The Black Church

THE BLACK CHURCH

They gathered beneath the blackened walls of the bombed out shell of
the old church. It had been quite a large grand church and with only
the walls and steeple still standing, the inners gone, it was still
very imposing. There were still a couple of large crossbeams,
straddling the fifty-foot high walls, they had once held the roof up,
but were now open to the sky. A thick rope had been tied to one of
them, so it hung down to the floor, with an extra ten feet or more
lying on the ground.

It was an early summer evening, and there were about thirty boys of
varying ages gathered to one side of the church. While they waited, a
number of them climbed through the shattered windows, into the interior
of the building. They were all in there early teens and once inside,
they stood in a group and began to light up their cigarettes.

"What time are they coming?" one asked, speaking to the group as a
whole.

"They said about seven," replied another of the group. "What time is it
now?"

"How the fuck should I know. Anybody got a watch."

"Nearly half past six." Came the reply from a sixteen-year-old leaning
against the wall. It went quite for a little while, then the one who
knew the time said, "A think al 'ave ago on the rope while where
waitin."

He dropped the tiny butt of the cigarette on the floor and walked over
to the rope.

"Al help yer John."

"All right Frank. Thanks."

Frank ran a head and picked up the end of the rope, then followed John,
who had turned towards the steeple end of the church. Once there, he
began to climb up the rubble heaped in the doorway, Frank followed with
the end of the rope, dragging the length behind him. John meanwhile,
was climbing up the broken wall, heading for a second doorway that had
once been a balcony entrance and in a few minutes he was standing in
the doorway. Frank meanwhile had climbed as far as he could up the
rubble; he now pulled the rope up to himself on till he had a spare
length on the ground, then picking up the end he called to John.

"A yer ready John."

"Hang on a sec. A-wont be a minute," John replied.

A shower of dust and small rubble fell over Frank, as John adjusted
himself on the beam. He was now lying down with his arm out stretched
towards frank.

"Ok. Yer can throw it up now."

Frank took hold of the end of the rope, swung his arm back and threw it
up to John. It took three attempts for John to eventually catch it.
Holding the rope John stood up and leaning onto the side of the
doorframe, proceeds to pull in the length of rope. He was about thirty
feet up, and he new he would have to pull the rope as tight as he
could, if he was to avoid hitting the floor. As he balanced
precariously on the ledge, pulling the rope in, he looked down at
Frank, who was scrambling down to join the others. Finally he had the
rope pulled tight, but he wanted to get as much slack as he could out
of it, so he leaned back to hook his shoulder around the wall and tried
to get a little more tension on it. He was breathing heavy, both from
exertion and fear. What he was about to do was to swing from his
position on the ledge, down, and swinging like a pendulum, up, to touch
the second beam. It was not the first time that he had done this, but
each time brought the same fear. His breathing was short and fast and
his legs were shaky and weak. Now that he was at the point of going, he
wished he had stayed on the ground. He looked over to the side, out
through the long, narrow, empty windows; he could see the rest of gang,
who were now looking up through the window at him. Now he did not
really want to do it, but he new he would have to.

"Hurry up. They'll be ear in a minute." The shout from below startled
him. He looked down, and then stepped of his perch. He fell towards the
ground with his eyes closed and hands and legs tightly gripping the
rope. As he fell he hoped and waited for the pendulum up swing, for
that would mean he had missed the floor. Opening his eyes, he saw in a
blur, the others as he swung past and upwards, missing the floor by a
couple of feet. Looking at the beam rushing towards him he forgot his
fear and reaching out he just managed to touch it.

'A did it', he screamed to himself, and then suddenly he was falling
back. The fear came back with the fall and instinctively he clasped the
rope with both hands and hung on for all he was worth. Back, down
across the floor and upwards again, this time not so high, then falling
back again. He was swinging now, slowing down with each pass of the
boys, who were now gathered below waiting to catch the end rope as it
swung passed them. Suddenly he felt the jerk as it was caught and he
was pulled to a stop. He dropped the couple of feet to the ground and
for a moment, stood on shaky legs holding onto the rope.

"It's easy." He spoke with bravado as he looked around the group, then
pushing his hands into his pocket he slouched towards the windows. The
others ran ahead, but his legs were still too shaky to run as he
followed behind them.

Frank waited on the window ledge to help him up, and once outside they
walked over to where every one was gathering. It went quite as John
approached them, there was a lot of respect for John, he could use
himself and was considered hard by his peers in the street, and even by
some in the district. They stood in little groups of friends, each
group were about the same age, with the odd youngster attaching
themselves to a relative in the group.

Johnny walked past the first of them, towards a group that were
gathering stones and sods of grass. Amongst them was a small boy, about
four years of age, who was gathering small stones, and placing them
carefully on to a small carne of stones.

"Hay! War-er you doing here?" His voice was sharp, as he called to the
boy.

The boy stopped what he was doing, looked up and seeing his cousin, ran
over to him. "Hy-er John," he called as he ran, his voice high and
excited. "Am hellpin."

"Well don't. Frigg off will yer, yil ger-hurt. There's a gang cumin
over from Eldei any minute an there's gon-er be a fight. Now go on. Ger
home, before yer get hurt."

John grabbed the boy by the collar of his dust-covered shirt and led
him towards the entrance of the church grounds. It had once held an
imposing wrought iron gate, but that had been removed during the war
and now all that remained were the two pillars and a short length of
wall about ten feet high.

"Are go-on. Lets." The boy begged near to crying. "Cin a just watch
then."

John stopped at the top of the incline as he heard the warning shout
from behind him. "Their cumin." He looked to his left, towards were a
large group of boys were entering the grounds through the entrance from
the next street. He stood for a moment, still holding onto the boy and
scrutinizing the gang, who had quickly spread out and were collecting
ammunition for the coming fight. He then felt the pull of the boy on
his arm, and heard his high-pitched, excited voice. "There cum-in John.
Go on, cin-a watch."

Looking down at him John swore, then pushed him towards one of the
large blocks of sandstone that were laying around the perimeter of the
grounds, that had once been part of the surrounding wall but now
reduced to rubble by the bombing.

"All right Mark, yer cin stay. All right!" He pulled Mark's face close
to his as he spoke. "But you sit on top of that stone, an don't
move."

"All right. Hal stay here. Honest." Mark shouted in his excitement as
he ran and scrambled onto the sandstone block. He sat on the block with
his legs dangling, and watched John walk away.

"Hal stay here. Honest. A will!"

John continued towards his own group, not looking back. Both sides were
now lining up facing each other, stones and sods in their hands. The
older and bigger boys were to the front, the younger ones to the rear.
The battle started with verbal threats and curses, then one of the boys
would rush forward, leaving the safety of the group, to make a solo
attack and prove how brave he was. Sometimes one of the younger ones
would stop halfway between the opposing forces and do a silly dance,
pulling faces and shouting he would bait the opposition to come after
him, which a couple of them would invariably do. There would be a hale
of stones and a sudden charge at the hero out in front, who would
respond by making a quick retreat to the rear of his own ranks.

Then the battle started in earnest. All the older boys collected their
ammunition and moved to the front of the battle line. From there they
would run forward a few pacers, stop and hurl their missiles, then
quickly retreat to some cover, whilst trying to avoid the oppositions
bombardment. Both sides taking cover behind the sandstone blocks, or
the remnants of the privet edges and from their concealment they would
stand or step out and quickly throw there missiles, then dive back for
cover.

Mark stood on his block of stone, shouting encouragement to his gang,
and sometimes he would jump down and picking up a small stone, throw it
no were in particular, then climb back onto his perch. He had done one
of his short excursions, climbed back onto his perch and was getting
ready to throw a stone he had brought with him, when he saw them.

Creeping down his side of the church, were some of the opposition, they
had gone around the far end of the church and would come up behind
Mark' gang, catching them unaware. His gang was about to be attacked on
two fronts.

"Johnny! Johnny!" Little Marks voice screeched a warning. "There ear.
By the wall."

Hearing the cry Johnny turned in time to see a sod of grass hit Mark,
knocking him backwards of the block of stone. Head over heals he fell
down the small incline, coming to a sudden stop, as his forehead struck
the corner of a large block of sandstone, one the many that lay strewn
about the perimeter of the grounds.

He fell back and lay silent, a tiny, crumpled heap amongst the large
stones. With a sudden burst, the blood gushed from his forehead and
poured out over his face and onto the dirt, forming a small pool below
his head.

Johnny screamed Mark's name and in fear ran to where he lay, sliding
down the incline, he knelt beside Mark.

"Jesus Christ." His voice a whisper as he looked at the little silent
boy. He had never seen so much blood.

The boys from the rival gang arrived at the same time and they all
stood staring down, in deathly silence. The battle was forgotten; now
every body stood staring at the blood flowing from mark's head.

"Hal go and ge' me mam." Johnny spoke to know one in particular and he
ran as fast as he could, through the gate and across the street. As
soon as he reached the court entrance, he started shouting for his
mother.

He reached the open front door, his mother appearing as he did
so.

"Mam. Mam Cum quick, ar Mark's fell and banged his head, an he's
bleedin bad."

"Ye wa." She came down the steps as she spoke. "Who?"

"Aunty Pat's little Mark. He's banged his head. an he's bleedin really
bad. Quick! Hurry up." Has he spoke, he grabbed her dress and was
pulling her down the courtyard.

Realizing it must be serious she began to run. On reaching the scene,
she had to push the children aside to get to were Mark still lay.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph." The words were spoken half in prayer and half
in shock as she looked down at the child. His face and hair were
covered in the blood that continued to pump with slow throbs from his
forehead.

"Warr- happened? Johnny go tell his mother, al bring him down."
She hit Johnny hard behind the head as she spoke; he staggered and then
started to run. The tears welled up in his eyes as he ran, he cried
both from the pain of the smack and the shock on seeing Mark the second
time, he thought he might be dead.

Meanwhile, Johnny's mother had turned to the gang of boys and striking
out left and right with both hand's she scattered them. "Go-on. Frig
of, the lorr-of-yer." Then she knelt down beside the unconscious child.
" Little bastards. Go on." She looked up at the group. " Who did it,
hay! God help him who ever it was when his dad finds out,"

This caused an immediate scattering of the Heldy street gang.

She tore of her piney and tied it tight around the child's head then
gently picking him up, she cradled him in her arms. Holding him to her
breast and speaking gently to him, she started to walk towards the
street. As she got to the street, he started to stare. He whimpered and
lifted his hand to his forehead. She tried to hold his arm and in doing
so, dislodged the piney around his head exposing the wound, the blood
immediately started to pump out in little spurts, covering the shoulder
and breast of her dress.

He awoke to find himself rocking about and unable to see, the blood had
clogged up his eyes, he was still only half conscious and felt no pain,
but he wanted his mother and began to cry.
" Mam, mam. A wan me mam." He whimpered in pain and the tears coming
with the onset of the pain.

"She's cumin now lad. She wont be a minute." His aunt gently whispered
into his ear, smearing her cheeks with his blood as she did so.

By now he was beginning to feel the pain and see the blood and he
became violently frightened. He started to scream for his mother and
struggle in his aunts arms, kicking and lashing out in his panic. She
held him tight to her until his mother arrived.

His mother came rushing up to meet them and on seeing so much blood she
cried out in panic. "Jesus Christ. O my God what happened to him Katy."
And putting out her arms, she took him from her blood-covered
sister-in-law.

"A don't know Polly. But yid berra ger-im down the Royal rar-a-way. It
looks bad."

They hurried on down the street heading for the Royal Hospital. One of
the children had been sent home to fetch a towel and it was now wrapped
tightly round little marks head to contain the flow of blood. He was
quite now as he slipped into shock, the pain dulling his brain so he
did not notice the jolting journey.

They arrived at the casualty department of the hospital; both mothers
knowing it well and there a nurse took Mark from his mother and called
for the doctor. As he was taken from the comfort of his mother's arms
he came to with a start and clung to her like a little monkey. His
fingers had to be prized open by a nurse before they could carry him
struggling into a surgery room and tried to lay him on a bed but the
two nurses there could not hold him and called for help. His mother
attempted to enter the room but was turned away by the arriving sister
and doctor.

For little Mark it was a time of madness. Unknown faces all around him,
hands holding him down by his arms and legs, some one with great
strength holding his head still, while he was cleaned up for the doctor
to inspect the wound. They stitched the deep gash as he lay screaming
and struggling, needing all three nurses to hold him down for the
doctor to pierce the needle into the flesh and bring it tighter and
with six stitches form a cross, they did not notice the indenture in
the fractured skull.

The mother outside could only be sit and listen to the screams and be
comforted by Katy. Her nerves in shreds, she clung to Katy and with
hands covering her ears she tried to block out the sounds.

Two days latter it was all forgotten and he was a hero an especially
amongst the children who wanted to inspect the banaged head and the
blood that showed through the white gorse turban. To the elders he was
some one to pity and feel sorry for, having heard how it had happened,
the men would gently touch the back of his head and the woman would
pick him up and cuddle him. Some would give him a farthing or a half
penny for sweets. Little Mark rejoiced in his newfound fame and later
when the wound had healed his fame stayed, for they all wanted to touch
the indention in his forehead and feel the mark of the stitches.