Maybe Its Because I’m A Londoner
I lived in London from 1970. In 1972 I worked as a Court Recorder at Old Street Magistrates Court. Our Court took all of the IRA cases. Security was very tight around the Court. We all wore black robes in those days and none of us were allowed to stand by windows or go outside wearing the Court robes for fear of snipers. One day the Magistrate asked me to get him some tobacco when we had a very short break. I knew I wouldn’t have time to disrobe, go through security twice, re-dress and get back into the Courtroom in 5 minutes let alone run the distance of a city block to the tobacco kiosk and back again. I took the risk and slipped out a back door, made the purchase and headed back. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a slight movement at the top of a tower structure across the road. There was the telltale barrel of a rifle pointed down towards me. I sprinted as fast as I could with my long blonde hair flying behind me and my cape extended like Superman. I felt the whack on the top of my head before I heard the sound of the shot but it didn’t drop me. I kept running. At the corner I headed for the second door — the first went directly into the Court foyer and the second into the Police Station. By this time hot wet blood soaked my hair and trickled down over my left eye. I called out “Quick, he’s up the tower” and the Sergeant barked an order. Of course they caught him immediately.
The Police wanted me to bring personal charges against him but I was living alone in a rooftop caretaker’s flat opposite the Court. No-one else remained within 2 blocks of the city after 5 pm. I knew that if I brought charges against the IRA the snipers would find me. There weren’t too many young blondes living in Shoreditch — just old men down on their luck who huddled in dark doorways smoking rollies. Fortunately my long hair had made this moving target a difficult shot so my scalp was only grazed but I bled like a stuck pig. I actually slept on the Court office floor that night with the resident Scotland Yard security squad keeping an eye on me. By the next morning I was fine and back in my robes in the Court.
Maybe it’s because I’m a Londoner that I just bounced back like polystyrene in a storm-water drain. But the Court was there to sort out the idiots from the unfortunates and deal with them accordingly. The camaraderie of my East End work mates made me feel safe and bold. We hated what the IRA were doing — killing the innocents, bombing indiscriminately — all in the name of their political cause. But we didn’t hate the Irish. We didn’t want to ban the Irish from London. We didn’t want to send all the Irish Catholics back to Ireland. It’s sad to see the generations of gangs with evil intent continuing to spread hatred and fear around the world. There have always been such people living among us. They change their methods, change their causes. But they are still just idiots with evil intent. Humanity is strongest when hearts and wills unite to make it so. I’m so proud of the Brits today — Manchester, London, wherever they strike, the Brits unite and stare them down.
