ONE YEAR ON

I can’t quite believe it, but it was one year ago that I sat down to watch the then new George Clarke series, ‘Building Home.’ I didn’t know then what an impact it would have on me, or the journey that it would take me on.

For anyone who didn’t see it at the time or didn’t read my original post, the show featured Chris and Ellie Hindle in the very first episode. A wonderful couple who, following Chris’ terminal cancer diagnosis, moved back to Chris’ home in Ribble Valley to build a new home for themselves close to friends and family.

I remember clearly that I had been in a strange mood that day. Not a bad mood. Detached. Numb perhaps, although I can’t remember exactly why now. Some days are just like that when you’re living with your own terminal cancer diagnosis. I was looking for something comfortable to watch that evening when my wife suggested we give the new show a try.

I’ve gotten used to seeing cancer on television these days. It’s everywhere. If a character needs to die, and they’re not being murdered, they probably have cancer. Sometimes, it feels as though it’s in every show and film we watch. Not surprising given television often mimics reality. Sill, it gets a bit much sometimes.

If it was another show, another person, I might have turned it off that day, but I found Chris to be so utterly captivating from the start that I wanted to cheer him on. It was an emotional journey for sure; one that I’ve relived many times since. Watching that first time though, I genuinely thought that Chris was going to be one of the ones that made it. So, when the notice flashed up at the end that he had died from the disease, I was in floods of tears.

I can watch it now and not feel the same sense of sadness that I once did. Those feelings have been replaced by something else. A growing respect. Admiration. A knowledge that he lived his life on his own terms and never let cancer beat him. I see the love he shared with his wife Ellie, who was right there by his side the whole time.

In a fortunate turn of events that started from donations I made to two of Chris’ charities, I would soon hear from dad Karl and sister Becky who had both read my post and wanted to thank me. Something that still humbles me today. That could’ve been the end of it, and yet, I would soon be stood outside the very home that Chris and Ellie built together.

Not only that, but I would meet Ellie shortly after the show aired, her grief still raw for all to see, along with Karl and grandparents, Joan and Tommy (and later Becky). I want to say now that these are some of the most delightful people you could ever wish to spend time with. Listening to the family recall memories and stories of Chris’ great life adventures has been an absolute privilege. And what a life he had.

Never one to stop still, Chris never let anything hold him back. Not even something as devastating as cancer. When some might take a step back, Chris was building a house or climbing Mount Snowden, much to the annoyance of his doctor. He was a qualified pilot with the Royal Navy. And he flew fast jets. Just the way he liked it. When he was on the ground, he drove a stock car, much to dad Karl’s distress. A daredevil Karl is not as witnessed in a video he sent me of being out in the car with Chris one day.

Not content with just conquering the land and sky, Chris also sailed engine-less boats on the water, an act requiring skill and precision. Something Chris had in spades, and he would apply the same mindset to all of his loves in life. Music, for example, which Chris was very passionate about, would also occupy a big space in his life. He was a qualified drummer and formed his first band when he was just 15. They would go on to play venues such as Manchester Academy and Clitheroe Castle, delighting fans, especially sister Becky, with their blend of alternative rock.

Having a blast

In truth, it was Karl’s dream to play the drums. Having never realised this though, he bought a drum kit for Chris on a whim one day when passing by the local music shop. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Chris soon began lessons and took it as far as he possibly could. It’s a testament that his drum teacher, who is now finally teaching Karl, still speaks highly of him today. The pride is obvious.

It can be no surprise though that his greatest love in life was wife Ellie. The pair met at university. Friends first, before a romance blossomed that would see them together ever since. Side by side. Equals in life, and their lust for adventure. Their lives and careers would take them around the world, especially America, where they were living at the time of Chris’ primary cancer diagnosis.

While there, Chris would undergo a chemotherapy regimen known as “Red Devil,” a nickname given to the drug Doxorubicin (Adriamycin), known for its bright red colour and potent, often difficult side-effects. Chris took the treatment like he took to everything else and came through it, losing all of his body hair in the process, until he was cancer free. Red Devil is often considered the strongest chemo regimen there is.

Sadly, as is often the case, that wasn’t to be the end of his cancer journey. He later discovered a firm, painless lump in one of his legs, and despite having surgery to remove the tumour, the cancer had spread further. Chris, aged just 35, was told that it was now stage 4. A cure was no longer possible. I know that feeling all too well.

Still, in honoring his wishes, and out of respect for his family, there will be no talk here of battles with cancer or his young age, because that simply wasn’t how Chris viewed his life. He lived to the fullest before and after his diagnosis. Another person might have thought twice about taking on such a big project but, not only did they go ahead undeterred, he even did a lot of the building work himself, in between having chemotherapy treatments, which I found simply remarkable.

Of course, much of this was made possible by wife Ellie, who could often be seen keeping a watchful eye over him. She’s hardly a peripheral figure in this story. Cancer impacts everyone. Not just the patient. For the family, their grief is still evident. How could it not be. Their lives have continued with and without Chris, but with a big hole in the centre. This will never change, but hopefully, their experiences will continue to grow around their grief.

It’s been an absolute joy to visit the places where Chris grew up. As sister Becky would tell me, their grandparent’s farm was a playground of adventure where they drove quads before they could drive cars. Built dens out of straw bales and even devised their own version of the Spanish bull run – which involved winding up their grandparents’ Rottweiler before making a frantic sprint to the safety of the kitchen table! Even in moments of pure chaos, Chris always had Becky’s back, though, making sure she reached safety first.

In my world, everyone’s a pony

Today, the farmhouse, which I have visited several times now, is a treasure trove of memories to Chris and the whole family. Last time, we took our daughter and Karl made sure she would have her own personal adventure (complete with quad bikes, tractors and pony rides), while Joan and Tommy told stories and fed us tea and cake in front of the coal fire. It’s actually one of my favourite places to be. Surrounded by countless photos, paintings, fridge magnets (so many fridge magnets). Even pairs of old wellington boots.

It’s truly fitting because, as dad Karl would tell me, above all else, Chris was a family man who put his family and friends above everything else in his life. He never forgot who he was or where he came from. A true throwback to a time when gentlemen were something else.

In this, he was selfless and would far rather listen to someone else’s story than tell his own. Hopefully I can tell his story for him in some small way since, at the request of Karl, I’ve written down everything I’ve learned about Chris, Ellie, and my experience of being welcomed into their lives.

It’s around 17,500 words, long enough to be a novella, and my hope is that we can publish it in some form at some point. If anyone can help with that, let me know. If nothing else, I was simply honoured to write it. It’s really a story that deserves to be told though. Chris’ legacy could help a lot of people like me. Inspire a lot of people, like me. Chris was one of those people who instantly made me a better person.

I’m also just finishing up my own story as we speak too. That is much longer. A book. Some 75,000 words. It’s in the editing phase right now, and I’ll be roping in an author friend soon to help out with the next phase because I’ve never even attempted anything like this before. I want to tell both stories if I can. You have to constantly push yourself, and, like Chris, I’ve used my diagnosis to grow as a person. I’m also working on a children’s book and some new poems, so I’m keeping busy right now. Again, much like Chris did.

I think about Chris often, which is strange since I never met him. I think I said at the time, but sometimes a person comes into your life at a particular time that has such a profound impact on you that you can’t help but be inspired by them. That hasn’t changed. I’m still inspired by him. Judging by the number of reads that original post continues to get, I think a lot of people were. He had such an amazing outlook on life. Cancer diagnosis be damned. And he followed his dreams until the end. Something we can all aspire to.

Cancer doesn’t have to stop you from realising your dreams, and, as Chris and Ellie demonstrated, when you focus on what matters most to you, it can actually drive you to fulfil them. We could all stand to be a little bit more like Chris and Ellie. So, here’s to you Chris. I hope you’re sitting comfortably in a nice armchair. I might even do another gentlemanly lunge in your honour. Might.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, and you’d be forgiven, Chris was known to take part in the gentlemanly art of lunging. It’s a treal thing. A noble sport with a fine heritage. It’s a mental discipline. One to be taken most seriously by ‘gentlemen,’ and refers to the act of a man, often in formal attire such as brogues and tweed, lunging forward in a throw-back to a time when the etiquette of the Edwardian era was still observed. But that was Chris. Adventurous. Determined. Playful. A throw-back. In the best possible ways. 

The new series of George Clarkes building home is on now.