GANGS........Just after the war when I was just a young lad of eight or nine or ten I belonged to several gangs. This was a form of juvenile communion and was common among us young folk then, providing for the territorial and personal safety of all the local youth.
Teresa, Ross Martin Pontin and I were our own gang. The  “SHANGHAI KIDS was made up with boys and some little girls from the Bowhay lane council house estate, which was close to where we lived.
I was a thin little boy, all bones and sticky out ears and Teresa and I were regularly tested for TB because Mum had tuberculosis and spent a lot of time in sanatoriums.
Teresa was then just a chubby girl and not the overweight teenager that she was later to become.  The children who lived on the estates that surrounded us were emaciated by comparison.  We were well off!  They were not fortunate like us to have the contacts for the occasional little extras that made life just bearable.

“The Shanghai Kids” as my Mother called them lived on the nearby Cowick Council estate.  Life on that estate was tough, and deaths from stillborn births were common, as were childhood illnesses such as head lice, Bed bugs, eczema, boils and running noses.  People supplemented their diets and income by various nefarious and desperate means. 
This is not to say that people were inherently bad, just desperate.  
The local police and the courts did a roaring trade handing down their justice on the poor of the estates.
This estate itself was adjacent to Private homes in Bowhay lane, and these houses were formed to make a  “SQUARE".
The people who lived in `The Square` consisting mainly of people in the middle ranks of management at whatever their work was.  I went to school with some of their children who were of my age and was accepted by them as my Father had a business. 
The inhabitants of the council estate were mainly working class people, who, when they could, found work laboring. 

Slater’s orchard, which covered many acres bordered our house and separated us from the council estate.  The Orchard was a temptation to any small child, because the fruit was delicious and nourishing and FREE.  That is if you did not get caught.  A battle of wits went on with Jack Slater for many years, and fair to say he usually won.

Burglary was commonplace on and around the estate, and it did not pay to leave your things lying about, or they might suddenly disappear.
 “ The Shanghai Kids.”  Were a rough lot, always looking for trouble or a fight?  But some of them were my chums, so I led a double life.
I feel this gave me an edge all my life.  There was a great excitement to mucking about with rough lads of my own age. 

I learnt how to make catapults,

which birds eggs were worth collecting and how to pierce them and suck them out, also where to find the best conkers and the names of the birds and fish that we found in the countryside on our adventures.I could whistle, boy could I whistle.

Ronni Ronalde was my hero.  Early in the morning I would go and stand in the cold amid our fruit trees in our garden and whistle to the birds and they would surround me with a glorious chorus of sibilant sounds.  

Sometimes during the late summer when the trees were full of fruit they “Kids” would climb into our garden and `Scrump` some Apples or Pears from the branches of our groaning fruit trees.
Although my Mother understood their need, she did not approve of them taking fruit, having experienced poverty herself she felt protective of what she had. But on the whole she was kind to people she met.
Those who did not live on the council estate lived in a state of siege Social distinctions were clearly marked. To the middle classes the people who lived on the estates were clearly seen as lower class, not as respectable and certainly not to be associated with if possible.
Daily, foraging parties of kids would leave the estate to see what they could find elsewhere, and although we did not often get visited, we had to remain alert, typical targets were coal from coal bunkers fruit from trees and even washing from clothes lines.
The fact that most middle class peoples jobs depended upon some service given by these working class folk, was considered neither here nor there.
My Father was a kind Man who would not hurt or think ill of anyone. However our parent’s attitudes were supposed to be our attitudes, and at that time anyone who lived in a private house, was resented by others and seen as fair game in the foraging game.
Being resented made middle class families defensive, and despite our own humble origins, a real class war existed. As the gangs came scavenging, we saw it as our duty and were encouraged to repel them, compelled through a kind of fear and territorial bravado. 
This false bravado involved deciding whether we were of sufficient numbers or in the mood for repelling the hordes. Or indeed, had we any suitable weapons upon which we could rely?
The fact that I knew most of gang members from school was irrelevant.  Back in school I was seen as neither a friend nor foe.
My Father, who had decided that I needed toughening up, had chosen the school, John Stockers Primary School for me.  Here I mingled with my peers, and the pecking order was decided by who gave who a bloody nose or a black eye.  

However things did not turn out the way he had expected.
For children entertainment was what you could devise for yourselves.  And so we used the facilities offered.  We used the Orchard; the fields close by, our home and garden.  Most of all we used each other.  We played with each other in such games as Cowboys and Indians, or Roy Rogers or Gene Autrey, or Captain Marvel or Superman etc.  But best of all we fought wars, wars against each other’s gangs.
The Main weaponry used on all sides were stones. Chucking stones was both an attack and a defensive mechanism. Catapults and bows and arrows needed acquiring, and demanded high levels of skill, which my Sister for one did not possess, what Teresa did have was a formidable windmill form of fighting which would flatten anyone in her path.  if I could not resolve a situation myself I called for my Good old Tess, and Teresa would advance with arms all aflail nothing could survive in her path.  However I had acquired good skills with the catapult and could do some damage if needs be.
The most aggressive moves initially came from the Shanghai Kids. They were usually better prepared than us and brilliantly sneaky.
There we would be, sunning ourselves in our garden or innocently playing when over the wall would pop a little head.  AAAGH!  THE SHANGHAI KIDS,!!!.
Stone throwing was the usual method employed by opposing Gangs. Arsenals of stones were carefully placed at the edges of the garden wall so as to be ready to hand the minute trouble arose.  The Shanghai Kids came with them in their pockets.
Anyone, Boy or Girl, who could throw a stone with some accuracy was popular. 1 was a good stone thrower and therefore a prized “Gang member”, and I had special status and was placed in front of the others during fights?
We all had to be  good at all these essential skills in order to survive. There were not many casualties from this occupation, that was not the point . What we were trying to do was mark our territorial boundaries.
Sometimes an air rifle would be used, but not often, as they cost a lot of money and could be easily confiscated.  Anyway they were dangerous, and the main thing was to have a good time, not to hurt anybody.
Once using my newly acquired air rifle I shot an opposing Gang member in the leg with a pellet.  He told me years later that he had been mightily impressed with my marksmanship.                             
While I remained in Exeter and as I grew up, some of these kids became my good friends. 

GANGS......2 .........The Preston street gang.                                            
Shortly after the war had ended, much of my time was playing on the bomb sites round the center of the city.  After a few hours playing on them I would go home as black as a coalman.
These bomb sites were very dangerous places to play on because of the real chance of unexploded bombs, mines, shrapnel, or other dangerous devices.  However it was our intense pleasure to find an interesting piece of shrapnel, this could be swapped or sold to other kids.
New friends could be made each day that I spent playing there, the grapevine soon spread the word that there was an interesting new site somewhere else and off we would go en-masse with bloodcurdling shouts and shrieks through the streets of poor old Exeter.
The most favored method of travelling between places was by horse. Not a real horse you understand, but the type where you canter along on your little legs giving neighing sounds, or whooping with your hand over your mouth, like a red Indian, or a cowboy. Cowboys were the best because you could use one hand to simulate a pistol, and make firing noises as you went along.  Whereas Indians required a lot more convincing skills.
We  spent time scrambling on the bomb sites looking for  booty we would stop to share our opinions on some strange object that we had found, and if we were bigger than the person who had found it, and there was nobody else there to issue a challenge for possession we might walk away with our illegal trophy.

The lower Market.  when it was first built was the pride and joy of Exeter

The interior of the lower market after the bombing.  It was here that we used to play and scavange.  It is a good job my parents never found out about my escapades.

The bottom of the lower market during the Blitz.              One day we discovered  that there had been a roof collapse in one of the bonded cellars in Market street where they kept all the spirits like Gin and Whisky and Rum.
We clambered in, but it was very dark and dusty, so we had a council of war and it was suggested that there might be a reward for telling the police about the roof collapse.

So off we went around to the “Cop shop.” we thought:  "this is exciting". There were about a dozen of us, and queued up at the counter to tell our stories.

“WHAT YOU LOT BEEN UP TO THEN EH?

That was what we got, no reward, no thank you, nothing, just told to Buzz Off.  So we scampered off before we all got thick ears.  The Bobbies then were a formidable force to be reckoned with.
There was strong competition among us to be The Leader, the leader of what? This was not clear. because we were not a real gang, we hardly knew each other. This was because  the membership changed each day according to who turned up.So depending on who turned up, there was always a discreet non aggressive shuffle in the pecking order. This went on continuously depending upon the difficulty of the task facing us.  After all a boy might have some specialized skill, like knowing how to break in somewhere, or where to go to get something we all felt we needed.
I was determined to be a leader. So I set about trying to outdo everyone else.
I would climb the highest most dangerous pile of rubble I could find, I hung off of the highest piece of rope or wire, or I squeezed down into the narrowest of holes, I did the daftest things.   It was no good, whatever I did someone else did better. There must be something else? 

Then there was.......WOOLWORTHS.

It all started with bragging.  Put half a dozen kids together and tall stories abound. Our make believe was usually based on some fantasy ,which had been nurtured by Saturday Morning Pictures, and enhanced by our own vivid imaginations. “DARING” was the one word that dissembled everything you had ever been taught in your life about being sensible and good and “playing properly” (as Mum used to say).
"I Dare you" to...do something? this challenge could not be refused, without total loss of face and esteem and reduction to the lowest order in the ranks of the gang, And being branded a coward.  It might also attract a large group of kids, all yelling Naah- nah- na- na- na- Nah. I wasn't going to have that, Right I said, I bet you I can go into Woolworth’s and steal a Comic for each one of you!
Of course no one believed that I could, and I took a lot of stick about it. O'K I said, you all meet me outside of Woolies on Saturday morning after Pictures and I'll show you.

Saturday Morning arrived and Teresa and I set off for the Pictures. Saturday morning Pictures usually consisted of four or five cartoons, followed by a serial film, with a cliff hanger, which left everyone having to return next Saturday to see the next episode. 
This was sometimes followed by a talent contest, where youngsters would get up on stage and recite poetry, sing a song, or do a dance, usually badly. Deciding the winner, depended upon the amount of applause each performance received. This would then be followed by the Big film.

One of my favorites was `Hue and Cry` where a gang of kids track down and capture a gang of bank robbers. This was the main film that week.
When I got outside the Cinema that Saturday I was all excited, I found there were dozens of kids, all coming to see me steal Comics from Woolworth’s. I had been practicing loitering looking innocent.  Ha!  those dozy girls behind the downstairs counter, they were going to be no match for me.  I warned the kids watching, that if I was caught they would all be to blame. This quickly reduced the number to about twenty or so.
In we all trooped to the wide stairs leading down to the basement, this is where the comics were sold. By the time I had got to the bottom of the stairs I discovered I was on my own.  I looked around, all the kids had congregated on the stairs, where they had a Birdseye view of the proceedings. this worried me a bit as I reckoned that with all that many kids all in one place they were sure to attract attention. 
The counter where the comics were sold was a busy one, with two or three young girls serving customers. As always kids got served last,  I lingered around the front of the counter, where all the comics were displayed, and when the time was right, I simply scooped up an armful of comics, and went back to the kids on the stairs. Some of them had taken flight the minute that I went into action. To top it off, I then said, I can't give these to you because that would be stealing, and I'm a catholic, Now I'm going to put them all back without the girls knowing anything. And I did just that.
So I bathed in a kind of glory for a while. But it couldn't last, someone told someone, who told my Father.  And I copped it again.  very unfair considering I’d said I was a Catholic an' all.   

"The Preston Street Gang at war"  

Our ice-cream factory was Preston Street. This was where I used to do odd jobs for pocket money every Saturday. Uncle Tony used to keep me busy helping him. He was a lovely man.
I became friendly with all the local children who lived in Preston Street. The Preston street kids had an intense rivalry with the Mermaids Yard Gang.
So far the Mermaids Yard Gang had been having it all their own way, and had won most of the previous battles.
From listening to what the Preston Street boys had to say, it would seem that the opposing forces had a secret weapon, namely their Mothers.

Mermaids Yard is a square bounded on three sides by tenements four storeys high, with metal railings on the walkway verandahs. the fourth side being comprised of a row of very old cottages.
It would be true to say that the people who lived in that part of Exeter at that time were rather earthy, in all senses of the word.
The most important and powerful people who lived there were the Mothers. These Mothers hung off the balconies as they conversed with their neighbours, and regulated the conduct of their children, who played in the courtyard below, by way of enormous screams and lots of threats as to what would happen when they got home if they did not behave themselves.
The play of the children tended to be rather brutal and selfish, much like that of their parents really. The biggest got most, and the smallest learnt to suffer.
The language was forthright and foul, the clothing was cheap and the food was awful. The usual diet included large quantities of cheap ale and packets of crisps. Fish and chips and faggots and peas were a treat. Other favourites were tripe and onions or fried Cods roes.
These Mothers, these harridans from hell, protected their territory and each other, from the likes of the tallyman, the rent collector, Uncle or the Coppers. Often the biggest threat was their own husbands. 
They also kept an eye out for people who did not live there. If a stranger or a Tallyman or moneylender entered the Yard there would be a lull in the din, and a voice would call out, you lost love? Or `I know you`, “Fuck off” back to your own bloody place. Others would join in the tirade just for the fun of it, but the effect was just the same. “Keep Out.”
So you can see that taking on the Mermaids Yard Gang and winning was not going to be easy.
Those kids from Preston St.  My mates were collectively agreed that a fight with the mermaids yard gang had to happen. And so it did.
Generally the plan was to get a lot of stones and big sticks and go and hit them with them until they gave in. Ha! After voicing these ideas we soon became silent, after all it wasn’t going to be that easy.
Fate intervened and taught me a glorious lesson that I have always benefited from since. Firstly I found some abandoned umbrella spokes, about twelve inches long and beautifully balanced, ideal for throwing. Secondly, at school at that time we had been studying the roman wars. The Romans used to form a protective shield with their shields by holding them over their heads, sort of joined together like a tortoise. 

What could we use? I know! Dustbin lids. The yard of our ice-cream factory was lined with dustbins, surely they wouldn’t mind us using the lids for a little while?.
And so we gathered. us Boy’s. Now we were the `PRESTON ST GANG`. the long and the short and the tall.
There was Norman and Bungy Taylor, Ginger and lofty and Teddy Perkins, there was Mrs Atkins little boy and Alfie Brown and Me. Six boys. Six dustbin lids, for the biggest of us , the little kids in the middle for protection, I explained how it would work and they got all excited. I dished out the umbrella spokes and told them not to throw them until they saw the whites of the Mermaid yard gangs eyes. Then and only then, would we throw a fusillade of arrows to make the enemy flee. YEH!. We decided to make our surprise attack the following Saturday after Pictures.
The next Saturday morning after Saturday morning pictures at the “Gaumont” we gathered together. There was some cold feet, after all, the Mermaids yard gang was a pretty rough lot. Fortunately there were some stout hearts amongst us, and once I had dished out the dustbin lids all spirits revived and we felt very brave. We practiced holding the dustbin lids over our heads close together so as to provide a protective shield. RIGHT, off we go, for Gods sake don’t panic.
As we walked up Preston St. we got some funny looks from the grownups, but we didn’t care , we were going to War, dada!. We turned right over the rubble of Blitzed houses into the opening to Mermaids yard.
Washing and carpets hung over the railings of the tenements, and a few women leant over them talking to each other across the balconies, smoking cheap fags, with their hair all done up with curlers and held in place with head scarves. Occasional shouts would come from the women above as they regulated the play of their children below.
It was the women who spotted us coming at first. They put up a real hullabaloo, shouting for their husbands and sons to come and see what was happening.
The person we most feared in mermaids yard was a big lad called Ted, he was a real bully, and quite merciless if he got you. Ted was the leader of the Mermaids yard Gang. He quickly realised that we had come for a fight and made a clarion call for his troops, who quickly appeared.
The Mermaids yard gang started screaming and shouting at us, using the most awful language, they were aided by their Mums who had come out onto the balconies to add to the general din, they shouted encouragement to their sons as they gathered up handfuls of stones, wooden swords, catapults, and anything else that came to hand. But worst of all was the invective coming from the lips of the women. This initially stunned us into silence. Suddenly there was silence, we stood now unsure of ourselves, what to do? Someone threw the first stone, that was it! I screamed `Dustbin lids up`. And so it began.
Considering how little practice we had had I thought we did very well. No one panicked, we stood our ground, and as soon as the first salvo of stones had been used up we put our dustbin lids down and let fly with our umbrella spokes.
The fight ended abruptly. Ted had got a spoke in his eye.
That silence happened again. We fled. We had WON. YOW!.
Further excitement ensued as we all exaggerated the part we had played in our victory. This was interrupted by the sound of an ambulance bell sounding. We rushed back up to top of street to watch. Ted was taken away in the ambulance with his sobbing Mother. Serves him right. However this was serious, more than we could have hoped for. Retribution for all the years of bullying. 
A shout went up.  There they are!. They, meant us. We fled and hid away.

Uncle Tony made me scour the neighborhood to find all the dustbin lids, and would not let me stop until I had found them all.