Caught in a gang war on the school
run
One mother’s terrifying account of why her middle-class
neighbourhood suddenly doesn’t feel so safe any more...
By Lisa Brinkworth
Last updated at 8:15 AM on 8th March 2012
Walking home from school, my two eldest sons, then aged four and five, were chomping
their way through Rice Krispie cakes bought at a school sale, while I pushed their baby
brother in a pram beside them.
Typically for 3.30pm in the part of North-West London where we live, the pavements were
awash with children and pushchairs. This area, with its wide tree-lined avenues, smart family
homes and good schools, is hugely popular with young families.
We were almost home when four-year-old Zach pleaded to be allowed to put the rest of his
cake money towards his favourite Fireman Sam magazine.
We’d just left our local newsagent’s, magazine firmly in my little son’s hand, when we
suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a 12-strong gang of hooded youths who were
chasing a girl who looked no older than 14.
One grabbed her and started battering her with an umbrella, but she managed to get away.
Then the youths gave chase, throwing bottles and shouting obscenities. It looked as though
they meant to kill her.
As members of a rival gang appeared from nowhere, bottles rained down all around us.
When one ricocheted off the pram canopy — waking my one-year-old with a start — I froze.
A bottle skimmed Zach’s head, missing him by millimetres,
glass smashing around his feet - later I found shards in his
shoes
As a journalist, I’d devoted years to infiltrating London’s violent teenage gangs, and filmed
two TV documentaries on the subject. Slowly gaining their confidence, I got close to several
of the hardest gang members, entering drug dealer-controlled ‘no-go’ zones where even the
police wouldn’t venture.
I’d wanted to understand what triggered their anti-social behaviour and to help them
articulate their feelings without resorting to violence. But as a mother of three vulnerable
children terrified by this pack of youths, my overwhelming instinct was to protect my
offspring.
Grabbing my sons and frantically pushing the pram with one hand, I rushed to get them
home as quickly as possible. Then to my horror, Zach broke free of my grip and blindly ran
back into what was now a full-on turf war.
he’d dropped his magazine, which had been trampled underfoot, its pages scattered across
the pavement. Oblivious to the mayhem, he attempted to gather it up as tears rolled down
his cheeks.
Terrified for him, I pulled the pram and my five-year-old back towards where Zach now stood
rooted to the spot as more gang members came tearing up a side street.
I heard myself scream as a bottle skimmed Zach’s head, missing him by millimetres, glass
smashing around his feet — later I found shards in his shoes. Then I did something I never
thought I’d do: I ran, clutching my terrified children. In my panic, I lost control of the pram
which swerved precariously and almost overturned twice.
Our cakes spilled out over the pavement. It was the wrong thing to do, of course. I’d drawn
attention to my fleeing family, and a splinter group gave chase after us, calling out ‘get the
whities’. Seeing this terrifying drama unfold before them, passers-by and locals sped up
steps, pounded on front doors or sought protection in porches.
We reached our home and I released my screaming baby from his pram, which I left
abandoned with our bags outside, and practically threw my boys inside the front door,
locking it behind us — my legs had turned to jelly and breathlessness and searing chest pain
convinced me I was having a heart attack.
Last summer, a young mother was shot at just two blocks
from our home, while holding her young baby...
I called the police, but other than recalling the fear etched in the features of the young girl
who was being hunted down like a dog — her repeated, helpless yells of ‘I don’t have it, I
don’t have it’, echoing round my head — I realised that I was a useless witness.
I was unable to give a description of any one of the perpetrators. My focus had been fixed
firmly on my children. In the safety of our home, I was still trembling as I picked tiny glass
fragments out of Zach’s socks and tried to calm my three sobbing boys. I could only thank
God that none of us had been seriously hurt.
If those youths had been carrying knives or guns, the outcome could have been so much
worse. Recently, the Metropolitan Police has announced a crackdown on London’s gangs —
and it has come not a minute too soon.
Police estimate that almost 5,000 people are involved in 250 gangs in the capital.
This pernicious gang culture is embedding itself into all of Britain’s major cities. It exposes
our children not just to danger but to a distorted view of young adulthood that is more like the
crime-ridden pockets in New York’s notorious Bronx neighbourhood. In recent years, there
has been a spate of stabbings within a half-mile radius of our home in Maida Vale. A 14-
year-old pupil from our local secondary school died of a stab wound to his neck.
Another pupil at the same school was stabbed four times in the stomach in the street just
opposite ours. Then, last summer, a young mother was shot at just two blocks from our
home, while holding her young baby. However, bottles seem to be the weapon of choice for
many of these thugs — ‘bottling’ a person carries a lesser sentence than a knife attack.
Ironically, we moved to this area six years ago because it seemed safer than our previous
address in West London where my husband was knocked unconscious and had his jaw
shattered in a vicious, unprovoked assault by youths. But now it seems nowhere in our cities
is immune to the gang rivalry spilling over from neighbouring districts.
Our street no longer feels safe — groups of hooded, spliff-smoking youths patrol the
pavements as though they own them. Just weeks ago, when late for school pick-up, I
challenged a group of teenagers to make way for my pram, asking them if they really
expected me to push my child into the busy road.
They turned on me, becoming verbally abusive and threatening. Determined not to be a
victim for a second time, I pushed my way through them. And then a bottle was thrown in my
direction — it smashed into a parked car nearby.
Now, when my children are with me, I’ve decided such bravado is foolhardy. If I see a group
of youths in our street, we circle the block before approaching our flat, or go to a nearby
restaurant and call my husband to come and collect us. There is not a night that I don’t hear
a siren close by.
More than once I have awoken to see the end of our road cordoned off by police after yet
another gang-related crime. A year on, my two elder sons still have nightmares. Our walk
home from school is once again filled with laughter and stories, but as we turn into our
street, one of the boys will usually ask: ‘Are the baddies here today, Mummy?’
We’ve now decided to move out to the countryside, albeit close enough to the city so that the
boys can still go to the same excellent schools. But thousands of other families don’t have
that choice. I just hope the police crackdown will enable them to finally sleep soundly in their
beds.
Since 2012 there has been no noticeable improvement in the appalling crime rate in London
Wiki is one source
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crime_in_London
run
One mother’s terrifying account of why her middle-class
neighbourhood suddenly doesn’t feel so safe any more...
By Lisa Brinkworth
Last updated at 8:15 AM on 8th March 2012
Walking home from school, my two eldest sons, then aged four and five, were chomping
their way through Rice Krispie cakes bought at a school sale, while I pushed their baby
brother in a pram beside them.
Typically for 3.30pm in the part of North-West London where we live, the pavements were
awash with children and pushchairs. This area, with its wide tree-lined avenues, smart family
homes and good schools, is hugely popular with young families.
We were almost home when four-year-old Zach pleaded to be allowed to put the rest of his
cake money towards his favourite Fireman Sam magazine.
We’d just left our local newsagent’s, magazine firmly in my little son’s hand, when we
suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a 12-strong gang of hooded youths who were
chasing a girl who looked no older than 14.
One grabbed her and started battering her with an umbrella, but she managed to get away.
Then the youths gave chase, throwing bottles and shouting obscenities. It looked as though
they meant to kill her.
As members of a rival gang appeared from nowhere, bottles rained down all around us.
When one ricocheted off the pram canopy — waking my one-year-old with a start — I froze.
A bottle skimmed Zach’s head, missing him by millimetres,
glass smashing around his feet - later I found shards in his
shoes
As a journalist, I’d devoted years to infiltrating London’s violent teenage gangs, and filmed
two TV documentaries on the subject. Slowly gaining their confidence, I got close to several
of the hardest gang members, entering drug dealer-controlled ‘no-go’ zones where even the
police wouldn’t venture.
I’d wanted to understand what triggered their anti-social behaviour and to help them
articulate their feelings without resorting to violence. But as a mother of three vulnerable
children terrified by this pack of youths, my overwhelming instinct was to protect my
offspring.
Grabbing my sons and frantically pushing the pram with one hand, I rushed to get them
home as quickly as possible. Then to my horror, Zach broke free of my grip and blindly ran
back into what was now a full-on turf war.
he’d dropped his magazine, which had been trampled underfoot, its pages scattered across
the pavement. Oblivious to the mayhem, he attempted to gather it up as tears rolled down
his cheeks.
Terrified for him, I pulled the pram and my five-year-old back towards where Zach now stood
rooted to the spot as more gang members came tearing up a side street.
I heard myself scream as a bottle skimmed Zach’s head, missing him by millimetres, glass
smashing around his feet — later I found shards in his shoes. Then I did something I never
thought I’d do: I ran, clutching my terrified children. In my panic, I lost control of the pram
which swerved precariously and almost overturned twice.
Our cakes spilled out over the pavement. It was the wrong thing to do, of course. I’d drawn
attention to my fleeing family, and a splinter group gave chase after us, calling out ‘get the
whities’. Seeing this terrifying drama unfold before them, passers-by and locals sped up
steps, pounded on front doors or sought protection in porches.
We reached our home and I released my screaming baby from his pram, which I left
abandoned with our bags outside, and practically threw my boys inside the front door,
locking it behind us — my legs had turned to jelly and breathlessness and searing chest pain
convinced me I was having a heart attack.
Last summer, a young mother was shot at just two blocks
from our home, while holding her young baby...
I called the police, but other than recalling the fear etched in the features of the young girl
who was being hunted down like a dog — her repeated, helpless yells of ‘I don’t have it, I
don’t have it’, echoing round my head — I realised that I was a useless witness.
I was unable to give a description of any one of the perpetrators. My focus had been fixed
firmly on my children. In the safety of our home, I was still trembling as I picked tiny glass
fragments out of Zach’s socks and tried to calm my three sobbing boys. I could only thank
God that none of us had been seriously hurt.
If those youths had been carrying knives or guns, the outcome could have been so much
worse. Recently, the Metropolitan Police has announced a crackdown on London’s gangs —
and it has come not a minute too soon.
Police estimate that almost 5,000 people are involved in 250 gangs in the capital.
This pernicious gang culture is embedding itself into all of Britain’s major cities. It exposes
our children not just to danger but to a distorted view of young adulthood that is more like the
crime-ridden pockets in New York’s notorious Bronx neighbourhood. In recent years, there
has been a spate of stabbings within a half-mile radius of our home in Maida Vale. A 14-
year-old pupil from our local secondary school died of a stab wound to his neck.
Another pupil at the same school was stabbed four times in the stomach in the street just
opposite ours. Then, last summer, a young mother was shot at just two blocks from our
home, while holding her young baby. However, bottles seem to be the weapon of choice for
many of these thugs — ‘bottling’ a person carries a lesser sentence than a knife attack.
Ironically, we moved to this area six years ago because it seemed safer than our previous
address in West London where my husband was knocked unconscious and had his jaw
shattered in a vicious, unprovoked assault by youths. But now it seems nowhere in our cities
is immune to the gang rivalry spilling over from neighbouring districts.
Our street no longer feels safe — groups of hooded, spliff-smoking youths patrol the
pavements as though they own them. Just weeks ago, when late for school pick-up, I
challenged a group of teenagers to make way for my pram, asking them if they really
expected me to push my child into the busy road.
They turned on me, becoming verbally abusive and threatening. Determined not to be a
victim for a second time, I pushed my way through them. And then a bottle was thrown in my
direction — it smashed into a parked car nearby.
Now, when my children are with me, I’ve decided such bravado is foolhardy. If I see a group
of youths in our street, we circle the block before approaching our flat, or go to a nearby
restaurant and call my husband to come and collect us. There is not a night that I don’t hear
a siren close by.
More than once I have awoken to see the end of our road cordoned off by police after yet
another gang-related crime. A year on, my two elder sons still have nightmares. Our walk
home from school is once again filled with laughter and stories, but as we turn into our
street, one of the boys will usually ask: ‘Are the baddies here today, Mummy?’
We’ve now decided to move out to the countryside, albeit close enough to the city so that the
boys can still go to the same excellent schools. But thousands of other families don’t have
that choice. I just hope the police crackdown will enable them to finally sleep soundly in their
beds.
Since 2012 there has been no noticeable improvement in the appalling crime rate in London
Wiki is one source
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crime_in_London
