The Hidden Agenda

I wasn’t having the most positive of experiences as I strived to avoid trouble and gain answers, and without any assistance from the injustice system, the bitterness and aggressiveness continued to grow within my shapeshifting friend, and during this time I was assaulted whilst working for the business associates he had previously connected me with, after which, he took it to the next level, himself, his ex-girlfriend and I were sat in the garden of The Hob Pub in Forest Hill when he viciously issues an alarming threat to me, “I’m going to wrap you up in cling-film and set fire to your body so nobody can identify you” the impact was so extreme, even his girlfriend was in shock, I didn’t hesitate to report this to the police.

My ex-wife accompanies me to Lewisham police station, at the reception was a female officer behind the counter who aggressively demands “Wait over there until a police officer calls you into the meeting room”

Her mannerisms grate on me, making me feel tenser, she was a mature lady with jet black hair and glasses, reminding me of my father’s mother, Thelma, who hadn’t passed away at this time but was an aggressive and wicked lady based on my childhood memories of her, this unfortunate event related to my first dog, Tammy, she was a brown whippet, she ran so fast I remember looking at a streaking snapshot of her whilst running on a large open lawn in Ashford, I was raised with Tammy from birth, she always sat close to me as a toddler, but Thelma had taken a dislike to Tammy, and when left alone with her, Tammy suffered an accident, a broken back caused by the force of a blunt object upon the top of her lower spine, we all believed and suspected Thelma to be responsible for this act of wickedness as she was living with us temporarily, and due to these severe injuries, Tammy was unable to walk and therefore put to rest, this was how I learned of Death.

The police lady was her doppelgänger, only younger, just as I had remembered her, her presence, likeness and mannerisms rubbed me up all the wrong way. I felt hatred.

I took a seat and began trying to understand the rudeness of the police lady and my conflictive thoughts when I was approached and interrupted by a male police officer, he was a young handsome man with a clear skin complexion, short brown hair, well-groomed and wearing a clean and freshly pressed white shirt, upon his shoulders were his black lapels and silver plate numbers, he invites me into the interview room, my wife joins me also.

We enter an interview room with 4 chairs, and a desk, my wife sat to my right beside a wall, whilst the officer sat in front of me on the opposite side of the desk, placing a piece of blank white A4 paper and a black BIC pen onto the table the officer begins the questioning with an understanding that I had a problem with an old friend, and would like to have the death threat given as a statement for the purpose of record keeping, should anything happen to me.

The officer then asks for his full name and jots it onto the paper, he then asks what I would like done about this incident, to which I respond, to make a record of this, the police officer nods and asks if I would like him to make contact with him and advise him to back off, I agree.

The police officer makes his notes and looks up, he pauses and looks directly at me, he remains silent as I analyse his appearance, he too looked familiar to me, but I didn’t understand why, he then asks another question. “if I wasn’t a police officer, who would I be?”

I look puzzled as he repeats the odd and random question, “if I wasn’t a police officer, who would I be?” simultaneously he begins to wipe down his shirt from his chest to his stomach, triggering a memory, the last memory I had of my dad was when he had blood on his stomach after a fight in the kitchen with my mum’s new boyfriend, and soon to be my step-sister’s father Gary.

He and my mum had come to take us away from our father after losing a custody battle, as Gary and my father fought in the kitchen, Gary hit his head on the corner of a kitchen unit, he then thrust his head into my dad’s stomach leaving a large blood stain on his jumper, after the commotion quietened, my brother and I were still waiting in our bedroom, both scared and unknowing to what was happening in the kitchen, my dad then opens our bedroom door and stands in the doorway with his jumper soaked in blood around his stomach area, initially I thought he had been stabbed, he lifts his jumper to reassure us it was Gary’s blood, and then tells us we had to pack our belongings and go with our mum and Gary to live in London.

This vivid memory remained in my consciousness and was triggered by the officer wiping down his immaculate white and pressed shirt, I then focus hard on his face, I can’t believe it, I look at his lapels for his numbers, ready to make a complaint for his weird line of questioning, as if he was taunting me, I read his lapel numbers, 019, another memory, “19 Belmont place” the home address I used to live with my father, I look at his face again, I’m shocked, I’m in disbelief as the officer begins to nod his head, yes.

I am unable to speak, I sit stunned, the officer turns his attention to my wife and begins to talk to her, but she too is confused by his unusual question, but she had never met my father, and there were no photos of him, he and my mum had burned them all at separation, including all our family memories, other than one, which excludes my father.

Other than this you cannot find any pics of me until the age of 16/17, my wife was oblivious to knowing who he presented himself to be. They make small talk as I remain in shock, he then returns his attention to my stunned face as I continue to stare at him, my mind trying to comprehend my answer to his question, how could it be possible that my dad, who appears at the age of early 20s is sat in front of me as a police officer who then follows up with a response to my perplexed face “it’s in the blood”

I nod my head, ok, whilst wanting to wrap up the interview and leave the room asap, my wife leaves the room first whilst the officer holds the door open for us both, and as I begin to walk away down the exterior hallway, I impulsively decide to turn and shake his hand, I would recognise my father’s hands in an instant, they were identical.

This experience was the reason I decided to find and reestablish contact with my father, my mum had taken me and my brother away from him, without his consent in the middle of the night, and even with a legal agreement to see us once a week, she then prevented us from remaining in contact with him, she hated him, and whilst demonising him, but using violence and psychological abuse towards us, she threatened us with the fear of becoming like him, we were forced apart.

From my father’s previous attempts to contact us, I find his contact details and arrange to meet him 2 weeks later, As I see him in person for the first time, his in his late 50’s and parading a large firm basketball size stomach, a poor and pale skin complexion with heavy bags under his eyes, this elderly man wasn’t the same healthy, slim and handsome man I knew as a kid.

But one problem had been resolved, my bitter friend was permanently out of my life, enabling me to continue on my journey of self-discovery, and learning who my father was, clarifying any misconceptions I may have created of him due to my mother’s input.

It was during this time of self-discovery, my father revealed to me that my birth-given surname of “Gambier” was neither his true surname, nor blood, and we, including him, my brother and I should have all been given the surname of “Evestaff”

Thelma, my father’s now deceased mother was fanatically religious, and yet promiscuous, she lived a double life, and to save face from her church community, my father had inherited his older half-brother’s surname, “Gambier”, who is a true “Gambier” by birthright, his father was also the only man Thelma had married, however, my dad was sired by a man named “Stanley Evestaff”, who was a mustard seed merchant, a Freemason, and the son of “John Evestaff” who was a High-Priest of the Druids.

During this revelation, the encounter with the veiled lady began to make a little more sense to me, but the questions I had remained unanswered, why did she wear a veil and garland? why didn’t I lift the veil to reveal her identity? Why was her response to my advice received with a gesture of ignorance? Did my mother really see her standing over my cot as a baby?

Upon some research, in ancient history, the veil she wore has been referred to as a veil-of-ignorance, the veil of isis, and/or the Mysteries of Druidry, with the term “mysteries” relating to the esoteric knowledge of the spiritual realm.

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