Hit and Run

Hit and run!

I was looking on Facebook today and I came across and group that had been recommended to me by my dad’s cousin. She is a distant relative who I had found out about through an ancestry site. She had been building up a family tree and it had led her to me as I was doing the same.

I was unaware of this family connection but through becoming friends on Facebook I found more and more cousins and other distant relatives. However I digress.

The group recommended to me is called memories of Hoxton, Shoreditch. I hadn’t looked at it for quite a while but the thing that interest me the most is the old photographs. So looking through the photographs today I came across one which showed Ridley road market. It was this photograph that reminded me of a story about my dad.

During the day the market in the 1970s was thriving loads of stalls all the way along with

people coming from all around the local area to buy their groceries, meat, clothes and so on.

At the weekend late at night there was what we would now describe as a burger van. In the 1970s this van was known as “the all on stall”. It was so named because you would have a sandwich with everything on it. Sausage egg bacon tomato for example.

Now my dad was a bit of a drinker back in those days, a proper man’s man he worked two jobs but every night he would go to the working man’s club for a few beers.

Weekends he would go out in the afternoon come home have his dinner and then go to bed for a kip before going out again in the evening.

Saturday night’s both my mum and me would also go along, as it was a club kids were allowed in although we weren’t allowed to do anything.

I hated that club it was boring as fuck other kids were there but the old men would always moan if we made too much noise.

Anyway I digress again. As a treat after the club closed my dad would take us to the local Wimpey (like McDonalds but with plates and cutlery) for burgers. But then occasionally he would say let’s go to the all on stall.

Because my dad would be pissed by this time my mum was the designated driver. So we headed off to Dalston and to Ridley road market. Now Ridley road was a turning off of the main road and so you had to turn into it.

On this particular night my mum turned in to Ridley road but as there was a car in front the back end of our bright orange mini was still sticking out into the main road.

My mum was a bit of a worrier even back in those days so she started harassing my dad to ask the people in front to move up.

This wouldn’t normally present itself as an issue, but on this occasion the car in front had two young women in and the reason they had not moved was because leaning through their front windows was two young men intent on getting some of that free loving that everyone in the 70’s was talking about.

My dad was probably only about 30 at the time and being a twin he was (is) a short arse standing just over five foot tall. He was also a skinny guy weighing about 8 stone (soaking wet as they say). He also had these big (bricktop from snatch) type glasses.

He was hardly the macho man to be feared as he approached.

Politely he said to the girl driving would she mind just pulling up a bit so his wife could get the car off of the main road.

“No problem” said the girl “we are just leaving anyway”, so my dad came back to the car. Sure enough the girls drove off and the guys walked over to the stall.

Taking my order of a fried egg sandwich and chips for my mum off dad went to place our order.

I was sat in the back of the car with my mum in the driver seat. As we watched my dad order, out of the blue one of these guys punched my dad square in the face. Seeing this I then jumped in the front passenger seat to get a better view. As I was watching a fight developed between my dad and these two guys. Apparently they weren’t too happy as him asking the girls to move had limited their options for a shag that night.

As I said my dad was a small skinny guy but to be fair to him he was always well game. He had 4 brothers and all of them had boxed at different levels and growing up poor meant you had to be able to look after yourself. So he was holding his own. My mum despite being a worrier was also very protective of her man and so before I knew it was off out of the car and in the middle of it all.

I was only about seven at the time and so I just sat there watching my parents fighting in the street.

At the time it seemed like ages but in reality it could have only been a couple of minutes before my dad jumped into the driving seat. The keys were in the ignition and so like a bat out of hell we were off down the road.

One of the guys that had attacked him had run off in the direction we were going and my dad was on his tail.

Like a scene from the Sweeny (1970’s cop show) we were bombing it down the road, then in the headlights a figure appeared in front of us above his head was a small wooden pallet.

The pallet came towards the car but my dad kept on straight towards his attacker. It is the next thing that sticks in my mind the most (even though it has been 40 years) and that is the image of this young fella on the bonnet of the car hanging on for dear life.

I can still see him now with his long dark hair and his burgundy knitted waist coat. We carried him along the road for a matter of seconds before he fell off.

It was at this point that my dad glanced sideways and noticed me sat next to him. I recall him doing a double take.

He was physically shaken up and trying to compute it all in his brain as it suddenly dawned on him that my mum was not there it was me.

“Where’s mum?” he screamed at me “she got out dad” was my terrified reply. Without further comment he spun the car around and we were heading back down the road where we had run over someone.

I jumped back in to the back of the car as he screamed to a halt by the stall and in jumped my mum. Off we sped and homeward bound.

Fortunately no police were about and so my dad got away with drunk driving on top of hit and run and we got home safe.

The next day when my dad woke up the reality of what happened started to hit him.

His glasses were smashed and his lip and nose were all cut.

But that was the least on his mind at this point. Did anyone take the car number plate down? Was the guy he ran over seriously hurt?

Then there was all the what if’s.

What if they had hurt my mum?

What if they had a weapon?

What if the pallet had gone through the windscreen?

What if my dad had killed the guy?

What if the police had caught him drink driving and hit and run?

My dad as a responsible person decided the best thing to do was to go to the police before they had a chance of coming for him.

So off he went to Hackney police station, he explained what had happened and asked if there had been any reports about it.

Clearly the copper on the front desk had some sympathy for my dad and also some respect for the fact that he had come forward, as his answer was simple “you should have reversed over the fucker”!

Although this situation could have turned out a whole lot different it is still a memory that actually makes me smile (all’s well that ends well I guess) so well done Facebook group memories of Hoxton Shoreditch You sure did give me one.