INTRODUCTION
This is an autobiography of a young Englishman, who at the age of twelve during World War II took off in search of GOD.
Sixty years later, following extensive research, education, travels around the world, multiple “religious” experiences, the conclusion was reached; a transcendent, monotheistic being known as “God” is nonexistent.
This brilliant analysis will convince the reader that “religion” is, indeed, the opium of the people. There won’t be a Utopian society as long as a trace of religion exists on this Earth.
Presumably, you are all interested in my beginning on this planet. First of all, my life on this planet is not quite over; I might hang around for another twenty-eight years, for which I shall be extremely grateful. I was born May 5, 1929, in a tiny village named Battisborough Cross, near
Mothecombe Beach on the English Channel, not far from the city of Plymouth in beautiful Devon. My dad was a chauffeur for an estate a few miles away. I remember my childhood was a very happy one, enjoying the smell of honeysuckle, all the flowers, and nature in general. I had a pet sheepdog named Mat; he was my constant companion. At the age of two, I was already interested in the world I was born into and was full of excitement and adventure.
One bright morning, at age two, I decided that I would take a look at the beautiful Devonshire countryside where primroses grew wild in the hedges, and the woods carpeted with bluebells. Of course, my favorite English sheepdog accompanied me on my journey that bright, sunny morning.
We walked past the village blacksmith’s shop on the corner and headed down a pretty lane lined with foxgloves and poppies. I guess we must have traveled at least a mile away from home when my mommy caught up with me.
I was never spanked, and all I felt during those early childhood years was love. I was loved, cared for, spoiled, and enjoyed life.
At the age of five, I developed serious infection in both ears. It was called mastoids, which is a disease of the bone behind the eardrums; both ears were infected.
My mother took me to an ear, nose, and throat specialist in Plymouth at Greenbank Hospital. (The hospital no longer exists.) The specialist was named Dr. Prance, and it was decided by my mother and Dr. Prance that the bone should be cut away because it was a million-to-one chance that I would never hear again. It was a life-or-death situation. My mother chose life and the operations, and I am glad she did.
Today, you can still see the scars I suffered as a little boy of five. I had five major operations before reaching the age of seven. I was a survivor with five mastoidectomies before going to school. When I reached the age of ten, that year World War II broke out with Germany on September 4, 1939.
I was ten years and four months old.
My dad, who had been in the British Navy in World War I, decided to move to Plympton, a suburb of Plymouth. He worked at Her Majesty’s Dockyard, Devonport, Devon.
Dad was a chargeman of engine fitters in the dockyard; he worked on submarines, replacing worn-out turbine blades, etc.
So it was not a surprise to me that in 1944 my dad decided I should learn a trade, and learn a trade I did. I became a shipwright apprentice for five years in Her Majesty’s Dockyard, Devonport, Devon.
So from the age of fifteen to twenty, plus two and half years as journeyman, I became a
professional shipbuilder. The apprenticeship also included drawing office and drafting experience in which I majored in ship science, mathematics, and marine engineering.
I’ll skip the war experiences; suffice it to say, Plymouth was the second-worst-bombed city in England.
I continued going to school during my apprenticeship and graduated from Devonport Technical College fully competent in my ability to design and build ships.
Now, my life was very interesting and still is. I always enjoyed life, even when my dad would wake me up at five o’clock in the morning, getting me ready for work.
As a good-looking young man, blond hair, blue eyes, I had several girlfriends and was always interested in girls. About the age of fourteen, I used to hang out with all my gypsy friends, probably because I thought I was also a gypsy and fellow traveler too.
One day, a group of us boys were out in the English countryside; we all carried weapons—we called them catapults or slingshots—when suddenly we came across a sailor and his girlfriend; they were having a “quickie” in the hedge before he had to dash off down the lane to catch a bus back to his ship. Needless to say, you can imagine a half-dozen English boys coming across a couple enjoying their biological imperative! Well, that piqued my interest, so I
started chasing girls at an early age.
MOTHER
At the age of fourteen, I was active in all kinds of sports: soccer, cricket, dancing, and travel—and travel was on top of the list.
My mother was a very religious woman. I loved my mother dearly. When I lost a girlfriend, I ended up in my bedroom on my bed crying my eyes out over my loss. Mommy was right there by my bedside holding my hand and comforting me. “It’s all right, son; you will find other girls,” she would say. Sure enough, I had a few more.
From the age of fifteen to twenty-three, I had a steady girlfriend; she was my constant companion, dancing partner, and lover. She introduced me to sexuality because at the age of fifteen I was a virgin (you can laugh here).
Once I discovered my biological clock, life took on more meaning. So at an early age, I discovered that life was not all about smelling honeysuckle, roses, foxgloves, and picking primroses from the beautiful English hedges of Devon. There was much, much more to discover and learn.
I discovered another aspect of nature and a most significant one, indeed—that all species reproduce and that all species love what they like to do best, and that is, to play, so I loved to play.
One day, a few of us boys wandered into a field and came across an old bull. The bull was in a playful mood as it was chasing a cow around the field. We were glad that it did not want to chase us even though we waved a red handkerchief at it.
Obviously, this old bull was as horny as hell; we saw the old bull mount this poor defenseless cow, and out sprang this thing I swear was at least eighteen inches long. He straddled the old cow and jabbed her with his thingy a few times, his thingy dripping with the elixir of life. Unlike human beings, the old bull was not very interested in foreplay; he jumped right on it, and it was over in five seconds. I soon put two and two together.
Now I knew why little girls were different. So my teen years were very exciting and meaningful. Every day brought into my conscious and subconscious mind that I had made the right choice to be on this planet, and to discover who I am. When I was about sixteen and into my first or second year of apprenticeship, I was presented with another fact of life. What am I doing here? What is the purpose of all this? Am I here to play and enjoy life? Who am I? Is there a plan for my life I need to discover? Do I wish to be like everyone else?
Or do I dare to be different? I was a loner; I felt different. I sensed that my life was full of purpose and meaning. Then one day I met one of my dad’s friends . . . He also worked in Her Majesty’s shipyard. In my work, I would travel from the south yard to the north yard, sometimes just to meet my dad or other shipwright apprentices. On this particular day, I met Dad’s friend; we stopped and chatted for a bit.
Now Dad’s friend had been to America and had sold insurance for Prudential.
GODFORSAKEN
So he was a man with many traveling experiences. He said to me, “Victor, can you imagine being in this godforsaken place for the next forty years?” Forty years was the expected
life span of a “dockyardie”—a term for a civil servant who worked for Her Majesty’s government.
IT HIT ME! For the first time in my life, I heard the word “god.” And all indications were “he” had forsaken the place. “He” no longer resided there. Hmmm! So this “God” is no longer a resident here? I wondered why “God” would forsake such a place. I replied, “No, I cannot see myself staying in a place forsaken by God.” The friend said to me, “Then get out, travel, and see the world . . . Anyone with a brain would leave this place.”
I resolved in my mind; this is EXACTLY what I will do as soon as I get a chance to make my move. Please notice some very interesting aspects to this true story.
Apparently, there was a god who resided there, but for some reason “he,” “it,” or “she” decided that he, she, or it was not going to stay in England . . . He, she, or it had forsaken the place. My mind thought it through; if God had forsaken the place, then I’m not interested in staying here. I mean, if England was not good enough for God, then it is all over for England, so where does God actually reside? I decided it would be my life’s mission to find “him” wherever
“he” would be on the planet.
Soon after that decision to go looking for “God,” my mother decided I should be confirmed in the Church of England.