Dr. Romesh Senewiratne-Alagaratnam Arya Chakravarti
Yesterday I went to the Upper Mt Gravatt Police Station, opposite the euphemistically-named ‘Garden City’, to collect $1,200 of new $50 notes that had been ‘seized’ by the Queensland Police on 29 May this year, after they abducted me from outside my house at Fegen Drive and took me to the Princess Alexandra Hospital where I was locked up for a week and poisoned with antipsychotic drugs – though I was obviously not psychotic.
The grim woman at the counter asked me if I had an appointment for the return of the money. I told her that I had been given a report number to quote and that I would be given the money. I had been told it was taken to the Upper Mt Gravatt Station because the Moorooka Station did not have a safe. I also explained that the notes were new $50 notes in close-to mint condition that are worth much more than their face value. I had previously explained this to officers from the Moorooka Station.
The lady asked me for identification and I gave her my driver’s license. I was asked to wait while she spoke on the phone and then went to another room. When she returned, she told me that the money had been banked with the rest of Queensland Government revenue and that I will need to wait for two months for the station to give me a cheque for the money. She said that the matter of return of the actual notes required me to “take up the matter” with Sergeant Lee Slatter, whom I had heard her mentioning on the phone. She offered to send Slatter an email to contact me. I said it was not Slatter who took the money but a Sergeant Bernie Quinlan. She said she’s send Quinlan an email to contact me, too.
I had noticed that some of my money was missing when I was allowed home by Nakul Parashar, the Indian psychiatrist who had been put in charge of me. Parashar, who I had never met before, said he had discussed me with Anup Joseph, who is also Indian, as is Manaan Kar Ray who took over as Director of Psychiatry in 2016 from Balaji Motamarri (who is also Indian). I discussed my father with Motamarri over the phone (you can see it on YouTube) and also with Anup Joseph, the previous psychiatrist Tarun Sehgal (also Indian) and Nakul Parashar (who would not tell me his first name or where he qualified).
Joseph said my claim that my father supported the Tamil Tigers was “far-fetched” and that he was increasing the dose of the abusive injection I was being subjected to. This injection made the sialorrhoea (hypersalivation) and slurred speech that I had developed from the years of dopamine-blocker injections much worse. Saliva was falling from my mouth constantly, staining all my clothes. People couldn’t understand what I was saying over the phone. The injections also sterilised me and I started developing a peripheral neuropathy with numbness in my toes.
I had already told this to Joseph, who graduated in Manipal in 2003 and came to Australia through the “regional doctors program” by taking a job at the infamous Bundaberg Hospital (that previously employed the notorious Dr Patel dubbed “Dr Death” by the Australian media). Terun Sehgal graduated from the MGR University, established by the film director and Tamil Nadu politician MG Ramachandran. According the Tamil Tiger arms procurer Kumaran Pathmanathan (KP) “MGR” as he was called was a key financier of the Tamil Tigers.
The day after I was locked up Nakul Parashar told me he had discussed me with Anup Joseph and they wanted to “restart the injections”. The injections had been stopped several months before this after the case manager Raghavan Raman refused to give me any more injections after observing the deterioration in my health.While I was locked up in hospital I was given tablets of an “antipsychotic” drug by the name of aripiprazole. The nurses had orders to inject me if i refused, so I swallowed the tablets. The drooling became worse. I complained about it to the nurses. One of them offered me a bib. The charge nurse accused me of faking it and drooling on purpose. I was furious, but knew not to show it.
I was told that I would not be discharged until I had an injection of depot aripiprazole. I agreed to accept the injection, though I told them it would make the drooling worse and asked them to give me a small dose. This request was ignored and I was injected with 400 mg of the drug and then told I could leave.
A couple of days after I was allowed home I was visited by two police officers, an obese middle-aged man with a young woman. I recognised his accent as English, which he confirmed. He told me his name was Sergeant Slatter from the South Brisbane station and that he had come to question me about some “cannabis” that had been found by the police in my house. I asked him about the missing money and he confirmed that about $!,000 had been taken for “safekeeping” by Constable Anthony Gallagher, who was the “arresting officer” on 29 May. He asked if I had not been given a receipt for it (as is required by law). I said I had not. I also told him I was happy to talk to them and asked them to verify that what had been seized by the police were molasses of hemp drained of THC and poisoned with arsenic. The policewoman asked “you mean it was tampered with?” I said they have been poisoning Black people in Australia with arsenic for a long time.
I also tried to tell them about corruption at the PA Hospital. I began by saying how the registrar Sagir Parkar had told me that “we all know that pharmaceutical corruption is rampant” back in 2013. Parkar, who is also Indian was brought to my house several times by the case manager Nigel Lewin.
Sgt Slatter stopped me. “This is way above my pay grade” he said.
He then told me he could not take a statement from me because I was “affected” by the injection but was issuing me with an order to go to the Upper Mount Gravatt station to be fingerprinted and an order to appear in the Roma Street Magistrate’s Court in the Brisbane City to answer a charge of “possession of dangerous drugs”. He said I could ask about the seized money when I went to the station to be fingerprinted. I said the police already have my fingerprints (and handprints) but he said it had to be done again. I then asked why it could not be done at the local Moorooka Station and he said they did not have the necessary equipment.
I did not attend court or go to the Mt Gravatt station to be fingerprinted. Shortly after I was supposed to be in court I was visited and arrested by Sergeant Michael Walters and a junior officer from Moorooka station for failure to appear in court and taken to the City Watchhouse. My clothes were dirty and stained. Dirty because I was gardening when the police arrived and stained because of the saliva that was falling from my mouth. I asked who had ordered the arrest and they said the Officer in Charge was Senior Sergeant Tony Collins.
I was told by the rude police woman it the watch house that I was being given “another chance” to appear in court and got me to sign documents agreeing to it. She said she didn’t want to hear any of my “excuses” for not attending court. She said, though that if I pleaded not guilty I would need to “come back to court”. I had to pay $30.00 to get home in a taxi.
Before I hailed the taxi I went to the Magistrate’s Court to ask how I could present my defence online using Skype. The officer I asked conferred with a colleague and told me I had to request it in an email to the “JAG”. He told me this is the “Justice and Attorney-General’s Department”.When I got home I investigated the JAG and Sergeants Collins and Quinlan online. I had been told by Constable Anthony Gallagher who had come to my house some days earlier that the officer who took the money for “safekeeping” was a Sergeant Bernie Quinlan, the boss of the “Vulnerable Persons and Domestic Violence Unit” who had been called to assist Mel Rodgers and Gallagher when I refused to go with them to the PA Hospital on the 29th of May. I said I did not give them permission to enter my house and that they were obliged to tell me about taking the money and give me a receipt for it.
I found a photo online of the boss of the Moorooka station, Senior Sergeant Anthony Collins posing while cutting a cake to celebrate 100 years of the Moorooka Police Station of which he has been the Officer in Charge since 2013. There were also photos of him posing, at the same event, with the politicians Graham Perrett and Steve Griffiths. Griffiths, my local councillor is the son of Colin Griffiths who works in his son’s office and advised my neighbour Miller to keep a “diary” of my actions in 2015 and contacted the police for Miller at this time (Miller has written in his handwritten “diary” on 28.8.2015 – “Col called Police on my behalf, $12-30 approx.). This was prior to my being locked up, chemically tortured and robbed on 22 September 2015 (my 55th birthday) after another series of false and malicious reports by both Miller and my father, Brian Senewiratne.
I had been told, back in 2014, that his boss was Tony Collins by an officer by the name of Darren Boersma, when he abducted me from my lounge room at 9.00 pm at night, breaking my front door when I would not let him, handcuffing me and taking me to the PA Hospital. He did not secure the glass door panel he had broken and some of my valuables were stolen while I was locked up.
I then checked out Bernie Quinlan who had arrived in a second police car with an obese middle-aged Englishman who said he was “mental health worker” on 29 May (I don’t remember his name, but I didn’t like him or his actions which were to approve that I be taken forcibly to the ‘hospital’). There was a photo of Quinlan posing with the ex-police prosecutor Atul Bhagwan, whose online biography indicates was a Major in the Indian Army before he came to Australia, became a lawyer and promoted to the position of Chief Police Prosecutor. He held this position for about 10 years and is now offering his private legal services. The photo with Quinlan was taken at a fund-raising event for a “safe house” for South Asian women, misleadingly called “Sahara”.
I also contacted the Justice and Attorney-General’s department by phone and sent the Director of JAG, David Mackie, a connection request on LinkedIn. I was pleasantly surprised when he accepted the request. When I rang the JAG I was told I was put through, after a delay, to a man with an Indian accent who told me that I needed to contact the court but that they would only allow the case to be transferred to the (closer and more accessible) Holland Park Magistrate’s Court if I pleaded guilty. I asked Constable Gallagher about this. “I don’t think that’s right”, he said.
I then sent a submission to the Roma Street Magistrates Court asking that the charges be dropped or transferred to the Holland Park Magistrates Court. I also asked to present my case by videoconferencing. The latter request was ignored and I received a letter the next week saying the case had been adjourned till 9 December at the Holland Park Magistrate’s Court.I have been robbed several times after being taken to the PA Hospital by the Moorooka Police, including in 2015, 2016 and 2017. The thefts have included my valuable coin collection, stamp collection, musical equipment, recording equipment, cameras, computers and memory sticks. I reported these robberies to the police several times.
I gathered from what I was told by the PA Hospital, that my next-door neighbour Jeff Miller had claimed that I was “pacing up and down the street”. I wasn’t. I was checking the flow of water from my property into the storm water drain in Whittle Street, behind my house. You can see this from my YouTube channel.Two officers arrived in a car that pulled up in front of Miller’s house. Both were wearing sunglasses and armed with guns and tasers. I knew the first police officer who approached me by name. Her name is Melissa Rodgers, but calls herself ‘Mel’. She calls me “Dr Romesh’ and she has abducted me from my home several times since 2013, when she did it the first time. This was following false reports about me from the same source – my next door neighbour Jeffrey Mitchell Miller, who lives at 74 Fegen Drive.
Miller has been my neighbour since Sara and I moved into number 76 on 16 October 2008. I remember the date because it was Sara’s birthday. I extended my hand in friendship towards him and his family when we first moved in, inviting them for dinner and to our daughter Zoe’s first birthday party. When we first moved here there was only a wire mesh half-height fence between our properties enabling Miller and I to observe each other and talk to each other when we were in our “back yards” as they call what the British call “back gardens”. My back garden has many trees and I tried growing vegetables in a small “veggie patch” I made under the shade of a Flamboyant (Royal Poinciana) Tree. I watered the plants laboriously with a watering can. Miller used to laugh at me, but I took it with good humour.
I was locked up at the PA ‘Hospital’ for 5 days soon after Zoe was born on 30 August 2009. It broke my heart.This cruel imprisonment did not involve Miller, as far as I know. It was because of a false report by a man by the name of Pawel (“Paul”) Obrocki, whom I had met in 2006 when I was camping alone in the Border Ranges National Park. I had been introduced to this national park in northern New South Wales as a place to catch butterflies by a fellow medical student back in 1978 when it was still a logging forest called “Wiangaree State Forest”. At the time it was difficult to access the forest from Queensland and one had to circuit Wullubin and travel up Lion’s Road to get there. Wullubin or Wooloobin is the rocky core of a giant shield volcano (the Tweed Volcano). The so-called “Scenic Rim’ in southern Queensland and northern New South Wales, with their lush forests and waterfalls are the rim of this huge volcano that Captain Cook named “Mount Warning”.
I heard Obrocki before I met him. He has a loud voice and was saying to someone with a quiet voice that he would “kill for a coffee”. I didn’t take it literally and offered them some of mine. I found that his accent, which I had thought might be Swiss, was actually Polish and his companion, a young woman called Astrid was a tourist from France. I was surprised by her ambition, which was to become a butcher.
When we shared coffee and a few joints Obrocki told me he was a “green architect”. He also told me he and his partner, who was in Brisbane, did not watch TV. He asked me to write a limerick for him (after explaining what it was) and to give him my phone number. I obliged. He also asked me if I thought it was possible to remove a full-grown tree from a forest. He said the reason he was asking was that he had found a hole in the ground that looked like a giant tree had been removed and that he and Astrid had slept in this hole.
I later found that it was not true that he was an architect, let alone a “green architect”. He repeatedly told me, “never let truth get in the way of a good story”. This is the motto of a liar. The truth, which I gathered when I was living for a year in his garage, was that he had been unable to complete his written thesis for his architecture degree which was supposed to be on “healthy houses”. This was despite the help of his partner Gosia Osielska, who was and is far more literate. Gosia is an overweight physiotherapist, and Pawel’s qualification is as an “occupational therapist”. He was not qualified as a builder or an architect, but had been doing house “modifications” when he was working for what was then called the “Spastic Society”.
When I lived with them I discovered that Obrocki abused alcohol and was an aggressive drunk who picked arguments with people after he’d been drinking. He was also violent towards his young sons. From under their bedrooms I would hear him shouting, a thump or two, followed by the sound of them crying. I was very upset by this and tried discussing it with Gosia. Her response shocked me, “I don’t have to use the belt anymore, all I have to do is threaten to get it”. Shortly after I met him in the forest Obrocki invited me to their home at 33 Arras Street, Yeronga for dinner. I met Gosia and his two sons and enjoyed the evening. Obrocki uses flattery to achieve his ends and told me he wanted me to be his “mentor” and offered me a job to do a “mosaic” in tiles at a house he was renovating in Inala. He said that he needed my “artistic skills” and was insistent that it did not matter that I had never done it before. I was desperately in need of money after escaping from torture in Melbourne penniless so I accepted.
Over the years I worked out Obrocki’s modus operandi. This was to seduce older women and convince them to register as “owner builders” while he did the building on the cheap using his dodgy Polish mates. This is said in the Australian vernacular.The first of these women that I met was the owner of the house that I was commissioned to do a “mosaic” for while Obrocki did the design and all the building single-handedly except for the electrical connections, which were done by a Polish man who was morbidly fearful of magnetic fields by the name of Marek. (I met him later when he asked me to look at his psychiatric records and documents while I was living in Obrocki’s garage in 2008). I noticed, with disapproval, that Obrocki was giving this lady “relationship advice” regarding her husband with whom she was having marital difficulties and also was flirting with her, saying how much he liked older women. I tried discussing it with him, but he defended his actions. Later I met another middle-aged woman whom Obrocki had built a plywood attachment for. In my presence he told her how attractive she was and how he was attracted to older women. She, too, had been convinced to register as an “owner-builder” for Obrocki to do the building.
Immediately after we moved into this house (from Obrocki’s garage, where Sara had joined me from Melbourne) Pawel tried to convince Sara and I to employ him to build an attachment to the house. Sara was in agreement and offered him $60,000 to built it. The condition was that she become part owner of the house with her name on the title deeds.
Sara’s brother Guido (“Andrew”) was getting married for the second time, this time to a girl called May from Cambodia. I was told that her family owned a bicycle shop but that’s all. Sara and her mother Rosario (“Charo”) attended the wedding. Before she left for Cambodia Sara rang me from Melbourne and told me she was pregnant. I was overjoyed. That night I recorded “Groove for Our New Baby”. It shows how happy I was.
I was very attentive to Sara’s needs while she was pregnant with awareness of the auditory environment of the baby inside her. We did not argue even once and I complied with her wishes most of the time. She was interested in “hypnobirthing” and I helped her make a personal hypnosis CD. I also recorded a couple of CDs of “birthing music” consisting of her favourite music and tried to learn basic shiatsu pressure points. She used to watch a DVD on “yoga for pregnancy” that Obrocki gave her. However, I refused her request for me to do a home delivery. Consequently, Zoe was born in the Mater Hospital.
I brought Sara home from the hospital the day after Zoe was born. Sara has described it subsequently as an ecstatic experience, but I found it stressful because of how the doctors and nurses at the hospital reacted to the fact that Zoe was born with “intact membranes” (the amniotic sac had not ruptured). The nurses panicked as said Sara might need a Caesarean Section. They called the obstetric registrar who was fortunately sensible and just ruptured the membranes and reassured us, though she said the baby needed to be monitored with a CTG.
As it turned out Sara wanted to give birth standing up. She refused all pain killers and held onto me while she gave birth. It was she who wanted to call our daughter Zoe Raven Jade Senewiratne-Di Genova. I had some reservations about the name but I agreed to it. She said she wanted to call her “Raven” because of the black birds in our skies. I later found out that they are crows, not ravens. I also found out that Jade is the middle name of my sister Shireen’s daughter Talita. My main objection to the name Zoe is that there is no Z in Singhala or Tamil, so my Singhalese and Tamil brethren would have difficulty saying it.
Anyway, after I had brought Sara and Zoe from the hospital. my mother Kamalini rang me up to tell me that she and my father were planning on coming around to see our new baby. That evening they came around, and stayed a short while. The next day my mother rang and asked me to speak to my father and she handed him the phone. I decided to try and have a frank and honest conversation with him. I was very angry after the way he had treated both Sara and me as well as his propaganda activities in support of the LTTE (Tamil Tigers). I told him for the first time that it was I who had reported him to the Federal Police for his support of the Tamil Tigers and not a cousin of his in Sri Lanka, as he had supposed. Needless to say, he was furious.
The next day my mother came around and told me that my father had “abused” her badly and was crying about his plight, fearing that he may go to jail. He had told her that his friends in Melbourne and Sydney were being “rounded up”. She said “he thinks you’re ill and wanted to know if you would go in voluntarily for an injection.”
I rang Gosia the following morning. I had not told Sara or anyone else about reporting my father on the National Security Hotline in May 2009 or the information and interview I had given the Federal Police (while Sara was out of this house). This was in the final stages of the war against the Tamil Tigers, after I had seen footage on TV of the LTTE shooting people who were trying to leave them and cross to the government side. I tried telling my mother this but she wouldn’t believe it and accused me of being “brainwashed by Rajapaksa”.
I had also carefully watched the “13 DVDs” that my father had been boasting about to the expatriate Tamil community as a “major contribution” that had been “hailed as God’s gift to mankind”. I provided the 13 DVDs to the counter-terrorism investigator who came to my house and asked me to give her and her (middle aged male) colleague a recorded interview. She said her name was “Nicole East” but I noted that the card she gave me had an email address of “n.scott”. Some weeks after the end of the war the DVDs were returned to me. A couple of years ago I was informed that the Federal Police had completed an investigation into claims that my father had supported the LTTE in July 2009 and found that they were false.
Returning to my story, when I rang Gosia I asked her to come around so that I could talk to her without Pawel. I trusted her judgement and advice while I did not trust Obrockis. I told her I wanted to discuss my father with her. I had discussed him with her many times before, though they had never met. I then walked down to the shops on Beaudesert Road to buy some milk and a newspaper.
When I returned I was surprised to find both Pawel’s and Gosia’s cars parked outside. Pawel was in the street talking on a mobile phone and Gosia was standing in the front garden with her mother Anya. I told Gosia I wanted to speak to her alone and walked past her, opening the front door. To my surprise there was a man hiding behind the door. He was Pawel’s Colombian mate Carlos Martinez, who I had met many times at Arras Street. Obrocki had told me how he, Carlos and Ziggy (who was Yugoslavian) were the “bad boys of architecture”. The three of them had used and, by the sound of it, abused a young New Guinean architecture student by the name of Carl when they were required to do a group architecture project at the University of Queensland. Carl’s had designed what was called a “Wind House”. It is a traditional New Guinean design. Obrocki used this design as well as Carl’s labour to build what he called “The Shack” on a 50-acre block of land that his mother Dana owned in Mount Tambourine.
He then fleeced his wealthy mother out of $200,000 for “designing” a house that he promised to build on the land. Obrocki did not have the first idea how to build a whole house, and despite many years and excuses the house never got built. He got his mother, who is morbidly obese, to plant an avenue of trees leading up to the site of the promised house but they and the road were washed away by the next heavy rain. As well as this, he had done renovations and built a new bathroom in the house at 33 Arras Street, but they could not use the shower for more than a year because water was dripping into the room below, which he had rented out to his friend Marchek (who was living next to me while I was in the garage).
Carlos was a captain in the Colombian army before he escaped justice, fled to Australia and studied architecture. He told me his version of the story at some length when I was living in Obrocki’s garage. I had met him and his partner many times by then. Carlos told me he escaped Colombia to avoid being arrested for supplying weapons to ‘right wing militias’ who were fighting against the “FARC rebels”. I asked him if the accusation was true. “Everyone was doing it”, was his self-serving response.
I was furious when I found Carlos hiding behind the door and ordered him out of the house. Then I went into the bedroom to see that Zoe and Sara were OK. I picked up Zoe gently, carried her to the garden and sat down with her in my arms. I told Obrocki and Osielska to leave. I did not raise my voice. Then the police arrived. Zoe was still asleep in my arms.
I later found out, by reading the PA Hospital reports, that Obrocki had told the police that I had “barricaded’ myself in my house with my newborn baby and that I had “a history” of “barricading” myself “in houses with children”. When I questioned him over the phone about this some years ago he admitted he had said I had such a history, but he wouldn’t divulge the source of the lie. He maintained that I was “running around shouting” with my baby in my arms and he had decided to “put the child’s health ahead of our friendship”. I also asked him why he had brought Carlos and he said that he needed “moral support” because he had “limited experience in dealing with people who are crazy”. When I rang Carlos Martinez about it he denied ever coming to my house.
As I have said, when the police arrived I had not barricaded myself anywhere. I was seated in the garden with our baby in my arms. They asked me to give Zoe to Sara, who had hobbled out of the house. I did so. Then they grabbed me, handcuffed me, and took me to the PA Hospital. While in the police car I told them about Pawel Obrocki and Gosia Osielska. The hospital has recorded that I had persecutory delusions about Ozzie Osborne!
I was then deprived of experiencing Zoe’s first days, and forced to take antipsychotic drugs by the psychiatrist Daniel Varghese. Varghese is the son of the psychiatrist Frank Varghese whose real name is Thomas. I was told this by Daniel’s uncle (and Frank’s younger brother) Paul, who was in my batch and a good friend of mine when we studied medicine. Paul has been the Director of Geriatrics at the PA Hospital for many years. Frank used to be the Director of Psychiatry when my father was working on the medical wards and my sister training as a surgeon. He replaced Brett Emmerson who first got me locked up back in 1995, again on the instigation of my father. Brett’s father Bryan Emmerson was the professor who offered my father a job at the hospital back in 1975 and it was Brett who met us at the airport when we first arrived from Sri Lanka in January 1975. In 1995, when my father brought Brett to his house to certify me (after I had escaped from the Royal Park Hospital in Victoria) Brett was the director of Logan Hospital after a brief tenure as Chief Psychiatrist of Queensland. He is now the Director of Psychiatry at Metro North (which includes the Royal Brisbane Hospital and Prince Charles Hospital).
While I was locked up under Daniel Varghese my father flew to Melbourne to seek legal advice. I don’t know what this advice was or from whom. Varghese himself claimed that he was not an “investigator” and could not confirm or refute what I said about my father, but nevertheless denied me my freedom and claimed that I was “psychotic”. He also prescribed oral antipsychotic drugs which I agreed to take, since the alternative he presented me with was a depot injection. I was allowed to leave the hospital after five days, but he illegally put me on an “Involuntary Treatment Order” and got his registrar to contest my appeal for release at the Mental Health Review Board. Over the next few years he did this several times.
I have copies of about 10 MHRT reports dating back to 2009. I also have the Statement of Reasons provided by the tribunal justifying their decision on 15 December 2009 to confirm the ITO Varghese had illegally put me on. He did not attend the hearing himself but sent his registrar, an English doctor by the name of Steven Bower (who was older than Varghese himself) and a fat occupational therapist by the name of Jenny Pike who had been appointed my “case manager”. I did not like Pike but I quite liked Steven Bower. Bower told me that he would have been angry too if he had been subjected to what had been written about me, and defended the theory that AIDS was man-made as legitimate (Varghese had initially classed it as a delusion as had the psychiatrists in Melbourne).
I did not take the tablets, but I attended the appointments I was given to see Steven Bower. However I refused to see Jenny Pike the appointed ‘case manager’. Despite this, Steven Bower took me off the ITO after a few visits. He told the tribunal that this was because I was “cooperating with the treatment team and accepting treatment” and that he thought I could be “managed in a less restrictive environment”.
“However”, the report continues, “it didn’t take him long to stop his cooperation. He did continue to see Dr Bower but refused to see his case manager and was selective about who else he would see, such as which consulting psychiatrist”. I had objected to being diagnosed and treated by Varghese who was many years my junior and whose family I had known for many years. The report of Dr Bower’s testimony continues, “He only saw Dr Bower two or three times after the Involuntary Treatment Order was revoked and then stopped. He also ceased his prescribed medication. His mother contacted the mental health services with concerns about Dr Senewiratne’s behaviour and as a result a new Involuntary Treatment Order dated 25 October 2009 was instituted and he was admitted to the acute observation area (AOA) of the Princess Alexandra Hospital mental health ward”
To be continued….
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