Made in Brighton: The Story of Lee Rolf

Lee’s life reads like a chronicle of wrongs done to him.  For 60 years council and health services appear tangled up in the story like unwitting accomplices.  For Lee it’s an urgent story weighing heavily on an already troubled mind. As a consequence his compulsion to seek redress is relentless.  He and I both agree it’s long overdue to write this story down and send it into the world.  We take a risk, but placing hope in the old adage “a problem shared…” this is Lee’s story as he told it to me.   Adrian Hart, Spring 2020

                                                                                                                         

Introduction

A social worker’s report from 1975 offered a description of Lee Rolf (then aged 16) that could be applied to him by state services at any time from then until now: “Since the age of two Lee has been described as a ‘problem’ and hard to control”.  The doubtless well-intentioned report sent to Lee’s first care hostel goes on to describe a dreadful home life.  Although parental conflict, unwitting cruelty and neglect are all noted in this and numerous other reports the overriding ‘official’ theme cutting across the decades is one of how best to contain and manage an individual who presents a persistent headache for the authorities. 

Cut to the present; Lee Rolf, a man in his early sixties, still tends to be regarded in this way.  Whereas in the years up to Lee’s 18th birthday the state met its child welfare obligations with solutions such as the prescription of sedatives and a psychiatric assessment here and there, the state now faces an adult damaged by the past who relentlessly seeks answers and some kind of official recognition of the wrongs inflicted.  The questions Lee asks often seem accusatory and paranoid although mostly they take the form of straightforward requests for access to records.  His one-man crusade to better understand what happened in his past relates not just to the damage of his upbringing but, intriguingly, to a bizarre explosion in 1968 for which he holds the council responsible (if only in its obligation to warn others of ongoing danger).   The council meets this new adult version of Lee Rolf (the problem citizen) with mounting irritation.  It seems, for the council, Lee is unconnected to the town; an aberration, ‘a problem’ in and of himself.  Theoretically, NHS and social services are available to him and in recent times they’ve tried earnestly to help.  Currently the council view Lee Rolf as persona non grata.  If Lee should ever phone a council department, staff are advised to immediately terminate the call.

Fig 1. With Lee’s permission the extract above is from a July 2016 letter sent to Lee sent by the council. (1)  Lee and I have made the decision that a few quotations from this and other official council letters/emails need to be made known if his profound disappointment with our council’s official position is to make any sense.

It was in 2018 at the height of our neighbourhood’s tussle with council planners over proposals for the old Amex House site that we first met Lee Rolf.  Since then, at numerous informal gatherings in pubs and cafes and later at meetings of Amex Area Neighbourhood Forum, a few of us have got to know Lee well.  After meetings, as we all filed out, Lee would start to relate fragments of his story to anyone who’d listen.  In my case – involved in other campaigns around the town – I’d find myself bumping into Lee almost anywhere. (2)  I’d see him at the town hall, at other meetings held by other campaign groups. – I even saw him at a lecture on housing policy hosted by the Regency Society. Lee is instinctively drawn to civic life, and not just his own dilemmas.  It never felt like he was haranguing me with his story – Lee is placid, he speaks quietly, he comes across as an affable, gentle man and not at all self-centred (he’d often focus exclusively on communal issues).  But it quickly felt to me as though he was compelled to describe the events that have befallen him much as any of us would if we lived with a cloying sense of unresolved injustice.  Amplifying Lee’s perception of being wronged over and again are medical conditions rooted in historic ‘complex’ Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), ADHD, dyslexia, OCD, hyperacusis to name just a few. (3)  

In circular fashion, damaging experiences in Lee’s life and his attempts to explore them rebound on him as those attempts are reacted to by officialdom as though they were vexatious.  Few could blame Lee for displaying degrees of paranoia over what seems like a unified, institutional decision to conceal the truth.  Indeed, given that many people who encounter Lee again and again have grown tired of him (hard-pressed council/NHS officials, city councillors, friends and acquaintances even) Lee’s anguish spins and self-perpetuates like a fly-wheel.  It’s fair to say that, for Lee, experiences of council officials and others turning on their heels at the sight of him are simply routine and every day (although the endless patience and straightforward respect shown by a handful of council and other community workers stand in sharp contrast). (4)    

In what follows, and with Lee’s permission and cooperation, I’m telling his story as he has told it to me.  A number of 60s/70s social worker reports which Lee has shown me assist in this task.  Occasionally I reflect on the issues, the facts and the incidents described.  In so doing I reveal something of my own, arguably partisan, interpretation. 

But it is a compelling story.  In telling it I’m wanting to give expression to something many who know Lee feel; namely that he’s part of our neighbourhood and our town – he’s one of us – and, moreover, what Lee has gone through has damaged him.  Our town has let him down and his story deserves some respect.  Lee certainly seems to have been grievously wronged in a number of ways.  In fact, it feels to me as though the thing torturing Lee the most is how the town in which he was born and which attempted (but abjectly failed) to protect him just won’t listen.

The black house years                                                                          

I invite Lee over to my house – I’m going to record an interview with him.  Hearing Lee describe his experiences is like turning on a tap.  More accurately it’s like a water pipe bursting.  ‘Lee! Stop a moment – let me switch the video camera on!’ I say.  Swerving up and down the decades, I fall headlong into his story.  Born in November 1958, Lee Rolf likes to describe himself as an ‘ancestral Brightonian’.  I’d noticed that his emails to the council invariably place these words after his name, as if to remind Brighton itself ‘you raised me’.

Lee tells me his earliest memories are from around the age of 3 or 4. He can remember his whole family living with his paternal grandparents on Upper Lewes Road.  His parents, his elder brother Chris, sister Sherree, baby sister Kim and his fathers adopted sister (aged 9 when Lee was born) – had all somehow squeezed into this small terraced house.  

The memory is of a ‘black house’, not black in colour but rather a description rooted in the time Lee spent placed inside a locked coal cellar and of the black mood that seemed always to swirl about the house.  ‘If I was naughty they’d lock me in that cellar.  This happened to Chris too. It was pitch black except for the blade of light that came under the door.  I’d sit on the top step of the coal cellar close to the light.  It felt like I spent an eternity on that step’.  As I listen to Lee, I’m leaning forwards wanting him to register my sympathy.  I’m about to say that sounds awful Lee, it must have been so hard.  But he senses this. ‘It was horrible but, in a way, there was some comfort sitting behind that cellar door.  It was calm.  I was away from the angry people on the other side. My grandmother would always be shouting and stomping around. My father would often be yelling and rowing with my mother, baby Kim would be crying’.

Lee, Kim, Chris

Lee tells me how his dad would hit him.  The father preferred Chris and the two of them could talk about football and boxing (a cold comfort for Chris who also suffered a shocking degree of parental neglect).  The father viewed Lee as effeminate.  From one of the 1960s social worker reports Lee has obtained it’s clear that the council had at least some knowledge of Lee’s circumstances.  It notes the relationship between Lee’s parents as “shaky” and comments on how the grandmother disliked her son’s new wife and constantly criticised her.

Lee’s early ‘problem’ status is later noted in a referral for Lee going into care (‘Mrs Rolf felt that child guidance is needed as Lee screamed and shouted in his sleep’).  In February 1963 reference to two trips made by Lee and his mother to their doctor appear in social worker notes.  A referral for child guidance was apparently discussed but felt to be less helpful than a prescription for sedatives.  Lee’s night time screaming was deemed likely to settle down once the family were allocated their own council house.  In May 1963 the family moved from the black house to a house in Whitehawk although Lee’s father seems to move out almost immediately despite continuing to visit regularly.  In May 1964 another child is born.

Fig 2 (above) An extract from redacted social worker notes obtained by Lee. On all these typed notes, and those which appear below, Lee has circled words and added handwritten notes of his own but the black marker pen redactions had been added by officials prior to the copies being released). Yellow blocks protect names of GPs.

At the Black House Lee had felt trapped inside – he can’t recall ever seeing the back garden let alone playing in it.  By comparison the house at Whitehawk saw Lee and Chris released onto the wide open spaces of the neighbouring South Downs and, long before the Marina was built, southward to the shoreline and rock pools of the undercliff. From aged five, Lee, invariably accompanied by Chris, played outside at every opportunity.

‘We could escape’ says Lee ‘it was often said on my records ‘Lee is a loner’ but it’s because I had to escape, I was always out in these open spaces.’

Roaming around the valley was a godsend for Lee, out there he was free. But his troubles were far from over.  He recalls being hungry pretty much all the time.  His father was mostly absent and constantly failed to provide maintenance money leaving the family, as Lee puts it, ‘dirt poor’. ‘My dad was the flash-git type – fancy car, expensive clothes, spent a lot of time at Sergeant Yorke Casino or the race track.  We hardly ever saw him.  Just the occasional visit’. Lee describes how one day his father turned up in a Mercedes, got out and threw money on the pavement for the children to pick up, ‘I took the money, spat on it and threw it at his feet. So he punched me to the ground. The family watched on but I’d never cry or let them see tears.  Somehow I still wasn’t manly enough for him.’

In December 1967 Lee and the family moved house again – this time to Moulsecoomb.  Although Sheepcote Valley was now further away, Lee and Chris still spent every bit of free time on ‘the back’ where they’d play.  This was the area in the basin of the valley then used, somewhat chaotically, as a rubbish tip.  At the tip the brothers would scavenge for food.  Both brothers still vividly recall the hunger they invariably felt and how they’d eat discarded sandwiches, biscuits and fruit much of which had come from hospital waste and had been picked over by seagulls.  The boys would discover dead dogs floating in puddles of petrol.

The explosion on Sheepcote Valley

If Lee’s story was a movie or some other piece of fiction the explosion would be the first plot point – the shock event that triggers everything that follows.  Today you can’t see any evidence of the old tip on Sheepcote Valley although the current recycling centre run by Veolia UK occupies part of it.  Back when Lee and his brother played on the tip it hadn’t much changed since its origins around 1916.  In the 1970s it was still a largely unmanaged local authority tip – you took rubbish there and you tipped it.  A few council employees watched over the place. Anything from old cars, fridges, washing machines to excess hospital, abattoir and domestic waste (including foodstuffs) would lie strewn around the site.  In its early days the site was the dumping ground for military junk left over from the First World War.  As it filled up, earth cut from under the chalk embankment would get bulldozered and gradually the tip would edge toward the boundary of the campsite to the south.  In 1981, when it got too close, the tip closed.

Fig 3. North view, the arrow added to this 1960s postcard shows the position of the refuse tip in the distance. A much larger campsite than exists today bordered the site of the old tip.

Fig 4.  Same view as fig 3, March 2020 (arrow indicates position of the old tip)

For Lee and Chris, just like many kids from nearby Whitehawk estate, the tip provided endless activities.  Numerous accounts exist where former residents now 60 or older recall childhoods where playing on the tip was a highlight. (5) Lee recalls the ‘totters’, men who’d earn meagre sums of money scavenging for copper and brass.  They’d light fires to burn off the plastic from electrical cables.  Scrap metal would then be taken to Richardson’s scrap yard and sold for cash.  When cars were broken up the totters would let kids use an upturned roof to float around in the large deep puddles which formed on the lower part of the tip.  With so much oil, petrol and benzo(a)pyrene present in the ground these puddles would sometimes catch alight. (6)

Fig 5 (above) The last used area of the old tip prior to closure (pictured in 1984).

It was at this exact location on a winter’s day in December 1968 that the ground exploded.  Lee, then aged 10, and elder brother Chris were playing.  ‘There was a flash – I was blown back and set on fire’, says Lee, ‘Chris ran off screaming’.  ‘That’s all I can remember until waking up in the passenger seat of a lorry with coats wrapped round me.’  Lee assumes it was one of council vehicles based at the tip.   Instead of taking him to hospital the lorry took him home.  ‘I remember my mum was at work.  The next door neighbour took me in.  They wrapped me in a blanket and gave me sweet tea. I remember being taken outside to an ambulance. Apparently I was passing in and out of consciousness.  The police told us later they’d found Chris miles away, dazed and wandering the streets’.  As Lee recalls the outline of the ambulance, the telling of this part of his story is causing raw emotion to rise – he stops and clears his throat before continuing.  The time at the hospital is a blur and it seems that records of it have been removed (perhaps there never were any – certainly none that can be requested).  Had he suffered actual burns? How long did he stay in hospital?

Lee was sent home.  In describing the aftermath of the explosion Lee talks almost exclusively about his mother’s lack of emotional warmth.  Despite the explosion and the trauma of it nothing much had changed.  “I was barely 10.  I don’t remember any cuddles or affection – never a squeeze or being picked up and asked ‘what have you been up to today’, it was just cold.  Clearly Lee needed something from his mum. Perhaps she tried, perhaps it wasn’t enough. But all Lee recalls is the fact she never gave it.  The rare moments of concern his mother ever showed were always couched in terms her anger at the trouble he caused her.  He remembers that, for a while after the explosion, his mother would loudly complain to all who’d listen that ‘Lee has started to wet the bed.’   You don’t have to be an expert in these things to listen to Lee’s account and know that all these decades later he remains deeply traumatised by the early part of his life.  But the explosion seems to have compounded the trauma.  After that extraordinary event he was left to cope with the trauma all by himself.  Chris left to cope alone with his too.  In other ways life continued as before, always hungry and in winter always cold.  Lee recalls how physical and emotional warmth were only ever to be found at Moulsecoomb School – free school meals, heated classrooms and a few good friends.  ‘I had one good friend – I still know him.  He remembers how I changed after the explosion.’  It would be 40 years before Lee returned to Sheepcote valley.

Fig 6 (above) The site of the old tip at Sheepcote Valley as it looks today. Capped with 2m of soil, it is now a nature reserve. The only evidence of what lies beneath the surface are (if you can spot them) a scattering of ‘borehole’ pipes buried into the soil with a grill mounted on top mostly hidden in the undergrowth. BHCC tell Lee that these pipes are there not to release gas but to allow testing.

Injured

As my interview with Lee progresses he starts to speak about the bizarre behaviour he’d exhibited soon after the December 1968 explosion; ‘I wouldn’t wash, except for my hands.  They were covered in eczema and sometimes purple, cracking and bleeding from excessive hand washing.  I’d sit on the floor and rock from side to side.  I’d stand in a corner with my back to the room, I’d hold my hands over my ears and hum to drown out the family talking. The talking was disturbing, it was all noise to me.’  It’s unclear to me how much of this was a result of the explosion, how much was the consequence of a mother’s abject neglect and how much the continued cruelty of his father.  The context of endless, grinding poverty (which seems, if anything, to increase into the 70s) surely plays its part too.  All Lee’s siblings suffer. [Note: it was only days before completion of this account – in May 2020 – that I meet Chris and we talk – he is in touch with Sherree too.  You can read what Chris had to say later in this story].  Based on my extensive interviews with Lee, one thing is crystal clear, Lee was a disturbed and traumatised child and the imprint is evident today.  How could he be any other way?

As time flowed and the 1970s loomed, it appears Lee wasn’t dwelling much on the explosion at all but, looking back, he feels he internalised the experience.  ‘No-one asked me about it. It’s as though it didn’t happen’, says Lee.  Social worker reports seldom speculate over the root causes of Lee’s ‘bizarre’ behaviour but seem happy to elevate any speculation (including Lee’s own occasional utterances) that it was motivated by a brooding contempt for his father.   

‘It’s true’, says Lee, ‘I resented him bitterly. I’d never enter the house through the front door because he’d come in that way on visits.  I’d never sit in his chair – I’d never look at him or the places he’d be’.

From the vantage point of the present, looking back fifty years, you wouldn’t expect the social services assessments of the time (least of all social worker notes jotted down during the course of a visit) to theorise over which of Lee’s experiences – the explosion or the parents actions – manifested in which behaviour.  Today, however, pondering Lee’s case, we are more likely to question whether behaviour giving the appearance of being rooted in contempt for the father was in fact rooted, at least in-part, in the trauma of the explosion.    When listening to Lee, although the explosion sometimes sounds like the source of all his trauma, at other times his emphasis shifts to his mother’s denial of affection.  Both he and Chris testify to intolerable levels of material discomfort. ‘I wore the same clothes, they were never washed.  My feet were often wet and sore, holes in my shoes, I’d put cardboard inside’ says Lee.

Fig 7 (above) An extract from a social services ‘case history’. Lee’s handwritten note testifies to the time jump covering the explosion in December 1968 to February 1973 which he regards as ‘concealment’.

Despite the interconnectedness of the Sheepcote Valley experience with material and emotional deprivation Lee feels certain that social services records deliberately ignore or underplay the explosion in favour of an exaggerated emphasis on his extreme resentment toward his father.  He feels that the whole system reacted to deflect attention away from the explosion and that it’s been this way ever since.  

For my part I’m left reeling from everything Lee has disclosed, how is a kid meant to cope when parents so comprehensively fail to protect him?  It must feel annihilating.  Neglect is one thing but the fact that Lee’s early life would inflict such harm upon him is hard for most of us to get our head around.  The explosion and his experience of having it ignored inflicts another layer of damage.  Moreover, the fact that his brother Chris, with whom Lee had a close bond, then drifts away from him is surely a factor all by itself?

Given that Chris recalls the explosion in no uncertain terms, insinuations that Lee’s account is ‘all in the mind’ are extremely weak.  Speculation over what caused it are another matter – perhaps a flash of igniting methane or other chemicals interacting and turning volatile.  In 2008 the location of the tip-turned-nature reserve was cordoned off on advice from the Environment Agency (EA).  In an Argus news report Cityclean’s explanation of the EA decision includes the quote ‘The agency has suggested as a precautionary measure that we should temporarily close the site due to the potentially toxic and explosive nature of some of the gases’.  Three years later a contamination survey ordered by the council concluded that, for benzo(a)pyrene alone, parts of the ground were “60 times the permitted level” but also concludes such contamination to be low risk because nobody lives there. (7) I believe Lee describes what he recalls of the explosion with vivid accuracy. On top of everything else, the explosion was another wrong served on an innocent child.  Yet, at an official level, it appears to have been brushed aside or completely ignored.  Lee would say that it has been concealed.  In the years since and right up to the present day, the hospital records are apparently nowhere to be found.  And so adding to Lee’s anguish and the inevitable suspicions over how he might have exaggerated the whole thing is the fact that he and Chris are unable to authenticate any of what they say happened that day in 1968.

Fig 8 (above) A report filed by social worker x includes one of just a few references to an explosion at the tip (Lee’s felt tip circles added more recently). It frustrates him that ‘petrol can’ replaces what should read ‘explosion’. Aged 6, a different incident at a bonfire event, helped form the family truism that Lee ‘likes to play with fire’. (8) The explanation for the Sheepcote explosion four years later, rather than considering methane or other gasses, quickly forms around the idea that Lee had probably messed about with matches in close proximity to a petrol can.

Only twice do the official records of the time mention the explosion. In one report, social worker x visits the family home and notes ‘the children say he was unhinged ever since a petrol can blew up in his face on a tip…’  Escaping the censors black marker pen was another comment: ‘Lee has scarring to the left side of his face, a piece of metal in his lower lip, and his clothes set on fire at a local dump, following an explosion at a local dump about four years ago…’          

After the explosion Lee’s time living at home with his mother and siblings would last another five years before he’d enter local authority care. Arguably, the bizarre behaviour – standing in the corner, wetting himself, the hours spent alone in his room – were all features of complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).  Lee feels this may be why Chris detached from him, ‘my behaviour, the smell of me…and Chris was going through trauma too’.  Years later Chris told him that he would avoid contact not just out of embarrassment at the bizarre behaviour but also because Lee’s room was infested with fleas. Unable to trust his surroundings, Lee entered the second decade of his life constantly on the alert for danger.  This would later be diagnosed as Hyperacusis, a condition whereby the sounds of everyday life are experienced as intrusively loud, uncomfortable and sometimes painful.  Many who suffer the condition become instinctively withdrawn.

Lee recalls other complex PTSD symptoms.  Later diagnosed as ‘Hyper arousal’ (a constant feeling of being on edge triggered by recollections of traumatic events), it seems that few adults, if any, ever thought these symptoms might point to something other than an errant, maladjusted child who hates his father. From Lee’s recollections and the scattering of social worker reports a picture emerges of a kid enduring an appalling home life.  If that weren’t tragic enough, he then suffers more trauma at Sheepcote Valley, the very place he’d escaped to for some semblance of safety and freedom.

With Lee’s behaviour sinking to new depths, it’s clear that his mother increasingly fails to cope with her own mental health let alone Lee’s.  Lee recalls her outbursts if the children were under her feet. ‘She’d say things like ‘I’ll stick my head in the oven if you keep on like this’.  The house is filthy and Lee confines himself in his box bedroom.  In winter he’s bitterly cold and recalls the ice forming on both sides of his rattling crittall windows. ‘I was crying with cold – it was that bad’, says Lee.  Reports note that he refuses to communicate with family members apart from ‘demanding’ money to buy food.   In contrast, Moulsecoomb School, where he attended aged 11 from September 1969, is remembered by Lee with some affection. 

But if I thought Lee’s story was about to end with the relative safety delivered by school (overlapping with being taken into the protection of Brighton’s care system) another troubling chapter was just around the corner.

Chris comes back into Lee’s life.

Some weeks into the Covid lockdown Lee, who hadn’t seen his brother Chris for years, runs in to him by chance.  Struggling with shopping, barely able to walk towards his flat (even with one of those walking frames with wheels and brakes) Chris appeared almost unrecognisable to Lee, haggard and far more disabled than when Lee had last seen him.  Chris’s speech is garbled and difficult to understand.  From that moment Lee set about helping Chris access food deliveries.  In the past Chris had been reluctant to discuss Lee’s focus on the explosion, seemingly because such conversations would meander into memories of childhood Chris felt were best to let go.

Soon after this encounter Lee and I met Chris up on the Sheepcote Valley ridge close to the golf club.  It was clear that Chris was in poor bad shape although Lee thought he looked a little better.  Chris suffers Asthma and a heart condition but his main health issue is Cerebellar ataxia, a condition originating in the part of the brain that controls muscle coordination.  It has progressively affected Chris’s walking and balance and ability to speak clearly. Lee is convinced that the many hundreds of hours spent playing (and scavenging for food) on the contaminated rubbish tip is at the root of Chris’s Cerebellar ataxia.

I film the brothers as they reminisce. They talk about the golf balls they’d find and swap at the shop for mars bars.  Chris confirms the extraordinary amount of time he and Lee would spend on the tip. Weekends, after school, holidays – ‘we’d spend all day there whenever we could’, says Chris. ‘We used to find things to eat. There’d be sandwiches strewn around with things from the chemist – the lot’.  He alludes to his cerebella ataxia, ‘its why I’m like it’.  ‘You know, we saw it, there was dead animals, petrol, asbestos… everything was over there’. As with Lee’s descriptions, listening to memories of a childhood spent playing at the tip, Chris swings back and forth from recalling the sheer fun of it all – finding old motor bikes, climbing inside wrecked cards – to moments when even these memories are shot through with the horror that kids were ever allowed to play at this place. ‘There were no warning signs, no-one shewed us away – its not right’ he says. 

Lee prompts Chris to talk about life at home.  Chris turns and looks at me, ‘I used to close up, I thought I couldn’t go through all this again.  But recently I’ve opened up – its like a release valve’.  He looks down, ‘we had a poxy time I’ll tell you that now – a poxy time’.  Looking over at his brother but still talking to me Chris says ‘what Lee went through was terrible but inside I was suffering.  I had to live with it inside, I couldn’t let it out if that makes sense’.  At this, Lee chips in ‘Kim always said, “Chris never sleeps, he’s troubled”.  She said that with sadness’.

‘Mum goaded us’, says Chris, ‘she’d hit us with pokers and broom handles’.  ‘What was that noise she always made Chris?’ says Lee.  Instantly Chris makes a hissing sound through his nose, fast intakes of air then snorting like a bull about to charge. ‘That was it’, says Lee.  At times the brothers sound like they are describing a nightmare.  A question from me – would you ever think of seeing your mum now? –  is met with grimaces and shaking heads.  The proposition is unthinkable.  The impression I get is of children trapped inside their mother’s hellish mental state.  ‘There was no good stuff’ says Chris, ‘if my dad was taking us out on a Sunday – sometimes he’d turn up, sometimes he wouldn’t.  We never had a phone’.

They talk about the explosion. Not surprisingly Chris remembers it all too well but he’s foggy about aspects of it.  He thinks the police were quickly on the scene but Lee insists that’s wrong. He does remember the flash, imagining this to be a tank of diesel set alight.  Lee corrects him ‘it was some kind of gas Chris.’  And he remembers running away. For Chris the enduring memory was how much this incident affected Lee.

We have to go – the sun is too hot and Chris has been leaning against a gate for an hour now.  He’s keen to raise another subject.  Chris has a daughter and grandchildren in Peacehaven.  For years he’s been trying to get the council to re-house him so he can be closer to his family. Despite having a two bed flat his efforts to be allocated a one bed flat seem permanently stuck in cycles of administrative incompetence.  The latest chapter is that a GP’s medical notes confirming his poor health need requesting all over again. As he relates the saga to me Chris looks truly desolate.  The process has to re-start.  ‘Why another GP letter? I’m not going to get any better from this Adrian, I can’t go on the phone all the time because I get wound up’.  Listening to this Lee is shaking his head, his brother’s dilemma sounds all too familiar.  Lee looks into the camera, ‘it grinds you down and maybe that’s the purpose of it – there comes a day when you can’t be bothered‘.   

1975 and 1976  – Lee’s 2 years in Brighton’s youth residential care system.

Lee is pulling another photocopy from his folder.  Another heavily redacted page from incomplete social services reports begin with an entry dated January 1975:  ‘Lee received into care – Brentwood Assessment Centre due to being “beyond parental control”’.  Lee recalls happily cooperating with the move to residential care although younger sister Sherree, aged 13 at the time, was distraught at Lee’s departure.

Paradoxically it’s around this time that an improvement is noted in Lee’s school behaviour. Although social work reports from 1975 recall some extremely bad behaviour in 1973 – notably the smashing of windows in the school canteen – it seems that a transformation took place in the run up to exams. The report revisits the official view that Lee’s dislike of his father (and dislike of his father’s visiting the family home) were the root cause of errant behaviour but also notes how Lee’s behaviour in class had become “exemplary”. His last year at Moulsecoomb School overlaps with the move into the care system.  A January 1975 social worker report states: ‘He relates extremely well to teachers and they have shown considerable concern over his reception into care.  He has been able to tell them of his problems recently whereas before he had never talked to them’.

Fig 9.

The support and concern the teachers showed is likely to be of the sort any of us would extend to a teenager who’s just gone into care.  It seems Lee – now 16 – had begun to talk openly and trustingly to adults for the first time in his life.  In the process two young art teachers appear to have befriended him.  One – a teacher aged 23 – ended up inviting Lee to her home where he became a regular visitor.  She even gave him jobs babysitting her children from time to time.  The other teacher friend would take Lee out to the pub (of course, today, eyebrows raise at the possible ‘inappropriateness’ of these friendships).

In our interview I pause to tell Lee how, coincidentally, my art teachers were also the first adults I could relate to but Lee frowns, his memory troubles him: ‘in my case I’m not sure how appropriate it was’, he says.  For Lee it wasn’t that his teachers were at fault.  And certainly their concern for him was genuine.  He explains: ‘Thing is, they all knew each other’.  As I listen the penny gradually drops – teachers, social workers, care home managers, Brighton in 1975… the world 16 year olds like Lee entered was permissive.  Social life with teachers and care workers bolstered these boys and offered a ray of sunshine in the grey – but there were very specific dangers for them.

When Lee says they all knew each other he means the teachers, the social workers (the younger ones at least) tended to inhabit a social scene frequented by a scattering of adults with far less noble intentions.  Lee describes how he and other working class boys found themselves in pubs and clubs which, although shocking at first, projected a sexualised sub-culture which they soon took for granted.  Taking in the gay-scene this was simply, more broadly, hedonistic nightlife Brighton-style. Far more underground than it is today this was a social milieu fizzing away like a non-stop firework party lit back in the 60s. (9)  In amongst the many adults that frequented this scene a few were there to target the likes of Lee.   

He soon spells out ‘they all knew each other’ in starker terms, ‘I used to tell social workers about a particular teacher. He offered me after-school help with literacy at his home, when I went round, you know, he tried it on’. (10) Lee mentions other examples (a care manager who wanted to help bathe him), ‘they saw me as part of their social life.  By then I was 17, only a few years younger than they were, but at least it meant I could stand up for myself’.

Despite being tough in all sorts of ways, Lee always adds the caveat that his life up to this point made him vulnerable.  ‘I was a lot younger than my years. My social workers knew that.  But when I told them about the sexualised stuff they took no notice, I think they saw it as me making trouble – and anyway they were all friends’. (11) Lee pulls yet another social worker report from his file and, as he reads it, the 1970s Brighton scene he’d had to navigate instantly pendulums to something extraordinary and infinitely more troubling.  As the council’s child protection ‘standby officer’ Gordon Rowe was part of the team organising Lee’s care.  Lee’s 2 years in care took him up to his 18th birthday late in November 1976 at which point the council’s ‘duty of care’ terminated.  This period had seen Lee moving from Brentwood Assessment Centre (where he’d stayed for 4 months) then to a foster family, then to Brighton’s YMCA.  Lee’s unruly behaviour at the YMCA led to Gordon Rowe being tasked to place Lee in emergency accommodation – the Emerys Hotel.  Already mistrustful of Rowe – who’d been keen for Lee to visit his flat too – (12), Lee refuses to go to this hotel and instead stayed for a week or so at the home of his art teacher friend before being placed with yet another foster family.  Twenty years later, having progressed to running Buckinghamshire private care homes for young adults, Rowe would commit suicide rather than face trial on rape charges and the serious sexual assault, brutal ill-treatment and neglect of severely learning disabled young men and women under his care. (13)

Fig 10 (above) ‘they all knew each other….’  The notorious Gordon Rowe (an eerie adjunct to Lee’s story).

The final place Lee was allocated was care accommodation at Hillside in Moulsecoomb.  Then, as he turned 18, he was given a dingy bedsit on Waterloo Street in Hove.  My impression of Lee’s rocky 2 years moving through Brighton’s care system is that the system was really only there to tick a box; to demonstrate a duty to protect – essentially, in this case, it was to manage a ‘problem’ boy whose mother could no longer cope.  But as with so many children and teenagers received in to care, the system fails to cope too.  Records indicate that a succession of foster homes and hostels found the adolescent and troubled Lee to be unmanageable.  What they don’t indicate is that Lee, the perpetual misfit, was no more protected in the care system than he had been as a child at home. (14)         

Lest we forget it was also a period that saw Lee continue to display all the symptoms of complex PTSD tangled as they were with adolescence and entirely justified resentment toward his parents.  A one-page report by an educational psychologist from February 1975 goes no further than to note Lee as a pleasant boy with a ‘good moral sense’.  Despite quoting Lee’s tacit attempt at excusing his insolence (“my dad who kicked me around when I was a kid”) the report focuses on his problem-child issues by noting how these presented “serious difficulties at home” concluding that his “aggressive and pathological obsessional behaviour” might benefit from a period in care.   Alongside the care accommodation would be psychiatric help with overcoming his “basic distrust of others” and exploring “root causes”.

A few months later a slightly longer report by a consultant psychiatrist does at least attempt a more thoughtful assessment of Lee.  Quoting Lee the report notes Lee’s suspicion of “all those people, social workers, psychiatrists, doctors and things”.  It notes Lee’s comments on how the only person he can talk to is a young art teacher friend and the fact that Lee came across as truthful.  A viewpoint attributed to Lee is that all his problems revolve around “the intense hatred [Lee] has for his father”.  Lee tells me doesn’t buy that – looking back he sees it as a deflection.  Either way, just like in the earlier report, Lee’s stated resentment of all his family is left unexamined other than to regard it as a “peculiar obsession”.  Once again ‘psychiatric help’ is deemed helpful but ultimately, says this consultant, it’s impossible to make a diagnostic assessment.  He says, “I’m not even sure if seeing [Lee] once or twice more would help [  ] but ‘long term management of some kind or another may be of more benefit.”  All the while one thing is dodged, the explosion on Sheepcote Valley tip.

Fig 11 (above) An extract from psychiatric report prior to Lee being received into care in the spring of 1975.

Over the next few years as the 80s loomed Lee’s life as an independent adult, on the surface at least, went well.  He began work as a hod carrier and was later employed by Jaegers as a trainee cloth cutter.  ‘The past was always in the back of my mind’, says Lee, ‘but it was tolerable.  In the late 70s I remember going to clubs – Sloopy’s, The Sweet.  I had a spring in my step.  You do when you’re younger’.   He met a girl and they were allocated a home at Milner Flats.  In 1980 a son was born. Below the surface Lee tolerated a set of yet to be diagnosed physical and mental health problems.  His girlfriend had her struggles too.  By 1984 the relationship was over.  Lee continued onwards but his resilience was eroding.  He managed to be a decent, attentive father to his son and his relationship with his sister Kim was very good.  The relationship with his mother had fallen by the wayside.  His relationship with his father remained non-existent.

Misdiagnosed, mis-prescribed, records lost.

Right across this period and into the early 1990s Lee was in touch with his surgery and a GP who’d known him since birth.  Lee was awash with obsessive, compulsive behaviours – tapping surfaces with his fingers, hand washing, anxiety over doorways.  ‘Kim and my son would take the mick out of my foibles’ says Lee, ‘but I’d laugh with them about it’.

From about 1992 Lee, now in his thirties, entered periods of severe depression for the first time.  The social life of bars and clubs that had featured in his twenties ended. ‘I was finding it hard to be in places full of people’, he recalls.  From this point onwards Lee sought escape to the nearby South Downs and coastal paths – once again, always out on his bike.  Impossible to escape, however, were the obvious connections between his health and his past.  Lee’s physical complaints now included interstitial cystitis, stomach ulcers, tinnitus, chronic insomnia and acid reflux on top of the constant experience of hyperacusis.   It was in 1992 that Lee decided he’d try to trace any documentary evidence relating to the circumstances of his childhood.  These records and reports, he hoped, might explain his present and ongoing medical problems.  Requests for social services records relating to his mother were refused because his mother wouldn’t give permission (she stated that she saw no point in digging up an unhappy past) and the records relating to himself, although released to him in 1996, were so heavily redacted that some of the pages Lee has shown me are covered in more black marker pen than readable text.

The tragic death of Kim Rolf                                                                  

In 2008 the tragedy of Kim’s suicide strikes a blow to Lee that’s evident 12 years on – there has been no discussion involving mention of his sister that hasn’t caused Lee’s voice to crackle with emotion in a matter of seconds.  It seems that as the 1990s ended and across the years that followed Kim and Lee became much closer.

Kim’s personality had always been vibrant and full of life.  With obvious pleasure Lee recalls Kim as a tomboy of a child; exuberant and with a mischievous sense of humour.  He recalls her courage facing up to their father. ‘After he’d hit our mum one time she jumped on his back and wrestled him to the ground’, recalls Lee, ‘she was tough’. There’s no space here to do justice to the memory of Kim, a single mum who adored her son and who was well known and extremely well liked in Brighton.  It seems that she struggled with clinical depression too – Lee recalls Kim suffering acute symptoms of menopause and was not at all herself prior to her suicide.  The coroner noted serious response failures in mental health services sought by Kim (it seems she had become lost in the system).  Moreover, Kim had been frantic in her struggle to access mental health support for her 17 year old son.  It is perhaps an example of one the lowest points reached in the journalism of Brighton’s Argus newspaper that its reporter’s response to the coroner’s 2009 inquest (which the reporter had attended) would be a short piece titled ‘Brighton mum jumped from cliffs after son turned to crime’. (15)  The story and its headline bore no resemblance to the coroner’s findings.  Inexplicably (unless it was to justify a headline?) the Argus report inferred that a serious street robbery committed by Kim’s son (for which he served prison time) had occurred before rather than after her suicide.   In just 150 careless words the Argus inflicted a devastating blow on the grieving family prompting dozens of Kim’s friends to write moving tributes to both Kim and her son in the comments section underneath. (16)

Kim Rolf

All the wrong labels                                                                                                                             

For Lee, the obvious connection between Kim’s suicide and her struggle with haphazard mental health services dealt an additional blow.  The parallels intensified his sense of injustice.  Prior to her death Kim had warned Lee about sharing too much information with GPs.  All Lee recalls is that Kim had remarked ‘be careful what you say’.  It had been a passing comment but it had sounded a note of mistrust in the system – on personal records, on over-medicating and so forth – which chimed with worries building up in Lee’s mind for some time.  The surgery now had an array of new doctors. In 2008 Lee was prescribed the drug Ritalin (for suspected ADHD) just as it had for Kim’s son. (17)  By this time Lee was on a number of medicines and it seemed no bad thing when the GP arranged an appointment for an overview of all these prescriptions.  Lee’s recollection is of double-checking the appointment ahead of attending the review only to discover that it had been changed to autism spectrum testing.  This moment seemed to sediment profound mistrust in Lee’s mind over the decisions and labels applied to him and a determination to demand access to all medical and social services records filed under his name.

To this day, if Lee were to see a therapist, it’s likely that he would later demand sight of any session notes.  Although he continued to be prescribed Ritalin for some time, Lee has doubts over the ADHD diagnosis and regards the appointment for autism testing (which he refused to attend) as yet another example of over-medicalising him.  In 2016, as a protest for what he saw as the council blocking his access to appropriate services, Lee refused to pay council tax.  Soon after this he became aware that he’d been exempted from paying the tax and then discovered the stated reason was ‘severe mental impairment of intelligence and social functioning’ (SMI).  The SMI exemption is obtained by a person or their professional advocate after submitting a signed application alongside a GP certificate confirming the severe mental impairment “appears to be permanent”.  With absolutely no recollection of having ever submitted or signed such a form Lee’s sense of being misdiagnosed and erroneously labelled behind his back escalated dramatically.  Amongst papers he’s recently found, is a blank SMI form along with the certificate requiring completion by his GP.  At the top of the form, addressed to Lee, it says “your social worker has stated you have a brain injury”.

When I pointed out to Lee that SMI is not a medical diagnosis and just a procedural, tick-box way to exempt council tax Lee is unimpressed. (18) ‘It’s still a label. Still a way to pigeon hole me’, he says. I sympathise – in Lee’s case it would have been especially important for any social worker or GP to explain to him that the SMI label was a means to an end rather than a diagnosis.  Lee is adamant that he would, in any case, have declined making such an application.  ‘My whole point was to refuse to pay my council tax as a protest. I told them – take me to court if you want, I’ll tell my story, I’ll contact the press’. He regards a description of SMI as both repellent and a pointless box to tick given most of his council tax is discounted anyway.  ‘I have complex PTSD which is treatable, it’s not “permanent”. Labelling me SMI is grotesque, I’d never consent to it.  It was done behind my back’. 

By labelling him with SMI (albeit for the purposes of exempting council tax), Lee believes the council adds one more layer in the construction of a view of him as psychologically unsound (a person whose claims must be taken with a pinch of salt). He cites a conversation with his original GP who knew him from birth who told him that all talk of ADHD, autism (and certainly SMI) was ‘completely wrong’ given the obvious likelihood of PTSD. However, Lee recalls the same GP speculate that he was brain damaged.  It seems the notion of possible brain injury has muddied the picture of Lee ever since.  As detailed in the final extract, a ‘complex PTSD’ diagnosis does indeed emerge into view initially in the form of a referral for EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitisation Reprocessing) therapy.  EMDR is commonly offered to patients suffering PTSD.

In the final extract we return to Sheepcote Valley and ponder the vexed issue of the contaminated ground. Lee’s certainly that it remains dangerously contaminated to this day and that he alone has a duty to bring this to light adds to yet another layer of complexity to this final chapter in his story.

In loving memory of Kim Rolf 1960 to 2008  –  Pictured above: Woodingdean Cemetery  

Stonewalled (Lee’s story from 2011 onwards)

It was after a visit to his sister’s grave at Woodingdean cemetery – sometime in 2011 – that Lee and a friend cycled back in to Brighton via Sheepcote valley.  ‘The cemetery is in the valley just up the hill from Sheepcote so for some reason we took the path down to the location of the explosion.  I hadn’t been there in over 40 years’.  By now the location of the old tip had been more or less erased by a two meter cap of earth and the planting of gauze bushes and subsequent bramble growth.  Today this area is designated as a nature reserve.

‘It all came flooding back’, Lee tells me, ‘It wasn’t just the memories, this time questions started forming in my mind’.   It seems, from that moment, all Lee’s attempts to understand why there had been an explosion raised more questions than answers.  What caused the explosion? (combustible gasses trapped under ground?)  Did the council know of this possibility? If the ground was sometimes on fire did the council not have a duty to ensure kids didn’t play there?  And when the council did close the tip why were there no signs to warn the public of possible dangers?  What purpose are the ‘boreholes’, positioned around the nature reserve?  – are they releasing gas otherwise in danger of building up below surface?  Why had the tip been deemed safe enough to become a green space for nearby residents to enjoy? Lee certainly wasn’t the only person asking these questions. (19)

Inevitably, Lee’s belief that the explosion caused the mental and physical damage he’s suffered ever since nagged at him as each new question formed in his mind.  For example, if it was a methane ‘flashback’ ignition this could easily be the cause of his hyperacusis and a host of other conditions associated with PTSD.

Fig 12 (above) – an extract from p12 ‘Sheepcote Valley – BRIGHTON ASSESSMENT OF SHORT TERM RISK FROM CONTAMINATED LAND, Nov 2011.

Lee contacted his MP Simon Kirby and alerted him to the possible implications of contaminated ground.  At first Simon Kirby was concerned and keen to help. Lee imagines that Kirby might have pulled a few strings. Either way, after the former landfill site was closed in 2008 (20), worries that travellers would move on to an unsafe site had lingered on. A firm of geotechnical and environmental engineers were commissioned by the council to conduct a survey.  The report’s findings were reported to the council in November 2011. (21)  In its introduction the report states the survey’s purpose as rooted in the welfare of “a group of travellers/van dwellers” who have moved on to Sheepcote Valley…” The survey was – it said – to advise the council if “the site poses a risk to people currently living on the site”.  With regard to one chemical – benzo(a)pyrene (itself a by-product of combustion), the conclusions to the report state ‘there is no “safe” level’ and that ‘exposure at any level could increase the lifetime risk of contracting cancer’ and that, in one area, contamination was “60 times” over the maximum permitted level for residential use.  And yet, simultaneously, the report concludes that ‘acute exposures’, since no-one permanently resides at this location, would ‘probably be statistically undetectable’ (see excerpt above).

Lee feels that Simon Kirby’s concern over the troubling link between site contamination and kids caught up in an explosion veered away from this and toward a negative view of Lee himself.  It was to be the advent of a growing suspicion in Lee’s mind that services, officialdom and elected representatives will always, sooner or later, see Lee as vexatious and shun him.

Fig 13 [Above] BHCC (via foi 461 11 2011) speak of “bore hole test points” [These allow] “…monitoring of any movement of gas below ground level from within the waste. The construction of the site as it was being infilled included ventilation pipes, which later interconnected to the surface ventilation system and allows gas emitted from within the deposited waste to escape. The vents are fitted with flame traps, which in the event of an ignition seal the chamber and minimises the risk of flashback” (22)

Lee readily accepts that, initially, it was probably Simon Kirby who helped prompt an NHS offer of psychotherapy for PTSD.  However, soon after the therapy began in 2012, Lee recalls learning that Kirby had been phoning and, apparently, haranguing the therapist.  ‘It was after one of the early sessions of EMDR treatment that my therapist became uncharacteristically agitated’ says Lee, ‘he said something like ‘why is your f***ing MP contacting me all the time?’’  Of course, the MPs persistent communications may have been out of heartfelt concern for his constituent (persistence being occasionally mistaken for ‘vexatious’!) However, the events that followed formed an impression in Lee’s mind which doubtless amplified his sense of doors slamming shut.  Coincidentally perhaps, the therapy sessions were then paused abruptly and, thereafter, Kirby’s office seemed reluctant to communicate with him.  At first, says Lee, the office gave excuses about workload but then emails were ignored and it felt to Lee that his phone calls were bluntly terminated.

Fig 14 A letter from Lee’s psychotherapist to BHCC Head of Strategy dated 11th May 2012

Be they correct or hyper-sensitised impressions, for Lee, the feeling of doors slamming shut on him continued. In May 2012 the NHS psychotherapist assisting Lee writes to the council’s Head of Projects and Strategy at Townclean/Townparks (responsible for Sheepcote Valley) asking if his patient could meet with relevant officers.  Lee shows me the letter (excerpt above).

An unproductive meeting with BHCC Head of Projects and Strategy follows.  But Lee’s longing to explain why the explosion matters to him is left unsatisfied (many would argue that a cash-strapped, over-worked council simply cannot go down this road as many more residents with similar needs would demand the same attention). And yet, leaving communications to the cold approach of council lawyers seems both unwise and mildly sadistic when a resident so evidently suffers from mental health conditions. In an email from BHCC dated 20th June 2012 Lee is reminded by such an official, ‘there are no records regarding the incidents you mention, and no one to my knowledge who worked on the site then is still around today’.  Attempts to raise both the explosion and his ongoing health issues continue across the years that followed and right up to the present day.  At times Lee’s scatter gun approach – multiple emails, numerous officials copied in, frequent use of GDPR ‘Data Subject Access Requests’ (DSARs), understandably place council employees in an impossible position. With no real understanding of who they are talking to and instead a ‘person of concern’ flag sitting above a persistent callers name on-file, inevitably hostility toward the likes of Lee is aroused. For at least one council lawyer it seems, persistent communications from Lee triggered an ill-tempered, unprofessional reaction via email and, regrettably, appeared to offer an opportunity to typecast Lee as unhinged and aggressive. We’re all human; it is highly likely that any of us made irritated by persistent, needy, often irrational demands can sometimes lash out. Most of us immediately apologise as the awareness of a persons condition dawns but council lawyers, untrained in mental health conditions, dealing with a faceless resident won’t realise the need. Yet, in an age where ‘victim blaming’ is much discussed, Lee Rolf and others like him are treated as pests. (23)

“Your tone and language are very angry and quite aggressive [ ] Your behaviour makes the Councillors feel unsafe” 

(from an email to Lee from a BHCC legal officer, May 2018)

Fig 15 (above), a typical example of Lee’s emails to BHCC

My observation is that the public are vulnerable to this kind of treatment every day.  From the council’s side staff coping with a deluge of persistent communications from hundreds of residents is an everyday reality. In Lee’s case, to be dyslexic and untrained in letter layout as well as suffering poor mental health opens up the possibility of harried staff inadvertently veering toward prejudiced responses.

That Lee seems to ‘bite the hand’ of the professional services trying to help him is so obviously a by-product of his years long efforts in seeking but never perceiving progress.  These experiences have led Lee to conclude – some might call it a paranoid or conspiratorial conclusion – that the system is against him.

It’s debatable but many of us would agree, however eccentric or poorly his communications are, Lee’s persistence in contacting officials is in itself quite rational.  It is, at times of stress, no different to experiences we’ve all been through when attempting and continually failing to be heard (for instance, that umpteenth conversation with call-centre staff when our despair results in being scolded – please don’t use that tone of voice with me sir). Indeed, Lee’s therapist, seems to know this when politely inferring that officials really should break with procedure and accept Lee’s invitation to meet him and hear his story (see above extract from therapist letter of May 11th 2012).  Lee’s therapist doubtless knows that reasonable, rational demands drive us crazy when they’re continually rejected but also knows that Lee’s mind is troubled and the perception of being shunned further aggravates his mental health. For officials to meet Lee, he says, ‘might be therapeutic’.

To Lee, council officers seem tin-eared to all this.  I sympathise with Lee. Many know Lee has poor mental health but appear to pick and choose when they take this on board.  If the cold legal language accusing Lee of being a constant nuisance could revert to warmer ways of acknowledging the various mental health conditions he suffers it would avoid allegations of ‘discrimination’.  I sympathise with council staff (phone duty staff for whom persistent calls become untenable have precious few options).

However, officially speaking and by its own definitions, for senior council officials to sweep aside Lee’s requests and directly accuse him of making ‘vexatious’ demands via a ‘high volume of e-mails’ which are ‘hard to follow and are repetitive in their nature’ exposes the council to the charge of “disability discrimination”.  For senior officials to do this when they possess full knowledge of Lee (knowledge that explicitly informs them that irritating and high frequency emails and phone calls is a manifestation of symptoms of his conditions) is disappointing to say the least. (24) But it also exacerbates Lee’s poor mental health.

Fig 16 (above), excerpt from a letter from BHCC to Lee dated July 2016

In February 2017 Lee came as close as he ever would to the kind of meeting of key professionals he’d been asking for all along. Unknown to Lee, they assembled at his surgery to focus on his case.  Evidently this was not a meeting at the Sheepcote Valley location where Lee had hoped to relate his story to them. Thus, with Lee not invited and any therapeutic value squandered, there was no opportunity for Lee to clarify his concerns.  Although his GP and other key health and social care professionals were present, it seems, from notes of the meeting, the council’s senior lawyer framed the meeting in terms of litigation risk.  At his request Lee was later sent summary notes that conclude with ‘from a legal point of view there is no prospect of a public apology [my emphasis] or compensation as the statutory time limit for this has now been exceeded’. (25) Intriguingly, the notes begin positively with ‘Lee is acknowledged to have had a traumatic childhood, including a reported incident in Sheepcote Valley where he was apparently involved in an explosion’. At the end a note reflects on how Lee’s case highlights the need for council training to be offered to medical professionals that might then ensure services respond in a consistent way. (26) 

Lee’s wants three things (although he expects none to be given him). 

First, he wants to be awarded a tailored, funded care plan for his future health and well-being (i.e. he wants recognition that the explosion on a council run site and failures in the council run care system merit services that address the deleterious consequences of both). 

Second, Lee wants recognition that it’s perfectly reasonable to be motivated by civic concern over contamination levels and reasonable too that he has sought answers over what happened to him as a child. 

And third, he wants an apology of the sort institutions or governments occasional give on behalf of administrative failures past and present. In a simple, human sort of way Lee would like a few council and medical service officers to meet him at Sheepcote Valley and hear him describe what happened, perhaps say a few words in response. 

[UPDATE: Lee did succeed in one aspect of what he wanted (see Conclusion below): in short, BHCC did recognise his concern over contamination at the location of his accident at Sheepcote Valley and – in October 2020 – an officer met him there to discuss the matter]  

As things stand Lee interprets the lawyer-led council approach as an affront.  In April 2017 Lee’s complaint that the Council has unreasonably restricted contact between himself and officers/councillors rises to ombudsman level and is rejected. (27)

His case (and that of his brother Chris) seems extraordinary but may well be commonplace if only we knew. Despite the damage he carries, with all that he can muster somehow one man mounts his own relentless campaign.  Last year I said to him something along the lines, ‘give up, it’s not working’. I’ve said things like ‘its making it worse Lee – its making you worse!’  Each time the placid, eminently likeable Lee Rolf smiled just a little and said ‘I can’t’.

Lee is, quite literally, fighting to defend his self. His psyche has been damaged but the resilient, human relatively well part is damned if its going to surrender. In psychological terms we might say that Lee has been obligated to do this ever since those who were supposed to protect him (at first his mother, thereafter the authorities) failed to do so (instead their actions harmed him). In other words, Lee is compelled to defend ‘self’ much as any of us would if we felt constantly under attack. The worst of the damage done to him occurred in his past but, like an open wound, it cloys at his hourly waking existence in the present.

Although things appear permanently stuck, I have no doubt that there is a way to break the log-jam. When I met Lee and listened to him it felt as though he might end up crushed under the weight of his own experiences. Without raising expectations too far, helping him tell his story and transmitting it across the city that made him is surely the first stage in breaking the log-jam? (a lightening rod perhaps for some other decisive thing to happen – another log pulled out, then another…). For now we wait – there are people reading these extracts who can help. In this final release (August 28th 2020) and subsequent postscripts made by Lee and his supporters in the comments underneath we can keep this story updated as it unfolds.

Conclusion

Part 1 – The plus side

It was always unlikely that Made in Brighton would produce miracle results. In terms of official responses from council or medical services many who work in these areas argue that, institutionally, officialdom simply can’t react to Lee’s case least of all fix it. The official reaction is pre-set and it seems it cannot make special exceptions. Moreover, avoidance of even the slightest risk of litigation paralyzes institutional responses. I might add – and this is just my opinion – frontline council officials, although they would deny it, are prone to a degraded view of the public. This is not unique to Brighton o course. Increasingly technocratic and aloof, government officials at all levels frequently cast the public as ignorant and ungrateful and best kept at arms length.    

Council insiders tell me that there are hundreds of people – doubtless Lee included – on the ‘Clients of Concern’ register who are at loggerheads with the council over some grievance or other. Navigating their own precarious mental health as well as the often Kafkaesque world of council bureaucracy leaves members of the public crushed. Unlike Lee, most simply give up.

And so Lee wants the council to know his story as we’ve written it (all of it). He wants them to recognise that they carry some moral responsibility for the actions of past authorities because these past authorities are intimately linked with the abuses wrought upon him. The impact of these actions – especially those inflicted over the years Lee relied on the protection and care of the authority – made Lee the person he is today. Only then – says Lee – might the council accept that there is a case for acting according to common decency rather than legal obligation. Of course legally the council are not obliged to do anything for Lee over and above those set out in their standard procedures. Arguably – with officials noting the red flag by his name, with new councillors informally warned of the people in their ward best to avoid – they barely do this much.

I’m writing Part 1 of this conclusion in November 2020. Lee and I decided to wait and see what happened as a result of an October 22^nd meeting offered to us by the council before part 2 is published. Certainly, this first part of our concluding chapter cannot wait any longer. However, before Part 2 and its description of the official response, I wanted to go ahead and list some of the heart warming and fascinating comments that emerged following publication of the first three extracts on this site. There also follows a piece written by Lee’s sister Sherree telling her own story.

Many of the comments came via Facebook groups such as Brighton Past where Lee himself shared each of the extracts across three successive weeks in June 2020. Alongside a reinvigorated relationship with his brother Chris, these comments were miraculous outcomes in their own way. Lee had always told me that his story would chime with ordinary Brighton people and he was right. I can vouch for the fact that expressions of love and support and solidarity (anecdotes from poverty-stricken childhoods, playing on the tip and being placed in care) were warmly received by Lee. Here are just a few:

‘Thanks Lee for sharing, very brave and hard thing to do, what terrible trauma. Peace and love to you. Still a lot of failings today, but a lot better than the old days’.

‘That was so interesting as in the 1970s I walked my dogs over there and often wondered about what was under where I was walking. In some areas badgers had made their home and it looked like black soot and I would often get a whiff of a sort of gas smell maybe methane [   ], now it’s all covered in grass and is a more pleasant area but still occasionally smell that gas’.

‘My brothers and I would have enormous fun playing on the tip at Sheepcote Valley in the fifties….there were old cars and lorries piled high on top of one another…..I remember one particular one we found…an American Studebaker with three headlights! We opened the bonnet and the battery was still in it and it was sparking! We retired to a safe distance……’

‘I grew up in Whitehawk too and remember the tip where we used to play. So sorry to hear how you had to deal with such a sad childhood Lee. I hope sharing your story will help you and others along the way’.

‘Such a heart-breaking story. Thank you so much for having the courage to share it Lee’.

‘Very moving Lee 😢 & brave of you to share this 💖 hugs 😘’

‘Thanks for sharing Lee. Such traumatic times for you and your family’.

‘Fantastic writing telling it how it was ….. and people talk about ‘the good old days’ 🙏❣️

‘Thank you again Lee for sharing this. Kim and I often used to chat in the school playground, as our sons were in the same class. It was unbelievably sad that she took her life’.

‘they will always hide the truth under the rug. Lee is a human with feelings and its sad he has to carry so much pain through his life. mental health issues are real … flash backs are real . Hope one day u find some peace through all ur pain. we can never clear the past, but look forward to future x’

‘really interesting… grew up in Coldean, Upper Lewes Rd and Whitehawk in the 70’s… all this rings true to me. i remember the tip with cars sticking out the mud and toxic gas bubbles… i hope he finds peace, and recognition’.

‘I was a few years your junior and was never allowed to play over there. My stomping ground was elm grove but we used to go over to meet friends without our parents knowing 😂’

‘your story is shaming to the authorities, but you are not alone… plenty have similar stories unfortunately… your strength is an inspiration and your determination is an honour to yourself and others who “know your pain” good luck and keep fighting. Xx’

‘heartbreak I spent all my life in care’.

‘same here’.

‘this story made me cry only us will understand’.

‘This brought back memories and was very moving. I hope now teachers would be more alert to hungry children than they were then, I can remember quite a few that had seconds and thirds at school dinners, and staff did try to help where they could. It also shows how important mental health is, I think Lee’s mother had her own problems which made her incapable of relating well to her children, and I hope that would be picked up more often now as well. I think there is more awareness now but there are still children who are suffering in similar circumstances and it’s up to all of us to try to help though often it’s not easy’.

‘Very interesting, I spent my school holidays up the tip, my dad and grandfather were totters, they used to break up old cars. They were both severely burnt, when an empty fuel tank went up. My dad was carrying it, and grandad lit a fag up. Dad had over a 100 skin grafts, and we spent lots of time visiting him, in East Grinstead. I was about 7 years old, so 1964. But as the Rolfs, some who I went to school with, at Queens park secondary modern, the tip was our playground. I remember a Chris Rolf, from when I lived in Whitehawk, we all drank in The Clyde, and The Whitehawk’.

Similarly heartwarming was Lee’s younger sister Sherree making contact. Neither had seen one another for many years. Lee tells me Sherree rang and they’d talked for four hours. Recently she wrote her recollections down for Lee and she’s happy that I include them here.

Growing up in the 60s

Sherree Rolf – 20 October 2020

Whitehawk

My earliest memory goes back to living in a council house in Wiston Road, Whitehawk.  I must have been around 6 years old.  I don’t have any recollection of what the house was like inside but I remember I shared it with Mum and my siblings.  We attended Whitehawk Infants School.  I don’t remember seeing much of my Dad at this house. 

32 The Avenue – Moulescoombe

We moved to The Avenue when I would have been about 8.  There was an allotment behind the back garden and a big green to play on in front of the house. The house was cold and uninviting, strewn with piles of clothes, in poor décor and a mishmash of furniture.  The loo would often get blocked as a result of having to use torn-up newspaper instead of toilet roll to wipe ourselves and baths were only on a Sunday night when the hot water had to be saved for the next person.  We didn’t have such luxuries as a washing machine, tumble dryer, electric iron, telephone or even a TV with a decent picture.  Every other Sunday we would carry the week’s wash in black bin liners on a bus to the launderette in Lewes Road.  As children we kept ourselves entertained by playing with our school friends who lived on the Avenue. 

It was at this house that I first noticed Lee was displaying signs of alternative behaviour after the accident at the tip.  On Saturdays Mum used to work on a market stall and we would often spend the day being looked after by our lovely Nanny Giles (Dad’s step-grandmother who had no children of her own) who lived in a small self-contained unit in a residential care home for the elderly near St Peters Church, or at Nanny Fennell’s flat at 109 Upper Lewis Road (the family with hidden secrets).  We weren’t allowed to play in the front lounge and the family would go out of their way to avoid the Jewish family living in the basement flat downstairs.  It was whilst I was at this flat one Saturday, that I first heard Lee had been in an accident at the local tip.  Someone had said that he had made a homemade bomb which had exploded. He was hurt and had been taken to hospital.  I don’t recall much more being said about the incident after that. 

Life seemed to carry on as normal; waking up our younger sister and getting her ready for Infants, coming home and playing outside till dusk and running around to catch doodle-bugs and bats.  I don’t recall there being any supervision to ensure we washed or brushed our teeth, and there were times we walked to school unkempt.  I can remember being happy that I was able to join Girl Guides and felt proud to wear the blue uniform and being able to go away on camping trips with the club.  I sometimes got mocked from the others for wearing the Guide cap, but with each badge I collected the better I felt. I remember Chrissy going to a boxing club and Kim excelled at swimming.  I don’t remember Lee ever going to any after school clubs.  There were snippets of time when we would be happy when Mum would take us to the fairground, or on bus ride to Woodingdean Park or to Brighton Races for a picnic and even trips to the circus. And each Saturday after work, she would bring us home our favourite cake and a packet of sweets from the market stall where she worked.

It was while I was at Bevendean School, and not long after his accident at the tip, that Lee started to become withdrawn and uncommunicative.  He seemed quiet and alone, almost as if he were in his own little ‘bubble’ world.  There were times we would come home from school in the winter cold and there would be no-one at home – not even a key on a piece of string dangling from the letterbox, to allow us in.  Chrissy would go around inspecting the house to see if there was a window that was partially open that he could climb through, but quite often we were left outside with no option but to play on the green until Mum came home.  We would watch the buses go by one after another up the Avenue, in the hope she would be on the next bus, laden with shopping bags.  Occasionally a kindly neighbour would take us in for tea and toast to keep us out of the cold while we constantly checked to see if we could see a flicker of light or smoke billowing from the chimney, which would indicate she was home. 

Lee would walk around the house with his grey school pullover with damp sleeves frayed at the edges and dangling over his hands, not wanting to touch anything with his bare hands, especially something Dad had touched.  He seemed sullen and didn’t wash and didn’t like anyone touching him.  He didn’t seem to engage with us like a normal child would, but instead seemed distant and disconnected.   It was often said that my Dad treated him with contempt and my mother struggled with his behaviour and seemed to blame him for a lot of things.  She would often say that Chrissy was his Dad’s favourite.  There were no cuddles, kisses or words of encouragement, in fact it almost felt we were a burden and part the reason for her struggles.  Lee disliked Dad so intensely that he even refused to walk through the same door as him or refused to touch anything he had touched.  It became apparent that Chrissy was the sporty one and Lee the creative one.  And whilst Dad would take Chrissy to boxing classes, Lee would get left behind.  Lee would refuse to go anywhere with him and became agitated by his presence and at times would become angry and lash out.  He seemed unsettled and disturbed and began wetting the bed.  His room was grubby and he would wake up scratching with flea bites.  On one occasion at Nanny Giles’s house I saw my Mum crack an egg on his head as a form of punishment.  I was shocked but again this was another indication that she couldn’t control him.  The boys fought at times, like brothers do, but Lee’s unpredictable anger would sometimes get the better of him.  He was suffering in silence and his personal well-being was subjectively overlooked. 

Mum was battling her own mental health issues at the time, coupled with the constant upheaval of having to provide food and clothes for the family and mounting household bills.   There was a short period of time whilst living in The Avenue, when she had to go away somewhere and my Auntie and had to step in and take care of us.  I don’t remember anyone telling us what had happened to her, but my guess in later life was that she may have had a breakdown and needed respite.  She had endured a tough childhood of her own followed by further hardship bringing up five children single-handedly.  I learnt in my forties, that she had given birth to a son three years prior to my eldest brother being born and before she married my Dad.  The child was officially adopted at the age of three months.

On Sundays Dad would sometimes take us out (excluding Lee) to the cinema or take us for a drive in his car and there were times when she would get us ready, for him not to turn up and this would cause further tension. She complained endlessly about being left without money and that he hadn’t paid any maintenance again. Quite often she would have to queue at the Mags court in Edward Street to pick up the meagre allowance to be sometimes told that no money had been paid in.  She didn’t even have the bus fare home and would often have to borrow money from her family to get by.  On the odd occasion he would turn his back and flick a few quid from some rolled up notes with his nicotine fingers and give her some money.  The disparity in their lifestyles was miles apart.  His comfortable lifestyle of owning a convertible car, nice breaks to the countryside, smart clothes and frequenting casinos versus her struggling to get by each day with little money, no holidays, jumble-sale clothes and no help with the children, took its toll and caused bitterness and resentment.  Lee’s challenging behaviour at this time was not helping but nobody seemed to have noticed or queried why his behaviour had changed and what therapies or help could have been available to him.

20 The Crescent, Moulsecoombe – Lee’s departure

We moved to 20 The Crescent, Hillside, I had just moved up from juniors to Falmer High School. One particular day I was standing behind the window in the dining room looking behind a curtain and saw some people take Lee away.  Mum told me to keep away from the window.  That was the last I saw of him for a long time.  I heard he had been sent away to a Children’s Home because he had become a ‘hand-full’.  There was no family discussion or someone to tell us what was happening or whether he would be coming back.  No-one to gather around, hug or say goodbye to him.  He was just ushered out of the front door into a waiting car.

The words ‘keep away from the window’, ‘hark, keep quiet and don’t answer the door’, and breathing heavily and rapidly through her nose whilst pursing her lips, were familiar traits whenever there was a knock at the door.   She didn’t want anyone in the house and would hide behind the curtains.

Soon after I went to live with Dad and Gill my stepmother to a privately rented bungalow on the other side of Brighton. A place called Bengairn, in Bengairn Avenue, Patcham.   My grandmother would sometimes come and stay with us but neither she nor my Mum ever got on so conversations about my maternal family weren’t openly discussed.  My siblings seemed to live miles away and occasionally I would catch two buses to go and see them after school on a Friday (except Lee who was still at the Home). 

Moving to a different household with a different set of rules was at times quite hard, and even though I had my own room and felt safe and well cared for, with home-cooked meals, and a friendly extended family on my stepmother’s side, I still missed the chaos and noise of my old home. I missed our made-up games, playing cricket on the green, climbing apple trees, playful fights, chasing bugs, building dens and making slides out of our tatty bed mattress.  I felt catapulted into another life.  One minute I was wearing hand-me-down clothes, queuing for free school meals, living in a run-down house, leaving behind a life I probably felt I didn’t want to be part of any more, and was now able to wear new clothes, had money for school meal tickets, received pocket money on a Saturday, was allowed on school trips abroad and found myself sitting down at the dining room table for dinner (something we never did at the other house).  At first it was very unsettling, and all I wanted was to have this life but to be with the others too.  Sometimes I would even cry myself to sleep. Being brought up in a chaotic household where we had to fend for ourselves most of the time and growing up as 1 of 5 to being an only child and away from my Mum, was quite lonely. 

I therefore can’t imagine how Lee must have felt, being sent away to live in a home for unwanted and difficult children.  He was only 15 years old, so can only assume that confusion and abandonment must have played heavily on his mind.  We didn’t get the opportunity to visit him at the home, and the saddest part of all is nobody really knew what was wrong with him and why he was put there in the first place.  He entered the Home as a boy and came out as a young man, more disturbed than when he first went in there.

I left Brighton for good at the age of 19.

Sherree Rolf, October 2020

I cant express how pleased I am that Lee and Sherree are back in touch. I’m also grateful that she sent Lee a written account of her own story and is happy that I share it. It is extremely moving. Her last paragraph is especially poignant (as is her description of watching Lee through the window, led away by council officers).

The very last extract from Made in Brighton (forming part two of this conclusion) concerns matters relating to the reception given to Lee’s story by the council. As alluded to in opening paragraphs above, various aspects of the council reaction are still playing out. For now, suffice to say the sequence that quickly degenerated (and, after all, we were not expecting miracles) began extremely well when, late in June, Lee’s two Labour party ward councillors offered him this statement:

 “We were deeply moved by Lee’s story. Lee is an active and valued member of our community and deserves to be heard. As new councillors we are not privy to the history of how Lee’s case has been handled by previous administrations and officers, but we feel that his concerns need to be looked at. To this end we have requested a meeting of senior officers to discuss the past handling of this matter and how we might assist Lee now and in the future”     (Cllrs Childs and Evans, June 26^th 2020)

Conclusion Part 2: The downside

In the middle of May 2020 a draft preview of Made in Brighton was circulated as a hard copy to council leaders, to Lee’s elected representatives, to his GP and a few other parties who have previously supported Lee such as the charity MIND. Due to the Covid-19 lockdown, the town hall courier service directed copies to the homes of officials such as the then leader Cllr Platts and the BHCC CEO Geoff Raw. A cover letter summarised the document: what Lee hoped to achieve and apologised for adding to individuals’ workload at a time of crisis. Cllr Platts emailed me with the words ‘I will not be commenting’. This was a shame. However, at this point in the Covid-19 and lockdown saga the council was under a lot of pressure.

It was gratifying that another of Lee’s councillors, Amanda Evans, read the draft preview in its entirety. Amanda and I met on the seafront and discussed Lee’s story for well over an hour. In June we published Made in Brighton on this site (minus a concluding chapter) via three extracts. Warm comments from the public quickly followed. Also in June Cllr Evans and Childs issued the public statement quoted above (later endorsed by Lee’s third councillor Clare Rainey).  It reads:

The statement was much appreciated by Lee – especially ‘we have requested a meeting of senior officers to discuss the past handling of this matter and how we might assist Lee now and in the future’. The meeting with senior officers took place on July 22^nd. Ahead of it I urged the councillors to avoid being a messenger service for the ‘officer’ position and instead assert their political role as Lee’s elected representatives (they were, after all, Labour party councillors in a Labour administration and Nick Childs had, a year earlier been deputy leader).  In my email to Nick Childs and Amanda Evans I said:

‘Your recent statement of support (and my own conversations with Amanda Evans) indicate that you’ll be passionate advocates for your constituent. If this were otherwise then I’d have low expectations of any meeting you have about Lee. Apart from getting bushwhacked by their ‘ain’t gonna happen’ stance, you’d soon be converted to the typical messenger service sending bad tidings back to Lee (lets not do that!). I’m not expecting miracles but, judging from the support for Lee emanating from citizens of this city (especially those who’ve suffered in similar ways to him), I’d encourage you to roll up your sleeves and see how far the democratically elected can make demands of entrenched (unelected) officialdom’.

The issue of elected representatives acting as a passive messenger service between a constituent (or a community group) and senior council officers will be familiar to many citizens. Sadly, the response we get back from our intrepid MP or local councillor tends to bear an uncanny resemblance to replies to letters we’d previously sent to heads of council departments in the first place (in some cases they are identical!). And yet the plea to our representatives that their role is meant to be more than saving us the price of a stamp seems to genuinely confuse some of them. 

We gather that it was Nick Childs who was leading on the casework for Lee. Given that his resignation a year earlier as deputy to council leader Nancy Platts (and as chair of the education committee) had been, in-part, to concentrate more on his constituents, it was strange that Lee never heard back from him following that all important July meeting. Cllr Childs had told The Argus, ‘I’m going to dedicate my time to working for the residents of Queen’s Park who elected me in May [2019], to make sure their local issues are addressed and I represent our ward fully in the city’. On August 10^th it became clear that Elisabeth Culbert, head of the council’s legal services, had been the senior officer Lee’s councillors met with. Her letter to Lee was of the sort we might expect from a lawyer – business like and seemingly exhaustive in terms of the issues she felt had been raised by the councillors. Instantly, it made us wonder what the remit of the meeting had been about? Our assumption, based on their warm and supportive councillor statement in June, was that their comprehensive understanding of Lee’s story (the whole story) had moved them to push hard for action and at least try very hard to obtain the three outcomes Lee wanted. However, only one of these outcomes was mentioned in the lawyers letter (the meeting on location at Sheepcote Valley). Other than that, actions were oferred that Lee has not asked for (e.g help with reporting historic abuse to the Police, help with tracing medical records).

Having repeatedly emailed both his councillors asking for feedback from the meeting, Lee replied to Elizabeth Culbert with a very polite letter asking if there had been a misunderstanding about the purpose of the meeting.  Lee stated that he had assumed the meeting had been called by his councillors in response to the draft preview they had read. He stated that he was dismayed that neither councillor had responded to his (and my) requests for comment on how the meeting had gone. On the various actions Culbert had proposed in her letter, Lee said ‘Your letter lists some positive steps and I thank you for these’. With assistance from myself, Lee tactfully picks out the single positive proposal – a meeting on Sheepcote Valley. ‘This gets closer to the kind of meeting I want, as described [in the draft of Made in Brighton]’. Ms Culbert had proposed that such a meeting could discuss Lee’s concerns over safety at the site and that the assistant director of Cityclean will attend. ‘Cllrs Childs and Evans will also be invited to this meeting’ stated Ms Culbert.

It is true that Lee’s longstanding desire for a meeting to take place at Sheepcote had focussed on his concerns over safety, but Lee had expanded it into something far more important both symbolically and therapeutically. For Lee, it posed the opportunity to close the lid (or try to) on much of his troubled past. It posed the opportunity to have a few senior council leaders to give up an hour and physically come and listen as Lee described the accident and his early life. In doing so, perhaps, if they saw fit, they might apologise or make some other humane statement about Lee’s suffering. It has been so evident to me that the child-like state frozen inside Lee longs for this to happen.

The Sheepcote meeting took place on October 21^st. Three months had elapsed since the meeting of Cllrs Childs and Evans with Elizabeth Culbert but Lee hadn’t heard back from Cllr Childs (no replies to his (my) emails. This was tortuous for Lee as social media indicated Cllr Childs was active on other ward issues. Rachel Chasseaud tried many times to confirm with Cllr Childs that he would attend but heard nothing back. It was to Cllr Evans credit that, despite ill-health, she stepped in to attend the Sheepcote event at the very last minute.

We have gathered since that an extended period of summer holidays followed by serious illness is the reason Cllr Childs did not communicate with Lee, myself or Rachel. One can only feel for councillors beleaguered with workload, their day jobs and illness (all in the context of the 2020 pandemic). It is a great shame that BHCC don’t support their councillors better (councilor induction should stipulate that when on holiday or long term sick an email auto-reply informing constituents reaching out to them should be a standard courtesy as it is in the rest of the world). As things stood, Lee suffered a lot as desperate emails to Cllr Childs received no reply. He concluded that his casework had been dropped. The prospect of a Sheepcote event – although offered by Ms Culbert as a rather technical concession to his civic concerns over contamination – had mean’t so much more to Lee than this. It is to the credit of Rachel Chasseaud – who brought someone along to answer contamination questions – that she had read all 13,000 words of the draft of Made in Britain and knew that the event had huge significance for Lee and Chris. She made a statement at the event that took place. Her words were not limited to technical issues (although her view that the site was no longer contaminated in a way that posed a risk to the public). She stated very clearly that, in her view, Lee and Chris had suffered greatly at the hands of past authorities and that she was deeply saddened and sorry for that. Cllr Evans, who had read the draft cover to cover, also indicated that she profoundly shared this view.

To end: So far most of the positive effects of Made in Brighton come, not from officials or authorities, but from the warmth of the people of this city and from loving, family connections renewed between brothers and sisters. From Lee’s GP came one glimmer of hope – soon dashed – that a referral for Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) could, if he wished, be made to Brighton’s Wellbeing Service. Lee was sceptical that anything like this would ever be offered by the council but I encouraged him to agree to it. However, the GP referral was rejected on the basis that a prior council/medical services agreement had been reached that no further therapies will be offered to Lee. The meeting cited in the Wellbeing Service rejection letter occurred in 2017 (the ‘professionals meeting’ previously mentioned) and had decided that further assessment and treatment services for Lee was futile. Notes of the meeting confirm that ASC had assessed Lee as having ‘no further eligible needs’. Curiously, the same GP and the senior legal officer (a man prone to expressing irritation at Lee, as mentioned above) attended this meeting. The notes state that the senior legal officer confirmed ‘the policy now is to ask Lee if he has any additional needs or information and if not to terminate the conversation’.  That was 2017. It’s disappointing that this meeting would be cited as one reason why a completely new avenue – CBT – could not be offered.

My attempts, on Lee’s behalf, to gain clarification from the the Wellbeing Service lasted many months (the service is doubtless under huge pressure but its refusal to reply to a letter I wrote to them in September 2020 (querying the referral rejection) was inexplicable. Dozens of emails/phone calls by myself are reacted to with promises to forward to the appropriate staff who then, perhaps, noted Lee as no-longer in receipt of treatment (a ‘person of concern’ even i.e. red-flagged for no further communicants of any kind). In May 2021 I finally receive a phone call from a person at the Wellbeing Service. This was evidently a professional and in fact an exceptionally kind and considerate person. He told me that because the Brighton and Hove Wellbeing service is a primary care service offering short term interventions for people experiencing mild-to-moderate mental health difficulties, including CBT for anxiety, worry, rumination, disordered thoughts, Lee fell outside of its remit. It was extraordinary that it took 8 months to be told this, and even more extraordinary that Lee’s GP had made the referral given that she knew it would be fruitless.

How the rest of Lee’s story plays out is impossible to predict. As I write this last part of the conclusion to Made in Brighton in the early summer of 2021, Cllr Rainey has come on board and intends to pursue Lee’s case and Cllr Evans has committed herself to do the same. As his friend, neighbour (and as the person advocating his voice through these writings) I really do think that CBT, if successful, could return Lee to a better life. All his grievances and concerns would still be there but perhaps he would no longer be ruled over by them. The refusal of BHCC to officially apologise on behalf of past administrations and offer Lee a social worker to assist him in the construction of a care package is a great shame. The therapeutic value of taking these steps seems utterly lost on the council.

Until elected representatives focus on Lee, the cold legal response – which, in my opinion, has been straightforwardly abusive and discriminatory on occasion – exacerbates Lee’s mental health conditions. This in turn provokes Lee to continue his campaign for personal justice in the only ways he knows how. Lee uses the phone – he seldom writes. He desires, like many people do, to speak to the councillors and officials and healthcare professionals who he thinks can help him. It is a sign of the times that if ever Lee succeeds in reaching someone on the phone, this method can be seen as low-level harassment all by itself.

I will encourage Lee and his friends to update readers on what happens in comments below this post.

Copyright c Adrian Hart/Lee Rolf 2021

Footnotes:

(1) The July 2016 letter (headed ‘future communication with the Council’) gives Lee formal notice that the council’s ‘communication strategy’ in Lee’s case will be to re-route all emails he sends to officers and councillors to the legal services inbox. It is later stated that this policy will be reviewed every 6 months. The letter states that the topics Lee persistently raises are ‘vexatious’.  With regard to the psychological impact of events which Lee holds the council responsible for (primarily the ‘explosion’), the letter gives notice that this is not a council matter and urges him to discuss this with his GP.

A 2018 statement sent to Lee from a BHCC legal officer reiterates the council position on Lee. It says ‘I have on more than one occasion asked you to stop being rude and have found your tone to be really aggressive. The shouting is particularly unhelpful’ (Lee disputes this characterisation).  Oddly, the email includes, ‘you have shaped your own experiences of local authority behaviour by your own actions’. ‘It scolds Lee for upsetting local ward councillors (no longer councillors as of 2019), ‘It appears that you do not understand the concept of personal space and ends with ‘Your behaviour makes the Councillors feel unsafe’.

My observation: Lee’s persistent approaches and the notion that officers/councillors find their patience tested is not in dispute (it is in the nature of Lee to be persistent, repetitive and demanding). However, BHCC descriptions of Lee as aggressive and abusive (‘You have previously been abusive and used foul language’) situates much of this behaviour at ‘local meetings’ that myself and many others I know will have attended. So far no-one has told me they’ve witnessed Lee behave this way (indeed, while his dogged persistence in raising certain issues is often commented on, none of us have ever heard Lee swear or raise his voice at meetings or anywhere else. 

(2) I ran as an independent ward councillor for Queens Park (May 2019) and would see Lee out and about at meetings pretty much every day.

(3) Doubtless some of these disorders are inaccurately applied amidst the trend to over medicalise.

(4) I refer to a handful of council workers in the communities, neighbourhoods and equalities team and the Trust for Developing Communities. 

(5)  https://www.theargus.co.uk/news/15201574.nostalgia-how-sheepcote-valley-changed-from-a-dump-to-a-nature-reserve/

(6) Ibid

(7) https://www.whatdotheyknow.com/request/sheepcote_valley_5

(8) ‘Lee likes to play with fire’ is noted in a social worker report illustrating how the family explanation of Lee’s injuries are taken as good coin.  Looking at that report Lee shakes his head and smiles ruefully, ‘everything’s my fault, you’d think the note ought to be “lack of adult supervision at a bonfire event”… why was I running around by myself aged six?’ 

(9) https://www.mybrightonandhove.org.uk/places/clubs/clubs-2-2   https://www.mybrightonandhove.org.uk/places/placeent-2/sherrys-dance-hall/sherrys-dance-hall-3

(10) Lee shrugs off these instances of low level abuse but, at the same time, sees them as indicative of how ‘the system’ was indifferent to it. Lee talks of boys like him received into care as though they were being sent to market

(11) ‘they were all friends’ – Lee is not meaning to imply duplicity. His point is that this made it harder for boys like him to be taken seriously when disclosing experiences to a social worker.                                                                                                                               

(12) Lee remembers Rowe taking him and his friend – another lad from the YMCA – to his flat on Clarence Square and despite being ‘extremely suggestive’ they had no problem fending off veiled invitations.  They both saw it as unsurprising behaviour which they’d come to expect from workers (albeit a minority).

(13) ‘After completing his training he moved to Brighton where, between 1967 and 1974, he worked, it is thought, as a mental disability care worker for the local authority. In 1974, his job was transferred to East Sussex County Council, which he left in 1978’. See: https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/the-disturbing-career-of-mr-rowe-he-came-from-within-the-heart-of-social-work-why-has-he-left-a-1440863.html  and, https://www.independent.co.uk/news/three-convicted-after-reign-of-terror-at-mental-home-1261526.html

(14) Lee takes the view that, in 1975, too many of the adults supervising him simply didn’t think ‘protecting’ teenage boys in care was part of their job.  For Lee, in the case of one care manager, ‘the job’ seemed to involve organising opportunities to facilitate their sexual advances. He cites ‘special arrangements’ made for Lee at Hillside where he was provided a room of his own.

(15) https://www.theargus.co.uk/news/4631363.brighton-mum-jumped-from-cliffs-after-son-turned-to-crime/

(16) Use this link to survey the 102 comments placed under the report the vast majority of which movingly testify to the good character and heart wrenching struggles of both Jack and his mother Kim: https://www.theargus.co.uk/news/4631363.brighton-mum-jumped-from-cliffs-after-son-turned-to-crime/

(17) Lee’s currents meds include: Zoplicone and Zolpidem (for sleep disorder), Methylphenidate aka Ritalin (for “ADHD”) , Naproxen (for muscle pain), Sumatriptan (for migrane), Hyrdoxyzine (anxiety and nausea).

(18) This appears extraordinary: Eligibility to Council Tax exemption based on SMI requires an individual to submit a form to the council which includes a medical certificate from GP confirming SMI diagnosis.  Lee insists if he’d been prompted to sign any form he’d have immediately objected to the SMI label. 

(19) See this link to a 2011 information request (now 9 years overdue) https://www.whatdotheyknow.com/request/sheepcoate_valley_brighton_toxic#comment-43049

(20) https://www.theargus.co.uk/news/2391263.rising-toxic-gas-shuts-former-landfill-site/

(21) Ibid

(22) See: https://www.whatdotheyknow.com/request/regarding_sheepcote_valley_brigh

(23) A senior council lawyer states (in his email reply to Lee) “Your tone and language are very angry and quite aggressive” (from email to Lee from legal officer, May 2018) also containing “Your behaviour makes the Councillors feel unsafe”. 

There is no evidence that I have seen which suggests Lee physically approached his ward councillors (past or present) in an aggressive or intimidating way.

I have yet to meet anyone (a member of the public, community worker or anyone else) who’d describe Lee as a person who is face-to-face aggressive, threatening or intimidating. Indeed his demeanour is invariably noted as gentle and the very opposite of ‘macho’.  Its unfortunate that officers and councillors invoked such a caricature given the power these descriptions have to justify mental health discrimination. This is especially so when such descriptions are set alongside factual accounts of Lee’s persistent phone calls and eccentric, unconventionally composed emails. The stereotype invoked is a familiar one: this man sounds/looks like an aggressive male who hectors and intimidates and would, therefore, make officials/councillors feel ‘unsafe’ if he were to approach them.  In today’s cultural climate of safetyism (including the idea of ‘safe spaces’ as a refuge from the uncomfortable communications of others), there is something distasteful about the implication that public officials and elected representatives require protection from the likes of Lee. I would venture to speculate that this provides the council with the perfect excuse not to engage.

(24)  11.05.12 letter from Lee’s therapist to BHCC ‘Head of Strategy’) headed Sussex Partnership, NHS primary care mental health team. Lee cannot recall if his therapist received a reply.

(25) Why there is ‘no prospect of a public apology’ is unclear given time limits for legal claims for compensation have long since past.

(26) The summary also concludes: ‘It is important that services respond in a consistent way to Lee, and [BHCC LAWYER] can offer training to Brighton and Hove CCG staff to help ensure that this occurs , not just in relation to Lee but in relation to others who pay[sic] be extremely persistent’. I gather the training was offered but not taken up by the CCG staff.

(27) https://www.lgo.org.uk/decisions/adult-care-services/other/16-017-612#point1