I predict a riot

I PREDICT A RIOT!

If you have ever moved away any distance from your home town, then you will know how hard it is to slot straight into the new area.

My story here goes back nearly 27 years, prior to moving to my current home town, Poole.

I am from London and I initially left as an 18 year old. My parents were in the licensing trade running a working man’s club in Hackney hospital for the staff there.

After my grandparents passed away my dad’s twin brother David suggested that they go into partnership buying a pub.

My uncle lived in Hertfordshire on the border with Bedfordshire and it is in Bedfordshire that my parents bought a small village pub.

I had a long-time girlfriend Caroline, who lived in Billericay (some distance from Hackney) at the time and I had just lost my job, so I had nothing to lose moving away from London so I went along as well.

I thought this would be the start of a new life, slow pace little village new friends and a pub to run in the future.

However people seemed to think that because you are from London that you were automatically a wide boy or a crook. And even though they had been in prison for 20 years, the locals seemed to think that everyone in London was connected to the Kray twins somehow!

The village we moved to was actually quite a large village (longest in England I believe) there was something like 13 pubs and 3 clubs along the main high street at the time.

I made a couple of friends initially but both of these was from outside the village, one Paul was from Southampton and one Pat was from Stevenage. I also had a couple of cousins locally as well.

The village itself was very diverse there was a large Indian community as well as a large Italian community; this was due to the nearby brick works.

Coming from London I had no issue with this I had many friends from all different backgrounds and so was happy in all their company. To be honest I was more the outsider just for coming from outside the village skin colour never came into it for them, it was where you were from.

There was though one particular guy (Leo) within the group who really pushed my buttons. For whatever reason he felt it was his job to goad me constantly. Snide comments, sarcasm, dirty look even the odd jab here and there.

It got to a point where I spoke to my dad about it, but because of the business however my dad asked me to turn a blind eye and let it go, ”just ignore him” he would say, so this I did.

Every year for charity there was a pram race through the village. Basically you start at one end and end up at the other stopping at each pub along the way to drink a pint of beer. All teams put together a theme of fancy dress and had sponsors to raise money for charity.

It was a real high in the social calendar of the village. My two friends and I took part and enjoyed the experience. We went as 2 cannibals with a missionary in a cooking pot.

It was after this race the pub was buzzing and everyone was having a good time. The pubs all had extensions to drinking hours (this was before all day opening) and so the beer was flowing happily.

For some reason I had to go outside of the pub, this happened to be exactly the time when my nemesis was walking past. As I looked at the smarmy twat walking along my blood started to boil.

To be honest it was probably more to do with the amount of beer I had drank than anything he had done, but by the time I went back inside my rage was overflowing.

Clearly as I got back to the bar it was showing on my face how angry I was as Caroline asked me “whatever is the matter with you” “that Cunt Leo has just stuck his fingers up at me the fucking prick” I replied he hadn’t to be fair but the months of goading and letting it go for the sake of pub takings had hit its limit.

“Don’t take it out on me go and smack him one” was her response! Well you didn’t have to tell me twice.

I left the pub like a rocket, instinctively I headed towards the local corner shop, I don’t know why. I don’t recall the walk to the shop it was a good 5 minutes away but for me even now that part is a total blur. As I arrived at the shop door I could see he was in there. Like a stranger in a Western film I flung the door open and stood in the doorway!

“You ya Cunt outside now” was my opening gambit not very original I know.

He just stood there looking straight back at me confused.

He made no attempt to respond to my request to step into the street, Instead he just looked at his group of friends with him, (who I had not even noticed).

I headed towards him with real purpose and before I could think I had punched him square in the eye!

I had a gold initial ring on and this must have caught him at an angle as his eye just burst open. It came up instantly and started to pour with blood.

“Come on you cunt lets ave it” I yelled but no response he just cowed there. Bang I followed it up with another large clump to the head.

My rage was blind nobody else in the room mattered, his friends stood there in shock. The shop keeper was shouting for me to stop. And then as the rage lifted after the second shot there was Leo crouching cowering away from me.

Instantly I felt guilt the rage left me and I became aware of those around me.

Just as I started to get it back together the door flung open and in rushed Pat my mate from Stevenage.

“Come on you mugs who wants it? We’ll take you all on” he screamed.

Worried that I was alone Caroline had sent Pat to cover my back, as luck would have it I did not need his help I had done my damage, made my point the matter was closed.

On seeing what I had done Pat roared with laughter goading the local lads as we left.

“Get in there my son, you fucking smashed him” he said to me victorious as we walked back towards the pub. My guilt started to lift and I started to feel elated to be honest. I was almost proud of myself for standing up to this person who was making my life a misery. I had shown him up to his friends. He was not the tough guy he made out to be, and I had also sent a message not to try it on. I did feel good I cannot lie about it.

I had to make my dad aware of what had happened as he had asked me to leave it alone. He was fine however he realised that it had been a strain on me for some time and he accepted that I had done well to let it go for the amount of time that I had.

I am not sure how long had elapsed since my altercation before repercussions started to present themselves, It didn’t seem long but by the time it started the pub had started to thin out. All that was left was practically family members. My dad’s twin and his two boy’s one of my mum’s brothers (Johnny) and his daughter and me Caroline and my mate Pat. 

There was a family in the village (all areas have them) that were the local tearaway’s the hard nuts. They were 4 brothers but the younger 3 had basically lived off of the oldest’ s reputation. Their dad knew what they were like, but their mum thought the sun shone out of their arses. They was always in trouble with the old bill and they had caused trouble in all the pubs at one time or another.

The middle brother Mark came to the pub and started to call out my mate Pat! To this day I have no idea why he came for Pat and not me as Pat had not really done anything. But here he was as bold as brass outside giving it the big I am.

Although Pat had moved to the village from Stevenage his heritage was London Irish. We had become friends straight away. He was the only mixed race person in the village and on top of that he was a cannabis growing and smoking Rastafarian! This guy was really laid back for the most part and fiercely loyal. He was also, as it turned out, completely fearless.

Pat walked out in to the street to face Mark closely followed by the rest of us. Mark was a big guy intimidating and confident but more in the stereotype thug way. His plan was to front Pat out with Racist abuse, but Pat with the character he was just laughed in his face. This had the effect of infuriating Mark more and more. He snapped and ran at Pat throwing his arms at him trying to connect. Pat on the other hand stepped back taking a boxing pose and just picked his jabs at will. Unbeknown to me at the time Pat had trained in boxing as a young boy.

Being mixed race had caused him issues in the past and his granddad had made sure he was equipped to look after himself.

This made Mark become desperate and he managed to grab on to Pats Jumper basically trying to grapple with him.

As cool as you like Pat dipped and backed away pulling his jumper off leaving himself stood there bear chested. As he moved to a standing position he flexed his arms and chest, this raised a huge cheer from those watching further infuriating Mark!

This fight was over as quickly as it had started Mark stumbled away across the road to his older brother Kevin who by this point had been watching. Looking a dejected and beaten man Mark stumbled to the safety of his brother. Shouting abuse as he went.

As we returned inside the pub nobody seemed to notice that Leo’s 2 brothers were coming along the road to meet up with Kevin, they were intent on taking Pat on. Pat did though he was on it as quick as a flash. He was on them toe to toe picking punches off against all three of them in a row.

Although Pat was a tough cookie fighting three people at once is not going to be easy. Eventually he was overwhelmed so he pulled back and ran.

This was no retreat though Pat knew something that these guys did not know. Pat was leading them to the back gate of the pub yard. Pat was followed by only one of the three.

What he knew that they didn’t was that behind the gate was a shovel! This shovel and his pursuers head soon became acquainted!

Pat dipped behind the gate and as Leo’s brother came through Pat hit him side on with the shovel actually breaking his collar bone!

Pat then proceeded to climb over the 6 foot wall! The problem that faced him the other side was Kevin and Leo’s oldest brother were there waiting.

They managed to get Pat on the floor where they stamped and kicked at him.

Pat was made of stronger stuff though he curled himself into a ball “is that all you’ve got you cunts” he kept shouting out. He really had some bollocks!

 

Within minutes we were all back outside the pub as a large gathering of the friends of Mark, Leo and their brothers had gathered. A full blown battle commenced!

Bottles and chairs flew through the air. Windows were smashed and patio furniture as overturned.

The scene was bedlam my mum and dad both uncles and cousins were all involved in the fracas even Caroline was out there in the middle of a full scale riot.

During this madness one of my least proud moments occurred. Being totally out numbered I thought it would be a good idea to arm myself with a pool cue.

Out I came swinging it intent on doing some damage.

Unfortunately the first person I came into contact with was fucking massive! He grabbed the cue from my grip, without hesitation he held it aloft and snapped it in half.

No effort, no strain just a snap and a grin!

I shit a brick, this man mountain now had two pieces of wood swinging in my direction. There was only one thing left to do “DAAAAADDDD!!!!!”

I shouted out like a 5 year old bullied in the playground.

This had the benefit of distracting my attacker long enough for me to make my get away. Clearly I did not cover myself in glory during that part of the altercation.

The battle seemed to last forever but the fact is it was only minutes. Within no time sirens were heard and the locals were on their toes and as quickly as it started it was over.

The Police were on our side as I said they knew all about these guys and their thugary, they had caused problems all around the area over the years. So my dad pressed charges and the main culprits had to go to court. They received the obligatory slap on the wrist. They were also banned from the pub which actually helped business as people felt happy these people would not be around.

My parents never blamed me for what happened that day, but I do blame myself up to a point.

The truth is Leo and I was always going to come to blows. It was just a matter of time. Mark and Kevin had no reason to challenge Pat but they did, so there must have been an underlying resentment against him.

I cannot say it was racially motivated for sure but that would be my guess.  

My time in the village was relatively short but it was eventful! And that is another story.

Bribery corruption prostitution a true story

Bribery corruption & prostitution just an ordinary day. A true story.

As an only child I found myself very lonely in my early years. My extended family were fairly distant. On one side my cousins were all a lot younger than me on the other a lot older, so I had no real affinity to any of them.

My dad is quite a character especially in his younger days. He was a real man’s man drinking smoking and fighting, he was always a bit of a leader as well and seemed to know everyone. At the time we lived in Hackney in east London my dad was born in Hackney hospital and grew up nearby. He had 4 brothers 2 sets of twins (of which he was one) and an older brother.

They were all handy with their fist and nobody held any fear for them. My dad was close to all his brothers but one of them (John) was on the scene more than the others. If my dad was a bit of a man’s man then John was more of a man’s man. He was a big time drinker, smoker, gambler, fighter and he liked the ladies as well. He was single late into his life. I think he was in his 40’s before he eventually got married.

Because of seeing him a lot he became my favourite uncle. Always full of stories, mostly drunken ones. He was a rogue and everyone loves a rogue, don’t they? As I said I was an only child and so I grew up pretty fast. My mum and dad worked in the bar trade and so they was out a lot of the time. I learned to fend for myself. So as time went on my dad’s brothers tended to see me as one of them rather than one of the kids.  (I liked that).

Fast forward to 1985 I was 19 years old. By this time I was living in a small village in Bedfordshire. My mum and dad ran one of the numerous pubs in the village.

I worked as a hod carrier for a local builder, I hated it. I had a full time girlfriend (who became my wife) and we were buying our first house in Bedford.

John had come to visit some days earlier and by this time was a raging alcoholic; he was getting divorced by this time as well. It was a very messy divorce a lot of animosity and pain (on both sides undoubtedly).

For a living John had been a union official. He had started work in the union as a young man and worked his way up within the union. In fact he had got as high as second in command. A senior labour MP had been close friends with John within his career. John’s job was as a trouble shooter when strikes occurred around the country. He had even given interviews on the television in news programmes of the time.

At the time of his visit he had been negotiating a deal in Bedford with management, once it was complete he brought the whole committee of the local union to my dad’s pub for a celebration drink. John ended up staying a week or so, his drinking was massive. On the optic neat vodka’s first thing in the morning just to stop the shakes. Then he was on the beer all day until bed.

Although John was clearly an alcoholic he never lost his roughish appeal. Everyone around the pub liked him. He also had an air of authority around him and his manner intimidated the “lads” that came in to the pub. One of them made a smart mouthed comment to my future wife and before she had realised John had the guy giving a grovelling apology, no messing even when pissed!

John was clearly at the end of his career the union wanted rid of him if the truth be known, he could be a loose cannon and with the drinking it was only going to get worse. He was given the chance of getting medically retired; this would have given him a large lump sum and a very generous pension to live on. John knew he couldn’t carry on as he was and so he wanted to go for it.

This entailed a trip to Harley Street to meet up with the union’s doctor. John being John he knew he could not be trusted to make it there himself so he asked me to go with him. I was on £40 per day wages then and he said “I’ll cover that me old son, and I’ll make it worth your while”. To me there was no question, I was in he was still my favourite uncle; I loved him and would be there for him no matter what.

Fortunately John had never learned to drive so the union had issued him with a rail card and a taxi account. So there I was 19 years old and a train then a London black cab all ex’s paid babysitting a raging alcoholic to Harley Street. What a sight we must have been.

We had only left London about a year before this and so places like Harley street were another world to me. We entered to plush waiting room with posh dolly bird on reception. Chesterfield sofas and carpet thick enough to cover your shoes, Id never know anything like it.

So without delay in we went, the doctor was sat at a massive desk in a red leather backed chair. He was all suited up pin stripe, and speaking with what we would term at the time a plum in his mouth.

“So you’re here to discuss options for your future John.” The doctor opened the conversation.

“Yeah just sign the papers, I need out.” John was not in the mood to be hanging around.

The doctor wanted to be seen to go through the motions however he wasn’t just gonna sign the paperwork without at least looking like he had completed a consultation.

So the discussion was directed to me?

I was taken aback that this highly educated posh gent wanted to know my view. But hey for Johns sake there was a lot riding on his exit from the working world.

So I put on my most grown up face and explained that what John needed was time away from the stresses of work and the support of his loving family.

I was there to show that the support existed and that it was OK to hand his care over to us.

To be fair I actually believed that this would have happened had John wanted it but John was John he was his own person, he would decide his own fate. The doctor was suitably impressed, he expressed his opinion that John needed continued care once his exit from work had occurred but he could see that the support was there (from me a 19 year old kid).

Within half an hour we were in a black cab papers signed future sorted and on our way to a city of London wine bar. John was starting to wobble but there was also excitement in the air. This was the mid-80s and so wine bars was fast becoming the rage, the term Yuppie was being bandied about everywhere trench coats and big ties was the order of the day.

I was still very much a pub boy light and lager was my drink of choice (mainly because you always got more than the pint you paid for). I’d never been in a proper wine bar before, especially one in the city. We got out of the cab and went down a flight of stairs to a darkly lit basement bar. Inside the place was rammed with bankers and the like. Off I went to the bar in my ignorance asking for a couple of beers.

The barman looked at me and smiled.

“We don’t sell beer here sir only wine, this is a wine bar.”

 What a prat I felt.

“Give us two glasses of wine then.”

“Which would sir like?”

Fuck sake this was starting to get embarrassing. Fortunately the barman was slightly decent and prompted me,

 “House white?”

“That will do for me mate.”

By this time John had found us a table in the corner, over I go passing the large house white to him, bang straight down it went no fear.

“Take a seat Lee, I’ve got a bit of business going on in here and I need you to play along.”

“Go on then what we up to now?” I asked

“There’s a guy coming in who thinks I can help his company get a contract to supply thermals. He is going to give me some money in a sports bag. If you sit at the end of the table when he gives me the bag I’ll put between us, drink your drink and then get up and leave, taking the bag.”

“Go to the nearest pub take a few quid out and get a beer and wait for me, OK?”

So here I am just blagged pensions pay off and lump sum off a Harley street doctor now I’m picking up bung money!

“OK John, no worries”.

We must have only waited about 10 minutes before John’s contact arrived; sure enough he greets John like old mates and passes him a Umbro sports bag John puts it next to him on the chair. I sat there for a few minutes sipping at this horrible house white not saying a word. Finally with one last glug it’s gone. I pick up the bag and quietly I’m off out the door.

Just along the road was a normal old London pub so in I go up to the bar to get my much needed Light and lager. I grabs a seat in the corner out of the way holding on to the bag for dear life, not daring to loom inside.

I was sat there for a good hour or so people watching the various characters coming in and out. This was not a banker’s pub. Although it was still in the city this place was for locals, no yuppies allowed, I felt right at home.

Then as large as life and as loud as you like in he comes, laughing his head off with a smile like the cat that got the cream.

“He never saw you go, shit himself when the bag was missing.” John belted out at me. “How much did he give?”

“Don’t you know?” I asked “You took a back hander but you don’t know how much for.”

“Who gives a fuck, it’s more than I did have however much it is, I aint doing nothing for it” John just kept laughing.

I handed him the bag and it’s off to the bar he goes, large vodka and pint of lager required. He unzips the bag and starts pulling out wads of notes, straight away I’m up and over to him trying to make him a bit more discreet.

“Done alright here lee look at that, lovely jubbly” (yeah not just Del Boy who said it).

I took a peek inside the bag and there must have been a good £5000 in there. Bearing in mind this was 30 years ago and my house was costing me £30,000 that was a huge sum of money, especially for nothing! So here I am sitting on a bag of cash in a pub with an alcoholic what could go wrong?

As I said being an only child I grew up pretty young so I kept that bag close to me, beer was cheap back then only about 80p per pint so we were never gonna burn a big hole in it, that’s not to say John didn’t give it a good go.

He was up for buying everyone a drink, but I convinced him that they were a bunch of wankers who didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t that I had a problem with buying drinks; I was more concerned about drawing attention to ourselves.

Eventually some 3 or so hours later I’d convinced John it was time to head back to Arlesey.

“Just the one more stop boy and then we’re off.”

To get back to Arlesey we needed to get to Kings cross, on the way from the city you head down Euston road and behind there is an area called summers town. It was here the next phase of my day was to take place.

“Stick with me just gotta make a stop.”

“John where the fuck are we going now?”

“You’ll see.” He replied.

We head in to a council estate nothing too bad nothing sinister just a normal set of flats. Up to the door we go and John rings the bell. The door opened and there inside was the biggest black fella I had ever seen. He must have been 6 foot 10 tall but he filled the width of the door. He was huge. Without saying anything he stood aside and in we went.

This was just a normal looking flat nothing out of the ordinary, and so off I wandered into the lounge.

“You can wait in here” the black guy said.

Johns stood there Cheshire cat smile on his face, “it’s a fucking knocking shop!” I said to him under my breath.

Then there I am again, bloody great big belly laugh, “Told ya to stick with me!”

Next thing you know he’s off down the hall way leaving me sat in the lounge of a knocking shop with a bag full of money. To say I felt uncomfortable is an understatement. I sat there for what seemed like ages watching the cartoons playing on the television. Danger mouse! Funny how details stick in your mind.

Clearly because I was feeling uncomfortable this was making the black guy uncomfortable as well. With hindsight clutching the bag with my life may have seemed dodgy.

“What’s in the bag?”  The guy asked

Shit what the fuck do I say? I can’t tell a pimp I’ve got a bag full of cash! I’m a skinny little kid and my support is a pissed alcoholic who thinks everything is an adventure! So standing up and pumping out my chest seemed like the best option,

“Nothing to do with you” I put on my hard nut voice.

What a prat I must have looked.

“You old bill?” he said it wasn’t really a question more of a threat.

What a hilarious picture this would have been a six foot high and wide tough pimp facing off with a five foot seven eight stone wimp pretending to be a tough guy.

“Of course not.” I reassured him “Do I really look like old bill?”

There was only one option left open to me at this point “JOOOHHHHNNNN!” “We gotta go mate!”

Clearly my call was sufficient to raise John’s awareness of the need to get moving because out he came from the bedroom half dressed with all his gear screwed up in his arms.

“You gotta go your old bill” the pimp said to John who just burst out laughing as we were shepherded to the door.

And there it was the day was over the adventure complete. I’d managed to corrupt a Harley street doctor into authorising pension payments, take a bribe from a clothing manufacturer with the intention of ripping him off and finally aided a pimp in his prostitution business! All in a day’s work!

We travelled back to Bedfordshire and John made good on his promise of seeing me OK for my days work. £200 back then that was a week’s pay! I was over the moon.

I’ve probably not done this story real justice, because you really had to be there, but it is a story that will live with me forever. Instead of making me feel bad towards him for putting me in those situations, I just loved him even more. Deep down I knew what I was getting into with him he was after all a rogue, and I knew it.

Life is about memories and this is one I will keep with me. John passed away a few years later after a stint in prison (which is all together another story) through his alcohol abuse.

He was well known through his union role and his funeral was packed with people and all of them had a story to tell, I just wonder how far up the scale my story ranks!