This was our second home in Liverpool, in the UK. We were here for several years and in that time our home was constantly attacked- sometimes several times a week. We were viciously assaulted and suffered terribly in the hands of the Liverpool racists. There was no escape- even our neighbour’s would attack us.
There was no respite. I and my brothers would take turns of peace on the night watch at the bay window (pictured bottom of page)- waiting for the attacks to begin. We had a long string running down the stairs to a bunch of keys- when the gangs came, whoever was on that watch would pull and the keys would drop to the floor alerting the rest of our family to take cover- our hearts would pound as we waiting for the sound of breaking glass as all the windows came in- the house would be attacked with bricks and bottles and our only defense was to throw whatever we had from the bedroom window at them in the street below- they would come armed with bottles, bricks and whatever else they could manage. Sometimes there would only be two of them but on many occasions they would come in force in a mob of as many as twenty or thirty, both young and old.
My father would barricade the front door to stop them coming into our home. Calling the Police was futile- they would hardly ever attend and when they did they would threaten to arrest my father because he would lose his temper and shout at the Police for doing nothing.