Welcome to the world of
                       Michael G Kimber

The Nightwriter

                                  The Early Years

It may have seemed to a casual observer, that Sir Gerald Bomally was the quintessential self made English millionaire. But he would have been wrong; for Bomally was Irish.
     Admittedly his Irish roots had been severely stretched by the unhappy experience of the potato famine in the eighteen fifties, and the forced emigration of some of his ancestors, that followed.  
    It was true however that he had risen from nothing.  It was also true that he was hard working, and hard to beat at the negotiating table.  He called a spade a spade, and  never shook hands on a deal until he was satisfied that not one more penny could have been wrought.
    Neither had he enjoyed the benefits of a silver spoon, or of a public school education. "Guts and spit." he would tell you, if you were lucky enough to be drawn into his inner circle.  "Guts and spit; it's all I ever had, and it's all I ever needed." he would say in the faint, but discernable hint of an accent that, to the perceptive, betrayed his roots.  For his Irish ancestry had been given a few twists, when his Great Great - "Oh I never can remember how many greats." he would laugh when he told the story - grandfather had emigrated to America to escape the desolation. Some generations later his Grandfather had returned to these shores and set up home in Liverpool.
     Another twist occurred years later when, in the ‘sixties’, and because work was scarce, his father took his young family further afield to the Welsh valley's where, he had heard, it was plentiful.   Sadly it was a false profit whispering in his ear, for things there were little better, and everything was gloomy.  Black hills, black houses, black coal.  Black too for outsiders, for even the dirty jobs were hard to come by.  Coal dust was as much out of reach as gold dust.
   They were difficult times, and young Gerald, the oldest child at fourteen, was expected to help the family finances, and was soon doing any job that came his way.  Indeed he was instrumental in allowing his parents to settle in the village of Dalimar, near  St.Isham’s in south west Wales; and for himself and his younger siblings, a brother and a sister, to absorb their new culture, and at least try to be Welsh.
    The fusing of Irish and Welsh in his voice to which blend had been added a splash of the America’s and a twist of scouse, had created a magic mixture and Gerald was never able, nor did he try, to lose. The musical sound it made became his badge, the first thing that people noticed when first they met, and never forgot.  Indeed, it was often the cause of argument amongst his friends, and acquaintances as to its Celtic origin.
     His voice and his natural charm was like the Golden Egg, for he found that he could talk all the locals into giving him work, and usually at a price that could easily have been bettered.  But Gerald had another trick up his sleeve. Honesty and integrety. Whatever he agreed to do he would do.  It became his byword that the job was not done until it could not be done better.
     By seventeen he had a small but prosperous business established doing all the small jobs in the district, and a little buying and selling on the side.  He was an honest young man, and an honourable one.  Local jobbers and painters, carriers and joiners were unhappy, but few could complain, for Gerald was careful not to undercut the tradesmen.  Indeed he would usually ask for the extra shilling, knowing that when the job was done, he would be sure that his customer was satisfied.
     By twenty his business had grown so that now he employed a dozen men, which number included some of the tradesmen who's life had become difficult because of Gerald's business acumen.  Gradually he took on other skilled men so that he was able to offer a much wider range of services.  
    In only six years so much had changed, but one thing remained constant.  His byword. He had become a household name locally, though local meant much further afield than when he started, and two factors were now firmly established.  That he was definitely Welsh.  "Oh' yes man, can't you hear it?", people would say, pleased to be associated with him. And that he was still a man to be trusted.  Any man who worked for him who was not prepared, or able, to accept his standards was soon shown the door.
     Gerald was quite well off by now, and he was content.  His father, having reached his late forties, helped his son where he could, roles now reversed.  He was  well liked for himself, but was happy to admit that he enjoyed the extra approval afforded to him for being the father of his son.
    Likewise his mother was a welcome member of a number of ladies activities, and enjoyed, for the first time since being a schoolgirl, a life free from household toil.
     But there was another reason for Gerald's contentment.  He was in love.  He had been going with a girl for over a year now, and it looked like heading toward the alter, but his parents were slightly concerned.  Not the least bit about the girl, who they both adored.
     What bothered them was that he had been so busy building up his business, that he'd had so little time for girls.  She was his first proper girl friend, so how, they wondered, could he tell if she was the right one.
     "We'll just have to hope that he has the same good sense with women that he has with his work." his mother had said one day.
     "Anyway we might be jumping the gun," said father, "we don't know if he's going to wed her yet."
     "Oh I don't think there is much doubt about that." she replied.  She knew her son, and she saw it on the faces of the young couple.
     They heard voices behind the house.  The unmistakable Irish  Welsh American Liverpudlian cocktail that now identified  Gerald, and the lyrical, but more easily identifiable chimes that were Megan's.
     They came into the house laughing, then stopped dead in their tracks to find both parents staring at them.
     "What is it?" Gerald asked, surprised.
     "Nothing, it's just you two, you sound so happy."
     Gerald's father chipped in "You sound just like a choir when you're laughing and chatting away, I don't know about you two," he continued " but if you were ever to have a child I'm sure it'd be born singing."
     Megan's face went bright red, and Gerald's mother dug her elbow in her husband's ribs.  "Oh what a thing to say." she scolded him, and then turning to Megan, "Don't mind him, he means well, but you know what men are like; can't open their mouths without putting their foot in it."
     Then Gerald spoke up, his hand moving at his side trying but failing to find his girl friend’s hand.
     "Ah well,  that's it you see mother; father;  you'll be knowing' fairly soon anyway."  he half turned and this time took her hand;  "Megan's pregnant."
     Two months later Gerald and Megan were wed at the chapel at the edge of the village.  It was idyllic setting,  under the hills, dominant and overpowering at times, but which on that day were magnificent and awe inspiring.  And, if that were not enough, looking the other way, there was a clear and charming view of the sea half a mile away.
     Five months after that Richard was born.  He was, to be sure,  making a lot of noise, but few would be charitable enough to call it singing.
     The start of their life together was not all it might have been.  With a baby and a small house, things were a little difficult for the new Bomally family, and Megan was not happy.
     "Why we ever took such a small place I'll never know." she said angrily, though even when she was cross, her voice still sounded like music.
     Gerald tried to console her, but, he had discovered, she had a mind of her own, and a bit of a temper.
     "Please Megan, try to put up with it for while, I have plans for something better."  The odd thing about it, was that his voice and charming manner, which turned resistance into 'a puff of air' in most other people, had little or no effect on Megan. She dismissed his persuasive smile and silver tongue with a wave of her hand, and a flick of her hair.
     "It's to be hoped you have." she answered, her anger tempered by a slight twitch in the corners of her mouth.  The very beginnings of a smile.
     Gerald did indeed have plans, and he had been waiting for the right time to tell his wife.  He had spoken to someone at the bank, and he had been promised modest finance to help him to buy a 'proper' business.
     "When will that be then?" she asked, trying, with some difficulty, to maintain a stern attitude
      "Oh I don't know ? this year; next year; some time ..?."
     He didn't complete the little rhyme, for he knew that the last word was not appropriate.  Instead he kissed his wife lightly on the lips and said  "Sometime soon."
     It was another year before Gerald's prophesy came true, when he took his wife and his son Richard, now toddling to a new home, and to a new life in Oxfordshire, England.
    The new house was old and damp, though quite large. They surveyed the rather dilapidated building together, and with some misgivings, for it was a sorry sight.  It was a mile from the village of Crompton,  nestled close to a copse of trees, almost hiding as though ashamed.   Its years of neglect were clear for all the world to see.
     "I know it doesn't look very good at the moment, but I know I can make it into a home we will both love." said Gerald, trying to enthuse Megan to see what he could see.
     "For sure it will need a lot of work doing on it, but I'm not shy of work." Gerald said.  "The problem might be time, but I  promise you that will use whatever time I can spare on the house."
     Megan had no doubts about Gerald’s determination, but was not convinced about his ‘vision’, but she did manage to put on a smile.
    "I suppose we can make something of it." she answered finally. Not quite the ringing endorsement Gerald hoped to hear, but enough for him to know that she was still behind him.
    In its time it had been a fine house, and at its peak had probably been the home of a wealthy man.  A land owner perhaps, a man of business, or of independent means.  It was nowhere near a mansion, but a large house nevertheless; and its three floors carried between them nearly thirty windows.  To the left was a two floor extension, with a balcony above, its flat roof surrounded by an ornate balustrade.  Much of the front was wood covered in  mock Tudor style, and had it not been for the number of planks which had slipped out of position, or fallen completely, it might have looked more impressive.  Those that remained however, had suffered years of weathering without the benefit of paint or putty, varnish or verdigris.  The large wooden porch at the front door, with its smaller balcony above, was equally dilapidated, equally bereft of attention, equally derelict.
    Its surrounding acres, once impressive gardens and woodlands, had long been abandoned to nature, who had welcomed them greedily, reducing earlier horticultural splendour to weed, overgrowth, and rubble.
     But the house was not Gerald's main preoccupation at that time.  It was part of the deal he had done, when he  bought a small run down building firm in Dalimar, where the works and office were situated.  For some years it had been struggling against the odds to survive, and was just about ready to fold.  As a package it had come cheap, but Gerald felt sure that he could rescue both the house and the business.  
     George Buist, the previous owner - who thought he would get nothing but 'chicken feed' for the business and tumbling down works buildings, - for they were little better than the house - was delighted at finding a buyer prepared to pay something like a fair price, and had agreed to stay on  for a few months to 'put Gerald's name about'.  The reputation he had earned in Wales was no use to him now, and he knew that he would have to work hard to regain it, and to re-establish the good name of his new business.  All he needed to make it happen was a strong belief in himself, a vision of something better in the future, and perhaps a slice of good luck now and again.
     Unfortunately George Buist’s son Walter, did not share his fathers sense of good fortune.  He resented him for his weakness and lack of business ability, and from the very beginning showed his dislike for Gerald.  He made no secret of his belief that Bomally had cheated his father by getting the firm at a fraction of its true value, and had therefore deprived him of his birthright.
     "You'll be sick of me before I have finished."  he shouted at Gerald after one of his outbursts.
    This was unsettling of course, but Gerald tried to put it aside, knowing that other matters were more important.  He also felt keenly aware of his responsibilities to his family. To his son of course, now in his second year, and to his darling wife Megan, the light of his life, his one and only love.  His resolve to succeed was further strengthened, if such a thing was possible, by her recent announcement
     "Are you in a good mood?" she had asked.
     "That I am," he had answered, ignoring the fact that he was tired and dirty from a day's toil, "and I can see that you are."
     She smiled a special smile, determined to keep her man in suspense as long as possible, but in the end it was she who couldn't hold out.
     "You're going to be a daddy again." she blurted out, excited and childlike.
     Somehow the daunting task ahead of them, the risk they were taking, both financial and physical, seemed to disappear with this news.  Gerald did have a strong belief in himself, and Megan had a strong belief in her husband.  With a new future ahead and new life inside, how could they fail?
     But the good news presented them with another problem, for while carrying Richard, Megan's health had been a cause of some concern, and she had been greatly helped by Gerald's mother Mary, and by his father Brendan.  But they were many miles away now, and would not be able to offer that help.  So it was decided that they should look for someone local to help about the house.
     Walter was consulted and he soon introduced a lady who, he said, would be perfect.  
     "Mrs Simpson," he told them, "a lady from the village; lived here all her life. She's a bit quiet and a bit slow,"  he told them  "but with a heart of gold, and she will be very loyal."
    He went on to give them a brief outline of the lady. "She's rather on the short side, of ample build you might say, though it would be unkind to call her fat."
     "Generous."  Gerald said, trying to be helpful.
    "Aye, and a few years older than you both, but she has a happy way about her if...", and there he stopped.
    The Bomally's waited and wondered. "Something amiss?" asked Gerald.
    "Well ... you see ... she's not had a happy life, and sometimes she can be moody, but she loves kids, and I know that all she needs is a chance; a happy home; someone to love.”
     When finally they met, any misgivings they had were soon dispelled for they liked her at once.  With a nice 'homely' attitude, an agreeable manner, and, in spite of what they had been told, she had a round happy face. She seemed to fit the bill, and both Megan and Gerald felt comfortable with her. They asked her to start.
     It was agreed that it would be for one year.  That it would be informal, and her hours would be as required.  After that, if everything was alright, she would perhaps stay on until the children were grown up.
     "Perhaps,"  Mrs Simpson observed cautiously, "there may be more children."
     "Who knows;" Megan had said laughingly, "I might be like the old woman who lived in a shoe, and you'll never get away.  And in any case Mrs Simpson, you may have more children yourself."
     Mrs Simpson made a funny sound, a rather self conscious laugh.
 "I think that's unlikely." she replied, but made no attempt to explain that curious little remark.
  So began a happy association that was to last many years.

Gerald worked long and hard on his new project, and most of the workforce who he had saved from the dole queue, inspired by his example, worked hard too. His little building  enterprise gradually became solvent, and then went from strength to strength.  So close to annihilation when he found it,  it was once again a viable business.  Before very long it had resumed its previous size, before expanding even more.  Then, when Gerald took over a rival firm, once successful, but suffering from ill advised growth,  he was now running a small building corporation.  It had been short of finance and was needing new direction, but mostly it lacked confidence.  This had always been Gerald's richest natural resource, and the take over proved to be a watershed.  That was the first embryonic step in the growth of what was to become one of the countries biggest building firms.  Housing, industrial, bridges, and motorways, apart from contracts and consultancies all over the world.  In a few short years it mushroomed until the name 'Bomally Building', and his unique 'double B' logo could be seen wherever you might be.
     There had been many challenges; many hurdles to overcome, and many times when Gerald wondered if he had not bitten off more than he could chew.
     But as these early years progressed, so had his business sense.  No longer the ideological schoolboy, he had learned, sometimes the hard way, that  you had to fight for what you want, and that was just as true in business as in anything else.  He had always been shrewd, but he discovered that there were others out there who's minds were just as sharp, who would get the better of him if they could.  So he learnt to be circumspect, aware of the possibility of being outwitted, and of the need to be one step ahead.  Gradually his personality took on a new ambiance, for while he remained a friendly and affable person, his earlier standard of play hard but play fair, gradually changed.  Play hard became more dominant in that equation.  His willingness to please, for so long part an essential part of his make up, his by?word no less, had started to become his Achilles heel.  It had to go.
      This was a dilemma for Gerald for he was still essentially a fair man, but he had come to realize that, like fighting a dual there  was little point in wielding a sword if the other chap was carrying a pair of pistols. His character remained fundamentally the same, but sharper.  The charm of his youth which would delight and enchant, was now supported by a keenly honed streetwise understanding of people, of business, and of duplicity.  He had learned to watch his back.
     He still had little tolerance of shoddy work.  There was no place in his organisation for anyone who's work or enthusiasm was less than one hundred percent.  From the boardroom down to the newest apprentice anyone who could not give that assurance was asked to go.  Anyone 'in charge' at any level, who turned a blind eye to inferior work or behaviour, risked suffering the same fate as the guilty one.
     How he was perceived by others was not always easy to tell.  Admired by business associates, including many competitors, he was respected by his growing workforce, and loved by some who were closer and got to know him.
     But there were those who disliked him, and a few who hated him.  One such was Walter Buist.  He had been a thorn in his side from the beginning, and no doubt it would always be so.  
     Gerald often thought about those early days, and about Walter.  It was the first time that he had been confronted by real hate and anger, perhaps his first lessen in man management.
     Not long after he had assumed control of the firm of ‘Buist & Son’, Gerald called the men in and told them how things stood.
     It wasn't good listening for them, but most of them considered his words and his offer as those from a fair man, but it was a bitter pill to swallow for some of them.  Gerald was still a very young man, and there were some who thought he was taking them for a ride, but by and large, his workforce listed to his proposition, and the majority accepted it.
     “It comes down to this.” were Gerald’s opening remarks.    “There are too many men on the employment list, full time and part time, for the amount of work in the order book, so, if we stay as we are, some of you will have to go.”
     Locally  unemployment was high this was not a popular prospect.
     “Or,” Gerald invited, “stay with me on half pay, work as hard as possible on all the jobs that are currently on hold; and on rebuilding the works and office; and on any new work that might be acquired.”  
     Gerald promised that as soon as money started coming in, the shortfall would be repaid, plus a substantial bonus.
     Some of the men left at once, unable to take the risk, but enough stayed to give them a chance to succeed.  Gerald had a theory that his enthusiasm would be infectious, and that if his new workforce could sense; better still see, that he believed in the firm, and that he could save it, they would believe too.
     Only time would tell if he really was a good judge of men, or nothing but a naive dreamer. The signs were promising for he did seem to have the men behind him, and there was an air of optimism in the yard, not seen for years.
     But there were still some detractors, a small but vocal group supported by Walter, who had an unsettling  effect on those who had been prepared to give Bomally a chance.  
     Naturally there were concerns, for they knew they were taking a chance, but those who had stayed, especially the older ones, had felt that it was a chance worth taking. After all, wasn’t Bomally himself making the same gamble?
    Gerald hoped that in time, if he had a little luck to oil his enthusiasm, he would prove his critics wrong. So he regarded the small band of non believers a minor threat, and largely tolerated them.
     Until that is, Walter threw his hat in on their side, and became their primary spokesman.  Now Gerald was forced to make a stand.
     Walter had been the only other director of Buist & Son when his father was its managing director, and he had chosen to take a modest settlement as his cut when the business was sold, rather than stay on. He left  feeling bitter and cheated.
    Ten years earlier before the slide started, he had been a young, energetic, somewhat bullish businessman, ready to assume his fathers position, and ready to take on the world.
    He also enjoyed his social situation, seeing himself as something of a playboy.  He liked the ladies, enjoyed the night life, and his continental holidays.  He could comfortably afford this lifestyle, and could see no reason for it not to continue. He also looked forward, some years on of course, to an early, comfortable, and exciting retirement.
   Then out of nowhere came the recession, some changes in government building policy, and high interest rates.  Suddenly it was all gone, the business started to fade, along with his satisfying lifestyle, and his dreams. Eventually he had no money -  at least not enough to maintain his accustomed standard of living - and in time, no job.
     As well as losing his inheritance he felt he had lost his identity. He could see no one to blame but Gerald Bomally, and he was determined to bring him down.
    The first time Gerald knew that Walter Buist really had become a real problem, was one evening six months or so after David was born. It was the first time they had been able to celebrate the birth, what with Megan having such a hard time, and then taking much longer to get over it than she had expected.  Add to that Gerald’s fourteen hour days and total commitment to his new venture.
     By chance Water and his latest girlfriend had been in the same restaurant as the Bomally’s, and it didn’t take long before they became aware of some snide comments coming from his table.  Unkind and untrue accusations delivered in a barely concealed stage whisper, and then finally a barbed enquiry as to the paternity not only of himself but also his new son.
    “You’re all nothing but a set of bastards, the lot of you.” he had called in a loud voice which he had made no attempt to conceal, when Gerald’s refusal to be drawn had finally got the better of him.
     Although his years as a rugby player were well behind him, Walter, in his mid thirties was still quite a formidable figure.  Not as fit as he used to be, but able to look after himself whenever his penchant for loutish behaviour rose to the fore.  By comparison Gerald was smaller and lighter, and Walter must have thought he was on safe ground.
     But it was a serious misjudgement.  Years of hard physical work had created in Gerald’s relatively slight frame, a body of steel, strong and sinewy, tough and brave.
    This was the moment that Gerald knew would come, when there had to be a showdown.  And, in a public place , there would not be a better opportunity.  An embarrassed silence followed amongst other diners, when Gerald got up from his table and walked over to Walter, who was now grinning ear to ear.
     “Apologise to my wife and to all these people, or I will take you outside and thrash you.” He delivered the words without shouting, and without apparent anger, but full of menace.
     Walter however failed to ‘read’ his adversary, and pursued his verbal attack. “You and who else?” he responded, still wearing the grin, “I’d grind you into the dust.”
     Quick as a flash Gerald grabbed him from behind, pulling his jacket down over his arms, and then physically dragging him to the door, which was opened for him by an obliging waiter.
     Hardly a word was spoken by the people inside until a few minutes later Gerald came back and walked straight to Walters table, and to the young lady left waiting, wondering, and not a little frightened.
     “Please forgive me for interrupting your meal, but I think your friend might need your help.  You’ll find him in the dust outside.”
     She left quickly and tearfully to the sound of applause from other diners, as Gerald resumed his seat.  He had won that exchange, but he had no illusions that there would be others.
     This had been a period of change, and not an easy time for Gerald, for he came to realise that he had a simple choice.  Give up his ambitions and return to being a one man band, or seize the day; meet the challenge.  He had started to glimpse what might lie ahead; where his life might lead. A few doors had opened for him, and he was convinced that there would be others.  He wanted to go through those doors. How could he turn back now?
     Curiously, and in a way that he would never quite understand, his fight with Walter served only to spur him on.
      Later when he looked back he could never remember making a conscious decision, but he would refer to that period and say "That was when..." pausing and tapping his finger on some imaginary calendar  "That was the time when I changed from being an enthusiastic optimist into a successful businessman."
     Not that it looked like it at the time.  A lot of sweat and tears were shed, much pacing the floor, and long talks into the small hours before he took the plunge, and left the old Gerald behind.  Even then he was not certain.  Not until he had been able to convince suppliers and potential customers, that he could actually do the things he said he could do.  Many tightly worded safety clauses were built into contracts ensuring that if Gerald, or his silver tongue, wasn't up to it, he would bear the cost.
     But by hard work, a loyal and willing workforce he overcame the obstacles and gradually the line on the graph paper started to move upwards.  Rich contracts followed, honours bestowed, meetings with high placed people were made, as were invitations to join ... whatever he wanted. There were few doors closed to him now.
     His company got bigger and bigger.
     He had achieved more than he could ever have hoped for, from nothing but his own self belief, and from a little phrase he had borrowed from his father; and adopted for himself.  Those few  words which he once heard him use, seemed to sum up his own successful life.
    'Guts and spit.'