Love Thy Neighbour 

“Yes we have apartmen’. You fine it top stair. Loom ereven,” she said.
To me, the image of an “apartmen’” has always conveyed comfort, income, decency.
But as I headed along the dark corridors and up the dilapidated stairs, it reminded me of a tenement block in a Gothic horror movie. It was full of alien noises. Screams uttered in strange languages from behind shut doors competed with glasses smashed in anger and purpose. There were thumps, moans, and bad stereos.
Through an open door I saw a video playing; there was no dialogue, just the exchange of gunfire. Cockroaches scattered in all directions at my approach. I stepped over a naked man who was asleep on the fourth floor. It was as if the devil himself was unchained and roaming about - and this was just the public area. Strangely, I felt right at home.
I opened the door numbered “ereven” only to find two prostitutes and a small frog watching television. None of them looked up when I entered. Then the frog slowly turned his little head towards me, clearly annoyed, and with a bulbous expression that seemed to say, “Hey man! Can’t you see we are watching the programme?” hopped a foot to the right and then turned back to the screen.
I kicked the girls out and moved in with the frog. I called him Simpson. He ate insect wings and gooey alien things, and a week later, I ate his legs, washed down with some Chardonnay. Finally, I had the place to myself.
Within a week I had met everyone in the block. I heard the tenant above me many times before I saw him. His door was always open and he was never alone.
“I shall never forget,” I heard him say to an invisible guest, “how young Jack single-handedly stopped in its tracks, a particularly ugly-looking raiding party of Mbobo warriors; how he emerged from our hut unarmed, alone, and in cricket whites, and how their war-whoops fell silent as they dropped their weapons and slowly approached, fascinated . . .”
His name was Russell, he was sixty and holding, but he’d completely lost the plot. I liked him. But, like the frog, he was on his last legs here. He had lost his only means of income when his one Thai student of English, confronted him with a newspaper, furiously stabbed at the sports headline, “PIGGOT PRONOUNCED WINNER!” then yelled, “This b______t language! you no good teacher!” and fled.
Russell had a talent for society, but no talent for poverty. He had a wealth of experience, but no experience of wealth, and like so many in the block, he was frustrated by the past and had difficulty with the now. He wore glasses that an ambitious optician had recommended, and he was dismayed when everyone nicknamed him the “Aviator,” He had a growth above his top lip that could have been a moustache, but actually resembled an escaped ferret hiding under his nose. His ambition was to die magnificently in debt, and he slipped away one night without paying the rent.
And then there was Celine. She lived next door. A woman of paralysing beauty, she had a Balinese mother, a French father, and, unfortunately, a Swiss boyfriend. I adored her. She was held together by class rather than position, whereas I am held together by habit rather than health.
One day she said, “There’s a tiny lizard living in my shower.”
“Does it bother you?” I asked.
“No, I just wonder what it’s living on.”
“Love?” I suggested.
Her boyfriend is charming, rich, and rarely here. I dream evilly of skiing accidents.
There was an Australian girl who lived in room number seven who’s hair was gelled and teased beyone repair. She was trying to start a magazine called Creative Menopause, and had posters on her wall advertising dismal events that dripped blood and CNN. She called herself a “liberal revolutionary.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It means I’ll burn down your city and then offer to help with the rebuilding costs.”
And so to Renzo, who came here to die. Bruised beyond repair by the Vietnam War, he came to Bangkok to see himself out. He called me Feliciano and was always asking, “Where’s de goddam maid?”
Early one morning, a sheet was placed over him to keep him warm, and that sheet became his shroud. His last words on this planet were, “I’ll see you downstairs in the bar.”
But he never made it. I miss him, and so do many others.
Peter Ustinov once said that our friends are not necessarily the people we like the most, they’re just the ones who got there first.
But neighbours?
That will always remain a raffle of humanity; a constant surprise - and they’re living right next to you right now.

By Roger Beaumont
  Available at Bookazine

The Major, his wife and his lover

Christine Dryland used her car as a deadly weapon
By David Cocksedge
THIS CASE IS UNIQUE in British legal history. It was the first time a soldier's wife was tried for murder by a military tribunal - a court martial. No British civilian has faced such an ordeal before or since. In keeping with services policy, because the defendant, Mrs Christine Dryland was a woman, there was a female majority on the seven-strong panel of officers and civilians; what in a civilian court would be called a jury.
Tony and Christine Dryland were a typical military couple. Tony had joined the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers (REME) at the age of sixteen as a boy soldier and made the British army his career. He had served five years when he met Christine Caine (then 17), the only daughter of Warrant Officer Michael Caine (NOT the actor!) who had been Tony Dryland's boxing coach. The couple were married on 4 February 1967 and stayed together as Major Dryland (as he became) was moved from posting to posting more than a dozen times.
By 1990, they had two children, Robert (aged 16) and James (3) when they moved from Paderborn to Soltau, near Hanover, Germany where Major Dryland served as part of the Rhineland Army. It was in August that year that he first met Marika Sparfeldt, aged 34. Tony Dryland was an expert horseman, owning two magnificent black Hanoverian horses which required expensive stabling. Marika Sparfeldt was a riding instructor at the stables and an equestrian journalist. Before long their mutual love of riding had developed into a strong friendship, and inevitably they became lovers.
Their affair was interrupted by the advent of the conflict in the Persian Gulf, and throughout Operation 'Desert Storm' Dryland served with the REME corps attached to the Seventh Armoured Brigade in Saudi Arabia and Iraq. During this time Major Dryland sent no less than 47 passionate letters to Marika and made what became a fatal decision. On his return from the Gulf, Tony Dryland announced his intention to divorce his wife of 24 years and marry Ms Sparfeldt.
Christine Dryland seemed to take the news with stoicism and sad resignation. She even offered to clear the path for her husband by taking their sons to stay with her parents in Australia while the divorce was finalised. Meantime Marika Sparfeldt moved out of the apartment she had shared for five years with her German partner Joachim Oetjens.
But Christine soon came to resent her self-sacrifice, and developed a bitter hatred for both her husband and his lover. Over the following weeks she appeared at the stables where her rival worked, and bitterly abused her. There were several fierce and embarrassing verbal exchanges between the two women.
This acrimony culminated in tragedy on 27 July 1991, Major Dryland's 46th birthday. He decided to spend the day with Marika at the riding club. Christine brooded on this indignity over a bottle of whiskey, getting steadily drunk. In the late afternoon that day she climbed behind the wheel of her green Saab 9000 car and drove the short distance to the stables. As she reached the car park, she accelerated, and rammed her husband's Mercedes. The loud crash brought witnesses running from all directions. When Major Dryland and his lover ran out of the clubhouse to see what was happening, Christine deliberately aimed the Saab at her hated rival and put her foot down hard on the gas.
The car struck Marika's legs, throwing her over the bonnet, and she smashed her head on the windscreen before falling to the concrete. When he tried to help his lover to the safety of two horseboxes, Major Dryland was also struck by the Saab and thrown hard onto the bonnet. Mrs Dryland stopped, and then deliberately reversed her vehicle over Ms Sparfeldt's injured body. When she stopped again, witnesses surrounded the car and managed to restrain her. Marika Sparfeldt was alive when she reached hospital but died hours later from massive internal injuries.
Christine Dryland was arrested and taken into custody of the military police at Falling Bostel Barracks, where she remained for six months awaiting trial. To the charge of murdering Fraulein Sparfeldt, Mrs Dryland tearfully pleaded not guilty, adding "Guilty of manslaughter by reason of diminished responsibility." The Tribunal accepted this after Mrs Dryland was reminded that by entering such a plea she was accepting that she either intended to kill her victim or cause serious injury.
When the hearing was reconvened on 27 February 1992, the Judge Advocate reminded the panel that, consistent with Mrs Dryland's plea, the only evidence they would be hearing was medical testimony in mitigation of sentence. Dr Paul Bowden, a psychiatrist attached to the Maudsley Hospital in London, described the fragile state of Mrs Dryland's mental health and listed her three serious attacks of depression. The first had been over a surgical operation in 1970. Then in 1974 she became suicidal over her husband's affair with another woman and tried to end her life with an overdose of sleeping pills. She became severely depressed again in 1990 when she was faced with the evidence of her husband's affair with Fraulein Sparfeldt. On the fateful day, she had been drinking heavily and her depression turned to murderous rage until she became bent on revenge.
The joint professional opinion of both Dr Bowden and Lt. Col. Coogan, a psychiatrist with the Royal Army Medical Corps, was that Mrs Dryland should "receive psychiatric treatment in a hospital for a substantial period". They further emphasised that she was not in any way a danger to society.
Summing up for Mrs Dryland, Ann Curnow QC described the case as "a tragic one in which everyone concerned has already suffered enough". The military court agreed and reflected this in a compassionate sentence. Christine could have faced a maximum of life imprisonment, but instead was ordered to undergo up to twelve months' psychiatric treatment in a London hospital, concurrent with a one-year Rhineland Army probation order.
Fraulein Sparfeldt's family, however, felt that Christine Dryland had got off very lightly. In deliberately reversing her car over Marika as she lay helpless on the ground, the Sparfeldts' reckoned that Mrs Dryland had shown a clear intention to kill. Attorneys for the family felt that, whatever her mental state, Mrs Dryland should have served some time in custody for such a brutal act. There was also some local resentment that although a German citizen had been killed on German soil, British Army top brass had conspired with federal authorities to ensure that this tragic case was dealt with as an internal military matter.
(Research, 'Christine Dryland; the Major's wife' by Brian Lane, Asia Books)

Credit Card Fraud

A well respected member of the Hua Hin community (who happens to be a retired bank executive) came to the Observer office with a very worrying story for all those with a credit card.
In this case the card was of the gold variety, issued by a local bank. Our friend, (we will call him Bill), opened his monthly statement and noticed straight away that around 18,000 Baht had been drawn from the card account. This method of drawing cash is more expensive than ATM as it’s considered a loan and requires a PIN number.
Bill has an ATM card and has never used his gold card to draw cash. In fact the PIN number was delivered to his home in an envelope which was never opened, and went straight into his safe.
Armed with the unopened PIN envelope and his credit card statement Bill went to his local branch, and told his story to the floor supervisor, who examined the envelope and told Bill he would have to deal with head office in Bangkok. Bangkok told him it must have been one of his family who drew out the money, but could not explain how they could do it without either the card or the PIN number.
A lot of letters were exchanged and a lot of phone conversations were undertaken with the bank delaying a decision. Eventually the bank said that Bill would have to pay off the 18,000 Baht, as it was his and not the bank’s problem. His next question was “what should I do now, as I’m not happy with your decision”, they suggested he went to the police.
Bill went to both the Tourist and the Regular Police, they were not able to find any wrong doing, so Bill is stuck with an extra 18,000 on his card.
A few days after Bill had cancelled his credit card with the bank, a new PIN number arrived in an envelope!
So a man who didn’t even open his PIN number envelope, who carries his card on his person at all times and has vast experience in the workings of a bank, gets stuck with an 18,000 baht surprise, what happens to the rest of us who don’t take such care?
The banks refuse to acknowledge a problem and the police are powerless with nothing to work on.

Magic On The Mountain
By Bill Gould

It is raucous rock in a rustic setting. It is Thai techno at its finest. It is Latin rock that makes one want to order another Tequila Sunrise. But that will have to wait. For now, it is sunset, and the mountain is yawning and stretching. It is time for the finest kept secret in Hua Hin to be revealed. Rockestra is waking up.
This is more than just a musical experience; it is a chance to hear perhaps the greatest rock superstar in Thailand for the past twenty years, to be captured by his incredible passion and talent, to spend an evening with a rock group that knows how to get down and is so tight their performances are virtually flawless and they make it look so easy. The guiding star and leader of the organization of professionals is none other than Khun Rong Rockestra. We will talk about this incredible man in a moment. Let's return to the setting.
Where else but Hua Hin could you dine on fresh seafood sitting right on the ocean and ten minutes later be up in the mountains under the stars and the full moon and the clouds that are silhouetted against the mountains? Rockestra was carefully planned and built to make one feel a part of this mystical environment and it is a strategy that produces incredible effects. A night at Rockestra is always a pleasurable and memorable experience, filled with magical surprises, like the night Adrian Smith, lead guitarist for Iron Maiden got up and jammed with the group. The best seems to have a habit of attracting the best and you never know who will drop by to jam.
Safety for the foreign visitor is not a concern. Free tuk tuk service is offered and a return trip likewise arranged, courtesy of the house. This is part of Khun Rong's philosophy and that brings us to the real shining star on the mountain, the man himself. Khun Rong is a man driven by passion, love for his country, love for his King, love for Hua Hin and love of his craft. Opening Rockestra here was his way of saying, this is where I choose to live and he wants others, particularly foreigners, to see the real Thailand and Rockestra is the place to experience just that. As he sings some of the Thai songs he made famous, the entire crowd joins in celebration. But wait until he sings in English! The band's cover of Queen leaves one curious about reincarnation and you would swear Fred's back. This is a band that rocks. There are two singers also with the group, Khun Kong and Khun Neung, each with their individual but entertaining and passionate approaches. Cindy will then come up and do a Latino rock set that gets everyone up and off their chairs. Crowd participation is de rigeur and you never know what surprises will pop up during the evening.
Khun Rong studied music at the Royal Naval Academy of Music, the most prestigious school of its kind in all of Thailand. He is frequently requested to do Royal appearances. He has the voice of a lark, is a creative and gifted writer and compelling performer but it is what drives him that I find fascinating. What kind of a man is he? Understand that and you will appreciate the nature of Rockestra. At forty, the superstar looks half his age. He's in great shape and works hard at his craft. He is a serious professional. He has gathered about him some young but extremely accomplished musicians in the band called Rockestra including Khun Awdi on keyboards, Khun Tony on percussion, Khun Pete on bass, and Khun Neung on guitar. That is part of his approach, providing a venue for up-and-coming stars of tomorrow, providing them with opportunities he had to pioneer in the early days of Thai rock. He freely shares with them the sage advice of one who has learned how the game works and has opted to rewrite the rules in a more fair and humane manner.
Every Sunday night features a rising bullet band from Bangkok and each night other performers are showcased, Khun Kong whose painted face cannot hide his passion for heavy metal rock music and a gentle heart, and Khun Neung, who belts out soulful funk an hard rock with equal effect.
Khun Rong's love of Thailand and his beloved King are evidenced in his music and many of his songs have become anthems in their own right. Everyone knows the words and sings along. The best news in a long time? And you heard it here first, folks, right here in the Observer! He is coming out with a CD of new music in the next two months. Do not miss this one. I have heard some of the cuts and they are great!
If you are looking for girlie bars, the mountain is not the place for you. But if you are looking for a wonderful way to top off your evening in a relaxing, hospitable and entertaining environment beneath and with the stars, head to Rockestra. Meals are served starting at 6 PM and there is a 20% discount on all food until 9PM. The food, by the way, is delicious and very reasonable. The music starts at 9PM and goes until whenever, often greeting the rising sun.
When in Hua Hin, do not miss the magic on the mountain.

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