I''ve Got Jesus in the Back of My Taxi!

Robert Ferguson

Description

It was the festive season when Glasgow taxi driver, Donald Forbes, waited for one last fare, but unknown to him, the mysterious passenger that entered his cab would create a life-changing epiphany. A fantastical journey beckoned when his final client activated a labyrinthine voyage. In this spiritual ride, he saw himself as a young boy, met his dead father, had his life saved by a ghost, and travelled back through his extraordinary life timeline; intending to help others with similar objectives.

Sujets

• Adventure (Guyana)
• Adventure

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
• Date de parution: 31 juillet 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528989114
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

I’ve Got Jesus in the Back of My Taxi!
A Glasgow Christmas tale
Robert Ferguson
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-07-31
I’ve Got Jesus in the Back of My Taxi! About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgment The Stranger The Old Charity Shop The Walk The Meet The Gathering The Flight The Theatre Glasgow Cathedral The Clyde The Clydeside Little Boy December, 1987 The letter Glasgow Cathedral Present Day Report The Shipwreck Glasgow Cathedral Present-Day 1998 The Olive Man 11.45 PM Christmas Eve Present-Day Nostalgia Crowning Glory Party to Party Behold Christmas in Donald’s Apartment The End Nearly Time Stranger Than Fact
About the Author
The author, Robert Ferguson, is a musician, songwriter, vegetarian, world traveller, writer and animal lover; especially cats. His current aim is to write more novels, which will always have a Scottish theme or connection; concealed somewhere in his writing. He just loves making up curious stories and writing them down. Robert lives in Alloa, Scotland, with his wife, Lorna, dog, Ziggy, cats, Jesse and Roxy. He has a son, Jamie, daughter-in-law, Gemma, granddaughter, Maya, and grandson, Cooper. The Beatles are his FAB 4!
Dedication
Lorna Ferguson
Travis and their song: Why does it always rain on me.
Glasgow Cabbie, Stef Shaw
Glasgow Museum of Transport
The Panoptican National Theatre, Glasgow
Stan’s studio cafe, Sarah J Stanley, Glasgow
Glasgow Humane Society.
Glasgow Police Museum
Glasgow Cathedral
Necropolis, Glasgow
Capercaillie and Servant to the slaves
Formula Rossa, Abu Dhabi
George Harrison and John Lennon
The Glasgow police
The City of Glasgow
The black crow
Copyright Information ©
Robert Ferguson (2020)
The right of Robert Ferguson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Austin Macauley is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In this spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the author’s alone.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528989107 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528989114 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgment
It’s been a long road but we got there. To Lorna, for reading early drafts and giving guidance and encouragement. Jamie, Gemma, Maya and Cooper.
Thanks, Mum and Dad, for a happy childhood. Kisses to Nana, for all those wonderful bedtime stories—they always stayed with me.
The Stranger
It was early December, and heavy snow fell. Glasgow was brimming with festive cheer. Seasonal lights flashed towards trendy George square. Other decorations gently swayed on the tensioned wire which held them in place, and sequenced in a zig-zag course and crossed streets from building to building, which moved in time with a neon sign that protruded from a nearby Georgian type, three-story construction. ‘Logan & Lochhead’, the animated lights pulsated, flashed and promoted the company name.
The party season was well underway, and this Thursday night was no different, at least, to any other regular Thursday, but festive time always added extra spice and glitter to the occasion. Crowds of partygoers filled pubs, clubs and restaurants, dressed as elves, angels, snowmen and Santa Claus, as they moved joyfully around the city centre, as if in a Xmas convention in some American city. Christmas spirit they call it.
Donald was wrapped warmly, a heavy woollen fair isle sweater was worn under a long black coat, which did more than satisfy his attempt to keep warm, even in the substantial heat of his cab.
His taxi sat at the front of a very long row of taxicabs, waiting for a few more customers to arrive before calling it a night. Parked on West George Street, just a few yards from George Square, a historical area of confluence; a collection of monuments dedicated to Robert Burns, James Watt, Sir Robert Peel and Sir Walter Scott are installed around the old square. Business people took advantage of a few late drinks before heading home. Many stood at the pedestrian crossing opposite Queen Street on the junction of George square, to catch a train to their destination. Stirling? Larbert? Polmont? Alloa? Whatever the end of their journey, most travellers seemed to be full of more than Xmas spirit.
Donald Forbes worked his taxi hard in recent weeks. His energetic effort would be rewarded with a well-earned holiday in early February to somewhere warm to relax, somewhere tranquil where life operated at a slow pace, somewhere less damp, somewhere peaceful, somewhere less hectic, somewhere with not so many shops. His mind took him to a fabulous exotic beach, as he looked intently at drenched, lively partygoers moving around city streets in a joyful, carefree manner; when suddenly, a hand slapped hard against the driver’s window.
Donald jumped from his seat with a scared expression fixed on his face, and a surge of adrenaline flowed through his veins which made his heart pound! Turning to see a very drunk young woman staring through the window. Her hair was unkempt and wet, her makeup spoilt by persistent rainfall, giving her a clown-like appearance. In a loud, raspy, voice, she shouted, “Dae ye want a chip?” as her hand once again, slapped against his window, with a grip full of greasy chips, primarily covered in tomato sauce. Her three friends laughed loudly as they staggered forwards, singing a catchy chorus of some 1970s Christmas pop hit. Remnants of a few chips and tomato sauce slowly slid down the window, following raindrops as they slithered downward. Donald mumbled and moaned but knew his taxi had seen many worse sights than a few chips and a tomato condiment plastered over his cab window. Just then, as he was about to exit his cab, (in an attempt) to clean the greasy mess, the rear side door in his Hackney opened, and a soft-spoken voice said,
“Can you take me to Woodlands?”
“Woodlands? Do you have an address?” said Donald inquiringly. He turned his stare to the stranger, who had settled, and continued to stare out the window.
“It has been a few years since I’ve been in Glasgow. It’s such a vibrant fun city.” The stranger looked familiar to Donald. Did he know this man?
The street outside flowed with students from a nearby university. All of whom had just started their holiday season and enjoyed a night out before going to homes all over Scotland, and some further afield. Xmas, at parents with all the festive trappings, money from grandparents, was just what they needed.
Glasgow was their natural community during the university semester, and this area was just a short walk to the halls of residence. Pubs were close enough to enable a short stagger home. Cheap beer and food were always an attraction for undergraduates, and the local fish and chip shop would be busy until closing time. A young man, wrapped in a brownish, large duffle coat, attempted to take selfie photographs with every female that had courage enough to pass him. A female police officer was content on getting involved, showing a broad, toothy grin and a thumbs up pose that had the crowd cheering, and a few wolf whistles cut through cold, bitter air to add approval to the situation. Photographs posted on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter would make headlines for a day or so. #glasgowfunpolice.
“Where do you want to go to, sir?” Donald inquired.
Donald stared with great focus at the stranger. The visitor was wearing double denim, had long straight, shoulder length brownish hair which was centre-parted. His beard was long but well-groomed. His eyes were blue, bright as sapphires, even under dull low-level led lights that illuminate the back of the cab, his eyes still shone brightly. “Have we met before?” Donald inquired.
The stranger kept his stare focussed towards people on the street. And without turning, he replied with a charming Glasgow accent, “Many times. Don’t you know who I am?”
“No, I don’t think I do. But you do look like…” Donald hesitated but stopped talking.
The stranger smiled, turned to face Donald and looked attentively at him, through mainly scratched, damaged Perspex divider, which separated the driver from caged passengers. “You were about to say George Harrison.” The stranger returned his gaze street ward which made him grin.
“Yeah, of course, I was about to say George Harrison, how did you know that?” Donald continued, though he couldn’t understand why he would hold an immature conversation with his passenger, he did.
“An actual double, if you don’t mind me saying. You should start a tribute act, make yourself a fortune. The denim, the hair, the beard and the desert boots. It looks great!” He strangely found himself clasping his hands together and made a praying symbol. With a slight mocking nature, he heard himself say, “Hare Krishna,” and laughed slightly but got no response or reaction from his passenger. Not sure why he even did this. His facial expression exposed a feeling of stupidity and guilt.
What am I doing? He cringed ever so slightly.
The outsider interrupted Donald’s George Harrison fanciful summary.
“A change of mind, Donald. Take me to Willowbank Primary School.”
A push button ignited the engine, a gentle flow of cold air filled his cab, the squeaky, wet, window wipers set in motion a pattern of a slow yet constant cleaning movement that wiped away a continual flow of freezing dri