Category: Book

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Beijing

The Beijing Beyond the Wall: 5 Unforgettable Adventures on the Road Less Travelled

Beijing is a city of superlatives. Its imperial history shouts from the rooftops of the Forbidden City, and its sheer physical scale is awe-inspiring as you gaze upon the Great Wall. But what happens when you step off the imperial highway?

The true heart of Beijing—dynamic, quirky, and deeply authentic—often hides beneath the surface, skipped over by tour buses and rushed itineraries.

If you’re ready to trade the packed crowds for local flavour and spectacular solitude, lace up your comfortable shoes. Here are the top five unforgettable experiences for the seasoned traveller seeking the authentic, road-less-travelled side of China’s grand capital.

1. Conquer the Dragon: Hiking the Wild Great Wall at Jiankou

Forget the perfectly manicured, accessible sections like Badaling or Mutianyu. For a truly visceral, historical experience, head northeast to the Jiankou (Arrow Nock) section of the Great Wall.

Jiankou is the definition of “unrestored.” It clings precariously to steep mountain ridges, with crumbling parapets, overgrown foliage, and towers that look ready to tumble. This is the Wall as it stood centuries ago, demanding respect and fitness.

The hike is challenging—it involves scrambling up steep rock faces (like the infamous ‘Heavenly Ladder’) and navigating slippery slopes—but the reward is solitude and arguably the most dramatic photographic views of the entire structure. Standing here, with views stretching uninterrupted into the misty mountains, you truly feel the weight of history in your palms.

Why it’s on the list: You won’t encounter souvenir vendors or large crowds. It’s an intimate, strenuous dialogue with one of the greatest manmade structures on Earth.

Pro Tip: This is not a sanctioned tourist site. Go with an experienced local guide, wear appropriate hiking boots (not sneakers), and plan for a full day. Begin your trek early to avoid the mid-day heat and finish before sunset.

2. Unearth Treasures at Panjiayuan Antique Market (The Sunday Sunrise Hunt)

If you want a genuine glimpse into the organised chaos and bartering culture of Beijing, bypass the shiny malls and head to the Panjiayuan Antique Market (潘家园).

While the market is open throughout the week, the real magic happens on Sunday mornings, starting just before dawn. This is when dealers from across China descend upon the sprawling grounds, laying out everything from delicate porcelain and jade jewellery to Cultural Revolution memorabilia, old propaganda posters, and surprisingly beautiful second-hand furniture.

The energy is infectious. Vendors hawk their wares, locals sip hot soy milk, and the air crackles with negotiation. Whether you’re searching for a genuine Ming Dynasty relic (unlikely, but fun to look!) or just a quirky, affordable souvenir with a story, Panjiayuan offers a fascinating glimpse into China’s material history.

Why it’s on the list: It’s a sensory immersion. It’s loud, crowded, dusty, and absolutely bursting with character. It’s where Beijing locals shop for history, not just tourists.

Pro Tip: Arrive by 6:30 AM on Sunday. The best items are snapped up quickly by serious collectors. Don’t be afraid to barter fiercely; it’s expected (start at 30-40% of the asking price).

3. The Tranquil Chaos: Exploring the Wudaoying Hutong District

Everyone knows Nanluoguxiang, but for the traveller seeking the intersection of traditional Beijing charm and contemporary cool, Wudaoying Hutong (五道营胡同) is the hidden gem.

Located just north of the Yonghegong Lama Temple, Wudaoying retains the narrow alleyways and courtyard houses (siheyuan) of old Beijing, but its atmosphere is worlds apart. Instead of mass-market merchandise, you’ll find independent coffee roasters, minimalist clothing boutiques, vegan cafés, and stylish bars carved out of traditional architecture.

Spend an afternoon wandering the adjacent quiet backstreets, observing elderly residents playing chess or hanging laundry, then duck into a courtyard café for a specialised tea ceremony. This area perfectly encapsulates modern Beijing life, respecting its ancient roots.

Why it’s on the list: It offers a peaceful, aesthetically pleasing alternative to the hyper-touristy hutongs, allowing you to sample contemporary Chinese lifestyle without losing touch with history.

Pro Tip: Pair your visit with an hour at the adjacent Lama Temple (Yonghegong). This adds a powerful historical and spiritual contrast to the area’s trendy vibe.

4. The Poignant Ruins of Yuanmingyuan (The Old Summer Palace)

While the Summer Palace (Yiheyuan) is rightly famous for its picturesque gardens and restored temples, we recommend visiting its scarred, more historically resonant counterpart: Yuanmingyuan (圆明园), the Old Summer Palace.

Once hailed as the “Garden of Gardens,” Yuanmingyuan was an unparalleled imperial complex renowned for its vast gardens and magnificent collection of European-style palaces and fountains. It was tragically destroyed by British and French troops in 1860 during the Second Opium War.

Today, the sprawling grounds are a poignant national memorial. The ruins of the European palaces stand as dramatically skeletal remains—marble arches and broken fountain heads swallowed by lush foliage. It’s a powerful, melancholy place that speaks volumes about China’s century of humiliation and resilience.

Why it’s on the list: It’s a cultural necessity. It offers deep context to modern Chinese history and provides vast, beautiful parkland often bypassed by international tourists.

Pro Tip: Focus your exploration on the western-most section (the European-style ruins) for the most dramatic photographs and historical reflection.

5. Get Lost (Intentionally) in the 798 Art District

The 798 Art District (Dashanzi) is well-known, but the “road less travelled” experience here is achieved through timing and focus.

During the mid-day rush, 798 can feel commercial. To truly appreciate its industrial-chic aesthetic—old Bauhaus-style factories transformed into sprawling galleries and studios—you need to visit at the margins of the day.

Arrive just as the galleries open (10:00 AM) or linger into the late afternoon (4:00 PM onward). Skip the large, famous galleries and dive into the smaller, independent warehouses. Look for emerging Chinese artists pushing boundaries in installation art, experimental photography, and sculpture. Getting intentionally lost in the alleys and stumbling upon an avant-garde exhibition is the goal.

Why it’s on the list: It shows the incredible creative dynamism of contemporary China, offering a sharp, modern contrast to the imperial history found elsewhere.

Pro Tip: Look beyond the main streets. Many smaller, edgier studios are housed in the back alleys and second-floor mezzanines hidden behind large gallery facades. If you see a rickety staircase, climb it.

Beijing is a city that rewards the curious and the bold. By stepping away from the standard itinerary, you don’t just see China—you engage with its history, its culture, and its vibrant, unpredictable present. Happy travels on the road less travelled!

What I learned about writing – Monday is just another day of the week

I don’t like Mondays – a song lingering on the periphery of my memory, and I’m not sure who sung it.

But it’s official, I don’t like Mondays.

I’ve been procrastinating since last Thursday, telling myself I have to get the next part of one of my stories written, but I keep putting it off.  I’m not sure why but it always seems like this, and I have to force myself to sit in front of the computer screen, and come up with the goods.

I didn’t do anything on Sunday, and, as a writer, I guess that’s not very good.  I’m supposed to be writing a page, or a hundred or thousand words a day, just to keep the juices flowing.

I’m not in the mood.  I sit and stare at the computer screen, and nothing is coming.  Is this the first sign of writer’s block?

I dig out several articles on how to overcome it and start putting their suggestions into action.  No.  No.  Maybe.  No.  I don’t think it’s writer’s block.

Perhaps I need some inspiration so I go to my tablet playlist, spend 10 minutes trying to find the headphones that were carelessly discarded on a seat that had a lot of other stuff on it, by one of my grandchildren the last time they were here.

And, yes, the tablet was left in the middle of playing a Minecraft video which has drained the battery.  Now I can’t find the charger!

Back at the computer, holding a dead tablet, and a pair of headphones, inspiration is as far away as the mythical light at the end of the tunnel.  Today perhaps it will be an oncoming express train.

Perhaps a pen and paper will work.

An idea pops into my head…

…

Is it possible the passing of a weekend could change the course of your life?

 An interesting question, one to ponder as I sat on the floor of a concrete cell, with only the sound of my breathing, and the incessant screams coming from a room at the end of the corridor.

It was my turn next.  That was what the grinning ape of a guard said in broken English.  He looked like a man who relished his job.

What goes through your mind at a time like this, waiting, waiting for the inevitable?  Will I survive, what will they do to me, will it hurt?

The screaming stops abruptly, and a terrible silence falls over the facility.

Then, looking in the direction of where the screams had come from, I hear the clunk of the door latch being opened, and then the slow nerve-tingling screech of rusty metal as the door opens slowly.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, no.

….

No writer’s block.  But I have to stop watching late-night television.

First Dig Two Graves

A sequel to “The Devil You Don’t”

…

Revenge is a dish best served cold – or preferably so when everything goes right

Of course, it rarely does, as Alistair, Zoe’s handler, discovers to his peril. Enter a wildcard, John, and whatever Alistair’s plan for dealing with Zoe was dies with him.

It leaves Zoe in completely unfamiliar territory.

…

John’s idyllic romance with a woman who is utterly out of his comfort zone is on borrowed time. She is still trying to reconcile her ambivalence, after being so indifferent for so long.

They agree to take a break, during which she disappears. John, thinking she has left without saying goodbye, refuses to accept the inevitable, calls on an old friend for help in finding her.

After the mayhem and being briefly reunited, she recognises an inevitable truth: there is a price to pay for taking out Alistair; she must leave and find them first, and he would be wise to keep a low profile.

But keeping a low profile just isn’t possible, and enlisting another friend, a private detective and his sister, a deft computer hacker, they track her to the border between Austria and Hungary.

What John doesn’t realise is that another enemy is tracking him to find her too. It could have been a grand tour of Europe. Instead, it becomes a race against time before enemies old and new converge for what will be an inevitable showdown.

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Bonn

Beyond Beethoven: Five Unique Experiences on Bonn’s Road Less Travelled

Bonn! The city of Beethoven’s birth, vibrant cherry blossoms, and a rich political past. Most visitors flock to the Beethoven-Haus, stroll along the Rhine, or admire the Münster. And rightly so – these are truly wonderful experiences!

But what if you’ve already “done” the main sights, or simply yearn for a deeper, more authentic connection with a place? What if you’re the kind of traveller who thrives on uncovering hidden gems, exploring local life, and stepping slightly off the well-trodden path?

If that sounds like you, then welcome to Bonn’s road less travelled! Here are five unique things to do that will give you a fresh perspective on this charming Rhineland city.

1. Scale the Petersberg & Soak in Panoramic History

While most tourists head for the Drachenfels for that iconic Siebengebirge view, the Petersberg offers an equally stunning, often quieter, and historically significant alternative. Perched majestically above the Rhine, this mountain is home to the Steigenberger Grandhotel & Spa Petersberg, a legendary venue that served as Germany’s state guesthouse for decades.

Why it’s unique: Imagine dining where world leaders once negotiated treaties, or simply enjoying a coffee with a view that inspired generations. You can hike up through lush forests (multiple trails offer varying difficulties), or take a scenic drive. The views over the Rhine valley, the city of Königswinter, and across to the Drachenfels are simply breathtaking, especially at sunset. It’s less about a specific attraction and more about the serene atmosphere and the weight of history in the air.

Do this: Choose a clear afternoon, pack some snacks, and hike up one of the quieter trails. Reward yourself with a drink on the hotel terrace, soaking in the panoramic vista. Explore the small chapel and reflect on the significant meetings that took place here.

2. Dive into Art & Herstory at the Frauenmuseum Bonn

Move beyond the grand national museums and discover a truly groundbreaking institution: the Frauenmuseum Bonn. Established in 1981, it was the world’s first museum dedicated to female artists and their cultural-historical contributions.

Why it’s unique: This isn’t just another art gallery. The Frauenmuseum is a vibrant, feminist space that constantly challenges perspectives through its diverse and thought-provoking exhibitions. It showcases contemporary art by women, presents historical themes from a female viewpoint, and fosters dialogue about gender roles and societal change. It’s a dynamic place that feels deeply relevant and often sparks lively discussion.

Do this: Check their current exhibition schedule before you go, as they change frequently. Allow yourself to be challenged, inspired, and educated. Don’t forget to browse their small but interesting gift shop for unique souvenirs.

3. Wander Through the Bonn University Botanical Gardens (Poppelsdorfer Gärten)

While the Poppelsdorf Palace is a known landmark, many visitors simply admire its facade without fully exploring its magnificent Botanical Gardens. These aren’t just any gardens; they are among the oldest and most species-rich botanical gardens in Germany, managed by the University of Bonn.

Why it’s unique: Tucked behind the ornate palace, these gardens are a tranquil oasis packed with scientific wonder. From ancient redwoods to tropical greenhouses brimming with exotic plants, you can travel the world’s flora in an afternoon. It’s a place of quiet contemplation, learning, and incredible beauty, often frequented more by students and local residents than tourists.

Do this: Dedicate a good hour or two. Explore the different sections, marvel at the giant water lilies in summer, and step into the warm, humid greenhouses to discover rare orchids and carnivorous plants. It’s especially beautiful in spring and early summer.

4. Get Lost in the Architectural Charm of the Südstadt

Forget the central hubbub for a moment and take a leisurely stroll through Bonn’s Südstadt (South Town). This district is one of Germany’s largest and best-preserved Gründerzeit (late 19th-century) residential areas, boasting stunning historical architecture around every corner.

Why it’s unique: It’s a living, breathing neighbourhood, not a museum district. The Südstadt’s streets are lined with beautifully ornate Wilhelminian-era buildings, each with unique facades, intricate balconies, and charming details. There are no major “attractions” here, just pure aesthetic pleasure and a glimpse into Bonn’s elegant past and present-day local life. You’ll find quiet cafes, small boutiques, and a sense of calm distinct from the city centre.

Do this: Start near Poppelsdorfer Allee and simply wander the side streets like Argelanderstraße, Kaiserstraße, and Bonner Talweg. Look up and admire the architectural details. Stop at a local cafe for Kaffee und Kuchen (coffee and cake) and soak in the atmosphere.

5. Savor Authentic “Bönnsch” at a Traditional Brauhaus

While Bonn isn’t as famous for beer as Cologne, it has its own unique brew and a strong pub culture. Seek out a traditional Bönnsch Brauhaus for an authentic taste of local life and regional cuisine.

Why it’s unique: “Bönnsch” is a specific top-fermented beer brewed only in Bonn, similar to Cologne’s Kölsch but with its own distinct character. These Brauhäuser are more than just pubs; they’re social hubs where locals gather. You’ll find a lively, unpretentious atmosphere, hearty German dishes, and endlessly refilled small glasses (Stangen) of the refreshing local brew. It’s an immersive cultural experience that connects you directly with Bonn’s everyday rhythm.

Do this: Head to a well-regarded local brewery-pub. Order a “Bönnsch” (or just wait for the Köbes/waiter to bring one) and a traditional dish like “Sauerbraten Rheinische Art” (Rhenish pot roast) or “Himmel un Ääd” (Heaven and Earth – blood sausage with mashed potatoes and apple sauce). Don’t be shy; strike up a conversation with a local if the opportunity arises!

Bonn is a city that rewards those willing to peel back its layers. So, next time you’re in this beautiful city, dare to wander a little further, look a little closer, and discover the unique spirit that truly makes Bonn special. Happy travels on the road less travelled!

Have you discovered any other hidden gems in Bonn? Share your finds in the comments below!

An excerpt from “Strangers We’ve Become” – Coming Soon

I wandered back to my villa.

It was in darkness.  I was sure I had left several lights on, especially over the door so I could see to unlock it.

I looked up and saw the globe was broken.

Instant alert.

I went to the first hiding spot for the gun, and it wasn’t there.  I went to the backup and it wasn’t there either.  Someone had found my carefully hidden stash of weapons and removed them.

Who?

There were four hiding spots and all were empty.  Someone had removed the weapons.  That could only mean one possibility.

I had a visitor, not necessarily here for a social call.

But, of course, being the well-trained agent I’d once been and not one to be caught unawares, I crossed over to my neighbor and relieved him of a weapon that, if found, would require a lot of explaining.

Suitably armed, it was time to return the surprise.

There were three entrances to the villa, the front door, the back door, and a rather strange escape hatch.  One of the more interesting attractions of the villa I’d rented was its heritage.  It was built in the late 1700s, by a man who was, by all accounts, a thief.  It had a hidden underground room which had been in the past a vault but was now a wine cellar, and it had an escape hatch by which the man could come and go undetected, particularly if there was a mob outside the door baying for his blood.

It now gave me the means to enter the villa without my visitors being alerted, unless, of course, they were near the vicinity of the doorway inside the villa, but that possibility was unlikely.  It was not where anyone could anticipate or expect a doorway to be.

The secret entrance was at the rear of the villa behind a large copse, two camouflaged wooden doors built into the ground.  I move aside some of the branches that covered them and lifted one side.  After I’d discovered the doors and rusty hinges, I’d oiled and cleaned them, and cleared the passageway of cobwebs and fallen rocks.  It had a mildew smell, but nothing would get rid of that.  I’d left torches at either end so I could see.

I closed the door after me, and went quietly down the steps, enveloped in darkness till I switched on the torch.  I traversed the short passage which turned ninety degrees about halfway to the door at the other end.  I carried the key to this door on the keyring, found it and opened the door.  It too had been oiled and swung open soundlessly.

I stepped in the darkness and closed the door.

I was on the lower level under the kitchen, now the wine cellar, the ‘door’ doubling as a set of shelves which had very little on them, less to fall and alert anyone in the villa.

Silence, an eerie silence.

I took the steps up to the kitchen, stopping when my head was level with the floor, checking to see if anyone was waiting.  There wasn’t.  It seemed to me to be an unlikely spot for an ambush.

I’d already considered the possibility of someone coming after me, especially because it had been Bespalov I’d killed, and I was sure he had friends, all equally as mad as he was.  Equally, I’d also considered it nigh on impossible for anyone to find out it was me who killed him because the only people who knew that were Prendergast, Alisha, a few others in the Department, and Susan.

That raised the question of who told them where I was.

If I was the man I used to be, my first suspect would be Susan.  The departure this morning, and now this was too coincidental.  But I was not that man.

Or was I?

I reached the start of the passageway that led from the kitchen to the front door and peered into the semi-darkness.  My eyes had got used to the dark, and it was no longer an inky void.  Fragments of light leaked in around the door from outside and through the edge of the window curtains where they didn’t fit properly.  A bone of contention upstairs in the morning, when first light shone and invariably woke me up hours before I wanted to.

Still nothing.

I took a moment to consider how I would approach the visitor’s job.  I would get a plan of the villa in my head, all entrances, where a target could be led to or attacked where there would be no escape.

Coming in the front door.  If I was not expecting anything, I’d just open the door and walk-in.  One shot would be all that was required.

Contract complete.

I sidled quietly up the passage staying close to the wall, edging closer to the front door.  There was an alcove where the shooter could be waiting.  It was an ideal spot to wait.

Crunch.

I stepped on some nutshells.

Not my nutshells.

I felt it before I heard it.  The bullet with my name on it.

And how the shooter missed, from point-blank range, and hit me in the arm, I had no idea.  I fired off two shots before a second shot from the shooter went wide and hit the door with a loud thwack.

I saw a red dot wavering as it honed in on me and I fell to the floor, stretching out, looking up where the origin of the light was coming and pulled the trigger three times, evenly spaced, and a second later I heard the sound of a body falling down the stairs and stopping at the bottom, not very far from me.

Two assassins.

I’d not expected that.

The assassin by the door was dead, a lucky shot on my part.  The second was still breathing.

I checked the body for any weapons and found a second gun and two knives.  Armed to the teeth!

I pulled off the balaclava; a man, early thirties, definitely Italian.  I was expecting a Russian.

I slapped his face, waking him up.  Blood was leaking from several slashes on his face when his head had hit the stairs on the way down.  The awkward angle of his arms and legs told me there were broken bones, probably a lot worse internally.  He was not long for this earth.

“Who employed you?”

He looked at me with dead eyes, a pursed mouth, perhaps a smile.  “Not today my friend.  You have made a very bad enemy.”  He coughed and blood poured out of his mouth.  “There will be more …”

Friends of Bespalov, no doubt.

I would have to leave.  Two unexplainable bodies, I’d have a hard time explaining my way out of this mess.  I dragged the two bodies into the lounge, clearing the passageway just in case someone had heard anything.

Just in case anyone was outside at the time, I sat in the dark, at the foot of the stairs, and tried to breathe normally.  I was trying not to connect dots that led back to Susan, but the coincidence was worrying me.

A half-hour passed and I hadn’t moved.  Deep in thought, I’d forgotten about being shot, unaware that blood was running down my arm and dripping onto the floor.

Until I heard a knock on my front door.

Two thoughts, it was either the police, alerted by the neighbors, or it was the second wave, though why would they be knocking on the door?

I stood, and immediately felt a stabbing pain in my arm.  I took out a handkerchief and turned it into a makeshift tourniquet, then wrapped a kitchen towel around the wound.

If it was the police, this was going to be a difficult situation.  Holding the gun behind my back, I opened the door a fraction and looked out.

No police, just Maria.  I hoped she was not part of the next ‘wave’.

“You left your phone behind on the table.  I thought you might be looking for it.”  She held it out in front of her.

When I didn’t open the door any further, she looked at me quizzically, and then asked, “Is anything wrong?”

I was going to thank her for returning the phone, but I heard her breathe in sharply, and add, breathlessly, “You’re bleeding.”

I looked at my arm and realized it was visible through the door, and not only that, the towel was soaked in blood.

“You need to go away now.”

Should I tell her the truth?  It was probably too late, and if she was any sort of law-abiding citizen she would go straight to the police.

She showed no signs of leaving, just an unnerving curiosity.  “What happened?”

I ran through several explanations, but none seemed plausible.  I went with the truth.  “My past caught up with me.”

“You need someone to fix that before you pass out from blood loss.  It doesn’t look good.”

“I can fix it.  You need to leave.  It is not safe to be here with me.”

The pain in my arm was not getting any better, and the blood was starting to run down my arm again as the tourniquet loosened.  She was right, I needed it fixed sooner rather than later.

I opened the door and let her in.  It was a mistake, a huge mistake, and I would have to deal with the consequences.  Once inside, she turned on the light and saw the pool of blood just inside the door and the trail leading to the lounge.  She followed the trail and turned into the lounge, turned on the light, and no doubt saw the two dead men.

I expected her to scream.  She didn’t.

She gave me a good hard look, perhaps trying to see if I was dangerous.  Killing people wasn’t something you looked the other way about.  She would have to go to the police.

“What happened here?”

“I came home from the cafe and two men were waiting for me.  I used to work for the Government, but no longer.  I suspect these men were here to repay a debt.  I was lucky.”

“Not so much, looking at your arm.”

She came closer and inspected it.

“Sit down.”

She found another towel and wrapped it around the wound, retightening the tourniquet to stem the bleeding.

“Do you have medical supplies?”

I nodded.  “Upstairs.”  I had a medical kit, and on the road, I usually made my own running repairs.  Another old habit I hadn’t quite shaken off yet.

She went upstairs, rummaged, and then came back.  I wondered briefly what she would think of the unmade bed though I was not sure why it might interest her.

She helped me remove my shirt, and then cleaned the wound.  Fortunately, she didn’t have to remove a bullet.  It was a clean wound but it would require stitches.

When she’d finished she said, “Your friend said one day this might happen.”

No prizes for guessing who that friend was, and it didn’t please me that she had involved Maria.

“Alisha?”

“She didn’t tell me her name, but I think she cares a lot about you.  She said trouble has a way of finding you, gave me a phone and said to call her if something like this happened.”

“That was wrong of her to do that.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.  Will you call her?”

“Yes.  I can’t stay here now.  You should go now.  Hopefully, by the time I leave in the morning, no one will ever know what happened here, especially you.”

She smiled.  “As you say, I was never here.”

…

© Charles Heath 2018-2022

strangerscover9

Writing a book in 365 days – 322

Day 322

Writing exercise – The tea cart was at least five minutes late; something had to be done.

…

I worked in an office full of self-absorbed people, who cared only about themselves and what the company could do for them.

It was always about the bonus, about the amenities, about anything they can get for nothing.

So, don’t get me started on the morning tea.

And afternoon tea.

Because of the nature of the work, it wasn’t a good idea to leave the desk, except at lunch when they had to have a break, and when they went home, which sometimes some forgot to.

Or so they said.

I wasn’t that dedicated, so perhaps that was the only reason why I wasn’t rocketing up the promotions ladder.  The higher you went, the more the company owned you.

I looked around.  Five-thousand-dollar suits, car keys for Maseratis and Ferraris proudly on display.  An ancient Ford wasn’t a status symbol, but then I was never about status, just about getting the job done.

Walters, the current ‘ace employee of the month’, was sitting back in his chair and looking at his watch, a Rolex, of course, then the office clock, which was never on time.

“Where’s the tea lady?”

There were two options: going up to the breakout area on the floor below the executive suite or having it at the desk.

Several elderly ladies ran the trolley, a nice, easy job for an hour or so in the morning and the afternoon.  The three that serviced our floor were Doris, my favourite, Matilda, who always had a dour demeanour, and Lizzie, younger, once a showgirl, or so she said.

I was never quite sure what ‘showgirl’ meant.

Today, it should have been Lizzie.

“Still boiling the water.”  Frazer, equally boorish as Walters, was known for smart ass remarks.

“It’s not as if you haven’t been late when you have to be somewhere.”

Like any appointment with his supervisor.

“Be a good chap, Roly, and find out where it is.”

I glared at him.  My name was Rollins, but he called me Rolly.  He had a name for everyone he considered beneath him in status.

His other name, Roly Poly, he said when he was with the others at the Friday night drinks at a nearby bar.  I went once, heard his slanging off the lesser employees and the others laughing, and decided it was not my thing.

I was going to tell him off, but it would simply go through one ear and out the other.

The breakout area had an annexe where the tea ladies prepared before coming down to their designated food by the freight elevator.

I’d been in it once, and it was lucky to be working.  The day I was in it, it stopped twice without reason and missed the floor by a foot which would make it impossible to unload a negotiating.

I went up via the main elevator lobby.  Mt first thought was that the freight elevator was stuck, and she was in it

I crossed the breakout area, very spacious and airy, walls without windows lined with vending machines, free tea, coffee and cold water all day.

Today, there were cookies, which sometimes found their way onto the tea cart.

I knocked on the door to the tea lady’s room, and there was no answer.  I opened the door and stepped in.  It was a restricted area, but there was no key card entry required.

The room was a mess.  It looked to me as though someone had a tantrum and started throwing stuff.  Until I looked closely and realised someone had been searching through everything in a methodical manner.

There was another door on the other side of the room.  I picked my way carefully through the mess; security was going to have to find out what happened here.

Again, I knocked, but there was no answer.

I opened the door

The three ladies were bound and gagged, sitting on the floor.  It was then that I realised the tea carts were missing.

I called security.  “You have a situation.   The tea ladies are bound and gagged, and their trolleys are missing.”

No questions or instructions, a few seconds later, the fire evacuation siren was blaring, a voice over, “This is not a drill.  I repeat, this is not a drill.  Please evacuate the building in a calm and orderly manner as directed.  Floor wardens are to immediately supervise and evaluate floors as directed.”

While that announcement was being made, I untied and removed Lizzie’s gag, then she helped one and I the other.

When they were free, I asked, “What happened?”

Two men and a woman came in and started asking questions.  We thought they were health inspectors until they started tossing stuff everywhere, looking for a pass.”

“A pass?”

“Floor access key.  Or maybe a master key.  Then, because Lizzie went for the phone we finished up where you found us.”

“Did they say anything else?”

“Only they were going to kill some bloke because he didn’t do his job properly.”

“Someone who works here?”

“That would be my guess,” Lizzie said. “Anything important happening?”

Important in this place.  Nothing that was ever exciting enough to incite what just happened.”

“Did they find the pass?”

“Yes.  It had a man’s face on it, but it was too far away to recognise it.”

I called security again.

“You’re looking for two men, a woman, three tea carts, and they have a pass key that someone else left for them to collect.  Do you have CCTV up here?”

He didn’t answer, just hung up.  I took that as a no.

When I turned around to tell the ladies we had to evacuate the building, Lizzie was by the door holding a gun.

A gun.  Where did she get it? Why did she have it?

“Join the other two and go back into the room.” She motioned with the gun for emphasis.  “Now.”

She looked at her watch.

Time was a factor.  

“Why are you doing this?  Are you in league with those criminals?”

“They’re not criminals.  You lot are the criminals.  Get in the room, I won’t ask again.”

You can’t argue with a gun.  “Let’s go, do as she asks.  Not worth the trouble refusing.”

They looked to me like they were going to say something, then thought twice about it and went into the room.  I followed, and before she shut the door, I said, “Whatever you’re doing, I hope it’s worth it.”

“It will be.”

The door closed, and I heard the turn of the key in the lock.  It was a flimsy door, but this wasn’t the time to kick it in.  I waited by the door, and a minute or so later, I heard the outer room door close and I assumed she had locked that too.

“If I hadn’t come, she would have got away with it,” I said.

“She didn’t look like she was working with them.  Just goes to show, you think you know someone.”

“And there’s someone else out there working with them.”

“To do what?”

Good question.  I was wondering that myself.  Lizzie had called the company criminals.  All we did was invest money, make the clients richer.  Admittedly, it had become that much harder to pick the market given the volatility, which, some argued, was deliberately being manipulated.

One negative word from a government official could send a stock higher or plummet in value, leaving investors with huge losses.

Walters had been flying high on a lot of good tips, but the last stock that went up, he should have sold, instead, waited just a little too long.  Perhaps he’d crossed his tipster.  That would mean he was effectively insider trading.

Interesting how something comes together with the right catalyst. 

The thing is, investors knew who their trader was, so if anyone was upset, they could complain or demand an explanation.  The supervisor was tough but fair. You cause a mess, you clean it up.

I doubted Lizzie was one of those high roller investors, but in such a job, a few bucks to supply a pass key was nothing to her.  Unless it turned into a murder.  Brandishing guns in a highly volatile situation was a recipe for disaster.

“It might have something to do with bad investments.”

And something else just dredged up from the back of my mind.  A sighting about a month back of one of the directors of the company having lunch at a fancy restaurant I had wanted to go to, passed most days on the way home from work.

It was not because he was dining there; it was the woman he was with.  I thought he might be having an affair, but several days after that, her face popped up on TV, and she was being linked to a government project that was worth billions of dollars.

And the report was about the next big thing in the construction industry

Interesting.

“Not a good look for an investment company to have bad investments.”

“It’s a volatile market, and a lot of investment houses have problems.  But you’re right, not a good look, and very problematic if the investors start getting itchy feet.”

“And that happened here?”

“Everyone praises you when you back the right horse, but like a horse race, you never really know which horse is going to win.  Sometimes, even dead certs lose.  It happens everywhere.”

I don’t think I sold the ‘we are the best of the best’ to her.  At that moment, the fire alarm stopped, and the silence was blessed.  She just shrugged and produced a set of keys.

“You have the keys to the door?”

“Of course.  Senior tea lady.  It just wasn’t safe to go out there, until now.”

I stepped back, and she unlocked the door. 

“You open it.  Lizzie must still be out there.”

I debated whether I should tell her I heard Lizzie leave, but decided not to.  I opened the door a crack and peered out.

Nothing.

I pushed the door open and came out into the room.

Silence, which was strange in itself.  There was always noise.

She gave me the keys to open the outset door and check.  Once again, only opening it slightly, I glanced down both sides of the corridor.  If Lizzie had any sense, she would have left quickly

“Stay here and lock the door.  I’ll go and see what’s happening.”

I took the closest staircase to go down.  In a fire alarm, all the doors on each floor were unlocked.  It was eerily quiet on the stairwell as I slowly went down to my floor.  I told myself that it could not have been about Walters and the others.

At the level, I slowly opened the door.  Silence.  If anyone was there, there would be noise, at the very least, Walters babbling on about the intrusion.

I waited a minute.  Two.  Nothing.

Then, slowly walking up the corridor to the pit, the workspaces of the half dozen of us in the group, and in the office overlooking the outside, the supervisor.

I stopped at the door and nearly vomited.  They were all dead, shot multiple times, with blood and bodies everywhere.  My five colleagues and the supervisor.  Dead.

Walters had done me a favour by sending me off to find the tea lady.  Otherwise, I’d be with them, just another dead body.

That’s when the police arrived, about a dozen of them screaming for me to get on the floor, hands behind my head.

…

©  Charles Heath 2025

Another excerpt from ‘Betrayal’; a work in progress

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My next destination in the quest was the hotel we believed Anne Merriweather had stayed at.

I was, in a sense, flying blind because we had no concrete evidence she had been there, and the message she had left behind didn’t quite name the hotel or where Vladimir was going to take her.

Mindful of the fact that someone might have been following me, I checked to see if the person I’d assumed had followed me to Elizabeth’s apartment was still in place, but I couldn’t see him. Next, I made a mental note of seven different candidates and committed them to memory.

Then I set off to the hotel, hailing a taxi. There was the possibility the cab driver was one of them, but perhaps I was slightly more paranoid than I should be. I’d been watching the queue, and there were two others before me.

The journey took about an hour, during which time I kept an eye out the back to see if anyone had been following us. If anyone was, I couldn’t see them.

I had the cab drop me off a block from the hotel and then spent the next hour doing a complete circuit of the block the hotel was on, checking the front and rear entrances, the cameras in place, and the siting of the driveway into the underground carpark. There was a camera over the entrance, and one we hadn’t checked for footage. I sent a text message to Fritz to look into it.

The hotel lobby was large and busy, which was exactly what you’d want if you wanted to come and go without standing out. It would be different later at night, but I could see her arriving about mid-afternoon, and anonymous among the type of clientele the hotel attracted.

I spent an hour sitting in various positions in the lobby simply observing. I had already ascertained where the elevator lobby for the rooms was, and the elevator down to the car park. Fortunately, it was not ‘guarded’ but there was a steady stream of concierge staff coming and going to the lower levels, and, just from time to time, guests.

Then, when there was a commotion at the front door, what seemed to be a collision of guests and free-wheeling bags, I saw one of the seven potential taggers sitting by the front door. Waiting for me to leave? Or were they wondering why I was spending so much time there?

Taking advantage of that confusion, I picked my moment to head for the elevators that went down to the car park, pressed the down button, and waited.

The was no car on the ground level, so I had to wait, watching, like several others, the guests untangling themselves at the entrance, and an eye on my potential surveillance, still absorbed in the confusion.

The doors to the left car opened, and a concierge stepped out, gave me a quick look, then headed back to his desk. I stepped into the car, pressed the first level down, the level I expected cars to arrive on, and waited what seemed like a long time for the doors to close.

As they did, I was expecting to see a hand poke through the gap, a latecomer. Nothing happened, and I put it down to a television moment.

There were three basement levels, and for a moment, I let my imagination run wild and considered the possibility that there were more levels. Of course, there was no indication on the control panel that there were any other floors, and I’d yet to see anything like it in reality.

With a shake of my head to return to reality, the car arrived, the doors opened, and I stepped out.

A car pulled up, and the driver stepped out, went around to the rear of his car, and pulled out a case. I half expected him to throw me the keys, but the instant glance he gave me told him was not the concierge, and instead brushed past me like I wasn’t there.

He bashed the up button several times impatiently and cursed when the doors didn’t open immediately. Not a happy man.

Another car drove past on its way down to a lower level.

I looked up and saw the CCTV camera, pointing towards the entrance, visible in the distance. A gate that lifted up was just about back in position and then made a clunk when it finally closed. The footage from the camera would not prove much, even if it had been working, because it didn’t cover the life lobby, only in the direction of the car entrance.

The doors to the other elevator car opened, and a man in a suit stepped out.

“Can I help you, sir? You seem lost.”

Security, or something else. “It seems that way. I went to the elevator lobby, got in, and it went down rather than up. I must have been in the wrong place.”

“Lost it is, then, sir.” I could hear the contempt for Americans in his tone. “If you will accompany me, please.”

He put out a hand ready to guide me back into the elevator. I was only too happy to oblige him. There had been a sign near the button panel that said the basement levels were only to be accessed by the guests.

Once inside, he turned a key and pressed the lobby button. The doors closed, and we went up. He stood, facing the door, not speaking. A few seconds later, he was ushering me out to the lobby.

“Now, sir, if you are a guest…”

“Actually, I’m looking for one. She called me and said she would be staying in this hotel and to come down and visit her. I was trying to get to the sixth floor.”

“Good. Let’s go over the the desk and see what we can do for you.”

I followed him over to the reception desk, where he signalled one of the clerks, a young woman who looked and acted very efficiently, and told her of my request, but then remained to oversee the proceeding.

“Name of guest, sir?”

“Merriweather, Anne. I’m her brother, Alexander.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my passport to prove that I was who I said I was. She glanced cursorily at it.

She typed the name into the computer, and then we waited a few seconds while it considered what to output. Then, she said, “That lady is not in the hotel, sir.”

Time to put on my best-confused look. “But she said she would be staying here for the week. I made a special trip to come here to see her.”

Another puzzled look from the clerk, then, “When did she call you?”

An interesting question to ask, and it set off a warning bell in my head. I couldn’t say today, it would have to be the day she was supposedly taken.

“Last Saturday, about four in the afternoon.”

Another look at the screen, then, “It appears she checked out Sunday morning. I’m afraid you have made a trip in vain.”

Indeed, I had. “Was she staying with anyone?”

I just managed to see the warning pass from the suited man to the clerk. I thought he had shown an interest when I mentioned the name, and now I had confirmation. He knew something about her disappearance. The trouble was, he wasn’t going to volunteer any information because he was more than just hotel security.

“No.”

“Odd,” I muttered. “I thought she told me she was staying with a man named Vladimir something or other. I’m not too good at pronouncing those Russian names. Are you sure?”

She didn’t look back at the screen. “Yes.”

“OK, now one thing I do know about staying in hotels is that you are required to ask guests with foreign passports their next destination, just in case they need to be found. Did she say where she was going next?” It was a long shot, but I thought I’d ask.

“Moscow. As I understand it, she lives in Moscow. That was the only address she gave us.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I know where that is. I probably should have gone there first.”

She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to, her expression did that perfectly.

The suited man spoke again, looking at the clerk. “Thank you.” He swivelled back to me. “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”

“No. You have more than you can know.”

“What was your name again, sir, just in case you still cannot find her?”

“Alexander Merriweather. Her brother. And if she is still missing, I will be posting a very large reward. At the moment, you can best contact me via the American Embassy.”

Money is always a great motivator, and that thoughtful expression on his face suggested he gave a moment’s thought to it.

I left him with that offer and left. If anything, the people who were holding her would know she had a brother, that her brother was looking for her, and equally that brother had money.

…

© Charles Heath – 2018-2025

“Sunday in New York”, a romantic adventure that’s not a walk in the park!

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork

Third son of a Duke – The research behind the story – 4

All stories require some form of research, quite often to place a character in a place at a particular time, especially if it is in a historical context. This series will take you through what it was like in 1914 through 1916.

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Setting Sail for Adventure: Decorum and Debauchery in Second Class, 1914

The modern cruise ship, with its all-you-can-eat buffets and poolside revelry, often conjures images of an exuberant, perhaps even uninhibited, youth. It’s easy to imagine young adults embracing a spirit of “live for the moment” on a contemporary voyage. But what about their ancestors, embarking on a similar, albeit far more arduous, journey a century ago? Specifically, what were the acceptable social norms for young people travelling in second class from England to Australia in 1914, and how might they have comported themselves, a world away from today’s cruise ship scene?

The very idea of “acceptable social norms” in 1914 is a stark contrast to our contemporary understanding. Society was far more rigid, with deeply ingrained expectations regarding behaviour, dress, and social interaction, especially for young, unmarried individuals. The journey from England to Australia, often a voyage lasting weeks and involving significant time in close quarters, would have been a microcosm of these societal standards.

Second Class in 1914: A Different Kind of Journey

First class, of course, was the domain of the wealthy and aristocratic, with its own set of gilded rules. But second class, while not as opulent, still offered a degree of comfort and privacy that distinguished it from steerage. Passengers in second class were generally of the middle and upper-middle classes – professionals, skilled tradespeople, and those with respectable means. The expectation was that they would carry themselves with a degree of decorum befitting their social standing.

For young women, the norms were particularly stringent:

  • Chaperonage: Unmarried young women were rarely expected to travel unaccompanied. If they were travelling alone, it was usually for a specific, respectable purpose, like joining family or taking up employment as a governess. Even then, they would have been expected to be discreet and avoid drawing undue attention. If travelling with friends of a similar age, a more senior female relative or acquaintance would ideally be present to offer guidance and supervision.
  • Dress: Modesty was paramount. Dresses would be long-sleeved and ankle-length, with high necklines. Even for leisure, elaborate hats and gloves might be worn for meals or time spent on deck. Casual wear as we know it simply didn’t exist.
  • Social Interaction: Interactions with young men would have been carefully managed. Polite conversation was acceptable, but prolonged or overly familiar interactions would have been frowned upon. Any hint of romantic entanglement would have been a serious matter, potentially impacting a young woman’s reputation and future prospects. Flirtation, if it occurred, would have been subtle and masked by propriety.
  • Activities: While there would have been opportunities for socialising on deck, activities would have been more sedate. Reading, embroidery, letter writing, and quiet conversation would have been common. Group card games or board games might have been played, but always with an air of polite engagement.

For young men, the expectations, while perhaps slightly less restrictive than for women, were still substantial:

  • Respect and Deference: Young men were expected to show respect to their elders and to ladies. Overt displays of bravado or boisterous behaviour would have been considered ill-mannered.
  • Dress: Formal attire was often the norm for dinner, even in second class. Suits, ties, and smart shoes would be expected.
  • Activities: While they might have engaged in more active pursuits on deck, such as deck quoits or walking, they would still have maintained a civil demeanour. Engaging in gambling or heavy drinking would have been seen as unsavoury.
  • Interactions with Women: As with young women, interactions would have been governed by politeness. Overtures towards unmarried women would have been inappropriate and could have led to social ostracisation for both parties.

A Hypothetical Voyage: England to Australia in 1914

So, if those same young people who might now be “perpetually drunk and promiscuous” on a modern cruise were instead on a 1914 voyage from England to Australia in second class, what would their experience likely have been?

Instead of loud music and raucous parties, imagine:

  • Quiet Evenings on Deck: Young women might be found seated with their companions, perhaps engaged in conversation or a quiet game of cards, while young men stroll nearby, exchanging polite greetings.
  • Respectful Pursuits: Reading novels, writing letters home detailing the voyage, or perhaps learning a new skill like sketching the passing scenery. Evenings might involve listening to a fellow passenger play the piano or attending a small, organised lecture.
  • Carefully Navigated Social Circles: Any developing friendships would be nurtured within the watchful gaze of chaperones or the implicit understanding of societal expectations. A stolen glance or a whispered conversation might be the extent of any budding romance.
  • A Sense of Purpose: This was not a holiday for most. Many were emigrating for a new life, seeking opportunities, or reuniting with family. The journey itself was a significant undertaking, often involving a considerable financial and emotional investment. This inherent seriousness would have tempered any inclination towards frivolous behaviour.

What about the “drunk and promiscuous” aspect?

While alcohol was certainly available and consumed, the levels of public intoxication seen on some modern cruises would have been highly scandalous. Drunkenness would have been seen as a sign of poor breeding and lack of self-control. Promiscuity would have been even more damaging, carrying severe social repercussions for all involved. The fear of gossip and the potential ruin of one’s reputation would have been a powerful deterrent.

In essence, the young passengers of 1914, second class, were confined by a much stricter social contract. Their interactions would have been characterised by restraint, politeness, and a keen awareness of their social standing and future prospects. While a spark of youthful exuberance might have still flickered, it would have been expressed through more subtle means – perhaps a shared laugh during a formal dinner, a spirited debate on deck, or the shy exchange of a dance card at a rare shipboard social event. It was a world where decorum reigned, and the consequences of transgressing those norms were far more severe than a few disapproving glances on a modern cruise.

Writing about writing a book – Research – 11

Background material used in researching the Vietnam war and various other aspects of that period

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Agent Orange

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Agent Orange: The Poisonous Legacy of Environmental Warfare in Vietnam

The Vietnam War was a conflict defined by brutal jungle warfare, unconventional tactics, and an enemy often indistinguishable from the dense landscape. As the war escalated, the U.S. military faced a massive tactical roadblock: the triple-canopy jungle provided impenetrable concealment for Viet Cong forces, allowing ambushes and safeguarding critical supply routes like the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

In response, the U.S. authorized a controversial initiative known as Operation Ranch Hand (1962–1971), a large-scale program of chemical warfare—specifically, the deployment of toxic herbicides designed to strip the jungle bare. At the peak of this effort stood a compound with lasting, devastating consequences: Agent Orange.

This post explores precisely what Agent Orange was, how it was deployed, and the indelible mark it left on both the soldiers who sprayed it and the people whose homeland was poisoned.

1. What Was Agent Orange?

Agent Orange was not a typical battlefield weapon designed to kill immediately. It was a tactical herbicide, an effort in environmental warfare designed to achieve two strategic goals:

  1. Defoliation: Stripping the jungle canopy to deny the Viet Cong cover and increase visibility for aerial surveillance and ground patrols.
  2. Crop Destruction: Eliminating enemy food sources in rural areas to disrupt supply chains and pressure the civilian population.

The Chemical Composition

The compound was a fifty-fifty mix of two powerful, commercially available herbicides: 2,4-D and 2,4,5-T. It was named “Agent Orange” simply because of the distinctive orange stripe painted on the 55-gallon drums used for storage.

The true source of its lethal long-term danger, however, was a byproduct of the manufacturing process for 2,4,5-T: TCDD Dioxin (2,3,7,8-tetrachlorodibenzo-p-dioxin). Dioxin is one of the most toxic substances known to man. Even trace amounts are highly carcinogenic and teratogenic (capable of causing birth defects).

Crucially, when Agent Orange was first deployed, many U.S. personnel were told the chemical was harmless, simply a strong form of weed killer.

2. Deployment: Operation Ranch Hand

The goal of Operation Ranch Hand was summarized chillingly by its crews: “Only you can prevent forests.”

Deployment required a massive, coordinated logistical effort across South Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos.

Methods of Application

The vast majority of Agent Orange—over 11 million gallons—was deployed via aerial spraying from 1965 to 1970.

  • Fixed-Wing Aircraft: The primary spray platform was the C-123 Provider transport plane. These planes were modified with large tanks and external spray booms, flying low (often just 150 feet above the canopy) and at slow speeds to ensure maximum coverage.
  • Helicopters and Ground Vehicles: Smaller quantities were sprayed by helicopters and applied from backpacks and trucks around base perimeters, supply depots, and waterways.
  • Massive Quantities: The spraying was not targeted or precise. To achieve the required defoliation, the herbicide was often applied at concentrations 6 to 25 times higher than the levels recommended by the manufacturers for ordinary use.

The chemicals soaked the vegetation, the soil, the waterways, and, inevitably, the people and animals caught below.

Environmental Impact

The operational scope resulted in catastrophic ecological damage. Over 10% of South Vietnam’s territory—including vast tracts of dense mangrove forests and inland forests—was sprayed, often multiple times. This not only destroyed the existing ecosystem but contaminated the food chain and rendered countless acres of land useless for agriculture for decades.

3. The Hidden Wound: Effects on Those Deploying It

For U.S. servicemen—whether pilots flying the C-123s, ground crews mixing and loading the drums, or infantry patrolling recently sprayed areas—exposure was unavoidable. They breathed the mist, swam in contaminated rivers, and handled leaking barrels.

The tragic revelation for these veterans was that the “harmless weed killer” they were exposed to led to devastating, delayed-onset health crises decades later.

Recognized Health Conditions

The Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) now recognizes a long list of presumptive illnesses linked to Agent Orange exposure. These include:

  • Cancers: Prostate cancer, respiratory cancers, multiple myeloma, Hodgkin’s and non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
  • Systemic Diseases: Parkinson’s disease, Type 2 diabetes, peripheral neuropathy, and ischemic heart disease.
  • Chloracne: A severe, persistent skin disorder caused by dioxin exposure.

Intergenerational Tragedy

Perhaps the most heartbreaking effect on American veterans was the impact on their children and grandchildren. The VA recognizes that veterans’ children may suffer from certain birth defects, particularly Spina Bifida. This realization transformed Agent Orange from a personal battle into an intergenerational health crisis for thousands of American families.

Recognition and compensation for these illnesses were slow, often requiring decades of legal battles and scientific research to confirm the painful connection between their service and their sickness.

4. The Lasting Scars: Effects on the Enemy and Local Population

While U.S. personnel suffered delayed exposure, Vietnamese citizens—especially those living in heavily sprayed areas or near former U.S. bases where chemicals were stored—suffered direct and sustained exposure, leading to environmental disaster and a profound humanitarian crisis that continues today.

Human Health Catastrophe

The effects of high-level dioxin exposure in Vietnam were immediate and catastrophic. Generations have been born with severe and debilitating birth defects, resulting in conditions often referred to collectively as Agent Orange Defects (AO-related disabilities). These include severe cognitive and physical disabilities, missing limbs, profound intellectual impairment, and complex medical issues.

Estimates suggest that up to three million Vietnamese people have been affected by Agent Orange, including hundreds of thousands of children born with birth defects. The physical and economic burden on families caring for severely disabled relatives is immense.

Contamination Hotspots

The dioxin contaminant is highly persistent, bonding closely with soil and sediment. Even decades after the war, high concentrations of dioxin remain in certain “hotspots,” primarily former U.S. airbases (like Bien Hoa and Da Nang) where barrels were handled, spilled, and often buried. These areas continue to poison the local environment and population, contaminating fish, poultry, and crops.

The Enduring Poison

Agent Orange represented a radical departure in modern warfare, relying not on explosions but on systematic environmental destruction. It was intended to be a swift tactical solution to end a jungle war. Instead, it created an enduring humanitarian crisis that continues to plague Vietnam and the U.S. veteran community.

The legacy of Agent Orange serves as a dark reminder that some weapons continue to inflict wounds long after the final shots are fired, forcing governments and societies to reckon with the profound, catastrophic cost of environmental warfare.