11th November 1951 was meant to have been a very special day. It was the day a great hero was meant to have been born, a hero in the old tradition, a saviour, a great warrior, endowed with all the virtues man can possess. A hero who would have a profound influence on the fate of the world, performing deeds worthy of any hero in our world's history. But sadly, and for reasons I shall try to explain and make comprehensible, he never knew. He was not informed of his fate, and although he was full of heroic impulses, his actions never led him to that path heroes walk, the path of glory and immortality. You may ask - How do I know, that such a man ever existed, and in time you will find out. But let us start from the beginning.
He was born in a small town, the second child in a sequence that eventually became four; two girls and two boys, perfectly evenly spaced, each one almost exactly two years after the previous one. Fate must have whispered in his father's ear at the time of his birth and told him something of his sons potential forthcoming destiny because, being an admirer of ancient Greek culture he called him Hector, a name which later on, despite its promising nature proved to be a somewhat unfortunate choice.
From an early age then, Hector showed a tendency to stubbornness and great will power and often didn't take well to not getting what he wanted. He would throw himself on the ground, bang the floor with his fists and scream at the top of his voice. But his father, a God fearing man, intent on displaying his piety in front of his wife and children, was also stubborn and had not only will, but the power to exercise it, and fully intended to show his son where the right path lay. There was Love, there is no doubt about that, and much time was spent with the child, in fact the father was very proud of his son, or to be more precise, he was very proud of having produced a son, after three previous marriages had yielded nothing but daughters. In order therefore to not to foster any straying from the right path there was praise and punishment in almost equal measure. Of course the boy developed an adulation for his father, sensing, as children do, that much was expected of him, and he tried to please his father wherever he could, which wasn't easy.
And from very early on his heroic tendencies were beginning to show. One day, at the age of four, he climbed onto the roof of the family's three storey home, positioned himself at the bottom edge facing the garden, and balancing precariously over the gutter he shouted loudly, making sure that he could be seen and heard, "Daddy, Daddy, look what I can do". That day he was severely beaten, first by his mother, who was too shaken to be able to think of anything else to do, and then by his father, who felt it his duty to prevent his son from indulging in any further escapades of this kind. Unbeknownst to both mother and father they did continue in spite of the severe reprimands, with the allegiance of his sister, who had watched the whole spectacle and thought it might be a fun thing to try herself. She was wise enough however, to urge him not to draw attention to themselves, and the two of them spent that summer regularly climbing out of the two attic windows leading out onto opposite sides of the roof, walking along the gutter to the end, where they turned the corner until they met in the middle of the North side of the house. They then proceeded to shake hands gravely and grandly, and greet each other like they had seen the grown ups do. Having accomplished their mission they would turn round and walk back to their respective windows. No one ever saw them doing it, one presumes, because no comment was made ever again regarding this matter by any of the grown ups. As far they were concerned, this shocking escapade had been resolved swiftly and effectively.
It is not clear, whether someone had been meant to come along and witness what was no doubt the potential beginnings of his heroic career, something might have gone wrong even at this early stage, an oversight, surely, because one must not assume fate is spiteful. The right person at the right moment in time might, despite not being able to avoid telling them off, have been impressed by the children's courage and having ascertained that it had originally been the boy's idea, made sure that his love for adventure and extraordinary deeds could be developed in the right direction. But as it was, no one saw, and after that summer, they moved to a different house, a bungalow in a small village idyllically located near a lake. Young Hector couldn't stand it there, most importantly because his father wasn't there; he had remained in the town to work, and anyway him and his wife weren't getting on too well. Hector threw himself on the ground, banged his fists on the floor and screamed - all day, for several weeks, until his mother couldn't stand it any longer and told her husband and soon ex-husband to be to take the boy away. Hector was ecstatic, as his belongings were packed into his father's car, he ran up and down the driveway, shouting and waving his arms, to the bemusement of his two sisters, who thought he was being a bit stupid. But his joy was short lived..........