Rest in Peace: Eddie's Bones

By Isabela Hart.

The Great War in my opinion had ended prematurely and also deprived me of any opportunity of becoming a war hero. Seeking some compensation for this injustice I unfortunately applied myself a little too enthusiastically this then encouraged me to spiral out of control. By the age of twenty I was still a cocky little bugger leading to my saga in France and Spain which saw me imprisoned in San Sebastian for insulting Genera Franco. Later after being deported back to London I witnessed the dregs of society killing each other for alcohol. My last penny finally dropped, I had no choice, "rot in a rut or change". I chose the latter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: May 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490736730

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Copyright 2014 Isabela Hart.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-3672-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-3671-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-3673-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014909077

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Introduction

My Story

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

Acknowledgements

Scott and his companion Ralph

Uncut diamonds, British Red Cross

INTRODUCTION

From the mountains of Scotland and wandering foreign paths to appreciate other mountains in New Zealand sowing more wild oats later to end my days hopeful of finding at least one last challenge having lost contact with my younger brothers and sister seven decades ago.

MY STORY

The Great War in my opinion had ended prematurely and also deprived me of any opportunity of becoming a war hero. Seeking some compensation for this injustice I unfortunately applied myself a little too enthusiastically this then encouraged me to spiral out of control. By the age of twenty I was still a cocky little bugger leading to my saga in France and Spain which saw me imprisoned in San Sebastian for insulting Genera Franco. Later after being deported back to London I witnessed the dregs of society killing each other for alcohol. My last penny finally dropped, I had no choice, "rot in a rut or change". I chose the latter!

My earlier days as a school boy had been so memorable during life at our family home in Kilmarnock. Then later the hours I spent on the river of the village of Catrine in Ayrshire preparing me well for the ups and downs of manhood. However earlier having gained some invaluable experiences on my travels I discovered the value of bread and water. Decades later I’d successfully completed four entirely different professional careers and moved on to start life as an entrepreneur. This turned out be an enjoyable but dangerous roller coaster ride while along the way to engage in so many fights for survival and also against many injustices. I ask you to be patient and discover why the Birmingham Mafia threatened to fit me with a concrete coat before throwing me in the sea. On the other occasion when a professional hit man offered to kill someone for me. Or when at age seventy I became the father of a little girl. Hopefully you are interested in learning more about my remarkable unusual life. I admit to having been a gambler a womaniser completely irresponsible and regularly dependant on supplies of drenalin a necessity for an addiction to dangerous activities.

CHAPTER ONE

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I’m still clinging on precariously to my last breath when it would be much easier not to face another day and instead depart to the unknown place where we all end up. However to change the subject, you might be interested in learning more about normal life long before the arrival of television.

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I begin his chapter with my experiences as a wee boy. The recession after the First Great War was destroying the lives of the already extremely poor families. My vivid memories, took place during the long dark cold winter evenings, when my dad and his cronies would be content sat at our living room table, heatedly or agitatedly, talking about football or morosely discussing the problems of mass unemployment and when their passions really surfaced especially when my dad mentioned his support for the communist party. Another discovery of mine was to learn my dad was a male chauvinist; his mates opinion of my dad, however I also learned they apparently seemed to believe my dad’s opinions were good enough and not questioned, just as importantly dad actually knew what he was taking about, for instance he knew when the communists finally did take over Kilmarnock, we would all be made to wear a uniform, but because he was in work as a tradesman he would also need to share his wages with our unemployed neighbours. My mom did this already so I guessed she must already be a communist. She also used her thick Kennedy tartan plaid to cover our living room table, without being asked, and also place a big plate of shortbread and a bottle of Jonnie Walker. Of course being a woman she was never allowed to sit at the table, anyway she always sat by the fire darning old socks or knitting new ones. Before going to bed she would always warn us weans, about keeping the scullery door and the living doors closed to prevent cold draughts. Our living room coal fire was the only heating in the house. The black leaded heavy black iron kettle hung over the fire supplied the hot water for many uses, like washing our hair, scrubbing our back, and making tea. The bed for the weans to sleep in was too narrow for us, while she and dad had the bigger one on the other side of the heavy curtain hanging down from the ceiling, this was supposed to hide us away at night time, however being the oldest, I would risk being caught to be quiet as a mouse on my side of the bed, enabling me to listen my dad and his mate’s conversations with bated breath well into the night. Tom my young brother always slept next to me, while Mamie slept top to tail with us. I knew I would get a good skelping from my dad for being awake and another skelping for ignoring his warnings. Too often the gas mantle fixed to the lamp holder, providing a decent light was regularly broken, usually when the door was banged shut by someone in a temper, the poor light was then made worse by the clouds of smoke from dad and his cronies smoking full strength Capstan cigarettes. If they stayed long enough they would to talk about some chaps referred to as Lenin and Stalin, I knew of course Rabbie Burns. I was longing to grow up and get a good job and then wear a cap, drink some whisky and smoke a Capstan. It was great for me to have so many uncles who are my dad’s mates and learned why it was a sign of weakness for dad to kiss or cuddle my mom in front of anyone. I never let on I’d seen him cuddle my mom when he thought I was asleep. I never expected him to make a fuss of me or my brother, but he ordered us to always protect our little sister. When