Soldier Of The Queen by Bernard O'Mahoney Read Free Book Online Page A

any Chelsea stragglers. We saw two hanging about. We walked over to them. They were several years older than us and asked if we knew where they could get a ticket for the game. I said yes and we all walked off towards the ground. Stan, Hughie and I had not planned anything as such, but by this stage in our badness we could almost communicate telepathically. We took them across some waste ground and Stan, who was walking at the rear, picked up a piece of wood and, without saying anything, whacked one of the men across the side of the head. He collapsed to the ground, dazed but not unconscious. We made the other Chelsea fan get on his knees, then we ordered both to empty their pockets. We took their money. I noticed that the taller one was wearing a newish pair of Doctor Marten's boots. I asked him what size he took. He said: "Nines. Why?" I said that was my size and told him to take the boots off. I put them on and gave him Bill's dad's pan-shiners. Stan took the man's Harrington jacket. Then I picked up their train tickets and tore them up in front of their faces before leaving. I was a loathsome bastard and I knew it. I was satisfying the seething anger inside me by inflicting misery on others.
    By the time I was 161 was completely reckless. I didn't seem to care what I did, who I did it to or whether I got caught. Hughie, Stan and I were in Birmingham one day walking around the market area below the Bull Ring shopping centre. Stan used a public toilet, but when he came out he told us a man of about 40 had asked him if he wanted to go for a drink. We knew the man did not want to discuss Stan's academic progress. We reasoned, therefore, that if we robbed the perv he wouldn't go to the police. Stan agreed to lure the man to a place where we could jump him.
    We watched as Stan and the man walked out of the toilet and into a nearby cafe. Hughie and I kept walking past the window: we could see Stan inside drinking tea and eating egg and chips. We became worried that Stan would spend all the man's money before we had a chance to rob him of it. But after a while they left the cafe and walked towards a nearby church. We followed. The man was well-built, so I armed myself with half a house-brick which I planned to hit him over the head with if he resisted. I put the brick in my coat pocket, but hoped I wouldn't have to use it. When they got to a relatively quiet area in the churchyard I walked up to the man. He stank of stale smoke and seemed to tower over me, which undermined my confidence. I took out a pound note and asked him if he could change it as I needed to telephone my parents urgently. I knew he wouldn't let down a boy in need. He took out his wallet and opened it to get at the coin pouch, giving me in the process a flash of a thick wad of notes. I had been feeling unsure, slightly panicky even, but the sight of the money bolstered my nerve. He counted the change out into my hand, then as I thanked him and handed over the note I purposely dropped it on the ground. He bent down to pick it up and I kicked him full in the face. He fell to his knees: I stood back and kicked him again, this time in the side of the head, while Hughie and Stan did the same. The man shielded himself with his hands, but did not fight back, which was just as well for him because I had the brick in my hand. Stan grabbed his wallet and we ran as the man shouted: "Help me! Help me! Help me!" Nobody took any notice: they never did.
    We ran to nearby New Street Station and jumped on the first train to Wolverhampton. Once it started moving Stan took out the wallet and opened it. The thick wad of money turned out to be sheets of newspaper cut to the same size as money with three one-pound notes on top: it had certainly acted as bait for us young boys, though not perhaps in quite the way its owner had anticipated.
    The next day Hughie and I skipped school and went back to look for more lucrative targets. We started following two boys who looked our own age.