Snakeskin Shoes & the Number 30 Bus

By Andrew Reid

“They say time and tide wait for no man. I, on the other hand, wait for you all.”

A clock ticks above your head, counting down time, counting down your life. There’s no escaping it. For millennia, I have walked amongst you. I have only one job: collection of the newly departed. My name is Death. In all this time I have never spoken to a living soul… That is until now.

Follow Death through the annals of time as he shares the tales of his ‘collections’ from the docks of London to the cotton fields of America and the heat of the Burmese jungle.

These tales of love, hate, joy, and fear are all illustrated with an eclectic Spotify playlist and an extraordinary debut novel by author Andrew Reid.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781528955928

Andrew Reid

Andrew Reid (ThD, Ridley College) is the inaugural principal of the Evangelical Theological College of Asia in Singapore. He previously served as the lead pastor of several churches in Australia and as lecturer in Old Testament, hermeneutics, and Hebrew at Ridley College Melbourne. He was one of the founding council members of the Gospel Coalition Australia and is editorial director of the ministry, training, and leadership channel of TGCA’s website.

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About the Author

Andrew Reid was born in County Antrim, Northern Ireland in 1967. He has written poems and music since he was 12, when his parents bought him Pink Floyd’s album The Wall for his birthday. The album changed everything for Andy. The darkness, moodiness was sheer brilliance – almost instilling fear into him. He was already writing short poems, but this new music and lyrics inspired him to be more adventurous with his writing. He no longer had to write for the ‘norm’. Andy has now finally turned the pen to his first novel. His love of music is a strong influence in this novel as he links tracks poignantly with the deaths of his fictional, and sometimes real characters. It took three years to finally complete the book, with life priorities often taking over. As this book is published, Andrew is excited to be starting his next project and hopes you will follow his work.

Dedication

For my family, my three beautiful daughters, Aimee, Ellie, and Lucy. With love now and forever. For my dear parents, Bill and Lesley. For my brother, Phil, and his family, Amanda, Jack and Finn.

Copyright Information ©

Andrew Reid 2024

The right of Andrew Reid to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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 prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528934541 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528955928 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

This book could not have come together without the real historical events, people, and related deaths that have taken place across the globe. It is a reminder of the many people who have died for no good reason other than other people’s greed, hate, or prejudice, or from illnesses for which there are yet to be found cures. Whilst not all the chapters are based on real events or people, they are inspired by them. Most of the characters in the story are fictional, set during real life events. I have also used artistic license to suggest what could have been the final thoughts of some of my true historical characters, for example, in The Solomons and The Kastner Train. Thank you to the reader for not taking these as a completely true and accurate historical record. To all the artists who have been listed in this book, as part of my Spotify playlist, thank you for your inspiration. As I wrote this book, I was also writing my own album, ‘Ethereal.’ By chance I met Tim Taylor and his wife Jan. Tim kindly offered to write music to some of the lyrics and we recorded them together in his studio, thus creating Ethereal. Without his generosity of time and guidance, and a lot of patience as I made changes, this could not have happened. By another stroke of luck, I then met Rob and his partner, Barbara. Rob who is partially blind, made me a vintage strat as a gift. This would become ‘Death’s guitar’ and is used on the ‘Ethereal’ album. Such generosity cannot be measured. Thank you. The photography for this book was taken by my friend and professional photographer David King from his studios in Canterbury and on location in London. For their belief in this story I want to thank my publishers, Austin Macauley Publishers. Had they not welcomed my first few pages, I would never have had the courage to complete the book that had been sitting on my laptop for quite some time. An editor and author relationship can sometimes be challenging. Not so with Nichola ‘Nic’ Evans, my editor and friend. I really appreciate all her hard work, honesty, patience and belief. We have had some great debates on some of the elements of this book. Nic is a great negotiator. We’ve had some quite intense chats about story flow and historical accuracy which I have really appreciated (even though I have politely refused to make some of her suggested amendments!). We remain good friends.

Welcome to Death

There is a time above your head, a clock if you will. It counts down your life; win, lose or draw. Your time is ticking. You people seem, on a daily basis, to invent more ways to die; you are more obsessed with Death than living your lives. Behold as I come among you, for I shall collect every one of you. Every. Single. One.

The Devil Dogs, Call the Angels – Ethereal (unreleased)

I dance with the devil in the cold moonlight

Twisting and turning with Death to my right

Call the Angels with a song from above

Call the Host with a shining love

Take this soul from the grip of woes

Take this man with blood-stained clothes

Take this man who is about to die

Deliver him to whom he’s lied

If there ever was a heaven, a heaven on Earth

Could I spend a day, for what it’s worth?

An eternity in Hell

It’s a job, but not as you know it. But I’m the one sure thing in life.

So, I collect. It’s what I do, nothing personal. It’s not about Heaven or Hell. I don’t know where you end up. But with all the natural ways you can die, you people sure do have a penchant for creating new ones.

There are some things in life you wish for, some things in life you crave. Death is not one. Nobody wishes for Death. You might say suicide is wishing for death, but no, that’s despair, that’s depression. However you die, it’s all the same to me.

PS: I’m never late. Never.

Death Playlist #1

David Bowie, Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide – The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (16 June 1972)

The Death Playlist

Throughout this book there are references to ‘the Death Playlist’. This is mine. They are the songs I associate with my collections of the newly departed. Each song has true meaning for me. True meaning for Death.

Download the playlist, Snakeskin Shoes & the Number 30 Bus. You can also see a full list of the songs at the back of this book.

Julie Kimber

Death Playlist #2

The Police, Roxanne – Outlandos D’Amour (2 November 1978)

Love that song, standing in the middle of a lake, the moon shining bright in the sky. There’s a full moon tonight, its shimmering and glistening on the water. Here it comes, the scream, shrill, sharp, splitting the night, time to go, collection. They say after the lull comes the storm, but generally, after murder, there is just silence.

Death Playlist #3

The Beatles, All Together Now – Yellow Submarine (17 January 1969)

The murderer leaves the scene. He will be collected, but not tonight.

Armani, yes, that’s it. I have decided, rid myself of these bloody robes, ditch the scythe, a new shiny Armani suit, white shirt, red tie, nice pair of Italian leather shoes. Black, of course, the suit that is. I mean the whole skeleton Death thing! Really? The shoes, brown leather.

But I digress. Back to the murder. Julie Kimber, aged 32, very pretty, just about as nice a person as you would want to meet. She didn’t do anything wrong, except date a very jealous, very violent man, her murderer. The argument started early in the evening. A push, a slap to the face.

Julie had been here before. Accusations of flirting with work colleagues. It happened a lot with him, calling her a whore, a slag, then after a while, there was usually an apology, with those words: ‘I’ll never do it again’. And then the tears.

Several stab wounds to her body, blood pretty much everywhere. This was the end of their last argument.

The Collection

‘What’s happened? Where am I?’ Standard questions from the recently departed. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Death. You need to come with me, Julie.’

She looked down at her bloody corpse. She didn’t cry, she just looked. I held out my hand. ‘Come on, time to go.’

The trouble with relationships is, there is more than one person involved.

The suit is on order, plus aftershave Acqua di Parma. Lush. By the way, my hands are normal, skin on, not gruesome, just the handsome new me – a new Death.

Death ‘n’ Aimee

Closing my eyes, the visions of all the dead I have collected drift through my mind. But now something else, a voice. Faint, ghostly, ethereal. Whispers of my name, ‘Death, Death, Death.’

‘Death!’ Louder now, louder. This time with the voice of a young woman, her face pale, sparkling blue eyes, ginger hair, long and flowing. The voice comes again. ‘Death!’

I open my eyes, but the vision is still there. She is holding something. A phone, her fingers flashing over the buttons. Then bang! The voice spoke again.

A: So D, hi. I’m A. What you doing?

D: Who? How? What? Why are you in my head?

A: You’re Death – D. I’m Aimee – A. We make up everything. D’n’A

D: How are you doing this, I’ve never spoken to a living person in millennia.

D: And how am I answering?

A: Can’t say how. I had a dream, a nightmare. I was holding your hand. I was dead.

A: I woke up and my phone buzzed – Death.

A: The text was from you, but it was blank.

D: Are you saying I reached out to you?

A: It seems so. I just started typing and the words seemed to go straight into your head.

D: So I just think the reply?

A: Yes LOL

D: Well, what do you want?

A: I don’t want to die

Sad face outline outline

D: Not my choice, I just collect

A: But you must know how it works?

D: It works like this: You live, you die, I collect. What’s LOL?

A: There just has to be more! It means laugh out loud, you know, LOL!

A: D! You there?

A: D????

D: Of course I’m here. Can’t bloody get rid of you. This is so strange!!!

A: There must be a way out of this

D: What?

A: A way out. How?

D: I don’t know. I am just me. Death.

A: Well, when did it start? The whole Death thing?

D: When I was two.

A: Really?

D: No, LOL

A: That’s just not funny

D: I have to go. Got work to do.

A: OK, talk soon

A: Hey! Don’t say goodnight then!

D: I don’t have a night, or a day.

A: What do you have then?

D: Just Time. And Death.

DNA. Deoxyribonucleic acid. It makes us all, is the hereditary material in all humans. The information in DNA is stored as a code in the human body.

New suit has arrived. Beautiful. Single breast black Armani with a very faint pinstripe, crisp white shirt with a deep red tie, skulls embroidered into it in a light red cotton. Brown leather shoes – Italian. Plus, I decided on a cane, black with a silver tip, a skull at the top for a handle. In all, a dapper gent, with my shoulder-length raven black hair, round black John Lennon shades. Perfect.

Time and tide wait for no man. Nor do I.

Death Playlist #4

Pink Floyd, Time – The Dark Side of the Moon (1 March 1973)

That There Scurvy and the Change of a Life

1747, London: William was 17. He had just been accepted as an apprentice lawyer at the Lincoln Inn, London. He was due to start in a week after more than two years’ toiling night and day. Labouring over books and studies and very little socialising. So tonight, he would meet friends for a drink and celebrate his success. He would look forward to his future.

The Old Man of the Sea was down towards the Thames. It was a shabby tavern, but not so shabby that its reputation went before it. Will arrived before his friends. Two glasses of rum down, his friends finally arrived.

‘Well done, Will,’ they exclaimed. ‘You finally got it! Your dream job!’

‘I know, I know, it’s so nice to be accepted at the Lincoln, I start next week.’

The drink flowed through the evening, and it was gone midnight when Will and his friends, worse for wear, parted ways. Will staggered along the cobbles, two steps forward, one back.

‘Hey, friend. You had a good night?’

Standing before Will was a tall man. Tanned, leathery skin. Swarthy looking.

‘Yes, very good, thank you.’ He tipped his hat. ‘Good evening.’

Will continued on his way, staggering up the road, before he felt a hammer-blow to the back of his head.

Press gangs worked in London and most ports. It was a way the Royal Navy could man their ships in wartime. It started in 1664 and was used throughout the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. The King’s shilling was given, and this formed an agreement to serve. However, this was sometimes placed in the pocket or bag secretly, and it was enforced, nonetheless. It was also dropped into drinks and when the drinker got to the bottom, they were forced into service.

Swaying back and forth, back and forth. Creaking. Swaying to the beat of the pounding of his head. He felt sick, could smell something like old boots. He mumbled to himself, ‘Too much drink. Never again.’

Back to a dark sleep.

Then a booming voice.

‘Alright, you lazy swags. Time to get to work. Come on, get up on deck.’

Will awoke. The light was blinding, His head was pounding, and he felt like throwing up.

‘Come on! Up on deck! Now!’

Will stood up gingerly and navigated the wooden stairs onto the deck. He saw the ocean and realised with a sudden dread, the full horror of the situation he had got himself into. Will, was far out to sea. He gathered his wits before he spoke out.

‘Excuse me, Sir, I shouldn’t be here. I have a job at Lincoln Inn London and am expected to start next week.’

A sailor approached Will. He hit him straight in the belly, then dragged him to the edge of the ship. ‘That’s the only way back, Son. Fancy a dip, do you?’

The man turned to the rest of the crew. ‘Now you listen to me, all of you. I’m Mid-Shipman Lang of HMS Salisbury and you are all in His Majesty’s service. You each took the king’s coin, and you will all do as you’re told.’

HMS Salisbury was a fourth-rate ship-of-war, with 50 guns. It was under the command of Captain George Edgcumbe and was part of the Western Fleet under Edward Hawke and Edward Boscawen. There were 300 souls aboard, some experienced, others not. Jobs ranged from master gunner, boatswain, cook, parson, surgeon and regular crew.

Will spent his days and nights keeping watch, handling sails and cleaning the decks. He was a landman, a sailor without any training or skill, but soon started to learn the work, showing interest in all the aspects of ship life. And thankfully, he was liked by the other sailors.

Life aboard HMS Salisbury was hard, and it took a while for Will to find his sea legs. For the first few weeks he hardly ate, was constantly sick. The food was terrible. At first, all Will could stomach was ship biscuits, often with the addition of weevils that were impossible to remove completely. But as he gained his sea legs, he started feeling hungrier alongside the gruelling work, and discovered the food could be quite tasty. Two days a week they were allowed meat, salted beef or pork, then there was fish, either salted or caught fresh, with peas and, of course, grog or wine. Many of the men caught rats as an extra meat supplement, Will found the meat to be quite light and tasty.

Rats produce a natural source of Vitamin C as part of their synthesis, so although they didn’t know it at the time, sailors who ate rats were protecting themselves against scurvy.

This terrible and painful disease was caused by a lack of Vitamin C. Sufferers endured tissue breakdown and rotting, chronic fatigue, shortness of breath, fatal heart problems, bleeding gums and death.

During a British expedition to raid Spanish holdings in the 1740s, over 1300 of 2000 men were lost to illness. Thankfully, for some, eating rats had been their saviour.

With time, Will accepted this would now be his life for the next three years. An intelligent man, he knew there was no way out until they docked back in London. He often wondered about his father, what he would be thinking or if he might have tried to find out what had happened to Will. He thought about his fiancé, Julie, and hated the thought of her crying for his loss, perhaps moving on to someone else. He hoped she would wait. But three years… When the ship docked, he would try to send letters home, although there was no guarantee his father or Julie would receive them.

Accepting his fate, Will began to make the most of his time, learning new skills. He was highly regarded by the men who believed Will brought good luck. Being superstitious and believing in good omens, the crew would lay hands on Will to keep them safe, pat him on the back, or just touch his hand.

However, his intelligence had also been noted by James Lind, the ship’s surgeon and a few months into their journey, Lind asked Captain Edgcumbe if Will could assist him. This made the crew happy too as being the assistant to the ship’s surgeon, was an even greater omen in their eyes.

As Will’s teacher, Lind gave him books on the anatomy and surgical procedures and much of Will’s time was spent reading. It was common for men to sustain injuries during their day-to-day work and Will would watch Lind performing minor surgery where necessary.

After six months at sea, some of the crew began to show the first signs of scurvy. Within a few weeks, many were seriously ill, and Lind asked Captain Edgcumbe if he might conduct an experiment on some of the worst cases. With twelve serious cases already, it would start the next morning. The sick sailors would be split into two groups of six. Group 1 would be given special daily rations. Group 2 would be given the standard rations.

Amazingly, by the end of the first week, the sailors on special rations, were well enough to help with the other men. The crew of HMS Salisbury, being superstitious, were in no doubt that Will was the reason their shipmates had recovered.

Will was called into the Captain’s Quarters. Lind was there.

‘Come in Will. Please sit down,’ said Captain Edgcumbe.

Will was nervous. Punishments at sea were severe – you could be tarred and feathered, tied to a rope swing and ducked in the sea, or keel-hauled, dragged around fastened to a rope beneath the ship. Any signs of mutiny or murder would be met with the sailor hanging from the yard arm. But the most common punishment was flogging by the cat o’ nine tails.

‘Have I done something wrong, Captain?’

‘No Will. On the contrary. Lind has recommended you for promotion. There will be a ceremony at first watch.’

The next day, Will stood in front of Captain Edgcumbe, most of the crew were gathered. The rumour had already spread that Will was to be promoted. It was unusual for an inexperienced landsman with less than a year at sea to be made up so quickly, but no-one complained. It could only be more good fortune for the crew.

‘I, Captain George Edgcumbe of HMS Salisbury, award William, the rank of petty officer. His ability as the surgeon’s assistant brought him to my attention, along with the recommendation of ship’s surgeon Doctor James Lind.’

Will continued to work alongside Lind and all sailors aboard were given fruit every day, including the officers and Captain Edgcumbe. By the end of the first year at sea, there had been no further cases of scurvy aboard HMS Salisbury.

During the second year aboard HMS Salisbury, Will sailed to the Caribbean. They had orders to patrol the seas and control the sea traffic in a war where England had sided with Austria, Holland and Scandinavia against Spain and France. If they could take Spanish ships laden with gold, then all the better. This would bring a pretty price and would pay the crew handsomely.

Captain Edgcumbe invited the officers, including Lind and Will into his quarters to plan their first attack. It was vital they had as few casualties as possible. Their guns were to be practised and made ready. All the sailors, including Will, ran drills daily.

Generally, the weather in the Caribbean was sunny with light winds, but storms happened. And when they did, they could be ferocious, often turning into hurricanes where many ships were destroyed, and lives lost.

As they approached the edge of the Caribbean, Will awoke to high winds, the sea rolling higher and higher, HMS Salisbury pitching left, right, up, down, waves crashing against her hull. The sea kept up its relentless barrage. Some of the sailors below deck were throwing up. A bell rang out above the swirling wind – a change of watch.

Will got out of his bunk as another sailor jumped in.

‘Thanks, Will. Nice and warm.’

On deck, within minutes Will was soaking wet and freezing. He now faced eight hours of freezing cold conditions, high up in the mast, keeping watch as the wind and rain cut into his face.

Early the next morning, a ship with French colours came into sight ahead of them. It was the French privateer Frap De Borde. HMS Salisbury had total charge of the engagement, firing only four shots before the battle was over. Not one shot was fired from Frap De Borde. Totally outgunned, it was easier for its crew to surrender than to be slaughtered in action. Ten of Salisbury’s men went aboard Frap De Borde, and the prize was taken, along with 54 prisoners.

But the next battle would be a lot harder. The ship on the forward bow was much larger than the Frap De Borde, similar in size to the Salisbury. It had a Dutch flag, but Captain Edgcumbe knew by the stern that this was a French warship, and he would take her.

If they had been on patrol with other ships, they would have adopted a line attacking in formation, firing their shots away one after another. This meant they could minimise any damage to themselves. But HMS Salisbury was patrolling on her own and they would have to engage aggressively, adopting a close quarter tactic. It was high risk. The enemy would be able to get their cannons firing on her, but HMS Salisbury was ready. Her boatswain, Tim, was highly skilled as was her master gunner, John. HMS Salisbury beat to quarters, the drums calling the men to battle.

Will was ready with Lind. The table was laid out with various knives, saws and needles, and other surgical equipment. The sailors, if they had time, came to touch Will for luck. The ship in front was L’Amilon. Its captain lowered the Dutch flag, as Captain Edgcumbe knew he would, and raised the French flag. They didn’t want to fight, as they knew they must, with the wrong flag flying.

The sea was still rough and both ships were being thrown about in the howling wind. This would make the battle difficult. The full control of the ship in this wind was vital as was the skill of the gunners.

As the ships closed in on each other, the HMS Salisbury held the better position coming from behind. She started to fire. Cannon balls splintered the wood at the back of L’Amilon as HMS Salisbury’s master gunner aimed at the rudder to disable the French ship. Shouts came from below. ‘Fire!’.

Volley after volley, the gunners worked hard knowing they had to hit L’Amilon’s rudder before they got too close.

Then a cheer rang out. ‘Got her!’ The gunner had hit it.

‘How bad?’ Captain Edgcumbe shouted.

‘Round in circles she can go, that’s all!’

The gun crews had already reloaded and readied themselves for engagement.

Below deck, Will threw up. This was his first experience of real battle in his short life at sea. Lind put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Here, sniff some of this and put some up your nose. It will help.’

‘Thanks,’ said Will, just before all hell broke loose from the gun deck.

‘Fire,’ came the shout.

The guns boomed releasing their death. They were half-way alongside L’Amilon. Boatswain Tim had skilfully set HMS Salisbury at a slight angle at the last second, the ship pitching high. Her guns were ready for this, meaning they were set perfectly, and the French ship’s guns would be off target. HMS Salisbury’s rudder and masts would be saved.

Nevertheless, the French hit, their cannons blasting holes in HMS Salisbury’s deck and hitting some of the gun crews’ positions – the wounded would be brought down after the engagement was over.

The noise was deafening. Men screamed in the smoke-filled air. Many of the gun crews were disoriented by the volley they had just taken. The shout came out to reload and the gunners, now in automatic mode, loaded the available guns. Above, in the rigging, snipers fired upon the French. Some of the crew that had been hit, but not badly wounded, helped with the reload.