Please tell us a little about yourself
I am a retired police officer, having retired early at the age of 36 years having served for over 17 years. I am married to Ruth, a nurse, and we have two grown up children - Clare, aged 26, who lives in Bristol and Barry, aged 23, who also lives in the Denbigh area. I am keen on family tree studies, Torquay pottery and my freemasonry, which I particularly enjoy.

What's your story about?
Being one of 'The Thin Blue Line' on Monday June 18 1984 at a violent mining dispute confrontation called since 'The Battle of Orgreave'.

Why did you choose this particular story?
A part of the history of this country, in which I played a small part.

Transcript: With over 24 hours since my last second of sleep, I walked along the outskirts of a village in South Yorkshire, feeling physically and mentally shattered. I was a policeman from North Wales, aged 27, and I had somehow become totally separated from the rest of my unit.

It was Monday the 18th of June, 1984, weather-wise a glorious sunny summer's day, but history-wise it had been the infamous Battle of Orgreave. Silence reigned now but the debris strewn roadway bore testament to the violence which had taken place earlier, like a medieval pitched battle.

As part of a 'thin blue line' at the bottom gate of the Orgreave coking plant I had briefly feared for my life as a mass of angry, weapon-wielding pickets had advanced towards us. I was without a proper riot shield or helmet and felt naked to the attack, but a shout of 'Break ranks' came from behind us and eight or nine massive, magnificent police horses burst through our line, their hooves clattering loudly on the tarmac surface. With their baton waving riders they went straight at the pickets. It was their turn now to feel fear and we gave chase on foot.

In disbelief I watched as five or six pickets removed a large drain cover and attempted to force one of my saviour horses towards the gaping hole by shouting and waving their arms. Then, almost in slow motion, one of the pickets only a few feet from me punched this horse in its face which was protected by hard plastic eye-shields. Its rider pulled the reins sharply to the right causing the horse to butt the man. His face burst out with blood and he turned to me to complain angrily that he had been assaulted, as though I were some sort of impartial referee. I shouted back that he had got what he deserved and he staggered away swearing.

As one of Maggie's boys on this surreal day I had witnessed so much violence and felt many conflicting emotions. But in the years since one emotion has come to the fore and it's a feeling bordering on shame. I was just one of the policemen present that day doing my job, but then again the pickets were only trying to safeguard theirs. I had played a small, ignoble part in the decimation of the mining industry.