When I was a kid, about 8, life was rough and tough, but we didn't know it. When I look back at some of the things we did, it's a bit frightening.
We used to have 'raids' with the kids from neighbouring streets. A raid was a missile bombardment, 25 - 30 feral kids aged 5 - 12 would throw bricks , bottles, anything they could get their hands on, at another gang, over a range of about 40 yards or so. The object was to get a hit, to maim or kill as many of the other gang as you could, every now and then someone would get hurt badly, usually by a head wound.
A couple of hundred yards from our street was a brickworks, and one of the items they made was cobbled paving slabs. These cobbles were perfect for throwing from young hands, round smooth and heavy, even a glancing blow was a knockout. The brickworks also had a commanding hill of gravel and a protective wall. Whoever got control of the works would win the raid, sending the defeated gang scuttling away carring their wounded. We were closest so it was usually us that won the raids.
One summer, another gang decided they had had enough of being pelted with cobbles, so they decided to come up with a new tactic. Their leader , Pongo, brought along a secret weapon, that he had nicked from his dads WWII Burma collection. He was called Pongo because, well, he stunk a bit. So there we were, pelting them with cobbles (aka chucky eggs) from the hill when Pongo ran at us. This was unusual because there had never been any hand to hand combat before, I mean we went to school with these lads and some of them were friends. We just suspended all that for street pride in the raid.
We were not too fazed, although he was a hard nut we had our own hard men, plus it was one onto thirty.
The odds changed a bit when Pongo pulled out his dads machete and headed straight for our leader. So we beat a hasty. Their gang came streaming and screaming after us, savouring their victory, we ran, across the wall, across the school field and over the railings. First to safety was Harry, last was little Kenny, five years old. In his panic, on top of the six foot school railings, Kenny slipped and fell. A railing spike went up each of his wellies (without impaling him) and he hung, upside down on our side of the fence, wailing. The b@stards used him for target practice.
A few days later, I was out foraging with Harry, looking for adventure, something to do. We lived on the outskirts of a big city but close enough to farmland to be able to walk into the countryside.
Harry was a great lad, tough and hard and a very fast runner, same age as me but a few inches taller. His family were very very poor. One day his mum sent him to school wearing a pair of his sisters knicks because she had no undies for him. He got busted and got ripped for years but, like I said, he toughed it out. One thing about Harry though, he was scared of dogs.
We found an orchard near a village green and decided to get in for some apples, but the fence was impenetrable. We skirted around looking for a way in, there was a fallow field with tall grass that led to the back of the orchard, we found a tiny gap in the hedge. We squeezed through.
'What if there are guard dogs?' asked Harry
'There's no need to be scared of dogs. Dogs will only attack you if you run, so keep still and they will wander off. I will go first, you follow on'
That reassured him and he followed me across the field. I led the way , then froze when a pair of ears pricked up above the three foot grass. They were big alsation ears. Then the eyes. It loomed up like the hound of the fkng Baskervilles.
'Keep still' I hissed.
'Urrgghhh' (I think he was a bit scared)
The dog too a step towards me, 20 yards away, we stared eyeball to eyeball, I was fearless, I was man the hunter. Then one million years of evolution followed by eight years of being a feral scouser kicked in and I turned and ran.
Harrys eyes were like saucers, he looked at me disapprovingly as I flashed past him. Then I heard as he turned and started to run,... too late. I heard the allie crash through the grass, then a snarl, then a tussle, then a heart rending moan, then I was through the hedge. I turned to help Harry. It was a bit harder for him to get through seeing as he had a dog attached to his @rse that probably weighed more than he did.
We stood there shaking, the dog was going loopy but couldnt get at us, then we surveyed the damage. Harry had blood running down his legs, his little school shorts had a big square ripped out, through the tear in the cloth I could see a lump of flesh hang down, attached by a bit of skin.
He started to cry.
'Me mams gonna kill me when she sees that rip in me keks'
I thought 'Harry, you just had half your bum bit off by the hound from hell, your shoes are filling up with blood, your bessie mate did a runner and left you to die and you are worried that yer ma might give yer a thick ear'
It was hard to bear.
We used to have 'raids' with the kids from neighbouring streets. A raid was a missile bombardment, 25 - 30 feral kids aged 5 - 12 would throw bricks , bottles, anything they could get their hands on, at another gang, over a range of about 40 yards or so. The object was to get a hit, to maim or kill as many of the other gang as you could, every now and then someone would get hurt badly, usually by a head wound.
A couple of hundred yards from our street was a brickworks, and one of the items they made was cobbled paving slabs. These cobbles were perfect for throwing from young hands, round smooth and heavy, even a glancing blow was a knockout. The brickworks also had a commanding hill of gravel and a protective wall. Whoever got control of the works would win the raid, sending the defeated gang scuttling away carring their wounded. We were closest so it was usually us that won the raids.
One summer, another gang decided they had had enough of being pelted with cobbles, so they decided to come up with a new tactic. Their leader , Pongo, brought along a secret weapon, that he had nicked from his dads WWII Burma collection. He was called Pongo because, well, he stunk a bit. So there we were, pelting them with cobbles (aka chucky eggs) from the hill when Pongo ran at us. This was unusual because there had never been any hand to hand combat before, I mean we went to school with these lads and some of them were friends. We just suspended all that for street pride in the raid.
We were not too fazed, although he was a hard nut we had our own hard men, plus it was one onto thirty.
The odds changed a bit when Pongo pulled out his dads machete and headed straight for our leader. So we beat a hasty. Their gang came streaming and screaming after us, savouring their victory, we ran, across the wall, across the school field and over the railings. First to safety was Harry, last was little Kenny, five years old. In his panic, on top of the six foot school railings, Kenny slipped and fell. A railing spike went up each of his wellies (without impaling him) and he hung, upside down on our side of the fence, wailing. The b@stards used him for target practice.
A few days later, I was out foraging with Harry, looking for adventure, something to do. We lived on the outskirts of a big city but close enough to farmland to be able to walk into the countryside.
Harry was a great lad, tough and hard and a very fast runner, same age as me but a few inches taller. His family were very very poor. One day his mum sent him to school wearing a pair of his sisters knicks because she had no undies for him. He got busted and got ripped for years but, like I said, he toughed it out. One thing about Harry though, he was scared of dogs.
We found an orchard near a village green and decided to get in for some apples, but the fence was impenetrable. We skirted around looking for a way in, there was a fallow field with tall grass that led to the back of the orchard, we found a tiny gap in the hedge. We squeezed through.
'What if there are guard dogs?' asked Harry
'There's no need to be scared of dogs. Dogs will only attack you if you run, so keep still and they will wander off. I will go first, you follow on'
That reassured him and he followed me across the field. I led the way , then froze when a pair of ears pricked up above the three foot grass. They were big alsation ears. Then the eyes. It loomed up like the hound of the fkng Baskervilles.
'Keep still' I hissed.
'Urrgghhh' (I think he was a bit scared)
The dog too a step towards me, 20 yards away, we stared eyeball to eyeball, I was fearless, I was man the hunter. Then one million years of evolution followed by eight years of being a feral scouser kicked in and I turned and ran.
Harrys eyes were like saucers, he looked at me disapprovingly as I flashed past him. Then I heard as he turned and started to run,... too late. I heard the allie crash through the grass, then a snarl, then a tussle, then a heart rending moan, then I was through the hedge. I turned to help Harry. It was a bit harder for him to get through seeing as he had a dog attached to his @rse that probably weighed more than he did.
We stood there shaking, the dog was going loopy but couldnt get at us, then we surveyed the damage. Harry had blood running down his legs, his little school shorts had a big square ripped out, through the tear in the cloth I could see a lump of flesh hang down, attached by a bit of skin.
He started to cry.
'Me mams gonna kill me when she sees that rip in me keks'
I thought 'Harry, you just had half your bum bit off by the hound from hell, your shoes are filling up with blood, your bessie mate did a runner and left you to die and you are worried that yer ma might give yer a thick ear'
It was hard to bear.
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