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The 'Chaps:

The two two immigrant boys sat on the steps of their house in Cornwall Gardens. They had been drawn out to the front of their six story Kensington house by some sort affray; some sort of hollering and shouting. Yet there was a ring of confidence in these sounds emanating from this hulabaloo.

The night was balmy,

JonJo, the older of the two 'boys', or young men, now close to well, ten years in the UK was a diligent, hard working, of conservative bent, the fail safe viewpoint for immigrants when they have been in the UK for close to a decade, for, naturally, once entrenched in their new country they are on guard against the influx of the 'other'.

It was the height of a 60s summer, the waft of marijuana smoke was drfiting to ceilings across the land and the midnight hour was approaching in this balmy Kensington square.

These people, what are they, sound like braying, 'hooray Henrys' making this racket. It must not be countenanced, after all, some of our clients are sleeping in the garadens over there. I mean if our Hotel is full, then you have to put them somwhere. Give them blankets and pillows and let them bed down in the Gardens. After all the Garden which intersect this Regency Square with its massive six story houses, was well tended by the Borough' gardener

"Hey you why don't you shut up."

"Fuuuck off, came the response from a swarthy, but swaying figure three doors away.

"What did you say?"

"Fuuck off, you heard, fucking upstart."

Was this a referemnce to their heritage their Irishness? well righty ho...and Rosco and Jonjo were running down the steps. barefooted now, their mocassins purchased on dat holiday in Nice left abandoned in the street as they hurtled towards the insult.

There is a fuzziness about violence, one is lost in the moment of heat, punches are thrown and there is no pausing or guaging results, as clothes are grabbed at, pulled at to bring the prey down. But this was a big foe, a Buffalo of a man, a prop forward of a man not easily downed in the scrum and the two young Irish Cheetahs punches were having little impact on this big beast of a man.

And then Jonjo noticed it, as he surfaced as if from air from his flailing punches. There was a red stream coursing down his younger brother's face and Rosco already aware having his wet hand tasted his sickly blood.

"Come on, come on." and the Irish duo were running away to regroups in the face of the blood. There were mocking calls from the Buffalo who stood straight as erect as his drunken state would permit him.

"Come back,you baassstard. Cowards."

The brothers were up the steps in leaps.

"Look,the door, for fuck sake, bolt it."

"What about the clients."

"Fuck the clients,"

"Let's have a look at you. Jaysus he's cut your eye.

"Is it bad...fecker had a ring on him..."

"Come downstairs, quick."

"You better call me manager."

"Let's get something on it. Mam, Mam, Rosco's had a bit of an accident."

"What's wrong now."

And now the Irish family gathered around the stricken warrior

a towel was applied to stem the blood. The oldest brother Rory

bustled around opportunistically. looking for a self-aggrandising cause.

"Will I call deh police?"

"Just hold on, just hold on for one fecking second", cautioned JonJo

"I think you should call my Manager first," Rosco sensing that some revenge would need to be enacted around this calamitous event.

" I already called him...I called right away" assured Rory in his best boardroom voice,

"Let just sit here and be quiet, till he arrives. Then we wil take you to St Mary Abbots to have it stitched, it will need stitches." The mother assured.

"Will it...will it...I have never had stitches before" quite a staatement from someone who already had been Junior and Senior Champion of Grt Britain and was now commonly referred to as a world class young profession pugilist under the esstemed management of Rinty and Finn self made second hand car dealers with a a finger in many other not so tasty pies.

"Jesus, will I have to go to hospital?" Rosco asked tremulously, "You know what I'm like." This family frailty of Rosco fainting even when he went to the dentist, was lightly passed over.

"Here have this sweet tea," hsi mother proferred the cup.

"Let's all just sit here, till Rinty and Finn arrive."

So the Irish family sat silently as if around a bog fire watching the flickering inanities emanating from the corner of this grand room large enough to house a small ballroom.

There was the odd 'Christ' from Rosco looking like Lawrence of Arabia with the towel adorning his head.


The family sat for some time in silence. The reception bell rang once of twice and Rory was up the stairs in a flash to advise on how to get to Picccadilly on the tube, or come back down and enquire of Rosco whether the Changing of the Guard was at Winsdor Castle.

And so this Irish family waited, and sipped their tea, and waited and waited.

"He's a long way to come."

"The East End is not that far."

"Ah, I'm going to call the police. We can't wait any longer."

"Go on then" said JonJo, "call them."

"I will." and Rory was off to the telephone feeeling greatly officious.

"Is that Kensington Police Station..." they could hear the overcompensating voice of their eldest, JonJo sneered at Rosco and they both giggled.

Then there was a tumble of heavy feet pounding down the basement steps and a hammering on the door.

"They got here quick."

"It's Finn, he must have brought..."

"ello Mrs Redmond...alriight are yeh...where is he....

"In the living room, there on the right."

Five swarthy types burst into the living room....

"Finn, the manager, was quick to his charge.

"Let's have a look. Fuck me. What cunt did this?" Then noticing the mother, '...sorry for the language, Mrs Redmond

"Would you lads like some tea?"

Rosco, looking more Lawrence of Arabia than ever, though his one eye, could see who Finn had brought the 'Chaps'

He's brought 'mad Ferdy' and that's the twins Keith and Kevin.

Yeah, the Chaps. 'mad' Ferdy' stood in the background eyeing the room. Keith and Kevin looked coiled ready to do as much damage as is poss'. If you were to bring in a narrator or a tenured Historian at this juncture, they might both exclaim, "if one were to move the clock forward these people standing in this room would be immortalised in English tabloids, for they were the Al Capones and Bugsy Siegels of their 60s London day.

and no doubt about it.

Rory enterred, his nose sniffing out some acclaim.

"Where do these bastards live?

"Don't worry about finding them, I've called the Police."

"You what? Said 'mad Ferdy' stiffening."


"You called the police,. eh should have done that." said Finn, ominously. Now there was a movement towards the door by the 'Chaps'

"Look Mrs Redmond, thanks for the tea...we have another Ferdy has got to ...he's on the urry up'. And they were gone their ascent conisderably faster than their descent not five minutes ago.

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