A while ago, I wrote this….

Tears in Rain

A lot’s happened since then. I had a garden office built, went solar and invested in a Tesla Powerwall so that I could de-disk electricity supply issues.

I also adopted Cairo as a friend for Milo, had a couple of breaks and have effectively given up my day job to help steer a huge programme across a number of companies that fall under the group umbrella.

Coincidentally, the company that employs me has an issue that needs somebody from the UK to go to Sydney to untangle some issues.

I was asked.

I said that I could. But. Oh damn. I’m unvaccinated. Shame really. This wasn’t disingenuous, I’ve been twice and don’t need 48 hours on a plane or long days abroad at all.

And I don’t fancy leaving the dogs for ten days either… Cairo in particular frets when I’m gone for even a day.

Except. New South Wales entry requirements on their website says this.

So it seemed that I could go. The thing is that this trip ties in nicely with the new role and i can get a lot accomplished much more quickly than if I don’t.

Remember, I’m unvaccinated, at first I was hesitant, but that position has hardened over the past year and there’s no chance at all of me taking it now.

So I applied for a visa that allowed me to work for a while and was pleasantly surprised to find no vaccination questions and it was granted within a minute – very impressive.

Flights were booked via Etihad and I found a nice hotel near the office.

I then contacted business people and friends in country to sort out meetings and beers.

So far, so good.

and then…..

Australia requires you to fill in a Digital Passenger Declaration, but you can’t do that until seven days before you fly, So I filled mine in while on holiday with the doglets in Wales, it’s a simple document and it clearly gives an outcome.

Except it doesn’t. I fully expected to be told to fuck off – as I don’t meet the current standards for the federal government according to the DPD.

Except I wasn’t. But there’s no way I’m taking a risk at check-in as to whether I can fly, but luckily, the airline has a service that can do this for you.

BUT.

Only 72 hours before the flight.

So I tried to call. I got an automated service that told me nothing. So I tried live chat. Frustrating and quite sad in a way

So I tried a few other numbers and eventually talked to a human. Probably in India. They told me to check their website. The call didn’t go well.

I have a good friend in Sydney and he spent three hours on the phone with the authorities. He sent me a mail.

This basically stopped me cold, I did try to ring the consulate, but they pointed me at the same number as my friend.

So I had to wait until this morning to fill out the online form for the airline.

That was seven hours ago, I doubt I’ll get an answer today.

I genuinely don’t care if I have to cancel or not (part of me would like that). But the Australians seem even more fucked up than I ever thought possible.

I’ll wait for the outcome as to whether I can fly, but until then, I’m neither flying or cancelling.

Schrodinger’s Passenger.

And then. And then.

Within an hour of my self imposed deadline to cancel the flight on Monday 4th July at 14:30 – the Australians dropped all restrictions and tests. For the day of my flight.

Tomorrow 6th July.

So off I go.

You couldn’t make this shit up.

Welcome to 2022.

I was just finishing walking the dogs on what felt like the first real day of spring, we’d walked for miles, taken in a pub lunch and Cairo – the new dog, a rescue from Shrewsbury had been off-lead for the first time. It was glorious- then the phone rang.

It was Shirley’s care home and those calls always give me a sinking feeling and today was one of those days where things weren’t great.

The care home itself is lovely, it has views over Richmond and Shirley can see the castle from her window. The staff are amazing and there’s never been a moment when Shirley hasn’t been looked after. She broke her hip a while ago, but the team helped to get her back to normal amazingly quickly.

This call wasn’t about care though. It was about the lingering psychological damage Susan and her little crew have left Shirley with. See True Detective and all the subsequent posts for some grim reading.

This call was about the subject that I always dread. Shirley’s address book. It comes up every few months and – every few months, I have to tell Shirley that all her contacts and therefore relatives – are lost forever because some psycho cut her and Arthur off by design.

And so, I spent ten minutes or so going through the story with the lovely lady from the care home and giving her the script to play back to Shirley.

The address book is gone. It was probably gone as long ago as 2017. I searched the house after it went on the market and none of Arthur and Shirley’s possessions were there. Susan had effectively removed their existence.

We closed the call and I promised to get up there soon- not easy these days, a seven hour round trip, but..but.. there’s nobody else really.

And, by that time, I was home and did the automatic checking the phone for notifications thing.

There was a WordPress notification

Somebody claiming to be a relative of Shirley had reached out, they gave details that only somebody who knew Shirley could possibly know. And they gave an email address.

I mailed it and asked for a phone number.

And received one within minutes.

I called the number and it was a nephew – the son of Shirley’s sister.

He told me details that I’d never heard of and gave me information that will open the roadblock to getting Arthur’s pension to Shirley. He has two siblings and one lives an hour away from Shirley.

They’ve been looking for Shirley too and my blog was the first information that showed them that she was still alive. His wife has done some amazing detective work on this and so, within thirty minutes of an awful phone call, the best news that I’ve heard for years came along

The home now know their details and they’re on the official list to visit etc. (I have to agree visitors because…….)

Oh and that photo.

It’s Arthur and Shirley’s wedding day. I’ve never seen it before. It’s being sent along with others to Shirley.

A minor one to be sure. But a miracle nonetheless.

Keep fighting. Keep hoping. Sometimes it’s worth it.

Prologue, December 20^th 2021.

I’m sitting in a portacabin in the car park of a care home in Richmond, North Yorkshire and telling my aunt about the contents of a bag of Christmas presents that I have for her.

She’s very frail now, incredibly arthritic and worryingly, seems to drift off for minutes at a time.

One of her presents is a pair of image-stabilising binoculars to replace some that were stolen or disposed of.

She listens intently and then asks me the same question that she asks every time that I talk to her.

‘Have you found my address book? It’s got all my phone numbers and addresses in it and I don’t know how to contact anybody’

I want to scream, I want to punch the walls, I want blood and I want vengeance and I swallow all that hatred back inside before answering.

‘No, we’ll never find it, Susan must have disposed of it long ago. None of your stuff was left in the house at all’

I sound calm, because I have to be, for her; and it breaks my heart to watch her face drop and her eyes begin to tear.

Again.

And the rage begins the fight with sadness inside me.

Again.

And I keep my face blank, because I must.

Again.

How did it come to this?

Could it happen again to you or somebody you know?

It’s impossible to say, but people don’t know what to watch for, we didn’t.

Let’s go back to the beginning and maybe this little book will help a few people.

Summer 1972

I’m nine years old and on an adventure with my uncle, we’re going to some place called Norfolk in his lorry, the radio is on and he’s bought me a coke to drink while I marvel at the open countryside, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen so much of it.

I’ve seen things that (some of) you people wouldn’t believe. I’ve seen the sun rise in Sydney and set on the mountains of British Columbia.

I’ve watched dolphins play and baby turtles make their first steps into the Indian Ocean.

I’ve swum in an offshoot of the Amazon and willingly jumped out of planes.

I’ve watched eagles fly overhead in the middle of a city and watched bears from the safety of horseback.

I’ve had trials for a national sporting team, fought in bouts in three fighting disciplines and written a book and graphic novel.

I’ve been to mountain tops and deep caverns, rooftop champagne bars and cellar dives.

And it’s still not enough.

I’ve swum in the sea during a monsoon and dared the gods to kill me while the lightning flashed across the sky.

I’ve visited ancient temples, gone drinking with a god and seen the modern embodiment of Blade Runner in the stormy skies of Kuala Lumpur.

I’ve been on more flights than I can remember and told an Indian Army sergeant to fuck off at the very door of a plane back to London.

I’ve debauched my way across the world and had times and experiences that I couldn’t imagine as a working class kid growing up in Hackney.

And it’s still not enough.

I’ve had my heart restarted five times, watched on a monitor as a surgeon burned a tiny scar into it from within to cure a problem and had my bicep tendon reattached ( all within a year)

I’ve seen the Taj Mahal at first hand, along with Sydney Opera House, the Golden Gate Bridge, The Brandenburg Gate and walked amongst pushy tiny people in Kowloon.

I’m massively content with things at the moment, I have a lovely house, more land than I could ever have imagined, a dog that adores me and a great work/life balance.

Autumn and winter this year will be spent outside as much as possible getting my land into shape and I’ll also be working 5 days a week as normal.

And I’ve started looking for another dog so that Milo the Mountain Lion can have a friend.

And it’s still not enough.

Other people that I know of my age have started downsizing and begun their early retirement. I can’t. I won’t.

There’s so much to see and do, so many places still to visit, so many experiences to have.

This is it. It’s the only life we have. And it scares me to watch so many people allow their lives to be more and more regulated to keep us ‘safe’

It’ll all be over before you know it. Get up. Get off your knees. Enjoy life while you can. We. Are. All. Going. To. Die.

The result is predetermined. The journey is what matters.

Many years ago, for two different employers, I spent a lot of time offshore (I’ve blogged about the second major stint in India a fair amount and they’re on here somewhere) .

Wherever I went – Europe, the Far East, Australia, I was always proud that I came from England. The country that gave the languages and social structures to many of these places.

I was even gladder to come home as they were never quite ‘right’ by the standards that we lived to.

Apologies for what will now be two longish recollections of India, but I’m reminded very much of them today.

India 2007, I was running an offshore finance centre and had to visit at least once a quarter. It may sound good but it isn’t. Club flights and nice hotels don’t make up for the crashing boredom and the fact that ALL the bars including hotel bars shut at 10pm in Bangalore. – and if they didn’t. Well, the cops would come in with nightsticks.

There had been a run of well reported rapes of local females working for outsourcers – in a number of incidents, they were pulled from their work-supplied bus late at night.

I visited the team to be asked what WE were going to do as a female was the last person to leave the bus that we supplied. (Yes, I know, there’s an obvious answer, but…)

So, I went to see our head of security, the gloriously named Captain Shamsheer. He was a good guy and very professional. We chatted for a while and I asked if we could supply security guards on the buses.

He stared at me for a few minutes, had a brainwave and called somebody through the door.

One of our security guards. 8 stone soaking wet. Shamsheer asked him a few questions and I watched the guard as he struggled to find answers. After a few minutes, he was dismissed.

Shamsheer looked at me again.

‘The thing is, that security guards are mostly like that. illiterate, badly trained and not fit for much else than guarding a door’.

He paused for dramatic effect.

‘If we put guards on the buses, I GUARANTEE that somebody will be raped. By a guard. I suggest that we talk to your team and tell one of them to grow up and be the last person off.’

We did this – nothing ever happened but the team were happy that we’d taken it seriously

India 2008

The worst trip I ever did. I went out there to sack somebody who was on the equivalent of £250,000 a year – IN 2007. This meant that I had to stay for an extended period and cover part of his job while we recruited. (He left of his own accord when I presented evidence if his massive stupidity and gross misconduct on my PC screen to him)

It’s fair to say that it wasn’t a great trip and I had to fly back via Mumbai. So an internal flight then all the drama at the airport that came with flying out of India. It went like this, not a word is a lie.

Airport – outside the doors. Security Guard.

‘Ticket plis’

This was a new one on me and I scrabbled around for my ticket, accidentally giving him the outbound one. He scrutinised it carefully, looking at it from all angles, including upside down. Then he smiled and gave it back to me. Happy with my valid (outbound from the UK ticket).

Once inside, it was time to put the luggage through an x-ray and have it sealed. Only a few questions and the complete emptying of one bag. Not bad at all.

Then to passport control, just me and my backpack.

Passport control was fine, professional and with the requisite tech to validate your passport. Lovely

Two steps beyond that, an apparent teenager in a leather jacket on a chair, demanding to see my passport and ticket again. Hey ho.

Ten yards later. The gates to check for metal etc. They didn’t work, so you had to stand on a box and have a wand waved around at you. Ho Hum.

Ten yards later, a ticket and baggage check. Sigh

Thirty yards later, stand on a box and have a wand waved. Ticket check.

Ten yards later. Ticket AND Passport check. Thank Fuck the bar is next.

BA Club Lounge. Too full for entry – delayed flights. Fine

BA First Lounge – the same, people had the same idea as me.

Never mind. I knew of a third lounge open to all airlines. A casual saunter down to keep the rage at bay, wander in, show my ticket and sit down – you can’t get your own beer obviously,

And then.

‘Sorry sir, you have to go to the BA lounge.’

‘Can’t’

‘But you have a BA Ticket’

‘Yes. The lounges are too full, they’re not allowing anybody in’

‘You can’t come in here’

“Why?’

‘Er this isn’t for BA Passengers.’

At this point, I should probably mention that a lounge that could take sixty people was empty.

‘Who IS it for then? It says ALL airlines on the door?’

‘Er’

At this point I walked to the fridge and got a beer and just ignored him.

Ten minutes later, a splendid Indian Moustache.

‘Sir I am the manager, you aren’t allowed in here’

Sigh

‘Right, here’s my club BA ticket, I suggest that you call them and make space for me or I’m not leaving. I also refuse to talk to you or any of your team any further, if you’re that bothered, call the General Manager and HE can call security’

‘OK sir, you can stay on this occasion’

*drinks beer*

The time came to leave the lounge and I gave the lad a large tip, it wasn’t his fault that his whole structure was ridiculous.

To the Gate. YAY

Passport check, ticket check, baggage check, all is right with teh world.

Time to board

Walk through the door.

Luggage check again. They’re taking the piss now/

Wand Check again. On the ramp to the plane.

Another luggage and ticket check. Never mind there’s the plane and booze. I can see the stewardess.

And then.

And then.

A soldier appears, couple of stripes on his arm, sidearm, baton.

‘Passport. Ticket.’

He holds his hand out.

I have my foot inside the plane.

I smile sweetly, lean in and say. ‘FUCK OFF’ and then very quickly to the smiling stewardess ‘ I am in international airspace now right?’

‘Yes sir, champagne or juice?’

It was booze obviously and I ended a very grim trip by getting drunk for thirteen hours.

That’s it. Anecdotes over.

What has this got to do with today?

Sadly, it’s a lot. One of the things that I was always proudest of when abroad was our openness and freedom. We could go where we liked, pretty much say and do what we liked and our pubs and bars were open when we wanted with no curfews or dubious ‘rules’ applied.

I went shopping this morning at 7am, the (huge) supermarket was empty, it has wide aisles and loads of space. And yet, a jumped up man-baby in a mask and hi-viz took delight in telling an octogenarian couple that one of them had to go back to the car. ‘It’s the RULES’.

He actually enjoyed it. I could see it from where I was, that tiny bit of power to a man who may not have had it before had turned him into a third-world box-ticker.

It’s the rules, it’s the job, we’re keeping people safe by sending them to a dark, wet and cold car park.

I was ashamed of what I saw and made sure that he heard me call him a pathetic cunt as I walked past, knowing that he somehow would ignore THAT breach of rules and etiquette, possibly because I’m not over 80 yet and I was wearing my most friendly mask.

We need to start looking carefully at ourselves and how we let the rules be enforced around us. I’ve never been a tinfoil hat wearer or an alarmist. But another year of this and we may as well be India, because we won’t be England anymore.

Spoiler Alert

This story is nearly over, my uncle died peacefully in a care home. We buried him with dignity and surrounded by love.

His wife is still in the care home, I saw her today and told her that in a few weeks, she’ll have access to roughly £130,000. I also gave her Christmas cards and presents and a particularly lovely calendar that I’ve had made of Milo.

She loves dogs and, in truth, the money doesn’t mean anything to her but it’s way better than the way that this story was MEANT to play out.

I’m publishing this whole series again.

This time, the perpetrators will be named, good people will remain anonymous.

Come for me if you like, Susan, Ian and co.

I’d love it.

Let’s go back to 2018.

Welcome

Are you sitting comfortably? I have a story to tell.

It’s only a few days old and it’s still developing.

Every single word is true, I wish that they weren’t, just some names have been changed for now.

My Uncle

Is four years older than my dad and is the oldest of three siblings, followed by his sister and then my Dad. He’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. In truth he’s a simple soul who has lived a life free of complications for 83 of his 84 years.

He married his best friend’s widow, as it was ‘the right thing to do’ and they’ve been married for well over 50 years. I used to see a lot of him as a kid as he was a lorry driver who did regular runs to the coast and the Anglian countryside and he’d take me along as a treat and a day out.

He bought my Nan’s house after my Grandad died and lived there until he retired. The house was in Leytonstone, so he sold it for a reasonable profit and moved to a small town near Clacton in Essex.

Although we’re not a massively close family, my Dad would call him once a week or so, just to catch up and make sure that all was well. Occasionally one of my brothers would drop in to see him on the way to another town on the coast.

A Strange Event

That meant little at the time occurred when my Brother dropped in and found that my uncle had gone out to give ‘two women a lift somewhere’. My Aunt wasn’t sure when he was due back as he’d been gone for two weeks.

This was roughly 18 months ago in 2016.

Dropping off the Radar

Around 8 months ago, my Uncle stopped answering his phone, my dad left a series of messages until the system stopped answering. After a few weeks of this, we made physical contact and he called my Dad to say that the answerphone had filled up.

Then he disappeared. No phone calls, nothing.

An Empty House

Another visit found that the house was empty, with mail piling up and a ‘for sale’ sign outside. There was no forwarding address and he had no mobile phone.

He was gone – so was his wife and another person who had appeared on the electoral role that year. Nobody in the family had ever heard of her, but a search has since revealed that she’d lived in two houses in the same town previously – at some point with her husband and then ‘alone’.

And that was it for a while.

Web searches showed nothing – no variations of a search helped at all.

Follow the Money

My Uncle’s house was sold in December 2017 and that enabled to make initial contact with his solicitor, who confirmed that my uncle was alive and that he would ask him to get in touch.

but nothing changed until last week.

My Aunt, their sister died in hospital on Wednesday night and I told my Dad that I’d drive him to the funeral as it’s around a 100 miles from where he lives.

Funeral Arrangements

I drove to see my Dad on Sunday this week (the 13th of May) to check that he was OK and to see if there was any news about the funeral.

We chatted for a while and it was clear that he was worried about whether my Uncle would attend. He’d still not managed to talk to him, but the solicitor had promised to go and see him personally and ask him to call. My Dad was beginning to believe that my Uncle had no interest at all and was both angry and upset. I took the Solicitor’s number and tracked it to Leyburn in North Yorkshire, a move of over 270 miles for a man of 84, who as far as we knew had never been to that area, even on holiday.

I said that I’d try to track my Uncle down, gave my Dad a hug and drove home.

An Unexpected Set of Events

Three hours later, my phone rang as I pulled onto the drive, it was my Dad and he was very concerned. My Uncle had finally called (from an unknown mobile number) and came out with a long rambling story.

In summary though:

• He didn’t know or wouldn’t say his full address – just the house number and not even a town.
• His driving licence had been revoked by the Police – he didn’t know why
• Social Services may have visited and said that he shouldn’t live alone. Although he clearly didn’t – there were three women in the house with him, his wife and two others.
• His bank account might have been frozen and he had no money and no car
• He would send his details to my Dad – by post – at some point.

I took the mobile number and rang it.

An old lady answered it – I didn’t recognise her voice, but asked to speak to my Uncle, who was apparently in the garden.

She called for him five or six times and I could hear another, younger, sharper voice demanding to know who was on the call and took the phone from her.

I asked her name and she replied that it was Susan Auckland.

I asked to speak to my Uncle and here’s the conversation.

‘He’s too busy in the garden to speak to you’.

‘OK, can you let me know the address there please?’

‘No, I’m too busy right now’.

‘You don’t want to give me your address?’

‘No, I’m too busy, we told your father that we will write to him’.

‘I’m sorry, but we don’t know when the funeral will be and that doesn’t help us at all’.

‘Well, I’m too busy to talk to you and we will have to get back to you’

‘You know that this sounds strange now? If you won’t give me the address. I’ll have to contact the Police as I’m now concerned about this’.

‘I don’t appreciate being threatened like this’.

‘Sadly, it’s not a threat, just a next step’

*CLICK*

Thirty minutes later, my Dad rang to say that Susan had called and stated that we could pick my Uncle up from the Black Bull if he wanted to go to the funeral and that neither she nor my Aunt appreciated visitors. He then told her to Fuck Off and she hung up.

That was it really, I had to commit to my Dad that I’d go to Leyburn and find my Uncle.

The Search Begins

The Black Bull isn’t in Leyburn, Susan had narrowed the search down to a much smaller town called Middleham.

I packed a bag in case I had to stay for a few days, packed my work laptop and checked out hotel availability just in case..

I then sent a text to Susan. Something about this whole thing was worrying me and going formal seemed best.

This is the text word for word.

Good evening, following my call earlier, please furnish me with details of my uncle’s property by return text. If this does not occur, I will be at Leyburn Police station by 830 am tomorrow to ask for their assistance. Thanks in advance.

I had a quick meal, sat and brooded over a gin and went to bed, setting an alarm for 4am.

SatNavs are SkyNet’s Advance Guard

Let’s be clear, SatNavs want to kill us all. I programmed in Leyburn and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was a 10 mile shorter journey than Google Maps had said.

This might be because of this…

30 miles of narrow, winding, blind bends and steep inclines. Straight into the rising sun, making me half blind for a lot of the journey and terrified for the best part of an hour.

I’ve never had a more stressful drive in my life.

Anyway

I arrived in Leyburn just after 8am and managed to find a small cafe for breakfast. I’d decided to go to the Solicitor’s office first and see if he’d be willing to help. Breakfast was a good idea and I was nicely calm again after bacon, eggs, sausages, black pudding and tea..

And at 845, I wandered into the solicitor’s office. I’d prepared for the day by wearing a nice blue suit, with a tasteful and low key slightly pink shirt and had a stack of business cards with me.

Conversational Chess

Inside the office, I saw a set of larger private offices and caught the eye of the gentleman in the office nearest me.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m looking for Mr Smith’

‘Ah, there’s two of us, I’m John Smith’.

‘It’s you I’m looking for, my name is Small ThunderDog’ – he raised his eyebrows quizzically. ‘No, I’m his son, I understand that he’s been in contact with you, can we chat?’

He waved me into his office and closed the door.

I started by raising my concerns regarding my Uncle’s wellbeing following the calls the night before and my main concern that he didn’t even know where he lived.

‘Well, I spoke to him last week and he’s up to date on current affairs, Brexit and the Government, but if you were to ask him why he took £50 from the bank, he may not be able to tell you. But he would know if he’d split a meal bill.’

I reiterated my worry that he didn’t seem to know his address and the issues around his bank account and driving licence. He looked at me for a while before answering.

‘Well, I can tell you that he does know his address and that his bank accounts aren’t frozen, although he probably has lost his licence – you’re aware of what he did for a living?’

‘Yes, Lorry Driver, I used to go on trips with him, the issue is that I need to make sure that he’s OK, I’m very worried that if he does know his address, why wouldn’t he let his brother know it and why would a woman that we’ve never heard of be acting as his gatekeeper and telling us that we can only pick him up from the Black Bull for his own sister’s funeral?’

‘Was that a suggestion?’

‘No, Susan stated that this was her final word on the subject to my father, you can see my concern here, that there may be coercion.’

‘She doesn’t help herself sometimes I’m afraid, but I don’t think I can give you the address, I’m sorry.’

I looked at him without speaking for a minute, letting the silence build while I thought about what he might not be saying.

‘I appreciate your position, but you have to know that I will find him today, the Black Bull is in Middleham and if he doesn’t have a car and they’re taking taxis everywhere, I’ll start with the taxi firms and work it from there, I know the house number, if I have to check every number 11 in the town, I will’.

We looked at each other.

‘Would I be correct in saying that one of your father’s sons has had a run-in with the police in the past?’

‘No, it’s two actually, but I’m not either of them’

I passed over a business card, he looked at it for a long while before answering.

‘You understand where I’m coming from? I have to check this’

I pondered the strangeness of his question and looked at him for a while again.

‘Well I think so, but you have to understand that nobody in the family is interested in whatever money he has or doesn’t have and I’m interested that you even know that detail about my brother or why it’s relevant. To be as blunt as I can here, nobody cares what he’s up to, if he’s in a weird 4 way relationship and is taking Viagra 16 hours a day…’

‘I.

Don’t.

Care.’

‘When I find him and if he tells me he’s OK and that he has no interest in the funeral or the family, then I’ll walk away and let my Dad know what the answer is.’

I sat and watched him for a while.

‘I’m sorry, but I still can’t tell you the address, however, as you stated, he is in Middleham, there is no car, they’re all very late risers and there aren’t many number 11’s in the town. In fact, the first estate is on the left hand side of the town’.

We shook hands and I drove to Middleham.

A walk in the Sunshine

I actually found the house on the first pass but couldn’t be 100% sure so parked up in town and wandered around for a while looking for other possible number 11s – none of them fit, but the town is a very pretty little place with a number of racing stables and a large equine business base.

I walked through the churchyard and smiled at a woman and made a small fuss of her dog as they walked past, eventually going back to the town and getting a coffee before driving back to the house.

Snooper

I walked up the drive and was struck by a large amount of household rubbish that more or less blocked it, along with offcuts of wood. The curtains were all closed, even though it was 10am but one of the windows had a large number of small dog figurines that I recognised from my childhood.

I’d found them. I was sure of it.

It had taken less than two hours.

I heard a voice.

‘Hello, are you looking for somebody?’

It was the lady from the churchyard.

A Sunny Day Becomes Slightly Darker

We chatted and she immediately confirmed that one older man and three women lived in the house but that the two older women were more or less bed-bound. She apologised but said that they were all rather strange, that they had moved in just before Christmas but had then all left in a taxi and disappeared for four months and had only been back for three weeks.

The council had been called as the food they’d been dumping in the back garden had attracted rats…

I drove back to town and did a property search while I drank yet more coffee.

Keep Following the Money

The house had been bought in December 2017 and was paid for in cash. Three people are on the deeds.

• My Uncle
• His Wife
• The mysterious Susan

My Uncle sold his house for £81,000 less than the purchase price of the current house, leaving a question as to whether Petulia had contributed or he had taken £81k from his account to pay for the balance – potentially answering the question as to why his bank account may have been frozen – maybe.

I hung around until just after 11 , drove back and rang the doorbell.

Repetitive actions

No answer, I rang again.

And again.

And again. And again. And again.

And again. And again. And again.

I knocked loudly.

And again.

Still no answer.

I walked away and a voice came from the garden below.

‘Not answering?’

I shook my head.

‘Fancy a brew?’

I jumped at the chance and met another set of neighbours and their dog who decided that I was a potential chew toy.

Rats, Pharmacy Deliveries and Ambulance Rescue

Here’s the thing, if my Uncle had moved in the normal fashion, he couldn’t have asked for nicer neighbours, but the same story came out.

Move in at Xmas, disappearing for months and particularly scathing comments about Susan – who had called the neighbourhood a hellhole.

The rats that the other lady had mentioned had been spilling into this couple’s garden as the house in on a very steep slope, with the gardens being around 2 metres different in height. Nobody could understand why they’d moved there. Town was too far for them to walk, there are only two buses a day and there’s only one small shop.

The neighbours had spotted a pharmacy delivery service making multiple attempts to deliver over a period of weeks, delaying prescription medicines getting through.

The house was full of boxes and junk and Susan had apparently rung the vendor to complain that he hadn’t left the fridge as promised. it was behind a pile of boxes that they’d never moved.

And.

My Uncle had fallen off the edge of his garden, through the hedge into the neighbour’s garden. An ambulance was called and he had to be rescued by being lifted out with a rope. He’d dislocated his shoulder and was taken to hospital.

As with the other lady, I left my number with them and asked that they call me if they had any concerns going forward.

I then went back to the house.

Repetitive actions in a Repetitive Stylee

I rang the doorbell

No answer, I rang again.

And again.

And again. And again. And again.

And again. And again. And again.

I knocked loudly.

And again.

And again. And again. And again.

And again. And again. And again.

I rang Susan’s number – it was switched off

I tried again

and again.

And then she answered.

‘Hello is this Susan ? This is Small ThunderDog, we spoke yesterday’

‘I don’t know who you are’

‘I’m Arthur Hodge’s nephew and I’m on the doorstep, can you answer the door please?’

‘Wait there’

*CLICK*

I didn’t like the sound of that.. and so… two minutes later

Woop-woop! That’s the sound of da Police

A van pulled up and a policeman walked towards me.

I put on my best helpful face and walked out to meet him, getting my driving licence out as I walked.

‘Morning officer, here’s my details, my uncle lives in that house and I’m trying to get to see him to see if he’s OK and to discuss his sister’s funeral’

‘Over here sir, let’s have a chat, we’ve had a report from the owner that you’ve been trying to force entry – where are the others?’

I looked blankly at him.

‘I’m alone, that’s my empty car across the road, you can check if you like’

He called his control and asked for a check on me. I don’t have any sort of criminal record, so just stood there and tried to look as unthreatening as possible, that was probably wise as another van with two more policemen swooped up. ‘My’ policeman signalled them that I wasn’t a threat and they waited while he did the check.

Once he’d confirmed who I was, I then showed them my property search on my phone showing my Uncle as owner of the property. I also showed them my text to Susan from the night before saying that I would go to the police.

I explained my concerns about the two older women being bed-ridden, the rubbish, the rats and the state of things inside.

Things calmed down nicely and the two new policemen went to the door to see what they could do.

We waited and chatted.

Hello Stranger

Eventually, my Uncle appeared at the side of the house and his face lit up as he saw me, a huge, slightly confused smile on his face.

‘You’ve put on weight’ – I’m both taller and broader than my dad, but we look reasonably alike.

‘Well, I am 55 now’

‘55 how can that…’ – he looked confused.

‘I’m your brother’s son, we have the same name’

‘His son, he doesn’t have a son with that name, my sister has a son with that name, but not him I think’

His eyes were watery and a bit lost, he was so shrunken, but he’d gripped my hand and wouldn’t let go.

‘No, he does, it’s me, don’t you remember, I used to go to Cromer with you in the lorry, we used to go for breakfast at..’

‘Mrs Brown’s place, yes, I remember, but.. he doesn’t have a son with that name does he?’

I wanted to cry. There was no way that this man was fully in control of his self, his clothes were covered with bits of food and he was so very confused.

‘Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about your sister’s funeral’

‘I don’t think I’ll go, it’s er.. .’

I looked at him, he was still gripping my hand.

‘Don’t you think you should? She’s your only sister..’

‘Could you pick me up and drop me home again?’

‘Yes, of course’

‘Ok then, It’s a shame it’s come to this’

‘Come to what? That I had to drive for three hours to find you after you moved house and didn’t tell anybody that you’d gone? That you haven’t rung your own brother?’

‘Well I’m sorry that it’s come to this’

‘Why did you move here? This is such a long way from Clacton, and this house seems not quite right for you, it’s miles from anywhere.’

‘I don’t know, it might have been a mistake’

We talked for around 10 minutes, his memory was hit and miss and he was vague on a lot of things – but I agreed that I’d drive him to Norfolk for the funeral if he wanted and he slipped away from view.

A Small and Very Strange Coven

I then spoke to the policemen again, they’d moved their view a long way from 30 minutes before and were very solicitous.

But, they also told me that the three women in the house, including my aunt, who I’ve known all my life, was present through a lot of my childhood and was a guest at my wedding stated that I wasn’t allowed in the house under any circumstances and that I’d have to collect him from the pub on the day of the funeral.

An Unexpected Outcome.

The two other policemen left and ‘my’ policeman, to my surprise and gratitude, said that he had a few worries and would run them past social services, I said that I’d be raising a safeguarding concern as soon as possible. We shook hands and drove off.

I Need a DRINK..It’s only been 24 Hours So Far…

I went home, grabbed a bit of food and had a couple of beers before sinking into a strange and disturbed sleep.

A Call to The Council

To continue my run of positive things, I had a 45 minute conversation with a lovely lady from Yorkshire Council, I referenced ‘my policeman’ and the job number and that he mentioned that he might raise a case. There was nothing in the system at that point, but she was incredibly supportive and raised a safeguarding case with:

My Uncle, his wife and Barbara- (who it turns out is Susan’s mum) – as the victims

And

Susan as the perpetrator….

I emailed ‘my’ policeman to both say thanks and to let him know that a case had been opened and he may get a call.

Synchronicity, Like Wow. Just WOW Man.

Less than a minute after I sent it, the phone rang and it was ‘my’ policeman. He was calling me to tell me that he’d opened a safeguarding case directly with the local team and that they were likely to call me.

He’d done some digging in his own time, had found that there had been some earlier social services contact and had interviewed the estate agent who sold the property to find out his views.

The estate agent had confirmed that my Uncle was making noises about the house being ‘wrong’ and that he wasn’t sure why they’d bought it.

As I’d guessed, my whole conversation with my Uncle had been closely monitored and the look of joy on my Uncle’s face when he saw his ‘brother’ had convinced ‘my’ policeman that something was wrong with the whole story.

So that meant that as of yesterday morning, two separate investigations had been launched into a situation that nobody was aware of on Monday morning.

An Unexpected Update

I was at work this morning and received a call from one of the neighbours.

The Police and Social Services turned up yesterday and managed to get in while my Uncle and Susan were out.

They then called for environmental service support and a skip was delivered and boxes and rubbish removed from the house.

Today they went back, with two police cars and more social workers but couldn’t get access. There was a lot of shouting and talk of warrants.

And That’s It For Now

I don’t know what happens next – I’m waiting for a call from social services to update me, but I guess that a warrant is going to be needed. The next thing for me once I hear is to try to find out more about his finances and how the house was funded.

And

Whether he has a will and what it says.

Apart From:

This isn’t over by a long way. I don’t care about my Uncle’s money, I do care that it’s looking increasingly like he’s a victim.

The only question is how many people are involved.

It doesn’t matter, I’m taking this all the way.

A lot has happened and..

This is continued in Chinatown

This will be a short post.

Today has been a very strange day, I received two phone calls within a minute of each other.

Milo -my little warrior, The People’s Tripe Princess had recovered from his knee surgery and was being enough of a pain for the vets to want to release him as soon as possible.

I felt a sudden burst of heart warming joy, hung up the phone and got the news almost straight away that my Uncle had died. If anybody remembers the nightmare of his disappearance, the story never really ended.

Fraud was proven but the systems don’t work and two Police cases went to Action Fraud – an organisation that makes the NHS look efficient.

But.

My Uncle died peacefully in a place that he was cared for. He’ll be buried next to his parents and the wider family will be able to grieve and recover and not be wondering what happened to him. He can rest easy knowing that he was a good man and was loved.

I’ll never be able to repay those who helped us in some truly dark days, but they know I’ll always have their back now.

Milo is happy to be home and has eaten and taken his meds- he was refusing in the kennel. The veterinary nurse said that he was immediately a different dog when I turned up.

It’s a bittersweet day, but I’ve done my best for both of them. I’ll arrange the funeral, sort finances and sleep on the floor for a few days so that I don’t have to cage Milo while he recovers.

It’s not much.

But it’s enough for now.

The dog nudged my hand away from the keyboard as I was trying to edit a work document so that it made a bit more sense. I patted his head and he nudged my hand again so that I had to look at him.

He was gazing at me steadily and seriously; his huge amber eyes unwavering as he stared.

Outside the windows, yet another storm was driving rain into the house at 50mph and I paused my work for a while.

‘What?’

‘That’s my question. What?’

‘You’re being deliberately difficult aren’t you…’

‘No. It’s just such a big question. What happens after we die ?’

I sat back and looked at him for a few moments.

‘Where did that come from? Are you worried about dying ?’ We’d been at the vet a few hours before and I wondered if that had triggered this.

‘No. I’m not worried. But I just wondered what happens when we go away. Are any of those people that have been here and then gone away dead ? ‘

‘No. What makes you think that?. I know they’re still out there as I see them online.

‘Online ? So you can’t see or hear them for real? You’re taking it on faith then ? Are we in the Matrix?’

My head was starting to hurt at this stage. He had a point. People had come and gone in our lives and as far as he was concerned, they’d ceased to exist.

‘No. We’re not in the Matrix – probably anyway. And you’re right. I have to trust that what I see online and in chats is real. And that’s why your question is so tough.’

He looked at me, I swear that his eyes are backlit sometimes .. Outside, the rain and wind got stronger and it was hard to see the tree-line.

‘Every religion has a view of what’s next and how you get there. Including Atheists who believe that there’s nothing. The problem with religion though is that it’s all tied in with behavioural controls and rule sets. I’m not sure that any of it applies to dogs.’

‘Rules?’

‘Yes. Rules. Thou shalt? Thou shalt not.. etc. ‘

‘You don’t sound convinced’

‘’No. some of it is common sense tied into the time it was written down. Not eating pork in the Middle East before they knew how to cure or had chillers was sensible- now….’

I tailed off. This was a tough conversation with anybody. With a dog though …

He was still staring at me

‘OK. But what do YOU think happens? ‘

‘I don’t know. I’m what’s called an agnostic, I’m not arrogant enough to think that I know and I’m not easily led so I can’t get on board with religion – what do you think? Do dogs have any insight?’

He grinned

‘No of course not’

He looked up at me and put his paw on my arm.

‘ I can tell you what I hope though.’

It was my turn to look at him keenly.

‘ I hope that in many years to come, I’ll fall asleep and wake up in the garden. I’ll be surrounded by my toys and that stupid girl dog that you brought in will be around somewhere.

If she has to be….

And all my friends will be near.

Then I’ll hear the music come on and you’ll walk round the corner with one of my squeaky toys and we’ll play games while the barbecue cooks. Then all your friends will arrive and we’ll go for walks and play more games and…’

‘And when the day is over, I’ll fall asleep on your lap and then….’

He looked up at me, his huge eyes glowing .

‘And then we’ll wake up and do it all again. How does that sound?’

I smiled at him.

‘It sounds like you just started a religion. I’m in…’

The dog woke up from his dream-filled sleep just a few miles before we reached Corley Services on a trip back from Essex to visit my dad again.

It had been a pleasant trip and I’d done some more clearance of the old house and had a car full of bags of..

‘What’s that stuff in the back of the car then? There’s a lot of it and it smells….. dry.’

I smiled, smells and food were the main drivers in his life, apart from when he’d sit in the garden and obsessively watch the ponies next door for hours on end. He still hasn’t told me why.

‘It’s books, hundreds of them, I’m going to give them to a charity shop.’

His nose wrinkled in question.

‘It’s a shop that sells mostly second hand things that people donate and they use the money for good causes.’

One ear flopped back down again as he pondered this point.

‘And you’ve finished with these books?’

‘Yes I’ve read them all, some a few times and I don’t want to throw them away, I’d like somebody else to read them.’

He was silent for a while, his huge amber eyes gazing up at me me from his little bed on the seat next to me.

‘Do you think that you could teach me to read?’

I looked carefully at him, both ears were up and he looked serious.

‘ I don’t know, maybe. Trouble is that you can’t turn a page or power up a Kindle, so it won’t help a lot. Why do you want to do that?’

‘Well. First of all, I’d like to be able to look at the signs on the road and read the speed of the car, because I’m not sure that you can actually read those things yourself.’

I smiled, he had me there. ‘And what else?’

‘What else? Everything else. I listen to you talking on your conference calls and when we go out and I can hear the hesitation and the lies in some of those voices and I just KNOW that they haven’t understood anything. And I want to understand. I want to know the truth about things. It’s not that I don’t believe you, but……’

His nose wrinkled in the expression that I’ve come to call ‘Cartoon Dog’, a multitude of complex emotions passed across his face and I waited for him to finish.

‘But… I just want to be able to make my own mind up about things and I’m surprised at how many humans can’t or don’t. It’s scary for me because they could decide that dogs are bad just because somebody said so.’

He had a point, people were becoming easily swayed by emotional arguments that bore no logic or relationship to the real world at all.

‘I still don’t think that I can teach you to read what you want to. How about if I read to you occasionally and we can have a think about what it is that we’ve read and heard?’

Both ears were now fully up and he regarded me carefully.

‘Promise? Can we start with the little book that you take into the garden sometimes?’

‘The Hagakure? Yes I don’t see why not, it’s a sort of philosophy and instruction manual all in one. It’s probably a good place to start.’

The amber eyes glowed for a second

‘Will it help me sort those ponies out?’

And with that, he curled up and went back to sleep.

And I murmured some remembered words from the book to him while he dozed

‘The extent of one’s courage or cowardice cannot be measured in ordinary times. All is revealed when something happens.’