dolly.  "I can't read 'em myself, and there's nobody, not Mr Macey himself, rightly knows what they mean; but they've a good meaning, for they're the same as is on the pulpit-cloth at church. What are they Aaron my dear?"

And then, as the story meanders on into country straw chewing, The draining of the stone pits revieals the skeleton of Godfreys younger brother Dunstan or 'Duncey'. He has his brother horse whip, and he two bags of Marners Gold. For 16 years his absence was put down to him leaving town after the death of his brothers horse.  Actually after steeling the money in the dark and the rain, he fell head long into the pit, and drowned, right next to Marners cottage. I guess his body was weighed down with he money, so not discovered, though a smell should be expected.

The Weaver of Raveloe

Q.D.Leavis in her introduction describes how George Eliot read the newly printed 'Origin of the Species' and 'Pilgrims Progress' at the same time.  She criticises The Origin for want of 'luminous and orderly presentation'. She praises 'Progress' for 'true genius manifested in the simple, vigorous, rhythmic style'...  She is interested in the quality of the communication. Lewis describes Silas Manner as sharing the simple form of rhythm and style of Progress.  I think it is a wonderful story, very much like an opera.  I read that Eliot was a great opera lover.  The story starts by setting up the character of Marner, Godfrey and his brother Dunston. Marner's deep betrayal by supposedly devote Christian people. He moves south, far away from this distant country.  He is like a foreigner.  He lives for his simple pleasure of amassing money. ' Milas Sarner' or 'miser'.  He is robbed by a rich rogue. The recitatives are the detailed pub or parlour conversations, each beautiful pen sketch of village life, like a bit of soap opera.  No one thinks that a rich man would do such a thing. Silas' gold is returned to him in the guise of a two year girl.  His life is given meaning.  She is his joy.  Meanwhile the father of the child holds a secret for many years.  There is only one, his thieving brother, who could expose him. Both men keep the secret from Nancy.  Just as the story moves to a slow, sedate conclusion, we are brought up short with a masterful ending.  Like the subjects, we discover something goolish and shocking that has been there for sixteen years right in the midst of the story.  I am repulsed and am forced to reappraise my warm comfortable feelings. A brilliant story. It speaks of the changing rural life, where men from the north are from a different planet.  Where county traditions are disappearing, and the stabilising place of religion is necessary. Where industry and agriculture are changing. The Weaver will weave his last.
Chapter Seven
"Yet the next moment there seemed to be some evidence that ghosts had a more condescending disposition than Mr Macey attributed to them: for the pale thin figure of Silas Marner was suddenly seen standing in the warm light, uttering no word, but looking around at the company with his strange unearthly eyes. The long pipes gave a simultaneous movement, like the antennae of startled insects, and every man present, not excepting the skeptical farrier, had an impression that he saw, not Silas  Marner in the flesh, but an apparition; for the door by which Silas had entered was hidden by high screened seats, and no one had noticed his approach."

Chapter Twenty What We Discovered

Chapter 20

After two weeks of continuous paddling, three small people became even smaller. Relentless physical exertion requires the body to be provided with lots of fat and energy.  Despite Honya's best efforts, the fish we ate were all lean.  The rabbit Yewdis proudly held up one evening was itself skin and bones.  We were used to living like the wild animals, but as when the bear prepares for winter, fat was the only form of food we desperately needed.  One evening, after considerable effort, we also caught ourselves a duck. I contemplated whether the energy taken to catch one small widgeon would actually be repaid by the beast. Later, after plucking, the poor creature looked more like a web-footed sparrow. We laughed, remembering the comic scenes of our hunting endeavours. We had caught the hapless creature by stringing up a fisherfolk fishing net across a sea inlet.  In our kayaks, we corralled a small flock of ducks gently down into the trap.  Then, when they were near the net, we suddenly frightened them into lifting off straight into our net. Success only came at the third attempt. The first time our high pitched squeals incited no fear. They lazily flew out to sea to be rid of that shocking noise.  The second time, after a number of hours waiting for any ducks to reappear at all, the birds took fright, but were too far from the net and all cleared it easily. Finally, instead of the three choice ducks we had hoped we would be eating, we caught only one scrawny sea-sparrow.  The fisherfolk had demonstrated duck-catching techniques many times to great effect.  They were more interested in duck down than any alternative to their fishy diet.  From the ducks came their heavenly taste in feather beds, a tradition I was keen to take back to our cave side existence, if we ever made it.

Late one morning, Yewdis, in his lead position, spied a large town with a coastal harbour.  By his description I was sure that we had arrived.  Jokou was unusual in being sited very close to the sea, and the barn-like communal hall stood unusually high above the town ramparts and wooden walls. The harbour was little more than a beach, and as we drew closer we noticed some strange sights that gave us our first premonition that all was not well in Jokou.  In the harbour a large long ship rested on its side with the waves crashing straight into the deck.  The vast long mast lay prone, pointing out to sea, with the tattered sail, swishing like sea kelp. It was a shock to see such a fine strong vessel breaking up before us. I thought of the hours of labour that had gone into making this fine vessel. Now, with each tide, all was being undone.  Not a person was around.  The shed where some time ago I had first been branded a slave was still there.  The doors were wide open, like a gaol after an earthquake.  Honya and Yewdis detected my horror. They were new in this area, and had no idea of what to expect.  We hauled up our kayaks onto the beach.  Rest could have been our first thought, but curiosity got the better of me. Perhaps a great war had taken place? The headman of Jokou was certain one for a fight. His people would probably be reluctant, but he was a bully, and normally picked on small defenceless communities, like the one I was from. A chill went down my spine when I considered what might have befallen my own people.  We walked together up to the town gates.  There were no sentries today.  I man in official looking attire was sitting on the sentry post with his head in his hands.  I approached him and as he saw me, he pulled away.  Some Jokou words came to mind and I greeted him, but he was up and gone.  We looked at each other mystified, and walked on.  Although this was a surreal experience to say the least, we felt no fear. It felt as if we were entering the corpse of the city, where all previous strength was gone.  The place also stank.  Not just of human waste, but also of the smell of hopelessness and despair. We continued together to the market place.  People walked pass the us like ghosts. Occasionally someone might look up, but it was as if we were of no significance.  In the market place, it looked as if there had been no action for many moons. Fires were burning with huge cooking pots stewed food, their cooks bent over them intently.  Seated in rows against low wooden fences were the bedraggled inhabitance of Jokou.  I looked into the great communal hall, that dark space of evil. In the inner recesses of the building, rows of beds could be seen as far as the could see.  And here and there, larger people stood, tending to the sick.  In the gloom I thought I saw a face I knew, a called out softly, hardly daring to say her name aloud. "Tilda". In less than a second I was in her arms. We were both crying, as Honya and Yewdis look on. After what seemed an age, Tilda released her grip.  She looked at me, and I at her.  "You look so thin", she exclaimed.  "And strong" I added.  I introduced my new brother and sister, slightly bemused because I had suddenly without warning moved back into my native tongue.  Tilda, a skilled linguist, amazed my two with some words in Oshlosh. She was also quite proficient in Honya's family language, which gave me an instant flash of jealousy.  Tilda, my sister, was brilliant at most things. Then Tilda got us something to eat and drink. For the first time in an age I once again tasted the unique taste of our stone cooked bread. It brought tears to my eyes. And we were told how the plague had come and felled the might tree of Jokou. The headman was one of the first to die. And how my people had dedicated themselves to saving as many lives in the city. My people mysteriously appeared to have resistance to the disease, few had been really ill. And our patents? Tilda with a merry smile, clasped me again to herself and whispered, "we are all fine."

The End

Approx. 19,400 words  32 pages

Chapter Ninteen While I Was Away

Chapter 19

As we slowly and painfully (I refer to poor Yewdis' sore head) wended our way back towards Jokou, much had been happening which was later related to me in detail during future long winter nights.

Tilda was free, but she had heard news that greatly alarmed her.  She skilfully made her way back to our home, arriving just few days after the two who had recently investigated our disappearance.  Her return, physically unscathed, was a miracle.  The rejoicing at her return was tempered with the distress at the loss of the eleven.  With the whole community gathered, mourning and agonising over each one of us, Tilda explained some new significant information which affected the existence of the whole community.  She had gathered, during  her imprisonment in the headman's harem, that the stories from the East were filtering though about the ravages of a terrible plague.  Whole towns and cities were reported to have been wiped out.  No one was spared, both rich and poor.  Travellers from the east had arrived in Jokou and just collapsed and died.  A great terror was being kindled. No one knew what to do with these corpses. Each was covered in brushwood and burnt where they fell.  The town of Jokou became a place of superstation, where everyone was suddenly under suspicion.

 There was much discussion about what this might mean for our community.  Our contact with the outside world had up until now been limited.  Our way of life was felt to be so different from that of our neighbours. Although we were not a versed to meeting new people, we did find it a challenge, and finding interests in common took up much discussion. The questions that presented themselves now were numerous.  There was anxiety about whether the missing eleven may already have circumed. Some wondered whether precious Tilda might be unwell herself.  What about the trickle of refugees who made it to our community, would they be safe? No one thought about whether our contact with others would lead to our community being infected.  It was another job for Ediopha, our judge.  She and her brother spent much time ruminating in silence.  At the next meeting of the people they shared their thoughts.  This disease that was tearing through the human population was like a wildfire. It was a natural force with similar powers to volcanos or earthquakes. We had to trust that we would have the strength to endure it.  We should try not to be afraid.  Surely we would lose loved ones, but we were used to losing loved ones.  The key was to appreciate those around us now.  We knew that it was likely that other tribes might come to us, because our tribe had a reputation of caring for the suffering, and we did not have a tradition of hostile resistance.  As mentioned before, the main thing that protected us from the evil intentions of others was our willingness and ability to live up in the gorge lands, in amongst bears, wolves and icy winters.

It was agreed that small parties of our people would go out and prepare the other communities of our tribe for this fearful news.  We also made some plans to prepare for the worst, by stock piling more food for the winter months than would normally be needed.  My people wondered how long they would have to endure this illness.  There was a sense that we were blessed to have been forewarned.

The differences between tribal communities were exacerbated by this bad news.  Concerns were certainly believed, but other communities decided to isolate themselves even more.  Some even decided to uproot and move further into the frozen north, informing us not to expect their return for a number of years.  I was proud to hear that our community, to all outsiders considered 'a peculiar people', remained wedded to the idea that we had something to offer Jokou.  Jokou, that town that had robbed our people of its most treasured possession, its own people.  We knew that there were a few bad apples in that town that spoils it for the rest.  Most simple poor folk looked to our people for hope and inspiration, and we honoured them for this.

Tilda then took charge of organising teams of people on standby to be ready to offer aid to Jokou, ready If disaster came.  We knew that even in prosperous Jokou, the winters hit them hard, and this was but three moon-months away.  The prosperous are generally also week and susceptible.  My lot were as tough as whale hide.

Francis Shaffer's Story

Today we heard the story told by the philosopher Francis Shaffer of the climbers in the Alps, who were traversing a ridge when they were suddenly enveloped in thick fog.  Alarmed, they considered their options.  Before them was an steep drop, the bottom of which couldn't be seen.  They called out in desperation knowing that they were likely to be on their own.  Amazingly, someone did hear them, nearby, but hidden from sight. He explained that he was a local shepherd who knew the terrain well.  The climbers explained that their route now took this dramatic drop down a shear rock face into the unknown. The shepherd listened carefully and assured them that this was the way to go, he had done that route many time before and although it look treacherous, there was a safe ledge below, just out of sight.

This is an illustration of faith.  Do we as climbers, finding ourselves suddenly stuck in fog, not knowing the way forward, believe the words of a voice calling out in the fog, still yet unseen? Francis Shaffer says we might test the voice. "How do we believe you are who you say you are?" But the climbers have a choice.  Some may say the choice is have faith, or surely die.
The paradox is, "have faith and surely die (die being sure)"

But the story is perhaps too simple.  What if there are other voices, some conflicting?  What if they offer different qualifications, "I am a mountain guide, I'm from mountain rescue, I'm a cartographer.' What if the fog lifts after a while? What if the voice is in my mind and doesn't really exist?

I would love to know what Francis Shaffer would say.  Perhaps some day?

Chapter Eighteen Journey to Jakou

Chapter 18

It was with great excitement that the three young explorers, feeling like grown up proficient oarsmen, set out on a bright morning in 'state of the art' sea kayaks, waterproof jackets and seal skin shorts.   My role was to also pull a canoe full of provisions.  Yewdis was at the front, and I made up the rear.  We planned to paddle until the light from the sun dipped below the tree line, and find a hidden place to camp, just as we had done coming down the fiord.  Dried fish and herbs was to be our staple, with Yewdis reminding us at each meal, framed by a wonderfully positive grin, that this was his favourite.  The nights were beginning to get nippy, and we knew that the weather would only give us one chance to get to my family before it decided our fate for us. There were very few people about which was a blessing. It felt ironic that we were much safer on our own than mixing with people. Bears and wolves were nothing to the risk posed by other human beings.  The inexplicable cruelty inflicted on those whose differences seem so minor to the outsider.  I have seen cubs killed and thrown over cliffs by intruding hostile male bears. And again, robins fighting each other almost to the death.  These birds look identical, and they don't touch any other bird in the world except one that is their mirror image.  Although, like the fisherfolk, most humans might well have been loving and merciful, the ones who were not spoilt it for everyone else.

In the evening Honya, Yewdis and I would sit by the edge of the sea, just at the tree line, with our backs resting against each other, and just relax, feeling the nip of the wind, notice the owl stretching it's wing, and see the black wobbling flutter of bats, racing around invisible tracks. Then we would hear Yewdis sigh, and Honya and I would hug him, and Honya would break out into gabbling chatter, and we would wonder how our sister Kinti was doing, and remark with surprise that  Baralard could actually be nice to us.  Sleeping was more difficult, because since our separation from Roti, a deep dread had entered our nights, with visions of terrors, lucking in shadows, and playing with our minds.  I'm not sure what Roti did to free us from this in the past.  Every night I looked up into the sky, observing the clouds and stars, but knowing my insignificant self did have meaning, a reason to hope, and enough breath for today.  And together we asked for protection, firstly from the shadows of the night, and secondly from the deep sea beneath the skins of our boats.  And we received the hope in our hearts that we would make it through.

One day as we rounded a headland, I heard Yewdis exclaim.  He looked back at me with an alarmed expression.  "Water" he called out.  "I'm getting wet." As I drew alongside I noticed that I had just missed an upward pointing finger of a submerged tree branch. Down in the dark recesses of the waters was a sunken tree. The swell was gentle here, but occasionally with violence, the branch protruded suddenly above the surface.  "You've been holed" I said.  "Let's get into shore." By now Yewdis was swimming and his boat was fully submerged.  With Honya, we limped to the shore, each of us, quite exhausted.  Yewdis took off his wet clothes, and got to work making a fire, while I inspected the damage.  The fisherfolk, thinking of all eventualities, had trained us all in kayak repairs. This was a nasty gash, and I thought we might need to spend a day at least, with needle and thread. Yewdis disappeared to look for wood, and check out the safety of our position.  I got to work sorting out our things, placing them, like military provisions neatly in front of me.  Honya went down to the sea with her fishing tackle. If anyone could catch fish, it was Honya.  She was good at picking things up, whatever the skill.

After some time, with Yewdis not returned, I suddenly felt uneasy.  Way off, I heard a dog bark, and dogs usually mean hunters.  A dog could find us in seconds.  I put down my sewing kit, and looked at the mass of objects before me.  For some reason I settled on the money bag and some scraps of dried fish.  I took off with an increasing sense of urgency, heading inland, not really knowing which way to go.  The  sound of barking came again, and I headed towards this. I'm not sure how far I'd got when I saw the fur hat of a hunter bobbing  in the distance. His dog detected me, and suddenly became very lively, alerting his master.  I followed my first instinct which was to shin up a tree, no good for bears, but perfect for wolves and dogs.  From here I saw Yewdis struggling under the arm of a massive man.  Blood was dripping from his head.  It was a heart stopping sight.  The man had not yet spotted me up high as I was.  Remembering how to distract a bear by throwing meat, I took our precious bag of money and threw the contents in a stream of gold, glinting in a rainbow arc, away from me. It worked. The man, suddenly mesmerised, dropped Yewdis, who was off and gone in an instant, and raced over to pick up this treasure. The dried fish in the same way worked for his dog, and I was off, like a rabbit.  Back at the shore Honya had been hard at work.  She had made the repairs, skilfully using the glues and waterproofing we had been taught to use.  We hurriedly loaded our kayaks, and put out to sea.  Like the eider ducks, we knew that the cold sea is heaven to the hunted and hell to the hunter. Yewdis explained the blow to his head. As the man had picked him up, he had landed him a vicious bite on his upper arm which had been repaid with a clonk on the head with the head of the hunters axe. The hunter clearly hoped to subdue rather than maim his quarry. I explained about the money, and Honya agreed that it had been well spent saving Yewdis skin. We never knew how rich we had once been.

Chapter Seventeen Farewell

Chapter 17

If it was hard for me to decide to separate from my new family, and the community who had taken us to their hearts, it was far worse for Honya and Yewdis. I shall never forget the pain on Honya's face, the tears, and deep unbearable tearing sensation that we all shared. It was very much like death. Perhaps just as a device to ease the pain, I was reminded again of Mosako's words about parting.  "So we part.  But parting and reuniting are a pair. As with all cycles in life, as day follows night.  We awake from separation to reunion." It made parting more bearable. Honya would not be parted from me, and the fisherfolk once again said that as we were siblings we should not be parted, and Yewdis too. So we were three.

The fisherfolk decided that we were to have everything they could not take. Each of us was to be fitted with a perfectly designed personal kayak, complete with spray deck. These were sea going boats, with internal traveling containers.  We also towed a supply boat, containing seal skin sacks of drinking water.

As the day for the great exodus approached, it became very apparent to all around, that something was up on the rock plateau. The coastal community, like most nosy neighbours, gathered their courage to snoop and discover choice gossip.  One such venturer found Honya sitting by the sea with a fishing line.  He asked her in Oshkosh what was happening.  If Honya had been Fisherfolk, she would have been trained in the art of hostility and self-preservation, but being Honya, she spoke about the great move.  He then asked more questions, including where she learnt to speak Oshlosh so perfectly.  Honya caught herself there,  but realised her incongruent looks and friendly nature had put us all at risk.  Later that evening she was very scared and fearful about the likely consequences.  Honya's experience sharpened everyone's resolve.  There were no recriminations. Honya was young and naive. But within the week, the boats were floating off the coast in a quiet bay, a little way from our exposed rock platform.  And the village of ten houses had been dismantled. Soon there was nothing at all to be seen.  Like the fisherfolk prophecy, the village had disappeared into the sea, and vanished like a vapour.

So that day came, when a whole community clasped each other in a long aching embrace.  I was suddenly overcome with a desire to say the blessing.  The fisherfolk seemed delighted with the idea. Now to remember not only the blessing that I had last heard as our expedition left the gorge, but to translate into fisherfolk. I asked for all of us to look up into the sky, and I called out, "Creator, sustainer, liberator, we live for you, be with us now as we cross the sea.  Be with us as we separate. Show us the way. Bring us safely back together." For some reason the whole community cheered and clapped at this point, which I had never heard before, but it seemed quite appropriate.

So with the wind in their sailed, the flotilla of ten boats, a floating village, exchanged rock for water and set off to seek new lands, and new fish. As the swans headed in one direction, the signets left in the other, both of us dwarfed by the vastness of the ocean.  My plan was to hug the coast, only moving out to sea to avoid passing settlements.  Although none of the fisherfolk had ever been to Jokou, they felt that it might take us about ten days, and we had been left with a moon cycle of provisions.  The money was felt to be of greater value to us traveling east, than the party going west. Roti could not recall ever seeing coins in the Ice Islands.  Kinti said nothing but seemed to have a great distain for it anyway.  I knew from experience that in Jokou money was King. So we took the money, even though the wretched stuff weighed us down.

Honya and Yewdis were skilled in the use of the sea kayak.  We were able to make good progress.  The only delays that affected our travels were the need to rest, and avoid trouble, after all, catching unaccompanied children was likely to delight the local population as much as a lively reindeer chase.

Chapter Sixteen Preparing to Return

Chapter 16

That transformative first day held true.  'The Fisher Folk' as we called them, were principled, fun loving, highly protective people.  Their hospitality never wavered. Communication between us grew stronger, with the use of the odd word of Oshlosh, a dominant language as in these parts, and the language of drama, expression and shared values being more powerful.  Our hosts were aware that as slaves, there would be a bounty on our heads.  There was a lively trade in catching slaves in these parts as More profit could be made from slaves than any other life form.  We were kited out in fisher folk weed, with crinkly waterproof seal gut raincoats.  We also began to pick up the fisher folk lingo, a lilting language with most sentences turned into quizzical questions by the time they reach their conclusion(?)

Our new friends, showing little regard for their own safety, were keen to work out what our destiny might hold.  Though expert sailors, they had nothing to do with the large ships that plied the fiord, that linked to all major ports along the coast.  Their contacts were limited to bartering superb fresh fish for cloth, or metal ware.  But largely they maintained their ferocious reputation as tough nuts, who hated outsiders, and might be scrubbed of the edge of the world, if only anyone could be bothered.

Honya, the wonderful Honya, with her vivacious character seemed to be the first to fully pick up the fisherfolk language. She was always surrounded by the little children, climbing all over her and loving to sink their hands into her luxuriant frizzy hair.  I guessed Kinti also quickly gained a full knowledge of everything going on, because she was sharp.   Her character was not to reveal much at all that was going on inside her incredible brain.  Soon into our stay we discovered that quite a few of our hosts had once also been slaves.  There were the tell-tail signs of scared ears, but their marks were hard to detect.  The fisherfolk explained that they had undergone operations to repair their damaged ears, and soon this service offered to us.  A people who skilfully create breathable waterproof garments from seal intestine have the handicrafts needed to rebuild delicate parts of the human body.  All five of us assented to the operation which would restore our tattered ears.

Next was the matter of what to do.  We knew that sooner or later someone would spot our presence in the midst of  such a small community.  Kinti and Roti blended in well with the fisherfolk.  We wondered whether their families might be related.  They discovered shared expressions from their native language in common, creating much excitement with the young and old.  The old were very curious about the possibility of shared heritage.  Roti was a name they recognised, and she became a favourite. Their community had stories about how they happened to be located right on the very edge of Oshloland.  "We live right on the edge so that if we need to get away, we will just disappear into the sea, and everything about us will be gone.  That is why we fear no one. We are vapours, spirits, here today, gone tomorrow." Certainly we were most grateful that they were not vapours .  They seemed very real to us, but we admired that fearless and positive spirit.

Honya and I were considered by the others to be related.  We both had much darker skin, and thicker black curly hair.  The fisherfolk referred to us as siblings.  Honya had forgotten her native tongue, which grieved her.  She was delighted when I recalled words from my past, which she repeated in a reverent tone.  Yewdis, well Yewdis was unique.  No one could place his broad tooth grin, and people doubted whether he every had a language before pillage brought him to Oshlo.

When I asked him where he thought he was from, Yewdis would say 'wherever you are is where I am from.'

As discussion about our destiny became more pressing, the questions often asked was where  did I want to go? I knew that while I had a loving family waiting for me, Tilda, my parents, and my whole community, there was only one answer I could give.  I needed to return, and I felt more and more able to do this alone.

Roti, Baralard (who's position was that he wanted what Roti wanted), and Kinti planned to travel to the Ice Islands, come what may.  The fisher folk seemed delighted to learn all about this place, a land where ice was steaming hot.  They seemed to have an affinity with all they heard.  As for the fishing, it sounded like heaven had come to earth.

There was much curiosity created by an examination of the coins we had collected. Baralard was very impressed, but the fisherfolk, like us, had no idea what they were worth.  They certainly recoiled when money was offered to them. In the end, and after many technical debates, the fisherfolk pronounced that they would, as a community, take any of us who wanted to go to the Ice Islands, to the Ice Islands, by boat.  In fact, they would see whether they could emigrate and be rid of this place, and stake a claim in heaven. Roti was delighted.  Kinti, ever pragmatic, wondered how a whole community of about sixty people could cross a vast sea in kayaks, the only boats we ever seen the fish folk use.  Mind you, there were experts on the sea, with amazing survival gear, and technique to bemuse a dolphin.

Within two weeks, the fisherfolk had devised a plan that was inspirational. The Design and production of a small flotilla of vessels, based on the kayaks, but longer and stronger, was under way. These were not original designs as I had seen some larger boats with sails used to get to the other fisher folk communities nearby. They were also used on seal hunts. I noticed that the work undertaken was conducted with the minimum of fuss. A visitor to the community would not notice that timber from the communal hall was being removed, and other parts of the village were steadily being recycled into a floating village. Next came the decision when the best time to go might be. Seasonal storms were to be avoided, and knowledge of fish migration routes helped build confidence that food would be provided on the journey. But I knew my journey was to be a different one, though the knowledge created a pain in my heart. I loved these people.

Chapter Fifteen The Sea

Chapter 15

Coming out of the woods onto a vast expanses of bare rock, gently slanting down into the sea, was an inspiration.  Some  experiences are filled with significance, as symbols of hope and deliverance.  I recall one such moment after an early morning summit climb at home, on a brilliant still blue day.  Mist, like smoke, filling the valley.  It spoke to me of the awesome nature of the world, always ready to take the ordinary and turn it into something unexpected.  Today, all the struggles and exhaustion of the past year were left behind.  It was like being washed clean, as we walked out from the dark woods into the light of the infinite sea and sky.  There was the new fresh smell, a slight chill in the light breeze, and the sense of the vast beauty of the ambivalent ocean.   It stood before us, completely neutral to our fate.  It might provide us with salvation, or equally blot out our existence in an instant.

We were all transfixed, gazing out to a shared point on the horizon, forgetting to draw breath.  Then Roti broke the spell by saying she was hungry.  We echoed the sentiment. The last days had been a struggle, with more time spent finding fresh water and scavenging for edible foods that actually filled the stomach than moving forward. There is so much you can take of bitter herbs, which begin to taste like grass.  Yewdis shared this thought by lowing like a cow as he ate, but without a single complaint.  I remembered the last time I was down by the sea on expedition, how we had caught vast quantities of fish.  The sea now looked a mystery to me, quite impregnable.  Suddenly I felt helpless, and vulnerable again. It had been good to be of use in the forest.

Roti pointed out the small village, perched precariously over the licking tongues of waves.  We thought we would chance our luck. We had no choice.  Together as a huddle, we made our way across the rocky expanse.   It was like a vast sheet of ice, with deep fissure, like cravases, cut through the smooth pavement.  We notice the villagers had constructed a path towards where they lived, with wooden, or sometimes stone bridges crossing the deep chasms.  Not a person was in sight, but as we came close, we could see fires and the signs of activity. A dog came out growling.  With some effort, I managed to use all my skills to quieten his snares enough for my petrified family to proceed.  They hid behind me as if my meagre frame could offer any protection.  As we walked between the building, we felt an uncomfortable sense of many eyes all about us.  The strong sense of hostility was tangible.  Suddenly a massive ferocious man appeared from a high building and bellowed in a language none of us could locate something that needed no translation.  He held a threatening weapon.  We cowered, and Honya began to whimper in terror.  I instinctively called out in my mind for strength, and courage for us all.  Other people appeared all around us, all similarly threatening, all with weapons.  An axe whizzed through the air and clattered on the rock behind us.  The first warning shot.  I held out my hand, and felt a hand come out towards me and grip me tightly. But there was no hand there for me to hold.  Baralard and Roti where on their knees. I stretched out and caught hold of my brother and two sisters.  Then I heard a different voice.  This was a softer voice.  I heard someone exclaiming and pointing at us.  She then slowly came forward towards me, examining me with great curiosity.  She lifted up my long hair, and turned my head sideways, like an exhibit.  My jagged ear was being displayed to the whole community.  Next she did the same to Yewdis, and Honya.  Then Roti stood up and pushed aside her hair too, the whole village went quiet. Baralard, something I had not noticed before, too had the mark.  Then like the breaking of the sun's rays over the mountain top, the atmosphere of the villagers completely changed.  They rush forward enmass towards us, touching us, hugging us and holding us.  We were pulled and pushed into their large communal space and plied with a warm sweet drink, Baralard thought it was made from honey.  And then food came out, large, truly fresh fish, lightly cooked in what I thought must have been duck fat.  This was delectable, and we were quite overcome by their complete change of heart.  And still we had not a spoken word between us.  Roti however was skilled in the art of international sign language.  She had dealt with sailors from all corners of the globe.  As the day turned into evening, the villages continued their celebration of our arrival into their community, as if we were deities.  They set us up for the night to sleep in the communal room, but on soft down filled sacks.  I have never before slept on a bed of gossamer feathers. It was extraordinary, like sleeping in the clouds.  This was certainly a wonderful deliverance, for life out here without friends would be hard to imagine.

In the morning the villages allowed us lazy heads to sleep, while they had been about their business for hours.  Three men came along the path from the woods carrying firewood and fruit.  The whole village, both young and old, crowded round as the large sack of small wizened apples were tipped out into the wooden floor of the communal building.  The villages crowded round as we stretched our sore and stiff limbs.  They would not eat until their guests had chosen first.  They chose the largest for us when we showed no sign of movement.  There were plenty to go round, and though they were especially bitter, so much so that the rest of my family suppressed comic faces, and only indulged in the odd one, to me it was a familiar flavour of by childhood, and meant far more to me than breakfast.

Chapter Fouteen The Journey Away

Chapter 14

Four wet children, and two adults in a boat. What a surprise to discover that it was Baralard who had acquired our rescue vehicle.  He had also done all the planning, and masterminded our escape.  I could not have guessed that there was an ounce of intelligence in his body.  As for being Kinti's uncle; families never cease to amaze me.  Baralard propelled the canoe with one long oar from the back which he skilfully rotated backwards and forwards.  We made slow, but silent progress through the chilly mist.  By now we were very cold, and I think Roti was aware of this because she looked concerned and talk furtively to Baralard, pointing to the wooded banks of the fiord.  I gathered that there was concern also about meeting up with a ship sailing out into the sea.  We did however pull up and Baralard, with care I had never seen demonstrated before, carried each one of us into the woods and  placed us in a hollow made by an upturned root base of a collapsed tree.  The vertical wall of roots gave a sense of protection and homeliness.  Again I marvelled at Baralard's ability to start a fire from scratch.  I had been used to rekindling fire from embers every morning, but here we witnessed an expert at work.  Within a moment, lifesaving heat and billowing smoke enveloped us.  Very soon our cloaks were steaming hot and we fell asleep, leaning upright against the roots. When we awoke, it was first light.  Roti had a hot drink ready for us, and we took it in turns drinking from a large horn cup.  It was fun, and I recalled the many drinking games we had seen the sailors indulge in late at night. Invariably someone would fall off their bench, to gaffors of laughter.  Roti also produced some food.  Freedom made this tasted wonderful; some slightly damp bread, and salty cheese.  Seated out in the wilds once again reminded me of meals I had shared with my people at home.  We always began by looking up into the sky and being grateful for all good gifts.  I looked up, and notice Honya watching me, and she too looked up with curious eyes. I grinned at her and remarked "we're alive and free, isn't it wonderful." She grinned back and said she was just glad we were all together.  Roti and Baralard were talking again.  They were discussing how safe we might be.  Would we be seen on the fiord? Did we need to travel by night, and rest by day? How much food had they brought? There were quite a few ships moving up and down the fiord every day, and our absence for sure would provoke a response. Everyone knew that the best way out of Oshlo would be on the water.  A ship with a sail and a favourable wind would catch us up in a few hours.  Six people propelled by a one oared boat was not going to be quick.  It was decided that the canoe would have be abandoned.  We would need to follow the side of the fiord towards the sea staying hidden in the trees.    How we got out to the ship might be a problem, but maybe we would find a ferryman.  We had our coins, though none of us had a clue how much each was worth, and we would be at the mercy of strangers.

Food, drink, warm clothes, dry weather, everything made me feel good.  Soon we were cheerfully bounding over boulders, and ducking under low branches.  All the time we kept an eye out for the blue glint of water and the fiord.  Baralard insisted on silence, which for Kinti was her natural state, but for Honya was a form of torture.  The journey was far longer than Baralard had expected.  All his reconiscense was based on the reports he picked up from our customers.  He described the headland, where the land become a bare, broad expanse of rock, with isolated intrepid trees poking up through deep fissures.   Here we heard about a small fishing port, built on stilts out into the sea, where the people were described as foreign, and hostile.  We wondered what lay in store. Like most escapees I guess, the thought was there that we might end up worse off than before.  Then I remembered Tilda, her words when we first hit trouble in Jokou.  "We have done nothing wrong, and we are not alone." I had knew deep down we were doing the right thing. This was a risk worth taking no matter what was to happen.  I was with my new family,  and everything was good.

At last my old skills came to the fore.  This journey was pretty much like our expedition, and my expeditionary knowledge came back to me with ease.  First I was able to find safe mushrooms, eggs and wild herbs.  With Kinti, I shinned up tall pine trees to recce the route.  I noticed short cuts, and where passing ships might be avoided. Finally I helped find where the best places to sleep might be. I'm not sure how many nights passed. So far we were completely on our own, but I had seen smoke from my observations. Eventually I saw the sea, and we knew our next challenge was soon approaching.

Chapter Thirteen The Escape

Chapter 13

What a relief it was to at last appraise and understand Kinti's disapproving looks. I guessed that she might have been concerned that all Roti's plans could come to naught if I had not too been trusted. Clearly she was waiting for the moment to bring me in. I continued to see her quiet, mournful expressions, but I felt no tension between us. We were friends. For me the whole thing was such a relief.  When we were up in our roof bower, we began spending longer and longer just being together, humming songs from our childhood, and holding hands. During these times, not one adult showed any sign of interest in us, not even Roti. When one of us felt ill, or particularly upset, we were there for each other as family. We never had any harsh words between us.

Our freedom extended to being allowed to walk down to the fiord's edge early in the mornings after the cleaning had been done. On warm days we would take off our smelly and tattered cloths and wash in the cool salt waters of the fiord. Gradually we became more confident in the water, and took on a style that some might confuse for swimming. We had watched other children, free children, splashing around with carefree abandon. Other children never got to see us. There was no real opportunity for them to do so, as the sailor's rarely had their families with them. I recall seeing one other slave child, and he scurried off, seemingly petrified by my appearance. Months passed, and it was only the changing light in the sky that informed us that each day might be different. I began to wonder back to that surprising day when Roti's bright face appearing at the top of our climbing pole. What was the plan I wondered? Would I have a role? At last I asked Kinti. Initially she seemed very put out, and in her silent way made a low whistling noise. That, I thought, was that. Then three days later Kinti suddenly said, "we are catching a boat at midnight." I was stunned. Like a cloud bursting out rain, questions gushed from me. "Now? Tonight? A boat, whose boat? Do the others know? Who's coming? Is it safe? Where will we go? What will happen to us if we get caught? Are you scared? What do we bring? Is anyone else going? What about our ears, won't everyone know we are running away?" This was obviously too much for Kinti. She gave me a trademark frown. And I knew I'd blow it. Nothing more would she offer until after our late shift, and with the noise of rowdy men beneath us, we shinned up out pole to bed, where this familiar raucous background  noise meant nothing to us.  We could sleep through anything. Tonight was different. Honya and Yewdis were already alert, siting bolt upright. Kinti motioned me to come close. The din of drunken hollering below gave us perfect secrecy. Yewdis had our money wrapped in a leather cloth before us. Kinti explained that Roti had a friend who had a boat, and she had paid him to take us out to a trading vessel that would be passing the bottom of the fiord the following morning, bound for the Ice Islands. The plan was for Kinti and Roti to return to their kin, and they felt sure that from the safety of the Ice Islands, Yewdis and I would be able to decide what we wanted to do. did we agree? No question. Apart from the Ice Islands being in diametrically the opposite direction from my home, and loved ones, getting away from Oshlo was my priority. Although I didn't say it, staying with my chums was also pretty important to me too. Of course we could not sleep. It was a mercy that no one bothered with us, because just a glance would have told anyone that something was a foot. Honya, true to form, gabbled away gently to herself and clung on to me. I tied back and stroked her tight curls. We didn't have much to take with us. One warm cloak each sounded necessary for the fabled Ice Islands. Kinti, with her instinctive sense of time, seemed to know when midnight was approaching. We followed her as she silently slipped down the high pole. As we expected, we were not alone, but even though collapsed drunken men called out for more beer as we picked our way through the benches, our manager had left, and no one was in a fit state to do anything about these four tiny shadows leaving into the night. On the way down to the beach, our next obstacle were the prowling dogs. Yewdis was very scared of dogs, but this was my department. Each dog that smelt our approach, I raced up to and reassured we were friends. Geese are harder to passive, but also most of their owners expect these flighty creatures to be activated by spiders and moths in the night. Finally we were down by the water’s edge. I looked out to sea. There was nothing out there, I looked at Kinti quizzically. She didn't look back, but instead strowed out into the dark cold water. And she was disappearing. Quickly Honya and Yewdis, unquestioningly followed suit. I look behind us. The shapes of the town was there, but indistinct, as a slight sea fog was developing over the waters. There was not a person to be seen. With a gasp at the biting cold rising up my body, and the realisation that my cloak, tight about was waist, was soon to become like a lead weight pulling me down, I followed, with our newly acquired swimming style, mercifully invisible to all. I could make out Honya ahead of me. We were all going quite slowly, I wonder whether we were going at all. I looked back again, and this time there was no sight of Oshlo, just water and fog. I called out to Honya, she called gently back, we inched forward, Ice Islands before us, as our teeth chattered. Just as I wondered whether my whole body had become frozen solid, and defy nature by sinking rather than floating, I bumped into Yewdis and Kinti. They were waiting for me. We were alongside a low slung dugout canoe. Honya was in the boat beaming. A large body in the boat loamed above me, reaching over. Large hands grappled with my socking clothes and I was hauled up into the boat, and deposited in the bottom, like a giant carp. I looked up gratefully at my rescuer and to my horror saw that he was none other than Baralard, our nemesis. I started and recoiled back. Baralard grinned, leaning over and hoisting Kinti into the boat with apparent easy. Then I made out the reassuring face of Roti. "My husband" she said. "He's coming too." Oh my, I thought, our manager's going to have quite a day tomorrow. Messy hall, no fire, and hordes of starving sailors, no cooks - chaos. I wish I could see that, and I hope we make it out of here.

Chapter Twelve The Beginning of a Plan

Chapter 12

Being young and dependent, I held on to an inner hope that one day soon, loving familiar faces would appear and whisk me away.  But the longer I lived up in the roof space with my new brother and two sisters, the more we bonded together and needed each other.  I started to realise that the idea of simply leaving this place and returning to my old life was becoming a fantasy.  I was changing, and this new existence was seeping into me. As with our pet wolf some years back, which initially had been wild, unpredictable and free, but later came to eat out of my hand, so too I became biddable, and eager to please.

 As my knowledge of the new language developed, so I started to have that definitive experience of dreaming in my new tongue.  At first I would wake with a start, and have to slap my face and repeat all my different names off over and over to myself, trying desperately to recall each face.  But the faces that became familiar were the ones about me.  Even 'back turning' Kinti, with her sad mournful eyes, began to mean a lot to me.  Every morning we were up early, not woken with the smile and gentle stroke of my big sister, but with the shouts from the kitchens, and banging on a large caldron.  "Get up you lazy kids, get down here." There was no morning washing ritual, or peaceful meditation.  No warm encouraging words, or unifying sense of a community about you rejoicing in simply being alive.  We knew what was expected of us.  The first job was to rush round the large dining room, over which our sleeping balcony was slung.  Down we came on a long wild pole, steps evenly notched into its sides.  The place was invariably a tip.  Beer mugs, half eaten carcasses of meat, and hideous piles of vomit.  Sometimes the mess's creator might be found, slumped on a bench, head right in the stinking mess.  We scurried down to the sea and drew up buckets of sea water with which we used to slews down all the tables’ benches and floors.  I would go and find the more friendly of our two cooks called Roti, and bring her in to deal with the drunken brutes, who as sleeping dogs, hadn't made it home.  She was masterful at getting them on to their feet, with cooing, coaxing words that made them think that their darling mothers had come and taken them to their breast. Once outside, she gave them a gentle nudge, and they generally collapsed once again in a heap.  With the dining hall slopped out and smelling of the sea, we brought in wood to stoke up the embers of the fire from the night before.  Then we sat together, especially on a cold morning, close to each other and the  enlivened flames. Our friendly cook would bring up our morning porridge. This moment in the day was the best for me.   No adults other that Roti, would be around. She joined us, always sitting close to Kinti.  I felt they must be from the same tribe as they shared similar features.  Kinti seemed at last relaxed, and even ventured to look my way.  But this was a brief moment of peace. Very soon our daily duties kicked in, and along with it the kicking that occurred if anything was felt to be a miss, or not a miss.  If  we had had a cat, I guess I might have kicked it.  This was the way we lived.

Our diner was often the first place sailors from all over the known world would come.  Straight into our bar, ordering tankards of beer, with colourful language, and coins from every realm.  We were fascinated by the sight of all this strange money, though we were forbidden to touch it.  Seeing these exotic pictures on these small discs reminded me that perhaps I might meet one of my compatriots, fresh from a far off place.  I knew some of the sailors who came our way were slaves, or perhaps freed slaves, because each slave, and we were no exception, had a notch cut out of their ear. This had happened to me as we left Jokou.  It was a permanent reminder that everything has changed in my life.  But I did not see anyone I knew, and my language, not even a lilt, came past my ears.  All day we took orders, scurried between benches, avoided being trodden on, and carried heavy loads.  Some of the sailors were kindly, and tried to pat our heads.  Others were distinctly dangerous, we looked out for each other, warning each other to be careful and avoid groping hands.  The work went on unrelentingly day after day, always the same.  Often too exhausted to talk, our main comfort was to lean against each other and sometimes hold each other.  We would save choice morsels of food from the tables, and share them together.  Some kind sailors might press coins into our hands.  It was forbidden that we should have any money.  If we were seen, the coins would be handed over dutifully to the manager, who with a scolding frown, would ungraciously snatch at the money.  When no one was looking, and some sailors knew what they were doing, that money would be hidden high in the roof of the building.  We had not a clue of how much we had been given, but we knew this was important stuff, and might be useful to us some day.  Then one day,  Kinti's enigmatically secretes began to be revealed.

That day, our nemesis, Baralard, the violent objectionable cook that made Roti appear like an angel, did not appear.  There were no curses, or great banging of the caldron.  Instead Roti's head poked up from the ladder pole.  She had a bright excited face.  She explained that she and Kinti were sisters.  That Baralard  was unwell today. She looked at each one of us in the face and encouraged us not to give up.  She knew we were going to be alright.  She and Kinti had a plan.  We were all to be saved.  Then the manager arrived and Roti was unceremoniously pulled down from the pole by a leg. She got a harsh slapping, bruising her eye, and was banished to the kitchens.  No porridge that day, but we had had a different form of sustenance.  The manager could pick up on something, and things became more rough. But then life went back to its usual tedious pattern, though not quite the same. My bond with Kinti was sealed. I knew she trusted me, and I was now on the inside.

Chapter Eleven My New Life

Chapter 11

I realised that until now, I had never really experienced any hardships in my life. Yes our life, especially through the winter months, was tough.  We were regularly at the point where we might have died from starvation. But true hardship is not about physical pain,  it is about not having loving people around you.  You can be warm and well fed, but have the hardest life imaginable.

I remembered the days back in the gorge, when the snow lay deep on the ground, and the temperatures dropped so that we had to wait hours for enough water to thaw on the fire for us to drink. Every year there was a period of about one month when we literally had nothing to eat. A few hunters would go out and catch a reindeer or two.  These are not stupid animals, and it was essential that our people did not leave it so long that we had becomes fatigued with hunger.  You get used to this way of living, and the pain of an empty stomach is ignored.  It was therefore important that we noted when this time might occur in advance, before it was too late.  Catching a reindeer involves a lot of energy.  We first tracked the reindeer herds moving across deep snow.  They knew well how to avoid us, choosing routes over snow covered streams and rivers.  Here their weight allowed them to cross, whereas our weight would, likely as not, drop us through into the icy waters below.  When a reindeer was caught, it was brought home, often over long distances.  It's most valuable dietary contribution was to be found in its stomach.  Reindeer live off scrapping lichen and mosses from rocks deep under the insulating layers of snow.  This disgusting green slim was essential to our survival, because it contained the vital  nutrients we needed to stop out teeth drop out, and our bones bend, and we knew it.  Parents coaxed their obstreperous children to eat this revolting stuff, and really it was only hunger that had any power of influence over us.  The green mush was washed, and boiled.  To make it more palatable it was cooked with strong spices, and lumps of rock salt.  Then as a community, all seated together, we would eat it as if it were the greatest of all delicacies.  It was a comical sight as you can imagine.  While we ate, old familiar songs extolling the delights of reindeer stomach were sung.  This was when our refugee friends, who already suffered greatly, not being used to surviving harsh winters, really knew we were completely mad.  I am sure they made plans to escape as soon as they could, and go back to their former lives, feeling that death and imprisonment might be more pleasant than staying another year with us.

But I had three new chums, all about my size, and although we did not speak each other’s languages, we instinctively stuck together and cared for each other in a wonderful way.  Thus if one were given left over food from a sailors meal, or a warm scarf, it was shared later with the others, without a moment’s thought.  Gradually I picked up the Oshlo language, from various sources including our rough, but pleasant enough cook.  He spoke largely though cuffs of the ear, and threatened cuffs, but also spoke in single words, which always makes learning a new language that much more straightforward.  Gradually the conversations between sailors became intelligible, and I was able to sift out the punctuating swear words. I realised how helpful to the learner these expletives are, as they slow down the torrent of words into a lilting rhythm.

Yewdis, was a dirty, pale skinned boy, with a pronounced stutter.  He had a toothy grin which I liked.  As we began to communicate more and more I learned that he was from an island a long way from Oshlo, and he thought all his family had been killed.  He had been here for longer than anyone else. I learnt that I had replaced a girl who had recently died.  Her dead body had been thrown into the fiord, and Yewdis was still grieving.  They had been very close.  He took me to the spot when he had last seen her body.   We gazed down into the deep water, and I joined him in grieving for this unknown sister.

Honya, my next companion, was a very short, skinny girl.  She had short black tightly curled hair.  She was a chatterbox, and it took me a while to understand her.  She had wonderful glowing eyes, and a great courage, which I admired.

Kinti, was my final new sister. Her initial approach to me was to ignore me completely. For a number weeks I hadn't a clue what was going on, or whether I had offended her.  I tried to discuss this with Honya, but she could not understand what I was on about.  Kinti seemed fine with the others.  Was it something to do with the loss of their old companion? Then Kinti did something that reassured me that we would be OK.  And from that moment our relationship was sealed.  It was also an act that was to prove to be of great significance for us all. We knew that on our own we were as nothing, like ants under the table. But together we were a band, a gang, and mercifully this bond was one I came to see as strong as our abseiling lines.

How would you rule the world?

These sorts of questions are fine, they are free.  But In some countries , at particular times, they can cost your life. So it was in revolutionary Spain in the 30's.

How would I rule my world?

My principles would be based on the following:-

1) promote the sum of collective good (utilitarianism/ internationalism).
2) measure the impact on our environment over the longer term (sustainability).
3) decisions to be made as close to source of need as possible (subsidiarity).
4) every political decision made to be held in check and questioned (democracy).
5) profits to the people (socialism).
6) all basic need met unconditionally (security).
7) shared power.  Set periods of office. Awareness of creeping hubris (pragmatism).

My radical position would be-
A) To largely aim to do away with charity. Charity is an admission of failure. It fosters dependency, and ensures that the powerful retain power. It is largely passive, maintaining a 'status quo'.
B) Reduce the size of car engines to make them safer, slower and more economic/ecological.
C) Nationalise transport systems, and utilities.
D) Introduce more regulation to control capitalism.  For example- stop cheep flights or over charging on insurance. Both mean a fair price is not being charged. Someone suffers.

I would introduce a basic allowance for all citizens, that would be expected to cover the cost of basic needs. This system would be like a pention. (It already exists in countries like Kuwait).
The old and disabled would get a supplement dependent on their need. This system would reduce fraud and would be cheeper to administer. It would also mean that everyone would know that there should be no reason for anyone to beg.

Key big policy decisions would need to be:-

Working out partnerships and alinements. Trade agreements- defence pacts, creating a shared voice.

Where to strike particular balances, for example in education.  Should school be run like private entities, or have political oversight?  I'm in favour of local political oversight. individual educational establishments would be seen as part of a larger whole, where every member of the community has a place, and the focus would be on all age education, seen as an investment rather than a privilege.

Addressing health inequalities.  Public health should be seen as integrated, and therefore will have to be better than private care. Currently private care 'piggie backs' on public health.  Private operating theatres use public A&E services to act as an insurance policy.  This should end.  I would have multiagency strategies where the needs of the user would be central, and all services would act to moderate against the 'unsaid' intentions of individual services.

The fostering of national values and identity that is open minded, inclusive and healthy.  For me the key here is having shared experiences and acknowledging the desires of large and small groups.

Anachism

Who did Marx rail against when the world saw them as natural allies? Yes Mikhail Bakunin, the Russian anarchist philosopher, whose life seemed a mirror of his own. He also gave up his privialaged comfortable existence at a young age, to live on thoughts alone, and the patronage of sympathisers.  He spent three years in prison until all his teeth fell out. Eventually he escaped to Japan, and America.  He visited London on his way to Switzerland where he eventually died and is buried in Bern.

I'm listening to George Orwell's account of the Spanish civil wall 'Homage to Catalonia' http://www.george-orwell.org/Homage_to_Catalonia/11.html (chapter 12) which relates beautifully the madness of clashing ideology. The story starts with his inadequate training, largely because the only guns they had were in use at the front.  Your first lessons on how to fire a rifle was also how to save your own skin. The rifles used were dirty, rusty, outdated, still hot from having recently been fired by the man you had come to replace.  Orwell has a riveting description of the sensation of being hit by a direct bullet, straight into the neck.  He remarks that it is worth recording a description because this unique and singular experience can rarely be retold first hand.  Convalescing from the injury in Barcelona with his amazing wife, who so far, is a mystery to me, Orwell is disillusioned by the breakdown in unity between the different political factions making up the popular front.  He ends up guarding the offices of the POUM with a dodgy arm. The POUM is a trotskyist trade union, his particular affiliation, later denounced as a facist foil, by the other parties.

So what of Spanish Anarchism? Perhaps, the only time anarchists have historically been elected into power was in 1920/30's Spain.

As I read it, the struggle between Marx and Bakunin revolves around how the will of the people is enacted. Bakunin's famous quotes are:

If you took the most ardent revolutionary, vested him in absolute power, within a year he would be worse than the Tsar himself.

When the people are being beaten with a stick, they are not much happier if it is called "the People's Stick". 

In Europe at the time the rich bourgeois were far out numbered by the poor.  The problem was that democracy could not work, because the ruling class had a monopoly of knowledge and control over the system.  The western system of democracy was for the people to elect a 'wise man' to represent them.  He would do what they wanted.  In countries where the vast majority of the people had been kept in poverty for generations, power at the ballot box was not seen as a solution. Bakunin's Anarchism I feel was an attempt to find a way for those people to gain the skills of government through their own experience, from the ground upwards.  He viewed natural law as the final arbitrator, being ferociously anti God.  God to him was the imagined justification, a projection of human belief just above the heads of kings, giving moral authority to their tyranny.

If Voltaire say that if God did not exist, it would he necessary to invent him, Bakunin says the opposite,  "if God really existed, it would be necessary to abolish Him."

But of course, you can find plenty of Anachism in the bible.
It starts with the relationship between God and Adam and Eve in the garden. God seems to be looking for a simple trusting partnership. Very few rules.
The the question everyone asks, "why is God not preventing evil? Not acting with great autocracy?  Why are we given so much freedom to choose, and why are the systems of power not more obvious.?

Where do I want to go?

Thoughts prompted by a discussion between myself and my Muslim colleague.

He invited me to join him in on a trip to visit a mosque called 'The Retreat', in the city centre. We established that it's location is close to the Uniterian Chapel. This is a rather beautiful, if 'washed up in a green space', building, and has a lot of city history attached to it.  Our mayor is said to be a congregant.

We discussed the meaning of Unitarianism.  I explained that they don't believe in the 'Trinity', like Muslims we aggreed, but they are also universalists, believing that all worship is directed towards the same purpose.  Now that's unlike Muslims we agreed. "Ok", says my colleague.  "You come to 'The Retreat' with me, and I will join you at a destination of your choice." "The pub?" I offered.

But why-oh-why do we have to have the trinity? It causes so much confusion.  As a young absorbent,  mind, I was given the sun to think about, it's warmth and its light. Then try to fit that with 'God'. It's like doing mental gymnastics. Trying to describe the trinity to outsiders is like explaining why God has the  head of an ox in Egyptian mythology.  It's like some well worn  national story, understood as fact by natives, but daft to outsiders. My German friends who live in Britain have alerted me to this phenomenom, with the weekly (sometimes daily) media presence of the British world war experience and British valour.   Instead of the story fading with time, it grows and becomes a strong uniting force.  And it's ridiculous.  

But the trinity is vital to our understanding of the nature of God, and how we relate to God.  

I understand it as the only way to solve the God paradox.

If we believe that God is perfect and just, how could s/he have created evil?

God creates evil to give us freedom.  Freedom is the ability to choose. Not predestined choice, but a genuine free choice.  Evil is present to be turned away from. 

But what about heaven? I believe it will be the same, but the inclination to do wrong will not be there.  So the inclination is stronger this time round? It is.  But perhaps it's necessary as the training ground that ensure that things go better next time.  Without it, we might not be up to it.  I understand it as a systemic process.  You might say, well what about the baby, who never experienced life, will they be up to it? 'Wrong doing' in the first place was not about 'me'.  We all sin, it's about 'us' 

So God puts on the clothes of human existance and pushes the plough, helps with the washing up, and stands up in the synagogue.  This continues to the point where he is betrayed, tortured and killed.  But being God, this is not the end. S/He knew we were set-up in the first place. S/He set us up! The price would be too high, so s/he did what s/he always intended to do, and paid the price. So we now get a taste of this heaven stuff now.  God's presence continues with us, and it is only the inner certainty of this fact that means we have faith. It is 'heart focused', not just 'head focused' (mental images of the sun etc.) I am reminded of the man healed by Jesus in the story in John 9:25  He was asked what he thought was going on with Jesus, was he the messiah etc? (watch your answer mate because these people hate Jesus). He said, I don't know, all I can say is once I was blind, now I can see.   John Newton said the say thing in his song Amazing Grace.

So which pub shall we go to?

Chapter Ten Not Alone

Chapter 10

Those first few weeks of my new life in Oshlo were like a crash course in understanding chaos.  I was thrown into this new culture as viewed from its underbelly. How I survived at such a young age, before barely feeding myself, to now, taking advantage of every opportunity thrown, (sometimes literally) my way. At first I wondered whether I would forget completely my past, the secure, happy-go-lucky, fulfilled days of just months ago. I wondered if I was like our pet goat, who didn't seem to show one bit of remorse when it's mother died suddenly. She just collapsed and the kid chewed hay right next to her head.  We were all distraught, but her kid showed not a bit of care. Animals live in the 'here and now'. They move on effortlessly. After the first month I realised I was not an animal. I keep on seeing my loved ones in dreams. They came to me and I was able to recall them vividly. It was such a comfort, and I would sit up in the night and deliberately make myself mouth their names, and sometimes I held out my arms to them. Once I woke up thinking that Tilda was calling me by name. When I realise I was just sleeping with three dirty smelly kids, I was not sad. It was a joy to just think of Tilda, and to feel that she was alive and thinking about me.

Later I was told in detail all about what happen back home when the allotted day arrived and our expedition had not returned. It had all been worked out before what to do. Every day of our trip was mapped out and the return journey should have taken five days. At first two people from our tribe set out along the route, traveling for two days, walking the route. They moved fast and without loads, covering twice the distance. Seeing no sign of us they turned back and returned for a conference with Eliphoa. It was agreed that they should retrace our whole journey, asking for information from anyone they met on the way. All assumed that the town of Jokou might have been the riskiest point. Wild landscapes and challenging terrain is nothing to the risk presented by other human beings. The two who had volunteered to go were wise and experienced travellers. They opted to wear clothing from the Jokou people. Despite being proud of our traditional attire, they were aware that the headman might be  expecting a follow up call from our people, and they had no wish to delight him with being more easy booty. I learned how our two spies were successful in finding out a good deal of information. They discovered that we had been split into three groups, with Tilda possibly still being in the headman's harem. They heard that the older, stronger members were destined for the galleys, and the younger had been taken by sea to the west, possible as far as the Ice islands. It was reassuring to discover that our two had been treated very well by the poor and lowly citizens of Jokou, who clearly had retained a soft spot for their primitive cousins. So it was obviously with heavy hearts that our spies returned. One kind supporter even handed over three of the axes we had purchased in the market on that fateful day.  He said that he  had found them abandoned in the market place, and had kept them hidden away for us. The spies said they took them, not for their worth as tools, but because they provided tangible evidence of our existence, given that now there was nothing. Finally our intrepid enquirers established that Tilda was not in the town at all. Apparently her presence in the headman's harem had create such as stir, with the abused women beginning to change, becoming more fearless, and joining together in extraordinary scenes of defiance, that it was felt that she had to be got rid of. Normally in that town there was no restriction on the wickedness that might be expected.  Tilda, as a mark of ritual humiliation, was thrown into the headman's den of jackals, to be torn apart for sport. But Tilda was not alone in that den. Her fearlessness was not something to be drummed up with magic incantations. The dogs, despite their hunger, apparently did not touch her. She sat, straight-backed, through the night, with locals coming constantly to gaze at her over the wall, and gasp. In the morning she was gone, and no one let on what had happened to her. No threat from the powerful headman and his cronies could produce a whisper. Our spies found they too were kept in the dark. Not a word would be said. So they left Jokou carrying various tools, and with the knowledge that Tilda might be alive, and on the loose. It thrilled their hearts, and they returned with at least that flicker of joy burning.

Our people, though used to hardship and pain, were not passive.  With the news from Jokou, long meetings and discussions were held deciding what might be done.  Morning vigils were held with greater earnestness.  It was agreed that not one of our people could be lost.  Each was held with such high value.  But what to do? A few of our people, and with the experiences of our refugee members, spoke at length about our knowledge of shipping routes, and far of towns to the west.  A great map was sketched out on the floor.  With distances marked in days,  there were numerous unanswered questions. Finding us was one thing.  Getting us released and away was quite another.   The story reminded me of the wise words of my grandfather. I had sat with him for three days just before he died. In our community people face death and look it in the face.  It is seen as a gateway, much as the gateway of my mother’s pelvis was when I entered this world. One day I was there, floating upside down in dark warm water, tightly constricted; the next I was out in the light and the noise, with faces all about me. So with the gateway of death.  We were grief stricken with my grandfather as he sat patiently under an old tree for this journey to begin.  He was not afraid, but we were in agony.  It felt like he was present at his own funeral.  We left him with food and drink in the shade of that great tree.  Five days later we returned and collected his thin rigid body, and buried it in our tribal burial mound.  We grieved for a year, marking each day with a notch on a post by the burial site.  But I always remembered the words be gave me as he died. "There is only one thing that you can ever know for sure.  You are never alone.  You go on that journey holding the hand of the one who created you for a purpose from the start."  Though alone, I was not alone. That that was priceless.

Chapter Nine Alone

Chapter 9

Another ghastly morning, something completely alien to me.  It was as if everything in the world had changed I was now living as another person.  I remembered what Mosako had told us about how other peoples had beliefs that when they die, their spirit is taken up into a different life, even a different animal. To them we never die, but eternally circulate around the world.  A few righteous people get taken up into heaven as their spiral ascends.  A thought crossed my mind that perhaps some wickedness had propelled me into this punished new life.   I checked myself- Tilda had said remember we have done nothing wrong.  This was an injustice brought against our people, an easy going harmless tribe, quite the simplest to bully.  And yet we weren't a complete push over.  I recalled Tilda spitting even when a heavy jacket boot sat across her face.  It was as if she had freed her spirit from her body, leaving it trapped under the jack boot, as she stood tall.  Her mind and spirit were free, even as her body was subject to cruelty.

The guards were up and about.  One guard, a chatter box, who could not help himself but tell us what our fate was likely to be. Half of us had been sold to row the long boats on long journeys south.  These were the ones with impressive muscles.  Weeds like me were to be sold as domestic slaves, to a merchant heading around the coast to the fiords, and further, to the far islands of volcanos and ice.  For a moment I felt some pleasure.  I had always wanted to travel, and perhaps my new owner might be a good type.  It is wonderful to be young and innocent.  The pain is easier to bare, and I regret to say, I even forgot the fate of our community, with its fragile existence under the escarpment.  Later that evening I did think of them, and was more sober.  I wondered if other young people had taken my place.   Also whether Mosako was continuing with the great sagas we loved to hear.  I imagined a new toupee of 'gathers', now learning their gathering skills, and how the idea of going on expedition might now be viewed.

Being somewhat light in weight, I found myself pushed into the bow of a long wooden ship, with one tall rectangular sail.  I had seen ships passing by the cliffs, but now to be inside one was an incredible feeling.  The boat rocked, inducing a strange internal sensation.  I could taste some sick in my mouth.  We had been given a handful of cold porridge to eat that morning, sticky oats, like tree resin, one hand as a platter.  This was not bad food, but now I could taste how little progress it had made into my system, and even now was considering giving up.  The boat was pushed off by some of the strongest men I have ever seen.  These must be the fabled Rus.  Long before these marauders reach new lands, the inhabitants know all about them.  They arrive in new lands, surprised to discover that their new subjects can already speak their language and greet them with a bowl of hot soup.  It is useful to have completed your studies in living under the oppressor well in advance of the invasion.  it calms the nerves.

The rising waves and shrill whistle of the wind were invigorating.  I felt really alive, even with the clawing reminder of my fate pulling at my wrists.  I wondered if I too might be able to become a galley slave someday.  The sight of the whip stinging through the air brought me up short.  This was no life to aspire to.  I wondered what was actually in store for me.  I quietened myself down, and closed my eyes, allowing the chill, the motion, and the groans of men, flapping of the sail and crashing waves to all be together, in harmony.  I concentrated on thinking in my mind upwards, and outwards.  Feeling a connection with the one who holds all things together.  What was the purpose of this journey? I recalled Mosako's message. "Everything we do that it done with honourable desire will be used in creation.  It's power is that of the creative force, and the creative force will conquer destruction." I recalled how just two days ago, our dance in the market square had transfixed a people.  We had seen such a glow in their faces, such as sense of hope and wellbeing.  I wondered whether this would conquer the destructive force we later encountered.  It felt to me that destruction had won. Mosako described the destructive force like an underground river. You could sense the noise of destruction from time to time, just under the surface. Then it might break out on the surface. You could truly see it, in all its sticking horror. I felt we had fallen into that river.  My sister would be suffering the most, my community would be grieving our loss.  I was grieving, and the pain of my situation returned.

Sleep now took me and sped me on to our destination.  We arrived in a grand port, surrounded by mountains at the head of a long fiord.  So this was the land of the fiords.  I thought our escapement was a fine place to live, but I could see here a land with might higher horizons.  Endless coast, tall trees, and a massive confident people.  So to my first night in Oshlo, a town that made Jokou look like a half-hearted.  I was impressed, and marvelled at the intricately carved wooden buildings, each one far greater that the headman's barn.

My new life was to be a young waiter, working in a bar with sailors departing or returning from far off places, a lodestone, full of stories, and terrible feats of male bravado. My first night was spent sleeping high in the eves of the roof, with three other young slave. We shared not a single word in common, but being now in the same bed, were immediately, 'family'.