Arriving in Glossop by train is usually uneventful.
That day, Monday the 14th of May 2018, I will remember for ever. For all the wrong reasons.
It was a black day for humanity.
A little boy was beaten to the ground with such hatred and aggression in front of many many eyes. Eyes that looked the other way, eyes that walked away, eyes that didn’t intervene to help a little boy that could be any of our own children, could be any of us.
Beaten to the ground by three bigger boys. By three complete strangers who vented their anger and aggression towards a little boy. Without reason. Just because they could.
They were ruthless. Wild. They kicked, punched and pushed the little boy with such hatred. I had never seen anything like this before.
Every hit, hit me too, in my heart.
Nobody should be treated like this. NOBODY.
This was such a violent demonstration of power and abuse.
I was ashamed to be a human being.
I was ashamed that nobody stopped to help.
I tried. I was in between the gang while also searching with my eyes for help. Hope was dying. Hope for the vulnerable little boy was dying.
The little boy was on the ground. He didn’t move.
Then another lady rushed over and another one came too.
The attackers run away.
They were gone in seconds.
A black day…