wild cats and borstal

This memoir is a raw, searing journey into the heart of 1980s

Britain. It vividly
captures the fierce tribalism of youth

subcultures and the
unforgiving reality of school gang life.

On my first night, I
was the new kid, and you could literally feel the tension in the air.
Everyone was observing, sizing each other up, trying to figure out
their place. I immediately understood I was at the very bottom.

The boss? That was
Mick. He was not physically imposing, but he had the aura of
trouble—quiet, always observing, his face covered in scars, and his
eyes cold and grey. He was sitting across the room and smiling at me
in a slow, nasty way. I tried to act busy, as if I didn't notice, but
his stare was intense and difficult to evade.

He didn't wait long
to make his move. Mick came over to me like he was just another guy
in the street, his boots hardly making any noise. The room became
quiet; everyone was tense, waiting.

"New boy,
yeah?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "Nicked the car,
wasn't it? I hear you got done for that. Pathetic."

I kept my head down,
clutching an old and torn photo of my girlfriend as if it was a
lifeline. The last thing on my mind was starting a scene, especially
not on the first day. Mick's smile got even broader.

"Look at me
when I’m talking," he hissed.

So I did. My jaw was
tight, and my hands were shaking. If I gave in to him now, I would
never stop getting it. Mick spotted the photo in my hand. He snatched
it away and showed it to everyone.

"What's this?
Your girlfriend? Pretty," he mocked, his voice dripping with
insincerity, but his eyes were full of hate. "What’s her
name?"

"Give it back,"
I responded. My voice was broken, but I meant it.

He grabbed my collar
and pushed me against the wall. The photo fluttered from my hand,
lying on the ground, face up.

"Don't tell me
what to do, new boy," he said angrily, his nose very close to
mine. "I'm the one who runs things here. You act the way I tell
you to. Okay?"

There was no escape.
Only one choice left.

My fist connected
with his face.

⛓️ The
Punishment Block

Waking up was a
shock—cold air and a high-pitched whistle that seemed to split the
darkness of the early morning. We lined up for inspection, a silent,
stoic line of boys, the pictures of despair. The wardens, their faces
expressing no emotion as if they were part of the yard stones, moved
among us, their boots making a sharp sound on the gravel.

A guard halted
before me, his eyes scanning the pounding, deep-purple bruise that
had spread over half my face. "Rodgers," he ordered,
"Governor's office. Now move, boy."

The people there
didn't take the reasons for fighting into account, only the rules.
And the rules, they were there to break you.

My scuffed boots
made a sound in the shiny corridor as I was taken to the heavy oak
door. With every step, the black eye I had was throbbing along with
my nervous pulse. Thompson, my escort, gave me a final shove. "In
you go, Rodgers. Don't waste his time."

As the door opened
with a creak, I entered an unexpected world of quiet. Behind a large
mahogany desk, the governor looked like a neat man with silvering
hair and spectacles. He didn't look at me. His silence was more scary
than a loud shout. At last, he closed the file he was reading with a
soft snap and looked at me, his eyes going straight to my bruised
eye.

"Sit, boy,"
he said, his voice low and without any kind of feeling.

I sat on the hard
wooden chair, my head down, looking at my boots.

"Look at me,
boy," the governor told me.

Thompson slapped the
back of my head. "Look at the governor, boy."

Slowly, I brought my
eyes up. The governor's face was like a closed book.

"I'm told you
were involved in an altercation in the gym, boy," the governor
said, pointing directly at me.

I gulped and said,
"No, sir. I was not a part of the fight."

"Is that the
only thing you have to say? You're going to deny it?"

"Yes, sir."

The governor threw
himself back into the chair, his fingers intertwined behind his head.
"Why don't you tell me how you got a black eye? To me, it seems
you were the one who got beaten. You were good, no trouble, no
fights." His mouth tightened.

"I fell, sir,"
I said.

"You fell,
boy?" The governor's eyebrow went up.

"Yes. I wasn't
paying attention to where I was going and my foot hit the broken part
of the pavement. I fell," I explained.

The governor looked
at me for a long time, with full knowledge of the situation. "You
got a black eye from fighting, boy. Let's see if you like thirty days
in the punishment block. Mr. Thompson, please, take him away."