A Hand in God's Till is a thought-provoking and passionate story of love, tragedy and hope, set against the sexual and spiritual backdrop of 1967's "Summer of Love". As Adam Busk arrives in London, having been expelled from the strict confines of boarding school, he is hungry for excitement. He is quickly drawn to the burgeoning underground scene of psychedelic music, mind expanding drugs and the promise of sex, where he meets the enigmatic Belinda. When she disappears, Adam finds himself embroiled in the murky world of drug dealers and corrupt police. From a Notting Hill commune to a mystical quest across England, this is as much a journey of self discovery for Adam as it is a revelation of the times. If you're intrigued by the era, but too young to have been there, or simply want to revisit this evocative time, A Hand in God's Till will take you on an unforgettable trip.
About the Author: Born in England in 1950, I was perfectly poised to make the very most of the coming times that were to shape my destiny. Accepting the monochrome veneers that clumsily plastered over the deeper and sometimes darker mysteries of life was not going to be my style. My first three years were spent in the midst of Betjeman's Metroland in Kenton, North London, where streets of carbon copy, semi-detached regularity aroused a sense of order on the one hand and the inclination to frustrate and destroy on the other. Hot, summer days brought out the smell of evaporating urine from the acres of suburban concrete. But, it was people's gardens that intrigued most. For here, I learnt something of the human spirit and the assertion of the individual will over the mundane. The green meadows of the Thames valley and a Thirties' detached with its long garden, high privet hedge and an air-raid shelter was the eventual backdrop to my formative years. Here would be absorbed the coming dramas of the cold war, a fading empire, assassination, sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. Most people's lives are punctuated by landmark events, which define their passage from cradle to grave - their wedding day, the birth of their children, the death of a parent or a good friend and the evolution of their careers. How could it then be that one of my most defining moments was at the age of six, when I first heard Elvis singing Heartbreak Hotel on the radio? The effect was like seeing the colour red for the first time in a world of intense grey. I remember trying to explain what I had heard to my grandmother. Of course, she had no idea what I was talking about. Having no singing ability, that anyone could recognise, my attempts to emulate Elvis were therefore something of a pointless exercise. In a world of Max Jaffa and Victor Sylvester, no one could imagine what this trip down "lonely street" was going to unleash. For my parents' generation, which was just grateful to be alive and to have a roof over its head, the old comforts were enough and Elvis was but an aberration; a blip in the continuity of the old order. I had unwittingly been cast adrift on the River of Rock and destined never to disembark.