I saw John Peel’s final conscious moments. I was sitting less than five meters away from him as he spoke his final words. I never brfore saw a person die; To see any stranger’s last moment is shocking, but for one’s first encounter with death to be a childhood hero is even more so. This is my six-month late eye-witness report of the final moments of a great broadcaster.
Firstly, I ought to say that we were not fiends. He didn’t know me and I completely failed to recognize him throughout the entire ordeal. My mental image of him was the John Peel of the early 90’s. The man I saw die before my eyes was a lot less slim and had a great deal less hair. Can you blame me for not recognizing him? In any case, I had not gone to Peru to spot celebrities, I was there to take a break from my life of IT contracting and spend some quality time with Belinda.
Belinda and myself in the gardens adjacent to the great-hall at Monastereo.
So how did I get to be within five meters of John Peel, at the very moment of his heart-attack? Simple, we were both staying in the same hotel - Belinda was in Peru courtesy of her clients, the University of Lima. They had kindly put us both up in the very best hotel the town had to offer - the fabulous Monastereo.
I remember that night, we had just returned to the hotel from a local restaurant, it was called “Angel” and just opposite our hotel. We were in a bad mood because we had paid rather a lot for yet another very disappointing meal.
I remember that the tables in that restaurant were made of steel bath-tubs upon which thick layers of glass had been placed. The tubs were actually aquariums - each with a collection of goldfish, underwater lights and those bubbler things. The main problem with the aquarium tables, is that our knees would bump into the metal bathtub sides. Belinda particularly disliked looking down and watching live fish as she tried to hack into her over-done steak. The service was awful and the portions were small and joylessly served.
After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, our desert was never served and we left in a bad mood and without paying a tip. And five minutes later, we were in the safety of our hotel. The only thing on our minds was the desire to get a nice desert, to compensate for our rubbish dinner. So we sat down in front of a roaring log-fire, eyes on our menus.
It didn’t take me long to choose what I wanted, and so my eyes began to wander. Not so far away from our sofa was a small round table around which two couples sat. They all appeared to be in their late sixties, and one man appeared to be the center of conversation. Judging by the reactions of the others he was a very witty man.
Its hard to report accurately on what I saw next, knowing what I do now. I would like to say I knew who it was who slumped forwards, stopping without warning, and in mid sentence, but sadly I did not. A lady sat opposite the man tried to lift his head, but instead of lifting, he fell sideways off the chair towards me.
“Look”, I said stupidly to Belinda, “That man is having a heart attack!” - and it was true. I could hear urgent screams for oxygen, and then calls for a doctor. Seconds later he was on his back on the floor, obscured by a flurry of family, friends and hotel staff. I could see that somebody was attempting cardiac massage.
I am not aware of the correct etiquette upon the event of a death. Are you supposed to sit quietly and pretend that nothing is happening? wouldn’t that be callous? Perhaps you are supposed to leave quietly and just walk away from somebody elses problem? Wouldn’t that be a lack of solidarity with the suffering family? In the end I opted for the latter and almost had to drag Belinda away from the scene.
With Belinda safely in the garden adjacent to the bar, she realised that we had forgotten her scarf, so I returned to the bar in order to fetch the item. As I walked past the dying man, I saw a balding man in his late 60s. He was red-faced, probably as a result of the resuscitation techniques. Once again I failed to recognize him.
That night I had an uneasy sleep; we were to travel by an early train to Macchu-Piccu the next day but my mind was full of the horror of this sudden death. It was at least 4am by the time I could sleep.
It was a day later, after a sweaty walk through another of Peru’s tourist traps that Belinda and I wandered into an Internet cafe, and I was able to check my email for the first time in a week. And minutes later, I read a forwarded obituary of John Peel. Belinda suggested that the man we saw die might have been him, however I said that it was far too unlikely – after all, what are the chances of witnessing such a famous person die before our eyes?
The truth became apparent when we began to read the Obituaries. Reports gave the exact time and place of John Peel’s death, exactly the place where we had been. I had remarked the previous night that we should not concern ourselves with the death of a stranger, after all, worse things happen in Darfour. My stupid stupid wrong words.
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