maraudingarmy, people kept joining our ranks from bus queues and post offices, like volunteers in a wartime emergency.
After one of these sorties, a bottle had been thrown at police who’d chased our gang. We were ordered to stop but as I was the only one who obeyed, they tossed me in the police van and charged me with the offence. I told them I hadn’t done anything and on that occasion Dad rightly believed me. He knew I would usually put up my hands if caught.
When I was 15 I was convicted of GBH and threatening behaviour against an Indian guy almost twice my age. I usually went to the Hope Revive pub in Ilford Lane to be with the big boys, although I didn’t drink any alcohol. On this particular evening, I was sitting on the pool table and was asked to get off by the man I assaulted. I told him I would if he asked me nicely but he said something derogatory. He must have thought I was a weakling because he was much bigger than me. While verbally abusing me, he also started walking towards me. My brother Dermot was there but didn’t have time to intervene.
As the guy approached, I whacked him in the face and it was all over. He was bloodied and beaten and seriously hurt. Bill the barman had, seconds earlier, feared for my safety and armed himself with a monkey wrench to stop the fight, but it was over too soon.
A day later, I was walking down Ilford High Street and about six policemen jumped on me. I thought they were going to do me for nicking but,as I hadn’t done anything, I protested, ‘Hold on,’ I said, ‘I ain’t nicked nothing yet.’ That’s when they told me they were holding me for assault. I then saw the Indian guy identifying me and thought, ‘What a grass!’ Again, my initial fear was that I would be in big trouble with Dad and I begged the police not to call him, but he was already at the police station by the time I arrived.
This time, he supported me. ‘Did you win, son?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, Dad. I knocked him down.’
Dad was pleased. He told the police after they had explained what had happened, ‘So he should have done. I would have bashed him up as well. I always told my sons if anyone wants to bash you up, don’t let them put you in hospital. But if you steal, then I’ll bust you up.’ Mum had to pay £30 to the court and I was given 60 hours’ community service which took six months to do.
My life wasn’t all fighting, though. There was a lot of fun in between and a continual flow of women. Because of my youth, I would like to excuse my behaviour with girls. I would treat them quite badly from time to time because of the influence of the big boys around me. Some of them had been just as tough and cruel to their girlfriends as they were to me. It was part of their macho image. They treated them mean and I followed suit. Women whom you did not love were simply used. We’d never fight over them. We’d just use them and like having them around to do our bidding. Happily, that attitude has long since changed.
I remember going to the Notting Hill Carnival with my friends Colin and Mark Jemott. We got separated and I had no money, although I had arranged with one of my girlfriends to meet her at her house later that night. Her parents were going to be away and I wanted to sleep with her. I didn’t want to be embarrassed by boarding a bus without money and getting kicked off, so I walked all the way home. It was a horrendous 15-mile trip. When I finally arrived at her house, it was nearly 4.00am and there was my good friend Mark curled up in bed with her! I was gutted.
I very much regret the way I treated one of my girlfriends. I was inexcusably mean. I used to make her meet me at 1.00am and bring me Kentucky Fried Chicken or fish and chips. She was like a slave to me. I used and abused her and slapped her around. That is not a period I am proud of but I have grown up considerably since then.
Mostly, the girls I went out with were lots of fun. We’d get up to high jinks on the
After one of these sorties, a bottle had been thrown at police who’d chased our gang. We were ordered to stop but as I was the only one who obeyed, they tossed me in the police van and charged me with the offence. I told them I hadn’t done anything and on that occasion Dad rightly believed me. He knew I would usually put up my hands if caught.
When I was 15 I was convicted of GBH and threatening behaviour against an Indian guy almost twice my age. I usually went to the Hope Revive pub in Ilford Lane to be with the big boys, although I didn’t drink any alcohol. On this particular evening, I was sitting on the pool table and was asked to get off by the man I assaulted. I told him I would if he asked me nicely but he said something derogatory. He must have thought I was a weakling because he was much bigger than me. While verbally abusing me, he also started walking towards me. My brother Dermot was there but didn’t have time to intervene.
As the guy approached, I whacked him in the face and it was all over. He was bloodied and beaten and seriously hurt. Bill the barman had, seconds earlier, feared for my safety and armed himself with a monkey wrench to stop the fight, but it was over too soon.
A day later, I was walking down Ilford High Street and about six policemen jumped on me. I thought they were going to do me for nicking but,as I hadn’t done anything, I protested, ‘Hold on,’ I said, ‘I ain’t nicked nothing yet.’ That’s when they told me they were holding me for assault. I then saw the Indian guy identifying me and thought, ‘What a grass!’ Again, my initial fear was that I would be in big trouble with Dad and I begged the police not to call him, but he was already at the police station by the time I arrived.
This time, he supported me. ‘Did you win, son?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, Dad. I knocked him down.’
Dad was pleased. He told the police after they had explained what had happened, ‘So he should have done. I would have bashed him up as well. I always told my sons if anyone wants to bash you up, don’t let them put you in hospital. But if you steal, then I’ll bust you up.’ Mum had to pay £30 to the court and I was given 60 hours’ community service which took six months to do.
My life wasn’t all fighting, though. There was a lot of fun in between and a continual flow of women. Because of my youth, I would like to excuse my behaviour with girls. I would treat them quite badly from time to time because of the influence of the big boys around me. Some of them had been just as tough and cruel to their girlfriends as they were to me. It was part of their macho image. They treated them mean and I followed suit. Women whom you did not love were simply used. We’d never fight over them. We’d just use them and like having them around to do our bidding. Happily, that attitude has long since changed.
I remember going to the Notting Hill Carnival with my friends Colin and Mark Jemott. We got separated and I had no money, although I had arranged with one of my girlfriends to meet her at her house later that night. Her parents were going to be away and I wanted to sleep with her. I didn’t want to be embarrassed by boarding a bus without money and getting kicked off, so I walked all the way home. It was a horrendous 15-mile trip. When I finally arrived at her house, it was nearly 4.00am and there was my good friend Mark curled up in bed with her! I was gutted.
I very much regret the way I treated one of my girlfriends. I was inexcusably mean. I used to make her meet me at 1.00am and bring me Kentucky Fried Chicken or fish and chips. She was like a slave to me. I used and abused her and slapped her around. That is not a period I am proud of but I have grown up considerably since then.
Mostly, the girls I went out with were lots of fun. We’d get up to high jinks on the
Similar Books
