Roundhill Power

ROUNDDHILL POWER - CHAPTER 1

I have woken up many times on a cold Christmas morning on my own. I have seen my mother leave us and I have chased the bus down the high street begging her to come back. I grew up at a very early age looking after my brothers and sister. This is the story of my life as much as I can remember. Enjoy and laugh at the antics of what life offered me.

Roundhill drive was an Enfield council estate located in the North of Enfield with parkland, playing fields with a wonderful lake with surrounding small forest and fields with cows and horses.

Don’t play with the Harrow Kids, or you’ll have the Police at your door

That used to be the saying on our council estate & boy was never a true word more spoken.

Where do we start? 260a High Street, Ponders End, Enfield is my first recollection of where I lived. I can say from an early age that I remember looking up from my pram and seeing my mother's face. Later in life, I remember our new kitchen table, it was red in colour and the cast iron oven that heated the water and cooked food. When we were older we had to use a compound to black it up and of course got covered in it. Outside in the street were trolleybuses and everywhere you looked, it was damp, grey, and dark.

Ponders End was an industrial smokey area of Enfield, located near Brimsdown and the Enfield Ordnance Factory that used to make ammunition etc. which was once known as cyanide city when they redeveloped it. Pets were dying everywhere due to the toxic chemicals left in the ground. Ponders End was mainly where they put all the smaller factory industries.

There were lots of shops and pubs and it was an exciting place to explore for a kid. I can remember many dark winters’ nights when you could not see your hand in front of your face. They called it Smog; us kids had to wear our scarves around our mouths so that we could breathe.

There were a couple of times my dad used to come home and ask me to help him get his car back home as he could not see the road. Madness, I was walking in front of the vehicle with my torch trying to see the curb and also trying to stop dad from running me over at the same time.

Our two bedroom one bathroom flat was above a parade of shops. It had crittal windows that dripped water (condensation) which made it damp all the time. The washing was boiled and then hung up over the large black oven on a wooden railed rack called an Aunt Sally. We had to sleep in our pyjamas and huge feather down duvets to keep warm at night, there was no central heating, only a coal fire in the front room. This flat was just above one of the parade of shops in the area at that time; To access the flat, you had to go down an alleyway and then climb these steel stairs. There was a post office adjacent to the alley, then the launderette/dry cleaners, another double fronted shop called Tesco’s that had just been built, Pounds electrical shop and a posh sweet shop. Further down the road was another small parade of shops, a pawn shop, some sort of office and then the local rent office, this was later turned into Charrington’s Coal offices and then the Eastern gas board offices. Up and down the high street trolley buses ran on these electrical cables strung over the road which sparked or shorted out causing the trolley bus to come to a standstill which happened quite a lot. We used to laugh looking at the driver and the conductor trying to put the arms of the trolley bus back on the wires with a very long pole.

Opposite on the other side of the street was a large derelict house called Eagle house. It was once a doctor’s house for surgery. Many a day after school we would dare each other to go in. The whole house was very spooky, dark and damp smelling. We used to play just within the reception area and dare each other to go upstairs, our Mum used to say that the tramp will get you, the only person to get me was a scruffy girl called Pamela Botall. This dirty little bitch used to show her bald fanny to all the boys for some sweets at school.

On the way back towards our flats was a clothes shop then a London Co-Op which is now Barclays bank, an off license which was owned by the pub and a greengrocers. Further down the road on the opposite side were other Pubs and green grocers then Geary’s grocers. So we were right in the middle of it all.

My mum used to say that we lived down in Somerset and that I used to feed the chickens. I don’t recall any of this although there was a photo of me feeding chickens. We also used to live in Palmers Green, North London at what I would call a posh house; I can remember a big wooden door that used to look like a door to a castle with large black hinges and a knocker on the front.

So I was led to believe that my dad had lost everything and we had to move.

We moved to this flat which was located above a shop next door to a Launderette/Dry Cleaners called Stephens. My brother Rick who was one year younger than me used to play sometimes down in the yard, sneaking through the broken fence and changing over the raffle tickets on the prepared washing bags. People were always shouting that this was not their washing and that was not their jacket etc to the poor girl assistant who worked there. On other occasions Rick and I would change over half the washing into different bags. Many clips around the ear from mum sorted us out.

If we were not in the yard we could play in the back lane next to the Industrial centre. Rick and I plus one of our older friends called Malcolm Lee climbed through the blackberry bushes under the wire and rode the large wooden cable drums parked up in the yard. We could not afford to buy bikes or computer games (not invented) the telly used to be with black and white programmes and not much on, so playing outside was our thing. All of us would push these huge round cable drums to get them going, grab hold of the edge and the momentum of the drum would pull you up onto the reel. This you would ride like a Canadian lumberjack and then jump off before it crashed into the wall or fence. How we were not crushed escapes me.

We also learnt in our early childhood that cats cannot fly as there were a couple of incidents that I remember, the cat would be walking along the edge of the wall and Rick or I would push it off. How they survived I don’t know. It’s true, cats do have 9 lives. We also had a goldfish, but pouring mums bleach into its bowl makes them float. No more fish.

School was a large dark red brick building located about 15 minutes from our flat. Southbury Road Infants. It was located next door to the local clinic. There was a fearsome headmistress who had a moustache. Miss Frith and the building itself smelt of disinfectant. The floors were all parquet wood tiles that shone. All I can remember is a classroom of toys, bricks and these plastic trays that you had your food off. Plus peeing my blue shorts when I got caught short and lots of art classes. As I got older we then moved over to the big school; Southbury Road Juniors, I don’t remember any lessons but did appear in the annual school nativity show. We did seem to play a lot and had loads of Gym classes. Only that when you went to the boys toilets the piss wall was all green, it stunk of urine and there were older girls who used to look over the wall and giggle while you were having a pee.

We must have learnt something because at the age of 10 years old we moved house and I went to a new school, Grange Park I already knew all the answers to the course work.

Art was my favourite subject at Southbury Road and after school had finished at 4.00 O'clock my brother Rick and I would have to walk up to where my mum worked. Mum worked at Ferguson's on the A10 Cambridge Road and they used to make household televisions. Ferguson’s was located on the industrial park a couple of hundred yards from our flat. We would wait by the gate house and at 4.30 mums would come out with a load of other workers and we then walked home. While mum was making tea she would always tell us to tidy our room or go out and play on the veranda. We could not always play down in the alley as there were fork lift trucks and vans coming and going.

To become a nuisance, and of course have some fun was to climb over the boundary walls and run the full length of the flats, turn around and run back climbing over all the boundary walls. Running back brought out the neighbours who always waved their clenched fists, and shouted abuse at us.

I think we got a slap every day, more than once a day was not unusual. My father worked as a long distance lorry driver and my mum also helped out at Tesco’s who had just opened their doors. Most days we were not allowed to play outside or as the term is now called, grounded. Rick and I would be in our shabby bedroom which was covered in brown lino that was always cold. The walls were wood chip paper with magnolia paint and on the crittal windows streams of water coming down the glass being soaked up by the window seal towels Mum had laid down. You could open the window up and fix it with the metal latch to let some fresh air in, but in the winter times, no way. Rick and I were tearing up newspapers pretending that it was real money, or staring out of the window down into the high street watching trolley buses going past or the occasional car. We would pretend that the cars on the left of the road were mine and the ones on the right were Ricks. All the cars were a black colour. There were many humdrum boring days like this.

Mum and dad liked a drink and on Fridays would go over the road to the pub for a couple of hours; I was only 7 or 8 and looked after my brother. Our babysitter was Nina, my Aunty. She was married to my dad's twin brother Eddie. She used to date Sammy Davis Jr. or so the story goes, but she did have love letters from him. One weekend she kidnapped me and took me to Clacton. I had my picture taken by a reporter and it was shown in the Evening Standard. Later in life, she drank a bottle of whiskey and drowned herself in the bath.

Well this particular evening we were sent to bed wrapped up in our duck feather eiderdown quilts that always pricked you. Nina was watching the TV so Rick and I climbed out of bed, crept downstairs to see what was located in the cupboard under the stairs? Upon opening it up very quietly we found lots of paint.

My father had just recently completed redecorating the flat. I opened up one tin of paint as the lid was already half off, it was battleship grey gloss. Armed with two paint brushes from the turps jar, we helped daddy finish off the hallway, then the walls, then the doors, the banisters, and the skirting boards, after that I decided to paint Rick. I covered him from head to toe in battleship grey gloss. I got him to run into the living room scaring the knickers off Nina. Needless to say I had a sore arse for days. Rick was just as sore, as the hospital had to use paint remover to get it off, he looked like a walking plum tomato.

One particular day we were all playing out with our new neighbour’s child who happened to be a girl? Julie Martin was her name; she had long blond locks of curly hair. She used to show us her navy blue knickers down in the garage. I could not see the point as I was only 8. One sunny weekend. Rick, I and Julie went down into the alley and through the blackberry bushes then managed to climb through the fence into the Queensway industrial estate. No wooden cable drums to ride today, now what are we going to do? Rick noticed that there was a door which was tied up with string with access to one of the factories. We went inside and found benches of paint cans, mixing machines etc. I found some thinner and pouring this onto the bench we could mix the different colour paints together and make pretty patterns. I had also found some swan vesta matches in a drawer and decided to set light to the pretty patterns. Within 30 seconds half the bench was on fire, then the paint cans, then everything else. By the time we ran back to our flats and hid in our rooms, the whole factory was ablaze. It burnt till midnight. Of course the Police and the Fire Brigade came to our door asking our Mum lots of questions.

Rick unbeknown to me had taken 2 large cans of Sky Blue Gloss paint. A couple of weeks later he showed this to me and suggested that we paint the alley, so armed with two of my dad's best paint brushes we painted the alley walls, pipes, fences, doors, and anything else that looked good, Gloss Sky Blue. Martin, Martin, my mum was calling me. I left Rick with the job of painting and went to see what she wanted. Rick turned up a little bit later covered in Sky Blue Gloss paint over his hands and clothes with no explanation of where he had got this from. My dad came home to find an irate neighbour shouting at my mum. It turned out that Rick had painted his bright yellow lambretta scooter with sidecar a tasteful Sky Blue. Sore arse for Rick once again.

My dad had come home one day after work with a dog, a Heinz 57 variety. That’s because it’s a dog of every kind. We called the thing Satch. I think that this was because we needed company? I taught this dog all kinds of tricks, and for some reason the dog used to protect me from my dad. Satch would always be outside, one day I was playing with the dog and Rick decided he wanted to play also. As usual it ended in a fight and the dog bit through Rick’s wrist. Satch and I played a lot in the alley then one day, the guy who had the bright blue scooter bashed the dog with his evening paper for no reason. Satch retaliated and ripped the guy to pieces, with that the torn up neighbour picked up a piece of metal pipe from the side of the alley and bashed the dog over the head. Satch was badly hurt and I was screaming for my mum to help.

The neighbour made a complaint to the police who showed up at our house, I told them what had happened, but it made no difference. Satch had to be kept away from the alley. The dog made a full recovery and we played on the balcony, every day the dog would look through the gate my dad had erected and watch? One day I spotted the neighbour carefully walking as close to the fence as possible to keep out of sight of us, with that I opened the gate and said. Fetch. The dog ran down the stairs and ripped the neighbour up again. Poor Satch, he was put down but at least he got his revenge.

We did not have many pets as children. I often wondered why? Most of my early days were with my Nan and granddad who lived in Tottenham, I made a couple of friends there and we used to sneak over the fence and steal Jubbly’s from the Lorries parked up in the factory based in White Hart Lane. Jubblies are frozen orange juice drinks shaped in a triangle.

It was while staying at my Nan’s that there were other friends that I played with in the garden. I did not know it at the time, but they were ghost children. I thought that everyone could see them. The neighbours used to say to my Nan, Mrs Harrow your grandson is mad, always talking to himself, running around half crazy. I never told my Nan, only my mum one day when one of the children told me to do something naughty. My mum said go outside and tell them to go away, I never saw them again which made me quite sad.

One of my Nan’s neighbours used to keep a Chimpanzee, they had the thing for years and years, and the bloody thing went crazy and nearly killed them. Next door to my Nan lived a little boy who was not allowed to play with me? I think it was because I had made a bow and arrow from my Granddad’s garden canes and shot him. The same instrument of death drew blood from my uncle Eddie. I shot him in the leg.

I had many happy years with my Nan and Granddad. I have to say it was the best days of my early life. My first feelings for a girl were in Tottenham, I used to be allowed to go over to the Playing fields which are still there to this day, next door to BroadWater Farm Estate. (Lovely place). There was a cycling track built for road awareness. I never found out her name but I knew we both fancied one another.

It was in Tottenham that I found out about fire again. If you put a lighted newspaper into a big red pillar box, it caught fire. Great, half of Tottenham’s pillar boxes were smoking wrecks during the summer.

I think most of my days at my Nan’s were so my mum and dad could get together again? They were always arguing and I never found out, even to this day, why I was always at my grans. Maybe it was to keep me away from Rick, who knows or cares.

One particular evening back at the Ponders End flat, Mum & Dad went for a quick one over the road. We had been left on our own and were bored so we decided to creep out and collect from our miserable neighbours, all of the empty milk bottles. These we decided were to be our missiles. After collecting a nice selection of bottles we then walked to the end of our alley and threw them into the main road. CRASH after about three or four bottles we legged it back to the safety of our flat. Because it was dark there was no security lights in those days, the neighbours could not see who it was. From the safety of our bedroom we waited for a vehicle to go by, sure enough a Ford Popular drove by and bang, bang went his front tyres. We repeated this two more times that evening.

One Saturday morning I got up and wandered into my mother’s bedroom, there was a quick flurry of activity and my mother turned to me and said. This is your uncle Jack? I don’t remember Jack. My dad, as I mentioned, worked long distance, but I did not know what was really going on. It turned out that Jack was a welder in the factory over the alley where we played. I don’t know if my dad found out and really, I was not bothered or did not care.

It was not long after that there was a lot of activity going on in the flat, the doctor was called and there were people running up and down the stairs. My dad was there and he informed me that my mum was going to have a baby. Sure enough Kerry Lee was born. He is the only blond in the family, Uncle Jack was blond?

Saying that, our milkman was Greek looking, I am the only one who had black curly hair? When we moved house, within a week or so, guess who our milkman was?

School to me was boring; it smelt of wee and stale socks all the time. Southbury Road Infants and juniors was the name, it was run by a headmistress called Miss Frith. The only lady I knew who had a moustache. The wrath of Miss Frith was felt when we decided to play on the railway tracks up the road from our house. Unbeknown to us, Miss Frith lived opposite the railway line. The game of dare was to run through the tunnel to the other side before a train came. To this day I’m lucky to be alive and thanks to Miss Frith and a sore backside to remind me.

Penny for the Guy? This was my favourite time of the year. Begging in the streets for money. We used to make our brother Kerry go up to strangers and say I want to be a millionaire; please may I have some money. And they would give him a three penny piece or a sixpence. Whenever we needed something from the sweet shop we would take Kerry. So in the middle of August which was the norm in those days the guy was built. My dad used a pair of his overalls and an old jumper, we stuffed it full of old newspapers and when finished it stood nearly six foot. The best Guy I have ever seen. This was then placed in an old pram and pushed up the road to the bus stop outside the factory. Come 5 O’clock, we were raking it in. Penny for the guy, penny for the guy, penny for the guy. Sometimes on a Friday we used to get a shilling and sometimes even half a crown. I remember at the end of our collection we had £38 pounds which was a fortune. The average weekly wage for a top skilled worker in 1962/3 was only £15, 00.

When we did not have the time to build a guy or any of my dad's clothes, Rick would be dressed up, stuck in the pram and off we would go. Many a time he was smacked in the face by some big kids who hoped to wreck our guy. Only it was Rick who got it.

Our friends at the time were two other boys called John Nunn and Lawrence Sakeman. If we wanted something to eat as we were always hungry, we would nick some cakes from Geary’s the bakers in the High Street or run by the Green grocers and nick some apples, many a time we thought we had an apple only to find out it was either a potato or onion.

After feasting on our wares we would relieve Geary’s of their eggs. These for some reason were always left outside the shop and many a tray went missing. Eggs were great for throwing at people, especially if they were bus conductors. The No 29 bus would pull up at the bus stop and passengers would get on. As the conductor pressed the bell on the bus, ding, ding a volley of eggs would be sent towards the bus conductor and passengers who just happened to be in the line of fire. The bus of course was now picking up speed with passengers and a London Transport Conductor covered in eggs.

One day we thought we would pelt the local butcher, wrong. I got caught and he decided to put me upside down into a steel bath full of greasy water. As I was walking home trying to work out what to say, my dad saw me and asked what had happened. I told him that the butcher did it for fun; the last I saw of that butcher was my dad chasing him up the street with one of his meat cleavers. Once again the police were involved to resolve the issue and I ended up with a sore arse that evening.

My mum and dad used to have parties at the flat and play Rolling Stones records, Cilla Black, Dave Clark Five etc on a Ferguson record player, we used to see how many records we could stack up. I think we got to 16. After one of the parties, Rick and I decided to go down in the morning to see what had gone on. Rick decided it would be a good idea to put all the dregs of the drinks into one glass and drink it. We both woke up two days later with one hell of a hangover.

It was during these years that we had another member of the family. Jennette. Taking my sister out in her Silver Cross Black pram used to be one of my favourites. I used to take her over the local park and point things out to her, she was only a baby but I think she understood what I was saying. One day some thug thought it would be funny to fire a conker at me while I was pushing her pram. He had made this elastic catapult and was able to fire these missiles at anything with deadly accuracy. One or two of them had already found their mark on me and I was helpless to do anything about it, then one struck the pram and all of a sudden I was unstoppable. I ran towards him, grabbed him and tied the elastic band thing around his neck. He started to go blue and it took an elderly woman to bash me with her handbag and untie the poor blue faced thug. By now the park keeper was hanging onto me and calling for the police to come, and once again we had them taking me home along with my sister.

For some strange quirk, this thug happened to move to another area and it happened to be where we moved to and guess what; he was still using this sort of contraption. He was shooting it at people. He fired it at me a couple of times; Needless to say, I had grown up a bit, and this time managed to punch his lights out.

Moving Areas and Schools

One day my father came home and said that we were moving? Where? We moved out into the country. I thought I had gone mad. There were two colours, green and blue. (Green fields and Blue Sky) I have never seen so many colourful things. We moved to a council estate called Roundhill Drive. 29 Roundhill Drive was our new home. A bright yellow front door with the No 29 was on the front. In the entrance hall the floors of the house had dark brown shiny tiles throughout. These were a bloody nuisance to keep clean and shiny. We did not have any rugs for ages. There was a living room with a fireplace, a hallway and a separate kitchen. In the back was an outhouse with a coal bunker. From this room was a door which led into the overgrown garden. Upstairs was 3 bedrooms and a bathroom and seperate toilet. The house was painted with Magnolia walls and white skirting boards. The windows were single glazed and dripped condensation everywhere. Exactly the same windows as in the flat. The whole house was freezing in the winter. There was hardly even a road and definitely no pavements, just mud. My dad had paid off a counselor so that we could have this house. When the removing van pulled up, the local kids were all out looking at this shamble of itinerants moving into their neighborhood.

Rick and I surveyed the mob looking at our so-called furniture. I knew then that I had to be a leader or things were not going to go well. The house was a 3 bedroom Semi detached; it had a nice sloping garden with a large green pasture outside the front door. Down the road was a lake. Boxers Lake.

All around were green fields and trees and of course fresh air. The thing I first noticed was that nobody had a car? My dad used to drive a Bedford van with sliding doors and nearly every morning he would drag Rick and me out of bed still in our stripy pajamas to push him down the road to get it going.

We finally moved all of our junk into the house and settled in, my mum started to make some sandwiches and tea when there was a knock at the door? I opened the door and thought I was looking at an angel. Sue Spence. I had never seen a proper girl before. This one had very large things poking out in front of her. Tits. Sue had three brothers; one of them was a lot older than all of us and he used to go out on his own. In all Sue and this other girl across the road, Elaine Gardiner were the only two decent looking girls at the time on the whole estate. It was a wonder our unruly mob did not turn gay.

My first day at my new school brought new surprises to me. There were girls in my class. Although I had girls in my old class, for some reason I can’t remember them. If I try I can remember Teresa Green, Marilyn Cleveland, Denise Gager and Julie Martin.

This new school was called Grange Park and it would be my last term before I went onto secondary school. Rick only lasted a couple of weeks; we used to fight every day. I don’t think that the move did any good and the social services decided it would be a good idea for Rick to go to boarding school. (I was so happy I thought he was going to borstal) The house got back to normal and I had to make friends. The trouble was that all the kids in my class lived elsewhere and I was not allowed to walk to other areas.

The estate was owned by Enfield council. My dad had paid a council official some money to get us the place. The road outside was not finished and there were no pavements. When it rained, it was a mud city.

After a few days, we had settled into our new home. Rick and I had our own bedroom and my other brother and sister had the small box room. I think everyone who lived on the Roundhill estate had only just arrived within a few months.

Besides the lake there were large open green fields, places to explore and the local golf course. Enfield Golf Course. There was the hospital, Highlands and South Lodge hospitals. These were fascinating places and very exciting to explore the out buildings.

Our new found friends were Rob & Dave Morgan, Steve Clarke, Mick Malone, Ray Lowe, Rob Johnson, Michael Fletcher, Keith Tuffs, John Smith, and a whole host of other male hangers on. For some reason there were no girls?? Within a short time, the kids used to say to us that they could not play with us because we were always getting into trouble. Play with the Harrow kids and the police will come knocking at your door. They were correct.

We were brought up by our parents the best way they could. We were made to attend Sunday school. I don’t know why as I was not a believer. Then we were made to join the Boys brigade. What a sham, marching around the streets on a Sunday morning playing instruments out of tune waking people up while they are trying to get a lay in. Polishing the brass buttons and buckles until it shone like the sun and whitening our belts. Total waste of time. I understand the concept of what they were trying to do. But this was not for me.

Rick on the other hand had found that the church was very beneficial to his well being. Of course it was. He was helping himself to the church collection every week.

I used to get bored a lot and my mum let me stay with my uncle and aunt in Wood Green. He was by now a security guard to Alexandra Palace. Now within the park area was a huge boating lake and uncle Eddie had got me a Saturday job selling tickets to the members of the public who wanted to take a boat out. Over the summer months the boating lake was full of wanabe Cambridge and Oxford rowers. The park never used to get hardly anything back from me. I must have sold the same tickets over and over again many times. This only lasted one season. I wonder why?

One of my best and craziest friends was a guy called Peter Powell. We were well known with the local constabulary even if it was not us that committed the offence; they would always come and find out where we were or had been that day.

The local Highlands’s hospital was like a magnet to us. Sick people everywhere. We used to make the porters chase us through the grounds as we scrumped apples or plums. There were orchards and allotments everywhere, fine pickings if you did not get caught. These orchards and allotments had lots of fruit and vegetables which we used to sell on the council estate for sixpence a bag. At least we got our 5 a day then.

Quite often, mum would say to us. Go up to the shops and get 2/6 worth of carrot, onion etc for a stew. Our first thought was what is growing in the allotments this time of year. We scrambled over the fences into the allotments and picked a large bag of vegetables. Onions, Carrots, Cabbage, Cauliflower, Lettuce. These would all be washed in the local stream nearby and then we would spend the 2/6 on pop and sweets. But left some change for mum. There have been many times when we were only feet from the allotment owners who were attending their plots, and they did not know it.

Mum always used to say that it was nice to get the tops on the vegetables.

We soon found out that this was another pocket money earner, selling local produce to the neighbours on our estate and surrounding area.

Our closest town was Enfield Town; this area was surrounded by green areas like Enfield Chase, Trent Park. This is where the Queens and Kings of England used to hunt deer. Then there was the Town Park, and meandering through all of this was the New River. Enfield Town had a lively Saturday market. In the middle of the market was a large covered wooden structure, underneath was a large book stall selling books. It's still there to this day, there were books on every subject, hard backs and soft backs. They also used to sell comics. Our favourite was Superman or the Fantastic Four. The stall also purchased all kinds of books which were definitely a bit of a bonus to the Harrow kids.

They had opened a new library up very near us. We had joined this library ages ago, it was very modern and I liked getting the large atlas books and history books out. It was amazing to think that you could also get up to 5 or 6 books in your duffle bag. We used to tear out the front stamped page and take these to the book stall to sell on a Saturday.

The owner of the book stall used to ask, but it seemed that our grandad was getting rid of them. We would buy comics and of course load up with sweets. After a couple of months, the library had signs up. No Bags Allowed. So it was on one Saturday morning that Rick and Kerry, my youngest brother and I would get on a 107a bus from the Jolly Farmers to spend a day in Enfield Town. We only used to take Kerry along as he was our money magnet.

We would place ourselves by the edge of the market, near the greengrocers Kerry would go up to strangers, mainly old ladies and gentlemen and say. I want to be a millionaire, please can you spare some change. Because of his looks, they would always give in and pay him 6 pence or a shilling and sometimes 2 shillings. Our pocket money only used to be 6 pence a week. By the end of the morning we always had £2 -£3 enough for Wimpy lunch and even enough to go to the pictures to see kids action movies. Kerry got wise to this scheme and in the end did not want to participate any longer. For a couple of weeks, we could not afford to go down to the Town.

There were large shops in the town; one of the biggest was Pearson’s. It sold everything. We used to like to go in and pretend we were buying all this posh stuff, go up the escalators and down in the lift. We stopped using the lift after the first time as there was an attendant there who used to try and touch us. One Saturday all three of us went in, we split up and I took Kerry with me. We had worked a trick where if you picked up two of something and looked at it, usually a pen or small object. We could flip one of the objects down your baggy sleeve. And put the other one down, so if someone was watching. They would see you put one back.

This worked a treat in places like Woolworth’s but Pearson’s had the expensive Parker and Schaefer pens and pen sets. I had managed to get a beautiful red marble design Parker pen and was looking at the expensive compass and divider sets, when a very posh lady came up to me and said. Are you looking for your Brother? I did not understand what she was talking about. I had forgotten about Kerry, who had taken it under his own steam to try and nick stuff. On top of that, Rick had been caught. We were frog marched to some office and they informed us that they were going to call the police.

Kerry and I were given a telling off and told to leave. My mum had been called to pick Rick up and speak with the police. I got Kerry home safely and got a smacked arse for not taking care of him. Rick got 6 whacks with a slipper while I was looking at my new shiny, gold nibbed red marble Parker pen set.

We were banned from going down the town from then on. So for our amusement we had to find new adventures. Playing at Boxers Lake, The disused Army camp or Hospital grounds.

The hospital was beconning again; They had their own orchards and greenhouses. We would always play in the hospital grounds and build camps. Well the big boys built the camps and we would wait for them to go and use the hideouts. These big boys dug huge tunnels through this mound of earth and then covered the holes and trenches over with twigs, branches, lumps of wood and covered it with turfs. Inside was a perfect den.

Every summer we would play take the hill, a war game between 40 or so kids. The rules of our war game was you were allowed 30 minutes to scrump apples, pears etc. This was your ammunition. The group was divided and the object was for the group hiding in the orchard to take the hill. It was a wonder that no one was killed during these bombardments of apple and pear throwing. The bombardment would last for at least an hour. In later years this turned into fireworks. We would build rocket launchers and fire at each other across the field. Many small local kids would go running home with burns.

Besides playing 20 a side football on the hospital fields most weeks, a match that could only be won by the first side to score 20 goals. These matches would go on for 2 or 3 days after school. We would embark on either shooting the local pigeons off the hospital wards roofs with our air rifles or, attack the hospital porters or nick their electric carts.

One sunny day we planned to trap the hospital porters and give them what for, as they had ruffled up a couple of the other local boys. They could get away with it in those days. We got all the little kids to pick up all the apples and pears that we had used in our battle a couple of days earlier.

3 of the fastest runners including myself were to be the bait. We positioned the rest of the troop numbering 25-30 up a very steep incline which we could scale in seconds. The troops were placed in strategic positions armed to the teeth with at least a thousand apples and pears.

The 3 fastest runners were now going to put the plan into action. We crept up to the porters hut when it was tea time, burst in and threw whatever came to hand at them. Out of the door we went with at least 7 or 8 fired up Italian hospital porters hard on our heels. We could have easily outrun them, but wanted to bring them in closer.

Once down the bottom of the field we shined up the embankment with 7 out of breath porters behind us when the sky was dimmed by 30 or so kids raining down a shower of apples and pears. Full pelt these objects were hurled and as fast as the porters were getting to the top of the embankment, they were felled by the constant barrage of fruit.

All of the porters withdrew severely bruised bodies and egos with mutterings in Italian to us. Our heroic battle was one. Plenty of back slapping and a ginger beer celebration back at my house. This was short lived as within an hour. The police came and of course went straight to my house. Although they could not prove it. I got a whack from my mum as she had been informed by one of the nurses that recognised me.

During the school term, the camp fell into disrepair. One weekend we decided that we could dig out the camp and rebuild it. For 4 long weekends we worked our butts off putting back to its former glory. We were now using our dad’s tools for cutting wood. Plenty of it in the orchards.

A lot of the trees in the orchards had died and were very dry; one of our companions who later became a fireman was a bit of a pyromaniac. He decided to burn one of the trees. Well since it had not rained for a very long time and all the grass was yellow. The whole bloody orchard was on fire. Black smoke filled the sky for miles. Fire engines were rushing to the scene. We hid further over the back of the field to watch the mayhem. Fireman, hospital porters in fact anyone who could carry water.

After about an hour, the fire came under control. There was black soot everywhere, but the fire carried on through the dry grass in the field we were in. As the firemen used their hoses on the grass fire they climbed up the grassy mole where our camp was. The whole hillside was ablaze. As they moved forward they fell into the trenches and holes we had dug out for a camp. To see 4 burly firemen with hoses going at a hundred mile an hour and then disappear and come out soaking was a site for sore eyes. As you can guess, the police came and this time they did have proof. I was covered in soot.

I got away with a warning this time as they did have an inclination to who started the fire.

My mum worked at Highlands hospital as a auxillary nurse in the late evenings. She would always be home by 10.30. I was left in charge and my arse was on the line. I always let Rick sit up with me. There was not much on the telly, so pretend playing would be our game, but even that got boring. One early evening I had asked Rick to go over to Aunt Doreen’s about something. Rick had gone in the back door which in those days was always unlocked as there was a small dividing alley between the semi-detached houses. Rick came back with some cakes. I asked him if Doreen gave them to you. He said no, he told me that he opened the door, went in and there on the kitchen table were some cakes, so he took them and crept out. He could hear the family in the front rooms watching telly.

As these houses did not have central heating and were very cold. The only place to keep warm was to put on a large coal fire and shut the living room door.

Rick had told me that Aunty Doreen’s handbag was on the table as well and inside was her purse. I said no. If he wanted to nick something it could not be Aunty Doreen’s. Rick crept across the road and disappeared down one of these alleys. After a couple of minutes he was back with a purse. It had about £12.00 in it including change. We shared the money out and disposed of the purse. We put some money in my mum’s purse as I knew she did not earn a lot at the hospital.

For some reason I could not do it. I tried once, and it felt strange being in someone’s house while they were in. Rick must have been in every house through that estate. And instead of taking the purse, he would help himself to a couple of pounds or occasionally a fiver. He did have a couple of close shaves, when someone would come home from the family and go in the back door. Rick told me that he used to hide further down the back of the utility room and they would pass by and not notice, on another occasion, he opened up the back door to the garden and escaped over the fences. That boy had balls.

As the summer turned to autumn and the evenings got darker and colder, we still used to take our dogs out for a walk. One evening we decided to go up to the top shops. 6 of us and two dogs. On the way we could see a couple of bikes in the hospital grounds leaning up against the iron railings. We needed some new parts, so within a couple of turns with a hairclip the padlock was off and so were the bikes.

We rode them up to the top shops and because everyone was complaining that they had to walk we said we would hide the bikes in the lane and all walk home. Walking back down Worlds End Lane we heard a car coming. The only people who could afford cars were Rich people and the Police. The lane was very misty especially by Enfield Golf Course section and we could see the lights of the vehicle coming towards us. All of a sudden, the mist rolled and through this came a figure floating over the road in front of us, we could all see it quite clearly as it passed by the headlights of the car. It was a woman of about 60 years old, smartly dressed but the shape had no colour, only a silvery grey. The image passed through the fence by the hospital.

We all stared at one another not saying a word, the vehicle pulled up alongside us boys and yes it was a police vehicle. As the window opened a policeman’s head popped out and said. Did you see that? He then drove away quickly leaving us there. Roger Bannister's 4 minute mile was broken that evening by a group of kids running home.

We never talked about that, it was just one of those things, I told my mum later and she said that it was a ghost. She had seen a lot of them as a nurse. She said that when the patients died on her ward, they would have to stuff up the holes and get the bodies ready. When the porters came and took the body away, mum would have to remake the bed etc. She said quite often she would go into the ward which was dimly lit and there sitting on the bed was the spirit of the patient. She would tell the spirit that they had died and it was time to move towards the light. She said that they would turn and smile at her.

We needed more money again this week? Raiding the hospital stock rooms and labs was another earner. My brother Rick used to sell syringes to classmates and they used them as dart guns. Ricky Rossiter was with us one day in the labs and decided to start throwing jars of brains and guts at us. It was not a food fight but a body fight. The smell of preserving liquid is not recommended to sniff up anyone’s nostrils. Of course the police were called and on Monday morning at school the squad car pulled up in the school car park and two minutes later out walked Rick accompanied by two police officers. I was sent to the head and reprimanded for being his older brother and I should take more care of him.

The local hospital also had a sweet/cigarette shop which was built of wood. This was where we made more money. I can not remember the amount of times we pulled the wood to bits and got inside. Once inside we would bag loads of sweets and the cigarettes we used to sell on the estate to my mums friends. The shop was repaired as many times. They decided to put metal surrounds all around, so we came in through the roof. One day Rick decided he needed some quick cash and unbeknown to me he had got in with one of our friends and cleared it completely out.

He also had also managed to get into our local church and took the money that had been given on the collection. That night we decided between us that it would be a good idea to go walking about in the middle of the night when our parents were asleep? Yes; back then we would get up and go out along the road for a walkabout at 1pm. Rick took his duffle bag and off we went. By the time we got from Roundhill Drive up to the top of Slades hill which was two miles away, we were stopped by a police van. Rick and I were taken to Enfield police station where the contents of the bag were put on the table. Kit kats, Mars bars and packets of fags everywhere. I knew nothing of this.

We explained that we were running away. I don’t know where that idea came from, but it was the only thing I could think of at the time. The police went to our house and got my dad up. He did not believe them and told them to go away; two seconds later he was out the door in his pyjamas and brought to the police station. Once again sore arses all around. It was not long after this event that Rick went to Boarding School.

I didn’t miss Rick; I was now quite friendly with a local guy called Peter Powell. He used to wear thick black glasses and definitely had one or two marbles missing. His mum and dad were superb. We used to call them Auntie Doreen and Uncle Harry. Pete had a sister called Sue, bit of a scrag bag, but she was OK.

After settling in at Roundhill Drive and getting used to our new schools and local areas, my mum had got a job at the hospital with my friend's mum. She mainly worked nights and as my dad was now working on long distance lorry driving, we were always left alone.

Now to amuse ourselves and to wind up the neighbours. We would play with our Scalextric Cars. Now in those days, you did not have electrical suppressors. So any electrical interference disrupted TV reception in the area. The cars would run just when the best bits of telly were on. Many a time our door would be nearly kicked in with irate neighbours.

Of course Auntie Doreen and Harry would come to our rescue. What with this and many other wrongdoings led to the community calling in the Social services. It may have been due to me shooting of my neighbour with a high powered air rifle. I was trying to shoot the letter box, but he came out of the door as I pulled the trigger.

The police were called, the social services were there and I was dictating to them from my bedroom window. Let us in as they kept banging on the door, I told them that we were not to talk to strangers and especially to let people that we did not know in the house. Once again Doreen and Harry were on hand to sort it all out. A bit strange when you are only 13 years old.

During my younger years, I used to hear voices or noises. I had forgotten the ghost children, but there was something that I could not explain. Strange feelings. Lying in bed at night, I could see this silvery bluish tinge coming from my fingers. If I moved my hand over in the dark, it would leave a trail. After a couple of weeks this seemed to get stronger. I thought it was only me who could see this, I used to write girls names using this method and one night Rick said. What’s that? He could see it too. It was magic to me. Real magic.

I asked mum and she said don’t worry; your Nan was a Psychic. Now this opened up a new chapter for me. I went to the library and looked up Psychic. Wow you could speak with the dead etc.

Most evenings all the local kids would descend on our house or hang about outside. I had acquired a Ouija Board and decided to give it a try. By now most of the kids knew that I had some strange power as they had seen it at parties. It was my party trick. Anyway, all the kids came into the house and we sat down in the front room. We had a dog called Chad by now; he was a cross between a bull terrier and pit bull. He would do anything for me. The dog came into the front room for protection in case anything happened.

I told all the guys that we were going to do a séance. Speak with the dead. The fire was lit so we were all warm and cosy. There were twelve of us in the front room including the dog. I had put this board on the table and six of us sat around the table while the other six watched. A crystal glass was placed on the board. Lights switched off and the room was lit only and light coming from the flames of the fire.

Is there anybody there? Well we all burst out laughing. No, be serious. Is there anybody there, again huge amounts of laughing? Come on lads be serious. We had placed our fingers on the glass and waited. I called, is anybody there?

The glass jolted. It must have been one of you pushing too hard. Keep your fingers on the top. Is there anybody there? The glass started to move. You're pushing it, said one. No you're pushing it said another. Shut up I said. Is there anybody there? Do you wish to speak with us? The glass moved over to the Yes sign on the board. Who do you wish to speak to? The glass moved around the board fairly easily now and was spelling out letters which we could not understand.

Ray Lowe had called a question. Who’s going to win the 2.30 race at Cheltenham tomorrow? I said to Ray that we were not allowed to benefit from this. The glass moved around the board and spelt a name. Someone wrote it down. Now I was not going to pay with my soul and I did not want any of my friends to be hurt. So in my mind I said Ray’s brother Steve should take whatever is going to happen.

We kept on trying different things with the glass. A few of my mates were now scared. The room had got very cold and I mean cold; you could see our breath in the cold air. Even though the fire was blazing. Someone called out to look at the fire. It had gone a bluish colour.

By now the dog was sitting near the front room door shivering. I called out who have you come to talk too?. The glass moved around the board and one by one we took our fingers off. All except Ray. He was pushing at the glass with all his might and said you must be pushing it. I told him to look as there were no fingers on the glass. He took his finger away, the glass very slowly tipped over onto the table all by itself.

The dog was barking and howling and then an enormous crashing sound as if someone had picked up a wardrobe and smashed it down onto the bedroom floor above us. In a split second. 12 guys went through the front door in one go. I held back at the last second and was screaming at the dog to go and fetch. He was snarling and looking up stairs to where the sound had come from. Again I told him to fetch. Still he was snarling and now biting me. I let go and the dog ran off as fast as he could go. I called out to one of my friends, Rob Morgan to come up stairs with me. We armed ourselves with lumps of wood and I had a carving knife. Up the stairs we went and I was crapping myself, what am I going to tell my mum that her wardrobe is smashed to pieces. I don’t know why we did not turn on the lights. There we were creeping up the stairs in the dark. When we got to the top of the stairs, I could see into my mum's room fairly easily as it was lit by the street lights from outside. We both rushed to the door and I turned on my mum's light. To my relief, the wardrobe was intact. Both of us checked all the rooms. Nothing. The house though was freezing cold?

Next day we had half a dozen mums on the door complaining that their kids had come home scared out of their wits.

In the later years we found out that someone had died in the house. A councilor had hung himself. Rick had often complained that he could see a shadow coming down the stairs and I do remember my mum saying quick come here one evening as we watched this shadow move along the wall coming down the stairs. Mum lit a candle and told it to go to the light.

That was not the only house in the area to have ghosts. There were the Kemp sisters who all ran out of their house in Rushey Hill along with the parents as their house was haunted.

Mum told me not to play with Ouija boards and to give up this nonsense. I did, a few days later. Ray came to me with a paper and said that the name of that horse had won. He told his brother who put a bet on it. A couple of days after that, Steve Lowe was driving down a country lane when he went over this humped back bridge and slammed the car under a parked lorry. He was in hospital for months. Whether it was coincidence or not. I’m just glad it was not me.

Now, whether it was down to boredom or whatever. One Sunday, Pete Powell and I were out riding on our bikes exploring when we came across a yard. We looked through the windows around the back of this yard to find that they were shops. One of the shops had left its small window open, so I decided to try and get in. The reason was, I could see a jar of sixpences on the shelf. Half way through, I was grabbed by the arms of a strange looking person who had just woken up. I managed to break free and we made our escape on the bikes.

It was from then on that we had found the ultimate adrenaline rush.

We decided that we needed more training to become fit, to become stronger and that we needed to plan. All week long after homework we trained, running, swimming and I somehow got a Bull-Worker to build up one's muscles.

After 3-4 weeks training we had the skills to climb lamp posts, trees at an amazing speed, drain pipes and had practised on our own houses on entering through small windows. I could do handstands after entering and flip myself over onto the floor very easily.

Pete had also acquired the knack of picking padlocks. This helped a great deal with getting bikes. I lost count of the number of bikes we took from Enfield outdoor swimming pool. The stage was set and now we needed a target. We were not going to break into people’s homes and wreck them. I know it was wrong now, but at the time it was a challenge.

The first target was the local rent offices. I hated this establishment with a vengeance as they always wrote in Red in our rent book; We were never in the black. We managed to find a quiet spot and forced the window, we had checked to see if it was alarmed, but in those days. Nobody used to have one, only the post offices or banks.

Not a successful raid, we only managed to get the tea money and some pens from draws. We did get a portable Olivetti typing machine.

The following week we decided that we would try a posh office. This particular local office supplies; stationery. As usual, they had left the toilet window ajar. I cannot tell you how many offices and establishments we got into by entering through the toilet windows. I got into the office and then opened the larger window for Pete.

Once inside, it was like Christmas had come in Woolworth’s. Fabulous books, writing paper, Parker pens, Schafer pens. Pen sets. We filled up two duffle bags, because that was all we could carry on the bikes. 4 trips later we left the same way we came in. No damage, and reset the window. You could not see how we had got in.

All of the spoils were sold to our teachers at school and to anyone else who wanted a Parker pen for a shilling and a pen set was two and six or what we would call half a crown. Nearly every teacher at Chase Boys had a posh pen now?

Beautiful green marbled or red marbled pens adorned each teacher. Plus most of the kids in school.

This kept us going for weeks, and I used to put the occasional half crown or ten shilling note in my mums purse.

Once again, it was time to find another target. We decided to try the factories in Ponders End. There was one particular factory. They used to make electrical appliances.

We rode our bikes down there and went through the smallest gap in the perimeter fence. Upon casing the site we noticed again, a toilet window. This time it had small bars on it? For some unknown reason, Pete had brought along a file. It went through the bar like a hot knife on butter. We were in.

After opening the door it led to a corridor which in turn led to the canteen and some sort of office. The office door was locked and so were the doors to the canteen. We decided that we could force the office door with little effort and inside we discovered a store room full of sweets, but the prize was, cartons of cigarettes. Now Pete and I did not smoke, but everyone on the estate did. The store room was stripped and we imagined that we had moved up to the big league or so we thought.

As per norm, we could only carry what we could get into our duffle bags. So we emptied the store and took the goods over the road to stash them for later.

Upon returning to the store we sat down on the floor with a chocolate bar each. We heard a sound? Upon standing up, we were face to face with a guy in a uniform. A security guard. Stop, he shouted. Stop. He could not open the canteen door as it was locked and then proceeded to get the keys from his pocket. Pete and I were off on our toes out of the main office window and onto our bikes and away.

It was later reported the following week in the Enfield Gazette that this factory was robbed that weekend. Not by us, but by another gang operating a few doors away. They had got into the safe and took the takings. How we did not see or hear each other I don’t know.

This process of planning and training had gone on for at least 2 years. So many Sundays.

We planned our biggest job, and we knew that it had an alarm. Woolworth’s. Why, I don’t know. Pete had this gadget that could cut through 3 inches of wood in seconds. We would use a hand drill to make a hole in the exit doors and then use the cutting gadget. Well I made a nice hole of about 3 inches using my dads ogre bit. And we could see the push bar to open within sight. Pete tried to use his gadget but it kept getting caught on the metal.

I used a long piece of metal rod that I had found to try and hook the bar and pull it which in turn would open the doors.

For some reason? No go. I tried to catch the bar, which I did but still for some unknown reason it would not pull? As I was looking at the hook, something caught my eye. A piece of cloth? Then, it was gone. Pete was on his toes and I started to pretend and speak out loud that we need a stronger bar. I slowly let go of the metal hook and carried on talking while mounting my trusty bike. And with that I was gone.

When we cycled around the town and came back along the main road, we could see a black police car outside and 5 or 6 people in the back holding the exit door. They must have heard us drilling and when we put the hook through, were holding the bar.

For once in our lives, we were going to be skint for that week at school. Pete suggested that we try our local offices. The Stationery. Once again, back through the toilet window. But this time it had been tied up with strong metal wire. No problem. Coat over the glass and a sharp whack. No sound either. We undone the wire and found that the door from the toilet had a lock fitted to it. Looking through the keyhole I could see the key. Would it work I thought? Place a piece of paper under the door and catch the key. We did place a piece of paper under the door and managed to get the key to drop to the floor, but had to cut the door with Pete’s pen knife. Pete was the original gadget boy. We finally had the key and were back in.

Pete went off to get pens etc and I decided that I would have a good look round the offices. I found the canteen room. Now why was there a biscuit tin high up on the shelf. The reason. It had £20.00 in it. An absolute fortune.

I called Pete. He started to search all the cupboards while I went from desk to desk. One of the draws was locked? So with Pete’s knife I managed to open it to find 12 brown packets. I opened one, it was a wage packet. Now although we shared everything, something came over me and I stashed the whole lot in my pockets.

I made an excuse to go to the loo leaving Pete to rummage through everything. I opened every packet which was stuffed with notes and coins. I had so many coins that I put them down the toilet, there were dozens of them. Pete by now had heard the coins dropping in the pan and was banging frantically on the door. I threw a couple of handfuls out of the door to keep him busy and stuffed a pile of notes in my pants.

I still had a handful of notes and loads of coins. I opened the door and explained that I wanted to count up first. Pete did not believe me but could see that I had a handful of five pound notes etc. He pulled out of the toilet all the coins and we sat down at the kitchen table to count what he could see. It worked out a staggering £76 in notes and at least £15 in coin.

This we split 50/50. Pete knew that I had more money on me but after a search could not locate it.

Off to the West End of London was on the cards. We felt like kings; 1st Class all the way, well it was to us. We had a large fry up at the Golden Egg in Leicester Square and then went to see 2001 Space Odyssey at the Odeon cinema. It was non stop and we arrived home very late at night to Pete’s worried parents and my poor mum.

When I did get the chance to add up what I had put in my pants it worked out to £115.

This raid saw us through for weeks. But all good things come to an end.

Pete suggested that we should try one more large shop. OK, we decided that we would do the Enfield Co-op. I don’t know why but it seemed a good idea at the time. That Sunday we parked our bikes up in a disused alley and scaled the walls onto the flat roof. I had found a small window that I could get through, but Pete needed to get into a large window. From what I could see, these were wedged with small pieces of wood? I pulled out the wood and told Pete that although the alarm would go off, perhaps if we opened the window and shut it quickly, nobody would notice. Wrong.

I opened the window and Pete was through it like a shot. I closed it and wedged it shut. No sound from the alarm. Good.

Pete was already piling up radios and small electrical bits into whatever he could find to hold it all.

I had gone downstairs to suss out what was where. I found the clothes section and decided that I needed a new blazer etc. After trying on clothes I found a new blazer that fitted and some nice new shoes. Walking around I found an office with a large safe in it.

I heard Pete call out, come here. I’ve just seen a police car drive by. Well so what, the police station was only 100 yards up the road. Upon saying that, a Black Police van drove by and then another car.

Stop worrying I said to him as I was dancing with the cripple girl collection box around the stores display cabinets. Then we both heard a very loud voice shout. There they are. Looking at the front doors we could see two big hairy arsed policeman staring straight at us.

Pete was off, I shouted where are you going, I’m going to get the stuff. Leave it I said, come on. By now we could here someone saying open the door quickly. I ran in a direction towards the office I had seen the safe. I called to Pete who was shouting frantically. I opened the office window which led to a narrow yard. I closed the window so that the latch would lock again.

I found a boiler room which could be locked from the inside, the caretaker must have been a pervert as there were girly magazines all over the place. I locked the door from the inside and hid as far behind the boilers as I could. From the noises that I could hear, I knew that the police were on the roof and had now climbed over the wall to this yard.

The door rattled again and again, then I heard one of them say. Its locked. And, no one has come through here. Then all quiet. My heart was in my mouth. I stayed there for a least an hour. I finally got out and over a disused garden wall and made my escape.

I climbed a nearby tree next to a church to see if I could see Pete or my bike. I saw both bikes being taken by the police. No sign of Pete. I walked home and waited by my house. Pete came by on his bike? I called out and he said. Sorry.

My mum and dad came home and immediately asked if I had been with Pete Powell. I said why, Its because earlier we had seen him being taken away in a police car outside Enfield co op. I was doomed.

I said yes I had and my dad told me that it would be best to go down to Enfield nick. Just then a White Police Rover pulled up and all the neighbours were looking out as usual. Off I went in style. As the saying went. Don't play with the Harrow kids.

We both got 3 years probation. But because we were doing well at school it saved us from going to Borstal.

I was bared from seeing Pete, but we used to get together when we were out of view. Plus there was always school.

It did not stop me or now my brother as he was back on the scene. We decided to go back out at night. Train stations were a good bet for money. So once a week we would leave our nice cosy beds and met up with other kids who wanted some action. We used to go through the golf course to the local train stations and raid the ticket offices. Selling stamped tickets to the school kids was easy money and there was always the money float in the till.

Rick had also found out that being on a bus earned you money? The conductors in those days used to have a brown small suitcase which was stored where you could put a pram. Rick showed me how it was done. The conductor goes up stairs to collect fares and we could then raid the suitcase of coin and sometimes notes. This was a fantastic earner.

We had arranged after school finished that all the kids would go upstairs and as the bus headed along to the next stop they would clog up the stairs pretending to get off while we looted the suitcase. Sometimes we had to open the conductors storage box. No problem as we had keys. On average it was £10-25 per raid. The kids that helped were brought ice buns for their efforts. Once again our collars were felt, we think that someone grassed on us. But we got off as they could not prove that all the previous takings were us.

To say the least, Chase Boys Secondary School were banned from London Transport.

The following term was a drag as we had to walk home from school, on the way home was an odds and sods sweet shop. I decided one day that I was going to steal as many sweets from there and set a new record.

We managed to get the owner to pick out a box of chocolates from the glass display cabinet. While she was bending down, I filled my duffle bag with handfuls of chocolate, sweets in fact anything I could grab. We made her bend down a least 4 times. Just then I felt something grab my neck hard, very hard. It was the owner of the shop himself.

I was frog marched out to the back and had to empty the bag, he was not amused. He did try to call the police but they could not come out. He asked what school did I go to and I said another name. I was let go and an hour or two later. I thought that I had got away with it. Then one Monday morning as we were filing by to go into assembly, I saw the head master Mr Taylor standing there with a stranger. Immediately I was removed from the line and made to stand up during assembly while my charge of bringing the school into disrespect was read out. I was ordered out of the hall and told to wait by the headmasters study. The hook nosed bastard caned me and informed the police.

Over the years we made his life a misery, as we found out where he lived and done untold damage to his property and vehicle.

By being paraded in front of the school, this made me an icon or should I say the daddy. Even the bullies used to talk to me now. As one year moved on to the next, we were transferred over to the Enfield Grammar school. Posh kids went to this school to become Doctors etc. On the very first day, we had all got together and decided that we were not going to stand for the establishments conditions. We all wore our old school uniform badges and refused to sit down during assembly or sing or say prayers.

By the end of the week we were all banned from the canteen for throwing water at the staff and each other plus one guy called Timothy Webb knocked the PE teacher out because he pulled his ear in line up.

Four wasted years at this 300 year old dump. But the good news was that next door was an all girls school. Enfield County School for Girls. There was nothing like being chased through their corridors by screaming girls who tried to grab you. All you had to do was grab the two lovely doughnuts on their fronts and howling screams of delight filled the halls and corridors.

Playing rounders in our field which was opposite the girls field also had its pleasures of short green skirts with dark blue knickers underneath. The bowler would throw the ball as softly as possible so that the batsman could hit it over into the girls field. 24 young lads all chasing after the ball was the game. Whistles being blown by irate women PE teachers and our PE teachers trying to regroup their lads. Total mayhem.

One miserable morning my mate Peter Powell stopped me in the school yard and said "Look at this". In his arms was a rifle. A Cadet Major .22 air rifle. With this we could knock the bugs off a flea at 100 yards. Many a black bird, Starling or sparrow was shot. Pete decided that he was going to take care of a couple of kids at the school. He was having problems with a couple of bullies. Lucky for both of them, they were not at school that particular day. So Pete decided to climb up on top of the school room and pick kids off in the playground. It was great fun deciding who was going to get it. Once again the local Enfield police were called and once again we were in the dog house.

Pete was loosing it. The next day I caught up with him walking back from one school to the other after Art classes. Pete was tossing this large log over and over in his hands. He looked at me with big watery eyes, I thought he was going to hit me with it. Pete calmly walked up to the school fence and lobbed the log. 2 seconds later there was an almighty crash and a second or so later this lorry came through the fence. Broken windscreen and a bleeding driver staggering all over the place was the last site I saw.

I was on my toes straight into the classroom, everyone was on the scene, Teachers, Police, kids. Pete just stood there, when questioned he said to them I did it because he wanted to do something. He was expelled for a few months, although I was questioned I said that I was in the class room all the time.

I suppose, I did calm down a bit. As we were still on probation and doing anything that would get us caught would mean Borstal, I was not going to go there.

By now, Pete and I were told not to play or be in each others company, I had made a new friend called Paul Johnson. He had two brothers Brian and Steve who were a lot older. The had moved in next door to us. Paul had always hung around hoping to get into our group, but we would always side track him. Because I could not play with Pete, Paul knocked at my door, fancy going out. OK. We walked up to the hospital entrance and I said to him that we were not going to go in there and we would keep a low profile.

Paul wanted to take a short cut through the hospital to the top shops. That was alright. As we passed a garaged located in the hospital, Paul noticed two bikes. One was a girls bike and the other with a cross bar. 26 inch wheels. I could not get on the boys bike as my legs were short and when I peddled my nuts kept hitting the crossbar. I said to Paul that I would have the girls bike.

Off we road, both bikes had gears which was a godsend for some of the hills around our area. We rode up to Oakwood Park, had a play around and then started to ride back. Paul said that he could not keep the bike at his house, could I keep it for him. No problem, just as we were turning into our road home. A police car pulled us up. Are these your bikes. Yes we said.

There I was standing with something that towered over me. Are you sure that these are your bikes. Paul turned and said, We found them. Oh did you now. Where did you find them. We found them lying by a wall down the road. Of course the hospital had seen us and had called the police. We were frog marched back to the hospital where the resident doctor and midwife took charge of their bikes once again.

Fortunately for me, my mum and dad were out. But Pauls parents were in. He got the belt and I was banned from playing with him.

My friend Pete had seen all this and so had his parents, in fact everyone on the bloody estate knew as usual. Pete and I had made up a plan to meet each other. He would cycle by on his bike and whistle or ding his bell and we would meet down the park.

Pete was complaining that he wanted some money to buy models. He was well into Airfix. Planes and Boats that you put together. So, it was time for a raid.

If we were going to do raids, it had to be planned well. There was an office block near us which beckoned attention. As usual the toilet windows were open. We had made our way round the back using the river bank that ran along side. We hid our bikes there. I climbed in as per norm, but the window was so large, Pete could get in too.

12 floors of goodies, all unlocked. Pens, Diaries in fact anything you wanted. The canteen had vending machines which we easily managed to open and remove the weeks takings. After about 4 hours in there, we made our way back to the stairs. Walking down one or two flights we saw that the lift had stopped at that floor? We carried on walking down and could hear someone opening and shutting doors on another level.

I immediately pressed the lift button on that floor and we ran up the stairs very quietly. Once we had got near the top. I pressed the lift button on that floor and we ran down the stairs once the lift was moving. I guessed that the security guards had thought they could get the guys on that floor. These guys did not stop talking to each other in the lift. On the way down we pressed every button for every floor. By the time the lift got back down to the ground floor. We were gone. It was after this that we decided. No more. A rewarding financial day but no pick nick.

How were we going to make some dosh. Well the local private members golf club always needed good cadies and we had the Pro shop covered. No body was allowed to caddie unless we said so. The posh golfers would pay us about 5 shillings and occasionally we would get a ten shilling note.

We got on so well with the golf club that we were invited by the members on their annual meetings etc. All this was fine, but we were scum, council latch key kids. They had it all. Posh cars, Money, Clothes.

One day I had been caddying, it was about 3 in the afternoon and I was walking back through the golf course home, when a voice shouted out. Boy, I say boy. Would you mind taking my clubs back to the club house. The kind gentleman gave me 5 shillings. Thank you sir, the old golfer went on his way and I proceeded to walk back to the clubhouse. It was only a 10 minute walk back up the fairway. The bag was brand new, the clubs were brand new, the bag was full of new balls, tees, etc etc.

Boy, I say boy. Who is he calling a boy. I sold the lot down another golf club to another golfer. Stuff him.

I don’t know why but I went back to the club a couple of weeks later, but nothing was said or remarked upon, except the pro did say that he had got rid of a couple of kids who were not part of the club and there had been a problem.

I lost count of the number of golf balls I sold back to the owners who brought them in the first place. Many a club went missing and was sold somewhere else.

Rick had moved up into the big league. He set up a car washing system in the golf club car park. Car cleaning was his game alright. He cleaned the cars right out of anything that was valuable, within reason.

Another escapade was to visit the golf course first thing in the morning when it was foggy. Yes the idiots played golf in the fog. We knew the driving range of a ball and waited at the bottom of the first tee. Golfers always use a brand new ball before a game. Hiding in the bushes, you could hear them talking and then whack. A ball would come sailing through the air and land 20 or so yards from us.

We would wait until all four balls had gone, sometimes two, and then run out and nick them off the fairway and run back to our hidey hole. It was a wonder that we were never caught as we could not stop laughing. You could hear the golfers saying, I’m sure I hit it straight. Yea, straight into my pocket. If the fog never lifted we would go to another part of the course and lye in wait. Same procedure again. Run out and nick a ball or two, then run back and hide. The following day we would sell these brand new balls to the golfing community. If only they knew.

One of the big boys who lived on our estate had a great idea. He was a biker type. He trained this Heinz 57 type terrier dog to fetch golf balls and return. He used to get dozens of them using this method. Poor dog though was pretty worn out every weekend.

Enfield Golf course was overseen by the greens keeper. We did not know his name but we gave him one. Clanky. This guy had chased us off the course so many times during the day and late evenings. One particular evening, We climbed through the fence to get a drink of water from a fountain that was placed there by club members who wanted a fresh drink.

It had been a very hot day, and we did not have any money for lemonade etc, only the water fountain. That would do for now. I had a quick drink and one of our friends Malcolm East was just starting to have a drink when I knew something was going to happen. Out of the thicket jumped Clanky, run I shouted, and all of us ran towards the hole in the thorn bushes which separated the golf course and the lane. I got through then Rick but Malcolm slipped and screemed out.

What was wrong, we tried to pull him. Clanky was upon us by now and for some reason left the scene. When we looked at Malcolm his leg was impaled upon a spike. I don’t know if the Golf course had done this, but now we had a problem. The spike was completely through his leg. Rick ran off to the local hospital which was opposite. And a few minutes later some nurse and a doctor came over. The ambulance came along with the fire brigade. They cut the metal and took Malcolm away, still with the spike in his leg.

After that, Malcolm was banned from playing with us. I had to get revenge on Clanky, so it was decided that we would creep up to the golf course one late evening and put sugar into all of his equipment that he needed to do his green keeper job.

We also swapped over all the HT leads on the distributor caps on his vehicles, tractors, grass cutters, etc. As best we could, all of his rakes, shovels, brooms, poles, etc. His boots, work jackets and all the bags of golf balls that he had collected over the past few months ended up in the nearby stream which cut through the golf course. And to end it all. We sprinkled packets of water cress seeds all over the 18th green. (We knew that when this grows and you cut it, it leaves a white mark, like bleaching).

We were not finished with the golf course yet. At least 9 holes had more holes than a mole could dig with the pin flags used as javelins and the teeing off concrete markers tossed around the green like putting the shot. Pete also rode his bike around the greens creating large circular imprints. All of the holes on the greens were filled in.

It was very unusual for us to vandalise anything, but I know that they had placed that awful device in that hedge and covered it up. So they deserved everything that we could do to them.

The following weekend came and we went off to do some caddying, most of the golfers were all huffing and puffing about playing on temp greens. A couple of weeks later. You could definitely see from the club house veranda an outline of a white patch on the 18 green. Heil Clanky.

Our last encounter with the local golf club was the annual summer venue we had been invited to. We had been chosen to run the nearest the pin shot competition. It was a £5 to enter and we had to give out raffle tickets to all those who entered. Of course it does not take a genius to work out that you can get similar raffle tickets from the local shop as well. For some reason we did not sell a lot of raffle tickets that the club had given us. But our nearest the pin shot was a huge success for us. We had about £55 pounds each.

We were getting to old for caddying now and it was time to move on; There were bigger fields to plough. Our latest anticks were going to the local sports club house Sunday football matches. Once kick off had started and everyone was watching the game. We would sneak into the changing rooms and help ourselves to all the wallets that had been left. After a couple of months you would of thought that they would have locked the changing room doors, but no, they decided to put all valuables in a large box and put them in the Bar/Canteen and lock that door. Shame about the toilet window being open.

About 3 weeks later, we were caught in the clubhouse and our friendly neighbourhood police man on his bike turned up. Wasn’t me. I wouldn’t do anything like that. We were frog marched back home and the worn out slipper was at hand. Ouch.

As the years went by, we started to get attention from these things in our area called girls. Pete had got into the top shelf magazines ages ago and was an expert on the female anatomy. He even drilled holes in the bathroom ceiling at his house to watch one of the girls who used to stay there with the family.

One evening we had been playing our 20 a side football and the game finished the same day. Yes we still played football. When, 3 girls came across the field. We had never seen these before. Hello said the taller one. We have just moved in. Oh yea said my mate Ray, I saw the removal lorry unloading your furniture the other day.

After a couple of days of playing football, two of the girls turned up again. This time Ray said to me that he was going to knock one off. He told me to go with the other one. We ran to the woods laughing, when a loud voice shouted out this girls name Jackie, Jackie. Come ere. Now Jackie it seems was a lot more advanced than I knew about. She was trying to get my jeans off etc, but still the shouting went on. Jackie said she had to go. And run off. Ray came back with a smile on his face but told me that with all the commotion he could not get going.

We walked home working out how we were going to get into these girls knickers. As I was sitting on the grass outside my house. A police car turned up, I was asked about being with a group of girls? I was then informed that a charge of rape had been made against me and Ray.

A police officer was now holding me tightly and I was taken to the house where this girl lived. Ray had already been interviewed. As the front door opened, a voice said. "Yes that's the one". Once again I was informed by the policeman that I had been accused of rape. With a thumping from my dad, and a couple of whacks from my mum. The truth was not brought to the surface until 10 O’clock that night when Jackie withdrew her statement. The police knew that she was a hot potato and trouble.

We later found out that Jackie had been raped by her step dad and had twins which were taken away from her. She would have been 12 or 13 years old then.

We often talked about Jackie and other girls on the way home from school. After getting off the bus at Cotswold way which was a very posh area of semi detached houses with nice gardens at the front. The road went downhill towards boxers lake. After a long day at school and things being tight with money at home we used to nick bottles of milk and anything else that was left on the doorsteps by the local Milkman. Sometimes, whole boxes of deliveries from the grocers. You name it, we took it.

This went on for quite a few weeks, until one day we had seen a box of goodies and milk. We scoffed the biscuits and drank the milk only to be confronted by the local milkman and of course the police. Nicked again.

We had to find another way home which was different. Now if you caught a train from Lavender hill train station. It would take you to Grange Park. The only way to catch a train was to sneak under the ticket office window and creep up the stairs and hide in the waiting room. When you got to the other end, you could wait until the passengers had all got off and walked down the ramp to the ticket collector and then walk across the rails and out through the other door. This was an excellent way of travelling home and of course going to school. It saved us the princely sum of 6 pence a day in fares.

The walk back from Grange Park was all up hill, and in the Summer it was hot. Pete or Rick decided to stop at a house and ask for a cup of water. They stopped at a nice posh house and asked. Please may we have a drop of water, yes said the lovely lady. Pete drank the whole glass and the lady of the house had to go and get some more. Rick had spotted a handbag on the hall table. Pete kept an eye out for the kind lady while Rick dipped the purse for a few shillings. He could have taken it all but that would have been a big mistake. They had glasses of water all Summer long and we were a few pounds better off.

One day Pete and Rick decided that they were going to stop asking for water and took all the money. Big mistake. The police were waiting at the train station the next day with that lady. For some reason she picked out some poor innocent lad who happened to live in Grange Park and had nothing to do with the theft.

Where were we going to get money from now? We could not work, as we were only 14 years old. And our parents by now had split up. Dad used to work long distance lorry driving. One evening the police came to our house and asked Mr Harrow in? Mum said no he is up in Manchester. Oh, his lorry is parked in Basildon and we want it moved. Dad had been seeing this woman who we met at a campsite for years so it seems.

Mum and Dad got divorced, he moved out and went into Council contract work. Rick came home one day and said, I have solved the problem, we will all get Milk round jobs at the local dairy. Sounds great I thought. Not at 4.30 in the morning. Come wind, rain, snow, fog and anything else the weather can think of. You work for 4 hours and get £1 50. This is rubbish. But then I looked at it another way. People don’t like being woken up on a Saturday morning at about 6 Oclock to pay their bills, so they leave the money under the bottles or plant pot or its left inside the milk container. I only worked there for two more Saturdays and then went free lance around all the rounds that I knew in that area. This was OK for about a month. Nice earner though.

My friend Ricky Rossitor done one better than me, he ran off with the Milkys takings for that week. So the milk yard stopped using any help.

Most of the evenings now after school were sitting outside my house on the grass field putting the world to right and talking nonsense. There was always 9 or 10 of us. Rob Morgan and his brother Dave, Steve Clarke, Mick Mallone, Pete Powell, and a few other names I have forgot. Most of the other kids were now banned from even talking to us. We were not vandals, yes we got into minor trouble but we did not mug anyone or wrote graffiti everywhere.

Living on the edge of the countryside had other pleasures, places to explore and treasures to find. Overall, life was good.

There was a disused Army camp at the bottom of the hill, opposite the Jolly Farmers Pub and near the allotments that we used to raid. This was an area that beckoned war games. Couldn’t get into it really. Next to the army camp was a rifle range. Sometimes we would hear the crack of a rifle going off, or we would sneak up through the undergrowth and watch them target shooting. Rick suggested that we should break in and get the guns. We did not know it but they do not keep guns there. After they had all gone home, we armed ourselves with metal bars that were lying around in the army camp and dismantled the wooden clubhouse. Inside was dismal, some bottles of R Whites Lemonade, Ginger beer and some crisps etc.

All of us were looking for the guns. Rick found a box of 22 cartridges and some 410 shotgun shells. These shotgun shells were all shiny and chrome looking. I kept the 22 bullets.

Rick made a necklace of these shotgun shells and put them around his neck. They were always clicking together, how none of them went off I don’t know. I managed to get Rick to throw them away, which he did.

I drilled a 3/8 hole in my garden fence post. If you looked through the hole, you could see across the green field and in the distance, tin houses. These houses were designed for people on a temporarily basis. They are still there today. Anyway, my idea was to put a 22 bullet into the hole and then fire at it with my air rifle.

I must have fired at least 10 shells. There must be someone in and around Boxers Lake with 10 or 15 holes in there house wondering how and what made them.

One evening walking back from Oakwood, Rick could see a garage open. It was dark inside and out, but Rick went in to explore. He came out with 2 long canvas sleeves. He opened one up and inside was the butt of a rifle or gun. Rick told me to wait as there was more stuff. We managed to get a whole crate of unopened drink, Christmas food and best of all. A box of cartridges.

We ran off as fast as we could go carrying all the goodies. Once we were at the lake we found our usual hidey hole and tried some of the wares. Advocat drink is not nice on its own. Rick was busy sorting out the guns. He was good and managed to put together this beautiful decorated shotgun and found out how to break it open. The other shotgun was already assembled.

Rick decided that we should hide the guns and get the goodies home. This we did and later the next day. Rick recovered the two shotguns. We hid them under our beds and waited for the weekend.

Finally, we decided that we would only use the normal gun as the other one was too nice. Down by the lake we hid in the bull rushes, it was a quiet Saturday and Rick opened the gun and put two red cartridges into the barrels. He shut the gun up and turned and aimed it at the ducks who were unaware that we were in the bull rushes. We were unaware that a couple of fishermen had set up 10 to 15 yards away.

Boom went the first barrel, Boom went the next. The water shot up into the air along with two local fishermen and of course 4 or 5 ducks. The fishermen were shouting like mad and one of them had gone over the road to the local telephone box. The other fisherman started to walk towards Rick and myself. Give me that he said. Rick said OK and pointed it at him. Of course it was not loaded, but he didn’t know that. He was on his toes running down the road. Two seconds later we were gone as well.

Both Rick and I decided that we had to get rid of the guns. So being Rick, he sawed them up into little pieces that would fit inside a small sack. Rick climbed over the hospital fence and ran around the back of the hospital with this sack and dumped it in the top part of the lake.

The area around Roundhill Drive, Lindal Crescent and Lonsdale Drive was constantly being patrolled by police cars. Why they never came to our house, I don’t know.

If we were not sitting outside my house, we would go down to the local off license to buy some fizzy pop and crisps etc. The off licence was next to a pub called The Jolly Farmers. When money was tight we would call on every house on our estate and take back the empties to get the 3 pence on each bottle.

Once the shop owner had given us our monies for the empties, he would put them into crates out the back awaiting the delivery men. My brother Rick and a couple of the rest of the gang would help themselves to the crates and take back the empties the following night. This went on for weeks until the owner got wise to it.

If we were lucky, we could get someone to buy cans of long life for us, as long as we gave them the money. Didn’t really like feeling this way after four cans. Felt sick? When we were not outside my house or down the off licence, we would head up to the laundrette. It was nice and warm in there and we could wash and dry our Harrington jackets all together. Harrington jackets were the fashion. We brought them from Petticoat lane market for £5.00 The laundry would close at 10.30 in the evening, so we knew it was time to get home.

The big boys on the estate caused us no problems, we wanted to be part of their gang, but this was a no no. There was one particular lad called Crossley, he had this knack of building bombs out of weed killer and sugar. He would have been locked up for terrorists acts these days.

Crossley and his mate Willets built these bombs and cannons out of cast pipe or copper tube. They would bash over one of the ends and then drill a hole. Fill the pipe with the mixture, make a fuse and seal the other end very carefully. The bomb would be placed accordingly and the fuse lit. Boom, at least once a week these huge explosions would go off. They tried to blow up a dam which held back the water in the nearby lake. At least 2 attempts had been made on the dam. They only cracked it.

But they did blow up the nearby electrical sub station. Put the estate out for days.

One day the big lads nicked a large hospital gas bottle. They drilled holes in the bottom and somehow welded fins on the back to make a Rocket. This huge bottle was filled with the mixture. Every thing sealed. It was let off at the end of the estate. The rocket was last seen going over Enfield Golf Course heading towards the Town.

Boxers Lake, this lake had an island in the middle. You could fish there or feed the ducks. At the side of the lake was a large wooded area with a deep stream that cut through the land, a bit like a valley. We would dam this stream often to see if we could hold back the overspill of the lake.

Over one of the deep ravines, the big boys had secured a rope hanging from a tree which we could all swing on and test each others nerves and swing across the void and back. We would swing on this for hours it was a very popular area to grow up in.

Sometimes on weekends we would fish. Now this was the most boring thing I had ever done. Yes I did catch some fish, Perch, Gudgeon. But the best bit about fishing was Mud Slinging.

If you broke off a ¼ inch thick about a meter long branch of an Oak tree. Stripped down the leaves. Then picked out a large meatball sized lump of mud from the banks of the lake, you packed the mud ball onto the end of the stick and with practice hurl this missile with deadly accuracy across the lake.

You could not throw that far. No one could. After many weeks of practice we could land a missile within 2-3 feet of a fishing float. The irate fisherman would look up and around to see who wash throwing stuff. After three or four more missiles hit there spot. We would then target the fisherman.

Being on the other side of the lake, there would be a lot of shouting and abuse, and then the fisherman would try to run round the lake to catch us. We would head for the woodland and hide in the undergrowth etc. The fisherman unfortunately would have left his tackle and gear at the side of the lake, but upon return, it had gone.

Pete or Johnny smith would grab the gear and we would sell it or split the contents up between us. I had the best split cane rod money could buy with the latest spinning reels.

Targeting fishermen was easy, It’s when you target delivery vans etc it gets better. The baker used to drive around the estate delivering bread, cakes etc. His van would be battered with mud missiles while he was serving customers. Again everything would be set up. He would chase us into the wooded area and the others would raid his van. It only worked once as the next time the police were waiting in the woods for us.

This was not good. We had been caught using our own cover. Roy Hammond decided on his own that he would burn the wooded area down. You have never seen a fire like it. 17 fire engines, a new record for the estate. It took about 2 years for the area to grow back.

We helped in the growth of the wooded area this time. We blocked the dam outlet ports with milk crates and then infilled with twigs, plastic bags in fact anything that would hold water back.

The stream below faded to a trickle. After a day or so you could see that the lake was full to the brim. Using my dad’s garden shovel, we cut a deep trench across the pathway, it was about a foot deep and 6inches across. When we finally got to the lake edge, this gave way after a couple of digs with the spade.

The water gushed out like a torrent. Spilling into the wooded area below. The scene was fantastic, we had control of the water. We could dam the flow or let it go. The decision was to let it run.

After two days the torrent had become a 3 foot wide gash across the path. Nothing in the world was going to stop a whole lake from emptying. And it was getting deeper every minute.

By the end of the week, we had flooded the houses at the bottom of the wooded area and now had two lakes where before there had only been one.

The local council came along and filled the gap we had created. We were glad, because the stench foul water gives off is unbelievable.

One of the local residents was always complaining to us and telling us to clear off. It was not his lake and we could sit and fish or just hang around wherever we wanted. He was always calling the police and they would always chase us off.

Enough was enough. This person had pride and joy. It was a bubble car. One evening as we were walking by, we all picked up the bubble car and once we had got to the lake, we rolled it over and just by chance it ended right side up in the lake. Someone put a No Parking sign on top of it. The following week there was a picture in the local paper showing the vehicle in the lake.

Behind the lake was what we called the horses field. We used to dare each other into riding these bloody animals. It was more fun riding the cows. There was even a point in our lives when we were going to steal a cow, kill it and cut it up. We had all the knives and bits of cloth. But when we got to the fence, none of us had the heart to do it. Lucky for the cow.

It was about this time that a few of my friends had got involved in scooters. I wanted one. My neighbour had a Vespa 125 for sale. £25.00 That was a fortune to anyone. We managed to get the money by going into the local sports club with one of the big boys and removed 4 barrels of beer and cider. I don’t know how we managed to get it back to his house. I was so pissed on the drink we consumed beforehand in the bar.

I paid £25.00 for the Vespa. Bright red in colour, and I polished it to a wonderful shine in my back garden. It was everything to me. I could not ride it as I was just coming up to 15 years old. But I wanted to have a go. The lad who sold it to me showed me how to start it up and how to pull the clutch in and twist it into gear and let the clutch out slowly.

Of course you did not have to wear crash helmets in those days. I kicked the scooter over and the engine roared into life. I twisted the throttle a couple of times and got on. I said to myself that I would only ride it 10 or 15 yards in my back garden. I pulled in the clutch and twisted the grip to put it into gear. It stalled, again and again I kept stalling the bloody thing.

Brian looked over the fence and said. You need more power in the throttle. OK. So I started the scooter, pulled in the clutch, twisted the grip, and revved. A bit more I thought, no a little bit more. I let out the clutch, the bike took off with me on board and we rode completely through the garden fence.

With my ego in tatters and the front mudguard and side panels of the scooter all bent, I decided that I would walk the scooter across the local school fields and try there. After another couple of goes. I soon got the hang of it. I was now a MOD riding around the field on my scooter. I was once again, on top of the world.

It soon became known that every weekend I was riding around on a scooter in this field. We all used to chip in to buy fuel. And I used to charge the little kids sixpence to ride on the back around the field.

At this time it also attracted some new girls to the scene. Hey with one of these and giving them rides for free, I was now in demand for some serious tonsil wrestling with tongues.

Over the next few weekends we became more adventurous. There was a ridge on this field. We found out that if you hit it at about 50 mph you could jump the scooter high into the air.

We were doing jumps well before this bloke from America came onto the scene. Evel Knievil. We were jumping over milk crates, boxes, oil drums in fact it was only because the power of the scooter was poor, otherwise we would have jumped anything.

Sharing the scooter was not a problem as long as everyone paid into the cost of the fuel. Rob Johnson used to be the darling of the girls because of his looks. So, as it was his turn on the scooter, he started to show off and did the usual jump, rode to the top of the field and started to ride down as fast as he could go.

You can not stand up on a scooter with no hands whilst going along. Rob found this out by coming off the bike and breaking an arm. The bike was mangled and everyone was more worried about the bike than the poor rob who was sitting there with a very large white bone sticking out of one of his broken arms.

His mum banned him from playing with us, but he still kept showing up when he could. The hospital had to put a metal plate in one of his arms with screws. It took ages for him to mend, but all the while the local girls that had come onto the scene felt sorry for him and used to go round his house. We were only jealous.

After trying to mend the scooter and pulling out the bent panels, the jumping and crashes had taken its toll. The scooter's number plates were removed and the scooter was dragged up the slide in the nearby park and wedged in the little house at the top of the slide. After opening the petrol tank and placing a large rag inside. The scooter was given a Vikings burial. I felt sorry for the little house at the top of the slide.

A week later playing down near the park, I was collared by the local park keeper. He put me into his hut and waited for a local police car to come by and pick me up. These days he would have been arrested for false imprisonment. He informed the police that I was the owner of the scooter and had caused all the damage to the park as he had seen me riding about around the field opposite.

2 hours later my mum came down the local nick to get me out. I did not own up to the scooter incident as I said that it had been taken and I did not know where it went etc. I got away with it and let free.

The park keeper was not so lucky. His lovely shed with all his belongings etc was torched later that week. Rick wanted to get some revenge and I don’t know how but enlisted the help of some of the big boys and dismantled the park. I don’t know how they did it but there was not one thing left in that area. They had used metal saws and cut through everything. So I heard they had managed to get rid of the metal at a metal yard for money.

This gave us a great idea. You could get money just for metal. We found out that copper was a good metal to sell, as there was a huge building program going on in our area with installations of central heating, copper tanks and plumbing. These sites were stripped completely. We even asked some of the big boys who were now working on these sites when the pipe work was being installed. It was like an army of ants descending onto the building site to and fro. The copper pipe was loaded onto and into prams and supermarket trolleys and taken down to the scrap metal dealer. On some loads he even came to where we used to stash it and pick the lot up. Once again this brought attention to us from the local constabulary.

We were stripping out a block of nearby flats one evening and just about to start throwing the copper tanks over the wall into the adjoining field when the strong arm of the law had all 4 of us.

I don’t know how one of the guys thought of it, but he said that the big boys had forced us into pulling up all the copper pipes and they were on the other side of the wall taking it to their garages etc. We were supposed to get the tanks out for them and they would pick them up. After some extensive questioning down the local nick, we were let go. That was a close one.

It was at this time in our lives that there had to be change. We were just about to leave school and start out in the big wide world.

I was sitting outside my house one evening when this car came hurling by. It had all my mates in it. One of them had borrowed his dad's car keys and they were joy riding it.

Later in the evening Pete Powell informed us that he was going to take his dad's car. It was a Ford Zephyr, grey in colour. Now Pete's dad, uncle Harry to us was a strapping ex navy man who stood proud. You did not want to mess with him. Pete said that he would creep out of the house after his parents had gone to bed and we could then drive around in the car. Fantastic idea. Pete's parents went to bed at about 10.30 and Pete crept out at about 11.00. He opened the car door and we pushed it down the road, whereupon we were all in it hooting and shouting, legs and arms waving out of the windows.

Pete drove around the local area and out into the quiet countryside for about 3 miles, he was a good driver. After about an hour, Peter said that it was time to go back. We drove back into Roundhill Drive and turned the engine off and pushed the car back into its parked position.

It became a challenge then to who could take the family car and drive it around. All the kids were doing it. One evening after going out in Petes dads car and coming home. Steve Clarke decided that he was going to take his dad's car out. We were too tired to go, but he took the car, it was a white coloured Triumph Estate.

The car was found written off on the Enfield Ridgeway road. It was smashed to pieces. Steve had driven the car to fast and crashed. He managed to get back home and somehow hide his wounds etc. He was never the same after that. And unfortunately suffered for many years with a nervous disposition, and in the end he died. He never harmed anyone he just wanted to be part of the gang, one of the boys.

In the mean time Pete was becoming more of a nutcase. Nearly every night he would take the car, whether we were there or not. His dad caught him many times; I’m glad that I was not with him.

One evening we were all walking back and came across Pete. I’m going to take the car he said. Go on then, you’ve been warned by your parents about this. No problem. He took the car and we all piled in. The local field gates were unlocked, so we all had a go at driving around. Pete decided that the local golf course was a good place to drive along.

The car managed to get onto the golf course and we drove around it in the middle of the night going over fairways and putting greens. It was mayhem. Pete then drove the car towards Grange park to drive out off the golf course. He had seen a couple of lamps in his rear view mirror and did not want to go back that way.

Driving up to what we called the pear orchard, we could see blue flashing lights. We all jumped out of the car and hid in the grass. I looked to my right to see Pete there as well. The car was automatic and kept driving forward through the long grass field on its own accord. We all ran off laughing and watching as the police were chasing this unoccupied vehicle around the perimeter of the field.

Pete managed to creep back into his house and was awoken by his dad at about 3 in the morning due to the police knocking on his door asking his dad, are you the owner of a Ford Zephyr.

Pete’ dad never found out, but I know he knew. Harry’s next car was a Vauxhall. It was beautiful. Brilliant diamond white finish. Off white leather interior and red piping. It lasted about 3 months. Pete crashed it twice and we were all caught in it one night by Pete’s dad as we were driving back from somewhere. The final straw was when Pete once again took it and upon our return found someone else’s car in the parking area. Pete knew that he was dead.

We rallied round and lifted this car out of the way and managed to push it down the hill into some local garages. Pete’s dad's car was put in its place and we never went on any more late night joy rides again.

As for the little car we pushed down into the garages, well this was dismantled over that weekend and engine bits used for the big boys rebuilds.

I was not interested in cars or bikes, all the guys were covered in dirty grease and their hands were filthy all the time. The conversation had grown into this ration and that carburettor. All bollocks to me.

I was looking for something, but what. I had now teamed up with a couple of other boys who were not interested in cars either. We decided that we could go exploring on London buses and trains for 5 shillings all day long.

Every weekend we would buy an all day pass and go all over the capital and suburbs. We would walk around London major sites and try to learn about our areas. My friends wanted to explore further.

Southend was suggested. You could get a green line bus from Wood Green and go to Southend. Or, catch a train from Enfield town to Liverpool street station and then catch a train to Southend.

Only one thing was holding me back. Money. One day I had to go and visit my grandad, I had not seen him for a long time. He lived in Tottenham on his own as my Nan had passed away many years earlier. Now granddad had won the Premium bonds. We never knew how much, but we think it was about £30,000. An absolute fortune.

This particular day visiting granddad, he said to me that he was going to go down the road to get a paper and for me to wait in doors. I don’t know why but after he had gone I started to search his house. I checked his personal draws where he kept all his personal papers in, I searched biscuit tins etc. Then I tried his jackets and coats in the hallway. Inside one of the jackets was a large plastic bulging package. I pulled it out and there in front of me were two very large bundles of £5.00 pound notes. Each bundle had £150. I took £15 from each pile and put the rest back.

Grandad returned and I stayed with him for a cup of tea and biscuits. Come back boy and don’t leave it this long again. Too right I’ll be back.

The following weekend I was off to Southend on Sea with £30.00 in my pocket. All the other guys had about £5.00 and that had to last them all day. In most cases, it did. What a blast, I think that I used the £30.00 for three weeks running. I did not feel guilty at the time, but I regret it now.

Mum was still working at the hospital and my dad stayed at a friends house around the corner. Mum and Dad were splitting up and getting a divorce. I was aged 14. Dad asked me if I would like to work with him on Fridays instead of going to school and on a Saturday.

I did not tell mum and on Friday morning I would walk round to where he was staying and go to work with him and his partner Brian. Once we were at some sort of office, usually the local Café. Dad would hand out the work sheets. He had somehow got hold of council repair contracts. It involved repairing council estate houses all over London.

I soon became very efficient at repairing sash windows and re-pointing the odd brick work and chimney pot. I could not understand why I had to sign for the wages? I done this for months and months. Hundreds of notes would be handed to my Dad and Brian, this would be divided up between all of the work force and there were at least 15 – 20 of them.

Dad would always pay me £10 and take me down the Jolly Farmers for half a beer. They always complained but Brian used to say, he works like a man, so he can drink like one. My dad lived in this Pub day and night. He should of paid more attention to his family who were struggling to make ends meet.

I could never knock him for his work. He was never sick and worked like a Trojan. But only for himself. He hardly paid my mum maintenance and spent all of his hard earned money pissing it up the wall. When he died, I did not go to his funeral. Rick did, the prat.

When I got my first job, the accountant received a letter saying that I owed xyz in back taxes? How could I owe taxes when I was only 15? But I had to attend an appointment at my local tax office. Hello Mr Harrow said the tax officer, are these your signatures? Yes I answered. I signed these pieces of paper for months and months. And who were you signing them for? My dad and Brian. I explained that I signed the pieces of paper and then my dad and Brian would get all the money. Thank you Mr Harrow. You may now go.

My dad got 18 months jail term for tax evasion and Brian went into bankruptcy.

Now all of my mates from Roundhill Drive had somewhere to go in the evenings. Every evening in fact. But we soon attracted the attention of the local girls who also used to come around every evening. The flat was always lively and full of youngsters drinking coke and tea, but also having a laugh. Things were looking up.

I was still looking for a job to do, I had signed on at the local exchange and was being paid £4.90 per week. I did not know what I wanted to do, but I was getting no inspiration from my dad. One day there was a knock at the door. I answered it and there standing on the walkway was a girl called Julie Buckle. Julie had a brother called Paul, he was older than me and wanted to go into the Army. Julie was one of the girls who used to come around some evenings and she told me that she had know where to go as her mum had told her to get out and find a job.

I said that she could hang out at the flat each day, until she found a job. Julie was very thin, but had a set of boobs on her which measured 38 inches. They were huge. I don’t know how it happened, but we spent many a day on the couch or in my bed. I was in heaven.

Julie’s brother Paul had joined the Army. He had done his 6 week induction and was about to return to his barracks. We all had a farewell leaving party. Paul had to catch the train from Southgate to Euston Main line station in London. We said good by to Paul at the flat and off he went with his large ruck sack. Rick and I cleared up the flat and went to bed. At 6 O’clock in the morning there was loud banging’s on the front door. Bang, bang. I went down and was confronted by six burly policemen and a couple of Red Caps. (Army police).

Where is he? Where is who? I invited them in because they did not believe me that Paul as it turned out had done a runner from the Army. He was not on leave after all. I asked Rick to keep an eye on the cops in the living room, I asked if they wanted a cup of tea which they politely refused and I said that I was going up stairs to get dressed. As I was getting dressed I heard a lot of shouting. Got him, we’ve got him. I ran down stairs to see Paul dressed in some of my clothes. He had been hiding under the stairs in a pile of clothes.

Straight away I said to the cops that I did not know he was there. Paul informed them that I did not know and they believed him. It turned out that Paul had been hiding in my house for days and we did not know it. We used to keep a key on a bit of string in case we got locked out or lost our house keys. Paul new this and that is why our food stocks we going down. I thought it was Rick and he thought it was me.

Paul was led away in handcuffs with all the neighbours watching. Sounds familiar.

I had to get away from this place and the following day I went down to the job centre and took the first job that came to hand. It also came with accommodation. St Michael’s Hospital. I joined the Health Service for the next 6 years.

Unfortunately that was not the last brush with the law. Pete Powell sold me a colour TV which I sold on to a colleague. Someone grassed us up. It seemed that this company Pete was working for had lost £25.000 worth of stock. The TV was retrieved, Pete lost his job and I was fined £150.

Along with this Pete had introduced me to Car Ringing. You purchased a complete wreck from Wembley car auctions so that you could get a log book. You dumped the car by burning it out somewhere and then go out to find (steal) your ideal matching car in perfect working order.

I had purchased a Mini which we burned out on the local railroad coal yards. I then possessed a car in a different area and re-sprayed it to match the log book. Put new plates on it and Hey Presto. One new car. The first day I took it out, I was pulled over by the cops who had spotted that the plate and the car did not match up? What a load of bollocks. Someone had grassed me up. But they had the car and were charging me with Taking and Driving Away and I had to make up one of the best stories of my life as to how I got the car. I had to do this in 5 minutes and this is what I said as I had pleaded Not Guilty to the preliminary magistrate’s hearings. I was informed that I had to get a solicitor and he would arrange a court date etc.

I chose a solicitor called Meldrew and Sons. When the police heard about this they all said Oh no not, I’m not Guilty Meldrew. We’ll be here for years. It looked as though I had found my saviour, but then I did have my story. (Which is true)?

I had found the car during one of my walks in an area called Hilly fields; this was a large natural park full of dips and thickets of bushes and trees. Hilly fields was a very large open space and people did take their dogs for walks over there. The police had called witnesses. One happened to be a local bobby who always took his dog over Hilly fields for a walk every day.

I said that I had found the car down in a thicket area. The car needed new lights, battery, interior and a new bonnet etc. I told the jury that I had managed to get someone to help me pull the car out and I repaired it over a matter of months. I said that I had so many dents on my old Mini and that the Sub frame had broken, I was about to just dump it when I found this shell. So I transferred some of my parts onto this shell.

I was questioned by the prosecutor. He tried to trick me into one particular question. That the starter motor was manufactured many years later? And that I had said that I had put a new one on in my statement? I thought about this for a moment, I thought he had got me. And then I answered. Maybe the owner of the vehicle had one fitted while he had it? I looked over to the jury; they were all nodding in agreement with me.

Next the prosecutor said that the local bobby had informed the court and jury that no way could there have been a mini car hidden anywhere over Hilly Fields as he walked all over it every day.

When questioned by my solicitor. The witness told his story. My solicitor tore him to pieces. He agreed that only a dog could go into the thickets and down some of the furrows and that the landscape was undulating. Could you hide a small car somewhere in Hilly fields asked my solicitor? The witness started trying to tell a story and was abruptly stopped. Yes or No. Could a car be hidden somewhere in Hilly fields. The witness said yes. The look on the cops faces, I thought the judge was going to explode he was so red.

The jury took 20 minutes to reach a verdict of Not Guilty. As they were leaving two of the jury gave me the thumbs up. The judge was fuming. He then started to discuss my TV purchase case of receiving stolen goods and wanted to know if I wanted it dealt with now or I could come back. I said now and I was fined £150.

The judge then informed me that I could have my car back. This case had taken 8 months to come to trial. I told the judge that the car would be useless and that I wanted compensation. My solicitor informed me not to push my luck. The judge refused this and said that I can either pick the vehicle up, or the establishment would have the car scrapped. I chose the later.

When I got outside, I cheekily asked one of the cops for a lift back to Enfield. He took me back. On the way he was asking me. Now you’ve got away with it. You did take it didn’t you? No not me. I wouldn’t do that now, would I?

This was my last run in with the law. Until I got pulled over for running a policeman over outside the Arsenal football stadium. I was 5 times over the limit. I had been drinking pints of Pernod with orange along with what we used to call buckets of beer. I must admit, I did not see him. All I heard was a bump, I had hit him with our Volkswagon Camper Van. You could not miss it. It was bright orange with fumes of marijuana emitting from it.

As the police officer was pulling him self up the door of the camper van, he leaned in, grabbed me and said. I’m a police officer. I replied, I don’t care if you’re Micky Mouse. We were all pulled out of the van by the SPG a heavy handed bunch of hairy arsed coppers.

I was taken down to Holloway nick and the cops were having bets on me blowing the toxi meter off the scale. They kept asking me what I had been taking and if I was on drugs? They could not believe that I was still standing. I felt great and wanted a cup of tea. After 3 hours they let me go as I had to appear at Holloway Magistrates Court the following Monday. I celebrated my release by going up my local pub The White Hart in Southgate.

On that Monday morning, I attended the court. I sat inside listening to the cases one by one. All of them drink driving. As one by one the defendants were standing there, a Sun newspaper under their arms, smiling trying to be jack the lad. The judge was sending most of them down. Take him down. Six months. £2000 fine Etc.

I had to get out of this one. Case number 16. Martin Harrow. I stood there in front of the Magistrates while my charge was read out. There was no mention of me running the copper over? The clerk of the court read the readings of the amount of drink. The judge asked what does that mean as I don’t know what you are saying. The clerk informed the judge that it meant that I was 5 times over. It could not read any higher. There were gasps all around the court.

The judge looked at me and said. What in the name were you drinking? It was my turn to speak.

I would like to apoligise to this court and to yourselves for wasting your time and the tax payer’s money. I admit that I had been drinking Pernod. I had never drunk this before and I don’t think that I will ever drink it again.

I also told the court that I had just found a new job driving after being out of work for the past 18 months. And that the decision of the court will now put this position in jeopardy.

The court was in silence waiting the Hanging judges sentence. He took off his spectacles and talked with the other members on the bench. After a couple of minutes he made his speech.

Young man. Never drink Pernod. I have had an encounter with this drink and I sympathise with you. I would like to thank you for you comments in addressing this court.

It is the duty of the law that I have to comply with the law and what it stipulates. But, I can change the sentence in accordance of this court.

Now, see this nice young lady in the front. She is the Clerk of the court. If you lose your job due to the sentencing of this court. I am instructing you to write immediately to the clerk of the court addressed to me and I will then as I have the power to revoke the sentence.

Also, I’m afraid that because I’m instructed by the law of the land to sentence you on the severity of the charge. I will unfortunately have to ban you for 18 months due to the amount of alcohol. But remember what I mentioned to you about writing to the clerk of the court.

In consideration of this case the minimum I can fine you is £180. Would you like time to pay?

Thank you your honour. Yes I would like time to pay. I left that court room floating on a bed of roses. Amazing what you can do with a little manners. Talk about arse licking. I was chewing the corns out of his butt in front of all the other losers.

I went to the payment office with my court papers and coughed up £180 there and then. My license was taken away from me also.

Once outside, I calmly walked around the corner and jumped into my MG midget. I had applied many years previous for another licence when the government decided to bring into force drink driving. I was doing my boy scout badge. Be prepared.

Anyway, I also had my brothers licence on me. Good ol Rick. And that’s that.

After years of putting up with the UK bureaucracy, and the constant garbage that’s coming into the country. I decided to up sticks and live the life in Spain.

Hasta la Vista Baby.