easier to talk when Scroat wasn’t around.
‘Have you ever been inside Bung?’ I asked.
He seemed surprised that I’d even had to ask the question, ‘Yeah sure, of course , ’ h e said matter of factly.
‘When was that?’
‘Oh ages ago, before I was in the club even, when I was a squaddie.’
‘You were in the army?’ I asked , although now he said it, I could see him in uniform, It made a lot of sense about him and the way he carried himself . ‘I didn’t know that,’ and then a typical bloody civilian question, ‘Which bit?’
‘Yeah, the paras. Did a few tours in Ulster, Germany, the usual. I guess it’s part of why I got into the club ,’ he continued, ‘ It’s a bit like being signed up. You, your mates. It’s the same sort of feeling .’
‘L , L , H and R?’
‘Yeah, that’s it exactly. You come out after your term and other than the club, there’s nothing quite like it in c ivvie street.’
‘You didn’t fancy staying on? In the army I mean?’
‘Nah didn’t get the chance.’
‘Discharged?’
He laughed, ‘Too right I was.’
‘Trouble?’
‘Yeah, If we weren’t out bashing the Micks, I was too much of a handful .’
He seemed lost in a reminiscence for a moment. ‘I thought for a while about signing up with the F oreign L egion, they’re some tough fucks, but I didn’t fancy learning French and anyway, it would have been more of the same.’
‘What were you?’
‘Lance corporal. You know it’s the lance corporals that really get things done in the army. The Ruperts do the thinking, supposedly. The sergeants turn whatever they come up with into vaguely sensible stuff that needs to get done. But then it’s us, the lance corporals, we’re the ones who actually make it happen. We’re the ones that have to encourage, if you know what I mean, the lads to get out there and do it.’
‘Encourage?’ I asked.
‘Oh it gets pretty physical at times. But we do what we need to, to get the job done; and to stop any twat fucking it up for the others.
‘Like I said, in a squad it’s like the club. You watch each other’s backs, and you don’t fight for Queen and c ountry, you fight because your mates are in the same shithole you are and you all look after each other. If you ain’t ever been there then you won’t understand it.’
‘So what did you go down for then Bung?’ I asked.
‘I was on trial for murder,’ he said flatly.
‘Murder?’
‘Yeah, I didn’t do it, but that didn’t really matter, they still refused bail, kept me inside for six months or so until the trial was over.’
‘So what happened?’ I asked, intrigued. I mean what else do you do of an evening to pass the time other than sit there, upstairs at a meth lab with a full patch one-percenter and chew the fat about his murder charge?
‘We’d had a long weekender on leave and me and my mates hit Hamburg on the Friday. We had a great time, Rheeperbhan, the works, pissed out of our heads. The Saturday night was more of the same. We were getting well tanked up and were getting loaded in a bar when this kraut skinhead teed off on my mate Chalkie. Other that the fact that he was black and the skinheads didn’t want him in their bar, I don’t really know what it was about, and Chalkie couldn’t remember fuck all about it the next day. Anyway before we knew what was happening, Chalkie was down and a bunch of this fucker’s mates were all piling in to have a piece. I guess they hadn’t clocked we were with him, so they were a bit surprised when we just fucking jumped on ’ em.
‘It didn’t last long. They thought they were hard but then we were paras. We really were hard. So then there was this guy down on the ground, bleeding out from a broken bottle in the neck and we legged it as fast as we could go in our condition before the cops arrived.’
‘But they got you?’
‘Fuck yes, I mean, how difficult was it to track down a handful of pissed up squaddies who’d just been in
‘Have you ever been inside Bung?’ I asked.
He seemed surprised that I’d even had to ask the question, ‘Yeah sure, of course , ’ h e said matter of factly.
‘When was that?’
‘Oh ages ago, before I was in the club even, when I was a squaddie.’
‘You were in the army?’ I asked , although now he said it, I could see him in uniform, It made a lot of sense about him and the way he carried himself . ‘I didn’t know that,’ and then a typical bloody civilian question, ‘Which bit?’
‘Yeah, the paras. Did a few tours in Ulster, Germany, the usual. I guess it’s part of why I got into the club ,’ he continued, ‘ It’s a bit like being signed up. You, your mates. It’s the same sort of feeling .’
‘L , L , H and R?’
‘Yeah, that’s it exactly. You come out after your term and other than the club, there’s nothing quite like it in c ivvie street.’
‘You didn’t fancy staying on? In the army I mean?’
‘Nah didn’t get the chance.’
‘Discharged?’
He laughed, ‘Too right I was.’
‘Trouble?’
‘Yeah, If we weren’t out bashing the Micks, I was too much of a handful .’
He seemed lost in a reminiscence for a moment. ‘I thought for a while about signing up with the F oreign L egion, they’re some tough fucks, but I didn’t fancy learning French and anyway, it would have been more of the same.’
‘What were you?’
‘Lance corporal. You know it’s the lance corporals that really get things done in the army. The Ruperts do the thinking, supposedly. The sergeants turn whatever they come up with into vaguely sensible stuff that needs to get done. But then it’s us, the lance corporals, we’re the ones who actually make it happen. We’re the ones that have to encourage, if you know what I mean, the lads to get out there and do it.’
‘Encourage?’ I asked.
‘Oh it gets pretty physical at times. But we do what we need to, to get the job done; and to stop any twat fucking it up for the others.
‘Like I said, in a squad it’s like the club. You watch each other’s backs, and you don’t fight for Queen and c ountry, you fight because your mates are in the same shithole you are and you all look after each other. If you ain’t ever been there then you won’t understand it.’
‘So what did you go down for then Bung?’ I asked.
‘I was on trial for murder,’ he said flatly.
‘Murder?’
‘Yeah, I didn’t do it, but that didn’t really matter, they still refused bail, kept me inside for six months or so until the trial was over.’
‘So what happened?’ I asked, intrigued. I mean what else do you do of an evening to pass the time other than sit there, upstairs at a meth lab with a full patch one-percenter and chew the fat about his murder charge?
‘We’d had a long weekender on leave and me and my mates hit Hamburg on the Friday. We had a great time, Rheeperbhan, the works, pissed out of our heads. The Saturday night was more of the same. We were getting well tanked up and were getting loaded in a bar when this kraut skinhead teed off on my mate Chalkie. Other that the fact that he was black and the skinheads didn’t want him in their bar, I don’t really know what it was about, and Chalkie couldn’t remember fuck all about it the next day. Anyway before we knew what was happening, Chalkie was down and a bunch of this fucker’s mates were all piling in to have a piece. I guess they hadn’t clocked we were with him, so they were a bit surprised when we just fucking jumped on ’ em.
‘It didn’t last long. They thought they were hard but then we were paras. We really were hard. So then there was this guy down on the ground, bleeding out from a broken bottle in the neck and we legged it as fast as we could go in our condition before the cops arrived.’
‘But they got you?’
‘Fuck yes, I mean, how difficult was it to track down a handful of pissed up squaddies who’d just been in