Thursday 28th March 1991   Lunchtime 13:07

My Dad must have ducked into the newsagent’s at exactly the same second that Mrs Eleri Goldman collapsed. He had picked up The Times and was so intent on the front page that he heard nothing of the commotion outside; cars skidding, passers-by crying for help and Sally Goldman crying uncontrollably. It was only when Alun Warne came running in, shouted his name and grabbed him by the arm that he became aware that there was a serious emergency taking place behind him.

My Dad has never liked performing in public and I don’t think he could have imagined anything worse than having to run out to attend an unconscious patient lying in the middle of the high street. The traffic in both directions had been stopped and a large audience of people including a coach load of American tourists, who were visiting Portmere for the day, had already gathered.

He seemed to stand there for ages as if he wasn’t sure what to do. Then he quickly knelt down and checked the pulse in Mrs Goldman’s neck, took off her glasses and removed her false teeth. He made a fist and thumped her firmly in the centre of the chest. The crowd gasped. He checked her carotid pulse again, shook his head and started surprisingly professional looking cardiac massage.

Mrs Eleri Goldman.
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