out. Remember, Stamford House wasnât a prison, so there were no bars or barbed wire, nothing. It was about eight oâclock on a summerâs evening, and still light, but weâd got no money and weâre miles away from the East End. We didnât even know where we were heading. Perhaps in my mind I was taking Jock to Nanny Spinks.
Dusk fell and we were still walking. Hours later dawn was breaking, and by this time we were limping down Old Street. Notsuspicious, are we? Both in grey uniforms wandering about at half-four in the morning. Then one of lifeâs little coincidences popped its head up. We were just passing Old Street nick, about 20 minutes from home, when down the steps walked the copper who had nicked me for the bayonet in the first place.
He looked at us and we looked at him. I had blisters up to my arse and we were both absolutely knackered â it was a waste of time even thinking about running away. So, like a pair of lambs, we followed him back into the nick. The coppers were as good as gold. They gave us a cup of tea and a couple of smokes each, even though I was under age. Then they phoned Stamford House to pick us up.
That little trip out cost us both six of the best, two on each hand and two on the backside, as well as loss of privileges, which meant no telly and no cinema in the main hall on Fridays. It didnât do our reputation any harm though, because all the other kids treated us like gangsters.
A month after that incident I got my allocation through for approved school proper. So Iâm on the move again, this time to Redhill, further north. It didnât make a lot of difference really, it was Stamford House all over again. What did help was that my reputation had preceded me through kids who had been shipped out earlier, so I was halfway to being the Guvânor without raising a fist.
In all I did 18 months. I was 15 â not a kid any more. Iâd grown a few inches and the stodgy grub had filled me out. So when I was released, I felt ready for the world.
Â
When I got back home to Hoxton I felt strange and awkward. Everybody made a fuss of me, except Jim Irwin, of course. The best welcome home he could manage was, âHope youâve learnt your lesson.â Mum said, âPlease donât start again, Jim,â and he just pointed and said, âHeâs the troublemaker,â as though Iâd asked for all the beltings Iâd had over the years. Still, he didnât raise his hands, so I thought that perhaps Iâd grown too big for him. That was naïve. I might have been a handful for kids about my own age, but I was no threat to a man over 6ft and weighing in at 20 stone.
But, for the time being, things were quiet. Iâd reached school-leaving age while I was away so it was time to get a job. It wasnât my idea, but Mum was old fashioned like that. After about a fortnight, she got me fixed up with a job in the print. A friend of hers had a husband working in the same print works, a handy person to know really, because the print has always been a bit of a closed shop.
The Saturday before I started work Mum dragged me down to Burtons the tailors and got me suited up; two-piece, latest colour (royal blue), and it set her back 18 guineas, and that was a weekâs wages for a working bloke then. She should have saved her money, because the job didnât last 18 days. Come to that, it didnât even last a week.
I had never been so bored in all my life. I was supposed to be learning indexing and how to put books and papers together, but as reading wasnât my strongest point it was a bit of a struggle to say the least â especially as the going rate was only £2 10s a week.
Well, I messed everything up. I know I wasnât trying too hard, but everything I touched got itself in a muddle somehow, and I was getting some grief from the manager. We hadnât started off on the right foot because on the first day he
Dusk fell and we were still walking. Hours later dawn was breaking, and by this time we were limping down Old Street. Notsuspicious, are we? Both in grey uniforms wandering about at half-four in the morning. Then one of lifeâs little coincidences popped its head up. We were just passing Old Street nick, about 20 minutes from home, when down the steps walked the copper who had nicked me for the bayonet in the first place.
He looked at us and we looked at him. I had blisters up to my arse and we were both absolutely knackered â it was a waste of time even thinking about running away. So, like a pair of lambs, we followed him back into the nick. The coppers were as good as gold. They gave us a cup of tea and a couple of smokes each, even though I was under age. Then they phoned Stamford House to pick us up.
That little trip out cost us both six of the best, two on each hand and two on the backside, as well as loss of privileges, which meant no telly and no cinema in the main hall on Fridays. It didnât do our reputation any harm though, because all the other kids treated us like gangsters.
A month after that incident I got my allocation through for approved school proper. So Iâm on the move again, this time to Redhill, further north. It didnât make a lot of difference really, it was Stamford House all over again. What did help was that my reputation had preceded me through kids who had been shipped out earlier, so I was halfway to being the Guvânor without raising a fist.
In all I did 18 months. I was 15 â not a kid any more. Iâd grown a few inches and the stodgy grub had filled me out. So when I was released, I felt ready for the world.
Â
When I got back home to Hoxton I felt strange and awkward. Everybody made a fuss of me, except Jim Irwin, of course. The best welcome home he could manage was, âHope youâve learnt your lesson.â Mum said, âPlease donât start again, Jim,â and he just pointed and said, âHeâs the troublemaker,â as though Iâd asked for all the beltings Iâd had over the years. Still, he didnât raise his hands, so I thought that perhaps Iâd grown too big for him. That was naïve. I might have been a handful for kids about my own age, but I was no threat to a man over 6ft and weighing in at 20 stone.
But, for the time being, things were quiet. Iâd reached school-leaving age while I was away so it was time to get a job. It wasnât my idea, but Mum was old fashioned like that. After about a fortnight, she got me fixed up with a job in the print. A friend of hers had a husband working in the same print works, a handy person to know really, because the print has always been a bit of a closed shop.
The Saturday before I started work Mum dragged me down to Burtons the tailors and got me suited up; two-piece, latest colour (royal blue), and it set her back 18 guineas, and that was a weekâs wages for a working bloke then. She should have saved her money, because the job didnât last 18 days. Come to that, it didnât even last a week.
I had never been so bored in all my life. I was supposed to be learning indexing and how to put books and papers together, but as reading wasnât my strongest point it was a bit of a struggle to say the least â especially as the going rate was only £2 10s a week.
Well, I messed everything up. I know I wasnât trying too hard, but everything I touched got itself in a muddle somehow, and I was getting some grief from the manager. We hadnât started off on the right foot because on the first day he
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