With our country in the hands of a “Hug a Hoodie” Prime Minister, and antisocial behaviour now rife throughout the country, one man stands up to be counted.
His life blighted by out of control yobs, and his entire world on the verge of collapse, he picks up a pen and writes a letter
12 Nye Close
Broad oak Estate
The Weekly News
As night time falls we draw our curtains, sit down and wait.
Then we hear noises, shouting, screaming, and then a bang, as a football has been kicked up against our living room window. My wife nearly jumps out of her skin. Yes, we know who it is, it’s the local kids who come out at night and terrorise our neighbourhood.
They are completely out of control and unchallenged, and all because we live in a society where all discipline has been removed.
These feral kids who roam our streets have no fear, because the law of the land says they cannot be touched.
So here we are, sitting in our own home in fear of these children, what a disgrace.
We do not need to live like this, we are the people who with our votes, put these politicians in power.
I honestly believe that our political elite have, over the last forty years, set out to systematically destroy every aspect of British life, and what they have done over the years amounts to nothing more than criminal, they have brought this country of ours to the brink of destruction.
Is this what our fathers and grandfathers fought for? I don’t think so.
We need to stop and take a few steps back and ask ourselves, is this a country to be proud of?
We were once the envy of the world, a place that bred greatness.
Now all we breed is children that kill.
What now for England? Where do we go from here?
Integrity. Loyalty. Honour. Respect. Do you remember these words? These are the words this country was built on. If you go in any school today and ask what these words mean I don’t think anyone would be able to answer you.
We, as a country have lost our identity, and if we carry on down this path of destruction, this once great country will be gone for ever.
Yours in despair
When James Greenfield puts his name to the letter he had just written, he has no idea the significance it will have on the country in the months to come.
Greenfield and his wife, who live on a housing estate, had over the last twelve months since moving there, had suffered terribly with antisocial behaviour.
The anticipation they felt waiting for night time to come was beginning to take its toll.
Their very existence had been changed beyond all recognition, due to the actions of a group of feral kids.
What was once a loving and enjoyable life for them both, was now a life of fear.
To sit in your own home and feel that unsafe, and to be that petrified to speak out, because if you did the consequences could be a brick thrown through your window, or worse, had become a heart-breaking situation for both of them.
Greenfield could see no way out for them, it seemed these feral kids had the whip hand.
If you have never lived with this kind of behaviour it is hard to explain the fear you are feeling. To be in your own home and to be at the mercy of a bunch of thug’s intent on making your life a living hell, can only be described as horrific.
Greenfield would phone the housing trust on a regular basis to ask for a move but to no avail. They would ask for names and addresses, again Greenfield would explain that the
intimidation from the thugs who lived on the estate was of such ferocity that if he was to give out such information and subsequently be found out, he would fear not only for his safety, but for his wife’s as well.
And if they walked away from their home, which would in effect make them homeless, the trust, and the local council had informed them that if they were to do this, the chances of being offered anything else would be virtually non-existent, in other words the trust and the council had condemned them to a life of misery, from which they could see no escape from.
As Greenfield puts his letter into the post box, he thinks to himself.
“I wonder if anyone will bother to read it”
The paper he had written to was called the weekly news, it came out on Wednesdays and was a life line to a lot of people who lived in and around the local area.
Greenfield thought if he could get some public support then maybe the council might do something about the problems they were suffering on the estate.
When Wednesday arrives, he walks round to his local shop to buy the paper.
As he approaches the shop a gang of youths are leaning against the shop wall drinking, as he walks by them with his head down so as not to make eye contact with them, he thinks to himself.
“What’s in store for the estate tonight”
When Greenfield gets home, he sits down and flicks through the paper.
His only interest at this point was to see if his letter had been printed.
When he reaches the page where letters from the public are printed, there in the middle of the page was his letter, and at the end of his letter the editor had written the words.
“Do you agree with what has been written here”?
It would seem his letter had hit a nerve.
Its two weeks later and Greenfield is outside cleaning up a load of broken glass.
The local yobs had decided to use the front of his house to discard their empty beer bottles.
His wife Ria calls him.
“James there’s a phone call for you, it’s a Mr Beacham from the weekly news”.
“Ok, I’ll be there in a second”. He called back.
“Hello, James Greenfield here”
“Hello Mr Greenfield, my name is Frank Beacham, and I am the editor of the weekly news, and I am calling you about the letter you sent us which we printed in our Wednesday edition.
We have had such a response to it from our readers, I was wondering if you would be interested in doing weekly column for us?”
Greenfield is that taken aback by the request that there is a long silence over the phone.
“Are you still there Mr Greenfield?” The editor continued.
“Yes, I’m sorry, you have taken me by surprise Mr Beacham, I’m lost for words” Greenfield managed to get out.
“Please forgive Mr Greenfield, it was not my intention to surprise you like that. I wonder, would it be possible for you to come into my office, I’m sure I can explain it better face to face” He says hopefully.
After thinking for a couple of seconds, Greenfield agrees to go and meet him.
“Would Monday morning suit you, say around 11am?” Was the suggestion.
“Yes, Monday at 11 will be fine” Agrees Greenfield.
“Thank you, Mr Greenfield, I will look forward to meeting you then”