I realise this isn't necessarily the right place to do this, but I need some kind of cathartic release, so here goes.
As part of my job I often have to deal with "Hum Rems", or Human Remains to give them their correct title. These consist of dealing with the return of British Subjects who have died abroad and are coming home for interment. This is mostly an administration process where paperwork has to be completed for the benefit of the H. M. Coroner.
Because of this I've come across many different cases, let alone methods of dying and places to draw your terminal breath, as the song goes. They have been boring and exciting; mundane and exotic; hot and cold. It's usually the young who are the most tragic and the old poignant.
A young guy in his gap year was having a great time crewing a Superyacht in the Med when, at some time during the night he tried to cross from the one he worked on to another berthed alongside when, perhaps due to the wake from another vessel, both drifted apart and he fell between them and drowned. There was a lady who was born in Jamaica and, on the trip of a lifetime went back for one last visit but died the day after her 90th birthday. The French tend not to give a clinical cause of death but often give a description of the demise of a deceased but in one case they included: "Multiple internal injuries and numerous broken and fractured bones consistent with a fall from height, probably in excess of 2,500 metres." He died in the Haute Savoir department, in other words, the Alps.
Still in France, the cause of death of a couple in their 40s was not given but the location was a particular exit on a northern Autoroute, they'd been riding a motorcycle and according to the undertaker the husband had been trying to persuade his wife to take the trip for years. In the USA a successful businessman in his 50s with an exclusive address in Dubai went on holiday and was killed on a hired Harley Davidson. The post-mortem revealed both alcohol and barbiturates in his bloodstream.
One of the saddest must be the 18 year old who I could imagine being fussed over by his mum at the airport as he left for Thailand with the plea to "Look after yourself, promise you'll be careful." He wouldn't have wanted his mates to see. His cause of death was also multiple injuries caused in a fall from height. He had not only just celebrated his 18th but his time of death was 00:19 hrs. on the 1st of January. Happy New Year.
These people could be dealt with dispassionately because I knew nothing about any of those people apart from the stark details of their death. It's different when the deceased is known to you.
In 1925, Joyce Cowell was born in Middlesbrough. Her Grandfather was a well respected sea captain and loved his grandchildren, however her father was a different matter. As Joyce got older, more and more about her father began to emerge, part of this when he went to live with Joyce, her husband Richie and their two daughters. At one time he dropped a hot iron on Joyce's foot and she was always afraid of him until the day he died aged 92 and blind. She was even frightened of him after Richie threw him out of the house; they'd discovered when cleaning his room that he'd hacked and spat the phlegm behind the bed. While he still lived there he used to spoil one of his granddaughters while ignoring the other, then a few weeks later it was the other way around. There was also the suggestion that he may have physically abused his daughters.
In 1942 Joyce ran away from home and, lying about her age, joined the army and served the rest of the war on an anti-aircraft battery in Kent. Her battery was machine gunned and bombed several times. After being de-mobbed she worked in Woolworths in London and Simpsons on the Strand before returning to the north east. She worked for a pawnbrokers then GEC before retiring. She was grandmother to two boys and great-grandmother to a little girl.
Two years ago she started to develop the symptoms of Alzheimer's Disease and a steady downward spiral began; specifically Frontal Lobe Disease. She stopped eating yet insisted she'd eaten and stopped showering although she always said she had. In November last year she fell in her flat and broke her hip and was also found to have broken her ankle. The surgeon told her family that a consent form needed to be signed but as he didn't think she'd survive the op he would take that responsibility away from the family.
But survive she did and ended up being accommodated in a nursing home where they took excellent care of her despite her having another fall and sustaining nasty facial injuries. The fact she didn't put her hands out to break her fall led us to believe she'd suffered a stroke. She finally gave up the fight at 10:35 on Thursday 29th January.
There are some things that I've learned from the last couple of years. Some people keep traumatic things hidden for years so you never know what may lie below the surface and don't shy away from unpleasant tasks such as making a will and persuading parents and grandparents, if the situation arises, that a Power of Attorney is needed, both of which Joyce couldn't be talked into and both of which caused a tremendous amount of problems both before and after her death.
The reason I know so much about Joyce is that I married one of her daughters.
Joyce Hook, nee Cowell 1925 to 2015.
As part of my job I often have to deal with "Hum Rems", or Human Remains to give them their correct title. These consist of dealing with the return of British Subjects who have died abroad and are coming home for interment. This is mostly an administration process where paperwork has to be completed for the benefit of the H. M. Coroner.
Because of this I've come across many different cases, let alone methods of dying and places to draw your terminal breath, as the song goes. They have been boring and exciting; mundane and exotic; hot and cold. It's usually the young who are the most tragic and the old poignant.
A young guy in his gap year was having a great time crewing a Superyacht in the Med when, at some time during the night he tried to cross from the one he worked on to another berthed alongside when, perhaps due to the wake from another vessel, both drifted apart and he fell between them and drowned. There was a lady who was born in Jamaica and, on the trip of a lifetime went back for one last visit but died the day after her 90th birthday. The French tend not to give a clinical cause of death but often give a description of the demise of a deceased but in one case they included: "Multiple internal injuries and numerous broken and fractured bones consistent with a fall from height, probably in excess of 2,500 metres." He died in the Haute Savoir department, in other words, the Alps.
Still in France, the cause of death of a couple in their 40s was not given but the location was a particular exit on a northern Autoroute, they'd been riding a motorcycle and according to the undertaker the husband had been trying to persuade his wife to take the trip for years. In the USA a successful businessman in his 50s with an exclusive address in Dubai went on holiday and was killed on a hired Harley Davidson. The post-mortem revealed both alcohol and barbiturates in his bloodstream.
One of the saddest must be the 18 year old who I could imagine being fussed over by his mum at the airport as he left for Thailand with the plea to "Look after yourself, promise you'll be careful." He wouldn't have wanted his mates to see. His cause of death was also multiple injuries caused in a fall from height. He had not only just celebrated his 18th but his time of death was 00:19 hrs. on the 1st of January. Happy New Year.
These people could be dealt with dispassionately because I knew nothing about any of those people apart from the stark details of their death. It's different when the deceased is known to you.
In 1925, Joyce Cowell was born in Middlesbrough. Her Grandfather was a well respected sea captain and loved his grandchildren, however her father was a different matter. As Joyce got older, more and more about her father began to emerge, part of this when he went to live with Joyce, her husband Richie and their two daughters. At one time he dropped a hot iron on Joyce's foot and she was always afraid of him until the day he died aged 92 and blind. She was even frightened of him after Richie threw him out of the house; they'd discovered when cleaning his room that he'd hacked and spat the phlegm behind the bed. While he still lived there he used to spoil one of his granddaughters while ignoring the other, then a few weeks later it was the other way around. There was also the suggestion that he may have physically abused his daughters.
In 1942 Joyce ran away from home and, lying about her age, joined the army and served the rest of the war on an anti-aircraft battery in Kent. Her battery was machine gunned and bombed several times. After being de-mobbed she worked in Woolworths in London and Simpsons on the Strand before returning to the north east. She worked for a pawnbrokers then GEC before retiring. She was grandmother to two boys and great-grandmother to a little girl.
Two years ago she started to develop the symptoms of Alzheimer's Disease and a steady downward spiral began; specifically Frontal Lobe Disease. She stopped eating yet insisted she'd eaten and stopped showering although she always said she had. In November last year she fell in her flat and broke her hip and was also found to have broken her ankle. The surgeon told her family that a consent form needed to be signed but as he didn't think she'd survive the op he would take that responsibility away from the family.
But survive she did and ended up being accommodated in a nursing home where they took excellent care of her despite her having another fall and sustaining nasty facial injuries. The fact she didn't put her hands out to break her fall led us to believe she'd suffered a stroke. She finally gave up the fight at 10:35 on Thursday 29th January.
There are some things that I've learned from the last couple of years. Some people keep traumatic things hidden for years so you never know what may lie below the surface and don't shy away from unpleasant tasks such as making a will and persuading parents and grandparents, if the situation arises, that a Power of Attorney is needed, both of which Joyce couldn't be talked into and both of which caused a tremendous amount of problems both before and after her death.
The reason I know so much about Joyce is that I married one of her daughters.
Joyce Hook, nee Cowell 1925 to 2015.
Last edited:
