The Journey

Lyn Haworth

1982

The 5th of January, 1982: I had just been told that Id been recommended for CID; the first step on my path toward joining the Scottish Crime Squad! The shift had been busy and wet. Very wet, but the rain had turned to ice and my lock was frozen. My colleagues were all getting into their cars and heading home, the car park momentarily resembling a Grand Prix starting grid. I struggle with my key and curse under my breath. Then my knight in shining armour (well, his weathered police uniform) comes to my aid and, with the help of his cigarette lighter, defrosts my lock. Well thank you kind sir! Little did he (or I) know what the consequences of his gallant actions would be. I get the engine running and the heater on full before tackling the defrosting job that everyone used to love to hate; trusty de-icer aerosol in one hand and my warrant card in the other (an invaluable ice-scraper) and soon Im ready to roll.

I set off homewards, south on the A77 in my Morris Marina, with Cat Stevens singing Baby, baby, its a wild world and how right he was.

Suddenly my car slews uncontrollably and everything s-l-o-w-s down. Spinning in slow motion, like a crazy carousel and then a collision of catastrophic proportions knocks the wind, and almost the last breath, out of me. Life flashing in front of me? No! Just one word, in neon lights, beginning with F and ending with an enormous kicking K... ... (continues)