See it on AMAZON here: https://mybook.to/Joseph-EPIC-KINDLE

A few screenshots from the e-book:

YouTube Readings to accompany the book are also available here:

NEW BOOK!

A collection of Bible verses with a a short reflection for each day, to guide, inspire and support further meditation on the living word of God.

• Walk with God each day

• Frame the challenges of life in God’s perspective

• Discover a deeper sense of peace

• Glean precious thoughts from the Bible’s inexhaustible store of heavenly wisdom

• Feed the spiritual part of your being

Daily prompts and meditations on the word of God for 365 days a year and more!

                      FIND OUT MORE

                  LARGE PRINT VERSION

Many years ago, at Auchenfoyle Camp (between Greenock and Kilmacolm in the West of Scotalnd), I illustrated the story of Joseph on a roll of blank wallpaper.

I got a big roll of wallpaper backing paper and drew the scenes each day, with black & white felt tip pens. Donnie Black, one of the camp leaders, very practically hit on the idea of mounting the roll of paper on two sticks, so that the illustrations could be progressively unfurled each day as the speakers told the next part of the story to the boys.

By the end of the week, the illustrated ‘scroll’ stretched halfway round the walls of the dining hall!

After camp, I stuck it in a cupboard and, apart from occasionally sharing it with friends who wanted to use it in Sunday School, it lay there gathering dust.

Over the years, in my job as an art teacher, I became familiar with the potential of computer graphics and learned how to scan in hand-drawn artwork and enhance it digitally.

After I retired, I self-published a few books, including my autobiography and some old diaries my father’s maternal grandparents had kept. The process of compiling and publishing these books made me aware of the new digital tools available to the author/illustrator. Then, I came across the Dr Seuss books, which my grandchildren really enjoyed reading with their dad. I thought to myself, if I re-wrote the story of Joseph in verse, I could use the old drawings I did at Auchenfoyle camp to illustrate the story as a children’s book!

Thus was born the idea of “JOSEPH The Epic Poetic!”

The first job was to put the story into verse. Easier said than done! I spent many hours writing and re-writing a poetic reinterpretation of the story in verse, to go along with my illustrations. After two years of trial and error, I had a reasonable draft, and was ready to marry the verses to the illustrations. Meanwhile, I scanned the original illustrations into Procreate and embarked on a year-long journey, first teaching myself Procreate, then adding realistic texture and colour to the original drawings.

I published the first version as an A4 sized paperback and then reduced the drawings slightly for the more compact 7″ X 10″ hardback edition.

Here are the ISBN numbers:

Hardback (7" X 10") ISBN: 978-1-7397443-5-9

Paperback (8.5" X 11") ISBN: 978-1-7397443-4-2

See more details in the book2look biblet:

https://www.book2look.com/book/gtdEvBWOcG

My next task is marketing the book via Youtube, email, TikTok (maybe!) - we'll see how that pans out!

https://www.book2look.com/book/gtdEvBWOcG

Click on the link below to see the book on your local online bookstore:

                https://mybook.to/JOSEPHTheEpicPoetic

Or scan the QR code below:

In 1956, the editor's father, John Holmes Johnson, cleared out his mother Janet's house after she died. Among her stuff, he found three old diaries, written by his maternal grandmother Marion Orr and her mother Mary Holmes (John’s great-grandmother). He took the ancient notebooks home, put them in a brown manilla envelope and placed them in his filing cabinet. There they remained until he retired in the mid-1980s. For several years prior to his death in 2008, he took on the mammoth task of transcribing the handwritten diaries. He laboured over them for several years, deciphering the sometimes difficult to read handwritten script, and typing them up on his Amstrad computer and later on his Windows desktop.

Both diarists were born and brought up on farms in the countryside surrounding the villages of Kilmacolm and Bridge of Weir in the West of Scotland. Both married farmers.

Spanning the years between 1882 and 1944, the diaries paint a fascinating picture of the lives of these hard-working country folk during those sixty-two years. Not only did the two grannies record family fortunes and tragedies, they also mentioned international events of interest to them, such as the International Glasgow Exhibition, the 'Spanish Flu' epidemic and other events that affected them during the First and Second World Wars.

Readers will be fascinated by the details recorded in the late 19th and early 20th centuries by these strong and characterful women.

Read some sample pages from the book with some of the diary entries in the ‘Biblet’ link below:

SAMPLE PAGES

FIND OUT MORE

AMAZON LINKS

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* * *

My name is Jo Johnson. Full name, Peter Joseph Johnson, after my two grandfathers, but I’ve always been called Jo. 

I was born in the front bedroom of the ground-floor flat at 19 Bentinck Street, Greenock, on 25th February 1957.

19 Bentinck Street, Greenock.

I was the first of five children, four boys and a girl, born to Mum and Dad between 1957 and 1963. In order of birth, my siblings are James, William, John and Elisabeth. Mercifully, perhaps, most of my earliest memories have disappeared into the mists of time. Only a few snapshots remain—some are actual photographs taken by Mum or Dad, others are memories, imprinted with greater or lesser detail on my mind.

* * *

Dad and Mum on Octavia Terrace. I’m in the driving seat, James facing Dad and Mum, baby William inside pram.

Mum’s father, Peter Christison, came to live with us for two or three years before he died. Until he retired, he was the Head Gardener at Milton Lockhart estate in the Clyde Valley. We called him Grandad. I remember him sitting on the sandstone wall outside the house, dabbing the end of a dandelion stalk on his tongue. He liked the bitter taste and used it as an herbal aid to health. Another time, he was eating an apple. When I imitated the way he munched it, he laughed and exaggerated the munching for my entertainment. Mum told me he wanted to see me going to school before he died. He got his wish.

Grandad, keeping an eye on me and James in the pram

Mum and Dad also brought Grandad’s sister (Mum’s Aunt Mary),  to stay with us when she could no longer look after herself. I only ever remember her lying in bed—but she was always pleased to see us children when we ventured into her room.

Dad was teaching Maths at the Mount School at the time but had rented a shop in Cathcart Street, which he stocked with drapery goods and children’s clothes. He employed a girl to work in it during the day. Grandad was so keen to see Dad’s new venture, he walked all the way from Bentinck Street to the shop and back again. Mum said it was too much for him. She thought the extra effort had damaged his heart. He became ill and was confined to bed. Whenever he wanted anything, he took his knobbly brown walking stick, whacked the end of the bed and shouted “Jean!—Jean!” Eventually it was too much for Mum to look after him. An ambulance arrived and took him to Larkfield Hospital where he died of heart failure some weeks later. He told Mum his heart was ‘done’. She visited him a day or two before he died and said, “If it’s the Lord’s will Dad, you’ll get better.” He knew different and said sharply, “Jean! Speak the truth!”

As a Christian, Grandad was a conscientious objector during the first World War. When he stood before the tribunal, the judge said, “What would you do if the Germans came and started killing your family?” He answered: “It would be a quick despatch to glory.” The judge gave him work of National Importance in Forestry.

At one of our Bible conferences, some young people were sitting in front of Grandad, giggling and laughing. He leaned forward and said, “There’ll be nae laughin’ in hell.”

Harry King told me that Grandad had some memorable turns of phrase when he prayed, such as “We lift our hearts to Thee as a flower lifts its face to the sun.”

Dad related a story Grandad told him, about a carter pulling a heavy load of hay up the Lanark Brae—a steep hill between the Clyde Valley and Lanark. His horse was making heavy weather of it despite the carter’s not so gentle efforts to ‘encourage’ her up the hill. All of a sudden the poor nag collapsed and died. Her master ran to the cart, pulled out a handful of hay, stuck it in the horse’s mouth and said, “Well, they cannae say ye deeid ‘o hung’ur!1”

Mum told us her father used to get up before dawn and read his Bible by candlelight.

Grandad with me, James and William

When I was three or four, Mum and Dad sent me to the local nursery school. We called it “Miss Francis”. James and William also went there.  Miss Francis was both owner and teacher at ‘Beltrees Private Kindergarten’—a house on The Esplanade, just around the corner from Bentinck Street. To reach the school, you entered a gate and walked up a long narrow lane with a hedge on one side and a wall on the other. The basement rooms were the schoolrooms and Miss Francis’ living quarters were upstairs. She was a diminutive woman with brown hair, intelligent eyes, a gravelly voice and a friendly, smiling face. Her fingers were stained brownish yellow with nicotine. Occasionally she took a coughing fit—a full-blown, rattling smoker’s cough.

The day at ‘Miss Francis’, began in the playroom, which had French windows opening onto the lawn. Then we went through to the schoolroom where we sat at little wooden desks. Each desk had a lid. Inside was a tin of coloured chalk crayons, a small, lined writing jotter and a drawing notebook with pastel papers interleaved with tissue, so that the chalk didn’t rub off on the facing page. After morning lessons, there was a milk break. The milk came in a crate of half-pint bottles and had silver foil tops. Patricia Rice, one of the older girls, poked a hole in each foil top with Miss Francis’ penknife and pushed a paper straw into each bottle. We ‘sooked’ our milk with gusto and had a short free-play session. During one play time, I sneaked along the corridor between the schoolroom and the back kitchen and helped myself to some biscuits from Miss Francis’ biscuit tin.

After break we sat on the playroom floor around the blackboard, which was mounted on a wooden easel. Every day, Miss Francis told a story, illustrating it with coloured chalk as she went along. I was enthralled. It was the highlight of my day. The stories usually ended when Miss Francis said with a smile, “And they all lived, happily, ever, after.” An ending that never failed to satisfy my simple little mind.

At home, we often played in ‘the hall’, (the entrance hallway of the flat), from which all the other rooms opened. Mum’s brother, Uncle John worked at Hairmyres Hospital in Lanarkshire. He was in charge of the engineering workshop attached to the hospital, where they made prosthetic limbs and mobility aids. He had contracted polio himself when in his late teens, and walked with a pronounced limp, using a calliper on his bad leg as well as a walking stick to enable him to get about. His car was specially adapted with apparatus coming up from the footwell to allow him to operate the clutch and gear lever by hand. Uncle John made a set of three wooden lorries for me and my brothers, with our names painted on the front. We used to sit on the lorries and ride them up and down the hall. For Christmas one year, Dad got two red Triang pedal cars for James and me, which we loved. 

On Christmas Eve, Dad and Mum gave each of us a pillowcase to hang over the end of our bed. We were so excited we stayed awake for ages. Before he went to bed, Dad crept into our room wearing a red dressing gown and wellington boots, and a cotton-wool beard on his face. He quietly filled our pillowcases with presents. We pretended to be asleep, but all the time enjoying the thrill of seeing ‘Santa’ arrive. We knew fine it was Dad, but willingly suspended belief to enjoy those magical moments of make-believe. Even though Mum and Dad told us there was really no such person as Santa, they weren’t so rigid in their thinking that they couldn’t see it from a child’s point of view and allow us a bit of harmless fun.

One day I was playing in the kitchen with a sewing pin I’d found lying about. I’m guessing Mum didn’t know I had it or she’d have confiscated it. I inserted it into the space behind the control knob on the washing machine. Suddenly, an electric shock shot through my fingers and arm. I cried out in alarm and Mum said, “Oh, you silly boy! What did you do that for?” It was a valuable learning experience.

During those early years, Dad used to sit James and me, one on each knee, and tell us Bible stories. Jacob and Esau, Gideon and his three hundred men, David and Goliath, were some of our favourites. But the one we asked for more than any, was Samson and the lion! Dad built the suspense to a crescendo by telling it in real time: “I’m going to see my girlfriend, tum te tum… Grrrrr! The lion growled in the long grass… la la la” (Samson humming a tune) “….Grrrr! GRRR!” Then—“RAAAAAHH! The lion jumped out at Samson and the Spirit of God came mightily upon him, he took it by the jaws and tore it apart.” Dad acted it all out, leaning forward with the two of us still on his knees—what excitement! I think Dad enjoyed telling the story just as much as we enjoyed hearing it—which is why it was so memorable.

Mum and Dad wanted the best for their children. They arranged an interview for me at Greenock Academy (the Scottish equivalent of an English Grammar school). There was a small but affordable fee to pay for the privilege, but Dad and Mum thought we were worth it. Mum took me for an interview with Mr Chadwin the Rector2, a diminutive, florid faced man with a brylcreemed wave of black hair swept back over his head. Like all the teachers in those days, he wore a black teacher’s gown. He looked very grand. When he appeared, I whipped off my cap and saluted. Mum had instructed me beforehand. Mr Chadwin took me by the hand with a smile, and led me into his office with Mum. There he showed me a little book with pictures of carrots and other interesting items. I had to draw lines between one thing and another and match them up. Easy! That was the entrance exam. The old Greenock Academy was an austere, Gothic revival Victorian building which was demolished to make way for the James Watt College building (now renamed as ‘West College Scotland’).

Across the road from the old Academy was Ardgowan Primary school. Because the Academy intake was later, I was sent to Ardgowan Primary for the first couple of terms, until old enough to join the Academy. I don’t remember the Ardgowan school teacher, but I remember a girl called Elspeth Edgar who sat at the next desk to mine. She was a happy girl with a big friendly smile. The infant classrooms at Ardgowan were upstairs, as was the school gym. Every week, we trooped along to the gym for ‘Music and Movement’. We did all sorts of creative poses with our bodies to the music. One song we sang as we went round and round in a line behind each other, was, “tipper ipper arper on my shoulder, “tipper ipper arper on my shoulder, “tipper ipper arper on my shoulder, I am the master.” We drummed our hands on the shoulders of the person in front as we sang. What it meant I had no idea, but I enjoyed it immensely!

The boys toilets at Ardgowan were in an un-roofed, open toilet block outside, in a corner of the playground. Ceramic urinals lined the wall. Whenever I went near the toilet block, the overpowering stink of stale urine assailed my nostrils.

I used to prance around the playground as if riding a horse. I had a little song which I sang in the saddle, which went: “one more river and that’s the river of Jordan, one more river, there’s one more river to cross.” It was my own little world and a satisfying way of spending playtime.

My first teacher in the old Academy ‘Annexe’ building, was Miss McAusland. She was probably nearing retirement age by the time I arrived in her class, but she was an excellent teacher. Gentle but firm. She and her sister lived in the top flat of a house on the corner of Newark Street and Madeira Street, not far from Bentinck Street. In my Primary One class photograph taken at the old Greenock Academy, I’m sitting cross-legged, second from the right in the front row. You can just make out a paper lifeboat badge pinned on the lapel of my blazer.

Primary 1 class photograph at the old Greenock Academy, 1963 or 64 - I’m second from the right in the front row

Here are the names of the classmates in the photograph—as many as my faulty memory can recall—from left to right, starting at the back row and working down:

Back Row (left to right): Donald Mcintyre, Michael Wright, Robin Pollock, Graham McFarlane, William Taggart, Christopher McLean

Second row:  Hunter Bowie, Eric Cuthil, Rodger Davies, Kenneth Cochrane, Colin Galbreath, Robin Grant (Titch), Findlay McFee, Stuart McDonald

Third row: Siobhan Kennedy, Helen Osborne, Allison Brown, Moira Taylor, Janice McLaren, Judith Hawkins, Elspeth Edgar

Fourth Row: Christine Hutchieson, Anne  McAdam, Morven Lambie, Jennifer Baird, Jacqueline Talent, Lesley Carrick, Jean Carroll, Catriona Stewart, Margaret Henderson, Christine Dunwoody

Front Row: Michael Hall, Brian Hendry, Janice Kennedy, Jo Johnson, Billy Kilpatrick

* * *

I can’t remember if it was in Miss Mcausland’s class or later on in Mrs Russel’s class, but whenever the sun came out, we stopped whatever we were doing and sang:

"Good morning Mr Sun,

Our day has just begun,

We love to see your smiling face,

It fills our hearts with warmth and grace,

Good morning Mr Sun!"

We chanted the last line in unison at the tops of our voices: “GOOD MORNING MR SUN!” 

* * *

The Janitor at the old Academy, was a fierce-looking man with a Hitler moustache. He lived in ‘the Janny’s house’ next to the school, the garden of which was separated from the playground by a wooden fence. Known universally as ‘the Janny’, he kept hens in his garden and I often used to look over the wooden fence and watch them clucking and scratching around. I can still smell them in my mind! One boy in my class was Stuart MacDonald. He had glasses and very thin legs. I remember asking him, “How can you run so fast when you have such skinny legs?” William Taggart’s teeth were rotten and his breath smelled like a drain. I stood well back when I spoke with him. I remember him singing the song that was on everyone’s lips in the playground that year, The Beatles song: “She loves you, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, you know you should be glad…” That must have been 1963 or ’64.

* * *

1 Translation: “No-one will be able to say you died of hunger!”

2 Rector: The old school name for the Head Master or Head Teacher.

I wrote this after experiencing a major health crisis in 2018-19 which made me acutely aware of my mortality and concentrated the mind on things I had thought about doing but never got round to doing, such as, leaving behind an account of my life thus far - mainly for the entertainment and interest of family. However, I think there are life lessons which may be useful to the younger generations and others who manage to discover my story in the vast ocean we call 'Amazon'!

PRINT & E-BOOK LINKS

AMAZON UK (Paperback, Hardback and Kindle eBook)

AMAZON USA (Paperback, Hardback and Kindle eBook)

LARGE PRINT LINKS

AMAZON UK (LARGE PRINT PAPERBACK)

AMAZON USA (LARGE PRINT PAPERBACK)

AUDIOBOOK LINK

Audiobook

ONLINE SAMPLE

SAMPLE PAGES LINK

SNAPSHOTS FROM MEMORY – in CHINESE!

My extremely talented bi-lingual sister-in-law, Jolie, foolishly agreed to attempt the translation of my autobiography into Chinese! She slaved away at it in between her work and all the usual household and family commitments, but eventually decided it was too big a job. I don’t blame her! But for any bi-lingual Chinese/English speakers out there, here’s a wee taster of my book – it’s all Chinese to me!

Thanks so much for having a go at this Jolie. If I ever hit the big time, you’ll be first in line to share in the rewards!

Footnote: Now that AI Chinese translation is available, I may yet be able to do this. Watch this space!

After several months locked away in my audio-booth, the audiobook is now available on Audible! I recorded the book with a King Bee mike and used the amazing ‘Reaper’ DAW (Digital Audio Workstation) to edit out most of the glitches. Listen to the sample, then download the book to get the full 12 + hours! I hope you enjoy listening!

Click on these links to sign up on Audible and download to phone, tablet or computer.

Download link if resident in UK

Download link if resident in the USA

LARGE PRINT VERSION HERE

When I was about eleven or twelve, I got the chance of a paper round at Brown’s Shop. The older boy who was finishing up showed me the ropes and took me round for a week before he left. His key piece of advice to me was “always eat something before you come out.” Later, James got a paper round there as well, so we both used to get up at six o’clock every morning to do our paper rounds before going home and getting changed for school. We used to walk or cycle to the shop in the early morning through silent streets in the yellow light of the street-lamps. Usually, the bundles of newspapers were lying on the pavement outside the shop where the John Menzies (pronounced “Ming-iss”) van driver had dumped them. We cut the string with a penknife (I had a good sharp one with a pearl handle), then counted and sorted the various papers into wide canvas bags, which we then shouldered and set off on our round. The papers had the distinctive smell of printer’s ink and by the end of the round, our thumb and fingers were black where the ink had rubbed off. My round took me up to the houses on the Lyle Hill, along South Street, down to Newton Street and back along Finnart Street to the shop. On Saturday mornings, there were extra weekend papers to deliver and my round extended to Margaret Street and Newark Street. Winter mornings when the snow laid a pale yellow blanket of street-lit stillness, were a magical experience. Our footprints were the first to violate its pristine perfection.

Some mornings the John Menzies van was late, and we had to wait outside the shop until it arrived. In a house opposite the shop, there was a young man called ‘Walmsley’. We only knew him by his surname. Walmsley was a wee bit simple. He had a bald patch surrounded by a scrunch of sandy hair and lived there with his older brother. Only later did I discover his brother was a policeman. Walmsley used to leave the house around quarter-to-seven each morning, while we were fixing our papers at the shop. I am ashamed to say it, but I hatched a nasty, pre-meditated trick to play on poor unsuspecting Walmsley. I painted a bald-headed caricature of him on a piece of paper and took it with me next morning. It was still dark when we arrived at the shop. While we were waiting for the van to deliver our batch of morning papers, I found some heavy stones and an old bag of cement and carried them across the road. I piled the stones up against the gate, dumped the bag of cement over the gate and onto the path and threw the cartoon sketch of Walmsley on the path outside his front door. We hid in the dark shadows beside the shop to watch what happened when he came out. Sure enough he emerged as usual, clutching his packed lunch. When he saw the stuff lying all over the path, he about turned and went back into the house. When he came out again, instead of trying to open the gate, he took a flying leap over the low wall onto the pavement and off he went. James and I watched the whole drama with suppressed giggles. However, as I set off on my paper round, I’m sure I saw a slight movement behind the curtain of the window in Walmsley’s house.

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This extract is from the book "Snapshots from Memory: The Autobiography of a Greenock Academy Schoolboy", by Jo Johnson Copyright © 2023 Jo Johnson

In this podcast, I intend to post selected audio extracts from my Autobiography - plus bonus audio updates on other subjects as the Spirit leads!

To kick off, I begin with some chapters from my autobiography, to whet your appetite! I'll add to this each week, and over time, build this podcast. Subscribe to be kept in the loop for the next episode. Thanks for listening/reading!

Preface

“even when I am old and grayheaded, O God, forsake me not; until I have declared your strength unto the next generation, your might to every one that is to come.” (Psalm 71:18)

The chapter headings in this book are the pegs on which I’ve hung this collection of personal memories. Inevitably, there is some overlap and, like my cover photograph, which a curious child once experimented on to find out if Dad’s paper punch actually worked, it’s an uneven picture and there are a few holes in it. For example, my descriptions of the important people in my life can only ever be like a series of snapshots or sketches for a painting. What’s left out is often just as important as what’s left in. The sum of their lives, character, personalities and achievements is beyond mere words. Memory is notoriously subjective. As Queen Elizabeth said recently, “Recollections may vary.” But perhaps my scattered musings will give readers some insights into the people and events that shaped the course of my life and contributed to the formation of the convictions and beliefs I hold.

However, it’s easy to view the past through rose-tinted spectacles. I know my parents gave me the best start in life. Even so, ‘not everything in the garden was rosy’. I have presented the facts about certain incidents with minimal analysis or comment, and I’m reminded of Ecclesiastes 7:10 “Do not say, “Why were the former days better than these?” For you do not inquire wisely concerning this.” With that proviso, I have two primary intentions in writing this book. First, to reflect on my life’s experiences and learn from them myself, or give readers food for thought when they encounter similar situations. Second, to leave a written legacy for my children and grandchildren. My opinions are just that. Others are at liberty to form their own.

This book comes with a ‘don’t try this at home’ warning. Some things we got up to as children went beyond normal childish pranks. We deserved—and got—severe punishment when we were found out. I debated with myself whether to put these in or leave them out. I left them in because they show that even at a young age, the propensity for sin is latent in the human heart and only needs circumstance and opportunity to be given action. To me, God’s grace is even more wonderful when I think of His mercy and love for a sinner like me.

The ‘Notes’ section at the end of this book explains some ‘common parlance’ words used by brethren and sisters1 in the Churches of God. I’ve also used the notes section to amplify a miscellany of other details.

1 Brethren/brothers and sisters: following the custom of the Apostles in the New Testament scriptures, baptised believers in Churches of God refer to each other as brothers and sisters ‘in Christ’ or ‘the Lord’. As saved persons, we are ‘children of God’, we belong to God’s family. 

Want to read the book? Click this link:

SNAPSHOTS FROM MEMORY - ON AMAZON

The appalling atrocities perpetrated by Hamas terrorists on innocent Israeli civilians, have plunged Israel and the world, into even greater darkness than ever before, and I believe, bring us closer than ever to the END TIMES foretold in the Bible.

Three years ago, I worked with a good friend of mine, Neville Coomer, to format and publish a printed version of a chart of Bible prophecy, which Neville and his wife Helen had commissioned me to paint for them.

Neville was keen to have the minimal amount of human interpretation alongside the pictures of the chart’s timeline sections, and I was happy to go along with this, since the juxtaposition of the relevant Bible passages with the images on the chart provided enough food for thought and further research for anyone who wanted to look into these things in more depth.

However, James has carefully researched the subject and set out his findings in a fresh and accessible way. At the end of each chapter, he gives copious references for follow up study. I would highly recommend James’s book as a valuable companion to the “Bible Prophecy Panoramic Chart: God’s Purposes through the Ages” book, which read in conjunction with “Messiah Promised”, will provide the reader with a sound grip on the key points to bear in mind, so that they don’t become hopelessly confused (which is the case with many commentators!)

Here to whet your appetite, are a couple of screenshots from both books, with links to their online pages on Amazon (Click on the images to go to the books’ Amazon pages):

James’s book screenshots:

Bible Prophecy Panoramic Chart book promotional image:

MESSIAH PROMISED: Published by HOLMES BOOKS Copyright © 2023 James Johnson

Bible Prophecy Panoramic Chart: God’s Purposes through the Ages, by Jo Johnson and Neville Coomer

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Each page of this book* features a panel from Jo’s hand-painted chart. Alongside each panel are detailed Bible quotes showing how God's purposes of love towards the human race have unfolded.

The final pages dramatically illustrate the final showdown between the Antichrist and God.

Click to see some sample pages from The Bible Prophecy Panoramic Chart below:

SAMPLE PAGES

* NOTE: The panoramic chart book was jointly published by Jo and his friend Neville Coomer, who came up with the idea of producing, in book form, the chart which Jo had originally painted for him and his wife Helen. Neville collaborated with Jo to agree the list of scripture texts which give Biblical context to the illustrations.

Teach kids cursive letters the easy way!

What if your kid was able to progress easily from pre-writing to pre-cursive to joined-up writing without having to re-learn a different style of writing?

Imagine how proud you’d be if their teacher thanked you for giving your kid such a sound start with their handwriting!

Research evidence suggests that children who learn a cursive (joined-up) style of writing, learn to:

• Write faster
  

• Spell more accurately
  

• Develop improved memory, fine-motor and language skills
  

• Acquire handwritten letter forms that are clearer and more easily read
  

A cursive writing approach is recommended by the British Dyslexia Association, Occupational Therapists and Educators

INSIDE:

• WHY starting with pre-cursive letter tracing PREVENTS having to learn TWICE instead of just ONCE!

• HOW to guide and encourage the emerging writer

• WHEN your kid is ready to begin letter and number tracing

• ADVICE on not starting before they’re ready

• FINGER TRACING letters

• DIRECTIONAL ARROWS to teach stroke sequence

• A-Z Capitals and lowercase letters and numbers to trace

• Advice for left-handed writers

• Cute pictures to color

• Lined PRACTICE PAGES at the back of the book

• CERTIFICATES to recognize kids progress

• 100+ pages

Get your cursive handwriting and numbers workbook today - make learning fun - start your kid off right from the word go!

      FIND OUT MORE

This is the enigmatic title chosen by my father John Holmes Johnson, for his autobiography which I self-published for him under the Accolade Publishing imprint, several years ago. Dad was born and brought up in Greenock on the West of Scotland. This entertaining and informative book was written primarily as a family record and traces significant incidents from his life. My father died in 2008 at the age of 90.