I was living life in the fast lane, I was young free and single but was missing Cath almost all of the time. I was making the best of it until one night, my cousin Hugh I were in the Tabard pub in Northgate Street. It was the 'in place' for a while and was very busy. Suddenly I saw Cath across the room. I immediately became agitated and was on the point of leaving. Hugh thought it was because I didn't want to see Cath, but nothing could have been further from the truth, my heart was beating so fast I had that buzzing feeling in my chest. The problem was, I wanted her but I knew the split had been my fault and I was scared she would reject me. Eventually I had to do something, so I went to her and said that I needed to talk to her. She agreed and that was the start of us getting back together, we were friends again.
Things were different though, Cath was living with her parents and we were back to being an engaged couple, but living apart. It worked okay, but sometimes I hated taking her home, I wanted us to be together all the time, so one night when I was taking her home in the little van, I said, 'I'm getting fed up with this, I think we'd better get married.' Not very romantic but Cath agreed and we went as soon as we could, to the Register Office to get our wedding day booked.
They told us we would have to wait for weeks before we could get a date, which I wasn't very happy about. Then they told us we could have a special licence, allowing us to be married in ten days time. We said, that's the one for us, there's nothing to arrange, we'll take it. The special license cost more than an ordinary one but it was the best seven pounds I've ever spent.
We invited a few friends and family and on the bright blue morning of the sixth
of October 1973 we arrived at the Gloucester
Register Office, to be married. Cath looked lovely and I was as proud as
a peacock. I had asked my brother Gordon to be my Best Man but when we were
called into the room where the ceremony was to be performed, Gordon and his
girlfriend Wendy, were still not here. We waited for a while, getting a little
concerned. The registrar mentioned that we might have to choose someone else,
then there was a screech of tyres outside and I knew Gordon had arrived. There
was a thunderous noise as he came bounding up the stairs, bursting red faced
into the room, saying breathlessly, 'I'm not too late am I?'
From then on, the ceremony went as planned and a few minutes later, we were husband and wife.
We had decided not to have a reception, mainly because we had no money, but Aunty Ina wouldn't hear of it and laid on a reception at her house. We all went there and had as good a time as anybody could wish for, with just a few people but all very important.
We had very little money to spend on a honeymoon either, but we were ardent speedway fans and as it was the last match of the season, we decided to go to Swindon to watch it and the big firework display, which was always held on the last night. We had a good evening at the match, then made our way into Swindon, where we sought out an Indian restaurant that was owned by an old friend of Hughie MacPherson. We had promised Hughie that we would look him up and tell him that Hughie was emigrating to Australia. After the meal, we booked into The Goddard Arms Hotel and spent our first night as husband and wife. It was my first experience of staying in an hotel. I was initially horrified at the price of what I saw as just a bed for the night but in the end I didn't begrudge the £7.96 it cost for the room and breakfast for the two of us. Next morning after breakfast, we set out in the little Ford Thames van, for London. We had a day walking around the sights of London, then went to Aylesbury to visit Cath's nan and granddad and finally made our way back home. Not much of a wedding and honeymoon by today's standards, but it was what we could afford and we were happy just to be together.
Two weeks after our wedding, Hughie, his second wife June and their new-born son Michael, left for their new life in Australia. It was a time of very mixed emotions for me. Hughie was a very important person in my life and I knew that I would miss him forever, but I wished him the best of luck for his great adventure.
Fortunately, the fact that Hughie and Diana divorced made no difference to my relationship with either family. I am still close to all of them, whether near or far.
Cath and I were still having trouble with the council over the tenancy of the prefab, but now they were saying we would have to accept a one-bedroom flat or face eviction. I went to the council office and put my case to them that it was only a two bedroom prefab, which had been my home for twelve years and was unlikely to last much longer before demolition. They were unsympathetic to that argument so I made a deal with them that if they offered me a reasonable flat in a nice area then I would take it, but if they continued with the sort of offers and threats they had so far tried, I would continue to fight my case. I pointed out that they had been trying to get me to move for three years and I was sure I could hang on another three years, one way or another. That worked the next place they offered was a nice flat, in Prescott Avenue, Matson and overlooking Robinswood Hill. Prescott Avenue was a quiet little road with fields directly opposite, ideal for Wimpy to run around, Tina had died some time ago. It was a nice flat, but so small. I wasn't used to living in such cramped conditions. It was much warmer than the prefab, but I knew where I would rather have been.
I had gradually got fed up with my job at Dowty's. I was still a restless young man looking for something new. I got a job that was totally different, delivering bread to shops, for Sunblest bakery in Lower Tuffley Lane. For two weeks, I went with an experienced man, on a run around the Witney area to learn the job. Right from the start, I knew I had made a big mistake, this job was a nightmare. Everybody stole from everybody else, it was a way of life. The system was, that each deliveryman had to pay for whatever was loaded on his van. At the end of the week, we had to collect the money for the deliveries we had made, then pay the bill for the goods that had been invoiced to our van. If there was a shortfall, it had to be made up out of our wages. If there was a surplus, it was ours to keep. This led to a system of wholesale fiddling throughout the whole depot. People stole from all of their customers, in many different ways. They also stole from their colleague's vans if they could. Anything to increase the amount of bread and cakes they could sell. The fiddling was so rife that each delivery man kept a book with how and how much he fiddled from each of his customers, in case he was off sick or on holiday. Then whoever took over the round could continue the thefts without causing suspicion. I saw a driver who had been sacked from FMC for theft, doing a round and thought how apt a job it was for him. Then I heard of a driver getting caught, but instead of sacking him, they moved him to another round. After the two week training period, I only lasted a week on my own, then packed it in without working any notice.
As luck would have it, a few days later, I was parking my car in Weddel's company car park in Longsmith Street, when I bumped into Neville Wilkins, the manager of British Beef Co. I told him the bread story and he immediately said, I've got a driving job you can have if you want it. I jumped at the chance and started back to work with my old friends.
I drove all over the country delivering meat, but mainly I travelled the south of England, only venturing north occasionally. I started driving a three tonner, the only small lorry in the fleet. It was nice, having my own lorry, as all the others had to take any vehicle they were given. There was no such thing as a tacograph then, so if I could make up time anywhere on the journey, I could use it as I pleased. With the early morning starts of around two or three o clock, I often needed a nap during the day, in order to keep going. Sometimes driving was extremely dangerous due to nodding off at the wheel. One morning while driving down the M5 towards Taunton I heard a knocking sound, tap, tap, tap, then I awoke with a start and realised I was knocking down a row of cones covering some road works.
On Saturday mornings, I had a regular run, delivering to shops within a sixty mile radius of Gloucester, west into Wales. When delivering to shops, it was traditional that if we helped the shopkeeper by carrying the meat into the shop, we were rewarded with a small tip, usually in the form of a piece of meat or a chicken or a couple of tins of something. Some weeks, I was given so much food I didn't know what to do with it all. I would put it in boxes and have to make two trips to the car, to carry it all into the house. Very soon we realised that we would have to buy a freezer to keep the meat in. We bought the biggest freezer we could get into the flat and had great difficulty getting it up the stairs, but it was worth its weight in gold. We soon started to fill it and were eating better than we had in years.
One day, one of the drivers was accused of stealing a lorry load of meat. The police arrested him and went to his house for a search. They found a terrific haul of tinned food and a freezer full of meat, similar to what they would have found in any of the driver's houses. The police thought they had hit the jackpot and loaded all the food into a police van and took it away as evidence. When the police told Neville of their find, he told them that it was probably all legitimate, as the accused had tried to tell them. They couldn't believe that so much stuff could be accrued honestly, but that's how it was, so they had to take it all back with an apology. No one was ever caught for that robbery.
The depot was in St Oswalds Road, where the new Tesco supermarket is now. They never lit it at night and it was a very dark place, ideal for thieving, which happened on a regular basis. I went in one morning, opened the door of my lorry and thought, what a nuisance, the interior light has gone out. It was a bit inconvenient without an interior light, because I was never sure where I would be going until I looked at my delivery notes. The lorry was often loaded after I had gone home for the day. I put the key into the ignition and turned it. Nothing happened, so I realised that it wasn't the light at all, perhaps the battery had gone flat. I got out of the lorry and went to have a look at the battery, but there wasn't one. Somebody had taken it, cutting the cables and the battery carrier in the process.
Eventually they decided to put me through my Heavy Goods Vehicle test, so that I would be able to drive any of the lorries on the fleet. I had been driving long enough to be pretty good at it already and passed the test easily. Now my horizons opened up and I was on an equal footing to all the other drivers.
It meant that I would no longer have my own lorry, but it had more advantages than disadvantages. Some of the big trucks were really nice. The system they had was to tell us, before we went home, what lorry we would take the next day and roughly where we would be going. There was a strongbox bolted to the wall, which contained all the keys. When we came in at our starting time, say three o clock in the morning, there would be no one about and the place would be in total darkness. We clocked in, then went to the strongbox and took out the keys we required. We opened the door to the lorry, checked the delivery notes to make sure we had the right one, then drove off. I came in one morning and saw that the lorry I had been told to take was empty. I thought, well that's handy, now I've got to go through them all, one by one, until I find which one they've loaded for me. I went through them but didn't find my load. Then I went to the driver's door of the empty one and saw the broken glass. I opened the door and found the delivery notes inside. The load had been stolen, the whole lot was gone without trace.
Some Saturday mornings, I went to work at about one o clock to help load for the shop run. At about three, we were sitting in the canteen looking out at the ATS tyre depot across the road. There was an articulated lorry backed into the building and we remarked that it was very unusual for them to be taking a delivery this early. We could see the men walking around, wearing the ATS uniforms and stopping for cups of tea and thought little of it. A few hours later with the arrival of an army of police, it dawned on us that the lorry we had seen wasn't being unloaded, it was being loaded. Thieves had taken a forty foot trailer load of tyres out of there and we hadn't even realised.
With all the thieving going on, it wasn't unusual to come to work in the middle of the night and spot an unusual car in the car park. It was quite funny at times because we could see the detectives sliding down in their seats, trying to keep out of sight as our headlights came to bear on them.
One Saturday morning I set out for Monmouth, arriving at six o clock. I made the delivery, then made for my next call in Abergavenny. A few minutes before seven, I was only about a hundred yards from the shop, in the main street, when I head a terrific bang. There was a shower of glass and the lorry bucked high into the air, careering across the road almost going into a shop front. I managed to turn the wheel away from the shop and stop the lorry at an angle of about forty five degrees across the road. I jumped out and ran back towards the car that had run into me. It was an amazing sight, an elderly couple were sitting in what was left of their Morris Marina. I later found out that they had been driving through the night from the ferry at Haverford West and probably through tiredness, they hadn't realised they had come to a junction and they thought they were still on the main road. They hit the side of my lorry at full speed of about fifty miles an hour without braking. Shops surrounded the junction on both sides and there was a small road opposite which was a service road for a hotel. They hadn't seen anything coming and the first thing they knew was when they hit me. They were very fortunate that they hit my front wheel, because a few feet back and they would have gone underneath the lorry taking their heads off. As it was, they had just caught my front wheel stopping them dead, my back wheels running over the front of the car. That was what had launched me into the air.
When I reached them, I could hardly believe my eyes. They were sitting in what was left of a car, with no front on it. The wheels had been flattened and the engine was some yards away. There was nothing left in front of the bulkhead, but they were relatively uninjured, just a few cuts and bruises. After making a statement at the police station, I was able to continue with my round, albeit a couple of hours late. It was a horrible, cold wet morning and with the window broken, I was perished all the rest of the journey, but at least I had come out unscathed. I felt quite sorry for the old couple, I heard later that he had been prosecuted for driving without due care and attention.
I started doing a regular delivery in Woolwich, South London. On one of these runs, I managed to fit in a visit to my old mate from the marines, Alfie Hammond. I had found out that he had married and bought a house in Woolwich, so early one morning I knocked on his door. It was a lovely reunion, I was so impressed with Alfie's house and what he had achieved. While we talked, Alfie told me that the house had cost £13,000 and although it was difficult paying the mortgage, it was well worth it.
Houses were much more expensive in London than they were in Gloucester and all the way home I was thinking, 'if Alfie can do it at that price, I'm sure Cath and I can do it.' I was very excited by the idea of owning my own home, it was something we had talked about, due to the harassment we had endured from the Council. I wanted never to be in the position of being told where to live ever again. Talking to Alfie made up my mind that it didn't need to be just a dream, I resolved to get on and do something about it. That very weekend, we went looking at houses.
We looked at lots of small houses at Matson, Podsmead and Quedgeley, all over the place, but none compared with the houses along Brionne Way for value for money at around £9,000. The only problem was that there weren't any left on the first phase of development, but if we waited a year, we could have our pick of the second phase, so we chose a plot from the map and put a deposit of fifty pounds to secure our new house. Now we had a year to save the ten per cent required by the building society in order to obtain the mortgage. We were almost there.
Prescott Avenue was undergoing a period of change. The Council had made it into a cul de sac and put a new road through from Matson Avenue to Reservoir Road. They were going to build a new housing estate on the fields in front of our flat, but for the time being all they did was lay the roads. At night it was pitch dark across the new site. When it had been a green field it seemed all right, but now it seemed sort of dangerous, with people moving around in the darkness.
Late one night there was a tremendous loud banging and shouting. As we went to the door, we could hear girls voices shouting, 'HELP! HELP! PLEASE HELP!'
I opened the door to two very distressed girls who quickly told me that they thought there was a rape in progress, in a car parked in the darkness in the middle of the building site. I told them to take me quietly to where it was happening. As we approached the car, there was indeed something badly wrong. A girl was screaming and the car was rocking about as if a fight was in progress. I stole quietly to the driver's door of the Ford Anglia crouching low so that I wouldn't be seen. My heart was beating so hard I thought they might hear it. I waited for a few seconds trying to be sure of what was going on, then I heard a slap followed by another scream. At that moment, I yanked open the car door, grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket and pulled him out of the car onto the road. I had him down so that he had difficulty moving and was about to make sure he wasn't going to escape, when I heard the girl in the car saying, please don't hurt him.
I said, 'What?'
She repeated, 'please don't hurt him, we were having a row.'
She had been having a fight with her boyfriend, I could hardly believe it. It had sounded like she was being murdered. I was so angry at the distress I and the two girls had been caused, I felt like still belting him, but I just told them to clear off.
Some time after that incident, we were sitting watching the television one wild and wet evening when there was a blinding flash outside and all the lights went out. I went out and had a look around and soon realised that along with the flat downstairs, we were the only ones with a power cut. I went to the phone box and reported the fault. Cath got the candles out and placed them around the room. After a while, an engineer arrived to find out what had happened. Apparently there had been some underground damage done when they had dug up the road while making it into a cul de sac. With the storm we were having, the water must have got into the area of damage and caused the small explosion we had witnessed. The engineer told us it would be a considerable job and it would be some time before power would be restored. I told him we could manage all right but it was really cold and I had tropical fish that would all die if I couldn't keep the water warm. He said, don't worry I'll get you a gas fire. Keep the room as hot as you like, then the water won't cool. Off he went, returning a short while later with a portable gas fire and a couple of bottles of gas. I lit it and the temperature soon rose to an acceptable level.
We went to bed unconcerned over the welfare of the fish. That MEB man was the first official in my experience who had ever done what he said he would do. It got so warm in that room that when we got up in the morning, the candles had all bent double from the heat. Next day, the power was restored and the MEB collected their fire, for which we were very grateful.
I decided that I was going to do a real custom job on the Lightning. I had no room to work on it here though, not like the spare bedroom at the prefab. My friend Roger Haines was the manager of Bell Fruit Machines in Cheltenham. They had a warehouse with plenty of spare room, which Roger let me use. I started on the most ambitious project to date. I was going to use a different frame to turn it into a real chopper. I welded the tank to the frame, then moulded it in, so that it looked all one piece, then I loaded it into the back of my British Beef lorry and took it to a top class custom painter in Bournemouth. A few weeks later I picked up a magnificent transformation and delivered it to my workshop in Cheltenham ready for assembly.
That wasn't the first bike I had carried in a meat lorry. Some time earlier, Neville the manager, had asked me if I would take a moped to his sister in Exmouth. I told him that it was dodgy for me to have a moped in the back of a food wagon. If an inspector saw it, I would be in big trouble, but I said I would do it for him. I just wanted him to know that it was a big favour. I also took a plank so that I would be able to roll the moped off when I got there. Neville's sister thanked me for the delivery and offered me some money. She said, 'I know how tight Neville is, I don't suppose he'll give you anything.' I didn't want it but she insisted. Neville did have a bit of a reputation for tight fistedness, she knew him well. When I got back to the depot, I told Neville I had made the delivery with no problems. He took me aside and thanked me, giving me a couple of quid. I laughed like hell when I got outside. I had never known Neville part with any money that he didn't have to.
There had always been lots of fun, working at British Beef. It was often very hard work but there were lots of good times and practical jokes. Cath and I went regularly to Swindon speedway and while driving there one Saturday evening, Cath started accusing me of farting. I protested my innocence but as the smell got worse, Cath got angrier and wouldn't believe that it wasn't me. On the way home, the smell came into the car again and I realised that something was wrong. I got out of the car and looked under the bonnet but couldn't see anything. The next day, I got under the car and had a look around, but again I found nothing. I knew they had done something but I couldn't find out what. My suspicions were confirmed by the sniggering when I said anything about it. It took me another week to find the cause of the offensive odour. Someone had got under the car and wired an Ox spleen to an almost inaccessible piece of exhaust pipe. Not only was the spleen rotting, every time the exhaust got hot, it got cooked as well.
Another favourite was to carry a large rubber bin up the stairs, which led to the mess room. When at the top of the stairs, it was balanced on the edge of the top step, then filled with about fifty gallons of cold water. The stairs had a turn in them, halfway up, so when the unsuspecting victim turned the corner, he was met with a wall of water, which often sent him sprawling back to the bottom.
Many an apprentice was stuffed into the wicker laundry basket and thrown down those stairs.
More serious, but just as funny. A slaughterman shot a large bullock then released the body from the shooting box onto the floor of the abattoir. This time, he hadn't got it right and the bullock got up and started rampaging round the hall. Understandably, it was far from happy and was intent on making its escape. As it went towards the way out, someone came out of the office. The bullock charged straight through the doorway into the small office and started bellowing with rage, crashing around knocking everything flying. There was more action in that office than had ever been seen, before or after. There was only one door and no one could get to that, but the office staff came flying out of the windows, in a blind panic. Eventually a slaughterman went into the office and shot the beast again, but then they had the problem of getting it back out. There was no chance of getting back through that small door, so they had to cut it up and take it out in pieces. The mess was terrible.
I bought a Vauxhall Cresta from Ken Artus, one of my colleagues. It was the biggest car I had had to date. I had arranged for Ken to leave the car in the car park at work, ready for me to collect, after I finished my deliveries on Saturday. That day, I was the last lorry back, so the Cresta was the only car there. I got in and started the engine, I immediately noticed that the fuel gauge was on empty, so I made straight for the Blue Star Garage which was only about 150 yards away. I didn't make it, I only got half way there before it ran out of petrol. This was only the beginning of my short relationship with this car.
We decided to go on holiday to Scotland. My cousin Jenny was on holiday here in Gloucester with her husband so we took them with us. They lived in Wallyford, just outside Edinburgh.
I checked the oil and water prior to setting off and our spirits were high. About fifty miles up the road, just passing Birmingham, there was a terrific knocking noise coming from the engine. I pulled onto the hard shoulder and got the bonnet up. I pulled the dipstick out of its tube and found it to be dry as a bone. Fortunately I had half of a gallon can of oil in the boot, so I poured it all in. It hardly registered on the dipstick. This was a bit worrying so I decided to stop at the earliest opportunity to get another gallon of oil so I could top it right up. Fifty or so miles further on, the same thing happened again. I couldn't see any smoke coming out of the back and I couldn't see any oil leaking, but it was going somewhere. We used five gallons oil on the way there, but when we got off the motorway and slowed down a bit, the consumption seemed to drop. As we went through Edinburgh, the car started lurching to a halt then starting again with the lights on the panel flashing on and off. I got out again and lifted the bonnet. This time the battery had fallen off and was rattling around the engine compartment, shorting out whenever the terminals touched metal. I put it right and we travelled the last few miles to Jenny's house.
We stayed for a few days, then drove to Fauldhouse, between Edinburgh and Glasgow, to stay with Cath's Aunty Mary and Uncle Pat. They came with us for a drive around Loch Lomond, taking a circular route, coming back through Callander and Stirling. The car ran well and I was beginning to think our troubles were over.
At the end of the week we set off for home but hadn't gone very far when there was a terrific vibration coming through the car. It was so bad, I had to find a garage to take a look at it. The mechanic told me that all the engine bolts had fallen out, allowing the engine to move around, causing the universal joint to fail. He replaced the bolts and the joint and we set off again. I had had enough of this car by now and told Cath that I was going to go for home as fast as I could and if the car blew up we would leave it and get the train. I gunned it down the motorway and got all the way home without it missing a beat. I checked the oil when we got home and it hadn't used a drop. If this car thought it was going to get round me now after the last two weeks, it had another think coming. I sold it within a week and good riddance.
I came home from work one evening to find Cath in a distressed state. She had our little cat in her arms and told me that there was something wrong with him. As soon as I saw his poor little face, I knew what had happened. He had been shot with an air gun and the pellet had penetrated his nose, so that all that could be seen was the hollow base of the pellet. With his face so swollen, it was an awful sight, but we took him straight to the local vet in Stroud Road. When we arrived, the waiting room was full of people. I thought that as it was an emergency, they would see him immediately, but I was mistaken. The receptionist told us we would have to wait our turn. I remonstrated with her, but she was adamant that we would not be seen out of turn. I told Cath to go across the road to the phone box and find any vet who would see him immediately. She came back a few minutes later, telling me that a vet at Stewart's surgery in Painswick Road would see him as soon as we got there. When we arrived, Bill Stewart took him straight into a consulting room and started to attend to Tibbles. Bill Stewart reassured us that we had been right to seek emergency treatment. He made a full recovery and lived a long and happy life. This was the start of a good relationship with the veterinary practice belonging to Bill Stewart which has lasted twenty four years so far and I'm sure will last a lot longer yet.
A few weeks later, Cath was in the bedroom overlooking the back garden and the flats beyond. She called me over to the window to look at two cats squaring up to each other, in one of the neighbour's gardens. Suddenly, they leapt in the air and ran off across the gardens at breakneck speed. I had a feeling about what had happened and looked along the windows of the flats opposite.
I said to Cath, 'look! There he is, there the cat shooter.'
We could see the barrel of a rifle poking out of a window. I had him caught. I knew who it was, it wasn't a youth, it was a grown man who had a reputation as a generally unpleasant character.
I wanted to go round there and give the bloke a good hiding but we decided to let the police deal with it in the proper manner. A policeman came to see us and told us that he had had a word with the person concerned and had told him that if he did it again he would be in trouble, but there was very little the police could do as it wasn't illegal to discharge an air weapon on private property. We were very disappointed at this outcome but had to accept what the policeman had said. in the light of my past experiences with the police, I should have known better. The policeman had given us a complete load of nonsense, not only was it illegal to discharge an airweapon across other people's property, it was also an offence to cause or intend to cause injury to a domestic animal. What a surprise, I had just come across another lying copper, too lazy to do his job properly. We had been fobbed off, but I was learning.
A few weeks later, I came home from work again, to find Cath hugging our dog Wimpy and crying her eyes out. I asked her what was wrong, but she didn't want to tell me. I insisted that something must have caused her to be so upset and eventually she told me that she had been in the garden with Wimpy when the cat shooter had come to the fence and told her that he would cause trouble for us and that he would hurt Wimpy in retaliation for us setting the police on him.
I was outraged, there was nothing that could stop me sorting this out, my way. I stomped into the back garden and saw him standing on his balcony. As I crashed through the fence between our gardens, I pointed up at him and shouted 'I'm coming for you, you bastard.' I went through the door and up the stairs to the door of his flat. I banged on the door, shouting for this so called hard man to come out. It soon became obvious that he wasn't going to open the door so I proceeded to bash it down. The door flew open and I went into the flat, I couldn't find him initially, until I got to the bathroom and found the door locked from the inside. I started to attempt to break down this door but it was more difficult with his weight against it from the other side. By this time I has started to calm down and thought that if he was this scared I had made my point. I shouted through the door that seeing as he was a coward, I was going, but if he ever gave me cause to return I wouldn't leave until the job was finished.
As I came out of the door of the flat, his immediate neighbours were standing there waiting for me. The man came towards me and pressed a large bunch of bananas into my hands. They thanked me profusely for giving them the best day they had had for ages. They said that this man made their lives a misery and it had been wonderful to see someone stand up to him. I asked them, why they had given me a bunch of bananas and it turned out that he drove a lorry for Fyffes and always had a supply. They told me to come as often as I liked if I wanted any more. I thanked them, but I never did. I was glad that some good had come out of a nasty incident.
Copyright ©
1999
Cliff Ballinger. All rights reserved.
