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The people who had moved into 35 Fairview Avenue would probably never know the sad history that had been written there, only months before they had taken possession of the property. When they looked out from the kitchen window, they would most likely admire the apple tree that stood strong in the east corner of the garden. They would be charmed by the lovingly created pond, with it's water-spouting nymph statue and they would, doubtless, look forward to the warmer days when they could dine al fresco on the carefully constructed patio and bar-b-que area. They would be filled with the hopes of adventures to come, but oblivious of the drama that had preceded their acquaintance with this peacefully haven.

Joey's funeral had taken place on the 4th May, 1972. It was a solemn affair. All the family were gathered around the foot of the apple tree, and Robin held the small wooden box in his hands. His tear-stained eyes bore witness to the affection that he had always shown towards his first ever pet. Joey was, or had been, a crested cockatoo. A beautiful bird, but one whose curiosity had prompted him to dip his beak into a sink filled with bleach, and his demise had been rapid.
"He's going to bird heaven now" Martha tried to comfort Robin, as he set the little homemade coffin into the hole that I had prepared only minutes earlier.
"You cover him up, daddy" he wept, "and I'll say a prayer." The grave was then marked with two lollipop sticks that Martha has woven together in the shape of a cross.

Roberta was next to die. Only four months later. It was a more traumatic affair in so far as poor little Roberta the rabbit had been savaged by a neighbors bull-terrier. There wasn't much left to bundle into the second hand-crafted sarcophagus that I was become adept at creating, but it was a necessity, for Robin's piece of mind. There had to be a formal burial. Roberta's final place of rest was below the western wall of the garden, where she had most liked to play. Martha, thankfully, had managed to conceal Roberta before Robin had a chance to see her decapitated remains. He was heart-broken none-the-less, and another prayer was offered up as Roberta drifted off to Rabbit heaven.

By the time he was seven, Robin had known much tragedy and bereavement, and the garden had become the cemetery for two mice, six goldfish, a hedgehog and another rabbit. But the greatest tragedy of them all was the death of Dougal, our sweet old English sheepdog who had been a family member for several years

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