At night it was a different matter: as a gang you didn’t venture into the streets of another gang unless you were looking for trouble. Singly or in pairs was quite safe, you were no threat. Mob-handed meant only one thing, and then out came any weapon that might be to hand. Later, as we turned into young men, knuckle-dusters and coshes all became part of our armoury. During the summer months, when the evenings were long and drawn out, the temptation to liven things up a bit was always present. We had been banned from the playing fields at the Foundling Hospital in Bloomsbury (now called Coram’s Fields) because of our ‘unruly behaviour’ and we wondered where else to go. ‘Let’s take a stroll down to the Cross.’ The trouble with that innocent suggestion was that, to get to the Cross, you had to go over Sidmouth Street, not a good idea if you wanted a peaceful evening. The Sidmouth Street gang would see to that. But it wasn’t something that us boys lost any sleep over, to us it was the natural way of life.
