Punched into pieces then made a prisoner
Belinda Price, 53, from Welwyn Garden City, was attacked while having a cuppa – and is now a prisoner in her home.
Popping his head out of my handbag, little Cookie looked at the scenery.
‘We’re almost there,’i said, soothingly. It was a sunny, lazy bank holiday Monday last August.
Me and Cookie, my new Chiweenie puppy – a cross between a Chihuahua and a dachshund – were driving to see Patrick, an old family friend.
He lived a few streets away with his partner and son and I was looking forward to catching up with him.
‘Come in!’patrick beamed, as we arrived.
His son was upstairs in his room with his girlfriend.
Patrick and I wandered into the kitchen, but just as we sat down for a cuppa, there was a knock at the door.
Rolling his eyes, Patrick went off to see who it was. Alone in the kitchen, I fussed over Cookie, who was still in my bag.
I thought it was strange I couldn’t hear anything from the front door, but I figured they’d stepped outside.
In a blink of an eye, a young man flew through the kitchen. What the?!
A complete stranger had burst into the house.
Before I could react, I saw a flash of metal smash into my face. Shock numbed any pain. But I heard a sickening crunch as the bones in my face shattered.
Somehow, I stopped myself falling over. I had no idea who this man was, or why he’d attacked.
And, whatever it was he’d hit me with, it was vicious.
Then my adrenaline kicked in. It was fight or flight… So, gathering all my strength, I flung myself out the kitchen door and ran through the back garden until I found a hole in the fence.
Cramming myself into the tiny gap, I lay low behind a bush, absolutely terrified.
Cookie was still in the bag slung over my shoulder. Thank God! I thought. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone hurting him. I’d bought Cookie after losing my dad, to help me get through
the grief. ‘Don’t worry, darling, I’ll keep you safe,’i said, stroking his frightened face with shaking hands. I worried for Patrick, too. What was my attacker doing to him in the house?
I didn’t have a phone to call the police and for 20 minutes, I didn’t dare move.
But then I heard Patrick’s son scream out – he’d found his dad lying unconscious.
Realising the men had gone, I staggered back inside.
Patrick’s poor son was in shock – leaning over his dad who’d been knocked out cold. What was all that about? I thought, confused. Who were those men? It’d all
happened so fast.
Soon, the house was in total chaos, with paramedics and police swarming everywhere. I gave a statement to the police. But then… ‘Have you seen your face?’ someone gasped. I shook my head. But I could feel a throbbing on the side of my face.
‘You do know he was using a knuckle duster… ?’she added. But aren’t knuckle dusters
illegal? I thought. The woman gave me her phone so I could use the camera to look at my face. I felt sick with horror. I was taken to Lister Hospital and Cookie stayed with my son.
But as I waited to be seen by a doctor, I collapsed.
I began vomiting dark red blood and was rushed for a CT scan, then transferred to Luton and Dunstable Hospital for surgery.
‘The bones in your face are shattered,’a doctor said.
My left cheek was fractured in three places, and I had a broken nose and left eye socket.
During a five-hour op, surgeons put four metal plates in my face to hold it together. I came round in agony. Leaving the hospital 24 hours later, I was in shock.
My face looked awful – like I’d been thrown through a windscreen. The kids didn’t recognise me. Taking Cookie out for a walk, I hid my face with a baseball cap.
Patrick had a really bad cut to his mouth and had also needed to go to the hospital.
Luckily, his son and girlfriend had only suffered minor injuries.
The police told me that two men had been arrested, but it hardly made me feel better.
My recovery was slow – I was in agony.
But the emotional trauma was even worse.
I could barely sleep or eat anything.
I became a recluse, too – afraid to leave the house.
‘I feel like a prisoner in my own home,’i sobbed to my daughter.
At least I had little Cookie to keep me company.
This March, the two attackers – Charlie Temple, 25, and Nicky Sandwell, 26 –
My face had to be rebuilt with metal
both appeared at St Albans Crown Court.
The court heard that Temple and Sandwell had been drinking heavily that day.
It turned out that Temple had fallen out with Patrick’s son a few weeks earlier.
The pair had shown up out of the blue and asked Patrick for tissues for a cut on Temple’s right arm. Patrick obliged. But moments later, Patrick was grabbed in a headlock, punched in the face and kneed in the head.
After a flurry of kicks and punches, Patrick had fallen unconscious.
Then, while Sandwell raced in to the kitchen and attacked me with his brass knuckle duster, Temple went upstairs.
He smashed down the bathroom door where Patrick’s son and girlfriend were hiding.
He punched him in the face, and
shoved his girlfriend in the bathtub. Then Temple swiped a £20 note from Patrick’s bedroom and the pair fled. Sickening. All this over £20 and a bit of petty revenge? Temple pleaded guilty to grievous bodily harm, burglary and two counts of common assault. Sandwell admitted wounding Patrick with intent and also to inflicting grievous bodily harm on me. I was relieved that they’d both pleaded guilty.
Justice will be served, I thought. But then Temple, who’d been out on licence, was jailed for 27 months. And Sandwell? A measly 18 months. ‘I can’t believe it!’i sobbed. He’d beaten me – an innocent stranger – to a pulp with a knuckle duster.
A vicious, illegal weapon designed purely to inflict maximum damage on people.
He’d left me with lifelong facial injuries, traumatised.
I’ve lost all feeling in the left side of my face, and have permanent double version.
Yet Sandwell will probably spend just nine months banged up for it. I’m more of a prisoner than he is. I haven’t been able to return to my job as a makeup artist.
And I’m too scared to leave the house, constantly looking over my shoulder in fear.
I feel like the system has let me down in the worst way.
It’s just not right.