An the Dawn comes up like Thunder.

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Chapter 1:

"An the Dawn Comes Up Like Thunder outer China' crost the Bay."
Rudyard Kipling.

The marble top of the hotel bar glistened periodically in subdued, mysterious pools from the small overhead pin lights, set within the high, black ceiling. Elsewhere, dimly percieved in the shadows, dark alcoves transcended an inner wall, whilst in an alternate part of the structure, a fake wooden staircase rose up to a fake door at a higher level, leading nowhere. The bar itself was square shaped and took up the central part of the establishment, like an Irishman's Mecca. The nexus of the supply chain, fore square like a object of reverence, was an erect teak cabinet comprising an upper shelf of brandies, atop a selection of some excellent malts, which in their turn surmounted a most diverse and salutary collection of bourbon whiskies with names like Knob Creek, Blantons Kentucky single barrel and the grandaddy of them all, a mature Jack Daniels.

An incongruous location, you might think for a connection between James Bond & the Chinese New Year, but such it was that evening at a watering hole in the Peninsular Hotel, Manila.

It started off quietly enough.

Trudi was at her station looking after a couple of Pinoy regulars, whilst the rest of the bar staff were checking stock, along with rustling up peanuts & dried mango chips.

The new customer at the bar looked vaguely familiar from previous visits. Tall, in his 60's, with a white beard and watchful eyes, a relic in fact of the gin and tonic brigade of Empire days, currently in transit via Manila to a new assignment in the Far East.

Bar staff seemed to outnumber customers, and the bearded one was settling down nicely to a quiet evening drink before dinner. It was therefore unusual, that he failed to notice the door behind him open and the entry of an individual with a felt hat pulled down over his face who proceeded to one of the aforementioned alcoves away to the left.

Perhaps it had been the conversation struck up with him by one of the incumbent clientel, a Filipino/ Italian local with a cigar and a questionable pedigree, who happened to mention, to the tall Englishman that Bond was in the bar.

"I beg your pardon," the tall man responded, "I don't get your drift. Run it past me again."

"Oh that's Daniel Craig over there. Trudi just told me. He has come over to see his wife starring in the latest Bourne Sanction film being made on location here in the Philippines."

A few discreet looks confirmed he was right. "But," he thought, "Chap requires his privacy. Englishman as well. No fuss,no pack drill."

Chapter 2:


"Ship me somewhere's east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,

Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;

For the Temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be ---

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea;"



It was of course inevitable for the secret to be unearthed and for the subterfuge to be eroded, but an implicit bond was formed that evening among strangers to fight a rearguard action against external intrusions. The" Old Guard" maintained their posts and the pretence that all was normal on their watch. But the word got out. Loose talk perhaps in reception, a mole in the laundry room?

And so in a relentless manner the bar began to fill up, each new arrival upon entering, scanning faces eagerly for Bond & any other associated celebs.

This in its turn activated a surreal assuming of poses by the existing occupants. Look at me. Could I be mistaken for someone?

The infiltration of hotel security was the next act in the evolving scenario, first one, then a
second in sharp suits and size 12 shoes with walkie talkies held loosely at their sides.

Outside in the main foyer, the Chinese New Year was in full swing. Cymbals clashed and drums beat to frighten off devils and a crimson red paper dragon was paraded and swirled from aloft.

Back in the bar enquiries were made as to whether Bond was on vodka martinis ? " No " replied Trudi, "He's drinking a Heineken."

James made a break for the toilet, and this to the pack was as if he had been flushed from
coven. Ambushed for photos one could see the exasperation in his demeanour. "For Gods sake I just want to pee, not take on Smersh !"

Upon his return, things were becoming intolerable, his cover was blown. The heavies were now discreetly but firmly blocking any potential autograph hunters from approaching the alcove. The Old Guard concurred that it was a poor show.

"Chap can't go out for a quiet drink without all this palaver. Bloody locals! Would never have happened in the old days."

Bond made a second break, this time for the lift and just made it unscathed.

Back inside Pussy Galore called it a day, Goldfinger called for his tab, Oddjob rang the wife to say he would be home soon to help with the kid's homework and the tall Englishman was confused as to whether he looked like 007's boss "M," or Earnest Hemingway. Mind you, it was pertinent to remember that he was 10 hours jet lagged and had been on the Stoli vodka and tonic all evening; shaken not stirred, one might add.

Elsewhere across the Far East, the politicians were extolling the national benefits and need to produce more babies. They were of course preaching to the converted; the Year of the Dragon being one of royalty and strength. Everyone did their bit and in China itself, midwives were already marking up their rates of hire for the anticipated demand in their services.

Another highly entertaining thread, Man, Keep it up!

Best

H

And all based on fact H, apart from an element of writers interpretation on my part!

Great fun to pull it all together.

Best wishes

m (not M)

Oh my goodness, I almost missed this one. What a shame that would have been. Keep it up if you can Manichaean. The writing that is! I'm sure the plumbing is O.K.

Dear Steve
Kindly be assured and based on my recent endeavours in Manila, that everything is in working order.

Am in Papua New Guinea now for the next six months, so you may get some miscellany jottings on headhunters.

Take care
M.

Forgive the belated reply--

The title of the piece grabbed my attention. When I was growing up, I was the kind of insufferably misguided adolescent who made a point of being slightly perverse in going out of my way to disdain and snub anything my peers idolized (such as the Beatles) Beatles preferring instead the flawless phrasing of the Chairman of the Board. That, and not Kipling, was where I first heard "On the Road to Mandalay," lifted nearly verbatim from old "White Man's Burden" Rudyard, with a couple of Frank's trademark tweaks:
"By the old Moulmein pagoda
Looking crazy at the sea,
there's a Burma broad just sittin'
and I know she thinks of me. . ."

Not only that, every time I read something set in this exotic locale, along with bearded characters in lightweight suits and heavy British accents, I immediately remember the old Schweppes commercials featuring Commander Whitehead. I just can't help myself. That's the kind of brainwashing Madison Avenue did to this here American. (But I still like that brand of ginger ales.)

EVEN SO--your offering here was more than enough to cover the shortcomings of your ol' auntie's background. For instance, the way you preface each of your two chapters with appropriate Kipling lines is crafty. I also like the wit throughout the story, as well as little gems as "a local with a cigar and a questionable pedigree."

Not only that, juxtaposing Hollywood hysteria with the traditional Chinese New Year is inspired. ("East meets West" but in this case the twain meet in an entertainingly incongruous way.) And finally, sending up the pop culture references places this story proudly in the ranks of our "post-postmodern" sensibilities.

This was fun to read, and again, sorry for the delayed response.