Ten years ago, when the Prospect editor rang to propose I write a monthly column, I was a mature student. Home was a residential home for the elderly run by my parents. There were nine fee-paying residents who my parents treated like an extended family. I described some of them in my column. A decade later, Sergeant Death has been around feeling collars. Mrs Gibbens, Commander Eliot, Betty, Violet, Miss Busby, Molly, my father’s Uncle Jack, and my father—all nicked.
So much death in one house in just ten years, yet each death different, and more often than not unexpected.…
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