The Party’s Over, but, Is It Time to Call It A Day? – by Patrick Brigham

Her Majesty with James Bond

They have certainly burst all the pretty balloons, but unfortunately, they haven’t chased all the clowns away. Is it time to wake up - all dreams must end - take off their makeup, the piper must be paid?

This evergreen song by Julie Styne, Betty Comden and Adolph Green, easily sticks in our minds, and is so appropriate when we view the last few days in British politics; following the EU referendum. But the last few days have also given us all time to think why and how it happened, and to analyse all the hidden agendas – the cast list involved - and the probable outcome.

Since the changes, Bulgaria has managed to attract a large number of British expats, all happily living in the provincial districts, many of whom have come from fairly deprived areas in the UK where unemployment has been the norm. Forgetting the statistics about 5% UK unemployment, and other jingoistic government propaganda - representing an overall national calculation, which includes London and the major areas where jobs are in abundance - one of the good points about the British economy, is the somewhat absurd price of property.

These days, a retired couple or an unemployed couple with few prospects - struggling to survive on a poor pension or benefits, in the English Midlands - might easily discover that the proceeds of sale from their humble semi, can buy a substantial property in Bulgaria. With land and outbuildings attached, it can represent an opportunity they might never have dreamed of, in the normal course of events, had they remained in Middle England. Good! Now these pioneers - who wish to escape and enjoy a Bulgarian lotus eating lifestyle - will never look back. But some do, and what they look back on, may have been the main reason for the Brexit.

Boris and his Antics

The vast majority of people who traditionally live in the heartlands of industrialized Britain, are Labour Party voters. When the English Midlands became gradually less industrialized, during the last thirty years of EU membership – and with the advent of globalization - they not only saw company closures and the prospects for work diminish, but they realized that they had been put on the back-burner of British society. Margaret Thatchers yuppies couldn't care less about unemployed factory workers, and even Norman Tebbit told the unemployed to get on their bike. Blairs government didn’t fool anyone either – the UK was still being ruled by posh boys in suits – which rather brings us to the present, and our current government front runners. Old Etonians, Harrovians and a plethora of middle class want-to-be’s seem to have dominated the British political scene for the last six years, and now the party seems to be over. But why?

It seems that traditional socialist voters have concluded that The Labour Party has become so diminished, that it no longer represents the views or needs of ordinary working people. In a decade where they have seen their poster boy Blair becoming one of the worlds mega rich, and even grumpy old Gordon Brown – who I admire greatly – finally deciding that enough was enough, the referendum was a wonderful opportunity to strike a blow for ordinary people, for the forgotten industrial areas of England, to finally be noticed once more. Sick of posh boys speeches and the droll political Labour Party dinosaurs, being humiliated daily in the British Parliament, it was time to take things into their own hands. And, it worked! But this was because of a strange turn of fate.

Enoch Powell

What was odd, was that the traditional Conservative voters and the middle classes thought that it was a Conservative – so called blue on blue - referendum, and that they alone were dominating the Brexit campaign. Posing as true patriots and profound Eurosceptics, they imagined that it was the shopkeepers, factory owners and the professions, who were fronting the Brexit programme. With their absurd claims and downright lies about immigration - imagining that somehow they had become latter day disciples of Enoch Powell – they were in fact playing to an audience, with a quite different venue.

That audience was used to a multicultural society, because it lived quite happily, within it. These were people - who might have said, that their favourite English food, was Chicken Madras –were not influenced one little bit, by the antics of Boris Johnson nor were they in any way connected to the gormless and the glib rhetoric, of the gormless and glib, Michael Gove.

Back to our Balkan reality, one can easily see why so many Brits live in other parts of Europe, away from a blatant two layer society, which they inherited from their forebears after WW2. Seeing it as a society where the have-not’s, are often treated with contempt - laughed at and humiliated by members of a private club, who not only rule the roost, but glory in their easily acquired personal fortunes - no wonder those remaining in the UK, wanted to get even. Hopefully, Brexit will teach the very people who instigated it, a very profound lesson, and apart from knocking them off their perch, they will now have to look hard at the mess they have created for themselves, make amends, and move towards a more inclusive society. Do I want to live in the UK, good question?

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Last Brexit to Nowhere – by Patrick Brigham

This is my last and final rant about the Brexit – stay or remain – until the final vote is cast. I will not complain, diminish, demonise, belittle or demean the referendum or its various players, after publication of this article, nor will I trivialize, satirize or lampoon the events as they unfold. I am sick of it.

The British Bulldog, is a formidable creature, and bred for Bull baiting – often eulogized during the Victorian era - it has a powerful bite. Intended to hang onto its quarry - at any cost - it has become synonymous with stubbornness, fortitude and resolve. With qualities ascribed to the British character in general, the question is:-

‘Does the British Bulldog still have any teeth left, or, is it only capable of administering a nasty suck?’

The Brexit debate has revealed all sorts of people and opinions, many emerging from their silent vigil, in the very background of British politics. But it has also exposed a plethora of half truths, innuendo and downright lies. It seems that many of the groups involved in this referendum – to stay or to leave - have either been driven by extreme levels of ignorance, wishful thinking, or the political classes are now so steeped in deceit, that the truth hardly matters any more.

Perhaps a global tendency - as we can see in the current US primaries - it nevertheless implies a total lack of integrity, honesty, and perhaps even a general trend, in many of the national leaders, both in the UK and elsewhere. The question is:-

‘Is it a determination to win at any cost, has the truth only been mislaid for the time being, and is it something to do, with the fog of war?’

This referendum is not about war. It is about the preservation of democracy, involving a properly informed public, voting with their heads, and not their hearts. So, let’s move on to the motivation behind many of these Brexiteers?

There are few who can honestly say that they are WW2 brats - although I can still remember seeing the odd Supermarine Spitfire, flying overhead during my childhood in Berkshire - and most of us have not experienced WW2, except latterly on certain evocative WW2, TV programs.

But in the post war period, a lot of the thinking behind the EEC – latterly known as the EU – was not, and could never purely be about trade, and diplomacy. It was also about peace – Churchills famous iron curtain - and the Cold War. Part and parcel of securing Europe, and adding to the looming presence of NATO, the EEC was then the greatest European threat against the Soviets, a matter which Mr. Putin still acknowledges, as president of the Russian Federation. Recently, he has announced, even he is confused about Camerons referendum, and a possible Brexit outcome!

Revealing that the great majority of present day referendum voters can only see Britains membership of the EU in monetary terms, surely common sense will prevail, because - should Great Britain leave the European Union – not only will the Union itself be consequently weakened, but so will the UK. Or, is the old Bulldog being fitted with some new dentures, which I haven’t heard of?

Boris and The Goldfish Bowl – by Patrick Brigham

If the World was just a goldfish bowl,
Am I looking out or looking in?
Are the things I see,
As I should be,
And, shall I sink or swim.
Norris Throdes 1926 – 2015 The Bard of Wrexham, North Wales

As an old man, Norris Throdes became very angry. In his polemic written in 2015 and titled: “Not Another Bloody Referendum, Thank You Very Much,” he reached back into his past, searching for any plausible reason, why it was that the English permanently dominated British politics, and inevitably told The Welsh what to do.

At a time when few people had ever been abroad, Throdes cast his mind back to his past, in search of childhood clues, that might possibly explain the present state of affairs in British politics. Back in time - to the front room of his comfortable family home in pre WW2 Wrexham - he remembered his goldfish called Dave.

Somehow, he could imagine himself to be Dave, swimming around his glass bowl, casually wondering about the world outside. Was it true that the Earth was flat? Was it true that if you went far enough, you would drop off the edge, and land up in a horrifying place called America? Surely, it was much better to swim around aimlessly all day long, believing that you lived in perfect harmony with nature, in a perfect country, and in five litres of very clean Welsh tap water.

Norris Throdes mind started to race, and as it focused on his idyllic Welsh childhood, he began to adopt the goldfish’s persona, to ponder on his aquatic existence, and to speculate on possible life changing events to come. What would happen, if another goldfish was introduced into his bowl? Would there be enough space for two fish to coexist, and would it cause certain frictions to emerge - especially when it came to size and strength - and of course, the small matter of intelligence. That, of course, would rather depend on the second fish being a fellow male. If it was a female, of course it would be different, and Thodes could easily imagine himself swimming around after her, for all sorts of spurious reasons.

In order not to digress to much, Throdes finally concluded, that there had to be a second male in the bowl, in order for his analogous polemic to make any sense. His original goldfish he remembered, was called Dave, but what would be a good name for the second goldfish – if he were to introduce one into the goldfish bowl - that was his greatest problem. In the end the name Boris came to mind, and in his ever mushrooming dissertation on goldfish, Throdes could now see – in his mind’s eye of course - both Dave and Boris, happily swimming around together in a perfect harmony, in a shiny glass bowl in Wrexham.

Now the story began to unfold - in a very familiar way - because, in due course, Boris wanted to leave the goldfish bowl, and this was when the arguments started!

'You can’t get out, you're in!'

‘You don’t know what’s out there Boris,’ Dave was becoming emotional, ‘and if you jump, who knows what will happen, because you will never be able to come back.’

‘Yes, but I want my own bowl to live in,’ Boris was beginning to sneer, ‘somewhere I don’t have to share with you, or any of the others. I’m sick of you all.’

‘But if you stay, we can look after each other, because we have everything we need. What’s wrong? Don’t you like me – is it because I look different?’

Boris’s eyes twinkled and although he had not fully considered the consequences, he laughed at Dave. ‘You’re pathetic,’ and he kept repeating it, as though Dave had no inkling about life or any future possibilities. ’Don’t you realize yet, that I am the greatest? I am indomitable, and not only can I foretell the future, I can leap into it.’ Having said which, he shouted ‘Goodbye Dave and the rest of you plonkers!’

Boris jumped out of the glass bowl and wriggling over the table, on which the glass bowl was standing, he landed on the floor with a thump. Soon the flapping noise became less and less, and finally nothing. Norris Throdes suddenly remembered his mother’s cat Tommy, and now - apart from the silence - all he could hear, was the sound of Tommy purring, and licking his paws.

I never knew what happened to Norris Throdes polemic, because a few days later he had passed away. His nurse, at the local ‘Home for The Permanently Bewildered,’ told me that, after I left, he had found it difficult to sleep. Apparently, being very short sighted, he had spent the night in the wardrobe, trying to find the light switch.

If the world is like a goldfish bowl,
Not looking out, but looking in,
Are those I see,
As I used to be,
And why they seldom win?

Enoch Powell and The Crystal Ball – by Patrick Brigham

In the late 60s, Enoch Powell was undergoing some serious grief, for his so called ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech, which he allegedly gave in Wolverhampton on April 20th 1968. At a time when social and racial emancipation was the keyword for any western civilization, bound on a course of post WW2 enlightenment, he chose a very poor time to give a warning about the probable result of too much immigration. His punishment was a trip to obscurity, the Denizens of free love won the day, and simply let it all hang out!

I was caught up in the middle. As a young jazz pianist – as I was then - black people were a part of my cultural life. I had experienced racial prejudice at first hand, but had also noticed how easy it was to vanquish, certainly by the drummer in my jazz trio. He was a Master Sergeant from the US air force base at Lower Wellford, and after a session at my family farmhouse in Burghfield one evening, we decided to go for a beer at The Hatch Gate, my local pub.

The pub landlord - who was famous for being cantankerous, truculent and rude - refused to serve my friend, stating quite clearly - and in a very loud voice - that he did not serve blacks. My fellow American musician was totally nonplussed by the whole event, and calmly stated: ‘If you don’t serve me now, landlord, tomorrow you will not have to serve fifty black American servicemen like me, so it is up to you; you decide.’ Of course he got his pint of beer, and a small local skirmish was averted. But, this was also a time – for me at least - that the 20th Century had seemingly arrived in provincial UK, and at a time when most of the student population and the prevailing intelligentsia, we're looking for a fight.

I know, because I managed to get my head thumped. It was on the occasion of a visit by Enoch Powell to Reading University, a speech he was to deliver on economics, and a subject he was very familiar with. The organizers, realizing that there could be some aggravation, asked me - along with others - if I would like to be one of his heavies for the afternoon, and very unwisely I said yes.

As soon as Enoch Powell entered the hall, the mayhem began. Placards appeared accusing him of racism, and a cacophony – reminiscent of a football chant – started, but Enoch wasn’t a Military Cross veteran for nothing, and gave as good as he got. ‘By now,’ he said to the chanting audience, ‘you must all be assured of a first class degree, in your chosen subject, but for one small deficiency which I have noticed in your behaviour. You see, it is the ear through which you gain all knowledge, and not the mouth.’

Enoch left the stage, and we, his secret army, pushed our way through the crowd - being bashed and beaten, by all and sundry - in order to form a passageway to the door and his waiting Rolls Royce. Bloodied but unbowed, we looked back to see where Enoch was, but he had disappeared altogether. An anticlimax for everyone, but not for Enoch, he had slipped out of the back door, and was on his way to Reading train station in a beaten up Mini! So, what is the moral of this story?

The phrase ‘rivers of blood,’ doesn’t appear, in the Wolverhampton speech at all, because Powell used words from the Aeneid: “As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding; like the Roman, I seem to see ‘the River Tiber foaming with much blood.”

Powell was also cause for a rethink about The Common Market, and his then famous, ‘Get Britain Out of The Common Market,’ speech, made at the New Century Hall in Manchester in 1974. Made before a sea of white faces, mainly from the older age groups, there was serious argument among the audience themselves about their reasons for not being in the pre EU club. But, what were they arguing about, apart from immigration, because there was a lot of ambivalence about bloody foreigners then too!

The Guardian, at the time, reported how, ‘Powell left no doubt that he regarded the preservation of British sovereignty and independence as an end for which “any disadvantage and any sacrifice are a cheap price.” He thus effectively warned Mr Heath – the then Prime Minister - that he was prepared to set the pace for a policy rebellion by the anti-Common Market wing of the party over the next year.’

Addressing a Conservative association meeting in Birmingham, the BBC reported that: ‘Mr Powell said Britain had to be mad, to allow in 50,000 dependents of immigrants each year. He compared it to watching a nation busily engaged in heaping up its own funeral pyre. The MP for Wolverhampton South West called for an immediate reduction in immigration and the implementation of a Conservative policy of "urgent" encouragement of those already in the UK to return home.’

I can’t help feeling that there is an ‘Enoch Moment,’ happening right now. It seems that the argument for ‘in or out,’ is only part of the political landscape, and that UK PLC, needs to decide whether it wants to stay in the 20th Century or live anew in The 21st Century.

If it stays in the 20th Century, we will all watch the slow disintegration of a fading nationalist and largely racialist society. If the UK chooses to coexist, in a shaky but more open minded 21st Century, it can help to lead a more enlightened EU, in which Great Britain continues to have its say. If it says nothing, then it is up to you to elect politicians who will be listened to in the Brussels Parliament, as well as listening carefully to the babble of the streets, and us; the great unwashed.

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Death in The Afternoon - by Patrick Brigham

The mindless piffle which is being peddled by Brexit campaigners in order to influence voters in the forthcoming EU referendum, has reached a point in its silliness, that I for one would like to see the entire gaggle of vapid politicians and glib speakers, out of a job by the next UK parliamentary election. Why? Because they are treating British voters like fools, and, do you really want your country run by people who do that? What they say may be funny, and some of their antics are rather comical, but when are they going to stop this absurd Victorian farce, and kindly leave the stage!

‘Of course, you will be much better off financially, and you won’t have bloody foreigners telling you what to do in Brussels, meddling in British lawmaking, and there will also be no further illegal immigration into Great Britain.’

Oh, really? You mean that illegal immigrants are residing within our sceptred isles, because of Brussels? That there will be no bombers arriving in the UK, because of Nigel Farage and Boris Johnson. What a joke! Oh, by the way, I have got a good joke for you, now I remember it. This was told to me by an Indian friend from Amritser, just across the border from Pakistan and Lahore – it’s very funny.

You see, there was this jihadist who is an instructor for ISIS, and he is lecturing a group of would be suicide bombers, on how to blow themselves up using a suicide vest. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘I want you to pay attention, because I am only going to show you how to do this once…..

You think that’s funny do you? Well, the photograph above, is of a Taliban suicide bomber, who was arrested, somewhere in Kabul, because his vest didn’t detonate. When he was strip searched by the authorities, they also discovered that his wedding tackle was protected by a thick metal sheath. When he was asked why he had protected his private parts in such a way, he replied that it was so he could bonk the allotted 23 virgins, he would be blessed with, when he arrived in heaven, and was declared a martyr.

You see very ignorant and stupid people like this, haven’t heard of Nigel Farage, don’t know about Romanian Gypsys, and know little or nothing about the brain drain from Bulgaria and Greece, to the office markets in England. This is partly because they are extremely thick, their life is not worth living, and they are prepared to kill themselves at the whim of some mad Mulla with a big hat. An event which might take place in a Sainsbury’s car park near you; do you still think that’s funny?

What is not funny, is the way the British Government ignores Europol, and the great majority of bilateral assistance available from all the EU security services; a part of the silly argument, that we don’t need Europe as much as they need us. Our great leaders tell us that our security services are indomitable, and the best in the world. But, what is also not very funny, is that this very subject is fast becoming the pivotal reason for Britain leaving the EU, so, do you really believe that this is true.

In my recently published book The Dance of Dimitrios, my Europol detective Chief Inspector Mike Lambert is faced by two such radicalized terrorists. They are holding a young boy captive and threatening to kill him, unless certain conditions are met. Together with a specialist armed unit, DCI Lambert confronts them, a firefight ensues and although the boy escapes, Lambert is badly injured by hostile gunfire. In my tale of illegal immigrants and terrorists, I don’t disguise the fact that most of the Al Qaeda or ISIS soldiers are uneducated morons, who believe in a luxurious afterlife if they sacrifice their lives for their jihadist cause. What happens to these two radicalized clowns, will not surprise you, except where it happens. A car park in West London, is the unlikely setting, maybe offering my readers a portent of things to come?

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Now for some light relief -

‘Mumbo, jumbo, rhubarb, rhubarb,
Prosti-rhubarb off the streets.
We will fight them on the beaches,
But we’ll lose between the sheets.’

Thus Spoke the Great Bard – Spike Milligan

BILLY BUNTER AND THE BREXIT - by Patrick Brigham

Watching the Brexit circus from a safe distance in Greece, I can’t help feeling that I have seen it all before. I think it took place on British television in the 1950s, and involved a somewhat dodgy third rate boarding school – called Greyfriars School – and its rather unruly incumbents.
Intended for the education of the sons of impoverished gentry, officers serving abroad and idiot farmer’s sons, it is no wonder that – as with many other similar schools – it was the breeding ground for infamous pranks, total anarchy, and general malingering of one sort or another. The worst practitioner of these black arts was one William George Bunter, otherwise known as Billy Bunter, who – when he wasn’t stealing other peoples cakes and sweets – had great difficulty in telling the truth.

I don’t know if this applied to Eaton or Harrow, but judging by those I have met who attended these two schools – including such luminaries as the young Winston Churchill, David Cameron and Borris Johnson – the strict mores of an upper class education, did not always bring out the best in people. Due to their rather loose grasp of the truth and rapidly declining moral standards, many learned to lie through their teeth, in order to allay a damn good public school scragging. Of course, Billy Bunter was the past master of such ‘porky pies,’ saying things like –‘I didn’t steal your cakes, Smith minor, and when I did, nobody saw me!’
So now back to the Brexit. From my distant focal point, it is a wonder to me why the British voting public is prepared to put up with the present selection of so called enlightened arguments. Put forward by at least two of the ex public schoolboys I have mentioned above - who seem to think that intelligent political argument, is based on the wittering’s of a thick taxi driver or a gossiping hairdresser from the nether regions of Potters Bar- when are they going to stop making things up and generally misleading and confusing people in the run up to this important referendum.
They say that the first casualty of war, is the truth, but this is not a war, and to maintain any future political integrity these stalwarts need to stop bending the truth and getting to grips with the real issues and to carefully lay out the pros and cons of staying in or going out of the EU.

There will not be hoards of Syrians roaming the streets of Henley-on-Thames, followed by an even more violent gang of Turkish belligerents, any more than the British sausage being renamed by Brussels as a ‘half bread offal tube.’ And if I hear another childish mantra about straight bananas and cucumbers, I will believe - like others I know - that I have somehow been transported back in time to the dusty corridors of Greyfriars School.
It’s hard to imagine Billy Bunter as a Conservative cabinet minister, or the conniving and mischievous schoolboy William Brown – from Richmal Cromptons series series of books called Just William – as the Chancellor of The Exchequer, but the more you listen to their political debate, the more you can imagine them stealing each others cakes. Roll on the referendum – Garoo!

STOP APOLOGIZING – by Patrick Brigham

It seems that the stiff upper lip of yore has recently been replaced by a trembling, somewhat flabby chin. All too frequently these days, we are beset by the embarrassing sight of some government minister or employee, grovelling in front of the media, humiliating themselves beyond belief, and blurting out great swathes of emotive apologies. Not only that, but this trend has somehow managed to filter down into all echelons of society, where we find the most elevated, to the most humble in the land, expressing their sincere regrets for, well, almost anything.

I would like to say at this point, that I have no intention of apologizing, for anything I am about to write in this article, well, not yet anyway! Mind you, there are those who should unquestionably apologize to all and sundry, who don’t, often describing their own behavior as inappropriate; a watered down version of saying they are sorry. So, who are these people, and why do some express their regrets in this way, whereas others, definitely do not?

The first place goes jointly to Donald Trump and Boris Johnston, who in their current destructive state, have managed to upset the establishment they claim to represent, as well as their political bedfellows. In olden days, they would have been described as traitors to a cause, but today they are apparently able to say anything they want, in order to appeal to the rednecks and the Philistines, in their respective societies.

Certain oafish, belligerent and often quite insulting statements, might serve to confuse some observers, but Trump; with his virtual support of The Klu Klux Clan, has irritated certain ethnic minorities in the US – a country traditionally made up of immigrants of all faiths – whilst garnering the votes, and succeeding it seems, of the most bigoted and racialist members of North American society. Will he ever be forgiven by Middle America and will an apology be enough?

Boris, on the other hand – incidentally, a man of Turkish origin – has been more subtle in his approach. He has managed to convert himself into a kind of Bulldog Drummond character; an old fashioned English stereotype. This he has done, whilst trashing many in his own political party, his original front bench cabinet supporters - who now plainly see him as a loose cannon - and may later perceive him as a little treacherous, into the bargain. Observing his Cornish Pasty waving and popularist antics - as a means to an end, in his quest for the Tory party leadership – who is he going to apologize to, when he falls flat on his face? With a bit of luck, his face might still be full of Cornish Pasty, which - according to an EU directive - has recently received a new recipe from Brussels.

The second joint contenders are Nigel Farage and Hillery Mantel. Hilary Mantel said, two years ago, that Prince William’s wife - the Duchess of Cambridge - was a bubble headed Barbie Doll, who she branded as a 'shop-window mannequin with a plastic smile, whose only role in life was to breed.' Now let me see if she is right! What I will do is to clear all the things off my mantelpiece to make a bit of space. Right, I have done that, and now I am going to put two photographs - that I just happen to have - one of Hilary Mantel and the other of the Duchess next to one another on the mantelpiece and have a long look at them both.

The first one is of Kate, the Duchess of Cambridge at her wedding, and the second is of Hilary Mantel receiving a Booker prize. Now let me think! Which one would I prefer, there is only room for one photo? The first one is of a young woman looking happy at her wedding to Prince William and the other is of a rather smug looking person, with a funny face, receiving a literature prize. I shouldn’t wonder if she will have to apologize for some of her unkind remarks, at some point.

No! I am sorry Hilary, but you will have to go. Call me old fashioned if you like, but if I had wanted to be surrounded by gargoyles, I would have bought a gothic castle in Scotland, from the proceeds of sale, of my various books, which I am still desperately trying to sell.

Now what shall I do with the photo of this woman with a rather physically challenged ‘boat race?’ I know, I will put it together with another rather unattractive photograph, I just happen to have, of Nigel Farage. They seem to have quite a lot in common one way or another, so they will probably get on quite well together, if I stick them both in a box in the loft.

He said some very personal things about poor old Herman van Rompuy’s looks – one day at the European Parliament – implying that, not only was he funny looking, but he was a bit of a useless git as well. But we all know who the useless git is, don't we? That’s right, it’s good old Nigel himself. I can’t think why they pay him to be an MEP, if he wants to abolish the European Parliament? I wonder if he feels like apologizing, I know that I don’t?


PS. If you feel like apologizing about anything at all, please do so in someone elses blog!

Author Patrick Brigham Transforms Real World Experiences Into Fictional Works - A Murder Mystery Novelist Like No Other

Patrick Brigham is the author of a number of mystery books and crime thrillers that address political and Cold War issues. He brings terrorism, illegal immigration and murder together in gripping tales, built upon real world events

Often, when we listen in on discussions about great works of fiction, we hear phrases such as 'It seemed so real' or 'It was like being there'. For murder mystery novelist Patrick Brigham, it IS real, as he has lived, and continues to live, right in the middle of many of the storylines and situations he writes about in The Balkans.

As the editor in chief of the Sofia Western News, the first English news magazine in Bulgaria and as a journalist, he witnessed the political changes in this once hard-core communist country. There, he personally knew most of the political players, including the old Communist Dictator, Todor Zhivkov, and his successors, Presidents Jhelev and Stoyanov.

The natural home of political intrigue, and the remnants of Bolshevism, Bulgaria proved to be quite a challenge, and for many of its citizens the transition was also very painful. Despite this, Patrick managed to survive these political changes, and now lives in Northern European Greece, writing mystery novels and crime thrillers.

Many of his short stories lampoon the politicians and diplomats, he met during his time in Eastern Europe and proffer a humorous account of their often absurd antics. His more serious archived material, not only address’s issues concerning Cuba, India, Israel, Palestine and Afghanistan, but people as varied as ex - US President Bill Clinton and ex - President Todor Zhivkov the last of the Communist dictators.

Patrick Brigham's body of work includes:

‘The Dance of Dimitrios’ - a mystery novel that mixes some of the horrors of illegal immigration with everyday events. Detective Chief Inspector Lambert works for Europol - the European equivalent of the FBI – and is sent to Greece in order to solve a cold case. DCI Lambert has experience of people trafficking, the problems caused for governments throughout the world, Greece being the gateway into Europe, for countless Middle-Eastern migrants, political refugees and terrorists. The story involves the discovery of a woman's body found floating in the River Ardas, in Northern Greece. Believed to be of Middle-Eastern origin, she is buried in a communal grave along with other Islamic victims of drowning and promptly forgotten. When it is later revealed that she is actually an Englishwoman called Marjory Braithwaite - who has been living for some years in Greece - the British government turns to Europol for help. Realising that this probably means murder, DCI Lambert is dispatched to Greece.

In ‘Judas Goat: The Kennet Narrow Boat Mystery,’ - Detective Chief Inspector Michael Lambert - working at the time for the Thames Valley Police Authority - unravels a murder case which stretches from England to Bulgaria, South Africa to Belorussia, and finally Taiwan to Peru. What at first appears to be a straightforward murder, is revealed to be part of an international manhunt, the result of a major arms deal which has gone horribly wrong. Patrick Brigham begins his story with the discovery of a small mobile phone on the narrow boat which ends with the murder of a Chinese shipping magnate in broad daylight, in the streets of London.

‘Herodotus: The Gnome of Sofia,’ - embraces disgruntled communists, cold war warriors, intrigue, deception and finally murder. Brigham introduces us to Sir Arthur Cumberpot, a man with an unspectacular diplomatic career, which is swiftly drawn to a close when he is appointed, by the FCO, as British Ambassador to Bulgaria. Due to some unforeseen mishaps his wife Annabel, is accused of being a spy and sent home to their house in Oxfordshire, while her background is checked by MI5. Lady Annabel Cumberpot is guilty of nothing, other than being the biological daughter of Jim Kilbey, Britain’s most notorious spy. It seems that a jealous god has sought to visit the sins of the father upon her, but then so has everyone else. She is the victim of serendipity, but also of cover ups, duplication of thin evidence and exaggeration. But she is also heartless, treacherous, self indulgent and without shame. In his book, Brigham lampoons the British Diplomats of the day, and introduces you to the humorous side of diplomacy.

‘Abduction: An Angel Over Rimini, - set in 2002, and little Penelope Scratchford has been abducted in Italy. The Italian State Police, having given up its investigation, believes her parents to be responsible for her disappearance and her probable murder, but cannot prove it. The British authorities believe she is still alive, as does the UK media. In order to reopen this cold case, Europol offers its assistance, and Detective Chief Inspector Michael Lambert – now retired from Thames Valley Police – is sent to Rimini as a Europol Liaison Officer, in order to assist the Italian police in re-opening their investigation. His quest takes him from Rimini to Greece and the River Evros, where illegal migrants frequently cross over from Turkey on their way into Central Europe. Following this recognised people smuggling route, his investigations also take him to Bulgaria, where he discovers a crooked adoption racket. Finding some promising leads to the whereabouts of the little English girl, he is finally able to establish if she is alive or dead.

"I live in the Evros Region in Northern Greece," Brigham stated, "and I have personally observed the forlorn illegal immigrants who then daily crossed the River Evros into Greece, from Turkey. Since many were English speaking – from Afganistan, the Middle East, and the Indian subcontinent – it was easy to converse with them, and of course the Greek police authorities themselves; who were well educated, and spoke perfect English. Knowing what was going on around me, was not the problem, but being able to tell the story – to a largely indifferent western public - was another matter. Ten years on and dominating the headlines, it is clearly different, but in the early 2000s, few in Europe could care less about these displaced refugees, until it began to affect their pocket.”

“During Communism, and as one of the first English journalists to be based in Bulgaria, I interacted with most of the politicians and diplomats of the day, in my capacity as chief editor of The Sofia Western News, a monthly glossy magazine. This included Todor Zhivkov, the then deposed long term Communist ex President of Bulgaria – who I interviewed on a number of occasions –his first elected democratic successor Zhelyu Zhelev, followed by President Peter Stoyanov. Although many changes have occurred since, I must also mention King Simion II, who for three years and eighteen days, served as the Bulgarian Prime Minister. In the hope that he could salvage years of Communist waste, tyranny and turmoil - since he was deposed as Bulgarian boy king, in 1946 - and by putting his reputation on the line - amongst the torment and brazen political arrogance of the time - he was one of my greatest hero’s.”

Readers have praised his novels. One stated, "I am an ex cop - he must have done a lot of research to get so many things right. I felt when reading 'Abduction' that Patrick was relating an investigation, he actually carried out." Another said, "'Abduction - An Angel Over Rimini' is entertaining, gripping, and also an astonishing Europol procedural read, making you want to read more. I was drawn into the story right away. I felt close to Michael Lambert and his way of analysing and detecting. All relevant characters became pretty real. 'Abduction - An Angel Over Rimini' is a good read for mystery fans, readers who like surprises, and occasional coincidences."

Patrick Brigham is available for media interviews and can be reached using the information below or by email at patrick.brigham@gmail.com. Books are available at Amazon, Amazon.UK, Smashwords and from his website. More information is available at Patrick Brigham's website at http://authorpatrickbrigham.com/.

About Patrick Brigham:

Patrick has been a writer and journalist for many years. He has published many short stories, newspaper and magazine articles. Born in the English Home Counties, he attended Public School and College before moving to London and embarking on his career. He has spent the last twenty five years in South Eastern Europe, where many of his stories are set, as well as in Oxford, Hampshire and Berkshire. As the Editor in Chief of the first English Language news magazine in Sofia, Bulgaria - between 1995 and 2000 - and as a journalist, he witnessed the changes in this once hard core Communist Country and personally knew most of the political players, including the old Dictator Todor Zhivkov and his successors Zhelev and Stoyanov.

Contact:

Patrick Brigham
http://authorpatrickbrigham.com/
patrick.brigham@gmail.com

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Nationalism 'Vs' Brexit – by Patrick Brigham

I can’t vote in the forthcoming referendum, to determine Great Britain's future in Europe, and so I reserve the right to say what I like. To me the whole matter reeks of reactionary nationalism, versus very little common sense, pragmatism or sanity. Reality seems to have been thrown out with the baby, and the bath water, plus a great deal of soap; an opera full of competing arias and the most disastrous stage management on record.

I have never seen so many bumbling spluttering minor British MPs trying their best to get a media scoop and so many foolish national leaders, puffing out their chests and expounding childish mantras to a growing, and largely bored audience.

For those of you Brits, who may have opinions about this farcical program, I have made a list of those who can officially vote:-

Anyone who would be entitled to vote in a parliamentary election in the UK has the right to participate in the in/out vote on the EU. This includes:
British citizens over 18 who are resident in the UK
Irish citizens over 18 who are resident in the UK (due to historically close Anglo-Irish links)
Maltese and Cypriots over 18 who are resident in the UK (other EU citizens will not)
Commonwealth-born citizens over 18 who are resident in the UK
British expats who have lived overseas for less than 15 years
Irish citizens who were born in Northern Ireland and have registered to vote in Northern Ireland in the last 15 years
Commonwealth citizens in Gibraltar Commonwealth citizens in Gibraltar
Commonwealth citizens in Gibraltar over 18
Members of the House of Lords in Gibraltar will also be entitled to vote

Judging by the baffling and often inaccurate, so called facts and statistics - which the reactionary inhabitants of the UK frequently like to broadcast - they probably wish that the English Channel was a bit wider. Of course, there are those in Europe who might also wish this was true, as they watch the antics of a fading ex-colonial power, trying to reassert itself on the world stage. And why is it that a ‘special relationship’ with the US, always seems to appear, when things get rough?

The eminent comedian and script writer, Spike Milligan, when asked during the Irish troubles what his solution would be, he said: ‘I would put a big post in the centre of Ireland, and tow it out into the Atlantic.’ Well, perhaps we should now put an even bigger post in the middle of the UK, and tow that out to sea. It could be next door neighbours with Greenland or Iceland – think of all those mosquitoes?

In an endeavour to seem very British and patriotic, many first and second generation immigrants have also lent their voices to the discussion, claiming that not only should the United Kingdom stand on its own, but it should be very concerned about immigration in general! Interviews in Bradford and Birmingham, have naturally attracted volunteers from the local community – posh voiced Asians and finger wagging West Indians – all of whom, quite rightly, regard the UK as their home and their true domain.

To some of the Eastern European countries, this might sound a little hypocritical, bearing in mind that well educated people from the Balkans have every right to seek employment anywhere in the EU - and very good news - considering the dearth of applicants from Britain itself. But one of the main arguments by the bumbling Brexit’s, is that this alone is a threat to UK sovereignty. They also like to ‘mix up’ prospective employees and legally entitled European citizens, with illegal immigrants from the Middle East and European Gypsy’s. It seems that UKIP, in particular, believes that their listening public, is as thick as Nigel himself appears to be at times, or shall we simply just call him foxy?

If I was from The Balkans – Bulgaria, Romania and Greece – or Central Europe, I would be getting into the political thrall, remind British citizens - or rather those who are allowed to vote - and point out, that there would be a number of empty desks in offices in and around Great Britain. And, there would also be, quite a number of vacant University places to fill, were the UK to decide to close its doors to Europe.

So, perhaps one should simply ask the question, what is Great Britain? Queen Elizabeth 1st could never quite make up her mind about love or country, and often confused the two:

I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute, but inwardly do prate.

"On Monsieur's Departure" (February 1582).

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Looking Back Again on Bulgaria - by Patrick Brigham

PRESIDENT ZHELYU ZHELEV

President Zhelyu Zhelev was an enigma to me. I had watched him on TV in Bulgaria during the early nineties, performing official tasks, much as his predecessor Zhivkov had done. I remember him handing over prizes to the successful Bulgarian national football team in 1996, with jeeps and apartments being liberally handed out, much as before, to underline the importance of this event. But, nevertheless, it was reminiscent of the heady days of communism. To be honest, he seemed lost among the burly politicians of that time, the demagogic and often devious detritus, which was then successfully ruining the country. Each with a cynical smile on their face; most of them were not democrats by any measure, in fact they were out for what they could get.

In his book written during communist times and called ‘Fascism’ Zhelev expressed the myth of communism, by hiding it behind the story of Nazi Germany, Mussolini’s Italy, and Franco’s Spain. The tale of communism versus fascism, is couched in intellectual terms, and underlined by the true facts of modern history, the analogies jump from the pages with humor and alas, black irony. For after all repression and socio-political engineering are the same evil, whatever brand name may be attached to the process. In his book he said - “ If democracy seems not to be working, then you need more democracy,” - as if the ingredients of a cake have to be finally balanced with the right amount of baking soda, the instruments of power perched like delicate colored jars on the shelf in some political shop. All ready to be weighed and mixed by the chef, but paid for - after baking - often with considerable angst and occasional pain. Written in 1967 the book didn’t emerge until 1982, and then with understandable difficulty. Written during his period of isolation, it is a good textbook by any academic standard, and unearths the tricks of political psychology, as well as the bare faced lies.

Rather like Peter Pan; Dr. Zhelev then seemed ageless. With the round face of a boy - eyes wide apart, showing generosity and nobility of spirit - whilst displaying a relaxed confidence, he seemed to be a man who had come to terms with his reality. But nevertheless, he was also a man determined to continue on an even course towards increased Bulgarian democracy. No longer President of Bulgaria, through his newly created foundation - simply called ‘The Zhelyu Zhelev Foundation - for many years he represented the quiet voice of reason and debate.

“Being a rabid anti-Communist does not yet mean that one is a democrat; nor is frenzied anti-fascism a hallmark of democracy. To a democrat, both communism and fascism are abhorrent. Indeed, there has been no greater anti-communist than Hitler, and no greater anti-fascist than Stalin, but neither of them is known to have been a democrat. Moreover, the 20th century has seen no greater butchers of democracy than these two mustached comrades.” Zhelyu Zhelev - Sofia 1997.





PRESIDENT PETER STOYANOV

Next on the list was Peter Stoyanov, who followed Dr Zhelev as President of Bulgaria. Prior to his election, I interviewed him in his office in the UDF building in Sofia, and being unused to British journalists, he was unusually open about his history as a lawyer. Apparently, he was a mathematician who had been sidelined into politics due to his views on human rights.

He said:'At the time of my schooling, communists didn't even allow young people to have long hair, and any of us who wanted to listen to and be like the Beatles, were persecuted. They said it was immoral, but it was absurd that at the end of the 20th Century, there existed a political regime which had no respect for human rights, and discounted these rights in such a way, that didn't even exist during the 1st Century in Rome.'

Looking Even Further Back at Bulgaria - by Patrick Brigham

My book, Herodotus: The Gnome of Sofia, is a humorous account of a British diplomat and his fall from grace, and has its foundations in reality. When, in 1993, I arrived as a permanent fixture in Sofia, Bulgaria had hardly begun to get used to its new post Cold War existence, and the enormous Russian Embassy still somehow loomed large in the daily life of all Sofia residents. Especially the Bulgarian politicians of the day, and as it had continued to do, during the entire communist era. However, in 1995 and with trepidation, I started the Sofia Western News magazine and published my first flimsy edition in December of that year.

As a newbie, I was amazed to find that the ‘Old Brigade,’ was still well represented in the capital, and that they held the most recent interlopers from the West, in total contempt. Generally regarded with considerable suspicion, the vast majority saw every foreigner as a spy, and this I regret to say, included me! What one was likely to spy on, was a matter for considerable conjecture - in view of the general state of the country and its non functioning economy - and even to this day, there are still Bulgarians who misguidedly believe their country to be, the ‘Trojan Horse’ of the great game of deception. Oh, really?

Foreign diplomats, NGO’s and the various foreign national advisors, were especially suspect, and although quite innocent of any sedition or thoughts of espionage, they were nevertheless under Cold War scrutiny by the many underemployed agents of the internal security services, and even some past employees too. Totally baffling, to the many be-suited western acolytes and so called consultants, they became withdrawn, occasionally frightened, and finally, developed a kind of siege mentality. Rather like their Colonial forbears, they withdrew from the realities of Sofia life, closed their embassy doors at night, and thought of home.

There were no secrets worth knowing that a half-wit couldn’t work out for themselves, or a casual reader might discover by reading an old copy of Janes Fighting Vehicles, on a wet Wednesday in Penge reference library, but that wasn’t the point. Because by then, not only was the general population in search of their own secret government held files, but there had appeared a few discrepancies in the CVs of various Bulgarian public figures, who had been active during communism, which has unrealistically occupied the Bulgarian press, ever since 1990.

In Herodotus: The Gnome of Sofia, the character of Sir Arthur Cumberpit – a post communist British Ambassador – is not so different from the real diplomats of the day, and many of the foreign businessmen too. I have to admit to being a bit of an armchair idealist myself, but many of those I met at the time in Sofia, were not. Many were redolent of the passed over major, and some had even been given one last chance, to get their act together. There were even those, who fondly regarded their presence in Sofia to be a form of punishment, for some past sin - which is often the case in diplomatic circles – and the character of Sir Arthur is no exception. He just doesn’t know, what it is, exactly!

But, there are secrets as well. One is that Sir Arthur comes from a humble beginning in Croydon, close to London, and isn’t really posh at all, although he tries to be. The other, is that Lady Annabel Cumberpot is the daughter of the UK’s most infamous spy, Jim Kilby. A great deal of the story surrounds this last secret, and many - mainly undeserved - consequences, cause her to suffer in many ways. And, were it not for the fact that Lady Annabel Cumberpot, herself, is the most obnoxious harridan on the planet, the reader might even feel a little sorry for her.

Indifferent to his diplomatic post in Bulgaria, Ambassador Cumberpot believes his life to be hell. With a wife who treats him like a pathetic money box, not only does she walk all over and humiliate him whenever possible, she does so with everyone else as well. That includes certain Bulgarian dignitaries, invited to the Queens Birthday Party at the ambassador’s residence. But then, something unusual occurs.

Herodotus: The Gnome of Sofia–
Available at www.PatrickBrigham.co.uk