Envoys from the Stars: Ian Way

By Ian Way

Three first-born children are sired by three males from Earths three great races! Each of these fathers had suffered abduction and bio-genetic surgery by extraterrestrials who appear to be a mix of ancient ancestors to our planets contemporary peoples.
In the interest of Earths mankind, our progress over thousands of years, has been monitored, believe or not, on a regular basis by these ancient ancestors, but while consistently being horrified by the advent of our countless wars, our advancing technologies, in the aliens minds, have now deemed us to now be approaching the point of starting wars which could result in our total annihilation!
Each child, Charles, Chein, and Zuda, has been born with highly advanced alien genes which are programmed to advance in stages towards their maturation whereby they finally will be able to report collectively & accurately at any point whereby mankinds manifest destiny could be ultimately affected! Hence the possibility of an alien intervention!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Jan 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781452526812

Ian Way

Ian Way was born in 1935 in Havant Hampshire UK and placed in boarding school by his mother at aged five, just three years after his father committed suicide. He remained at the establishment all through the war years till the age of ten when his mother remarried. At the age of almost fifteen he secretly replied to an advertisement in the 'News Of The World' for young lads to do two years agriculture work in Australia. He explained that his dear mother was shocked to receive acknowledgment of his application from Australia House in London whence it followed that, granted with her permission, he would be welcomed to attend an interview. In short, and to what he recalled was his mother's dismay, he was one of the first six lads successfully chosen to be shipped downunder via the sponsorship of the Salvation Army, which was one of several organisations commissioned to help fulfil the need of the Government of the time that was consistently heralding the cry that Australia should push to 'Populate or Perish!' What inspired him to write this large two part novel was basically an article he read in the features section of the once Sydney based Daily Mirror that referred to his father's death in 1937. It detailed some of the history of the earlier development of beam weaponry to which his father, Charles Sidney Way, had been a party to. It also stated that his death had actually made headlines on the front page of the London Daily Sketch as the "Man who tried to prevent war!" The revelation decried his mother saying he died from a heart attack!

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Ian Way

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Copyright © 2015 Ian Way.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4525-2680-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-2681-2 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 01/02/2015

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter One

T he lucid deep blue eyes of the child held a constant gleam of anticipation as the train sped on through the English countryside towards London. His bubbling inner excitement was fanned constantly by the magical ebb and flow of this, his first journey into the greater outer world. To his boyish senses, a harmony, virtually lost to adult perception, blended together in sweet symphony the odours of steam, oil and burning coal with the rhythmic rocking of the time-worn wooden railway carriage.

Totally consumed by the sound of the labouring locomotive up ahead, the child’s gaze began to follow the telegraph wires that ran parallel to the track. They suddenly appeared as a living thing, whipping up and down, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. It was as though someone was holding a giant pencil through the window to draw lines on the sky, he thought.

The illusion held his attention for several enchanted minutes before he at last turned his rosy cheeks towards the young woman seated beside him. A tiny lace handkerchief, that she’d been dabbing at her eyes with, was hurriedly returned to her handbag. The little boys gaze regarded her intently.

Mummy, why are you crying? he asked softly. Till then, her efforts to remain cheerful for the child’s sake would have been more than obvious to any casual observer. She squared her shapely shoulders and with an effort, glanced down affectionately at her fair-headed son.

Mummy’s not crying, silly! Just a little soot in my eye from the locomotive!

She stood up and pulled on the leather strap to lift the window a little and turned unsteadily to seat herself on the opposite side, Come, sit over here with me, darling. We should have our backs to the engine! she said.

The boy slid obediently to the floor and clambered up beside his mother. They shared the compartment with one other passenger, an elderly gentleman who, after a polite nod to the mother and a friendly wink at the child had promptly fallen asleep after a rather hasty glance through the pages of his ‘Daily Express’ and a sorrowful shaking of his head.

The pleasant autumn weather on this Saturday, the 12th of September 1940, did nothing to subtract from the mounting gloom of Julie Ann Wade. Today she was en route to the south-eastern English county of Kent to place her eldest son in the care of an institution, namely, St James, a boarding school for boys.

Her decision to place Charles into the care of others at such an early age, (he was barely five years old) had not been an easy one. Even now, she doubted he ability to carry it through. With her little boy again absorbed in the passing countryside, Julie again began to reflect on the tide of events that had antedated her agonising decision. With a little sigh, she consoled herself in the fact that there was still ample time left during which she could still change her mind.

Deep down though she knew her mission must follow through. The last three years had been miserable to say the least. David’s unexpected death had shattered her life, almost her sanity. Had he passed on as the unfortunate victim of an accident, she perhaps could have found the burden easier to bear. Even after all this time she found it difficult to accept that her husband had died deliberately by his own choosing.

Reluctant at first to remember the details of his death, she allowed herself to drift back to happier times. The staunch and hallowed halls of Cambridge had born silent witness to their first tentative courting. A rampant rebel with an infectious grin, his outrageous behaviour and odd contempt for orthodoxy had, from the beginning, set him apart from his lofty peers, but his brilliant mind had, to her mind, no known parallel.

For several months she’d floated on a cloud beside him totally smitten with the aura of excitement that prevailed about his being. Then one day he’d vanished without trace leaving her devastated and more than a little baffled.

Almost three years passed before he reappeared to continue his studies. Still worshipping him from afar but reluctant to get involved with him again, she’d made every effort to avoid close encounters. When finally they had come face to face, her heart had nearly stopped but his eyes had, strangely, given no hint of recognition.

In her final year, she’d resolved not to let the renewed pain distract her from her studies but within days of their meeting, she’d again virtually thrown herself at his feet.

At the door of his digs, he’d stood glaring out at her for several seconds before silently ushering her inside. There had been a desperate urgency about this new David. At first it frightened her as there was little resemblance to the popular rebel she’d known in the past. The romance did re-burgeon eventually but it was weeks before she again began to feel comfortable about their relationship.

By the time she’d graduated, David had again left the university and had gone into some form of partnership with a close friend. They’d set up a laboratory somewhere in the Midlands and were working on something of a highly secret nature.

He’d never seemed to be short of money and whenever he was able to tear himself away from his work he would drive down to London and wine and dine her in the most expensive of restaurants, all the while talking excitedly about his experiments.

She herself had gained employment as a proofreader with a small publisher while awaiting a more suitable position that was in keeping with her academic achievements.

Their relationship had waxed and waned over several months, according to the degree of effort that David seemed inclined to contribute. His erratic behaviour appeared to coincide acutely with the sum of his progress in the secret laboratory. At times he was decidedly belligerent and short tempered. Letters from her mother in Greywell, a pristine country village in Hampshire, drew her attention to newspaper reports that David had caused a furor back in Cambridge where he’d clashed with a notable physics professor.

Ultimately, she learned through old friends, of several such clashes during his frequent visits to the university. The intensity of those verbal onslaughts had dismayed her as David had, in the past, always been regarded by his peers, and members of the professoriate as a brilliant student.

Regardless of her tiny doubts, her love for this man had grown to fill the bewitching chamber of her heart. In time little changes to his demeanor and the steady decline in the class of eating houses he chose for their trysts forewarned her that all was not well. It was then, when he needed her most, and against her mother’s stern advice that she’d encouraged him to propose the unthinkable.

They’d married quietly and rented a small house just outside Henley on Thames. With her B A degree, she’d managed to secure a position teaching at the local secondary school. Eventually David was forced to relinquish the convenience of his laboratory in the Midlands and much to Julie’s concern, continued his work in the dingy confines of their small garage.

For the first year their communion was blissful enough. David however eventually succumbed to fiscal pressure and was forced to take part time work as a farm labourer. It was after the birth of their first son that a vigorous determination had emerged in David that had primed him to secure, by any means, the funds needed to continue his secret research.

Armed with what he considered was a convincing argument for government backing, David spent several days in London trying to win a grant through the Home Office. Although triggering interest, his chances were thwarted by what he described as civil service dunderheads. They learned later that it was his notoriety at Cambridge that had lessened his chances. Darkly angered by his rejection, David eventually dug into their savings to finance a plane ticket to Paris. It was to be the beginning of many long lonely months.

She’d begun receiving letters from all over Europe. Eventually it was Spain, in the throws of a bloody revolution that welcomed him with open arms and a generous contribution of funds. Small silver records made in haste in airport lounges brought his rich deep voice echoing about the distempered walls of their small cottage.

Her distress at his absence was accentuated by daily reports in the media of the madness seeping throughout the continent.

His visits home had been a blessing but were all too few and short-lived. Then began a new phase in their lives as his activities in Spain had begun to attract the curiosity of the press. The persistence of one particular reporter resulted in several quick moves, sometimes under cover of darkness, with each move becoming increasingly more furtive and intensifying her fears as by then she was a mother and pregnant with her second child.

In his arms, each time they parted, the sense of foreboding dwindled as he reassured her of his love for her and the child. ___ Just a little while longer my pet!

His sadness when leaving her was, she knew, genuine but his ongoing obsession with his work was to her a personal enemy that grew darkly more threatening each passing lonely day till at last, like the ultimate seductress, it stole him away forever.

She recalled fleetingly the day when she’d answered the door to find a young man in navy blue fidgeting uncomfortably with his helmet. The two year old on her hip had stared wide eyed at his silver buttons before happily greeting him with crystal clear tones. Good morning, Mr Bobby!

She’d listened in a trance to the hesitating voice and stupidly found herself in awe that the constabulary could send one so immature to deliver such a message. She’d whispered a polite thank you, closed the door gently in his youthful face and retreated blindly back into the depths of the house. His suicide had come exactly one half year after the birth of their second son, Raymond.

Left alone during the first few hours after the terrible news, she’d come close to taking the childrens’ lives. In a fit of utter madness she’d deliberately run the bathwater deeper than usual for Charles. As he’d splashed happily about, she’d stolen to the nursery and had lifted the sleeping babe from his cot with the clear intention of drowning them both. ____ Her own death would have been a matter of course.

The ring of the telephone had brought her instantly to her senses. It had been David’s half sister who’d just received the awful news. Dropping the receiver, she’d raced back to the bathroom with Raymond and dragged Charles from the bath.

Meg had heard her heart rending sobs on the phone and an hour later had arrived to join her at the small Hampshire bungalow.

Poor Meg, herself grief stricken at the awful tragedy, still proved to be a tower of strength and had stayed with her for several weeks. Despite her widowed mother’s pleas that she return home to Greywell, she’d displayed a fierce determination to remain independent. When finally, months later, lack of finance forced her to give up the tiny bungalow she’d managed to find a position as a housekeeper with a nearby farmer.

Mummy, Mummy, look at all the buildings! _ Is this London?

Charles’ cries jolted her back to the present. Outside the carriage window, the green countryside had been replaced by the bleak austerity of countless houses and factories, many already reduced to rubble by German bombers only days before. She responded as best she could to her son’s continual questions. His innocent and trusting little eyes shone with both awe and excitement at all the sights they beheld. She rallied at the sight of his happy face and for a time pushed aside the true purpose of their journey.

When at last the train rattled into Waterloo station, Charles’ eyes were agog. Silent now, he trotted beside his mother the long length of the busy platform. Julie held a small suitcase in one hand and grasped his tiny fingers in the other. Her handbag hung by its long strap over her right shoulder.

Both seemed oblivious of the people striding hurriedly past them. The little boy’s mouth opened ever wider as they drew abreast of the huge engine. On the footplate of the locomotive a man in grimy overalls caught his eye and between them passed a knowing look that terminated with two broad grins.

They were last through the gate and Julie failed to notice the look of appreciation on the young ticket collector’s face as he studied closely her willowy form. He continued to watch her for several seconds as she checked the huge railway timetable. She was remarkably attractive but frugally dressed as these were hard times.

The sigh he gave, as he watched the mother and boy vanish into the crowd, was a culmination of two emotions, each unrelated to the other. Today was his last day with British Railways for tomorrow, like the thousands of youths before him; he would enter His Majesty’s armed forces to do his bit in the struggle against the Germans.

Julie had determined that there was sufficient time to give Charles the treat she’d promised him. Outside the station she quickly found a cafe where she ordered two small sandwiches and tea for herself and watched as Charles made short work of lemonade, waffles and Wall’s ice cream.

Later in the front seat on the upper deck of a London bus, the little boy’s imagination ran riot as he guided the tall vehicle expertly through the busy streets towards Kensington. Absorbed with this new delight, the child transcended to another plane leaving his young mother again to her thoughts.

She had found Benjamin Hawkins easy enough to care for. The big farmer had simple basic tastes in food and was never underfoot, so to speak. A widower in his late thirties, he also had suffered the loss of a loving companion. His wife of twelve years had passed away only months before he’d hired Julie.

The ancient two-storey farmhouse she’d shared with him these last two years was large enough to allow them both ample privacy. Their individual sorrows, rather than bringing them closer together, were suffered separately, each being acutely aware of the other’s agony. Only recently did the big man appear to be making an effort to win her attention.

She’d adjusted her days to align with Ben’s strict routine. A dairy farmer, every minute of his waking hours was accounted for. She’d come to admire the self-discipline of the man and had been impressed at his ability to cope in all seasons with the demands of his calling and the care he afforded his beloved animals.

It had been several months before she’d taken the trouble to observe this gentle giant of a man who’d silently taken his place at the kitchen table each mealtime.

She’d come to liken the jet-black shadow of his beard to the sand in an hourglass as it determined daily the passing of the week.

As predictable as the rising sun, Ben Hawkins’ razor was put to use but once a week just prior to wedging his huge hulk into a small saloon and departing for the village pub each and every Saturday night.

She’d wake to his unsteady tread on the stairs on the point of midnight and each Sunday morning would find a single packet of wheaten biscuits on the sideboard.

For the boys, my dear, he’d once said gruffly in explanation.

Fresh milk, eggs, fruit and vegetables were in abundance, further convincing her that she’d made a sensible decision for the boys’ sake. Just recently her mornings had been brightened by the appearance of carefully arranged flowers gracing the breakfast table. That they were wild species added intrigue as she realised that he’d gathered them in the wee small hours, probably when herding the cattle while she and the children were still sound asleep.

The blossoms touched her heart but she was puzzled when he acknowledged her light-hearted thanks with a silent and almost surly nod.

She’d been surprised one Saturday evening when he’d turned at the door just as he was about to leave. His dark brown eyes had regarded her for a second before saying, gruffly, You should be getting yourself out of the house sometimes, woman. ____It would do you the world of good to be mixing with people every now and then. His words had hung in the air while she’d grappled with an uncooperative tongue. By the time she’d found the presence of mind to answer him, he’d vanished into the night.

The following Saturday evening she’d been startled when Sally, the daughter of the neighbouring dairy farmer, arrived at the back door while she was doing the dishes. Ben had appeared, partly shaved, to interrupt her greeting.

Sally be looking after the children, lass! ___Go and find something to wear. ___Thee be coming to the village with me. ___ Look sharp now!

Again, speechless, she’d been too overwhelmed to refuse his command.

In minutes she’d gently pacified the little ones and introduced them to Sally. From her sparse wardrobe she’d found a dress that, although a little threadbare, was respectable enough for an evening out. And so it was that after a little over one year of sorrow she’d partaken of her first social intercourse.

Julie shuddered as she remembered how the evening had gone. The inn had had a pleasant enough atmosphere. The people were warm and friendly and typical of their kind. A game of darts had been in progress as they’d entered.

After a couple of drinks she’d relaxed and had allowed herself to be drawn into conversation with Ben and some of his friends. As the evening had progressed, an aura of warmth had enveloped her until she was well beyond the point of consciously caring of her manner. From this high point of happy abandonment however, she’d suddenly reached a precipice and dropped like a stone into the depths of self-pity.

In that alcoholic abyss of despair, she was barely aware of the powerful arms carrying her out to the car and back at the farmhouse, Sally’s curious face illuminated by the pale yellow light of the paraffin lamp as she guided his way up carefully up the stairs to her bedroom.

Clearly of all, she remembered the sensitive caring, so obvious in the broad tanned face so close to hers as he’d gently lain her down. It was there again in the morning as he quietly set a tray beside her. The smell of strong black coffee mingled with the odours of the farmyard on his tweed jacket.

Beyond his towering form, the childrens’ voices had echoed happily up the stairwell and through the open doorway. He’d answered her thin frown by explaining that Sally had stayed the night and had prepared breakfast.

Thee’ll be giving the bacon and eggs a miss, I expect?

His deep rich voice had been accompanied by a sudden twinkle in his dark eyes. Their eyes had rarely met till the night before. It was as though they’d both wished to remain privately closeted forever in the shroud of their individual sorrows.

The honesty of his gaze then had dazzled her. She’d pulled the covers up over the soft mounds of her breasts and had apologized for her behaviour the night before.

It had been the first time she’d heard him laugh out loud.

Thee were fine girl. __Thee had every right to let go!

Mr Hawkins, I’m so sorry about ___

Ben, he’d said softly, Thee be calling me Ben last night. _I liked that!

She’d relented, but was determined not to encourage him, but from that day on, their relationship became a little less inhibited. It was after having spent two weeks away from him with her elderly mother in Greywell over Christmas that she’d realised that a bond was indeed beginning to grow between them. Now, a year later, for some inexplicable reason, she still continued to hold Benjamin at bay. __Deep down, however, she knew the reason why.

Again she was back in London. They stepped from the bus and made their way towards Buckingham palace. Yesterday she’d telephoned to confirm the times for the changing of the guards and a quick glance at her watch told her that they were on schedule. There was a special reason for wanting Charles to see the display, apart from it being the treat that she’d promised.

The cruel blow that had left the little boys without a father had manifested itself in many ways, none the least had been attempting to build an image in their small minds, of the man himself. ____To explain his death would be quite another.

During that first happy year at Henley, Julie had finally tried to lift the cloud of mystery that had surrounded David’s three-year absence from Cambridge. Her gentle coaxing, in carefully chosen intimate moments at the end of a long day, had also gradually revealed a more complete picture of his earlier life.

From the offset of David’s mother’s betrothal to a wealthy aristocrat, she’d imbued in him, at the age of ten, an exaggerated sense of gratitude towards the man that had so kindly saved them from their poverty stricken circumstance. To David, in those days, it was a perfectly reasonable attitude as he’d been elevated practically overnight from being a pupil at some nondescript boarding school in Essex, to a more socially acceptable establishment.

At twelve, the illusion continued as he strove to be deserving of his stepfather’s name and easily won a scholarship to Eton.

Constantly outshining these lofty new peers, he eventually secured one of the twenty four exhibition scholarships at Kings College which are traditionally reserved for Etonians, and from then on, the gates of Cambridge awaited him, just as surely as did night follow day.

Penned articles, from the provosts of both Eton and Kings, alerted the university’s pedagogue’s to David’s genius but each accompanied their observations with parallel notations that the young man be carefully monitored.

These joint side preambles referred largely to his ability to create dissidence in the classroom by brilliant argument against accepted philosophies. However, lively debate being the cornerstone of civilized education only prompted the ruling academics of Cambridge to ignore the warning and welcomed David with open arms. That welcome was later to turn to sighs of relief when one day he became even more conspicuous by his very absence.

On a Saturday afternoon in late November, while nearing the end of the third term of his first year at Cambridge, he’d given his all in the first half of a soccer game. At the half-time whistle, he explained in soft tones, he’d simply lost consciousness and had apparently vanished without trace from the dressing rooms.

In later years David had insisted to those who questioned him that he’d had no memory of having left the oval or the city of Cambridge. He’d awakened at dawn the following day in the middle of a field somewhere in Hampshire, many miles away to the south. It was here that the mystery had deepened further. David said that for several hours, that he had wandered the fields in a daze. His spine had felt strangely numb and being still clothed in his football outfit, he’d been almost blue with cold.

Finally, while staggering along a quiet lane, he’d been picked up by a friendly motorist who’d been kind enough to drive him to the nearest station. He had also given him sufficient funds to buy a train ticket to London.

It was during that journey to the capital city that his perception of so many things had undergone an incredible change. His blind subservience to his mother and stepfather’s wishes, for instance, was coldly reviewed and totally rejected as irrelevant to his new independent way of thinking.

For days after, scavenging for clothing, he’d walked the busy streets of London completely unable to cope with the frantic new activity in his mind. One day, cold and hungry, he’d found himself watching the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace.

The perfection, simplicity and order of the spectacle totally captivated him and within seconds he’d made up his mind. The very concept of a consciousness disciplined by ancient tradition had thrilled and excited him. To be chained by the rigors of precision in a world of mayhem and uncertainty must surely grant one the stability one was seeking. __To hell with Cambridge!

According to David, his stepfather’s anger was tumultuous. Above and beyond his mother’s dismay, accusations of ingratitude and diabolical stupidity were delivered with such force, and in decibels of such magnitude, that the very walls of the staunch Sussex mansion appeared apt to crumble. He’d then told Julie of his two following years in India where he’d grappled with his conscience at helping to fortify what he considered to be his peoples unfair annexation of that country’s ancient lands and culture, but on his return, he was served what was considered the ultimate reward for his services by being drafted into the first regiment of foot guards, (the Grenadiers,) at Buckingham Palace.

There was no stopping the flow of tears now. Through blurred vision she watched as Charles broke from her grasp and ran forward to stand almost at the feet of a motionless sentry. Open-mouthed, his little head remained tilted back as he stared up in awe at the tall colourful figure. She had a vague idea what was passing through his mind, as she’d often found him poring over the single photograph she had of David as a guardsman. She remained frozen to the spot and watched from a distance as the little boy took in every detail of the Grenadier. The fixed gaze of the sentry beneath his towering bearskin gave no hint of an animated being.

Charles’ eyes dropped slowly to study the shining brass buttons, the fiery red tunic and eventually his own mirrored reflection in the gleaming polished toes of the size twelve-issue boots. Again his gaze lifted upwards till at last he lost his balance and nearly toppled backwards. Only then did the guardsman’s eyes glint with amusement and flick down for an instant to his tiny admirer.

The small boy’s head turned suddenly to the sound of marching feet and when his eyes beheld the approaching new guard, he ran excitedly back to his mother.

She set the suitcase down and gathered him up in her arms.

With his face close to hers, Charles again noticed the sadness in her eyes and for a moment his attention was drawn from the colourful spectacle. With an effort she smiled at his obvious alarm and pointed to the marching men.

Look darling, this is what is called the changing of the guard!

The tiny voice in her ear whispered, Aren’t you happy, Mummy?

She didn’t trust herself to speak and was relieved when the ear shattering commands of the Sergeant Major recaptured the child’s attention.

Spellbound now, they watched as the immaculately turned out soldiers performed the ancient traditional ceremony with mechanical precision. The sheer splendour of their uniforms again drew Charles’ gaze like a magnet, and for a timeless moment, these soldiers of pageant brought to life in his infant consciousness an image of the father that he sometimes ached to know.

The little boy remained silent for most of their bus ride back to the station. Julie could only sense the activity going on his mind. The small frown was a clear indication that many questions were about to be asked.

Did my Daddy die because he was soldier? he asked solemnly.

No Charles,_ he wasn’t a soldier when he died. She replied softly.

But he was a soldier at the King’s Palace, wasn’t he?

Yes, darling. He was a guard at the Palace for some time.

And he didn’t die protecting the King? Charles persisted.

Charles, Daddy became a scientist. ... He died as a result of a terrible accident!

She’d patiently explained this to him many times before.

Soldiers are very brave, aren’t they? He’d turned from the window to regard her with a steady gaze, Daddy must have been a very fine soldier!

Her heart lurched and she found herself avoiding her small son’s stare. She had no doubt that David had been an excellent guardsman, but the damned newspapers had had a bloody field day with his dishonorable discharge. She’d heard from his own lips that he’d staged his release deliberately after the death of his parents in Switzerland.

Yes darling, your Daddy was a very, very fine soldier. You would have been extremely proud of him! she said hurriedly. The feel of the small suitcase on the seat beside her had suddenly jarred her. The relentless pounding of her heart intensified as the bus terminated at Waterloo station.

Quickly now, we must dash to catch our next train! said she and set the boy on the footpath beside the bus. His tiny legs then pumped strenuously to match his mother’s haste and before long they were aboard another train.

Are we going home now, Mummy? said Charles breathlessly.

No, Charles! __There are some nice people that want to meet you!

He accepted his mother’s statement with a happy but curious grin.

Another surprise! _ That’s smashing! he chortled. She suddenly felt ill with guilt knowing that if she went through with her plan, Charles’ innocent trusting little nature could well be destroyed forever. As the train gathered speed, the reality of what she was about to do caused her to reflect again at how the decision had come about.

She could reveal to no one the contents of David’s last letter. For three years she’d lived in dread of his warning. Now, with Charles approaching school age, she was about to carry out her dead husband’s wishes. Till now she’d felt safe as the remoteness of the farm had kept her from the attention of the press. The small automatic pistol she’d discovered under David’s pillow on his last stay at home had alerted her to the original danger. He’d tried not to elaborate on its significance at the time and simply stated that he’d been advised to carry a weapon by the Spanish authorities for his own safety while traveling on the continent.

The secrecy, with which David’s activities had impelled them to live just prior to his death, had made even letter writing a hazard. David had insisted, after their last move, that she communicate with her mother and his sister only by public telephone.

Three months ago, her darling mother had returned from a shopping trip to find her home completely ransacked. The totally mindless destruction of so many of her most treasured possessions had sent the frantic woman rushing madly back into the street for help. Poor Mum, in her distress she’d tried to wave down a passing car and had failed to see another coming in the opposite direction. She had been killed instantly.

After the trauma of the funeral, she and Meg had tried to make sense of the destruction in the family home. Nothing of value appeared to be missing but it soon became obvious that all earlier correspondence between herself and her mother was missing; it was then that Julie began to fear the worst. Someone was trying to find her realising that, as David’s widow, she alone could hold the key to her husband’s experiments.

Determined to lessen the danger to Charles at least, she began to make enquiries. The boarding school in Kent seemed more than appropriate. Hastily written letters and telephone calls eventually had the principal agreeing to Charles’ early admission. His schooling would begin the following term.

This morning, Ben had regarded her with smouldering disbelief. For several days, since she’d mentioned casually her intentions to place her oldest son in boarding school, the big farmer had reverted to his old reserved self. That he had become fond of the children she was well aware. They’d clashed briefly only the morning before while the little ones had still been asleep. One big hand had clamped around her wrist as she’d set his breakfast plate before him.

The dark brown intelligent eyes had never looked so emotional and alive and his vice like grip had startled her.

There be no earthly reason why so young a lad should be separated from his mother. __There be an excellent school in the village, Julie Anne!

She’d reacted with amazement at the intensity of his stare before pulling savagely away; her own emotions were, even then, at a knife-edge.

It’s none of your damned business, Benjamin Hawkins! she’d cried.

Thee know full well, that what I say, be true, he’d boomed.

They’d glared daggers at each other for several seconds before her eyes had suddenly brimmed with tears and she’d turn away to the sink.

If I had needed your advice on the matter, __I’d have asked!

Her words had been muffled half-heartedly. She’d had no wish to antagonise this man; his concern for Charles’ welfare had touched her deeply.

He’d risen silently from the table and moved close. For the second time his hands were upon her person, his thick coarse fingers surprisingly tender as they’d closed about her trembling shoulders. Softly his words had rumbled into her consciousness.

I think thee’ll be setting a course that you’ll regret. You surprise me, Julie Anne! __ The childer have always come first with thee in the past!

I have my reasons; _ it’s difficult enough as it is! ____Please, Ben, don’t make it harder for me. ___ It’s a fine school and he’ll be well cared for!

Sally had rallied again to her aid. Ben had driven them to the railway station that morning after he’d finished milking, dropping Raymond at the neighbouring farm on the way. Sally had long since won the hearts of both the boys.

Although happy to take care of the younger one for the day, she too had unmistakably shown her disapproval of Julie’s intentions by flashing her a withering look after hugging and kissing Charles goodbye.

Barlington station proved to be a little further from the school than she’d thought. It was almost noon as they walked steadily in the direction they’d been given by the stationmaster. She responded as best she could to Charles’ constant chatter, all the while fighting to maintain her composure.

St James was set amid elevated undulating pastures, and, as they tackled the rise in the narrow road, Julie’s heart, already pounding from the thought of leaving Charles, increased it’s activity alarmingly from the extra exertion. Finally they found themselves standing beside the massive entrance gates.

Swung from huge, moss covered stone pillars, the artistically formed wrought iron gates were opened wide in a dubious welcome. On either side, a tall iron fence snaked away out of sight in each direction beneath the ample shelter of towering Oak, Elm and Sycamore trees.

With the chilling moment of truth so near, Julie floundered again for a moment in a sea of guilt. For an instant she was tempted to grasp the little boy’s hand and run back to the station. Charles was beginning to tense as he became aware of his mother’s apprehension.

He stood kicking at the coarse gravel at his feet, his small features displaying a growing impatience. She steeled herself against the rising panic and stooped to check his appearance. Grime from the carriage window still smudged his tiny nose. She dampened a clean handkerchief on her tongue and wiped it clean with a gentle rub. His grimace held for a second and then rewarded her with a grin.

Unable to put off the inevitable a moment longer, Julie took her small son’s hand and strode through the gates of St James. As they ventured along the driveway, Charles broke from her grasp to race ahead.

She caught up with him at a bend in the driveway where he’d stopped to stare at a beautifully architected small grey stone chapel on their right.

For a minute she too contemplated the edifice. She wondered at the stain-glass windows and tried to gauge the effect that the colourfully presented pictures of the saints and disciples would have on such a young congregation.

She promised herself a peep inside before leaving to help her imagine Charles’ small face as he attended Sunday services. Also it would give her a much-needed opportunity to say a prayer of her own.

To the left of the long drive, several two-storey brick homes stood at intervals among carefully tended lawns and gardens. Being Thursday, there was no sign of any school-aged children that would perhaps have forewarned the little boy of his impending fate. Following directions given by the principle, a Mr. Harriman, she quickly recognized the building that he’d described as his personal office and residence.

She lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it drop once. The door opened slightly almost immediately. Sincere grey blue eyes behind horn-rimmed spectacles peered around the edge of the door to study her for an instant before crinkling into a smile. The gap widened abruptly to reveal a tall slim balding man in his early sixties.

Ah, __ you must be Mrs Wade! he said and dropped his gaze to Charles who promptly sidled from view behind his mother. And this shy little chap must be Charles, he said warmly. His right hand retrieved a tweed cap from behind the door, which he set quickly in place on his head.

Joining them outside, he pulled the door to and extended his hand in the direction they’d just come. To Julie, the gesture almost triggered panic.

We’ll take a little walk and meet Mrs Adams. She is our house-mother at house number one where we accommodate our youngest children. said he.

Again, Charles ran on ahead, giving them a chance to talk. Julie did her best to control her emotions but the tremor in her voice was a clear indication of her inner instability. Her fractured questions regarding the school, were answered by the principal in such a calm reassuring manner, giving her the impression that he’d experienced the exercise a thousand times before. The need to impress upon this man that Charles was rather special was overwhelming but she found that she could only stutter out her concern in a series of grossly inadequate monosyllables.

She realized, in fact, that she was totally powerless to convey the true depth of her feelings short of simply sinking to the ground and sobbing her heart out.

She listened as best she could as he described the finer points of the school. Set on just over 15 acres, they were blessed with being almost self-sufficient. With the cooperation of the older boys, they were able to run a small farm that gave them most of their basic needs.

The children were, he explained, for the most part, orphans and unfortunate victims of broken marriages ranging in age from four to eighteen. Many of the boys could barely remember a loving parent and had spent almost their entire lives within the boundaries of St James. Recently, some had entered the outside world in shock by being quickly dispatched to the war zone in France.

Apart from the farm, several workshops enabled the older boys to begin worthwhile trades such as tailoring and footwear manufacturing. The small factories served a double purpose by keeping the three hundred and fifty odd boys well clothed with boots, shoes and school uniforms.

The school principal was not shy in boasting about several of his old boys graduating to responsible positions in the commercial world and shamelessly accredited some of their success to the institution’s caring but strict disciplinary policies.

He punctuated his narrative with sideways glances at Julie and noted her distress accordingly. It was a rare occasion indeed to receive a child under these circumstances as he’d witnessed few such bonds when receiving children into his care in the recent past.

They turned right at the Chapel into another tree-lined avenue. Charles had heard the high-pitched squeals of young children at play and was several yards ahead of them when they arrived at number one. This house was on the right of the drive and identical in structure as the ones that lined the main drive. Further along on the same side was another, which the principal explained, was the school hospital.

A movement at one of the lower floor front windows was followed by the appearance of a pleasant faced middle-aged woman at the door. Charles retreated again behind his mother and was listening attentively as she was being introduced to the lady by the principal.

Meaningful looks alerted Mary Adams to Julie’s situation and tactfully she made a point of curbing her remarks. Ignoring Charles for the moment, she invited Julie in for a cup of tea. The principal then said softly, I’ll wait to see you up in the office, Mrs Wade. We still have to fill out the necessary forms. No rush now, everything will be just fine, you’ll see.

He then tipped his cap politely and, with an encouraging smile, strode away.

Julie sat nervously in the tiny sitting room at the front of the house. It was obvious that it was the private domain of the house-mother Mrs Adams. Charles showed no sign that he was aware of what was about to happen and contented himself by scrutinising every article in the room.

Two rather worn deep armchairs were positioned facing the window. The little boy chose to remain close to his mother and lithely straddled the arm of her chair. Of all the small personal items that surrounded them, it was the two photographs on the mantelpiece that caught Julie’s attention.

The one on the left is my husband, the other, our only son. Julie turned to the voice in the doorway. It was Mrs Adams with the promised tea and a tray of biscuits. As you can see, she continued softly, both are in the armed forces.

The lines in the gentle woman’s face suddenly took on a special significance. She too, thought Julie, had plenty to worry about. Her own dilemma faded slightly in comparison but returned with a jolt as Mrs Adams took Charles’ hand with a friendly smile. Come with me my dear, she said, there is a little boy, about your age, that I just know you’d love to meet!

Without a backward glance, Charles trotted off out of sight beside Mrs Adams. With a pounding heart, Julie sat transfixed, unable to move till the house-mother reappeared several minutes later. The quiet smile on her soft features told her everything she needed to know. Tears gushed down over her cheeks as Mrs Adams bent over her. Drink your tea dear, he is going to fit in just beautifully, she said.

Obediently, Julie took several sips before the shock set in. Great sobs then suddenly forced her to set the cup down and reach for a handkerchief. Those softly spoken words had a ring of finality. Her wretchedness then knew no bounds,

l, _l, _l can’t do it, Mrs Adams, I love him so desperately!

You’ve had the courage to come this far, my dear, the rest is simple.

You mean,_ you mean, just walk away,_ as though he doesn’t exist!

He’s a very lucky little boy to have a mother that loves him so much!

How can you say that? _ What do you mean? cried Julie tearfully.

You must have a very good reason to have brought him here. It wasn’t just to get rid of him. __I’m just not that stupid, Mrs. Wade!

Julie stood up and reached for her handbag. I’ve changed my mind. Will you please go and get him, Mrs. Adams. _I really am so awfully sorry!

First, said Mrs. Adams gently, come and watch him at the window. You haven’t come all this way without giving this a great deal of thought!

She guided Julie by the elbow through to a large spotless kitchen. Outside, just below the sill, was a large sandpit. Julie’s eyes widened as she saw Charles and a little dark haired boy working contentedly together on the beginnings of a sandcastle.

For several minutes she watched as the two children worked industriously. Charles plainly was the supervisor.

The other little chap’s name is John, said the house-mother softly, What you are witnessing is a small miracle. John has been with us for several weeks now and hasn’t spoken a word and has refused to make friends!

Julie flinched as the house-mother went on to explain that John’s parents had lost their lives during a savage bombing raid by the Germans. The little boy had been found beneath a steel table in the razed family home and, once released, had vanished only to be found hours later trying to dig his mother out of the rubble.

All her efforts and those of a part time assistant had failed to reactivate his little mind. Charles’ arrival had proved to be a blessing.

Movement further down in the yard drew Julie’s attention away from the two children in the sandpit. Several other boys were engaged in boisterous play with an assortment of toys and on the swings. The sheer jubilation of the childrens’ spirits captivated her for a moment before returning her gaze to Charles. Beside her, Mrs Adams persisted with her to make the break.

Go now dear, while his mind is occupied. If you are still unable to live with his absence in a couple of weeks, come and get him. At least give him and yourself, a chance. __He’ll be well looked after here, I promise!

The wrench was enormous, but Julie knew she had to take the step.

With one last tearful glance at Charles she turned away from the window and with a choking sob almost ran back through the house and out the front door. Mrs. Adams watched worriedly as the young mother hurried away along the avenue. Her puzzled frown remained constant till Julie disappeared through principals front door

Mr. Harriman patiently explained the details in the documents she was to sign and drew her attention to the more important issues. Her concentration was less than attentive but his easygoing manner eventually convinced her that Charles was in the best of care.

She signed the necessary papers almost too hastily, as if still afraid that she would change her mind. Determined now, to put as much distance as possible between herself and the school, Julie, almost rudely, cut short Mr. Harriman’s prolonged attempts to ease her troubled mind.

You will call me, if my son is ill or has trouble adjusting, won’t you?

She’d risen from her chair and was moving towards the door of his office. I’m really most grateful to you for helping me, Mr. Harriman, ____I only wish I could explain my position a little better, she said softly.

He rose to see her out but the office door had closed quietly behind her and he heard her rapid footsteps in the long hallway. The click of the front door latch left him silently contemplating her final words. Last week, there had been fear and total desperation in her voice as she’d pleaded for his help on the telephone. Now, as traces of the young woman’s perfume lingered in the familiar musty air, he couldn’t help but wonder at what could have prompted her to make such a sacrifice.

With a sigh, he dragged himself to his feet and filed the documents. One thing was for certain, he thought. Whatever the reason for Mrs. Wade’s anxiety, it could be nothing compared to that inflicted on the child.

Well over an hour had passed since Charles had been introduced to his new friend. The dark haired child had sat silently at the edge of the sand pit for several minutes before his eyes had acknowledged Charles’ presence.

Are you going to help me, John, or not, he’d shrilled excitedly.

After several buckets of damp sand had formed the foundations of the building, Charles had begun to grow impatient, virtually demanding John’s assistance. The shock of confrontation with Charles’ no-nonsense attitude had caught the other boy completely by surprise and within minutes both were hard at work. Now, their almost completed castle was becoming a sight to behold.

Still they toiled to add the final touches. The moat, so important for the defense of those who dwelt therein, gradually took shape. After patting the sides to a pleasing finish, Charles commanded John to find some sticks and make a drawbridge.

As the other boy scampered enthusiastically away, he took his little pail to a nearby tap to fill it with water.

Till now, both had appeared oblivious to the existence of the other children. As Charles began to fill the moat, he suddenly became aware of a small audience gathering about them. His little face slowly flushed with pride as he took in the gleeful praise of their admirers.

Leaving John on his knees carefully setting the drawbridge into place, Charles went searching for leaves, which he intended to thread on sticks to simulate flags just like the ones he’d seen in his picture books at home.

A sharp cry from the direction of the sand pit suddenly made him turn back in alarm. A circle of children obstructed his view, but as he reached the group and pushed his way through, his eyes widened in total disbelief.

John lay to one side, his face pale and frightened. In the centre of what had been their glorious castle stood a freckled faced boy with ginger hair. For several seconds, Charles stared in bewilderment at the redhead. He absorbed slowly, the defiant grin and aggressive stance of this raggedy tormentor while doing his best to comprehend the significance of the senseless act. Cor, what ya staring at __new boy? came the retort. Charles could barely recognize the challenge. This was the first act of blatant aggression he’d ever encountered during his short lifetime. Regardless of this, a flame of anger suddenly flickered into life that triggered his little legs into action. Head down, he cannoned forward and caught the redhead by surprise.

Evelyn Tracy could hear the shouts of the children as she reached the front door. She set the basket of groceries down on the porch and darted around the side of the house. She’d been shopping in the village and had held the position of assistant house-mother to Mrs. Adams for several months.

Her first job, she still lived with her parents in the village and was happy to have found the day work at St James. She had long since proved herself to be a valuable aid displaying a special affinity with young children.

She reached the skirmish in the playground ahead of the older woman and with some difficulty eased the two small opponents apart. She gave the red headed lad a despairing look, Ginger, I might have known you’d be involved!

Her face registered surprise as she studied Charles who was staring up at her in bewilderment. My, _my, __and where did you spring from? she exclaimed.

Ah, Evelyn, you’re back! Mrs. Adams appeared at the back door, The little lad’s name is Charles.__ He’s just arrived, so be careful what you say!

Evelyn quickly understood what the house-mother meant. She’d noticed a distressed young woman leaving the chapel only minutes before and made the connection immediately. Oh dear, __I see what you mean! she said.

The scowling Ginger appeared to have come off second best. Winded by the force of Charles’ head into his solar plexus he’d been unable to defend himself from the onslaught of his following blows. The main damage however had been to Ginger’s pride as, till now, his roguish nature had quickly helped him to establish his dominance in the playground.

Charles glared fiercely once more at his aggressor and wrenched himself from Evelyn’s grasp. It was time to return to his mother. His lightning move caught both women by surprise and before they could stop him, he’d run back into the house.

Finding his way back to the sitting room was a little harder than he’d expected and he ran about the house growing more frantic by the second. At last he found the small front room and stood staring at the empty chairs. Again he eluded Evelyn’s grasp as she met him at the door, and rushed headlong into the dining room. By now his little heart was pounding in panic.

Mummy, where are you? he shouted loudly. When she didn’t reply he shouted again and again. Evelyn remained at the doorway coaxing him softly to come to her. He’d vanished beneath the tables and was watching her dark- stockinged legs from the far side of the room. His mother’s extended silence was now really beginning to bother him and he sat doing his best to solve the riddle. ___She’d never been this far away before.

He watched the legs move further into the room and waited his chance to run for the door. Evelyn’s gentle voice did little to sooth his rising fears and, as her pretty brown eyes met his beneath one of the long tables, he darted away with surprising speed. Her shouts alerted Mrs Adams who was standing by the door but he slipped by her with ease and rushed out into the hallway.

The front door was slightly ajar and within seconds he’d breached the gap and was running as hard as he could towards the drive.

The logic centres of his small mind were quickly exploring every possible reason for his mother’s disappearance. It suddenly became clear that she’d obviously forgotten all about him. ___How could that be?

Convinced now, that she’d left the house without him, he turned onto the driveway, and calling her name, ran in the direction of the entrance gates as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Evelyn caught him before he reached the gates and lifted him gently into her arms. His little fists pounded her chest and face with relentless fury as total confusion overtook him. She hugged his tiny body close and became acutely aware of his small heart pounding hard against her own.

Put me down! Put me down! _I must find my Mummy! __She might be lost!

By the time Evelyn got the struggling child back to the house, he was sobbing uncontrollably. She signalled to Mrs. Adams that she would stay with the boy and promptly bore him upstairs to one of the dormitories. Charles’ screams continued to be deafening and it was some time before he relapsed.

Downstairs, the house-mother calmed the other children and remonstrated with Ginger on his abysmal behaviour. She then noticed despairingly that John appeared to be again retreating back into his mental shell.

Evelyn continued to hug Charles, all the while speaking softly and trying as best she could to explain his mother’s disappearance.

Of course your Mummy still loves you, silly, she just wants you stay with us for a little while. There are lots of other little boys to play with, so don’t be so glum!

Her soothing manner and words meant absolutely nothing to Charles. To his tiny beleaguered mind, the impossible had happened. For no clear reason he’d been abandoned by the one person in the world that loved him.

He tried desperately to understand what had happened but was rewarded consistently with a kaleidoscope of confusion. The agony of his despair intensified with every passing minute and as he lay in Evelyn’s caring arms, the totality of his predicament took on the dimensions of a nightmare.

Charles’ first evening meal in the big dining room was a strangely stoical occasion. Almost oblivious to the other children, he sat staring at his plate with a sullen pout. Beside him sat John, thoughtfully placed there by the forever-hopeful Mrs Adams. Almost opposite the two and glaring at him between mouthfuls, was the still very agitated Ginger.

Two long dining tables, running parallel with each other, filled the length of the room, with Mrs Adams and Evelyn seated at a smaller table near the door. From this position of prominence the house-mothers were able to monitor, to some degree, the antics and general behaviour of the children.

John’s inner turmoil, luckily, was not extended to the meal table. Here, he was as enthusiastic as the other children in the mechanics of eating. Today, as always, his empty plate had again given evidence of a hearty appetite.

Charles had no inclination to eat anything but it soon became apparent that his unwanted food was creating a great deal of interest judging by the hungry stares of the other children. He suddenly caused a disturbance by swiftly exchanging his full plate with that of John’s.

The following action startled him. John managed to secure a single mouthful of cold meat before a hasty sea of fingers left the plate completely empty. Ginger’s face again turned ugly. He’d been caught off guard and had missed out completely on the unexpected bonus.

The new boy gave his food to John Bates! He yelled, totally outraged.

Evelyn rose from her chair and glided along the wall to stand behind Charles. She turned a stony eye on Ginger for a second before placing her hands on Charles’