A Cup of Tea with Mr Johnstone

By JD Cooper

There are monsters everywhere, but would you know one if you saw one, or if they lived next door?
What does a monster look like and what makes them monsters?
This is the tale of many monsters seen from all perspectives - how they see themselves, and how everyone else sees them.
Whatever they look like, whatever they have done to become monsters, they all will have a final cup of tea with Mr Johnstone

• Language: English
• Publisher: JD Cooper
• Release date: Dec 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005261788

JD Cooper

Writing a bio about me, the author, seems a little weird, so what can I tell you about JD Cooper. JD Cooper was born at some stage and is probably a bit older than some people, but not everyone. He would be a man and I would think he would live with his wife, dog and his laptop, lets say....near a beach. On windy days there would be nothing better for him to do than walk hand in hand with his wife, and throwing a stick for his dog. His dog wouldn't run after it and his wife would give him 'that' look - the one that says "well you threw it ! " I dont know about you but that sounds pretty good to me.....and I'm not even JD Cooper.

Book preview

Prologue

1965

Samuel Johnstone, let’s call him that for the time being, is a happy man, maybe not happy in the, skipping down the road way, or jumping for joy, but more of an almost content type of happiness. Today, Samuel Johnstone thinks, is a good day. He has succeeded, he has achieved, finally after years of trying, finally, achieved, succeeded in his ambition.

Just one he thought to himself, just one, that’s all it took, and look how happy I am. This could be the start of something good, something marvellous if only others followed. All the previous ones, though he tried to help them, didn’t understand, some didn’t even want to listen to him or even give him the time of day.

And that was quite sad, because then they would go on to another place, some would say another world without ....no, he mustn't think like that, he must focus on today, today's success, today's little victory and look forward to similar tomorrows.

He had had a curious job and had always been in himself a very private person, which had suited his curious job admirably. When he had been originally chosen for the job, he didn’t think he could do it, keep himself detached, keep himself separate from the actual mechanical work of his job; because he had always thought of himself as a people person and a people person always cared didn’t, they, always thought about others before themselves, surely that was the point, wasn’t it?

He was on his own now, there had been a marriage, there had been children, there had been happiness, a lot of happiness, but then came sadness, far too quickly for his liking, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault really, the police had said a very slippery road, too much rain that night and maybe loss of control on behalf of the driver.

Loss of control, now there was a term, what did that actually mean, - out of control, way out of control, or just a bit, how much was a loss when you thought of it.

Why was 'letting yourself go’, surely a loss of control, a good thing occasionally, but someone who only just 'lost control’, such a bad thing, a terrible thing, Samuel didn’t know.

What Samuel did know was that what seemed like many years ago now, the village policeman knocked on his door late at night and said there had been an accident and due to a slippery road, too much rain and someone’s 'slight loss of control' he needed to identify his wife (ex-wife?) and his two children (ex-children?).

But that, sad though it was, was in the past and there was no sense in dwelling there, nobody lived there, in the past, only in the present (a gift from God the chaplain had said, ha ! ha!).

Live for today is what the chaplain had said, live for today - like today is your last day on earth, which funnily enough it was for the chaplain, because as it turned out the German Army had no respect for God's servants on earth, and their bullets even less, as one proved by drilling through the chaplain's eye, whilst he stood mid prayer, whilst others maybe deeper in thought, certainly deeper in the mud, chose to kneel whilst communing with the Almighty, or whomever they were whispering their goodbyes to.

And that is what Samuel took from six years of serving ‘King and Country’; live for today.

During those six years Samuel had ended a fair few people's thoughts of tomorrow, whilst not having any of his own at that time, he was just living for that day...and hoping he could do it all over again the next day and the next.

Samuel wasn’t called Samuel then, and isn’t Samuel now, but let’s call him that and leave him for the moment, in his happy, contented walk down the road.

Dan

iel

1952

Mr Johnstone at number four was strange. Everyone said so, so it must be true.

Weird? – No.

Odd? - Yes, perhaps; but strange just about fitted it. Everyone said so, so it must be true.

Daniel was nine years old so probably his opinion didn't count, but he just thought that Mr Johnstone was, was, well.... different. Daniel had lived at number ten for all his troubled nine years. If anyone asked Daniel why he was troubled he'd say he didn't know, but when he really thought about it, well, maybe he was just strange too.

He had problems thinking, that was the trouble. He could do sums at school, oh yes! Both adding and taking away. His teacher said he was exceptional, whatever that meant, but if the teacher said it, and smiled at him like she did, then. it must be true.

He could spell properly as well, for someone of his age, his teacher even said he was 'advanced ', but he didn't know what that meant either. But it was when he tried putting a lot of things that were in his head, down on paper, well, that's when things started going wrong. Not wrong, wrong, just off at an angle that no-one else thought of or understood.

So, when Daniel heard people saying that Mr Johnstone was strange, he thought, yes, but I bet he's good, exceptional even at numbers, and as he was a lot older than nine, no doubt he was also advanced when it came to spelling.

He'd have to ask him the next time he saw him. And that was a problem as well, perhaps even a troubling problem. Daniel never really saw Mr Johnstone - oh he'd sometimes see him out of his window as the tall, lean, and very pale gentleman strode off down Purcell Avenue, probably on his way to work. He had a suit on, and sometimes a coat, but always an umbrella and a briefcase, so it's probably work he was going to.

When Daniel went to school, he had to dress smart, but when he played over the park he got into his scruffs, so he didn't think Mr Johnstone was going over the park. No, Daniel thought, probably work.

And Daniel would sometimes see Mr Johnstone walking back up Purcell Avenue in the evenings. Slower, usually than in the mornings, and somehow sadder than in the mornings. Almost as though he was looking forward to something in the mornings and regretting whatever he'd been doing when he walked home in the evenings.

But Daniel never got to speak to Mr Johnstone. Never even got to say:

'Good morning ', in the mornings or

'Good evening’, in the evenings

and that troubled Daniel. It troubled him more than his inability to write down his thoughts, so people didn't laugh at him, or call him 'weird'. He just thought if he could pluck up the courage to say, 'good morning ', or even 'good evening ' to Mr Johnstone, it might make a difference. It might even make him less sad. He'd do it tomorrow.

Definitely, or maybe the day after. He'd have to think about it. Though Daniel was only nine he got up very early every morning (including Sundays!) and delivered papers to everyone that could read and wanted a paper in Purcell Avenue and a few other roads.

Mr Shaw who ran the corner shop said he shouldn't really have a paper round until he was ten - but this was the 'fifties ‘and 'time moves on'- but really it was because Mr Shaw couldn't find anyone else who would get up at six o'clock in the morning, seven days a week, come rain or shine to deliver his blooming newspapers.

Daniel's mum said blooming, quite a lot actually. For example, she owed Mr Shaw for food and cigs and said that 'her little Dan' would like to do a paper round, and if he didn’t, she'd clip him round the blooming ear! So, every blooming morning little Dan got up at six a blooming clock to do his blooming paper round. Not that he saw much of the money that Mr Shaw gave him, oh no, that went straight to paying off his mum's bill at the shop. Daniel didn't have much to spend money on anyway and if no-one complained about late or torn papers Mr Shaw allowed him a comic, so it all evened out really.

He delivered papers to usually just letterboxes, cold, harsh, mean, snapping, letterboxes, but sometimes actual people opened their doors and said, 'good morning' and 'thank you' when he gave them their paper. Daniel was usually in a daze at that time in the mornings so normally just smiled or nodded. But Daniel wasn't daft, strange maybe, but not daft. If people thought Mr Johnstone was strange, then what about all the rest of them- his customers? They were strange, each and every one of them.

People thought Mr Johnstone was strange as he didn't say hello to anyone, either on the way to work or coming back. He just walked with his head up, or down depending on whether it was morning or evening and sort of kept himself to himself. Not strange, thought Daniel. There was also the fact that no-one ever heard him. When he was in his house, and he seemed to live alone, certainly no-one knew of a Mrs. Johnstone. And you couldn't see into his garden- now that was strange.

It just wasn't right when a snooper couldn't snoop, and Mr Johnstone had lived at four Purcell Avenue for ten years without a successful snooper finding anything out about him. It just wasn't right, well certainly not according to the two old sisters who tut tutted in the street as he walked past. What was the avenue coming to when you didn't know everyone else's business!

Daniel's customers were strange though. Take Mr Bilson at number twelve, almost every day Daniel delivered a paper to him and almost every day Mr Bilson opened the door just slightly, enough to pass paper through, but Daniel couldn't help but notice that his dressing gown looked a little, well, girly for an older man, and those slippers? Daniel's mum told him to mind his own business and not to forget that he’ll be old one day. This worried Daniel as he didn't mind the thought of getting old, but not if he had to wear a girly dressing gown and fluffy pom-pom slippers.

Mr Bilson’s mum was nice though - she gave Daniel a glass of milk or a piece of toast in the mornings when she opened the door. When she opened the door she said hello to Daniel, asked how he was, asked how his mum was - ‘that poor woman’. Daniel didn't know why Mrs Bilson thought his mum was poor - she always seemed to have enough money to be going on with. She always managed to cook a meal in the evening, though she sliced the bread too thin for his liking.

Mrs Bilson didn't go out much, Daniel had seen her at the church - though he didn't go to church, even on Sunday’s people liked their papers and so he missed the singing and the praying and the kneeling and the chanting.  His mum didn't go to church either, she said that God had ‘abandoned them’ whatever that meant.

Then there was Mr and Mrs East, at number twenty-five - now they were strange. They always played loud music, normally church music, and not just on Sundays either. Daniel didn't mind a bit of music, he quite liked the rock and roll music coming out of America, that was fast and loud - but the Easts - well their music was definitely not rock and roll - it was just ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ and ‘Glory be to the Lord in the highest’ and the like, all at the loudest volume they could manage - Daniel could swear he could see their windows rattle when their music was playing.

But Daniel was just a paperboy to them, and so every morning he tried to close his ears to the East’s music, to their Hallelujahs and their Hosannas and just ran up their path, rammed the Daily or Sunday Mirror through their letterbox and ran. Daniel was a fast runner, had always been a fast runner. It had always stood him in good stead.

The man - Mr East was the strange one - any time he met Daniel he always asked after his mum: -

‘How’s your mum, Daniel? Is she still around?’

‘Is there a Mr Weissman Daniel? Is your dad on the scene at all?’

What scene he was talking about Daniel had no idea, and as far as his dad was concerned, his mum never mentioned him. Oh, Daniel asked her, Daniel asked her nearly every day, but she would never tell him anything, just kept telling him he had died in the war. There were no pictures of Daniel's dad anywhere in the house, and come to think of it there weren't any of his mum and her family either, just of him and his mum - that seemed wrong somehow in his eyes, almost sad.

The one Daniel tried avoiding though was Mr Smith. Now he was strange. Daniel had never spoken to Mr Smith, and he didn't see Mr Smith from week to week, and even then, only briefly, or rather only a brief bit of him, through the crack in the door when he opened it to take the paper. It was almost as if he were hiding from someone or something.

Maybe Mr Smith was playing hide and seek, maybe Daniel should ask him one day if he would like to play hide and seek with him, over the park - that might be good - who would hide and who would seek though Daniel wondered….or soldiers….they could play soldiers ….no.…cops and robbers, now that was a good game, everyone played cops and robbers - they made films of cops and robbers that you could watch on a huge screen at the local cinema.

Daniel had been small when he and his mum had moved to Dantwich and where they had moved from people had spoken a little differently. His mum said they had needed to start a new life, to move away from all the troubles where they had lived. Daniel was too small to know what she meant and even now, now that he was nine, he still didn't understand. Daniel had had friends where he used to live, but here he didn't have any, not real friends anyway. When he went to school it was hard for him. The teachers tried to help him, but he felt that he was different from all the other children.

They teased him and called him names, one in particular - Jew Boy, and told him to go home - go back to where he came from - which didn't make sense as he’d only just got to school, to go back home would be silly - he’d miss playtime.

At first Daniel thought the other children were saying New Boy, as he was, having only just started to go to school and so he played along with it, but one of the teachers told them to stop as it was wrong, even if he was Jewish, they should not tease anyone because of who they are, or what religion they have. Daniel didn't think he had a religion, didn't know what a Jew was, so he thought he would ask his mother.

DW      Mum, what's a Jew

RW      What do you mean Liebchen, what is a Jew?

DW      The other boys at school, they call me names, they tell me to go home, to go back where I come from, and Jew Boy.

RW      Take no notice of them sweetie, they are ignorant, they know nothing about our history

DW      We do history at school mum, we do about Henry the Eighth, Queen Elizabeth and Jesus, we talk about him a lot

RW      Yes. We tend not to talk about him so much. Don't worry what the other children call you Daniel, you are your own person, and you have a proud history

DW      Proud? Why proud? I don't know what that means mum.

RW      You will one day yingaleh, you will one day. I will take you to see important people and we will teach you the old ways.

DW      I don't understand mum, it's hard enough learning new ways, I can't learn any more, I struggle with words as it is.

RW      Yeesch - wait till you try and read the Torah then, little one!

And this happened every time Daniel tried to talk to his mum about what being Jewish was all about - she made light of things, made jokes, whilst always telling him, one day, one day. Wait until you are older little one, wait until you are a little older and then you will understand. One day the whole world will understand.

Joseph Schmidt Part One

1936

Joseph Schmidt was German. Joseph Schmidt was a good German, well he thought he was a good German but what did that mean? After the Great War his father had told him that we would never be able to go to war again; as a country Germany would never be able to sell it to the people, let alone fund it, or survive it.

But now there was a man, a leader of men, and again the Country puffed out its collective chest and believed that they would rise again, become a world superpower again, all because of one man….and he wasn't even German. Joseph did wonder whether that man, their Leader, was just a great salesman in disguise. There was nothing of him - about five feet seven in his stocking feet and his Lederhosen as Joseph’s mother would say but never when they were in company. But how that man could lead, and some of what he said made sense when you really listened, when you understood and accepted his ideas as a way, the only way forward.

So, due to a charismatic salesman, an overbearing father and a mother who just thought her son looked so smart in his uniform, that and the fact Joseph had lost two brothers in the Great War, he had enlisted.  He had signed up to join the army, to go wherever they sent him but hopefully stay out of trouble, preferably doing some admin role, or being a courier - yes that would be good, staying away from the muck, the bullets, the death that was bound to come - especially if the Fuhrer, which only meant Leader, carried on.

Joseph knew that the Leader wasn't that bad - he'd put on the Olympic Games and even allowed a black man to win a couple of races. So, there was that.

Joseph was intelligent and easily passed the Army entrance exam. He’d then been asked to sit a few more exams and passed them easily as well. Joseph thought if he had to join up, he would look good in grey, or green, or the grey green colour of the uniform he'd seen at the railway stations, yes grey green - that was his colour.  Imagine his surprise then when he got his new uniform, a jet black one and told he would be enlisted into a small unit of intelligent people, like himself, and that he would be sent on specific assignments throughout the country and beyond. Joseph asked what type of assignments these would be but never received a direct answer, just vague ones, about train journeys and making sure the country wasn't too crowded and so on

He had worked as well as he could, with enthusiasm and with pride, he had carried out his orders to the letter. He was glad to be working for the unit that he was, not running around at the front - either East or West, getting shot at by someone called Tommy and his mates or Ivan and his comrades. Joseph had never cared much for the English and now cared even less for the English with guns, and as for the Russians - well people didn't want to think of the Russians and what they would do to Germany if they came. Joseph really didn't think wearing grey or green was a good idea anymore and he was starting to doubt whether black really did suit him as much as it used to.

Joseph understood when he enlisted that he would be helping create a better Germany, a Germany in which each and every one of its inhabitants would see the fruit of their labours, their hard work and thrive in a new Germany, a greater Germany. But over the last few years he had seen what that greater Germany was becoming.

He had seen just in his unit that if your face didn't fit you didn't get on, and if you didn't get on you were ‘promoted’, you were transferred to a new unit which was sold to you as a ‘new and exciting opportunity’.  These opportunities were rarely turned down and were ‘gratefully accepted Sir’ and saluted to as you left the office to go to who knew where.

Joseph had seen several his colleagues, who he thought were good Germans, transferred to these ‘new and exciting opportunities’. Perhaps either they weren't as good Germans as he thought they were, or perhaps the ‘new and exciting opportunities’ were indeed just that - a thing to be explored. Joseph had heard stories of colleagues who had been transferred and essentially just looked after people in villages. Now, this was a new and exciting opportunity, he thought, further away from the real fighting, further away from guns and bullets, less people called Tommy for one thing, definitely less people called Ivan.

Perhaps he should look to be promoted - he would work harder, obey more orders - maybe interpret those orders a little wider, get things done a bit quicker - after all if there were less people around there would be more food, there would be more housing, there would be more to look forward to when the war ended.

So, Joseph worked harder, he helped more people get quickly out of their houses, helped them get more quickly to the train stations, helped more people get onto overcrowded trains - he thought some of them were cattle trucks but couldn't really be sure, he didn't need to know the details, just get the job done - obey the orders and move on. Yes, there were a few accidents occasionally which happened, mainly because