The Spindle was an end cottage in a row of five. It used to be part of a farmhouse, and before that it was an original part of a settlement dated to the 1100’s. It was tiny, dark, haunted, and cold, and full of very large spiders. It was down an ancient lane that led to horse pastures and then to a winding footpath that curved down to a pond. The footpath was lined with wildflowers, nettles and an ancient hedgerow that formed an archway above the path.
I used to sit on the fence where the lane met the start of the footpath and I would watch the sun set with the horses snickering and pulling out grass. The sound of the grass ripping, their breathing and their gentle munching was so soothing in the silent summer evenings. There were cuckoos and woodpigeons further down the lane and their calls added to the melliferous song of the Spindle meadows.
I can remember the smell of loamy soil in the ancient hedgerow, the smell of the fresh grass ripped up by the horses, and the smell of wildflowers on the light breeze.
In the front garden there were roses and honey suckle, which also smelt amazing. I would sit in the garden eating lemonade Spangles and Parma violets. All Around My Hat by Steeleye Span played on the radio, also Lynard Skynyrd, Queen, We will rock you, and I Can See Clearly Now by Johnny Nash. I used to dance and sing along and play air guitar alongside my Dad. I wore bright flares and a knitted over vest. I had an amazing kaleidoscope and a sizable collection Britons animals that I took everywhere with me. I was given my first kitten there, an orange cat called Pudding who lived 26 years. When we moved he kept going back to the Spindle so we asked if the new occupants would like to adopt him. They happily agreed and gave him the longest and best life ever, at least he had a happy ending.
When we moved away my dad kept the old deeds to the Grindle as a keepsake. They were later given to me when I moved away to Devon to remind me of the early days of my life and to keep safe as part of our families history.
It was these deeds that were later found by the ignorant and spiteful children of a criminal gypsy led cult from a housing estate. The trespassers thought that the deeds were active and current because they couldn’t read them properly. They stole them thinking that they had landed a huge prize. Their usual fodder was vulnerable people who had no families or friends. The type of people who went missing without anyone noticing.
This gang trafficked people as slaves with a house, or brain damaged to claim benefits for. They possibly believed that they could kidnap me and sell me to the highest bidder with a building. It turned out that I was not their type, I was not the type who wouldn’t be missed. In fact it was the opposite, but this opposite actually contributed to my death as people within the gang tried to save face and to not look like the imbeciles that they were. All the criminals and opportunists that they had surrounded themselves with then competed for the prize that was just lies that idiots told to cover up their ridiculous and embarrassing mistake.
There were many elements and details between the beginning of the crime and its grisly culmination that were thrown into the pot together to create the perfect Storm of violence, hate, spite and destruction.
Exacerbated by a piece of useless, worthless paper that was very obviously just a keepsake, a memory that was stolen by trespassing children. Who were sneaking into my space to ferry lies back to their parents who were waiting eagerly to fuel a witch hunt. These ignorant people dehumanised every victim that they could get their hands on. There were over 300 victims from over three decades. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong look and with personal things that they should never have touched.
Solve This Murder 