Wrong-uns
I'm going back to a day in 1979 or 1980. I was pinned against the Camden Street section of the Richard Cobden football pitch fence. I have vague memories of it being a nice sunny afternoon and all that but my memory is a little out because I was pinned against the fence by two young wrong-uns. One wrong-un was my age, the other was two years older.
The younger wrong-un was slightly bigger than me, the older wrong-un towered over me. At 13 I was (and still am) skinny as you like and unskilled in the old fashioned art of fighting. Like most boys in the area I knew the theory about how to set the body and put weight behind punches etc but I did not have what it took mentally.
From ‘Vera & John’ by Jason wilde
The reasons these two wrong-uns had me pinned against the fence was because (a) they wanted money I didn’t have and (b) giving a skinny runt a few digs and slaps was a fuckwits idea of fun. The big wrong-un held me while the little wrong-un verbally abused me, keeping his left hand inside the pocket of his unzipped jacket and waving it in front of my face, smiling and hinting that he had a blade.
A proper sticky wicket me thinks.
After a series of slaps and pushes the demand for money I didn’t have was shouted at me. I told them to piss off. The cheeky scamps laughed and looked at each other and laughed more and slapped me about a bit more and repeated their demand. I told them to piss off again. And they laughed and slapped and laughed again. The smaller wrong-un upped the threat level by poking at my stomach with his hand that was inside his jacket pocket.
From ‘Vera & John’ by Jason wilde
I’d love to be able to say that at this point I landed a few well aimed jabs, hooks and crosses on both their jaws and noses with the speed and accuracy of a champion bantamweight. That was never going to happen. What did happen was me mum walked up. Calm as you like on the outside but fucking fuming on the inside. She knew the score.
“Oh bollox” me thinks.
“Whats going on boy” she says to me in the voice as she put down the numerous plastic bags of shopping containing the goods to feed a family of five for a few days. Mum was the same height as the little wrong-un.
"Nothing mum" says I.
From ‘Vera & John’ by Jason wilde
She was now stood in front of me in-between the two wrong-uns.
I was surrounded.
She then turns and looks the little wrong-un up and down. The big wrong-un then gets the same look. This unsettles them a little and both the wrong-uns start to look like they’d much prefer an early bath.
“What's going on boy” she says again looking back at me.
"Nothing mum" says I again, hoping that she’d just fuck off a let things happen natural. Without taking her eyes off mine and while pointing her pointing finger at the big wrong-uns face, almost touching it, she says to me, in the voice, “Hit him boy”.
Which I have to declare surprised the fuck out of the three of us boys.
“What?” says I.
“Hit him boy” says mum, again using the voice and still looking at me.
It's clear by the look on the big wrong-un’s face that he is unsure where the first punch is coming from. More unsettling for him was the fact that mum turned to look at him, but says to me, in the voice, “If you don’t hit him boy I’ll hit you”
“Hit me?” me thinks.
“A little unfair” me thinks further.
Thoughts are speedy things in times of crisis and quite a few contradictory ones came and went fast and furiously in the seconds that followed. Then the mind made itself up and decided to opt for the lesser of the two evils and gave orders to the fists to start swinging for all I was worth.
Thoughts are speedy things in times of crisis and the two wrong-uns shared brain cell was also going like the clappers. Just before I decided to attack it dawned on both wrong-uns at the same time that they were really just a pair of simple shandy-pantsies. And they ran off. They had it up. On their toes. Zippy as you like. Up Camden street until they were out of sight amongst the large yellow blocks of the Yellow Flats Estate.
“Haha” thinks me.
“Pick up the shopping” says the mum, without the voice now.
From ‘Vera & John’ by Jason wilde
We lived on Camden Street so it was a very short walk to our own brown block. I have no idea what was going through her mind and only other mums will understand that kind of protective(mad)ness. We got home and the shopping was put away slowly and deliberately so time was made for a calm down and tea to be made. We then sat down at the kitchen table with tea and biscuits and mum gave me a talking to about standing up to bullies and how important it was not to let anyone take the piss out of me.
I was listening and taking it in but the problem was that I saw an Arctic Roll go in the freezer as she was putting away the shopping and all I could think of was that we were having Arctic Roll for afters as our Sunday treat.
The two lessons were learned that day were that mums can be really fucking embarrassing and that its hard to beat a slice of Arctic Roll for afters.