On this day, 50 years ago, late on a Friday night in downtown Birmingham, UK, my dad and I were coming out of the AGM of our fishing club.
Stepping out into the normally bustling Friday night city streets, we wondered why everything seemed so quiet. There was hardly any traffic and small groups of people were huddled on street corners, talking together quietly but intently. It was very strange.
Dad asked someone, “What’s going on?”
The reply: “Kennedy’s been shot”.