Village where bad things just don't happen

The village of Little Bookham has never known a violent crime. It has barely known any kind of crime. A commuter rushing home recalls that children once burned down the rugby hut on the village playing fields. But, come to think of it, that was in the neighbouring village of Effingham.

Another said the most shocking episode was when a pheasant flew through a window, shattering the glass.

Really bad things just never seemed to happen in this sleepy, pretty village in Surrey's stockbroker belt.

But the stabbing of Abigail Witchalls has changed all that.

Today the village woke up to the terrifying reality that a maniac, a crazed knife-man who stabbed a young mother as she took her son for a walk in his pushchair, is on the loose.

Nobody here has ever known anything like it. Police have swarmed into the area, stopping commuters at the train station and effectively setting up roadblocks in the street.

Helicopters circle overhead, while in the lovely, leafy lane that runs to Oakenwood, forensic teams on hands and knees comb every piece of dirt in the hunt for clues.

In the local shop a solitary poster tells its own tale of panic and fear. "Neighbourhood Watch Red Alert" it declares, before giving the barest details of the events that occurred here at 4.15pm on Wednesday: "If you saw or heard anything or have any information, however incidental, that may be of use to the police could you please ring them." Schoolchildren were warned not to walk home alone while mothers pushing their own toddlers along the village high street said they would stop taking walks through the country lanes until the attacker was caught.

"It's made me think twice about where I take her," says Helen Morrell, pointing to her one-year-old, asleep and oblivious in her buggy.

Above the noise of a police car, its siren wailing, Heidi George, her 16-month-old sitting in a pushchair, says: "We are very shocked. Why would this happen in a peaceful place like this?"

Like most of the people who live here, Little Bookham was Abigail Witchalls' idea of the perfect village dream. She was living with husband Benoit - they married in October 2002 - and their 21-month-old son Joseph. The family home the 26-year-old made for herself and her husband is a beautiful 18th-century listed farmhouse, a rambling series of cottages, outhouses and barns where chickens run free.

A pushchair sits on the path leading to the farmhouse's front door. Next to it is a child's tricycle.

Today a close friend who lives in the village described Mrs Witchalls as a "brilliant mum" who instead of going back to work after giving birth chose to look after Joseph full-time instead.

"She just wanted to spend a lot of time with him," said the friend. "Abigail was very fond of the outdoors. She was very environmentally friendly. She recycles everything. She did a lot of charity work overseas."

Like many of the locals, the friend switched from past tense to present tense as she talked fondly of Mrs Witchalls, reflecting the uncertainty over whether the young mother would survive the attack.

Abigail was brought up in Wimbledon, a 45-minute train ride from Bookham. She attended Ursuline High, a popular girls' school in Wimbledon where her father is chairman of governors.

Headteacher Julie Waters told the Standard: "Staff here remember her as a hard-working student. She was highly successful, very confident and very bright. All the staff are shocked and upset."

Abigail's mother, Dr Sheila Hollins, will be the next president of the Royal College of Psychiatry.

Dr Hollins has spent the past hours at her daughter's bedside, while Benoit has divided his time between his wife in hospital and his son at home on the farm. Back in Little Bookham, villagers who came here to avoid inner-city crime shake their heads in disbelief. "It's horrific to think this has happened right on my doorstep," says George Borrows, 53.

"I moved here from London 25 years ago to avoid the crime, but it seems you just can't get away from it any more."

Neighbour Christine Coyle, 50, has banned her teenage children - both girls - from going out on their own. She says: "My girls go out jogging every morning before school. I wouldn't have thought twice about letting them walk around here, even late at night to meet friends, but it just doesn't seem safe any more."

Additional reporting: Alistair Foster, Rebecca Lawrence