EATEN UP WITH ANGER

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This is a Voluntary Statement, made by school student Barry Huthwaite aged 13 in the presence of his father Thomas Huthwaite, Detective Sergeant Andrew Gillespie and WPC Wendy Smith. The Statement is part of police investigations into the disappearance of school student Simon Barnshaw aged 14.

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My name is Barry Huthwaite. I live at 12 Redsborough Road with my mum, dad, and sister. I am 13 years old. I go to Stonedales Academy. Mr. Hardcastle is a teacher there. He does chemistry, science and stuff, My dad brought me here voluntary to make a statement.

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I've known Mr Hardcastle all my life. He lives on our road, number 36. He was married, but his wife died. They had no kids. Mr hardcastle helps with the Cubs, and he runs the Victoria Rec under-15s footie team.

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He's a good bloke, even though he's a vegetarian. Some of us earn extra pocket money by helping him with odd jobs. I like gardening, so that's my special task.

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Like I said, he's a nice bloke, for a teacher, but he's different. Not nasty or pervy different, just unusual. Very fussy. When I'm weeding his borders, or cutting nettles and stuff from the corner of the garden that he lets grow wild I have to make separate piles of everything on a big ground-sheet. Then he looks everything over, picks out anything he wants to keep. Only after that I'm allowed to throw the rest on the compost.

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Hr. H. says his hobby is 'forensic dietetics'. He told me that means that he's interested in what people ate in the old days; they couldn't be fussy 'cos they didn't have supermarkets. They had to survive on what they could grow or find. Like Bear Grylls. Some of my mates say that proves he's a nutter, but some of us think it's quite cool.

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He  makes weird salads from dandelions, nasturtiums and violets, and soups from nettles, roots and all sorts of (word deleted). He even eats snails, which I think is gross. Mr H. says they're special ones that the Romans brought over with them. He sometimes asks if I'd like to try some of the stuff he makes, but I never have. I know what might be in it.

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Simon Bradshaw is older than me, and goes to the same school. He's in a different set and we're not mates. He's the sort that mucks about all the time and makes it hard for everybody else. He's a really ace footballer, but he's a real pain at practice and because of that Mr H. won't play him in the team. He says Simon's disruptive. He is, but he's a strong midfielder and I think Mr. H. should forget about Si's attitude and play him. Especially when we're up against good teams.

 

The last time I saw Simon was last Saturday afternoon. We'd just been trashed 6-0. It was terrible. When we were coming off at full-time I saw Si really in Mr. H's face, stabbing with his fingers and yelling that we'd played like a (word deleted) bunch of (word deleted) jessies.

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Mr. H. pushed Simon away, then got into his car. Si ran round to the passenger side and leaped in. It looked as though he was still shouting. Mr. H drove away, and I think he was shouting, too.

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On Sunday morning I went round as usual to do some gardening. Abut eleven Mr Hardcastle came out with a can of cold Tango and some biscuits. He seemed tense. I thought it was because of the game. We'd played so badly I said I felt we should apologise.

 

But he said no, not the game, it was just a receipe he's not tried before. It was tricky, but he thought he's got it sorted.  As usual he asked me if |i would like to try some.

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I said no, but to be polite I asked him what he was making.

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I thought the answer was a bit odd, him being veggie and all. 

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He said, 'Road kill stew.'

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Signed

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Barry Huthwaite

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