Bereavement Articles Archive

Internet Memorial to Philip Davies

MuchLoved is a charitable organisation established to assist people who have suffered bereavement, particularly the death of a family member or friend. We provide and maintain individual, unique and sensitive internet tributes in order to enable you to commemorate, celebrate or simply remember a person you loved and still love. If you would like to create your own internet tributefor someone you have lost and cared about, please do give MuchLoved a try. It is very easy to create your tribute and the service has been designed to be as sensitive and as personalised as possible. MuchLoved is dedicated to helping the bereaved work through their grief by enabling people to express and share their feelings and memories. You can find out more about our charity by visiting us at the MuchLoved website

The following memorial is to my brother Philip who was twenty one and in his final year as a law student at the University of Birmingham when he died. He had a healthy enthusiasm for life, an intelligent mind and a transparently warm nature. His sudden death was a tragedy to so many of us. This internet memorial is also the chronicle of the journey of grief that my parents went through. It is very much their story about not only the loss of a loved one but the loss of a child. Phil we miss you. Mum we miss you. Dad, thank you for keeping these memories alive.

Foreword by Phil’s Brother

This internet tribute is centered on a diary written by dad over the two years following Phil’s death, the reading of which has prompted me to recall many of my own memories. This has been therapeutic to me and I just hope that those who have and are suffering likewise will find a connection. Why this taboo on death despite its proximity to us all? : A unifying constant in a diverse world. When I asked in a book shop for the section on bereavement and death I was faced with a palpably uncomfortable assistant directing me to the ‘Health’ section, to delve between titles such as ‘Eat More Fruit!’. Montaigne wrote that ‘to begin depriving death of its greatest advantage over us…let us deprive death of its strangeness, let us frequent it, let us get used to it.’ This memorial is dedicated to the memory of Phil and those who will break the taboo.

Dad’s Recollections – A Potted History

Pamela and I married in April 1964. She was twenty one and I was thirty two but my age is wrongly shown on the marriage certificate. Joanna was born in October 1965, Sally in May 1967, Jonathan in May 1970 and Philip on the 29th May 1973. Dates are important now. When I see a pre 1973 date in the customer files at work, sadness deepens. If I see a reference to 1980 I calculate, ‘Philip was seven then’. Philip was christened Philip Walter. ‘Philip’ a derivative of Phyllis for both Pam and my mothers although mine only adopted the name unofficially in her teens, she felt it added cachet. ‘Walter’ was in memory of my father, Walter Reginald, and both Philip and Jonathan bear it as their middle name. I feel guilty of a certain male arrogance in calling both our sons after my male father, as if they would in time ensure the rightful continuation of our family name. For our daughters, we simply chose names that appealed to us.

All except Sally were born in the NHS maternity hospital in Bushey. In those days, when labour started you hurried to Edgeware General Hospital, collected your documents and went on to Bushey, a few miles away. Sally was impatient to be born and there was no time to continue on to Bushey.

Philip’s life went down similar paths to those of his brother and sisters. He went to White Lodge School in Harrow Weald until he was seven, the only child to regularly fall off his chair. He then followed his brother into Haberdasher’s Askes’ at Elstree despite being discovered by the Headmaster fighting another boy as he waited for his interview and taking somewhat literally my advice to “speak up”. It may be that the school were reassured by the exemplary behaviour and promise of his elder brother. He did better than expected in exams and in 1992, with an A and two B’s, went to the Law Faculty at the University of Birmingham. He had had an interview at Keble College, Oxford but perhaps did not maximise his chances by arguing for the legalisation of cannabis.

There were aspects of his personality that differed from those of his siblings. Unlike the others he showed little interest in team games, choosing to swim and sail instead. Since he had an aptitude but not a motivation we attributed this to a susceptibility to asthma and a disinclination to do what everyone else did. When first born he was very quiet and I upset my wife by calling him “plant”. But soon he was very active. As a three year old he might slip one’s hand and run ahead. He had a near squeak darting between cars across a road outside our local church, St.Anselm’s, one winter evening after a music concert. Luckily the road was still unmade, the traffic was slow and he emerged thankfully untouched.

He was also reluctant to eat proper food. This was more than your standard ‘broad beans’ refusal, he epitomised the word ‘choosy’ and was inexplicably fickle, making food preparation a risky process. One standard rule however was that meat and fish had to be processed in such a way that it didn’t look like meat and fish. I told him that he wouldn’t grow. It’s ironic that he grew to over six feet, his brother and I have to stretch to measure five foot eight.

Up to his early teens I would say that Philip found it difficult to cultivate relationships with outsiders and as our fourth child there were many ‘ready made’ friends in the house. He went to cubs but was loath to join the scouts. He sang in the church choir for a while and reluctantly went to Pinner Methodist Church Sunday School but refused to attend the associated club for young people. He went on the usual French exchange trips which he tolerated but did not enjoy, especially when his counterpart asked to ‘Joue au ping pong’, which became a popular catchphrase for Philip. When he was older he began to change. Around fourteen he became interested (this time with a friend called Anton) in pet fish. He acquired an aquarium, bought fish and devoted himself to the regular routines that tropical fish require. Later he became an enthusiast for BMX bikes and spent many hours with Anton doing wheelies over curbs and jumps on ramps. A school project led to an understanding of photography and a piece of work that now lies in the loft. It was a joint project and he was developing a sociable nature, visiting friends and going to parties, though still wary of inviting friends home. He passed his driving test (at the second attempt) and by the time the sixth form had come was presenting the usual teenage worries.

Philip spent his first three terms at Birmingham University on the tenth floor of Mason Hall, a typical University Hall of Residence. There were contraceptive machines with lavatories in the basement, bars and arcade machines on the ground floor and bedrooms above. It was a little perturbing to me that on the arrival day the student helpers all wore T-shirts celebrating “Fred’s Pint is half empty” and that one of the Tutors, who apparently also lived in the Hall, had a hand written sign offering “Free booze – Not just a glass of wine, but as much as you can drink”. However, Philips three elder siblings had all spent time in Halls of Residence and did not seem to have come to much harm.

Philip spent a happy first year at Mason Hall, I think, and we were pleased when he moved out for his second year to a house, ten to fifteen minutes walk from the front gates of the University, with his friends Mark, James and John. A much better arrangement than those of his sisters who had been bus rides away. My traditional beliefs meant that I was not so pleased when his girl friend, Natasha, moved into the same house, but I accepted it. It seemed a good sign when for his third year he remained in the same house with the same people except that his girl friend moved out to an all girl house, close by, being replaced by a fellow student Bryn. A much healthier arrangement.

Everything Changes

The door bell went about eight or nine o’clock in the evening on Saturday 18th March 1995. I was serenely going through some work sales files at the kitchen table and Pam was ironing in the lounge with the television on. Pam said it was an unusual ring but I don’t remember that. There was some conversation and I walked into the hall holding my pen, to meet a policeman. An initial relief within Pam on seeing only one – ‘they always bring two if there’s bad news’ had already turned to horror, his eyes revealing his purpose. Pam says now that she had experienced a double feeling, wanting to both push him out of the door and to pull him inside to say which child it was. I simply followed them into the lounge and switched off the television.

The policeman asked us to sit down, checked who we were and told us that he had bad news, very bad news. Philip had been found dead. I remember “what do we do now?”, also “we must be brave” as my reply. Pam, in that atmosphere of artificial limbo could not for some moments work out the date, the day her son had died. We cannot remember much more in terms of detail. For some reason the policeman, P.C. Hoborn, wanted us to telephone Philip’s lodgings which I did, not understanding that the police and Philip’s body were still there. I then spoke alone in the kitchen with him, fearing other details, but he said he knew nothing.

He asked us if we wanted him to stay, to leave or to fetch anyone. He carried out his responsibilities with dignity and compassion. After he left Pam and I remember little. Pam recalls walking up the stairs to face her funeral clothes laid out ready for a funeral we were attending the next day, amongst them a black coat she had bought with Philip at Christmas. We decided we would tell our other children face to face the next day and lay crying in each others arms all night. The night, as were successive nights, was clear and moonlit and passed slowly. We both instinctively dressed smartly and drove over to the address of Sally’s fiancé in Putney where Sally was staying, on the way telling the Vicar on the path outside St. Anselm’s just before the 8 o’clock service. We could get no reply for a long while, eventually she emerged puzzled by our smart clothes and was told on the pavement. We called next on Jonathan, Philip’s 24 year old brother, who lived close by in Battersea but could get no reply. The house was empty and no one who lived nearby knew each other so we had no choice but to return home. We remember little else. Joanna, our eldest child, was told through her husband ; she screamed and threw articles around before manically cleaning the kitchen. Jonathan telephoned us for a routine chat and was told. Soon all the family were at home sitting in the kitchen. Little was eaten but tea was constantly made to break the inactivity.

This set the pattern for several days. We must have telephoned and informed people. Pam’s brother came, my brother called, there were other callers and telephone calls. We sat in the kitchen, made tea, washed up, swept the floor and cried and slept intermittently while the clear, lovely, moonlit nights passed. Monday or Tuesday evening, I called on the Parish Church Council meeting and said something, stayed a few minutes and left. They all knew because Philip’s death had been announced by the Vicar after we had seen him Sunday morning. Stan Mills and Maureen Baggs hugged me, both unlikely people, to type it now seven months later brings tears to my eye.

Monday, I think, we drove to the Coroner’s Court in Birmingham to see Philip’s body and confirm or even prove that he really was dead. We made the 2 hour drive along the M1 and M6 in silence, my heart was pumping in peculiar expectation but as we neared Birmingham a wave of revulsion for the city hit me. We were interviewed by the Coroner’s Officer, a big gentle man. I had asked about the mortuary on the telephone. I feared an arrangement of filing cabinets but they said they had a chapel. It was a little room with a lobby in which we stood, me, Pam, our other children Joanna, Sally and Jonathan plus Joanna’s husband Andrew. There was an audible gasp, a clasping of hands as we focused and all saw him at the same instant. He lay behind a glass screen, lying on what, I suppose, is a bier. He looked big and not very familiar. His hair was not swept down over his face as normal but covered by a towel. To Pam and the girls he looked in profile like Jonathan, so much so that Sally’s initial thought was ‘they’ve got the wrong one’. Afterwards we must have seen the police because they told us some one was being interviewed in connection with Philip’s death and this was the first time I remember drugs being mentioned.

Tuesday and Wednesday passed as an agony filled dream. Tears and prayers, tea, washing up, sweeping the kitchen floor and the moonlit nights. People and telephone calls, the routine of morning dog walks and intermittent wailing from Pam. Thursday was Birmingham again for a 10 o’clock inquest. We saw Philip again in the little room and I remember a delay, I think they had to prepare him. We went into the court and waited while an inquest was carried out on another boy. His crying mother and step father were there and heard how the 14 year old had stolen a car, crashed outside his school and died. Our turn next. It lasted only a few minutes. I went into the witness box and made a formal identification of Philip. The coroner was interested in his exact address, correcting Selly Park to Selly Oak. He asked me questions I couldn’t answer adequately, about asthma and Philip’s general health, and that was that. The inquest was adjourned.

They gave us a brown manila envelope, six inches by eight and a half inches with “Birmingham City Council” printed on the flap, containing the original and a few copies of the Interim Certificate: Coroner’s Interim Certificate of the Fact of Death. Issued in Accordance with the Coroners Rules 1984, Sched. 4, Form 14 To whom it may concern: Name: Philip Walter Davies of 146 Bournbrook Road Selly Park (amended to Oak) Birmingham Died on 18th March 1995 The precise cause of death is yet to be established. Dated this 23rd day of March 1995 Signature Illegible Coroner for Birmingham and Solihull Districts Coroner’s Court Newton Street Birmingham B4 6NE The certificate was accompanied by a duplicated A4 size sheet: “The inquest upon the above-named person has been adjourned until a date to be fixed. You will be informed, in due course of the time and date of the full enquiry and summoned to attend….. the Registrar will then, and then only, on receipt of that document, register the death. Therefore, it will be of no avail to apply for a copy of the death certificate until the completed Inquest has been held. Applications for copies of the death certificate should not be made to the Registrar until at least three days have elapsed after the Inquest has been held. If distance is a problem, a telephone call to the appropriate Registrar’s Office (telephone number as above) to enquire the cost of the certificate (s) required, followed by a written application, plus cheque/postal order and stamped addressed envelope will ensure the prompt despatch of your documents. For the present, the document ‘Coroner’s Interim Certificate of the Fact of Death’ issued to you by this office following the opening of the Inquest will be of help in arranging insurance, bank accounts, or claiming a pension.”

We asked to see the Coroner, Dr. Whittington afterwards and told him that we understood Philip had died of drugs and the police thought they knew who had given it to him. He was sympathetic but non-committal. But then, what could he do or say. We drove to 146 Bournbrook Road, the house where we had been so pleased that Philip had chosen to live, close to the main gates of the University and where we were pleased that Natasha, his girl friend, had moved out of at the end of the second year, to live a few places along the road. As arranged on the phone the day before, housemates Mark and James (Jim) were there. We sat amongst unwashed mugs in the lounge as Mark gave us a very clear, steady story of the events. James who hadn’t been there the night of the death just sat looking tearful and comatose.

I remember little of the exact course of events. The police had left a message saying they would like to see us. We went to Belgrave Road police station and somehow Jonathan turned up with a group of people that the police wanted to interview. Another housemate John was there, his arm in plaster. Pam remembers him standing, crying, saying “I’m sorry, I just didn’t realise”. Also there was a friend, Gillian, who I remember hugging and Sally asking “did you tell the truth?” At some later stage we went back to Philip’s house for another cry on the bed in his room. We found on his side table a red cash box which contained a couple of mini polythene bags. There appeared to be a small tear of paper inside one bag which I did not really register but Jonathan suggested could be the drug LSD. We looked elsewhere in the room and found an empty box for electronic weighing scales and some cannabis. A hurried debate took place, right there where Philip had died, – were we going to endanger his good name?

We returned to the police station and D.C. Boyle (who seemed to be in charge) and an assistant arranged for us to follow them back to 146 Bournbrook Road where they carried out a quick but methodical examination of Philip’s room. I just stood in the doorway moving when necessary. They found more cannabis and other drug related paraphernalia including Macdonalds straws (some cut in half) that we were told were used for snorting cocaine. It was almost midnight by the time we left for home and having been sustained by an initial energy through the day I fell into an exhausted trance, so much so that we had to stop at every service station on the way.

The Funeral

The question of the funeral and burial arose. Philip’s body was not going to be available for a whole week, until after the post-mortem in Birmingham. We drove to ‘Elements’, the undertakers in nearby Pinner who had buried my parents, Pam’s parents and my grandmother. We saw a chirpy girl and a man in a dreadful bright shirt and yellow bow tie. Somehow he faded into the background to be replaced by a sober “Martin”, who eventually allowed us to call him “Mr Bradley”.

Leaving the shop, passing from behind the tinted glass to the bright sunlit strees, was leaving the real world for an illusionary one. By Tuesday, Philip had been delivered from Birmingham and we saw him in one of the cells off the corridor at the back of the undertakers’ shop: The sixth time that I had been there. He was lying in a coffin. We went in and touched him. Sometimes alone and sometimes in groups. Jonathan looked for signs of breathing, Pam had to open his eyes to make certain he was dead. She found his ear lobes soft and flexible. I took Joanna’s hand in mine and laid it on Philip’s face. She couldn’t manage it any other way. His girlfriend Natasha went to see him the following day. She went alone. Brave of her.

The funeral arrangements absorbed the time with lists, endlessly rewritten and rechurned. Several visits were made to arrange the printing of the Order Of Service. The vicar wanted to alter “St Anselm’s Church” to “The Parish Church of St Anselm.” Pam and I drove to Mrs Steffanoti for her to alter the clothing Pam was to wear; Mrs Roskilly and daughter were asked to provide refreshments after the funeral; The Vicar was consulted about the precise format of the service; Pam’s cousin’s husband (a clergyman) was asked to assist in the Service; Mrs Cracknell was asked to arrange the flowers; The notice in the Daily Telegraph was inserted: “DAVIES on March 18th. suddenly at the University of Birmingham, Philip Walter, aged 21. Very much loved younger son of Pamela and Geoffrey and brother to Joanna, Sally and Jonathan. A happy, loving and caring son he will be greatly missed. Funeral service at St. Anselm’s Church, Hatch End, at 12 noon, on Friday March 31st. Flowers to the family home, or if preferred, donations to St Luke’s Hospice, c/o Elements, Pinner, Middlesex”. In the misery, we felt that we were providing a funeral instead of a wedding for Philip.

Four people agreed to read little informal bits about Philip at the funeral. Mr.Whittaker, a member of staff from Haberdasher’s, Mark, the spokesman from his house at Birmingham, Nick, a friend from school, and Natasha. Originally we assumed that Anton who, when younger had been Philip’s closest friend, would read a tribute. He visited us however to say that he had to decline, the form of Judaism he had recently adopted did not permit him to be under the same roof as a dead body other than that of his mothers. I was very upset. He did, in fact, attend the funeral, but could only wait on the pavement outside.

We all went to see Philip for a last time. I bent down and looked under the coffin to find that it was but chipboard. We had an agonised discussion. Mr Bradley showed us some other coffins heaped in a room that was little more than a walk-in cupboard but they were not very different. He said that whilst it was his job to sell coffins it made no difference to Philip who, he believed, was now in a better place. He told us of one customer who had insisted on an elm coffin but delicately let us feel that it was better if we did nothing. Mr Bradley sat in his office while Pam and I whispered in the corridor as night fell. We asked him to photograph Philip. We asked him to let us have a lock of his hair. We left with our other children as Mr Bradley locked the door, going home leaving Philip behind.

I showered carefully on the day of the funeral, scrubbing my toenails under the shower. Cleanliness seemed important. I could remember the same impulse at my parents’ funerals. I went to the church to check all was well. The flowers Mrs Cracknell had arranged were beautiful. I was anxious that the trestles on which Philip’s coffin would lie were too close to the front row of seating, obstructing the passage of those who were going to read from the lectern. Mr Sherwood who was there supervising dissuaded me from altering the position of the bier. He was quite right.

Back home our neighbour, Mr Bearman, an irascible man whom I have loved since he broke into tears when I told him of Philip’s death, asked if he could help in any way. We set him to listing the names of those who had sent flowers to our house. Relatives assembled and we waited and waited. The hearse came only too soon and we left for the St. Anselm’s. The church was full. It is sinful to wish for a full congregation but I had encouraged people to come. Relatives, friends from Pam’s French group, staff and Philip’s friends from Haberdasher’s, some people from Pinner Methodist church where Philip had been to the Sunday school and friends of Philip from Birmingham. Some friends of mine came. I wish I had valued them more in the past. Henry Guy came, he is a partner in Neville Russell, our work auditors, but I do not believe he came with commercial considerations in mind. It was not possible not to cry.

We followed the coffin into the church and sat on the left hand side at the front, in the rows Mr. Sherwood had marked off with a soft red rope. We sang as we entered, “He who would valiant be, ‘Gainst all disaster” The Vicar pronounced the Greeting. I read from Isaiah and said a prayer I had composed myself and repeat every night since, in some form or other. Jonathan read 1 Corinthians 13 followed by a poem. Then we sang our favourite hymn starting; Lord the light of your love is shining In the midst of the darkness shining Jesus light of the world come upon us Set us free by the truth you now bring us Shine on me, Shine on me. With the magnificent repeating refrain: Shine Jesus Shine Fill this land with the Father’s glory Blaze Spirit blaze Set our hearts on fire Flow river flow Flood the nations with grace and mercy Send forth your word Lord, and let there be light. We sang loudly and with tears.

Pam’s cousin is married to Canon Edwin Barnes and he read the Gospel reading. The Vicar gave an address, saying at some point that Philips death was God’s will. We sang “The day thou gavest, Lord is ended” and the Intercessions followed. We sang ” Lord of all hopefulness, Lord of all joy” The Eucharistic Prayer, the Lords Prayer came and went. Mass started and the communicants came, slowly at first and then in a steady stream that I hoped would never end. Some came holding a hymn book for a blessing but most took the bread and wine. The hymn, “Thine be the glory risen conquering Son” preceded what we had described in the Order of Service as, “Words from Friends”. Mr Whittaker looked uncomfortable as he read. Nick swayed as he spoke, at one point he said “I almost expect Phil to jump out from the curtain behind me”. Mark, in his Essex/East London accent had prepared well. He posted the text to us later. Natasha was tearful but composed. The Commendation and Farewell passed. The Vicar and Edwin Barnes motioned to Pam and I to come forward at the end and sprinkle water on the coffin. We did, rather awkwardly. Even then, it was possible to be inhibited by embarrassment. We followed the coffin out of the church singing “And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England’s Mountains green?” Alone outside wearing a smart suit stood Anton, he had not moved from his sentry position outside the main door. It was nice to think of someone standing guard.

On the front of the order of service we had printed the following: When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. It was attributed to an author with an Arabic name which we had omitted. The Vicar asked us where we had got it from. A friend of Jonathan’s had suddenly died the year before and his funeral had included those words, now passed on along a chain of grief.

What Philip will think of his funeral service, I cannot think. It worries me that he did not live long enough to begin to trust the mysteries of Christianity. The penultimate time we saw him was at the funeral of my Aunt Lily, who experienced a humanist funeral. To our daughters, Pam and I, it was a bleak, barren affair. Philip and Jonathan liked it, admiring I suspect, its cold courage. I pray that I may be permitted to atone for Philip’s rejection of Christ which, if he had lived, I am sure would not have persisted. Leaving the Church the cortege drove through the Hatch End shops and turned left along St Thomas’s Drive, taking the same route that my parents have travelled and I suppose, Pam and I, shall. The internment was quick. The grave was very deep. I was shocked to see Philip lying so far below. So was Pam. She referred to it later. I sought to console her by saying “think of him as being safe there”. By the time we had finished we could still see people and cars streaming in through the cemetery gates below. I both wanted to hurry on and to wait for them to come and see the open grave. But I turned away saying “God be with you my boy”.

My parents and grandmother are buried in Pinner New Cemetery (Pam’s parents were both cremated). Their funerals were arranged by the undertakers and the burial plots allocated without reference to the mourners. We did not know where my father would be interred until the hearse arrived at the cemetery. It was simply assumed that my mother would lie with my father. I went to the cemetery the morning of her funeral, saw a young man digging her grave and asked “do a good job”. With Philip it was different. Joanna, Jonathan and I went to see the proposed burial site in advance and did not feel it appropriate. It was low lying, inclined to be marshy, perhaps would allow for only one burial and was very close to the chain link fence dividing it from a school playground. It may be a sin, but I did not like to think of Philip lying dead while other children cavorted so close. Sai Baba would say that my love for Philip is possessive love and lacking in love. There was in fact one nice corner site with a bench and a tree but this was thought to be assigned. Prior to Philip’s death, Sally had booked this week off from work to look at possible reception venues for her wedding in the summer. Instead we were looking for possible burial sites.

We drove to Harrow Weald Cemetery where the Superintendent of Harrow local authority cemeteries had his office and found that Philip could be buried there, closer to home, but not on a route we went along much and away from his grandparents and great grandmother. Not in any case a particularly attractively sited burial plot. The superintendent had a plan of Pinner New Cemetery. There were alternatives. Perhaps he could be buried with my parents? Some graves will take two people, some just one person and some as many as three. He would find out. There were places available higher on the hill but they were in Section M, an area designated as “lawn” which meant there were restrictions on monuments. We drove to have a look and found Mrs Barber there. Just a week earlier, while Philip lived, I had heard of the death of her eleven year old Emma who had unexpectedly died while undergoing an operation by the famous surgeon,Yacoub. Mrs Barber had chosen the plot in preference to the children’s section which was a dark, gloomy tree enclosed area containing graves with strange names. She was very glad she had come to look at the cemetery. We liked the idea of Philip being close to Emma so we told the superintendent we would like to choose a plot in Section M. There was a minor problem as the area had still to be dedicated but fortunately the vicar said this was just a two minute ceremony he could perform immediately before the burial. Graves in the London Borough of Harrow’s cemeteries are leased with an exclusive right of burial for fifty years. One can lease a plot for ten years without making use of it and with permission renew the lease for a further period. So we leased three other plots, one to the left and two to the right of Philip’s. The superintendent made it easy for us to change our minds saying it was expensive and he would delay putting the papers through to give us an opportunity for reflection, but I am glad we went ahead. Pam and I will, I suppose, be buried with Philip. What the others will want to do in due course, remains open.

The funeral cars bought us back to the house. Mrs Roskilly and her team had food and drink ready served by several women and at least two men. I stood by the door, hugging women and shaking men by the hand. Most I did not recognise. A plumpish man introduced himself, “Professor Feldman from the University”; an awkward conversation with a shifty looking Bryn; a girl said “I loved him”. Whether Philip’s ‘new friends’ were there, I do not know. No students appeared to fit the description of a ‘druggie’ although some went into the garden to smoke, I remember clearing up the cigarette butts later.

Letters Of Condolence

The letters we received were a solace: replying was both painful and consoling. At this time humour was a very subordinate emotion. One felt that God was not interested in jokes and understood why the Bible is not a humorous book. Nevertheless, even now over a year later a few letters provoked a black, wry smile and in one case even some anger. Some people cut to the quick with a use of language that was precise and delicate. And some wrote a clumsy letter at first and followed it later with an exquisite gem. Those that were perhaps the most welcome were from people we hardly knew. Or were from people who knew Philip but were strangers to us. Why this should be I do not know for sure, in part it may be the generosity of spirit implicit in an unexpected letter, in part the realisation that there was more to Philip’s life than we ourselves knew, the fact that he made a difference elsewhere. New letters still come, even now.

Dear Geoff and Pam, Friday’s service was very moving and there was a sense of total sympathy and understanding from everyone present. No one can feel the same pain and sorrow as you both and the family but we share in it for you. Perhaps it makes it a little easier to know that you do not face it all alone. You do not deserve this great tragedy but it must be some comfort to know that you could not have buried Philip with more love and affection. He deserved that and you gave it to him. I dearly hope that in time the pain will soften and the memories become kinder. Philip would want that and, as his friends said, he would ask you to ‘smile a little.’ We hold your hands across the gulf of existence and give you all the love and support we can offer, now and in the future. With our love,

Dear Pam and Geoff, We were very sad to hear this evening, just after returning from a weekend in Hatch End with Brenda and Peter of the sudden death of your son Philip. We can only begin to imagine what you must be experiencing in terms of shock and sorrow – we have often said to each other that the loss of a child must be one of the most devastating bereavements one can suffer. We were talking to Sarah on the phone last week and she told us about the factory fire- you must be wondering what else 1995 has in store for you. However, we also hear on the grapevine that Sally is engaged and we are sure that that is a bright spot on the horizon for you and something good to hold on to. With our love and deepest sympathy to you both and to Joanna, Sally and Jonathan.

Dear Pam & Geoff, We were very sad to hear the news of Philip’s death, and send our love to try and offer some small measure of support in the coming months. It will not be easy to come to terms with the futility and waste you must feel at his early passing, but try to remember the good things that he brought to your life during his short stay on this earth. I believe we all come with a role to play in the scheme of things- a life lesson you would call it. I also believe that life continues beyond the physical, and those who have passed over, as Philip did, bear a great feeling of guilt and responsibility for the suffering they have caused their family. I hope that you can find it in your hearts to forgive him and release him from the burden of sorrow that must accompany him. I’d like to tell you a story of a situation we’ve become involved with since moving to Queensland. We have a clairvoyant working at our shop. A year or so ago she did a reading for a woman who believed her husband and three other men were drowned at sea in a small yacht off the east coast of Australia. During the reading it became clear to Marilyn that these men were not dead. A lot of people have been involved in trying to track the path of the life raft dropped to the men, and subsequently lost. Those involved are clairvoyants, astrologers, navigation experts etc., but the bulk of the clues are coming from “discarnate sources” The situation has reached a point where aircraft are to set out again- after five years- to try to find the three men believed still alive. One is thought to be “dead” even though information is also coming from him. The point is that the “dead” skipper of the boat- the “Rockin Robin” feels tremendous guilt that he’s caused the hardship to his friends and family- and he’s thought to be in self imposed limbo- unable to move on until the survivors are found. Guilt is holding him there. You may wonder at the point of all this – simply I feel it is that Philip needs to be assured that you can forgive him, thereby allowing him to move on in his growth. This is not easy for you all, I know as the emptiness and grief you are feeling is hard to bear. I have no idea how I would cope in similar circumstances- all I can do is to try and make clear my understanding of the situation, so please say a prayer for him if that is your way, or just talk to him and he will hear you. You may even become aware in some way of his thoughts. Our move to Queensland was unexpected and totally unplanned even as recently as March. I always felt there was a “reason” for the move- new experiences, perhaps, or a chance to “grow” in some way. I’m not sure I’ve discovered the exact reason, but at least the shop seems to be doing well financially and everyone seems pleased with the range of books etc. we have on offer. I wish you all peace and understanding, and we both send our love [Dear Pam, Since writing the enclosed letter I wondered whether I should send it or not. It’s very much a statement of my feelings and beliefs and you and Geoff may find it inappropriate. If this is the case, I’m sorry. If however, you do feel comforted by it to any degree at all, I will feel I made the right decision to send it.]

Dear Geoff and Pamela, Suzie and I were deeply saddened to hear the news. If there is anything I can do…..do call. (from Sunday 26/3 I am away until April 2nd.); I shall seek to bring back with me a little something in an attempt to hearten you both a little, but meanwhile “Courage” and “God bless”…mysterious these things.

Dear Mr & Mrs Davis, Though we do not know each other, I hope you do not mind that I felt I had to write to you. My son James was in Philip’s class at Haberdashers and went up to Birmingham at the same time, they were friends for many years. I was saddened by Philip’s untimely passing, it is a tragedy and I just wanted to say that my and all my family’s hearts go out to you at this terrible moment in your lives. I met Philip on a number of occasions over the years and always warmed to his lively personality and handsome looks. He was a very fine boy. His life was too short but hopefully it was a happy one. I hope that in time you will all find the strength to cope with this tragedy that has befallen your family. Yours sincerely

Dear Pamela and Geoff, When you Geoff, rang me with the news of Philip’s death I was shocked and devastated. Christine and I cannot really find any words or actions by us that will help you both live through this tragedy. Yes we will both send our prayers that you both will find the inner resources of strength and resolution to carry you through and beyond this situation. I say this as an agnostic. I have yet to come to terms with a number of my own fundamental doubts – but my knowledge of close friends leaves me in no doubt that they have roots buried in faith which gives them a peaceful resolution to face ordeals. I regret not being able to share this and I don’t know how I would cope in a similar situation. But somehow it seems easier to pray for others and we will be thinking of you constantly in the weeks to come. The last nine months have seen us as witnesses to repeated tragedies with friends of our three children. In all cases they were friends of three young men who have taken their own lives. There was no obvious pattern – except that one common factor was links to drugs; in one case a young man had been found to be HIV positive. With all our children, they exist in a sub culture we do not pretend to understand. The issues of jobs, personal relationships, drug experimentation, have led to many young women and young men feeling isolated, cynical, in despair and disillusionment. Even those with apparent security seem not to have either sufficient time or motivation to render help to their own peer group. With all, there is a sense of us as parents being out of touch. We just don’t know what extra support we can give them – or even know from day to day the minor crises they face which may ultimately build up into something which becomes unmanageable at one point in time. Immediately, you have a traumatic period ahead of you. We have found with the tragedies recently encountered by the parents of our children’s friends that the resolution most people have to put a brave face on the arrangements for funerals, post-mortems and, or inquests, becomes sorely tried in the weeks or months that follow. Initially, there will be a long period of terrible flatness and we hope that through your church, your beliefs and your friends you will have care, love and support to carry you through. We now ask ourselves what can we do? If you both – or separately – feel like phoning us and simply talking then please do; if you feel you can write – and feel instinctively that you can share your anguish then please do write and we will reply as best we can. If it would help and you feel up to it, we could call on you for the day; go for a walk; and yes, talk about Philip. We are away in June, but could call between Easter and then. God Bless you both

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Davies and family, This is just a short note to tell you how sorry I am to hear the sad news about Phil. I lived next door to Phil in the first year and he was a great friend. He was always popping in for a friendly chat, or keeping us entertained with his juggling. He would always stop to say hello and have a chat if we met on campus. He will be missed very much. I am sorry that I was unable to attend the funeral today but this is to let you know that I am thinking of you all. I am sending you my sympathy and hope that this helps, if only in a small way. Love and Best Wishes

The Diary Weeks 3 to 15 – the first scribbles

May Me, crying at the graveside, hugging Natasha, “it’s such a beautiful world” I find it difficult to understand how Natasha can put jelly babies on the grave, “they’re Philip’s favourites,” leave a balloon there, and smoke by the grave. But I like the idea of a candle left to burn overnight. As we sat by the grave I asked Natasha what Philip thought about drugs. “He said drugs should be used, not abused”

Natasha is upset about the delay in calling the ambulance. The ambulance men tried to revive Philip even though he’d been dead some time. “Do they always do that?” We were at the grave, Sally, Pam, me, Jonathan, Natasha and a girl called Lucy. Pam, Natasha and I were huddled at the top left hand corner, crying. Natasha said, “I don’t want him to become just a memory.” On the landing at home Pam repeated it to Sally, who said, “it’s inevitable” and apologised.

Philip had told Natasha that he took his first ecstasy tablet two weeks before his A levels. He thought he was being cautious, leaving plenty of time to recover. He didn’t mess up his exams. Others did.

We’ve all put our clocks forward for summer time. All apart from Phil, so we did it for him.

June 5 – Philip’s acceptance at Chester Law school has come through. Distraught but pleased.

Was it Philip’s first time? How much does 1.3mg look like? How quickly did he collapse? Seeing your child in their coffin alters you forever. No anticipation. I can’t cope with any other conversation but I delight in hearing about other disasters.

Philip’s ‘A to Z’ book is now going to be used by Jonathan. I think of his decomposition. It is a betrayal to return to places from before his death.

Natasha brought round a letter. She had been pregnant with Philip’s child; aborted. She could not face telling Pam so sat in front of her whilst she read the letter. Uncontrollable crying interspersed with yawning.

Weeks 16 to 28 – from July to September

24th July Bryn met Natasha’s sister by chance in London. “I’ve put all that behind me- I’ve forgotten Birmingham. I have a new life” he told her over coffee.

27th July Philip’s friend Nick called at home which was nice of him. He said Philip had tried L.S.D. while at school. Pam has been having panic attacks especially when shopping. She says the pain, in a sense, worsens as other people forget and it closes in on us only. Young people’s horizons expand, Philip’s are closing. An arrow from the bow has turned and is lost somewhere close.

2nd August Jonathan and I went to work together in the normal way. I telephoned D.C.Boyle just after nine to ask him how he was getting on, and whether he had received the fax I sent him. He said he thought we would be in Birmingham today for the Hearing so I told him that the Magistrates Court had said there was no listing. He was surprised, offered to find out and ring back. He did so in five minutes; Court 9, 2 o’clock, 1.45 for prisoners. Jonathan and I altered arrangements, went home, collected our suits and arrived around 12.45, eating sandwiches and changing in the car park. Our solicitor, Mr. Cotter rang when we were driving up. He said he would come. It might be a non event. The Crown Prosecution Service representative, or agent, in Court would have thirty or more files and would probably know nothing of Philip’s case. The police, Cotter said, would let us look at the photographs taken in Philip’s room but didn’t want them out of their possession. Alex Johnson was in a suit, his hair in a bun. A friend came with him. I introduced myself to the C.P.S. man, a Mr. Barker who later told the Court that Philip was said to have been drunk. The toxicology report shows under five milligrams in his blood, a minute amount, less than one pint. I hope that doesn’t matter. Who is the witness, Joan Wright, that Johnson has been told to keep away from? After the court hearing we went to see Martin Banks, a rather scruffy young man, at the Birmingham Post and then waited to see D.C.Boyle at the police station. Also waiting there was a man who said he had been arrested after catching and tying up two of three youths he and a neighbour had caught after they had broken into his house.

3rd August Pam, Sally and I left home about midday and drove to see Mr. Cotter, stopping close by to eat the sandwiches Pam had prepared. He had arranged for us to see a pathologist who ran through the ambulance, toxicology and post mortem reports. He couldn’t say much. I suspect he was not familiar with drugs. The time of death was probably six to twelve hours before the ambulance was called at four o’clock, Saturday afternoon. Ambulance Report PT FOUND BY FELLOW STUDENTS LYING ON R SIDE ON BED UNRESPONSIVE COLD TO TOUCH AND STIFF – NOT SEEN SINCE LAST NIGHT! TOLD BY FELLOW STUDENTS THAT HE WENT TO BED LAST NIGHT AFTER DRINKING A LARGE AMOUNT + TAKING ? HEROIN ? BLOOD SEEN AROUND NOSE AND ON PILLOW + SMALL AMOUNT OF ? GASTRIC CONTENT Toxicology Report ANALYSIS DID NOT SHOW THE PRESENCE OF A TOXICOLOGICALLY SIGNIFICANT QUANTITY OF ETHYL ALCOHOL IN THE BODY OF THE DECEASED. THE CONCENTRATION OF MORPHINE IN THE BODY IS AT A LEVEL ASSOCIATED WITH FATALITY AND MAY HAVE CAUSED DEATH. THE PRESENCE OF BENZOYLECGONINE IN THE URINE IS CONSISTENT WITH THE DECEASED HAVING USED COCAINE AT SOME TIME PRIOR TO DEATH. No kidney or liver damage. The cocaine in his urine could have been taken many days earlier if it was part of a large dose. It was not possible to say if the heroin had been taken in one or two doses. It was probably eaten rather than sniffed as there was so much in his blood. Other common drugs not detected. We discussed various matters with Mr Cotter. He praised the proposed letters to Bryn and John and vetoed that to Alex Johnson. He made a strong point that as Crown Court proceedings now appeared likely, we had to be seen in the role of victims, not as pursuers of Johnson. After leaving Mr.Cotter in Walsall we drove to Mellisa (Mo’s) lodging’s in Pershore Road, Birmingham known as “The Palace”. I’ve asked her to tell the police all she knows. Mo said that as I hadn’t made up my mind whether or not I was going to contact her parents, she wouldn’t see me, so Pam and Sally went in. I sat in the car in the road that leads to Philip’s lodgings, wrote and walked around. Odd how one feels Philip lives. There is a Baptist church nearby. Stickers say “Jesus Lives”

4th August Pam woke crying. She is frantic and miserable. I dreamt of Philip. He looked like a smaller Alex Johnson and miserable. I put my arms around him and told him we loved him. Pam is crying now as she irons my shirt. Yesterday upset her. She didn’t ask Mo all she wanted to.

August – Undated The story of Phil arriving home from the Guild of Students appears to have been orchestrated. Mark told us that Phil fell asleep on John’s bed and was carried to his own. When I spoke to his parents, they had been told that Phil was found collapsed on the top of the stairs, James’ parents had heard likewise. Do they feel so guilty for not calling an ambulance? WE DON’T CARE. WE NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. And why did they call Alex Johnson on his mobile at 3.55am? Why didn’t they tell the police?

11th August Jonathan rang Philip’s bank today. It is about 20 weeks now. I begin to feel better. On Friday 11th August I want to have the garden nice for when Philip comes back.

11th August A few days before he died, the man coming to collect his damaged car asked if he could use the toilet. Philip said yes, then remembering there was no toilet paper, bounded after him, shouting “Is it number one or number two’s?”

12th August Pam dreamt about Phil last night, the first time. She heard the phone ring and his footsteps- a long stride, behind her, as he went to answer it. That’s all. I was in the garden Friday night. It will be nice to get it right for when he comes back.

17th August I think I see why I could not persuade Philip to keep a diary and send me details of how he spent his time at Birmingham, even in return for money as an incentive. Philip didn’t want his Birmingham friends to come to his 21st celebration. We understand. He said “they wouldn’t fit in.”

18th August I put the radio on in the car for the first time today and played French tapes. It was six weeks before we had turned on the kitchen radio again, twelve weeks before the television. It was about then that I remember our first joke, or at least our first humour, a rather feeble misunderstanding between ‘Pinewood’ and a ‘Pile of wood’.

19th August At first there was a rush to empty Phil’s room, now we dare not touch it. Pam said she looked at his room today without a ‘stab’. She then woke in the middle of the night with dread panic that we would grow old and he wouldn’t recognise us.

21st August I found a name, Jennings, with an address and telephone number, 01895 237 890, that I didn’t recognise. So I rang it. They remembered. It was the garage that had repaired Philip’s Peugeot, damaged two weeks before he died, that he never saw repaired. I am glad he knew it was insured and was going to be repaired. Natasha had enthused “It’ll come back bigger and better. We won’t tell the others.” I am sorry I did not talk to him about it. How I regret saying, when we decided not to go and see him after the car accident, “let him sweat a little”.

22nd August 23 weeks now. I dreamt that Philip had come back. He was very young in a blue school blazer that was too big for him. He was grinning. I took him to meet Pam and he held my hand, dropping it as we passed someone in the corridor, grimacing and half catching it after. Intense joy. Pam in the classroom was a bit cold and Philip disappeared. I think I saw him run off. I thought I saw him hiding in a clothes locker but it was another boy. We searched in long streets to no avail. I completed a Patient Registration Form for the nearby Elliot Hall doctors clinic. Pam asked if I could take Philip’s place. Initially they had told her that they were not accepting new registrations for people living locally but “reserving them for people moving into the area”. When I told Dr. Regunnathan that I wanted to change from his list I asked him about his Guru and he lent me a book, Sai Baba, Man of Miracles.

23rd August Over five months later I still get a shocked incredulous reaction at the realisation that Philip is dead.

28th August I feel I don’t know anybody. The bank holiday by ourselves is nasty.

29th August We are much worse. Pam’s crying more and I have a stomach (or sort of) pain again. I think it’s from the need to telephone Mark, John, Bryn and Mo. Philip chose curious friends and housemates.

2nd September I do not like locking the front door, pushing the bolt to. It is like locking Philip out. Each time I say “We are not locking you out Philip, because you are in our hearts for ever”.

September – various dates The University showed great sympathy when they first learned of Philip’s death. We had four official letters. The Dean of the Faculty of Law wrote on Monday, within forty eight hours of his body being found. “I am writing to express my great sorrow in learning of the tragic events concerning your son, Philip. It is a terrible thing to have happened to someone of his age who had so much to look forward to. I know only too well that there is little which I can usefully say which can help his immediate family to come to terms with this tragedy. None the less I wished to write on behalf of the Faculty of Law to express our sorrow and sense of loss. Please do not hesitate to contact us if we can help in any way.” The Vice Chancellor and Principal, Professor Sir Michael Thompson, on the following day, wrote a top and tailed letter. “I and my colleagues here were all very shocked when we heard of the sudden and tragic death of your son and I wanted to write on behalf of the University to send our very deepest sympathy to you. This will be an enormous blow for you and it has distressed us greatly here. He was well liked by the staff who taught him and by his fellow students in the Faculty of Law, and we had looked forward to seeing him through to his degree. He will be greatly missed.” On Thursday 23rd March Professor Feldman, the Barber Professor of Jurisprudence, sent a hand written letter. “It was a great shock to learn of Philip’s death. There is nothing one can say or do which can be of any comfort to you in such circumstances, but, for what it is worth, my thoughts are with you and your family. Many people in the Faculty- colleagues and students- share with you a profound sense of loss. In that respect, at least, you are not alone, and the knowledge that many people have fond memories of Philip may help. If there is anything I can do to help at the Birmingham end, please do not hesitate to contact me” Professor Feldman came to the funeral. Mr Meisel wrote in early April. “I have just returned from teaching in Mauritius and learned the sad news about Philip- (the fax from the faculty advising me never found its way to me or I would have contacted you sooner) Please will you accept my condolences. I was Philip’s personal tutor and would wish to express my own sadness at these events. I understand that you will be visiting the faculty on Friday. Regrettably, I shall be away from the faculty on that day but if you would like an opportunity to discuss things with me, please do not hesitate to contact me.” In the week after Philip’s death we called on the University. They treated us with consideration and offered what material comforts they could, a meal in the staff dining room and the offer of accommodation in the University’s campus hotel. But we preferred to drive home. I am sure that the quiet courtesy shown by everyone we met reflected an inner sympathy. It was not until later, when we wanted the university to pursue policies that would lesson the likelihood of our son’s tragedy being re-enacted, that differences appeared and the empathy lessened. We knew little of Philip’s last night. He had gone to the University campus and spent the evening in the Guild of Students. After a row with Philip, Natasha had left the Guild with a girlfriend Gillian. Later, he had arrived home at the house he shared with four other students. At least two of them were awake but the inarticulate mumblings they first gave concerning Philip’s return, conflicted with the clear story given a few days later by Mark who had been asleep on his return. None of Philip’s close friends could help us piece together his last movements with certainty – ‘I only saw him in the toilet’ ; ‘I don’t know how he got back, I presume he walked’. Partly for our own satisfaction, and partly to assist the police, who by this time had told us that a man had been interviewed in connection with giving drugs to Philip, we asked the University if we could display posters of Philip, asking for information to be given to the police. The university registrar agreed to this when we emphasised the approval of the police but was emphatic that the distribution of the posters had to be in the hands of the University. No students ever responded. At the same meeting we also asked if an announcement could be made at lectures along the following lines. “As you may be aware, third year law student Philip Davies died on the night of Friday 17th March after taking a drug. He had spent that night in the Guild and was found the next day in his room in Bournbrook Road. If anyone believes that they may have information to help the enquiry, please contact either one of the following: D.C.Mike Boyle at Belgrave Road Police station (off Bristol Rd., Nr McDonalds), or Sarah Mortimer of the Guild of Students” This request was not welcome and was partially agreed to unwillingly. Telephone calls were necessary to prevent it being limited to a few lectures and I doubt whether many students heard the announcement. The Law Faculty probably did co-operate in letting most students hear the plea for help. The reason for the reluctance is unclear, the ostensible reason being a frequently repeated statement that it “was unsuitable in an academic context.” Our next point of difference was a letter of re-assurance we wanted from the University. My other son, Jonathan, had been asking Philip’s friends about the use and supply of drugs within the university and receiving little assistance. Assuming that students reticence and denials of any detailed personal knowledge of drug use (although agreeing that drugs were widely used) arose from anxiety as to the effects on their academic careers of any information they might offer, we asked if the University would supply the following letter. Re Philip Davies Strictly confidential to the above enquiry The University expects all members to co-operate fully with the police inquiry into the death of Philip Davies. Whist the inquiry can not be totally withdrawn from the context of the University, it is an external matter. I hereby assure you that no disciplinary record will be created where a member of the University, in the course of the inquiry, admits to past possession or consumption of drugs. The Registrar of the University, would not agree to the sentence in italics and it was altered to; “I hereby assure any member of the University co-operating with the police that any information he or she passes to the police in connection with their inquiries will be treated as confidential by the police.” I found it difficult to understand why the University wanted to reduce the efficacy of the letter in this way because as latter discussion revealed the University’s approach was dominated by two factors. 1. They were anxious that drugs were not sold or consumed on University premises. They claimed that the premises of the Students Guild although an integral part of the campus, were not “University premises” 2. After bearing 1. above in mind their overwhelming concern was that the civil rights of their students should not be infringed. For example, I tentatively suggested that the parents of students who I knew to be taking drugs should be informed. They feared the University might be sued if there was any suggestion that the University had made available the addresses of students’ parents, “who are nearly all adults of over eighteen whose rights we must respect.” Raves, were and are, widely advertised in the university with posters that make coded references to the availability of drugs. The university again was not willing to take any steps to prevent such publicity. In the second half of 1995 I exchanged three letters with Mr. Holmes, Secretary and Registrar of the University of Birmingham. The police had told me that the University were enquiring into the availability of drugs within the University campus. I wrote on the 28th June. “Dear Mr. Holmes I understand that the University is holding an enquiry into the use of drugs among undergraduates and others. Following the death of my son, Philip after taking a drug at the Guild Building I have a natural interest in this enquiry as well as some knowledge of the matter. I would be grateful if you would tell me what action the University is taking and let me know if I can be of any assistance whatsoever.” The reply was dated 6th July; “Thank you for your letter of 28 June. As I am sure you are aware, the University takes the problem of drug usage very seriously and a lot of measures have been in place for some years- such as the briefing of staff (especially those in University residences) about tell-tale signs, a code for the handling of suspicious or evidence of usage, (sic) liaison with the police about action by them and/or disciplinary action by us, and the availability of the Student Support and Counselling Service which gives considerable help in this area. There is nothing new in all this, though our measures are always under review and a new development is the introduction of a drugs awareness and educational campaign arranged in collaboration with the Guild of Students, for the start of the new Session in October. In one sense, therefore, we always have an eye to the situation from the point of view of our legal obligations as well as that of pastoral care. But if you refer to a specific enquiry I am afraid I cannot help because I know of none. (my italics) I hope this helps to clarify the situation.” This letter upset me. The police had told me that complaints had been received as to the activities of an “Alex” (no surname) selling drugs on campus, six months before Philip died. The only new initiative mentioned by Mr. Holmes was one in collaboration with the Guild of Students and the approach of the Guild can perhaps best be judged from one of their Rag Publications: “Pharmacology and Therapeutics Lecture 69 Drugs which are commonly abused Alcohol- Obtained from Bars and Public Houses. Taken orally, normal dose varies between 5 and 10 pints. Most commonly prescribed is Newcastle Brown Ale, trade name ‘Dog’. Acts centrally by inhibiting acceptable behaviour. Above the therapeutic range the Chemoreceptor Trigger Zone may produce a vomiting response. Side effects include frequenting Curry houses in the Selly Oak area, sleeping with people you wouldn’t spit on when you were sober, singing Rugby songs and saying embarrassing things. Also Willie droop Syndrome may be observed in the badly affected. Cannabis- Trade name ‘Ganja’. Usually bought from dubious individuals called ‘Dave’ and smoked at Selly Oak Lawyers Parties. Acts f*****g brilliantly with an increased tendency to laugh at things which aren’t funny. Ecstasy- Trade name ‘Acciiieeeeed’. Only taken when dancing to crap music. Acts by inhibiting the ‘Music Taste Centre’ in the Hypthalamus. It was first used to enable Record Store users to work for long periods of time while listening to Kylie Minoque singles. Cocaine- Taken nasally. Produces an euphoric effect of making you forget how much you paid for it. Acts on the ‘Crack’ receptor in the CNS. Side effects- Spending lots of money in a short time, e.g., a term’s grant in a week-end. Heroin- Trade name ‘Smack’. Taken by prats. Acts by knocking five shades of shot out of your CNS. Makes you think you can do anything you want to do, including giving it up. Side effects- being arrested, being cremated.

4th September I remember the shock, for Pam in particular, of seeing Philip in a coffin. And how I worried about the coffin having a chipboard base. All chipboard really, I think. It takes time to have a really nice coffin made. And how Pam and I hesitated and asked for photographs to be taken. Much better to have a man in a suit you didn’t have to call by his Christian name. He told me that in Ireland his family had a plot where there was room for them all to be buried close together. I must have been reminded of all this by the man at the cemetery who has lost three of his four children. Two are buried in Pinner new cemetery with Philip. He spoke cheerfully of the ground settling as the coffin gave way. Mr. Slagmuylder whose wife died two years ago and lies close was upset by this. He mentioned it to me afterwards. He had not thought of it before. I hate the thought of earth around Philip’s mouth. The Old Haberdashers magazine came. Obituaries are on pages five to twenty. Philip is there. It made me cry. Not much about him. There’s no hint of drugs, I’m not sure whether that’s by design or not. Jonathan wrote most of it and the editor added the last sentence. “Philip W. DAVIES (1980-91)- Philip died suddenly, as the result of respiratory failure whilst asleep during the night of 17th March 1995. At the time of the tragedy he was living an active life in Birmingham where he was in the third year of his degree course in Law. His family would like to express their gratitude to the many friends from his days at the School who either wrote or attended his funeral service. Their support has been invaluable in helping them to come to terms with such a devastating loss. Philip’s parents are presently compiling a book about his life and any contributions would be gladly welcomed. We would wish to add the Association’s condolences on the tragic event, with the hope that the passage of the past months has helped to ease the family’s unexpected and tragic loss.” Shortly after Philip’s death I walked past the kitchen window and thought ‘in a few years he will be forgotten’. There’s a Jamie Rumble Fund and a Jo Daynes Fund. What shall we do for Philip?

7th September Natasha told Pam she was going out with some of Phil’s old schoolfriends. They rang her later and told her they were not going. Natasha called round next morning at the house of one of them and they were all there. They had been out. They were all very ‘woosey’. They explained they had told her they were not going out as they thought she wouldn’t like them taking ecstasy. Pam thought Phil would be amused at our nearly being locked in the park this evening. He would certainly like the Birmingham Magistrates Court’s telephonist thinking I was Alex Johnson when I phoned today to check the date of the next hearing. But Pam was upset when she heard the word “wicked” on T.V.

8th September I didn’t know until today that Philip is buried with an earring in his left lobe. Pam told me. I told Pam to buy and use more of the lemon meringue. Philip’s favourite although I didn’t know so when he was alive.

9th September Odd that Andrew should say at the funeral, “It would surprise you if Philip reached up”. He would have started at Chester Law College, Monday last.

11th September I was driving to Manor Lodge School, or perhaps it was Joanna’s, thinking “I’m glad my parents don’t know about my misery,” suddenly sensed, “my mother does know” and felt strengthened; not less miserable but different and stronger.

Mid September 95 Sally heard on the radio a reference to Mark, D.J.ing in Vauxhall.

15th September No progress at the new hearing in Birmingham, just case administration. It was a small court and I had to sit next to Alex as we waited. He has cut off his ponytail. Afterwards I saw D.C. Boyle who was worried about my loss of weight.

21st September D.C.Boyle came today to take a statement from Jonathan. He stayed and had lunch with us. Afterwards I drove him round to Julie’s parents’ house for him to take a statement from her about what Philip had told her. Pam told me later that she felt an initial revulsion when Boyle arrived, as if the sinister fantasy scenario of Philip’s death had suddenly become tangible in our own home. Why should the dates in the sales files be so painful? Especially those around 1980 when Philip was seven or so. September – undated I do not understand the world in which Philip had lived in Birmingham. Philip’s friends there rapidly formed a defensive group and, with the odd exception, denied to ourselves and to the police that they had any detailed knowledge of drug dealing or recreational drug use within their circle. Natasha has told the police all she knows and as a result has gradually been ostracised by the group. One of them, Mo, actually wrote to Natasha three to four weeks after Philip’s death, protesting at the efforts that my son Jonathan was making to elucidate the circumstances surrounding his brother’s death and complaining about the posters we had distributed, asking for information. She gave as one reason that Philip would not wish it. Dear Natasha, Before you start reading this letter, I want to remind you of what good friends we’ve been. Since last summer when you and Phil started to come round the Palace, especially after a good night out, I really got to enjoy your company more and more and I really don’t want to lose you as a friend. It’s for this reason that I’m writing you this letter Tash. What is going on? When Phil died, the first thing that everyone, and I mean everyone, thought was about you and no one could possibly imagine how tragic things must have been on his death. It’s at times like these, when it seems like the bottom has collapsed from your world, that your friends will rally round, help you to be strong and slowly but surely, begin to pick up the pieces. We all love you Tash and it was ace when you came to stay at the Palace and we had our chance to help you in whatever small way we could. This is true of all your friends in Birmingham Tasha- or at least it was. Lately, I’ve been hearing terrible stories from a number of different sources about a campaign to get Alex locked up. I’ve just spoken to Tony who tells me you’re against Phil’s family interviewing people at the Guild etc., so if that’s true, I don’t need to say what I’m going to but I just don’t know what to do for the best. Everyone is so screwed up over this and I just don’t want to see any of my friends, you or Phil’s family suffer more than they already are. Can you imagine what all this is doing to Phil’s family? They must be hurting badly and so confused. They know nothing about our way of life in Birmingham and you do, you know the score. Therefore, it’s down to you to help and console them, to comfort them and to stop them going ahead with this terrible plan which will hurt everyone (including themselves) so much. Jonathan (Philip’s brother) is already ripping himself to pieces, trying to find a snatch of information from one of us that will lead to a conviction, but constantly coming up against brick walls. We all know the reason he’s getting nowhere is that it isn’t what Phil would have wanted- I know that you wouldn’t be able to pick up the ‘phone and call me and say with a clear conscience that anyone pushed Phil into it. No one is responsible for Phil’s death and you know that. Phil loved doing gear. He loved it as much or more than any of us. He loved Crunch and legging it around and he loved coming back to the palace for morning sessions. You loved it too Tasha, this is why I can’t believe people are trying to blame someone else. We all dabble in a dangerous game- Phil pushed it too far but he did it of his own accord. You know me Tash and you know I’m not as close to Alex as I am to you or was to Phil and that I’m not writing this letter for him. It’s for me and Tony, Sarah and Gill, Mark and John and all the other people who have been torn apart by what’s happened but who know the real truth- that no one is to blame- and who want to be able to get on with their lives and let Phil rest in peace. Just try to imagine how awful it would be to see posters of Phil all over the Guild and the state of his family outside. Everyone has bravely decided to stay at college and take their finals- you included- how is dragging up all the pain again going to help them or you? Maybe I should have kept…… my nose out of this but I want you to know I’m doing this as your friend. Things must be so bloody hard for you Tasha but Phil’s family need to know the whole and real truth and you are in a far better position to tell them than any of us. Please consider what I’ve said. We are all confused, upset, angry and a million other emotions and once this is over, we can once again join forces, be strong and help each other through. I hope this letter has been of some help. I’m at my Mum and Dad’s ’till the middle of next week so if you want to chat, I’ve put their no. at the bottom. I’m sorry if I’ve done the wrong thing but I had to do something. All my love. This girl, Mo, was of high self esteem. She was proud of her academic abilities and expected to get a good degree, at least a 2:1. I had several telephone conversations and my wife and daughter called on her. The police interviewed her and carried out one raid in the early morning, according to her, seven policeman breaking down the door. She was in bed and most indignant. The policeman who interviewed her and was present at the raid, D.C. Boyle, in fact appeared to like her. He simply thought her misguided. My telephone conversations were devoted to attempting to persuade her to tell the police who had been supplying drugs to students in Birmingham. She was not willing to do this. I attempted to put pressure on her by saying that I would tell her parents of her life style, if she did not co-operate with the police. This was not solely an attempt to force her hand. I wish someone had told me of my son’s liking for drugs. Mo appeared most unhappy at the idea that I would involve her parents but not unhappy enough to help the police. She told my daughter and wife when they called that she had used ecstasy and cocaine and had continued to take drugs after Philip died. She told me on the telephone, “I’ve taken drugs since I was seventeen. It’s done me no harm….it’s not some hideous thing. What we do is a generally accepted thing that does us no harm at all….it’s a very social thing. If you had taken drugs Mr. Davies, dare I suggest, you would understand”. She was protective towards her parents and rather than have me upset them, telephoned her father and complained that I was harassing her. He, who seemed to be a reasonable man, telephoned me and asked me not to contact his daughter. He did not want her name besmirched. To some extent of course Mo was anxious not to be involved with the police. But also, she felt righteous indignation that as a member of a beleaguered minority who had discovered a better way of living, she and her friends were being persecuted by people who simply failed to understand how the world had changed. Alex Johnson was a friend, not a close friend but a group member who should be defended. Mark, one of the flatmates explained that “Phil and Alex were best friends…it wasn’t just drugs…I know Phil would not want Alex to have any repercussions from this…where do your loyalties lie?” It seems that Mark’s concept of loyalty to Philip included suppressing knowledge that he had of how Philip obtained the drugs that caused his death.

22nd September A ski brochure has arrived at home today. Did Philip really say he was too frightened to go skiing again? I remember the moment on the beach. In Norfolk I think when I felt great love for the little boy of two. It was a sun burst for me. I think it was Jonathan but I’m not sure. I remember the moment against the sea wall as the sun set over the Mediterranean and the four children and I sat, just warm enough in the last rays, wrapped in harmony. I remember the fire Philip lit in the waste paper basket in his room at the Hotel Phoenicia, just outside Valletta by the buses. The staff were very good, admonishing him outside my hearing until I insisted on knowing what it was about. He was only twelve. It was the last time he would hold my hand. I remember being surprised that he wanted to go for a ride in a horse drawn buggy. The head waiter called him “The young master”. I remember the wallet he found and we returned somehow. He found it on a warm night in a gutter. There was an aquarium type shop near by. Was he interested in fish as early as that? I remember how helpless the Vicar was, saying he would call and often not doing so. Asking, “Shall I stay?” – Starting the washing up and having, for our peace of mind, to be asked to leave. His aversion to physical contact; I contrast it to the simple hug I had from Stubbs after his sermon. A man that I had not met before. I could even feel embarrassed sprinkling water on the coffin at the end of the service, not knowing quite how to do it. I have a very clear picture of Henry Guy taking Communion in the church at the end of the funeral. Trevor Copley did so for the first time. His wife was pleased.

26th September I dreamt about Philip last night – just briefly. I was sitting on a sofa next to him. He was slightly surprised; I knew he was dead. We put our arms round each other. He’s much taller than me. I said, “we should have wrestled, you’re stronger than me.” And we did a little and lay on the floor for a while with our arms round each other. It was in the lounge at home but the sofa backed on to the fireplace. I cried again in the morning; sobbed really, as I did in bed yesterday. “How can people who have no hope of the resurrection, cope?,” I asked Pam. She is more composed.

Weeks 29 to 41 (October – December 1995)

5th October Rick Carter said he was sorry to hear about Philip “it is some (a long?) time now”. He has four sons. It is no time to Pam and me. That’s the first time anyone has said ‘it’s a long time’.

6th October I very seldom put the radio on in the car. I used it for a few days in August but usually it’s unbearable. Pam started to look at cookery books again in September.

14th October The letter that arrived from the de Millevilles made me cry at breakfast when I arrived at “pray for his salvation and for your consolation”. Not many people in England would write like that. It was very quiet in the cemetery today. Pam was visiting elderly Miss Howard who wishes she could be permitted to die, and I retrieved the geraniums from my parents grave for the winter and trimmed the grass around Philip’s. Pam collected me from the cemetery, sat on the bench close to Philip’s grave and cried. Yesterday, Tom and Diana’s father was buried in a beautiful little cemetery in Haselmere. As we stood at the top of a slope overlooking the grave I said “it’s the first funeral I’ve been to since Philip’s. It’s very hard.”

15th October Pam has had only little cries today. I want to double the size of my company to please Philip. As I went to bed this Sunday evening I passed Philip’s photograph on the table by the door in the sitting room; just two inches by three inches. Every night I say the same prayer. ‘Lord, guard, protect, watch over the soul of my son Philip. Send the light of your countenance to shine upon him. Let light perpetual shine upon him. Take his hand in yours and lead him to wisdom and full stature. Lord let us one day see and recognise each other again and permit us to live for ever in your presence, re-united in amity, harmony, joy and love. Oh God in the infinite width of your compassion, grant me this prayer.’

16th October The Telegraph had a front page article about students dead in Africa. One had been to Birmingham. It made us cry. Ray Holmes has just telephoned. “How are you? Oh, coming along. Oh, have you been ill? No, its the bereavement actually” Another thing to make Philip laugh.

17th October Natasha came for a meal. We didn’t talk much about Philip at first and then we did.

19th October If I had written to Philip every day in Lent, as I thought about doing, would he be alive now?

20th October It’s 31 weeks, 217 days since Philip died. 21st October Sally’s friend Jane Baker’s wedding today at Pinner Parish Church and the service for me was suffused with Philip. We gave Philip a funeral, not a wedding. I have not appreciated the 1928 service before. It’s full of love and it has taken Philip’s death for me to properly understand that there is nothing else. It hurt when Jane Baker’s husband’s parents mentioned their five children but as Sai Baba says, that is just possessiveness. The article in the Birmingham Evening Mail has arrived. Andrew Green sent it. I must show Natasha. Some quotes are wrong as is his age.

23rd October A bad night last night. It’s probably the taking of compost to the grave to fill the hollows that appear and the imminent removal of summer flowers to be replaced by winter flowering pansies. My world is wrecked because Philip is dead. But nothing is really changed. We are all going to die, it is simply the order of death which has altered and I believe, or at least fervently hope, that our world here is just an ante room. If the manner of Philip’s death increases my pain, that is selfish of me. Do we think that the way he died reflects adversely on us? If he had died in a car crash would it have been less painful? Outrageous, when my love for him is absolute, to consider such a proposition. I hate him having no children. Selfish to regret the children he has not had. Jonathan says that our genes are quickly absorbed in the gene pool and his and his sisters are the same as Philip’s. But when I see attractive, fair young people I think “that might have been Philip’s child.” And he did have a child; aborted, and I knew nothing of it. I am not now so sure I prefer burials to cremations. I do not like the grave settling. I have a picture of the chipboard coffin collapsing. The man with three dead children said “you have to top up with compost as the grave settles and the coffin collapses”. Taking the four sacks of B & Q compost today is not going to be easy. Every night when I bolt the front door, I say, “We are not locking you out Philip, because you live in our hearts for ever”. I’m pleased he knew he could father children. It was not so bad at the cemetery. I must remember to tell Natasha that we have left room in the grave near the cross at the head for her to plant anything she wants. The tough moment was when Pam had the cross out to varnish it and I, holding it, said, “wipe its bottom” and looked at the warping wood and above all saw the rust around the screws holding the little, brass coloured nameplate. We cried then. Back at work, about to go home, Natasha rang to say she would come round this evening. Pam, when I rang to warn her, said it was becoming too much to cope with.

24th October This morning in bed, Pam admitted she sometimes had slight feelings of anger, directed at Philip; very slight and very occasional. I don’t find that. If I die and wake and experience Philip’s presence there would be no recriminations, only joy. Joy so intense that one might die. Natasha said as we ate last night that Philip had been “different” on her twenty first Birthday. Pam wonders if this is a) true? b) due to the stress of his relationship with her? c) drug induced? Pam and I went with Pamela Lee and Jonathan Turner to the Tate. Pam Lee talks now about her daughter Sharon, dead thirty three years, and her other daughter, Allison. How smug we must have seemed before our disaster. Pam Lee remembers how she told Allison, “I’m your mother, not your friend,” and wonders if that was misguided. I remember often telling my children that I had lots of children in case one of them died and replying, when one asked how I would feel if one did, “gleeful.”

25th October An odd thought, “I have to lead a satisfactory life for Philip”. Pam spoke to Joanna on the telephone about the letter Joanna was writing to a couple who had lost their child a few days after birth. What could she say? If they had been offered twenty one years of the child’s life they would have jumped at it (would they?). Pam feels Joanna is suffering in that she has fewer people to talk to. Her friends no longer want to talk about Philip. Pamela wants to write down everything that has happened.

26th October Yesterday we drove to Charlbury and saw Pam’s relatives who are getting old. George Rutherford has been retired twenty five years: longer than Philip lived. This morning in bed Pam and I talked of how we could forget details about Philip. They would come into one’s head and be lost in a minute or two. Pam writes them down but doesn’t like to be seen doing so. I remember less pleasant bits about Phil. How he wouldn’t get up, wouldn’t come for walks with the dog, wouldn’t come for runs. I wish I had spent more time with Philip. It’s better to blame oneself. Otherwise it’s possible to think that Philip who we love, was an ass who preferred drugs to worthwhile pursuits. Pam remembers that he wouldn’t join the O.T.C or the sailing/sail boarding group at Birmingham. And why did he refuse help from Pam over his French A level?

27th October Pam went to Natasha’s today. Natasha was on the telephone to Nick when Pam arrived. Pam didn’t like that. She says “when Natasha is at home she’s ours, but at her home she’s not.” Pam recognises that one day Natasha will have another boy friend and hopes that it won’t be a friend of Philip’s, although I think I might prefer that.

6th November Professor Feldman rang me. He couldn’t see us Thursday except before ten or after seven o’clock. I told him there was no urgency. He apologised for the delay and said that Professor Holmes hadn’t replied to the copy of the letter I had sent Professor Feldman.

7th November Joanna said she went ten minutes not thinking of Philip today. Pam said she found herself momentarily looking forward to the next day. I suppose we have to accept these moments of relief and be grateful instead of guilty and expectant of misery to follow. November – Undated Pam has written a poem: Part of me is dead My inside feels wrenched out Part of my future and my past Is snatched away In one moment lost forever All those years of caring, teaching, worrying, helping him grow, loving exchanges, humour and arguments, planning, pride and hope, buried in his beautiful body which now lies decaying in the earth. No joys of fatherhood for him. No family gatherings in which to share the happiness of togetherness. No chance to put the foolishness of youth behind him No chance to know maturity and manhood No chance to fill the potential that was within No chance to meet all those he would have met and loved No chance to know the many joys and wonders yet unknown No chance to make his contribution to the world No chance to live No chance to say goodbye. No chance.

15th November I awoke in the night feeling better. I woke in the morning feeling much worse. Phyllis at work told me she “had Philip on her church’s dead list”. Pam says how Mrs Grant, who has helped with cleaning for many years, finds it difficult to go in Philip’s room. She has had an intimate insight into his life over many years, closer than many friends and even family. Natasha dreamt she went into Philip’s room and found him just awakened from a coma. He said, he hadn’t been certain whether he was going to die and just wanted us to get on with our lives. Natasha said there were lots of things she wanted to tell him and he said he had been watching us. She asked “aren’t you angry that I’ve been driving your car” and he replied “no”.

16th November Natasha and Pam went to the cemetery. She told Pam that she had dreamt that her mother had another baby and wouldn’t let her hold it, saying, “No, you got rid of your baby”. Natasha said Philip had enjoyed work experience at Gouldens, the solicitors, but on returning to Birmingham had been told “You’ve missed a fine summer. You could have sold drugs and not worked”.

14th December I hate clearing out from the files at work the orders we got before Philip was born and calculating “this is 1977, Philip must have been four”. I wish I had spent more time with him. Next February/March there will be a re-union for those that left Habs five years ago. Pam hates the idea that Philip did not survive five years from the end of his schooldays.

15th December I once sent a letter to Philip addressed simply by name and post code. It came back with a note saying many houses in Bournbrook Road had the same code and the letter was undeliverable. December- undated Philip died sometime after midnight on Friday 17th March and before four o’clock, Saturday afternoon. His housemate John unsuccessfully telephoned Alex Johnson at 3.55am on the Saturday morning. He forgot to tell the police about this when he gave them his statement but on production of the phone bill explained that he thought ‘Phil was drunk and would have liked Alex there’. Another housemate Bryn called Alex, unsuccessfully, at 2.26pm on Saturday, ‘to see where everybody was’. Finally, at 4.06pm, he was successfully contacted by Mark and immediately came round to the house to be shown the body. Only then was an ambulance called, by the time it arrived Alex had already gone.

20th December When my mother was in the Clacton convalescent home and I arrived unexpectedly, she said it was just like a boy friend arriving without warning. My love for Philip is beginning to develop the same sort of pain as unrequited love.

25th December It is exhausting. Pam’s crying as we go to bed. The Xmas wrapping was the trigger. Much of the time it’s like living in an orderly nightmare.

26th December There was an empty place laid at my brothers’ Boxing Day family meal. It was for Philipe, Lise’s brother, who was unable to come. I did not really notice but Pam did.

31st December Back from our three nights in Forfar with Sally’s finance’s parents, I realise that they did not like us talking about Philip. Perhaps they were just embarrassed. Perhaps they thought we are embarrassed. Perhaps they think that to die from heroin is shameful. Last night, in dreams, we were in what, I later realised, was a safari park, somewhere in East Africa. Then, just Philip and I were alone in a narrow alley that was full of people, a cross between Pinner Fair and an Indian/African township. Philip wanted to join a queue going up a very tight stairway. I didn’t want him to. He did and I realised they would reach the top and emerge through a small hole into bright sunlight, one by one, where blinking, blinded by the sun, someone would pretend to hit them. I took over this job. But I missed Philip coming out of the hole (if he ever did) and I could not find him. Oh God, look after my son Philip.

January – March 1996 – coming up to one year

2nd January I can now put him in a position in my mind so I can for a short time focus on something else. That is the best I can do at the moment. People often say “he is at peace now”. When the vicar said this at the funeral Pam thought, ‘he isn’t supposed to be at peace, he’s supposed to be doing his exams’.

6th January There is a card on Philip’s grave: “Philip You never went out of my heart And never will Sonya” I wonder who Sonya is? January – Undated When Philip was working in the library of Gouldens solicitors in his last summer he told me “I want to be filthy rich”. I was pleased. It seemed an innocent enough ambition and the tone of his voice was witty. Pam thinks it may have been the partners cars he saw down in the basement. Philip liked cars. I hope he wasn’t thinking of trading in drugs. I found in his room a very old article from the Telegraph magazine about an Oxbridge graduate, Howard Marks, who dealt in cannabis and made a fortune before going to prison. I often told Philip how the ideal upbringing was lots of attention and no money. And that freedom was the ability to do the things one didn’t want to do.

11th January I forgot that today is my mother’s birthday. Jonathan says his memory has worsened and wonders if it’s due to the shock, he keeps on having to look up the names of work colleagues. Pam dreads the next few months. She relives the early months. She didn’t realise the pain. She remembers, how after we began to eat, there was a few minutes respite while eating.

January – various dates It began to dawn on me that the University attitude was to say nothing, do nothing and let as few people as possible know of Philip’s death. Two weeks after he died, the Registrars’ office had cautiously telephoned the Guild President and enquired “do you know anything about a Philip Davies?” Clearly, if she did not already know the details, she said, she was not going to be told. A brief reference to Philip’s death and the prevalence of drug taking at the university, in the July 15th edition of the Birmingham Evening Mail, included a response from Frank Albrighton, the Director of Public Affairs; “There is no evidence that this university has a bad record as far as drugs is concerned” I sent a second letter to Mr. Holmes Mr Holmes replied with a long conciliatory letter. However, I had asked five questions. 1. Will you hold an enquiry into my son’s death? He replied “We for our part have only hearsay evidence and it would in our view be neither proper nor profitable to conduct any kind of enquiry on this basis ” 2. Will you consider banning the promotion on University premises of a particular rave club where hard drugs are consumed ? The reply to this was “While we cannot control entry to the campus, we are working with the Guild of Students- who are at one with us on this- to try to ensure that these events are not marketed within the University. We may not succeed entirely, but I am sure our efforts will have effect.” Months later this club was still advertising in the Guild of students. 3. Would you ask a particular named tutor how much she knows about the sale of cannabis in the Guild and tell me what action you propose to take? [This tutor had told a student that she knew you could buy cannabis at the Guild] No specific reply was made to this question apart from, “Police action on the events (the raves) themselves would, of course, be of considerable help. The same applies to our combined efforts to prevent the independent sale of drugs on University premises, though I repeat that the practical difficulties of control are considerable”. 4. I have a list of about sixteen people (mostly students) who frequent the campus, who have been or who are drug users and/or minor dealers. If I forward this list to you what steps will you take? The indirect answer was that they didn’t want to know- “I am sure it would be sensible for you to provide the information to the Police who can advise us if they think that there are matters with which we can and should deal.” 5. I feel it would be a useful step if you would give a formal letter to all new students arriving at the University this October warning them of the dangers of drugs. I would be happy if you included an explicit reference to my son’s death if you wished. Do you agree? There was no reply to this suggestion, rather an elucidation of several fairly standard procedures such as drugs awareness sessions for staff, a lunchtime exhibition during the second week of term, a ‘roadshow’ visiting Halls of Residence during the second week etc. I wrote one last letter to Mr Holmes to try and press my points. Mr Holmes was becoming rather tired of the correspondence. His next letter suggested that his patience was becoming exhausted. “As I have said, we do understand your concern, but there is inevitably a point beyond which I cannot reasonably be expected to continue with explanation. I will, however, ensure that a copy of the next issue of “Campus Watch” is sent to you.” The next edition of “Campus Watch” was not sent but I could see no point in persevering.

14th January I remember lighting a bonfire and thinking “it’s no use waiting for Philip- he won’t come (or be interested)”

15th January Natasha said that the Sonya who had left flowers on Philip’s grave was a girl, keen on Philip, who used to keep going to his room in Mason Hall.

18th January The Guild of Students building in Birmingham still has posters advertising raves. One, organised by “Substance” has a reference to “hydrophonics”. I wonder if that is an allusion to hydroponics. Newspapers often carry reports of arrests for growing cannabis hydroponically.

20th January Pam heard on the radio “who would want a pizza cutter.” She laughed. We found a mysterious object in Philip’s room and took it to the police station thinking it a drug taking aid, only to have it identified as a pizza cutter. I said to Jonathan on the phone yesterday “where are you?”. He told me it reminded him what I first said on the telephone ten months ago, “Where are you?” I still say “Philip” when I mean “Jonathan”, I even start typing “Phi” When Philip was alive my confusion with names used to irritate Pam, now she finds it comforting.

21st January I don’t want to go to heaven if Philip’s not there. Is that a sinful thought?

22nd January I found Philip’s driving licence which expires in 2043. I can’t believe that Philip has just ceased to exist. That all is oblivion for him, now and for ever. That life is meaningless.

23rd January Pam said that with time things shift. At first we felt most pain at Philip’s loss of life. Now we see it more through our eyes. I do not know that is true of me. Natasha’s mother told me that when she rang the University on Monday 20th March to say that Natasha wouldn’t be in because someone had died the Dean’s very first reaction was to question aloud, “I wonder if it was the boy whose parents I wrote to about his poor exam results? Has he killed himself?” I don’t see why this is discreditable to the Dean. He may just have the matter on his mind. But the inference was that he was simply anxious about his own position. Sally bought a birthday card for Pam with flowers, poppies, on it. Pam asked me “do they have any significance for you?” All I could think of was “Flanders.” Pam laughed, and said “Opium, that should make Philip laugh”

29th January Nearly fifty years ago I saw Brighton Rock. Walking along Pinner Road back to her house, I said to Veronica Humphries “the only hope for me is to get in with a bad lot.” She didn’t like that. What I meant aged, fifteen or sixteen, was that I would become hard and capable, like seventeen year old, Pinkie. Is that how Philip felt? I told him he tended to do what I would have liked to do but was too timid. He found unsuitable friends exciting and described worthy people as boring. Did he see the minor Pinkies at Birmingham as people who would allow his personality to grow and expand?

5th February Pamela’s father’s birthday today and my father’s tomorrow. They would be eighty five and ninety six. They died too soon but I guess 1996 was always likely to be out of their reach. I’m typing out pencil scrawled on the back of an envelope and dated 27th December 1995. “I have gone mad. My life is a struggle till the break of day, so that Philip’s will be spared. Genesis. Yet to think this, is an escape as well. The struggle is unavoidable, but if consciously entered into, will ease my remaining life.”

7th February Today is the 7th February. Yesterday was my father’s birthday and the day before was Granddad’s, Pam’s father’s. Yesterday I pretended to spit toothpaste over the banisters at Sally. This morning Pam made a joke noise to activate an electric light bulb that’s sound sensitive. Neither of us would have done that a month ago. This is what people mean by “getting over it.” But this morning in my office I sat listening to a computer salesman and visualised Philip, making up a fourth at the desk we were sitting around. For God, all things are possible.

8th February I cried walking round the park with the dog last night. Sat on the bench outside Parkside Football Club, sobbing in the darkness.

10th February There’s a lot of different Philips in different situations in my memories. I let go of one and feel the pain. Then he is back again. Philip used to sink below the water in the bath. I did not like that. He was the child I didn’t take swimming. He was too young when we went with our friends the Gallachers and I didn’t take him later. He liked swimming.

12th February It is almost a year since we saw Philip last, a rather nice lunch in a restaurant of his choice with a pint or perhaps a half pint of beer each, sitting in a half secluded semi circle close to steps to a different level. And then a walk around the miserable piece of ground at the top of Bournbrook Road with goodbye outside no.146. Philip was rather withdrawn as we left and I felt a little sad. It was a cold day. In Switzerland, a week later I saw some people with flowers in the crypt of a Monastery. Pam and I had gone to listen to the monks chanting. I thought it was a good way to bury people. I didn’t think that within a month we would be putting Philip in a hole in the ground.

13th February Natasha came for a meal; Just she, Pam and me in the kitchen. Natasha said that on the evening of Saturday,18th March her mother had telephoned Philip’s house and she was telling her mother that Philip had died from heroin when Bryn had reached from behind her and cut the telephone off, demanding, panic stricken, “Who are you talking to. Who are you telling that?”

19th February A few days ago I was in bed saying my prayers. I had been reading about Sai Baba. As I said them I received red and yellow pictures of exotic flowers, rather asparagus looking in type, in pillars, preceded by dark red swirls. They formed as I started each prayer. Curious. Last night I dreamt about Philip. He was in a building, half way up on the left hand pavement, looking up the south side of Harrow on the Hill. I feel he was on the first floor of the building. It was dark. I think I was with someone else. He came out, crossed the road and disappeared along a downward sloping path a hundred yards or so up the hill. A tall, rangy figure, dimly seen, with a flash of whitish shirt, as he glanced back. Pam cried at supper. She thought of her last letter to Philip being delivered, dropping through the letter box on that Saturday morning, with him inside, lying upstairs, already dead.

29th February It is a very difficult time now. It may be the approach of spring. It may be the advancing anniversary. There are more tears now. I hate seeing bulbs come through, I hate not seeing post for Phil, I hate snow on the grave, I hate hearing about other peoples’ problems being sorted out. I remember reading long before Philip died “that drugs and corruption will spread out of the ghetto and kill your children”. I suspect that I found the concept, even though it was in a U.S. setting, exciting, but only so because I felt quite secure. It would not affect my children. I have sent a little note to Emma Barber’s parents. It must be very near her anniversary. The graves look dishevelled this time of year.

7th March Natasha and her father saw Professors Feldman and Miller and Mr. Holmes. Her mother told me they were hostile to an essay competition in commemoration of Philip: “not appropriate”, “Students shouldn’t be asked to write about drugs”. I remember the expression “not appropriate” was repeatedly used when we asked to have announcements made at lectures pleading for students to tell what they knew about Philip’s death.

9th March We had a little card from the Barbers. I cried at breakfast.

10th March Pam cried when she saw Philips’s big white plimsolls/trainers lying in the porch where Jonathan had left them. I would have thought them too big for Jonathan to wear. James’ mother sent a card saying that we were in her thoughts. Nice woman.

14th March Every time Johnson replied “not guilty” to the charges, he swallowed. Amazing facts appear in Court. The recent change in housing benefit means a house is kept empty, with the rent paid while the designated occupant is in prison, for 13 weeks only. Previously it was one year. A barrister in one case used this to argue for the earlier release of his client. When we got home there was a big post. I thought they were commiseration letters. It is only 4 days to the 18th. But they were Sally’s wedding invitation replies. I have always thought that a 13 month year with the first, eighth, fifteenth and twenty second, being Mondays would be a good idea. I’m not so sure I want the eighteenth to always be a Saturday.

17th March We all went to the cemetery together. Would Philip want the laurels? Would he want the memorial candlelight (which, to Philips undoubted amusement, we bought in the Jewish delicatessen shop) on the grave, or at home, or at all? We sang “Shine Jesus shine” at church but his name was read only on Saturday.

18th March Pam woke at 4.49am – was that the time he died? Sally was talking in the car about her wisdom teeth extraction. Philip was the only child with perfect teeth.

March – various dates We believed that the full inquest was going to be soon after Philip’s death and that we would need legal advice and possibly, representation. We wanted to know exactly how Philip had died and felt this would emerge at the Inquest. We also wanted the police to prosecute whoever was responsible for supplying the drugs that it was now obvious had been widely used by Philip and his friends. It was also becoming apparent, particularly to my son Jonathan, that we were being deliberately misled by some when we asked about life at Birmingham University. So we prepared a summary and sent it off to solicitors who mentioned drugs and criminal activities in the trade directory, the Legal 500. Summary “Philip Davies, a law student at the University of Birmingham, aged twenty one, died in the early hours of Saturday, 18th March, after an evening spent in the Guild Building (Students Union). We believe he was given diamorphine by a Birmingham graduate Alex Johnson. Philip was a fairly regular smoker of cannabis since school days with occasional use of ecstasy. Since September 1994 this seems to have been substantially replaced by the taking of cocaine about once a fortnight. We believe he had never knowingly taken heroin before. We understand that he had once taken methadone, this being the week before his death. We seek a firm of solicitors for the following two purposes: 1. To recommend and instruct a barrister to represent Philip’s family at the inquest, and to assist generally with the inquest, the date of which is not yet known. Mr. Clive Townsend is our contact at the Coroner’s Court, Newton Street, Birmingham B4 6NF. 2. To assist Philip’s family help the police in obtaining and assembling evidence which the police can present to the Crown Prosecution Service, in the hope that they will decide that they have sufficient evidence to bring a successful prosecution against Johnson who has been bailed to return to Belgrave Road Police Station on 30th May 1995. Our contact at the Police Station is D.C. Mike Boyle.” This summary was posted to several firms of solicitors and phone calls were made to arrange for my son Jonathan and I to discuss matters with them. We went once or twice to a slightly sinister Offenbach & Co. and to a rather more cheerfully sinister, Breeze, Benton. My son’s letter to Breeze, Benton & Co. was typical. “We confirm our appointment at 11.30 a.m. on 3rd May to see any of your partners specialising in drug related criminal cases, if possible. I am available between 9a.m. and 1p.m. and after 4.30 p.m. if a change of appointment time is necessary. There follows a list of the main issues on which we may like to take legal advice.” CASE OF PHILIP DAVIES OBJECTIVES ADVICE RE: CROWN PROSECUTION SERVICE AND INQUEST PROCEDURE ADVICE RE: OUR POSSIBLE COURSES OF ACTION SPECIFIC AREAS 1) INQUEST – the mechanics of the proceedings – the role and rights of the family – the collection of evidence and powers of the Coroner – the role of the police as agents to the Coroner – access to relevant information – inquest findings and their consequences – possibility of representation at inquest 2) CASE AGAINST DRUG SUPPLIER – potential charge – likelihood of successful conviction – role of family in facilitating collection of evidence – access to police evidence e.g. forensic – C.P.S procedure – press notification – reward for information – perverting the course of justice 3) OTHER REMEDIES – private prosecution process – civil remedies After the meeting I made a brief note to remind me. ‘3 o’clock with Mr. McLarty. Young chap, crumpled suit, terrible offices, very clear and intelligent’. The note could have been applied with little alteration to most of our other meetings. We had telephone conversations and interviews with various other firms of solicitors. I sought the advice of Neville Russell, our accountants at work, who recommended a firm of accountants in Birmingham. I had been taught at school by Merlyn Rees, now Lord Merlyn Rees. He put me in touch with his son Gareth, a barrister, who recommended several other firms. We were warned by someone not to instruct Kingsley Napley on the grounds that they may overcharge and indeed, they were the only firm to attempt to bill us for the initial interview in which we discussed employing them. Persuaded that it was probably better to employ a local firm we made arrangements to see solicitors in Birmingham. Our first contact Adie, Evans & Warner, said they could not act for us as they were already defending in a “high profile case involving drugs at the University of Birmingham.” We never heard anything further of this case and assume that the University managed to contain any publicity. In an interview at another solicitor, the Partner told us that he had given his articled clerk the detailed outline of the position as we saw it. The articled clerk, a Birmingham graduate, said he recognised the names of the people mentioned as those from whom one could buy drugs. Eventually we settled on the recommendation of a Jill Tweedie of the charity Inquest, that had been conveyed to us via Gareth Rees. She said she had heard good reports of a firm called Addison, Cooper & Jesson, in Walsall. We called on the firm, liked Mr. Cotter, partly because he said he would withdraw after a couple of weeks if he didn’t like the way we wanted to work, and instructed him to act for us. The fact that Mr Cotter was himself a coroner in Walsall was also influential. ‘Inquest’ is an interesting organisation. Funded mainly, if not entirely, by the London Boroughs Grants Committee it appears to aim at raising public awareness of the role of Coroners Courts, the rights of relatives of the deceased and to encourage support for the restriction, or at least, the codification of the powers of a coroner.

April – June 1996

1st April Writing a letter to the reception venue about clearing up before the wedding, I thought, “We can get Philip to check that’s been done.” Jonathan says that when he phones home and it’s engaged, he thinks instinctively, ‘Bloody Phil’.

3rd April It’s fine weather. Just like this time last year. Pam recalled Philip saying he didn’t want to get old as so many sad things happened. I remember that when very young, he didn’t like seeing bonfires flickering and die.

9th April It’s been a difficult Easter both for Pam and me. Last year I suppose we were numbed by shock. We went to a funeral Thursday, Church Friday, Saturday and Sunday and to Philip’s grave on Monday. How do you reconcile helping him with his CV one week and taking flowers to his grave the next? Natasha rang today. She had been to the cemetery in the morning.

25th April Cotter telephoned at 9.45 to tell me that the C.P.S had rung to tell him that we may not know the case was tomorrow. That was very good of the C.P.S. I had telephoned the court several times today. At 3 o’clock, listings still didn’t know if the case would be heard tomorrow. I must give the Vicar a note to remind him to refer to Philip in his address or in the intercessions. What I would really like to do is to talk about Philip and my parents in the wedding speech. Sometimes I go a few minutes without thinking of him. Occasionally I feel the warm glow of love disconnected from pain. I remember a family meal with him up in Birmingham. There were helium balloons that we got to hover using teaspoons as a balancing weight. To our continuous amusement, they would drift along the table, every now and then eclipsing a face from view. A slight tilt of a spoon caused one balloon to be lost, shooting up to space, but Phil retrieved it using a ‘rescue’ balloon equipped with a hook made out of a damp napkin. Without Phil, that balloon might still be there.

1st May Every time there is a job for one of us to do at the wedding, we think of Philip.

3rd May We used to have a ‘Confirmation of Return’ list stuck on the porch door for Philip and Jonathan (and sometimes Sally) to tick off when they arrived home after a night out- ‘Last one in locks up’. They used to put on their time of arrival, suspiciously always a little before one. I imagine that the boys got in later than that and Sally somewhat earlier. Remember when I found both boys asleep in separate cars in the driveway. Neither knew the other was there. Philip’s legs were sticking out of the car. We had inadvertently locked them out.

5th May Pam has written a poem: Unendingly I mourn my precious son Too early yet this earthly home he left, Perfidious sleep confounded nature’s order To leave his loves perpetually bereft. Those golden dreams and aspirations, The seed of yesterday a withered bloom, Those baubles which are cause to celebrate In death now mock us gently from his tomb. How treacherous death does steal on youth’s exuberance, To wreak such havoc from the ecstasy of life, where once was only joy and future promise Tormented hearts endure eternal strife.

6th May Natasha came to lunch. Her mother is worried about her. Things remind her of Philip and she mentions them in conversation. She told us of Philip borrowing Johnson’s suit to go to a lawyers affair. Philip’s suit was at home here. I told Natasha how Johnson reminded Pam of Philip. They looked similar and had similar body movements. I think she didn’t like that too much. Pam says she’s been hit by waves of appalling grief and loneliness this past week. It is Sally’s wedding next week but she only wants to be with Philip. She wonders whether she does now need help.

12th May At the wedding Pam was told, ‘Only one more to go now’. We want to react but we try to stay composed.

25th May Odd details about Philip float into my mind all the time. Other thoughts sometimes overlie intrusively but the background remains undisturbed. Some are quite new thoughts that have never occurred to me before. But I do not write them down. Philip wanted the hedge between us and Bryanston to be much denser. Pam made a little joke today then winced and said “I don’t really like jokes now- I don’t do it very often” The dog took a pair of Philip’s pants from the washing machine and tore them. It upset Pam. I have put them back in my wardrobe, but they are not really wearable or mendable. It will amuse Philip.

31st May A message awaited me on my desk from Elizabeth Pearce of the West Midlands police, Crown Court section. But it was only a call to tell me that the trial was fixed for 7th October and would I be available as a witness.

5th June I wrote back to the Gibbs. Their grief for their dead daughter, dead just the same time as Philip, seems unassuaged. I read that about 12,000 children under 19 die in Britain each year, is this possible? Natasha repeated for me how, at Sally’s wedding she had seen Philip standing at the front of the church, near the altar and to one side, looking well in a grey suit. At first she thought it was Robert or Andrew, realised it was Philip, saw him for 5 or ten seconds, looked away and he was gone. He was looking around as if he was checking who was there and how it was going. She was about to say to Joanne, “look it’s Philip”, but didn’t.

6th June I’m depressed today- it’s seeing Natasha and oddly, her vision of Philip. Pam thinks it’s just a quirk of her mind. She wants to see him, so she does. A letter came from a customer at work today. They had seen the piece in the Birmingham Evening Mail. It takes one close to tears. I am so sad that the last time I saw Philip he seemed sad. He turned away rather quickly as we drove off. I sit at my desk. It’s lunch time. I love you my boy. I love you. Tears well below my eyes. The world is not entirely real to me. I am here but there is another here.

9th June Old cricket balls, things to be thrown for the dog, lying around in the garden upset me. Once they were the children’s, now they are the dogs. Walking in the Old Reddings woods this evening, among mauve Rhododendrons, Pam cried a little and said “did Philip ever see these”. We think he probably did. He sometimes came for walks which he liked.

10th June Natasha’s mother telephoned again. I didn’t speak to her. She goes over the same ground again adding little new bits. I am glad she rings. I remember hearing Philip on the landing, saying he was thinking of getting engaged and remember how, in effect, I hid in our bedroom. I did not want him to be engaged to Natasha and thought the best way was to pretend to know nothing about it. Hiding away.

14th June Natasha arranged yesterday to call today in the morning and go with Pam to the cemetery. I went last night in case the grave was parched but it looked fine. Pam and I are beginning to suspect that we will never be happy again. There are odd moments of pleasure and times when one forgets. Wednesday evening I went to a governors meeting which was interesting and I felt quite calm but every twenty five minutes or so I thought consciously of Philip and all the time there is an underlying sadness. I found in the bedroom side table cabinet the notes I made nearly two years ago for a speech at Philip’s twenty first birthday dinner in Stanmore. The affair to which he wouldn’t ask people from Birmingham. “A speech I’m afraid Philip. Well actually just a few ill chosen words- I mean well chosen. Jokes are traditionally part of the speech. In this case I could perhaps just stand here. Philip even more so. It’s a pity we can’t stand together side by side. Philip would never eat when he was a child. I always told him if he didn’t eat his meat he wouldn’t grow like his big brother. Well, he didn’t and he did grow. A lesson there somewhere. Talking of tradition I went to a wedding recently. The vicar/celebrant ran through the purposes of marriage. Philip is our last child and it led me to ponder the purpose of Philip. I decided Philip had two purposes. 1. to realise his parents’ failed dreams. 2. to be an aid and succour to his aged parents and siblings. Actually I think he might manage the second. When our dog Polly died he was a tower of strength. Fetching the body, digging the grave. Consoling the grieving parents. Philip says he wants to become Filthy rich. If he doesn’t make it as an entrepreneur he will make a fine undertaker. Living with Philip is like living with a fascinating pile of gaudy facts (did I mean, or say, fads?) and fashions. He has obsessions. The pet fish, the skate board, the BMX, Natasha. Everyone here tonight can be pretty chuffed. There have been fierce contests, relatives versus friends. So as Philip is exactly 21 and one sixth I want you to stand and drink to Philip. HEALTH, HAPPINESS, PROSPERITY and LONG LIFE” How easily he died. Less than eight months later a man stood in our hall at home at Philip’s funeral wishing me “long life”. After the 21st dinner Philip and some of his friends went off to a nightclub where, I suppose, they took drugs. I was faintly disappointed that the dinner was only part of the evening. Going on somewhere else was not part of my experience when I was 21. I did go once to the (Coconut Grove?) where Edmundo Ros winked at me. Thirty years later I read he was homosexual. And once I went to somewhere called “The Milroy”, an upmarket invitation only club. I doubt that breathing the gas in the helium filled balloons at Philip’s dinner and talking in a funny voice as a result, affected the way Philip thought about drugs. My nephew Nigel, a doctor, led the way. Eighteen months later I discovered that Philip had been upset at Natasha’s diaphanous dress at the dinner. Not that I would have guessed. I think he discussed it with his cousin’s wife Julie at Christmas

15th June Philip has become just the two plastic boxes I carry around with me holding papers about him. The wedding we are going to soon in Shropshire will be a chance to talk about him.

17th June My most vivid memory of Philip and Jonathan in church is the sun striking two golden heads, as they came down the aisle in black and white, ruffed. Jonathan is now balding and Philip is gone. We all, except Jonathan, went to Elizabeth Belok’s wedding. Pam talked with Paul Beloks’ mother in law. Her son died just 2 years ago in a road accident. The anniversary is next Thursday. My mother must have know my fathers’ brother, Frank, who died when he was twenty five. Why was I never really interested in that? A few days ago I met Don. He was grateful that we asked him for Christmas dinner, but really it was at least partially for our benefit, to make the day different, apart from the absence of Phil.

19th June I suppose Pam cries most days. She saw Philip’s toaster yesterday and brought it to work for me to use. It is in very good condition. He looked after his things. I remember seeing him meticulously cleaning his electric tooth brush. He looked after his body. He even exercised before he went out for the last time. I have in my office desk at home a little hand held exerciser he sometimes used. Pam spoke to Natasha today. She is going for three and a half weeks to Venezuela with a small, ginger haired boy she hardly knows. Pam feels other people are “moving on.” Pam isn’t and doesn’t want to.

22nd June Pam said black arm bands would be a good idea- the woman in the vets who shouted wouldn’t have raised her voice at her. I expect, like car disability stickers, everyone would apply for them to make their lives easier. We saw Sally’s wedding video at home. Why is a funeral video, unthinkable? Pam’s Aunt Daisy took pictures at her husband Bob’s funeral.

23rd June I can thank God for Philip’s life, short though it was. Can I give thanks for his death which has given me and I think, us, so much more insight? I found in my cash book the letters I had written to Pam, Joanna, Sally and Jonathan with the outline only of the letter to Philip. I never finished it. Now the letters to be opened on my death can include one to Philip saying I am looking forward to joining him.

27th June A letter came yesterday from the Charity Commission raising objections to the registration of the Philip Davies Trust. It made me wake up sobbing. It was as if Philip had been rejected. Not so, of course. As Pam said, it’s my idea that is rejected, not Philip. My father died when he was sixty two, my paternal grandfather at sixty three. I have experienced another sort of death at sixty three. Has Philip’s death ruined my life, even at this late stage? If there is no point in life unless pleasure outbalances misery, then, for most of us, there is, I think, no point in life. Pam says, at first, grief for the one who has died, their lost experiences, is the dominant emotion. Then, gradually, one becomes more selfish and thinks mainly of one’s own loss.

29th June I wonder if there are many slightly mad people. Who would think me so? Yet I can sit on the floor in my study sorting my papers, saying to myself, “I am going to succeed in what I do for the glory of Philip. I will tell no one but hug the knowledge to myself.” And I usually look as I pass the cemetery on my way home from work because, one day, long after I am dead, I will see him walking down the sloping driveway, away from the just visible circle of flowers, towards the road.

July – September 1996

1st July Philip is the third generation male Davies to die early. My parents first child, a boy, died a few hours after birth. My father also had a brother, Frank, who died in his mid twenties. I never really asked about them. I was never really interested. Very young, in a garden I remember throwing a stone in the air saying, “this will go to my brother in heaven”. My mother told my wife that she blamed herself for her baby’s death because she didn’t realise she was in labour and walked to the station to meet my father. She didn’t know that labour pains could be in the back. But I did not know this until after my mother had died. And now no one knows anything about Frank. My parents told me he died because he didn’t eat his greens. Later they said he had gone mad from a non- inheritable type of madness. I once saw some paperwork he had done. Careful clear writing and drawing left in the pages of a Walter Scott novel, illustrating the battle described.

2nd July Natasha has telephoned from Caracas. They arrived and the taxi driver said they were going to a dangerous place. Natasha knows a few words of Spanish and understood. Now they are staying in a safer but dirty hotel. I hope she will be all right. It seems a foolish undertaking. Pam has bought a frame for the photograph of Philip and Natasha. The one that flatters him. I will hang it in Phil’s room, that which is to become my office but which I must be careful to refer to as “Phil’s room.” At the Parochial Church Council meeting, Pam was told she would be glad when the trial was over, “You have another son”. Pam tried to explain that affairs concerning Philip afforded the illusion that we could still do something for him and our pain was preferable to the realisation that there was nothing we could now do, except pray and tend his grave. And Philip was unique, not another son. When he died, so too did a part of Pam and my parents. On the way to work yesterday, when Jonathan got out to go to the trains at North Harrow Station, there was a pigeon fluttering on the ground in a corner underneath the bridge. We didn’t know what to do so we left it. I know that there was little we could do but I did not want to do anything. This morning as I drove past without stopping, it was just a bedraggled heap of feathers. I had left a sentient, warm moving creature and it had died. Bryn and John left Philip in much the same way.

7th July When we go to the cemetery, I sense that Pamela resents me spending time at my parents grave. Perhaps she is not aware of it, herself. I try not to tend their grave when Pam is with me.

11th July Printing the Philip Davies Trust circular letter to the universities, wondering about the cost, the words “well it will be costing me less than Philip” came into my mind: a shaming thought.

12th July Drove to Cockshotts this morning thinking, it’s 65 weeks since I drove there in the sun, radio playing, listening and wondering about the Corsican who shot his only son for betraying an outlaw to the authorities; blissful, in the last few hours of Philip’s life. Philip would be back from the College of Law about now. Two years articles would be the next step. Pam often cries. She came into the sun room this evening, “I miss him so much. It seems absurd to be sitting here surrounded by all these lovely flowers.” She had burst into tears when the Simplex man came about selling us furniture to transform Philip’s room into an office. He had driven from Bristol with a companion and some of the furniture, to demonstrate it’s solid wood qualities. Pam doesn’t want to change the wallpaper. Pam wondered “should we invite Philip’s friends round”. She doesn’t really want to see them but she doesn’t want to loose touch. The Haberdasher friends that is. The people from Birmingham she does not want to see. Except perhaps, James.

13th July Driving to Pinner Hill golf course to walk the dog this morning, I saw, on the left, out of focus as I turned the corner, Philip. It was a young Indian boy. What both Pam and I saw were his body movements. Earlier, leaving our house, a paper boy had ridden across our path. He had Philip’s profile. We see Philip in a wide range of ages now, all painful. We are sensitised to other peoples pain in a way I was not before. Miss Howard when I drove her to work sometimes used to comment on disasters in the newspapers that left me unmoved. Now they do not. I suppose to some extent, others’ distress comforts one. One of the Waltzers’ children had a party this evening. From the bathroom window I could see them in the garden. Shouting, laughing, smoking and drinking they were having the sort of fun that I wish Philip could be having. If he were experiencing it now I would be annoyed. Its the sort of fun that led to his death. The reason that young people go to university for.

14th July In the afternoon we went to Mill Hill School where Andrew was playing in the annual Firm cricket match. He plays for the partners team; last time it was the staff. I can’t work out if Philip was alive last time we saw him play, whether it is one year or two.

15th July As I drove in to the runway after work, Pam was sitting under the raised rear door of the Ford. She smiled. When I got out I realised she was crying. She had been to the Hillview Road house as the tenants were leaving and she needed to check the inventory. She hadn’t really been inside since Philip died and she was apprehensive. Everything had been fine until she went into what had been our bedroom. Quite changed but still the room in which Philip had been conceived. She was overcome by grief and tears.

19th July The Winter’s came and walked round the garden and sat eating cake and drinking coffee in the garden. I realise we didn’t mention either Sophie or Philip. Just an unspoken reference when Mr Winter and I talked about sleeping problems and knew we were each thinking of our dead children. This morning, just before waking, I was dreaming of the brochure for “Jonathans”, the restaurant in Birmingham we thought we might go to after Philip’s graduation. The dream was pain free, but the thought woke me and immediately, the painfilled despondency was back. Mr Winter says the mornings are worst. During the day one develops a carapace.

20th July Natasha’s mother phoned this morning, just after our return from the dog walk. Natasha would be back Monday, not Sunday from Venezuela. Natasha had dreamt a good dream about Philip for the first time. He had told her he loved her. Previously, in dreams, he had been reproachful.

21st July Pam reading in the Sunday papers that the police wanted £7.30 to send back a murdered woman’s clothes to her husband “or we will destroy them” commented how the policeman who came to tell us Philip was dead, didn’t react at all when she reached out to him. She knows that one would not expect him to feel emotion in those circumstances and that perhaps policemen should train themselves not to.

24th July Natasha is back from Venezuela and came to see us in the evening. She arranged for Nick to come as well. We haven’t seen him for some months. They went with Jonathan, out to one of the Cafe Rouge restaurants. Nick says Pam and I seem more relaxed. Pam thinks Nick has been affected by Philip’s death. Pam would have liked to have talked to him more about Philip. We will ask him around and warn him beforehand that we want to ask him about Philip and drugs.

August – various days. Thirteen weeks later after Philip died Johnson reported to Belgrave Road Police station where he was charged with sixteen offences, and bailed to appear at Birmingham Magistrates Court on Wednesday, 2nd August. This was the first of a series of preliminary appearances, the list being; Wednesday, 2nd August 1995 Birmingham Magistrates Court Thursday, 14th September 1995 Birmingham Magistrates Court Thursday, 12th October 1995 Birmingham Magistrates Court Thursday, 9th November 1995 Birmingham Magistrates Court Thursday, 7th December 1995 Birmingham Magistrates Court Thursday, 21st December 1995 Birmingham Magistrates Court Thursday, 2nd February 1996 Birmingham Magistrates Court Thursday, 14th March 1996 Birmingham Crown Court. Friday, 26th April 1996 Birmingham Crown Court The trial itself was finally scheduled for Monday, 7th October 1996, being delayed at the request of the defence to allow the accused time to finish a dissertation, Johnson having started at some time a business course. The appearances at the courts were all very similar. Johnson was bailed on each occasion to appear, usually, at 9.45 a.m. The courts start proceedings at 10 o’clock and are usually on time. A jolly crowd of solicitors, barristers and court officials gather in the court a few minutes before ten and the cases are arranged to be heard before the Magistrates in an order that will save the solicitors time. The clerk and ushers seem to informally arrange that solicitor ‘a’ will have all his cases together first, one day and the next time solicitor ‘b’ will have his cases together at the start. Johnson wore a dark blue suit on each occasion. He was always accompanied, sometimes by a female friend and sometimes by three rough looking companions, who occasionally carried a copy of the Guardian, presumably as evidence of intellectual and libertarian standards. The woman never came in to the court but would wait outside. His three male companions would sit inside, sometimes very close. We looked at each other covertly, avoiding direct eye contact. When I first realised that Philip had died from drugs supplied by Johnson, I wondered if it was my duty to kill him. I looked at the knives in the kitchen drawer and considered how easily I could walk up behind him and kill him. Pamela said, “how will it help the rest of us if you are in prison”. Seeing Johnson in court, in one case sitting next to him in a small room, I was surprised how little animosity I felt. He looked like Philip. He had the same body movements, the same slightly arrogant walk. Pamela was similarly affected. I think she once said “I felt an impulse to put my arms round him”. That emotion can exist alongside a desire to hate and to see him imprisoned for many years. An acquittal or a light sentence will depress us. It is difficult to comprehend the motives of Johnson’s entourage. Perhaps the woman, who is a few years older, feels maternal or sexual affection for him. She may simply think it her duty to support him. His male companions who often look bored and impatient in court may have nothing better to do. Johnson looks a natural leader in his relationship with them. Alternatively they may be anxious that Johnson may implicate them as other suppliers and dealers in a close knit circle and think it advisable to keep in close contact with him. It was difficult to understand why seven hearings in Birmingham Magistrates Court were necessary before committal to the Crown Court. It was in any case difficult to hear the proceedings, although for the later cases we arranged with the usher to sit well forward in seats intended for court officials. I introduced myself to the Crown Prosecution Service representatives on each occasion and received courteous explanations but it was difficult to avoid the impression that an arcane game was being played which would require initiation to comprehend. Adjournments were requested because documents had been lost or misplaced or had not arrived, or witness statements were not presented on the proper form. Both the prosecution and the defence asked for extra time to prepare. A CPS lawyer explained that she seldom resisted an application to adjourn because “next time it may be me who wants an adjournment”. The defence solicitor claimed until the last moment that he would probably demand an “old style committal.” A full scale mini trial, with witnesses, in the Magistrates Court to enable the Magistrates to decide if there was a case to be answered in the Crown Court. We were advised by our solicitor that it was advisable to attend each hearing. He wrote: “Although I appreciate that it takes a great deal of time to attend each Hearing, I do think it is most important that you do so. Many cases are either thrown out or severely weakened at interim Hearings such as these.” and said on the telephone, “The CPS are much less likely to sell you down the river if you are there. You must let them know you are there”.

5th August Natasha to supper: Jonathan prepared a fondue. The last fondue was a week or so before Philip died. It was in Switzerland and we squabbled over it. There was a cameo of Philip in Ibiza. He enjoyed crazy golf. They played every evening. I would not have expected that. Natasha’s mother said that the holiday in Ibiza was the highlight of their lives. They were so happy. It was just after the abortion. I can hardly remember them going. Now I write and try to remember. My father used to say when he was getting old (but younger than me), “all my future is in the past.” It regularly infuriated me. Natasha spoke of Philip’s last night. How she was talking to Johnson when Philip went past. Johnson was saying that Philip didn’t really want to part from her. Perhaps Philip saw them, perhaps he didn’t. Natasha talked of her meeting with Johnson after Philip died, Tuesday 21st March, I think. A meeting arranged by Mo at her house in Pershore Road. Mo went upstairs to prepare the room in which Natasha spoke to Johnson and ushered Natasha in, Natasha was nervous. Johnson arrived escorted by Sam, a diminutive girl. Natasha wanted to see him because she wanted to find out what had happened on Friday night. Johnson wanted to see her because he was distraught, apologised and simply presumed that Natasha would support him. Gillian had been telling everyone that Natasha had made a statement to the police. Natasha was being looked at askance by her circle. They all asked her to withdraw her statement. Johnson told her what he had told the police, gave Natasha a version of what he claimed had happened (which Natasha believes is only partly accurate) and asked her to alter the story she had told the police. Maybe he assumed that Natasha would follow the rest of Philip’s friends and acquaintances in maintaining a wall of silence. He upset Natasha by telling her that when she was quarrelling with Philip in the men’s lavatory, he had been in the next cubicle, listening. Pamela remarked next morning how Natasha gradually tells more. Natasha mentioned that her friend Caroline remembers a telephone conversation a week before Philip died. Natasha seemed very distressed and was talking of hiding drugs so that Philip could not find them. Pam feels that with only a little luck matters might have been disclosed. Writing and talking about it makes Philip seem impersonal. Then one realises with dread shock, “this is Philip, our son and he is dead.”

6th August Pam arrived at work today after our weekly Wednesday mangers meeting. She seemed upset and burst into tears. In Waitrose earlier, someone behind her said “Hallo Pam, I haven’t seen you for ages”, People don’t speak to her from behind now. They look at her first from the front before speaking. It was the mother of Philip’s first friend. They had played together in the play group. The one in the park, I expect. Her son is also called Philip. He is a medical student now. Pam said, “I remember thinking ‘Philip’s cleverer’, and now Philip’s dead from heroin” There is another card on the grave from Sonya. It had blown on to the new grave behind. One resents another grave so close, Pam said, and then is pleased. Watering the grave this evening I had much the same reaction. 9th August I had a telephone conversation with D.C.Boyle. He said that he had spoken to the CPS yesterday and that everything seemed o.k. for the 7th.October. He believes there is a new group of drug users at the University.

11th August We went for a walk along the Thames. Sally, James, Pam, me and Jonathan. It’s my birthday on Wednesday. Two years ago Philip came and, I think, Natasha. Sally gave me a present: ‘The After Life; A Complete Guide to Life After Death.’ Claire Short is described in the papers as “a loose cannon.” Someone called Philip that.

14th August I am sixty five today. It is very depressing being sixty five and Philip dead. I used to enjoy the idea of being sixty with a teenage son.

15th August Nick phoned work. He was with Natasha and suggested he called at home, collected the dog and took him for a walk. Pam was in the office with me and was pleased. She wanted to ask Nick about Philip. He was at home when I returned. He had told Pam that he and Philip had smoked cannabis a lot at school, Philip always taking it a bit further than others. Philip had smoked in class under the desk for example. He had nearly been caught on a school sailing trip in Holland, exhaling into a masters face when the master leant on the boat and Nick and Phil were under an awning. The master didn’t notice. There was a rather more shaming story about faking tickets for a ball and pocketing the money but I do not understand the details. Nick kept using the word “naughtiness” but I’m not sure of the associations of the word for Nick. To me it suggests no more than disapproved of frivolity. Nick showed us the entry for Philip at the back of the 1991 Habs year book. I had not seen them before. They were all one line entries giving a forecast for 2001. Philip’s was “in prison for naughtiness” Nick is uncertain whether Johnson should go to prison. He suggested he had to come and talk to us every week for an hour. He does not feel he should be acquitted and escape though. As Nick left he said awkwardly “I’m not religious at all or anything like that but I do think there’s something else and we’ll see him again. After my grandmother died my parents saw a medium who told them obscure facts only they knew.” He offered us the name of the medium. I think he couldn’t leave without saying that bit. The plant Joanna gave me, a bonzai type tree really, died a year or two ago. I have a couple of cuttings of scented geranium alongside it, in the pot. This morning I found the dead tree was rotting. I’ve pulled it out and put it in the bin. I don’t like rotting things. I dislike maintaining the compost heap now. In the 50’s when Mr Wagstaff next door died, I wondered how his widow stood the idea of his body rotting. He was a big man. An archetypal stockbroker of the past. My father imitated his way of puffing air out, going ‘herwooof, herwooof.’

18th August Pam, baking a cake to take to Andrew and Joanna this afternoon, suddenly thought of the cake she didn’t bake for Philip the last time we saw him. Busy, she didn’t do the baking but bought some food. Philip didn’t much like cakes. In the cemetery we often see man who sits on a bench for many hours. He strokes the headstone and leaves slowly, looking back. Why did Philip wear ear rings? We talked about it. There is no objective objection but it does display sympathy for a particular culture. He didn’t disagree with that but wore rings in Birmingham and occasionally at home. Did Natasha like them, or did he actually want to show support for the sub-group?

19th August I took a cheque for the Vicar to sign on my way to work today. He commented “you’re always cheerful” Is that how I appear? I was talking to a friend about funerals when he said, “Let’s talk about something nice”. I like talking about funerals.

28th August Back from a long weekend in France with the Champions both Pam and I feel better for it. I did not want to go but in fact am now glad I did.

31st August Alison Haigh brought the Haberdashers Old Girls books over to work for me to audit. Pam was here. She explained how the life subscriptions had been treated to spread them over an expected life of fifty years. This morning a circular letter had arrived for Philip from the Habs Old Boys. Both Pam and I are reluctant to remind them he is dead. Pam has thought of an excuse for leaving Philip on the electoral roll. I can return the list with his name on it because we have no death certificate yet.

1st September Yesterday, Sally saw a medium at the Spiritualist Association in Belgrave Square. The meeting was taped. I listened to it first, after coming home from a meal with Sally and James, Saturday night. Today, I started a second listening, this time with Pam. She quickly became very upset, saying she didn’t want anyone else talking about Philip.

3rd September Today has been difficult for both Pam and me. I know why in my case. Last night we went in a coach to Cheshunt for Brian Blackshaw’s induction as vicar. At the reception after the service, Brian Blackshaw asked “do you find things a little easier now?” I replied “yes, but we don’t like to admit it” and I am sorry I said that.

4th September Talking to Pam about what to say when people ask “How are you?”, she said it’s a difficult problem. Reply, “Fine” and you feel disloyal. Launch into a description of one’s misery and their eyes glaze or you prevent them telling you about their problems, what a ludicrous situation. Sally finds the conversation with the medium a comfort. I do not know what I think. The medium said that Philip was growing and wanted to help us (Yes, Philip helping us now!). I find myself listening to French tapes now on the way to work and seeking Philip’s approval and help. I wish I hadn’t called him Baldrick after the sailing holiday when he wouldn’t wash and got a skin infection. It seemed a good idea at the time.

6th September The Bearmans have given or lent us a pair of hand grips for Pam to exercise the damaged muscles in her wrist and hand. I did not like to tell them that we had Philip’s, together with the weights he used to develop his biceps. Weight lifting and drugs are related although in Philip’s case I don’t think there was a link.

8th September Today, I took off the shelf in the office, the drawing pins, blue tac, sellotape and scissors, that we bought to put up the posters of Philip at the University. They will be subsumed among our office stationery. We listened to the tape of Sally and the medium. Like me, Jonathan was impressed. There is just enough information to make it difficult to dismiss. Pam is hostile to the concept. She will not want us to pursue it.

15 September David Hough telephoned yesterday and arranged to call today. I have not seen him for forty years. When they were with us sitting in the conservatory his wife wanted to talk about their son who died 2nd July 1995. They found him dead after having to break the door down. They are not certain whether he died Saturday or Sunday. The television was on and he lay on his bed half dressed. Two of my old friends have suffered disasters with their sons. Last Christmas Pam did not suffer so much going to the cemetery. The pain came from the realisation that she could give Philip only flowers. In the ‘Daily Telegraph’ on 16 August it was reported that nearly half of all 15 and 16year olds admit to having tried illegal drugs.

September – various We wished we had known that Philip was taking drugs. We assumed that other parents would like to know this facet of their sons and daughters life styles. In this we were mistaken. There was contact with the parents of eight friends; four flatmates, Natasha’s and three others. Natasha’s were supportive. For other parents, with one exception it was different. We called on Mark’s parents on two occasions. His mother who played a subordinate role, was sympathetic but unhelpful. His father was unsympathetic and unhelpful. He took notes. He asked “Alex Johnson was a friend of Philip’s. Do you want him to go to prison?” He warned about “being neurotic and letting this thing take over your life.” He was very hostile to the police telephoning to complain that they had upset his son. His attitudes were an antithesis to those expressed in my wife’s letter to Mark. “Dear Mark, I thought I would like to write to you to put into words our feelings as a family regarding Philip’s death and the forthcoming court case. We understand that you have been helpful with regard to the police’s enquiries and we are grateful for that, If there is any further information you are able to give, it would of course be beneficial and may help to prevent the case being long drawn out. Your parents told us that you feel that, to some extent, you think things should be “hushed up” as that would be what Philip would have wanted. We, his family, and all his home friends are certain that this is not what he would want. He would be exceedingly angry that he has lost his life to drugs- as would any of you. He would want the truth out in the open, however painful it is. Drugs are a terrible way of life, damaging many young lives and occasionally, as in the case of Philip, causing their death. Many people (including yourself) are suffering in some measure in the pain caused by Philip’s needless death and I do not believe that any of us would want other people to suffer similarly, as a result of our failure to do what is right. “Hushing things up” gives a green light to drug pushers and users to carry on. We are sure that Philip, in the light of what has happened to him, would want us all to do what we can to discourage drug use. So, for other young students who, like Philip, might get sucked into the hard drugs scene, we ask you to be completely frank and honest in helping the police. We have naturally been thinking of graduation this week and although I gather you were disappointed with your degree, you have in the circumstances done extremely well and we offer our congratulations.” We have had no contact with them since shortly after Philip’s death. We hear that Mark sometimes works as a DJ and visits Birmingham at the week ends. I telephoned once telling his mother that I hadn’t had a reply from Mark to a letter I had sent. She replied “I don’t think you will.” James’ parents were quite different. Initially wary when I telephoned, they both, mother and father, asked many questions. My wife and I, with our son Jonathan, drove to talk to them. James and his girl friend came in part way through and took part in the discussion. His mother wrote us a letter after. “Dear Pamela, After you left on Saturday I felt an overwhelming feeling of sadness. Philip’s death to us was a tragedy and it has been the subject of many hours of discussion with the whole family. Regretfully, to a lesser degree than yourselves, we always felt there were things that didn’t quite make sense but time and time again we were told by James that he had never been involved in anything other than occasionally taking cannabis and would never get involved in any “hard drugs”. I had no alternative other than to believe James, although I would add there had always been a niggling doubt and I must say at times I felt him to be deeply troubled. As I briefly said to you on Saturday I have spoken on many occasions to Drug Counselling Professionals and reached the conclusion that I would achieve nothing by pressing James too hard for any further information, even though I was anxious to get to the truth. I was advised, and certainly I felt of the same opinion, that my role was to continue to give James the love and support of the family, but avoiding any prying questions. By taking this route, hopefully he would feel able to open up on this obviously very private side of his life, and gain enough confidence to talk to us. I can assure you I felt very deeply for you on Saturday, you must have felt you were not getting the feedback you wanted from us, but rightly or wrongly, for us to have started questioning James and pressing for answers to your questions, would in my opinion have made us appear to be disloyal to him, and I believe he would have lost his trust in us. Unfortunately from your point of view it must have appeared as if we were being incredibly naive and dismissing what you were telling us. Actually it was quite the reverse. As I said previously when you left I felt dreadful, a feeling which must have been very obvious to everyone around and particularly to James. However, on Saturday evening, without any prompting and taking the initiative, James spoke long and painfully to me about his feelings. I do, however, feel that we have a lot more to discuss, but we are taking one step at a time. I have stressed the importance of him going to the Police and he has assured me he will be doing this at the week-end. I hope you will understand what I have tried to convey to you but I shall be pleased to speak to you further if you feel it necessary. With kind regards” The father of Bryn, one of the two flatmates who discovered his body, had a different approach. It had been impossible to obtain coherent replies from Bryn himself. How much this was a deliberate policy and how much an inability to communicate orally is impossible to say. I once asked him “Did Philip behave in a furtive way?” He replied, “What is ‘furtive’?” On the other hand when my son Jonathan asked him whether he had told the police some perfectly innocent fact, he said ‘No, he was the sort of person who never told anyone anything if he could avoid it.’ I telephoned Bryn’s home address and spoke to his mother who referred me to her husband. I heard her say in the background as she called him, “You’ll never believe this.” He was aggressive, refused to have anything to do with me, told me his son was very sensitive, threatened to “have his solicitor on me” and possibly hinted at physical violence. I am amazed as I write his words: “I was brought up hard. I can play rough.” In some way I became almost addicted to the need to tell people, excited that it might help, nervous but keen to see their reaction – could each one amaze me more than the last? I telephoned Gill’s mother one Saturday morning. “I’m the father of Philip Davies who was a friend of Gill’s. Do you know about his death?” “I have heard something” “I’ve waited until Gill’s exams are nearly over. Could my wife and I come over and talk to you about the circumstances of his death this week end?” “I don’t see the point in that” “She is a member of a group that takes drugs. So was my son. I wish someone had told me about Philip” “I’m most surprised to hear that” The conversation continued but no meeting was ever agreed.

26th September We talked to the Haberdashers’ parents social committee about drugs. Lots of people were there as they wanted to meet the new Headmaster. I don’t think he takes drugs seriously. He said carefully, “while drugs are illegal I shall take every step to prevent their use in this school”. When a parent asked what cannabis looked like he made a little joke; “has anyone got any here?” The teacher who organised the meeting said as he showed us out that he estimated sixty per cent of the senior boys smoked cannabis.

28th September Natasha was supposed to come during the day. We think she has another boyfriend. This is not something to be unhappy about. Philip would not want her denied the experiences of marriage and motherhood. Sally went through the tape of her meeting with the medium. There was no mention of Natasha. Much is meaningless to us but there is just enough to lead to belief.

October – December 1996

11th October The trial is over and Johnson has been sent to prison. Joanna said that if Johnson had come and seen us and said he was sorry, and told us about he and Philip, he would never have been tried. And that, I suppose, is true. Nor would he have been sentenced if he had said nothing. Natasha and her sister were in a Birmingham pub, Saturday night. Mo came in distributing flyers.

14th October James’ mother rang and spoke to Pam. She was ashamed of James. He had come back from the trial arrogant and distant. I think he had taken drugs in Birmingham with his old friends.

25th October How can you compare the frivolity of life with death? You read about people who have just lost a child, they normally seem so composed and say the most ridiculous matter of fact things, – ‘We didn’t get any sleep last night’; ‘This has come as a shock to the family’. I pity them and the terrible pain that is yet to come, their reality.

10th November In one of Phil’s notepads, Jonathan found a scrap of paper with a note dated 17 October 1992, 12.30pm. Phil did get obsessed by things, he was keen to push the boundaries, but why did he write down these thoughts, a need or desire? “A moment If I close my eyes I can see things going fuzzy and feel my electronics short-circuiting and blowing up. An obsession involves a mutiny from within oneself and one is unable either to arrest it or to ignore it. It feeds you as it feeds on you. It is powerful enough to transmit itself into waves of pleasure – muscle stimulating rushes across the whole body as well as in the mind. I followed her back to halls, unnecessarily”

11th December Quite a lot of sobbing and tears this weekend: mainly me.

Undated – December. During the night I felt very strongly that nothing matters so long as you are surrounded by love and I felt very peaceful. I remember: Philip in the tower at Laval. – how tightly I held his wrist. Philip in the canoe on the Thames – how anxious I was. Philip at one end of the Ski Heil line giving a gentle push and over they went. Philip standing up to jump off the top of the assault course wall while the others lowered themselves or pushed off. I’m glad I told him about that.

1997 Last Entries

4th January The Christmas period was fine but there was then a rapid downhill spiral culminating in New Year’s Day when the family got together for a meal. The ‘banter’ at the table suggested a return to a more normal existence and the ‘completeness’ of the family was particularly painful. Pam is regularly breaking down again. She felt that the Queen’s speech telling the Dunblane parents to ‘look to the future’ was crass – the children died last March, only nine months ago, they were their future.

7th January Taking down the Christmas decorations was a relief, they gave us no pleasure whilst they were up. We’ve noticed that friends and relatives now send us a higher preponderance of religious cards.

11th January Today is my mother’s birthday. She would be ninety-six. As I was looking through papers preparing for the Inquest Pam found the batch of notes that Philip wrote to himself shortly before his death. Distressing.

19th January Pam told me how difficult it had been in Sketchley’s telling them just how much to shorten Philip’s suit so it would fit Jonathan. My father told me how he saw his father’s clothes hanging in a cupboard when he came back from the funeral. For me it was seeing my father’s false teeth, wrapped in a slimy damp flannel. I saw them in the second drawer on the right of a desk or cabinet. And his car, his blue Peugeot had been returned and left on the drive in front of the garage a few days after he died by the people he had been calling on when he collapsed. They didn’t call, they just left it there looking forlorn. Perhaps we were out.

22nd January The Inquest is now over, not far off 2 years after Philip died. We all feel quite deflated.

30th January I awoke dreaming that Philip was a child of four or five telling me that he was the naughtiest in the class by a long chalk. I asked him to change as it would mean he wasn’t going to grow up, saying ‘you know what you are going to do’. It’s the effect of having our three year old granddaughter here for the night, I suppose.

6th February Natasha has shown us a poem that her brother Nicholas has written for school, supposedly in ‘iambic pentameter’ he was awarded A- for it. He was only 12 when Philip died (now 14). Enveloped in your own grief you can forget how others have been affected and to me, Nick’s poem shows someone fighting hard to justify going on ‘as normal’ in the wake of Phil’s death: The grief was apparent throughout the Church How could such a cruel tragedy take place? The tears were clear to see as people wept, Such a waste of a terribly young life. Memories were shared but sadness prevailed, The service seemed so long, a time for thought. Friends were consoled but to little effect, It felt like someone irreplaceable had left. There was no turning back, he had gone, It was time to face facts, time to get on. The black coffin looked so cold and morbid, My stomach turned over a million times. It all seemed so hard to come to terms with, How could one so special die so early. It felt like a bad dream, but it was real. The trauma was beginning to sink in, The early shock had taken some shifting. Life had to go on, but it would be hard, Family and friends were distraught, faith lost. The days were so sad, the nights even worse, The slightest memory and tears were shed. Time seemed immaterial, days went by.

9th February D.C. Boyle rang. Did we want the cash box and one or two other things found by the police in Phil’s room? He had already asked for them to be disposed of and then felt guilty. Pam & I want to keep everything to do with Philip. Boyle doesn’t understand that they won’t cause unpleasant memories. The memories are painful, but that is different. I also asked for the police photos, – we will use them one day I think. Pam likes the little bits of publicity Philip’s death receives as it makes it more significant. There was a piece in ‘The Guardian’ yesterday which we didn’t know about until a friend left a message on our answering machine. I met D.C. Boyle’s wife when we came up for the Inquest, upon being introduced she said “I recognise you from the television” – Now, that would have made Philip laugh.

11th February Such irony that Phil hated missing out on things and hated people being sad. I still find it all unbelievable. After my father died I felt quite numb but eventually found an animal vigour again. I realised it was happening when I began to be interested in the Christine Keeler affair. This hasn’t happened after Philip’s death, there is pain and not as much numbness.

12th February A good friend of ours, Robert Bertolotti died last week. He too is now buried in Pinner New Cemetery, barely 100yds from Philip. Over time, Phil will become surrounded by friends.

16th February We had a boiled egg each this evening. Pam found the egg cup she had bought to encourage Philip to learn to play the trumpet, a man lying down with the cup the bowl of the instrument.

22nd February My son-in-law Andrew has just had his 33rd birthday and so is now half my age for the first time, I’m not sure he was best pleased when I told him. It’s a mathematical certainty that he will age quicker than me, in another 30 years he’ll be two thirds my age and he’ll catch me up in eternity.

27th February Pam received a letter shortly after Phil died from a woman who had suffered similarly some ten years previously. She told how, with time, grief may become less sharp but that the ‘sadness is always there, like a quiet companion’. With time, I hope that this may be the case for Pam and me.

 

Brother’s Reflections

There’s a smile when I think that Phil’s punishment for putting us through all this pain is, in all probability, to be buried next to Mum and Dad for eternity, his grave being big enough for the three of them.

Despite being informed about Phil on Saturday evening, mum and dad didn’t tell me and my sisters until the Sunday morning; they wanted to give us one last night of peace for which I guess I’m grateful. I spent it at the Banana Comedy Club in Balham and although it seemed just a normal night at the time it has since taken on some significance, the last playfulness before the serious stuff took hold, as if a graduation ball.

I was told the news when I phoned up home late morning on Sunday from my girlfriend, Jo’s house. Dad had earlier driven to my place in Battersea but no one was in and he didn’t know Jo’s address or number. I had been about to go to the local cafe for a late breakfast and had phoned rather impulsively. Given that mum and dad were unlikely to be back from church I half expected the answerphone but mum picked up the call almost instantly and I could soon hear dad breathing down another receiver. Mum was unsure about telling me down the phone and asked if I was prepared to hear (“Hear what, mum?”). As she searched for strength and words I felt calm and needed, Jo recalls me shaking like a leaf. I turned to her as I sat down on her bed saying “Phil’s dead, Everything’s different now”, words that often drift back to me and I hate it when (sometimes) I question them, Phil’s death has to make a difference.

Jo was in tears as she drove me home whilst I stayed in a state of denial, tapping my foot to the stereo and requesting a stop at my Battersea home for ‘a last cup of tea’ and in Stanmore ‘to buy mum some flowers’ (Which Jo stopped me – rightly – from doing saying it didn’t seem quite right at the time). The scene on arrival at home was pure misery, – no sound, fixed stares and hands clasped around cold mugs of tea. There was little hugging, that came later, they were too drained to move.

I slipped away to the lounge to watch the England Rugby highlights that I had been looking forward to and then I remember hyperventilating, lying on my back not able to breathe, vision blurring and Sally screaming to the others in the kitchen for help. Only then did I join their nightmare.

Dad writes that the funeral arrangements absorbed much time. Those initial days before the funeral were indeed surprisingly busy although that was partly due to the fact that each day could be centered around completing just one job; phoning the Coroner’s Officer about the release of the body, agreeing on the funeral service hymns, informing a friend. I had assumed that we would visit Phil at the undertakers just the once, but after first breaking the barrier of going in to see him, normally in a group, there was an urge to go back, often alone. In the days before the funeral after we got up and sat together downstairs we would think ‘What can we do?’ and we would say ‘We can visit Phil’ and off we would go, as if he was in hospital.

I always wanted to go in last so I felt no pressure to leave, just like the morning shower rota. I laugh at myself now for spending time looking for signs of breathing, the pathologist had taken his heart out by then, but in that darkened room the movement of small shadows across Phil’s chest played games with me.

Buying flowers for the funeral was one of the few occasions early on where I had to combine with the ‘outside world’, those people who knew and understood nothing of our predicament. Mum and dad ordered white lillies and my sisters bought wreaths with their fiancé and husband respectively. Phil’s death had caused our family’s life-stage to jump forward (I’m now the youngest and only one not married) and the loss of its symmetry came home as I ordered alone, privately vowing to obtain the best flowers to prove how much I hurt. I flicked through the ‘Guide to Floral tributes’, a shocking selection of made to order arrangements – You could have the words ‘Bye Gran’ in shining silver enplanted in oasis amongst a plethora of flowers with the centrepiece being a rhododendron football, if you wanted. I asked for a bouquet with plenty of purple ones and wondered what on earth I would put on the ‘greetings’ card that was handed to me.

Another such ‘outside world’ occasion was shopping with Sally in the Pinner Marks and Spencer store, I felt claustrophobic and panicky from the moment we walked under the jet of wasteful warm air at the entrance. The whole idea of frolicking amongst aisles looking for the most succulent cut, even the crispiest lettuce seemed depraved. Chocolate eclairs, grated cheese, fresh fruit flown especially from Tenerife, those chocolate eclairs. Unashamed gluttony of shoppers surrounded and swiftly constricted us – we both wanted to bolt for the door and in any case I knew it would save trying to stay composed at the checkout. I can see just why mum didn’t look at a cookery book till September.

At the funeral, dad says he was slightly inhibited by embarrassment when sprinkling water on the coffin. I experienced a similar, somewhat shameful sensation as I rode in the cortege passing through Hatch End sensing shoppers’ smiles dissipate as we passed them by, as it did with passing skiers when I once found myself on a blood wagon. It may have been a welling up of the English aversion to spectacles, maybe a sense of vulnerability that another car may hoot or a pedestrian point and giggle, or maybe just a desire for anonymity.

Everyone did so well at the lectern, by that I mean we didn’t break down and cry (you can tell for sure we’re English). Dad spoke with an unexpected force, otherwise I doubt he could have spoken at all. I had an uncontrollable spasm in my right leg and I think my sisters came up to speak together. Mum initially looked on the verge of collapse but became rejuvenated as she spoke, I remember her first words: “I think of Philip and hear his familiar voice ‘Hello Mum, It’s me Phil’, and now I say to him ‘Hello Phil, it’s us your family and friends who love you and ask God to watch over you.’” Those words, ‘Hello Mum, It’s me Phil’ are so right, just simple words but only Phil would say it quite like that, I can hear him now, even the intonation is spot on. I may have my similarities with Phil, our propensity to verbal dyslexia meant we were both liable to accuse someone of ‘blowing a strawberry’, but only Phil could say hi to mum like that.

The few weeks following the funeral were spent surviving an energy draining haze, whilst driven by the need to know what had killed him. On the Sunday, before we were told about the heroin, mum says she had suspected a faulty gas heater which she had worried about only a few days before. There was also the possibility of asthma from which he suffered mildly, then the confusing and self-distancing reports filtering back from the students, suggestions of vast quantities of alcohol being consumed. And did we need to consider suicide? Surely not? It was all so confused and I found myself even wondering what ‘type’ of death was preferable: Drugs related (So unnecessary : Difficult for mum and dad to cope with) versus Natural (e.g. heart problem/asthma – But, may it affect me too?) I don’t think I really cared as long as I wasn’t going to die too. This wasn’t a selfish reaction but I didn’t want the family to suffer more by my dying. I was always convinced however that it wasn’t suicide, as this did not feel right, if you want evidence I can point you in the way of a ‘To Do’ list he wrote but I don’t think that’s necessary.

It took an amazing twelve weeks for the toxicology and post mortem reports to confirm heroin and this simply served to change the angle of the questioning. Was it an accidental or reckless overdose? Could he have taken a lethal second snort while high on the first? Even if it were not pre-planned, I guess there can be a fine line between recklessness and suicide.

Prior to Phil’s death dad had been keeping a brief but regular diary. There is a symbolic and abrupt ending of entries rather sadly on the top line of a 5-year diary. He did not start to make regular entries again (this time on his computer) until July. This does not surprise me, diaries are for the future, helping to understand the past. Writing down feelings would have seemed irrelevant except perhaps to help confirm that Phil really had died.

My own feelings of bitterness started to predominate towards early summer as numbness subsided and events surrounding the death (rather than the death itself) started to emerge. I would have strange thoughts, I might ponder on the consoling words that people repeated, ‘think of him in heaven’ and declare that I might as well stop trying as it was obviously too easy to be allowed in. I can remember seeing the horrific news reports on the Oklahoma bombing, the dramatic images of destruction hinting at the agony of families destroyed in an instant. Bizarre, but I cannot deny that sense of glee such tragic reports instilled in me. I was bitter.

I knew this feeling was one of brotherhood rather than malice, welcoming new members to ‘The Club’, and I never proactively wished tragedy on another, although for certain individuals I thought it might be good for their vacant souls. These feelings have certainly passed and (in my defence?) I think it may be true that I now feel for victims of misfortune more acutely than many of my friends, I am a more compassionate person. And as I write, I question whether I would have admitted to such bitter schadenfreude (in days gone by dad’s favourite word) if I still felt the same now. There is a parallel with my ability to console friends with problems of their own. In the first 18 months or so I would either turn the conversation around to Phil or else spend it in a state of detached irritation. In late ’95 a friend suffered a late miscarriage and treated it as a bereavement. I bit my tongue and agreed with her. She’s since given birth to a baby boy and I feel concerned when I hear he’s got a cold; I suppose this is evidence of moving on.

An after-life?

Dad has agreed, I would say admitted to me, that he has obtained his sense of religious conviction through a process of ‘conscious brainwashing’. The sort of thing you do to make healthy food taste nice. He would attend church regularly, sing the hymns loudly and generally follow the flow until routine became belief, a type of mental transubstantiation, so that eventually any conflicting argument could be put down instinctively with that all-encompassing and so very useful one-liner, “Yes indeed, God does work in strange ways”.

I felt slightly exasperated when I read that dad wishes to ‘atone for Phil’s rejection of Christ’. Phil was only 21 when he died and Christ would have been a topic he’d have fitted into the ‘deal with it later’ box of life. I’m not sure whether Phil remembered sitting in our lounge listening to the letter that grandad wrote to be read out on his death, I was fifteen and so he was twelve. The letter opened with something similar to ‘You all know that I have never believed in God’ – Well I didn’t, – this had been hitherto kept secret to me but it sounded great, you didn’t have to believe in God, grandad said so. Philip, on discovering rather young that dad was in fact Father Christmas asked him ‘so you must be God too?’ Who said Phil did not think about the after-life?

I am tempted to say that the pain dad has suffered over Phil’s death exposes his physical rather than intellectual engagement of Christianity, but then true religious belief has never seemed to protect from the pain of bereavement. Is it just that all people at heart are unsure of the wonders and charity of God, or is pain always meant to be? I think it is the former. True belief would surely remove the fuel for pain but belief, like grief, appears not to be a constant, rather it touches then leaves you, moving in waves that both pick you up and hurl you down. I know that occasionally, in the deepest moments of despair following Phil’s death, there was within me the knowledge that I was now touching the core of life, that I was truly living and understood all around me. It was an all-fulfilling surge of knowledge that would drift away as easily as it came. These may have been momentary shots of belief but a refusal to deny them may lead me, in time, to an on-going conviction of some kind.

Either as an alternative or else to complement the support and understanding he received through the church, dad started to look elsewhere. Despite mum’s misgivings, there was a brief flirtation with ‘The Ghost Club’ and then more seriously there was the world of Sai Baba, to whom dad was introduced by no other than his GP. Sai Baba is an organisation that undertakes spiritual and educational activities under the guidance of Sathya Sai Baba, a ‘man of miracles’ born in 1926 in Southern India. It teaches an appealing mixture of commands within its code of conduct centering on love, truth and peace. In particular, there is a concept of Universality, that religions are facets of the one truth – ‘Moslemites, Christianites, Hinduites, Jewites, are all the same to me! There is only one religion, the religion of love.’ Whilst Sai Baba has received world-wide attention, some commentators have questioned his refusal to carry out under independent scrutiny the miracles which emanate from him as a blessing to his devotees.

Dad has dipped his toes into the organisation (as has reportedly the Duchess of York), obtaining leaflets, buying videos and attending the odd meeting. I can’t imagine that the videos are much fun, on a mailing list I noticed one advertised as containing ‘many delightfully informal sequences of Baba when young (riding a donkey, wearing a hat and sunglasses, walking among his devotees)’. I suspect that Sai Baba’s reported ability to perform acts which break down basic conventions and laws of physics touches a chord with dad, as something he could cling to, but mum says “I hope it’s just a phase he’s going through”.

I suppose I myself have become more spiritual since Phil’s death, or at least spend time thinking about it (not left it in the ’till later’ box). It may be crude and you may say I’m ignorant or maybe ‘how dare you put down your own pathetic theory before you’ve even given God a chance’ but I hypothesise that there is no such thing as death (I can accept immediate re-incarnation as an alternative), rather it is actually just a smokescreen to prevent complacency and insanity arising from the knowledge of natural eternal life. There you go. I tried to convince a Jehovah’s witness the other day but she was having none of it, concentrating on her own sales pitch which seemed to centre on the fact that before 1914 there were no wars or child molesters. To my surprise she felt she won the ensuing argument and so I don’t imagine that my theory can therefore quite compete with the might of Christianity, at least in the West.

I can never quite get to grips with this geographical aspect of religious belief, what’s the point learning to put my faith in and believe the teachings of Christianity when, let’s face it, if I was born in Pakistan I’d be told something else. Maybe I’m perfect fodder for Mr Sai Baba and his universal god of love?

Sally’s visit to the median certainly triggered more feelings of….strangeness. In dad it was I guess a confirmation of his religious conviction and in me a certain ‘yep, there’s something a bit weird going on up there’. At some point, the growing dossier of evidence may tip the scales firmly in favour of spiritual presence rather than coincidence. When granddad died, Joanna was up at Bristol University and had stayed the night at her boyfriend (now husband) Andrew’s house. They were rushing to their 9 o’clock lecture when Jo sensed there was an urgent message for her back at her house. Andrew said she was crazy but after a ‘to do’ they skipped the lecture and drove back where waiting on the answerphone was a message to call home because granddad had died. It seems that Joanna may be able to relate to mum and/or dad in some slight extra-sensory manner. On the Saturday night when only mum and dad knew about Phil’s death, Joanna was hardly able to sleep at all, telling Andrew that she thought mum was in pain.

But back to the median. Sally had gone to a Spiritualist Society of Great Britain Open Day in London where she was directed to a middle-aged lady in a booth who got straight to the point, ‘There is a young male who has gone over just recently’. Despite her amazement, Sally says she tried to agree in as matter-of-fact a manner as possible. The lady then asked ‘him’ what happened, – ‘He tells me he couldn’t breath, he’s reluctant to say more, I think he’s a bit coy about it’. Now, that is perfect Phil, exactly the reaction he’d have given, coy, maybe cringing with embarrassment because mum and dad were proved right! And the lady in the booth knew nothing of Sally until she agreed that “Yes, I’ve got a brother Phil who did die last year”. And, it’s all on tape, Sally taped it. Now, that’s evidence!

In one of my early dreams, I was sitting at a table with Phil, asking questions. We both knew Phil was dead and it was like a Question and Answer session. From the moment I woke up the next day I was unable to remember the detail of what was said which is probably a great pity [My book on the mysteries of life is still on hold] but I do know that the answers he gave were unexpected. Dreams may shock or scare you, you may feel out of control, but they are your dreams and somehow you always know what’s coming. This was different, less a dream more a conversation. The median said that ‘Phil has grown on the other side, he is there looking after us and you can contact him if you need him’. This is a topsy table concept for us Davies’s given that he’s our YOUNGER brother, we’re the ones that help him. At times though it’s difficult to deny his presence, another pinch of irony that whilst we can never be with him, he is now no longer ever away.

Moving on

You can see the change in dad over the last two years. I remember how early on he just wanted to die himself, ‘It would be an honour’ he once said. It sounds more perturbing now than it did then. I think he’s undergone a rather dramatic shift and is now petrified of dying. He may feel he has so much to do in the wake of Phil’s death, he may not want to put us all through another death or he may just want to be alive, I don’t suppose there’s any real need for justification.

Phil always liked to be ahead of the field and he liked high tech gadgetry. I often look round at the changes he has missed out on, the mass marketing of mobiles, the change from 081 to 0181, batteries that show their chargeabilty level. Behind a woman in the newsagents queue today I heard her ask for “Two lucky dips, a Mystic Meg and a Grow on Trees”.

An attempt at Conclusion

A couple of weeks before Christmas 1996 I was in a car giving a lift to someone in Golders Green. As we turned the corner of a residential road into Hoop Lane I saw an expanse of headstones. “That’s Golders Green Cemetery isn’t it” I asked, heart pounding. “Yep” came a reply but by then I had already remembered. Across the road from the cemetery, rather less conspicuous behind a tall red brick wall is the Jewish crematorium. The car park is the spot where I last saw Phil alive. I think I winked at him and said something like ‘keep well’ before he drove off with a wave.

Seeing the place again for the first time was the deja vue of all time but I’m not so good at expressing myself when I need to; “Oh, that’s the last place I saw my bruv” I said rather meekly and out of place in the conversation so that it was acknowledged but quickly forgotten.

As I read dad’s diary, I am taken by the feelings that are evoked, often through the raw thoughts themselves, but also by the knowledge that dad does not often speak aloud his emotions. We are like that as a family and I mean that in an extended sense, cousins, aunts and uncles included. Whilst the early months saw much physical contact, we have now reverted almost entirely to the standard practice of an odd peck on the cheek and half-hearted pat on the back. I am quite happy with that. I rarely show emotion myself now, occasionally I do after drinking which I’ll be the first to agree is rather pathetic.

Two years on I am looking at the poem I wrote to fill up time before the funeral and wonder whether I could now express myself in quite the same way: At home, in his room, lies a bottle of champagne, And my mind fizzes with memories, pain? (His wicked sense of humour was to all a source of such delight, I picture him, his cheeky grin, please Lord never let him leave my sight. A man with style, a mind so bright, His critical eye could catch an unsuspecting fly, Concern for all, would only bark if riled by an ignorant remark. A man with style, a mind so bright, His sensitive eye could sense a secret smirk, or sigh. Pure energy, yet so polite – You know he’d always wanna “Put Things Right”. and So, his death, a loss ’tis true, The bolt has hit hard all he knew. But pity those he had yet to meet, They’ve really missed a lovely treat. Sense the silent void of their lost gain, Why, they truly feel that ALL’S THE SAME. One Final, Farewell, Bodily Kiss, A spiritual tingling, lingering bliss. and in day and in night he was one that we did love, to me, the one that I call bruv).

After Phil died, there was a sense of me being the only male descendant left, a point made explicit to me by a number of relatives, it was as if I had to wrap myself up in cotton wool and to some degree I did, buying a volvo for starters. When mum and dad wave me off saying ‘drive carefully’, it always seems more of an instruction rather than a pleasantry as it did before. I found myself asking a friend, an only child, what she thought of this situation but I don’t think she could quite relate. It’s not that I’m bitter about losing my brother, I had one for quite some time and hey, I’m not the one that’s dead. It’s just that I’ve lost my chance when I’m 65 to go and have a drink with him.

Some people have wondered why we haven’t hushed up the manner of his death and maybe believe we have made it more difficult for ourselves (How wrong they are). Phil will be known for heroin by those who have read about him in a paper or who are only within gossip reach of the family – If you ask me, I will remember how he would leap up in the air to activate the driveway light, or how he would nag Sally for hiding the crisps. But it is true that the manner of his death has caused us to do so much ‘post analysis’ and dad often looks for drug based re-interpretations of Phil’s last months with no real justification. For example, he hypothesised for ages about the many payments of £15 shown on his cheque stubs and made to a character called ‘Bugs’ – were they for supplies of cannabis, or even ecstasy? Some weeks later he found out that you could cash cheques at the Birmingham University Guild of Students (minimum cheque £15).

Mum and dad also wonder how much Phil had been holding back. The abortion may, to them, be evidence of his secretiveness but that was simply an ‘ease of life’ secret, not a guilt-ridden one, I know, I discussed it with him.

It has helped to spend time learning about drugs however. Initially we had no real understanding of them or the associated lifestyles. The diary mentions the incident of the ‘pizza cutter’ which I’d like to expand on. Imagine the scene. It’s the Thursday after Phil died and mum, dad, Sally, Joanna and I have just gone back to his room for basically a quick cry before heading back south to London. Then all of a sudden we’re peering over an implement, about 6″ high with an attached small circular blade on which there appears to be remnants of a dark yellow resin. It appears to be a device for cutting up some kind of drug, probably hashish although the resin does not smell distinctive. Someone moves to pick it up and Sally screeches, “Don’t! Fingerprints!” so it is lifted by a jumper sleeve and put in a bag to be taken to the police station. It is there later that D.C.Boyle joins us, hunched in a small interview room to analyse our discovery. There’s a deal of nervous tension and even excitement about our damning finding as D.C. Boyle lifts up the device rather carelessly (‘what about the fingerprints’ we all think in unison): “Why have you brought in a pizza cutter?” asks the detective “But, isn’t that…” He anticipates the question, “Cheese” We all burst into laughter, a hysteric genuine sound of amusement that we did get from time to time in the early days before it all sank in.

I used to write down ‘H.’ rather than ‘heroin’ as it seemed such an alien wor(l)d and I was reluctant to welcome it into my vocabulary. Now, as a family, we can talk lucidly on the subject and find ourselves teaching others, being surprised when someone asks whether heroin has to be injected. Mum and dad recently sponsored an essay competition in Birmingham on ways to reduce drug taking at Universities and I am faintly amused by the thought of mum talking naturally to her peers about snorting coke and dropping E’s. So many people seem so unaware and it is our turn to laugh at their ignorance. I like the story I heard in late ’95 about two women who were shopping in Tesco’s: ‘Have you heard that Temazipam has been banned?’ ‘No, what else can we put on our Christmas cakes then?’

We still have ‘slips of the mind’ when we forget that Phil is dead, whether for a split second or longer I can never really measure. Dad mentioned my initial reaction when the phone at home is engaged, – ‘Bloody Phil’. When I visited mum and dad yesterday and needed some toothpaste I started to walk towards Phil’s room in search of some, just for a split second, or maybe longer.

We’ve made tremendous progress in coming to terms with Phil’s death, everyone tells us so. Acceptance however may still be a long way off. Joanna and Sally seem intent on having lots of babies, I suspect partly to act as an ironic form of replacement, a rebellion against the all mighty power of death. It is strange to think that Phil’s death may lead directly to a new life and all the mystery that birth entails.

At his grave there is still the simple wooden cross with the rusty screws and fading nameplate. Although the issue of a headstone has been raised I suspect that it is always dropped to avoid the creation of a symbol of permanence. So, mum and dad simply continue to tend the grave as it is, but if natural order restores itself, that job will one day be mine.

Thank you for reading this internet memorial to Phil and the story of our grief following his death.

Life is a great surprise. I do not see why death should not be an even greater one.’ VLADIMIR NABOKOV