by Stuart Ayris
W.G.’s face was large in my mind, his grin when he hit that on-drive, his loneliness and his rage. The two became one for me - W.G. and Robbie. So now you see there was only one thing for me to do.
The sky was pink when The Walrus found me. I was lying on the cricket pitch, curled up like a baby, cradling the bloodied bat as if I had fallen upon it in battle. I had been awoken some moments earlier by the shouts of children and had spent the intervening time readying myself for who knows what.
“You need to come with me,” said The Walrus, sadly. He looked deep into my very being and sighed, nodding as if in that moment he understood everything.
I rose stiffly, leaving the bat on the pitch and followed him. My gait was awkward and my back ached as I walked behind him. It was as if iron shackles had already been clamped about my ankles. The cricket pitch disappeared into the earth and the stumps became mere twigs once more as I left them behind. I had no idea what form of justice I was about to face, only that I deserved it. And it felt so good.
When I got to the front of the barn, the children were waiting for me. Each had their head bowed and their hands clasped behind their back. On command, they stood behind The Walrus.
“In front of me Simon, if you will,” The Walrus said to me.
I did as I was ordered.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Back to where you came from. It is time for you to return now.”
And thus did I arrive in the village square once more.
It was a bright day, with the sun gaining height in the Tollesbury sky. I breathed in the air and felt it drift down into my lungs, simultaneously moist and dry, filling them up before being expelled again. In and out. In and out. This motion, I realised, was all that kept any of us alive - this automatic function of drawing air into the body only to breathe it back out again. I tried to hold my breath but my body would fight against me until I had to relent and allow the air to return once more to the world. In and out. In and out.
I could hear the birds warbling and I felt for a moment I could taste England. The sense of belonging I had at that instant was absolutely palpable; belonging to this village, to this country, to this time. Love flowed through me, washed over me, dabbed my brow, dried me softly and left me cleansed.
The door to the village lock-up was already open. I stepped into the dark space and turned as the bolt slid across with a deep clang. It was a pleasing sound and I continued trying to listen to it as it faded away, seeking the vibrations as they drifted into the earth and the trees and the souls of all those that stood outside. Even the smell of urine and vomit and the odour of men that emanated from every crack in every piece of wood that housed me, even those things brought pleasure to me at that moment. They were signs of life, of the past, of the inevitability that all things must transform and temporarily end before evolving and going on and on and on. Just urine, vomit and sweat to many perhaps. But not to me - I was savouring all.
I sat down and closed my eyes not caring for a moment if I ever moved from this spot. My world consisted then of just four old walls that were just large enough to contain me. I understood such small proportions. Everything was within reach. There was no movement that was not initiated by me. And, most reassuring of all, there were no people, no-one with whom I felt compelled to interact, no judges, no conspirators, no thieves, no lovers. Just me - the Child-Killer - a man simply awaiting his fate - the confirmation he required that he was indeed not meant for this world.
Sleep did not take me. I was awake yet drifting between one world and the next, a trance like state within which I could not be harmed. I could see my internal organs, how every part of my body worked. I could feel my liver, touch my lungs, smell the fragrance of my mind. These were deep sensations, incalculable in their meaning, incontrovertible in their evidence that life was all an illusion. My eyes see not what your eyes see - not really. We are all sentient beings encountering our own entirely unique experiences, floating in time, suspended in moments which we are taught to call life-times; taught by those who strive erroneously to make sense out of all of this.
Before I knew what was happening, there was a loud crack that shook me instantly. I covered my ears as the noise continued. It gradually came to my consciousness that somebody was hammering upon the door in front of me. I stood once more, tremulous.
“Out, drunk!” called a guttural voice.
The door to the village lock-up opened and I fell into Tollesbury village square. As I looked down, trying to gain my balance, I noticed I was kneeling in filth and straw. There were cattle wandering in front of The King’s Head and several people ambled about all dressed in dull, loose clothes. A smell of dung plunged into my lungs and I could do nothing but try to cough it out. A small boy walked towards me and leaned over my confused frame. I was on all fours, more akin to the cattle than the people.
”What’s happening?” I asked the boy. A graveyard grin cracked his grimy little face in half and I expected one of his few remaining teeth to tumble out of his mouth and imbed itself in the dirt before me.
“Away boy!” shouted a large man who now stood before me. He held a wooden baton in one hand. It must have been he who had rapped upon the door of the lock-up and he who had yanked me out.
I stayed on the ground and leaned against the closed door of the lock-up. Before me, on two old armchairs, sat Weepy and Nardy. Penny Shoraton was standing behind them looking achingly beautiful. I could look no further than her.
“Where have you been, Simon?” asked Weepy.
In considering my reply, I could only smile. For where had I been indeed?
“It would help if you could tell us, Simon?” added Nardy. “It would assist us in helping you.”
I was truly in a state of bliss.
Weepy and Nardy exchanged a serious glance and then addressed me in unison, their voices intertwined, even their gestures mirroring one another.
“You have destroyed the life of a child. You took away his hope, his chance of a life of fulfilment. You valued your own foolish dreams above the wonder of an innocent. That child did you no harm. For all we know, he loved you, thought of you as a hero, a saviour, a superman. You have denied him the anticipation of birthdays, happy Christmases, the applause as he crosses the line in the sack race, the pat on the back when he is substituted at half-time, the confirmation that he is loved. You contradicted the absolute belief of a child that there is no evil in this world. And there is no greater crime than that.”
I think, at that moment, they expected some kind of response from me. I gave them nothing but a wink.
“Do you really believe what happened to you when you were a young boy gave you the right to ruin the life of another?”
They knew nothing, man, nothing. They wanted me to please, please, please them - I knew that much. But things were all just too far gone.
Penny Shoraton sang to me in a high pitched shimmering crystal stream voice “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah! She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah!”
I ran my fingers through my hair, looked at her as seductively as I was able and replied in a dirty street John Lennon growl, “Why don’t we do it in the road?”
“Enough!” shouted Weepy and Nardy, standing simultaneously as if strung by the same puppeteer - for even they had strings it seemed.
“Simon Anthony, you have taken the life of a child and shall hence forth be known forever in this village and beyond as 'The Child-Killer'. Parents will use what you have done as a means of disciplining their children, of educating them in the evil that men do. Now leave us. Go to where you will end your days. And may you never return.”
I was led by a crowd of people, away from the village square and down Station Road, arriving eventually at Zachariah Leonard’s shack. It seemed even darker than I remember, more ancient and so much more like the mouth of death than ever it had been before. A rough hand pushed me in and someone closed the door behind me. I was nearly home.
The brightness of
the sun had left me unprepared for the all encompassing gloom in which I now found myself. I crawled on my hands and knees to reach the other end of the room and it was then that I felt three short wooden legs. I guessed it was a stool of sorts. I stroked the smooth wood as if it were a cat. The movement soothed me. And as my eyes grew attuned to the darkness, I saw that there was a square piece of wood protruding out of the floor in the far corner. I slithered over to it on my stomach and saw that it was the trap-door. I sighed in disappointment, thinking that I was being offered one last way out; for in truth I wanted no escape.
I reached my hand into the aperture that had presented itself to me and, to my surprise touched earth. This was not some tunnel to freedom but merely a hole in the ground. I felt around and my hand enclosed a piece of what appeared to be rough cloth with holes in it, three small holes. I put it back and awaited what some may consider to have been my doom. I did not have to wait long, although I suppose it may have been hours.
The door to the shack was flung open and a beautiful corridor of sunlight yawned into the room picking out the stool in silhouette. The Walrus entered, followed by the FRUGALITY children. They all formed a semi-circle in front of me. And next came Zachariah Leonard. He pushed through the children and strode to the hole in the ground where he retrieved what I then saw was a hangman’s hood. He put it on and I realised of course that he had been forever incomplete without it.
My eyes turned back to the doorway where the light was at its brightest. And there were W.G. and Robbie, arms about each other’s shoulders. I couldn’t tell whether they were laughing or crying. All I could be sure of was that their little boy shoulders rose and fell, just rose and fell like the pistons of a machine. It was as if the light was bursting from them alone and it was the motion of their shoulders that powered and sustained the universe.
Zachariah is before me now and beckons me to stand upon the stool. Once I have done so, he unravels a rope that has been secured to the ceiling and forms it into a noose. The noose complete, he turns to The Walrus, who nods and begins to clap rhythmically, a 2/4 beat for a few bars and then a 7/4 beat. He repeats this twice before the children begin to sing:
“Tollesbury Time,
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about.
Tollesbury Time Forever.”
Zachariah puts the noose around my neck and secures it tight.
“Tollesbury Time,
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about.
Tollesbury Time Forever.”
Zachariah kicks the stool from under me and it falls to the ground.
“Tollesbury Time,
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about.
Tollesbury Time Forever.”
There is a wailing sound in my head but still I can hear the children singing. The sound in my head turns into the claxon at Ford's that signals the changing in shifts. I see my dad coming into my bedroom to say goodbye to his little lad. He then leaves to go to work. Then I see my uncle coming in. He has dark grease on his hands. He steps out of his overalls and approaches my three year old self who just lies there on the bed unmoving. The monster from Ford's lifts me without effort, turns me and buries my cold face into a tear-stained pillow.
And there is an angel before me now. Her name is Penny Shoraton.
All is silent.
All is black.
Tollesbury Time,
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about.
Tollesbury Time Forever
PART TWO
…..but I say it just to reach you
14. Incident Report No: 1050491/2
A. Nature of incident: NEAR MISS
B. Individual involved in the incident:
Name: SIMON ANTHONY
Gender: MALE
Date of Birth: 8th JULY 1958
Ethnicity: WHITE BRITISH
Patient Number: PN65738
C. Treatment received:
Received oxygen and placed in the recovery position until the paramedics arrived, who then took him to A&E.
D. Injury suffered:
Red mark around the neck made by the belt. No breaking of skin. Bruising evident.
E. Location of incident: BLACKWATER MENTAL HEALTH UNIT
Primary Location: CRIMSON WARD
Secondary Location: BEDROOM 11
Clinical Speciality: ADULT MENTAL HEALTH UNIT (ACUTE SECTOR)
Date of incident: 15th JULY 2008
Time of incident: 17:25pm
F. Circumstances of Incident:
Mr Anthony was found hanging in his bedroom, secured by a belt from the wardrobe door.
G. Remedial action taken following the incident:
Mr Anthony was taken down onto his bed and basic first aid given. He had a pulse. He was placed in the recovery position and given oxygen until the paramedics came and took him to A&E. He had a mark around his neck that had been made by the belt.
H. Witnesses: PENNY SHORATON, STAFF NURSE
15. Witness Statement
Name of person making Statement: Penny Shoraton
I have been a qualified psychiatric nurse since April 1997. I have been a Staff Nurse on Crimson Ward at Blackwater Mental Health Unit since October 2002. I have known Simon Anthony for the last four years in a professional capacity during several admissions to Crimson Ward. During this current admission, I have been his Keyworker.
On 16th July 2008, I was on a late shift. I was the nurse in charge throughout the shift, which started at 13:30pm and finished at 21:00pm.
At handover (sometime between 13:30pm and 14:30pm), I was informed that Simon Anthony had been returned to Crimson Ward by the police. They had apparently found him in a field between Tollesbury and Tolleshunt D’Arcy. On return, he was placed on Level 3 (continuous) observations due to a risk of absconding from the Unit and due to the previous suicide attempt that had led to the current admission. As nurse in charge, I allocated the periods of observation to the staff on duty. The staff rotated each hour as per the Observation Policy.
At 17:25, I was in the nursing office speaking on the phone to the relative of another client when I heard the emergency alarm. I terminated the call and went immediately to the ADP (alarm display panel) in the corridor. The alarm had been sounded from bedroom number eleven and so I ran to that location. When I arrived, the door to the bedroom was being held open by Pauline Zuma (Agency Support Worker) who had been on level 3 observations with Simon Anthony between 17:00pm and 18:00pm. It had been she who had activated the alarm.
When I looked into the room, I saw that Simon Anthony was hanging by his belt which had been fastened around his neck and looped around the top corner of his wardrobe door. A chair was on its side on the floor. His CD player was playing music at a very high volume. According to Pauline Zuma, the Beatles’ song “Strawberry Fields” had been played continuously over and over since she had commenced her stint of observation at 17:00pm.
I was joined then by Isabel Summers (Staff Nurse on Crimson Ward) and Steven Benson (Support Worker on Crimson Ward). Steven Benson supported Simon Anthony’s bodyweight whilst I undid the belt. All three of us then manoeuvred Simon Anthony’s body onto the floor.
On checking, I noted there was a faint pulse. I sent Isabel Summers to the Nursing Office to contact the paramedics and to bring an oxygen cylinder. With the assistance of Steven Benson, Simon Anthony was put in the recovery position. When the oxygen cylinder arrived some moments later, I applied the mask and Simon Anthony received oxygen until the paramedics arrived at 17:45pm, at which time they took over. They removed Simon Anthony to an awaiting ambulance and he was taken to Accident and Emergency. He had maintained a pulse throughout the immediate first aid procedures but had been non-responsive to verbal interventions. Steven Benson accompanied Simon Anthony to the Accident and Emergency department.
Signed
Penny Shoraton
(Staff Nurse)
16. The Mental Health Review Tribunal
(Act I)
(The author recovered this transcript from Simon’s house - the words in italics were written across the pages and in the margins. The author has inserted them accordingly.)
15th August 2008
Present:
Simon Anthony - Client
Peter Middleton - Solicitor
Dr Weepy - Responsible Medical Officer
Penny Shoraton - Staff Nurse (Crimson Ward)
David Cromwell - Social Worker
Iris Pearson - Tribunal Chair
Dr Khan - Medical Representative
Raymond Lister - Layperson
Donna Watkins - Mental Health Act Administrator
Big long bing bong table stretching on in out of perspective perspective. Chairs down each side like a rectangle round table of yore. This is it and this is it. Suits and form and fragile frugals. Sun is in the windows and the wind is on the rise. The time is here and the static is pure. I sit me down and wait for servings. Obladi. Oblada. Life goes on. Life goes on.
IRIS PEARSON (TO SIMON ANTHONY) - Thank you for coming here today, Mr Anthony. My name is Iris Pearson and I am the Chair of this panel. I am a barrister by profession and, as such, as well as being the Chair, I am also the ‘Legal Member’ of this panel. As you know, you have appealed against your detention under Section 3 of the Mental Health Act (1983) and this Tribunal has been convened to hear that appeal. We will be making a decision today; a decision which we will inform you face to face in the first instance, with confirmation of that decision in writing to follow. You will also receive a transcript of the proceedings. If at any time you need a break, please indicate to your solicitor and we will break and reconvene when you are ready. Now do you have any questions, Mr Anthony, before we do some introductions?