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      "permlink": "steemitboard-notify-thebitcoinbomber-20190718t040120000z",
      "title": "",
      "body": "Congratulations @thebitcoinbomber! You received a personal award!\n\n<table><tr><td>https://steemitimages.com/70x70/http://steemitboard.com/@thebitcoinbomber/birthday2.png</td><td>Happy Birthday! - You are on the Steem blockchain for 2 years!</td></tr></table>\n\n<sub>_You can view [your badges on your Steem Board](https://steemitboard.com/@thebitcoinbomber) and compare to others on the [Steem Ranking](https://steemitboard.com/ranking/index.php?name=thebitcoinbomber)_</sub>\n\n\n###### [Vote for @Steemitboard as a witness](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=steemitboard&approve=1) to get one more award and increased upvotes!",
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      "memo": "RESTEEM SERVICE! We're offering resteems to over 9000 followers for only 2 SBD or 2 STEEM per resteem. Our resteems generally do better than Promoted Posts. See my order page at resteem.com if you are interested, or you can simply send 2 SBD or 2 STEEM now and the link to your post to @carlobelgado and we'll resteem it right away. Resteems get you more views, more followers, more engagement on your post, and usually more money. We've had several repeat buyers who love the service. Thanks!"
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      "title": "If Guns were Toasters!",
      "body": "If guns were toasters! Americans would have the right to bare toasters, though some states would limit the size and quantity of bread you could toast. Deranged individuals would break into high schools and public venues, and start making toast. Teachers and pupils would be forced to hide, as thick slices of nicely browned toast flew in all directs. \n\nThe National Toaster Association would lobby Washington to relax restrictions on toaster ownership. You'd have toaster fairs, where licensed dealers would sell a wide range of models to anyone with ID. You'd be able to buy anything from small budget models to industrial toasters that can brown an endless amount of bread. You'd have silent models and vintage toasters, restored to their former glory. \n\nGluten Freedom Campaigners would have their own chapters. Toasting conventions would bring together aficionados of toasted cheese sandwiches. \n\nObviously there'd be accidents and incidents. Parents would forget to secure their toasters. Children would accidentally burn themselves trying to make toast. You'd have an unenvious high level of toast crime, including drive-by toasted bun fights. Convenience  stores would be held up by thugs carrying toasters. And desperate souls would end their lives by sharing a bath with a toaster. \n\nI'm sure this is not how the Founding Fathers of America envisaged the future of their country would be - an age when the toasting fork was king!",
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      "title": "My Childhood Memories Living in 1970s Singapore!",
      "body": "[![header.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/ikk4j97n5/header.jpg)](https://postimg.org/image/rfkytrwfh/)\n\n*This article highlights my experiences as a five-year-old living in Singapore, though even before then, my life was far from mundane or uneventful...*\n\nI was born in the Princess Mary’s RAF Hospital at RAF Akrotiri in Cyprus, late in the evening of 8th September 1965, although a clerical error meant that the following day’s date was entered on all subsequent official documents.  This error was even reproduced on my birth certificate.  It was many months later that the mistake was noticed, but my parents didn’t make any effort to rectify the mistake.  I guess it was down hill from there...\n \nAged two years old, I was badly scalded when I accidentally sat in a bucket of boiling water.  Rushed to hospital, the doctors were concerned that I might not be able to father children.  Luckily, I pulled through with no permanent damage.  Then I became seriously ill with bronchitis and it was thought that I might not pull through.  Shortly after recovering from that illness, I turned blue and was rushed back to the medical centre, where a suspected heart attack was diagnosed.  On our return to the UK my medical condition was attributed to me having a Ventricular Septal Defect or hole in the heart.  Thankfully over time my heart healed itself, though not before numerous visits to various hospitals and specialists. \n \nI have often thought about those times, not that I can remember any of it, but I do wonder why?  Why did I pull through and for what reason – to save humanity from disaster or to work in a factory on minimum wage?  I acknowledge that I have done neither.\n \nMy dad was an airman who worked in communications.  He was like many who served in the Royal Air Force – a small cog in a giant machine.  He was neither an officer or aircrew.  He was an airman who would rise to the rank of Corporal.  Yet, I never thought him as being inferior to anyone.  He was my dad.  On 26th January 1968 we left Cyprus and moved to RAF Henlow, near Bedford.  Accordingly, my first memory in life was of paratroopers jumping out of a Beverley (?) transport aircraft over the grass aerodrome in the late 1960s.\n \nThe new decade brought with it pastures new and on 25th May 1970 we found ourselves travelling to Singapore, where my dad had been posted.  We lived on the island for over a year, in which we saw more than most.  While other parents left their children behind, either with friends or a house keeper, both me and my sister explored the island with our parents.  We saw, heard, tasted and smelled a concoction of Singaporean life. \n\n[![singapore01.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/trsgei3jl/singapore01.jpg)](https://postimg.org/image/spi9vykq5/)\n *RAF Tengah Infant and Primary School Sports Day*\n\nThe first few days were spent in a hotel, while our parents looked for a house to rent.  But eventually we move onto a modern estate.  At the end of our street was a hill made from clay, which cracked and baked in the sun and gave off a wonderful earthy smell.  I can’t remember seeing anything from this hill, but there were numerous trees.\n \nAcross from our house and down an embankment was a wooded area, in which was located a collection of wooden shacks, including I think a shop (?).  Our street was part of an estate of identical streets and houses.  Originally, too young to go to school, I played in the garden or we spent the day in the family services’ centre – beside the pool with my mum and sister.  I remember a couple of scuba divers practising in the main pool and I was intrigued as to what they were doing.  But alas, me and my sister were confined to the kids paddling pool.  It would be 28 years (?) before I had a go at scuba diving myself.\n\n[![singapore08.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/c5p6ngktt/singapore08.jpg)](https://postimg.org/image/z75rt7kh9/)\n*enjoying the weather*\n \nWhen old enough to start education, we travelled to school in a white painted Bedford SB3 bus, which was fitted with additional rear doors.  The interior whiffed of disinfectant as the vehicle doubled as an ambulance.  Our school was located beside the runway of one of the RAF’s airbases on the island.  Each morning break we were given half a pint of flavoured milk (either strawberry or chocolate), the taste of which has never been matched or sampled since.  My dad was based at RAF Jurong, a ‘hush-hush’ communications base hidden away from preying eyes.\n \nBeing a six year old in a class of older children wasn’t a problem, though legend has it that on one occasion I went missing.  I was found exploring the adjacent runway – just as a Canberra bomber was coming into land.  Luckily someone in the control tower spotted me just in time, and the jet bomber aborted its landing.  When not exploring the locale (a regular occurrence, in which my sister was usually dispatched to look for me) I pretended at being a giant crane in the middle of the busy classroom.\n\n[![singapore07.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/c4f8u1j01/singapore07.jpg)](https://postimg.org/image/4bol22d0t/) \n *I'm the little chap standing next to the teacher!*\n\nFact: all [RAF] firemen are vicious, evil bastards.  Imagine the scene:  You’re six years old and it’s your first ever school trip – alone and without your parents.  After a short bus ride, you end up on an airfield, where you visit the fire section or fire station.  Unsure of your surroundings, you become a bit weary.  The bright red fire engines are interesting, but not the space monster, who suddenly bursts through a side door.  Dressed in a silver fireproof suit, the wearer instils a sense of excitement among the older children, but not in you.  Because you are only six and are slightly apprehensive (scared witless) you start to cry. \n \nThe firemen, ignoring this, decide to set fire to an up-turned oil drum.  More excitement for the older kids and more terror for you.  Now imagine a six foot fireman approaches you and hands you a fire extinguisher.  He offers to let you put out the fire, while you just want to fill your trousers.  Fortuitously, which is a very long word when your five years old, the fireman takes back the water filled extinguisher.  He then demonstrates what happens when you try to put out a petroleum fire with water.  WHOOSH and you end up bettering Niagara Falls, as the tears flow.\n \nHome time meant playing in the garden or exploring the wooded area adjacent to our estate.  It was in this wood that our house keeper lived in a small wooden shack with her children.  There was no electricity – only paraffin lamps and a wood burning stove.  In comparison our home was modern and painted white inside and out, or decked in millions of tiny ceramic tiles – indeed half of Singapore appeared to be adorned with terrazzo.  The garden, though featureless, was to become an imaginary building site or battlefield for me and my toys.  The simplicity of it all.  Why do we always try (and always fail) to better what cannot be surpass as being the good life - both simple and perfect in every detail?  Citizen Kane had Rose Bud. True, he became rich beyond reason, while his happiness burned along with his cherished toy.  For me it was a matchbox lorry or two and my own childhood imagination that will never be equalled.\n\n[![singapore09.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/b5yvrr5o1/singapore09.jpg)](https://postimg.org/image/tyaqvc225/)\n *Me and my sister enjoying ourselves in Singapore!*\n\nA few years ago I temporarily lost my sense of smell.  Despite many problems experience in recent times, this lost has had a devastating effect my state of happiness.  Back in the early 1970s and Singapore was a collage of tastes and odours.  The earthy, clay aroma of the muddy hill was incredible, while the smell of local cuisine being cooked was all but inscribable, as in time we began to explore the island.\n \nThere were late night trips into the capital and more sightseeing.  There were the open air restaurants and religious festivals.  There were visits to the toy shop in the old shanty town and for such a small island, surprisingly long (?) car rides, either by taxi or the second-hand car that dad bought.  I remember the palm trees and birds and small lizards and frogs and…\n \n…there was the harbour and new retail developments – some of the most modern in South East Asia.  The sea around the harbour was filled with every kind of vessel, including cargo ships and even an aircraft carrier, moored in the distance.  We usually stopped by a café and drank ice-cold orangeade from glass bottles through a paper straw.  The taste of that orangeade was something I have never experienced since.  Was it a local brand?\n \nThen there was Tiger Balm Gardens.  This can best be described as a large public garden filled with oriental gnomes – numerous model animals given human characteristics – that formed scenes from mythology (?) or maybe from more recent history (?).  I was only five at the time, but what we saw was duly capture by Dad, with his Olympus half-frame SLR and Super 8 cine camera.  The 400ft reel of film is now one of the family’s treasured possessions as are the numerous photographs, which are secreted somewhere within the family – some of which are reproduced here.\n \n[![PICT0017_2.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/uay20n0fl/PICT0017_2.jpg)](https://postimg.org/image/iylgiurql/)\n*Another photograph of our classroom!*\n\nIt was in Singapore that I attended my first ever air show – a [service] family affair – as I doubt the local population were invited.  Ground displays included vehicles of the RAF Fire Service (I kept my distance) and anti-aircraft guns manned by the RAF Regiment.  Overhead we were entertained by a yellow painted Whirlwind search and rescue helicopter, while another [static] example was painted in grey/green camouflage.  Other aircraft included a couple of Gloster Meteor TT20 jets and a Shackleton maritime recognisance aircraft.  The children were entertained by a ride on a steam train – a disguised aircraft tractor that towed a series of converted bomb trolleys.\n\nFrom the aforementioned toy shop, my dad bought me my first Airfix model – an Fokker Triplane – moulded in red plastic.  It was from the same shop that I had bought dozens of Matchbox toy vehicles packaged in little cardboard “matchboxes” and displayed in the shop in a revolving display case.  Another favourite toy was a plastic army lorry and cannon.  The cannon worked and a line of solders were affixed to the back of the lorry.  I loved this toy so much that more than one was bought during our stay in Singapore.  For over twenty years I have tried and failed to find out who made this plastic toy?  Tonka Toys were another favourite (or rather the digger, bought for me during one night-time shopping spree).  These were the real McCoy – made from pressed steel and not your modern plastic rubbish.  \n \nBack to this Airfix Model…\n \n…now with it came a tube of glue.  But how to open it?  I squeezed and squeezed this little tube until splodge – the contents burst out over my arm.  What a mess.  I don’t remember anyone being around.  Was I home alone?  I remember waiting outside for my sister to return from School.  Where was Mum or the house keeper?  I do remember walking around and becoming lost.  By now the glue started to sting and the fumes were unbearable.  After an eternity, I found my way home.  Not sure what happened to the model?  Did it ever get built?\n \nStrange, I can remember the shanty town and its open-air restaurants, but can’t actually remember eating out, though my mother said we often tasted the local cuisine.  I do remember an old man on a bicycle who sold cashew nuts, served in a cone made from old newspaper.  I also remember the ice cream van and those plastic footballs filled with chocolate ice cream.  Once you devoured the contents you kicked the ball around the garden.  We even had a baby banana tree in the back garden which bore fruit at least once, and visiting the shanty town in the woods opposite our house, we could buy flavoured iced.  I remember as kids me and my sister explored on our own – in a foreign country – unimaginable today. \n \nI can’t get the smell of the clay out of my mind.  Sometimes, albeit for a fraction of a second, I can smell that earth again, but the effect is momentary and I’m soon back in the here and now.  I remember Orang-utans , a cheap and abundant fruit.  For years afterwards I would often enquire at fruit shops in the UK if they stocked them and no one knew what fruit I meant.  Off course what I should have asked for is Rambutans.  Somehow, as children, we had corrupted the name. \n \n[![PICT0014_3.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/vr9kis3ch/PICT0014_3.jpg)](https://postimg.org/image/cyxpf76y5/)\n*One final photograph of our classroom!*\n\nThat first downpour.  The thunder and lightning, and then the torrent of warm, pounding rain.  I’m lying on my bed in Hull as I type this.  It’s just gone 4am and being a 50 year old who appears to have failed abysmally in life and everything it had to offer, I feel so empty and lost. \n \nAs Spike Milligan once wrote, “Oh yesterday, leave me alone”.    \n \nSadly the good times were coming to an end and in late 1971 we reluctantly returned to the UK.  The sun was setting on another part of the British Empire and accordingly, it was time for the Royal Air Force to leave Singapore.  The final official duty of every RAF serviceman and woman on the island was to cleanse every service drinking hole of alcohol.  Therefore our parents assisted by frequenting some forgotten officer or sergeant’s mess.  They returned worse for wear by taxi late at night after drinking all day. \n \nI still remember those last few, hectic days.  Our pets were handed over to the local animal rescue centre, which I guess was upsetting, while we packed as many of our belongings as we could – most of which ended up being shipped back to the UK (though one or two large wooden crates disappeared on route).  Alas, it was time to leave and the familiar white bus arrived to collect us and our belongings. \n \nSadly, I was forced to leave most of my prized toys in a suitcase or box, which was left in one of the now empty rooms.  This was it.  We arrived at the airport and before long we flew out of Singapore.  I didn’t care much for the flight and remember I cried on take off.  My last vivid memory, apart from being given a boiled sweet, was a stop-over at RAF Akrotiri in Cyprus to refuel.  Due to a high state of alert on the island the aircraft was closely guarded.  It was raining heavily and the ground crew were busy preparing the aircraft for take off.  I remember a tractor towing what I now know to be an air-conditioning unit. The driver was having problems trying to keep the huge hose deposited on the trolley as he towed it away – it kept falling off and dragged along the apron.  Amazing how it’s the smallest details that are often recalled.\n \nIn 1971 we returned to a slightly altered Britain.  Gone the days of pounds, shillings and pence.  After spending a few months living with our grandparents in Rainham, Kent (more happy memories), we ended up being posted to RAF Benson in Oxfordshire.  \n \nMost people have to wait an eternity before their own “once in a life time” experience.  For me, that year in Singapore was probably the best year of my life and I was only six year’s old.  A year later, while living at RAF Benson, our exploits attracted the attention of the RAF Police.  When asked what we could remember of Singapore (this during a lesson at school), there was no stopping us.  Apparently, the RAF Police wanted to know why we knew so much?  The answer was simple: our parents took us everywhere…\n \nSingapore has changed a lot since the early 1970s.  I think (at least I hope) we left Singapore in a better political and social position than other parts of the former British Empire.  And I also hope that Singaporeans have forgiven us for not fighting to the last when Japan invaded the island during the war, not that we deserve to be forgiven, in my opinion.\n \nToday and Singapore has developed into a major Asian super power – incredible when you consider its size.  Yet, despite continued modernisation, Tiger Balm Gardens remain and so do parts of the old shanty town – preserved for locals and tourists alike.  Would I go back?  I don’t honestly know.  The family are no longer together – my parents separated in 1986 and I live on my own.  In 2013 my mum suddenly died, so would I go back?  I know it won’t be the same.  My sense of smell has gone and in all honesty I’m concerned that cherished childhood memories might be altered by modern Singapore.  Maybe if I had a family, then maybe I would go back.  I just hope I would be as brave as our parents were in allowing us to see and sample everything that was on offer.\n \nI don’t reminisce about Singapore much.  Not because it’s painful - my childhood, partially spent in Singapore is hard to beat, even forty-six years on.  Rather life is too frantic to stop and look back.\n \nSince beginning to write the above, I found out a little more about our stay in Singapore from my sister Diana – this over lunch in Pizza Hut.\n \nApparently, we had two banana trees in the garden (not just the one) and we did indeed like to explore on our own – for hours on end – something unheard of in present times.  She also reminded me that one of our pastimes was to pick up squashed frogs on the road and explore the two (not one) shanty villages – one high up and one at the bottom of the hill on which our estate had been built, which was called Hill View Estate.  One of our cats was called Tiddles, who once gave birth to kittens.  Diana was almost bitten by a poisonous snake and we liked to explore the storm drains and tunnels that were in the locale.  Oh, and we liked to wear flip-flops, which apparently are good for your feet.  \n \nMy sister once decided to help out with the cleaning and ended up flooding the house.  Oh, and she also reminded me that at Christmas the both of us got up really early and opened up all the presents – every last one – irrespective of who it was for.  Apparently our parents weren’t that pleased.  Oh, well…\n \nAt school there was a coke machine and yes I was very much renowned for disappearing. \n \nOh, and the wonderful monsoon showers I reminisced about…?  Well, apparently I ended up with some tropical disease – monsoon fever (?) which resulted in being covered in blisters.  Accordingly, I ended up being mummified in bandages.  Oh, and one of my fingernails dropped off.  My sister also confirmed that we did eat a lot of the local cuisine, which is something I’m glad we did, even though I don’t remember. \n \nPhillip Rhodes\nKINGSTON upon HULL\nEast Riding of Yorkshire\n\n6th August 2017",
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      "author": "thebitcoinbomber",
      "permlink": "love-miss-piggy-free-download-you-print-you-share-you-enjoy-hopefully",
      "title": "Love Miss Piggy?  Free Download - You Print - You Share - You Enjoy (Hopefully?)!",
      "body": "![mp.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/ydwc4ocj5/image.jpg)\n\nHave you ever created something really cool but weren't able to share it with others? Recently I created something I’m really proud off, and in these economically depressing times, I would have liked to have financially benefited from my hard work, but it was not to be…\n\nIn the 1960s American artist Andy Warhol created a series of colourful screen prints, including a number depicting Marilyn Monroe.  My untitled creation is not only a homage to Andy Warhol, but also to the greatest of Hollywood icons, namely Miss Piggy.\n![2400x2400.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/xpnhlqdtd/2400x2400.jpg)\nI've shown this design to friends and everyone loves it.  My artwork is based on a vector graphic, which I created aided by a popular online tutorial on how to draw Miss Piggy.  But after contacting Disney it is clear that I am unable to financially gain from my hard work.  Indeed they don’t like its fans making money from homemade “fan art\" which I guess is understandable.\n\nSo I’m giving away my artwork for FREE (though please upvote my post) from this blog in three difference sizes.  The image will work as a poster, framed print or stretched canvas (up to 3ft x 3ft) and also as a fashionable T-Shirt.  The image will also work on a mug or mouse mat or numerous other gifts.  You can print as many copies as you like for yourself or family and friends, but like me, you are not permitted to sell any item which features this design.\n\n**LARGE 7.4MB (32in x 32in or 9800 x 9800 pixels)** https://postimg.org/image/bt0yld0ml/\n**MEDIUM 3.9MB (18in x 18in or 5400 x 5400 pixels)** https://postimg.org/image/py6rn69nx/\n**SMALL 1.3MB (8in x 8in or 2400 x 2400 pixels)** https://postimg.org/image/gcd76vii5/\n\n*Please let me know if the links don't work? Cheers!*\n\nI've been a fan of The Muppets since the 1970s, and my untitled graphic is the result of one fortuitous and busy afternoon.  I dearly hope you enjoy my work, which was created with love, care and attention to detail.\n\nBest Wishes\n\nPhillip Rhodes",
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      "title": "The Lost Diaries of John Smith - Part FOURTEEN",
      "body": "**POSTSCRIPT**\n\nMy 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.    \n\nIn 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.\n\nIn 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.  \n\nWith 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.   \n\nIt’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. \n\nTwo 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.\n\nSince 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.  \n\nI 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.   \n\nI 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.\n\nI 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.  \n\n“He saved my life!“  \n\nI 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.”\n\nHe 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.  \n\nThe 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:\n\n“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.”  \n\n“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!”  \n\n“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.”  \n\n“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.”  \n\n“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.”  \n\n“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.”\n\nHe 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.\n\n“Here, a souvenir for you!”\n\n“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.”\n\n“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.”\n\n“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.”\n\nI asked John’s friend what happened to them on their arrival in Scotland.\n\n“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.”\n\n“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”\n\n“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.”  \n\n“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.” \n\nAnd John Smith?\n\n“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.”\n\nIt 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.\n\n“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.“\n\n“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.”\n\nHe shook my hand and we went our separate ways.  Reading my scribbled shorthand I hope I can do justice to what was said.\n\nI 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.\n\n*Amy Cooper*\n\n----\n\nAnd 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! \n\n**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.**\n![cover.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/bioe4wfox/cover.jpg)",
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      "title": "The Lost Diaries of John Smith - Part THIRTEEN",
      "body": "Throughout our research and cross-border adventure I often thought about meeting the man who saved my life, and who meant so much to so many people, including my poor dad.  He is quiet and keeps his thoughts to himself, but he mourns the death of John Smith, as do I.  We all owe him a debt of gratitude that now we can never repay.\n\nI have now left university and spend my time looking after sheep on the farm.  It’s hard work and winter is approaching, but we have each other - me and my dad and our friends and our pets and livestock.  In these final days of family life I am content to live one day at a time.  Today is a blessing and tomorrow will be a bonus.\n\nBut then I keep thinking of how things might have been if we had started our search much sooner.  Dad often spoke of John Smith since our arrival in Scotland.  Why couldn’t we have looked for him years ago?  We had the British Red Cross and the resources to reach out across Scotland.  But it’s too late now.  He’s gone and after reading the letter from his friend he was well loved and respected, and that is reassuring in a country where family and friends means survival.\n\nAfter that final letter we decided to publish his diaries because of the constant feeling of being watched.  We know much about what happened in 2014 and the events of Harthope Burn, but we don’t know what it was like to work for, or be in the presence of those aliens.  For most, indeed the vast majority of us, the thought of aliens is - dare I say it - alien!  But we must look forward.  I spent this evening checking the sheep, while walking with my mum and with John Smith too.  We live in a beautiful part of Scotland and that is as harmonious consolation for how we sometimes feel inside.  We survive one day at a time and we live one day at a time.  We live today for those we have lost, because they deserve to be with us.\n\n----\n\nMe thinks \"The Lost Diaries of John Smith\" would make an excellent TV series! I'm just saying...\n\n**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.**\n![cover.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/bioe4wfox/cover.jpg)",
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      "body": "**NAME AND ADDRESS SUPPLIED**\n\n**Dear Amy**\n\nYour letter was forwarded to me by NAME SUPPLIED - a former British soldier who knew John from when they worked together down the alien mine.\n\nJohn arrived in our village around 12 years ago, after having been detained in Northumberland.  I was his closest friend in the village and write to inform you that he sadly passed away last Autumn after a short illness.  He was well liked in the village.  \n\nOn his arrival he started to work in the local bakery until the owner died.  Thereafter John became the village baker, a job which he enjoyed until the very end.  I was told that he was baking on the Tuesday and died on the Thursday.  I think the reason why he became a baker was because the one thing that he craved more than anything while working down the mine and while being detained was freshly baked bread. \n\nJohn liked to keep his past hidden.  You might not know this but after the aliens left, John spent seven years under strict quarantine, it was claimed that this was because of what was known as Black Eye.  He was one of around 30 to have survived being detained by the Americans, though most who worked down the various mines ended up in Scotland weeks before the Americans arrived on the scene.  John and the others detained were the unlucky ones.  \n\nJohn was a quiet man, yet he was willing to help others if and when he could.  For the last three years he was the village’s Father Christmas, a job he really enjoyed.  He also liked to pick up litter (as we all did to earn extra food tokens).\n\nYes, he did remember you, and every so often his demeanour often changed, as he would often think about you.  Sometimes these quiet moments of contemplation would reduce him to tears, and that’s when I would usually step in.  I only knew about these things after he had lived in the village for eight or nine years, and only after he felt our friendship was firm enough for him to open up.  He coped by working hard and by helping others.  He hated gardening (extra tokens and FREE food) and was often accused of not pulling his weight by outsiders, but they were usually put right by his friends and customers.  \n\nJohn had a lot to say about the events of May 2014, but was unwilling or unable to go into any detail.  He would talk about what happened when the fire descended, but never about family or friends.  I still don’t know if he was married or had a family.  However, I do believe that he was trapped in a building while all around him burned.  \n\nHe was only able to escape into the country by not looking to his left or to his right, and by blocking out the screams and cries for help.  This affected him more than anything - as he walked for hours though the town that was his home, and which was now in agony.  He was unable to help anyone and I think that caused him nightmares and a lot of anxiety in later life.  Maybe that’s why he found comfort in rescuing you and in helping others until the day he died.\n\nJohn lived in a small cottage outside the village and would walk the half mile to work every morning and without fail - sometimes in the snow or when the weather was really atrocious, but he never had a day off through illness.  He always made an effort making sure everyone had their fare share of bread and was very popular when he was able to bake cakes, especially for the children.  \n\nWhen not baking he would often just sit and read, either in our reading club or at home in front of the fire.  He never found anyone special, though he valued his friends, both those who lived in the village and those he made while working down the mine.  I work as a teacher, and before he was able to find his own lodgings, he stayed with me.  That’s how we met.  I think he wanted more than friendship, but was too frightened to commit.  I read somewhere that this is a common occurrence with those who survived 2014, so we remain just friends.\n\nI was with him when he passed away, and while he had no family that we know off, he was with friends, who did love him.  There are 147 who live in the village and yet around 352 turned up for his funeral - such was his popularity.  And although it’s been nearly eight months since his death, we still receive visitors who come to his grave to pay their respects.  And yes, I still miss him with all my heart, wishing we could have been more than just good friends.  I’m glad he was a big part of my life and I only wish that both you and he could have been reunited.  \n\nHe never, never forgot you and the thought of you brought both tears to his eyes and a joy in his heart.\n\nBest Wishes\n\nNAME SUPPLIED \n\n----\n\nMe thinks \"The Lost Diaries of John Smith\" would make an excellent TV series! I'm just saying...\n\n**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.**\n![cover.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/bioe4wfox/cover.jpg)",
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      "title": "The Lost Diaries of John Smith - Part ELEVEN",
      "body": "**CHAPTER FOUR**\n\nWe think that John Smith and those with him crossed the border into Scotland on the evening of 19th July 2022.  Waiting for them were three vehicles that transported them to an army base near Edinburgh.  Here they spent several days undergoing medical tests and numerous interviews.  Thereafter they simply disappeared.  Rumour has it that they were given new identities and incentives to keep quiet.  \n\nMonths before and two men surfaced in Scotland claiming to have escaped from a prison run by the US military in England.  One managed to contacted a newspaper in Glasgow and the other a member of the Scottish Parliament in Edinburgh.\n\nAlthough sceptical at first, newspaper reporters were able to verify the identity of six of the soldiers who were detained along with eleven miners.  Further investigation resulted in the names of several miners also being verified.  Finally on 30th October 2021 The Scottish Independent published the story of a secret detention centre run by the US government in England.  The story was a sensation and many queued for hours to read the single-sheet newspapers.\n\nIn Edinburgh the second escapee managed to contact a member of the Scottish parliament, through a relative who worked at Holyrood.  On 3rd November 2021 a press conference was hastily arrange for both SMPs and the media.  Originally scheduled for 10am, it was postponed until 2pm.  But there was to be no press conference.  The SMP and the escapee left the Scottish Parliament through a back door escorted by several government officials, as witnessed by a cleaner.  Two weeks later and the same SMP returned to parliament, but refused to discuss the matter.  \n\nThe newsprint media also dropped the story, this after the authorities confiscated various single-sheets from libraries, reading clubs and notice boards.  Not before or since have the authorities acted with such ferocity in suppressing the news, and in unison the print media got the message and the story disappeared overnight, along with the two escapees.  That said, the authorities were made aware of others being held captive, and after months of negotiations the matter resolved itself, albeit behind closed doors.\n\nSome may argue that the media could have acted with more defiance, not to mention independence, but since 2014 those newspapers that survived became dependant on the authorities in supplying newsprint, not to mention the loan of a limited number of ancient printing presses.  With the end of Radio and TV, not to mention the internet, these single-sheet newspapers became the only means to dissimilate news. \n\nThe existence of the mine and the buried space ship were already common knowledge, as were the plight of those forced to work underground.  It was also known that the US military and civilian contractors now occupied most of England and Wales.  While most were systematically stripping the country of anything of value, the US military were crawling all over Cumbria and Northumbria looking for discarded alien technology.\n\nAll this happened while I was still at school.  For me John Smith was someone my dad often spoke about and who I hardly remember.  For me life consisted of working on the farm while studying at School.  Today, and while researching the events of 2014, we were successful in finding the grave of my mum, but our good fortune ended with another hand-delivered letter.  It was just another envelope which was opened with little ceremony or apprehension, but which contained news that John Smith had died months before our adventure had even begun.  \n\n----\n\nMe thinks \"The Lost Diaries of John Smith\" would make an excellent TV series! I'm just saying...\n\n**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.**\n![cover.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/bioe4wfox/cover.jpg)",
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      "title": "The Lost Diaries of John Smith - Part TEN",
      "body": "**PRISON DIARY**\n\n5th June 2018\n\nLess of a diary and more of a written account of what happened to us after the aliens left.  It’s been just over three years since I last wrote anything down, and only now have I been able to scavenge a few scraps of paper and something to write with.  I write because others must know what happen to us while being detained.\n\nOne morning we found the aliens and their ship had gone.  The night before and we were sitting down for our evening meal, when I noticed one of the aliens watching us.  There was no interaction.  He didn’t want anything or anyone.  He just stood there on his own in the corner.  He then looked at me for a brief moment and I knew then that this was going to be the last time I would see him or any of his kind.  By following morning they were gone - leaving us to pick up the pieces.\n\nDays before and we were returned to the surface and our numbers began to dwindle - until less than one hundred of us remained.  We were told that we would be taken to Scotland.  The good news is that black eye was reversible.  All we needed was plenty of sun light and rest.  We would be treated as refugees (fast-tracked through the system), but not all of us would be leaving.  I remember that morning visiting the graveyard filled with all those who didn’t make it - all those bloody accidents.  I kept busy for seven months and three weeks and four days and now I was left alone to deal with what had gone before, but Scotland would have to wait.\n\nAround midday around 120 fully armed US Marines stormed into our compound and at gun point we became the enemy.  Even our own soldiers were disarmed and finally we became as one.  We tried to explain our condition but we were literally beaten into submission.  We were held for three days without food, with all requests or pleas being ignored.  Finally we were marched to a vacated prison, a journey that took two days, and during which time three of my friends died.  Their bodies were burnt which broke our spirits and delighted our captors.  That was three years ago.\n\nBecause the information going to and from our captors and their superiors took months, we were kept like animals and treated like a defeated race by earth’s victorious army - those who turned up the day after the real aliens had left.  Any dissent or protest or simple request was brutally put down.  We were alien scum.  Only after our captors were replaced with more informed troops did things improved, but we will never forgive.  We were no longer aliens, but infected detainees and subject to US military law.  We were also valuable assets in trying to figure out who these aliens were and where they came from.  We had also worked with alien technology too and the Americans wanted every scrap of information they could gather.  \n\nWe were originally kept in isolation and questioned on a daily basis by amateurs.  Yet they didn’t want answers and they didn’t want to know what really happened.  They would ask question after question - repeating themselves again and again without giving us the space to give any answers.  We simply couldn’t get a word in.  If you protested or try to reason with them you were harassed.  \n\nThat was then and today we no longer suffer from Black Eye and our daily debriefs or interrogations ended months ago.  In the end and with new captors we were finally allowed to tell our story  - about aliens and our encounters with them.  I had hoped that that would hasten our release.  \n\nOur numbers have dwindled and our treatment has improved, though we are still held captive.  Managed to scavenge some paper and a pen - hence this written account.  We have a football and several board games, but little else.  No books.  We are fed on a strict diet of US Army rations and more rations and more rations and little else, while our captors dine on freshly prepared food.   \n\nInformation from the outside world is scarce.  We are told that the US military are running England, though with few survivors what’s the point?  Most who survived the fireball and its aftermath are now living in Scotland as refugees, but not us.  We don’t even know if anyone from the outside world knows of our existence?\n \n**YEAR FIVE OF CAPTIVITY**\n\n17th March 2020\n\nWhere to start?  About two months ago my cell mate hanged himself.  He simply gave up.  The food had improved (they simply ran out of army rations) and our newly rotated captors have become more amenable, if not damn-right friendly, but my friend simply gave up.  Maybe he had too much thinking time and too little to keep his mind off what happened to his family.  Poor chap.  He lost everything, including his mind in the end.  For the record his name was Clive Benson.  Luckily I was quickly paired off with another survivor or inmate (same difference) and we keep each other going.  We now have books to read and paper to write on, but we are still held captive.\n\nMy health has deteriorated - largely due to the diet and my rotting teeth.  In the end a US Army dentist - the only one in England - was summoned and I was returned to my cell minus five teeth.  We are now proud owners of tooth brushes but no tooth paste.  We are also issued with vitamins and have regular medical checks.  \n\nWe know a little more of what happened. Six years ago when the fireball descended across Europe it also knocked out all forms of electrical energy and electronic circuitry, not only in the UK but across the entire planet.  They called it a Mega EMP that killed millions, as thousands of airliners crashed to earth.  Others died on operating tables or while on life-support in numerous hospitals.  Trapped miners perished underground, while ships - both large and small - drifted in mid-ocean, unable to radio for help.  The world that had become reliant on automated food production and processed ready-meals began to starve, but as quickly as all this happened mankind started to reorganise itself.\n\nMost of the information we are given comes from the US army officer in charge of our “safety“.  We meet up each month to voice our concerns and air our grievances, and in return any non-sensitive information is dished out.  The food has improved.  \n\nWe were recently told that within weeks of the disaster unfolding, the US government sent out sailing ships to every corner of the globe looking for clues as to what had happened.  Over sixty ships were requisitioned then dispatched from both the East and West coasts of America, and eight weeks later the US Coast Guard Clipper Eagle arrived in Liverpool to find the city in ruins, with only a handful of survivors being rescued.  Two weeks later the same ship sailed into Prestwick where it made contact with the Scottish Government.  Other ships made it to the Mediterranean, and within eight months the epicentre was determined to have been in northern Italy.  \n\nDespite our captors willingness to discuss what happened globally, any mention of aliens or space craft is met with silence.  We all know what happened was closely associated with what came out of the sky - our alien visitors, but the Yanks either can’t or won’t discuss the matter, even though a lot of what they know probably came from us.  When will we be released?  No idea is the response.  I ask if Scotland knows about our imprisonment and again we hit a wall of silence.  \n\nAlthough I have enough paper to start another diary, I have lost or burnt three others, and my argument is why bother?  Every day is the same.  The cells are opened at 7.30am and a quick body count before breakfast - served by US Army cooks.  Breakfast is porridge - always porridge, but what were you expecting being banged up in a former prison?  Everything is informal.  We are allowed to gather for exercise in the morning - to play football (sometimes against our captors).  No lunch, but we have a cooked meal at around 6pm.  We are told that we eat like kings compared to others.  Not sure what they mean?  We usually sit and read under lanterns for an hour or two before being escorted back to our cells.  Once banged up there is nothing to do other than read or sleep.  That said, things have improved beyond all recognition from those first hellish days.\n\nAt first they genuinely thought we were aliens or hybrids - half human and half ET.  We were beaten and kicked, while our pleas were ignored.  We were the gooks and the commies of our generation - the latest to be despised by an army who knew little of what had happened.  Even we didn’t really know the full story.  Who authorised the mining operation and why did the human race agree to help those who brought only death and destruction?  We worked with these aliens and their army guardians for several months, but apart from the Major, we never saw anyone who appeared to be in authority.\n\nWe obeyed the army and the army obeyed the aliens.  The army were our intermediaries and our guards, but they were Gods compared to the US Marines.  In the end the British soldiers who guarded us with loaded rifles became our allies and even dined with us.  I can never forgive the US Marines for what they did to me and my friends.  I don’t know his name but there was one marine who killed three of my friends, including Jim or Jimmy Simmons who first entered the mine a few days after me.  He was a worker - very careful at his job - who survived rock falls and numerous idiots as they sliced through flesh and bone, only for my friend to be shot in the head by some “jarhead“ with a grudge.\n\nIn the end and in this hell hole (working down the mine was a holiday) you simply had to curl up in a protective ball and let the marines shout and scream and kick and punch - just to survive the moment.  \n\nWe were banged up one per cell then.  Each day we were interrogated, though more for entertainment value than to gain a real insight into what happened to us or Europe.  The luckiest prisoners were those dragged out of their cells at the beginning of the day.  The more unfortunate of us had to wait our turn - while having to endure sounds of angry marines and frightened inmates.  We were humiliated and beaten by an invading army that destroyed what the firestorm didn’t touch.\n\nOnly after these bastard marines had been replaced with fresh blood that the beatings ended and we were interrogated for the purposes of being interrogated.  Our new captures were greater in number yet life became bliss.  We didn’t mind answering the same old questions day after day.  We even starting to remember minute details of what happened below ground.  Then it all ended - no more questions.  We were escorted back to our cells and abandoned.  Our captors were replaced again and again, though each time this change brought heightened anxiety.  Would the marines return?\n \n**YEAR SEVEN OF CAPTIVITY**\n\n25th June 2022\n\nThey haven‘t (so far). Soon after writing the above, we were downsized to another part of the prison and my journal ended up being temporarily abandoned and hidden away.  I‘m running out of paper, but I will continue…\n\nSpent the morning in the exercise yard walking in circles, then sun bathing.  We have nurtured a small patch of grass on which we just sit and read or just lay on our backs - taking in the sun.  And that is what we do most days when it‘s not raining or too cold.  Our football was confiscated months ago, so we try and relax by inventing games, while our captors try to stave off boredom themselves.  There were 87 of us when we arrived and today that number has dropped to 31.  Talking to the others, we believe that eight were murdered and twelve committed suicide, while the rest died from various illnesses.  The last to die just dropped dead while waiting to be served one morning - about three weeks ago.  He was one of the oldest and like us all he had survived May 2014 - walking for eight days without food, before being picked up by an army patrol and force to work down the mine.   \n\nThe plunder of England continues.  The premise is that in return for allowing those Brits living in America to stay, those in authority (?) signed over salvage rights to those who would profit from our country’s demise.  Talking to those who look over us it is hard to tell if the yanks own England or have only been granted the right to strip her of everything not nailed down.  \n\n30th June 2022\n\nWoke up to find the Americans have gone.  Spent the morning exploring the prison looking for food and my journal - thought I wrote more than I did?  Our captors have been replaced by a single Scottish army doctor, who unlocked our cells.  That evening we gathered in the main atrium.  Out of around 87 detainees only 31 of us remain.  It was only then that we realised we were the lucky ones.  Thousands worked down the mines and only 31 survived.  Maybe there are other prisons or detention centres?  \n\nIn the end our captors became irritated - wanting to return to the US sooner rather than later.  We knew something was on the cards.  They had little or no interest in us anymore, and after they left it became apparent that they’d been waiting weeks for someone to take charge, while they themselves slipped out during the night.  According to our liberator the US military have largely been replaced by private contractors, who are systematically stripping England of everything valuable.  They claimed salvage rights to England in return for helping those Britons still living in the USA.  England had effectively been abandoned, with Scotland being given full independence three years previously.  \n\n**FREE AT LAST!!!**\n\nTonight we are sleeping in our cells with the doors unlocked, but no one can sleep.  I can hear talking and each cell is bathed in candle light - for many this is a first.  What little food we find is being handed round, but I sit here alone writing because I must and because now it can be told.  I didn’t write about the escape attempts in case these scraps of paper might have been discovered.  \n\nAs soon as we were able to congregate at meal times and during exercise periods, we started to gather information about our captors and the prison.  The good news is that all the CCTV and electronic security measures no longer worked.  Communication between captors was by word of mouth only, though they did carry whistles to summon help if required.\n\nWe spent months going over several plans and in all honesty this kept us alive - kept our minds occupied.  Some thought it fun and a diversion.  We reckoned that anyone escaping would take around six days to walk to Scotland and freedom.  Our plight would then be known and we would all be freed.  That was the plan.  The first attempt failed as soon as it began.  Any escape attempt had to happen during the day when we were largely free to roam around the prison.  The problem is that our home was contained within a slightly larger home, which itself was contained within the prison’s outer wall.  Ten months ago we discovered a way out.  Not by going over the top or by digging a tunnel.  The US soldiers were billeted in another wing of the prison - in cells identical to our own (only our cells were locked at night).  To keep busy we would clean and tidy up after them, which gave us access to their laundry.\n\nSomehow one of us managed to ‘borrow’ a couple of uniforms and shortly thereafter two inmates simply walked out of the prison.  The escape attempt took months of planning.  We hoarded anything that would be useful during the long walk to Scotland.  We knew that if we kicked our football over the fence two guards would be dispatched to retrieve it.  This we knew from previous experience.  The knack was in the timing.  We needed our men to position themselves while others distracted the guards.  It worked and our chaps just walked out of the prison.\n\nWe knew that although the camp was well guarded (preventing us from escaping), there simply weren’t the numbers needed to search for escapees and no radio communications to summon help.  Those guarding us didn’t even bother to count us before we were locked up at night.  Plus we were able to pretend that there were two to a cell.  One inmate even conducted a conversion with a pile of bedding fashioned into someone lying in bed.  By the following morning when they finally realised that two of us were missing, we knew that they had a good eighteen hours head start.\n\nWhen it was discovered that two of us were missing our captors took it on the chin, though our football was confiscated.  And we spent the last eight months wondering what happened to our friends.  Did they make it?  Perhaps that’s why we are finally free?\n\nIn the morning we are to make our own way to Scotland - a journey we are told will take five days.  Although it will add another day to our journey we ask if we can return to the mine.  The army doctor agrees and tomorrow we leave this place, well some of us.  \n\n14th July 2022\n\nI cannot write and have decided not to add to what I have already written.  The common conscientious is that we should not have returned to the mine and to our friends.  The camp - indeed the entire area is fenced off and guarded by US private contractors.  The fence appears to run for miles and we assume that it encompasses all the separate mines.  We know what is perhaps still buried underground.  The most heart breaking of all was the cemetery overlooking “our” mine.  This was where we buried our friends and those we hardly knew - those newly arrived and who succumbed to accidents that could have been avoided.  The graves have all been removed.  \n\nHoping we could have a quick look around, the army doctor approached a couple of guards and showed his ID.  This meant nothing and we were ordered to vacate the area immediately.  I sat down in the long grass and closed my eyes - trying to remember all those I tried to help and those I couldn’t.  Two of my friends picked me up and we continued on our journey to Scotland.  We didn’t look back.  We couldn’t look back.  We survived one day at a time and we lived one day at a time.\n\nThat was three or four days ago.  Another rest and some more out-of-date army rations.  It’s starting to rain and I am told that just beyond ’that’ tree in the distance is Scotland.    \n\n----\n\nMe thinks \"The Lost Diaries of John Smith\" would make an excellent TV series! I'm just saying...\n\n**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.**\n![cover.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/bioe4wfox/cover.jpg)",
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      "title": "The Lost Diaries of John Smith - Part NINE",
      "body": "**TOP SECRET**\n\n**Close Encounters at Harthope Burn TOP SECRET**\n\nIn August 2014 refugees who had been rounded up while on route to Scotland started to arrive at a large encampment near Harthope Burn in Northumbria.  Hundreds of men were required by the British Army to undertake work of a sensitive nature.  In September I too was picked up by an army patrol and press-ganged into working for the aliens.\n\nMost of us had survived the firestorm that killed our families and friends.  Most of us had also scavenged for food and water for months.  After a few days rest we gathered near a large tent and it was here that we first glimpsed the aliens.  Most of us had seen their giant ship that now hovered overhead before.  Later we learnt that there was more than one ship.  \n\nWe had been press-ganged because the aliens needed our help.  Our job was to help them dig a large hole in the ground, for reasons that would reveal themselves at a later date.  We would be working closely with the aliens, though we were under the direct control of the British Army.  In return for working we would receive hot food and shelter for as long as we worked.  \n\nIt was during this period that most of us were told of the devastation caused.  Most of Europe and the Middle East had been destroyed.  The devastation South of Newcastle had been total, and it is estimated that less than 200,000 had survived both the firestorm and its aftermath.  We were told that the aliens were not at fault and that we were not at war with them or anyone else.  At that time it was still largely a mystery as to what had happened.\n\nThe aliens walked on two feet and were insect like.  We couldn’t talk to them and they could only communicate using a strange device worn around their necks.  A select few (all soldiers) wore identical devices and this is how they communicated with us.  \n\nIn the afternoon we were shown how to use the tools needed to cut into rock.  The technology was alien and frightening and impressive and bloody dangerous.  We were shown what was described to us as being a sonic pick.  This device was approximately five feet long and made from brushed metal.  It was difficult to hold and was designed for alien hands.  \n\nThere were three switches or controls.  There was a power switch, an intensity lever (some labelled this the throttle) and a third dial that changed the frequency, so you could cut through any form of rock from light sandstone to hard granite.  The machine was almost silent, but if you hit metal it would shoot out a devastating sonic blast that could and did kill.  The other contraption that made life bearable was the extractor – which was basically an alien vacuum cleaner that sucked up large amounts of rock and dust – sending both to the surface, where it was deposited in huge piles of spoil.\n\nMost of the soldiers were employed to guard us, while our job was to dig, and all the time the aliens stood over us all – unarmed and almost harmonious in nature.  It was only when we started to have accidents. and some of the refugees were killed that we started to question the status quo.  We worked in teams of three or four.  One man operated the sonic pick and two to three men would handle the vacuum.  The problem is that we had to work fast and that resulted in accidents.  \n\nThe aliens told us where to dig.  We were told that we would be digging until asked to stop.  No reason was given and many dreamt up wild and highly inaccurate reasons as to why.  Some though we were creating an underground utopia for our alien guests, while others thought we were creating burial pits for the millions who died.\n\nWhat was evident is that we were fast – very fast.  On a good day we could cut through 700 metres per shift.  Since the devastating EMP shockwave had wrecked our mobile phones and watches, it was difficult to judge time, but most thought we were being worked an eight hour shift.  When sufficient manpower was available we worked two shifts per day, with the bonus of having one day off each week.  \n\nFood was plentiful, mostly tinned produce, and army patrols were dispatched daily to scavenge or requisition new supplies - from wrecked businesses that hadn’t already been ransacked by looters.  After a week or two digging we started to move our accommodation and catering underground, though time was permitted on the surface.  It was around this time that a new piece of alien technology was introduced, namely a access platform or lift that transported ourselves and our equipment to the mine face, now located some 2900m below ground.  \n\nThis device was pure Hollywood fantasy – a gravity defying platform on which we could travel up and down the mine shafts.  It was the only piece of equipment we were unable to master and accordingly it was piloted by an alien, who stood to attention, while us lesser bipeds would sit waiting for the motion sickness to kick in.  After much experimenting we found that if you lay on your back in the middle of the platform, and kept your eyes shut, you would normally prevent being sick.  At the bottom we were given time to collect our thoughts and our stomachs before we started the shift.  \n\nFrom early on it was self-evident that there was a limited supply of alien technology, with two sonic picks being available per mine, so we took it in turns – working for approximately 30 minutes before being rested.  Although we were a semi-captive workforce, our lot was not too unpleasant.  If anything we were being fed and our work kept our minds off what had happened before – what we had experienced and lost dearly.\n\nOur mine started with a single tunnel, which was later increased to three separate shafts, one for the movement of men and materials and two for the removal of spoil.  Approximately 800m below ground was the accommodation area, which comprised a series of caverns used for catering, sleeping, storage and assembly areas.  Below where we ate and sleep emerged an ever-increasing number of tunnels, each measuring thousands of metres in length – all going nowhere, apparently.  \n\nIt was shortly after we had moved underground that I first encountered an alien close up.  I was being rested when I noticed an alien standing near me.  I simply said “Hello!”  It looked at me and I smiled.  And that was it.  I received a more favourable or curious response from my own kind and a chastisement from the soldier chaperoning him.  I was told “Don’t talk to the aliens; they don’t understand you and we don’t understand them, right?”  But I wanted answers.  \n\nOne day when alone with one of the soldiers (conveniently I forget which) I asked about the aliens.  He claimed that despite the size of their ship that remained stationery overhead, they were indeed few in number.  He also said that they never ate or sat down in the presence of us and remained onboard their ship when off duty.  They travelled around in small shuttle craft that ferried them to and from the main ship.  \n\nLife would be tolerable if it wasn’t for the accidents.  They are too numerous to mention and hope they are well documented by the army.  The alien technology is by definition alien.  It is heavy and the controls aren’t designed for human hands.  One accident does stick in the mind. It happened in early November when a miner who was adjusting the sonic pick dropped it.  It was live and the sonic wave passed through his body.  In an instant it dissolved most of his bone structure.  He collapsed and died.  Unable to breath he knew he was about to die and started to cry.\n\nThe following day both myself and another miner requested a meeting.  We had a suggestion.  The sonic pick could be adapted to be more user friendly.  All it required were three pieces of wood, which could be fixed to the device without damaging it.  Our idea was approved by the officer in charge, but we were later informed not by the aliens.\n\nAs night followed day more accidents followed.  It was a good day if you ended up with no casualties, but these shifts were a rarity.  What was frightening was when you were paired off with fresh meat  – someone recently “employed“ and willing to do anything for a hot meal and a warm bed.  They would be given the job of clearing-up the spoil using the metal-tipped vacuum.  No matter how many times you told them not to get the damn thing too close to the sonic pick, they would.  \n\nIf you were lucky they would be the one being buried on the surface that night, or being moved to a hospital minus a leg, but a number of us veterans were becoming casualties too; simply because our suggestions were not being taken seriously.  Another idea was to fit a two-feet section of plastic drain pipe to the end of the vacuum.  We even tested the idea out on a plastic container scavenged from the kitchens.  The effect was devastating for the container, but we remained with our limbs intact.  Result!  The army said yes, but the aliens said no!\n\nNow and again we would receive word from the other mines nearby.  It was apparent that we weren’t the only ones to suffer from accidents.  \n\nProblems were being exacerbated by new recruits who often rioted, not wanting to work for those who they thought had caused so much devastation.  In the end most realised that the trouble makers were either local or from Scotland - men who hadn’t lost anyone to the firestorm.  The army quickly realised that those who worked the hardest and protested the least were those who had lost everything.  Accordingly, the troublemakers were sent packing.\n\nThen one day after a really bad accident I just blew a fuse.  Even our military cousins were taken aback by my outburst.  I can’t remember what I said, and seriously doubt that even if I was wearing one of those coveted translators, my words would have translated.  That morning we lost three men - all fresh faced and eager to learn, and eager to fill their empty stomachs.  We were dying for these aliens on a daily basis and for what?  We didn’t know then and many will never know why we suffered and endured months being underground.  I ranted and ranted, and for once one of the aliens actually looked at me with surprise.  I turned to - I forgotten his name - one of the soldiers and asked (demanded) a translator, but was refused, only for that same alien to say what?  Within moments one of the soldiers took off his translator and handed it to me.  I was dumbstruck.  I heard him - this alien.  “We need to dig,” it said.\n\nI asked if he had family and how did he feel that so many of us were dying in this fucking hole.  And every time a word didn’t translate you knew.  There was no audible sound, you simply knew, which made you even more angry because there wasn’t an equivalent alien word for “fuck”.\n\n“I’ve lost so many of my friends the day you bastards arrived.  Does that not mean anything to any of you?”  He didn’t say anything, but I knew he understood.  “Where are you from?”  More silence.  “Why do we dig?” and the answer?  Because we must.  That was it.  We had to dig because we must.  Before I could ask any more questions one of the senior NCOs rushed over and removed my translator and told me to back off - leave and take a rest.  That was the first time I directly communicated with an alien.\n\nAs we progressed new shafts were created and accidents became more frequent.  By this time even the army became concerned, so a meeting was arranged between senior NCOs and us old-timers.  If you survived the first six weeks and succumbed to black eye you were considered an old-timer - someone who knew how to stay alive.  One way was not to be paired off with fresh blood - as they made mistakes and you most probably ended up being buried with the other poor bastards top-side.  \n\nWe needed to make the aliens aware that we knew best, because we were human and not alien.  They didn’t even have any notion of first-aid, and while many died at the hands of alien technology, many more were badly injured.  We had made recommendations and suggested ways to improve safety, but they had always been rejected.  This had to change.  And it was agreed that we miners had to take on more responsibility and if that meant being in direct contact with the aliens then so be it.  The meeting lasted for about an hour, and two days later I was asked to work more closely with the lead alien - not always the same, I think - but the alien who could be best described as the duty manager.  Again I was introduced to the translator and being less angry and more composed I was quickly able to work round the deficiencies in both our languages.  \n\nI was able to explain that we needed to modify their technology and showed them how.  They were not impressed (?) but understanding to the point that we were allowed to do what was necessary.  The number of accidents plummeted and our only heartache was the knowledge that these changes if implemented earlier could have save lives.  Productivity increased and the level of anxiety dropped.  We were still captive or press-ganged, but accidents became a rarity.\n\nThen one day worked stopped and the mine face was cleared.  Unreal.  There amongst the carved earthen rock was the flat side of an alien space ship buried deep underground.  We spent five months digging and dying and when we found what we were digging for, the aliens suddenly didn’t want to know.  Worked stopped.  \n\nThree days later and while resting on the surface something incredible happened.  More incredible than what?  More incredible that the end of our world or the arrival of an alien race - something many of us only dreamed about!  We noticed a sharp change in the weather.  We looked up and noticed these large cylinders - positioned upright and stationery - dozens of them.  They just appeared out of nowhere, and then before our eyes a giant red brick just materialised out of thin air.  It was another “bulk carrier”.  We now had two of these giant machines hovering overhead, blanking out the sky.  Someone suggested that they must be ten miles long and maybe 2 miles wide.  Not sure how he came to that conclusion?  It was a game or conundrum - guess the size.  We had nothing to compare them with.  They were very wide and very, very long.  \n\nThat night we met up with the aliens, and we finally knew why we had spent months digging and dying.  Between alien and NCO we were told what could be translated or deciphered.  The aliens were travelling nomads - engineers and miners, who extracted anything that would be sold to other alien races; mostly metal ore - not by the ton, but by the cubic mile.  They travelled in a large fleet of giant ships, most of which could be described as bulk carriers.  There size was indeed measured in miles.  They travelled across space and we think “between levels” which some bright spark suggested meant between dimensions.  Distance meant time and time meant what?  Money?  Sometimes they mined to order and sometimes if they discovered a rare element, they would extract first then find a buyer.  One way to save time was to jump between levels or dimensions in search for a quick sale, but something went wrong.\n\nTwo ships appeared in our upper atmosphere and collided.  The resulting explosion and fireball killed millions and destroyed most of Europe.  It wasn’t an invasion but a terrible accident, and the reason why we spent months digging was because we needed to recover the contents of the buried ship.  That said, when we succeeded the aliens appeared to be totally disinterested, the ungrateful blighters!  \n\nLater one of the NCOs confided in me that a lot of effort had been spent trying to figure out where they came from, but either it was impossible to translate terminology or the army simply didn’t know.  \n\nThis new openness soon became a worry.  For months we were kept in the dark, and now we were privy to secret information, that was now being passed around like a half-complete crossword puzzle.  What we did learn is that the newly arrived bulk carrier was to be loaded with the contents of the buried ship.  For this to happen we needed to widen existing shafts, and create new ones.  A hole would be made into the side of the vessel, and its contents sucked up into the empty hold of the ship hovering overhead.  The consensus is that once the transfer has been completed then the aliens will leave.  And we who survive can finally seek refuge in Scotland.\n\nIt was during this final period (still ongoing) that we suffered additional losses.  The problem is that the aliens knew that a ship was buried below us, but its exact position and orientation was beyond the limited technology they carried with them.  That’s why we did the hard work.  News came through that around a hundred miners had been killed in another mine, and then we had a cave-in, which killed fourteen and two aliens.  This was our greatest single loss.  We grieved but they didn’t!\n\nThe extraction entailed lowering a 30ft wide suction tube from the hovering ship and through the newly widen shaft.  Although we were given access to more tools carried on the newly arrived ship, this job became hazardous with three miners accidentally falling to their deaths.  We managed to persuade our friends who let us use their floating platform from which we could hack at the sides of the shaft.  The debris we let fall to the base (someone else’s problem).  The job took three weeks.\n\nFinally the first of several suction hoses descended from the main ship floating above our heads, and after a few adjustments we could hear the contents of the buried ship being transferred up and away.  Strange that no one knows if the aliens onboard this entombed ship survived or were rescued.  The aliens appeared to be only interested in the cargo.  \n\nThroughout this final stage I was allowed to wear a translator, and over time I started to ask questions about who these aliens were; not in a confrontational manner, but matter-of-factly.  I started by just trying to improve my translation technique and in doing so I was able to understand a little about them.  \n\nThey were without religion nor politics.  They didn’t give each other names and didn’t organisation themselves into family groups (no identifiable parents).  They are born to work, and very loyal to the collective.  They don’t work for any other species so cannot be considered slaves, yet I was unable to fathom out if they operated or adhered to any monetary system.  They do have a chain of command - similar to a cast system. They are caring towards their own kind and to others.  They aren’t armed nor seek confrontation.  \n\nThey always excavate uninhabited planets or moons for whatever they find a market for.  They can be hired to extract what was required or they sometimes would extract a popular commodity and then search for a buyer.  The material they extract is either used for fuel or used in construction.  \n\nThey knew of many races and inhabited planets - all different.  I asked what they thought of us and this confused the alien I was trying to communicate with.  Did they like us?  Again the communicator was working but no one was at home, so to speak.  It was around this time that I discovered what they meant by levels.  They not only travelled across great distances, but they were also able to jump between realities or dimensions.  I think the alien was trying to explain or demonstrate a numbering system and our place in the scheme of things, but the communicator had given up by this time and our brief conversion was over.  As far as the alien was concerned we were good workers.\n\nAlthough the aliens have been with us since day one, the crew of the new ship didn’t know much about us or our operation.  This new crew were responsible for the transfer of the cargo .  Most of my information was gathered from one of the aliens from this new ship.\n\nOn 18 April 2015 and after my shift I asked an alien if I could be shown around their space ship, and was surprised when this new face agreed.  He was about to return to his ship when I popped the question.  Yes was the response, and before anyone could stop us we climbed aboard the shuttle and lifted off.  As I entered the craft I look round to see a couple of soldiers - half shocked and half bemused.  I waved at them and smiled.  They had no choice but to wave back.\n\nThe shuttle craft wasn’t that big - around 20ft long.  Then again it was a shuttle craft.  The inside was bare.  No seating and hardly any controls - apart from a control column - not too dissimilar to the handle of a sonic pick.  No side windows.  No banks of flashing lights.  The only thing missing was the word “Transit” written on the side of the craft.  Like the ‘mother ship’ it was red brick in colour, not white.\n\nThe ride was smooth, and unlike travelling underground there wasn’t any motion sickness.  I was able to stand beside my new best friend as we approached the opening in the side of the mother ship.  The journey took forever, then you realised there was nothing to gauge our speed and the size of the mother ship didn’t help either.  It was incredibility massive.  No wonder we couldn’t spot the shuttle craft leaving or entering the mother ship, we were miles above the ground by now, and as we approached the shuttle bay “The Brick” just filled the windscreen.  Then we were in.  Not a big shuttle bay - large enough for a few small craft and that was it.  No airlock either.  \n\nThe ship appeared to be cast or moulded out of a rock or concrete type substance - perhaps bonded together in resin.  There were no structural imperfections and it appeared to be either new or well maintained.  The few metal components visible were made from brushed metal.  There were no internal doors nor windows.  The floor was covered in a metal mesh set in the aforementioned structural material.  I was told that the ship had been built by another species of alien.  We walked passed two or three other shuttle craft and towards an opening that led to the interior.  It was then that I realised my guided tour wasn’t official, as we kept out of sight - waiting for a couple of other aliens to depart for the surface, thereafter the coast was clear.  \n\n“Wow” I kept saying and the alien through our communicator said the same thing: “Wow”.  Wow must be a common word in many languages.  There was no death ray or banks of flashing computers, just a few corridors but no doors.  No signs either.  That is one of my regrets - not finding out if these creatures have an alphabet.  \n\nHe showed me the accommodation area, which consisted of rows of cubicles - no furniture or personal belongings or pictures pinned to the wall.  I asked which was his room and his response was simple: “any that are empty”.  Then onto catering.  This was an eye opener.  The dining area consisted of a brushed metal tank filled with water.  Floating in the water was the roots of some alien plant.  The roots were large and bulbous, pink and fleshy - not to dissimilar to a giant tiger prawn.  The dining area consisted of tables but no chairs.  \n\nSuddenly another alien appeared.  He took one look and then ignored me.  He placed his hand in one of the tanks and pulled out a large green leaf, which he then used to pick up and carry one of the pink roots before sitting down on the floor.  I asked what did they drink and the answer was nothing.  These aliens didn’t drink!\n\nI asked if they ever wanted to try our food and the answer was: “not allowed”. \n\nWe moved onto the shower area - cold water constantly cascaded from a fitting in the ceiling, while hot air filtered up through a grill nearby.  No soap and no alien-size bath towels to pinch.  By this time I was on the hunt for a souvenir.  Finally, and after he ignored my requests to see the bridge and engine room (neither of which translated), he showed me the viewing area.  Beyond a glass screen the aliens were pumping up the contents of their buried ship into the humongous interior of this one.  The size was unbearably big.  You simply couldn’t see the sides let alone the other end of the ship.  I asked how did they empty it, and the answer came through a simple movement of his alien hand.  They simply opened up the top hatch and flip the entire ship upside down.  Simple!\n\nI was impressed but I was also rather disappointed.  Nothing like what Hollywood could muster.  No swishing doors.  Just then and if to affirm my disappointment my new-found alien friend and guide pooped himself.  He wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed and as soon as it happened, another alien came along and picked up the poop.  This was a revelation.  He was much smaller than the others (around 3ft tall) and as such I hadn’t seen his kind on the surface.  Yes, on occasion we’d seen these chaps defecate, but only for them (or some pissed-off grunt) to tidying up afterwards.  Rule No.1 is never shake an alien by its hand.  But this small creature was tasked to wonder around the ship picking up mess.  Different race?  Nope, he was a youngster and possibly at the bottom of the career ladder.  \n\nI asked if they kept things they found on other planets as souvenirs.  Yes was the reply, but not on this vessel.  I was trying to formulate other questions that would easily translate, when I heard the screaming banshee of a possessed alien who had just caught a stowaway.  I turned round to see two aliens at the opposite end of the career ladder.  No weapons or threats, just a lot of hot and smelly air from two oversized aliens, and it was my turn to poop on the poop deck.\n\nMy host stepped in front and between me and them, it was obvious that the tour was over and down to the surface we went.  Before leaving the shuttle craft my communicator was removed and that was that.  \n\nOther things of note:  The ship was almost silent.  I didn’t feel any vibration from the engine or engines.  the ceilings were about 12ft high.  The two aforementioned angry aliens were around eight feet tall.  I saw no signage or anything that could be construed as being alien writing.  The lighting was similar to that fitted down the mine by the aliens.  There was no smell - other than that experienced being close to an alien.  There were several corridors which I was not shown down.  No air lock either entering the shuttle bay from the interior, nor hangar doors.  \n\nOn my return to mother earth I was greeted by my chums, who cheered and shook my hand.  Even the gruff army soldiers were impressed.  I was quietly informed by an NCO that no other human had been allowed onboard the alien spaceship - not even his superiors. That evening I recalled my experiences to a captive audience.  But the fun wasn’t over yet!  Later that evening I was pounced upon by a dozen of my friends, who to relieve the boredom accused me of being fiendish alien clone.  All good fun, until they started to undress me.  Out came the bucket of cold water and soap.  I was to be decontaminated.  My response was a string of obscenities and uncontrollable laughter.  \n\nThe following morning and I was summoned to see the top man, who I recognised as being the Major who brief us some six months previously.  He confirmed that I was the only human ever to have explored the inside of one of their space ships, and the morning was spent answering a myriad of questions.  Nothing taxing.  Then I was asked if I would be willing to share my experiences. Hence this document.  I was given a manual typewriter and some paper.\n\nJohn Smith\nHarthope Burn\nNorthumbria\n\n20th April 2015\n\n----\n\nMe thinks \"The Lost Diaries of John Smith\" would make an excellent TV series! I'm just saying...\n\n**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.**\n![cover.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/bioe4wfox/cover.jpg)",
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      "permlink": "the-lost-diaries-of-john-smith-part-eight",
      "title": "The Lost Diaries of John Smith - Part EIGHT",
      "body": "**CHAPTER THREE**\n\nIt’s common knowledge that we were once visited by alien beings from another planet or solar system or wherever they came from.  They were also responsible for our partial demise.  Whatever happened over Northern Italy involved them visiting us.  But that was twenty years ago, and while many saw their flying machines hovering over southern Scotland, we all have had more pressing needs and concerns.  My dad said that I saw one of these machines, but I don’t remember.  I was only three-years-old.  I don’t even remember the firestorm, and neither does 34% of the population, who were born after May 2014.\n\nI’m English by birth but my home is now Scotland.  There was once a love-hate relationship between the Scots and us Sassenachs, but all that changed.  Rarely is the presence of the English bitterly contested.  We lost everything, including our families and England itself.  But what we lost was lovingly replaced with a beautiful landscape and those who became our friends and lovers.  They became our new families and that kept us refugees going.  \n\nAnd me?  I’ve spent three years at university and now what?  We didn’t have career advisors at school.  The unemployed rate in Scotland is around 28%, but the definition of someone being unemployed is rather convoluted.  In 2025 the monetary system was reintroduced.  New bank notes replaced those discarded in the days, weeks and months following the firestorm.  The good news is that the new system works.  Food is now plentiful and everyone works with one goal in mind - that of making Scotland a better place to live.  But we remember the dead and the suffering.  \n\nI shall look after my dad and work on the farm.  It’s hard work but rewarding and I get to meet my old friends from school, but then what?\n\nSadly our experiments in photography proved futile.  I‘m told it was either the camera that was faulty or the chemicals used were too diluted.  I trust the person who tried to develop the film, but not my ability to mix the developer!  Even now I’m kicking myself.  I wanted to show dad where my mum is buried and now I can’t.  We are planning a return journey but it might be too late for dad.\n\nSince returning from England we have become aware that others are as keen on us as we are on finding the truth about John Smith.  The official line is one of openness or ignorance, but why the cloak and dagger antics?  We’ve had our post intercepted (they didn’t even try to hide the fact) and friends have been warned against getting involved.  But we appear to have our allies who are more accustomed to such skulduggery.  Without them John Smith would remain an enigma and the final resting place of my mum would have also remained a mystery. \n\nThen one final hand-delivered package from a sympathetic, yet anonymous supporter.  I know not where the accompanying typed report and hand-written account by John Smith came from, but they appear to have been kept by an unknown government organisation or department - hence the “TOP SECRET” tag.  Both are reproduced here:  \n\n----\n\nMe thinks \"The Lost Diaries of John Smith\" would make an excellent TV series! I'm just saying...\n\n**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.**\n![cover.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/bioe4wfox/cover.jpg)",
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      "title": "The Lost Diaries of John Smith - Part SEVEN",
      "body": "**DAIRY / …continued**\n\n23 December 2014\n\nSomething is up between the cooks and the army.  Miranda is very tight lipped about what is going on.  Something serious appears to be on the horizon.  Miranda and her friends disappear for long periods.  Two days to Christmas and work stops tomorrow.  Two shifts to go.  \n\nI finally met the Army Chaplain, Father Simon Hepworth.  He’s a quiet man who lost his family who were living in Germany.  He was in Scotland in May.  He survived.  His family did not.  He is a Catholic and when we find out he shares our pain this helps build bridges.\n\nDespite being an army officer he has chosen to sleep with us below ground.  Yes, he will be helping the soldiers on the surface too, but says he is here for those of us who have lost our love ones.\n\nChristmas Eve\n\nFinal shift.  No injuries in ten days.  Then again we haven’t worked our socks off for nearly a month.  We down tools and head up to the accommodation area.  What greeted us stopped us in our tracks.  We all fall silent.  While we have been working, our living quarters and canteen have been decked with Christmas decorations.  And there in the corner is a real Christmas tree with home made decorations.  For an eternity we just stand there.  Please someone say something, I thought!\n\nI look at Miranda.  She smiles.  So that’s what she and her mates have been up to.  While we worked thousands of feet below, they have been hiding on the surface making Christmas decorations aplenty.  The tree is everything to everyone.  To some it becomes too much and to others it reinforces the premise that life carries on.  The downside is that the tea is late.  Not bad.  We spend the evening collecting our thoughts or reading or napping or talking.\n\nMidnight Christmas Eve \n\nI didn’t hear anyone mention a midnight mass.  I was almost asleep.  It just happened and it was moving and right and perhaps too much for some.\n\nOn this night on the eve of Christmas day we became one.  I was moved by the sight of the soldiers topside and they joined us.  No weapons and no aliens.  We gathered to remember those we have lost and to celebrate the birth of Christ.  Yes, some of us are atheists or have lost our faith, but we gathered to remember and to help ourselves through God, or maybe not.  We sang hymns that either lifted our spirits or made things worse.\n\nAnd up front was Father Simon Hepworth, who through our strength managed to execute his duties.  He tried to explain his own loss, but stopped in mid-sentence.  Silence.  He hadn’t failed us.  He is like us - only human and someone who had lost his family.   Time stopped for him and for us.  Then a soldier started to sing Amazing Grace.  The words were strained and but others joined in.  Before long others found the hymn in the small blue books that were handed out before the service:  \n\n*Amazing grace! How sweet the sound\nThat saved a wretch like me!\nI once was lost, but now am found;\nWas blind, but now I see.*\n\n*'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,\nAnd grace my fears relieved;\nHow precious did that grace appear\nThe hour I first believed.*\n\n*Through many dangers, toils and snares,\nI have already come;\n'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,\nAnd grace will lead me home.*\n\n*The Lord has promised good to me,\nHis word my hope secures;\nHe will my shield and portion be,\nAs long as life endures.*\n\n*Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,\nAnd mortal life shall cease,\nI shall possess, within the veil,\nA life of joy and peace.*\n\n*The world shall soon dissolve like snow,\nThe sun refuse to shine;\nBut God, who called me here below,\nShall be forever mine.*\n\n*When we've been there ten thousand years,\nBright shining as the sun,\nWe've no less days to sing God's praise\nThan when we'd first begun.*\n\nSimon praised us for helping each other and for helping him.  He finished with a prayer, and that should have been it, but we remained standing.  We knew that together we were safe from our hellish thoughts.  We knew what awaited us when we were alone, and on this night we didn’t want our demons and our flashbacks visiting us, not on this night.  \n\nChristmas Day\n\nUp early.  I’m told that in the British Army it is traditional for the officers and NCOs to serve breakfast in bed to the junior ranks on Christmas day.  This morning we are treated to the same ritual.  Bread!  None of us have eaten bread since May.  Just the smell!!!  Pure and unadulterated and mouth-watering FRESH bread.  We’re told that it was baked on the surface the night before.  Then word spreads across the dining hall, as does the smell of fried eggs and bacon.  And there amongst the NCOs are our angels of the catering trade.  \n\nMiranda and her mates prepared as much as possible the night before, but still they’ve been up for hours preparing breakfast.  Grateful, we all volunteer to help with the washing.\n\nAnother religious service, albeit one with less emotion, and we all attend.  Today the soldiers joined us.  The army decided it was a waste of manpower to have two kitchens running on this day.  Our cooks will manage breakfast and Christmas dinner and the army cooks (most of whom are untrained) will manage the evening meal and help out on Boxing Day.\n\nI was going to spend part of the morning on the surface, to tend to the graves of those who didn’t make it, but there isn’t much to do.  Since that first casualty we have taken care of our own.  The graves are well maintained and I end up sitting with them, writing my diary.  Overhead is the cause of all our suffering, yet I can’t or don’t feel angry.  Miranda, gorgeous Miranda.  She joins me and asks what am I writing?  None of her business!  I reply with a smile!  God, I fancy her something rotten and she knows it, but I also know that love and romance are the last things on our minds.  Time to go.\n\nWhat came first, the chicken or the egg?  In our case the egg came before the chicken.  We had eggs and bacon for breakfast and for Christmas dinner we are having roast chicken.  So no more eggs!  The wonderful smell wafts through the mine and what a picture to behold.  Waiting are 157 - now 158 drooling miners plus army contingent.  A chorus of “Why are we waiting” reverberates around the dining hall.  Smiles a plenty.  The menu - printed in neat hand writing - is a delight:  \n\nTinned Soup with Bread and Butter\n\nRoast Chicken, Roast Potatoes, Sprouts, Carrots and Gravy\n\nTinned Sponge Pudding and Custard\n\nCheese and Biscuits\n\nBeer and Wine\n\nWe are all seated - soldier and miner side-by-side.  The tables are covered in clean bed sheets, glass jugs filled with water and plenty of cutlery and drinking glasses to go round.  Someone shouts; “Ladies and Gentleman, dinner is served”.  Again the NCOs serve us.  First course is gulped down.  We are all waiting for the main course.  \n\nThe main course is served and met with silence.  We are all thinking of those who go without, and my thoughts drift to Amy.  It’s been over three months and I miss her terribly, but I know her dad will provide.  There is plenty to go round and a cheer goes up as the cooks, Miranda included, join us.  We clap and cheer.  They are the heroes of the hour and of the day.  \n\nAny seconds?  Yes there is, and there’s a mad rush for the kitchen.  We needn’t rush.  There is enough food for an army of soldiers and miners.  Seconds become thirds and then fourths.  We are all stuffed, but wait, we forgot pudding!  A choice, either strawberry jam or chocolate sponge pudding.  But unlike the roast chicken, which is now possibly an extinct species, supplies are limited and our portions are meagre, but we don’t complain.\n\nThe finale, Staff Sergeant Bill Haynes and his merry helpers deposit cans of lager in front of each soldier and each miner, and it’s our turn to become merry.  There is also wine, and to keep us going ’til tea there are cheese and biscuits.  The young get pissed while the more mature dine on fine cheese and bottles of plonk.\n\nAfter the meal, and with a myriad of volunteers who are washing up and clearing away the canteen, I find Miranda sitting alone on her bed.  She has gone to that sorrowful place that we all have visited today, but for Miranda this is a rare visit that becomes frightfully unbearable.  She is clutching a picture of her two boys, both of whom didn’t make it.  Miranda has gone through so much pain and anguish, even before the events of 2014.  She is only 28 years old and a widow.  Her partner was killed in a road accident two or three years ago.\n\nI sit beside her but can do little other than offer a shoulder to cry on.  She sobs uncontrollably and no one on God’s earth will ever judge her for that moment of anguish.  Her tearful cries fill the kitchen and canteen.  Work stops.  Poor girl.  She worked like the devil to make everything special - not only because she wanted to, but also because this was the only way to block out the impending pain and sorrow that we all feel.  I cradled her in my arms and that’s all I could do.\n\nThe rest of Christmas day was muted.  Not by Miranda‘s tears, it‘s just that other‘s have expended their anguish and expressed their turmoil in other ways, albeit quietly and alone.  The evening meal was a rice dish aplenty.  Very spicy and full of flavour.  By late evening the kitchen was picked clean of grub and booze.  Soldiers and miners are playing cards or are talking.  And that was Christmas Day 2014.\n\nBoxing day\n\nSame as Christmas Day albeit sans roast chicken and booze.  More games and more grub to keep us merry.  Miranda is quiet but keeps busy.  She looks after my diary so I’m constrained from being too personal in my prose, but I think she knows I’m smitten.  \n\n29 December 2014\n\nBack to work.  Christmas is over and soon it will be 2015.  Good riddance to 2014.  Still no idea why we dig or when we will stop.  Christmas broke the ice betwixt soldier and miner, but they still carry guns on duty and we are still weary of the aliens and their unforgiving technology.  \n\n7 February 2015\n\nThere was a security clampdown before the end of December.  I was detained and questioned about my diary, which I denied keeping.  The accommodation area was searched but they found nothing.  I was told by one of our soldier friends that the command structure has changed.  Apparently someone wasn’t pleased that we were allowed four days off at Christmas, nor that unarmed soldiers were allowed to “fraternise” with us miners.  We were also spending too much time on the surface when all our needs were provided for underground.  Now gone the days when we’re left alone on an evening.  The army are everywhere.  Luckily, while there has been a change in command, the soldiers themselves are as one.  They are our friends and rarely do they pull rank or status.  \n\n16 February 2015\n\nOur friend the chaplain has returned to offer his services.  He spends a few days at each mine offering support and spiritual guidance, and now it’s our turn.  We exchange experiences and information.  But he, like us, is in the dark.  We’ve been digging for months and every other day someone is injured, though no deaths in January nor in the first sixteen days of February.  \n\n19 February 2015\n\nI’m now writing discreetly and when alone.  Another security clamp-down.  We are told that anyone found taking notes or making drawings will be sent packing.  Someone asks if they could borrow a pen and everyone laughs.  Try to escape and your in the clink, but keep a diary and your shown the door.  Everyone knows that I’m writing a diary, but my friends are my friends and they remain silent.  \n\n22 February 2015\n\nThe first death of 2015.  Simon Perry is dead.  I’m told that he was one of the first to be press-ganged by the army.  He helped dig the first ten feet with a spade.  He owned a pub and was divorced, but his children were living with their mother near York.  Unlike most of us, he was making his way South when he was picked up by the army.  He was persuaded that there was little hope of them surviving, so he ended up here.  He was a quiet man, but he pulled his weight and was a good listener.  \n\n23 February 2015\n\nWe have a new folk hero amongst us.  A nameless chap spent the night topside in the clink.  Around twenty miners attended Simon’s burial.  I would have attended myself but my shift had just started.  Half way through the service a new face appeared on the scene.  Some prick of an army officer remonstrated that it doesn’t take twenty people to bury one dead civilian.  One of Simon’s friends quietly walked up to this officer, smiled then head-butted the uniformed twit - knocking him out.  Then they carried on with the service.  “Yosser Hughes“ almost got away with it, and had returned to the accommodation level when two soldiers caught up with him, but they weren’t aggravated.  Rather they were most apologetic as they insisted that he was “under arrest“.  He was allowed to have his tea and rest before they escorted him back to the surface.  They apologised again when they asked if they could handcuff him “to make it look officious“.  Apparently this “cunt of an officer“ was a nightmare to work with and “Yosser“ made a few friends yesterday amongst the common soldiery.\n    \n25 February 2015\n\nWe’ve all noticed that food has become scarce.  Gone the days when curry and chips were on the menu.  Some of us knew that hard times were coming, especially those of us who frequent the living quarters of the catering and support staff, where it’s much quieter.\n\nThis morning the cooks dished out 83 tins of fruit to be shared amongst 149 miners.  The cupboard is now bare and the army sent the cooks to the surface.  Not their fault, but there was concern that some of the miners might blame the cooks, and so they were moved for their own safety.  The decision is reversed when the common consensus amongst the miners is that the cooks are not to blame.  The problem is that the army patrols sent out to scavenged for food have to travel longer distances, and are repeatedly returning empty handed.  I’m told that even the army are struggling to feed its troops.  The only consolation is that we have a continuous supply of filtered water.  \n\nWork has stopped and the aliens are informed that no food equals no work.  It’s late afternoon and were are resting.  Just been informed that there will be no tea.  Miranda feels dejected but we make a real effort to reassure her and her mates that it isn’t their fault.\n\n26 February 2015\n\nWe are given a few biscuits for lunch and told that’s it.  More patrols are being sent out, but it might be another 48 hours before they return - either with supplies or not.  Someone informs me that other mines are having similar problems.  No sign of our alien masters.  I’m again told that they are aware of our lack of food and that we earthlings will not be working until things improve.\n\n27 February 2015\n\nManor from heaven.  Didn’t eat this morning  as the kitchen was closed.  Around midday one of the NCOs descended to the accommodation level asking for volunteers to unload supplies, and he’s almost killed in the rush.  We arrive topside as an alien shuttle craft comes into land.  Another is already being unloaded with food.  At first we are told that only the NCOs are allowed inside the shuffle craft.  Our job is to carry the food handed to us to a nearby tent, but the rulebook goes out of the window, and soon I’m standing inside an alien shuttle craft.  Not very impressive, but I smile at the alien as we remove enough food to keep us going for a month.  Within minutes both shuttle craft head off again.\n\nWe gathered around one of the NCOs.  We’re told that most of yesterday was spent persuading the aliens that we needed their help in collecting food.  All local sources (looted shops and warehouses) had been picked clean.  Although army patrols could have been sent deep into England, each trip would have taken weeks if not months to recover any supplies.  The aliens agreed to help and early this morning two shuttle craft loaded with troops headed south.  \n\nThat was five hours ago and the final flight of the day has just been unloaded.  Tea will be late this evening and we’re all shattered, but the aliens saved the day with 32 flights in total.\n\nADDITIONAL. Tea was gorgeous and we thank our lucky stars.  I’m told that a major food distribution centre had largely survived the firestorm, and although the roof had partially collapsed, the majority of its contents are salvageable.  The army have set up a “forward operating base” and while the aliens fly to and fro, the soldiers on the ground prepare each load.  \n\n28 February 2015\n\nSpent the morning unloading shuttle craft - approximately one every 20 minutes.  We’re all delighted and full of high spirits.  Then someone throws me a packet of chocolate biscuits and my thoughts immediately drift towards Amy and I’m standing in another puddle.  More good news, the aliens have agreed to assign the two shuttle craft and their pilots to collect food for as long as is required.  Then something even more incredible, one of the die-hard locals (who three weeks ago would have killed an alien without hesitating if given the chance) turns to one and says “thank you” and holds out his hand.  The alien does likewise and they shake hands.  Even the soldier next to me is gobsmacked.  Weird day.  \n\n8 March 2015\n\nSpent the last eight days working double shift.  We dig for eight hours then unload for another eight.  The aliens can’t or won’t fly at night so we break down our mining shift through the middle.  It takes a bit of explaining, but in the end everyone is happy.  In one day we managed to dig over 300m while unloading sixty-seven deliveries of food.  We are all shagged out.  Still no sign of what we are digging for. \n\n12 March 2015\n\nAnother death and the first in weeks.  We forget how dangerous things are down here.  Don’t know the chap, but we buried him before dark.\n\n13 March 2015\n\nFor many the nightmare continues.  There are those who sit alone and in silence, and it is the silent types who you have to watch.  \n\nWe’ve been lucky with only one or two suicides since we started.  Trying to befriend one chap.  I’m told by a soldier that he lost his entire family, and can I please keep my eye on him?  Most of us have suffered personal loss.  It was suggested, by the army doctor, that the reason why so many of us share the same trauma is because we know or saw what happened to our families. Those who survived but didn’t make it out of England are those who spent their final days digging and searching for missing loved ones.  \n\nThere isn’t much you can do after watching your family burn other than try and survive, so most of those around me work hard because they must.  And when your shift is over all you can do is drift back to that moment - the moment when you were powerless or trapped, like me. \n\nThe doctor on the surface can only do so much.  Our priest who helped over Christmas was moved to another mine somewhere to the west and we need him here.  And then there are the soldiers.  They are in as much pain as ourselves.  So we work hard and do anything to keep my minds active and hope that the pain will go away, eventually.\n\n15 March 2015\n\nAlien technology isn’t what it use to be.  One of the sonic picks is faulty.  One of the aliens came over to have a look and took it away.  Parting words from one of the miners: “Hope you’ve kept the receipt?”  Wonder how that would have translated?  Despite the accidents humour keeps us going.  We also play football - miners verses soldiers, and we thrash them.  I wonder if the aliens know the off-side-rule?  They watch us play and perhaps we are now the aliens.\n\n22 March 2015\n\nThe soldiers at the other end who load up the shuttle craft have been rotated.  They talk of a massive warehouse near Leeds that is a total wreck.  They now reckon that only 40% of the food stored inside is salvageable, and it’s dangerous work.  The building is unsafe while most of the shelving inside has collapsed, but they have done us proud, and there is talk of preparing a special meal in their honour.  They’ve been away for nearly a month.  \n\n24 March 2015\n\nWord comes from the surface that a soldier has killed himself.  Surprisingly most of us are upset.  Surprisingly because the army are responsible for us being here.  We were threatened and coerced and press-ganged into working for the aliens.  In all honesty we had no choice, but through time the soldiers have become our friends.  They were only following orders and although one of their kind shot and killed one of our kind, we’re all in the same boat.  Most of us - miner and soldier alike have lost loved ones and have suffered deprivations in equal measure.  We are moved to tears as he was buried with the 94 miners who have so also their lives. \n\n27 March 2015\n\nWork was halted soon after we started our shift.  Not sure why but most of the soldiers were returned to the surface.  Something serious was going down.  Our troops departed mid-morning, along with the army doctor and medical supplies.\n\nThen news filtered down that a massive explosion and fire had ripped through another mine, some four miles away.  Early indications suggest that there are no survivors, though the lack of rescue equipment makes it impossible to enter the mine.  \n\nTonight and we’ve just been told that around 138 miners and solders have been killed.  The aliens helped make the mine safe to enter.  Our troops have returned with vivid accounts of what happened.  They are clearly shaken and we do our best to comfort them.  They could do little other than help dig the graves.  There are some survivors and it is suggested that the mine will reopen.  What madness!\n\nTrying to find out if we know any of the casualties, as we often send our chaps to other mines from time to time.  If the affected mine is reopened then we will probably loose a few more good men.  The problem is that no one wants to leave our tight-knit community.\n \n----\n\nMe thinks \"The Lost Diaries of John Smith\" would make an excellent TV series! I'm just saying...\n\n**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.**\n![cover.jpg](https://s6.postimg.org/bioe4wfox/cover.jpg)",
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