‘Come in, and sit down. Hello? Please sit down. Right, I think it would be helpful, if we review why we’re here today. OK? Right, I started to see you some six months ago, when you first sought help. Yes?

You’ve nodded, so I will assume that so far we’re in agreement. You presented as a lonely, rather isolated young man, who had difficulties in making relationships and friendships. Those that did occur, were primarily short term, and in respect of work, and fellow employees. Right?

‘Yes Doctor’

‘In other words, if your job ended, so did your friendships?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can we therefore confirm why you lost your three most recent jobs. First. Quality Controller on the hand made Pasty line. Their MD was gob-smacked. Operatives on crimping pasties are female. Each woman has different size hands, fingers, and techniques. Yes? In your first shift, you rejected 90% of the products!

‘I was looking for absolute crimping consistency.’

‘Two shifts and you were gone. Now tell me about the Fish & Chip shop? In one weekend, you nearly made the owner bankrupt. Queues down the street, fish portions getting cold, whilst you rifled through the chip tray, insisting that every chip should match?’

‘Thought the customers deserved more in chip consistency.’

‘OK. So what about the petrol forecourt? You were a cashier. As each customer paid for their petrol, did you think your comments were helpful? “Hello Sir. Pump number 5? Thirty pounds and five pence? Wahoo! Not much evidence of hand and eye co-ordination there!

‘On reflection, it was a bit insensitive.’

‘So, in my assessment, I concluded you were showed classic O.C.D symptoms. Obsessive, Compulsory, Disorder. In turn, this aggravated your work related feelings of isolation and loneliness. Agree?’

I nodded.

‘So far, so good. Therefore, 2 months ago, I asked you to do two things. Firstly, try and find an interest, hobby or activity, totally unrelated to work. Then you could actively explore friendships and relationships with other people, not affected by your apparent death wish in terms of jobs. Secondly, I asked you to keep a detailed diary or journal.

Thank you for handing it in before our session today. I’ve studied it with great interest. However, can you explain why, having suggested you find an activity, you appear to have taken on multiple tasks? John in a 2 month period, 26 events! On some days you were engaged in 3 different experiences all organised from A to Z.’

‘Could seem like that I suppose. In the absence of a job, just wanted to keep busy, and explore your ideas to the full. Was that wrong Doctor?’

‘Not wrong. I’m trying to understand what you set out to achieve, as opposed to the eventual outcome, and your O.C.D. Let me now refer to your journal. Page 1. A – Art for Amateurs?’

‘Found it on a local website. Run by the Council.’

‘How many sessions?’

‘Well it was meant to run for 8 weeks.’

‘What happened?’

‘Week 2, I suddenly realised it was all about “live art”, proper models and all that. Tutor said he thought some of my drawings were “crude”. I thought he meant like amateruish. But he meant “rude”.

I mean if a naked man is sat in front of you, with his willy on display, and you’re asked to do a detailed drawing, what part of the body, should you focus on? Clearly I got it wrong.

‘Didn’t you give him certain enhancements?’

‘The erection you mean? That was meant to be a joke. However, it wasn’t me with the lady.’

‘What lady?’

‘Week 3. She walks in, all calm and collected, in her silk gown, then drops it in front of all of us, and goes to sit down in a pose.’
‘And?’

‘Someone shouted “look at that fat cow”. It wasn’t me, but I got the blame for it. She put her gear on, and walked off in a huff, and I got chucked off the course. Not fair.’

‘What about B the Bridge Card Game experience?’

‘I put my hand up for that. Always wanted to understand more specialist card games. I got in the room, found I had a partner, and opponents, and then all my childhood experiences came flooding back to haunt me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well until then, my total experience of cards, was when I played with my brother and sister at Xmas. Sometimes Mum and Dad would join in. We always played “Snap”, so when I got into the Bridge game, as soon as anyone put down the same card, I went into auto mode, and began to shout, “Snap, Snap, Snap”. They did; I got evicted after 3 games.’

‘Tell me about your experience with the Psychology Department at the University’

‘Saw an advertisement in the local paper. University was paying £5.00 to members of the public, willing to help their Psychology students carry out behavioural studies. Sit down with the students, answer a few questions, let them analyse the responses, and then go home. At the same time, might make friends. Easy peasy’

‘And?’

‘Two of the students immediately resigned from the course. Said apparently they hadn’t realised they would be dealing “with twats like me” for the rest of their working lives. Totally unfair. Still haven’t been paid.’

‘What about the prison?’

‘I read this report, which said that over 50% people in prison, were illiterate in terms of English and Maths. So I joined a voluntary tutor group and ended up walking into Dartmoor Prison.’

‘Sounds interesting John. How did you get on?’

‘I was taken hostage.’

‘What!! I saw nothing about it in the local media. For how long?

‘Much longer than was necessary. My organisation never reported I was missing. Seemed to think prison was the best place for me! Some loyalty. Prison Officer nearly died a death when he found me in the cupboard. Mind you, I needed a sanctuary the next week.’

‘Why?’

‘I joined this conservation group. Lots of really nice, very committed ladies, all ages, all sizes. Felt quite at ease, until we had the saga of the endangered species. Went for a briefing, and was told that someone walking on Dartmoor that day, had found one, of only three, known species, of this particular plant.

Everyone started jumping up and down, hugging each other, then we all piled into vans, and off we went. When we got there, we spread out across the moors, and were told to “seek and find”. I struck lucky straight away, and after an hour, almost fell over the plant. I got back to the assembly point with it, looking for praise, and found everyone really pissed off with me. Apparently, there was now only two known species of this plant left alive, cos I’d just destroyed number three. They made me walk home.’

‘Talking of death, how did you manage to kill your Landlord’s cat? This is listed under T for Taxidermy in your activity journal.’
‘Doctor, I genuinely don’t believe I killed it. The course was very interesting. I love nature, and nurture, and wondered if it would be possible, to retain the body, and the spirit, of a domestic animal, thereby giving comfort to the owners. I was simply holding the cat, considering future taxidermy options, when it became clear, that then was now.’

‘What was the outcome?’

‘Landlord gave me notice. Got to find somewhere else to live. Not easy. That’s why I joined the Medieval Reenactment group. Knew they had a couple of local landlords amongst them’

‘And?’

‘Got carried off the battlefield on my first outing.’

‘Why? I thought it was all carefully controlled.’

‘Well it is normally. It was primarily my fault.’

‘Again?’

‘Well properly this time. I was meant to be a basic foot soldier; carried a heavy stick, with a chain. On the end of it, there was a spiked, and apparently dangerous ball. I had to swing it around and strike objects and people.’

‘And?’

‘Well it quickly became clear to me, that the ball on the end was only made of rubber, and wouldn’t swing properly, and definitely couldn’t inflict any proper damage. It was like a black tennis ball with bits.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘Put a lead insert into the ball, so it swung better and harder. Problem was, during my first battle, I hit Sir Guinevere of somewhere or other, and took him out. Next thing I know, his official aide de camp, and protector, and I emphasise the word “camp” came charging at me with this bloody great sword and hit me. Woke up in Derriford Hospital. Found out Sir Guinevere was the biggest landlord in town.’

‘John. I’m exhausted. Having read your journal, I need to take time out, and reflect on options for future support. I’m conscious that we’ve not covered your experience in other activities, such as Zulu Dancing, Tibetan Cooking, Flower arranging, Evangelical Church work, and Alcoholics Anonymous. That’s for another day.

In the meantime, did any of these experiences result in you finding a friendship, or relationship, outside of a work environment?
“Oh Christ. Yes! Sorry Doctor. It’s in the journal somewhere. Met this smashing girl, we’ve been going out for over a month, see each other every day. Brilliant.’

“May I ask who it is?’

“It’s Sonia, your receptionist. Got on like a house on fire during my appointments. Thinks I’m the bees knees! See you next month?’

‘If you need me John. If you still need me.’

No fancy French restaurants, with candlelit suppers no

Chinese or Balti, Madras or Josh Rogan cos

None can compare with our British fayre

Two Cod & Chips, totally boneless

Wrapped up in paper, like many poor homeless

Batter and bits, your fingers my lips

Though once it was gone, the lips lingered on

On to the afters, a real man’s dessert

Off with the trousers, off with the shirt

Come on my lovely, no need to flirt

Nothing but passion, no more the pain

Two Cod & Chips have done it again

Oh it was lovely, oh it was nice

Two Cod & Chips, two buttered slice

There’s nothing quite like it, other than when

Two peoples feelings, allow them to share

Passion and Chips, and a future elsewhere.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Behind my smile you missed the pain

My short blond hair and dimpled chin

Mischievous smile and instant grin

Made you believe my mother’s whims

Her wicked ways, those drunken days

High on dope, left me no hope as

Behind my smile you missed the pain

You never saw the little mite who didn’t know

What love was like, whose only touch

From mother dear, was fag burns, or a torn right ear

The bruises on my magic face, and arms and legs, and yet no trace

Was in your notes, your precious proof

Behind my smile you missed the pain

As punch and kick began to rain

Upon my tiny, fragile, frame

My bruised and batttered body would be still

Whilst you came round without the will

To see the lies, believe the ill that I went through as

Behind my smile you missed the pain

Again, again, again, again

So now I sleep with other friends

Victoria, Daniel, Hamzah, Baby P

Whilst all the world can see what you did not

All agencies come out to trot the same excuse of ‘it should not’

Behind my smile you missed the pain

Again, again, again, again.

Remember his name.

Day by day, he’s slipping away,

From the life that has been our foundation.

Human acts and basic facts

No more is he showing retention.

Although we know,

Does it really show or

Are we simply being polite?

When he cried in the night,

And held himself tight

As a child, it gave him attention.

His tears now fall in some secret place,

So look closely, so closely, for

There’s pain in that face

In those dull glazed eyes and vacant sighs

Remember those days when so full of life, he

Dealt with your anger, responded to strife

Showing ire and passion when

Loving his family, even losing his wife.

So whilst his mind slowly leaves,

The container remains.

Has he crossed ‘oer that threshold?

Will he ever regain

Some previous insight, or

Perhaps no more pain?

Remember the person, and not just his fame

Remember the person, we all share his name.

Goodbye my dear father –

It will never be the same.

 

(JACK IS A FORMER ROYAL MARINE, SEVERELY WOUNDED IN THE FALKLAND CAMPAIGN AND CONFINED TO A WHEELCHAIR. HE IS A PENSIONER, WIDOWED, AND LIVES IN A DINGY GROUND FLOOR COUNCIL FLAT. HE IS CLEANING A SERVICE REVOLVER AT HIS KITCHEN TABLE AND HOLDS IT UP TO THE LIGHT).

Nice ennit. Got it off a dead Argentinian officer on Tumbledown, just before I got taken down myself, and ended up in this (TAPS WHEELCHAIR WITH GUN). Course it’s illegal, but what ain’t nowadays. Anyway might need it later. Things are getting pretty tense. Police were outside couple of hours ago. Dunno who called em;(PAUSES) wasn’t me, but I’ll probably get the blame. Still that’s the least of my worries……..when I’ve got this (WAVES GUN). They found the usual. Drugs party going on in the stairwell, just outside my front door ( POINTS). Dealing, snorting, shagging one another on the stairs, getting pissed. Course they all did a runner when the police arrived. Most of the buggers don’t even live ‘ere. But they’ll be back…..they always do. Police are a bleeding waste of time. Those yobbos have no respect for em.

This used to be a nice block once, when it was mainly for the over 50’s. Then some bright spark in the council decided in the interests of equality, we should become………what was words he used?…….(PAUSES)……..oh yeah I remember…….”a multi-purpose, integrated, synergistic living environment”. In other words, its now a bleeding dumping ground for any crappy tenant they can’t put anywhere else.

            Scrote House that’s where I live now. (PAUSES)..Listen to that……..(POINTS TO DOOR WHERE LOUD VOICES CAN BE HEARD) they’re starting outside my front door again. It’s locked all day, and I go to bed just after 7. Daren’t go out after dark well not unless I’ve got this with me (WAVES GUN).

It’s Friday ennit? Used to have a good mate…..Phil……he would call for me on his way down to the pub on a Friday night. All weathers. Didn’t matter. Used to push me down the road and then bring me back by about 10 o’clock. Perfect. Mind you sometimes coming back was a bit slower………and once or twice we had to get a taxi, cos we was both so pissed. (POINTS TO A PHOTO) Phil died about 2 years ago. Big C………no …..cirrhosis. Funny ain’t it…………get cancer today and everyone’s sympathetic. Get cirrhosis and you’re a bit of a leper. A drain on the NHS…….that’s what they say. Phil was a brilliant bloke. Hard as nails right to the end. A really good friend and I don’t half miss ‘im. He wouldn’t have let me live with that crap (POINTS TO DOOR).

Out there’s the real cancer. That bloody lot. (NOISE OF LOUD VOICES FROM EXTERIOR) Can you hear them now? They’re starting. One of the ringleaders is Big Mouth, lives on the top floor. Big in size, and big in mouth, that’s him, but deep down he’s a coward. You can tell. I was an RSM in the Royal Marines, and if we had new recruits, we could suss out in a matter of days those who were going to make it. They had character, bottle, determination. Not like them out there…..(POINTS TO DOOR AGAIN).

Went out to them last night……..couldn’t stand it any more. Asked them politely to keep the noise down. They laughed at me. No respect at all. No understanding. So in the end I got down to their level. Said to em “Why don’t you lot piss off”…..that’s when big mouth showed up. Darren’s his name. In front of them all he grabbed my wheelchair, shouted in my ear “Fuck off you silly old bastard” then shoved it back inside, with me in it. Humiliating. He wouldn’t have dared touch it when I wore the green beret. Bet they’re still laughing about it now…………..(NOISE OF DOOR FLAP MOVING) wait a minute what was that noise? (POINTS TO DOOR, THEN WHEELS TOWARDS IT)……..oh you rotten bastards…..oh Christ………see what they’ve done now? (POINTS)..pushed dog shit through my letter box…..well I hope it’s dog shit not something else. Cor it stinks……..and I can’t get down and clean it up till the Home Help comes later. (GRABS A PLASTIC BOTTLE OFF THE SINK UNIT AND WHEELS HIMSELF TO THE DOOR AREA SPLASHES LIQUID AROUND THEN RETURNS)…….disinfectant….that’s the best I can do until I get help. Feel like puking.

Rang the council again this morning………told me to ring the police. They said it was a housing problem. Housing said it was an ASBO thing and they needed the police to help. All passing the buck. They make an industry out of it.

Meanwhile, I’m the one sitting here in this shit hole trying to live my life, not them. No one will exchange with me. Can’t blame em…….this estate is notorious and apparently there’s such a shortage of housing they can’t give me a transfer………(PAUSES) probably gone to all those illegal immigrants……………….(PAUSES) but I’ve got my own solution……..it’s called Plan B. (PICKS UP GUN AGAIN AND RESUMES CLEANING IT).

Yeah Plan B………that means Plan Bigmouth; (PAUSES) Darren; the one who took the piss and shoved me back in my wheelchair. Not the first time he’s had a go at me. Gave my wife Sonia a hard time just before she died of cancer about a year ago. (POINTS TO PHOTO) She was a lovely woman. Never stopped laughing right till the very end. Laughing, smiling. She could find fun in most things. Even living here. Well till Darren moved in that is.

Sonia was born in Jamaica. We met when I was on an exercise out there with the Yanks, then I went back on leave and bingo, we hit it off. Married for over 30 years. Loved her from the day we met. Funny ennit, Darren’s black but he called my wife a “white honky”. Really upset her for days. I was going up to see him, but the bloody lifts were broken down again, and Sonia asked me not to. Said it would only make it worse. She’s the one who had to walk past them every day.

(POINTS TO THE CEILING) Darren’s the ringleader you know. The wheeler dealer, who organises all the other twats. Most of them are frightened of him; he’s not big……just nasty. Been on the top floor for about 2 years, and this place has gone downhill ever since. I’ve met a lot of people in my life, and I don’t normally take an instant dislike to them…….but he’s different. There’s no spark in him…….no…………no decency…….nothing nice at all. No respect for anyone or anything……….just aggro……….pure evil………that’s what he is……….and nothing will change………will it?

(NOISE OF KNOCKING TO DOOR) Can you hear that………..they’re knocking my door. They think I’m asleep, and they hope I’ll wheel myself out and go straight into the dog shit. Wouldn’t be surprised if they ain’t looking through the letterbox……sniggering…………(ANGRILY) the bastards. (PAUSES)………..there……..they are…………told yah (LONG PAUSE)……….right that’s enough.

(WHEELS TO DRAWER IN SINK UNIT. TAKES OUT GREEN BERET AND MEDALS.   FIXES MEDALS TO CHEST, PUTS BERET ON AND ADJUSTS IT, THEN HAVING PICKED UP GUN, WHEELS HIMSELF TO FRONT DOOR. (PAUSES) THEN SALUTES DOOR BEFORE LIFTING UP FLAP AND SHOUTING THROUGH LETTERBOX)

“Is Darren there…..tell him I want to speak to him. What about? Tell him I think he’s a black twat and a woofter” (PAUSES, PEERS THROUGH LETTER BOX)

“Hello Darren…………..present for yah” (LIFTS REVOLVER, AND FIRES SEVERAL SHOTS THROUGH LETTER BOX. SEVERAL SCREAMS FROM EXTERIOR. JACK WHEELS HIMSELF BACK TO TABLE AND PUTS GUN DOWN).

Right that should sort a transfer out. Job done.

(PICKS UP MOBILE PHONE AND DIALS)

Police?

END OF MONOLOGUE.

After John’s retirement, they’d quickly settled into a very relaxed routine, with both exploring new opportunities, conscious of the free time they now had. Whilst children and grandchildren, placed occasional demands on them, their distant location made it more a planned arrangement, rather than the ad hoc call seeking help with a sick child.

They would still get up relatively early in the morning. The habits of previous working lives, quite entrenched. John would potter around, making tea, putting on the television, watching the news, whilst Susan would prepare to feed her menagerie of wildlife.

The adjacent, impenetrable hedge was a refuge for masses of birds and squirrels, sharing facilities with overfed, overweight pigeons. Occasional visits from the special one; a local Sparrow Hawk, was evidenced by pigeon feathers fluttering on adjacent grass, and a stillness in total bird life activity for many hours.

By mid-morning, they were usually seated in their conservatory, sharing the local and national papers. Susan tried to access the national one first, otherwise, she’d inevitably end up with John, reading out specific issues from the publication. When she eventually opened the paper, it was quite deja vu. Protests to John were met with familiar arguments.

“Susan listen; you know I love to talk about key issues with you. Right here, and, in the here and now. Never forget, how much I value your experience.” Such, discussions, were inevitably based on issues identified by John, with very few surprises. Until today.

John was singularly quiet, as he absorbed the pages, before focusing on one particular story. As he read, and clearly read again, Susan was poised for his inevitable response.

“Look at this. How awful. How can people behave like that to one another?”

Sometimes, Susan would cynically pre-empt him.

“Come on John. What headline has grabbed your attention today. Brief me on the content sweetie, please!” Susan would urge before “Then I won’t have to think, evaluate, or come to a view myself.”

This would inevitably start them giggling, with both dissolving into belly laughs, in response to John’s supposed exclusive view of the world, and Susan’s selective amnesia.

Today was different. She was sure John had a tear in his eye, as he put down the newspaper, slid open the conservatory doors and walked into the depths of their extended garden. Susan watched John’s motionless figure some 50 yards away. then guiltily picked up the newspaper at the opened page.

It was a report of the death of two elderly, frail British people, both in their late 80’s, who’d booked themselves into a hotel in Paris. Apparently, they’d used the same hotel for their honeymoon, some 50 years earlier, and been found dead in their bedroom, cuddling up together, with a suggestion of joint suicide, involving alcohol and drugs.

As she settled back in her chair, and read the article again, Susan experienced a dull pain in her upper abdomen and chest. Both were aware that her life expectancy was now limited to months, rather than years, and yet despite advice and support from the cancer team, so far they’d not told their children or extended family of the prognosis.

She felt a cold draft around her legs, and realised that John had quietly opened the patio doors, and was stood alongside her. Susan felt a sense of anxiety, as she turned to him.

“John. It’s my turn for the headlines. Have you seen this story about the elderly couple who went back to their honeymoon hotel in Paris, 50 years after they got married. Same room, same hotel, but not the same outcome!”

“What do you mean, outcome?” John asked gently. She saw a distinct wetness in his eyes and knew that he had been as affected by the article as she was.

“Susan, their outcome, was one of the saddest and most loving responses between a couple that I’ve ever read.”.

She responded immediately. “I know that darling. I understand exactly where you’re coming from John. But don’t you realise this couple could be us.” She hesitated.

“It’s up to you darling. My time is limited, whereas yours is quite different. To some extent darling, I’m quite relieved. I’ve always dreaded being the one left behind. I simply couldn’t cope. You do so much for both of us. No?”

John looked at her intently, then nodded. Susan continued.

“Do you want to consider it. when it’s right?”

He took a deep breath, then smiled.

“Susan, I know we never made Paris. Never even had a proper honeymoon. But my best memory is of that cheap B & B in Jersey. Remember? We did a runner the same day, because the first place was so awful. Then we found that lovely little place right on the seafront. What was the landlady’s name? Doreen?”

“Doris. Doris from Blackpool, but settled in Jersey.

Susan laughed. “But what fun, and Doris was lovely.”

“So if we did it; no Paris hotel? What about Jersey B & B?”

“Absolutely not John. This is our home. Our garden, my birds, squirrels, and smashing memories.” She giggled anxiously. before exclaiming.

“Besides, who needs Paris!” Then Susan paused.

“You do know what to do? Don’t you? John?” He slowly nodded.

“Then it’s just a question of when, really, isn’t it?”. John nodded again.

There was a slow drift of snow across the garden and adjacent trees, the whiteness embracing and permeating the area. The garden was totally silent, as if the Sparrow Hawk was nearby.

He lay alongside her for several hours before standing up, walking into the adjacent bathroom and rinsing two glasses. Having replaced them on the bedroom dresser, John leaned forwards, and gently kissed Susan on her already chilled forehead. He spoke softly.

“I’m so sorry my darling. I just wasn’t ready, but I couldn’t find a way of telling you.”

John moved into the hallway, and dialled 999.

1. Henry VIII

Tony had driven past the girls three times already, before finally circling back. One was still completely engrossed in her mobile phone, fingers moving rapidly over the item itself. Her friend, a much taller girl in tight white jeans, appeared disinterested in the activities of the other girl. Instead she leant against an adjacent telegraph pole in a rather provocative, although relaxed manner, seemingly enjoying the image she created, without realising she was being watched.

Her taut young body and slim buttocks evoked his memories of youthful passion and innocence. Then she began to slow stroke her long dark hair, running her fingers through it, before casually flicking it to one side. For Tony, the realisation that neither had still not noticed him, made it even more exciting for what lay ahead. One of them would soon know him, completely.

Giving a false name and address and paying cash for a car at auction, provided the means for his intentions to be delivered. Tony always chose carefully. Mass produced vehicles, one of thousands on the road, nondescript and dust covered. The clever application of mud to parts of the number plates, made it almost impossible to decipher on CCTV, whilst not attracting the attention of the police.

It had been several months since Henry had come back into his life. Tony could usually tell when a visit was impending. There’d be a dull throbbing headache for a few days, followed by extreme sensitivity to light. His use of his specialist medication would be disrupted, followed by a period of sleeplessness, because Henry would only arrive in the silent hours of the night. He needed to be ready.

It would begin with a gentle whispering. The voices in his ear, friendly at first, would then became dominant, strident and challenging. Henry was his closest friend, his ultimate  confidante, hero, and regrettably, at times, his controller. Tony sometimes hated him, yet knew the visits by Henry would always be exhilarating, even confrontational. The challenges would involve danger and excitement leaving him physically, mentally and sexually exhausted for days on end.

Remorse for what occurred was not an option, until Henry left. Then there would be a period of reflection and stillness, followed by a growing determination, that it would be the last time such behaviour occurred, and Henry would be resisted. Regrettably, once again, in the past few days, Tony had felt quite vulnerable.

Henry had persuaded him to try a daylight cruise, rather than the usual night-time foray, which had become too easy. The last girl was so naïve. Despite a public awareness campaign, and his growing reputation, he’d simply pulled up at the isolated darkened bus stop. He’d told the girl in the shelter, that he was meeting a new girl friend nearby, but was late, completely lost, panicking and needed directions. Whether it was the driving rain, or she was simply attracted by his good looks, she’d offered to show him where he had to get to. The trap was sprung.

Henry was particularly challenging about the option for daytime experiences, but it had taken many hours of persuasion over several sleepless nights, to get Tony into a particular frame of mind, malleable, willing and capable of responding to a new challenge. Throughout this time, Tony knew Henry was already monitoring his behaviour.

The gentle urging had already begun. The latest car was prepared in all respects. He’d carefully removed all interior identification, taking off familiar badges and manufacturer logos. The internal door handles and window winders had also been removed.

It was hot in the car. So hot, that his extremely muscular body, carefully dressed in loose fitting, easily removable clothing, was already soaked in sweat. Tony chose not to wear any deodorant, so he would be completely anonymous to the person who would ultimately receive Henry’s favours. He was also wearing thin latex gloves, which would confuse any DNA investigation and cover his tattooed hands and fingers, with their oil stained grimy nails bitten down to the quick.

His job as a mechanic in a car scrap yard was the final part of the jigsaw. It provided an easy means of resolution. Tony would simply drive to work early, then load his latest car and it’s content into the crusher. Before activating the destruct button, he’d use his mobile phone to record the vehicle and the event. Ironically, as he was early at work, he could even claim overtime.

Record keeping was minimal, and he’d gradually assembled a secret area within the scrap yard complex, which he’d occasionally visit and receive a vicarious pleasure. There was a row of metal cubic squares, all disgorged from the mouth of the crusher. All were consistently produced, clearly subject to the rigorous quality control of the scrap yard, and with the added bonus, that each contained a different recipient of a visit from Henry.

There were so many now, that Tony smiled as he remembered his father’s favourite Joe Brown song in the early 70’s – ‘I’m Hennery the Eighth I am, Hennery the eighth I am, I am.’ Tony could even remember saying to himself ‘It won’t be long Dad till we get to eight.’ When he looked at the collection, he knew he was nearly there. Seven metal cubes, were visible at the last count.

Despite these responses, over several years, he still felt raw, and never fully understood why his father, whom he adored, had committed suicide when he was a teenager, and his mother had suddenly walked out. The pain was as vivid, as the tears in the eyes of his older sister Jane, when they stood at the lonely, windswept double grave.

Her tears still haunted him, because physically and emotionally, she subsequently also left him. The emotional turmoil, which resulted, had really hurt, and re-opened barely healed wounds. Unlike his sister however, this time his tears fell deep inside, nourishing a deep terrible anger, aggravated after he found out that Jane had subsequently made awful accusations about her own father, as well as his behaviour towards other young females.

The voice brought him back to the immediacy as he watched the two girls.

‘Tony, I hope you’re not hesitating?’ hissed Henry, his voice becoming shrill and demanding. ‘Which one are you going for Tony? Which one? Come on. The short one or the one in white. They both look a bit like Jane, especially the one with the long hair. They’re starting to split up. Hurry. It’s time. It’s Henry’s time, precious time, it’s special – remember? Tony! You owe me.’

Tony looked down at the adjacent passenger seat. Everything was ready. The masking tape, carefully prepared in sections of various lengths, rested on the dark blue ski mask, next to the knife and hood. Perfect for a night-time excursion, but dangerous for a mid afternoon snatch. This was going to be a different challenge.

He’d carefully researched the impact of mask disorientation on victims of violence.  With a hood over their faces, most victims became submissive in a matter of minutes. This needed careful handling as it had potential conflict with Henry’s desire to always be in total control, and utterly feared by the unwilling recipients of his favours.

Henry needed to see their fear, sense it in their eyes, watch their pathetic body movements and hear their desperate cries. Uncontrollable body functions were a bonus. There was no such thing as a victim, as far as he was concerned. It was justified and  retribution. There was inevitably going to be a row after this outing.

‘Tony. For Christ’s sake. Which one? Which one?’ shouted Henry, and then ‘Come on, I’ve had enough. I’m taking over. It’s my show now.’

Tony felt the pressure in his temples increasing. His eyes were becoming increasingly sensitive to the light. He pulled the sunglasses, with their mirrored images, down from his forehead, and settled them gently on the bridge of his nose. Adjusting them carefully, he checked the rear view mirror one more time and then said ‘Over to you Henry.’

‘It’s white, it’s white, the target is white.’ said Henry excitedly, as the two girls separated, with the taller one, moving down the hill, before turning left, and walking alone along a dirt path adjacent to the main road. Henry reached back and released the special lock fitted to the boot of the car, inserted his favourite tape into the stereo system, turned up the volume, and felt a massive surge of adrenaline and sexual arousal.

It was several moments before the handbrake was released, and the car rolled quietly down the steep incline. The pulsating and sinister soundtrack from the Jaw’s movie permeated the vehicle’s interior. The sound increased in resonance as the car approached and drew alongside the Lady in White, soon to be the Lady in Red.

The face of the young girl contorted in fear and she appeared incapable of movement as the door suddenly swung open. ‘Hello Jane, my sweet lady.’ he said quietly his face covered by the ski mask, before stepping out of the car, with the hood in his hand. ‘My name is Henry, and I want you to put this on.’

‘Have a nice day Henry.’ said Tony, his headache already beginning to diminish.

‘Oh I will, I will. Thank you Tony. Today, I’m Henry VIII.’

Ellie only realised she had a new neighbour, when she returned home from her night shift as a physio at the local hospital in South London, and saw a pile of cardboard boxes on the adjacent landing. Tired, after a long shift, she decided against being a good neighbour, and went straight to bed.

By mid-morning she was jerked awake by the sound of banging through the wall. She lay with a pillow over her face, reminding herself she was on a weekend break, and once the noise stopped, she’d catch up on sleep. It continued. Ellie grunted, then flung back the covers, swung her feet out of the bed, dressed quickly and walked into her kitchen. She was tempted to hammer on the wall, but decided to work off her emotions in other ways.

She was a meticulous list keeper. Attached to colourful magnets on her fridge door, were a number of reminders. The last list was the one she tackled. With a ferocious glance at the adjacent wall, Ellie started spring cleaning her cupboards, banging tins around, cleaning surfaces, before bagging up household waste for the communal dustbins on the ground floor.

She’d simply put the front door lock on the catch, and in seconds run down the stairs, then return back to her flat. As she re-entered, and dropped the snib she had an immediate uneasy feeling. Her bedroom door off the passageway, was ajar. Ellie slowly pushed it fully open. A stranger was sitting on the edge of her bed looking at her. Simultaneously her front door bell rang.

Closing the bedroom door, another stranger stood outside her front door. Around six feet tall, closed cropped hair, which appeared blond in origin, his face was quite tanned, and displayed the greenest eyes she had ever seen in a man. He wore a tight fitting khaki T shirt, which emphasised a muscular build. Above his right elbow, she noticed a pronounced scar.

The newcomer held out his hand, which Ellie instinctively shook.

“I’m Milo. Just moved in next door. Sorry to bother you, but have you seen Macey?”

“Macey?”

“My cat. Saw her walking onto my balcony, but when I checked, she wasn’t there. Thought I saw a black tail disappearing through your balcony doors.”

Ellie paused, “You’d better come in.” As her new neighbour brushed past, she noticed the distinct smell of a familiar aftershave. She opened her bedroom door. The stranger was still sitting on the bed, but jumped down, and ran towards Milo, when he called her name.

As he leaned forwards, the cat jumped up into his arms, and began to purr. Milo buried his face in her nape for a few seconds, then turned to Ellie and smiled. His teeth, whilst slightly irregular, were very white, although she noticed a slight gap to one side of his lower jaw, and another scar.

“Sorry, I didn’t get your name?” he said.

“Probably because I didn’t give it” replied Ellie, and immediately felt awkward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound facetious. I’m Ellie. I’ve lived here for two years, and, just like the advert I grew up with as a kid, – hi neighbour, would you like a cup of coffee?” He nodded.

Ellie was glad the kitchen was looking good. Milo followed, and pulled out a stool from under her breakfast bar with one hand, and sat down, holding Macey close to his chest. The purring continued.

“Do you like cats?”

Ellie turned and pointed to an adjacent shelf, where a photograph of a rather elderly ginger cat, was displayed. “That was Garfie, she died about 9 months ago. Still miss her.” Milo nodded.

“Brought Macey her up from Devon with me. She’s still getting used to life in a flat. No garden, however, enticing balconies; even neighbours.” He looked directly at her as he spoke, and Ellie could feel herself blushing. She reached gratefully for two mugs and quickly made the coffee.

“What are you doing in London Milo?”

“I’m on secondment to the MOD”

“MOD?”.

“Ministry of Defence. I’m a Royal Marine officer. Every so often, they send us to serve in MOD, working with civil servants.”

“And you?”

“Physio at the local hospital. Specialising in rehab. Thought I recognised that scar on your arm.” She reached out and touched him. “Am I right?”

Milo nodded. “Bullet tore through the muscle, hit the bone, then ricocheted up and knocked my tooth out. Couldn’t do it again in a hundred years.”

Her coffee was cold by the time, they’d finished talking. Ellie realised that nearly an hour had flown by, as sensing her reaction, Milo quickly emptied his mug, then stood up. “Ellie, I don’t particularly want to keep my balcony doors closed, and I’m sure you don’t either. Could we give it a couple of days, and see if Macey stops wandering and settles down? Really glad you’ve had a cat before.”

He nuzzled his face into Macey then looked up. “Besides, this one likes lots of attention, especially of the female kind.” Ellie sensed a deeper meaning but found his tactile approach to Macey very appealing.

“OK Milo. I have two new neighbours, however, only one is allowed to jump the balcony. Even if you are a Royal Marine!”

“Me? Five floors up? No chance!!” Ellie followed him to the door, then stood with her back against it for a few seconds. It’d been a long time since she felt so at ease with a man.

The next weeks followed a similar pattern. On an early shift, with decent weather, she’d breakfast on her balcony. Looking down she often saw Milo running swiftly towards the local park. He occasionally looked up, but didn’t appear to sense her presence, so once or twice, Ellie timed her run to the dustbin area to coincide with him coming back in.

Mentally, she remonstrated with herself, yet it was pointless to deny, she was finding herself increasingly attracted to him. Life was definitely on the up and up.

A week later, early on a Friday evening, Milo knocked on her door.

“Can I ask you a favour?”.

Ellie smiled. “Depends.”

“Well, when I went into MOD today, a mate was in a bit of a fix. Bought tickets for a show, and then learnt he was away – urgent assignment.”

“And?”

“I bought them, and wondered if you’d like to go. Miss Saigon, tomorrow night. How are you fixed?” She paused.

“Ellie, as a thank you for helping me out with Macey. Yes?”.

“As a good neighbour? No strings?”

Milo smiled “Of course.”

The show was very dramatic and emotional, and on several occasions, she’d slipped a tissue out of her purse and wiped away a tear. As his hand touched hers, and he whispered “Can I have one?” Ellie realised her battle hardened escort, was also having a quiet blub. His openness made him even more attractive.

When they’d got back to her flat, she turned.

“Now tell me the truth.”

“What?” Milo looked confused.

“You didn’t just happen across those tickets did you Milo?”.

He hesitated, then shook his head.

“Saw the CD on your shelf. Thought it might have some meaning for you.”

Ellie looked at him quizzically. “So was it just about helping with Macey?”

As Milo began to reply, his mobile phone activated.

“I’ll be back in a few moments,” he said and walked back to his flat. A few minutes later the doorbell rang. As she stood back to invite him in, he shook his head. “I won’t thanks. Look I’ve got a problem; need to shoot back to Devon tonight. I’ll be away for a day or two. One of my kids has been whipped into hospital. Can you look after Macey?”

“Kids?” asked Ellie. “I didn’t realise you were..”

“My ex-wife phoned.” he continued before she finished her sentence. “The boys are at boarding school, so I mainly see them in the holidays. I’ve got two sons, nine and eleven. It’s the older one Dean; could be appendicitis. Need to be there. Can you help?”

Ellie’s mind was racing. “Two children and an ex-wife? Trust me.” Her stomach was churning, yet, she found herself blurting out “Of course. Get off to Devon. Give me a key and don’t worry about Macey. Just leave me a mobile number.” She was about to say “and I hope Dean is OK” when she realised he’d already gone. Once again, she stood with her back to the door, wondering just what was going on in her life.

Two days later, as she finished her shift, and opened her front door, Milo appeared out of his flat. He looked sheepish. Ellie nodded a greeting.

“How’s your son?”

“Fine. False alarm. Hospital kept him in for an extra day. He’s with his Mum, then back to boarding school. Ellie. Thanks for getting me out of a hole. Can I offer you a coffee? Good neighbour and all that? Anyway I think we need to talk.”

“Let me get these work clothes off, and I’ll be in.”

Ten minutes, and a quick shower later, Ellie was sitting at a similar breakfast bar to her own. Milo smiled. “I can see you’ve been busy, apart from looking after Macey. My kitchen has never looked so clean.”

“I realised you’d left in a hurry and hadn’t been able to tidy up. So I just got on with it. Few dishes, couple of pots, and a quick wipe down. Didn’t take long.”.

“Nearest thing to a major spring clean I’ve ever seen.” There was a long pause.

Ellie reached out, touched, then gently held his arm.

“When were you going to tell me Milo?”

He looked relieved. “That night. After the theatre. Honest. Then she rang, and off I went.” He put his warm hand onto hers. “Ellie, look, she really is my ex.”

Ellie reached out and touched his lips briefly with her fingers. “Time will tell.” She smiled. “But she’d better be, or else a special mutual friend will have problems.”

“Special mutual friend?”

Then Milo roared with laughter, as Macey strolled in through the balcony door.

The stretched metaphor regurgitated fear,
It said to me ‘hello there dear,’
‘I’m your broken face, your creamy disgrace,’
Smiling it squeezed me in its embrace.

I laughed and cried as it ate my brain,
Figuratively fascinated with such disdain.

An adjective flooded into the room,
Riding high on its dusty broom.

It oozed bile, carrying a delicious smile,
‘Hey I’ve come a wholesome mile,’
‘To end your ways you saucy beast,’
‘Mmmm a wholesome metaphor feast.’

‘A sea of lies, you mouldy fool’,
‘Just wait you flippant tool’,

Then a simile wonders listlessly in,
Fat, folded face full of sin,
‘Hi I’m simile and I’m as sweet as nut,’
‘Succulent as a sausage, only the best cut.’

‘I’ll batter you like the finest newspaper cod,’
‘But don’t expect me to play word God.’

The metaphor soaked into the skin of my face,
Jealous words lusting with suspicious grace,
The adjective screamed like a bat out of hell,
Rushing to ring the squirming succulent sorbet bell.

Alliteration parachuted into the fray,
All I could do was pray, pray, pray!
It circled the others like a ninja on heat,
Swaying hypnotically to an unheard beat.

‘You’re dreams are like silver, sequined, sausage seas,’
‘Floating as a flustered forgotten falcon covered in fleas.’

I swat the damned intergalactic horror grammar,
Sweating like a pig on a stick, I stutter and stammer,
Squeezing them out of my brain, only mildly insane,
Riding across mistake after mistaken terrain.

Don’t question the salubrious smooth skin,
Soaking with ideas, like a hammer to the chin.

‘Besides if you digraph your diphthong…’
‘Then you’ll end up not knowing where to belong.’

Alliteration then ran for the door,
But the simile still wanted more,
‘Hey don’t have subjunctive superlative syllables, okay?’
‘Or passive periphrastic phrases to save the day.’

‘Shut your twisted tortured transitive trap,’
‘Or I’ll squeeze slowly, sear then snap,’
‘You miserable moronic maladjusted mishap.’

The sulking adjective fell and faded to dust,
And I realised my mind was full of word lust,
‘Oh what will I do with this nightmare, help me please!’
‘Damned falcon keeps showering my head with fleas.’

‘Flaming cricket bats rising up through the ground,’
‘Bloody sorbet everywhere, stop that ringing sound!’
‘Get out of my head grammar porn,’
‘Or the verbs die, no time to mourn.’

‘Oh the irony’, the simile cries,
No more dreams, no more ties,
‘Oh my heart is as dark as the night,’
‘Without word love, I must take flight.’

‘Alas my broken heart strings,’ metaphor cried,
‘A sea of grief, magnanimously fried,
‘Why can’t we all just get on,’ he sighed.

I awoke sweat dripping off my head,
I realised fortunately I’d just been dead,
Murdered grammar spread around my bed,
And my haunted fragile mind full of writing lead.

I remember that summer of 67’ when it all seemed to come together, the feeling that we were different, that we had it all, that our generation meant something and we could change the world; I was just nineteen years old. This account of that time, and events leading up to and following this momentous year, are based on my own experiences and memories. I do not necessarily subscribe to the saying that ‘if you can remember the 60’s you weren’t there’ I was there (with all that this means) and I can remember most of it!

After the trauma of the second world war the late 50’s and early 60’s had brought a new kind of fear into our lives with the ‘Bomb’. This in turn brought about a protest movement against England having Nuclear weapons in our country; and a call for the testing and spread of these weapons to be halted world wide. The movement became the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament in 1958. The CND as it is better known was initially the prerogative of the anti establishment, at the front were the members of the English ‘Beat Generation’ brought up on a diet of New York’s Greenwich Village intellectuals, like Ginsburg and Burrows with a copy of Jack Kerouac’s ‘On the Road’ thrown in. Other sections of our society began to join, including prominent scientists, intellectuals and ordinary working class people when the realization of what having the Bomb might mean, in terms of our security and sanity sank in.

The country was completely divided. Most students, radicals and left wing intellectuals, the Labor Party etc.. were against the bomb, and sat on the left. The Government along with the rest of the population were sitting firmly on the right, subscribing to the theory that it would be better to have one than just let everyone else dictate the terms; when push came to shove.

A mass march was decided as a show of strength and support for the CND, this took place in the Easter break of 1958 from London to Aldermaston; the home of the Atomic Weapons Establishment. Several thousand people took part in the first one. It was all very exciting; you could say feelings were running high.

In line with the feeling at this time a young American singer/songwriter called Robert Zimmerman (soon to be known as Bob Dylan) wrote and sang a song called ‘The Times they are a Changing’. They certainly were.

‘Ban the Bomb’ marches were soon taking place annually with thousands of marchers converging on London’s Trafalgar Square from all over the county. Starting points were chosen with the original Aldermaston and High Wickham being just two. It was a strange mix of people; well known Politicians and religious leaders marching along with the beatniks and students. The standard dress was jeans and duffle coats with sandals or desert boots, very drab. By 1962 the marches were attracting tens of thousands. These protests were the establishments first warning of what was to come. The great unwashed had got to its feet and found a voice. There were huge rallies all over the country and the protests continued for years.

The C.N.D. is still a recognized movement today and still campaigns for the same ideals as it always has. A Welsh ladies group called ‘The Woman for Life on Earth’ occupied and set up camps at Greenham Common Berkshire outside the American Air force Base in 1982. This was to protest against American Cruise Missiles being based on British soil, it became the Women’s Peace Camp and lasted until the base closed in 2000. At one time there were 70,000 protesters forming a human chain around the base as a show of solidarity.

By 1967 the main focus for protest had changed as the world moved on, the protests continued with a new perceived threat to our civil liberties, a new reason to protest America and its policies… Vietnam.

Vietnam was at that time a little known country in South East Asia with a long coast line. Until the mid to late fifties it was occupied by the French as a colony. The locals eventually kicked them out with the help of Chinese Communists who trained and supported what later became the North Vietnamese Army. Unwittingly the American’s also helped in this, as they also sent in ‘advisers’ who trained a man called Ho Chi Min. In a few years he became the leader of the Communist backed guerrilla army called the Viet Cong, he would lead them against the ‘American Imperialist Aggressors’ who astonishingly took over from the French to try and subvert a supposed Communist takeover of the country. They set up a puppet government to act as a front against the Communists and went for it.

This War cost the lives of 58,000 Americans along with untold Vietnamese civilians and Viet Cong troops. It was to become the most unpopular war in America’s history; and a war they finally lost. The end of America’s part coming with the signing of a secrete peace agreement in 1973 between them and the North Vietnamese Army in Paris. Their ground troops were withdrawn immediately to leave the South Vietnamese Army fighting on its own. The end finally came in 1975 with the fall of Saigon and victory to the Communist Viet Cong
It was the first war ever to be broadcast live and uncensored into your living room, the footage of the fighting and bombing was graphic; it shocked America and the world so badly that this type of live coverage has never happened again. Even today the coverage is limited by comparison with ‘The Nam’.

During the early stages of the conflict America had tried to gain support and troops from other countries to aid them, fortunately, our Government under Harold Wilson, must have seen the writing on the wall; and declined the invitation. For a while however all young men of sound mind and body felt the same; terrified. There had been talk of England bringing back conscription. Australia did however send in men who served and died with some distinction however unpopular it was.

By the mid sixties a change started within the music industry as more and more bands were themselves influenced by the changing world around them. Young people were fed up with all the trouble and strife around them; the new music told everyone how they felt. The protest movement of the early sixties gave birth to the ‘singer song writer’ with the likes of Dylan and Joan Baez at the front followed by the likes of Pete Seeger and of course Joni Mitchell. New groups started up like The Band, Canned Heat, The Grateful Dead and The Doors. From San Francisco to London the Hippies had arrived. Flower Power was sweeping away the old Music of the fifties once and for all, it took Rock and Roll and merged it with the blues and even Country music with the likes of Crosby, Stills and Nash in a way that had not been done before; even Dylan went electric much to the distain of his original Folk music fans. We had our own English bands that got the Hippie Dream like Erie Burdon and the Animals and it was this year that Pink Floyd hit the music scene with their first album A Saucer Full of Secrets. Fleetwood Mac were still a blues band but not for much longer.

The Sixties had taken on a whole new look with the arrival of the hippies, the new mode of dress for the young was shoulder length hair with a head band, tie-dyed tee shirts of orange and purple, brightly colored bell bottomed jeans, afghan coats made from sheep skin; and this was just the men! Girls wore mini skirts that their father’s would never approve of. Brightly colored maxi dresses, cut off halter neck tops, and best of all as far as the men were concerned… no bras. The whole ensemble was set off by strings of brightly colored beads and of course flowers in your hair. Quite an upgrade from the duffle coats and jeans of the Beat Generation.

‘Make love not war’ we chanted as the American involvement in Vietnam stepped up a gear. Young people all over the world marched against the war and filled the streets with peace, love and the distinctive smell of marijuana. Unfortunately in America the government took a dim view of the protests and the marches turned into riots as the police and National Guard moved in. There is a famous photo of a hippie girl posting long stemmed flowers down the gun barrels of the National Guards rifles as they blocked the roads to stop a rally. There were also Race Riots all over the States with many deaths as a new radical colored movement started and the words Black Power became the fear of the American right wing politicians. A new kind of revolution was in the air and Governments felt the heat from Europe to Washington and beyond.

Our idols were no longer chosen for us, we worshiped different gods. John Lennon and Yoko marched along side the peace movement; giving a voice to all those who could not be heard. Graffiti on the walls of London declared Eric Clapton to be God. The Beatles and many others went to India to learn the art of meditation. Timothy Leary was the ‘chosen one’ for the Hippies, a self proclaimed Guru for the Californian Hippies he introduced the world to the psychedelic drug LSD, offering his disciples the chance to ‘Turn on, Tune in and Drop out’. It would allow you to expand your mind, to see things and hear things way outside the norm. Sex and Music took on a whole new dimension. Thousands did use it and proclaimed it to be able to take them close to Nirvana. Some ‘trips’ that were taken however were not what they expected; they took them to hell.

Some people believed while under the influence they could do things that were imposable, like fly. They tried…. and died leaping out of windows. LSD was a man made drug, unlike the Grass and Hashish that had been around for ever. In the sixties marijuana was not adulterated as it is now, it seldom caused the problems we now associate with drugs such as LSD and super dope like Skunk, let alone Cristal Meth.

1967 was the time of the Monterey International Music Festival in southern California; the time of Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, The Who and Jefferson Airplane along with many others; they ‘told it like it was’ and close to 100,000 people went there to hear the message.

In 1969 it was an unknown man called Max Yasgur who offered his farm near White Lake, New York State to some people to hold a music festival, they expected a few thousand at best; the event took on a life of its own… and grew into Woodstock. This time 500,000 people turned up; and no one could ignore the message. Many of the bands and singers that played this festival are still going strong today like Carlos Santana, many however became casualties in the following years, like Hendrix and Janis Joplin; lost to drink and drugs.

Woodstock is considered by many to be the pivotal moment in the history of rock and roll; its influence spread all over the world. Nothing would ever be the same again.

1967 has been called ‘The Summer of Love’ and it was. Young people everywhere found a new freedom through music and of course drugs and alcohol that no one could control, people would just pick up a sleeping bag and get out on the road to anywhere, there were always some people like you at the other end to stay with; communes sprang up everywhere.

‘Make Love not War’ was the saying, and no one wanted to go to war… so we all made love. We had the pill, and aids was not even on the horizon; so we all went for it like there was to be no tomorrow. Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll became a lifestyle and for a while we thought it would never end.

The Hippie dream eventually did end, it died over the following few years a victim of its own excesses. Our love affair with Leary and his alternative universe via acid (LSD) fell apart after the realization that this was one trip you may not make it back from; many didn’t. The hippies grew up, got married and had kids of their own, some remained true to there beliefs others moved on a got a new life. Some may say a real one.

Many people believe that the beginning of the end was the Altamont festival in December 1969 in Northern California. The Rolling Stones were headlining and allegedly had employed a local chapter of the Hells Angels to act as security for the stage area at the event. It led to chaos, and a young man called Meredith Hunter was stabbed and killed in front of the stage. Violence broke out everywhere and there was wholesale damage. The age of innocence was over.

The music from those days however lives on, not only are some of the original bands still on the road, they now have so called ‘tribute bands’ playing the music of Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, Pink Floyd and the Stones to packed venues and cheering audiences all over the world. For me and thousands like me it still stirs the memories of that time when for my generation, the world was ours to win… and anything was possible.

Looking back with all the benefits that age and understanding can bring you, it’s easy to be critical, and pour cold water on all the idealism, to ridicule the lifestyle of this time; however it would also be ridiculous to pretend that the freedom we enjoyed was anything other than the best of times for many of us. To be 19 years old in 1967 was to have a sense of freedom completely unknown to the teenagers of 2012.

Unemployment was not something that we thought about, and student debt was referred to as an outstanding bar bill. Property prices were low with the national average at £3,500. Renting was also an easy option; so living at home with your parents was an unnecessary hindrance to your private life. A new Ford Cortina would cost you £749.00. Petrol using today’s money was 27p a gallon; life was good.

Today few children can afford to leave home, house prices are way out of the reach of most young couples; and no one will lend you the money to buy one anyway without a large deposit. Rents are as much as a mortgage and sometimes more. It’s not unusual for the ‘kids’ to be still living with Mum and Dad way into their late twenties and even thirties.

Going to University is a thing you have to really think about because of the loans required to pay for your education; The Bank of Mum and Dad is not what it used to be. With two million plus unemployed getting a job is something a lot of young people can only dream about. Life seems to be getting harder and harder for this generation to make their way in the world; I for one do not envy them for all their new technology.

Other things of significance happening during this year were the starting of colour television broadcasts on BBC2 for the first time, the first ever heart transplant took place, Francis Chichester sailed in to Plymouth Sound becoming the first person to sail around the world non stop single handed. BBC Radio One started followed closely by 2/3/4 of their radio stations. The world was to see its first and only supersonic passenger plane as Concord was revealed and tested for the first time.

On a wider front Che Guevara was captured and shot to death in Bolivia, his picture is still on people’s bedroom walls as the original Freedom Fighter. The race to the moon was gaining momentum and America had its first casualties with Apollo 1 exploding into a flash fire within the command module during a test before take off. The crew Virgil Grissom, Edd White and Roger Chaffee were all killed.

The world has changed many times since 1967 and many more wars have been won and lost leaving new threats out there waiting for us. Technology has brought us unbelievable wonders, with computers and mobile phones to mention just two things that I for one could never have imagined all those years ago. The young are still out there protesting; and these days it’s not just the prerogative of the young. Each new generation has its own problems to face and deal with; its part of life and growing up.

I heard it said once that it is the duty of the young to rebel as with out it there can be no change; only stagnation. I make no comment on this except to say that all those years ago ‘I did my bit’.

Many people from those halcyon days (now in their 60’s) may no longer have the hair and beards they sported or the velvet jeans and beads, but underneath today’s suit and tie… or posh frock and high heals the same person exists; and on their iPod or hidden away in An old record or c.d. collection you will find a Doors album; Jim Morrison singing ‘Riders of the Storm’ was simply unforgettable. From later (1973) Pink Floyd’s ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ was a must, The Grateful Dead were as underground as it gets and ‘Sgt.Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band’ was a must have. It was called the ‘sound track’ to the summer of love.

Scratch the surface of a lot of people of a certain age and you will find many an old Hippie struggling to get out. Those that lived through (and survived) these exciting times will never forget them.

Right on Man!