Devils Canyon

Devils Canyon

By Phillip Miller

It had been a beautiful summer but now the nights were drawing in and by 6pm most children were safe indoors. For Mitch, however, safety lay outdoors, where he could run and hide should he need to. Tonight was a good night for running. if he could just getaway. Get away from the noise: the screaming, shouting, beatings. Just run and run and run.

His family had moved to the new estate in East Ham a few months ago but things weren’t going too well at home.  Billy, Mitch’s stepdad was having problems with his business partner and things went from bad to worse when the contracts dried up and the VAT man came knocking.  That’s when the beatings started again. And so Mitch decided, at 10 years of age, that he would leave and never go back home.

1976

Initiation night tonight, the E6, were to be born.  After checking himself in the mirror Dan pulled on his jean jacket and pounded down the stairs in his size 9 DM’s and made his way to the front door to the sound of “Save your kisses for me,” blaring from the living room.

“You make sure you’re in by 9, school in the morning, and you gotta do the washing up,” slurred his mum as she took another slug of vodka. But he was already slamming the door before the last words reached him; Drunken cow, it’s Saturday tomorrow.

He made his way to the old Vicarage school, walked around the garages and hopped up onto the old asbestos roofs. Princes Tower  cast a long shadow over the old Edwardian boarding school. Great, he thought to himself, no eyes about.

 He stood for a minute and gazed up to the 7^th floor of the 1950’s block of flats. Come on Tracey!, just look out the window. I know you like me. Just look. He was just about to hoot like an owl when he saw some smoke up on the old school roof and it was only a matter of minutes before he shimmied up the drainpipe and made his way up and over the small parapet surrounding the Belltower which sat above the second floor. He gazed across the skyline. The smell of sulphur from the launching of thousands of fireworks still hung in the air and a lone rocket was letting out its dying breath on the tarred floor. He sat for a while, thinking about Tracey. Will she ever see me?  No chance, too posh, Just got to talk to her, but how?

Danny was in the realms of fantasy when a black hand appeared over the far side of the flat roof followed by another and then up popped the big afro that could only belong to Leon who was followed over by Neil. Wherever Leon went Neil was sure to follow.

‘Jesus!, it's freezing,’ Said Leon, Shivering. He was always cold, no matter what.

Danny looked down at Leon’s trousers. They were his school ones which fell about two inches short of his ankles; No socks, Shoes scuffed with the heels half worn. He just shook his head. Poor sod! he thought. Pity he didn’t dress smart like his dad.

‘Anyone got a fag’, said Danny.

‘Ere you go, look, I got 2 fags from Rama’, beamed Neil, offering them up as if presenting gifts to a god.

‘Nice one Neil. Now kneel down over there and keep an eye out for Spammo,’ he said as he pointed to the perimeter wall.

Neil did as he was told. He knew the pecking order. ‘Is Bobby coming? ‘av you seen im?’ he said as he shuffled along hunched over to avoid being spotted.

Just then there was a muffled sound behind the bell tower. It was Bobby. He pulled himself up and over the wall and fell straight into a very shallow area of rainwater,  cursing as he stood up, dripping wet and covered in leaves.

Danny and Leon trying not to laugh but could not help themselves.

‘That’s it, you laugh! Bastards!

They all stood together, except Neil, the consummate lookout.

‘Ssh!’ Whispered Neil, ‘Spammo’s up. His lights just came on,’

Neil made his way back to the others and they all huddled below the Large brass Bell.

Leon took out a box of matches from his jacket and lit the two fags that hung from Dan’s lips who then presented one to Leon. They both inhaled deeply and slowly and then blew rings into the cool evening air. Leon then passed his to Neil and Dan passed his to Bobby and they enjoyed the hazy smoke-filled silence for a moment before all eyes widened as  Bobby drew out a 6” blade. They all stared at it, and then at each other.

‘I’ll go first, then you Leon, then Bobby and then Neil.’

They finished the fags and then Danny cut himself across the thumb with his razor-sharp flick knife. They all did the same and together they said, as they squeezed bloodied hands together; ‘We are the E6. Blood tied, brothers; no retreat, no surrender.’

‘It’s done,’ said Danny through gritted teeth, before retrieving a small bottle of whiskey from his jacket pocket.

‘One mouthful each, come on!  Then Devils Canyon tomorrow for the Big Burn.’ They drank and spluttered and laughed and sniffed and coughed and then all took turns to ring the bell. It wasn’t long before Spammo, the old caretaker, was hollering up at them. He had two large rottweilers but the lads knew the dogs; docile as hell.

‘Get down you sods, Old Bill are already on their way. Come on, I know you’re up there,’ he screamed.

The gang made their way to four different areas of the roof and before Spammo had a chance they were on their way. They knew this place like the backs of their hands; easy.

Mitch had found refuge over the Green Hills which lay about a mile from his home and which were very familiar to him.  After pulling up his hood and checking for the penknife that he stole from his older brother he made his way tentatively through sodden grass. It had started to drizzle.  His clothes were still wet through from the earlier downpour  so cover was essential. After stumbling and crawling over mounds of rubbish and cutting his hands on broken glass he managed to reach the new dumping area by the old relief road just in time for the heavens to open again, only this time accompanied by the roll of thunder and the crack of lightning. He was petrified now so he sought refuge under a pile of old wood, cardboard and tree branches. The cut was caked with mud which had stemmed the bleeding but it began to throb, which brought tears to his eyes. He settled as far back as he could and then opened his small school backpack and took out his torch and bag of sweets. He was starving and very thirsty but most of all dead tired. He found some matches in the front zipper of his bag, tore off a small section from his goody bag, lit it and gradually added small twigs and what looked like horsehair to the mix.  Warm now, tired though, very tired. He thought about his older brother, didn’t want to be like him; didn’t want to be in a gang.  A farm, that’s what he wanted. To be around animals, pigs, sheep, horses and chickens.  Mitch kept that thought as he drifted into a deep sleep.

Saturday morning and it was a clear day; windy and chilly but beautiful nonetheless. The E6 were on their way down to Devils Canyon.  They ran to the bottom where the old defunct sewer used to spew its contents from the nearby pumping station but which was now filled with old trolleys, bike parts, wire and other scrap. They laughed and pushed each other around. Leon was acting like a monkey and Neil was copying him but they stopped dead in their tracks when they saw that their mound of rubbish had been razed to the ground.  Neil complained about the odd stench that hung in the air.

Danny poked around the edges of the scorched earth until he came across a small object and opened it up. He fell back in horror when he saw his initials.

“It can’t be, no, no way!  Mitch nicked that ages ago, the little git.”

Copyright Phillip Miller