Take It Easy November 1 2009

SON BATTERED TO DEATH WITH A BROOM

Sarah Brown told her devastating story about her beloved son Marc being battered to death with a broom. In March 2009, baby-faced assassin Shane Penfold was sentenced to a minimum of 13 years for his brutal murder. Sarahs moving account told of this horrific experience and her struggle to come to terms with her grief.

As I slowly opened my eyes I breathed in deeply.

The smell of fresh coffee and eggs on toast wafted through my bedroom as I yawned sleepily and swung my feet into my slippers.

“Hiya mum,” my son Marc, 23, said as I padded into the kitchen.

He plonked a plate down in front of me with a wink.

“Thought you might be hungry,” he said pouring me a cup of steaming tea.

He was such a good boy and I never took him for granted.

He’d always been a great child and a perfect role model to his brother James, 22, who idolised him.

He helped me take care of James when they were younger, even helping out with his baby feeds.

When I had lost his father in 1996, Marc had been my tower of strength. Even though he had also lost a dad, he’d stepped up to his new role as man of the family and I couldn’t have coped without him.

He’d grown into a popular and responsible young man, working at a local OAP retirement home.

The residents loved him as he took a special interest in the diabetics, developing a new menu so they didn’t feel left out when the others had cake and treats.

It was great for me too as he often tried out his meal ideas at home.

As I bit hungrily into the perfectly boiled eggs and buttered toast Marc started talking about a party he had planned for that evening.

It was August 2008 and his friend’s birthday at a pub near our house in Deal , Kent .

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said as he cleared away our breakfast pots.

I kissed him on the cheek as he left the house. “Have a great time,” I told him as the front door banged shut after him.

That afternoon, Marc rang a couple of times to check in with me before heading off to the party.

That night as I read my book in bed, I had an uneasy feeling.

Looking at the phone receiver next to my bed I deliberated over calling him.

Don’t be silly, I told myself. He’s a young man having a good time.

I switched out the light and drifted off to sleep.

The following morning there was no telltale smell of breakfast and when I glanced through Marc’s open bedroom door his bed hadn’t been slept in.

Not like him not to phone, I thought. He must have stayed at his friend’s house.

As I got dressed, I still couldn’t shake the feeling something wasn’t right.

At nine am the telephone trilled through the eerie silence in the house.

“Mrs Sarah Brown, mother of Marc Brown?” The voice on the end of line asked.

“Yes,” I said, my heart hammering against my chest.

“I’m afraid your son’s been attacked, he’s in with us at ? Hospital.”

I dropped the phone and grabbed my keys.

Please be ok, I repeated over to myself as I got in the car.

I went to pick up James’ wife Leanne and sped through the streets to see Marc.

When we arrived Marc was linked up to a number of machines.

“Is he going to be ok?” I asked doctors as tears flooded down my cheeks.

I listened as police and doctors explained Marc had been attacked on his way home from the party.

He had been beaten about the head and had suffered massive injuries.

Later that day, as I tried to digest the information, a surgeon came to see me.

“Mrs Brown it’s worse than we thought,” he said tentatively. “Your son’s skull is fractured. He is being transferred to London ’s ? Hospital for emergency surgery.”

I went to pick up James from Tunbridge where he was stationed with the army, and we followed Marc to the hospital.

The next few days were a blur. Doctors explained the surgery had uncovered deep skull fractures.

Over the next six days I sat by Marc’s bedside from morning until night.

“Please wake up son, please wake up,” I willed as I gripped his hand.

But somewhere deep down I knew. That body in front of me wasn’t my Marc.

He wasn’t there anymore.

When doctors said all hope had gone, I already knew.

We stood around his bedside as the life support machine was turned off. As the jagged line slowed and eventually became straight, tears streamed down my face.

“Good night son,” I whispered.

Over the following months we struggled to come to terms with our grief.

Every day I went and sat in his bedroom and tried to recall his bright smile and cheeky wink.

How had this happened?

Finally details began to emerge. A local lad Shane Penfold, just 18, had been arrested and charged with murder.

Police told us he had followed Marc from the party. Marc had hidden in some bushes but Penfold had found him and battered him with a wooden broom.

Marc had still been conscious when a passerby had called an ambulance.

A few minutes of mindless violence had taken my son away forever.

But to add insult to injury, Penfold was denying the murder.

We were going to be forced to sit through a trial.

Finally in December last year we were able to bury Marc following numerous autopsies.

Thousands of people turned out for Marc as we played How to Save a Life, Run and Hero during the service.

It started to sink in. My wonderful lad was gone and I would never see him get married, have children or fulfil his dream of having his own restaurant.

As we faced the trial in March this year the police asked me to put together a piece for the judge about how this crime had affected my life, a Victim Impact Statement.

One evening I sat down and, taking a deep breath, I put pen to paper.

“What gives someone the right to be able to take someone else’s life?” I wrote.
“I have nightmares over and over again, I see Marc running from his attacker.
“I feel so angry that I was not there to hold Marc and to comfort him when he was in pain.

“I was not able to say goodbye to Marc and that is my deepest regret.
“I find it so difficult to carry on with my life now, I still don’t even believe this has happened.
“I feel so empty and lost. I am trying to support my youngest son – he is devastated – but I find it hard to know what to say to him.
“There are so many people that love and miss him, myself and his brother and sister, all the family and friends, close and distant, we all just want him back.”

As I sealed the envelope I hoped I had done enough to convey what we’d gone through.

In March this year we crowded into Maidstone Crown Court to sit through the trial.

Shocking facts emerged.

Not only had Penfold battered my son with the broom, he had then gone into work the following moring and bragged about it.

He had grabbed a broom and swung it, boasting about what he had done to my Marc.

One witness said Penfold had swung the broom into his head like an axe.

I wept in court as a tape was played of the 999 Emergency call.

Marc was in the background. “I just want to go home,” he was saying.

It broke my heart.

Finally a verdict came in. As the foreman of the jury stood up I gripped James’ and Leanne’s hands. Please, I prayed silently.

My legs buckled with relief as they found him guilty of murder and perverting the course of justice.

Sentencing him to 13 years minimum, Judge Andrew Patience QC told Penfold: "You thought nothing of Marc Brown but left him, as we now know, grievously injured and thought only of yourself.

"You left the scene and subsequently boasted and demonstrated to others what you had done.”

As Penfold was taken down to the cells I felt that finally justice had been done.

In the months since the court case we have tried to return to normal.

But life without Marc is so hard.

I have just started going round local schools to try to get the message out to young people.

I want them to know that when they attack someone like this, they might not just hurt them.

They might actually kill them and leave in their wake grief, devastation and destroy families and their future.

I am hoping that when they hear it from me they will sit up and take notice.

If I can prevent one more crime, one more person’s life ending at just 23 years old then maybe I’ll be able to sleep at night.

Then my boy’s death won’t have been in vain.