The following weekend, the same two friends, and I had an hour or two on Lichfield Golf Course searching for lost Golf balls. It was a poor day; we set off home with barely half a dozen, not enough to make the trek to the Golf Club worthwhile. To get back to ‘our’ H Block side of the barracks we had to make a detour around the school, passed the post office and across the sports field. Unfortunately, for me, as we were rounding the school, our path was blocked by half a dozen or more I Block gang members. They recognised me instantly. Several of them had had the misfortune of running into Kev and Don on previous occasions. They ignored my friends. Instructing them to let Kev and Don know that Ricky was now considered a prisoner of war!
Two of the gang left to meet Kev and Don and to convey their terms for my safe release, which was, two shillings and the total surrender of the sports field for a week. The sports field, with its great cricket barriers on cast iron wheels, the pavilion and other outbuildings, was an ideal area for war games. Alternatively we could play cowboys and Indians or such game. The cricket barriers and pavilion taking on the form of forts, castles, or battlefield defences. The meeting place would be on fairly neutral ground, waste ground, at the edge of the woods between the barracks and the Golf Course. At this point, there was a high bank, which provided an advantage to whoever held it. Around the foot of the bank grew huge Blackberry bushes, a regular feasting ground in early autumn and great swathes of stinging nettles. The meagre few that had captured me were joined by a couple of dozen other I Block kids ranging in age from five to fifteen. One produced several feet of barbed wire, which they decided to place loosely around my chest in case of any funny business. They escorted me, hands tied behind my back, to the top of this bank and there we waited.
We did not have to wait too long. We heard them coming before we saw them. Emerging from the woods and approaching the bank, were fifteen to twenty H Block Kids. Kev, the H Block Gang’s elected leader, and a chap called Young; the leader of the I Blocks moved front and centre of their respective armies.
“You agree to stay off the sports field for a week?” Called down Young.
“A week” agreed Kev. He did not fail to note I was loosely entwined in barbed wire.
“And the Two Shillings” asked Young. Kev held out his hand to reveal the money. Young was strutting up and down the brow of the bank. He knew he held all the cards; one false move and they would push me down the hill, barbed wire, and all, into the Blackberry bushes and stinging nettles. He stopped; taking centre stage, with his arms behind his back and rocking back and forth on his heals. “Take your shirt and pullover off!” Young demanded.
“Why?”
“Just do it or else he gets it” he declared pulling me forward. “And you too Don”
My brothers removed their shirts and pullovers and stood with bare chests before their own gang who stood around in tense silence. “Now roll up your trouser legs!” demanded Young again. My brothers knew what was coming. Nevertheless, they complied with his demands.
“Now bring the money up here, straight up here, in a straight line”. The I Blocks were now, fully aware of the ignominious ordeal of what Kev and Don were being forced to do. They had to walk, straight up the bank, clambering through the large Blackberry Bushes and the swathe of stinging nettles to deliver the ransom money.
They both, with no hesitation, and without a flicker, struggled calmly through that torment to the top of the bank. There they handed over the two shillings to Young. I looked at Kev and Don. Their chests, back and legs were full of scratches; in addition, their legs appeared as if they had chicken pox, covered from thigh to ankle in bright red spots from the stings they had sustained. Kev stepped forward and removed the barbed wire and untied my hands. He pushed me to the right, indicating I should leave the bank the long way round and join my comrades at the foot of the bank. As I walked away all hell broke loose. Kev gave a mighty swing at Young and Don followed suit by attacking the nearest I Block member to him. There was a mighty roar as the I Block gang sprang to their leaders defence. It took just a few minutes for the remainder of the H Block gang to rush around, up and over the bank.
There were boys rolling around, fists flying, kicking, biting and pulling each other’s hair out by the roots. I ran back to join in the fray, it was the least I could do, searching for someone as little as I was to have a go at. No sooner had the fight started it was all over.
The I Block gang members scattered, retreating hastily back to their own side of the barrack square. They shouted abuse, shook their fists, and swore vengeance. Nevertheless, the day belonged to H Block. The gang fined me two weeks pocket money for getting caught in the first place. The gang spent half an hour or so searching for dog leaves and horse chestnut leaves which we crushed with our hands and spat on them before handing to Kev and Don to rub their legs with in order to relieve the excruciating stings. Forming up into a loose rabble, we marched triumphantly back to H Block.
The following week, during school, we received a written challenge from I Block. They challenged us to meet them in the alleyway that ran alongside the NAAFI. There, we were to engage in a battle they said, that would decide once and for all which gang ruled Whittington Barracks. Of course, refusing the contest was out of the question, our pride was at stake. It was agreed that we would meet on Friday at dusk, about 6 p.m. in the alleyway. Kev came up with a cunning plan. The day before the battle, Kev had his gang collected a tea chest full of bricks and stones, which we, as soon as darkness fell, hoisted up onto the flat roof adjacent to the alley? Beneath this flat roof were the storerooms for the NAAFI. The NAAFI itself had a normal sloping tiled roof. While Kev and Don were up on the roof they found that there, was a drainpipe there leading down into the yard behind the NAAFI? In the yard there was stored several stacks of crates of beer. Full crates on one side, empty crates on the other. They stacked four or five on top of each other.
The day of the battle soon arrived. As soon as I had eaten my dinner Kev and Don took me to the NAAFI and, with Kev lifting me from below, and Don pulling me up by the arms, they hoisted me onto the roof. I had not been on a roof before and the height was frightening to say the least. “Now, when the I Block gang come along the alleyway”, I was instructed, “down this way“, Don indicated from right to left, “you let them have it with these bricks”. I was quick on the uptake. I picked up two or three stones in my left hand, and transferring them one at a time to my right hand, had a few practice throws. “Like this, wam, wam!” I blurted excitedly. Throwing the stones as hard as I could into the alley. “That’s my boy,” confirmed Don, “And don’t stop till we tell you, or you run out of ammunition, OK?”
“OK”
“Now don’t let them see you” Don continued “or it will give the game away”
“I won’t,” I promised. Don skirted back down the drainpipe and disappeared.
I began to worry about how I was going to get down again!
Lying flat on my tummy, I could peek over the side, over the guttering, to each end of the alley. I did not have to wait for very long before large groups of children gathered at either end. Both sides had their artillery. Groups of boys who believed they were pretty good with their catapults, others had broom handles. It was beginning to get dark and I was beginning to become fearful about the battle, what if we lost? Then I began to panic. Which way were the I Blocks coming from, was it from left to right or right to left? I could not remember. Beneath me, the two armies shouted taunts at each other.
“Come on then!”
“Let’s be at them!”
“You first!”
“No you attack first!”
“Scaredy cats”
“I Blocks am Idiots,” we taunted.
“H Blocks are Hideous” the retorted. And so it went on.
Finally, after much taunting and shouting the two sides moved as one. The two groups of children charged towards one another down the alley. I had to make a decision quickly. Taking up handfuls of bricks, I began to hurtle them with all the force my little arms could muster down on the enemy. There were casualties. I could hear the ows and oohs as my missiles struck home. Kneeling, frightened to stand lest I fall, I continued my mission with earnest. Suddenly Kev’s head appeared above the guttering, “not us you big clot, them over there” he said pointing in the opposite direction. Feeling rather foolish, I adjusted my aim accordingly. However, I had used a quarter of my ammunition on my own men!
The battle raged on and on, it lasted oh, a good ten minutes or so. Ultimately, the enemy began to fall back, holding their heads, eyes, or bloodied noses. With a cheer, we watched them go. The traditional catcalls followed them and they retorted with threats of equal force vowing, we were lucky this time but we will not be so lucky next time. We had not gotten off lightly; we had a fair number of casualties ourselves. Don had a bruised eye, which he claimed he got early on from a catapult. Kev looked at me, but said nothing. Others had scratches, assorted bumps and bruises. Most of them showed off these ‘wounds’ with great pride. We did not hear from the I Blocks for a while and if our paths crossed, we tended to give each other a wide berth, at least for the time being.
That Saturday night, knowing that the NAAFI would be closed on Sunday, y brothers and another gang member carried out a Commando Raid on the NAAFI. Three crates of beer were liberated from the confines of the yard on the other side of the flat roof. We carried the crates to a secluded spot close to the coke yard. As we walked along, swinging the crates between us was singing heartily:
A Double Diamond
Works Wonders, Works Wonders, Works Wonders
A Double Diamond Works Wonders,
So Drink One Today!
We thought it highly amusing to substitute the word ‘Drink’ with ‘Nick’ during the last line. With a bottle opener borrowed from home, we opened every bottle. We all tried the beer, but almost all of it was poured away over the waste ground. We had seventy-two empty bottles of beer; there was thrupence return on each empty, which came to eighteen shillings. We should also receive one and six for each crate. Another four and sixpence. However, Kev claimed, that as he was the gang leader, and the mastermind behind the outfit, he should keep the money from the crates. No one argued with that. That meant each of us would get four and six each and Kev would get nine shillings. Not a bad days work eh? We agreed that Kev, Don and I would take the crates and empties back during our school lunch break on Monday. With that, we hid the crates, camouflaging them with branches and leaves.
Monday arrived and we were eager to cash in our investment. So saying we returned to the waste ground near the coke yard and retrieved the crates and empties and made our way to the NAAFI. We marched in triumphantly and placed our crates alongside each other on the counter.
“Mother said if we returned these for her, we could keep the money” Kev informed the sales assistant. She checked each crate to make sure there were no bottles missing and went to the till. Just at that moment, the door to the storeroom and the yard opened and in entered the NAAFI manager. We went pale. Two military policemen accompanied him.
“I can tell you quite categorically” the Manager was saying, “that there were eighteen full crates of Double Diamond when we closed on Saturday”
The police officers were diligently taking notes.
“And now there are only fifteen, those thieving kids have been around”, the Manager moaned.
The Manager turned toward the counter and stopped dead in his tracks. The police officers could not believe their eyes either. There on the counter were three cases of empty Double Diamond.
On the other side of the crates were three, very worried, very nervous little boys. The police officer looked from Kev, to Don and then me. He could only see the top of my head. He leaned across the counter to get a better look at me.
“How old are you boy?” He asked.
“I am six in October!” I declared, six next October made me sound older than five last October.
“The bottom fell out of the coke trade has it?” asked the policeman.
We stood in silence, head bowed.
“And who’s idea was this little caper?” he asked. Silence.
He leaned on the counter again and looked down at me.
“We are seeing a lot of you lately aren’t we?” he said, “You’re a little monster!”
“He is not a monster!” declared Kev angrily coming to my defence. “His name is Ricky!”
“Well Ricky, shall we go and see if your Mother thinks you are a little monster or not!”
Before you could say ‘Jack Robinson’, we were ‘arrested’.
Even though we lived just fifty yards from the NAAFI, and could see our front door from the NAAFI entrance we were carted off to the Guardroom. Mother was summoned. We were all treated to her right hand ‘feint’ and left hand uppercut and dragged off home. At home, she gave us a second helping of her unique form of punishment, not for stealing the beer, but for pouring the beer away before taking the empties back!
The following day we returned home to find our baby sister in tears and a strange man in the house. Daddy!