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Benfleet A1

Hector Of The House
Jan 19, 2007
Slade Prison
Now bare with me good readers, this is going somewhere but I want to give it some background first. When I was a kid I was bullied, bad. My first taste of it was at the grand old age of 4 years old at nursery school where a phycotic 5 year old used to attack the entire fraturnity. He would rip up drawings and paintings, chuck pastry shape makers at you and try to cut your hair with the round nosed scissors. It only stopped after the mums refused to take their kids in after he attempted stab one child with those scissors in the ear. He ended up being committed at 12 years of age after attacking a class mate with a screwdriver during a woodwork class at King John School around 1980. As far as I'm aware, he is still sectioned.

I grew up on an rough house estate in Thundersley where the order of the day was fight back or be battered. Back then, good parenting meant kicking the kids out of the door after breakfast and not expecting to see them again until lunch or, even better, teatime. One day I got thumped by a lad my own age for something I cannot be bothered to remember but do remember punching him back. Instantly, a pack had gathered baying for blood and the two of us were soon surrounded with the chant of 'fight, fight, fight' ringing in our ears. Both of us were scared but offered a couple of half hearted blows to keep the crowd happy. Suddenly, through the crowd came this lads bigger brother who was much more polished and proceeded to take me to school. Good sence prevailed as I fell to the ground crying my eyes out more frightened than hurt but it stopped the onslaught and let me run off home to mother. I really wanted a bigger brother back then.

That should have been the end of it but no, the next day the lads bigger brother spotted me skulking about and started taunting me, then tripping me as I tried to walk away, then finally giving me a good hiding for the hell of it. I was 5 years old, he was twice my age. As I said, it was kill or be killed in our neighbourhood and telling tales to mum and dad just wasn't the done thing so I put up with it. Being tall for my age probably didn't help but it seemed to give a green light to every budding streetfighter to take a pop at yours truly. Don't get me wrong, I could more than hold my own against kids of my own age but the older bigger kids were taking there toil. My Navy boxing champion, tough as old boots father's attitude was if they whacked you then whack em back which was fine and dandy against my own size but when a kid twice your age decided to loosen up on you the result was never going to be a home win in my favour.

My mum was getting concerned with her off-springs appearance by now. She remembered that she had given birth to a baby boy and not a baby panda because that was what I was beginging to look like. Bruises everywhere, black eyes and fat lips, I looked like a bad sparring partner for Henry Cooper. Finally, after much badgering and removal of any horizontal pleasures, mother got father to take action. And he did. He taught me every dirty trick in the book. Very soon I had lumps 2x2 hidden in hedges and had full permission to snap car arials off for protection if needed. I found out that elbows were not just for leaning on and the meat and two veg was a viable target. The next time I was picked on I put my new found tricks of the trade to the test. Two kids from up the road were at a loose end so decided to come hunting for me for a bit of light relieve. I was kicking a ball up against a wall scoring yet another FA Cup goal when they appeared. We were in a walk through alley, nice and quite and away from prying eyes. I'll be brief but it was carnage. Brother number one took a punt that very nearly put him over an 8ft wall and he will never have children. Brother number two lost his bottle and headed for the hills, with me in hot pursuit. AH HA the worm had turned.

The worm didn't turn as much as I had hoped because two weeks later I was ambushed by the two lads much bigger brother and ended up in hospital. I had my entire quota of brown stuff kicked out of me as well as an fractured jaw, bruised ribs, dislowcated shoulder and a ruptured testicle. I was 6 years old, he was 17. I was told in later years that the shoulder wasn't down to him, made me feel so much better. While I was in hospital, my attacker met with a nasty accident which resulted in him needing a walking stick until his dieing day in 1990 when he died in a head on car crash. He also recieved a dislodged eye socket and a shattered jaw bone. Plastic surgery wasn't very good back then in 1971, he wasn't very pretty after that.

Not long after I was released from hospital I ran into a old foe who fancied another go but decided to bring his 22 year old brother along. This was just too much for daddykins who appeared like the shopkeeper from Mr Benn and proceeded to keep Southend General A&E busy. Someone broke the cardinal rule and called the police. Pater was hauled away, 22 year old hardcase was ambulanced away and mother got away with it by the skin of her teeth because she had my baby sister in her arms. Father returned the next day with venom and revenge in his heart, things were going to change.

It must have been about 1972 when Auntie Puss(Catalina get it?) came to stay. She was mums sister, the future family success story but in those days as green as an oak leaf. She had taken my baby sister out for a walk in her pram but ran into some of the local scumbags who just wanted to start trouble. A high pitched scream alerted mother who charged up the road and waded in like a seasoned pro, myself followed with misguided determination to protect mum. With impeccible timing, the old man was just turning into the street after a hard days work and saw the riot developing. We were close friends with one particular family who had huge numbers while our opponents were equal friends with another mob handed family. It was a proper battle. The old man was going through them like a deranged windmill, mother was no slouch and was flying the flag for Leigh on Sea while I was sent flying by a well aimed right hander into a garden. Our allies (Frood was the name) was taking the battle to our foes (the Colliers and the Castles) and we were making progress. By the time the police turned up there was bodies everywhere and the more powerful were still slogging it out.

The aftermath was father thinking it a good idea to move, the Froods marching around the street singing 'Easy, Easy' The Colliers boarding up the front of their house and refusing to ever come out again, and the Castles (all mouth no trousers) milking the National Health while they resided in Southend General.

We moved, Castle Point Council found us a nice place in Benfleet in need of a bit of a sprouse up but it was better than nothing. i met the local bullies 20 minutes after arrival. I had just moved from hell to paridise and the local ******** bully tried his luck. It was very one sided. he was a full 4 years older than me and got proper battered. I was a vetran compared to this idiot, and I was only 7.

Fast forward to the present day. On monday I was having a fag and a coffee when the wife phones me. My daughter and her mates were playing in the school field when some older boys, get this boys, started on them. First of all they tried nicking their skipping ropes. My daughters friend who isn't backwards in coming forward told them their fortune. My apple of the eye who can get a little emotional created and got called a cry baby. Boo Hoo, big deal but what has wind me up is the little *******s then started chucking stones at them. I had the snot knocked out of me but never, ever, thought about having a go at girls. Daddy wants to break bones but is holding back and taking a deep breath.

What do I do? Daughter has been told to speak to teacher but nothing is forthcoming. Do I batter the kids, which is probably not the correct route as it's hardly fair considering my size. Do I face out the parents and get satisfaction via that route or do I get annoyed by the school doing nothing then get arrested for battering parents, head teachers and horrible year 4 swines who dare to sling stones at my pride and joy. Advise gratefuly accepted.