My Name Is Not Jacob Ramsay (16 page)

The youth gripped his Glock 26 tight and pulled back the slide. The weapon was ready to fire. He narrowed his eyes and searched through the blinding, distorted lights around him, fixed on a shadowy figure and stretched out his gun arm. The youth took one small step out of the garden gate and steadied himself. He had lined up his sight when an armed police officer suddenly raised, twisted and aimed his Heckler & Koch MP5 machine pistol at him.

"ARMED POLICE. DROP YOUR WEAPON! DO IT NOW!"

"Fark you, blud!" shouted the youth, who turned his gun toward the officer.

The officer squeezed the trigger.

BANG!

One 9mm bullet exited the barrel of the Heckler & Koch MP5 SFA3 semi-automatic weapon and was sent racing into the youth.

He had just experienced a gunshot injury to the chest.

The projectile, or bullet, is determined by its kinetic energy (KE) as one half of the mass (M). This is multiplied by the velocity (V) and then squared. Kinetic energy could be greater, depending on the mass and velocity of the bullet, which naturally results in various states of tissue injury. Bullet velocity has a much greater effect on kinetic energy than mass does. Gunshots can cause tissue damage in two different ways. One is when a bullet enters the body and creates itself a direct route through the body tissue, severing it. Two is much more harmful. When the bullet makes contact with the body, piercing the skin and entering tissue, it immediately slows down. It's like diving into a swimming pool. The kinetic energy of the bullet transforms into heat. The tissues surrounding the bullet take on this heat and this can even produce steam that creates a cavity within the tissue, due to the steam rapidly causing it to expand. Cavities in the tissue can collapse and create shockwaves. This is known as a cavitation injury. Handguns have a lower velocity and cause less cavitation than do higher velocity weapons. Cavitation injuries tend to cause more damage than the bullet does itself.

That particular gunshot caused tremendous damage. What occurred was penetrating trauma.

The youth suffered a gunshot wound to the chest. The entrance wound was in the middle of his sternum. The bullet pierced the youth's lung, which collapsed. The left lung had been punctured and was rapidly deflating. The youth was suffering immediate breathing difficulty. Considerable internal bleeding occurred, as well as severe tissue damage. In under a second, the youth's legs had buckled, wobbling like jelly. The bullet, however, had yet to complete its journey. It entered the heart. The bullet was partially embedded in the anterior musculature of the right ventricle. The youth slumped in a twisted heap and the officer then advanced.

He trained his weapon constantly on the fallen youth, who was sprawled, bleeding, half in the front garden of a house.

His eyes stared upwards, like marbles. His body was completely motionless as blood escaped his nose and trickled out of his mouth.

"Target down and secure."

The baggy-jean-wearing youth was dead.

Sinatra Umbundo was far from this area, making his way across Blackheath. Ahead of him was the Princess of Wales pub.

The pub was named after Caroline of Brunswick, wife of George IV. Caroline of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, also known as Caroline Amelia Elizabeth and later Queen Caroline, was born on 17 May 1768 and died on 7 August 1821.

Caroline only became queen some twenty years after marrying in 1795, when the unpopular George, Prince of Wales, was crowned King of the United Kingdom and Hanover in 1820. Their marriage was troubled from the start and just two years in they were living apart, with Caroline in The Vicarage in Charlton and then Montagu House in Blackheath in 1797. Caroline, Princess of Wales, was appointed Ranger in 1806, whilst living in Montagu House on the west side of Greenwich Park from 1798 to 1812.

Sinatra passed the Clarendon Hotel that overlooked the heath. On his right was All Saints Church, built in 1857 as the new parish church for the village of Blackheath.

Sinatra's life was a rebellious, secretive one, which was full of struggle. He walked down the hill of Montpelier Row and crossed Wemyss Road into Montpelier Vale and towards Blackheath Village. He passed Café Rouge and onto Tranquil Vale, stopping on the corner of the street. His eyes searched the darkness. They stopped and fixed on something and the corners of his mouth curled into a warm, loving smile. Sinatra bounded across the zebra crossing and stopped. Standing in the shadows on the pavement, beside the red post box, he nodded his head. That was the most relaxed he had ever been.

"I've missed you," said Sinatra.

Stood before him was a pale-faced, fresh and kind-looking young man of seventeen. On that night he wore skinny jeans and an army green trench-coat.

Sinatra reached out to touch his hand. The hand of Jack.

Jack delivered the kind of smile only ever seen in boyband members. His teeth and skin were perfect and his eyes sparkled in the orange glow of the streetlights. 

"How was college?" asked Sinatra.

"I didn't go. I had my hospital tests, remember?" replied Jack, in a well-spoken manner.

"Ah yeah. Sorry. Sorry, I forgot." Sinatra could have kicked himself as he failed to remember something so important.

"It's okay, Sinatra, you've got a lot on, too," said Jack, in a comforting tone.

He turned and led the two of them up the Vale, passing The Crown pub and continued up Royal Parade and Tranquil Vale. Changing course slightly onto Hare and Billet Road, Jack and Sinatra stepped into the shadows to catch their breath from the cold walk up the hill.

"I saw my teacher today," Sinatra said.

"I should hope so. You were at school," responded Jack, exhaling his warm breath into the cold night.

"No, no you don't understand. I saw him tonight. Near my Endz."

"He probably lives there. So what?"

"No, Jack, blud. Listen to me, cos you ain't. Listen yeah, I saw him with the Feds. Undercover Feds," explained Sinatra, passionately, with disappointment in his eyes.

"Don't speak like that," insisted Jack.

"Like what?"

"Like you're all gangster. I don't like it." Jack was sensitive and calm. He drew the gentler side out of Sinatra.

"Okay. Sorry. But listen, I got the feeling he was out spying with them. It's what they do. Trust me, I know. What if he is spying on me at school and telling the police about me?"

"What do you think he would tell them?" asked Jack. 

"I don't know! Stuff!" yelped Sinatra, on the verge of freaking out.

Jack gently touched his arm, reassuringly. He looked into Sinatra's eyes, with absolute care and devotion. "It'll be okay. Trust me. Everything will be okay. Come on, it's getting cold."

They carried on past the Hare and Billet pub. It was an old school type of public house with a great deal of history. There was a ghostly myth that told of a shadowy figure: a Victorian woman who still haunted the roadside directly outside the pub. Sometimes referred to as 'the White Lady' or 'the Hare and Billet Ghost' or 'the Victorian Lady', the story had a woman fleeing her husband for a lover who never arrived.

She waited and waited and became more and more distressed at the realisation that her lover wasn't going to meet her. Tragically, the woman decided to take her own life and hanged herself from a nearby elm tree.

Sinatra and Jack shivered in the shadows beside the heath.

Jack placed an arm around Sinatra, who turned to him, glancing at the warm, comforting and inviting arm around his broad shoulders.

Sinatra giggled nervously and looked deep into Jack's eyes.

"Thanks for meeting me tonight. I know you're having a tough time at school and with your family, but we can support each other. You're more than a best friend to me," said Jack.

Sinatra took a deep breath and took hold of Jack's right hand, gently holding his fingertips.

"I think I love you," Sinatra said.

Jack widened his eyes. He was overwhelmed. "I - I don't know what to say. Nobody has ever said that to me before."

"Well, do you feel the same?" Sinatra asked.

"I do. I do." Jack stared into Sinatra's eyes.

Suddenly Sinatra's eyes widened as he stared past Jack across the heath. His stare turned into a squinting frown. Jack frowned too and glanced round to see what it was he was looking at.

"What is it?" wondered Jack.

"Is it a woman?" Sinatra answered.

"In fancy dress or something," Jack continued.

"She's walking towards us."

"But her feet aren't touching the ground. It looks weird. I don't like it," cried Jack. 

"She's floating, man. Shit. Look at that shit," Sinatra gasped, covering his mouth. His chest inflated and deflated fast as he breathed.

"I think we should go. Please. Go. Please," trembled Jack, grabbing Sinatra's hand.

Together they paced across the heath, quickening as they set foot into a jog, then a run. They smiled, nervously, running into the darkness.

Sinatra and Jack found themselves crossing Blackheath Hill. They ventured toward Hollymount Close and Maidenstone Hill.

Jack stood in the road, by a garden gate. He turned to Sinatra and smiled at him, touching his hand.

Sinatra stepped up close to Jack.

The two young men closed their eyes and slowly leant their heads toward one another. Their lips made contact and the two of them shared a kiss beneath the moonlight that shone high above Greenwich.

"Goodnight." Jack opened his eyes.

"Night, Jack." Sinatra stepped backwards.

A fascinating and somewhat mysterious history lay between those two areas and involved another young man named Jack.

Sometime in 2002 a great deal of Blackheath suddenly collapsed, revealing a huge crater-like underworld, which obviously had to be repaired. The cause was excessive mining there in the seventeenth century. Mine workings formed lengthy, dark, twisting tunnels beneath Blackheath and Greenwich. One particular tunnel was known as 'Jack Cade's Cavern'. In 1780, a builder seized his opportunity and managed to open up one of the tunnels and some caves. He formed forty or so steps and charged members of the public the princely sum of sixpence to travel down and view them.

The builder even constructed a cottage at the entrance of the caves. It became quite a trend to visit the caves, however, that soon halted when a nineteen-year-old young woman by the name of Lucy Talbot apparently fainted. She lost consciousness within the dark, chalk, dusty tunnel created during the mining quarry days.

Lacking air, Lucy died before returning to the surface.

The cavern consisted of around four other caverns, twisting off from the main one and each joined together by separate tunnels. The main entrance of the cavern was a circular area of around thirty-five feet in diameter. It led to another, much larger area, double the size. A meandering passageway to a smaller chamber-like room revealed a well, consisting of pure water. It wasn't too long before business picked up as usual, though with a slight change of direction. The clientele changed with it. A chandelier was installed, as well as a ventilation shaft and also a bar and thus began the first of the party of parties: a nightclub for the elite was unveiled, revealing alcohol, naked dancers and a 'what happens in the cave, stays in the cave' rule to those paying members of the hoi polloi. In 1854 the cave was closed once the puritan Victorian Age was upon us.

It was in 1938 in the garden of number 77 Maidenstone Hill that the cave and tunnel was inspected once more, with the authorities determined to install an air-raid shelter. After inspecting the below ground remnants and ghostly past of the cave, they decided against the installation and resealed all openings.

Who was Jack Cade? His real name was John Aylmer, or sometimes John Mortimer. He was an Irishman from Kent and led a forty-thousand strong rebellion consisting of peasants as well as the wealthy, landowners and members of the clergy. They were protesting about laws and taxes and extortion by King Henry VI in 1450. Cade assembled his rebels on Blackheath in July of that year. It was said Jack had carried out Pagan rituals in the caves below before marching on towards London. It was in Southwark, at the White Hart Inn, where Cade made his headquarters. Jack struck his sword into the London Stone, now in Cannon Street, and declared himself the new Mayor of London. After a huge, ugly battle on London Bridge, resulting in hundreds of casualties, Cade met to discuss a possible pardon for him and his fellow rebels. However, he soon learned that the government was going to betray him. They had deemed him a traitor and there was a reward for anyone who could bring Cade in, dead or alive. During a suspicious fight in East Sussex, the man known to hundreds of thousands of people as Jack Cade was killed. His body was quickly taken to London where it was quartered and his head was rammed upon a pole on London Bridge. Twenty or so of Cade's followers were rounded up and put to death, despite being pardoned. John Aylmer, John Mortimer, a rebellious man, undercover and known by secret authorities as Jack Cade.