This is a very simplified story of one, seemingly unremarkable, man who lived not long ago and who will not be forgotten by anyone who knew him or came into contact with him. He was not famous but neither was he infamous. He had a 'potential' which was recognised by all and it made him a very popular man. Who knows what he would have become had he been given more time. He possessed such a thirst for life that he could not but infect all those he touched with an enthusiasm and confidence they never experienced before. This ability, or gift, lives on in his daughter.

His street name was 'Black Sam from Vietnam'. Sam to his friends. John to his mother. Deceased according to the law of the land. But still he lives, alive in the memory of all those who knew him. Tall and dark and straight of stature with eyes that could pierce your very soul.

His occupations ranged from being a merchant seaman to that of a chef. A vegetarian chef. A partner in a wholefood shop. A musician, the great 'undiscovered' of the century. A wandering minstrel. A poet. A father. Then he became a landowner together with, appropriately enough, the largest bank in the world.

His house, like his heart, was huge, so was the mortgage. To service this mortgage he became a Pine-stripper/Landlord and then he became a man. An unforgettably wonderful man. He loved his `lady' wife and his 'princess' daughter. Full of love and laughter and so full of life. He was as a child, set free with unlimited time and space in which to play.

His huge, old house reverberated with his voice and his music. He began a voyage of discovery of his new surroundings. He filled his `castle' with his friends, the family he had not known as a physical child. He fed them, gave them some space in which to grow, and charged their keep to the State.

Each stripping customer was a source of information and interest to him. The cleaning of paint from old doors and furniture cleansed him also. The hard, dirty, wet and cold of the job filled his heart and muscles. Any aggression or frustration was spent in the sheer physical strength needed to control water pressure jets hissing liquid at a force of twelve hundred pounds per square inch, and physically heaving slimy, wet wood from a tank filled with six hundred gallons of near boiling caustic soda. The setting for this endeavour was the entrance to a two acre paddock which led to six hundred acres of common grazing land and thence to the sea. All was "Open unto the fields and to the sky". The rain, wind and icy snow were treated as fresh challenges and were met with renewed vigour. After the confines of London this space was luxurious and wondrous to him. He grew strong and the man in him was set free to grow, and become what it should have been many years before.

On the cold, dark winter evenings, many plans were made for new and exciting things to do in this game of life. The child in him was very strong then. He had his lifetime to begin over again, he welcomed the challenge and he met it head-on. This was a child with unlimited access to alcohol.

There were three men on a bike. A cabinet maker of extraordinary talent, Sam and a fourteen stone unemployed friend riding three-up on a bicycle, drunk and coming home to cook, and eat, a Sunday dinner. One on the handlebars - "a lookout and guide", Sam on the crossbars - "ballast and steerer" and the fourteen stoner on the saddle - "pedaller". The ride home was approximately one mile, mostly downhill, a one in four incline in places, with a ninety degree turn at the bottom of the hill.

They did not manage to negotiate the turn and landed in a heap in a ditch with the heaviest man on top. He suffered no injury at all because he was cushioned by the other two. The carpenter injured his shoulder, an arm and leg, Sam injured his hip and he sustained a wicked cut over his left eye which bled profusely.

For the next ten days everyone joined the ranks of the unemployed because all were too disabled to continue with gameful employment!

There were many, and varied, escapades involving these, and other, men and the next three years passed all too quickly. The bricks and mortar of the man were firmly cemented. His eccentricities were fondly accepted by the local inhabitants. Daily, he was seen 'checking' his 'manor' wearing his torn jeans, expensive wellington boots, a woolly hat and a silver tipped malacca cane. Gone now, were the days when his wellies could be found, devoid of human occupancy, in a bog where they had been parted from their inebriated owner. His daily visit to the local Inn was for a meal cooked by someone else, washed down with a drink for medicinal purposes. Previous excesses had led to a very real concern about alcoholism and were, therefore, abandoned in favour of pursuing pleasures which demanded solid nourishment so that he could continue to play elsewhere.

He worked hard, he played hard and he became very ill very quickly. The quick and clever brain inside his skull developed not one, but two, tumours. Inoperable. The prognosis was brief but inescapable, death. Six months to two years they said, knowing that he would be lucky to survive three months, he was brusquely advised to 'put his house in order'.

During the next few months he carefully, and kindly, bade farewell to his closest friends. He invited them to visit. Wined and dined them. There was a lot of laughter and he made them feel at ease with his lack of a future. He gave them all a gift. Perhaps something they had admired from a previous meeting, or something that he instinctively knew would be appropriate. They were comfortable and unafraid when they said goodbye. They were all full of love and compassion, not pity, for this man. He had dealt with them all, according to their needs.

During this time he suffered from debilitating fits. Each one left him feeling weaker and more confused. His flesh was falling from his strong body and he saw old age and infirmity take thirty years from him in a few short months. His thick, black hair fell out by the handful but his faithful woolly hat still kept his head warm.

People were wonderful then. That they loved and respected him there was no doubt. His daily journey to the pub continued and as he became weaker so there happened to be a friend passing in a car! Different people, same destination. Every day for many, many weeks.

His 'castle' became filled with a magic. There was loving and giving and peace and harmony. There was life and respect.

At the appropriate time he bade farewell to his wife in the manner of a king, on his deathbed, in front of witnesses. She gave him permission to depart because she loved him, and they promised that they would meet again and he would be there for her. He hugged his mother a few weeks before he died and she told him how proud she was of her reprobate, but favourite, son. He had redeemed himself of his past transgressions towards this wonderful woman. He took his leave of everyone, but he could find no words for his `princess'. She being but eight years old, he had not finished saying hello and welcome to her. How could he say goodbye without tears. Tears were for him and his 'lady' when they were alone; tears of love and deep regret at the impending departure, not for sorrow and bereavement.

It took him five days to die. All during this time he was attended by a nurse, his wife, two close friends and his niece. He was still strong, even then. The nurse gave him enough pain killer to fell an elephant but he fought it, struggled through the foggy mists, past the sickness to communicate with the living. Those close friends that he could not see were approached by telepathy in the last days. He had always been a psychic but this was a gift which had not been utilised in his life until now. The reasons for this have no bearing on this aspect of his life. He had a party which lasted for four days and then, when he became totally paralysed, he listened to music while he waited for nature to take its course. The empathy and telepathy was strong, especially then.

He died in his own bed, in his own home, which he shared with the Bank. The Bank did not inherit, nor did he. The people who inherited would have preferred his living presence,

but they had no choice, neither did he, did he?

He was forty two years old when he died. A man.