Paint it Black

By Chris Hurst

John Livingstone is the anti-hero in this journey through the rigours of life.

From the calm of being a street trading hippie and onto the self employed ideals of dealing
with customs, police and hardened criminals. Through this tumultuous era John drags his
contemporaries and lovers as his and their lives change in a way they were unable to foresee.

Chris Hurst deals with this complex and colourful period handsomely, his
characterisations are astute as the risque subject matter is considered realistically with
inherent humour.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Hurst
• Release date: Dec 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465986771

Chris Hurst

Chris Hurst was born in the year of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. Two years later he was found under the proverbial gooseberry bush and consequently spent the next 14 years institutionalised. He worked hard to put right the unfavourable deal society had dealt him, and by the age of twenty-four he had obtained degrees in law and physics. He is happily married to Flora, they have five children who in turn have rewarded them with four grand-children.

Book preview

Prologue

John Livingstone was 6' of nervous energy. He ran his fingers through his brown locks that had been especially cut for the occasion. He had always brushed his hair straight back as his father had done. John's was thicker and a natural parting formed just left of centre, with his good strong English nose, the cleft in his chin, blue eyes and slim build he was often mistaken for someone else. He only wished that this was one of those times as he reflected on his past right up to two weeks ago, he had done so many times before, this time it was different. His avenue of wealth had all but dried up, his name was on their computer, his picture in their minds, no longer could he drift through life unnoticed, nor through customs. There was a time when he felt invisible, any amount from anywhere, as if he had a God given right to experience one boring trip after another, the biggest problem he had at times was keeping the caviar on his toast during turbulence. Imagining the unlikeliest questions always seemed to eradicate them. Why spend only 24 hours in our wonderful city? Why is this bag so heavy? So much luggage for such a short stay? Questions that could make him stutter were too simple, they always tried to be too clever, he was ready for that. What he wasn't ready for was the knock on his hotel door, halfway through his bathroom gymnastics. The bathroom had always been the place to load, a means of disposal close at hand and he could do it naked and then bathe. He'd never even been disturbed before. Police sir, we wish to check your papers. His life flashed before his minds eye. Open the door please sir.

*****

Chapter One

A Vague Idea

Nineteen Seventy-Three always looked like being a good year, the thinking man’s hippie had become a 'head', and heads into money were bread heads, dealing Bob Hope (hashish,) had become more than just a way of getting a cheap smoke. Long hair, flash motor, decent flairs, you could have them all and say you were a pop star or that you worked for Richard Branson, Harvey Goldsmith, you could even say you were Roy Harper's chauffeur, you could make money dealing dope as heads did not have to be poor anymore. John had made a few bob or more, dealing a bit of bob, but now had gone legit importing surgical aids from the U.S.A.

Why surgical aids? asked an old friend whom he'd just come across after many years.

Well, John started slowly as he wasn't sure what his answer should be. He continued with, the aged need all the support they can get.

They both chuckled slightly at this, which encouraged John to continue.

And to become familiar with customs habits could be useful.

George, the friend he was talking to, was looking a lot different to when John last saw him in Australia. He'd never quite made it as a hippie, he was too big and too broad and an ex-Rocker. He grew his hair and was scruffy enough to pass. Now his 6'2" large frame carried an American styled hairdo, casual sports jacket, blue shirt and dark slacks, his expression became serious as he spoke.

I work for customs, John. I could tell you more than you'll ever learn from importing, and ever since that pound deal you sold me, my first smoke, I've been thinking of doing what you are probably thinking of doing, maybe we can do business together.

Things had moved a bit fast there for John, he had no plans along those lines at the moment, he was sure that the future held something like that though, 'tread carefully,' he thought to himself, and said to George, We'll talk about it later, lets go out and have a few drinks. The Red Lion in Fulham Road does good food. I've got to meet Marie there at nine. She's my wife by the way, been married three years now. She'd love to meet you.

Four years for me, George replied, I don't even know what you know, I married your friend Jennifer, has she been in touch with you since?

George tells him this with a certain smugness as he knows only too well that John and Jennifer go back a long way and she had often told George that she should have married John. John, aware that George is waiting for a reaction answers nonchalantly, Yeah, how is Jen?

She likes her comforts, collects china and drinks. George wistfully drifts then adds, So a few extra shillings would not go amiss, we could be good for each other, let's go and have that drink.

The Red Lion, 100 years a drinking house, stands imposingly on the corner of Barclay Road, near Fulham Broadway. The high mantled, old oak fire surround was well polished and the walls covered with old Chamber Pots, Copper Warming Pans and many pictures of Old London, with the plush red velvet armchairs and antique, brass studded Chesterfields, a wonderful country cosiness was created. It was in one such armchair that John found Marie warming herself by the log fire. He looked at her and felt good with life. My lovely, lovely Marie, he murmured. And lovely she was, five feet seven of slim build, shoulder length dark wavy hair and a spattering of freckles across her nose that John loved and Marie hated.

John approached her, with George close behind, she smiled and chided John, saying, You're late. She smiled some more, kissed him and added, not to worry though, I've only just arrived myself, old Kelly had me propping up an escritoire while he bodged up one of the feet.

John translated to George: Marie works for an antique dealer around the corner. This brought Marie's attention to George, so introductions were made and drinks ordered, lagers all round.

Over a few drinks, Marie discovered that the two of them had met at a party in 1964. George was 21 at the time and John 18. John, as George recalled, was doing his party trick of instantly reproducing anyone's signature with left and right hand. George had been impressed and had hung around to get to know this guy that might know other tricks that could be turned into profit. The Beatles were all the rage then and sure enough John came up with two tickets for the ‘New Musical Express Annual Poll-Winners All-Star Concert’ at the Empire Pool, Wembley. The Beatles were returning to the British concert platform after 15 weeks away in the U.S.A. and France and their fans were desperate to see them again, making tickets as rare as Rocking Horse shit. When John offered George one for the price of two their friendship was cemented. That was the night that John had sold the pound deal to George, whilst they strolled along the Thames Embankment discussing an idea they had simultaneously thought a bread maker. The idea, like most ideas, came from seeing someone else at work, a guy was at the concert selling Beatles badges and earrings, they had both bought some and agreed that this sort of selling needn't be restricted to concerts. From this they started street trading, ties to begin with in Kilburn High Road, this led to fashion jewellery in fashionable areas, Carnaby St. Oxford St. and even Regent St. By the time of the Beatles last ever live concert, that charged admission, in the U.K. on the 1/5/66 which was also the ‘New Musical Express Annual Poll-Winners All-Star Concert’ at the Empire Pool, Wembley, John and George had amassed 8 pitches plus one shop that did wholesale what the pitches retailed, an enormous variety of Ankhs, Crucifixes, Zodiac Symbols, Ban the Bombs, Wrist-Bands, Neck-Bands, Ankle-Bands, Head-Bands and even Hair-Bands, people that played music together were called groups. From acorns grow.

It was around this time that Marie had had enough, she dragged the nostalgic bums into Fulham Road and hailed a taxi. The taxi took them the mile or so to Hollywood Road where they rented a three bedroom flat for £40 a week. One bedroom an office, one for sleeping and one for the little one they were going to try for later, at the moment they were just practicing, a lot. John made the tea while Marie rolled a joint. George just sat there with a huge grin plastered across his face. He spoke quietly as he told Marie how happy he was feeling having come across John after 4 years. He thought better of telling Marie the reason behind John and him going their separate ways after Aussie as he still was unable to work out what came over him that day. Instead he spoke of the meeting with John earlier in the day. We both chose the same pub in Portobello Road at lunchtime, I only arrived back in England on Monday after about 5 years in Aussie, spent most of the week getting over jet lag and then today decided to pop out for a drink before looking up old faces, I'm staying at the Portobello Hotel, so round the corner was as far as I fancied travelling.

The phone rang to interrupt his dialogue, John came in the room to answer it.

Hello…hello…Charles…yep…yep…one hour…okay.

He turned to George and asked Where's Jen, is she here?

No John, he inhaled deeply, she's in Australia waiting for me to sort things out here, while she sorts things out there. This is good bob, I'd forgotten how good bob could be, it must be better than sex, he reflected on this statement, thought better of it and added, well it lasts longer.

This last comment caused no more than a small chortle.

Squatting

Charles put the phone down and turned to his Thai girlfriend saying, Yes, John has a smoke, we'll go in an hour.

Born the son of a philandering shipping tycoon, Charles Harley Andrew Davidson had boarded at various schools around the world including Eton, he had learnt to despise society and shoot up junk, speed and anything else that dissolved in water. His father, quite contrary to disowning him, had given him a million pound cheque the day Charles announced that he was finished with authorities programming his brain, he wished Charles luck with life and was gone, he never agreed with his lifestyle and didn't want contact unless he changed it.

Charles, a hippie in the making, didn't want to change and he didn't want his money, he thought better of rejecting it and banked the cheque and tried to ignore it. He made the best of what he could with other hippies telling them he had been disinherited and that he didn't believe in possessions and he didn't care. He had always managed to look the part as he did now with his Lower Highgate, Victorian terraced two-bedroom squatted house.

Next door was a legal tenant, on the other side were four empty houses, with ground floor doors and windows bricked over, followed by 2 more squats. He knocked through his upstairs living room wall and so on until he had possession of all four bricked up houses. There was a morning when he was looking out of one of the upstairs windows and a man on his way to work had looked up at him and said,

’Ere mate, they've bricked your door in.

Yeah it‘s a bugger, replied Charles, you couldn't go up the road for me and get me a pint of milk.

The man went and even paid for it. The occasional bad habit had become a regular bad habit for Charles, so ignoring his bank account had become a thing of the past. He had been eating into it for the last couple of years, looking after his and many hangers-on habits, he had plenty left, his moral high ground had just slipped a bit. He met his girlfriend Ue in Thailand. It was lust at first sight, he paid her mother off and brought her and 6ozs of white powder to his squat and found himself even more popular, tonight he wanted a smoke as well.

They were preparing to leave when he heard a lot of commotion in the street outside, he went to the window to take a look, shock was hardly an appropriate word to describe his feelings when he saw three police cars, dogs, policemen and policewomen slamming doors and generally looking busy. He screamed at Ue to find and destroy what she could, there were drugs downstairs in the almost outside toilet, there were pills and works in two of the other four houses, black bottomed teaspoons in the kitchen drawer which Charles found he was looking for and then he wondered why, this wonderment made him stand still and listen... nothing ... no door being broken ... no glass smashing sound and there were certainly no dogs barking and running up his stairs. He called Ue up from downstairs and she joined him in the back kitchen, together they stealthily made their way to the front of the house and peered out of the window.

Jesus Christ Charles wheezed. They are raiding the other squatters.

They sat down and could not stop shaking, the adrenaline build up was a buzz on its own that led to incredible sex, they never made it to John's that night

*****

Chapter Two

Reflections

John thought of Jennifer, her 5'9"slim body, her blond hair, green eyes and legs all the way up to… brrrrr... he shudders and smiles, no smugness, a smile of real pleasure as Jenny and him had been good mates for as long as he could remember, they grew up no more than one mile apart in Kew. John walked Jennifer to The Tiffin Girls School every day and then carried on over Kingston Bridge to Teddington where he attended a Secondary Modern. They had affairs but always ended up agreeing that they were better suited as mates. When he was in Australia she had agreed to fly out to see him and just after that George had tried to forcibly shag John. John had had enough and got out, so when Jennifer arrived she was greeted by George and ended up marrying him. At the time of marrying George her instincts told her that she should have been John, there had always been a feeling that only John could be her mate for life. John had been her confidant, friend, support, brother, guardian and all she ever needed since her parents had been killed in a road accident just after John had come out of the Navy and they had started another love affair, the affair became platonic and their friendship had blossomed, insecurity had led her to marry George as she had no brothers or sisters, only John and he had gone back to England.

Before John had set off round the world they had agreed that there would be no ties and that they should try to nurture their independence. After marrying George, she'd stayed in touch, as time passed their friendship by phone and letter had become more intimate, now he was looking forward to seeing her again, happy that he and Marie had not gone in for the baby yet. He leafed through the diary of the trip to Aussie that he, George and Henry had made in '68.

Henry had been employed by George and John to manage their pitches and as he was an excellent mechanic it made sense to invite him along. They sold the shop to finance the trip and left Henry's brother in charge of the pitches. The plan was to take Levis to Iran and then buy Turquoise to sell in India, buy other stones in India and after shipping the Land Rover to Aussie, fly to Thailand and have them set in Thai silver, they'd never made Thailand as they had run out of money. The Rubies and Sapphires that they picked up in India had been swapped for many Aussie Opels, they were in the process of setting them (well, Henry was) ready to sell at markets when John had left, he took his share with him, John read the first entry in the diary to remind him of the George he knew, with George working for customs he was feeling tempted to do a run.

13 June 1968

It's all down to packing the Land Rover. Enough tea, bye man, we will write. This was spoken to Henry's brother.

Let's hope we can trust him we echoed.

Couldn't move quick enough when the time had arrived, I felt as if I had been leaving London ever since we had set the date. Beautiful day, first day in the Land Rover and it seems fine, except the speaker position above the front passenger seat, Land Rovers are notoriously bouncy motors, hit a bump and your head hits the speaker. Henry fixed it that night outside my mum's place, I bade a sad farewell to her and my younger sisters, with a lump in my throat we set off down Kew Road and as we passed the spot where I would have in the past met Jennifer to go to school, tears rolled down my cheek.

Here John put the book down as once again tears were rolling down his cheek.

Oh Jen, he sighed, it should have been us.

He shook himself and said out loud but it's not, it's Marie and me and I love her and I'm happy, so pull yourself together.

This seemed to do the trick, but before he read on he got up and checked outside the door to make sure no-one was listening to him talking to himself.

18 June 1968

One third of the way to Afghanistan, 1526 miles, Belgrade, Zagreb looked great but we left quickly, must get on was the vibe, Bulgaria tomorrow. I suggested to George we slow down a bit, Eastern Europe is cheap, culture interesting and a way of life worth observing, this was George's response, Yes it is a holiday John, it is also business, let's press on to Iran where we will relax as we search for turquoise.

'Maybe he is right, but he patronizes me any more and I'll drop him.'

John looked in astonishment at the words, he could not remember writing such trash. 'I really wrote that?' he asked.

He went on, leafing through the events of Bulgaria, Turkey, Iran ... Iran he mused, they had broken down there and had the distributor patched up by a passing midget who had quite literally climbed inside the engine, he never even spoke English, he just stopped and done the business. John smiled as he remembered swimming the Caspian with Iranians and the hustlers who sold them turquoise, 'they were alright them Iranians.' George he remembered had seen to it that they had not slowed down, saying, 'Afghan is just around the corner, let's press on,' and by the first of July they were installed in the Star Hotel in Herat with the shits. Then it was down to Kandahar, up to Kabul, 45 in the shade, sandstorms, nomads and not a lot of stopping. When they did they were Johnnie to all and all were invited to London where they were given the phone number of Henry's brother Keith, 'Thank you Johnnie,' the kids would call out after them, the children of all the Asian countries were John's fondest memories.

14 July 1968

We are in Peshawar buying leather from a guy called Fez who can sort anything, he was a big jolly guy who swore continually in an inoffensive way, if that is possible.

Last night we discussed what we were looking for on this trip as we all keep pulling in different directions, George admitted he wanted to use the trip as a means of transport to Australia, Henry and I had visioned ourselves as holidaying under the guise of well off hippies, smoking the local and seeking a Guru, but now that George has come clean we have agreed to get to Delhi as soon as possible, where George will fly on to Sydney, leaving Henry and I to enjoy the East, George's sulking has turned to happy chatty and nervous laughter, roll on Delhi.

And Now

John remembered all this anyway, he put the book down and decided to contact Jennifer... Sydney in February is hot, accordingly Jenny sat shaded in her garden sipping a Pimms. The phone rang and a smile spread as she heard John's voice and answered his greeting with a sexy, 'G'Day cobber,' in her best Aussie accent and continued with, Sorry I never told you about George coming over, I meant to but I've been savouring his absence.

She smiled, stretched and sipped some more golden liquid. John asked if it was now completely over between the two.

With that asshole, be sure it is, she had now gone Irish, he never told me he was going to England till three days before he left.

Are you coming over? He asked anxiously.

Me miss a free flight, for sure I'm coming, can't wait to see you again… lover… how is Marie?

Fine…working hard…Jen, just tell me when you are coming over and I'll meet you, then we can spend some time together before he knows you are here.

I'd like that, hang on and I'll get you the flight details.

They prattled on a little longer and after he had hung up he decided there was no reason not to trust George, he had always been an asshole with women, George was alright though and had a plan. George had a plan, that's a laugh, 'go to Morocco, load up, get to Calais and I'll let you know when I'm on the green.' In his best sardonic tone John had asked George, where do we get it from? where do we hide it? Who's going? Who is paying? The retort from George had been, I'll leave that to you, I've sorted the tricky bit, it is probably best if I don't know too much. That was that, George was off, I'll be in touch by dog (phone), best not to see each other. He was gone.

Seeking Counsel

Doing a run appealed to John's sense of adventure, but he needed some inside advice as he had not been to Morocco, Henry had though. These days Henry was floating around in a Bentley S1 as he run down the street trading business, the police had been encouraged to nick more and the courts to increase the fines, pressure from the fair traders association, he guessed. It became a choice between pursuing the long path of intricate administrative labyrinths of legal trading or giving up, Henry, by coincidence had thought of taking a break in Morocco, he had been there before and loved it, this time he was going better prepared, he knew that goods such as cameras, stereos, radios, denim and the like were in bigger demand than money, there were many homes he had been invited to as well, he was going.

John stood in Maida Vale and waited for Henry to come home, he thought of Henry and George and what dawned on him, considering all they had been through, they were not really that close, he wondered who would be there for whom in an hour of need if it ever arose, he hoped they would not be put to the test. Henry was a character of inferiority, he had always been desperate to please, but only on the surface, he would say yes to everything and mean it, then forget it, so you had to forgive. His main inferiority came from being vertically challenged 5'6, it had never troubled him with girls though who he seemed to attract with not a lot of effort, he had been compensated for his lack of height with a good looking face and thick easy to manage hair and a well made body. John flashed back to the time he and a few friends had been sitting in Cranks vegetarian restaurant in the West End and Henry had come in with the answer to his problem, he was wearing platform shoes, John and the friends had burst out laughing, Henry had joined in the laughter but was never seen wearing those shoes again. He was into ribbed sweaters and loons as well, enough said on Henry’s frailty ,John had never had the heart to tell him. When they had come back from their round the world venture John had sold the street trading business to Henry on H.P. and he had made quite a few shillings from it, he stopped thinking and looked up, the Bentley approacheth," he spoke out loud. He laughed as he could only see Henry's head level with the steering wheel, 'he should buy a

Mini.'

Henry pulled up and jumped out smiling, he beckoned John to join him for tea and a joint, John returned the smile and followed, thinking of Henry’s frugality with info and to give it to John free that could lead to profit he would want something, more so these days as Henry's only scruples were 24 to the ounce, usually charlie (cocaine), he was the last trader to succumb to paying his workers £3 a day minimum. John could laugh with Henry though as they both had a Pythonesque sense of humour. They exchanged obligatories, during which John discovered what he had sought, Henry was taking a vacation in Morocco. John had retorted with reservations and intrigue regarding Morocco, Henry had risen to the bait and had insisted that he and Marie should join him down there. He would be taking his girlfriend, Ally, and he had many business ideas and friends in Morocco. I'll take you to a hash farm, my friend Mohammed Shef owns one. He had gone on to elucidate about the country and its virtues, so much so that John had to intervene with a, 'shut up Henry,' they always laughed at this. John left with a maybe we will, maybe we won't, he had all he needed from Henry for now, and now he was off to pick up Jenny from the airport.

Conflict

Lying in room 822 at the Poste House Forte, John looked Jennifer in the eyes, smiled then spoke.

We should not have done that.

Jennifer wriggled, purred and replied, We should have, that was good.

They laughed, kissed languidly and cuddled as Jennifer whispered,

"No-one need know… not for now anyway, soon we'll always be together… I

hope."

John's head jerked back and with questioning sleepy lips said, how come.

I will show you. she giggled as her hand slowly moved across his stomach.

Later, much later, in fact they had dressed and were waiting for room service, when John asked Jennifer what she had meant by, 'soon we'll always be together.'

I'm leaving George and I love you, I've always loved you and I know you love me.

She placed her hands behind her back and gave a little girl look and bounced towards John and pecked him on the lips. 'All very well,' thought John.

I do love you, he told her, and at the time of knowing he was committed to Marie and did not want to leave her he felt that he had also let Jennifer go too many times before and so committed himself to her as well.

In six months, I'll be with you, please don't leave George until some business I'm doing with him is finished.

He had to tell her about the business they were doing together, to which Jennifer replied.

You can trust him, don't rely on him.

I trust you and I can rely on you, I love you.

John sealed his destiny with a kiss as room service knocked.

He arrived home around two and wondered if he could leave Marie, he thought of going for a walk but noticed a light on, he went indoors to be greeted by a lovely smiling girl who embraced him and said,

Guess what?

We have a dosser.

No.

We have mice.

No.

He tickled her until they both collapsed on the sofa.

Are you going to tell me now? he asked.

It's this here, she told him, indicating her tum.

That… that lovely belly, are you telling me that there is one of us in there?

99% sure.

Brilliant he said, 'shit,' he thought. He got up to put the kettle on so as to allow time for him to get his mind around this, his mind raced away, 'I've just committed myself to Jennifer, and I could not leave Marie now, I'll have to get a bigger place,' he chuckled at this.

What is it? asked Marie.

John was quick to cover up.

Nothing… just thinking about names, how about Adelaide if it's a girl.

Marie cut in with and Darwin if it's a boy.

"Right that's the name sorted, I'll make the tea

*****

Chapter Three

Grass ?

Spring sprung that year with the end of an era, the last of the American troops left South Vietnam and the North Vietnamese supposedly released all P.O.W's, leaving hippies with nothing to protest about communally, there were plenty of individual gripes to put the world right, the one that stuck in Henry's throat was that he could no longer street trade. He had hung on as long as he could, when the fines started to escalate he just pleaded not guilty, that put the payments off for a few months. The police, wise to this, applied to have him banned within a mile of Oxford Circus as a condition of bail, the shopkeeper judges ceded to this. Henry took this grievance to a judge in chambers who threw out the ban, one up to Henry. When he was due in court to face 33 charges of obstructing the highway he became Alan Hudson, it wasn't long before Alan Hudson became as wanted as Henry Summit, finally he conceded defeat.

He still had a room in Marshall St where he had kept his stock, he still had stock, today he was there fondling the ankhs, crucifixes, chokers, wristbands, rings and wistfully reminisced with Todd, a fellow ex-trader whilst sharing a joint. They raved about the good old days on Carnaby St, the record take for a Saturday, how much had they taken over the years. Todd was half-way into saying he thought it must be near half-a-million when the door to the stock room reverberated to an enormous thud as if someone was trying to break in.

What the fuck screamed Henry as the door went again, this time giving way to what or who was responsible, two uniformed Bill stumbled in.

Don't move and don't panic, this is a bust.

The young one leading the assault was a promotion pusher called Fawcett, the traders knew him as False Tit, he was shifty and seemed to work against police policy, as in this case. They sat there in disbelief as the police usually turned a blind eye to a smoke and Henry was sure that was all they expected to find. He stood up and casually moved towards the window, which luckily was open.

Fair enough,