We looked up to you, as our elder brother,  although when we were little we were afraid. Our walks to school on cold winter days never ran smoothly if you held our hand. Always a drama, a toy, sweets or a bag of marbles that did not belong, but you took them anyway.   Even the walks on the tow path were never safe, how did Leon end up in the canal that day?       Your troubles started young, so young, you were taken into care at ten.  We didn't really know you then. The years that followed were tough, visits on Saturdays became a treat, that's when we all would meet.   Boxmoor House became your home, we missed you; no sliding down the stairs in the baby's bath nor swinging from a door, climbing and hiding in the loft, No more scrum-ping the neighbours apples or making pancakes when mummy went next door.  Your life changed drastically and so did ours.  A big brother taken away for being naughty, that was the law. I guess we missed the police  always knocking on the door, no more drama's for a while but we couldn't be sure.  Time for Borstal, things had  got worse OR did you just learn the verse, so Boxmoor House and Care didn't save.   Your restless cravings increased, now we are sitting in Parkhurst on a V.O kindly sent and another from  Her Majesty's Prison Maidstone Kent;  where all the boys attended Reggie Cray's stag event, he seemed to be a calming  influence on you, so much so that your marriage to Johanne became the prison's next big event.  We often sent money for phone cards, some months you had at least £300 quid, see even inside you could still tell a good fib. Even though we knew the money was spent on a cheap brewing ferment. Good behaviour gave some freedom on the railway line, still working for Her Majesty doing time, daylight seemed beautiful  and the air smelt so fresh, the birds sang their sweet tunes but you always seemed doomed, you could not help yourself…… Ain't doing an 11 year stint for no gun,  I'm going on the run.   Another knock at the door as 5 policeman stand with truncheons raised, tightly held in hand…..'Have you seen Wayne',  no….. now kindly get off my land. Hiding was not your forte, you always got caught and although your life was fraught,  you did the crime and certainly did the time.  Dad said you sang like a canary but we all new you were no fairy,  Wayne you grew into the role but unfortunately you were always denied parole, out on good behaviour seemed your only chance but it wasn't long before you lead the cops another merry dance.  You weren't always a bad boy, a HERO they said in the Watford Observer at the age of just 16, you saved an old lady  from a smoke filled house and went back to get her budgie. You loved the simple things in life, fishing, reading, ceramics,  cooking, history, poetry, and searching for old Roman coins. You loved deep and meaningful conversations, your well written letters always arrived in the post and you deserved  an oscar for your stories. You made so many people laugh and your time here was not wasted nor in-vain, four beautiful girls;Christie,Sacha,Misha and Georgina, and a family that loves you - just the way you are.   Things may not have turned out right but you gave happiness and joy to Mother, Dad and all your brothers and sisters.   My mother wrote in 1976:  Her oldest son was troubled never knowing which path to take, but Wayne you never blamed  your up-bringing for those peaks and troughs, you replied….It's just the way I am. The irony in all of this is that although YOU were incarcerated for your wrong doings, the true criminals were the authorities that robbed you of your youth, your family and your future.   There seems to be a void right now, I'm searching for memories that were stolen by the system, - lost, stolen and never found behind that prison door, Wayne we want you to know our hearts are still sore.    MAY YOU BE AT PEACE NOW OUR DEAREST WAYNE LOVE ALWAYS YOUR BELOVED FAMILY XXX