Taliban UK

By Douglas Orchard

This engrossing alternative history novel, ‘Taliban UK’, is a remarkable imaginative feat. A young Christian man is murdered by his Muslim girlfriend's father that leads to a manhunt and trial at the Old Bailey where he receives a long prison sentence.
The head of the new Middle Eastern state of Qarrini issues threats for his release and launches two devices, one of which kills the Royal family but not a love child. The country is taken over by the Taliban and members of the government are taken into captivity.
The new Taliban UK republic is run by an English Taliban quisling who divides the country into communes, the heterosexual half and the gay half. Show trials are arranged as Christianity has been banned and those who are found are executed. One of the aspiring members on his way back from the local headquarters by car sees a US aircraft crash nearby that is dropping off munitions by parachute for local insurgents. Teaming up with one of the Americans, they escape from the commune and meet up with the insurgents and journey to London where they meet up with other insurgents and the Royal love child. They are rescued by US forces patrolling in the high seas and escape.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Conrad Press
• Release date: Jan 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9781839786655

Book preview

Foreword

I started writing the book in the late 1980s after an Open University course when I realised, from listening to one of the tutors, that he and many like him, were divorced from the realities of life for the ordinary man and woman. He thought that it was fine for the Chinese workers to be in the paddy fields from dawn to midnight and then carry on working at dawn the next day to reach the targets set by the government. They of course did not toil. So, I decided to write the book from the workers’ perspective and realised, after the fall of the USSR, that Islam would be the next problem for the world. ISIS and the Taliban of course have now filled the gap that the Communists once filled, although President Putin has now intervened in world affairs.

Douglas Orchard – September 2023

Taliban UK

Chapter 1

Mixed Race

The little girl sat at the back of the class in her Muslim robes. She stood out from the rest of her class who were all white children. When playtime came around, she would stand alone in the playground until the other children approached her and stood in a circle around her.

‘Why are you wearing these clothes?’ asked one little girl, touching the side of her garment.

‘Where do you come from?’ asked another.

‘Are you a Pakistani?’

‘What’s your name?’

Children can be inquisitive with a child that is different, as well as cruel to each other without meaning to be. So Abir Khan stood with her arms down by her side and kept silent, head bowed.

‘I bet she can’t speak English?’

‘Can you, or are you an immigrant?’

The playground attendant noticed the circle of children around the little Muslim girl and walked over to them.

‘Are you playing games, children?’

At the sound of the adult voice, the children dispersed and went to another part of the playground leaving the little Muslim girl standing on her own. They had been instructed by their parents to be careful when they were around other children who were not from the same ethnic background – ‘not one of us’. They were concerned that their child’s name may be put on the ‘hate crime register’ that had been set up by the Labour government so that children’s playground behaviour in schools which might be considered racist, bullying, or homophobic could be monitored. This would enable programmes to be devised to eliminate such behaviour in the future. The child’s name would remain on the register throughout their schooldays. It was worrying to parents who considered that their children, in many cases, were unaware of what they were saying as, in primary school, they were too young to understand.

‘Well, it doesn’t look like the other children want to play with you.’

‘I’ll play with her.’

The teacher turned around and saw Darren Hawley standing behind her.

‘She’s in my class at school. Come on, we’ll play over there by the seats.’ He pointed to where they were.

With that the little Christian boy and the even smaller Muslim girl both walked away and sat on the seats at the corner of the playground near to the railway line, to begin what was to be a lifetime’s commitment to each other. A story of forbidden love between East and West, in a country that was in a process of change.

‘What’s your name?’ asked Darren.

‘Abir. What’s your name?’

‘My name’s Darren. Why are you dressed the way you are? Why don’t you wear clothes like us; you are after all living in our country?’

‘My mum and dad won’t let me wear clothes like you. They say I have to wear Muslim clothes because of our religion.’

‘Are your mum and dad very strict with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So are mine, but they are Christian.’

They sat and talked until the time came for them to go back into class. Abir was pleased that she had made a friend, even if it was a boy. She decided that she would ask her parents for clothes that were the same as the other children at the school. She would be collected from school at the end of lessons by her mother. Her mother was dressed in black robes with a veil across her face. They spoke in the language of her father’s native land. She never spoke to any of the other parents and never attended any of the parent and teacher meetings.

When they got home Abir was given some food and a cup of tea. Then she was allowed to go to her room where she would watch television until her father arrived home. When her father came back from work, he enquired as to how his daughter had got on at school as he, like any father, was interested in his daughter’s well-being.

‘What did you do at school today, Abir?’ asked her father as he took his coat off.

‘All sort of things.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Reading, writing, spelling.’

‘Are you any good at the English schooling?’

‘I am. I don’t want to wear these clothes at school any more.’

‘Why not? These are clothes that show that you are a Muslim. Why don’t you want to wear them?’

‘I want to look the same as the other children in my class. They wear the school uniform.’

‘What clothes do they wear?’

‘The school pullover. A polo shirt. Some wear trousers and some wear skirts.’

‘Those are not good for a Muslim girl to wear. They are not modest. No flesh is to be exposed.’

‘Then I can wear trousers instead of a skirt.’

‘You will wear what your father tells you to wear,’ interjected her mother.

‘I will not!’ replied Abir.

Both mother and father looked at their daughter in astonishment. East had met West in the playground and West on this occasion had won, according to their daughter.

Abir like many little girls had a mind of her own. Whilst she loved her parents and considered herself a good Muslim, she wanted to be the same as her classmates. She didn’t want to stand out for the wrong reasons. If she could wear English clothes like the rest of the children, she wouldn’t stand out from the rest of the school which was predominately white. There were other Asian children, but they were of a different religion and did not mix.

‘I also spoke to a boy today.’

‘What? You spoke to a boy. Was he a Muslim boy?’

‘No, he was a Christian boy.’

Her father raised his hand to her. She stood defiant with her hands folded across her chest glaring at her father.

Tariq Khan was furious with his daughter who was becoming more defiant. He did not like the ways of the West. They were not the ways of the Muslim but like many he had come to the UK to better himself and his family but he didn’t have to copy the ways of the West. Now his daughter wanted to adopt these ways and it would appear he was to either enforce his rules in his household or give way. What was he to do? Like most fathers in his position, he had to work out his best option. So, he relented and lowered his hand.

She was not just his daughter; she was an only child and a daddy’s girl. Her mother could not have any more children. He could divorce her but he was busy trying to build up a business that he had just taken over. It was important that he became successful so that he could have time to pursue his other interest. But what was he to do with Abir? He couldn’t afford to send her to any other school so he would have to keep her at the local one until he built up his business and could afford to send her somewhere else. So, he gave way on this occasion and there would be other occasions in the future when he gave way until she went one step too far. A compromise was reached against her mother’s better judgement where she could wear the school uniform with trousers as long as her hair was covered which she complied with until her mother had left her at the school gates. Once her mother was out of sight, she removed her head covering and combed her hair, which was a luxuriant black and shone in the sunlight. As she grew older her hair would frame her pretty face.

She was a clever girl as many were from the Asian sub-continent and would excel at her studies but one thing, she never forgot was Darren Hawley who was her guardian, friend and close confidant who would eventually be her lover for he was her man and she was his woman. They would be together during their school years until she went to university.

During their break times, they would stay together and talk about things that young people do: their hopes for the future; what they would do when they left school. She wanted to go to university; he wanted to be a carpenter with his own business. It was during one of the break times that they spoke about the latest bit of gossip that she had heard when she was in the toilet.

‘Have you heard? Shania is pregnant?’

‘What!’ he said with incredulity. ‘She’s only fourteen. Who’s the father?’

‘That black guy from the next class up.’

‘Is she leaving school?’

‘Not that I know of. She lives with her mother in a housing estate. They’re a bit of a scruffy family apparently. Her mother lives on benefits and her father left home years ago. It’s the talk of the powder room.’

He laughed at the thought of the powder room.

‘What are you laughing at?’

‘You and the powder room. I suppose it’s better than the ‘bog’ as we call it.’

‘How do you think she’ll get by?’

‘The government will look after her. That’s what it’s there for.’

‘Don’t you think she’s ruined her life?’

‘I suppose so but we have had lessons on sex and warned to take precautions. She should have known better. My dad calls them all chavs.’

‘He’s probably right. I never told my dad that we would be having sex lessons otherwise he wouldn’t have let me go to them and I wanted to see what it was all about.’

‘Well, we all know what it’s all about. They should have taken precautions.’

‘Will we take precautions?’

‘I would have thought so. We don’t want children at our age; besides, you are going to university. We’ll bide our time unless you’re feeling broody.’

She pulled him to her, placing her hand in his, and put her head on his shoulder as she smiled at his certainty that they would become lovers but not yet. No not yet but soon, definitely soon. She wanted him and she knew that he wanted her but that they would both wait so that they could live their lives without having to bring up a child until they were married and ready for a family. Besides, what would her father do or say?

So, she finished her schooling and was encouraged in her schooling by one of her teachers, Arthur Jones. He saw that Abir had exceptional academic ability and guided her through her time at the comprehensive school. Abir achieved excellent grades and went to university after her A levels which she took at her local college receiving A stars in her results.

At university she wore a headscarf so that others would not be attracted to her and not interfere with her studies, as she wanted to keep herself for Darren whom she loved more dearly as the time went by and she remembered the old saying that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’. Wearing her head covering also pleased her parents who were delighted with their daughter’s high achievements. They were present at the university when she received her degree. Her father was dressed in a smart business suit and his wife wore the chador and face mask. It was a very proud moment for Khan and his wife and a tear came to his eye when his daughter’s name was called out and she walked forward in her robes and mortar to receive her degree. In his mind he thought about how lucky he had been since he came to England. How well he had prospered. About the opportunities that had come his way, which had been denied him in his homeland. Who would have thought that he would achieve such success? His plans were being well served.

Although her time at university had made her much more mature, she still longed for Darren and soon after she had obtained her degree, they became lovers and made love at every opportunity to make up for lost time as she told Darren, ‘Now I’m an accountant and an EW, I think it’s time.’

‘What’s an EW?’ asked Darren.

‘An Educated Wog.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘What? That I’m educated, or a wog?’

‘You are not a wog. Who on earth told you that?’

‘Isn’t that what all your white people call us?’

‘Some do but not everyone does. I don’t.’

‘But you admit that some do?’

‘We are all God’s people, so my mother tells me – black or white – some people are nasty to each other irrespective of their race but some are not. As you know, I’m not.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘What was the other thing you were on about?’

‘It’s time we got together. More closely if you understand what I mean. My father is away for a month so we could stay in a hotel or something down on the coast. Have a dirty weekend… isn’t that what it’s known as?’

He turned and took her by the shoulders and held her firm looking directly into her eyes.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure. We’ve waited long enough. I love you with all my heart and want to be your wife.’

‘I love you too. Let’s work out what we are going to do and where we’re going to go.’

So they went to a coffee house and worked out their weekend away. They would make excuses to their respective families and meet up at Waterloo station for their weekend away on the Isle of Wight. They held hands on the train and looked over the side of the ferry as it took them across the water to their hotel where they would express their love for each other many times over the weekend.

Chapter 2

A Matter Of Honour

The car was parked in a clearing in a small wood. Dusk had turned into night and the lovers now felt secure. Although of different races and cultures, they were united in their British nationality.

They had attended the same school, played together after school, and enjoyed the pleasure of each other’s company. Now they were grown up and the pleasures were different and more physically demanding; they each desired the other and took every opportunity to express that love in a physical way. Both of them knew that their relationship was opposed by her father. So, they met secretly; she would make excuses and give imaginary places that she was going to in order to meet her lover. He had always waited for her at the arranged hidden place where they could talk and make love but of course, her father was no fool and had her watched and followed by one of his friends.

At first, he refused to believe anything he was told, being like any father and not doubting the fidelity of his daughter. Gradually, he had come to terms with the fact that his beloved daughter was deceiving him and that he would have to do something about the affair, as he had already planned whom his daughter would marry. He believed in the old tradition of arranged marriages considering that, whilst they were not made in heaven, at least they led to happier times on earth for the couple. He, therefore, decided to take action, not only to reclaim his daughter but also to re-establish his honour.

The car windows were now steamed up; inside, the occupants were locked together in a long-drawn-out kiss, which was both tender and passionate. He was fully aroused and reaching to remove her underwear while she undid his trousers. They continued to indulge in foreplay until neither could wait any longer, her breath was coming in short little gasps and he was breathing more deeply. By now both of them were naked and as he positioned her to receive him, the car door was flung open and he was grabbed by the ankles and pulled off her and out of the car, striking his head on the bottom of the door sill as he came out of the vehicle. His arms were held firmly and in such a manner that his head was projected forward and down, which prevented him from fighting back at his attackers. He was confused and his head hurt where it had hit the edge of the car. As he tried to struggle, he heard someone speak in a foreign dialect and as the pressure on his arms increased, the intonation in the voice led him to being thrust further forward. He then heard the voice again, now more urgent, the command was followed by a sharp intake of breath as the man drew air in through his teeth; he could hear the spittle in the man's mouth. Then there was a new sound, a whistle, as if something was moving through the air at speed, and a grunting sound as if someone was using force. Suddenly there was a tremendous pain in the back of his neck and everything went black as time for him became no more.

The head fell to the ground and there was an ear-splitting scream as the woman saw the death of her lover. His blood spurted out of the trunk and spilled onto the grass and dirt with the head rolling away. The man with the sword reacted quickly and spoke to his companions in their native tongue, ‘Quickly my brothers! Put the body in the bag.’ The men with him set about their business with efficiency as if everything had been previously rehearsed. Whilst three struggled to place the body into the bag, the other attended to the woman. She was quickly gagged and trussed up and placed into the back of the van that had followed the couple. The dead body in the bag was also thrown in followed by all the men, who jumped into the van. Before they did so the last man swept the ground with a birch broom and threw water down that they had brought with them to remove any traces of the blood.

The woman was in a state of shock and severe trauma. Her mind was numb but she realised that the voice of the man was that of her father! What was to become of her? Did they not realise that she would go to the police as soon as they set her free? But her father had worked everything out to the last detail. She would be switched to another vehicle which was about to leave for the Channel Tunnel Rail Link. The Border Agency would be too busy looking for those who were endeavouring to enter the country; they would not be looking for anyone leaving. Then she would be moved overland in the back of the vehicle until she arrived in a remote area of Pakistan where she would be married to a man of her father’s choice – one of his cousins – as was tradition, who would be much older than her and by whom she would have many children. As a woman, her rights would not be like those of a man and she would disappear from the view of her mother country.

Her boyfriend’s torso was to be disposed of separately from the head. One of the men was a halal butcher who would cut the body up in the back of his butcher’s shop and place it in the bins which would be sold to, and collected by, a firm for pig food. The head would be buried underneath the new lay-by for a nearby village that the father's firm was contracted to complete for a local council that favoured positive discrimination for the ethnic minorities, especially one which was so determined to help their fellow citizens, even if they were of the same minority. The car was to be driven to a scrap yard where it would be reduced to material for dog food tins so that to the world there would be no trace left of the lover or knowledge of the woman.

Chapter 3

A Missing Person

It was the Monday morning that the lover was reported missing by his mother and father. His mother had gone to bed on a Saturday night wondering to herself how long her son would be before he came home. He was in his early twenties, so she wasn't overly concerned but like all mothers, she still worried when he was late coming back home. Both she and her husband had slept soundly once she has finally got off to sleep and neither she nor her husband had woken during the night. She was woken up by the sound of the newspaper being pushed noisily through the letterbox and she realised that she hadn't heard her son return home. She nudged her husband with her elbow until he woke up.

‘What is it?’ he enquired grumpily.

‘Darren hasn't come home since last night. I hope nothing has happened to him,’ she said nervously biting her bottom lip.

‘He’s over eighteen!’ grumbled the father, ‘He can surely stay out one night!’ With that, he turned over in the bed and pulled the clothes over him to conclude the argument. The mother was still anxious and as she couldn't sleep, she got out of bed and went downstairs after first checking that her son's bed had not been slept in.

Downstairs she looked at the clock, it was 8.30 am on a Sunday morning and she was uncertain as to what she should do. Several courses of action went through her head as she made herself some breakfast. Her husband would lie in bed for another half hour as it was Sunday, which is what kept nagging her. The family was so regulated in its way of life that she could set the clock by the time of day when things were done in the house. She made her mind up that she would give him until 10 am and, if he had not shown up by then, she would go to the police. She then watched the clock until her husband got up. He came noisily down the stairs into the kitchen where she was sitting and she immediately told him of her intention to go to the police and he reluctantly agreed with her for the sake of peace and quiet.

‘So, you want me to come to the police station with you then?’ he queried.

‘Well, don't you think you should? He's your son as well, you know!’ she hissed at him.

‘I know that!’ he replied, ‘But we'll look daft if he comes back five minutes after we get back home, won’t we?’

‘I don't care,’ she replied,’ so long as he's safe but I worry that he's lying hurt somewhere.’

For the sake of peace and quiet he agreed to accompany her to the police station the following day if he had not returned. Later he would realise how intuitive his wife had been but of course by then there was nothing that either of them could do for their son. His wife was extremely worried for the rest of the day and hardly slept on a Sunday night.

He parked the car outside the front of the police station and they walked inside arm in arm as if supporting each other. The young constable was reading a newspaper which he quickly put into a drawer when they appeared in front of him. ‘Can I help you?’ he said with a smile.

‘Yes,’ replied the father. ‘We want to report our son missing.’

‘How old is your son?’ queried the constable.

‘Twenty-two.’

‘How long has he been missing?’

‘Since last night.’

A bit early to start worrying, isn't it? Has he not been out with his mates or girlfriend?’ queried the constable in a voice devoid of emotion.

‘Not that we know of,’ said the mother.’ Besides he hasn't got a girlfriend. If he had, he would have told us by now I'm sure of it.’

‘Well, I'll tell you what, I'll take a note of your son's details and if we find out anything about him someone will let you know.’

The woman looked at him closely,’ How old are you constable?’ she asked.

‘Twenty-eight,’ he replied.’

‘Don’t you think that your mother would worry if you didn't come home for two nights?’ she asked anxiously.

The constable looked into the mother’s eyes and noted the pain and worry in them. He couldn't see why she should worry because her son had gone adrift for one night. It was obvious that he was out on the booze somewhere or had found himself a woman and was probably still in bed with her at that moment. But then he thought of his own mother and realised that she had always worried about him, even after he had become a policeman and married. ‘I suppose she would,’ he agreed and noticed the look of relief that came over the woman's face.

At last, she had got through to him. She pressed home her advantage. ‘Can you do something for us please? We are ever so desperate,’ she pleaded with him.

The husband then intervened,’ You see, officer, it's most unlike our son. He's a boy of set ways. He always goes to church on a Sunday with his mother; that is why we are so worried, he would have been in touch with us if something or somebody was preventing him from being there, can’t you see?’

The constable was somewhat surprised to hear that the son attended church; this was something that he never thought people of the son's age did. It had been a long time since he himself had attended a church service and because of shift work he never got the opportunity to go himself. But the way that the church behaved, he found off-putting. The only way that he was reminded of the church was if he heard church bells ring but he was more likely to hear the cry of the muezzin at the local mosque calling the faithful to prayer on a Friday. Somehow it never seemed right to him. It as an alien creed he considered but something that was now accepted in the British multi-racial and cultural society. Still, that was life and there was nothing that either he or anybody else could do about it even if they wanted to, except of course those in Parliament, as his senior officers had constantly informed him and his colleagues at numerous lectures on race relations.

‘I can see that you are worried and if it will help, I'll take your report. However, it doesn't mean that we will find him.’ He reached below the desk and produced a buff-coloured form. Reaching down he pulled a pen from his trouser pocket and leant over ready to fill in the form, quickly filling in the man's details with the help of the parents. ‘That's handy,’ he noted, upon completing the form. ‘This is on my patrol area. I'll pop down and see you at your home tomorrow morning if it’s all right by you. Will there be someone in?’

‘I'll be there,’ said the woman.

‘Right then, just after ten o'clock. If he comes back in the meantime, let us know and I won’t turn up tomorrow.’

They both smiled gratefully at him and the woman linked her arm through her husband's, ‘I'll see you at ten tomorrow then.’ She gave him a weak little smile and they turned and left the police station.

He turned and left the office and walked into the control room where he handed in the form to one of the operators. The operator was busy on the radio whilst the other was answering the telephone. ‘When you get a chance…’ he whispered to the operator and went back into the front office.

About ten minutes later the operator brought the form back to him and placed it on the desk in front of him. ‘There's your misper. A bit old for them to be worrying about him?’ he queried.

‘I thought that’ said his colleague, ‘still, it gives them some peace of mind and isn't that one of the things we are supposed to do… preserve public tranquillity?’

‘Yes, I suppose it is but I bet he won’t be impressed when he gets home from having his leg over or whatever he's been up to – and him a churchgoing boy. Tut tut – ever so naughty but ever so nice. Those were the days, eh?’

Chapter 4

The Admirer

Even though she was of a different class from him he had loved her since the first moment he had set eyes on her. She was stepping out of a little car that her father had bought for her when she had left university after obtaining a good degree. Her eyes met his and she smiled at him which was done out of politeness as she had never seen him before but, as he was one of her father's employees, she thought her father would have wanted her to. After that brief smile, she never took much notice of the young man who was always about the yard but who was obviously inferior in class to her.

But Abu Najeeb however was smitten and would gaze at her whenever she was around; a love viewed from afar. When his loyalty to her father was put to the test, he had not flinched, even when he realised that the object of his employer was to remove his daughter Abir, the most beautiful, the most fragrant, from the intentions and the influence of the Englishman. This would give him a chance if the Englishman was removed from the scene, or so he thought.

The means of removal were not fully explained to him as they were known only to his employer and his close circle. He was however told that it was not right for the relationship to continue especially as the young woman's father had promised her to another, as was the custom.

It was known by everyone that arranged marriages were always the best for their people and that mixed marriages did not work. Some of the old customs had disappeared due to the influence of Western ideas of sex and marriage. However, some of the old schools were still faithful to the old ways and resented the influence that the West had over their children, particularly the females. He was one of the old school although only a young man, for do the old ways not have a greater attraction when living in a far-off land? Do they not give comfort and a sense of belonging when all around is different to what one thinks or sees or hears… like a full English breakfast in Benidorm for the English when they are on holiday? When aspects of the way of life of others repulses and makes the old ways seem superior to that of the new? When a sense of belonging and the need to belong can overrule reason.

He had gladly gone along with the plan to separate the man from the woman, the one he loved and gazed upon with unrequited love every time he saw her. The Englishman must have some kind of undue influence over her he thought, surely, she must be besotted by him and blind to her father's wishes? Better therefore that the relationship should be brought to an end. He knew that he did not have a chance to gain her love but better that she was given to one of her own kind than she is lost to another who was not.

The evening had not gone as he had envisaged. A beating was the most that he had expected... but murder! As the head had been severed by the scimitar, it had fallen to the ground and then rolled and rolled out of view into some bushes and then down a bank side. The face and back of the head were alternately turned towards them as they all stood transfixed and watched it roll out of sight with the young woman's choking cry of despair and realisation of her lover’s removal from her life forever. This had been quickly stifled by a hand which was placed across her mouth to prevent any further noise. The boss then gave out his orders quickly in their native tongue and looking at him told him to get the head and bring it to them at the arranged place for disposal.

He scrambled down the bank side in the dark after the head. He wasn't sure which way it would have gone when it went over the edge of the bank. And in the dark, he knew that he would have difficulty finding it but find it he must. It took him a while to search amongst the bushes which kept scratching his face and arms. Desperation began