When I was younger, someone read me the book 'The Last Polar Bear', by Harry Horse- not the original, if I remember correctly, but an adaptation with beautiful pictures. 'The Last Polar Bear', for those who don't know (and I've never come across someone who does) is a children's book about a character called Grandfather, who is upset by the sad-looking polar bear he sees in the zoo, so travels to find them in their natural habitat. As a traveling companion, he takes his dog Roo, a character based on the author's actual dog, also called Roo. After I was read the book, I fell in love with it- I thought Roo was hilarious, and it spurred me on to wanting my own dog. I became a huge fan of 'The Last...' series, which comprises four books in total (Polar Bears, Gold Diggers, Castaways and Cowboys). I remember watching the animated cartoon of 'The Last Polar Bears'- we had it on video, and I watched it enough that when I think of it I can recall quite vividly the sound of the readers voice. At the end, it had an interview with Harry Horse, featuring Roo- they both seemed very lovely. Evidently, the series meant a lot to me- I remember the books being moving, yet also funny. In fact, when I was in Year 5 and we had to write a letter to a famous person, I chose Harry Horse, writing to thank him for his amazing books.
If I chose to look, I'd probably find that letter lying around somewhere. However, I'm not choosing to look, for the same reason it never got sent.
When it came to actually sending the letters off, we had to go into the computer suite and use the internet to find the relevant addresses. I typed the author's name into Google, and prepared to write down the address. Unfortunately, it wasn't the address I found. Instead, it was a news article, reporting on the death of author Harry Horse, also known as Richard Horne. It wasn't just Harry Horse who'd died; it was also his wife (who had multiple sclerosis), and their two pets. According to the news article, Ms Horne's condition had been deteriorating- and instead of waiting till the natural end, when they would be parted, the pair had decided to choose their ending. Very tragic, very romantic.
I still remember sitting in that classroom, looking at that computer screen. I remember going to my teacher and explaining that I couldn't send my letter off, because there was no-one to send it to anymore. I knew what suicide was, I knew was a suicide pact was. I think I even
knew enough to understand why they might have chosen to do what they
reportedly did. I wasn't angry. I was just very sad- I couldn't see how
this amazing author could suddenly not exist.
Fast-forward a year or two. I hadn't really thought of the whole thing in while, except to feel a bit sad about it occasionally. However, one day, for some reason, I decided to Google Harry Horse's name again. Maybe I was hoping that it would really all be a mistake. I was too old for his books by then- but I still wanted some sort of reassurance.
What I found was the opposite of reassuring. It was a Daily Mail article (this was when I didn't know which newspapers to trust, and which were prone to sensationalising) about Harry Horse, and about his death. According to the article, the lovely children's author I'd watched multiple times on video had a far darker side to his character, being- apparently- a known drugs user. It got worse. The romantic, tragic death? A mercy killing, of sorts. A murder.
In my whole life, there have been two occasions where something I've read has made me feel incredibly physically sick. That was one of them. To me, it felt like everything I knew had been turned around. Harry Horse? A murderer? But I'd seen him on video, I'd read his books. I loved them, I loved him. He couldn't be. I buried my memories of him and his books in a box in my head, somewhere I wouldn't have to face them.
Another flash-forward to the present day. Now, of course, I know that what the Daily Mail says probably isn't true. There is very little knowledge of what might or might not have happened that night. Maybe it was a pact, maybe it was some kind of mercy killing. Maybe it was something else. Regardless, I still can't look at the books I have of his. The child I was won't let me- he was my hero, and then he was not. At the same time, I can't let go. I have the picture book of 'The Last Polar Bear' in my room. I am not going to read it- but I am not going to give it away, either. It will remain in the box inside my head.
Why am I thinking of this today? Because I have lost another hero. When I was six years old, my favourite songs were 'Jake the Peg' and 'Two Little Boys'. Every Saturday morning, my dad would take me to walk the dogs at the dogs home, and whilst we were walking, he would sing to me. Sometimes he would tell me about the person who wrote the songs he was singing. Myself a strong animal lover, Rolf Harris- the animal lover to beat all animal lovers- was definitely a hero. I cannot claim to have watched all his programmes, or to have followed him completely, but he was up there.
Rolf Harris inspired generations of people, from art lovers to animal lovers to fans of his music. He has let us all down- but none more than the women he abused. My heart goes out to them, to all they endured and to the silence they suffered in, feeling as if no-one would believe them.
For now, Rolf Harris will go to do his time (5 years, which, in my opinion, is not long enough). There will almost certainly be more people come forward to share their own experiences. Those affected will be left to rebuild their lives. The rest of the world will mourn a hero they thought they knew: his art will become unmentionable, his various monuments and honours will disappear. For me, it's another addition to the box, the container of old treasures that are now too complicated and too sad to face.