Wings of the Morning
Read Wings of the Morning Online
Authors: Julian Beale
OF THE
MORNING
Julian Beale
for the love of Africa
Royalties from the sale of this book are donated to registered charities which support Africans in need.
Copyright © Julian Beale 2012
Julian Beale has asserted his right
under the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act 1988 to be identified
as the author of this work.
Cover image: Shutterstock
Umbria Press
London SW15 5DP
www.umbriapress.co.uk
Printed and bound by
Ashford Colour Press, Gosport
Paperback ISBN 978-0-9573641-0-3
E book ISBN 978-0-9573641-6-5
MAJOR CHARACTERS
THE OXFORD FIVE
OTHER KEY PEOPLE
If I take the wings of the morning,
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me,
and thy right hand shall hold me.
PSALM
139
CONTENTS
DAVID HEAVEN & MARTIN KIRCHOFF — 1985
DAVID HEAVEN & AISCHA GOMES — September 1999
FERGUS CARRADINE — New Year’s Day 2000
PENTE BROKE SMITH — December 2000
OLIVER AVELING — 2021
Most people call me ‘Olty’. I turn thirty today, the first of January 2021. I enjoy my birthday on New Year’s Day. It wasn’t so great when I was a
child, but since reaching my teenage years, I’ve had a lot of fun with extra celebration after the partying on New Year’s Eve. This year’s a bit special of course: thirty is a
major number and a dozen of us have planned a big bash for tonight. But I want to make a start on this project first. It’s going to be a challenge.
I’m a diplomat by profession. I’m white, single, straight, solvent. I work with a great bunch of people and I’m lucky with my friends. I travel a lot, but I love coming home to
this apartment with its brilliant view over the ocean. I have company from time to time, but there’s no one really serious in my life.
I was born in England, but I’ve lived here since I finished school twelve years ago. ‘Here’ is Century City, Capital of Millennium, a country occupying a landmass on the West
Coast of Africa as old as time itself, although our nation was born only twenty-one years ago today.
Millennium’s struggle into existence is the kernel of my story, but there’s a more personal element to it as well. Our country’s founding president was David Heaven who’s
been long gone from life and much longer from that post. I was twenty-two when he died and I knew him a bit because he had been close to our family since I was a boy and he features in my earliest
memories. He was gruff but kind, and to give him his due, he was a pretty good communicator with all age groups. Plus of course, David Heaven was for a while the
man
of Millennium and was
therefore a significant figure. Until his death, I thought of him as an important family friend and after he had gone, I simply thought about him less and less. I certainly had no idea that he was
my biological grandfather, the father of my mother. So this news hit me like a thunderbolt.
A little over a year ago, I was spending a lot of working time in New York and I had a visit from a Frenchman called Guy Labarre. He’s not a relative but our families have been intertwined
over many years. Guy is a human rights lawyer and we did have a bit of business to do together, but that was not the reason to bring him calling. He bought me lunch and took the opportunity to hand
over a letter written to me by David Heaven. It doesn’t say much, just a simple message addressed to me in his handwriting which I recognised on the envelope.