Shadow.
At the same time, I was being taught martial arts, first by Master Kam at the Wu Shu Kwan and then at the Lau-Gar with Neville Ray. But I could still be beaten by other lads. I had a punch-up with David Terriot who was a bit older and bigger than me. He was a hard nut and really hurt me with a blow to my face. I fled home crying. That was nothing, however, compared to what Sledge did to my head with his fist. And one of the Ramsey brothers, huge guys, let me have it whenever I gave them too much lip. It would often be in the form of a hot bag of rice in my face at first, then a hard slap. They all used to beat me up, but by the time I’d reached 15 I said to myself, ‘You ain’t crying no more.’ I’d never run from a one-to-one fight unless the opponent could kill me, but I would leg it from a street situation that looked bad.
Crying over women or relationships is quite different to crying over physical pain. I don’t think I’ll ever stop tears over personal relationships, particularly when the people involved are very close to me. In terms of physical punishment, however, I have always been able to put up with a lot. Like the time Colin Chambers pulled me up over a wall so that we could sneak into a cinema. He lost his grip and, as his hand slipped past my face, his ring caught my front tooth, twisting it 90 degrees from its original position. Gingerly, he tried pushing it back, but two years later I had to have it removed. Curiously, I felt no great pain.
Perhaps I had been well schooled by my older mates. Bully also seemed impervious to pain. On one occasion he was at a fair with his girlfriend, Linda Rogers, and his money fell under a ride. He knelt down to pick it up and was attacked by a hammer-wielding attendant. The guy was calling him ‘black’ this, and ‘black’ that and whacked him with the hammer. Bully took it from him, broke the hammer against an iron railing and then let him have it with his bare fists. He beat the crap out of him. He is one of the most powerful men I know. He’d eat you up and spit you out.
He was extraordinary to watch. He once had a shouting match with Linda at the Mocca Bar and the police were called. They came in a team and Bully sent every one of them flying through the air like rag dolls. It was an amazing sight watching him pick them up, one by one, and tossing them about like an angry child discarding its toys.
When the going got tough in gang fights, Iusually stayed away. For some reason, other gangs were always out to get me. Monday nights used to be our club night and we would go down to Ilford Town Hall where I’d won a dance competition. Can you imagine that? I could have been a dancer. I was a right little bopper. Down at Ilford there were a lot of racist whites and we used to fight the skinheads and mods. This particular Monday there was going to be another battle, but it wasn’t my cup of tea.
About 200 mods had gathered to fight us. I was sitting in McDonald’s waiting for the action when some blokes walked in. I couldn’t believe that they were involved. We were mostly young teenagers but these people were in their mid-20s. One sat next to me and said, ‘It’s a bit fuckin’ dark in here.’
He was huge and I thought, Yeah, it sure is. There was no way I wanted to roll around the floor with this grizzly bear. All his mates were coming out of the woodwork. We were surrounded and these guys were not playing around. They’d come tooled up for the occasion. Some had irons and sawn-off shotguns. It could have been very nasty.
Fortunately, I was able to push one of them over and then legged it in the confusion that followed. I think they were after us because, a week earlier, one of our group had smashed a furniture shop window and about ten guys had fallen into a double bed and hammered the life out of another gang member. That time I had stayed around and we had had to fight hordes of people. As we marched down the street like a
At the same time, I was being taught martial arts, first by Master Kam at the Wu Shu Kwan and then at the Lau-Gar with Neville Ray. But I could still be beaten by other lads. I had a punch-up with David Terriot who was a bit older and bigger than me. He was a hard nut and really hurt me with a blow to my face. I fled home crying. That was nothing, however, compared to what Sledge did to my head with his fist. And one of the Ramsey brothers, huge guys, let me have it whenever I gave them too much lip. It would often be in the form of a hot bag of rice in my face at first, then a hard slap. They all used to beat me up, but by the time I’d reached 15 I said to myself, ‘You ain’t crying no more.’ I’d never run from a one-to-one fight unless the opponent could kill me, but I would leg it from a street situation that looked bad.
Crying over women or relationships is quite different to crying over physical pain. I don’t think I’ll ever stop tears over personal relationships, particularly when the people involved are very close to me. In terms of physical punishment, however, I have always been able to put up with a lot. Like the time Colin Chambers pulled me up over a wall so that we could sneak into a cinema. He lost his grip and, as his hand slipped past my face, his ring caught my front tooth, twisting it 90 degrees from its original position. Gingerly, he tried pushing it back, but two years later I had to have it removed. Curiously, I felt no great pain.
Perhaps I had been well schooled by my older mates. Bully also seemed impervious to pain. On one occasion he was at a fair with his girlfriend, Linda Rogers, and his money fell under a ride. He knelt down to pick it up and was attacked by a hammer-wielding attendant. The guy was calling him ‘black’ this, and ‘black’ that and whacked him with the hammer. Bully took it from him, broke the hammer against an iron railing and then let him have it with his bare fists. He beat the crap out of him. He is one of the most powerful men I know. He’d eat you up and spit you out.
He was extraordinary to watch. He once had a shouting match with Linda at the Mocca Bar and the police were called. They came in a team and Bully sent every one of them flying through the air like rag dolls. It was an amazing sight watching him pick them up, one by one, and tossing them about like an angry child discarding its toys.
When the going got tough in gang fights, Iusually stayed away. For some reason, other gangs were always out to get me. Monday nights used to be our club night and we would go down to Ilford Town Hall where I’d won a dance competition. Can you imagine that? I could have been a dancer. I was a right little bopper. Down at Ilford there were a lot of racist whites and we used to fight the skinheads and mods. This particular Monday there was going to be another battle, but it wasn’t my cup of tea.
About 200 mods had gathered to fight us. I was sitting in McDonald’s waiting for the action when some blokes walked in. I couldn’t believe that they were involved. We were mostly young teenagers but these people were in their mid-20s. One sat next to me and said, ‘It’s a bit fuckin’ dark in here.’
He was huge and I thought, Yeah, it sure is. There was no way I wanted to roll around the floor with this grizzly bear. All his mates were coming out of the woodwork. We were surrounded and these guys were not playing around. They’d come tooled up for the occasion. Some had irons and sawn-off shotguns. It could have been very nasty.
Fortunately, I was able to push one of them over and then legged it in the confusion that followed. I think they were after us because, a week earlier, one of our group had smashed a furniture shop window and about ten guys had fallen into a double bed and hammered the life out of another gang member. That time I had stayed around and we had had to fight hordes of people. As we marched down the street like a
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