GANG WARS

I was getting a little annoyed by my two brothers, only getting six pence for pushing the bogy with two dustbins of coke. Why should they have a shilling each, why not an equal split I argued, you could not split two shillings and six pence three ways they retorted? Feeling indignant I used my own initiative, I recruited a couple of my own friends in order that we could go into business together.  My budding commercial skills were rising to the fore; after all, I was nearly five and a half. With a great deal of huffing and puffing and trial and error, we managed to knock ourselves together a bogy of our own.  With this and one larger bin, borrowed from the rear of the NAAFI, we went into business. 

I had a plan.  There were several Married Quarters that my brothers had not been anywhere near.  Way off to the side of the camp close to the gymnasium.  Therefore, with our first bin full of coke, off we went.  It was a bit further than we normally travelled with our bogy and by the time we got there, we were fairly puffed out.  I winked at my conspirators, and rubbing my little hands together, knocked on the first door I came to. I waited. I was just about to knock a second time when the door opened and a busty woman in an apron greeted me. 

“Would you like a dustbin of coke?” I asked the woman, turning and giving confident thumbs up to my mates.  She looked at me, then down the garden path to my waiting friends and the bogy. 

“Just a moment” she said “Bill!” she shouted.  A rather tall man, vaguely familiar, came from the living room.  The woman introduced me with a simple wave of the hand.

“Would you like a dustbin of coke?” I asked the man.  There was a niggling doubt at the back of my mind that not all was as well as it should be.

“How much?” he asked.  In sudden inspiration, so we could split it three ways easier, I replied. “Three Shillings”

“Come in my boy” the man invited.  I was not sure I should enter his house, “You too, boys, would you like to come in for a biscuit?” he shouted down the path at my friends.

They came trotting up and in we went. 

The man asked our names, who our fathers were, and where did we live?  I was becoming very suspicious and rather worried by this time. My mates appeared unperturbed by the questions; they sat and crunched their biscuits between their eager teeth, and sipped at their lemonade.  After a short while, he walked over to his sideboard.  There was a phone. “Oh My Goodness” I thought to myself. He has a phone in his house.  I had never met anyone with a phone in their house before.  He picked it up and dialled.  There was a whispered conversation. I cocked my ear in a vain attempt to hear what was being said.  The man sat down, gave us a big smile and another biscuit.  Five minutes later we heard a Landrover pull up outside, right next to our bogy and dustbin of coke.  Two Military Policemen got out of the Landrover and walked up the path. It suddenly dawned on me where I had seen this man before; he was one of the police officers who had come to my house with the little boy Kev and Don kidnapped.  The man got up and let his friends into his house.  All three of us were promptly ‘arrested’ and taken down to the Guard Room where we were housed together in a single cell for about twenty minutes or so until our respective mothers arrived. 

My mother looked fierce. When my mom was angry, you knew about it and you did everything in your power to avoid her wrath.  Unfortunately, as I was locked in a cell, there was little I could do to get away.  My mother had a rather unique attack.  All my brothers and I knew it well, but we always fell for it.  She would raise her right hand high, we would duck, folding our arms about our heads to ward off the impending blow, and then, with her left hand, she would quickly strike upwards, right between our arms and the feeble attempt at defence. She used the same tactic this time; I knew what was coming and was unable to avoid it. Smack! I saw stars.  Then down came her right hand plum on the back of my head. The head, which a microsecond earlier, I had been protecting with my arms. With stars in my eyes and ears ringing, she took a hold of a fistful of hair and dragged me from the guardroom.  Accordingly, my first business enterprise came to a tragic and very traumatic end. Not only that, my two brothers were extremely annoyed, I had ruined their little enterprise too. 

My mother, who had erstwhile turned a blind eye to our activities, now strictly forbade any further procurement and the selling of coke. The following weekend, the same two friends, and I had an hour or two on Lichfield Golf Course searching for lost Golf balls.  It was a poor day; we set off home with barely half a dozen, not enough to make the trek to the Golf Club worthwhile.  To get back to ‘our’ H Block side of the barracks we had to make a detour around the school, passed the post office and across the sports field.  Unfortunately, for me, as we were rounding the school, our path was blocked by half a dozen or more I Block gang members.  They recognised me instantly.  Several of them had had the misfortune of running into Kev and Don on previous occasions. They ignored my friends.  Instructing them to let Kev and Don know that Ricky was now considered a prisoner of war!

Two of the gang left to meet Kev and Don and to convey their terms for my safe release, which was, two shillings and the total surrender of the sports field for a week.  The sports field, with its great cricket barriers on cast iron wheels, the pavilion and other outbuildings, was an ideal area for war games.  Alternatively we could play cowboys and Indians or such game.  The cricket barriers and pavilion taking on the form of forts, castles, or battlefield defences.  The meeting place would be on fairly neutral ground, waste ground, at the edge of the woods between the barracks and the Golf Course.  At this point, there was a high bank, which provided an advantage to whoever held it.  Around the foot of the bank grew huge Blackberry bushes, a regular feasting ground in early autumn and great swathes of stinging nettles.  The meagre few that had captured me were joined by a couple of dozen other I Block kids ranging in age from five to fifteen.  One produced several feet of barbed wire, which they decided to place loosely around my chest in case of any funny business. They escorted me, hands tied behind my back, to the top of this bank and there we waited.

We did not have to wait too long.  We heard them coming before we saw them. Emerging from the woods and approaching the bank, were fifteen to twenty H Block Kids. Kev, the H Block Gang’s elected leader, and a chap called Young; the leader of the I Blocks moved front and centre of their respective armies. 

“You agree to stay off the sports field for a week?” Called down Young.

“A week” agreed Kev.  He did not fail to note I was loosely entwined in barbed wire.

“And the Two Shillings” asked Young. Kev held out his hand to reveal the money.  Young was strutting up and down the brow of the bank.  He knew he held all the cards; one false move and they would push me down the hill, barbed wire, and all, into the Blackberry bushes and stinging nettles.  He stopped; taking centre stage, with his arms behind his back and rocking back and forth on his heals. “Take your shirt and pullover off!” Young demanded.

“Why?”

“Just do it or else he gets it” he declared pulling me forward. “And you too Don”

My brothers removed their shirts and pullovers and stood with bare chests before their own gang who stood around in tense silence. “Now roll up your trouser legs!” demanded Young again.  My brothers knew what was coming. Nevertheless, they complied with his demands.

“Now bring the money up here, straight up here, in a straight line”.  The I Blocks were now, fully aware of the ignominious ordeal of what Kev and Don were being forced to do. They had to walk, straight up the bank, clambering through the large Blackberry Bushes and the swathe of stinging nettles to deliver the ransom money.

They both, with no hesitation, and without a flicker, struggled calmly through that torment to the top of the bank. There they handed over the two shillings to Young.  I looked at Kev and Don.  Their chests, back and legs were full of scratches; in addition, their legs appeared as if they had chicken pox, covered from thigh to ankle in bright red spots from the stings they had sustained. Kev stepped forward and removed the barbed wire and untied my hands.  He pushed me to the right, indicating I should leave the bank the long way round and join my comrades at the foot of the bank.  As I walked away all hell broke loose.  Kev gave a mighty swing at Young and Don followed suit by attacking the nearest I Block member to him.  There was a mighty roar as the I Block gang sprang to their leaders defence. It took just a few minutes for the remainder of the H Block gang to rush around, up and over the bank. 

There were boys rolling around, fists flying, kicking, biting and pulling each other’s hair out by the roots. I ran back to join in the fray, it was the least I could do, searching for someone as little as I was to have a go at. No sooner had the fight started it was all over.

The I Block gang members scattered, retreating hastily back to their own side of the barrack square.  They shouted abuse, shook their fists, and swore vengeance.  Nevertheless, the day belonged to H Block.  The gang fined me two weeks pocket money for getting caught in the first place.  The gang spent half an hour or so searching for dog leaves and horse chestnut leaves which we crushed with our hands and spat on them before handing to Kev and Don to rub their legs with in order to relieve the excruciating stings.  Forming up into a loose rabble, we marched triumphantly back to H Block. 

The following week, during school, we received a written challenge from I Block.  They challenged us to meet them in the alleyway that ran alongside the NAAFI.  There, we were to engage in a battle they said, that would decide once and for all which gang ruled Whittington Barracks. Of course, refusing the contest was out of the question, our pride was at stake. It was agreed that we would meet on Friday at dusk, about 6 p.m. in the alleyway.  Kev came up with a cunning plan.  The day before the battle, Kev had his gang collected a tea chest full of bricks and stones, which we, as soon as darkness fell, hoisted up onto the flat roof adjacent to the alley? Beneath this flat roof were the storerooms for the NAAFI.  The NAAFI itself had a normal sloping tiled roof.  While Kev and Don were up on the roof they found that there, was a drainpipe there leading down into the yard behind the NAAFI? In the yard there was stored several stacks of crates of beer.  Full crates on one side, empty crates on the other.  They stacked four or five on top of each other. 

The day of the battle soon arrived.  As soon as I had eaten my dinner Kev and Don took me to the NAAFI and, with Kev lifting me from below, and Don pulling me up by the arms, they hoisted me onto the roof.  I had not been on a roof before and the height was frightening to say the least.  “Now, when the I Block gang come along the alleyway”, I was instructed, “down this way“, Don indicated from right to left, “you let them have it with these bricks”.  I was quick on the uptake.  I picked up two or three stones in my left hand, and transferring them one at a time to my right hand, had a few practice throws. “Like this, wam, wam!” I blurted excitedly. Throwing the stones as hard as I could into the alley.  “That’s my boy,” confirmed Don, “And don’t stop till we tell you, or you run out of ammunition, OK?”

“OK”

“Now don’t let them see you” Don continued “or it will give the game away”

“I won’t,” I promised.  Don skirted back down the drainpipe and disappeared. 

I began to worry about how I was going to get down again!

Lying flat on my tummy, I could peek over the side, over the guttering, to each end of the alley.  I did not have to wait for very long before large groups of children gathered at either end.  Both sides had their artillery.  Groups of boys who believed they were pretty good with their catapults, others had broom handles.  It was beginning to get dark and I was beginning to become fearful about the battle, what if we lost? Then I began to panic.  Which way were the I Blocks coming from, was it from left to right or right to left?  I could not remember.  Beneath me, the two armies shouted taunts at each other.

“Come on then!”

“Let’s be at them!”

“You first!”

“No you attack first!”

“Scaredy cats”

“I Blocks am Idiots,” we taunted.

“H Blocks are Hideous” the retorted. And so it went on.

Finally, after much taunting and shouting the two sides moved as one. The two groups of children charged towards one another down the alley.  I had to make a decision quickly.  Taking up handfuls of bricks, I began to hurtle them with all the force my little arms could muster down on the enemy. There were casualties.  I could hear the ows and oohs as my missiles struck home.  Kneeling, frightened to stand lest I fall, I continued my mission with earnest. Suddenly Kev’s head appeared above the guttering, “not us you big clot, them over there” he said pointing in the opposite direction. Feeling rather foolish, I adjusted my aim accordingly.  However, I had used a quarter of my ammunition on my own men!

The battle raged on and on, it lasted oh, a good ten minutes or so.  Ultimately, the enemy began to fall back, holding their heads, eyes, or bloodied noses.  With a cheer, we watched them go.  The traditional catcalls followed them and they retorted with threats of equal force vowing, we were lucky this time but we will not be so lucky next time. We had not gotten off lightly; we had a fair number of casualties ourselves.  Don had a bruised eye, which he claimed he got early on from a catapult.  Kev looked at me, but said nothing. Others had scratches, assorted bumps and bruises.  Most of them showed off these ‘wounds’ with great pride. We did not hear from the I Blocks for a while and if our paths crossed, we tended to give each other a wide berth, at least for the time being.

That Saturday night, knowing that the NAAFI would be closed on Sunday, y brothers and another gang member carried out a Commando Raid on the NAAFI.  Three crates of beer were liberated from the confines of the yard on the other side of the flat roof.  We carried the crates to a secluded spot close to the coke yard.  As we walked along, swinging the crates between us was singing heartily:

A Double Diamond

Works Wonders, Works Wonders, Works Wonders

A Double Diamond Works Wonders,