Anne Palmer shows scant respect for her husband's attempt to defuse a suspect parcel... During the early seventies in the time of the parcel bomb scares, a parcel arrived at our home addressed to our nine-year-old daughter Julie.
After depositing it in the garden, I 'phoned my husband at work and suggested he might like to come home NOW and have a look at it.
On arrival, he inspected the parcel, circling around it and muttering under his breath, I caught some words including what sounded like "hysterical women..."
Anyway, he taped a stanley knife to a broom handle, donned his hard hat, a pair of industrial gloves, and propped up the metal dustbin lid as a shield. By this time my anxiety had been overtaken by the absurb sight before me and I began a fit of the giggles. After telling me to "pull yourself together and wish me luck", he gingerly approached the parcel and began to slit it open using his adapted weapon.
I retreated to a suitable distance, still choking back the laughter. Picture the scene; a modern day Don Quixote with his armour and spear going into battle with a parcel the size of small book!
Anyway, after a while it was opened safely - no explosion. What was it? Well, twelve months before, Julie had managed to pass her four mile endurance swimming test and here was the medal finally arriving.
