I was 7 years old in 1984, when I first saw my father cry.
I didn’t have a clue what was going on, all I knew was my father never cried, something very bad had happened.
We had very little money, we had one annual holiday for all the family and relatives—usually to the seaside—which was the highlight of my childhood.
But from that year on, out holiday was a day out to Central London to protest against the 1984 attack.
My Father said the British will help us, they always listen to victims.
He died believing that.
I am glad he never got to know the truth…