Habeas Corpus

Scene: An English rural county. Time: The 1950s.

* * *

When Mr and Mrs Harold Fraser received a letter from Uncle Harry, they were imbued with what Charles Dickens might have described as great expectations. As a boy, Harold had been told that his Uncle Harry emigrated to Australia at the turn of the century. No word had been received from him for the last thirty years, during which time both of Harold's parents had died. A few months before receiving Harry's letter, the Frasers had been visited by a local solicitor, engaged by a legal firm in Australia to locate Harry's long lost brother or his offspring. Harold had shown the solicitor his father's death certificate and his own birth certificate, and the solicitor had left, apparently satisfied that he had successfully traced the family. Since then the Frasers had wondered what had been behind those enquiries, and now they knew. Uncle Harry's letter said that he was a wealthy man, and had returned to England to spend his remaining years. He wrote that he wanted 'to do right' by his only remaining kin, and asked them to meet him at the Imperial Hotel, Nutchester. They set out for this appointment buoyed by hopes of being the sole beneficiaries of the old man's will, reinforced by the expectation that they would not have long to wait for their inheritance, reckoning that Uncle Harry must by now be at least eighty years old.

* * *

Harry Fraser came down from his room at the Imperial and went to the reception desk. He told the clerk that he was expecting visitors, and asked if there was a quiet room where he could receive them and talk undisturbed. The hotel was unusually busy that evening, as the Undertakers Annual Convention was taking place there, but the clerk suggested that the Daffodil Room would be suitable. It was on a side corridor which led only to a goods entrance. He gave Harry directions, and assured him that the room was usually very quiet, and might well be unoccupied. Harry set off for the Daffodil Room, but on the way he became intrigued by the activity in the public rooms where the Convention had gathered, and lingered there to observe the undertakers' celebrations.

The desk clerk had been correct in his assumption that the Daffodil Room would be quiet, but it was not unoccupied. Propped up in a lifelike posture in one of the armchairs was the corpse of Billy Watkins.

* * *

The Undertakers Convention included a 'Coffin of the Year' competition. Nutcombe undertaker Amos Lovejoy had entered the Mark 2 version of his 'Peace-of-Mind'® casket, an example of which he had instructed his assistants, Eric Wrigley and Samuel Hedges, to deliver to the goods entrance of the hotel during the time allotted for the reception of exhibits. The loading of a coffin into a hearse was an operation which Eric and Sam had performed so often that they could do it, Eric averred, with their eyes shut. This may account for the fact that when they set off for the Imperial Hotel they were not carrying the empty exhibition casket, but a coffin containing the mortal remains of Billy Watkins aged 92, due for interment in Nutcombe cemetery on the morrow.

At the hotel half a dozen hotel porters were assisting with the unloading of the exhibits. With their help Eric and Sam carried their casket into the exhibition hall and laid it upon Lovejoy's stand. They then drove back to the funeral parlour.

That evening the undertakers convened, and Lovejoy took an early opportunity to make a discreet inspection of the exhibition room to ensure that his entry was displayed to advantage. Aghast at what he found, he immediately telephoned his place of business, and ordered Eric and Sam to get his potential prize winner to the hotel post haste, and to return Billy Watkins to the 'chapel of rest' (that being the designation by which Lovejoy's workshop was known when it contained an occupied coffin). He intimated that if they failed in this, it was his intention to perform various surgical procedures upon them without the benefit of anaesthetics.

Spurred on by Lovejoy's threats, Sam and Eric swiftly loaded the prize-contending coffin into the hearse, and drove to Nutchester at speeds seldom attained by funeral vehicles. At the hotel they found that the porters had all returned to the front of the hotel, assuming that no more exhibits were due. Lacking their assistance, it was with difficulty that they carried the exhibition casket from the goods entrance to the exhibition hall, and stood it on end against the wall adjacent to Lovejoy's stand. Their next task was to take the coffin containing Billy Watkins to the hearse. To their dismay, they found that it was far too heavy for the two of them to lift.

Sam suggested that they should seek help from hotel staff, but Eric demurred, correctly surmising that Lovejoy would not wish it to be known that he had introduced a corpse into the hotel. He had an alternative solution. "Let's do it in two halves: we'll take Billy out of the coffin, and set him down somewhere, take the empty coffin to the hearse, then come back for Billy."

In pursuance of this agenda, they lifted Billy from the coffin. Taking an arm each over their shoulders, they dragged Billy along the corridor, looking for a quiet place to leave the body. Reaching the Daffodil Room they looked inside. It was empty. They deposited Billy in an armchair by a potted palm, placed his hands in his lap, and crossed one leg over the other to give the scene the casual appearance of a sleeping man. Returning swiftly to the exhibition hall, they lifted Billy's coffin from the stand and put the exhibition casket in its place. They carried Billy's empty coffin out through the goods entrance and loaded it into the hearse. As they sat on the tail-board exhausted by their efforts, Sam complained, "I'm knackered. Can't we have a breather?" Eric replied, "Why not? I reckon we've got time. Let's stop for a smoke."

* * *

Mr and Mrs Harold Fraser arrived at the hotel, and asked at the reception desk for Mr Fraser. The clerk directed them to the Daffodil Room. Seeing only one occupant in the room, Harold advanced on Billy with his hand outstretched. "Uncle Harry! How lovely to see you!" Receiving no acknowledgement, he whispered to his wife, "I think the old boy's asleep." He laid his hand gently on Billy's shoulder. "Uncle Harry! Uncle Harry! It's me, your nephew!"

"I don't think he looks at all well, dear," Mrs Fraser observed. "He's awfully pale. I think we should get a doctor to him."

Harold returned to reception and told the clerk that his uncle looked very ill and needed a doctor. The receptionist accompanied him back to the Daffodil Room and saw at once that the man in the armchair was either dead or close to it. His reaction was swift and decisive. He knew that the death of a guest was bad news for any hotel, and should be dealt with as quickly and quietly as possible. He instructed a page boy to rope off the corridor and keep everyone away from the Daffodil Room. He ordered another to ring for an ambulance, and to tell them only that a guest was very ill and that they should come to the goods entrance. He himself rang the manager's office and explained the situation. The manager came at once. "Well done, Smithers. I'll take over now."

The ambulance drew up by the goods entrance of the hotel. Senior Ambulanceman Tom Rogers had been in the business for many years, and had recognised the tell-tale signs in the hotel's summons. He had briefed his assistant while they were en route. "Listen, George, ten to one he's already dead. Hotels and such like don't like a death on the premises, so just play along and get him out of there as quick as we can, right?"

The manager met them at the goods entrance, in his hand a hotel brochure from which the edges of two bank notes were peeping discreetly. As he led them to the Daffodil Room he handed the brochure to Tom. "In case you ever want to stay. I can fix you a very special rate," he murmured, as Tom tucked the brochure into his tunic pocket. At the sight of Billy, Tom caught George's eye and lifted his chin, as if to say, "What did I tell you?" Watched by the manager and the Frasers, they unrolled the stretcher, lifted Billy's body onto it, and carried it out to the ambulance. In the corridor they passed Sam and Eric, who had come to collect the corpse and were taken aback to see it being carried away. Citizens in the streets of Nutchester that evening were startled to see an ambulance proceeding from the Imperial Hotel to the hospital closely dogged by a hearse. One passer-by was heard to remark that he thought only solicitors chased ambulances, and that the funeral trade must have fallen onto hard times to have to resort to such tactics.

Once the corpse was off the premises, the hotel manager allowed himself to relax. "Right," he said to his staff, "back to normal. Clear those barriers away and make everything shipshape." By the time that Uncle Harry had wearied of the antics of the funeral trade and had retired to the Daffodil Room to await his nephew, it was once again quiet, and this time it was empty. He sat in the armchair not long since occupied by the late Billy Watkins, and closed his eyes.

* * *

In the back of the ambulance, George and the Frasers sat along one side, opposite the stretcher in which Billy was strapped. George took a clipboard down from a hook, and started to fill in a form.

"Name of patient?"

"Harold Fraser," Harold replied.

"Age?"

"At least eighty."

"I'll put 'approx eighty-three.' General condition? I'll put 'Unconscious'."

George continued filling in the form: "External injuries: None visible. Pulse rate: Very slow. Pulse strength: Very weak. Respiration rate: Very slow. Respiration strength: Very shallow." Then he said, "Accompanied by?" The Frasers stared at the inert form on the stretcher, and hoped that Uncle Harry would not be so inconsiderate as to pass away without having first made his will.

"Accompanied by?" George repeated more loudly.

"Eh? What was that?" Harold asked.

"Accompanied by?" George repeated impatiently. "He's accompanied by you. Who are you?"

"I'm his nephew," Harold replied.

George sighed heavily. "Name. What is your name?"

"Oh. Harold Fraser," Harold replied.

"Not the patient's name, your name."

"My name is Harold Fraser."

"You told me that was the patient's name."

"It is. We're both named Harold Fraser. My father named me after him."

"After who?"

"After Uncle Harry. Uncle Harry was my father's brother."

"And I'll be a monkey's uncle," George muttered. Aloud he said, "I'll put 'Patient's name: Harold Fraser Senior. Accompanied by: Harold Fraser Junior'." He sighed again, suggesting the intolerable burdens placed upon him by inconsiderate members of the public. He looked at Mrs Fraser. "And the lady is . . .?"

"This is my wife."

George corrected him. "You mean Mrs Harold Fraser Junior." He continued, "Relationship of above to patient?"

"What?"

"Relationship of above to patient?"

"Above to patient? That doesn't make sense," Harold protested.

"You are the above," George explained heavily. "What is your relationship to the patient?"

"I've just told you. He's my uncle."

"That is his relationship to you. What is your relationship to him?"

"I'm his nephew, of course. I told you that."

George spoke as he wrote on the form. "Nephew," then added with ponderous sarcasm, "Thank you."

He hung the clipboard back on its hook, proud at having done a good job. He had put a member of the public firmly in his place, as was his duty. Why else would they have given him a blue uniform and a peaked cap?

* * *

When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, it stopped outside the Casualty Department. George let the Frasers out and said, "Wait in there," gesturing to double doors labelled 'RECEPTION'. He climbed into the front of the ambulance with Tom, and they drove off around the corner of the building. Harold and his wife walked through the doors and found themselves in a waiting room filled with people bearing injuries of various sorts. At one side was a counter with a nurse behind it. Harold approached her and said, "Excuse me, we were . . ."

The nurse cut him short. "Name?" she asked curtly, pulling a pad of forms towards her.

"Harold Fraser," Harold answered. The nurse wrote the name down. Harold added, as a precaution, "Junior."

The nurse glanced at him sharply. "There's no call to be funny. What's wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me. We . . ."

"Nothing wrong with you? What are you doing here, then?"

"The ambulanceman told me to wait here."

"Ambulanceman? You came in an ambulance when there's nothing wrong with you? Don't you realise that there are people waiting for ambulances who actually need one?"

"Yes, I do. My uncle needed one, and my wife and I came in with him. The ambulanceman told us to wait here."

"You mean you're not the patient?"

"That's right."

"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? Do I need to make out an admission form?"

"I've really no idea."

"I can tell that. Did the ambulanceman make out an admission form?"

"Yes, I think he did."

"Then I don't need to write one, do I? Honestly, you people! Wait over there until your name is called."

The nurse tore the form off the pad, screwed it up, and threw it angrily towards a waste paper basket. She could not imagine why she was expected to cope with people who did not have the slightest idea of the hospital's internal administrative procedures.

* * *

The Frasers found two adjacent empty seats and sat down, watched by Sam and Eric who had followed them into the casualty department and positioned themselves among the walking wounded, pretending to read newspapers, but actually keeping covert watch on the pair who had kidnapped Billy's corpse. After some minutes a young doctor in a white coat appeared behind the counter and called, "Mr Harold Fraser?" The Frasers rose and moved across to him. Sam and Eric followed casually, taking care to remain within earshot.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you, but your uncle has passed away. We did what we could, but it was too late. If he had been brought in earlier . . ." His voice trailed away, suggesting negligence on the part of the deceased's relatives, possibly criminal. The Frasers took the news badly, although it was the thought of losing the will that grieved them rather than the demise of an uncle.

"Can we have his clothes?" Mrs Fraser asked.

The doctor was taken aback. "He's still wearing them, Mrs Fraser. There was no time to change him into a hospital gown."

"Well, where is he?" asked Harold. "We need to go through his pockets."

The doctor was shocked. "His body is in the hospital morgue, Mr Fraser, and we cannot possibly allow it to be rifled."

"Then release the body to us," Harold demanded. "We're entitled to have it. We're his only living relatives."

"When the necessary formalities have been completed, rest assured that the body will be released. But you will just have to wait. It should only be a day or two."

* * *

The Frasers left in high dudgeon. They were no longer followed by Sam and Eric, who had slipped away down a corridor as soon as they heard the doctor say that the body was in the morgue. As undertaker's assistants, they were familiar with that part of the hospital, and were on their way to retrieve Billy's corpse. In the morgue they found that Billy's body had been transferred to a wheeled trolley. As they pushed the trolley swiftly through the morgue's external door they were spotted by a hospital porter, who called on them to stop. They broke into a run and headed towards the car park where the hearse stood. Eric went to open the tailgate. "We haven't got time!" cried Sam. "He'll have to sit inside up front with us." They lifted him in and sped away, leaving the empty trolley where it stood.

When the porter telephoned casualty reception to tell them that the corpse they had just deposited in the morgue had been stolen by two unidentified people, the nurse leapt to the obvious conclusion. "It must have been those Frasers! They were determined to get their hands on it!" she declared, and immediately telephoned to the Nutchester police to report the cadaveral abduction. All police stations in the county were soon alerted to be on the lookout for two body snatchers and a corpse.

* * *

As they left the hospital, Mrs Fraser said to her husband, "Don't give up, dear. The will may be in his luggage. Let's go back to the hotel and see if we can get it."

"That's a good idea," Harold agreed. "How do we get there?"

"Let's take a taxi," his wife suggested daringly.

"A taxi?" Harold baulked at such extravagance.

"Look upon it as an investment, dear."

They hailed a taxi and returned to the Imperial Hotel. Harold approached the desk and asked, "Can you please tell me the room number of Mr Harold Fraser?"

* * *

Uncle Harry woke from his nap in the Daffodil Room and looked at his watch. He decided to wait no longer for his nephew, and made his way to the desk to let them know that he was returning to his room. He was just in time to hear Harold asking for his room number. He came silently up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Harold, my dear boy. It's your Uncle Harry up from down under. I bet you thought you'd never see me again." Harold jumped, clutched at his chest, and fell to the floor gasping.

* * *

Summoned to the Imperial Hotel for a second time, the two ambulancemen discussed the possibility of finding another 'gonner,' as George put it. Tom thought it unlikely, as they had been asked to attend at the front door. He proved to be right. Harold was still breathing strongly, albeit spasmodically, as they stretchered him into the ambulance and took him off to hospital.

In the back of the ambulance, George sat with Uncle Harry and Mrs Fraser along one side, opposite the stretcher on which Harold lay. Mrs Fraser appeared to be in shock, and shrank fearfully away from Uncle Harry as he attempted to console her. George wearily took his clipboard down from its hook, and started to fill in a form.

"Name of patient?"

"Harold Fraser," Uncle Harry replied.

George froze momentarily, then turned and looked hard at Uncle Harry. "And your name is?" he asked.

"My name is Harold Fraser too."

"Harold Fraser Two? Not Harold Fraser Junior?"

Uncle Harry laughed. "Hardly. Harold Fraser Senior, perhaps."

"Perhaps? You're not certain? And this lady is?"

"This is Mrs Harold Fraser."

George moved to the front of the vehicle and opened the hatch to the driving compartment. "Tom," he said in a hoarse whisper, "radio ahead to the hospital. Tell them that we're bringing the Frasers back in."

* * *

When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, the stretcher was collected by two porters and taken to the admissions ward. Two police constables were waiting to escort Mrs Fraser and Uncle Harry into an office, where the hospital administrator, a police inspector, and a nurse were waiting for them. Mrs Fraser recognised the nurse as being from the casualty department reception desk.

"So then, sir," the inspector asked the administrator, "You say that Mr and Mrs Harold Fraser stole a dead body from your morgue and have now brought it back. Are these the persons concerned?"

The administrator looked at the nurse. "Is this them, nurse?"

The nurse looked at them in confusion. "That's her, but he's not the man."

"Aha!" declared the inspector. "Now we're getting somewhere! Not Mr Harold Fraser, eh? An impostor! Come on, me lad, own up. Who are you?"

"I'm Harold Fraser."

The inspector turned to Mrs Fraser. "Can you confirm that, madam? Is this Mr Fraser?"

"I don't know. I've never seen him before today."

"I am Harold Fraser, I tell you. Look, here's my passport."