Stand Off

It was not a fight of any thing near biblical proportions. I can just vaguely remember what caused me to lose my temper in the first place. However, fuelled with a feeling of righteous indignation I completely lost my sense of self preservation and picked a fight with the hardest kid in school. He was tough. His first name, even in the 1970's was something out of The Professionals or The Saint. It was Gerald. Whatever possessed his parents, I assumed ,in all innocence and in a non-malicious way, that he had two parents to give him the name Gerald I do not know. It was certain from his first breath in the world that he would have to be a real hard case just to live up to the name. I first came across him at senior school. He lived in a village outside the town, in fact up a narrow pot holed lane near the preserved and active windmill which stood just on the brow of the hill visible from my family house.If he had been fair haired this would have compounded my theory that he was the love child of Windy Miller. He was however, dark haired, stocky at 12 years, on the shorter size and with slighly bowed legs He was a bright lad but he did not want to be remembered for his academic acheivements over the five years of a Grammar School education. His first infamous act, which was one of many behind the fast emerging legend of Gerald was during a school football match. We were against the secondary modern in the town. Always a crunch match and even more antagonistic so soon after the 11 plus exam had broken up friendships forged over previous years at infant and junior schools. Gerald, now self titled as Ged, was the centre forward. He was very enthusiastic but also very clumsy and erratic. With hindsight he made Didier Drogba look like Rudolf Nureyev. In a swift attack up the pitch he was put through on a one to one with their goalkeeper. I was in midfield at the time and could see that Ged had no intention whatsoever of making it to the ball. Feet up and arms flailing he clattered into the goalkeeper. The match was abandoned because of a blood soaked penalty area and the sight of a badly mangled boy with broken nose being accompanied away to a teacher;s car for transport to the local casualty department. There would be recriminations over the ensuing years. There was always a bit of an atmosphere outside the bakers and confectioners which sat equidistant between the two schools as a consequence of the match. He was always the first to be picked during the lunch break footie or seasonal cricket confrontations, such was the fear he instilled in us all. I kept well clear. I was not a natural selection for his immediate peer group as I did not fit the profile. I was quiet, timid, and epitomised the well worn descriptive words of docile and placid. My uniform even into the later years of school remained original at a time when there were a number of metamorphoses amongst the wider school population. The tie got shortened by multiple looping so as to resemble a stumpy scarf. Trousers started to develop into Oxford Bags, high buttoned waistband, millions of pockets, turn-ups. Shirts hung out. Shoes became scuffed. Socks became even more daringly non-regulation.  In contrast I looked like a new arrival. Gerald also initiated the smokers club. My mother had found out about and curtailed my smoking habit at age 11 so I was further excluded from the Venn diagram of the hard kids group. The confrontation with Gerald started after a games lesson. He was messing about in the changing rooms. My things got thrown around a bit. I cracked and made my objections very clear in a way that did not include any swearing. He took this as an offer of a fight. There was no possibility of retracting my percieved challenge. We were carried along on a surge of bloodthirsty contemporaries, a bit low on blood sugar after the games period and consequently light headed and boisterous. The cries of 'fight, fight, fight' rang in my ears. The initial stand off was on the steps of our portakabin classroom. Gerald, naturally assumed the higher ground. He was quite generous in inviting me to take the first punch at him. I had never hit anyone out of anger before and was not really sure what was required. Summoning up all my courage I swung at him, not with fists, but with my trumpet case. In retrospect not the best of weapons. A bulky, black vinyl covered box, rectangular in classical proportions but not heavy enough to generate any momentum or force of impact. This weedy and ineffective opening was met with a quick rabbit punch on the bridge of my nose. Blood and tears mixed and temporarily blinded me. Ged wallowed in the accolades of his closest minions but  after they had dispersed he actually apologised and I think we left the battlefield with some mutual respect. We did not cross swords again. In fact I do not think we actually spoke a word to each other until I moved out of the area some 5 years after the standoff and short confrontation. Picking a fight with the hardest kid in the school did increase my currency slightly with my own peer group. I got into trouble with the music teacher for inappropriate use of a trumpet case.