The Fallen

It comes hard remembering the old days; many of my closest freinds died.
When I was in Shrewsbury I heard that Wid had cut his wrists and bled his life away in to a bathroom cabinet. He had moved in to my old House in Shepherds Lane. He'd been a face in Kent and became a close freind after I returned to Leeds to do my Carpentry and Joinery training. He would often complain he was alcoholic yet seldom drank a lot. He said he was depressed but I could always get him laughing quickly so felt guilty I hadn't been around. I hadn't seen him go downhill yet i remember me and Richard would call him the rattleing man as the bottles of diazepam and temazepan the doctors so foolishly prescribed him with were always in his pockets and you could tell he was coming by the sound.

Animal who too was like a brother finally had one to many bike accidents. He once took me down Kirkstall Road at 110 as a pillion passenger. I bought my first bike from him though I never took to it. Woody, a school freind and John Bellhouse another mate had died coming off bikes so I was always wary. Animal would look out for me. He spent some time with The Outcasts but never took to the restrictions of outlaw biker life. When I heard he'd died, shortly after arriving in France on a bend on the wrong side of the road on a 125cc it felt almost ironic. He'd come off huge bikes at vast speed and bar nearly losing his leg had lived to tell the tales though metal pins heald him together. I travelled to his funeral with Brian who were comon freinds of his.

Brian may be out now but was foud guilty of murder. I have told his tale before. This left Chris dead.

Win, an old hippy died before his time.

Rufus I had known since primary school finaly took too much though I never found out the details.

Turps, who I had known since scholdays, though He went to another never took well to drink. It really got him an chaged all his talents inside out till a great mickey taker became a paranoid horor, spreading il wil. He had been deported from Amsterdam for a month. His parents stood him for a week then he became a face on the begging scene in Leeds city. One night he had a hit of Heroin in St Georges Crypt, a homeless hostel and died aged 38.

The two worst were amogst my closest inner circle. Martin overdosed, celebrating having landed a new job in Richards kitchen.

Probably the closes freind of all was Richard who died broken hearted. I have told his story before.

I am still grieving for him 4 years on. I miss them all.


What did we do so wrong? As Philip K Dick puts it at the end of 'A Scanner Darkly', a book that mirrored our world in many ways, we were like children playing in the street, unaware of the traffic randomly picking us off.

Love to you al and RIP