The Sunday Reflection #58 - No one knows the hour....

 This week, we saw the sad passing of legendary British singer Terry Reid. The news shocked me, not least because I spoke to Terry in June, when he booked some studio time with us for some forthcoming gigs. He was on good form and rather optimistic about the forthcoming shows. As is the way with long standing customers, we exchanged a laugh and a joke. He must have been diagnosed with cancer shortly after I spoke to him. He certainly gave no inkling of the problem when I took his booking for sessions in September (which at the time of writing are still on the system). I was not a close mate of Terry, we always had a bit of a joke and a laugh when he rehearsed. I learned of his passing, listening to the radio. It served as a reminder that no one really knows the hour when our time is up.

Back in 2012, I had the sad task of watching one of my best mates die. He had oesophageal cancer. In his final hours, there were probably half a dozen moments when we thought he was gone, but he hung on. He finally went at a point when everyone thought he was ok for a few minutes and nipped out for a cigarette. He died on his own, he clearly wanted to (or maybe the grim reaper simply waited for the opportunity to sneak in). 

Paul had been the bass player of the False Dots from 1980 until 2009. We had so many shared moments in the band, key moments in my life that were absolutely elemental to me. He left the band in 2009, when he moved to Portsmouth. We replaced him, but I would have always welcomed him back and found a way to accommodate him in the line up, had he returned. I always believed he would, I believed (wrongly) that the Good Lord had put Paul on earth to be the bassist of the False Dots. When he died, I couldn't play the songs he'd played on. Even though we knew he was dying, I clung to the mistaken belief that there may be a miracle. To this day, I still occasionally have dreams that he turns up to join the band again. But life doesn't work like that. Time has moved on and we are now a very different band. If he did a Lazarus and returned, I don't know how we'd fit him in? Maybe he could take over guitar and I could concentrate on singing? Am I alone in agonising over dilemma's that simply won't happen? 

The truth is that we had our chance and we had our time in the band and that time has gone. It was only really when Covid hit and the world tilted on its axis that I became comfortable with that part of the bands legacy and felt I could move on. Someone asked me what me greatest weakness is. That (to me anyway) is easy. As you probably have guessed reading my comments about Paul, I find it difficult to let go of the past. My one saving grace is that I also believe in the future, but mentally, I carry too much baggage and it slows me down and drags me back. I have things I want to do in my life and as I will soon be 63, I am aware that time is not on my side. I don't need to be dragged back by battles that have already been won or lost.

It is strange. When I walk around London these days, most of the offices I worked in have been rebuilt or repurposed. Pubs, some of which had been around for centuries have gone, or been renames. Half the bus routes from Mill Hill that I used as a child no longer come here or have different destinations (52, 140, 113, Green Line). The shops that were the pinnacle of the Broadway have also gone. Woolworths, the COOP, WH Smiths are now just memories on photographs. The Church I attended as a child was demolished and rebuilt. My Dad, who passed away in 1987, would hardly recognise the Broadway now. I suspect he'd do a double take and make sure the Motorway Bridge was still there! When he passed, we still had a cold war, the USSR, The UK was in the EU, South Africa was still living under Apartheid. Northern Ireland was living in a state of terror. There were no mobile phones or internet (Dad would have loved them). Cars still ran on leaded petrol. Smoking was allowed in pubs. 

Dad died without warning. He left a massive hole in my life. If he was still alive he'd be 108 now. He smoked 60 cigarettes a day and drank at least three beers every day. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this took its toll. That doesn't mean it wasn't a massive shock when he died. Like Paul, I still have dreams about him. Usually, he's imparting some sort of wisdom and I always take note of it. In 1988, I was run over by a car. For about three seconds, I thought I was going to die. It was an odd moment. I was actually quite pleased. My first thought was "I'll see Dad again". Once I got over the pain and shock of the accident, I often thought about this. I am no longer scared of death. I don't look forward to the process, but I am at peace with what comes after. 

No one teaches us how to cope with death, be it our own or that of the people we love. The world moves on. Things change, but it seems to me that such events anchor a bit of us in the past. I am still not sure whether it is best to forget those we love and move on, or to sit around as I do, mentally trying to rewrite the past, as I tend to. The one thing I've learned is that no one is immortal and no one is irreplacebale. I thought my Dad was immortal and indestructable and I thought Paul irreplaceable in the band. I've learned the hard way that neither was true. We don't know the hours that both us and our friends will leave this small globe circling a medium size star. All we can do is make the most of it whilst we are here. The one thing that I am pleased about is that with both my Dad and Paul, we had major fallings out a couple of years before they passed. In both cases, we had made our peace, not in anticipation of their passing, I must add, and we were on good terms. A good friend advised me when I fell out with my Dad "Think how you'd feel if he dropped dead tomorrow and you weren't talking to him". It was advice I heeded then and advice I heed now, when I have fallings out. You have to do something pretty bad for me to drop you, if you are a friend. 

And I'll leave you with a song. Back in 1984, in a pub that no longer exits, Paul plays bass for The False Dots. A different world. I do miss this, even though I'm having a blast with the band and what we are doing now. I never thought we'd play this song without Paul!

The Saturday List #488 - Ten things that worry me about dying

 Death has been on my mind over the last couple of weeks. Not because there is anything wrong with me, but I had to have a CT scan and it always makes me feel morbid. I am not worried about death, although I am not looking forward to the process that gets us there. It seems to me that there are three choices, the first is a sudden event, where you have no time to prepare. An accident etc. I don't fancy this much, although in some ways it is the least bad. The second is a horrible long illness, with lots of pain, but at least you have time to prepare, can't say that appeals. The third? Dementia, where your mind departs before the body. Is this the worst of three bad options? I suppose that in this day and age, there is also the nuclear annihilation option. In that option, possibly death is better than survival, but I don't fancy that either.

But my worries about death are far more mundane. The things that keep me awake at night are perhaps a little bit strange. Anyway, here they are.

1. What will happen to my guitars? I suspect my family have no idea of the value of them. It is a nightmare that they will give them to a jumble sale. when they are worth thousands of pounds. I really hope they check them out and get a proper price for them.

2. My comic collection, like my guitars, my missus thinks that they are a pile of rubbish, but are probably worth somewhere between £2-£5k. They need cataloging and sorting, but I have some good stuff in the cupboard.

3. My vinyl collection. Again, I suspect that the family have no idea of the value. I sincerely hope they catalog them and go through discogs. I have nightmares about them going in the bin.

4. My blog. Unlike the first three items, the nine million words here have no intrinsic value. What happens to blogs when you die? Do they just sit there until, at some point in the future, Google switches it off and you are erased from the face of the earth? I am not comparing myself to the great bard William Shakespeare, but I do wonder if he ever dreamed his works would still be performed across the globe centuries later? Will someone in the distant future, find this blog and think "My word, they worried about some strange things in 2025". I suspect that it will simply all just be forgotten, except by AI Bots that trawl the web for info on Barnet. Perhaps a fate worse than death, my efforts lining the pockets of the likes Elon Musk?

5. My music. I think I've written some cracking tunes. I had an extensive collection of songs on Myspace and they all got wiped by Myspace in a mishap. Sadly, I can't find most of the masters right now. They are in a box in cupboard somewhere. As I mentioned in a blog this week, one of the tracks we recorded in 1982 and I'd long forgotten about, turned up on a CD collection of 1980's music with female singers. It seems that once music is out there, it can develop a life of its own. If anything of me is remembered after I go, I do hope it is my music.

6. My funeral. One thing I hate about funerals is how nice everyone is about the corpse. The idea that everyone will be sipping sherry saying what a lovely man I was actually rather disturbs me. Never get me to write your eulogy. I enjoy the naughty bits in peoples histories,the bits they'd rather not have read out.

7. My studios. I have an ethos and I believe in supporting young musicians. To me that is more important than being rich. I doubt that whatever happens, Londons musicians will have such an advocate. I care and it bothers me.

8. My garden. I love my garden. As old Mill Hillians move out, their homes are being bought by people wanting to develop and turn a quick buck. Gardens are destroyed. It breaks my heart to see trees and bushes chopped down and horrible paving put in. Although the M1 is not everyones idea of a good thing, the marginal area between the M1 and my garden is a haven for wildlife. Sadly, there are less and less trees etc for birds to shelter in as greedy bastards clear their gardens and build illegal dwellings on them. 

9. My wife. She's brighter than me, nicer than me and I am sure she'll be absolutely fine, but I worry about scammers relieving her of my valuable possessions for less than they are worth. I am also pretty sure that when I'm gone, she'll suddenly realise how much better life is without me moaning and grumping. 

10. My kids. They'll be fine, but I worry like hell about them. That is my biggest worry, I put it last, as I think you could guess that anyway and its a bit boring really

I do hope I live long enough for The False Dots next gigs ! There's no real reason I shouldn't that I know about anyway

Today will be the day you die!

 Did that get your attention? Well it must have because you are still reading the blog. And do you know what? It is absolutely true. The moment it happens, you will be living in 'today'. Will you be ready? In the week ending 17th January 2025, 14,765 people in England and Wales passed away. Around 20% died of influenza or pneumonia, and 0.6% involved covid. So around a fifth of the people who left this mortal coil, were hurried along by an infectious disease. Most would not have been expecting this, as they tucked into the their Xmas dinner or celebrated New Year. Then there are accidents. The British Safety Council reports 

"The total rate of accidental deaths in the UK has increased by 42 per cent in the last decade, RoSPA’s figures show. Accidents are responsible for 20,000 deaths a year – almost half of which are the result of falls. Poisonings were the second biggest cause of accidental death in 2022, accounting for 26 per cent of deaths after seeing a 96 per cent increase over the last decade. Deaths caused by road traffic accidents have fallen 17 per cent in the past 10 years and accounted for seven per cent of accidental deaths in 2022." 

I was quite staggered to read that the rate of accidental deaths has risen by 42% in ten years. Even more alarming is the rate of poisonings, going up by 96%. Then there is suicide, The Samaritans report

 Data from 2022 is the latest occurrence data released by the Central Statistics Office. The following figures are accurate as of 25 November 2024: 436 people died by suicide in 2022 - 346 males (79%) and 90 females (21%) The overall suicide rate was 8.6 per 100,000  The male suicide rate was 13.9 per 100,000, compared to the female suicide rate of 3.5 per 100,000

Most of us think that if we died suddenly, it will be a heart attack. According to the British Heart Foundation, this affects about 500 people a year. 

I could make a few points, if you don't fancy an unexpected death, get vaccinated against flu and covid, take care whilst driving and around the home, be careful with poisons and get a general check up for other fatal medical conditions, especially cardiac issues if there is a history in the family, and check in on friends who are having a heard time but that is not what this blog is about (but hey, I love y'all so I want you to stick around). 

Dad swimming with Mum & my nephew Laurence
in Florida 4 days before he died

The point I'm making is a lot of us will shuffle off this mortal coil a lot quicker than they expect. If you ask most people, they are not ready to go, they still have things to do, places to go, people to see, etc. My Mum was one of the few people I know who was ready to go. She was 83, her eyesight had deteriorated to the point that she couldn't read. She was virtually housebound and in ill health and she told me that Guinness and Scotch were what made life bearable. But she also said that she had no regrets at all. She'd done all the things she wanted to do in life. Married, had six kids, Grandchildren, Great Grandchildren, travelled the world, been successful in business and had good friends. As most of her friends had passed and she felt she was a burden on us, she wasn't bothered about living. The Doctors told her to stop drinking and go on blood thinners, or she'd die within a year. She drank like a fish and lived for another 18 months. I was her youngest child. I was on holiday in France with her, the week before she passed away. She told me a couple of things that I've never shared with my siblings, but I think the time is right. The first thing was that she said she was terrified that one of us would die before she did. She said that if this happened, it would kill her. She said that if that happened, she would feel very selfish as it would detract from the real tragedy of the death of a younger family member. She said "parents should always die before their children". At the time, my eldest brothers (they are twins) were sixty three and in good health. She said "Roger, Laurie (my Dad) was swimming in Florida three days before he passed away, you never know". The second thing, which to me was even more disturbing was "I can't stand the way you all think I'm an idiot. I am cleverer than all of you but I can't speak properly. You are only happy when I sit here smiling like a fool". She'd had a stroke a few years before and suffered from a condition called Jargon Aphasia, which made it hard for her to express herself.  It was possibly the only time I realised just how angry she was with her situation. I found that if I had a couple of Guinness with her and she relaxed, the condition would abate. Sometimes she'd speak lucidly for five to ten minutes. Then she'd get stuck and panic and get upset. I told her that we all understood her condition and no one thought she was an idiot. She simply snapped back "You really think I'm stupid don't you" and refused to communicate further. 

Immediately after our holiday in France, I flew with my wife and children to San Francisco. My plan had been to have a chat with my siblings, upon my return, as to what Mum said and to work out a way to show we didn't think she was stupid and worthless. I felt it was really important for us to make her aware that we didn't think she was a moron. Sadly she passed away, three days after I arrived in the USA, after another massive stroke. I never had the conversation, the need had gone. But it has troubled me. As I was in the USA I wasn't with her when she passed. I got a call that she'd had the stroke at 2am. in the morning and another call at around 6am to say she'd gone. My brothers and sisters were around her. A little bit of me always felt that she went when I wasn't around deliberately. It is not a rational thought, but one that has troubled me. She left, leaving me feeling that I had not said the things I wanted to say. I am not sure that the opportunity was truly there to do it in the circumstances, we didn't expect her to go. The point is that we always have less time to do things than we think. When people we love die, more often than not, we feel we have unfinished business.

When I asked my siblings about my Mum's last moments, one of the things they said genuinely surprisied me. She seemed to be genuinely surprised that she was dying, as if, even with the illness and unhappiness she had, she wasn't quite ready. I guess we'll never really know what was going through her head, but it reminded me of when I was run over in Burnt Oak in 1988. In the seconds when I saw the car racing towards me, realising it would hit me and I couldn't avoid this, time slowed down. I felt an extraordinary sense of peace. The only real thought I had was how nice it would be to see my Dad, who had passed the previous year, again. Of course I survived, but my brain had prepared me to go. I realised that the billions of years of evolution has made our brains have a switching off mechanisim, that prepares us for the inevitable. I've not been afraid of death since. It is greatly reassurring to me. 

Many people who have medically died, then been resuscitated have reported similar near death experiences, often floating above their body. They then feel they head towards a light, before being pulled back, For many, there is a sense of happiness and peace. I didn't have that as I didn't actually pass out, but for many, the NDE often ignites a deeper spiritual awareness. Some feel that they have been given a second chance and a need to make amends. It seems to be a deeply personal experience, with different people affected in different ways. My sister, who was a hospice nurse for a couple of decades told me that generally spiritual people tend to have spiritual deaths and people who aren't spiritual don't. We all live in our own reality. I have found that non spiritual people tend to find the concept of death more difficult to deal with. They can deal with the practicalities, but don't really like thinking about the subject. Believers tend to be more open to discussions. I guess that if you feel it all ends and there is nothing, there is not much to discuss.

When we talk about preparing for death, we generally are talking about something else. We are talking about making arrangements, so those who are still alive, have the least aggrevation and bother. We rarely, when fit, healthy and active, say "If I passed away today, would I be happy with my lifes work?". When you are twenty two, such questions don't seem to matter. Now I'm sixty two, more of my life is behind me than in front of me. You can't change the past, but there is still the opportunity to change the future, but the clock is ticking. If I make tomorrow (which I hope is highly likely) another day will have passed. I have things to do. 

One of the things I feel a compulsion to do is to write this blog. I want to try and say things that seem to me to be important, but that nobody else seems to be saying. In the early years, much of this was about shenanigans at Barnet Council. That is still important to me. What is becoming more important to me, is to write about subjects that seem to have a taboo about them. Death seems to be the biggest to me. Our TV's etc are awash with dramas where people die all the time.  Most of us grieve for months or years, but in TV dramas, it is usually a 30 second scene by a grave and then the person is forgotten. In action movies, dozens die and no one bats an eyelid. In Gangsta Rap music we have aggressive lyrics about killing and maiming people. Culturally we don't seem to want to face up to the reality that most of us experience when there is a death. Even worse, we don't think about our own death. When I read about teenagers getting stabbed, I wonder how many of those young people realise what they are throwing away, when they get involved with knives, gungs and violence? 

My view is that if we want to make the world a better place, we should start by having a general recognition that life is a precious thing. We should cherish our own lives as well as everyone elses. We should work to make our journey as good an experience for us and the people we interact with as we can. We should recognise that it can end at any time and we should aim to depart with as few regrets as we can, whilst recognising that some regrets are unavoidable and we really couldn't avoid them. 

For me, the dawning of this realisation has come with a productive spell in my musical career and output. After lockdown, our band, The False Dots took a conscious decision to move away from rather introspective music, to a more accessible and fun version of what we were doing. Our mission is very much to put some happiness into the lives of people who listen to our music. We do this by telling stories and putting tunes together that people can dance to. I feel like it is working for me. Today. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. I can only change today.

*****
The band celebrate our 46th Birthday on Sunday 16th February at The Dublin Castle from 2pm. Here is a snippet of what you can expect to see! CLICK HERE FOR TICKETS

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What will flash before your eyes, when you exhale your final breath?

After The False Dots gig on Thursday night, I had a very deep conversation with Rambo, our drummer. The gig was wonderful, possibly the best we've ever done in 45 years from a performance point of view. When he dropped me off, we had a chat about life. I said that when I exhale my final breath and the showreel of my life scrolls before my eyes, it may well be one of the moments that is on there. There was a moment when both our trumpet player Tom Hammond and our bassplayer were giving it large at the front of the stage as I sang a number. I could have not been happier with our performance and it is one of those moments seared into my psyche. 

Yesterday, I was thinking about what we discussed. I had made the comment glibly. But if what they say is true and your life really does scroll before your eyes, what will it be that you really see? Will it be a showreel of all the good things, meeting the missus, great gigs, the best holidays? Or will it be the worst things, getting the ruler in infants for speling train wrong? Seeing my mum on a drip recovering from cancer and my Dad breaking down in tears when he told me that if mum died, I'd not be put in the orphanage, as a kindly relative had suggested?

Or will it be odd, mundane at the time things, that I've not thought about? Going to see Rex Godwin to get my shoe reheeled in 1969, getting marmite on toast and a cuppa in Sidoli's in Leman St in 1998? For some reason, all of this started to trouble me. The truth is that when I find out, I won't be able to tell you. Or will I? Back in 1988, when I was run over at the lights on the Watling, when I saw the car coming towards me, I realised I was going to die (clearly I was wrong). What happend was actually quite strange. As I saw the car zzooming towards me, I had a moment of extreme calm. In actual fact, my life didn't flash before me. I actually just felt really happy that I'd be seeing my Dad, who'd died the previous year very soon. I felt warm and loved. Then something in my mind snapped into action and I jumped as high as I could. Instead of going under the car, the bonnet hit my thigh, my feet went through the windscreen, I rolled over the roof and fell off, landing on my head. To my surprise, I was alive, albiet in severe pain, broken finger, broken fibia, stress fracture to L2 vertebrae, amongst other things. Many things changed that day, not least my ability to kick a football and run without pain. But the biggest thing is that I no longer feared death. I fear the process, the pain, but not what happens when you pass through that barrier. 

I genuinely don't know whether I am a good or bad person, whether I'll be going upstairs or downstairs, it's not for me to jduge, but the feeling of love I felt in that split second changed my whole perspective of life. But getting back to that showreel. I've done a few good things in my time and I hope that a few of them show up. One thing my conversation with Rambo made me realise is that all of those best moments will be with people I love. I need to remind myself of that sometimes.

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Our next gig, is here. Please come along if you can.

Click the link for tickets

The band put out an EP this week, featuring some of our old recordings featuring guests such as Lee Thompson of Madness Connie Abbe, US singer Charles Honderick and much loved former members of the band. All of these, apart from Saturday are no longer in the set. Have a quick listen and give the band a like

So is there 'life after death'? Where is Queen Elizabeth now?

 As I'm sure most of the nation has seen more of Church Services and funerals this last week than we've seen for a very long time, I got thinking about the premise of life after death. One of the key roles of the Monarch is to be head of the Church of England and Scotland. We didn't always think of the Queen as a religious leader, but that is just what she was and by all accounts she took her personal faith seriously. The new King has sworn a solemn oath to carry on this duty. The new King has sworn to defend the faith of Christianity to the best of his abilities and carry out the work of Jesus, who followers believe to be the son of God. The central proposition of Christianity is that when we die, we go to heaven if we lead good lives and go to hell if we are naughty. When I was kid, the bar was low for not going to heaven. Missing Mass on Sunday, losing your ruler or talking in class were definite sins. At my Catholic School we were told that there were two types of sin. Mortal sins, such as murder and being a Protestant and venial sins, such as pinching your sisters bacon sarnie when she wasn't looking. Mortal sins got you straight to hell. For venial sins, there was a totting up process, too many and you'd be joining Hitler, Goebells and Ian Paisley in Hell. Priests would remind us of this every Sunday at mass.

My Dad and all of his mates would listen intently, then nip next door to the Catholic club for a ciggie, a few beers and a game of snooker. My Dad was a deeply religious man. He'd been a World War 2 bomber pilot and was convinced that it was only through the intervention of the Virgin Mary that he'd survived. He told me that as he bale'd out of the Wellington bomber, which he was piloting over Rumania on a bombing mission, that had been destroyed by an Me109 night fighter, he prayed for the intercession of Mary and said that if he survived, he'd live his three score and ten years as well as he could and would be a good Catholic. The story of his experience always fascinated me. There was one deeply disturbing aspect that neither he nor I could never really explain. As the plane approached the target, he turned to see another member of his squadron, a pilot called Jack Scheider sitting in the co pilot seat. Scheider said "It's a killer the way these Wimpeys go down Laurie". Scheider had been lost on operations the previous week. My father was about to reply when a burst of cannon fire from the Me109 fighter attacking him hit the plane, taking off half a wing and killing the rear gunner. He got the rest of the crew out and managed to bale out just before the plane hit the ground and exploded. 

He could never explain the apparition of Scheider. He only ever mentioned it to close family, not wishing to draw ridicule. I once asked him what Scheider looked like. We all think of ghosts as strange apparitions, but he said Scheider seemed as real as the rest of the crew. One of my uncles spoke to my father and recorded the story. I was passed the transcript when my uncle died. My aunt told me that my Uncle was fascinated by the tale. He was going to write a book of my fathers wartime experience, but they both died before this could come to fruition. 

When my Father told me this, I 100% believed he was telling the truth. He was simply not given to making it up. I asked him once what message he'd drawn. The reply? He said it took him a long time to figure it out, but he felt Scheider was telling him that there was something after and that it was OK. He said his demanour was friendly and reassuring. My father said the whole experience strengthened his faith immeasurably. 

Have you ever seen a ghostly apparition that you really can't explain. I have on three occasions. The first time was a strange apparition walking across the footpath across St Josephs College fields. It walked straight past me. It looked like a Victorian gentleman, white as a sheet and around 8' tall. It was three in the morning and foggy. I thought "That's odd" and he was gone. It may not have been a ghost, my mother said it was the Grim reaper on his way to harvest souls. I was around 19. It was just odd, I didn't think much of it and it didn't really bother me. The guy looked completely real. 

The second time was at a hotel in the USA called the Black Bass on the Delaware River. There was a rather irritating presence in my bedroom. I had a very bad nights sleep, which culminated with the sensation of hands on my ankles trying to pull me out of bed. It was unpleasant, I assumed that he didn't like the look of me. The rooms weren't numbered, they had names like "lavendar" and "willow". The room I was in was called "La Bastard" so I should really have known. You may wonder how I coped? I was really annoyed and told it to "F*** Off" as I hate having my sleep interrupted. I said that if that was the best he could do, he was wasting his time and after that I got to sleep. I was travelling with friends. They were in the next room and heard my comment. My friends wife was terrified, as she knew something was not right. That was in 1993. I really have no idea what it was but it wasn't much fun. I have my father to thank for how I dealt with it. He spent my entire youth drumming into me the message "never show you are afraid to any one or anything, ever". He was raised in the outback of Australia and he said that whatever you are dealing with, be murderers, robber, dangerous animals or anything else, if you show no fear, you have the the best chance. It seems it works with ghosts as well. 

But are ghostly apparitions and strange bumps in the night proof of an afterlife? Do they prove that Her Majesty the Queen has gone to a different realm, rather than just ceasing to exist? If I'd just had the two experiences I detailed, I wouldn't be too sure. There are possible explanations. However my third experience left me in no doubt at all.  You can make of it what you will. I'm not trying to make any point or convert anyone who is an avowed atheist, we all have our own path and our own reality, but for me it answered the question beyond doubt.

As regular readers will have no doubt deduced, my Dad was a massive influence on me. Although we fought and argued a lot and of my five siblings, I was probably his least favourite, he always had my back and told me a lot of things that he shared with no one else. I think he realised I was a bit of a rebel and he needed to arm me for life more than my siblings, who are a lot more respectable and intelligent. 

He passed away suddenly aged 69 from an anuerism in January 1987. He'd been swimming in the sea in Florida two days before. We were devastated, no one more so than my mother. A few years after, she told me she'd not realised how much she loved him until he was gone. But gone he was. I was 24 at the time. It hadn't occurred to me that he was mortal. My mind went back to the deal he made with the Virgin Mary and his three score and ten years. He was in his 70th year. She'd stuck to the deal. He had his three score and ten. 

Dad, three days before he passed away, with Mum

The whole family was in turmoil. My parents had been in Florida on holiday for the winter, with my sister Valerie who lives there. My mothers eldest sister had died unexpectedly, so they'd returned.  I didn't even know they were back. I got a call from my eldest brother at 8am to say Dad had passed away. My first question was "In America?". We all gathered around my mum, shellshocked. My girlfriend, now my wife, came back from University to support me. I was living above the shops on Mollison Way. Most of what happened was a blur, but two days after he passed, I awoke to find him at the bottom of my bed. I was in it with my girlfriend who was asleep. I was shocked. He looked rather disdainfully at me and said "I've got a message for your mum, tell her I'm sorry I left her, but I had to go". With that, he was gone. I immedaitely woke Clare and told her that I'd seen him. 

When I went around later to see my mum, I felt it best to not say anything. In fact the message seemed so nonsensical that I questioned whether it happened at all. I kept quiet. Some time later, I shared with my siblings that I'd seen Dad. I didn't mention the message, I felt they would think I'd made it up. If he'd said "Tell her I love her" or something else, I'd have had no qualms. After about a year, my mother challenged me and said "I hear you saw your father after he died". I was a bit shocked. She asked if I could have dreamed it, as she'd had no sense of him being around at all. They'd been married for 43 years and there was just an emptyness. I told her I was sure that I was awake and he was there. I felt that if I gave her the message, she'd think I'd made it all up, so I didn't.

About six months later, she was starting to adapt to life. We were having a Guinness. I don't know why, but I decided that I'd pass the message on. I felt that she was probably in the right place to hear it. What happened took me aback. I explained that he'd given me a message, but I hadn't felt comfortable telling her. She immediately asked what it was. I told her and she went absolutely mad and threw me out of the house. She screamed "How could you be so cruel" at me. I assumed that she'd simply thought the message nonsensical and was angry at me for making it up. I didn't see her for two weeks, I was embarrassed and didn't know what to say. She rang me at work and asked if I'd come and see her. She sounded quite curt on the phone and I was fully expecting another piece of her mind.

I turned up and we exchanged pleasantries. I'd had about half a can of Guinness when she said "Why on earth did you wait 18 months to give me that message?". I replied that I just felt it was such a strange thing to say and I didn't want to upset you. She then said "Your father always promised that he'd never leave me, but he did. I've been furious at him for the whole time. I don't understand why he said it to you?". I profusely apologised and said that I had no idea that it would mean anything at all. She was quite cross and said "That wasn't your decision to make, you should have told me straight away". I felt really awful.

About two years after that, I was again having a Guinness with my Mum as we did most nights. She suddenly said, completely out of the blue, "I owe you an apology". She hadn't done anything to upset me, so I was puzzled. She then said "I was really horrible to you when you gave me that message from Dad". I was quite embarrassed by the whole thing. I didn't really want to talk about it. She then said "I could not understand why Laurie would give the message to you, of all people. I was angry that you didn't pass it on to me straight away and I was angy that you didn't even appreciate that it meant something so important. But when I thought about it, I realised that your father had done it deliberately. He knew you'd give me the message at the right time, when I would really understand it and couldn't dismiss it. He knew that this would let me know he was alright and we'd be alright. If you'd told me when I was still in shock it would have meant nothing.". 

She was probably right. I am sure my sisters would have told her straight away. I've no idea what my brothers would have done. She needed to hear the message, but only when she'd gone through the stages of grief and was back on track. When she said that, the effect on me was quite profound. I realised that my Father had entrusted me with the last and possibly the most important thing he'd done. More than anything, he needed my mother to know that things would be alright and that he was sorry. But he needed her to know when she could fully understand.

Now if you are a sceptic or a cynic, you will find your own explanation. I probably would if I'd read this before the whole thing happened. Until now, only my close family and one or two friends have been told. The last week has made me realise that I should share this.  The experience didn't particularly validate my religious beliefs. I don't share this to try and change anyone's minds. I'm posting it because I truly believe that my Father, after he had passed away, had somehow managed to get a message to my mother that he was OK and things will be OK. And if he's OK, then there's no reason to believe we won't all be, is there? If the events of the last week have made you feel unsettled or caused grief, maybe there will be a ray of light.

One thing that interested me was that when my Mum passed away, there was no message, She was just gone. I've no idea how these things work. Maybe we only really get what we need when we need it. I don't really know. At the time, it all made no sense to me. I felt I'd completely cocked up what I was supposed to do. It was only when my mum put me right, that I had any understanding. 

I've no idea how common such things are. If someone chooses to not believe what I experienced, I'm totally fine with that. I would be sceptical. I genuinely don't feel comfortable talking about it. On the very rare occasion that I've mentioned it to someone who is not family, I've generally got a very sceptical response and a barrage of questions that I can't answer. The most common one being "Are you sure you just didn't dream the whole thing?". I know that I didn't dream it. I also know that if I'd imagined it or made it up, I wouldn't have made that message up. I was genuinely shocked that it was the one message my mother was looking for. Some years later, my mother told me that when she was writing to my father in the POW camp in Rumania, they had their own secret code to let each other know they were OK. She told me "when someone is special to you, its easy to tell them something, without it meaning anything to anyone else". She wasn't talking about his message, but it made me realise that there was some code in there. I wonder what the 'rules' are if we can get messages across? I got the distinct feeling that Dad couldn't get away quick enough. And in case you are wondering, yes I do have doubts about the whole thing and perhaps my own sanity, in some ways I wish he'd told another of my siblings. It is really quite disturbing when you think about it. 

What is death?

As regular readers will know, a good friend of mine recently passed away. Losing someone who I grew up with has been a massive shock to me and I have struggled to deal with some aspects of the experience. It strikes me that if I've had major issues, maybe other people have as well. Maybe writing about some of the things which have gone through my mind, will in some way help to deal with it.

Perhaps the strangest and most troubling thought is "what is death"? When do we actually die? From a clinical perspective, it seems to me that this is not as clear cut as we think. When Fabrice Muamba had heart attack playing for Bolton Vs Spurs, we were told he was "dead for 90 minutes". Wikipedia has a helpful definition of clinical death - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clinical_death -


Clinical death is the medical term for cessation of blood circulation and breathing, the two necessary criteria to sustain life.^[1] It occurs when the heart stops beating in a regular rhythm, a condition called cardiac arrest.

But it isn't that simple, is it. Organs can be taken from the body after death and transplanted, and work perfectly well. A body can be kept alive, almost indefinitely when all brain activity has ceased.  Which makes me wonder, how long after clinical death is the person conscious of what is happening around them? Near Death Experiences are well documented. These certainly seem to indicate a residual level of awareness. In my friends case, the cessation of breathing was taken as death. What troubles me is that we don't know what goes on in the brain. A certain peacefulness, following the battle against pain and cancer appeared to take over my friend. Given the terrible pain and suffering he'd been experiencing, I  must assume that he had a degree of relief that this had finished. Given his circumstances, there were no monitors checking for brain activity and given the levels of pain relief, we had no last message or goodbyes. Another good friend of mine died eleven years ago of Pancreatic cancer. He was lucid up until the final moments, giving a running commentary of the experiences and emotions he was feeling. He even sought to give me advice on the running of the studios and what I needed to do.

My sister is a hospice nurse and she has witnessed the death of hundreds of people. She told me that in her opinion spiritual people have spiritual deaths and non spiritual people don't. She is of the opinion that we tend to get the experience that we expect to get. I am not sure whether that is reassuring or not.

I was contacted by a well meaning reader of the blog, who assured me that I shouldn't worry about my friend, as they will be reincarnated and have the opportunity to correct all of their mistakes. I must say that of all the possible options, reincarnation is the one which I hope doesn't happen. If the atheists are correct and there is nothing, then there really is nothing to worry about is there? If my lot, The Roman Catholics are correct, I'll get judged. I like to think I'm one of the good guys, but I could be in for a very nasty surprise. Although my teachers back in the 1960's and 70's used to try and scare the living daylights out of us all, with stories of fire and brimstone, I can't really say I've ever seriously considered Hell as an option. Now if one of the other brands of Judeo-Christain-Islamic faiths is the right brand, I feel I may still be in with a decent shout. But then consider reincarnation. I love my life as an adult, I have a scream of a time. I  would not want to go through childhood and puberty again. It was a horrible time and I was deeply unhappy for most of it. Don't get me wrong, I love my family and my homelife, but outside of that so many things were rotten. School, until I was 15 was a daily battle just to survive with my sanity.

We had teachers who were merciless bullies and at times bordered on being evil sadists. Of course most  weren't, but the ones that were took great joy in humiliating and inflicting pain on children. To be honest, I became pretty immune to it. After the hundredth time I'd been called to the front of the class to be ritually humiliated, it stopped bothering me. I decided that if I was going to get clobbered, I may as well make it worthwhile, so I'd try my hardest to rile the teacher before they got a chance to hit me. They would then inform me they were really going to make it painful. As an adult I simply wouldn't tolerate that sort of treatment, the thought of being a child again and suffering it again is perhaps my darkest fear.

Then there was the uncertainty of puberty, with raging hormones and an ingrained morality that caused me to feel guilty about my feelings. I can remember being about 13 years old and being an alter server. There was an extremely cute girl in the congregation. As mass went on, all I could think about was her and what I'd like to do with her. I was so engrossed in my fantasy that I forgot to ring the bell at communion. I felt like I was doomed to hell for my sins as I realised the horrifying enormity of what I'd done. After mass, I felt like all of the congregation hated me. I felt that they knew exactly why I'd fluffed the bellringing and hated me for it. Would I want to feel like that again? No chance whatsoever.

There were many other things which I didn't enjoy. Becoming an adult meant no more shit from anyone. No one telling me I was a moron, no one berating me for coming bottom of the class. It meant shedding all of the self doubt and irrational fears which had been drummed into me.

Coming back to the question, What is death. I'm really none the wiser. It is something which I'm not afraid of, but am very apprehensive about. As to what comes after, I guess we have to believe what suits us.  I don't have any answers, I don't think I've even found all of the questions yet.

Coping with Death and Bereavement

I started writing this blog last Sunday. It was originally to commemorate the passing away of my beloved Dad 25 years ago and to comment on the fact that I've now been on the planet as long without him as I was with him. It was going to be a loving tribute to him. As I started to write it, I realised that even after 25 years, I have some painful and unresolved issues relating to his passing. I realised that the cause of many of these issues are social and cultural. I realised that if I still have issues and anger over the whole thing after 25 years, other people might as well. It struck me that maybe it's time we started a debate on how Great Britain as a society deals with such issues.

The seeds of these thoughts were planted listening to an excellent edition of the Robert Elms show on BBC London 94.9m, where the whole show was dedicated to the subject of death. I am not going to discuss the religious aspects of death or where we go or don't go, I try not to use my blog to promote my personal religious beliefs. I believe we need to have a discussion as to how we cope with the passing of a loved one.

I am an orphan. My father died in January 1987, suddenly after a heart attack on his return from a holiday in Florida. My parents had returned early as my mother's sister had died unexpectedly. They came back for a funeral. My father didn't realise that it would be his own. I wasn't living at home and I didn't even realise they were back in the UK. In those days, we didn't have mobile phones or emails. I was in a total state of shock when I heard the news. Perhaps the worst thing was the fact that no one seemed to know what to do. I guess if someone dies after a long and protracted illness, at least you have some idea and hopefully have made a few arrangements. My Uncle George died a couple of years later of cancer. He had everything planned to the last detail. His wake was in the "Load of Hay" pub in Hendon. At the end of the evening, myself and my brother Laurie were the last ones left. The landlord came up to us with two rather fine glasses of Johnny Walker whisky. He said "Are you Laurie and Roger?" We replied "Yes". He said "George said you'd be the last two in here and he asked me to give you these in his instructions for the wake".

With my own fathers funeral and wake, I remember virtually nothing, except one of his friends throwing a deck of cards on the coffin and a few old stick in the muds scowling at it disapprovingly. That and the sheer weight of the coffin (he was a big old boy). I had decided that I wasn't going to shed a tear and I would be strong. I built a huge wall between myself and the reality of the situation. I was devastated, but didn't want anyone to know. Sadly I found out almost immediately that as a society, we vandalise the emotional wellbeing of people who are grieving. Let me explain how, more through luck than judgement, at the time I had a dream job. At the tender age of 23, I'd managed to land myself a job managing a team of people doing a piece of work that to this day I'm proud of, for a blue chip company, which changed the face of High Streets in the UK. What could go wrong?

When my brother rang to break the news that my father died, I was stunned. I was getting ready to go to work. I immediately phoned my manager and said "I won't be able to come to work today, my father has passed away suddenly". What do you think she said? What would you say? Her response was perhaps the most incredible thing I have ever heard. She said "Under company rules, you are allowed one days compassionate leave for the death of a parent. I expect to see you in the office tomorrow". I was numb. I simply replied "I will be in when I'm ready and able to work" and I put the phone down. You may wonder how I felt. I don't know. I was just in a daze. The following Monday, I decided that the time had come to return to work. I made my way to the office. As I entered, I passed one of my colleagues walking the other way. This was a friendly amiable chap in his 40's. What he said took me back. "Decided to turn up at last have you?". I am not a placid person, I have a fiery Celtic temperament at times. Despite my general despondency, this roused me. I wondered exactly what he'd been told to make such a crass comment. I rared up and said "I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you've not been told the full story. I have been off because my mothers sister died eight days ago. My parents flew back from Florida for her funeral and the the day after they returned, my father had a heart attack and died. My mother is in pieces, all of the family are in pieces and to be quite honest with you, I couldn't face working. I phoned in and said I'd be in when I felt capable of working". My colleague looked visibly shaken. He said "Oh my God, I didn't realise, Jane (the manager) just said you couldn't be bothered to come to work. She didn't say anything about your father". At this I became angry. I said "What, she told everyone I was skiving?". My colleague replied "Yes, I'm really sorry, we'd have sent a card and flowers if she'd told us". He then ushered me out of the building and into a cafe. He ordered me a coffee and said "Please wait here. I need to make sure everyone knows what has happened. I don't want anyone else to behave as I did".

I sat there alone with my thoughts for an hour. I couldn't make any sense of what had happened. Why would someone say that? Was it a personal thing? How could anyone be so cruel?  I'm a pretty tough character but I felt like I'd been violated by this horrible woman. Eventually my colleague came back. He said "I've phoned everyone and they all know. They are really upset. Jane would like to see you now, I will come along to make sure you are ok. Don't lose your temper with her". I said "Ok, I'll be alright".

I entered her office and sat down, my colleague at my side. I expected an apology. She said "Why didn't you turn up for work last week.". I was determined to keep my cool. I responded "As I told you, my Father died and I didn't feel capable of working". She responded "I told you that you were allowed 1 days compassionate leave, why didn't you attend work". At this my colleague piped up "Jane, company policy states that you are allowed up to ten days compassionate leave if you are making funeral arrangements". She responded "He didn't say he was making funeral arrangements. In most families, it is the eldest children who do this". I replied "I was making the funeral arrangements". She said "You should have notified me of this". My colleague then said "Roger has now notified you. The funeral is on Thursday, so he needs to go home and continue making them". She replied "Just because you are entitled to ten days, doesn't mean you have to take ten days. I took half a day off when my father died, for the funeral". I responded "There are plenty of arrangements we need to make, I'd better go home and sort them out". At that I walked out of the office. I realised that even though I loved my job, I couldn't work with this woman. I found another job within two months.

As I reflect on this, I realise that it is an extreme example of how bad the British are at dealing with death. The response of the company to my bereavement was appalling. Now, 25 years later, as I thought about it, I came to the following conclusions.

1) My manager had received no training at all in how to counsel a member of staff who was coping with a devastating loss. She'd interpreted company policy purely based on her own prejudice. This is completely inappropriate and an abuse of position. Company policy should be clear and transparent.

2) The company had no formal process for assisting a member of staff who was struggling to cope with a life changing experience.

3) Although my colleagues were outraged at what happened, none felt that there was any point in making a complaint. A couple said "We'd like to make a complaint, but it is a waste of time for issues like this". Such issues are paramount.

What should happen? I contend that every company should have a formal policy for dealing with bereavements affecting members of staff. As soon as a member of staff reports that they've been affected by a bereavement, HR/Personell should be alerted. They should then do the following :-

a) Offer counselling and assistance to the member of staff to deal with the emotional issues relating to bereavement. I believe that a counselling session with a trained counsellor should be a legal requiremnt. If someone is in employment, the company should pay for this. If a person is on benefits, the state should. My family hadn't got a clue what to do when my father died. We employed the Coop funeral services, who helped and were very good. We shared the responsibility, although my sister did most of the work. For many people, who don't have a large family and the support that brings, a bit of help would be invaluable. It would also give an economic benefit to the company as a person with help is more likely to be able to do their job properly.

b) Ensure all managers with a responsibility to staff trained in how to deal with bereavement. I would not wish my worst enemy to have the experience I suffered.

c) Ensure that the issue of bereavement is covered in the school syllabus. Coping with it is something we all will face at some point.

There was one little addendum to the story,which shows how badly men in Britain deal with death. About a year after my father died, a friends father died. He'd suffered for years with kidney problems. He'd been waiting for a transplant. He'd been looking forward to when he had one so he could resume a normal life. Eventually he got to the top of the list. He had a transplant, but the operation went wrong and he sadly passed away.

I went along to the funeral to pay my respects. As the service progressed, I was suddenly back (in my mind) at my fathers funeral. I started thinking about all the grief I had, how much I missed my Dad and how many things I'd failed to say to him. I was overwhelmed with grief. I burst into tears and had to leave the chapel in floods of tears. I couldn't stop for about half an hour. Although it was most embarrassing, I didn't care. I went home and drank half a bottle of scotch and passed out.

I woke up the next day and I actually felt normal for the first time in a year. The sun was shining and that feeling that my head was going to explode had gone. I went to my local cafe and had a big fry up breakfast. I picked up the Daily Express and read the sports pages (reading the Daily Express is one bad habit I acquired from my Dad). I felt like I could get on with my life again. How many people are there who bottle things up for months, years or even a lifetime? I am sure that I'm not the only person who is so dysfunctional that it takes a friends Dad's funeral to release my pain and anger. How long would I have carried the burden, had I not gone that day?

I wish I could offer some help and hope and guidance to anyone who is under that cloud. That is why I wrote this blog, so that if nothing else you know someone else on the planet has an inkling of understanding of how you feel. Yesterday, for some reason, I did something I haven't done before. As I walked through the hall of my house, I paused by a picture we have. It is a montage of various family members - I rescued it from my mothers flat, when we clearing it out after her death. There is a picture of my Mum and Dad at the "Ross River Dam" in Townsville, Queensland, Austrailia taken in 1976. They are both standing there, smiling, happy, healthy and full of life, enjoying a holiday. They were in their mid 50's then. As I looked at it, I smiled and remembered all of the good times. I realised that I am over the loss of both of them. My memories are of the good things and the bad things, but they are not tinged with the anger, frustration and guilt. I no longer look at the pictures and think "why?".

What I haven't properly got over is the fact that I feel abusively treated by my employer at the time. A time when I was vulnerable and weak. I am still full of anger and hatred towards a person I feel treated me in an appalling fashion. I write this blog in the vain hope that someone, somewhere will realise that such pain is unnecessary and that it much of such pain can be avoided. I still feel an apology is warranted (although I know I'll never get one).

Life is for the living, but as a society, we will never be truly happy until we learn to cope better with how we manage the process of our loved ones passing away. I am sure there are some situations, I'd never recover from such as the death of a child. What I do know is that until we move beyond the "we don't talk about it" mentality, we are fighting the battle of coping with both arms tied behind our backs.