'No one points a gun at my son'
Sunday 24th May 2009
There are all sorts of things you might find in the woods at the bottom of my garden. Broken plant pots, compost, a punctured football… But a gunman? Crouched in a bush, I watched my son running towards a man with a gun. How the hell had I ended up in this mess? When my son, Joe, ran into the house a few minutes earlier to tell me he'd seen a bloke with a gun, I thought he was pulling my leg. I'd just cooked him a beef casserole, which he'd wolfed down before legging it out the door to visit a mate. 'See you later,' he'd called. Phew. Peace and quiet at last.
I had 11 kids, you see. Michael, 30, David, 29, Nicola, 28, Tony, 25, Alistair, 24, Francis, 20, Joe, 17, Alex, 15, Celia, 13, Peggy, 12, and Steven, 10. And even though the older ones had left home, it wasn't often I got time to myself. I'd just started on the washing up when… 'Mum! There's a bloke in the woods and he's got a gun,' Joe said breathlessly, bursting through the front door again. 'Don't be silly, Joe,' I replied. I worked as a security worker at Crawley Magistrates Court, and knew gangs of youths sometimes hung around in the woods that back onto our garden. They'd sit under the trees shooting squirrels with ballbearing guns. Not nice, I know. But as a security guard, I was used to confiscating knives from mouthy hoodies. I'd soon sort them out and send them home with an earful.
As a single mum to 11 kids, what I don't know about dealing with trouble isn't worth knowing. 'Honestly, Mum,' Joe said. 'I'm not lying.' 'We'll see,' I said, grabbing my fluoro yellow jacket off the peg by the front door then marching outside. The wall at the end of our garden backs onto a footpath leading into the woods. I hurried through the damp grass with Joe running up ahead, and that's when I saw him. On the ground by his foot was one gun and he was feeding bullets into the barrel of another. My heart started pounding like crazy. That wasn't a kids' toy. It was a real gun with real bullets. My son was heading straight for them. 'Joe, come back,' I hissed. But he didn't hear me, just kept on running. Closer and closer. I had no choice but to follow him. Inch by inch, I crept along the wall, then fumbled in my pocket for my mobile phone. Shaking, I dialled 999. 'There's a gunman by my house,' I whispered.
I reeled off directions as I edged my way closer to the man. Joe was within spitting distance of him. Tears of frustration sprang into my eyes, and my throat was as dry as a bone. 'Come back,' I hissed. 'You'll get yourself killed.' There was utter silence in the gloom of the woods, except the sound of bullets being loaded. Then a twig snapped under my foot. That's torn it. The gunman looked up, his mouth twisted in surprise. We froze like rabbits in headlights. 'F*** off!' he snarled at Joe, frantically stuffing bullets into the pouch of his hoody. Then he spotted me, peeking out from behind the wall. Our eyes met and my heart raced. Frisking criminals in a courtroom was one thing. Coming face to face with a crazed gunman was something else. 'Stand back or I'll shoot him,' he screamed, his eyes blazing. With that, he drew himself up and pointed the gun at Joe's face.
In that instant, fear gave way to rage and instinct kicked in. No one points a gun at my son. He so much as touched one hair on my boy's head and he'd live to regret it. Suddenly, Joe leaped into action. 'I'll get him,' he cried, pouncing on the gunman. What was he doing? Letting rip a howl, I launched myself at the man, too. 'Come here,' I bellowed, grabbing his arm and hoisting it up behind his back in an armlock. He struggled, then shoved me so hard, I stumbled backwards. Bang! The gun went off. Birds flew screeching from the trees and my ears rang. For a second, the whole world stopped. I saw Joe fall, his body crumpling to the ground. 'Joe!' I screamed running towards him. But my foot slipped on a wet leaf and I went flying. I landed with a thud on top of something soft. Joe. 'Where are you hurt? Where did he shoot?' I gabbled, searching his body for a wound. 'It's all right, Mum,' he panted. 'He didn't shoot me. I slipped.' Relief coursed through me. Thank God. But there was no time to relax. The gun was lying on the ground surrounded by bullets, but the gunman still had another one. 'You ain't seen the last of me,' he snarled, before running down the path. 'I've got to stop him,' Joe cried, pelting after him. No, no, no!
As I ran after Joe, I heard a strange whirring. Looking up, I saw a police helicopter. Just like that, the woods lit up. Headlights from police cars flashed as they raced towards us. It was like something out of a film. Seconds later, Joe arrived back by my side. 'He got away,' he said, wiping the mud from his jeans. 'Thank God you're OK,' I said, throwing my arms around him. Together, we picked up the handgun and the bullets and met the police in the street outside our house. Joe led them to the woods where they cordoned off the area and took our statements. 'You're lucky to be alive,' the policeman said. I shuddered. The whole saga could have ended in tragedy. 'There's a crazy gunman out there. He might come back,' warned the policeman. Just what I didn't want to hear. As I made Joe a cup of cocoa and got ready for bed, my nerves were frayed. What if he came back? The next day, I appeared on the local news to appeal for witnesses. 'You're a local hero,' the news reporter said. 'I did what any mum would have done,' I said, cheeks burning. The police are still looking for the gunman. I'm not going to lie, the thought of him still out there is terrifying. But I can honestly say that if he went for my son again, I'd step in between them. I'll fight for my kids to the bitter end. What mum wouldn't?