A Fracas in Kennington (2014)

 

 
  I was reading in bed this summer evening and half-aware of the sound of the kids around the estate that drifted in through the open window on the gentle breeze. Gradually, the noise became louder and more urgent as a fight began to develop down below. I got up and leaned out of the window to see what was happening. Eleven boys in their mid-and-late teens were milling around down by the front steps of my block. Two more were rolling in the dirt beneath a tree, locked in a grapple and swinging punches at each other's heads. A bicycle lay on its side in the road surrounded by plastic shopping bags full of groceries. It was impossible to ascertain what the fight was about. Their shouting voices were more warnings than words. Occasionally, a phrase could be discerned: "My bruvver's bike"; "Leave him, Antony!"

     The two grapplers got up and brushed off the dirt. Then the group split into various twos and threes and made a show of holding each other back by grasping elbows or upper arms. It was hard to tell who were on which side in the affray because everybody was milling about in little circles, the orbits of which constantly changed, sending the boys suddenly in the opposite direction.
     One of the boys went over to the fallen bike and lifted it upright; he attempted to ride off on it. Another boy yelled at him and lurched forward, grabbing it. The first boy threw it down on the ground again and began to walk away. The second boy ran over to a hedge and picked up a length of metal from somewhere. He then ran back to the bike boy and hit him across the back with it. There was a loud thwack as it connected. All the boys now began shouting loudly. One boy pulled off his belt, which had a heavy metal buckle. He waved it through the air like a helicopter's blade and I heard the buckle whoosh as it span. 
      And now a woman's voice could be heard.
      "Oi!... Oi!… Stop! Just stop now!" She was calling down from another window. The boys ignored her.
     A few minutes later the woman emerged from the front entrance and strode out into the midst of them. She was a black woman in her forties with blonde frizzed curls: she wore a very short dressing gown and slippers in the form of pandas. She walked out onto the road and gripped each boy's arm in turn, trying to talk sense into them. She seemed to have a calming influence as the voices became softer. 
     "You four come inside," she said, "an' you uvver lot go 'ome". One of the boys began searching for his hat, which he had lost during the fighting.
     "Where's my hat? Where's my hat?" He looked under cars and around the trees.
     The father of one of the boys now drove up in his car. He got out and several of the kids went to him to explain their version of the situation. The woman stood at the steps by the door and as four of the teenagers walked past her and into the building she asked each of them in turn, "You orright, luv?" They weren't her kids; she was just a decent human being, showing compassion. It was very moving.