‘With a suicide, you can’t do it by the book’

“Chris loved every sport – he did the lot,” says John Neale, sitting in his cosy living room in Knowle West. “He was the smallest in there but he loved it. He’d run across the rugby pitch just to get at some big bloke and we’d all be shouting at him to get back over to his side.” On the wall are framed photos of Chris, his youngest, a beaming smile on his face in each picture.

Chris was a larger-than-life character who backflipped on the dancefloor, ended up in a hedge after roller-skating down Novers Hill and demolished his dad’s garage as a kid when revving the engine with the car in gear. “He was a rough diamond,” John says.

Fitness fanatic Chris, pictured with friend and professional boxer Duane Winters

Chris’s physical health couldn’t be faulted. “He was doing sport since he was three years old. He fought for Great Britain when he was ten. He’d come home from work every night and go training at Trojan Gym or Skemer’s Boxing Club,” John says. “He had to have someone of a British standard to coach him because he’d leave them in his dust. He was so physically fit and strong – he needed someone to channel him and give him a goal.”

However, when the relationship with his children’s mother became difficult and he was forced to move back in with his parents aged 29, Chris’s fight with his own mental health began. “If it was a physical battle, he’d stand up in front of six blokes. But mentally he couldn’t cope with not seeing his kids,” John says.

Chris as a child at home in Knowle West

A suicide attempt put Chris in the BRI, and Bristol Mental Health’s Crisis Service visited the family at home. “The initial meeting was brilliant. Chris was buzzing. He did what they suggested – getting involved in things that he wouldn’t usually do – and he was positive,” says John.

“But the next time somebody turned up, they were totally new. It was different people every time so we had to go over the same things, and there was no rapport. He couldn’t get that bond. He was just answering questions with ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’ and saying he was fine. It was what they wanted to hear.

“With a suicide, you can’t do it by the book. Everybody’s situations and personalities are different. People haven’t all got the same background or upbringing or abilities and you can’t tar everyone in Knowle West with the same brush – the first thing they seemed to think was that Chris was a druggy or an alcoholic, or that he didn’t have a job. I do believe that if we were in Clifton, that wouldn’t have happened.”

Chris pictured with his dog Roxy

Without the specialist mental health support needed, and with ongoing relationship problems and money worries, in the summer of 2016 Chris found no way out of the tunnel. John was the one to find him in the family home, and says the experience knocked the family for six: not just the grieving process for their beloved son, but the aftermath of his death.

“How many young men have got life insurance? We had to pay for it out of our savings,” John says, though he is keen to stress that the family were helped enormously by a fundraising campaign that a friend set up on Facebook. “Nobody tells you about that – you never think your kids are going to go before you. With everything going on, you get caught up in the tidal wave of it all. Your head is gone and you can’t think straight – and then you’ve got a funeral to organise.”

But Chris’ outgoing personality unified the community: more than 400 people attended his funeral, and those who knew him kept coming forward. The funeral director was trained by Chris in the local gym, and the pastor who officiated the service, a Marine, felt compelled to get in touch with the family because of his fond memories of sparring with Chris as he trained for a fight.

“Those were people that took a massive weight off our shoulders,” John says. “You need genuine people when you’re bereaved – people you can trust. You’ve got to have people who understand what you’ve been through, people who are in your corner.

“We didn’t have a clue what we were supposed to do. There are little things all the time that I wish I’d known and done differently.”

Chris’ death in the care of Bristol Mental Health’s Crisis Service is now being investigated

Two years on from Chris’ death, the experience is still raw but John and his family are slowly healing. “Even now, we still haven’t got a plot for him – after the funeral we couldn’t afford it. Chris’ kids hadn’t got anywhere they could go to see their dad’s ashes and his plaque so I built a memorial out the back for them.” The tinkling of the little fountain, with fresh flowers in a slate pot and kids’ toys around the edge, trickles through to the living room as he talks.

“It’s alright for the kids but for us, it’s still not somewhere that we can go. We’re all grieving for the same person but we’re all doing it differently,” John says.

After two years of tirelessly chasing up the mental health professionals who treated Chris in the hope that they could speak about how let down they feel, the family have finally had a breakthrough in the form of a formal investigation by Avon and Wiltshire Health Partnership (AWP).

A spokesperson for AWP NHS Trust told Bristol24/7: “We are truly sorry for Christopher’s death and offer our condolences to his family. A full investigation into the circumstances surrounding Christopher’s death is now underway. We would advise anyone with suicidal thoughts or who may be struggling to contact the Samaritans on 116 123.”

This article is part of an ongoing series, looking into mental health across Bristol. For advice and local mental health services, visit www.bristolmentalhealth.org

Read more from this series: A tale of two cities?