At seven o'clock on the morning of November 28th I received a telephone call from the tourist police asking me to go and see them. Apparently a drunken Englishman had left his backpack outside the Blue Moon nightclub on the night of the 24th and had not come to claim it. There was a passport in the name of Roger Simms aged twenty-one, clothes and so on but no money, travellers cheques or ticket. Roger had been seen two days before sleeping in the street. A journal he was writing seemed to confirm the obvious thought that he was high on drugs.

'Thai grass,' he wrote, ' is unbeatable, mellow to smoke and gets you very rained.'

On Saturday evening I began searching the bars and guesthouses. A girl at the Black Cat told me to try the Beer Bar Centre as she though he had a girlfriend there. At last a girl recognised his passport photograph but refused to tell me anything about him. Two drinks later she relented and told me to try John's guesthouse.

Next morning I went up to his room on the third floor. I could not wake him. I slapped him hard in the face but he only mumbled and turned over. I fetched the tourist police to help me take him to the hospital but he went rigid and locked onto the bed so that we could not move him. I called Dr. Pairat who agreed to come immediately even though it was Sunday morning. The doctor gave him an injection and called for an ambulance and three orderlies. Finally, after a great struggle they were able to overpower him, tie him up in a blanket and carry him down the three flights of stairs.

Monday morning. He would not respond, eat, drink or speak. I called the Embassy and it was agreed that his mother should be asked to come out immediately. Next evening his mother, Anne, arrived having lost all her luggage and went straight to the hospital. and, lo, the scales fell from his eyes and he emerged from behind the fringe of unknowing and he was all smiles and love and talk. The doctor came and was amazed. Anne spent the night with us.

Next day the doctor agreed that Roger could go and stay with his mother in a hotel. Just after midnight she rang me. He had insisted on going to the Beer Bar Centre where he was now sitting like a zombie, staring into space. Would I come and help? He led us from bar to bar, not drinking (nor could I!), not speaking, just staring. Lights flashing, music blaring, videos playing, girls and drinks - at one point a drunk tried to pick up his mother, I had to say that she was my wife. At four o'clock he silently got up, walked outside and allowed Anne to guide him to my car. I left them with much relief at their hotel.

For a week this went on, sometimes he seemed fine, at other times he drifted into a trance and would not eat, this was especially so when we took him to the mental hospital - the nurses in the general hospital were afraid of him. On the 8th he led his poor mother back to the bar area and she called me from there in the evening. He had freaked out again. The tourist police came but could not handle him. They called for reinforcements and asked for my permission to handcuff him. For fifteen minutes, outside the Spotlight Go-Go bar, in front of his mother, he fought ten men before they could finally force him into the van and take him to the mental hospital - a harrowing experience.

Next day the results of the medical tests came through. Roger had a tumour or cyst on his brain. By great good luck he was fully insured and it was arranged that a male nurse should fly out from England and escort him home, heavily sedated.

One of the great rewards of doing this job is meeting wonderful people like Dr. Pairat and the nurses at the mental hospital. Another is when someone remembers to thank you as Anne did. This is what she wrote to Pat and me.

Dear both, your kindness has given me the strength and support I needed to endure Roger's illness - I thank you with much love and gratitude. Thank you, John for being where you are and who you are, your gentleness and compassion I feel were necessary to cope with such a difficulty. Thank you, Pat, for your help spoken and unspoken, wisdom and insight.

Later we visited Anne and Roger at their home in Colchester , which was where my parents also lived.We were feted with strawberries and cream and champagne. Roger, fully recovered, was at Essex University.