ISBN 978 1789014 150 Matador Publishers
A Reluctant Spy
The life story of Hilda Campbell, who became Frau Hilda Büttner Richter before Lady Hilda Simpson. A double agent in World War 2. Published by Clink Street.
Untied Laces
The author’s autobiography
He confronted Osama bin Laden in Abbottabad, brought an African dictator to tears, and has two international sporting caps. So why did untied laces trip him up?
ISBN 978-07552-0459-5 New Generation Publications.
Jim’s Retiring Collection
The illustrated cartoons and musings of a city and then rural Church of Scotland minister. Gathered and set in a biblical context.
ISBN ASIN B00ND 3F7PM New Generation publications
Poet’s Progeny
A line of descent of the national bard, Robert Burns maintains his influence over succeeding generations.
ISBN 0-7552-0178-7 New Generation Publishing
7 point 7 on the Richter Scale
The diary of the camp manager in the NWFP of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan following the 2005 earthquake. (Profits have gone to Muslim Hands for earthquake relief)
ISBN 978-0955-47370-8 Alba Publishers
Take the Lead
The quirks of dogs, as experienced by the author over his life in Scotland, Pakistan and Ghana, together with canine poetry with a record of medical advances made by our canine friends understanding human conditions.
ISBN 9-781910256213 Netherholm Publications
Chaz the Friendly Crocodile
Chaz the Nigerian crocodile visits a Scottish river to help people keep their towns tidy. Set as a poem, this is a book parents can use to teach their growing children the value of good manners.
ISBN 978-1-84963770-1 Austin Macauley
Lawrence the Lion Seeks Work
There are no more animals in the circus. So what happened when Lawrence the lion went in search of a new job?
ISBN 978-0-75521656-7 Netherholm Publications
Danny the Spotless Dalmatian
Dalmatian puppies have no spots at birth; they appear after three weeks. But Danny’s spots never appeared. Follow him as he searches for spots to make him a real Dalmatian.
ISBN 978-1-91066715-6
e-pub ISBN 978-1-910667-16-3
mobi ISBN 978-1-910667-17-0
Have You Seen My Ummm… Memory?
An invaluable booklet for all whose memories are declining. Student memory tips as well as advice for those more senior moments to get through life.
ISBN 0-7552-0146-9 New Generation
ISBN American edition 978-1-4327-3364-3 Outskirts Press
Ponderings IN LARGE PRINT
Poems and short stories, as it says, in large print.
ISBN 0-7552-0169-8 New Generation Publishing.
It’s Me, Honest It Is
Commissioned by the NHS nursing service, this is an end-of-life handbook for individuals to complete.
Love in Flanders Trenches
A World War 1 saga of a nurse imprisoned as a suffragist and released to serve in the trenches, where she eventually finds love.
Murder at Blackwaterfoot
When a body is discovered on the island of Arran, the community are impatient to have the case resolved but when another body is found on the beach, the pressure is on Constable Rory Murdoch to find the killer.
The Day I Confronted Usama bin Laden
The truth of this book dies after chapter 1. Now at the end, some more remarkable truth about my life, not as a spy but in a very unusual encounter.
Our border collie, Tâche, died in the first few days of October 2005. I mention this for two reasons. Firstly that it made me feel low and I was not taking in the news every day. Secondly, I was no longer under a canine regime of regular walks. However, at the end of the year, I was reminded about the dreadful earthquake in South Asia on 8th October 2005 by a friendly part-time special police officer who ran a successful Indian restaurant in town. Farooq Ahmed lost his niece in this disaster which killed 75,000, injured as many again and left thousands widowed, orphaned and abandoned. He told me he was going out to the capital Islamabad to manage aid which was arriving in deluge proportions. He knew I had been placing children on supervision or having them fostered in my professional work for Dumfries and Galloway and also knew I had retired recently. He asked if I would be willing to go to the North West Frontier Province of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan to assist in the care of the children in a large camp at Mundihar. With no dog and an un-protesting wife who was prepared for me to go, I set off.
I arrived in Islamabad on 7th January 2006 with a case full of balloons, colouring-in books, exercise jotters, string, and my mouthorgan which security staff both at Heathrow and Islamabad insisted I played to the amusement of other travellers. That was a relief. It showed up on their radar as a gun-sized metal object. They applauded in London as did the staff in Islamabad.
I was driven 130 kilometres into the NWFP to reach the Camp at Mundihar. The ground had been donated by a farmer and lay in snow-covered tiered circles around a gentle hill. 24,500 people lived in tents on this farmland which lacked hygiene, sufficient food and warmth. On the second day, I was called to a meeting outside the farmhouse in temperatures below zero. The atmosphere was tense. A Brigadier of the Pakistani army chaired the meeting. The farmer’s wife had been found donating aid to the townsfolk who had not been affected by the disaster. It was a serious matter and the Brigadier made no bones about the situation. I raised my hand. The Brigadier looked up and gave me his attention. I spoke of world disasters and how people instinctively donated food, clothing and money to aid charities. Such aid came flying out to where it was needed but there was often no administration on hand to deliver it. I saw this as a similar situation. What was needed was a responsible structure and rotas so everyone receives aid and knows when it is arriving.
The brigadier stood up and pointed at me. ‘Sir, you are not a Muslim.’ I acknowledged his statement with a nod. ‘You are independent. I make you the camp manager.’ Suddenly and unexpectedly I found myself with a job, one which required my attention 24/7 and so my role changed dramatically. It became a job to prioritise the distribution of food and blankets – a priority in the cold and frosty January weeks. There were feuds to resolve amid pointed Kalashnikovs but I kept mine safe in the tent I slept in, as it was suggested to me by the Brigadier who provided it for me. Rain seeping down the terraces caused fury again when arms were the way the residents resolved disputes. Then I took ill.
I lost all energy and came down with influenza-like symptoms. I was taken to a building to recover in Mansehra where underneath a banner, Muslim Hands Eye Clinic, I lay on a mattress semi-conscious. After two days I was beginning to feel better and sat up on my floor bedding. Then I heard a car enter the compound. Two car doors closed, one after the other.
There did not seem to be anyone else around, so I got up and went to the door. On the compound ground before me stood a very tall man. The tallest man I had seen in Pakistan by far. He was about my height, as I stood on the raised forecourt step. He wore a cream chemise. His face was long with a straggly grey beard and piercing eyes. He looked very familiar. ‘Salaam Alaikum’ (Peace be unto you) I said bringing my beard close to his bearded cheek. ‘Alaikum Salaam’ (And unto you, Peace) he replied. That was when I suspected the most feared man in the world was standing before me. There was a stand-off silence for a moment before he asked of someone of whom I had no knowledge. I told him so.