Chapter 6: The Enemy Within

Chapter 6: The Enemy Within
After the Second World War ended the period of exuberance in defeating the evil nazi menace did not last long. For sure a pride remained that in a rare global Union the ussr , America and England had joined to stop the nazis destruction on colour. Their grey agenda in executing all jews, gypsies, homosexuals, intellectuals, the mentally ill, the new artists, the modernists, everyone and anyone engaged in the celebration of colour had been defeated but at great expense. A period of austerity and rationing followed. A greyness crept in. Great things came about during this period. Having fought together with the working classes, upper class officers were aware it was the hooligan types who had won this war, not the effete or middle class but the fighting warriors. In laying down their lives for the good of the nation the proletariat were rewarded with health care free for all at point of contact. Social housing for the wrecked bodies and families of the poor who had fought this war. A welfare system to help the weak and broken. The officers and ruling classes were indebted to the poor and this dignified provision of services reflected the respect and duty owed to a generation who died for the greater good.
By the 1950s, inspired by American film and music, rock and roll, young men began to dress in a retro Edwardian style to escape the grey. These teddy boys draped in colour, stylised quiffed haircuts, thick soled brothel creeper shoes began or became part of a thread running through british culture since before medeivel witchcraft and its subjugation through horrific genocide. These english shamans, largely females, were serially murdered for the use of Liberty caps and other natural medicinal herbs and highs. The teds heard Elvis music which became a soundtrack to many miners lives. Once the helmets were off, the comb and grease lifted these men to coloured gods. Skiffle groups formed using old washboards, string basses and the odd guitar to make a broken down poor mans version of the colour from across the Atlantic. Out of the skiffle movement came john Lennon and the Beatles. Working class colour, as has always been the case before and since brought new culture to colour this drab post war world. Lennons experiments with psychedelics were quickly intercepted by government forces who sent the dissident chinese undercover agent yoko Ono, a minimalist artist, an art of anti colour, to put an end to lennons consiousness expansion by the introduction and allure of heroin. Her mission split the Beatles but lennons strength proved beyond her. She could contain his aspirations to an extent but it took a second agent, Mark chapman to finally nail Lennon with a bullet at forty.
The miners had volunteered a life underground shortened by the effects on the body by ten or more years, to power the empire. In repayment their villages and towns were fuelled by decent pay and job security. And it was to be here that the government would be brought down under Edward Heath in his attempt to curtail the perceived excesses. Whether heath knew that miners, deep underground, in village pits round Doncaster, had met with jesse are not proven. What is certain is that by the 1980s thatchers government knew there was a whole lotta Shakin goin on underground. Many speculated why an industry had to be closed down. Countless communities left empty and without purpose now riddled with mass unemployment and heroin where once stood vibrant communities, working men's clubs where joy and dancing, the drinking of beer and security was all asked for short painful semi subterranian lives. The answer of course was the threat of jesse.
Miners raised on Elvis, steeped in the rock and roll tradition had made contact. Though the under ground parties were few, the excitement had spread. The rightful king of rock and roll was alive, leading an underground empire in eternal party. Much like a never ending rave or free festival peopled by the legions of unfortunates forced underground. Some miners claimed to have jived with jesse, to have bopped with Jesse, to have witnessed the White skinned underworld in communal jitterbug to a music dark yet resplendent in fractal colours, triggering effects in all who heard it comparable to a highly sexualised LSD trip.
Thatchers government could see the threat they were under. If they were to remain in power they musnt buckle as heath had. The miners who for generations had powered the empire sacrificing half their lives to darkness and a further ten years in life expectancy, once heroes of the nation were now called the enemy within. Little was mentioned by the government or indeed the miners about the potential joining of forces with Jesse and the ensuing joint army of liberation that would take the nation, link with the New Age travellers to form a national rainbow alliance of eternal joy. But both knew what was at stake.
After a year of strike, food stocks run low the miners were at their weakest. In a final attempt to block lorries at a coke smelting plant the final battle for jesses arrival the miners were drawn to Orgreave in Nottinghamshire. Parties from Wales were let through, from Scotland from yorkshire freindly looking police waved all through. But this was to be a trap. Once pooled together the police moved in. The miners had expected an normal protest but the police, driven up from the south came armed with swords and shields. Over a thousand miners died that day in the bloodiest battle on english soil since Towton and Mortimers cross. Most who had made contact with Jesse could be easily singled out by the fractal colours that they remained enshrouded in, they were first to be slain. Men women and children, brutally slaughtered. This brought about the fall of the miners and ushered in the grey.
Driving up to Askern in 2009 i sought to find any remaining miners who had met jesse. I figured their must be at least a few left. Askern is a small mining village outside Doncaster and the home of peter Vincent. I had been at college with peter and shared accomodation for a year, two in fact. Over this time he developed schizophrenia. The people in the town were all talking about him, accusing him of paedophilia. This was all in his mind.
Last time I had seen him I picked him up and drove him down to where I lived in Shropshire. We drank and as the night wore on my cottage blended with his home. He began talking to his dad and to a dead aunt I couldn't see. Falling unconsious I woke to police at the door. 'Can you come and get your mate, he's a bit confused.' I found him without shoes in the garden of a nearby house. He'd somehow ended up in the river and lost his shoes climbing out. Here he knocked on these neighbours door who called the police. He explained how we were to build a timber boat, sail down river to have it out with tony Blair, then prime minister. A plan I wasn't party to though one that made good sense. Back at the cottage I got him dry and warm. The duvet he used was stuffed behind the burner, a block of cheese melted over the element in the electric kettle, small pastic toys glued in to their frame. Other damage caused by his madness revealed itself over the following weeks.
As a reminder of this visit I have a block of cherry wood I used as a breadboard. He had left this on the electric cooker ring that branded a spiral Mark in to its face. Early cave paintings and other ritual pagan sites are frequently marked by the spiral. Often drawn inside the figure of a mans head. Many think this represents the birth of consiousness. Peter inadvertaintly created this artwork I keep that represents the super consiousness of Vincent. It was clear to me if I was to get to the truth about the jesse miners connection, peter, whose father was a miner, was the best place to start. He believed things even I find strange.
His father could see I was serious though peter was by this point building a fantasy business where local demons were mutilating any plants he tried to grow. I figured what remaining pubs existed would be where I would find the remnant derelict miners of the jesse/ thatcher war.
Taking them both for a pint I was introduced to some broken alcoholics. Though severely disabled one spoke of dancing right along with Jesse in his youth. Between the schizophrenic utterings and the deeply alcoholic I was able to piece together the truth explained above. Jesse had indeed formed an alliance with the older teds amongst the mining community and was ready to take his rightful throne. After several beers and many trips to the jukebox to put on Elvis 'Way on Down', his posthumous single that pointed to where we were to look. Jesse was underground and Elvis final words pointed where. I left them to their beer. When one finds such perfect connections as this, the liberation is ecstatic. To know we weren't misguided. To have our jesse theories so comprehensively confirmed by first hand research was a major breakthrough. I was excited to report back to Lipton with my findings that matched perfectly his advanced mathematical calculations.
We knew that the government must have our phones bugged by now. A vast operation was being undertaken by men in british telecom vans throughout the country. It seemed each day we saw more men installing a protective underground network of some sort. Fibre optic technology was being installed as a barrier or shield against the uprising we intended to bring on. These workers seemed unaware of the job they were undertaking. No man in his right mind would help government forces in such an endeavour. Rather than dampen our spirits it served to spur us on. If they were that scared of jesses empire taking over we had to move fast.
There was another trip I took to connisburgh, driving up north with a freind Jerry. A similar mining town not far from Doncaster where the miners had broken through to jesses underground labarynth cave system. Here I didn't spend so long but saw the dereliction and heroin culture that had taken root. Our mission would liberate these towns. Salvage the lives and spirit of people thrown to the dogs. I spoke with a few who confirmed the stories I had heard in askern. Then on driving from here to leeds I passed connisburgh water tower. More classical in styling than moortown water tower that has an other worldly doctor who ness to it but similar in proportion. Clearly I was en route. No flight of fantasy but engaged in a mission of national importance. Deeper than that. A way to save mankind. The second coming was at hand. I walked around its base. Took photos. Marvelled at the engineering. But my climbing days were done. Action men had swung and now all focus was under ground.




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