EXCLUSIVE: After an off-duty police officer mistook me for an armed robber and punched me in the face, I was left bloodied, barefoot and bruised – but now I say thank you
After years of studying, travelling and drifting between jobs, I finally started work as a trainee lawyer on Monday, August 15, 2005.
The first day in the office went well. That evening, full of pride, I drove to Manchester Piccadilly Station to collect my girlfriend – now my wife.
I parked opposite the station, close to the taxi rank. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, I hardly looked the part of a lawyer.
Keen to arrive punctually, I jogged across the road towards the station entrance. As I did, a car pulled up and a large man stepped out.
Rather than heading for the station doors, he came straight at me. As a streetwise Mancunian, I immediately sensed danger, reports the Express.
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As our paths crossed, he knocked me to the ground and thrust his fist in my face. It was like a scene from a film.
“You’re under arrest,” he said.
Shocked, heart pounding, I gasped: “What for? Where’s your ID? Where’s your ID?”.
He gave no answer.
“I’m going to put you in a van,” he told me. Threateningly, he kept scanning up and down the street.
I drew the only conclusion possible: I was being kidnapped. I offered him my wallet, phone, car keys – anything – but he refused.
My terror intensified.
‘Barefoot and bloodied’
I had no choice but to fight. Somehow, I managed to wrestle him off me, losing my shoes, wallet, phone, keys and chain in the struggle.
Barefoot and bloodied, I sprinted down the street shouting: “Help! Call the police!” But Manchester on a Monday night at 11pm was deserted. I quickly took cover under a lengthy bridge, seeking refuge in a shadowy nook.
When the coast seemed clear, I bolted again until I stumbled upon two Royal Mail employees tidying up their vans. Panting heavily, barefoot and smeared with blood, I pleaded with them to ring the police.
They obliged.
Almost instantly, an unmarked car carrying two officers pulled up. After verifying their identification, I relayed my harrowing tale.
They concurred that it bore the hallmarks of a potential abduction. They radioed their base and escorted me back towards the scene to hunt for my assailant.
Attacker found
Shortly after, we crossed paths with a marked patrol vehicle. Inside were two officers who had just taken into custody a man in his twenties – of similar build to myself.
Nearby was my girlfriend. The officers conferred with their colleagues and then revealed to me the shocking truth.
There had been an armed raid at a local Sainsbury’s and the man who had assaulted me was an off-duty British Transport Police officer. He had mistaken me for the thief.
By midnight, my family had arrived to pick up my girlfriend. I insisted that the officer return to justify his actions.
He had already left for home – despite leaving me battered, without shoes and bereft of my belongings. When he returned, in the presence of his superior officer, he maintained that he had acted in support of his colleagues.
When I questioned why he had declined to show his ID, he denied that I had even asked for it. Why else, I countered, would I have attempted to hand over my possessions?
Work the next day
On my second day as a lawyer, I arrived at work bruised, dazed and exhausted. Despite the ordeal, I didn’t sue; my injuries healed in a few weeks.
Instead, I contacted a senior British Transport Police officer who apologised unreservedly. I decided to let it go, considering the man who assaulted me believed I was armed.
However, mentally, I was altered. For two years, living just five minutes from Piccadilly Station, I developed an increasing sense of claustrophobia.
Indoors, I was fine, but outdoors, I felt anxious and suffocated, constantly fearful of nothing specific.
One weekend, alone in my flat, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably – something I had never experienced before or since. It was then that I knew I needed to take action.
Feeling ashamed, I sought help privately. As a lawyer, my mind was my tool, and I couldn’t allow it to be broken.
My GP referred me to a private Consultant Psychologist, whom I paid in cash to avoid any record on my bank statement.
The session was costly but crucial. I don’t recall much of it, except for the diagnosis of anxiety – possibly PTSD.
I believe it was my first encounter with Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. After the session, I felt almost rewired.
Reflecting on the past, I realise how the attack influenced my decisions. I completed my legal training in Manchester, but turned down offers to stay.
Instead, I relocated to Harrogate – a spa town known for its low crime rate. Despite my love for Manchester, I knew it was time to move on.
Life took a turn – for the better
Fast forward a few years, and I found myself specialising in claims related to assaults at work. Although my personal experience wasn’t work-related, I could deeply empathise with my clients.
I represented nurses who were attacked by patients, security guards involved in robberies, carers assaulted by residents, teaching assistants hit by students, and social workers abused by parents.
The most significant injuries were psychological, not physical. I understood that.
My own trauma gave me an advantage – and the confidence to establish my own law firm, Truth Legal, dedicated to assault claims.
Over time, I grew to admire the courage of my clients. They openly discussed their struggles and pursued claims not for financial gain, but to protect others by enforcing change.
That police officer, without realising it, became the catalyst for my career. His assault transformed my life.
Thanks to him, I have been able to assist hundreds of victims of violence.
Cheers, mate.