Dec 03, 2009 22:05
Mr Goddard was my next door neighbour for twenty years. In many ways, he was a strange man, single, with a very strong northern English accent, a bit prissy, and I suppose that's all most people saw of him. He had several floods from the flat above him, and was convinced, because of the colour of the water that had come through that the tenants were storing drugs under the floorboards. It was probably discoloured from the deadening under the floor. He could be very kind though - once when I locked myself out onto the stair, he let me use his phone to call my sister who had spare keys. I remember we sat in his living room sipping tea while he told me all about his passion for opera and the time he met Maria Callas. He had a turntable he had bought in 1957 for £40 (a huge amount then) which worked perfectly, to play all his records. No crappy CDs for him!
I used to see him on the stair, on in the street, but last year I hadn't seen him for a few months and began to be a little concerned. Then I saw him again about six months ago, and beyond thinking he seemed a bit frail, he seemed to be OK. I began to be a bit worried again a couple of months back. There was a horrible case over the summer where a woman was found dead in her flat, having been there for five years, with nobody missing her. I asked other people if they had seen Mr Goddard recently - my hairdresser said it had been months since he had seen him walk past the shop. Upstairs neighbours said they were concerned too. I went up to his flat and got no reply. I hummed and hawed and put off doing anything for several weeks, I kept looking up at his flat windows to see I there was a light on in the evenings but there never was. I even checked the obituaries in the local paper, to no avail.
Finally, yesterday, I called social services, to see if they knew anything. They called back. Mr Goddard died a couple of months ago. So now, I pay my belated respects.