They Didn't Listen, They Didn't Know How

By Olwen Davies

They say dont judge a book by its cover, but its human nature to instinctively do it. On this cover, Ive placed a framed picture of my husband as he was in life, with the words They didnt listen, they didnt know how, indicating from where he is right now, he can see a bigger picture. I say framed because there is evidence indicating he was a diabetic, but in fact, he was suffering from something else. The back cover has a selection of photographs of him enjoying life against a background of honeycomb with the inscription Life became too sweet for me.
I invite you to read on with an open mind!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491875407

Olwen Davies

I was born at Welshpool Cottage Hospital in mid-Wales on June 28, 1957. I boast a twin sister called Gwenfron, fondly known as Gweno to her family. I also have two younger brothers, Glyn and Alwyn. I was born to Welsh-speaking parents, who always speak Welsh in the family home. My parents are Eirlys and Elfyn Jones, better known as Eirlys and Elfyn Mynydd Dwlan. Mynydd-Dwlan being the name of the farm where I was raised before I migrated over the border to England, I was better known as Olwen Mynydd-Dwlan rather than Olwen Jones. This was at school as well as in our local community. At the age of fifteen, I attended Newtown College; there I studied for my prenursing certificate, which enabled me to start my nurse training at Wrexham War Memorial Hospital. On August 23, 1977, I qualified as a state enrolled nurse and later sought employment at the Robert Jones and Agnes Hunt Orthopaedic Hospital, where I later obtained my diploma in orthopaedic nursing. I spent eighteen months on the Spinal Injury Unit before moving to London for twelve months in the private sector. I settled down to married life in Kidderminster, where I found employment at Kidderminster General Hospital. After some years, I had to complete a further course to convert to a state registered nurse or become a nursing auxiliary. I was reminded of how hard I’d worked for my qualification. Recapping on my struggles, I agreed and qualified as a staff nurse. I have done thirty-six years of unbroken service in nursing. Sadly, at the age of fifty-one, I became a widow and the contents of this book are about my husband’s life before we met, our life together, and my life without him.

Book preview

They Didn’t Listen,

They Didn’t Know How

Olwen Davies

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AuthorHouse™ UK Ltd.

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© 2013 by Olwen Davies. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/31/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-7539-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-9764-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-7540-7 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgement

About the Author

This book is dedicated to Llewela

Who inspired me to become a story teller?

Where did Julian’s journey begin?

His Big accident

Other early Hospital episodes

The Day we both said I do

Llewela Jane

The Eve of the millennium

Julian’s life changing news

Julian’s first obstacle

Julian’s first Ambulance Journey

Julian’s second Ambulance Journey

Someone’s listening

The visitor

He Conformed to the end

His second encounter with Insulin Crisis

The beginning of the end

Julian’s Third Ambulance trip

His big plan

Julian’s Forth Ambulance trip

The worst night ever

The day the Solicitor came to visit

Julian’s days of dehydration

Julian’s fifth Ambulance transfer

Teaching Tibetan Chant

Julian’s Claustrophobia

Rejection

No time to say Goodbye

Julian’s sixth Ambulance journey

Good bye Papa

The blindness

Julian’s final negotiation with the Doctors

Putting things in order

To much for to long

Julian’s 8th and final journey by Ambulance

Tuesday 11th of November

Final Goodbye’s

What next

Friday 21st November 2008

My Coming home

Julian’s coming home

The day of the funeral

16th December 2008

Our first Christmas without Julian

Winter of 2008

Spring 2009

Summer of 2009

My Longed for Letters

The Law on Consent

Post Mortem Report

Pathologist Conclusion

Preparing for the Inquest

The morning of the Inquest

The Crossroads in my life

Living with regrets

All those learned people!

All my coincidences

Guilt’s?

Dealing with them

Confrontation

The head stone

Trying to let go

Adult Abuse

The man with a will of iron

Question of Diabetes

History of Diabetes

What tests were available

‘Did Julian have an Adrenal Tumour’?

Pandora’s Box

Hydrogenated oil

Processed food and Additives

Exposure to toxic substance

Environmental Factors

Artificial Sweeteners

Genetic Engineered Food

Organic Food

Genetically Engineered Medicine

Black Box warning label

Balance of Acid and Alkaline

My Conclusion

I understand

Disappearing Bees

Thank you

My fund raising days after Julian

I have no bow to my bundle

Organised Crime

Raising Concerns

My Affidavit

References

Preface

They say Don’t judge a book by its cover but it’s human nature, we instinctively do it. On the cover I’ve placed a picture of my husband framed, indicting from where he is, he can see a bigger picture with a message They Didn’t Listen, they Didn’t Know How The Back cover has a selection of photographs of him enjoying life, against a background of yellow Honeycombe with the inscription . . . life became too sweet for me

Please, I invite you to read on.

To view the coloured photographs within this book please go to:-

http://www.olliedavies.org/

Acknowledgement

I would like to express my sincerest gratitude to all my family and friends who have supported me through the years, especially the ones who have shown support and concern towards me since my husband’s death. I would like to thank Llewela our daughter first of all for being so strong and setting me an example on how to conduct myself in public. My sister for being my life line every hour of every day, especially when I needed her most and of course my parents for being such down to earth people and giving me such good grounding in my early years. Glyn my brother, who I didn’t realise, was so close to my husband until after his death. I later discovered they used to communicate late into the night on the computer. Alwyn, my younger brother, who I think of as the strong silent member of the family, I can always rely on at a moment’s notice to help me out mechanically.

Gill who only came into our life four weeks before my husband died, who has now become a very valued friend of the family. A big thank you to Steve Ward who supported me at my hour of need at the inquest and of course all my long standing colleagues at Kidderminster Hospital. Also to my friends at Max Spielmann, Matthew, Shirley and Kevin who have helped me with all my photography problems. Not forgetting my special friends Joanna and Michael Butera, who also happen to be my daughters God Parents. Joanna has become my private overseer, who watches me like a hawk and is always ready to report back to my mother.

The worry is, when you start mentioning names you are bound to leave some one out.

Forgive me if I have offended anyone.

About the Author

I was born at Welshpool cottage Hospital, in mid Wales on 28th June 1957; I boast of a twin sister, called Gwenfron fondly known as Gwenn to her friends and Gweno to her family. I also have two younger brothers named Glyn who lives in Oswestry and Alwyn who lives in Elsmere, Shropshire.

Born to Welsh speaking parents, who always speak Welsh in the family home but are not Welsh Nationalist, but we haven’t forgotten our roots either. My parents are Eirlys and Elfyn Jones, fondly known of Mynydd Dwlan, Llwydiarth, near Lake Vernwy.

‘Mynydd—Dwlan’ being the name of the farm where we were raised, that’s how they operate in Wales. In fact the name of the farm is often placed on their Headstone. I found the absence of this practice in England strange when I migrated over the boarder to England. I was known then as ‘Olwen Mynydd-Dwlan’ rather than Olwen Jones.

The four of us were brought up on a farm, with country values. My twin and I left school at the age of 15 to attend Newtown College of Further Education, in mid Wales. We studied for our pre-nursing certificate and we both started our nurse training together at Wrexham War Memorial Hospital in North Wales and qualified on 23rd August 1977 as State Enrolled Nurses in our ‘Emergency ward 10’look a-like uniforms. This is the day we exchanged our striped uniform for a bottle green dress, with our frilly cuffs, nursing buckle, starched aprons and a black and red lined cape. We also exchanged our second year striped paper hat for an elaborate frilly cotton one. I remember I wore my badges with pride, but the ‘no makeup, perfume or jewellery’ policy remained even after we qualified.

Still in tandem with our career we both seek employment at The Robert Jones and Agnes Hunt Orthopaedic Hospital in Gobowen near Oswestry where we obtained our Diploma in Orthopaedic Nursing. Our first post after qualifying was on the Spinal Injury Unit where we both learnt much valued life lessons. After 18 months on the unit we parted company and I moved to Golders Green, Hampstead heath, North London where I took up a post on yet another Orthopaedic ward, I stayed there for twelve months. Although I’d met Julian my future husband a few years previously we rekindled our friendship in the summer of 1980. Twelve months later on 3rd of October 1981 Julian and I were married at St Ambrose Church, Kidderminster where I took up yet another post on an orthopaedic ward, we were blessed with 28years of happy married life. After some years at Kidderminster as a State Enrolled Nurse I was told I had to complete a further course to convert to a State Registered Nurse or alternatively become a Nursing Auxiliary. I was more than happy to do just that, but then Julian reminded me how hard I’d worked for my qualifications and was I prepared to dis-regard my efforts? Recapping on my struggles I agreed to complete the last lap. I qualified as a Staff Nurse, to date I have 36 years of nursing experience under my belt as it were.

I also did Girl Guides as a hobby for about 11 Years, and was a Brown Owl for about 4 of those years, in charge of 24 Brownies, which I took on camp once a year. That also required an additional qualification and constant training days.

My studying days are now coming to an end I hope, but you never know what the future has in store for any of us, but this is my journey so far. For someone who could only read and speak Welsh until she went to secondary school, I haven’t done too badly. No harm done, except may be for my poor spelling, knowing another language is no burden to anyone.

Sadly after 28 years of marriage our partnership came to a sudden end and I became a widow at the age of 51. The content of this book will be about Julian’s life before we met our married life together, and sadly my life without him.

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Photograph of myself, just before we met.

This book is dedicated

to Llewela

This book is dedicated to Llewela our daughter, who incidentally does not need a book to remind her how good a Father he was to her. He had dedicated his adult life to teaching her life surviving skills, which are now paying dividend. The two of them used to make fun of me, compare me to David Bailey the famous photographer because I was constantly clicking away with my camera.

I use to remind them both, how else can I capture the moment! If I don’t go click, click?

Llewela has since thanked me for taking so many photographs, over the years, and how now she has ‘little snippets of time’ captured on card to remind her of what happy times we had together"

Who inspired me to become a

story teller?

Going back to my own childhood, I remember when I lived on the farm, I’ve mentioned before called Mynydd-Dwlan. Our Nain, which is Welsh for grandmother in Mid Wales used to come to stay with us during school term usually around June time, and she would stay for about six weeks. We looked forward to her visits, it always entailed going to bed early, not because we had too but because we wanted to. The bedrooms seemed large in those days or maybe they appeared large because we were so small. Going back to the story, Gweno and I slept in a double bed in our bedroom, and our two brothers slept in single beds in the second bedroom, Mum and Dad of course had a double bed in the third bedroom. When Nain came to stay she slept in a double bed on her own in the corner of our bedroom. That’s shows how big the bedrooms were.

Nain was a great story teller, I have recollection of repeatedly asking her in Welsh of course after having our evening meal Can we go to bed now Nain? she would answer No, it’s only six o’clock

The four of us would repeatedly ask the same question, until she gave in. We’d all scramble up that wooden stair case and with soap filled eyes jump into bed eagerly awaiting our bed time stories. The boys would get changed into their pyjamas hurriedly in their own bed room, while Nain, my sister and I would change into our night wear in our bed room. Once the three of us were in our nightgowns and ‘cwched’ up in bed, (a name we use in Welsh for hugging the bedclothes up to your chin) Nain would call out, Ok boys the coast is clear you can come in now. Glyn and Alwyn would be allowed to sneak into her double bed in the corner while Nain would snuggle into to our bed, ready for our story telling. Then the story telling would begin in earnest. At the end of each story we’d all say in unison, Tell us another story Nain, please tell us another She would start off by telling us about her true life stories, of when she was a little girl, they were simple stories but interesting and funny. When her personal stories dried up she would start on the Bible. Those stories were just as colourful; she always managed to bring the Bible to life somehow. She had such great faith, and I think it is to her I owe her my gratitude for such good grounding in the Christian faith. (Thank you, Nain.)

I used to lie in that bed as a child watching her in awe, thinking I hope one day I would be able to tell stories like my Nain.

Ironically Nain also became a widow at a young age too; she was only 54 when our Taid died.

She was only three years older than myself, when my husband and I were so abruptly parted.

I wonder if storytelling to children has all but died out in our modern day computer age.

Well! This is it; this is my one and only chance to prove my story telling skills. The trouble is, it’s not a fairy tale it’s based on my husband’s life, his suffering and the journey I have travelled since his death, to find out why and how his life came to such a sudden abrupt and a sad end.

It’s important for me to tell the truth at all cost, in case there is someone out there who can take this true story seriously enough to help me make a change in the world. My only fear is, if my theory is ridiculed and the book is discredited, then I will have let both Julian and others like him down.

I don’t want people to think I’m writing a story at Julian’s expense, many people over the years tried to coax him into writing his own biography, he used to say to them And where do you think I can find time?. It was true what he used to say, he was always too busy living his dream to write about it. But in his memory I’m going to attempt to do it on his behalf.

Instead of Julian Paul Davies’s ‘Biography’ I will write his ‘Autobiography’

Maybe everybody should write their own memoirs, when its either, hard to let go of loved ones, frightened you might forget the past, want something to be handed over to future generations or simply to explain something when you feel ‘someone has been wronged’ I’m doing it for the latter reason.

Where did

Julian’s journey begin?

Julian’s life began on the 16th September 1953; this bundle of joy must have seemed like a living doll to his mother who was only 16 when she married his father. Imagine someone so young being blessed with such a live wire for a first born, meddling in everything crawling at the speed of lightening, tottering as fast as a whippet, progressing to running faster and faster as a child. Then at the tender age of five he channelled all his energy into trying to think and doing any task better and faster than anyone else. I’m exhausted just thinking about his whirl wind upbringing, it felt as if his whole life was in ‘fast forward’ with no pause button at hand. This high speed life he led reflected in what others might consider as an accident prone childhood.

It was as if he was living by, ‘You can’t win, if you don’t take risks’ the competitiveness in him was great, but not in a boastful way, you were just drawn into his energy and wanted to run the race of life with him.

His first family home was at Cherry View Cottage, Knighton-on-Teme, near Tenbury Wells, a small market town in the heart of Worcestershire. He was born into a farming back ground, although one of his grandfathers was a black smith.

Two more boys followed a middle brother 5 years after Julian, then a third son 5 years later. Having 3 boys in the house must have been quite hair rising at times as these three boys did not lack boisterousness. Julian in particular had oodles of energy, which got him into more trouble than most. The family used to joke, that Tenbury Cottage Hospital survived mostly because of Julian’s attendances. There was one instance which required a hospital visit, when his mother trundled off with young Julian in tow to the local Hospital. This time however the visit seemed different more hostile, because the Matron had taken an interest in young Julian’s frequent visitations, and had requested to speak to his mother in her office.

The Matron suggested that she should go home and return later, and on her return a Social worker would be waiting to speak to her. Off she went; I don’t know what must have been going through this young mothers mind while she waited her fate later that afternoon.

As she approached the Matrons office, one of the other Mothers called out Matron wants to speak to you, in the office. Knowing this, she must have felt furious that the Matron had discussed her plight with this other Mother. Bravely she approached the office door, only to be greeted by kindness itself, all barriers down, and the tea and biscuits were flowing. There was definitely a change of attitude here, what was going on?

Matron greeted her with. Well! Mrs Davies young Julian’s a very naughty boy isn’t he, I don’t know how you manage him, as soon as you left, young Julian fell off his bed and unfortunately he’s now got a lump the size of an egg on his forehead. I got one of the porters to get a cot from the store room, we placed it upside down and tied it over Julian’s bed, so he’s safe now in-effect he’s in a cage.

And needless to say, she had already cancelled the Social Worker.

So from a very young age it was hard to keep this young man down. He had to be tied down as a child and did not fare much better as a grown man either.

img1.jpg

Photograph of Julian pre-school age on his trike.

He looks as if he’s been in some mischief here and is harbouring an exciting secret.

When his parents first got married they both worked for a milk delivery company, which they later owned and as time progressed they had a supermarket built, first one of its kind in the town from what I’m told. I must say his father was ahead of his time, they sold all sorts by the sound of it. One day when his father was buzzy cutting ham off the bone in his white grocery coat, a customer in the shop noticed some one passing the window. He remarked, Oh! I just see young Julian just passed the window Julian’s father not paying much attention replied, Yes, I expect you did

The customer was a bit perturbed that his father seemed disinterested and informed him, No, I don’t mean walking past, I mean from top to bottom

They all rushed out, and sure enough, Julian had stepped out of the bed room window on to a bit of a balcony then jumped off attached to a bed sheet, attempting to fly like Batman. I can’t remember anyone saying if there was a trip to the local Hospital on that occasion, but I expect there was. And I don’t suppose he was the first to attempt flying at such a young age and he probably won’t be the last. Although most children these days probably have never heard of Batman, never mind who Robin is.

When Julian was about nine the story goes that his Father had asked his Mother to choose a place to go on holiday before he returned home from work that evening. As the three boys were notorious for been little rascals, she hadn’t had time to study the map. So when she heard the car pull up the drive, she quickly got the map out and stuck a pin on one of the pages. As he entered the house, he promptly asked, Have you chosen a place to go on holiday then. She replied Yes, Pendine Sands. Pendine Sands! he repeated. She said, Yes, it’s no good you trying to change my mind

And that’s exactly where the family went for their fortnight’s holiday. On their return his mother sent Julian’s Father to the garage for a pint of milk; Julian went along for the ride. They were some time at the garage, and on their return voices were raised as to what took them so long. His Father explained he thought the caravan holiday was enjoyable, but felt the rental was a bit expensive so while he was out purchasing a pint of milk he also bought a caravan and would be taking it down the following week end. And here started Julian’s love affair with Pendine Sands. The caravan was taken down as promised the following weekend and then revisited nearly every week end, summer holidays, bank holidays, Easter and Whitson with the exception of the Christmas break. It didn’t stop there, from what I can recall from the family, his Aunty then bought a caravan on the same site, as did his widowed grandmother on his mother’s side. Julian’s father’s family then joined in with his grandmother, uncles, aunts bringing with them their children. So from an early age Julian spent all his growing up years with his cousins from both sides of the family running riot on sunny Pendine Beach. How many other cousins can boast of such fun and closeness, getting up to all sorts of boisterous antics, this is probably why this second generation were as close as adults? They were always reminiscing at such functions as Weddings, Christenings and Funerals hankering for the good old days spent on their sunny Pendine Beach. It must have felt as if Tenbury itself had arrived at Pendine, when all the Davies’s invaded the site each season. He often use to retell tales about his child hood days to me during the first eight years of our marriage about the time he spent at Pendine, talking about old fashion beach entertainments such as kite flying, beach ball games, beach cricket, rock climbing, rock pooling with their buckets and fishing nets, cliff walking, cave exploring, with fancy dress and sand castle competitions on various bank holidays. You can almost smell the atmosphere, the wafting smell of fish and chip lingering in the street, the sweet smell of candy floss. The sea breeze, leaving your lips tasting of salt and off course the famous 1960s sunburnt bodies tingling in the evening after the hot sun bearing down on them for hours on end, the aggravating grains of sand grinding between the toes.

The magnitude of different ice creams of all shapes and flavours dripping under the heat of the sun. Not forgetting the defining screeching sea gulls flying overhead and the loud pop music, blaring out of passing ‘boy racer’ cars in the evening.

Topped up with the excitement of rushing off the beach at the end of each day, to beat the tide from devouring your pressures transport, many a vehicle were lost to the raging sea at this little cove over the years, not covered by insurance of course because it was a private beach. The secret was to ask the beach attendant at the ticket booth what time the tide was due in that afternoon. That way you were sure to be off the beach in time to save your car for another day’s adventure. He used to say, the sea wasn’t fussy whether it took an old banger or a spanking new car; it didn’t recognise its value or its number plates. The mangled remains could be seen all smashed up in the bay the next day. Back at Tenbury, this was no sleepy hollow in the back of beyond either, there was often some live entertainment going on here too. They had a very active amateur dramatics society which Julian’s parents were members of as well as being involved in arranging outside entertainers to entertain the locals. A lady by the name of Pat Lambert and her husband were among these like-minded people who got together to see what they could do to entertain the young people of Tenbury. The largest ballroom at Tenbury Wells at that time was at the Bridge Hotel, this society called them-selves, ‘The Riverside Club’ and in 1962 they booked a virtually unknown Liverpool group to play the following year for £100. As time approached for the live group to attend, their Agent contacted the society to ask if they could pull out of the agreement. The committee replied with a good farming reply No, a contract is a contract so they had to attend. By the time they were due to perform at little old Tenbury they were in the charts with, Please, Please me

The group was none other than the famous Beetles they still honoured their original agreement to play at this tiny Worcestershire venue. The tickets were soon snapped up at three shillings and six pence each. A local hair dresser remembers the exiting day and you can find her story on the web. Her clients with no inhibitions about their hair being wet or in rollers got up from their chairs and stood single file in the street to watch them walk by. The hair dresser remembers Ringo Star eating an ice cream and sure enough he had got one in his hand in the picture taken in Team Street.

This sounds like an unlikely story but next time you’re in Tenbury, ask one of the locals. Julian’s cousin Carol Vernalls was one who had their autograph on the back of a Beatles record. Last time I spoke to her she said she wouldn’t part with it for the world, well not just yet any way.

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Photograph of the Beetles walking down Team Street,

in Tenbury Wells.

He often spoke of other claims to fame in his home town too, such as when Queen Victoria visited Tenbury. This sounds like an another unlikely story, but he used to say she had affectionately nicked named the town, My little town in the orchard In Victorian days all the surrounding fields would have been heaving with orchard crops of all kind, mainly apples, pears and hops.

Worried that I may be caught out retelling an inaccurate story, I wrote to our present reigning Queen Elizabeth ll for confirmation of this tale. The Assistant Archivist at Windsor Castle wrote back apologising for the delay but they were in the process of digitalizing all of Victoria’s Journals in their entirety, and to my surprise there was a reference to Princess Victoria stopping at ‘The Swan Hotel’ in Tenbury Wells whilst she waited for her horses to be exchanged for fresh ones and the Worcestershire troops to take over her protection from the Shropshire troops. This piece of journal was dated October 1832 stating she was on her way to Whitley Court traveling from Downham Court. The Christmas tree at Whitley Court is said to be decorated with real crystals, and would have been a grand affair. I wondered was it possible she spent Christmas there that year? Unfortunately this magnificent house was burnt down in 1937. I’m only surmising she may of spent Christmas at Whitley Court because a month later in the same year in November 1832 it is documented while en route through Tenbury Wells she visited ‘Hewell Grange’ another grand stately home, I calculated the young Princess would have been 13 years of age at the time. I don’t know if she ever visited the Malvern Hills on her travels to the county of Worcestershire, but Queen Victoria refused to travel without her bottled Malvern Water, and it is also known to be Queen Elizabeth’s favourite drinking water too. I’m only mentioning this Royal visit to Tenbury because Julian was often thought to be telling tales of grandeur only to be discovered to be telling the truth later.

Another fondness he had for Tenbury was the long tradition of a century and a half old Mistletoe Fare, which started in 1854. The mistletoe is supplied by locals and gypsies from far afield; the fare is regarded as the Head Quarters in Britain for its unique sale. Proud of this annual event the town folk were worried that this age old tradition might diminish, to rejuvenate the interest they included the crowning of a Mistletoe Queen and a Holly Prince. The crowning is followed by a Santa Parade, dressed of course in his traditional green suit followed by a trail of children carrying lanterns, the morning then concluding on a more serious note with the Mistletoe Auction. To cap it all in 2005 Parliament endorsed a fixture of ‘National Mistletoe day’ to be held on the first Saturday in December. With a little incentive from the locals, it sounds to me as if the old tradition is safe for a few more years yet! To boost attendance a few years ago the BBC film crew brought the ‘Country File’ program to Tenbury to highlight the Mistletoe market, it was hosted by John Craven. In my opinion, any local hype is good if it’s saving an ancient old tradition of ‘kissing under the mistletoe’ which is largely unknown in the rest of the world.

Julian and his family moved from Tenbury in or around 1963, but he remained faithful to his accident and emergency department where ever he went especially when I read such entries in his medical notes dated as far back in 1964, ‘hit on forehead’. I wonder which brother did that. Later in 1967 records showed he was being treated for a boil, which sounds as if his immune system was already on the decline.

As the years rolled on, Julian and his family were still spending time at their lovely Pendine. When he was 14, although still loving the beach life style, he started to develop another interest in life which was fashionable clothes, to impress the girls. I would say most boys his age, didn’t bother about trying to attract the opposite sex, but always advanced for his years Julian did.

Still in this race for life he decided to get himself a summer job, off he went in search of one. He didn’t have to go far, he asked a gentleman on the beach if he had a summer job, and within minutes he’d landed himself a job as a deck chair boy. He used to repeat to me often that summers, in those days were long and hot, he recalled that he was only rained off the beach once that particular summer. In other words he only had one day off because of bad weather. So it wasn’t our memories playing tricks with us, we really did have proper seasons then.

The following summer on 11th June 1969 age 15 he underwent a right knee operation, I don’t think Julian was keen about the surgery but he was told if he didn’t have the surgery he could be in a wheel chair for the rest of his life. As he wanted to continue with contact sport, he took fright and had the operation. The operation he undertook was called ‘Medial Meniscectomy’ I don’t know why he was given such a grim outcome it’s only removing some meniscus cartilage from around the knee joint. He often used to repeat the story in a humorous way, saying it was the most painful operation he’d ever endured and if he’d known he really was going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life because of another reason he wouldn’t have bothered with the painful knee procedure.

Later that summer, he went to see his previous employer to see if he could get back his old deck chair job for another season. Unfortunately the gentleman explained he didn’t have the deck chairs any more but he did however have a spare Ice cream van he could drive for him.

Julian hesitated for a moment, remembering he had lied the previous year about his age. The gentleman quickly reminded him Your 17 this year aren’t you. Julian just as quick said Yes he thought no harm done the Ice cream Company was only situated across the road from the beach; all he had to do was carefully drive across the road. What he said next panicked him, Come early tomorrow, your patch is on the next seaside resort at Saundersfoot!

Driving licence was apparently not a requirement for a driving job in 1969, well not for this particular interview anyway. How things have changed!

Julian keen to start his new job, turned up early.

His new boss was impressed with his punctuality, and informed him You will have to wait until your partner turns up, because he will have to drive in front of you because your van has no brakes, you will use his van as your brakes.

Julian thought he was jesting at first, and laughingly repeated What no brakes at all? Sure enough the other van was his brakes. Going up the steep hill to his place of work was no trouble but coming home was hair-raising. If any of you have ever visited Pendine beach you will know about the very steep hill at the back of the village that ascends to heaven, but coming down must of felt like descending down to hell, especially if you didn’t have any brakes. A bus did come down this hill once some years later when the brakes had failed; he called to his passengers to quickly get to the back of the bus while the driver took his chances in the front awaiting his fate. Every one survived except for the driver. There is a memorial plaque placed on the wall in his memory, where the bus collided with the sea defence wall, explaining how he gave up his life for others.

I only mentioned this incident to emphasise how treacherous the steep hill was, and even worse without brakes as the bus driver found out as his demise.

After a few days at his new job Julian asked his boss if he could help himself to the odd ice cream every now and then, as he didn’t want to risk losing his summer job over a single ice cream.

To his amazement his boss said, Help yourself to as much ice cream as you like Julian thought he had gone to heaven. The first day he ate about 20 ice creams, the second day he ate about 16 and so on until the numbers decreased each day until he didn’t fancy one at all in the end. In fact the very thought of them made him feel ill. In all the years I knew him, I cannot recall him ever having soft whip ice cream. I suppose you can have too much of a good thing. What a clever employer, it cost him a buck or two at the beginning but the expense was soon cured.

The following year he was 16, and still a boarder at a local private school, incidentally there was no need for him to live in but he loved the life style. It’s not for everybody; his brother for one disliked the boarding way of life intensely and chose to live at home. As the boarding school took in boys from all over the world, lots of the boys could not get home for the shorter holiday breaks like Easter. Julian was famous for befriending any one and every one, because he could see the good in all. He often took one of the boys home with him during these short school holidays.

One particular holiday Julian’s family were getting ready to traipse down to South Wales in droves to their lovely Pendine. This poor young man was sucked up in the usual Davies exciting jaunt which was fine, but don’t forget that Julian had been blessed with an abundance of energy when he was born. His friend may have thought of a restful holiday but Julian had other plans, Julian intended to find both of them a seasonal job.

This time Julian had to go further afield to find temporary work. Word of mouth guided him to the top of the hill that same treacherous hill, to work for a local builder. Both of them were given a chance as long as they worked hard. Their new job was to be a ‘plasterer’s mate’.

Julian’s friend came from a wealthy family, and had never come across hard work in his life before. The two of them would arrive back at the caravan each evening so dusty they looked like a couple of lads dipped in flour, they would have a ‘strip wash’ outside the caravan in their shorts in case the plaster dust clogged up the shower drains.

The two of them would then in turn have a shower, and then join the family for their evening meal. After the hot shower, hot food and total exhaustion his poor friend would be too tired to even say good night and would be found collapsed on the bed spread eagled and fast asleep, and there he would stay until the following morning ready for another days work. But not Julian Oh! No he’d get his glad rags on all dressed up with his dancing shoes and stay out late into the night.

The two of them did this routine every night throughout the summer holidays. Unlike Julian, his friend didn’t need the money; he only wanted Julian’s company. Julian use to say, I expect it gave him a good insight into how hard his father’s labourer worked. I hope he took that experience home with him in preparation for taking over his Fathers Company. So the time he spent with Julian wasn’t all bad.

That same summer Julian would sit on the wall with his back to the sea in his trendy cloths eyeing up the local and visiting talent wolf whistling in his teasing way, and watching all the crazy teenage drivers showing off in their super cars, skidding and tooting as they drove a thousand times backwards and forwards through the village from early evening into the late of the night to impress the girls.

He used to say it wasn’t just him on the wall; all the local young men would congregate there too.

After returning to school, I think it was the following Easter break he decided to tour as much of Europe as he could. Off he went with a rucksack on his back, hitch hiking on his own with nothing but a thumb for a lift. It must have been an experience of a life time, a lot of people did it in the early 70`s with all that flower power mania.

On one occasion, he was sat on his own in a cafe in the south of France having lunch, when a young man approached his table asking, Is it ok if I share your table Julian said that was fine and they made small talk, as they munched through their lunch. When they had both finished, the stranger asked, Do you know who I am?

Julian quickly replied, Yes, Mungo Gerry He was puzzled that Julian hadn’t mentioned it earlier. Julian explained, I thought even Mungo Jerry deserves peace and quiet while he’s eating, but now you have mentioned it do you mind if I ask you for your autograph.

He laughed and thanked him for showing such respect. As his hitch hiking tour came to an end so did Julian’s money. He took a chance and rang home hoping his Father would send him some money for his return journey. The answer was, No, it can teach you a lesson to manage your money better maybe fathers are stricter towards their sons, but I can’t imagine us leaving our daughter stranded in a strange country to make her way home without a penny, just to teach her a lesson. There must have been an Angel watching over Julian that day because as he sat on the embankment of a motor way pondering on how to get home, I don’t know if he prayed, but how often do we all say, silently in our heads Please God, can you help me not realising we’ve actually asked for help.

When all of a sudden he saw this huge lorry in the distance and he recognised the logo on the side, as fast as he could he gathered up his ruck sack and ran like mad down the embankment to herald this massive articulated lorry for a lift. He did this by standing in its path with his legs apart and his arms out stretched waving above his head, in a distressed manner. The lorry pulled up onto the hard shoulder, with Julian racing along its side. Before Julian had a chance to say anything, the lorry diver verbally laid into him, with raised voice You stupid boy, I could have killed you; do you know how dangerous it is to try and stop a lorry, travelling at high speed down the motorway? Julian apologised, and flippantly asked if there was any chance of a lift?

The driver enquired, Where are you going. Julian replied Kidderminster. He said, Jump in then. You see the lorry was bound for Kidderminster returning from the South of France empty after delivering carpets. The company he was driving for was Brintons Carpets of Kidderminster

As they approached Kidderminster, Julian asked this already kind driver to do him yet another favour, could he possible detour down Sutton Park Road? That way he could drop him off just outside his front door. The driver said, You’ve got the cheek of the devil kid, but yes ok then

Imagine the shock on his father face when he walked in to the kitchen less than 24 hours after the pleading phone call to say he was stranded penniless in the South of France.

At the end of his last Autumn half term holiday, spent at Pendine as a teenager, most of the caravans had closed up for the winter, the hustle and bustle had left the streets, the beach was motionless, and the cafes were empty, nothing left but quietness and stillness. He decided to take himself up the cliffs just one last time before he returned back home to the midlands and he sat and look into the distance over the 7 miles of golden sandy beach reminiscing about the fun he’d had over the last decade and the realisation that this would never be recaptured. For one thing he would never have seven weeks holiday again; life would be very different from now on.

This idyllic childhood must have put him in good stead for his adult life, if there was one thing Julian was good at it was having fun and always making the best of every situation. I don’t mean every now and then, I mean every waking moment of his life.

There must have been unpleasant moments in his past, we can all find those if we dig deep enough, but if there were any such moments Julian never mentioned them.

The only two things he did mention about his past were from his school days which he considered outstanding, and had the most profound effect on his adult life. One was when a teacher was giving one of those off the cuff lectures. He asked the class did they feel privileged that they were lucky enough to receive private education. There was mixed answers, most of the boys came from very wealthy backgrounds. The next question he asked was, did any of them feel that some occupations such as a mechanic would be beneath their stations in life, most of the boys said yes immediately.

He then he went round the class asking what sort of car could they visualise buying.

By this time Julian was wondering where this sort of teaching was leading. His last question forced the classroom into silence when he asked, When you’re out in your posh sports cars and it happens to break down, who would they ask to repair it? The boys became dumbfounded; the answer of course, was a mechanic. After pausing, the teacher then asked, Who’s the clever one now then?

The moral of that lesson was, we’re all important in our own way. I never heard Julian boasting about his education or belittling other people’s capability, maybe that story kept his feet firmly on the ground. He certainly didn’t mind getting his hands dirty.

The other tale he often told me, was, he never confessed to being an Angel at school. The posh and the rich had to take their punishment like the rest. As Julian was more mischievous than most it stands to reason he had more punishment than most. He claims all the canings he had on a daily basis never hurt him once until one day he was called into the Head masters office for his almost daily dose of caning. This time was different, this time he was having a caning for something he hadn’t done. He said it was the most painful experience he ever had to endure. On completion the Head Master asked him if he had anything to say, meaning apology I expect. In retaliation Julian again denied the crime, for this he had another six of the best.

He used to say there is nothing more painful in life, than serving a sentence for a crime you have not committed. And because of this experience he always tried to listen to both side of the story before making a decision. I think these were his two biggest lessons in life, and he lived by them.

Sometime before leaving school, Julian asked his Father if he could go on an Outward Bound course. I could not tell you if he asked or begged to go, but permission was granted by his father. His bags were packed and to be fair his Father did travel to the boarders of Scotland to drop him off at the appointed Moor, I cannot be more specific than that.

Once Julian was dropped off, rucksack and all, off his father sped into the distance heading back towards the horizon of Worcestershire. Sometime later when organisation was taking place the young men were been grouped together, most of them professionals such as Policemen, Ambulance men even off duty Soldiers. A young Policeman became very disgruntled with this little whippet called Julian Davies who had been assigned to his party. So he went to complain about him and said they didn’t want him in their group. When the Superior came to smooth things over, he stared at Julian and asked, How old are you? Julian replied, 16 Sir. He explained, This course was specifically for people of an older age group, how, did you get here?

Julian innocently said, his father had brought him. He replied, Get you father to take you home straight away Julian replied, I can’t Sir he’s long gone

Very well, you’ll just have to tag along with your group, but don’t hinder them

The Policeman complained again before they despatched, that Julian was trying to take over the group but they wouldn’t listen.

Julian over heard what the Superior said, You know what to do with little pip squeaks who think they know it all, put them in charge, when they fail miserably, takeover

Right Sir he said.

The plan was they had to start walking Friday night, camp overnight, and pick up instructions or clues on the way, avoid being seen or caught by their superiors with the aim to arrive back at camp late Sunday afternoon.

With Julian in charge, off they went. When they were out of the Supervisors sight, Julian instructed his group to start running. They thought he was mad to start to run at this early stage, but run they did. They ran and ran until they arrived back at camp on Saturday afternoon 4pm. There was no welcoming party to greet them so they had to search the ground to find someone to check their cards. The military tall men with their posh accent said, It’s impossible that you could have completed the course Davies. The young Policeman said breathlessly in no uncertain terms, Oh! yes we did Sir, he made us run right through the night and all day today without any sleep He spoke to the Policeman with his back to Julian and said in a whispering voice, I thought I told you to take over The Policeman said, And I told you Sir, he wouldn’t listen

He then turned to Julian and said, Why did you drive these men like this?

Julian’s reasoning was, I worked it out Sir, I assumed you had already planted the instructions, so all we had to do was beat you by speed, and as you had trucks out looking for us and we only had our legs, I figured you would be taking it easy until Saturday afternoon, Sir. The men can rest now while they wait for the others to come in tomorrow. I don’t know what they are belly aching about Sir, they were the first back weren’t they.

So you see, Julian was already a grown man at the young age of 16. Now can you understand the force I was dealing with during our married life? He truly was a wise man you could almost imagine he’d been here before. In fact he must have been, to pick up as much knowledge as he did. You know the old sayings, He’s been here before or he’s got an old head on young shoulders

Incidentally I still receive Christmas cards and updates from The Outward Bound Trust I also have his certificate and tie framed and hanging up in the lounge.

In May 1972 Julian had a pain in one of his back teeth. A quick visit to the dentist confirmed that his wisdom tooth needed extracting, he was advised to return the following day. He returned the next day as instructed on his own, a fearless young man ignoring comments from his friends such as, You’re not going to him, he’s a butcher Julian didn’t take any notice of the provocation and turned up the following morning.

After the dentist had been struggling for some time to extract his troublesome tooth, he called the receptionist to assist him; she held his head whilst the dentist wedged his knee into Julian’s lap. The tooth did eventually give way and it was extracted. Later that evening when his mother came home, she started to lecture him on how she disliked fighting. Julian tried to protest with a slurred speech that he hadn’t been fighting. She wanted to know how he got two black eyes! He eventually made himself understood and that he’d been to the dentist. She was shocked and insisted he went back the following morning; he did as he was told and returned. On entering the surgery the receptionist put her head round the door informing the dentist, It’s that boy who was making a fuss yesterday. He came out full of rage shouting, Get out of my surgery I don’t want you upsetting my patients like you did yesterday Barely able to talk never mind make a fuss, he returned home. On hearing what he had to say his mother was furious and immediately drove him to the local casualty department. The greeting they both got off the on call doctor was, Oh! Who’s been fighting then? When Julian’s mother protested on his behalf explaining it was the result of dental treatment, an x-ray was arranged and the horror was revealed. The dentist had broken his bottom jaw in two places and the four prongs to his wisdom tooth were still left in his jaw. Unfortunately Julian’s roots had hooks on, if the dentist had x-rayed him when he was first having difficulty, he would have foreseen the problem. When Julian tried to speak, the middle part of his bottom jaw stayed dropped. No wonder he couldn’t talk, eat, drink or sleep. I don’t know if dentists can set up a practice in their own private homes because, on this occasion he didn’t have x-ray facilities. He told me, he had no idea what was ahead of him, he thought the plan entailed going to theatre for root extraction then go home late in the day, but as he was recovering from the anaesthetic he felt he couldn’t breathe, his nose was blocked with dry blood and his top and bottom jaw had been wired together. He was not prepared for this otherwise he would have warned them he always breathed through his mouth. They had however removed one tooth so he could pass a straw through for liquids.

Next day when Julian was recovering from his procedure, an irate visitor stormed on to the ward demanding to see a Julian Davies. As he was being escorted off the ward he could be heard shouting, You’ve ruined my career, and who do you think you are reporting me like this? In actual fact it wasn’t any of Julian’s doing; it evidently turned out to be the Doctor in casualty who had reported him.

Not surprisingly, Julian’s fear of the dentist stemmed from this experience it would have sent his Adrenal Function into disarray, affecting his fight fear and flight. Not to mention he had to endure this wired brace for two months.

Anyone who knew Julian in later years would have thought he needed to visit his dentist, but I’ve never seen anyone so obsessed with brushing their teeth as Julian, anything to avoid any dental visits. Luckily for us, dentists don’t behave like butchers any more.

Just before leaving school Julian’s form master took him to one side and said, I’m worried about you Davies; you have such an abundance of energy I just don’t know which direction you’ll take in life. Whichever way it will be, it will be full on, not sparing the horses Julian smiled; the form master was trying to warn him to slow down. He tried again, I can usually foresee what positions in life my pupils take up, but not you Davies. You will either be a high flyer or in prison, unless something stops you in your tracks

Julian retold this pep talk so many times; it must have made a lasting impression on him to recall it as often as he did.

After finishing school he set about finding himself a permanent job, it was not too long before he found one. I cannot for the life of me remember what the name of the company was, except that it was an American company. It entailed working in the office and he often told me he loved the job. He had been told that if he worked hard he could go far with this company. With his determination I’m sure he would of, he probably would have run the show.

He’d already passed his driving test before starting this job and like most young men at the beginning of their career he was strapped for cash. Because of the lack of capital he only possessed a banger of a Mini for transport. When the manager was looking out of the office window one day he noticed this ‘substandard car’ parked in the staff car park. The manager was horrified to see this clapped out old Mini, and demanded the owner should be brought up to his office immediately. That owner was none other than young Julian Davies, when Julian explained his financial situation, his boss explained that it looked bad for the company’s image to have one of his employees driving such a thing.

Julian bewilderedly asked, What shall I do. His boss must have been confident that Julian was going to stay with the company for some time, because he advised Julian to go and sort some finance out with the wages department. Consequently Julian went out and bought something flash a Bond Bug for £629:00 bearing in mind a brand new Mini only cost £620:00 in those days, so for £9 extra he could get a sportier looking car. Why not he thought, it certainly went with his nick name, Flash

Bond Bugs were a wedge shape micro-car. A fun two seater, British made sports car. Only 143 were ever produced all finished a bright tangerine colour, with the exception of six cars which were finished in white for a cigarette promotion. The design was a fashion statement, aimed at the younger driver in the early 1970`s. It boasted of twin mud flaps, rubber front bumper, a spare wheel and a must for the 70`s an ashtray. Entry was gained by swinging the lift up canopy forward, on to two front hinges, suspending on what was left of the bonnet. They were only produced from 1970 to 1974.

He must of bought one as soon as it produced, I saw one on E-Bay recently number 74 apparently they were numbered as they came off the production line, and it fetched a grand total of £2,000-00? (What a shame Julian smashed his up.)

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Photograph of a Bond Bug identical to the car Julian had in the early 1970`s

When I showed Llewela this picture recently, she couldn’t stop laughing. She wasn’t making fun of her Dads choice, but this was not the image she had carried round in her head all those years of her Fathers sports car. But Julian had to be different; he was never your normal run of the mill man.

His Big accident

On the eve of his big accident, his Grandmother was staying at the family home as she often did in those days. This particular night, she was in bed when she heard Julian’s car screech to a halt outside the house. She then heard him running down the back path, into the house up the stairs and into his bed room. His Grandmother told me years later she had called out, What are you looking for Julian? his reply was, More money Nan, my friends are going on to another disco and I’ve run out of cash At that he ran down the stairs, through the house down the path then into his car and left at high speed. No wonder he’d earned himself the nick name ‘Flash’ amongst his friends.

His Grandmother can remember lying in bed that night thinking, if that boy does not slow down soon he’s going to come to a sad end.