大象传媒

I'd always wanted a big brother and, in 1944, one arrived painlessly from Walworth, in London. I was an innocent ten year old and our evacuee was street-wise Will Pringle who was three years older than myself. He was self-confident, witty, friendly and already a successful girl-chaser. My mother loved him, my little sister, Glenda, adored him and I hero-worshipped him.
He showed me how to imitate speedway riders on my bike over a cinder track in Ryelands Park, how to climb trees, swing over railings, make a catapult, throw stones and gamble for pennies playing Pontoon.
Within a fortnight, my Lancashire accent was rapidly changing to a Cockney one and my out-of-house activities with Will were dangerous and bordering on the anarchic on derelict building sites and near deep river or canal water. My mother trusted him to be my guardian wherever we went.
He'd brought more than his London accent, winning ways and attractive looks with him: he had a knife, which he'd let me handle, but made me promise never to tell anyone about it.
One day, he told me I was needed to help his gang, from our Scale Hall Estate, in a stone fight against boys from a joint Ryelands' Gang and Hareruns' Gang, all newly-formed Lancaster alliances based on well-established South London ones.
I, his obedient servant, accompanied him to some waste ground called The Padfields. On our way, we carried broom handles and collected stones. We met and walked excitedly with other noisy members of our side.
Armed as heavily as possible, we joined those already on the designated battlefield. There were about thirty kids on each side of a no-man's land, all aged from about seven to fourteeen. We kept well back from our opponents and exchanged insults and hurled stones at each other.
Eventually Will who was at the front produced his knife and waved it challenging the enemy and they pushed forward their champion who also had a knife. They met in the middle of no-man's-land and lunged at each other with their blades. Will drew a little blood, followed by tumultuous cheers from the Scale Hallites, when he scratched his opponent's chest and that was regarded as sufficient. The two leaders rejoined their respective gangs who slowly withdrew and made their way back to their own estates, after a lot more chanting of verbal abuse and the throwing of the last of the missiles. As Will's 'brother', I basked in the glory of his heroic deed.
Unfortunately, my grandmother lived on one of the rival estates and I went to visit her every Sunday morning, having to pass through enemy territory most of the way there and back. For years, I dreaded encountering and being recognised by one or more of the lads from the other side and being beaten up by them.
My mother never found out what we got up to and she wept when Will was reclaimed by his parents and went back to London at the end of the wear.

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