Stephen was Fester’s little brother, born in the
same year as me, and I’d known him almost as long as I’ve known Fester
(Christmas 1979).
He died of heart disease suddenly and unexpectedly in
the house he was born in. A neighbour
worried that he hadn’t seen him for a couple of days yet there was a window
open which was uncharacteristic if he was away, went to investigate and saw his
body.
Stephen had neither an answering machine nor a
mobile phone.
It was the Sunday of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Bank Holiday Weekend.
From Facebook Archives
3
June 2022 at 10.06
Ten
years since that awful morning, it was bright and sunny just like today.
PC
Andy Thorpe had the job of trying to contact us.
Of
course you don't have 'next of kin' by people's names in your address book so
PC Thorpe dialled 1471 on Stephen's landline and got Conway (who had probably
been trying to phone him to organise meeting for a drink over the bank holiday).
Conway
told him Stephen’s next-of-kin was his brother in Newcastle.
Bazoukiboy 1993 |
By
the time PC Thorpe and Fester were finishing their first conversation Bazoukiboy's
car was pulling up outside our house.
He
spent the rest of the day with us supporting both Fester and me. It was a great help to me to know Fester could
talk to him about things, and in a way, he could never talk to me.
And over the following days and months he
helped by taking Fester down to Sheffield for coroners and solicitors
appointments, and bringing stuff from the family home back here.
You
don't forget that sort of friendship.
Ms Elswitch I remember
that day and getting the call from Bagboy. It was incredibly sad
Mrs Poet Ben, what
beautiful lucidity you have, even in the most distressing posts. Language is not everything but it helps: why
we write and tell stories. Much
love.xxxxx
Bentonbag Thankyou. It comes from lots of practice: a mother who
insisted I write home once a week, even with the Sunday phone-call; and then
writing press releases and articles for submission to trade magazines.
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