13

DURING THE FOUR YEARS we lived in Herbert Place the three of us slept in a room on the fourth floor. It was a big room, the width of the house with two windows. It was the custom at that time to send children to bed early – too early. We used to go upstairs at the appointed time but not to bed. Most nights we played some game or other or occasionally had a good pillow fight. Other nights were spent looking out the window.

One night I let a little piece of paper fall out of my hand and we watched it floating and fluttering down the street. Little things like that make a pastime for the idle. We got more pieces of paper and threw them out the window, and that begot another idea. The following night it was not paper we had up the stairs but stones! They were little stones no bigger than fine gravel. We threw them out and listened to hear how long it took for them to strike the path below. The second night the stones were bigger and we had a plan. We waited until after dark, with the street lamps lit. We kept watch until a pedestrian appeared on the path on the house side of the street. As soon as he had passed the gate, so that there was no danger of him being hit, we threw the stone so as to fall on the path behind him. Imagine the sudden fright a person would get from such a missile, coming as it did from the fourth storey! When the startled pedestrian looked about him there would be nobody to be seen, as Herbert Place was always a quiet street, particularly at night. A clump of trees on the canal bank would seem to be the most likely hiding-place for the blackguard who had thrown the stone.

Comparing the responses to the sudden thud of our missiles provided the excitement and fun for us. Most of the ‘victims’ stood for a moment before walking off again. There were others who made no delay but hastened their step. Then there would be the odd courageous person who would come back, strike a match and begin searching for the object that had been thrown. That used to tempt us very strongly to throw another stone but we did not yield to temptation – it was too dangerous.

The stone-throwing lasted for perhaps a week. It was destined to come to a sudden end. On the last night I’m not sure how many stones we had already thrown, but the last one was intended for a man coming from the Mount Street direction. When he had gone past we threw the biggest stone in this nocturnal escapade. Whichever of us threw it had to go right back to the far wall and take a run up to the window to get sufficient ‘follow-through’. Instead of falling on the path, the stone struck the iron railings that fenced the little lawn at the front of the house. You could hear the ‘cling’ it made three hundred yards away!

The man stopped on the spot. Instead of looking about him as most of the people did, this man stared straight up at the window where we were hidden in the darkness. He must have been convinced from the sound created by the impact of the stone on the railings that the stone had a vertical rather than horizontal trajectory. He stood for a long time looking up but we were hidden by the black void where the window was open. We watched and waited, thinking he would never move. He did, at last, but instead of passing on up the street, what should he do but turn into the gate of the house next door! He was our neighbour, a dentist named Morewood.

We recognized that we might have made a serious blunder but it did not stop us having the stones ready for action the following night. However, our initial survey of the ‘arena’ showed that some significant change had taken place. We saw tiny points of light shining under the trees on the far side of the road along the canal bank. This was something new. We spent a long time watching these reflections, which seemed to move from time to time. Then it dawned on us what they were – the reflections from the bright buttons of a policeman’s uniform. It was evident that a complaint had been lodged with the law. We did not throw any stones that night or any other night afterwards.

I need hardly tell the reader about my anger now when I read in the newspapers about boys throwing stones – the blackguards – they should be horsewhipped and put in prison! How quickly one forgets one’s own youthful indiscretions!