Three things that bring happiness!

I read recently that the three things that make most people happy are

Going to sleep in a freshly changed bed

Feeling the sun on your face

 and the third was experiencing acts of unexpected kindness from strangers

I found this quite cheering. I honestly didn’t think that these things would be high on most people’s list.  Mind you, what makes you happy really depends on what you have experienced previously.  For example, if you have been in hospital visiting a loved one the one thing that will tick all your boxes is their speedy recovery and return home.  Alternatively, if you yourself have had a severe accident or illness and are at present stuck in hospital you probably have a much more basic and immediate wish list.

to be able to pass urine or stools - it is a little known fact that under severe trauma the body shuts off what it sees as unnecessary options and all things toilet fall under that

being flat on your back unable to turn means your desire to be able to turn onto your side becomes an exquisite luxury and sitting up unaided a distant goal

the dependence on others is such a reminder of one’s intolerable situation that any degree of regaining your own ability to wash, eat and move is seen as a tremendous step forward

It always amazes me that hospital life when you are in one, constricts to become your whole world.  When you manage to leave it is as if you find yourself in a different part of the universe.  These two places exist together but there is some mental moat that cuts us off from hospitals perhaps to protect us.  To remember those lying in hospital beds struggling with pain and fear is too much to assimilate on a daily basis so we edit it out.  That seems to make things much better.  But such choices often mean we are not seeing the world we actually live in.  Children and young people are  no longer taken to visit the dying or elderly in hospital.  It is considered too traumatic for them to contemplate such things.  Yet pretending such things do not exist or happen does not prepare them for their own life’s journey.  We can botox and facelift all we like, eventually things do not go well.  Hanging onto youth is a waste of time.  Ageing is remorseless.  As a witty old uncle whispered to me at a family gathering, “This ageing is not for ginnies!”  (ginnies - those with a nervous disposition/cowards)  It was the same uncle who over heard me criticising Northern Ireland politics and announced, “It’s a poor bird that shits in its own nest!”  

There are those who do not forget the reality of hospital life, who choose a different path.  My mother’s neighbour here used to be a Dr Blair.  He was a minister and his wife was suffering from dementia.  Regularly she would come to my parent's door and demand to be let in.  Dr Blair would come round and kindly lead her home apologising graciously.  Dr Blair was ill himself and a great age.  He walked with difficulty and much pain.  You felt he was not long for this world.  But each day he visited the wards of the local hospital going from bed to bed having sweet conversations.  I once sat and listened as he spoke to a dying man in the next bed.  This was no lecture full of brimstone and fire threats.  He talked honestly and listened.  He let them discuss death and what they feared and felt.  He did not rush to reassure with words.  He held hands and stroked shoulders.  He asked about their loved ones, about their life, asked if they wanted water or a fan.  When he spoke about dying, it was as if he too would soon be taking that final journey and the two of them were just fellow travellers on a well worn path.  He mentioned his own feelings and failings.  There was laughter too, unexpected and raw.  Usually, because Dr Blair was not good on his feet and fell quite often.  He would apologise for his bleeding head, knee or hand with the same expression, “I’m sorry, I know I’m a terrible sight but there you go!” I couldn’t understand why this was greeted with howls of laughter by the patients around him.  But after a week, I too found his bloodied presence therapy for mind and soul.  I think it was his total humility and refreshing honesty - it brought a fresh breeze into the ward.  He made us all want to be better human beings in whatever time we had left to us.  So perhaps I agree with that first list of things that make us happy and Dr Blair was a perfect example of a stranger showing unexpected acts of kindness.  May your life be touched by just such a stranger.

A strange diabetes of the soul

I was near Folkestone last week wondering around quaint villages with chocolate box gardens manicured to within a fraction of perfection. They have had a lovely sunny summer so cafes have moved outdoors. Tiny smart tables perched on paving stones are edged by happy grey-haired pensioners neatly apparelled. You get the feeling this is an affluent bunch and having all the basics fret about the floral display out front. Have they chosen wisely or do colours clash? Is that a weed mounting a rearguard action on the rose border? Everywhere there are shops selling bric-a-brac. Upmarket stuff such as watches, jewellery, furniture and war memorabilia. I fear as the elderly pass away here, their worldly goods are vomited into these cluttered shops. It reminds me of the Isle of Wight, twenty odd years ago, where huge baskets of personal mementoes were displayed as abundant as the tourists that flood there in the summer. 

The problem is we are not good custodians. This generation is a use and dump lot. I include myself. My mother's generation kept heirlooms, first world war medals, delph from great grandmother’s dressers and even her own wedding dress and veil from over 60 years ago is carefully stored. Because I moved from country to country my mother has become an unwilling custodian of my junk too. Things are packed in tissue paper stored in vacuum seal or filed in different coloured folders.  Her attention to detail and painstaking tidiness is in direct opposition to my sorting capacities which invariably involve a trip to the dump. There I offloads huge quantities of stuff with great satisfaction. Every time I visit I intend to clear all my debris from her life. Always I am floored by that group of belongings that mean too much to throw away (like my 20 years of diaries) but are impossible to take with me. 

The developed world suffers from too much stuff. It is a real problem. Once driving across Canada we came upon field after field of storage container . Acres of them storing the debris of their owners lives. Unable to throw their belongings away they pay to have them stored at appropriate temperature and humidity to keep them preserved. All these containers and indeed dumps seem huge monuments to our present-day fixation of acquiring things. Everywhere, postmen and and couriers hurry up driveways to deliver yet more parcels. We are fond of these packages which make every day feel like a celebration. The only problem is our homes have only so much capacity. Cupboards become full, the garage’s overflowing and attics creak with their loads. So our excesses end up in the nearest landfill.  It is a metaphor for what we truly value. It is what we increasingly fuel our lives with, but at what cost. And I don't even mean financially. The things that distract us from the most important essential aspects of life are to be feared not embraced. 

Instead of sustaining our spirits we suffer from a strange diabetes of the soul. Materialism is attachment to the insistent self. We require a fire that burns away veils and leads us closer to spiritual reality. Prayer is the essential spiritual conversation of the soul with God. It is a spiritual food that sustains the life of the spirit. When we sincerely start on the path of spiritual search, true contemplation and meditation illumines our path. Our hearts are gladdened and uplifted but even more importantly our priorities realign. Earthly inclinations are transmuted into heavenly attributes and our actions become inspired by selfless service to humanity. The results can be breathtaking. We don't need to buy containers of stuff. In each of us there is a richness closer than our life vein. May we all find the space and time to become the person we were destined to be and our actions contribute to a better society.

"O God! Refresh and gladden my spirit. Purify my heart. Illumine my powers. I lay all my affairs in Thy hand. Thou art my Guide and my Refuge. I will no longer be sorrowful and grieved; I will be a happy and joyful being. O God! I will no longer be full of anxiety, nor will I let trouble harass me. I will not dwell on the unpleasant things of life.
     O God! Thou art more friend to me than I am to myself. I dedicate myself to Thee, O Lord."

‘Abdu’l-Bahá

Lauch of Letter From Malta Service - warnings apply

Many friends over the years have suggested I would make a good counsellor. I've always responded with horror. Perhaps, the reason for choosing science over art so many years ago was a desire for solid facts not the soft shaky business of human psychology. When people tell me their problems it feels like a harpoon to my heart.  I find it difficult to weather the woes of others. I have a thin skin or as my mother calls it ‘You’re supersensitive’. 

When a friend told me how much her husband beat her, we went together to the photographer to take photos of her poor black and blue body, it burned my heart. I find myself wanting to take justice into my own hands. As these things sometimes do the fates conspired to tempt me. I was driving down the street when the husband was crossing the road at a pedestrian crossing. He was about to cross and I slowed to a standstill murderous intent in my heart. He spotted me and read my mind. We eyeballed each other for a few seconds as everyone else crossed the road in front of my car. He glared at me angrily and took a step. I revved my engine and he stopped. Never taking his eye of me he stepped back onto the pavement. He stood awkwardly on the edge looking around himself for support. It was time to drive on. I passed with with a slight nod of my head, ‘wise call’ I wanted to tell him. 

So, you can see that with such an inability to listen to troubles without taking practical action my counselling skills are always going to be seriously flawed. Then, I thought about being on a tiny island in the Med and reckoned there are some advantages to being at a distance. Perhaps, I should call my answering service “Letter from Malta”. You send me your questions problems insights and I will reply with a proper paper letter not email. Be warned I am not trained, not mild mannered, not shy about reframing accounts. Don't expect the usual “I'm hearing what you're saying, rot”!  Sometimes we all need to hear what we do not like. We need to be challenged as to reality not just our own narrow perception. Consulting with others is a powerful tool. We need not accept what others have to say but at times that contribution is from a refreshingly different perspective. That can help us make a better reflection on the choices and challenges that lie head. If you are interested send me your missive ( at colette.maani@gmail.com) and I promise to send my response from Malta. Be warned not only is the service not free it should have a government warning on it!.. 

Reader - final installment

This is the fourth of a science fiction series ( to read the first three click on hyperlinks below)

Reader part 1

Reader part 2

Reader part 3
Reader part 4

Masters in Intuitive ability ‘Readers a social history’ – by Cherry Godwin

(published postumously -  in her memory)

It has long been cited that readers emerged as a byproduct of brain transplant technology. According to Wentzky (2024) by not replacing the entire brain organ it allowed the brainstem of the recipient and the transplanted brain to communicate. This rudimentary brain communication contributed to the development in offspring of telepathic abilities, Smith and Stevens (2027). These studies have fuelled some to dismiss those who develop intuitive tendencies as genetic errors, medical mistakes or even as waste byproducts. Of course, the scientists involved in such transplants have clearly argued that such gross simplifications are an erroneous distortion of the facts.

They have instead concentrated on the insights, the reader’s ability, brought to neuroscience in general. The stigma suffered by readers was nothing new. The inquisition/expulsion/targeting of ‘the different’ had historical parallels in terms of race/religion/disability.  Historically speaking, this ever-enduring fear of others has given rise to not only persecution but numerous wars for millennia. Race riots, religious clashes, the growth of terrorism and a growing divide between the rich and the poor fuelled upheavals right up to the beginning of the 22nd century.  The situation might have escalated further had it not been overtaken by two external events which decimated human society.

1.   The pandemic on a global scale changed human interactions both socially and internationally. The loss of life had not been experienced since the Spanish flu of 1918 that killed 40 million. One early impact had been a social isolation that became necessary to avoid contagion. Almost no aspect of human interaction was left unaffected. Even the handshake that most primitive of greetings (developed to restrict the sword arm of your potential enemy) did not survive. Communities became more rural as larger numbers perished in urban settings. International travel became less common.

2.   Severe climate change sped up the pace of this deterioration in transportation. Due to sea levels rising, more than had been predicted, coastal regions including almost all the worlds major ports (Hubs of cargo transportation) were inoperable. Speeding up of the earth’s engine meant there were more intense storms/dust/volcanic eruptions/earthquakes/droughts and floods. The atmosphere (Due to holes appearing in the ozone level) no longer protected the population from increased UV rays. Nor did it aid communication systems as solar flares regularly knocked outside satellites. Even communication at microwave level (WiFi) was impacted.

These global changes transformed society. The fear of others combined with poor communication systems and poor transport routes triggered the rise of opportunistic political groups. Scientists called for a rational approach to the challenges but were seriously damaged by the discovery that climate change had been fuelled by the very technology developed in their ranks.

Social anthropologists on recognizing the changing structures of human society began groundbreaking studies of the grass root communities beginning to emerge. Such close social groups, isolated in rural settings, began to exhibit customs and mannerisms that reminded the researchers of much older tribal societies. Not only, much more self-subsistent in nature but also demonstrating increasing social interaction at the micro-community level. Many published papers showing parallels with pre-industrial tribal groups.

In a society where seas became the main barriers between communities the emergence gradually of three Superstates (named after the three seas that separated them) seemed organic. Technologically society developed in scientific hubs and progressed quickly. Scientific knowledge had not been lost during pandemic and climatic changes. Careful data storage meant that when scientific communities could flourish (as in Superstate funded Hubs) the explosion of technological breakthroughs startled everyone. Transplant technology was just one field, which benefited from these hubs but there were others. In fact, it was precisely due to the massive restructuring that scientific cross discipline collaboration became rampant. This brought new fields of research. One such crossover between fields was between neurologists studying brain transplant development and those social anthropologists investigating new community dynamics. When presenting results of readers telepathic abilities in close proximity to others, anthropologists pointed out that in some very close-knit communities of non-readers there seem to be a growing intuitive link between members who had prolonged exposure to each other. This included sensing of moods, being aware of small and subtle changes in behaviour or habits. This coincided with a dramatic drop in suicide rates. It almost seemed as if social isolation could be inversely linked to the health of the community.

One social anthropologist pointed out that in ancient tribes if a witchdoctor cast a spell on a troublemaker within the community the following social exclusion would invariably cause the victim subjected to such isolation to die. The neurologists wanted to know if isolation had been linked to suicides in other societies. Exposure of such a link became evident in many societies from the rural isolated Australian outback areas in the 21st-century to elderly living in inner-city areas of France. 

Neurological studies of twins, highlighted instances of links built up via genetic similarities and close proximity in the womb. Again it repeated and reinforced earlier studies that actually brain communication was a result of enough close physical exposure.  Brains were evidently designed to communicate in huge swathes of ways that far exceeded our previous understanding. Science’s inability to spot such phenomena was largely a result of ‘not looking’. Once attention was turned to this feature, all sorts of evidence began to emerge. When females live in close proximity, their menstrual cycle is quickly gets in sync. Couples who live together in close proximity for many decades flagged up coincidence of thoughts and insights that were just milder versions of the readers abilities. The brain’s plasticity continued into adulthood and enabled unexpected linkage.

It was soon demonstrated that intuitive links developed in communities and between individuals was actually a healthy community in operation. In fact, isolation and the lack of such contact was not only unhealthy but in some cases deadly. Studies of human brain communication began to let the scientific community put readers back into a continuum of mainstream abilities. Instead of being caricatured as medical waste, they were in fact exhibiting skills that human society needed to cultivate quickly. Living in a close-knit community was as important as a healthy diet. Such genuinely close-knit groups are more welcoming of others. This embracing of individuals, despite their abilities/or lack thereof was indicative of a society in the process of development. That intuitive ability allowed each member to learn from and contribute to their betterment of their society. In this environment social exclusion of readers by Superstate’s such as Pacifica could be seen as flawed as earlier ideologies supporting genocide. 

To choose to reject others led to to exclusion. Whatever steps taken in that direction began to descend into a sliding form of apartheid. It inevitably begins focused on one specific group but soon morphs into targeting more and more as unwanted. In fact, the question becomes less, ‘Who do we not want?’ but more, ‘who will we retain?’. Even those who supported the exclusion policies initially can find themselves in later years the target of these same expulsions. Such piecemeal dissection of society creates fear and confusion.  In these divided and fearful societies leaders become disproportionately empowered and corrupt.

In deciding which direction to take for the future, perhaps there are parallels to be found in the biology that gave rise to readers in the first place. Early organ transplants including heart, lung limbs etc involved heavy-duty immune suppressant medication to avoid rejection of the new organ. This had major side-effects and impacted considerably recovery statistics.  Eventually, science uncovered an effective solution. The Tissue Generated Linkage Technique (TGLT) which did away with the need for immune suppressants.  This involved recognizing that that it was the interface between donor organ and recipient that caused most of the problems.  By growing in situ manufactured tissue that diluted boundaries, the body could be fooled into accepting the new organ.  Organ rejection was all but eliminated and transplant technology proceeded at an incredible pace.

Brain transplants became possible and although highly controversial were carried out. The question of the hour was, ‘which was the human’. The brain being given a new body or the body, being given a new brain. Legislation was of the opinion that the higher organ (I.e. the brain) would have to be perceived as the human host. When the existence of the brainstem of the donor body became evident the legislation had to be revisited. If there are two sentient beings in the one body, which one constitutes humanity.  Before legislation could even be formulated science showed how quickly the new brain and brain stem began to communicate and indeed act as one. Such evident synchronicity seemed to preclude viewing them as separate entities. The brain sections, instead of competing to dominate each other, evidently approached proximity as a means of establishing a multitude of communication channels. Including the development of high-level neural linkages that neither had ever created before. It would seem rather than otherness or rejection of a foreign organ, the brains choose a more creative and inclusive path. Reaching out to this new organ with curiosity and openness.

This responsiveness of both parts of the brain to totally new possibilities of communication is perhaps an indicator of the general path an ever-advancing civilization should take. Inclusion, clear communication, working for the progress of the whole system, all of these, our brains indicated must be the priority.  Surely, when we contemplate the future of humanity these lessons must be embedded in all our interactions.

Reader Part 4 - pain is ours, shame is yours

This is the fourth of a science fiction series ( to read the first three click on hyperlinks below)
Reader part 1
Reader part 2

Reader part 3

From The Joint Head Council of Atlantica and Easterna

We the representatives of our two Supernations are pledged to maintain and improve the standards of a civilized society. Those basic standards involve the protection of each citizen independent of their race, religion, health, intellectual capacity, financial status or position. We adhere to these principles not because they are the better choice, the wiser path but because all our futures depend on this awareness. Morality is not about making selfish judgment calls at others expense. Neither is it found in targeting groups as a means of political expediency. The many individuals making up human society all have unique contributions. We celebrate their existence in our midst. Our diversity is our strength and is both embraced and welcomed.

Readers have and will continue to contribute to the betterment of our society. Their skills have allowed us to improve the true benchmark of any great civilization, how it treats the vulnerable in our midst. The young, the elderly and ill have benefited disproportionately from their intuitive skills. In choosing to exile readers from their country Pacifica has demonstrated its flawed agenda. It compounded this injustice to our society by deliberately including among the exiles, quantities of sentenced prisoners. The damage that Pacifica inflicted on its own native reader population has been compounded by the release of violent criminals into our midst as their deliberate policy. We regret the suffering and on occasion deaths that these two actions have inflicted on so many. In order to ascertain who are genuine readers it has been necessary for us to bring in technology to distinguish readers from the criminal population. We will treat all refugees with compassion and justice, criminal or otherwise.

In the actions Pacifica has taken, it has shown clearly its moral bankruptcy. Our response must be a determination to raise the true standards of civilization. The proof of this will be the creation of a united and diverse community, working for the betterment of all. Misinformation and fear has long been the tool of the tyrant.  Facts and truth must be brought into the light so that they can be distinguished from falsehood. Human intellect must always choose the light of reason over the darkness of ignorance. Our policy of embedding readers in frontline posts has already saved many lives. In their actions we see the strength of our diversity. We, the representatives of the Atlantica and Easterna, are united in our path. In choosing discrimination and dishonesty, no nation can hope to progress. Many of our citizens have paid with their lives because of your leader’s actions.  These deeds reflect the fruits of your society. The pain is ours but the shame is yours.

Part 3 Readers - The Killing

This is the third of a science fiction series ( to read the first two click on hyperlinks below)
Reader part 1
Reader part 2

Four days later Sherry was dead. He received a call from her line manager. Keats was informed that she had stepped out in front of an express train at Central Station. The driver had seen nothing and the impact had been minor. It had been railway tech workmen who picked up the tiny shudder at the hub station. They recognized the tiny tremor peak that they had grown accustomed to in suicides on train lines. Their electronic sensors had flagged up an incident and Cherry had been identified quickly by DNA analysis. The line manager broke the news with great sensitivity but the blow felt beyond enduring. On the phone Keats had been unable to speak, to reply. Even, when asked, “are you alright do you need assistance?” He just put his forehead on the phone intercom and closed his eyes. Because of his lack of a coherent reply a response team had been dispatched. They arrived 15 minutes later, over-rode the front door lock and raced in, medical kits at hand. Kind hands lowered him onto his bed while a sleeping patch was applied on his inner wrist. He fell into blissful oblivion and remained so for four hours. 

When he woke he was still in his own bed a bereavement medical worker by his side. He asked the uniformed woman who she was. She was in her 40s with dark straight hair, around a pleasant calm face. Not pretty but plain and pleasant with brown sympathetic eyes. She replied,

“My name is Dora, I'm your bereavement medical worker. Here is my ID, you've had a shock. Do you remember anything?”

While she asked, experienced fingers took his pulses all five recorded on the tablet quickly and efficiently.  Keats shuttered his response, disbelief in every word. 

“My wife and she's dead I think.”

Dora nodded,

“Yes that's right.”

She paused and waited. Keats felt huge sobs coming as if from his feet. Big shaking waves that shook his body, Dora held his hand stroked his shoulder, murmuring “I'm here, I'm here.” Gradually, his sobs stopped and he turned to Dora, and asked, “What happened?”
Dora looked at him clear eyed and measured.
“Cherry is dead but do you need to understand I am responsible to both of you.
Keats was confused,
“What?”
Dora explained,
“When a death like this happens, a bereavement medical worker (a BMW) is assigned to both the deceased and the next of kin. I have prepared Cherry, accompanied her to forensics and made sure her wishes are respected to the letter. I am duty-bound to you both, but my priority is of course Cherry, as she is no longer able to speak for herself.” 
Keats struggled to grasp what Dora was saying,

“I don't understand.”

Dora calmly replied,
“Just because a person is dead, it doesn't mean one rides roughshod over their rights. Cherry had left clear instructions and I have carried them out to the letter.”

“What instructions?” Keats almost howled his despair. Dora elaborated,

“She wanted instant cremation after a full forensics. She had prepared well, there is her will and a letter.”

“But why did she do it?”

Dora frowned.

“Out of respect for Cherry, I am duty-bound to point out forensics indicate she did not jump in front of the train. Bruising showed she was pushed and CCTV footage on the train clearly indicates this. In no way was she intentionally ending her life.”

Keats felt bile rise in his throat.
“But the call they mentioned suicide, her line manager said...”

Dora stroked his shoulder gently.
“He had no right to call you like that. No one should hear that sort of news over a monitor. Any fool knows that. But, I'm afraid nowadays communication outstrips wisdom. They certainly shouldn't make a judgment call without full forensics. For exactly the reasons that are evident here.
Keats said nothing, so Dora continued.

“I had to respect Cherry’s wishes, she was my key subject, so you were given a sleeping patch until such times as I had carried out her wishes.”

“What wishes?” Keats questioned.

Dora gave him a small sip of ice-cold water and it soothed his dry throat. He coughed and spoke louder,
“What wishes?”

Dora took out an envelope and explained. "When someone anyone dies or is dying, A BMW is assigned. Their key subject is the patient or client and they make sure their needs are met. In terms of pain control, final wishes, personal care plan. In the case of a diseased patient we are escort them to forensics or to the funeral home and ensure respect is shown to the body. We take notes and in the case of Sherry arrange cremation.”

“But I needed to see her, I wanted to...” Keats could not continue.

Dora spoke,
“In this case her instructions outweigh your wishes. But she did wish you would be given this on her death.” 
Dora handed over the white envelope.
“Just know this, she did not take her own life. This was not her choice. Someone took her from you. You need to know this. I'll leave you to read the note in private, if you need me I'll be outside the glass doors, just signal and I'll come.”
He clumsily pulled the envelope open, tearing it. His fingers felt like spagetti. His brain was in shut down. He tried to focus. The handwriting was hers and when he read Dear Keats, he cried out and put his hand over his mouth. Dora behind the glass doors stirred but he held up his hand to stop her. He read on,

‘I'm dead I don't know how it happened after all, I'm younger than you. But there you go, life is unexpected. You must be devastated, unless you killed me, in which case, perhaps relieved. Only joking, being a reader married to a non-reader is tricky but being a non- reader married to a reader is an act of daily trust. You more than met all my life's expectations. You're a good man and it has been a privilege to share these years. Your love has given me incredible happiness. Being cremated is not what you would've wanted for me. I appreciate goodbyes are important to you. But some studies have shown readers die differently. The part of the brain that processes readings in others is the last stop to stop functioning. It's requires so little blood flow there is speculation that it may continue functioning for sometime after the body is dead. I have to confess that thought freaked me out so much, a speedy cremation seemed a safer bet. I didn't want my last reading playing like a record in my head. I know it will all be all over, the fact that you are reading this means my wishes have been respected. I can ask for no more. Would have loved more time with you but you have given me more than I ever expected. Your goodness a daily lesson in how to be a better human. Thanks for that too!
much love Cherry."

He held the letter to his cheek and tried to breathe in her scent from the paper. His heart felt like it would explode. The pain in the centre of his chest pulsed and his ears began ringing. He rubbed his chest with his knuckles and the pain seemed to flow along his arms. Dora was beside him in an instant and placed the patch on his wrist. He tried to stop her, but she pushed his hand away and spoke gently.

“You need to trust me now. This is best. I'm here, I'm here.”

Blissful nothingness hugged him into a deep sleep. Doris sat beside him in the darkened room. He would sleep for an hour. These patches had to be used with restraint. Patients could quickly grow addicted to the swift release from painful reality. It was her job to begin weaning him. She never gave more than three patches and really felt EBW’s who did were shortchanging their clients. The sooner patients came to terms with what had happened the better. Delaying that, often suited inexperienced EBW’s who needed time to think what was best to do next. Putting a client into a long sleep allowed them to consult others and plan ahead and cover their own backs. Dora knew recovery in patients who slept through the first two days was twice as slow as those who didn't. Not on my watch, she thought settling down to her knitting, keeping a watchful eye on his vitals. She'd only been knitting for 20 minutes when someone knocked on the glass door. Dora approached the door slowly. His eyes were green flecked with gold and he signalled to her to open the door. Dora picked up the intercom and pointed to the receiver on the outside. Dickens spoke in a rush,

“He's a good friend, can I come in? He's had an awful loss, he needs me!

Dora answered,
“No, he needs me at present. I will not authorise any visitors until he is stabilised.” 

Her brown eyes were cold and clear. Dickens held up his hand, pleadingly.

“Look its not fair, if he was your friend you'd want to be there for him.”

Dora pressed a button low down on her medical jacket, and then spoke
“Who are you, exactly?”

He answered eagerly, “Dickens, we go back half a century. Come on have a heart.” He smiled winningly through the glass door.
Dora nodded slowly and held up her hand in acquiescence.

“This space has been disinfected, please wash your hands and use a cleanser spray and before entering.”

Dickens quickly did as she instructed, washing his hands with mocking exaggerated care and using the wall disfectant spray on both sides of each hand. He slipped the scalpel up his sleeve, one more kill and he was in the clear. Just one more death and freedom in this brand-new world beckoned. He could feel his hands trembling with the thrill of the kill. He would have to take out the plump woman too, but suddenly, having got rid of Cherry so easily, he felt anything was possible. Dora waved him towards the glass door and stood a little to one side making room for him to pass when the doors would open. 

Dickens smiled encouragingly at the plain face, so close to his own. Suddenly, the doors to the lift behind him opened and four security guards grabbed him. Efficiently they cable cuffed his arms and searched him. They found the scalpel within seconds. Dora opened the glass doors and stepped out allowing them to close behind her. She approached Dickens and told the guards,

“I pressed the alert, he has just killed and was about to kill again.”

The guards immediately placed red stick highlighter across Dickens’ forehead. It was fluorescent and would identify him as a murderer to everyone when he was in transit. There had been an initial outcry when such permanent indicators were used. Prisoners were horrified to find the mark indelible. Sociological studies found the mark more of a punishment than many of the other prison regimes. Not even facial tattoos removed the fluorescent red. Removing a deep layer of skin or branding did, but were so drastic most people could guess what had been removed and this defeated the intent. This colour branding had been started 30 years ago and it had been so successful the measure had become standard. As they hauled Dickens to the lift, he shouted at Dora, in recognition, 

“You’re a reader, she's a reader!”

He continued to shout as they bundled him out. Dora opened the glass door and returned to her chair. Checking vitals and fussing with his sheet she felt his pulse and then settled. Frontline EDW were not all readers but in a diversity drive at the same time as the second maxim announcement had meant 50% of them where.

It had seemed as if one life had been saved by her quick reading of Dickens but further

research on the case indicated that he had killed dozens of people. The Dickens case as it became known became as instrumental as the Linenbury case in changing attitudes.

A new maxim came into being, “Unity in Diversity, makes us stronger and safer”. 


(to be continued)