My Dad's " Subjective " Diary

By Clive Hoad

Finding a very old mysterious diary in his loft Christopher Hind, now 70 discovered it was written before he was born by his Father.
In 2006 Cliff, Chris' Father, describes events of terrorism that became more widespread throughout the world, and nearer to home. He explains how his family stood up to their enemy with moral determination through trying times surviving in an underground shelter in the heart of Sussex, England.
Chris has now published his Fathers diary having learnt a lot about his parents and of himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781291994667

Book preview

My Dad's " Subjective " Diary

My Dad’s

Subjective Diary

By Clive Hoad

Dedicated to the memory of close family members.

In order:-

Mum aged 57 in 1990

Dad aged 62 in 1999

Nan aged 98 in 2007

Grandad aged 99 in 2009.

I miss them all

Chapter 1

The year is 2078. Host Daryl Winterborne has just entered the American set of his eponymous chat show. The theme tune has just ended and the cameras are rolling. Taking his notes from a light oak coffee table, he sits down in a chair to the left. ‘Welcome to the show everyone. Tonight we begin with a man who has just published his first book prompted by the discovery of a diary written by his Father.  

You may or may not have read the book; it’s a controversial account of his Father’s youth. Ladies and Gentlemen please welcome the Author of My Dad’s Subjective Diary: Christopher Hind.’

Applause from the audience

Christopher looked young for his age of around 70 years and entered the set in a smart suit, unbuttoning his jacket before a quick handshake and sitting.

‘Welcome to the show.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Now, forgive me for saying this but, you are no spring chicken for writing books at your age. Why now?’

‘Well I never really thought of an age limit to writing.’

Audience chuckles.

‘This has really come about because of the recent discovery of, surprisingly, my Dad’s diary. My Sister was as shocked  as I was to read his amazing story and felt we should tell it. Brought up miles from anywhere neither of us knew of the danger that had been kept from us as young children. We had been home taught, had very few friends and rarely went outside the land we owned. To this day everyone takes life for granted, we have it so sweet. Computers control our financial welfare; even our dietary needs are carefully chosen for us and delivered on time. Computers even protect us and guide us through our days so that we get everything done that we should, including our personal fitness routines. We are like drones.

I guess I want to remind the youth of today what life was like back before even my birth date. History may have taught us of the first and second world wars but I have aimed to show what it was like during a war little told, of terrorist war. Maybe as so profound as it sounds we, over time, accepted  terrorism as an occurrence than a threat.’

‘Do you believe your Father’s journal as truth?’

‘What are you saying? Are you telling me it’s all lies?’

Daryl held back his true feelings wondering if his guest was being serious or having one over on him.

‘No, but your Father wrote the journal before you were born. \let’s face it, it was written a long time before most of us here were born.’

‘Do you believe the Bible? The Bible was way before you were born.’

‘Of course.’

‘Besides you can look up facts and coincide events. These are my Father’s words; I would never doubt my own Father.’

‘Well, ignorant of me or not, I don’t know of the events described.’

Christopher gave a stern look to Daryl wondering where his questioning was going. ‘Now hold on a minute,’ said Christopher sternly with his right forefinger pointing. His Father’s actual diary, clenched in his left hand, raised as he opened the front cover. ‘This is what we found written inside. It reads:

Dear Son or Daughter. As you are reading this then your Mother and myself have passed on or by some other means this has come into your hands. It was always a hope that we would bring you up in a better world and environment to that I have written here. Both of us hope you are well and enjoy a long and active life. Please take care, your ever-loving Mum and Dad.

Daryl sat forward changing the subject immediately. ‘Okay, I understand. How did you feel when you read that?’

‘Well I was hit with intrigue, and of surprise. I wasn’t expecting to find a message like that. I was also very sad and, as I read on, I was upset. It is difficult to put into words.’

‘Okay.’ Daryl then had a serious look on his face as he opened a copy of the book to a marked page. ‘I want to read just one section I picked out earlier. This is something your Father wrote just a few pages in.

"The United States is on high alert now which is very scary. None of this is a laughing matter by any means.

It’s easy to assume many other countries having nuclear capabilities have seen the same threat and been close to retaliating. This time we’ve been lucky, but what of the next?

The news has stunned everyone across Britain. The non-active missile strike in New Delhi could have easily been London or any other city. It has frightened us and their message is clear. The trouble is, nobody is about to back down.

I hate all this. I don’t like being a part of it, but there’s nowhere to run". Basically this is the beginning of the story.’

Christopher sat there nodding and held out his Father’s diary. ‘Absolutely. It wasn’t the beginning of terrorism but it was the first strike that sent a shock across the globe.’

Camera zooms into the book and the programme fades to break.

The story begins....

Chapter 2

At the age of twenty in 2006, I guess like most people at that time remember daily reports of terrorist acts in the media. I assume most people got kind of upset and even felt sorrow for those who lost their lives fighting around the world, but inside us it was just news and far away from home. The trouble was it was encroaching on a daily basis so fear began to sink in much more deeply. Of course anyone my age would not have understood the true fear of war other than those sent out to fight it. My parents had a taste of what it was like during the Second World War suffering with doodlebugs and food shortage. Evacuated when he was young my Dad used to tell me stories of his time on a farm in Wales. I think he and my Uncle were a couple of terrors themselves. Also, not only witnessing the First World War, my Grandad had fought in India and then Burma during the last world war and has never really spoken about it. Mum had told us not to bring the subject up so I could only assume he had seen some terrible things and didn’t want a reminder. I have no idea what would have gone through the minds of anyone of their generation to see this fighting and terrorism across the globe. So many people had died for a cause to thwart dictators such as Hitler in the past that you would think we had learned a lesson. I think we all know right from wrong but there are just so many factors dividing our ethnic race, language, religion, politics, and wealth, that there will never be an even plane.

The Ten Commandments say it all, their meanings have been with us for centuries, not that I am religious in any way; I don’t go to chapel or church, pray or read the bible. While I’m a sceptic my grandparents cherish their Christians beliefs. I’ll never believe in ghosts until I actually see one or witness something for myself. To this day I’ve seen nothing to convince me in the way of religion; however I do believe the ten commands would have had a great effect on our way of life if everyone used them.

I love my Grandparents dearly for they have been a big influence on the kind of person I now am. I spent most of my childhood around them. Whether or not their Christian beliefs had an effect on me from an early age, I was never to let on that I really never took any of it in. stories from Sunday school were in my mind. Maybe stories like this had psychological effects but my beliefs were more scientific than belief.

For most of my childhood I had been a loner. I used to dig tunnels with visions of a shelter or somewhere to hide, and even as a teenager I’d dream of having my house built underground. In March 2004 though, I was about to embark on a crusade to dig another tunnel down through a lightning struck oak tree no more than twenty yards from the front of my Grandparents house, in the field gateway. I wasn’t sure whether I’d lost my mind or was acting childish or something. Many times I would question my motives, but, compelled like Noah to build an Ark, I had to continue. There was no way I was going to tell anyone for I would be ridiculed so for a long time it was my secret.

I had made it my one mission in life that if terrorist activity escalated further, now or in the future, I would be ready for it. The hideout I had hoped to create then became a major part of my life. This underground base, as I called it, is the basis for what I hope will be our salvation.

My Grandparents house, set back beside a bend in a country lane about two-thirds of a mile from the small village in which I lived, was moderately sized and detached. There was a detached garage to the right and a large garden to the back and sides. The front of the house had four windows; two up, two down, and a tiled topped porch in the centre. There were rose gardens before it cut centrally by the path to the front door. A fence separated the garden from the grass verge at the roadside. To the right of the house was vegetable garden bordered by barbed wire fencing and surrounded by their field that swept down and round the back. To the left of the house was an area of grass and flower garden edged by prickly hedgerow and overlooked by huge old oak trees.

The lane was never particularly busy with traffic so the area was always very peaceful. Edged by tall old Oaks’, suffering with ivy growing up them, they peered down either side the lane knocking their small twig branches together while holding on to a few brown remnants of leaves from the year before. They were like a parade of old men with cracked and wrinkled skin, long spindly arms, bony fingers and radiating strands of wiry hair. The grass verge beneath them, back from the road some eight feet and blanketed with everything that had fallen from the branches above had receded with the colder weather. A sunken ditch under the hedge showed like a borderline and seemed a haven for mice and blackbirds that would scratch under the leaves for food. Standing at the roadside looking at the house the lane to the right went a hundred and fifty yards toward my village until it disappeared into a right hand bend behind Wilbur Wallace’s house. You could just see the white walls of his house through the trees and hedge that surrounded it up on a rise to the right of the lane. Wilbur was a market gardener who worked in his greenhouses that opposed my Grandparents field. On occasion during summer months, years past, we used to help trim the plants and pick tomatoes and cucumbers. Now though, since he had passed away, all his work had overgrown with brambles.  There was barely any sight of it anymore.

To the left of Wilbur’s house a gravel drive, edged with rhododendron bushes led to another neighbour at the far corner of a field above ours, which was also separated by more Oaks. I never met the people who lived there and I never knew their name. I guess knowing who they were didn’t really matter much to me, but they were kind enough to let us use their land to play, that’s all I cared about. By land I mean the large area of woodland that backed our field.

My Grandparents house, their large garden, and their field where I’d played for most of my childhood held a lot of memories for me. The neighbour’s woodland surrounding it was also a very special place where we had learned to shoot rifles, ride motorbikes, climb trees, and play war games. But the day came when a new owner moved in and everything began to change. He was an American, a quiet, miserable man, an author, or something, who hated kids, ramblers who passed across his land, dogs, and the noise the animals made at the farm further up the lane. Anyway, he never really stopped us; we’d enter the wood anyway. Ok we were trespassing but as kids we usually just got a mild ticking off. Having said that it was a bit scary one day when he fired his shotgun in the air and showered us with lead shot. Maybe we shouldn’t have fired one back but on that occasion we were in our own field after rabbits. Nothing came of it.

I knew the woodland well enough to know every squirrel’s dray each rabbit warren, each badger sett and fox earth. I knew where they run, their smells, their prints, their noises. There was much life in there, under it and above it where rooks, pigeons, and crows frequented. By day you could hear the life, the leaves being shuffled by blackbirds, branches rocking as pigeons fly in fright with the squeaky sound of their flapping wings like they needed oiling. There was also the rustling of leaves as squirrels’ hide behind a tree away from you, watching. Mice would dart across the leaves, rabbits sitting upright with ears pricked, hop and run for cover, woodpeckers constant knocking, and other birds tuneful sound was an orchestra across the land. In the early part of the year we’d wait to hear the return of the cuckoo. We’d listen to crows squawk, magpies with their distinctive chatter and the tuneful sound of the thrush. By night badgers and foxes rustle the leaves underfoot, owls hoot and  indistinct birds cross the skyline as living silhouettes. I almost lived there too. The country was my second home.

For a few months all I’d managed to do was dig out the centre of the tree and hang over the edge of the opening scooping out really hard earth and roots. I’d then gotten to the point where I was able to stand inside and not almost nose dive into the four feet deep well. Once I was standing inside the tree I could hack away at the earth lower down to make it wider. It was really awkward doing this for all I could manage to do was bend my knees a little to chisel away where I wanted. Then of course just a few minutes later, buried to my knees, I would scoop the earth up with a long handle ladle and throw it outside so I could move. It was a long back aching process but eventually I could get down inside on my knees and work more easily. It took ages and ages, hours and hours of hard, sweating labour. I couldn’t count the times I got very sore blisters on my hands and I had an almost permanent backache. For my own personal achievement though I had made a shaft down some twenty feet.

Eventually though others could see something had my full attention, especially when I was never seen out, or wanted to go anywhere or even had a girlfriend to date. I was running out of excuses. The time had come when I had to divulge my secret to some of them. Well I reckon close family knew anyway, there wasn’t much I could hide from them since I was so close to my Grandparents house and I was always dirty and transporting great loads of earth around. And yes when I told them they thought I’d lost my mind.

My Brother Alan did help me later, especially after a friend  died in an explosion on holiday in Turkey and more destruction had happened around the country. With these things happening the minds of people were gradually changing. At least it had made him understand what I was all about so with his help the base soon moved along swiftly.

We had made our entrance tunnel like a U bend. We had reinforced this with concrete set around sliced metal barrels, to get them in, and chicken wire holding it all together.

Just two months on from there, digging for short periods at a time each evening and most weekends, we’d burrowed into our first room. At this point things got scary for it was the one way out and blocked by bags of earth being dragged out using a pulley system. Light was also difficult to keep up, it grew very warm and stuffy, dank, and very claustrophobic.

Others had joined later, Alan’s girlfriend Kate Simmons, Richard and Sarah our two Cousins who coincidentally shared the same surname because our Fathers were Brothers and our Mothers were Sisters.

Richard brought along his girlfriend Carol Hoskins since before splitting up with Jill who I’ve been asked not to mention, so we won’t even go there.

Sarah came along occasionally but didn’t want to tell her boyfriend Will Judd anything about it yet, and me, well I was still on my own.

By the end of July 2004 we had our very first room nine feet square and seven feet high braced with short lengths of scaffold poles that we could fit round our U bend and welded together for uprights and across the ceiling.

We’d also continued further into a passage and fitted a fibreglass panel in the open side of the tree to camouflage it from outsiders.

By the end of August 2004 we had extended the passage six feet and began branching off into two directions. We had also stolen a manhole cover and used it to make a hatch over the exit tunnel within the first room. As planned, the hatch, as well as later filling the bend in the tunnel with water as a precautionary measure should give plenty of protection from possible contaminants from the outside world.

In September 2004 we gave a lot of thought to the direction we were going to take and then spent some time going all over Sussex for items we thought we could use and need. We collected computer equipment, highly advanced camera equipment, electric generators, ten weather balloons, remote control equipment, television sets, aerials, radar equipment, wire, bulbs, circuit boards, medical supplies and books of all nature. We then spent the rest of that month trying to put our ideas to work; and then ideas we had randomly thrown in were becoming fact.

In October 2004 Sarah had finally explained everything to Will who was difficult to agree to what we were up to but was finally won over and joined us.

Chapter 3

The other half

In October of 2005, a whole year later, we drifted away from the base because it became so monotonous and took a holiday. While only a few used flights anymore because of heightened terrorism, most remained within our own Country. The idea of a holiday abroad just had the edge taken off it, you felt like you might as well book into an open prison at home with the enhanced security, you’d most likely feel less of a criminal and get searched less. Also, many destinations were becoming terrorist targets and foreigners made to feel very uncomfortable. The whole world had gone mad.

For me, I had recently sold my motorbike and bought a second-hand Mazda 323 lxi, a sporty car with a big engine and a shiny black paint job I was to keep so clean you could see the spots on your face.

This particular evening I had been out touring around just trying to impress, the usual, and showing off. Well I’d obviously not taken much notice of my fuel gauge this day because on the way home I spluttered to a halt. I couldn’t get a signal on my mobile so I decided to walk the rest of the way home to get a can of fuel from my dad, who always kept one in his car, sensible you see. On the way headlights of an oncoming car dazzled me and slowed to a stop just as it passed.

Richard got out, saying ‘you alright? What’s happened?’

‘Run out of petrol,’ I said as I walked along. ‘Glad you came along couldn’t see a thing in the dark I keep tripping on the grass verge. Where you off to this time of night, anyway?’

‘I’m taking a friend home. Get in the back, I’ll give you a lift. Are you going home or to a garage? Where’s your car, is it safe?’

‘Oh, I’ll go home. I’ll get the car in the morning. It’s about a mile up the road on the grass verge. It’ll be ok. Thanks Rich’.’

I got in.

Richard started driving and introduced Jo who was sitting quietly in the front passenger seat. Of course in the dark I couldn’t see her but any girl made me feel shy. Being I couldn’t see her helped a lot, for I think if I had I would have gone to pieces and made myself look desperate and a fool and said the most stupid things. You see I’d never had a serious girlfriend before and didn’t have an ounce of confidence in myself to go out and meet people. I tended to show off in the way I mentioned earlier. If I had known how attractive she was I’d  be using a host of stupid innuendoes in the hope for a reaction to see where I could get without actually getting anywhere but arms length.

Strangely enough the conversation was cool, Jo and I hit it off, as far as I know, I treated her as a person who, for all I knew could have been butt ugly and as old as my mother or even happily married.

When I found out she worked with computers I found a mutual interest that I could talk about. Because I loved learning new technology, and because I had a computer and was new to the internet and everything else she actually gave me her email address and mobile phone number so I could ask questions if I got stuck. I felt really great about that and yet I had no other intentions on my mind other than knowing there would be someone the other end. That was all very well until she got out of the car when we arrived at her flat. I got sight of her in the light. My God, I could feel my heart race, she was around my age and a supermodel in appearance wearing a tight low-cut white tee-shirt and light fleecy jacket, tight perfectly cut blue jeans and white shoes with a short heel. She had light coloured hair just down to her shoulders set from a just off centre parting to her right side. The beauty of her face, set off by her hair,captivated me. Her eyes were alluring and sensual, the colour of her lips attracting. I fancied her a lot and so I guess this is where I was about to let myself down.

Noticing the flat was in darkness I said ‘do you live here alone?’

Jo looked awkward in her stance after I’d opened my mouth and I sensed she wished I would go away, but she said, ‘Yes.’

‘Let me see you to the door,’ I said as I eagerly moved across the back seat and opened the near side door to get out.

‘Thanks. You don’t have to, though.’ Again she held up the same barrier.

I ignored it and said, ‘I want to. You don’t know who’s around this late.’

‘Bye, Richard,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ then walked off ahead of me.

Richard returned a wave within the light of the car interior while my door remained open. ‘No problem. See you tomorrow?’

I was curious and enquired, ‘tomorrow?’

Before my head turned back to Jo I noticed Richard forcefully trying to beckon me back into the car. His left hand was quickly motioning me back whilst his mouth, I think, was saying, don’t and No. I don’t think he liked what I was doing so I had to play this calmly and mature. I can’t remember if I stuck my thumb up as an okay or just held up the palm of my hand to shut him up and say it was okay, or what.

At the door to the flat Jo looked up from her black shoulder bag while looking for her keys. She had a look of panic, the like I knew would be help, he’s coming on to me, how do I get rid of him?

I stepped back.

In those few seconds I realised Jo hadn’t answered my query about tomorrow. My open hands spread wide like I was showing I was empty of intention. ‘Sorry, just interested.’

Now, I think Jo was wondering why she had to explain herself.

‘I work close to Sarah,’ she said. ‘Sometimes Sarah and I have lunch together, chat, and every once in a while I get sucked in to help Richard on one of his projects with my computer skills.’

‘Oh I see. I didn’t mean to pry. I don’t suppose you could teach me some of your computer skills; I could do with a little tuition.’

She hesitated and at that moment and I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. ‘No,’ she replied almost sniggering. I think she knew it was my pathetic attempt as a chat-up. ‘I’m not good company,’ she continued. ‘To be honest I have had one or two bad experiences and I really don’t want anymore guys in my life at the moment.’

‘That would be apart from Richard?’

Jo just looked me in the face without replying and I knew I’d said the wrong thing.

‘Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. That’s my downfall. I’m not a bad person. Honestly, I really could do with some help though, if you were able, even over the phone if that was ok. I’ll pay. Um, no, maybe that sounds like desperation. I’m not much good at talking, I’m shy, pretty immature I guess. Sorry.’ I then muttered to myself saying, ‘Idiot.’

Maybe a change of heart befell Jo at that moment. After all I was Richards Cousin. ‘Don’t try so hard. I’ll see what I can do. And you’re not an idiot, just kind of sweet.’

Sweet. I could have been sick, I hated being called sweet. I was silent for a couple of seconds then said, ‘can I be frank?’

‘You can if you like. What’s wrong with Cliff?’

‘Nothing.’ If only I could have clicked my fingers and disappeared at that moment I’d have gone in a flash. ‘You’re making fun of me. I better go.’ With that I turned away.

‘Say your piece.’

I stopped and turned back. This could be my biggest downfall. ‘Look, I’ve had my fair share of rejection and it’s hurt me deeply. I couldn’t take the pain of asking you out as much as my heart says yeah, go on, and you saying no, which I know you would. I’m not going to do that. You’re likely out of my league anyway. I just don’t feel I can walk away without becoming a friend and not see you again. You’ve made my heart race and it feels good. Listen, it could be that we’ve both suffered from bad experiences, but sometimes we have to face up to them knowing not all men or all women are the same. All I’m saying is I’m not a bad person. Sometimes any company is good company if we could be friends.’

Jo showed little emotion while looking into my face as I spoke. After I’d finished there was a moment pause before she gave a little smile with a slight shake of her head. She then touched my shoulder before turning to unlock the outer door.

I stood motionless for a moment feeling stupid and with the beginnings of a lump swell in my throat. Damn it, I was in dreamland. Infatuation got the better of me every time. Damn it.

I was about to turn away again feeling like a ridiculous fool as Jo stepped inside. She then turned round and as she held the door open a tad said, ‘We’ll see.’

The door closed.

I was shell-shocked. Now was that out of pity or did she like me a little? I’m not sure what I felt after that. I was numb. My head became dizzy from tiredness. Maybe I should have banged my head against the wall for saying such stupid things or should I have stomped childishly on the ground in excitement. Instead I felt embarrassed of myself and hot as I walked back to the car.

‘She’s not your type.’ said Richard, as I sat in on the passenger seat. ‘Behave.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just leave her. You won’t get anywhere.’

‘Who says I intend to.’

‘It’s in your nature. You haven’t done anything foolish have you?’

‘Na.’

‘She’s very attractive. She’s intelligent. There’s just something weird about her that makes me think something’s happened to her in the past. She never says much. She rarely goes out apart from work. She never talks about men like other girls do; she’s just lost all faith in guys like us in general. I’m not saying she’s a lesbian or anything.’

‘Oh, well that’s something. She seemed alright to me.’

‘Just steer clear. I know a couple mates who tried and have the bruises to prove it, metaphorically speaking.’

Looking back as we drove away I was feeling kind of sorry if I had offended her with my own yearnings. I couldn’t  understand how she could be the person Richard explained for she seemed  an outgoing type. I was certainly smitten without a doubt and so it was difficult to get her out of my mind. That first few seconds of thought turned into hours; in fact I hardly slept that night wondering how I might befriend her, even try to understand her. I found I was dreaming of her, itching to send a text or email to make contact to apologise but what I realised was that whatever I was to say would have only made my forwardness seem worse and I didn’t want to create a wider gap.

By the end of the following day the thoughts of Jo had faded from hope of relationship and sex to one of platonic friendship, the way it should have been from the beginning. It was then that I sent a text message whilst my head was clear. At first I began by reminding her who I was. I apologised for myself, then went straight into saying what I had made myself for dinner and wondered what she was having. A quirky answer surprised me and stretched a smile across my face. My finger was hovering over the buttons to reply and although itching to do so I hesitated and refrained. I knew an adrenalin rush would ensue and I would get side-tracked, so I left it until the next day. Once again I sent text to tell of something that tickled me that day.  Another quirky response soon after and I met that smile again. Any more of this and I would certainly strain facial muscles.

A few evenings later we had a longer conversation and revealed some grievances about our lives in general. A friendly bond began from there and most evenings spent conversing by text or online messenger. Eventually I asked her if I arranged it, would she mind if I joined her with Sarah one evening to learn computers. She replied she would rather not. I imagine my lack of response made her think. She replied sorry if I have upset you. I said. I presumed she thought I was getting too friendly, but added that I would