The Young Hells Angels

It was winter and the cold nights were drawing in early, but that didn’t matter to three hapless looking fourteen year old boys, because tonight was the night that they would see Saxon perform live for the second time. The first time Nick, Chris and Lee saw Saxon Live, they were partially deaf for a week. At one point during the show, Lee crouched down behind fans to shield himself from the thundering guitar sound waves that shook his chest relentlessly. The boys had seen all the big rock bands live. They loved the atmosphere and of course, the music, but most of all, there was an overwhelming sense of being part of the crowd, sort of a brotherhood. Especially since a group of hells angels had took them under their wings. The Angels really made an effort to look after the boys, if you can call buying beers for minors “looking after”, but they did make sure no harm came to them. The boys loved having Hells angels as guardians. During every interval at every concert, the Hells Angels always had beers ready for the boys and they always laughed at Lee’s tipple, which was a pint of lager with a dash of blackcurrant cordial.

It was time for the young rockers to leave out for their head-banging extravaganza. The boys certainly looked the part. All three wore denim jeans and denim jackets, covered in patches and badges and drenched in petunia oil. Lee’s jacket had a “Nazareth” patch above the right breast pocket and a “Black Sabbath – technical ecstasy” patch above the left. The rest of the jackets front was filled with button badges and a cast motor-head badge. The back of the jacket was covered in a giant “Iron-maiden” patch. Nick’s Jacket was similarly emblazoned with smaller Rock patches and button badges, but Chris’s jacket was beautifully embroidered with a giant “Hawkwind” insignia and an “Atomic rooster” patch.

The three boys stood on the frosty pavement ready to rock and the number 37 bus would take them there. Well, the bus would take them to the city centre, and then they would walk to the venue. The bus journey was short. The boys got off at the depot in the centre of town and began making their way to the venue. As they made their way through the crisp cold air and turned the corner, a group of mods stood around scooters, laughing and joking outside of the hot potato shop. Straight away, the boys felt awkward, as there had been a Speight of altercations recently. Without speaking, the boys all took the same course of action, which was to walk quickly with their heads down, but they didn’t go unnoticed. Almost immediately there were jeers and insults. Shouts of “Filthy greasers” and “dirty grebs” were directed at the boys. The boys looked over and saw the older boys marching toward them, flicking their fish-tail coats about and acting tough.

“Run”, said Nick. Chris and Nick took off, but Lee wasn’t prepared to run. He hadn’t done anything wrong, why should he run?

A mile up the road, Nick and Chris stopped to catch their breath. Worried about Lee and wondering what to do, they didn’t have to worry long, as Lee stumbled up to them, and as he walked into the street light glare, they saw the extent of Lee’s injuries. Lee had decided to make a run for it after all, but his pride had cost him a split lip, a black eye that he couldn’t see out of, a split to the bridge of his nose and some very colourful bruising. After a brief explanation to his friends, the boys continued on their way to the rock concert.

Once inside the venue, Lee had forgotten about his good hiding as he made his way through his own kind toward the bar. Once in the bar, the Hell’s Angels were already propping up the bar and seemed to be in good spirits as usual, until they saw Lee. “What the hell happened to you?” asked one of the angels. Lee explained what had happened, much to the disgust of the Hell’s angels. It was clear that they were not happy and Lee felt they would seek revenge, as is usual, but Lee hoped the mods had gone home by the time the concert finished. The lights in the concert hall dimmed and the show was about to start. Hopefully, Lee could put the whole episode to the back of his mind and it could be forgotten. Soon after the concert, the boys were in awe of the performance they had just seen, albeit apart from the ringing in their ears. As they made their way out of the venue, the Hell’s angels were waiting and it became clear to Lee that they hadn’t forgotten their young friend. The guy who seemed to be in charge of the Hells Angels was known as “Zerker”, short for berserker, which worried Lee even more. “You boys better come with us”, said Zerker, signalling Lee to get on the back of his bike. Chris and Nick followed suit by climbing onto the back of other bikes. After Zerker had established where the altercation had took place, the Hells angels revved up their bikes and shot through the wrought iron gates and into the street.

Lee held onto Zerker for dear life as his head shot back with the speed of the bike and his eyes watered with the wind hitting his face. He was worried about coming off the bike; he was also worried about the fate of the mods. When the Angels came around the island and to the hot potato shop, Lee’s heart sank to see the scooters were still there and just in the shadows were the mods. As the Angels began to dismount, one of the mods walked toward his scooter. Zerker stuck out a leather clad arm to stop him. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. “I’m expected home” said a very anxious sounding mod. “Not yet”, said Zerker, “back over there with them”. The mod did as he was told and joined his friends. Zerker walked toward the group of lads. “Who’s responsible?” he asked. No reply. “WHO’S RESPONSIBLE?” he demanded angrily. There was still no response from the, now, frightened group. “Right”, said Zerker as he made his way toward the scooters. He walked up and down, looking at the scooters, then back to the mods. Then he pulled one large chrome adjustable spanner from his jacket. He waved it at the biggest of the mods and asked him, “Which one’s yours?” The boy remained silent. So, Zerker kicked the mud guard of the nearest scooter, almost knocking it over. The scooter’s owner waved his arms in panic, “that’s mine” he yelled, “His is the third one along”. The big lad looked at his friend in utter disgust.

Zerker smiled and crouched down at the big lad’s scooter and started loosening bolts with his spanner. As soon as he had a handful of nuts and bolts, he got up, walked to the roadside, and emptied the contents of his hand down a drain. Then he went back to the scooter and continued to disassemble it. Within minutes the scooter was laid out on the pavement in its individual components and all the fixings were disposed of. The mod stood against the wall in tears. Zerker issued one final warning before we left, “The next time any of you raise your hands to these lads, it won’t be your bikes I take to bits … if you get my meaning”

As we left, I felt quite sad for the boy and his scooter, but then, he shouldn’t have been such a pillock in the first place and it wouldn’t have happened



The End