The Words of Danny Kemp.

Danny Kemp
When I was nineteen years of age I graduated to become a fully fledged Metropolitan Police Constable, prior to that I was merely playing at it by being a Cadet. During the two and a bit years I spent in the junior ranks as an understudy to the real thing, I enjoyed adventures and pastimes many would envy. I went Rock Climbing in North Wales, Orienteering for two days across The Brechin Beacons with nothing except a compass, a map and two bars of chocolate. I took part in the Devizes to Westminster Canoe Race and jumped willingly into every brawl or domestic disturbance that I could possibly find. I also, when time allowed, played Rugby and cricket, seeming every day. At nineteen that excitement changed. The very first week after exchanging the flat blue banded cap into the ‘Bobby’s Helmet’ I was posted, with hundreds of other’s, to protect the American Embassy against Anti- Vietnam War protesters. There in Grosvenor Square I had a sudden wake up. Marbles and darts were thrown at us with no redress to retaliation or protection other than the normal, everyday uniform that we wore and the occasional sortie into the throng to arrest ring-leaders. Today I drove passed the American Embassy and although those days in the late ’60 were horrendous, the sight of the necessary machine pistoled Police officers on the streets is worse. The world takes a long time to improve, and an even longer time to rid itself of zealots who think nothing of anything but themselves in their continued pursuit of violence to effect change.


About Danny Kemp

I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones. I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start. I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it. Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem. It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write. My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did. The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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