… It was a threaded gas cap, yellow, about one and a half inches in diameter. Also clearly visible was bright metal around the flats of the hexagonal cap. Bright metal that showed the marks of a recently applied wrench…….
Episode 3
A few months dragged by. Larry was battling to regain his health in hospital, it had been touch and go as to whether the surgeons would need to amputate his feet. He was interviewed by the police on several occasions as was Isobels father. Rumours flew around like crazy.
The general perception in the congregation was that Larry had tried to kill himself, so no-one visited Larry except his parents who were also JW’s. The realisation that North Sea gas was not poisonous had only just started to filter through, but I realised very quickly that, as a gas fitter, Larry would have been aware of this fact, so I could see no way in which the suicide scenario was remotely feasible. One suggestion put forward was that Isobels father, as an elder, may well have felt that he had some scriptural justification to take his son-in-laws life. Many years later, I was struck by the realisation that Isobels father would have only expected to have served about 4 years in prison before 1975 brought about his release. Hmm!
The police eventually came to the brilliant conclusion that the explosion had been caused by one of two certain people. All the evidence against either was entirely circumstantial, so no arrests were made, nor charges brought. The houses were demolished and then re-built, and I slowly forgot all about Larry. I knew that his parents in Portsmouth South were causing chaos in their congregation as they reacted angrily to the rumours about their son, and in the end they sent a letter of resignation to their PO.
About a year later, the “dirty dozen” disfellowshippings in Portsmouth South were well under way. This caused me some distress as my best pal had been given the chop, and I was wavering in my own faith by now. One bleak Saturday afternoon, I was at Fratton Park watching Pompey play, when I began to notice a few familiar faces around me. There was the Portsmouth South PO, a few rows up was my DF’d pal, with - ye Gods! Larry!
Larry hustled down to me, considerably thinner and walking awkwardly and also sporting a big red beard which masked his facial injuries remarkably. Expecting a huge bear hug for the hero (me), I smiled tentatively and was astonished when Larry rounded on me and gave me a huge bollocking for not speaking to my DF’d pal who accompanied him. I stood open-mouthed as he lambasted JW’s, his (now) ex-wife, the PO who was stood further back, just about anyone who was a JW.
I calmed him down a little, and agreed to visit him in his new home in Cosham. That night I visited him and was surprised to find him in the company of a stunning Malaysian looking lady, who he introduced as the next Mrs. Larry. He then produced reams of correspondence that he had exchanged with the DF’ing committee of Portsmouth North, in who’s cachment area he was now residing.
Unbeknown to me, Larry had been summoned to appear before the committee some weeks previously on a charge of fornication, and had decided to have some fun with the elders. He denied any impropriety, then would ask repeatedly for adjournments as the hearing date grew nearer. He deliberately infuriated the committee by sending his letters typed on Izal toilet paper, recorded delivery of course. But Larry had a final act of revenge up his sleeve……
Larry had a journalist contact who worked for the Portsmouth Evening News. The next week saw a headline in that paper which read:
Local Witness Man To Face Kangaroo Court.
Back then, that newspaper was a broadsheet, and all the front page was devoted to how Larry had been blown-up, and how he just wanted to live in peace with his girl-friend and now the JW’s were asking him personal questions about his private relationships. It was a masterpiece, incredibly damaging to the JW’s who up until then had always fobbed off enquiries about Df’ing. They still DF’d Larry!And that is that really. Larry got a heap of insurance money for the accident, which he used to learn how to fly aeroplanes. He became well known at the local glider clubs, he used to volunteer to tow gliders free of charge so that he could up his flying hours. The last I heard was that he had also become a proficient sailor and was living life to the full.
And he won’t have gas central heating installed, no way!
Englishman.
Bring on the dancing girls!