Welcome! I Want To Tell You A Story I Can Hardly Believe Myself. I Don’t Tell Lies. That Is Not Wise.
The end is nigh – for me. Days, weeks and years fly by with accelerating rapidity. I have procrastinated for years about how to tell my story. So much that 100s of pages, 100s of hours of video and thousands of photographs were stolen before I could “get them into shape” and publish. So, inspired by recent rapid deterioration in health I have decided to just get started and tell as much as I can as fast as I can. Content is more important than style. I need not draw much attention to the blog until I have enough expressed to capture some interest to hear the rest.
It will probably come out in an odd order, since the consequences from the last 7 or 8 years in the hands of corrupt Police and Criminal Justice system in Strathclyde continue to threaten my life and sanity to this day. These have probably been orchestrated by Secret Intelligence Services to invalidate my activities to liberate truth on Cannabis and related Human Rights issues, suppress my life’s work and have me die falsely disgraced. Wait till you hear the story before dismissing me as paranoid. I will feel in less danger when the facts are public. Who thinks the World has actually become a safer place since the Millennium with these constantly escalating wars against the ‘Bogey Men’ Terrorists, Marijuana Peddlers and Sex Offenders? The more resources and laws our leaders direct against these evil threats, the more of them there are, we hear.
I never chose for my life to become so serious. I’ve only endured and survived the horrors and heartbreak of recent years thanks to the vast treasure of memories accumulated before I was targeted for deletion and my mother unwittingly created the vulnerability to let the attacks in. I have known more love, friendship, enlightenment and adventure than I had ever dreamed of. I hope I can share those parts of the story before I have to leave.
I don’t have a plan of how to tell the story. All I can do is open the gate and let it flow. Maybe it can be tidied up or edited later. Maybe I can attract a ghost writer with more literary skills who can see the potential here, then come get it out of me and express it in a more appealing or commercial style. I realized years ago I am not motivated by fame or celebrity. I would not have been able to do a fraction of what I have done if I had been recognized by those I was dealing with. It would make me happy to believe some younger people might be amused by my experiences the way I was in my youth when I would sit up half the night before a school-day reading the adventures of, say, Papillon. I’m sure I learned more next day as a result.
I may change a few names, to protect people who were once friends, but everything else will be true. Since my beloved mother is now dead and gone I will not have to censor out all swearwords. In Barlinnie you really do hear the word cunt every other sentence, even from the screws. A spade really is a spade. Mum was wrong to think if you don’t mention the truth maybe it will go away. No, Scotland is a cold, sad, brutal place and always has been. Braveheart was a murderous bully. The true history of this country is absolutely disgusting – thanks to this wonderful internet you can sicken yourself with truth by diligent searching. A stone’s throw from my window here 5 people were burned as witches – because they drank ale with a black man when they should have been on hands and knees in their Master’s coal-mine.
I shall approach storytelling as I did busking. Not with a sensational fanfare to draw a huge crowd, just gently strumming in the background till I conquer my stage fright. I’ve got to enjoy it too! Who knows, any reader feedback might help me see which parts of the story to tell next. Maybe you can recommend what others might be most interested in.
I feel better already, having finally started. I’ve got a reason to go on with this wonderful life.
Most likely little of this story would have happened without the amazing friendship of my brother Alistair (1952-1991). We were a double-act from the day he arrived. Like Aaron and Moses, I made the arrows and he fired them. This is his story too. By the time we launched VIP Services in 1986 we were almost interchangeable as characters. When I dyed my hair black, even MI6 were confused. But our tastes in women differed, I had more of a porn addiction and he was always slightly better at lead guitar. He was my greatest hero, a constant source of laughs, a brilliant philosopher and we saved each other’s life and sanity many times. Dad taught us from birth to love one’s brother as one’s self and that two heads are better than one. Neither of us ever lied to the other. What we discovered and achieved as a result we wanted to share with everyone, so that “Man to Man the world over would Brothers be, for all that.” Or, as Bob Marley put it, “I and I will see us through” – far better than “I and You”!
Anyway, enough welcome message. On with the story…..
I have noticed that the format for blogs is not really suitable for reading a story in the sequence it was written. When I figure out how to do it, I will produce a menu to lead you through the sections or chapters in the right order. Meanwhile I hope you can find that course for yourself. 
INDEX
Jacinth Preston – Black Angel Comes To Glasgow To Take Me To Heaven
Continued
One of my video channels:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C7r7Gah4UVw
Could you have some documents about Charlie and Robert during their enrolment in RAF 514 squadron and may be before ?
ex : diary book, missions and more ?
I am reconstituting the complete story and the life of the Lancaster DS822 crew.
I am living near the place of the crash and refound all the relatives, and John Tanney, rear gunner still alive, who flying with them.
Thank you
March 30, 2011 at 3:10 pm
Hello Roger,
You can see from that photograph of my father (aged 22) just how much he was devastated by the deaths of his 2 brothers. It seriously affected the rest of his life. He raised my brothers and I to be anti-war. He would not even allow us to play with toy guns. As he learned more about the war he came to see the British and American leaders as just as much corrupt and evil as the Germans.
I did have a tremendous amount of information about Bert and Charlie, so much I considered writing a film-script as I had so much detail. Apart from all their photographs and Bert’s flight log, I had all the letters written by the twins and my father to their parents during their service (it was traditional to write a letter to their mother just before each mission to tell them how much they loved her).
My Dad was in correspondence with the Mayor of La Celle les Bordes, who arranged for a monument to be built at the site of the crash. The Mayor told him all the story. I thought Bert was the rear-gunner. As I recall, the crew at the front of the plane managed to get out and use their parachutes, but Bert and another chap (‘mid-upper’?) were still in the plane when it hit the ground. My Dad believed they were unable to open the hatch to get out. On impact the rear of the plane broke off and bounced a distance away, killing them instantly.
When it was still unknown what had happened, my grandmother was in correspondence with the parents of the other crew members. Eventually one of them wrote from a prisoner of war camp. He said when they first landed by parachute they were assisted and hidden by local French Resistance but then they were betrayed and handed over to the Germans (Gestapo?). They were marched 100′s of miles to the prison. Unfortunately they were unable to say what had happened to Bert and the other chap, which cruelly left my grandmother with false hope he might be still alive for many months until his death was finally confirmed.
With the log-book (which listed each bombing raid, including the time he was injured after the plane was hit and crash-landed when it got back – he called that a ‘Prang’) and the letters, I had a tremendous amount of information – I only wish I could pass it on to you, as I was fascinated by it. Bert described how icicles would form on his helmet. The silk underpants his mother sent him were warmer than the ones he was issued. One time the electric heaters for his gloves came unplugged, his hands went numb and another crew-member had to crawl back to plug it in again for him. Another time his nose started bleeding profusely inside his helmet and he was frightened he was going to choke. When he complained to a Medical Officer that he was scared this might happen again, the MO ignored him and said he was fit to fly. He used some very rude words to describe the MO in his letter to his parents. Most of his training flights were with Polish pilots. Both Bert and Charlie had girl-friends among local families they used to stay with when their leave was too short to go home to Glasgow.
My Dad told me, last time I saw him in 1987, that apart from the tot of brandy they used to get in their coffee from the NAAFI on the runway before take-off, they were also issued with Dexedrine (speed) to keep them awake on the long runs to places like Berlin. He said they used to take twice the dose they were supposed to, which made them cheerful or ‘high’ so they would sing songs and make jokes to each other through the intercom.
The authorities thought it might be bad luck to put twins on the same crew which is why they were assigned to different planes.
I had so much information I felt I was right there with them. I was horrified by the realities of war – the ‘cookies’ they were so happy about dropping on the ‘enemy’ were 10,000lb bombs causing huge destruction. I was also impressed by the sheer courage and heroism displayed by all of them, just lads of 21 or 22.
If I had been able to write a film script, which could have shown how much my grandmother and father were devastated by what happened, I am sure it would have helped people today to realise just how horrific war actually is.
Unfortunately all these records have been lost along with all my other personal effects during the adventures of my own life since 2006. All the war material was amongst stuff I left with a ‘friend’ for safe keeping when I had to flee to Canada. When I came back she said she was unable to find them. So I am extremely sorry I am unable to share them with you. I know they would have been tremendously valuable to you (as they were to me).
I am wondering why you took up this project and how far you have managed to come with it.
It is strange to look at that photo of my Dad. He looks heart-broken. He was my hero, a great man.
All the best,
Colin Guy
April 2, 2011 at 9:45 am
Thank you for your reply.
I will send you through your Facebook letterbox a picture which is one of the panels I have made about Guy twins and the Lancaster DS822 stories.
Among others, this panel was shown during an exhibition in which I participated in my village Choisel, France in November, 2009.
At the same time, a remenbrance was organized in La Celle les Bordes memorial in presence of families of the Lancaster DS822 crew.
Thank you again
Roger
April 2, 2011 at 11:16 am
Wow. I’m still alive, safe out of Scotland after the usual 4 months solitary in Bar-L. Unbelievably, the story how now escalated to even highers levels of unbelievability. Innit? Anyway, I’m back chilling nicely among my own folk and my Wee Bitch Ali B should be happily joining me here about the same time as all her Cushions and Hi-Tech plus our amazing music collection.
=?
Right, subscribe now to get the hot stuff first from now on.
Rambling Will Smile
November 1, 2011 at 5:03 pm
Hi Colin, are you ok? Get in touch, Linzy
November 3, 2011 at 7:15 pm