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

They began walking down a flight of stairs into the Queensway subway. I grabbed the taller of the two and told him to hand over his money or be thrown down the stairs. The boy's face was alight with terror, but he refused to give me anything. I took out a knife and said I'd stab him. He and his friend emptied their pockets and handed over a roll of money tied with an elastic band. The boy kept saying: "It's me mum's fucking gas money." We ran to the cafe in the market and counted the money: £30. We treated ourselves to egg and chips before setting off to look for other victims. We walked like predators through the maze of subways around the Bull Ring. We crossed into an open space between subway entrances and as we reached the mid-point we saw the two boys we had just mugged. They were not alone: there were three or four men with them who started running towards us when the boys pointed us out. Running was pointless: they were too close and we were going to have to fight. I quickly threw away the money. Hughie hit the man who reached us first. I tried to pull him onto the grass, near where I had thrown the money. But the other men were upon us and their punches were soon landing on our heads. It took a few seconds for me to realise they were shouting: "Police! Police! Stand still!
    You're under arrest." I felt my arms being forced up my back. I glanced over at Hughie: he was in the same position. One of the detectives got out his radio and called for a car to take us to Digbeth Police Station.
    The desk sergeant called us animals and said we were not fit to breathe the same air as decent people. He read us our rights and took down our details. Then we were put in separate cells. My cell had an arc of blood sprayed up the wall and the single tatty blanket stank of piss and vomit. A few hours later our mothers arrived: my brother Jerry had driven them to Birmingham. They looked distraught. We had been taken out of our cells while the desk sergeant filled in the forms for bail. He said: "Robbery - at your age! I'll tell you now -you'll be banged up for murder one day." Both our mothers were upset and angry; the journey home in the car was one of the longest drives of my life. I felt awful for upsetting my mother, but I didn't feel guilty about committing the crime, only regret at getting caught. I was sure we were going to be sent to a detention centre, but at the end of the judicial process the judge merely gave us "strict Supervision Orders". In reality, this meant that once a fortnight Hughie and I had to go to a council building where we sat in a room with other local hoodlums while waiting our turn to be called into an office and asked fatuous questions by a probation officer: "How are you? How's school? How are things at home? Are you keeping out of trouble?" I often used to wonder what they would have said if I had told them the truth: "Well, actually, I'm doing much the same as I was before - although I've cut down on the mugging." Sometimes while waiting our turn we would break into the probation officers' cars and fill them with rubbish. Occasionally the police would come and give us talks about the latest advances in crime detection. The burglars among us, in particular, found many of their tips extremely useful, but we all learned something to help make us better criminals. They even arranged for us to play football against a team of police cadets. We criminals turned up in working boots and started kicking lumps out of the cadets. The referee abandoned the match at half-time when the cadets refused to come out for the second half. We stood jeering on the pitch until they brought on a police dog and made us sit down.
    At the end of the summer term of 1976 I left school with few qualifications. I was sixteen. I had little fear of, or respect for, anything or anyone. Only my father continued to have the power — physical and psychological - to turn me into a frightened little boy. But that was not going to last much