Now, about the internet

It seems to me, as my father's amanuensis, that the internet is complicated. Just as you get one email address set up, working beautifully, sending Press Releases, it goes kaput.

Why would that be, I wonder? Would it be because someone - mentioning no names - yet - is messing about with my Freedom of Speech? Could it be that they want the pleasure of a 'nice quiet time, and a pleasant little burial?

Surely not! Surely no-one would go so much against the law as to nobble an email site, in a free democracy?

Only problem is, if someone is doing that, it seems they might also be 'putting the mockers' on my perfectly legitimate web site. Now, this web site belongs to me. Bought and paid for. All legit. Yet, mysteriously, it seems to have disappeared from the airwaves. And there is a letter on this site from some anonymous person(machine?), in respect of that. Could it be that my website has got sick and died? I hear that sickness and dying is very popular..especially in the Doncaster area. (As a witness, please take my father. However, do not cremate him. We may need to check a bit more yet.) But I don't even live in the Doncaster area. So surely it couldn't happen to my poor little web site, could it?

(For our international cousins, the Doncaster Area, refers to Doncaster in South Yorkshire, which is in the north of England - well so we claim. It's just the passport that you have to show as you cross over which makes me suspicious. But then, I have a very suspicious mind - especially recently).

The other thing which seems to be happening is that telephone conversations seem to be being picked up. Now I know that that couldn't be happening. It's against the Law, as the rest is.

So, I am sure that I can rest in peace, knowing that no such thing could happen.

Only problem is that too many co-incidences seem to be floating about just recently. Nothing wrong with a nice co-incidence, but they do seem to be breeding. I have to keep looking over my shoulder. Each time I look, there seems to be a coincidental queue

They're such weak and spindly things, coincidentals. Perhaps if I were to step back on one, it might fall over. Wouldn't want that now, would I? Spindly things have just as much right to hang about, getting in the way, as I do. And I certainly have the right to hang about - talking and - getting in the way.

Just in case anyone thinks they can silence me by any means, I have 'certain friends' who will 'certainly' stop that. That's why they're known as 'certain friends'. No point using the phrase otherwise, would there be?

So, now its time for the crunch. Someone is defaming my name. Telling porkies and saying that I am not telling the truth. My father was unlawfully killed.. euthanased.. not even with his consent. Now Euthanansia is illegal in England.. whether or not the subject consents to it. My father thought he was getting over chemotherapy, for his long-standing leukemia. He thought wrong. He was a victim of unlawful euthanasia. That - or so I'm given to understand - is the same as murder. He was not, as far as I could tell, willing to die. He was up to the eyes in Oramorph. To you and me that is morphine by mouth. This had been delivered to him each 4 hours at the rate of 20mg - for four days and nights before the mainlining began. No wonder he was 'a bit distant'. Is it surprising?

It's hardly likely that he would have consented to being stuck with needles under normal circumstances(yes it was in the plural, and at various times in various parts of his body - his thighs, his chest, his abdomen his upper arms..) He didn't much like needles. He seemed to be trying to pull the needles out. But because of the fog induced in his brain by Oramorph he just couldn't work out how to do it. Poor man - and his daughters were not as much help as they could have been, had they been in full possession of the facts.

And now the threat is of a Court Action, because of the truth. What sort of country are we living in?

Would my father have been better off rolling himself into the gutter on a cold winter's night, with trucks roaring past? Answers on a postcard please?

Oh, if you like you can reply be email. Such things as the shock of his death, have hauled me into the 21st Century, where I am pleased to note I can find out a lot of things and contact a lot of people by use of the airwaves. Isn't technology wonderful?

If anyone can offer help to sort this mess out, I would be delighted to hear from them.

Speak to you soon.

Charlotte Peters Rock
Daughter of the Dead

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STOP PRESS - nobbling attempt by public body

STOP PRESS - Truth no longer good enough.

(What about the Freedom of Information Act then?)
(What happened to the Human Rights Act? Eh?)

The photograph is of Ralph Winstanley, with his two daughters, on his 80th birthday in January, 2001. My younger sister, Linda is shown on the right.
My father died on 23rd April 2004. He thought he was recovering from recent chemotherapy. Other people thought otherwise.
The photograph below is his salute to his tormentors. The one legacy which my father left to all of his four children was tenacity. We will use it wisely.

Now this is the 'little woman'. Not so little either. Serious businesswoman, so she tells me. Responsible for most of the 'new build' in Moss. So that's quite exciting.. if you like to look at such things. She bravely rushed out to judge horses' teeth and withers, threw away his things; and had her horse shod, for his funeral three days before he died. Such a caring person.
Nothing like 'getting it all sewn up in advance', is there?
Must be psychic, I should think.
Oh, yes. Let
me give you
Nina Clayton

This is the woman who kept saying that my father was being dreadfully sick and was sicking up blood - when he wasn't. Why would she do that, I wonder? Was she trying to get help for him?
I just don't understand it at all. Perhaps it's all to do with the fact that she has 'wild' hair? It seems to change colour as you watch - 'grieving widow grey' - 'whispy blonde' - 'sort-of-gingery' - 'brownish' - whatever will it be next? Green? I do know that she's environmentally friendly. She is noted for her encouragement of slurry throwing - as a Service to the Community - as well as her lovely new houses. So, perhaps it will be green .. or back to 'grieving widow'?

This is Nina Clayton's daughter, the lovely Rosemary.

Now she's the one who checks for blackness in fingers and toes, as a precursor to departing this life. She's utterly fascinated - and must be quite an expert. She's also quite good at describing 'reaching'. Now that's what happens just before you're sick. Scuse me, I feel a 'reach' coming on.

This is Frazer, Rosemary's husband.

He's the one who is rather versatile at prescription-fetching from wide areas. Other qualities of his are telling a man when I might be arguing - and presumably when not.. though I haven't heard him do that.. yet.

Letter the Two Primary Care Trusts (Doncaster Central and Doncaster Eastsat on for 2 - yes TWO - months
Dr Kevin Lee's letter of 18th May 2004 - which Doncaster Central and Doncaster East Primary Care Trusts Chief Executives sat on, for 2 whole months, before giving it to my sister. (Comment: not marked Confidential, so OK to use?) During the 2 months, my family had 2 properly set up meetings with Chief Executives of both Primary Care Trusts - and the Complaints Manager. This is an absolute disgrace!

And now.. what happens when you tell the truth, in this benighted country?

Ah, you guessed! The letter, using - presumably - the Primary Care Trusts' funds, (which should have been used for the care of patients?) is below.

So, there you have it! Democracy at its finest! A prime example of all that's wrong and peculiar in England - well in Yorkshire anyway.

Now, If anyone's reading with the hope of gain, that is not a Yorkshire-ist statement, and thus belting in under the racism laws. I'm from Yorkshire stock - both sides of the family. Not that I feel either proud or ashamed of it - just grateful to have stayed alive for so long. Life is such a dicey business, don't you think?

Speak tew ya soon!

Charlotte pp Ralph Winstanley - who is still dead.
PS More about 'tampering with internet sites and email', in the next missive.

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Dead in Doncaster Central Primary Care Trust

When you die in Doncaster, it's not 'The End'.

Oh no. It's not even 'The Beginning of the End'.

However, it certainly is the Start of the Beginning.

(Somebody famous, said that.. or something like it. I think he also said, "We will fight them on the beaches.." Problem is, there aren't so many beaches in Donny. There used to be a 'gate' though. Problem was, no-one could ever work out what it was for. There wasn't a fence.. or anything.)

This is the point where the whole world seems to decide that they don't want to deal with you, that you must be telling lies, that you might be out to spoil the even tenor of their quietly cash-stashing little lives, that you could very well be a nuisance.

Now, let me make this quite clear. Ralph Winstanley is still dead. He had his beginning. It lasted for 83 years and three months. So this new start, is not with Ralph Winstanley.

It is of Ralph Winstanley though.

Let me show you a nice picture. It is the work of dear Little Simon Morritt. He's the man who heads up Doncaster Central Primary Care Trust, though there is a rumour that he might also be impersonating Jayne Brown and sending out letters as the Head of Doncaster East Primary Care Trust. Perhaps there has been a 'putsch'! Gosh, that would be exciting, wouldn't it.

You're getting there now. Page 2 - See paragraph I last sentence. Also the last para's a little 'belter, isn't it? (Sorry about the frivolity of the 'red' but I had to have something to cheer me.)
Anyway, dear Little Morritt thinks that's OK. He thinks I can't contact him any more. Well he has banned me from "his" premises - (don't ya jus luv Empire Builders?)

Also he has banned me from writing any letters, emails or faxes to him. He has banned me from telephoning him. Agh! It's getting so heartbreaking. I might weep.

So what does that leave? Pigeon Post? Nah! Wouldn't trust a pigeon to get away with it's life, if I sent it in there. After all my father didn't. And he was stronger than a pigeon. No, I quite like pigeons. So, it can't be by pigeon post.

Then there are smoke signals. I could sit out on White Rose Way, light a good smoky fire and wave a blanket over it. But would Little Morritt understand smoke signals. I doubt it. He's very good at smoke - the smoke of obfuscation - the smoke of prevarication. But I doubt that he's had the time to more than the language he knows.

I could send semaphore. Perhaps his secretary understands semaphore? I hear that secretaries are usually brighter than their bosses - just not as grasping on the slippery slope.

Now ESP has definite possibilities. For that, you need a receptive mind.. and well he's not terribly receptive either.

So what does that leave? The ginger wig?

Oh, by the way, he has also banned my sister. Poor thing, she's heartbroken. Still, at least she's got his letter to treasure. Not everyone gets a letter from Little Morritt. Perhaps it will be worth a fortune when pigs can fly. She's trying to find a suitable use for it. Someone suggested it might make a suitable 'doorstop' but its too insubstantial. I wonder if he'd write her a few more? That would be very health-giving. If she glued them all together it would stop doors from closing in her face. I just know that that would meet with the approval of the Chief Executive of Doncaster Central - or in my sister's case Doncaster East - Primary Care Trust. (I wonder if he has a split personality? Lucky he works for such a healthy lot really, isn't it? I suppose they'll have some expert or other to sort him out.)

However, he hasn't got round to banning my entire extended family..yet. It can only be a matter of time. Perhaps Auntie Minnie will have to stop cleaning White Rose Towers? She'd be so upset. Poo-oo-r Auntie Minnie. Still, life was never fair. She'll just have to brace herself and get on with it. I'm sure she'd be very good at drain cleaning.. and perhaps she could be paid more?
I'll have to consider. All suggestions accepted.. well most suggestions accepted. Mustn't get too bold, must I?

Back soon with more chat.

Charlotte - pp Ralph Winstanley

Ps Here's is a 'phrase or saying'. Can someone tell me who said it, please?

Murder's still murder. It's no good giving it a nice frock

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Protest songs and poems - coming shortly

  • A Full Index
  • Abide With Me (mine)
  • Dead An Buried? Ardly!
  • Director of Public Health - Dr Tony Baxter
  • If - (not by Rudyard Kipling)
  • Jayne Brown - The Cover-Up Woman
  • Practice - Field Road Made
  • Quack Quack Dr Lee
  • St John's Hospice - My Father Was Not Dying
  • Thanksgivin? Thanksgivin? Ah'll be Waitin On
  • The NHS/PCT Thinks You Should Go
  • The Palliative Gillian
  • The Power behind the Patient Dr Brown

Who was Ralph Winstanley?

My photo
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