#poor dhani

[tommyheavyshield]

The fact that they all were lined up blindfolded and with earplugs was Ivy’s perfect cover.  It was a way for her to stretch her muscles without anyone seeing her face, a way to be discreet and really induce some fear, with minimal repercussions.  It had been quite a long time since she really let all her powers loose, and this was the perfect playground.  One simple touch was all that was needed.  

It was like window-shopping down the quad.  Anyone with blindfolds off were ones she kept her distance from, keeping herself hidden behind other masters or even those poor souls chained up in public.  Finally she found her mark, keeping herself quiet in her flat Converse shoes, and realizing - she was pretty hungry.  Sizing up her next victim, she raised her hand so quickly to backhand them across their cheek.  Establishing touch immediately, and no doubt a shock to the senses.

Tommy’s thoughts weren’t really focused on the punishment. Or at least not on what would happen to himself. Life with Lucas had made him think that pain was good and he felt he knew it intimately and liked it. Loved it even. So his thoughts were drawn to his Master, hoping he would do him proud no matter what happened. And even more so his thoughts were drawn to Dhani. Was his friend alright? Was he safe? He tried to listen to see if he could hear him. Whatever he’d thought about his tolerance to pain went out the window as soon as the slap came. He was knocked hard sideways without any kind of warning. How had he not heard the master approaching? And more still... how had they caused so much searing, frightening pain with just one touch. Suddenly the blindfold was terrifying. He did his best to sit up again and behave the way Master Lucas would want him to behave, but there was a tremor running through his bound hands. 

@blood-redivy

[dhanilyman]

@skyler-campbell

Skyler was looking for a book. She didn’t know what book just as of yet, and she had been lost in it, when she rounded the corner and spotted Dhani scolding two naked beings that were definitely not reading in the section. She pressed her lips together, and she tried, she tried hard not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it. The giggles began to erupt from her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t funny, but…” She shook her head and as the others began to get more active in their sexual acts, as if being passive aggressive, she rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on, now,” she said. “That’s just mean. Some of us are here to actually find a book,” she said. She shook her head a little bit. “Now, go on. Wrap it up.” She paused. “Poor choice of words. Just shoo. Shoo.” She looked to Dhani. “I won’t say I’m innocent in this department, but I get it now…” she said.

The others didn’t show any signs of stopping, and she wrinkled her nose a little bit. “Do you have a spray bottle or something? Like for cats?” she laughed. “I’m sorry, I just…don’t think they’re stopping anytime soon.”

She bit her lip a little bit, and ducked her head.

“Does this happen a lot?”

...

The guy flipped Dhani the finger, but took his partner and left the section, casting a dirty but harmless look at the pair of them, mostly Skyler for backing Dhani up. Dhani shook his head, “Not into people watching, huh?”

Dhani turned his attention back to Skyler, picking up the books he’d been sorting, and moved into the formerly taken up section before putting them away. “I mean... enough to make a sign. For people to ignore. Spray bottle just chances getting the books wet. I’m a bad shot. It’s just... I mean look I don’t kiss and tell but people just get messy. When me and Daisy fool around in here, we don’t leave a mess.”

[daisyxlynch]

@mrethanvaldez:

"Generally speaking, at least when you're the one that's brightening it up," Ethan quipped as he neared the garden Daisy was wandering in. Dressed in a pair of tan slacks with white button up shirt, half unbuttoned in the warm sun, Ethan looked far too dressed up as usual for an Island resident. Sunglasses adorning his nose, a bit of light stubble clinging to his chin.

"Sorry to barge in, but saw this beautiful woman just standing in a garden and thought, I need to make sure to brighten my day and seeing her smile always helps. Whatchya gardening, love?"

He did note the small smile, and the half hearted wave, "Or am I wrong and it's on me to be brightening YOUR day for once?"

Daisy's russet head jerked up at the sound of that familiar voice. Typically it brought her nothing but joy and a wide smile. And even though it still made her happy, her emotional state at the moment caused a reaction that likely scared the pants off the poor man. Bursting into tears, she jumped up and launched herself at her dear friend, burying her face in his chest as she sobbed.

"I'm s..sorry! I'm just so happy to s..see you." The witch sputtered, hands gripping his shirt as she held on for dear life. Daisy took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, least Ethan became too umcomfortable and bolted.

"Sorry. I'm okay, really" Daisy assured him as she pulled back enough to give him his space while still keeping contact. "Dhani left. And Dakota too." She explained in a whisper, knowing she didn't need to say more than that.

@mrethanvaldez

[nityarawal]

9-9-2023

Make Peace

Not War

Kimmy (AKA Kim Kardashian (West) re: Armenia VS Azizis)

Morning Songs

Make Peace

Not War

Kimmy

Use Your Queendom

For More

Make Peace

Not War

Ask Presidents

To Be Different

Kind Of Lawyers

Make Peace

Not War 

Azizis

Armenia

Like The Gita

Warriors

Make Peace

Not War

Azizis

Like King

Reza

'Cyrus The Great'

Best Military 

Make Peace

Not War

Share

Mamma

Parenting 101

Why You Always 

So Quiet

So Pretty

No Voice

Youngest 

Sweetest

Kardashian

Muse

Mamma

Of My Heart

Why You Always

So Quiet

Letting Tabloids

AI

Tell Your Stories

Mrs Civil

Activist

News Shows Say 

What They Want

To About You

Kidnapping

Silent

Gagged

Conservatorships

Probate Dolls

Of Gluttony

Surgically

Enhanced

For Him

Not Me

Big Lips - Pleas

Said

Rolling Stones

Article

Syndicated

Online

Unread

We Can't Read

Can't Afford

Journalists

Research

Impoverished

Data Full

On Big Brothers

Phones

Silencing

Murders

Investigations

And Cars

With Dollars

For Our Heads

On ROs

Lemons

Writers Strikes

Shadowbanned

On Twitter

Facebook

Gmail

Banks

Insurance

Smeared

Politically

On Real Estate

Probate Ponzi

Schemes

I Wanted To See

Josh Radnor's

Shows On T.V

But Too Poor

On Government Stipend

And Wrongfully

Incarcerated

For 7 Years

Of Divorce Courts

Now Writers

Strike

Now A Actresses 

Strike

Whose Your Nanny

Did You Get Taylor

Swift

Puppeting

On The Black Market

Poppet Master

#FreeBritney 

"Christma-cah"

Dream Santa #FreeBritney 

Katie Perry

To Clean Your 

Airbnb

Whose The Fairy

Tale Godmother

Tonight

Acting For "Free"

In Your Bedroom

On Tax Dollars

Slavery

A Futuristic

AI

Genie

Hologram

Fantasizin'

3D

In Someone's Mind

About Us

Mamma

Was Always

Triangulated

Someone Wants To Love

Her

Hate Her

Dad Or Me

"F" Us

Hookers Thrown

At Brotherly

By Sterling Men's Group

Attys

Army

"Whose Who,"

Wants To Know

Our Stories

King Taster's

On Bid

My Novel

Twent Five Plus Years

Waiting

To Publish

"Whose Who,"

Wants Our Story

"Whose Who,"

Wants Me To Talk

"Whose Who,"

What About You

Will You Move

Your Pretty Lips

Drop The ROs

From Your Dad's

Syrupy Shows

Murderers

California

Courts

OJ Simpson

Laws To Protect

The Assassin

Brokers

What Drugs

Make You So 

Chill

Or Is It Vegan

Herbal

Smoothies

Queen's Bitters

Got You 

Glowing

Cafe Gratitude

Thanksgiving

Alexandria House

Charities

Still Waiting

For Mommy 

And Me

Dhani Harrison

Mereki

CPA Hope

Armenia

Tehrangeles

Sargeant

Perro

The Dog

He Is From

Armenia

Too

Deserves More

Than 25 Years

California Camping

A Army Soldier

Vet

We All Want Peace

We Ask

For Our Moms

Co-Parents

Globally

Don't Sell Another

Child

Daughter

Mother

Sister

Or Womb

Gracias Madres

Padres

Peace

My Love

Peace,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

(Americano Ethnicity in Nutshell: Born in Chicago:

Vedic French Italiano- Azizi- Persian Sufi Kings Taster- Scottish Buddha.) 

[priyankapanwar]

#GodKabir_Met_SantGaribdasJi

Parmeshwar Kabir Saheb Ji is introducing Himself by telling Saint Garibdas Ji that I am the Supreme God.

We are Alakh Allah, Qutub Gos and Pir.

Poor slave Khalik Dhani, our name is Kabir.

4 Days Left For Bodh Diwas

[pmak2002]

Oh my heart ❤️😭🥺

"In a way, [Dhani] Harrison’s ultimate test for the album’s success was the sob factor: He says the first time he played the remix of the opening song, 'I’d Have You Anytime,' he lost it. 'I just cried,' he says. 'My mum heard it and she cried. We thought, "OK, this is doing the job." Someone like me, I’m impervious to hearing my dad’s music; I’ve heard it so many times. I have to hear it in business situations and I can’t be sitting there crying every time. But this time I couldn’t prevent it. It was very emotional.'"

- David Browne, Massive George Harrison ‘All Things Must Pass’: Inside New Reissue

[muldoon85]

I present to you all, George and his ukuleles on the move!

[dhanilyman]

Text: Pick a couch in the lounge, strip, lay ass up and beg for whatever cock comes your way. Be polite, use master and sir, always. When spoken to, all you should say is 'please'.

It could have been worse. There was no demand for sex to actually happen this time. Just humiliation and ...Still it brought back memories of Warren. Taking him in the lounge the first time where anyone could have, and did, walk in on them. And left because Dhani was bleeding and Warren was vicious and threatening to hurt Dhani more if they interfered. He couldn’t say no, then. And not now.

Dhani made his way to the lounge and took off his briefs and shoes. He took a deep breath and laid on one of the couches. He looked at the text again and realized it didn’t even have to be a master. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it close, but he didn’t have to wait for long. The spell knew before he did, before he even saw who it was, but his voice shook all the same.

“Please, sir, I need your cock.”

[cinemaglow]

the George Harrison tribute concert from 2002 was on PBS tonight and it fucked me UP I’m legit sobbing right now I’m so sad

[pmak2002]

FACTS IM

I love how with anyone else George doesn’t rub his fame in their face, but as soon as Dhani came along he was like:

 “uh, well I was in the beatles, nerd.”

“Oh 23, well when I was 23 I made sgt peppers,”

“Nine? When I was your age I was ten,” 

[beatles-slash-fiction]

Hello! I absolutely ADORE your writing! I was hoping you could maybe write some starrison domestic fluff with Dhani being a total mummy's boy and really clinging to George? I just love Geo as a mum!

Ringo glances nervously at the clock. It’s nearly half seven.

His gaze shifts to the other end of the sofa, where Dhani is cuddled up to George, peacefully watching whatever cartoon film they’ve had on the telly for the last hour or so. If the last few nights have been anything to go by, this isn’t going to go well.

“Okay, Dhani,” Ringo says as the credits roll. “Time for bed.”

The toddler’s face pales, and he immediately clings to George.

They’re not quite sure what’s brought this behaviour on, but Dhani’s been doing this for a while now. He’s always been particularly drawn to George, but lately he’s been very clingy. He spends nearly all day following George around, and when it’s his bedtime, he refuses to be parted from his mother.

The poor kid cries and cries if George leaves him, and the last few nights they’ve had to have Dhani in their bed to calm him down.

Tonight is another one of those nights. Both Dhani and his teddy bear join them tonight, and once he’s cuddled up to George again, he’s soon sleeping happily.

“I’m starting to get worried,” George says quietly, stroking his son’s hair. “I don’t know why he’s being like this.”

“It’s probably just a phase,” Ringo says.

He’s not particularly worried; he thinks the clinginess really is a phase, but he is sad that Dhani already has a favourite at such a young age.

Ringo loves that George is so adored by their son, but he wonders if he’ll ever have that kind of closeness with Dhani.

[daisyxlynch]

xscottlandenbergx​:

Years had passed, but here he was, standing in front of a mirror at his suite. He missed his former house already but he’d make sure he’d get that back eventually. While he was pulling up the zipper of his leather jacket, he looked at himself. “Don’t fuss now, we’re gonna have some fun! It’s like they organized a welcome back party for us, Scotty.  No one knows we’re here again, but that will soon change…” The vampire said lowly to his reflection as he lifted the mask up to his face, the bright blue eyes shining through the holes while he secured it at the back of his head.

“By the way, that sweet letter you wrote? I never sent it to her so she doesn’t know either. After all this time there should be a lot of fresh meat to enjoy anyway… Could still drain her though, so keep your cool in there, ok?” A grin spread on his lips as he adjusted the mask to sit perfectly on his face. It was time to enjoy being back, as that was one thing he was sure of, fun was to be had while ignoring the protests that were going on in his mind. A new beginning, a new start, but then again, no one could know for sure what would happen.

A look out the window was a little disappointing, people and especially slaves seemed so comfortable these days. Weird, but that could change, he was sure. After one last mirror check, he left the suite to head to the ball. Upon arriving he took his time to look around, take in the various scents around of which some were extremely familiar. Grabbing a glass of scotch from a tray that passed by and a glass of champagne to take with him, he moved among the crowd. “You look thirsty.” He said to whoever was standing near, holding out the champagne. The night had officially begun.

Daisy was clearly in her element. It had been so very long since there had been a formal dance like this on the island, and she was enjoying every second of it. Flitting about like the fairy she was dressed as, she had insisted on dancing until poor Dhani was likely ready to drop and Lily and Cherry almost could no longer keep up. Eventually she had to release them though and did so with obvious reluctance. Dhani taking a well-deserved break while Lily went off to meet Alfie and Cherry took up her serving duties. Left to her own devices, the red-haired witch took a glass of champagne punch and looked around for someone else to dance with.

Soon a voice sounded at her ear, Daisy turning with a giggle. Perhaps already a little tipsy from the strawberry daiquiri Dhani had gotten her not long ago. “Well, I already have a drink but it is a party after all!” She reached for the offered glass, pale eyes rising to meet the gaze of the man. It was then that the world seemed to stop, all of the air leaving the room. He was masked, like everyone else, but there was no mistaking that voice... 

Both glasses left shaking hands, landing on the polished floor with a crash. Was this a trick? A joke, or a spell? Unable to speak Daisy simply stared, as if waiting for what was surely a hallucination to evaporate like a breath.

@xscottlandenbergx​

[lick-me-lennon22]

George caring for a sick Dhani 💜

(thank you to @pmak2002 for this request!! it was supposed to be just a blurb but I did a little research beforehand and it ended up pretty much becoming a whole fic 😅 oops... either way, I hope you enjoy this one! 💕)

When Dhani wakes up for school on Monday morning, he immediately knows something his wrong. His throat is sore, his nose is runny, and his muscles ache like nothing he's felt before. He painstakingly drags himself out of bed, clutching the sheet around him, and heads straight to his parents' bedroom where he finds his mum Olivia still in bed. Dhani notices that the bathroom door is cracked open and cautiously steps inside to find his father, George, brushing his teeth. "Dad..?" he says quietly, voice hoarse. George startles, turning around to see Dhani in his unfortunate state and spits his mouthful of toothpaste into the sink, letting the water wash it down the drain before turning the tap off. "What is it, my boy? You sound bloody awful..," he gently presses the back of his hand to Dhani's forehead to assess his temperature. "You seem to be running quite the fever, son- let's get you to the doctor, all right? Just let me finish up in here and I'll be right out to take ye" George says. Dhani nods weakly, coughing into his elbow, and shuffles out of the room. George jumps into action- he swishes and spits some mouthwash, changes out of his sleepwear into a button-up and jeans, and sprints to the car, his son following close behind him and hopping into the passenger's seat.

 

"This is ridiculous.." George mutters under his breath as he walks his son out of the clinic and gets into the driver's seat of his car. They had been able to see the doctor almost instantly upon arriving; he had taken some swabs, run a few tests, and determined that Dhani had contracted the flu: "He probably picked it up from school," the doc had said. When George had requested a prescription of some kind to alleviate his son's symptoms, the doctor simply shook his head: "I'm afraid there isn't much we can do for him. The flu's been going around at many schools, I've seen a lot of children this past week with the same complaints. As it stands, all I can tell you is to give him some over-the-counter medicine, bring him some saltwater to gargle for that sore throat, and be sure he gets plenty of fluids and bedrest." George tried to argue, stating that there must be something he can do to cure Dhani of his illness sooner- but as the doc's hands were tied and George didn't want to subject his son to more stress, he took Dhani by the hand and led him out of the office, through the lobby, and back to the car. "Alright, my boy," George sighs- "seeing that the doctor was no help whatsoever, we're headed straight to the drugstore for anything that'll help you feel better. Sound good?"

"Yeah Dad, sounds good" Dhani croaks out and smiles weakly, glad just to spend some time with his father. Being a famous musician and all, George isnt able to spend as much time with his son as he'd like to, a lot of it consumed by work and media-related endeavors. Dhani admired his Dad more than anyone else in his life and though they rarely got the chance to hang out nowadays, they were practically best friends and had formed a close bond throughout his childhood. George was always a fun parent, bringing his son along to festivals and such ("Don't tell yer mum," he'd say with a grin), and sticking up for Dhani to authority figures and even other kids at his school- he was fiercely protective of his boy. However, he was also a gentle parent who allowed Dhani the chance to explore and express himself, and had fostered a mutual respect between the two of them since his son was but a toddler.

"I'm pulling you from school for the whole week" "But what if I'm- *cough*- all better before then?" "Just in case, Dhani- it's not like you really need them and their indoctrination, anyway.." George grumbles, never having been a fan of traditional schools or their teachings. Dhani however has always cared about his grades and paid close attention to the lessons he's been taught, in spite of what his father thinks. "...Okay, Dad" he says meekly, wanting to protest but unwilling to sacrifice more quality time with his famous father. George pulls into the parking lot of the nearest drugstore and marches in, intent on gathering all the supplies his sick boy could need: tissues, lozenges, cough syrup, pain medication, ice packs, and even more tissues- 'just in case.' He makes his way to the checkout, queuing up, paying for the items and hauling his bags back to the car. He drives Dhani home as quickly as possible, carrying him to bed and tucking him in before calling and cancelling any studio time, interviews, or collaborations he'd previously planned. There's only one committment he can't cancel- dinner with Paul tonight for the first time in ages. George sets his son up with all of the remedies he'd bought and tells his wife Olivia everything about the situation, including the "unhelpful and useless" doctor they had gone to see. She of course agrees to care for Dhani, sending her husband on his way to dinner with one of his long-time best friends.

 

The following day George rises just before noon, having stayed up late to pal around with Macca. He runs the few errands on his agenda, including grabbing his family some lunch, and pulls into his driveway back home where he spots the vehicle of none other than Richard Starkey parked outside. He makes his way to his son's room to discover that Uncle Ringo had come to visit the sick young lad (having found out from Paul that Dhani had come down with a bad case of the flu), joking and cheering him up to distract him from his poor state. The two close friends chat for some time in the living room before Ritchie departs, Olivia checking up on Dhani in the meantime. George thanks his wife and dismisses her from her nurse duties, taking on the responsibility himself. He tiptoes to his son's bedroom cautiously and enterd to see that he's been tucked in, the ice pack George had picked up from the store the previous day resting on his forehead, half-lidded eyes trained onto the telly. "Dhani..?" "Oh- *cough*- hey, Dad"

George approaches the bed and sits down carefully, holding a paper bag out to Dhani. "I brought you a burrito- your favorite," he grins down at his son, who takes the bag: "Really? *cough*- Thanks Dad, you're the best!" he says, hands emerging from the blankets to tear into the treat. George stays sat on the bed, determined to spend time with his sick boy and make sure he knows how loved he is. Glancing around the room at the piano and guitars he's bought and played with Dhani, then back to the young man, Ringo's words from earlier echo in his mind: "He's growing up into such a wonderful lad. He's just like you, ye know- good looks and all."

Olivia had always said they were very alike, but he'd usually dismissed the observation... until now. George couldn't help but realize that they were right- though he was but eleven years old Dhani was already becoming a very talented and creative musician, having learned much about music from his dad. He'd certainly taken after his Beatle father in that regard, and they were in fact very similar- not to mention their near identical looks. Sharing his Dad with the world had been difficult and a bit isolating for Dhani despite his many school mates. He admired and looked up to George from a very young age, always striving to be just like him. As Dhani grew up before George's eyes, he became more and more like his father by the day and George was immensely proud.

His train of thought was broken suddenly when Dhani finished the burrito, crumpling the paper bag and tossing it into the bin. He landed the throw, earning a hearty laugh and a high five from his father. He closed his eyes and laid back, George stroking his hair gently, the two of them cherishing this moment of father-son love. "Are you gettin' sleepy, Dhani?" he asked tenderly- his son nodded in response, already drowsy despite the brightness of the late afternoon sun. "Tell you what- I'll play you a lullaby, that way you can rest easier and know that I'm here beside you." "Dad," Dhani chuckled, "aren't I a little too old for that?" he lied, secretly longing for the affectionate gesture. George grabbed his son's acoustic guitar from its stand and begin to tune it: "You're never too old for yer old man's love and attention, eh? Now you just relax, close your eyes, and rest." Dhani didn't protest any further, heeding his father's instructions with a soft smile on his face. With that, George began to play- he chose "Here Comes The Sun," fingers strumming the strings gently and with care, dedicating the sweet words to his beloved son. By the time he was finished Dhani was fast asleep- grin faltering as he drifted off, but still visible on his lips. George placed the guitar back on the stand gently, taking care not to wake the sleeping lad. He smiled to himself, tears welling in his eyes as he turned to admire his son's peaceful face. "I love you, my boy," he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on Dhani's forehead before tip-toeing out of the room and shutting the door cautiously. Back pressed against the wooden door, George let his eyelids fall shut and sighed: "Sweet dreams, Dhani." ♡

[watfletcher]

@finncarlyle​

He had lost track of the days. Lost track of how many people he’d seen and how many outfits he’d worn. Mostly he’s just tired of being stuck in a location for so long that it almost felt like forever. Today was no better. He was dressed up in a poor Peter Pan costume - placed in one of the only place that he truly felt comfort in. Unable to look at the row of bookshelves, he had lowered himself down to the ground, eyes kept downcast. The healer that was stationed next to him was taking a short break and that also gave him a moment of peace. Letting out a shaky breath, he shifted uncomfortably in his outfit while rubbing his sweaty palms on his knees. Just when he thought he could stretch out his break, he could feel the presence of someone approaching. Lowering himself even more, he swallowed quickly and turned his head to the side. “I- Please, I just need five more minutes.”

“Oh, for what?” 

It wasn’t curious, it was dismissive. Wat flexed his hand, resisting the urge to grab the slave up by the hair. No, not this one. He recognized the boy, though he’d not met him. One of Dhani’s friends. He had spotted them walking together through the quad, recognizing the excitement in Dhani’s face talking to someone he cared about over something he cared about. He’d never hear the end of it from the boy if he decided to play rough and was tattled on. 

Wat crouched down, as it was unlikely Finn was going to stand up, or even straighten up and be a good little slave... It was late in the week and depending on what station one was in, they were starting to break down. Wat had to admit he’d been plenty rough this week. But not exceedingly so.

“What’s your name? And what will you be for me if I give you five more minutes?” Wat asked, the edge of annoyance not entirely gone from his voice. But it was a challenge.

“Pay attention to me when I’m speaking to you, slave.” A little more edge creeping in. “Eyes up.”

[pmak2002]

Dhani Harrison’s account of the Attack on his mom and dad. December 30th 1999

Dhani’s account of George’s stabbing in 1999:

MY FIGHT TO KEEP DAD ALIVE

EXCLUSIVE: BEATLE’S SON DHANI HARRISON’S STORY IN HIS OWN WORDS

The devoted son of Beatle George Harrison has revealed for the first time how he held his blood-soaked father in his arms – and pleaded with him not to die. Desperate Dhani Harrison battled to save the critically-injured rock legend moments after he was stabbed by maniac Michael Abram.

In a horrifically vivid account of his nightmare, Dhani, 22, revealed how he thought George had died four times before reaching the ambulance. And he told how he, supported his father’s body as he writhed and moaned in agony. Was drenched in George’s blood as he knelt at his side. Heard blood and air bubbling from the stab wounds in his chest. Gazed deep into his eyes as he slipped into unconsciousness begging over and over: “Stay with me Dad!”

As he waited for paramedics to arrive at the secluded Oxfordshire mansion, panic-stricken Dhani was convinced his father had died in his arms. He said:

“He was drifting, he looked even paler in the face and he was groaning and saying, `I’m going out’. He made little sense and I knew he was losing consciousness. It was about 10 to 12 minutes, although it seemed like a lifetime, before the paramedics arrived. When they did, I felt that my father had already passed away.”

Dark-haired Dhani revealed the full horror of his ordeal after George was attacked in December 1999 in a statement. His harrowing experience was not revealed at Abram’s trial last week, but after the deranged former heroin addict was sent to a mental hospital, Harrison’s family asked the Sunday People to publish Dhani’s words. The family, who believe Abram should have gone to prison, want the world to know what he put them through.

Dhani, who bears a striking resemblance to his dad, lives in a lodge on the Harrison’s 30-acre estate, Friar Park, near Henley-on-Thames, Oxon. He was fast asleep when Abram broke into the main house and attacked George with a knife – puncturing his lung and narrowly missing his heart. The ex-Beatle was saved only by the bravery of his wife Olivia who struck Abram over the head with a poker and a table lamp.

Dhani said:

“I was woken by Rachel, our housekeeper shouting, ‘Get up, get up! Something has happened.’ I have always been aware that something could happen to my parents, due to their fame and fortune. I am also aware of past circumstances involving other members of the Beatles. I got dressed immediately and I remember asking, `Are my parents OK?’ Rachel said nothing.

“At the front door I was aware of the pace of my own heart beating. As I went into the main hall my mother was lying at the bottom of the stairs. I recall one of the brass fire sets, from her bedroom, was in close proximity to her. I ran up to her and she said, ‘It’s OK, Dhani. It’s OK, honey.’ I noticed her lips and mouth were very dry and I shouted at one of the police officers, ‘Please–get her some water.’ I then asked, ‘What happened?’ She said, ‘Daddy is upstairs, he is badly hurt’ or something similar. She then said, ‘I’m OK. Go to him.’ I knew that what was upstairs was much worse. I put my hand on my mother and said repeatedly, ‘I love you.’ She replied, ‘Go!’ I began to run up the stairs. I cannot remember getting up the stairs. I was carried by adrenaline.”

“On the landing I saw two police officers kneeling over a body and a police officer standing. I was not sure then if the person on the ground was the attacker being detained or my father. I then realised it was the attacker. He looked up at me and I looked straight into his eyes. I made direct eye contact. I was immediately guided from him towards my father. I could see my father down the landing just inside the bedroom door. I went up to him, entering the bedroom and kneeling to assist him. Due to the amount of blood, which I find hard to describe, I was immediately covered in it. There were two pools of blood on the floor, blood on the walls and lots of broken glass. I saw small fragments of glass on my father’s face and around the floor. It took me some time to realise it was ruby-coloured glass and not flesh or bones. The ruby glass was the remnants of a smashed lamp base. My father said something like, ‘It’s bad Dhan, it’s bad. He stabbed me up a lot.’

“I supported him with one hand on his back and the other on his stomach. I could hear blood and air bubbling from his chest. He was moaning and trying to get into a more comfortable position, which obviously was not possible. I rendered first aid as best I could and with a bottle of water wetted his lips and tried to clean him up. I used a white towel and numerous tissues. I was trying to avoid the tissues sticking to his wounds. His head was bleeding heavily – his lips and teeth were covered in blood. He had multiple stab wounds to his chest and clearly other injuries which I could not see. He was clearly in an extremely bad way and he was in agony.”

“I recall the police officer saying we had got to find the knife. He started looking around the room. He asked for my assistance and so I helped. But after a brief look around the room I realised that I had my father there in the room at death’s door. I had said to him that I would be two seconds but the stupidity of looking for the knife rather than being at my father’s side, had dawned on me and I returned to him. I honestly believed he was going to die. He was so pale. I looked into his eyes and saw the pain. Dad kept saying, ‘Oh Dhan, oh Dhan.’ When I gave him first aid I had opened his jacket and pyjama top to inspect the wounds. At one point the police officer was trying to help my father to move. I took control of that situation. I told the police officer to leave him. I said, ‘Sit still, you must stay still.’ My whole thought process was to keep my father alive. I have experience of a collapsing lung myself. My father was still bleeding heavily and he kept closing his eyes and drifting. I kept flicking my fingers and saying loudly, `Listen to my voice.’

“I held his hand and the police officer held the other. He kept saying, ‘Open your eyes Mr. Harrison.’ He was now drifting, he looked even paler in the face, and was groaning and saying, ‘I’m going out.’ He made little sense and I knew he was losing consciousness. It seemed like a lifetime – before the paramedics arrived. When they did, I felt that my father had already passed away. When the paramedics arrived, he seemed to perk up, but drifted away again and complained of being cold. The paramedics and I lifted him into a stretcher-type chair. He was clearly in agony.”

“He lifted his head, but it made him dizzy and he said, ‘Dhani, I’m going, I’m going.’ His eyes were rolling. I could only see the whites of them and he said, ‘I love you Dhan.’ He was strapped in and covered in blankets and we manoeuvred him towards the stairs. By this time the attacker had been removed. We got to the top of the stairs and at that point my father looked at me. He said, ‘I love you Dhan.’ One of his eyes rolled back independently of the other eye. Throughout his ordeal, my father’s words were broken with coughing and spluttering. Then he said, ‘Hare Krishna’and he closed his eyes.

“At this point he drew a very strange, deep breath. His mouth puckered, he drew his cheeks in and he sucked in his bottom lip. This breath made me react immediately. I shouted, ‘Dad, you’re with me, listen to my voice. It is going to be OK. Stay with me.’ His face was contorted and he had not taken a breath for some seconds – an alarmingly long period. As I finished shouting he breathed out and opened his eyes. I have never seen another human being dead or alive – and I have seen my grandfather in his coffin – look so bad. My father was now back with us and I kept up the encouragement, hoping he would stay conscious.”

“We were nearly halfway down the stairs when he went again. I again screamed at him, ‘Dad, stay with me and listen to my voice.’ I vividly remember saying, ‘This is the worst it gets. From now on, it’s only getting better.’ ‘I want you to focus on getting better. We have hit rock bottom, it is only getting better.’ I kept repeating this so he could focus on my voice. At the bottom of the stairs it happened again and again I repeated the process and thankfully he came back. My mother was still at the bottom of the stairs with a blanket wrapped around her. She was covered in blood and had a very nasty head wound. She was saying, ‘I’m cold, I’m cold.’ She said to my father, ‘It’s OK, honey. You are going to be all right.’

“We got to an ambulance. The paramedics put my father inside and I was not allowed in while they treated him. I wanted to see him, so I pulled myself on a bumper. Gripping with my finger nails I could see my father. I did not want to let him out of my sight.”

Taken from the Beatles bible

[harrisonstories]

Above and below: George Harrison and Sir Jackie Stewart at the Gunnar Nilsson Memorial Trophy meeting in Donington Park, England, Middle: George driving the Lotus 18 at the same event (3 June 1979)

NOTE: This is a rather long but refreshing read about a side of George’s life which doesn’t get talked about much. Here is an interview George and Jackie did at the Gunnar Nilsson Memorial Trophy. 

A Beatle’s new mania

George Harrison, former lead guitarist with the legendary Beatles pop music group, talks to Chris Hockley about his passion for Formula 1, fast cars and a private life

IT’S PUZZLING in a way why George Harrison has such a fervent passion for fast cars and motor racing. For since the mind-boggling days of the Swinging ‘Sixties, when as one of The Beatles he was swept towards super-stardom and super-richness on a tidal wave of hysteria, the pace of his life has slowed to a virtual crawl.

Gone are the days when he had to make a run for it through thousands of screaming pop fans. Today, you are more likely to find him in his wellies, gently pushing a wheelbarrow towards carefully-tended flower beds in the vast grounds of his palatial country mansion.

Gone are the days when he lived out of a suitcase and wasn’t sure if he was in London, New York, Tokyo or Cloud Cuckoo Land. Today, he meditates silently for hours in his own temple.

Gone are the days when girls scratched each other’s eyes out as they fought to touch a fragment of his clothing. Today, he is happier to stay at home with his wife Olivia and their 10 month-old son, Dhani.

Yet there is still one public side to the private Mr. Harrison. For as well as being one of the world’s most famous pop stars, he has gradually become the world’s most famous motor racing fan.

“I’m getting too well known at motor races now,” he grins – as he is beseiged by a swarm of autograph hunters who have just rushed past Mario Andretti. “It was my hobby, now it’s getting like work again.”

George’s lean and craggy features are a frequent sight at Grand Prix meetings around the globe. His name is enough to ensure him VIP treatment, but he reckons he repays all the behind-the-scenes privileges he enjoys by attracting publicity for the sport.

Though he is often to be seen in the midst of a cluster of photographers, he does not go out of his way to court glamour. Harrison goes motor racing to see and not be seen.

He has been a genuine enthusiast since the days when he was just another poor kid from the streets of Liverpool, digging deep into his pocket to get into the city’s Aintree circuit during its heydey in the ‘Fifties.

He loves talking about racing. To him it represents a refuge from never-ending questions like: “Are the Beatles ever going to get together again, George?” Or, “Is it true that Paul McCartney once had a bunion on his right foot?”

In his slow, deliberate – and knowledgeable – Scouse drawl, George will tell you about oversteer, understeer, gear ratios and why he hopes Jody Scheckter will be world champion this year.

And he will rave about Fangio with the same 12-year-old’s wide eyes that watched the great Argentinian dominate the 1955 British Grand Prix at Aintree with Mercedes team-mate Stirling Moss.

“I can’t remember why I started going to Aintree – I think I just saw a poster advertising a race,” he says. “Anyway, I used to go there whether it was a big or small meeting, take my butties and sit on the Railway Straight embankment to watch the race. I went to a lot of bike meetings as well – I was a big fan of Geoff Duke!

“I had a box camera and went round taking pictures of all the cars. If I could find an address I wrote away to the car factories, and somewhere at home I’ve got pictures of all the old Vanwalls, Connaughts and BRMS. All that stuff got lost when I went on the road with The Beatles, but I’m sure it’s still in my dad’s attic.”

Such was his enthusiasm that it was a question of whether cars or guitars would dominate his life. He couldn’t afford both…he couldn’t afford either, really. because he had to borrow the £2 10 shillings he needed to buy his first guitar. Luckily for him, he opted for pop.

“By the time I got any money at all I was 17 or 18, getting a couple of quid a week from a few concerts in Liverpool. But I got so involved with rock ‘n’ roll and The Beatles – we were on our way to making records and all that – that to tell you the truth I completely lost touch with motor racing apart from watching the odd bit on TV or reading magazines.”

As the Fab Four became the world’s top pop stars, so they were able to call the tune and ease up on their stamina-sapping schedule. George found himself free to head back to the tracks once more…and in true showbiz style aimed straight for Monaco.

It was there that he met the man who helped him to step backstage of big-time motor racing – Jackie Stewart. George found an instant affinity with Stewart, not least because Jackie wore his hair long and was an outspoken critic of the established order, two keystones of the “rock revolution” of the late ‘Sixties and early ‘Seventies of which Harrison was so much a part.

George said: “Jackie did such a lot for the sport and was criticised for it. People moaned and groaned when he wore fireproof suits and talked about safety – things which are so obvious and practical now but at that time were being put down.

“Another thing was that he always projected the sport beyond just the racing enthusiasts which I think is very important.”

It is Stewart, always a big Beatles fan, who has given George an appreciation of the finer points of the racing art, often driving him around circuits – he scared the pants off Harrison at Interlagos this year – or showing him the best places to watch from “inside” of the track.

“I always enjoy the last session of the qualifying best,” says George. “Jackie taught me how to get the most from it by wandering around the circuit to watch from different places. That way you really get into how cars are handling gear ratios, the whole thing.”

The rapport between the two was vividly illustrated at the recent Gunnar Nilsson Campaign meeting at Donington, where both took part in a demonstration of classic Grand Prix cars. Afterwards, Harrison changed into jeans and sweater, while Stewart stayed in his racing overalls plus the mandatory black corduroy cap. As they walked into the royal enclosure to watch the afternoon’s racing, Stewart turned to Harrison and said: “I don’t know why I am dressed like this.” “Because you’re a twit,” came the reply.

Friends say that of the four ex-Beatles, Harrison is the one who has kept his feet closest to the ground. He seems to have retained the “love and peace” message of the flower power era and has refused to be swayed by the cynicism of the ‘Seventies.

His easy-going manner has made him a popular figure among the Formula One drivers, and he has become friendly with many of them.

“It’s obviously an advantage for me to be sort of independent,” he says. “I’m not like a spy from Ferrari or Lotus or anything like that. It’s a very nice position to be in – I am no threat to anyone so they are friendly towards me.”

His close contact with the drivers has also changed his attitude to them. Like most race fans, he has had his idols – Fangio because he was top dog in his childhood. Graham Hill because he was “a very English gentleman,” Jackie because he was Jackie and so on.

Now, there are no more heroes. “It’s difficult to single anyone out because I’m much closer to them. I mean, there’s people like Jochen Mass who might never be world champion but is such a nice person.

“But I want Jody Scheckter to be world champion this year. It would be good if Grand Prix racing was like the music business, where you can have a No. 1 hit and then get knocked off by your mate for his turn at No. 1. But unfortunately it isn’t like that. There is a point where you are just ‘ready’ to be a world champion, and if it doesn’t happen, it could be all downhill from there.

“Jody is ready – he’s got the car and the team, and mentally he’s right there. To get in the right team at the right time is almost impossible. It happens, like Mario last year – he was very fortunate in having that car.

Take Villeneuve. He’s very good but he’s still a bit young and more prone to making mistakes than Jody. He’s got a lot of years ahead of him, though. That’s why I’d like to see Jody get it now.

“Alan Jones is another one who’s ready. He’s great, he’s mature and he’s ready to win. And now he has got a really good competitive car. Maybe next year Alan Jones will be right at the head of the championship.”

Harrison is no sluggard himself. He drives a Porsche Turbo and what he calls an “old” Ferrari Dino Spyder. There are whispers about 140 mph tyre-squealing burn-ups on a 10-mile “circuit” around his incredible home – Friar Park, near Henley-on-Thames.

Certainly it is not difficult to imagine a glorious road circuit winding through the 33-acre wooded grounds. Nothing would come as a surprise after the mansion itself – a £2 million fairy palace that would do credit to Disneyland – and other amazing features of the grounds like three lakes built on different levels, a series of caves filled with distorting mirrors, model skeletons, glass grapes and hundreds of the proverbial garden gnomes…and an Alpine rock garden including a 100ft high replica of the Matterhorn!

But George though he admits he sometimes has “a spin through the woods,” insists that the burn-up stories are exaggerated: “It’s all very slow speed around the garden – you know tractors and wheelbarrows and things like that…”

He has, however, had a go at the real thing. He took his turn at the wheel of a Porsche 924 in a 24-hour run for the Nilsson campaign at Silverstone, organised by his local sports car specialists, Maltin’s of Henley.

He drove Stirling Moss’s famous Rob Walker Lotus 18 at the Nilsson’s day at Donington, where Jackie Stewart managed to frighten him yet again by blasting his Tyrrell around at full pelt at the same time.

And he has even managed to get his hands on a modern generation Formula One car. It was at Brands Hatch two years ago, the time when former world motorbike champ Barry Sheene, another good friend, was thinking of moving into car racing. Sheene took George with him when he tried out a Surtees TS19 with a view to having a crack at the British Aurora Formula One series.

It was an occasion which George remembers with more than a slight grin…

“Barry persuaded John Surtees to let me have a go. But John said: ‘He’s got no gear.’ So Barry rips off his fireproof vest and says to me ‘Here y’are, you can wear this.’ I just slipped on this sweaty old thing and borrowed John Surtee’s crash helmet. I got in the car and said: ‘I’m not going to go fast because I haven’t even walked around Brands Hatch, let alone driven round.’ So he said: ‘Oh shit, you had better get in my road car.’

“Well, we went bombing off round the track in his Mercedes and he was saying things like: ‘Keep it over to the left here, make sure the tail doesn’t flick out too much here, and so on. I was just hanging on for dear life.

“I got in the F1 car and thought ‘Now, what did he say?’ Then, while I was pulling away in the pit lane, trying not to stall it, I was thinking ‘God, it’s windy in this car.’ I hadn’t even remembered to close my visor!

“Still, it was a great feeling. Although some people have told me it wasn’t a very good Grand Prix car, believe me if you hadn’t driven one before it was fantastic. It was like, wow…those wheels just dig in round the corners.

“I didn’t go very fast. I just signed the chitty saying that if I killed myself it wasn’t John’s fault!”

George, now 36 years old, is unlikely to do a Paul Newman and turn his hand to serious racing. He is honest enough to admit he is apprehensive of the dangers.

Neither is he likely to become involved in large-scale sponsorship, despite a reputation for generosity (it is said that he once gave the landlady of his local pub three rubies for her birthday).

He has dabbled in a small way with bike racing – last year he backed Steve Parrish, who he knew through Barry Sheene, when Steve lost his works Suzuki ride. But this year he has turned down an approach for £185,000 to run a BMW M1 in the Procar series – and has no intention of following in the footsteps of Walter Wolf or Lord Hesketh by setting up his own Grand Prix team.

“What with living in England and the tax I pay, it takes a long time to get some cash anyway, and the last thing you need is just to give it away. You need too much money to do the job properly in Formula One. If I had £3 million to give away, which I haven’t, there’s probably better things to give it to than motor racing. Like the starving, for example.”

The last comment reflects Harrison’s continued commitment to the impoverished parts of countries like Bangladesh and India. All the royalties from one of his albums go into a foundation, and from there the cash is handed out to various charities.

There is a chance that in the years to come, George’s enthusiasm may rub off on his son, and we may yet see a Harrison out there on the track. After the usual parental head-scratching, George concedes that he would not stand in the way if Harrison Junior opted for cars instead of guitars – “though by that time they’ll probably be driving missiles or something.”

But for the time being at least, George will stay on the outside looking in. A weekend at the races will go on being the noisy, urgent, smelly and exciting contrast to the gardening and the meditation.

And a brief glimpse of the one public side to the private Mr. Harrison.

-  MOTOR magazine (28 July 1979)