‘I’m interested in end-of-times civilization,’ the man said. I’d seen him hovering around before he finally decided to come over to my table. He was getting on in years and had an amicable face. He had visited every other author in the room. I was at a book event trying to sell my latest offering. It was one of those ‘Meet the public’ events, where you sit at a table all day long, trying to interest people in your thoughts, the ones you’ve written down on paper at least, hoping that someone will fork out and buy a book.
‘Can you tell me what you mean by end-of-times civilisation?’ I asked him. I’m of the opinion that it’s better to engage with the public, rather than go in for the hard sell, which only tends to put them off. And I was genuinely interested. I had been reading about the concept of end-of-times fascism, a phrase coined by an American political analyst to describe the current state of US politics. I didn’t know which side of the political divide this man was on but maybe we could find some common ground.
‘The world is in turmoil,’ he said. ‘Just look around you. There are wars everywhere. Countries are in upheaval. We’re heading for the end of civilization. Humanity is going to the dogs and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. It’s all been written down. You need look no farther than Ecclesiastes.’
When people start quoting the Bible at me, the warning bells go off. I once got caught out by a Mormon who tried to convert me at one of these events and it had taken ages to shake him off. I attract people of a theological bent. They must think I’m fair game or something. It has to do with the books I’m selling about my Quaker ancestors. I should have known better than to bring them along this time and stuck to the short stories instead. I didn’t want to engage with him on a theological level. He would have a superior knowledge of the Bible to me.
‘I agree with you about the state of the world,’ I said tentatively. ‘It is all heading in the wrong direction now that the oligarchs are in control. They don’t care about the likes of you and me. They are doing nothing to try and stop the fighting. They are ignoring climate change and are intent on furthering their own ends, while claiming to be on the side of the people. If things carry on like this, it will only get worse.’ I avoided using the word Armageddon. It would only encourage him.
‘It’s up to us to stand up and be counted,’ I continued. ‘The Quakers back in the seventeenth century weren’t fatalistic,’ I said, referring to the personalities I’d researched for my family history book. ‘Their lives were in turmoil too. They were persecuted during the Civil War and after the Restoration of the Monarchy. They were excommunicated by the church and sent to jail by the state for their faith. But they didn’t give up. Once their religion was tolerated, they went on to become successful citizens and were at the forefront of peace processes in the world. They are still doing it today.’
I admit I was trying to steer him on to talking about my books. After all that was what I was there for. But he showed no interest in them or what I was saying.
‘These things are cyclical,’ he told me. ‘It’s all been predicted in Ecclesiastes. They will recur again and again, until they don’t.’
I had a knowledge of the New Testament but had never read the Old. But the message he was propounding was coming over loud and clear. The fate of the world had been written down long ago. And now the end was nigh.
‘It’s up to us all to do something about it,’ I said. ‘There have been huge developments in technology of late. We have the tools to solve the climate crisis if we would only put our minds to it. There is a lack of political will. That is the stumbling block.’
‘I’m really enjoying this conversation,’ he said. ‘I’d love to continue it, but I haven’t got time right now.’
Everyone was packing up and I could see he had no intention of buying any books from me. He had not been in the least receptive to my ideas. His ideas were fixed. There was nothing original about them. They were determined by a text which had been written by another human being, thousands of years before. A gap had opened between us. There was no common ground.
About the author
Jenny Palmer writes short stories, poetry, memoir and family history. Her collections 'Keepsake and Other Stories.' 2018, and 'Butterflies and Other Stories,' 2024, were published by Bridge House, and are on Amazon. 'Witches, Quakers and Nonconformists,' 2022, is sold at the Pendle Heritage Centre, Barrowford.
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