Beirut St Edmunds, Suffolk.

It is hard to say what actually started the war between our housing estate and the nearby council estate.

I have tried to pinpoint the catalyst for that particular day of running and pitched battles, intermittent and mischievous thefts and borrowings, sarcastic remarks and downright rudeness including sticking up two fingers at each other behind respective parents backs if we had been dragged away shopping and  from the designated front line .

We were savages.Completely overtaken by a hatred and mistrust that at it's core had no substance or justification at all. We had not fallen out over whose was the better football team, well lets face it given a choice between the local Ipswich Town and Norwich City we should have been embarrased even to admit an allegiance to teams respectively called 'The Tractor Boys' and 'The Canaries'.

There had been no festering hatred on the terraces of our teams because we could not afford to go to the games and anyway the grounds were just too far away and our parents were usually busy doing other things on a weekend.

The conflict was not over a girl. If you had seen the local talent, and I use talent in the best Circus Freak New Faces status terms you would have understood completely.

Scarcity of resources and the mad scramble to seize fresh water and fuel were not an issue. After all we all lived in houses with running water and my parents always made sure that the bunker for the coke for the Parkray solid fuel fire and back boiler was always kept topped up.

If there had been any jealously over access to staple fuels then we, on the private housing estate should be aggrieved as the newer and therefore more modern council houses had mains gas and central heating. They did not know what was involved in riddling and stoking a fire . No way.

Politics did not come into it at all. Panorama always clashed in the TV listings and lost out to The Waltons.Fighting for the affections of Mary Ellen Walton could have been a reason to go to war but she was much too old for us, at least 14.

Our two opposing battlegroups had no political affiliations but if pressed would probably vote the same way as we thought our parents did. Economics was a word that we as under 10's had never heard of or let alone could attempt to explain or even spell.

Socially we were closer than we probably realised. We did actually go to the same cub scout group, swimming club and junior choir not to mention that we mostly attended the same school. Our mums and dads worked hard to keep us clothed and shoed and none of us missed a meal or suffered from depravation or poverty. Some parents had been able to buy their own house but the loathsome burden of the thing called a  mortgage seemed to have as much potential for stress and cross words in our house as paying rent to the council did no doubt on the other estate.

Ours was not a conflict based on ethnic or cultural difference. That is unless you differentiated between those who watched Magpie instead of Blue Peter, How! rather than Blue Peter and Happy Days rather than Blue Peter.

We had not fallen out over trends in music. We of younger age either adopted the new sounds of our older siblings, if you thought Marc Bolan was any good, or just followed the tastes amongst the record collection of our parents. That would explain why even now I can, upon subliminal prompting, sing along word perfect to all Sandie Shaw songs.

Our fashion sense was, shall I say, post war even in the 1970's. Pudding basin or home trim haircuts, all of us including the girls, trousers with jodpur type loops at the bottom, stripey socks, usually only a choice of red, white or blue T shirts or full button up almost formal shirts and a cardigan. We looked more Amish than the Amish. Footwear was plimsolls or if we were really trying to express our under 10's character- bovver boots. These were soft high side canvas with a long lace up section and a round rubber ankle protector. Very nice to look at but the sole was so thin that the bottom of your feet burned after only a few minutes of walking. Those who had not been taught how to tie up their own laces soon fell, actually fell by the wayside. I laugh out loud now when I see the same footwear being sold for £80 plus and labelled as authentic Converse All Star.

In spite of the complete lack of any differences in our lives we still found ourselves face to face on the allotments which were a greenspace barrier between our housing estates and baying for blood.

Weapons were home made. The trusted longbow made out of a springy willow bough and with best grade parcel string or ten pound breaking strength fishing line. Arrows were bits of dry and hollow stick type plants. Some of the combatants had just bits of wood made to look like, well, bits of wood.. We were quite organic in our outlook and approach to weaponry. The stand off lasted for quite a while.

We were all happy to be foot soldiers. Promotion to a commanding role was not very popular because of the long hours and possibility of the Police coming to see your parents if you were named as ringleader. Some of the more nervy kids on each side accidentally let loose their arrows. These fell very short of the opposing front line if able to  leave the less tensioned strings and not fall directly at their feet. Mishaps did happen with mis-fired arrows actually going backwards and hitting the archer. Tears and snivelling on the front line is very demoralising at the best of times.

As I looked around at my comrades I realised that our actual numbers were very depleted and with desertions every few minutes. The same was happening amongst the council house army. Only one of our number had a wristwatch and he had made a very obvious point of looking at it regularly and making an impatient type noise.

One of the enemy noted the timepiece and I feared for its fate if taken as loot or booty.

However, the adversary just asked what the time was. It was, apparently, ten minutes to five on that fateful friday. Within a few seconds the battlefield was deserted. We had been so engrossed it our conflict that we had overlooked a common bond between us.

On fridays, at five to five so therefore with  not a second to lose, it was Crackerjack.