My Innocent Brother Was Scared To Death

killed for his coin collection By Angela French, 48, from Middlesbrough

- Lianne La Borde/Mark Christy

As we listened to the radio chart show, my brother Laurence scribbled down the Top 40.

‘Who’s number one?’ I asked. 

‘ABBA,’ he smiled. 

It was August 1980, I was 10, Laurence 14. 

He loved music, kept his albums in alphabetical order.

And he’d spend every Sunday listening to the charts, listing the Top 40.

See, Laurence needed routine, order.

He was autistic, and from early on I’d look out for him. Protect him from school bullies.

I didn’t mind – Laurence was my hero.

Only, as I grew up and matured, he didn’t.

Like a real-life Peter Pan, I thought.

When I moved out, he stayed living with our mum, Hilda. 

Laurence was loving, kind – but he had the mind of a child, was vulnerable, needed help.

Accident-prone, too.

In his 20s, he worked as a gardener and labourer, but often hurt himself.

Once, he fell off a ladder, broke his arm.

‘What are we going to do with you?’ I tutted gently.

But, eventually, his injuries and autism meant he had to give up paid work.

So Laurence volunteered for the local church, instead.

His passion was collecting rare coins, stamps, medals, jewellery and antiques.

He’d scour car-boot sales and flea markets for bargains.

Over the years, he’d built up a collection worth thousands, and loved inviting people to see it.

But when he sewed in extra pockets to his favourite camouflage jacket, I was puzzled.

‘They’re to carry CDs and things I’ve promised people, ’he told me.

He was popular, had a heart of gold. 

But I worried.

Especially when Mum, 71, died from pneumonia in November 2013.

Laurence was really distraught – they’d been so close.