Cometh The Hour

By Howard Hawley

Cometh the hour is a tale about being in the right place at the right time and having the attributes and ability to take advantage.

It is an action packed, fast moving adventure set over several countries involving innocent people who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The principal character is from the SFSG and the action is intertwined with a serious romance.

The principal couple shoot to the very top of society and power, bringing fame to themselves and success to the country, but at a price.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Howard Hawley
• Release date: Feb 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463578391

Book preview

Chapter 1

St Peter’s

St Peter’s, York, June 1993. Mansion House Dormitory.

For god’s sake, Scrotum, will you shut up about fish and chips? I’m sure they were really great, but we’re here, it’s the start of a new term and we’re not getting any.

Sorry Jed, but they were terrific. Just walking out on the pier at Whitby, the sun setting and casting long shadows in front of me whilst I ate my delicious white cod soaked in vinegar and sprinkled with lashings of salt. The long delicious chips just seemed to last and last.

Jed glared at Scrotum, but noticed the other two were just sitting, listening and salivating.

Right, come on then, exclaimed Jed. Let’s go! This is our best chance before the rest of the dorm get back tomorrow.

Three startled faces stared back, paused, then leapt to their feet. It wouldn’t be dark for another 30 minutes, enough time to get through the first-floor window and down the tree to the side of the rear lawn, the city centre and fish and chips being just ten minutes’ walk away. The pole that facilitated the crossing from the window to the tree was one of the Conspirators’ secrets. ‘The Conspirators’ being the name for members of the Guido Society, a closed society of boys that had its origins in the eighteenth century, though it claimed to be in direct descent to Guy Fawkes and the sixteenth. The Guido Society of the past had its meetings on the cross-quarter days giving eight meetings based on the solstices and equinoxes, but now by necessity they were worked around term-time tables. The society’s present location came into being when the new school was completed following the disastrous fire at its old location in Gillygate. The books of the society survived the fire and are handed down by the departing members every five years. The keeping of the books was the serious business of the society, its raison d’être to provide a continuous link to the past and accurately record all the relevant thoughts and events. They gave a continuous link of pupils back over a hundred years.

Following the acquisition of the boarding houses outside the main school and its grounds, meetings in the old roof space have been increasingly difficult. Difficult, but not impossible, and as the four grew older they managed with guile to access the secret alcove, home of the original books whilst always being elsewhere.

James Edward DuPré.

Michael William Connelly.

Paul Jackson-Woodhouse.

Briton Alexander Gardener.

To each other they were JED, BILLY, PJ and BAG aka Scrotum.

The four were now the standard bearers of the Guido Society, recruited by the outgoing sixth form members as in turn they would pass the duty to incomers.

Traversing the pole was dangerous and reckless and involved much bravado amongst the youngsters. Only their total inability to see the dangers landed them safely at the foot of the oak. After checking the way was clear of prefects and house parents, they were through the hedge and on their way. An unlikely grouping anywhere outside England’s public school system, the four friends had already formed a bond that would last for life. Physically and academically they were similar, they would stand back to back, side to side, in any situation and against anything and everything. They were in the true sense of the word, pals.

They were quickly out onto Bootham, the A19 trunk road of Roman origin. They glanced across the road to the main school building, a fine example of ornate gothic revival architecture, resplendent with its octagonal and filigree towers aside the gabled centrepiece. A quick look up and down the street to check the way was clear. and they were on their way.

Bootham changed into High Petergate at the Bar Walls, the site of the Roman gate, the Porta Principalis Dextra, and the start of the road to Hadrian’s Wall. Then on to Petergate, a road well-trodden since an army of Romans had moved north from Lincoln after forging an alliance with the Queen of the Brigantes, the ruling tribe of greater Yorkshire 2,000 years ago.

It was a beautiful evening. The sun cast long shadows and the chimes of the Minster bells rang out from the Tuesday night practice session as they had done for 800 years. According to Michael’s uncle, the best fish and chips in the world, even better than Whitby’s, were sold by Drakes at the end of Petergate at its junction with Church Street, and that was the destination and the goal.

Grasping the open trays of cod, chips and mushy peas the banter that had filled the outward journey gave way to the lip-smacking enjoyment that only this meal could invoke. They walked in the roadway until a car came towards them and they had to go single file along the pavement, passing Mad Alice Lane. Jed, as always, was in front, Billy, as always, was at the rear. Billy yelled out and all sprang into attention overdrive and action. Billy was being dragged down the alley by two rough-looking older teens, apparently attempting to steal his meal. The remaining three piled into the alley to rescue him and his meal. They were met head on by a large gang who were concealed by the small courtyard at the rear of the shops. Their food was stolen and they were all jostled, kicked, punched, spat on and pushed to the floor. Within the Fagin-like group there were two older men, perhaps 18 or 20, whose agenda was not the theft of fish and chips. They were out to rape and abuse. They sought the thrill of violence and the satisfaction of degradation, defiling four St Peter’s’ boys would do nicely in their book.

The mob quickly had the four on the floor and were kicking and dragging them around as they attempted to defend themselves and escape. The two older members were pulling Billy to his feet and wrestling him into the position they wanted. One soon had his head gripped between his legs and arms pulled back to cause maximum pain whilst the other dragged his trousers and pants down and was fondling his penis whilst unzipping his own fly. He attempted to bugger Billy but was met with a valiant double-footed kick from Jed. Rage now turned Billy’s attackers onto Jed and the man holding Billy threw him aside and launched at Jed and wrestled him into the same position that Billy had been in. Now Jed was being molested and anal rape loomed large. Paul and Briton were fighting back with some effect, landing punishing blows on the younger members of the pack. Seeing the melee was going against them, Jed was dropped with a nasty blow and now they all turned on the other three, beaten by overwhelming odds the four were pretty much resigned to damage limitation when warm liquid splashed over their faces.

Following an unseen cue from the elders, all the pack had begun to urinate over the four. Inexplicably, this seemed to satisfy them and the attack was over as quickly as it had started.

Mustering the last of their physical resources, the four struggled to their feet dripping blood and urine, but thankfully with no life-threatening injuries.

We need a plan and quick, is what Jed thought he said, through the blood in his mouth as he pushed himself against the wall to get upright and get a good look at his injuries. His mouth was the worst, perhaps a broken tooth or split gum. There was much moaning and groaning around him and one by one they managed to assess the injuries and set their focus on getting back to their dorm.

Billy dominated the conversation with his assessment of the problems ahead of them, which he summarised as getting in and then explaining the injuries away.

Keep it simple, the story I mean, it’s always easier to tell a simple lie than it is a complicated one. We all say the same thing. A plan was hatched.

The first thing we must do is not go past the girls’ college. The thought of girls laughing at our pee-soaked bloodied appearance would be the final straw.

A quick diversion down the alley into Swinegate, then back on to Petergate via Grape Lane would suffice.

Chapter 2

Headmaster’s study

The Headmaster’s study, 10am Wednesday.

The oak panelling, decked with photos and paintings of illustrious alumni that looked down on them in this office, some as they had for 180 years, set the scene.

The four stood side by side, heads bowed.

"Let me get this correct, you all fell down the staircase… together… whilst fooling around playing a game and you all individually claim to be the principle culprit and wish to take the blame.

You all apologise for being away from your dorm after lights out and you all individually take the blame claiming to be the ring leader and encouraging the others to break school rules.

Seeing Michael was about to speak, he raised his finger and continued.

"Let me tell you boys, I have never heard such a load of total… rubbish in my 30 years of teaching. I do not believe one word any of you have said. However, you all appear to have suffered from whatever the true situation is and you appear to still respect one another. I am therefore inclined, for the good of the school, to accept your stories. I am going to consider this matter closed, subject to receiving a medical report from all of you.

If the medical gives you a green light then I shall not inform your parents or take any further disciplinary action, other than to record your actions in my pupil files.

The four reported to Matron that they were required to have a medical and asked if she would arrange it. They returned over the footbridge to their dorm in complete silence. Their drama tutor would have been proud of their performances.

Safely inside their dorm and after checking they could not be overheard, they all let out their expressions of total relief.

The adrenalin-fuelled bravado that had kept them going for the past 14 hours just dissipated into relief. Even though they had been beaten up, sexually abused and defiled, the consequences of their actions could have been so much worse, with expulsion a real possibility.

There was little point in going over events, best to move on and ensure their tracks were well covered and all the soiled clothing safely disposed of.

We were fooling around and we fell down the stairs. We were fooling around and we fell down the stairs. Let’s all say it, said Briton. Keep saying it every day for the remainder of term and it will be the truth.

That’s OK, but what are we going to do? said PJ.

In what way, do? asked Billy.

Well, I’m sure I speak for all when I say I want revenge, and I want it big time.

Get real PJ, we are 12 years old in a boarding school. We nearly killed ourselves getting back in here with our injuries. We damn nearly got expelled! said BAG.

It would be nice, though, would it not? said PJ.

PJ’s right. I want to kill them all slowly and painfully, but we are just kids, boys, the Headmaster calls us. But what do little boys do?

They grow up into big strong men.

These words from Jed seemed to calm the mood just in time to hear from Matron that they were all to be escorted to the surgery on Gillygate for a medical.

Following the incident, they all threw themselves into school life. The campus was blessed with grounds that extended down to the Ouse. It was also blessed with high sporting and academic standards. For a young man with the desire to succeed there was not a better place.

They threw themselves into sport, rugby, cricket, tennis, rowing, athletics. The school employed professional coaches in all disciplines and the four were a dream come true for all of them. Get them on your team and you would win.

They joined the Combined Cadet Force and James had his first taste of the military life and could often be found practising his target skills in the school’s indoor gallery.

The highlight of their sporting activity was an exchange programme with Selbourne College in South Africa where they would play rugby against some of the best.

They grew fast, they grew strong, they grew clever, they were inseparable.

They never separated, but their interests and specialisms created demands. Billy was a prominent member of the debating team and BAG had a penchant for drama, the only place he actually got to touch girls. PJ needed to be pried out of the IT Department in the New Science Building at the rear of the monkey gage.

James was into the Duke of Edinburgh award scheme and actually enjoyed competing in cross country runs. He particular enjoyed the ones in competition with the school’s great rival, the Catholic college of Ampleforth.

Chapter 3

The missing year

Necessity is the mother of invention.

James had concluded his home visit and was returning to his college. His father had taken him to the station to catch the 4.55pm. The only eventful part of the journey was being held up by a march of the Anti-Fascist League with their stupid placards and daft chants. James was in a foul mood. Earlier that day his parents had confided that they were to divorce. Whilst listening to the chants and waiting to cross a junction he made up a chant of his own.

You don’t work and you don’t pay, so you don’t have no fucking say.

He was early and it was cold and dark.

Visiting York had darkened his mood. Seeing the human trash on the streets reminded him too vividly of the humiliation he suffered. He had started to carry a disguise with him and he slipped into the toilets at the end of the main platform and emerged looking 40 years older in a flimsy plastic mac, flat cap, complete with long-haired wig and a fold-up visibly impaired user’s cane. He walked by the river, his gait was stooped and bent. He was using his stick to feel his way. Within minutes two yobs appeared and started to abuse him. Their verbal taunts quickly turned to pushing and demands for money. This was the moment he dreamed of, what his nightmares were always about – first the humiliation, then his growth into a fit, tall, strong man, then revenge. He floored the youths with two blows.

However, just as he relaxed, four more jumped out of the darkness and attacked him like a pack of dogs. He took several serious blows from behind and had to make a very hasty retreat.

On the 6.26pm direct train he promised himself he would get help.

The year was 1938. In the depths of the Jewish quarter of Bratislava, Ire Sde-Or, a Jew born in Pozsony Hungary, an athlete and expert in wrestling, boxing and gymnastics, had become leader of a group of Jewish boxers. The group had been assembled to defend the neighbourhood against increased anti-Semitic attacks by thugs. He had quickly realised that the gentlemanly rules of sporting competition had no place in street fights and had modified his style into a discipline he would call contact combat. It was a style that promoted finishing a fight as quickly and aggressively as possible by attacking the most vulnerable parts of the body, no matter the outcome or the consequence of permanent injury or death.

In 1940, at the height of the second world war, he, his family and friends left Bratislava on the last refugee ship to Europe and on to what was to become Israel, at that time called Mandatory Palestine and under British rule. They joined the Haganah, the paramilitary organisation protecting Jews from Arabs, and founded the Palmach, the forerunner of the Israel Defence Force.

He developed his techniques of aggressive fighting to include the very best of all other disciplines and applied and adapted them to real situations.

A National Service recruit to the Israeli Defence Force is trained in the discipline for five weeks and all Israelis undertake National Service in the IDF at some point in their lives. By the time James was born, 80,000 men and 12,000 women had the basics.

The Wingate Institute in Netanya is a sprawling complex dedicated in the most part to sport. It had at its heart Bahad 8, the IDF’s hand-to-hand combat school and the home of the fighting discipline Krav Maga.

James was in the fourth and final year of his engineering science course and had written to the Israeli Embassy whilst awaiting his results. He was almost 21 and was heading to Sandhurst in pursuit of his long-decided career of military officer, but had arranged a year’s gap. He had decided Krav Maga was what he had promised himself on the train. He would learn to dispatch his foes aggressively and quickly. To his absolute and total amazement he received a reply from Ambassador Stuaber. Not only did the ambassador reply to James’s letter, he gifted James a bursary to cover all his tuition fees with the IDF.

After telling all, with general, vague and casual references, he was off on his gap year to see the world. He embarked on the toughest mentally and physically demanding episode of his life.

He trained with the IDF, he became a trainer with the IDF, he worked on civilian training for the Institute, he was respectful and hard-working and in return he gained respect from his peers. At first he worked at night in the local bars, his limited Hebrew prevented him from gaining anything other than menial work. He was popular with the girls, both the conscripts on basic training and the civilian volunteer forces. He seemed to be the opponent of choice. He became hard in the body and gentle in the head, the demons that had driven him since June 1991 had been housed and channelled. The aggressive fighting style of Krav Maga was something he could not wait to try on the underclass who had reeked so much havoc and turmoil in his head since he was a pre-pubescent 11-year-old. The demons were under control and safely housed, but they were not finished.

For a little over nine months he lived, thought and breathed combat. If he wasn’t fighting he was training for fighting. His only diversions, eating, drinking, beach football and sex.

Lots and lots of sex, not love making, just raw wham bam thank you ma’am lust. He made love with the same passion that he fought and casual sex was readily available to a handsome, fit 21-year-old. As a non-Jew and foreigner he was considered safe, a discreet option for the adventurous but socially restricted females. In reality he was rapidly becoming a gigolo, paid for his services in gifts and referrals. His speciality appeared to have been that he was rough and dominant. In reality he was just indifferent. He had quickly, easily and without any real thought or analysis slipped into the world of paid sex. One of the first women he had ever met, a lady named Noa Mizrah, gave him a card for an agency. The agency offered discretion and even gave a star rating for its ‘staff’. James was a sports masseur, according to his profile. He was paid 400 new shekel an hour directly into his account – that was about £80. At his peak he was having one, sometimes three, sessions a day, averaging out at two and earning a thousand a week – more than enough to pay all his outgoings and save some for a holiday.

They say that if you do something every day for 21 days it becomes a habit. James was having sex twice a day for nearly four months. He was taking 100 milligrammes of Sildenafil citrate every day, not because he was dysfunctional, the very opposite. In fact, the inhibitor strengthened his erection, but more importantly desensitised him. He was no misogynist, he loved everything about women, he simply wanted to please. What he was doing was what he thought was wanted.

The women were all the same. They looked different, of course, but they all wanted passion, fire, youth and physical domination. His life was fight, sex, eat, sex, repeat.

He continued to see Noa throughout his stay. She was in some way special. Sometimes after sex she would tell him of the life of her husband, of her two daughters, about her work and why she preferred him to proper dates. His meetings with Noa stopped him thinking that what he was doing was wrong. She always considered his work a win–win for both parties. He would always leave her feeling good

It was only years later during a course on verbal interrogation techniques that he realised what had really happened. He had applied for help to the Embassy to go to Behad 8. He worked in a bar where he met Noa who fell for his charms.

Noa was a tall, leggy, blue-eyed blonde widow with a model’s figure. She introduced him to the agency and she kept in touch. She always wanted and loved to hear every juicy detail about every woman James met. Tell me about the sex, James, what did she like, what did she say to you? The naive James thought that this was her turn-on, talking about other women’s urges.

If it had been a sting operation it was as good as it gets. The women would be least likely to suspect a foreigner who spoke next to none of the language. Noa was very, very good. She got every last drop of everything from James.

James would carry a life-time love and respect for Israel, although both tinged with a little wariness. He never knew whether the detail he passed to Noa had any significance.

The IDF and Noa held a special area in his sexual character and he would always love Israeli women.

He removed the IDF pinup screen saver depicting three girls he had trained from his phone only after returning to England.

His return had been a trauma for him. He was still high on the endorphins from his routine of physical workouts, sparring and sex. Having the knowledge, the training, the expertise, and keeping it all under control was becoming difficult. It was like having a new sports car and driving in town and not trying it out.

He went to the family home for the weekend. On the Sunday evening on his way back to Cambridge, he had a wait for his train. It was dark and he went out in to the city.

Dame Judi Dench Walk started from Lendall Tower and joined up with the tow path along side of the Ouse. His last visit 12 months ago had resulted in injury. The training in his head kept replaying, fastest way to deal with one, two, three, or four attackers. He hoped for four. His wish came true, as he approached the darkest part of the walkway. Three men and a girl appeared out of the gloom. They stepped in front of him demanding money.

Krav Maga was not self-defence, it was pure aggression.

Girl first to get her out of the picture, punch to the stomach, followed by throat, she hit the floor unable to wretch or talk. This incensed the trash and they attacked en masse with no coordination. The sound of breaking bones was like a symphony. He had learned so well. Down meant out, if three moves were adequate use four and make sure the recipients were of no threat ever again. The kicks took out patellae, testicles, teeth and the punches broke ribs, noses and collar bones. The fingers found kidneys and the deep recesses of the sternum. In 11 seconds the girl was gasping for breath and retching and the others lay in a crumpled mass of bone, blood and urine.

He dialled 999 from a phone booth and caught the next train. He then went on vacation to Gran Canaria, his violence at least temporarily satiated.

Chapter 4

Jasmine DuPré

Jasmine was born in 1995, two years after James’s life-lasting trauma.

She was probably a result of their parents’ holiday in Sorrento. She was definitely not planned and at one part of the pregnancy her mother was convinced she had some form of cancer and never even considered the fact she may be pregnant. Jasmine, 13 years James’s junior, a planet away in terms of bonding. Her father Laurent left the family home in January 2004 when she was nine.

Unlike her brother, who she worshipped, she was never sporty and was at best average in her school activities. Throughout her childhood she was continually referred to as James’s little sister. At the age of 18 she gained a place at the £9,000-a-year Chelsea College of Arts and moved to London. She completed the first year then simply drifted away into what would have been in the 1960s described as a hippy lifestyle.

By 2016 she was almost of the radar. She was 20 and becoming lost.

James was at that time a captain in the 1st Battalion Parachute Regiment and living on camp at St Athan.

Jasmine’s boyfriend was a gifted young man, however he was weak and preferred game play to reality, drug highs to reality and sloth in preference to effort. He got by on