Southend U3A

February 2023

Witness - Pete Norman

My mother said that you should always start at the beginning and only stop when you reach the end. That was good advice, very good advice indeed. Well, I suppose for this account, the beginning was actually a very long time ago – when the Government chose to coincide my first day at school with my 5th birthday.

I was taken to the classroom door by my mother – who was quietly sobbing – as was I – and I was only prevented from running back out again by the crush of the other kids coming through the door.

A few minutes later the door was closed and we all sat at our small wooden desks in neat, forward facing, rows. I was surrounded by 30 of my peers . . . but I had never felt more alone in my life.

The desks were set up in pairs and sharing mine was a boy – slightly taller than me and not quite so skinny – who was rubbing his hands across his face to wipe away his tears. I wanted to say something to him but my brain was in free-fall. The best I could manage was, ‘I’m William . . . and it’s my birthday.’

‘Hey, it’s my birthday too!’ The boy’s face brightened. ‘I’m Michael.’

The teacher held up her hands, dropping them slowly and dramatically in an attempt to subdue the background chatter. When peace was finally achieved, she launched into a well-rehearsed and extremely patronising patter in an effort to make us all believe that this Government enforced incarceration would be the greatest fun imaginable.

That day was memorable – so memorable – because that single moment in time shaped every single day of my future life.

Michael and I quickly became the very best of friends and we stuck together like glue throughout our Primary school days. One teacher called us the ‘birthday twins’; another said that we were ‘umbilically connected’. We worried not – because with a close friend beside you, you were never alone; there were never any embarrassing moments sat on the ‘friendship bench’ waiting for some kind soul to come and play; and, as a pair – and especially with Michael’s greater size – we were far less vulnerable to the attentions of the school bullies.

Birthdays, of course, were always extra special, each year the party alternated between the two houses, with both sets of parents trying hard to out-do the other’s attempt the year before.

It might appear from all of this that my early days were idyllic but they were not, however, with someone else to share the misery we muddled through. We had different talents and it was invaluable for us both, having someone else to unlock the vagaries of our weaker subjects.

Michael was always the brighter one but I always had far more difficulties, however, together we could work most things out and, when the dreaded 11+ arrived, we both somehow managed to scrape through by the skin of our teeth.

As we walked through the gates of the big school, however, our previous status of being the top class at Primary evaporated – we were back on the bottom rung again – minnows in a sea of giants.

In itself this was an enormous transformation but we could never have guessed that life as we knew it was about to change forever . . . because something happened.

Something wonderful . . . but deadly . . . happened.

Caroline happened.

Caroline was tall and slim with long brown hair which floated deliciously about her face. She had a ready smile, a quiet sing-song voice and, when she screwed up her mud pool brown eyes and chuckled, my heart sang.

I was smitten.

Of course, Michael was similarly smitten and an uneasy truce began between us.

Of course, we were still mates as we always were but now, we were a threesome – now we were the Three Musketeers.

Caroline was athletic, a natural gymnast and the fastest sprinter in the class – neither of us could get anyway near her when she took off across the common. She could climb trees, fire a catapult with far more accuracy than either of us and we treated her as an honorary boy . . .

. . . but she was not a boy.

Something else happened

Something else wonderful . . . but deadly . . . happened.

Hormones happened.

Michael had always been, in an easy sort of way, the more dominant in our partnership but puberty was a step too far – we were no longer a threesome, we had become very much ‘them’ and ‘me’.

I can pinpoint exactly when this occurred. It was our 13th birthday and I had suggested that we might celebrate with a trip to the cinema and a bag of chips on the way home . . . however, by this time, the gloves were off and very quickly the ‘we’ became ‘they’ and ‘they’ went to the cinema and enjoyed a bag of chips on the way home but I did not. I took no further part in that venture – nor with most other such ventures in the future.

Slowly we drifted apart. We were still technically ‘mates’ and we were still sociable whenever the need arose but, wherever Caroline was involved, I was very quickly and very efficiently squeezed to the side-lines.

Caroline herself was no different than she always had been, she would still sometimes give me a hug and maybe a peck on the cheek as a greeting; she would chat and share the gossip with me just like before but Michael treated her as exclusively his own and I was never allowed to get too close to this relationship.

The end of our school days was a life changing event – so very different to the beginning – our employment paths were also very different and might well have split us completely except for Friday nights. Michael liked to spend a few hours in the Red Lion with the darts club and a couple of beers. It was the only pastime we shared and I always looked forward to my Friday nights and some quality time with an old mate. But then . . .

Something else happened.

Something else deadly . . . but, I suppose, always predictable . . . happened.

That particular night the darts had finished and I was just downing the remnants of my pint, ready to quit and go home, when Michael cleared his throat. He looked embarrassed. He looked unsure of himself – which

, for him, was a very rare sight indeed. I carefully put down my glass and waited . . . I did not have long to wait.

‘Will . . .’ he began, ‘Will, I need to ask you something . . .’

I said, ‘Go ahead then, mate, surely nothing can be that bad, can it?’ However, my intuition was screaming out to me that it really, really was that bad.

‘Er, well, Caroline and I are getting married . . . in Barbados . . . and we need a . . .’

I cut in, ‘For Christ’s sake, Mike, are you asking me to be your best man?’

He coughed. ‘Not exactly . . . not best man. You see, I was best man at Caroline’s brother’s wedding – and . . . and I promised that he would be mine when . . . when our turn came.’

His face was red and he was clearly well and truly out of his comfort zone . . . and that made two of us. I sat in stony silence while he composed himself again.

‘We are only having Andrew and Jennifer – and you, of course – and he’s got something important workwise coming up so they’re only staying for a few days . . .’

I bit my tongue; I could not trust myself to speak but then Michael added, ‘We want you and Jennifer to be our witnesses . . . so that we can have my best mate and hers.’

Smacked in the face with a virtual house brick, there was very little else that I could say. If we were living our lives on a chess board then Caroline would surely be the Queen. I, of course, could never be the King – and even the Knight was a bit presumptuous – but I think in this event my role most accurately fitted that of the Pawn.

I avoided the darts for a couple of weeks while I struggled to come terms with the situation but eventually the more noble part of me determined that it was my duty to give these two close friends a bloody good send-off.

On the day, Andrew took us all to Heathrow in his Range Rover, through torrential rain, which just about fitted my mood that day. To make matters worse, when we had met up, Caroline had given me a cuddle and thanked me for being there for her. I took a deep breath and told her that I would not have missed this for the world – all the time hoping that I had lied convincingly enough.

Barbados was fabulous, the hotel was fabulous, the weather was fabulous and Caroline looked fabulous in her ‘trimmed down for the hot weather’ dress.

The ceremony itself was brief but quirky as the vicar hammed up his accent and made us laugh all the way through the proceedings. I tried my hardest to join in the fun but, deep inside, I felt as if a part of me was being ripped away.

When the ceremony and the signings and the photos were over, we changed into something more comfortable to relax on the beach. Caroline and Jennifer sought out a couple of sun loungers and Michael and Andrew decided to try snorkelling. However, I declined – instead I went for a long and slow stroll along the beautiful beach – far, far away from the sight of Caroline, on the sunbed, in her bikini . . . that was simply more than I could bear at that moment.

Eventually, I bought an ice cream and wandered back. The beach was a lot busier now, there were swimmers, windsurfers, kite surfers and a couple of jet skis – maybe not quite as bad as Southend seafront on a Bank Holiday but a little too busy for my own taste. I could see Michael and Andrew some way out, both face-down, drifting aimlessly along, occasionally diving down into the azure water for a closer look.

How I envied their simple enjoyment. I felt truly alone and completely out of my comfort zone. I was so glad that I had made the decision to travel back to the UK with Andrew and Jennifer the next day and to leave the two of them to enjoy their honeymoon on their own.

I was almost back to the girls and I was looking around for a quiet spot a little further away from them when . . .

Something happened.

Something catastrophic happened.

Two kite surfers were chasing each other – coming far too close to the shore line – and they had clearly not seen the two snorkellers, face down in the water and completely unaware of the two boards racing towards them. I screamed out, ‘Watch out you idiots! Swimmers!’ I ran towards the water but the sickening thump of board striking head stopped me in my tracks.

I will remember that sound for as long as I live.

Andrew was supporting Michael above the water but a pool of blood was collecting around them. I ran into the water and, together, we dragged him back to the shore.

Someone was screaming for an ambulance, people were running and shouting but my whole focus was on Michael . . . he was losing blood fast and he did not appear to be breathing. I started a very inexperienced CPR but in a matter of moments we were surrounded by people and the first aiders took over . . .

. . . but it was all in vain.

The rest of the day was a complete blur – ambulance, medics, police, hotel staff . . . and Caroline. After the initial hysteria, Caroline had settled into a state of almost catatonic shock. Jennifer was trying her best to help her but nothing would bring her back from that bottomless pit of despair.

We all got together that evening to try to make some sense of things but Andrew had said right from the start that he had a work commitment that he simply could not avoid and, in the end, we agreed that the two of them would leave for England the next day – as was their original plan – and that I would stay with Caroline to sort out the bureaucratic nightmare.

That evening we all got absolutely hammered – the rum was cheap and delicious and plentiful and we staggered back to our chalets in a haze. Caroline was clinging onto Jennifer for physical as well as moral support and, as we reached her door, she whispered, ‘I can’t be on my own, Jennifer, I can’t be alone tonight.’

Jennifer helped her inside and Andrew and I made our way back to our own rooms. I was so fired up and my brain was spinning out of control but the Barbadian rum was a powerful sedative and eventually I slept until dawn.

The next day truly was a nightmare: the tearful goodbyes when the taxi came for Andrew and Jennifer; a morning of bureaucratic nonsense with the Embassy; an afternoon with a Barbadian police Inspector who appeared to be totally disinterested but unnecessarily thorough and who lacked the ability to do anything more than to create more and more problems for us.

When we finally slunk back to the hotel, I ordered a black coffee . . . Caroline ordered a large rum.

The trials and tribulations of the day had brought her somewhat closer to reality and we spent the rest of the day trying to avoid the elephant in the room – completely without success. When the day finally came to an end and I walked her, somewhat unsteadily, to her door, she clung tightly onto me. She whispered, ‘Don’t leave me, Will. I can’t be alone tonight.’

I was absolutely stunned but reality quickly prevailed – I helped her into her room and left her for a few moments to collect my own bedding. When I got back, I found her face down on the bed – absolutely comatose.

In the morning I woke, stiff and aching, on a stony hard floor. The bed was empty and the sound of the shower running brought last night into full focus. I gathered up my bedding and carried it back to my own room.

The next few days settled into much the same weird pattern as the last until, finally, everything had been finalised and we were permitted to return home.

The staff at the British Airways desk were wonderful. They were caring and sympathetic and when we reached the plane, we realised that they had upgraded us. We settled down into the spacious comfort of Business Class, with a glass of champagne, while Michael occupied a small space within Caroline’s hand luggage.

When Jennifer collected us from the airport, the conversation in the front seats was intense. Alone in the back of the car, the pressure inside my head was mercifully subsiding and I slept most of the way home.

I have tried hard to shut that dreadful day out of my mind but that is something that is very hard to achieve.

For Caroline, however, that is almost an impossibility. Every time she cuddles little Mikey Mo everything comes flooding back again.

Mikey was born 7 months after that dreadful day and Caroline devotes every shred of her love to this last remaining part of her husband – her husband of just a few short hours.

Mikey is the sweetest little boy, making his first tentative attempts at walking but spending more time on his backside than on his feet. Today is his first birthday but that joyous event has been somewhat overshadowed because . . .

Something is happening.

Something wonderful is happening.

From the other side of the Labour Ward door, I hear the strident cry and the hustle and bustle in the room increase. I check my watch – little William has finally entered the world with just 11 minutes to spare. I hope desperately that he and Mikey will make fantastic birthday twins but I think the jury might be out on that one, because when I took Mikey in to see his exhausted mother and my son – his new half-brother – he managed to hit William on the nose with Jeremy Giraffe, which made him cry.

I think I’m going to stop now. It certainly isn’t the end, I know – there’s a lot more water to flow under the bridge yet – but I think maybe that’s enough for now.