The Brotherhood of Ulan: and Other Stories

THE BROTHERHOOD OF ULAN

and other stories

Geoffrey Smith

Copyright 2020 Geoffrey Smith,

All rights reserved.

Published by eBookIt.com

http://www.eBookIt.com

ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-3462-9

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

I dedicate this book to my son, Nicholas, and his wife, Nancy; to my daughter, Mandy, and her husband Derek; to my wife, Miriam; to my six wonderful grandchildren, Sebastian, Bianca, Angelica, Victoria, Myles and Jayden; and to those great grandchildren who I am sure are waiting impatiently in the wings.

Finally, to Kendal—the greatest and most loving friend our family has ever had.

Thank you all for giving meaning to my life.

Acknowledgements

How much we owe to the labours of our brothers! Day by day they dig far from the sun that we may be warm, enlist and fight in outposts of peril that we may be free and brave the terrors of the unknown for truths that shed light on our way

Anonymous

In writing this little book, I am deeply indebted to the many wonderful people over the years who have inspired me by their wisdom, courage and compassion.

Each of them in their own way, and by advice and example, have provided the framework from which I have constructed a life of meaning, experience and inspiration.

There are too many to thank specifically by name. Most of you know who you are however, and those who do not and who I have admired and loved from a distance will continue to be unaware of my anonymous admiration.

I would, however, like to particularly remember my beloved mother, Lilian, a wonderful woman whose bravery and endurance through a difficult life will always be a source of inspiration and example. I continue to treasure her memory through the long corridors of time.

Finally, I remember and honour my father, Clifford. A kind and gentle man to whom I should have shown greater compassion and taken the time, patience and understanding to know better.

Introduction

The mission of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon

Brandon Sanderson

The art of storytelling has been with us since time immemorial when our ancestors sat in caves and marveled at the warmth of fire. They sat in the dusky shadows listening to old men tell stories of the myths and heroes of their past.

In the last few hundred years most of the wisdom of our various cultures has come down to us via the printed word. But long before this and from the beginning of time it was by the spoken word, as part of the great oral tradition of our various tribes, cultures, religions, races and nations.

Sometimes they have been in graphic form but more often in myth, symbol and mystical reference. But, each in their own way have tried to convey wisdom, subtlety and often advice on how to live a fulfilling, moral and ethical life.

It is not by accident that the last request of children before they go to bed is often to tell me a story. I firmly believe that young children live, for a great part, in their own imagination, and this is their way of asking us to share our imaginative world with theirs. It is a request that we should not ignore.

I firmly believe that there is a secret to telling a good story. It should contain, if possible, a sense of mystery or magic. A good story, especially if it is a personal one, should be primarily based on truth but as with myths they can be enlivened with colour and imagination. Finally, and again if possible, they should contain an ethical message or lesson.

In most of the stories in this collection I have endeavoured to do all three.

Most of them are based on real people and their experiences and several of them on those of the author. The spy story Return to Canaan is based on true and verifiable historic events and on authentic characters but not on real people. Safe New World is a somewhat tongue in cheek projection of life in the last part of this century. However the author believes it is based on significant current trends.

However, in all of them I have tried to invoke a sense of mystery, magic and inspiration.

Geoff Smith

Thornhill, Ontario, April 2020.

Contents

THE BROTHERHOOD OF ULAN

GREEN JALAPEÑOS

RETURN TO CANAAN

A COCKNEY BRIDE

THE WITCH OF GUDVANGEN

A LESSON FROM JAN SOBELSKI

LESSONS FROM A PAST LIFE

A STRANGE DISCUSSION

REVELATION IN MADRID

A SACRED PLACE

THE GHOST OF OMAR

THE MAGICIAN

SAFE NEW WORLD

TAKE CARE, BIG GUY

THE BROTHERHOOD OF ULAN

What’s a cult? It’s an organisation that doesn’t have enough members to be a religion but just enough to follow it’s dogma

William Sheridan

Early December. An Inspector calls.

Anne Reynolds was quite relaxed when she opened the door to the friendly gentleman who rang the bell that afternoon just before Christmas. However, she was far less so when he introduced himself as Inspector Pearson of the West Devon constabulary. His visit renewed her dormant fears about the strange old house she and her husband briefly stayed in just before their recent marriage.

Mrs. Reynolds? he asked politely. I’m with the West Devon constabulary. I wonder if I can take a moment of your time? Certainly, she replied, leading him into her living room, but what is it about? she asked cautiously, as he sat down. He did not reply until he was seated and then asked if she owned an old red Ford Cortina. When she confirmed that she did, he noted her reply carefully in his notebook and then proceeded to ask the question that she dreaded and yet knew was coming.

About five weeks ago, shortly, before your marriage, did you stay at a lodge near Okehampton in Devon called The Brotherhood of Ulan?" Obviously, he knew the answer, so she reluctantly confirmed that she and her fiancée had stayed there for one night when they were touring Devon.

While you were there did you become friends with a young American called ‘Bill’?

Yes, we did know a Bill, she said cautiously, wondering, and in some ways knowing, what was coming, but very briefly, and I wouldn’t say he was a friend, just a brief acquaintance we met at the lodge. Anne, realising by his manner and the distance he had travelled, that this was not just a routine enquiry but something more serious, confronted the issue by asking, Why what’s happened to him?

He’s dead. The officer replied calmly. He was found on the road shortly after you left the lodge, apparently the victim of a hit and run by a red Cortina. By this time Anne knew exactly where he was leading and decided to pre-empt his enquiry.

Yes, we do have a red Cortina and were in the area, but we had nothing whatsoever to do with it. If that’s what you are thinking. Surprised by her sudden defensiveness, he looked at her intently and replied, Well, I must admit that we were thinking along those lines, however, let me explain -------. And he did.

***********

Two months earlier in Devon.

My good friend Ralph knew that Anne’s twenty-year-old red Cortina was on its last legs. However, he thought optimistically that it would at least last until they finished their two-week autumn tour around the west country to celebrate their engagement. His optimism was unfounded as late one evening, after about a week, like a tired old man it spluttered reluctantly to a halt about five miles from the west country village of Winkleigh.

I can repair it so that it will get you home, but I can’t do it until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, as I need to get a couple of parts, the genial owner of Jim’s Country Garage told them after he had towed them in.

Where’s the nearest Hotel? Ralph asked despondently, knowing that a two-day delay, miles from anywhere was the last thing they needed.

The closest hotel’s the Fox and Hounds in Chumley at Moorfield’s Crossing, Jim told them, but they’d be fully booked this time of year. It’s the Baring Gould Music festival in Okehampton, he advised in his broad west country accent, but there’s the lodge about 3 miles down Manor Lane, he ventured helpfully. There’s a lot of comings and goings there, mainly foreign back packers, I’m told. They are not on the phone and keep themselves to themselves, he told them somewhat cautiously. They may take a couple of guests so you could try there. Faced with no alternative, they thanked him, grabbed their travel packs and set off on the long walk along Manor Lane.

It was somewhat off the beaten track so it was not too easy for them to follow Jim’s directions but he did tell them that they would recognise it by a large brass plate at the entrance to its long drive on which was the ornate inscription: The Brotherhood of Ulan and the large iron gates barring entry. It was a late October evening and the air was heavy with the vague dampness that often occurs in the UK at that time of year. A dampness which wets the clothes even though it’s not actually raining.



Do What Thy Will Is The Whole Of The Law

Eventually they found it and, having announced their arrival through the loudspeaker at the entrance, arrived both damp and cold at the front door and were relieved when they were greeted by an elderly lady.

Good evening, she said with a kind and genial smile. I am sister Eleanor—welcome to the Brotherhood of Ulan—please follow me. Thus, Ralph told me, was the beginning of an experience that both he and Anne would rather forget but, unfortunately, would never do so.

The Lodge, which most local people seemed to call it, was a large and imposing Victorian building of weather-beaten, dark-orange stone with an ornate, almost-Gothic entrance on which was inscribed the slightly ominous words ‘Do What Thy Will Is The Whole of The Law’. Anne mentioned that she had seen that written somewhere else but couldn’t remember where. The house was set way back from the street in several acres of wooded forest. Behind it and a short distance away was a much smaller one of similar style, which they took to be an additional residence for guests. Sister Eleanor led them silently through the main entrance hall into a large, oak-paneled sitting room. Advising them to make themselves comfortable in the large, old armchairs, she retreated as silently as she had entered, leaving them to wait patiently in front of the large, crackling fire.

On the walls of the richly-furnished room were a large collection of portraits, presumably of long-dead owners, along with local, rural scenes, all of which were particularly noticeable by their ornate and imposing frames. From where they were sitting, they caught glimpses of other adjacent and similar rooms all decorated in a style that indicated taste, comfort and the money to achieve both.

After a few minutes a tall and very attractive woman in her middle forties entered the room and, with a somewhat less genial manner than Sister Eleanor, introduced herself serenely as The Mistress of Ulan. They never learned her real name and from then on only referred to her as the Mistress.

In retrospect they would have found it quite easy to describe her general appearance. Smartly dressed in a modern though severe and subdued style as befitted her age and obvious position, but what they later mentioned and which was less easy to describe was the severe and commanding way she spoke, the intensity of her gaze and, something more, an aura of control and mystery that at once attracted and repelled. You can certainly stay here for a few days, she agreed, we always enjoy visitors at the brotherhood. You will of course join us for breakfast, lunch and supper and have use of our quite humble facilities. Our meals are strictly vegetarian and quite simple as befits the philosophy of brother Ulan whom you will meet later.

Ralph, eager as ever to do the right thing, quickly inquired about the cost of their stay. A question that he later realised was blissfully naïve.

There will be no charge, the Mistress replied with discrete but recognisable disdain as though the question of payment was beneath her dignity. However, you will be expected to attend the group’s evening renewal discussions and meditation. These will start when the bell rings about an hour after I have shown you to your room. While you are here, I am sure you will notice how very relaxed and easy going are our members especially in terms of their personal relationships. This of course befits our motto that you saw at the entrance ‘Do what you will is the whole of the law.’

This stern looking woman continued, We in the brotherhood believe that true freedom is the essence of human goodness and real growth, and that religion is merely a tyranny designed to prevent it. We encourage freedom of thought and religion as well as free and unrestricted relationships between both the men and women who stay here. Both Anne and Ralph thought these remarks were a little strange and more of a well-rehearsed statement of faith than general comments of welcome. Before they had a chance to respond however the Mistress abruptly turned and left the room beckoning them sternly to follow.

As they walked through the house and up the staircase to the second floor, she advised them that talking, though not forbidden, was not encouraged, explaining that excess discussion limited personal growth.

They interpreted this as a mild warning not to mix too much with the more permanent residents who were wandering the corridors.

Their room was quite small and furnished in similar style to the other rooms, but, surprisingly for an old house, it also had its own bathroom which both Anne and Ralph welcomed.

Having washed and changed their damp clothes and having briefly rested they soon heard the evening bell almost beckoning them to the evening meeting. A meeting that they approached with some interest, marred by a slight degree of unexplainable anxiety.

Their caution however was rapidly forgotten when they