Galashiels always reminds me of Jean, as it is her home town.
I originally met Jean during a drop-in at 219 West Street in Fareham, Hampshire - then a day services centre for people with mental health issues. It was of course her accent that drew my initial attention - a lovely, broad Border drawl.
Jean was not my worker, so we could afford to relate to one another on a different level as long as she worked there; though even if she had been, it would have been a special relationship. All her clients - me included, were routinely addressed as "bonny lad/lass," and all were made to feel special in an individual way.
She was not - and indeed, could not be - one of those workers who came to work wearing a hat bearing their job title. She came as Jean - the Jean that was married to Bill - a chief inspector in the MOD police, and the mother of Paul. They had lived all over the country - moving every few years with Bill's job; and indeed for a while we kept in touch after they left Portsmouth and moved north to Carlisle, where Bill had a posting: based at Longtown, but covering the whole of the north of England beyond the Mersey/Humber estuaries.
Like me, Jean is practically-minded, generous and yet also thrifty, a realist - and a natural rebel - always up for a laugh, especially if it was at the expense of management, or others in authority! She freely admitted that her professional approach had evolved over the years and there had been times when she and her colleagues had thought they were doing the right thing - but in a more enlightened age and with the gift of hindsight, she could see they most certainly were not. But she worked tirelessly, having founded and managed a Portsmouth day centre that broke all the usual rules and conventions about opening hours, and thought nothing of working late into the evening, at weekends and even on Christmas day if there was a need - which there usually was. Likewise, she had suffered her own demons, particularly with ME, and appreciated the need people often have for a 'wee cuddle' more than any other mental health professional I've ever known.
She was, quite simply, a very large part of my recovery process - just by being herself. Even when I felt at my most wretched, I knew I could turn up at the lunch club she ran, and somehow she'd manage to reach inside and soothe my hurt, where nothing or no-one else could - and I'd come away feeling better!
For a time, I visited Jean and Bill at Carlisle, usually on the return leg of my trips north; and on two occasions I was accompanied by other old pals. But as my father's health deteriorated sharply towards the close of 2002 and my visits had to become much more frequent, I usually travelled by air or sleeper train, and could not easily stopover at Carlisle.
By June 2003, when my father passed away and, perhaps more than ever before, I could have done with Jean's cuddles and cheerfulness; their phone number was no longer obtainable, and my cards and letters went unanswered. Last time I saw Jean, she was saying they might just have to make one more move before Bill's retirement, and while that does appear to have taken place, it does not explain why none of the people she kept in touch with ever heard from her again. For years, we have all compared notes, and nobody ever has.
Jean just isn't the sort of person to not get stay touch, no matter how long the absence. While it is possible her ME might have returned and rendered her physically or mentally incapable, no-one has heard from Bill either...
So if anybody knows the whereabouts of Jean and Bill Grainger, originally of Galashiels, who were living at Durdar village, Carlisle in 2002/3; please tell them their auld pals would love to know they're safe and well. And likewise, if you happen to know they're not - then please consider putting a lot of people out of their misery...
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