Friday 19 August 2022 10:07 PM Wife shares her hunger for retribution after her husband was attacked and left ... trends now

Annie Willson's mood oscillates between anger and conciliation. She is torn between a desire for vengeance and a hope that one day she will be able to forgive.

When she thinks about the three young thugs who inflicted catastrophic brain injuries on her husband Alan — a man she describes as 'gentle, kind and so very loved' — she is conflicted. Alan has been unable to speak since he was bludgeoned repeatedly on the head with a log in April 2021 after rushing to defend his young son from bullies.

His unarticulated thoughts find no outlet other than tears. He has lost the sight in one eye; his teeth have been knocked out, his gait is unsteady and his brain is constantly fogged. He will never work again. Annie, too, is imprisoned by her husband's incapacity: he needs round-the-clock care.

This week, as the country collectively reeled in shock when an 87-year-old man on a mobility scooter was fatally stabbed, the Willsons' story is a salutary reminder of the far-reaching effects — to both victims and their families — of the epidemic of violence on our streets.

Incredibly, one of Alan's assailants, Harry Furlong, 18, found guilty of inflicting grievous bodily harm without intent this June, could be free from prison at the end of the month after serving just two months of a 20-month sentence.

'I'm so angry,' says Annie. 'Harry will just get on with his life and I want him to imagine what he would feel if the injuries he inflicted on Alan had happened to someone he absolutely worshipped.

'I intend to be the first person he sees when he is released. I will be at the prison gates waiting for him. I'll say to him, 'I'd like you to come and see Alan; see what he endures — what we all endure — every day.' If his response is, 'I'm deeply sorry'; if he wrote me a letter, even asked 'How is your husband? How are your family?' and was genuinely remorseful, I could forgive him.'

Annie reserves the full force of her fury for the two younger assailants, brothers Archie and George Tilley who were just 14 and 13 when they beat Alan with such savagery that he suffered four traumatic brain injuries and came within a hair's breadth of dying. The brutal assault happened in a quiet suburban park in Worthing, West Sussex, on Easter Sunday last year. Alan, who had worked as an electronic cable builder before becoming a carer during the pandemic, spent more than three months in hospital.

Having cared for others, there is an awful irony in the fact that he now needs constant care himself.

The Tilley brothers, both classified as dangerous offenders, were given 12-year sentences to include a maximum of nine years in custody. Both were found guilty of inflicting grievous bodily harm with intent.

Judge Christine Henson, sentencing them at Hove Crown Court in June, said it was 'in the interests of justice' to lift restrictions and name them, even though they are juveniles.

'These boys had a string of 32 previous offences between them, for violent attacks,' says Annie. 'They attacked children, a teacher; support workers. One victim was a 12-year-old boy.

'It's shocking and terrifying. And yet they never faced more severe punishment than fines.

'People ask me, 'What would you like to do to the Tilleys?' and, in my lowest moments, I think, 'I'd cut out their tongues and blind them in one eye,' because that is, in effect, what they did to Alan. But that would make me as bad as they are — and I'm not.'

Her hope is to bring in new legislation called Alan's Law which would permit the public naming of all dangerous juvenile criminals. At present, only a judge can decide if their identities should be revealed.

'Why should violent offenders be protected by anonymity just because they are under 18? The public need to be safeguarded. They have a right to know who these dangerous law-breakers are, so they can avoid them.

'If they are already known to the police, they should be held in custody while on remand for serious violent offences,' she says. George and Archie Tilley, however, were allowed to pursue their reign of terror unchecked, and, even after they were charged with unspeakable violence against Alan, they — along with Harry Furlong — retained their freedom while on remand.

So a flawed criminal justice system heaped more inequity on the Willson family, who lived in fear of reprisals while the thugs remained at large.

'We were trapped in our home, scared to go out. The whole family was imprisoned,' says Annie. 'Our [then] 11-year-old son couldn't leave the house without an adult. Our back gate led to the woods where Alan was attacked. From the front of our house we could see where the Tilleys lived. We felt under siege. In the end, we were hounded out of our own home.'

The Willsons have now moved from the house, replete with so many awful memories, and it is one of the many cruel paradoxes of their tragedy that they had relocated to Worthing from London in 2016, in search of a better life for their children.

'We thought there would be much less violence in Worthing than London. We had a vision of fresh sea air and peace; a good life for the kids.'

Annie, 51, has three children from previous marriages. She and Alan, 47, together for 15 years, have been married for a decade and have one adored son between them, Alan's only child. It was he whom Alan was protecting when he was so savagely attacked. Annie is a warm woman; articulate, thoughtful. She describes the man Alan once was: 'Very tactile, loving, full of 'I love yous'. He walked with a bounce and was so full of life and energy. He was softly-spoken, kind.

'He'd always be there for you, rain or shine. If he saw someone struggling he'd always help, whether it was fixing a kid's bike or reaching for a tin of beans for an old lady in the supermarket.

'And he treated all the kids as his own. He'd always say to my three, 'If anything happens to your mum, don't forget, you're all my children.' '

Annie

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