POSTSCRIPT
My adventure started with the daunting task to find my mother’s grave. Ultimately this would lead to John Smith and his friends, who wanted to complete the story, that of a kind man who meticulously recorded his experiences, which were shared by many.
In the spring of 2035 we published his diaries along with letters from those who knew him. The booklet was well received by both the media and general public, but it also caused a political storm. Some politicians demanded answers and campaigned for a new enquiry to be held in public. But one-by-one they were pacified with under-the-table concessions and promises that there was no conspiracy. But these reassurances were weakened by the actions of the authorities.
In June 2035 those closely associated with our publication were questioned by the police, me included. They also confiscated what little information we had gathered or had been sent anonymously, but for the authorities it was too late. John had died and his diaries were now in the public domain. Yet some police officers were more proactive than others. Some did nothing, while others went as far as confiscating distributed copies held in public libraries and reading clubs. Then activists started to copy our book and before long hundreds more were in circulation, some reported to have even been duplicated using police and council photocopiers.
With the help of an army of volunteers (some of whom had worked alongside John Smith) my dad was able to visit the grave of his wife. The journey was both unofficial and arduous, especially for dad. We spent two days exploring where me and John once called home, before moving onto the mine itself. For some of us it was our first visit, but for others it was a harrowing and emotional return. The site remains off-limits, but in defiance of the private US security guards we held a short memorial service for those who had died while working for the aliens.
It’s still unclear how many lost their lives but it’s thought to be over 1,100. This figure has been collated by those who survived. Today a small plague dedicated to these men is located as close as possible to the mine entrance.
Two weeks after our return my dad died peacefully in his sleep. I’m not ready to come to terms with his passing. He was the best dad anyone would wish for, and throughout my childhood he prepared me for the life ahead.
Since being told of John’s death it has always been my intention to visit his grave. And today I finally paid my own respects to a man who saved my life. My journey started with a simple request from my dying father, and it ended with a trek through a wilderness, that through the centuries has defined its inhabitants. After travelling for three days, I finally arrived at the village which had adopted John Smith as its unassuming baker.
I was greeted by John’s friend who had written to me informing of his death. We spent the morning talking about him and all our adventures. Then this afternoon the time came to visit the church and John’s final resting place. I was left to grieve in private. Words cannot describe my innermost feelings that moment and on this day. To think of our adventure and salvation, born out of so much suffering brought tears of both sadness and love for a man who did so much for so many.
I brought with me my childhood companion, who protected me from the nightmare of living in the shadows and with little to eat. It was John’s present he gave me in the middle of nowhere, namely a rag doll called Molly. I vaguely remember we walked across open fields looking for a broken-down car, and I also remember running for cover as the meteors exploded around us. John discovered Molly during one of his scavenger hunts. For a confused and lonely three-year-old it was the best present one could want.
I stayed with John and my thoughts until it felt right to leave him in peace. I said my goodbyes and left the final resting place of John Smith. Both our journeys had come to an end. Many questions had been answered and prayers said. On leaving the churchyard I look forward, in more ways than one.
“He saved my life!“
I turned round to see an elderly man standing behind an even older gravestone. He’d been watching me during my private moment of solitude and mourning. He added, “He saved many of us.”
He introduced himself as a friend of John Smith, and that afternoon I met a man who knew him more than most. “They still keep an eye on us, sometimes“ he said. He was right off course and accordingly his identity will remain a secret. The old man sat down on a bench and tried to explain what happened to him and John and the others.
The first revelation was an eye-opener. John and thousands like him spent months recovering the contents of an alien ship that somehow had materialised thousands of feet underground. The official enquiry confirmed this, but what they discovered was not what the aliens were looking for. Taking shorthand while he spoke, the following quotes are his:
“John was present when they uncovered the missing ship. He saw the look on the faces of the three aliens present. They ordered the area be cleared, but John being John remained in the shadows. He watched as these aliens examined their missing ship, but the aliens were heartbroken. It wasn’t what they were looking for. It was the wrong ship.”
“These aliens were nomads. They travelled together as an extended family that measured in the tens, if not hundreds of thousands. But their accommodation vessel was missing. It was common knowledge that the majority of their fleet were bulk carriers or mining rigs, but they lived on a separate vessel - it was either a home-from-home or their only home. Their entire collective or extended family went missing on that fateful morning. John once described how the aliens cried in unison - the sound reverberated throughout the mine - as they realised that they had failed. They uncovered the wrong ship. And somewhere - perhaps - they remain buried - trapped in rock!”
“But the activities at Harthope Burn were only a footnote to a greater secret. Even though the official version was an eye-opener, the whole truth in all its simplicity has remained a closely guarded secret.”
“The first mystery we solved was in discovering what these giant ships were carrying. We were so tied up with our own plight that we neglected the obvious, namely why were they interested in us. One of those who worked down the mine was a maths teacher. He was clever enough to calculate the size of the ship hovering above us. We knew that it was designed and built to carry huge quantities of raw material. He calculated that the vessel could carry around 24 billion cubic metres of cargo. The exact number of bulk carriers isn’t known, but it could either be 36 or 63.”
“When the two alien craft exploded over Italy, such was the devastating force that debris was ejected into space. We’ve all witnessed the meteor storms. The two bulk carriers exploded eight miles above the earth, so what was launched into low orbit was mostly alien in origin. Three years ago, four people were killed when a large meteorite crashed into block of flats in Dundee. The authorities blamed it on a faulty gas heater.”
“But we managed to secure samples, both from Dundee and across Scotland. It was a struggle, but we were able to have the meteorites examined by a number of experts. Some were identified as being parts of the space craft, but this is what they were carrying - some 24 billion cubic metres per bulk carrier.”
He pulled out a small plastic box containing a couple of small rocks. He took one piece and using a lighter set fire to it. After allowing it to burn for a few seconds he dropped it into a nearby puddle. He picked it up and handed it to me.
“Here, a souvenir for you!”
“The bulk carriers were transporting a mineral rich in hydrogen. To most advanced alien civilizations it was an uninteresting and worthless rock, but to a primitive planet trying to prevent global warming, it was manna from heaven. The fuel was in plentiful supply and environmentally friendly. Once burnt in our power stations the only waste by-products are water and ash, which could probably be used in the construction industry.”
“But we still don’t known why the aliens visited us. Perhaps they were travelling ‘door-to-door’ looking for a customer. Or perhaps they knew what we wanted. But not everyone would have welcomed them with an open chequebook. We don’t know how many trips these aliens could have made, but even the amount they carried with them would have made a dent in the fortunes of some big oil and coal companies.”
“And that’s the problem - we simply don’t know. And what we don’t know, others will speculate on and make up. Another conspiracy is born. Sometimes I fear we‘re not only fighting the authorities, but the arm-chair conspiracy enthusiasts as well. Conspiracies and their advocates make an excellent smoke screen for those who have something real to hide or cover-up. We still don’t know how or where or when the aliens made first contact, or why did the British authorities work so closely with them.”
I asked John’s friend what happened to them on their arrival in Scotland.
“On our release we were debriefed, but they asked the wrong questions. It quickly became apparent that we were a problem for the authorities. They knew what happened to us, both down the mine and during our seven years in captivity. The public and media were demanding the truth, but there were those who wanted to keep a tight lid on what really happened.”
“What we didn’t know at the time was that despite of food shortages in America, the US Government offered huge quantities of aid during the lead up to our release. In the eight years following the disaster the USA only gave aid to one single country - Scotland”
“We were persuaded to keep quiet and in return we were given preferential treatment - accommodation, food vouchers, travel warrants, and when the banking system was reinstated we each received a pension. We became faceless refugees and were asked to act accordingly. Our nightmare was over, but we wanted answers. So we kept in touch with each other and through our contacts we were able to fill in a few gaps.”
“We formed our own network of discreet supporters - some the relatives of those killed down the mines or in captivity. They help because they deserve the truth as much as ourselves. We’ve had our setbacks and our minor victories, but if someone young and inquisitive comes along demanding to know the truth, then sometimes we oblige them with a few documents hand-delivered, albeit anomalously, because you also deserved to know the truth.”
And John Smith?
“Sometimes John blamed himself for our detention. He thought that his eagerness to get the job done resulted in a relationship, with both alien and soldier, that was a little too cosy. He was asked to write about his adventure onboard one of their space ships. He obliged because he liked writing. But it wasn’t his fault that we were detained for seven years. We simple knew too much. We were the only mine that uncovered the buried ship, when all the others had failed. The morning after the aliens had departed, most of the army had already disappeared, leaving around 80 miners and just eight soldiers. As soon as those in command had done a runner, the US Marines moved in - right on cue.”
It was getting dark and I was having some difficulty writing shorthand. We stood up and started to walk towards the cemetery gates. He stopped and suddenly became very emotional.
“There wasn’t a day that passed that he didn’t think of you. Nothing before or since ever gave him as much happiness as being able to save you. And in return you saved him - giving him hope and responsibility. And he passed on that hope to us too. He inspired and he nursed our wounds. We all lost our families and friends, but John helped whenever he could, because you helped him as much as he helped you.“
“He wanted to meet you so very, very much, but they were watching us. Every time our captivity made the news or another alien conspiracy surfaced, we would be reminded of our vulnerability. John was fearful that they might use you against him. That’s not to say he didn’t know what happened to you or your father. We look after ourselves and those most dear to our hearts. John was over the moon when you excelled in your music lessons or your exams at school. And maybe once - just once he was able to see for himself what a wonderfully bright and talented person you grew up to be.”
He shook my hand and we went our separate ways. Reading my scribbled shorthand I hope I can do justice to what was said.
I spent the evening in the company of some of John’s friends in his local. We didn’t speak of aliens or politics. That evening I got to know the very pubic side of a very private man. Life in Scotland post 2014 was unspeakably harsh and not everyone survived the food shortages, but the worst is over. We ended the evening sitting in front of the fire, singing and drinking to the memory of John Smith.
Amy Cooper
And there you have it, The Lost Diaries of John Smith! I hope you enjoyed my prose, especially if you're a TV executive, as me thinks "The Lost Diaries of John Smith" would make an excellent TV series!
As with all my Steemit content, this post and my book "The Lost Diaries of John Smith" are the copyright of Phillip Rhodes (c) 2011-2017.
