The remarkable true life story of Peter Newman (Part 5)

At once I slipped off my white jacket and left the queue of men with their tongues hanging out for a cuppa. I was away to share my old drinking companion's good fortune, wherever it had come from.

We marched into the nearest pub and he bought me a drink. I took one mouthful and thumped it back onto the bar."This tastes awful," I said to him and complained to the barman.

"There's nothing wrong with my beer," he said tetchily. "Go somewhere else if you don't like it." So we did, and it was the same story all over again. Try as I might, I just couldn't drink any alcohol because it tasted foul and smelled rotten. My friend, however, had no difficulty downing his liquid refreshment and, by the time we'd visited half a dozen pubs, he was showing the first signs of alcoholic merriment.

We ended up in a hotel bar where we picked up a couple of women. I was sober as a judge and the more I looked at my drunken friend, the more irritated I became. To crown it all, one of the women was making eyes at me and I wasn't in the least bit interested.

"Here, Peter," said my friend, waving a fiver dramatically under my nose, "another round, my man."

The women giggled as I obediently took the money and went to the bar to order the drinks. I picked up the tray and was returning to the cosy little drunken party when suddenly I thought, "Peter, what on earth are you doing here?" Without a word of explanation, I was off.

I felt thoroughly miserable as I walked down the road towards the hostel. Things were bad: even drink tasted revolting, so what was there left to enjoy? I started to cry with despair. Then I heard my voice saying: "God, I don't believe You exist; but if You do, You've got to help me."

Then it dawned on me. God had made the drink taste so vile. God had helped me. God really did exist. Suddenly I felt clean, and free, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I jumped in the air, kicked my heels, then sped to the hostel. Only a few hours earlier I'd left a queue of thirsty men and headed out for a drunken binge, and here I was returning, talking excitedly about God. I ran straight towards the Major's room. I almost fell through the door with eagerness. "Major," I announced, "I know there's a God. What do I do now?"

The Major looked up from his desk, somewhat surprised. "If you know there's a God, go and read your Bible," he said.

His answer wasn't quite what I expected. "I'm not reading that rubbish," I told him.

"Go and read the Bible and pray to the God you're talking about and He will show you the truth," he said and put his head down to get on with his paperwork.

I left the room, ran up to my cubicle and rooted out the Bible which was stuffed in the back of my locker. I opened it. "God," I said, "that man downstairs said that You would speak to me from this book. So I'm asking You to do it because I don't even know where to begin reading."

I looked down to where the page was open and read these words: "But as many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name."

Now, that made sense to me but I didn't know who "He" was. "So You'll have to tell me, God," I said.