Read Online Life by Keith Richards, James Fox (Contributor) - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Keith Richards, James Fox (Contributor)
Tags: BIO004000
Ads: Link
going on?" You can't explain that you spend the whole day at school worrying how to get home. You can't do that. Wimps do that. It's something you've got to figure out for yourself. The actual beating was not the problem. I learned how to take beatings. I didn't really get that hurt. You learn how to keep your guard up, and you learn how to make sure that somebody thinks they've done far more damage to you than they really have. "Aaaaaah"--and they think, "Oh my God, I've really done some harm."
And then I wised up. I wish I'd thought of it sooner. There was this very nice bloke, and I can't remember his name now, he was a bit of an oaf, he wasn't made for the academic life, let's put it like that, and he was big and he lived on the estate --and he was so worried about his homework. I said, "Look, I'll do your fucking homework, but you come home with me. It's not that far out of your way." So for the price of doing his history and geography, suddenly I had this minder. I always remember the first time, couple of guys waiting for me as usual, and they saw him coming. And we beat the shit out of them. It only took two or three times and a little ritual bloodletting and victory was ours.
It wasn't until I got to my next school, Dartford Tech, that things, by a great fluke, righted themselves. By the time of the 11-plus exam, Mick had already gone to Dartford Grammar School, which is "Ooh, the ones in the red uniforms." And the year after that was my turn, and I failed miserably but not miserably enough to go to what then was known as secondary modern. It's all changed now, but if you went there under that archaic system, you were lucky if you got a factory job at the end. You were not going to be trained for anything more than manual labor. The teachers were terrible and their only function was to keep this mob in line. I got into that middle ground of technical school, which is, in retrospect, a very nebulous phrase, it means you didn't make grammar, but there's something worthwhile in there. You realize later on that you're being graded and sifted by this totally arbitrary system that rarely if ever takes into account your whole character, or "Well, he might not be very good in class, but he knows more about drawing." They never took into account that hey, you might be bored because you know that already.
The playground's the big judge. That's where all decisions are really made between your peers. It's called play, but it's nearer to a battlefield, and it can be brutal, the pressure. There's two blokes kicking the shit out of some poor little bugger and "Oh, they're just letting off steam." In those days it was pretty physical at times, but most of it was just taunts, "pansy" and all of that.
It took me a long time to figure out how to knock somebody else out instead of me getting it. I'd been an expert at taking beatings for quite a long time. Then I had a lucky break where I did a bully in by total sheer luck. It was one of those magical moments. I was twelve or thirteen. One minute I'm the mark, and with just one swift move, I put the big man in school down. Against the rockery and the little flower bed, he slipped and fell over and I was on him. When I fight, a red curtain comes down. I don't see a thing, but I know where to go. It's as if a red veil drops over my eyes. No mercy, mate, the boot went in! Pulled off by the prefects and all of that. How are the mighty fallen! I can still remember the astounding surprise when this guy went down. I can still see the little rockery and the pansies he fell over in, and after that I didn't let him up.
Once he was down, the whole atmosphere in the schoolyard changed. A huge cloud seemed to be lifted from me. My reputation after that suddenly released me from all that angst and stress. I'd never been aware the cloud was so large. It was the only time I started to feel good about school, mostly because I was able to repay a few favors some other guys had done for me. An ugly
And then I wised up. I wish I'd thought of it sooner. There was this very nice bloke, and I can't remember his name now, he was a bit of an oaf, he wasn't made for the academic life, let's put it like that, and he was big and he lived on the estate --and he was so worried about his homework. I said, "Look, I'll do your fucking homework, but you come home with me. It's not that far out of your way." So for the price of doing his history and geography, suddenly I had this minder. I always remember the first time, couple of guys waiting for me as usual, and they saw him coming. And we beat the shit out of them. It only took two or three times and a little ritual bloodletting and victory was ours.
It wasn't until I got to my next school, Dartford Tech, that things, by a great fluke, righted themselves. By the time of the 11-plus exam, Mick had already gone to Dartford Grammar School, which is "Ooh, the ones in the red uniforms." And the year after that was my turn, and I failed miserably but not miserably enough to go to what then was known as secondary modern. It's all changed now, but if you went there under that archaic system, you were lucky if you got a factory job at the end. You were not going to be trained for anything more than manual labor. The teachers were terrible and their only function was to keep this mob in line. I got into that middle ground of technical school, which is, in retrospect, a very nebulous phrase, it means you didn't make grammar, but there's something worthwhile in there. You realize later on that you're being graded and sifted by this totally arbitrary system that rarely if ever takes into account your whole character, or "Well, he might not be very good in class, but he knows more about drawing." They never took into account that hey, you might be bored because you know that already.
The playground's the big judge. That's where all decisions are really made between your peers. It's called play, but it's nearer to a battlefield, and it can be brutal, the pressure. There's two blokes kicking the shit out of some poor little bugger and "Oh, they're just letting off steam." In those days it was pretty physical at times, but most of it was just taunts, "pansy" and all of that.
It took me a long time to figure out how to knock somebody else out instead of me getting it. I'd been an expert at taking beatings for quite a long time. Then I had a lucky break where I did a bully in by total sheer luck. It was one of those magical moments. I was twelve or thirteen. One minute I'm the mark, and with just one swift move, I put the big man in school down. Against the rockery and the little flower bed, he slipped and fell over and I was on him. When I fight, a red curtain comes down. I don't see a thing, but I know where to go. It's as if a red veil drops over my eyes. No mercy, mate, the boot went in! Pulled off by the prefects and all of that. How are the mighty fallen! I can still remember the astounding surprise when this guy went down. I can still see the little rockery and the pansies he fell over in, and after that I didn't let him up.
Once he was down, the whole atmosphere in the schoolyard changed. A huge cloud seemed to be lifted from me. My reputation after that suddenly released me from all that angst and stress. I'd never been aware the cloud was so large. It was the only time I started to feel good about school, mostly because I was able to repay a few favors some other guys had done for me. An ugly
Similar Books
