Harold stared at the policeman, unable to take in what he just said.

"M-my father is dead?" The policeman looked at him kindly.

"I'm sorry Sir but we have to go through these formalities. Are you Harold Albert Kitchener Steptoe, formerly of Oil Drum Lane, Shepherds Bush?" Harold nodded.

"And is your father Albert Ladysmith Steptoe of Oil Drum Lane, born 26 December 1899?"

"Yes, that's my father." The policeman sat beside Harold and consulted his notebook.

"He was found yesterday by the milkman, apparently the gates were closed so he forced them open. He found your father in the living room of the house, gassed. It seems the flame had been blown out while he was asleep in his chair, the gas was still switched on and he didn't wake up. I'm very sorry Mr Steptoe."

"Will you need me to identify the body?" Asked Harold. The policeman shook his head.

"That won't be necessary Sir, the milkman identified him." Harold nodded.

"He's a decent chap, I'll have to go round and thank him." He seemed to be in a daze.

"Thank you for coming officers." Said Bert.

"Will Mr Steptoe be alright?"

"He'll be fine, he has friends who can help him through this."

"Very well Sir, I wish you a good day." The policemen left the café. Bert poured a mug of tea, added a generous splash of whisky and handed it to Harold.

"Drink this Harry." Harold raised the mug to his lips and took a sip. "Now you drink that while I go and make a few calls."

Within 20 minutes Jan, Stuart, Pete and Louise arrived at the café. Jan was the first to greet him.

"How are you Harry?" She asked, hugging him. "Bert rang and told me what happened so we came straight away."

"You didn't have to come."

"Of course we did." Said Louise, also hugging him. "You don't think we would let you go through this alone do you?"

"But you didn't know him, why should you be bothered?"

"It's not him we are interested in." This was Pete. "We want to make sure our friend gets through this. We know you don't have any family, and you can't do it on your own, so here we are." That was when Harold broke down. The girls held him tightly as his body shook with wracking sobs, all the pain and frustration, hurt and sadness, coming out of him for the first time in his life.

The gang were as good as their word. Each of them taking on a task to organise the funeral and make sure Harold was ready for it. He had managed to pull himself together after the shock of his father dying and was very grateful to them for their help. He knew he could not have done it without them.

The day of the funeral arrived. The church was full, which surprised Harold as he thought his father had no friends. He recognised a couple of other totters who had known his father and thought some of the others were too. He had no idea most of those there had come to support him as well as show their respects.

He sat at the front, Jan and Louise sat one side of him and Carole and Yvonne sat on the other side as they watched the coffin brought in. Pete, Ben, Roger and Stuart carried the coffin, barely bigger than a child's, and set it down before the altar.

Surrounded by his friends Harold stood at the graveside as the coffin was lowered into the ground. When they had all tossed in a handful of soil they left quietly, Harold had requested he be left alone.

"I want to hate you for all you did, but I can't. You are my father, my flesh and blood. You stopped me doing anything that would take me away from you and the yard, I resent you for that, but I don't hate you. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I have friends who will help me, and a pretty good life now. Give Mum my love when you see her. Goodbye Dad." He wiped away a tear as he walked from the grave.