Today's Reading
VA: That's right, Rick. And that really is one of the shocking elements of this case—the murder weapon was a pair of spectacles—the edge used to slit this defenceless woman's throat.
RB: And we're led to believe that Hagman tried to take his own life—is that right Vicky?
VA: That's right, Rick. Indeed, it's the short, four-word suicide note that was perhaps the most compelling piece of evidence against him. After launching the attack, Hagman tried to take his own life by hanging himself with a length of bailing twine. In a remarkable twist of fate, the makeshift noose snapped under the weight of Hagman's sixteen-stone, six-foot-three-inch frame.
RB: And yet Hagman pleaded not guilty—is that correct?
VA: Yes, and that was seen as 'indescribably cruel' by investigators who had hoped that a guilty plea would spare her children the agony of a trial. As we reported in a previous bulletin, Hagman has barely spoken in his own defence and gave only halting, one-word answers when questioned about the murder—claiming to have no memory of the incident. His statement to the police, read out in court, brought gasps from the public gallery. He said he wished he could swap places with her, and that he would live with regret for the rest of his life, but that he had no memory of taking her life, having relapsed into alcoholism after several sober years.
RB: Can you tell us anything about Hagman's career?
VA: I can, Rick. PC Hagman was a respected and dedicated police constable based out of a tiny police station in the tiny market town of Alston. He first came into contact with Mrs Delaney when she moved her family into the abandoned farm property a mile above the tiny hamlet of Garrigill in an area referred to as the UK's 'last remaining wilderness'—a bleak, barren landscape scarred by centuries of mining and agriculture. PC Hagman was sent to move the family on, but the court heard that he took pity on her and her family, and friendship soon blossomed into something more. Hagman's marriage collapsed when news of the affair came to light. He was thrown out of the family home—a smallholding in the nearby Tynedale Valley. Prosecutors also said that it was 'a mercy and a miracle' that none of the victim's children were home at the time of the attack. It was implied that in the grip of his rage, Hagman could have easily set his sights on other members of the family.
RB: And we're led to believe that Hagman saw himself as something of a father figure to the children?
VA: That's the tragedy, Ricky. A neighbour claims that one of the children, who cannot be named for legal reasons, told her that of all the people in their life, Uncle Wulf was the only person with whom she felt safe....
To the Panel of the Oxbridge Access Scheme
Re: Financial Aid and Tutelage for Working-Class Students
07.11.01
I feel a strong compulsion to use the word 'esteemed' in my opening remarks. So there, I have. And you are.
Anyway, sob story, 101. That's what you do, yes? Weigh up whether I had it bad enough to qualify for financial assistance. Well, buckle up, Buttercup, because this one's got the lot. Poverty. Violence. Neglect. Death...can you imagine if they were four of the Seven Dwarves? Best to start with Mam, really. Everything did. Died with her, too.
The press should have had a field day with Mam. Monster Mother. Mum From Hell. The Face of Benefits Britain. Social Work Incompetence Contributed to Death of Tragic Mum. Oh, that one was actually printed. Incidentally, field day? I don't know where that phrase comes from. Maybe something to do with carnivals? Cuntry fayres? Yes, I spelt that correctly. Punch and Judy and coconut shies and merry-go-rounds and the stuff you see in books when you're trying to ease your way into another life....
But I digress. God, do you remember when everybody used to say that all the time? It was the same people who used to use their fingers as inverted commas. Yuk.
Sorry, I'm being too colloquial. Dagmara says you're probably looking for something that's all poetic and philosophical and flouncy. Soz. You're getting full Billy Elliot with me. And when I write, I write how I speak. I speak too much, according to Dagmara.
Soz again. Has anybody ever used the word 'soz' in their submission? I really hope you're wearing robes and mortar boards and drinking brandy while you read this on vellum scroll. I'd be devastated if you were an office worker on a PC. Not that I've got anything against office workers. I'm sure you look lovely. Enjoy your lunch.
Rambling, much? So, Press. Field day. Mam. Focus.
If you need to picture her, well....brace yourself. She was massive, by the end. I can't draw very well, but if I could, I'd sketch her as one of those big sows that win awards at country fairs. I mean, if you were to cobble together a mental picture of somebody who might just be evil, you'd make her look like this. You could hear her coming, at least. Floorboards would creak. The way her feet spilled out of her sandals, it was like watching Yorkshire puddings rise. Big everywhere. Arms like something you'd find in a butcher's shop. She'd tell us she'd been pretty once, but we've seen photos and she wasn't. Always sullen. Pouty. Sore. Always looked like she was trying to shit a ferret.
...
