Chapter Twenty Six: The lodge. Jeff and I were to meet in Bexleyheath town centre for something to eat before we headed for the lodge. The weather was cold and miserable as I looked for Jeff outside the venue of choice. Here I stood for a good ten minutes before a rap on the window alerted me to the fact that he was already inside and stuffing his face. Entering the eatery my nostrils twitched with the smell of garlic and herbs, very nice indeed. After hanging my coat, I sat down at Jeff’s table and just for a moment watched the condensation gather on the front window, and then roll down to the bottom sill, where it gathered and dripped to the floor. We were in a small Italian pasta house; checked cloths decked each table and attentive staff buzzed about the place. In fact I am sure there was more staff than customers. ‘Hello Steve, fancy something to eat’. I looked at Jeff with a pasta string hanging out of his mouth: ‘Yes, i think a little Bolognese could fill a hole and a cola please. I need to keep a clear head’. ‘No problem’. Jeff nonchalantly raised his arm and a waiter shuffled over. I order my food and a drink. The temptation to dive straight in and ask some questions about McGowan, Brule and Bramley, and their links with the Bexleyheath lodge was immense, but I could just feel it was not the right time. There was something going on, but I could not quite put my finger on it. ‘How are you managing without Catriona, you look better for sure’? He is direct, but the tone of his voice is considerate, sorry even. My chest rises as I take a deep breath and explain that each day is different, some good, some bad. The truth of the matter is that if I have a bad day and have a drink or two, it becomes a bloody emotional disaster. So I try not to drink alcohol as a general rule, it takes me over the edge. I’m back in training and finding my old self, it must stay that way. Over dinner I asked Jeff about tonight’s Introduction and what it entails. He is quick to point out that tonight is a simple periodic meeting which is always chosen to introduce new prospects to the lodge. Just speak when spoken to and remain polite; it will be a breeze. The Master Mason is on your side, even if it may not appear that way. Remain quiet during the listed minutes of the meeting and do not take offence when you are asked to leave the room; the meeting moves on to discuss the financial aspects of the lodge and as I am yet to be enrolled, it is only right I do not take part. A drink at the bar is not mandatory for anyone, but as I wish to be introduced, it will be expected of me to remain in the lounge area of the lodge for at least an hour after the meeting. It will give other members a chance to look me over, have a chat if they wish and for the lodge secretary to ask me a few questions about my background and why I wish to join the lodge. All seems reasonable to me, any club with a membership of people who have a common bond requires some structure and process to work efficiently, this should be no different.
I have always been cynical of the Freemasons, If not a little angry about the whole thing; but you know what they say: you will never beat the system, so you might as well just ride the wave and go with the flow. So ride the wave I shall. Jeff glances at his watch. ‘It’s time we went, come on.’ He catches the eye of the waitress, smiles, pays the bill and leaves a tip. My coat is warm, but the cold wet weather grabs the skin of my face and reminds me that it is definitely still winter. We head further into the busy high street for about half a mile and take a right turn. It’s not long before I am looking at an extensive building that appears to be about a hundred years old, is pebble dashed throughout its entirety and to be frank, is not that impressive. The roof is covered in dark grey slates and all held together by some quite old fashioned concrete gables. Not one transparent window exists in the entire building, no one can see into this very private club house. We approach the heavy double doors. Jeff gives the door a slight push; it opens freely and without the slightest of effort, literally flowing on its hinges with grace and strength. I am two steps behind Jeff, who had turned around and was trying to get my attention. But I was staring at the elaborately decorated ceiling and for a moment I could not hear him; as I am transfixed by the beauty of this entrance hall. Then onwards to another set of doors that open into what I can only describe as a very comfortable and very large reception room. So large in fact that the furniture looks small; tables, comfortable arm chairs and sofas are strategically placed in small groups around the room. I immediately notice the room is very square, exactly square in fact. The carpet is a deep red pile; it is obviously tightly woven and looks very expensive. A dark blue and barely visible symmetrical pattern works its way through the entire carpet, with a small gold spot at the centre of every pattern. At the centre of the carpet the pattern is replaced with a large reproduction of Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man, again in gold. It’s quite something to see for sure. All the furniture is of a period nature and the lighting is via ornate chandeliers, adequate, but the room is not well lit. There are a set of doors off to the left and to the right. The far wall has a small bar that looks well stocked and a barman who looks as if he is ready and waiting to serve royalty. About five people are sat down to my right, in a set of armchairs located around a dark hard wood table. A few drinks of differing types are on the table and they stop chatting the moment we walk in: Jeff smiles in the general direction of the group. I try to look relaxed and friendly, but it must be blindingly obvious that I am a new comer. They acknowledge Jeff by the slightest nod of the head. And then a guy of about 55 years old stand’s up and makes his way over to us. He is well dressed in a standard middle class sort of way, smart shoes, slacks and a well fitted shirt. He offers his hand to Jeff, firmly, but with familiarity and then looks straight at me and offers his hand to me also. I gladly and with some relief, accept his offer and shake his hand, thankful that I am not made to feel unwelcome. He introduces himself as David Greg and ushers me over to the bar. I can feel the luxury of the carpet beneath my feet, which draws out any strain in my legs with each mollescent step. David serves us a drink of fifteen year old malt without asking, but asks me if I want ice. He asks Jeff how things are going and they generally chat about nothing specific; for a few minutes I feel as if I am not there. But then David turns to me, calls me by my first name and asks me why I have an interest in the Freemasons and whether I have attempted any historical research. I do feel immediately under pressure to say the right thing, but manage to keep calm and keep a friendly, calm tone to my reply. And as I begin to narrate my pre planned speech about friendship, common values and historical interest in all that the Freemasons stand for, I can hear others entering the lounge behind me. The place is starting to fill up quite rapidly; it’s nearly time for the monthly meeting. Voices start to rise and the place gets quite boisterous. David asks me what I do for a living as we are gradually pushed away from the bar; I give him the full speech, it was quite easy because I was telling the truth. Engineering management is what I do, and I have known Jeff for at least ten years; our friendship has gradually reached a peak and hence here we are: in this warm, comfortable and most gentlemanly place. I do not go on about my holiday from hell as from what Jeff has said he would already know about it anyway. In between glancing at his watch and a rather large set of doors to the left of us, David did seemed genuinely interested; I soon learned why. About ten minutes later a gong sounded and the gentleman holding it announced: ‘Gentleman, pass through the antechamber if you please’. Jeff whispers in my ear to take it easy and just follow him; we pass through the antechamber and I find myself in another large square hall. This hall is not comfortable, and it is not expensively decorated. It is lined with ornate wood panelling and hard, wooden tiered seating on all four sides. About 120 men of varied age’s file into the hall and select what seems like quite specific seats; groups of friends split up and separate to different parts of the hall, I can only assume a system of rank was being implemented. Myself and Jeff sat furthest from, and opposite from a large chair; it was oversized and grand in design, different beasts of fantastical design, and also skulls were carved into every flat surface and corner of the chair. I was already sat down, but Jeff ushered me to stand. Every other man wa
s standing, and more to the point, tying a decorative bib around their waist. The bib designs were similar in that the background was purple, and the edging was a gold braid; but centrally the designs were different, each having a different interpretation of some historical scene embroidered upon them. And in addition to that: they also donned a collaret that was slung over both shoulders, again: coloured purple with gold braiding. The main purpose of the collaret band seemed to be an elaborate way of presenting a solid gold symbol of the Vitruvian man; all the same in diameter and weight, I would say at least 2 inches across.
The centre of the room took my breath away; a large, possibly eight meter square area was chequered with small black and white squares; each square only 10 centimetres or so in width. In each corner were bowls of incense, each bowl was mounted on white marble pillars that were approximately a meter high. The bowls were black and had a raised design around their centre which I could not quite make out; a light but pungent smoke drifted away from each bowl and dissipated into the mystique of the room. Central to this square was a marble arch which stood at least two and a half meters high, each supporting pillar was at least 40 centimetres in diameter, the arch itself being square in cross section and once again carved with fantastical beasts and skulls that matched the master’s chair. A massive chandelier hung centrally to the entire affair; the light was bright and intense, and lit most of the room. But as no lighting was setup at the outer edges of the room, eerie shadows shot off the incense pillars, and galleries to disappear into the dark corners of the room. The same man who had rung the gong outside entered the hall, stood rigidly still and rung the gong once more. The room descended into silence and moments later David entered; he walked slowly and purposefully towards the arch and stood beneath it. He was dressed the same as his brothers but wore a purple cloak, and the Vitruvian man he wore about above his collaret was larger still then the others; he stood absolutely still. At this point everyone in the hall put both their hands onto the front of their bibs. This was getting weirder by the second. David then raised his head, looked up at the centre of the arch and started to chant: ‘Hear me my Lord; my brothers and I meet this day to discuss the new and the old’. Then everyone chanted: ‘Hear us my Lord’. David then walked towards the ornate chair and sat down, it was as if his actions echoed across the great hall as everyone else followed his actions a second later; a great shuffle of clothing and shoe leather echoed around the hall until the last man had stopped moving. David lifted some paper from an adjacent table, read a little, took note, then put the paper back down and started to speak. ‘After a great adventure and fight for survival that few of us in this world ever have to face. The friend and colleague of Brother Jeff joins us here today under invitation of the lodge. It is with great pleasure that I introduce Mr Steve Mitchell: who not only foiled a criminal plot that would put at risk all good men and their families, but also exposed corruption in the Metropolitan Police force, and more importantly, in our own ranks gentleman! Yes gentleman: corrupt brothers have been exposed and will be dealt with by our lord. These corrupt individuals were not of our lodge I am happy to confirm, but still from within our beloved brotherhood no less. Let this be a lesson to us all that evil and corruption lingers everywhere. I give you Mr Steve Mitchell’! A polite round of applause rose from the once silent seats; Jeff nudged me strongly in the ribs: ‘Go on then’ ‘What?’ ‘Stand up and bow!’ ‘What!’ He then proceeded to grind his very heavy foot into my own until the pain reached such a level that I had no choice but to move; and stand up I did. The applause then rose intently and was backed up by shouts of: ‘Speech’ ‘Speech.’ I had no choice but to ride the wave and smile, bowing to the other 3 sides of the tiered seating, and waving politely to my side of the room. The overall feeling of discomfort made my cheeks blush and my forehead crease. The noise gradually subsided and I was left alone with at least one hundred and twenty sets of eyes staring intently at me, all waiting for some acknowledgement of their grace and favour. ‘Thank you, thank you gentleman. I am humbled by your keen applause and vocal praise of my recent adventures. My invitation from your Grand Master to attend tonight’s meeting is a great honour, and it gives me great pleasure to address you in these historical surroundings. Thank you’. I sat down. The applause rose again, and continued for some minutes until David: the Grand Master raised his hand. An immense sense of relief washing over me, that I had not made a complete idiot of myself. Thank Christ for that! ‘Gentleman we must now proceed with tonight’s meeting, Jeff would you be so kind as to escort Mr Mitchell to the bar. You may be excused due to the exceptional circumstances of this evening’s events; I will brief you later in person. Jeff rose from his chair and shuffled along the pier; I followed. We walked out to a further round of applause, not as robust, but solid none the less. ‘Whiskey’ ‘Jack Daniels and coke please Jeff’ ‘Two please John’ ‘Well that was one for the books Jeff’ ‘Don’t I know it; David insisted I get you on our side, and once you had asked to join, he insisted he break protocol and invite you directly to the monthly meeting. It’s never happened before Steve; you are VERY honoured in deed.’ ‘So what happens next?’ ‘What happens next? How about we down these little beauties and then get some more. In fact: how about we get well and truly drunk!’ ‘No way; we don’t want to look like a couple of mugs in front of the lodge’ ‘Steve, believe me. You are a bloody hero to this lot, and besides, you are amongst brothers, with whom you can trust with your very life. If you can’t get drunk here, the world might as well end? Two more large ones please John!’ Jeff held his glass up and boldly led a toast. ‘To Vitruvian and the promised land’! I could not help but wonder what the toast was in aid off and the quizzical look on my face must have been blindingly obvious. Jeff just looked at me out of the corner of his eye and watched my reaction; and smiled. An hour or so passed and Jeff was definitely on form, and playing the perfect host. My head was starting to spin as I had downed far too much whiskey, far too quickly; it was not my scene to get drunk and loose grip of my social skills in such a business environment. Jeff could sense my apprehension and stepped in to reassure me it was cool to be myself and not to worry about what I said. I was amongst loyal friends that would stand by me. I can’t really tell exactly how long we were stood on our own as I do not wear a watch, never have; but some time later the double doors from the antechamber opened and out poured the 100 or so potential brothers of what, business? Or maybe just common values and friendship, yes, maybe that’s it. A dozen or so immediately crowded around us at the bar and offers of a drink were plentiful and we accepted a few to be polite. Jeff suggested that we retire to the rear of the lounge for a bit of privacy. As we walked to the rear of the room and toward the Vitruvian man perfectly woven into the overall design of this luxurious masterpiece; Jeff makes a point of walking around the golden image of De Vinci’s most famous drawing and hence I follow suit: the thought of defiling the image or breaking some ancient tradition, or respect for what may well be the underlying principles of the Freemason is too much to bear and I will not risk it. Vitruvian was Roman, and when in Rome, do what the Romans do.
Now Vitruvius was a Roman engineer of the first century B.C. and not so famous for his skills of architecture. Active in the 1st century BC, he had specific beliefs in natures ‘proportion of design’ and how this should be reflected in an architect’s work, whether this be the design of military equipment, stone masonry, town planning or natures influence on perfect design with regards to the human form. This was clearly illustrated within his only surviving document: De Architectura, or as it is now known: The Ten books of Architecture. Architecture was a much wider subject in Roman times and known to have included many engineering disciplines and De Vinci was the only scholar who managed to interpret his notes successfully and in doing so produced the now famous sketch of Vitruvius Man. It fazes me that this must be relevant, I have the clues and still cannot figure out what is going on. Vitruvian man is everywhere. Once we were seated, Jeff procee
ded to ask me what I thought of it all and did I like what I had seen so far. It was a clear push to get me on their side. Previously, Catriona and I were as tight as could be and no one else was allowed into our circle of trust; we really did keep even our closest friends a little distant from our real thoughts and plans. It was then, as I looked around the room with its Victorian splendour, that I realised I had been taken in by it all, and yes, I was impressed, even excited by it all. Jeff was my best mate and had helped me through the most difficult times of my life, it was time I opened up and had some trust in the world around me. ‘Yes: let’s go for it, if you please Jeff; continue with my proposal’. He smiled, with a sense of triumph I might add, placed his heavy hand on my shoulder and replied: ‘Without doubt my friend, without doubt’.