Cold War, Hot Pursuit, page 1
Cold War, Hot Pursuit
Author: David R. Dye
Copyright © David R. Dye
The right of David R. Dye to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First Published in 2024
ISBN 978-1-83538-162-5 (Paperback)
978-1-83538-163-2 (E-Book)
Book cover design and Book layout by:
White Magic Studios
www.whitemagicstudios.co.uk
Published by:
Maple Publishers
Fairbourne Drive, Atterbury,
Milton Keynes,
MK10 9RG, UK
www.maplepublishers.com
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or translated by any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author.
The book is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental, and the Publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Dedication
This fictional novel is dedicated to my beautiful, intelligent wife who passed away in June 2021.
She was a very accomplished equestrian with a very deep love of horses, and dogs!
To ride horses, and care for horses, you have to be brave. Her bravery surpassed everything I have ever experienced. She fought an exceptionally cruel cancer for 10 years. She cared for our severely disabled son for almost 20 years, always with a smile and a humorous quip.
She happily accepted travelling and living around the world with me due to my work. And several of the situations in my novel involved her. See if you can spot a few!
Dedicated to Karen.
CONTENTS
Are You Being Served 8
The Thin Controller 12
Is Driven A DNA Thing? 18
Red Light Shopping 22
I Saw Her Standing There! Love Me Do 32
Glenn Wanted To Be A Pilot 43
Message In A Bottle 49
Yes Minister! 53
Up On The Roof! 59
On The Loose In Sousse 65
Reverse Somersault 69
She Decided To Sit On It 73
Death In Paradise And More 77
Oh De Cologne Dinner 84
Down To Earth Comedy 90
On Fire In Valencia 96
The Bottom Line 104
The World Is Your Oyster 111
Everyone Needs A Rest 119
Now We’re Up The Pole 124
It’s First Class 127
Girls And Gifts Galore 132
Not A Hit For Everybody 136
Disappeared Among The Stars 140
To Be Frank, London Is The Best! 143
Mistaken Identity In Lon...Don! 147
Who Is Frank 150
They Seek Her Here, They Seek Her There 158
Down To Earth 164
Gunfight At The Ok Coral 172
Swimming With Seals 181
They Fired Their Guns 190
The Alcatraz Tour 199
The Chaps In Wickenburg 206
Chaps Look Great And Prevent Chaps 210
The First Roundup 213
Lets Have Shagging At Our Party 217
Sunset Ride 223
Ding Dong The Bells Are Gonna Chime 241
We Were Climbing The Walls 248
Where We Began 261
With A Little Help From Her Friends 265
Looking Back Helps Going Forward 269
Goodbye – Wipe A Tear From Your Eye 274
Every Time We Say Goodbye 278
Frozen Theme Or Canadian Dream 290
Anya Getting A Memorial 297
Dragging On A Fag 301
Toronto, In The Big Country 311
Our Dreams Come True – To Be Frank 322
A Baby, To Be Frank 327
Heading To The Demise Of The Wall 330
All The Presidents Men 335
Start By Doing What Is Necessary 345
Next, Do What Is Possible 350
Now We Are Doing The Impossible 352
Prologue To The Wall’s End 356
Home And Dry 359
Chapter 1
Are You Being Served
The street lights reflected on the rain soaked pavement. It was a cold, wet, winter morning. But I had to get on because I had a full bag of papers to deliver. With the bag swinging on my back, I scooted the bike with one foot on the peddle and mounted on the move. On these cold mornings it was best to keep moving. There was no talk of power or energy crises in the newspapers because there was hardly any to be used. No fire at 5am. Certainly no central heating. Not even tea bags to make a cup of tea. It was, make a full pot or none!
Strangely, we never really thought about it. We just wore thick winter clothing to make us warm. And kept moving, working, breathing the cold air and watching the steam from our mouths float away in front of us.
I hadn’t long left school. About 9 months, but I had already had three paid jobs. They had all been great but something about them did not quite join the dots. That’s not quite true as the first was the only one I had seen as a future. Football, but my body, not all of it, just my knees, let me down.
After finishing my morning round, I rushed to get changed and then catch the Underground to Piccadilly. I needed to get to my third job by 8.45am. The store, Simpson (Piccadilly) Ltd opened at 9am. I was domiciled in the East End of London. Yes, a true Cockney. So I considered myself very fortunate to get a job in such a salubrious, posh store as Simpsons. At the time it was well known as the Outfitters to the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh.
Although it was a fabulous job that I enjoyed immensely and which taught me so much about business, it also opened my mind to the possibility of finding a lucrative career and, with it, a lifestyle that I had never ever contemplated before. Most of the time my role involved credit control. Among the rich and famous that shopped in Simpsons, it was generally accepted that they would require a credit account and pay for what they purchased at the end of the month.
I quickly started to memorise and recognise areas of the country where the rich congregated. Places such as Iver(Bucks), Cheyne Walk (Chelsea), Hampstead, Chester and so on! Furthermore, most of the staff came from monied backgrounds, it certainly was a magnet for debutantes, actors’ children and sons’ and daughters’ of nobility.
Unexpectedly, I was soon getting invited to parties in London, surrounded by people out to enjoy life, and beautiful girls that made my mind explode with excitement. As a naïve, young and different class lad, I became somewhat of a target for some of the older women. More to challenge my sexual interest and stimulate excitement. For example, at the corner of the store, Simpsons had a boutique. I had to go to the boutique first thing in the morning to set up the till with the cash float. There was a very glamourous and beautiful assistant there, about 25 years of age. Mostly, without speaking, she would tease me with an intensity that almost daily caused a sensual eruption. She would lift her skirt to adjust her stockings and suspenders, bending forward to show me a glimpse of her perfectly formed breasts. But it was more the wild look in her dark eyes that stared straight at me and then would trail down to my trouser hump that always developed. I could not wait to get to my task in the Boutique each day!
However, despite all of these reasons to love the job, the pay was relatively poor, as it was in most department stores.
I certainly had a mental struggle convincing myself to overcome these human urges and emotions but I had a stronger urge for fortune. I wanted badly, very badly, a career which would take me into the sort of riches that I saw around me every day. On a Monday morning I would chat with colleagues who had spent the weekend on a Lord’s country estate. I would sanction account bills for Roger Moore that would charge a £20 shirt to a Theatrical Costumiers Account. During a stint on the sales floor, I witnessed a gay colleague selling Peter Sellers a Vicuna overcoat with a price of £1095. Don’t forget, this was in the 1970’s, so these amounts were only spent by the very rich.
I saw and even spoke with people such as Sophia Loren, John Wayne and The Beatles. On occasions I was required to chase debts incurred by other very rich people. Some saw themselves as far too famous to pay a bill or return goods obtained on approval. To this day, I continue to remember Account Numbers of the rich and famous. Also, I constantly reminded myself that one day I wanted to be a person with a Simpsons account. Little did I know that one day Simpsons would be characterised in the TV comedy” Are You Being Served”
One last anecdote before we leave Simpsons. Having just mentioned steps, I once had occasion to use a small pair of steps to solve an unusual circumstance for one of my male sales colleagues. I had been seconded to work for our Security Department. My colleague, Mr Charles, came to me at the point the store was due to close. He had a male customer with his supposed wife from mid-afternoon. The store closed at 5.30pm except that the policy allowed an over-run if customers were still in the store. At 5.45pm Mr Charles was continuing to pass suits into the changing room where the man had stayed for some hours with his supposed “wife”. I was asked to get involved and have a gentle word with them.
I proceeded to tap on the changing room door several times and each time the response was “won’t be long”. I ran out of patience, got a small pair of steps, stood on them and peered over the side of the changing room. The man and woman were having almost raging silent intercourse. I had never seen any such thing before and certainly had not imagined this was going to be what I would find. I subsequently got accolades from my boss as everybody was relieved that they could go home. However, I was sworn to secrecy! Until Now! But that lingered in my mind forever. The main thing it taught me was not take what you see at face value. Secondly, men especially, but not just men, never stop thinking about sex. But, as a man, I accepted at an early juncture that if you want to make real progress in work, you have to find a way to suppress it. It’s difficult but if you don’t, it will seriously divert you from your ultimate objective, progressing in business and making money.
My days at Simpsons were definitely memorable, comical and valuable in terms of learning about the world, the wonderful people in it and how business reacts as an interface.
Now to my next job at Ford Motor Company. I certainly never expected it to be as exotic, flamboyant and colourful as it was around the SOHO area and Simpsons.
Chapter 2
The Thin Controller
On my interview day, I was wearing a hand-me-down suit, it was in no way well fitting, however, I knew this and used my hands, arms and every other extremity as camouflage.
I drove up to the security gate just before Engine Plant. It was a grey winter’s day and the place looked even greyer. I was directed to a car park which was almost full – probably over 400 cars. From there, I walked in, back through security, always staring at the Dickensian – looking massive building. The windows were the large type but separated by small panes that looked like they had never been cleaned. The main entrance into the building was half way, about 100 yards along the west of the building. I entered, but nothing improved!
Tentatively climbing these flights of grubby grey melamine stairs, I couldn’t help but notice the dismal green walls. I surfaced into a very quiet but well inhabited area, both to the left and right of me. The glare from the hundreds of fluorescent ceiling lights did not reflect on anything. Nothing had a shiny enough surface. The windows looked even worse from the inside. The place felt like a massive prison cell.
Then I was immediately faced with a short fat man with greying hair. I looked around just at the point he was asking if he could help. There was a complete herd of dirty green desks with people at them heads bowed, buried in paper and computer tabulations. Other people were walking the aisles between the rows of desks and small groups milled around.
I asked for the Controller’s Office and was politely directed to the right of the stair gangway. Now I was walking towards a large singular office on the front wall. All the desks faced away from this office. I later was told that this geography was so that the Controller could stand at his door and quickly assess who was working – or not! Next I was walking past a group of desks all inhabited by young women, and one older grey haired lady. They tapped and rattled away on an unknown machine.
In total, there was about eighty desks in the office which included the ten comptometer lady personnel. By now, however, I wondered if I should stay or run for it. The impact of what I had witnessed around me was in stark contrast to the stunning décor of Simpsons; no marble staircases, no lift attendants dressed as footmen, no beautiful mirrors and lighting. And stunningly dressed glamorous people. That said, the Ford people were smartly dressed and personably polite.
Especially the Controller’s secretary, who immediately asked if I would like tea of coffee. I smiled as graciously as possible in the circumstances but refused as my hands were too shaky and clammy to hold the cup.
She then ushered me into the inner sanctum. The Controller’s office was impressive. A large oak desk, large leather office chair. At the back a library of meticulously organised books and binders. Around were four red cushioned chairs, but the windows remained grubby with dirty streaks.
The Controller sat behind the desk, furiously writing without even looking up. His secretary interrupted his flow by announcing that I was there for an interview. I first noticed his stature, he was thin but tall. His face was thin and pasty. He said hello, stood up and held out his hand. But it was his gaze. It was steely eyed and imposing. When he spoke, he had what I now recognise as an air of authority. He had brown thinning hair and spoke with an Irish accent which was quiet and soft and almost lyrical.
An HR person joined us, but didn’t say much other than to introduce himself. In those days, that department was named IR – Industrial Relations.
The interview commenced. I don’t remember much of it because those steely blue eyes dominated. I was tutored on this by a wonderful Manager I had at Simpsons. Before I left, and we did have a fantastic rapport; he said that in interviews you need to keep a friendly gaze straight into the interviewer’s eyes. I felt this had worked because during the interview the Controller’s gaze softened and became warm and welcoming. I am now going to name him as Paul, as his unknowing tuition throughout my time in the Engine Plant, and I say unknowing mostly because it came from watching him and listening to his summaries of what needed to be improved, that helped me immensely.
So there I was, feeling elated. Nobody had said I had got the job but I was confident. I said thank you to the Secretary and left the building. Then as I walked to the car park, I saw and smelt smoke. Felt the grime of industry. Saw the hundreds of cars in the car park. Is this really for me?
I heard a shout, it woke me out of my world of thoughts about my take on what I was feeling. The differential between the opulence of Simpsons and the graft and grime of Dagenham. It was the HR guy running towards me!
He skidded to a halt beside me. Said “Matthew, I have been talking with Paul and would like you to know he wants to offer you the job” I was taken aback, but as it sunk in, I was elated. He carried on, “Pay as we said is £16 per week and we would like you to start on April 18th.” It needed a little thought, but not a lot. This was almost twice what I had earned at Simpsons. He continued, you will be salaried staff so pay is monthly and there will be Pension Contributions. I accepted immediately. Didn’t really understand all the other guff. Just kept thinking about the £16 per week. Finally, he smiled and said “you did very well and doing it verbally like this will save us all a lot of letters, paperwork and time”.
April 18, a Monday, came in the blink of an eye and I was back in the same Ford car park. I had a second-hand Ford Popular that did not look out of place.
The working hours were 8.15am to 4.15pm. On this first day, despite some very heavy traffic, I was only a couple of minutes late. At the top of the entrance stairs sat a man on a green tubular chair. He said I was expected and should turn left at the top of the stairs and ask for Harry. He was the Supervisor on the section I would be working in. A very approachable, friendly, character who knew the job inside out. He spent time with me over the rest of the week, after which I was left to get on and ask for help when I needed it.
The guys in my section were all very welcoming and helpful. One person, Peter, who was about 23, stood out as knowledgeable and likely to be going places. The rest were the usual mix of people happy to walk the marathon and maybe even just trudge along!
At the end of my first month, I, along with two others, was called in to see the Controller. Putting it bluntly we were all given a severe rollicking. Lateness was not to be tolerated. I was berated for being late 3 times in the month. All occasions were five minutes or less. However, Paul made it very clear that this was not acceptable. From that day on I was always early or on time. As he said there is never a good reason for lateness. Always start out leaving yourself plenty of time to cover unforeseen events.
