In England during the 1940s, I used my dad’s shotgun to shoot rabbits, both to eat and sell to the butcher, as meat was still rationed.
In 1950, on turning 18, I decided a .22 rifle would be better. So the gun shop told me I needed a permit from the police station. I was asked where I would use the gun, how much ammunition I would buy in a year, how much I would have on me at any time.
There were other questions, too, but I finally got my permit. Hearing what is happening below the border, I find it mind-boggling that an 18-year-old can buy two assault rifles as easily as buying a coffee pot.
Now I hear there have been 16 more shootings since the murder of innocent children and teachers in Texas. It appears there is only one cure to this sickness, elect those who will bring the changes so desperately needed and get rid of those who refuse to face reality.
No way I could shoot a rabbit now.
David Gibbs, Surrey