I strolled on, at the same lazy pace. With the same rambling thoughts buzzing around in my mind. After a few minutes, I came out of my thoughts as I heard voices and I looked up. The voices had come from three young men, in their late teens or early twenties, who were coming out from under the Kesswell Bridge and walking towards me on the footpath further along. It was the lad in the middle, which really caught my eye as; he had on a hood, what they call nowadays, a hoodie, grey in colour pulled up over his head although it was a hot sunny afternoon. His fake combat trousers, hanging down from his waist as they were a couple of sizes too large and he had white trainers on his feet. The one nearest me was about two feet away when he shouted out, "Let's have your money, old man," and he moved, rather menacing towards me Why I did it, I do not know. I was not even thinking about it. In fact, it did not even register until it was all over that I did it. My right arm suddenly shot out palm facing downwards with the little finger facing the lad, and it struck him under the nose with a lot of force. There was a loud noise of a bone cracking and blood oozed from his nose as he dropped to the ground with a funny noise coming from his mouth as if he was trying to breathe. I knew from my army experience, a long time ago, that he would not get up to cause me any trouble so my attention went to the other two. That is when I noticed the hooded boy in the middle had taken a pistol out of his pocket and moved another step towards me waving the gun about rather frightening. Again, without thinking, I kicked out with my right leg and the toecap of my boot; I have always worn boots since coming out of the army, except, of course, when June and I were out together. It caught him where I had aimed for on the outside of his knee. As he fell to the ground, he dropped the gun that skimmed along the path and came to rest a few yards past me. The Ginger hair lad had started to run away so I turned my attention back to the hooded man. Who was on his hands and knees trying his hardest to get up. I swung my boot at his head, which struck him on his temple, but as he fell sideways he hit his head on the railings. He was now lying flat out on his back. A grunt came from his throat but after that he did not move. My eyes went from one lad to the other who was lying sprawled out on the ground, but as there was no sign of movement I relaxed within myself. I could not believe I had done that. Yes, forty odd years ago I knew I could do that when being trained regularly in unarmed combat. Now? After all these years. I still could not believe it had happened. However, unlike then my breath was rasping in my lungs. I was now really breathing heavy, coughing badly and with pains in my chest. My breathing became more rapid. From experience, to help combat this I drew long deep breaths. It took almost fifteen minutes to get my breathing back to normal and the coughing and the pain in my chest to fade. I felt an enormous sense of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I took my mobile out of my pocket and phoned 999. I told the operator exactly where I was and that two lads where lying on the pathway, one with a shattered nose and the other with a fractured leg and a badly bruised head. The ambulance duly arrived. While the ambulance men were looking after the two lads, my eyes caught sight of the pistol lying on the ground a few yards in front of me, which I had forgotten about until then. I took my handkerchief out of my pocket and wrapped it around the pistol before picking it up. Two police officers in uniform arrived before I had time to put the pistol into my pocket The older looking police officer, with his notebook and pencil in his hands asked me, "Can you tell us what happen here, sir?" I told him slowly so he had time to write it down.
About the Author: Clive Harman was born 1941 in London in a place called Twyford Lodge. Some say it was the maternity ward at Park Royal General Hospital. Others say it was the workhouse. 1959 - 1970 He was in Special Forces 1973 - 2009 He worked in the Training Industry 2000 - He started his own Training Company and wrote his own training programmes 2009 - He retired 2009 - 2016 He wrote Shattered Dreams: The Story of My Life