- This article is dedicated to not only the one woman ("EW")
I love the most, but to all women, everywhere, who are yet to birth those
(or The One) who shall save us.
- I remember once being truly alive. It happened at the
end of my first week in Frankfurt, and the impact it had on me was truly
- The late summer of 1992 presented itself to me in a myriad
of forms as an emotional, cultural and climactic shock of sorts. I had
already left a parched and weary England behind to be with a woman with
whom I had fallen in love and would eventually marry, only later to divorce
(and then almost re-marry; but who, sadly, left me for Italy).
- I was full of hope. Life was still a big adventure, though,
believe me, I'd already experienced 'adventures' enough. Rousing, inspirational,
and, yet, also those which had darkened my soul, taking me right into the
- Still, there I was, living in the pre-Internet Age of
Innocence. Tanned and lithe in denim shorts, Converse sneakers and a 'Fruit
of the Loom' American T-shirt, making my way through a city full of foreign
delights, exquisite Cappuccino bars and enticingly fascinating ice-cream
parlours almost unknown to the grey and dreary London I had previously
- It was the hottest, sunniest day I can ever remember.
You could pull all of the health, goodness and sustenance down from the
most glorious of blue skies; and I felt as if I were tripping on an ethereal
Light Fantastic. Germany, as it was. A Land of Hope.
- And what an extraordinarily beautiful people. I wondered
at the vigour and optimism of a Volk whose smiles spoke of things that
could only get better, as if by the very ticking of the clock, second-by-second.
They appeared as giants to me: a part-Spanish, part-Scottish Englishman.
A Lilliputian with neither the language nor the stature to measure-up;
and yet, feeling unbound. No 'Gulliver' I.
- My girlfriend worked as a Licensing Repertoire Manageress
for one of the world's largest music companies. I was to visit her at around
the close of her work schedule so she could introduce me to her friends.
I was her trophy boy. The 'cheeky chappy' she had met in a Jazz club back
in England on the last night of her short-haul visit home from Germany.
- I'd proposed to her that night. We British men had our
old-fashioned ways. Back then, we had to work awfully so hard to date hard-to-get
demure English girls. But romancing a woman is what gentlemen, even young
barflies such as I, did. It's called 'respect'.
- I glanced at her with a wink, and she blushed. It was
her friend, engaged to the saxophonist, who advised her I was "kind
of cute." My future wife took a long, furtive look at me from beyond
the scope of her half-moon spectacles, tried in vain to hide her Mickey-Mouse
T-Shirt by buttoning-up her blouse as if shamed by her girlishness, and
then threw me a comely grin.
- I knocked back a Scotch and approached her with a single
glass of the champagne I saw she had been drinking.
- "Well," I said, "you know tomorrow's a
Saturday, and, at around about four o'clock, just after the bar closes,
I think I may just find time enough to marry you. I could squeeze it in,
but, it'll be a tough number. What do you think, Kid?"
- Why do women prevaricate so? I mean, shit, I was the
best looking dude on the block. Why turn down a million bucks when a James
Dean slaps it right in front of you and promises you a house in the Bahamas
and a luxury yacht into the bargain? Do guys in bars ever lie to pretty
- It took my girlfriend's German telephone provider to
convince her that, after two months of running up an inordinately huge
bill, the economics of her either moving back to England or twisting me
by the ear to live with her in Germany would contribute handsomely toward
foreshortening her imminent bankruptcy. You can't beat a major corporation
for their compassion and empathy all they want is our money, and
it's worthless. God bless them for their charity.
- The sky darkened dramatically during my day's sojourn
in Frankfurt and the streets began to clear. A chill wind struck at my
bones and a light breeze made play of flicks and flacks. The chirping of
the birds that sang merrily in the eucalyptus trees lining the main Zeil
Street had grown all but ominously silent.
- Then came a blast of wind as one would perceive as presaging
a non-too-distant nuclear payload. I held fast to a railing that encircled
a bench and watched in awe as signposts, trashcans and all manner of debris
took to the air as if Planet Earth had lost its gravitational force. I
scrambled toward an alleyway but was blown down to my very feet.
- Suddenly, a woman, middle-aged and suave, grabbed me
by the arm and took me close into the passage-way of a Tschibo café,
already cloistered by huddled refugees of the storm.
- "Don't worry," she told me in stuttering English.
"It soon will all be over. Then comes the rain. Very much rain."
- The gale force lasted for around ten minutes, and the
men and women muttered jokes I could not understand. But the woman held
me close, for I stood on the outer rand and was the smallest and thinnest
of those who had taken shelter.
- The storm abated as quickly as it had visited itself
upon the denizens of this formerly sunny town. Then a strange silence permeated
all living things.
- "The worst is over," the lady told me. "But
we shall all get very wet. Now you must go home and stay dry."
- Those without umbrellas scrambled for their cars or the
subway. But I made my way to the Goethe Platz and stood under the shadow
of the Great Man where I took the warmest shower of my life.
- And soon it was over. The skies cleared and the sun appeared
majestically as if his absence had been a tease, a test, a monumental joke.
And the heat was intense.
- I was unable to translate the dedication given over to
this philosopher, the Shakespeare of Germany, etched in brass like words
burned out of the substance of truth by the scorching heat of the newborn
- But when I looked into the eyes of this icon of German
scientific, philosophic and literary endeavour, I thought I saw him cry.
Perhaps I spied only raindrops. Yet I perceived in his eyes a sadness born
of a foreboding he beheld for the people of Germany and England.
- And then I heard the words:
- "Love comforteth like sunshine after rain."
- Mike James, an English republican patriot, is a blacklisted
former freelance journalist resident in Zionist-occupied Germany since
1992 with additional long-haul stays in East Africa, Poland and Switzerland,
now working in an automobile factory. He advocates a Leaderless Resistance
to destroy the Soviet European Union and prays for a free and independent
England, shorn of all alliances with the EU, UK, NATO, the UN, WTO, IMF,
Israel and any other treacherous international cabal or entity.