Monthly Archives: June 2021

Somers Town Skinheads

‘Skinheads & Cherry Reds’, Gerry Stimson, Rolling Stone, July 26 1969, pp. 22-23

This is from the UK edition of Rolling Stone, the American music paper. There are plenty of misspellings and typos, these are from the original. There’s also some racism expressed.

They are the people you may see on the fringe of things, at free concerts shouting out for their favourite football team when everyone else wants to listen to the music, hanging around outside of the Roundhouse trying to annoy people with long hair, or you may see them just hanging around on the street. They are the kids who have short cropped hair, wear boots and levis with braces. They don’t really have a name as such, outsiders call them crop-heads, prickle heads, bullet-heads, spike-heads, thin-heads, bother boys, or agro boys.
The lack of a name is strange, for most groups of people with an image of their own eventually get a name, Mods, Rockers, Hippies, Heads. ‘We are not mods really. Some people call us Mohair Men because we wear suits at the weekend, mohair men waiting for the agro. We’re just sort of stylists really because we keep in with the styles.’
The thing that they are known by is the gang and the area they come from. Like Mile-end, the Highbury, the Angel. The gang will have a hardcore of members with the rest of the bullet heads in that area supporting this gang against gangs from other areas. ‘There’s about 30 of us here from the Town (Summerstown), you know, King’s Cross and all of them areas. If we ever got into trouble, the geezer’s down there’d back us up; like there was 120 over the Hampstead Fair, geezer’s we knew, and everyone would back us up if we was in trouble.’
Trouble is the key activity of the gangs. Known as a ‘bit of agro’ – a bit of aggravation. Trouble can start at some event such as a football match, a free concert ‘like up Parly Hill’ or at just about any other time. At the Hampstead Fair ‘all the rival gangs, they all meet up there. Holloway, Highbury, and all them mob, like, and they all stick together, they’re all one mob and we’re the other mob.’
Trouble starts in several ways. It may be planned days ahead over some rivalry between two gangs, or it may just break out over some small incident. ‘You just see a face you don’t like. You know, I mean we get a bit of aggravation with the guys up there. All you hear all the time is the Holloway’s looking for you, the Highbury’s looking for you: and everytime we go there and pull someone about it and say ‘what’s all this trouble with the Town?’, no-one knows nothing about it. So every now and again, like, when people say ‘we hear the little Holloway turned you over’ we can’t have that like, so we have to go up there and turn them over.’
Each gang seems perpetually on the alert for some trouble. Sometimes months will go by without a fight, then suddenly there’ll be a fight every night. ‘We are friends with no-one, no joke. There was a time when we couldn’t go out of our area like unless we were thirty handed. We fucking hit every crew from right round here, up that way St. John’s Wood, The Edgeware Road, Tufnell Park, Archway, Burnt Oak, Mile-end, Kilburn, Holloway, Highbury, just sort of everywhere. We just sort of, about eighteen months ago, went made didn’t we, for about three weeks, getting into fights and whacking crews. We whacked someone from nearly everyone of them areas and they was all after us. There was a lot of agro then.’ That was the time when someone in a car came after the Town with a shotgun. There was some uncertainty as to whether it was a shotgun or an airgun, and if it was a shotgun, whether it had real or blank cartridges. ‘The guy with the gun thought we’d all run like and hide but he came a bit unstuck ‘cos we didn’t. We stood there and fucking waited for it. We he can only shoot two of you can’t he.’ The outcome was that they threw dustbins under the car making it skid up the pavement into a brick wall, then threw bottles. ‘The geezer with the gun, got knocked out, and they says they’d never come down no more, cause they’re all made down that Town.’
Some of the action is centred around football, for most of the gangs support some team. But little of the fighting is with other supporters of London teams; instead it is with supporters of teams from the North and Midlands. The Shed boys are those who support Chelsea (see the slogan ‘Shed’ painted on the walls) who watch the match from the Shed, one of the stands on the ground. Any who is not a Shed boy goes into the Shed is liable to get a kicking. Some of the fighting with other supporters takes part after the match, like at Euston when after a match you can see the crowds of bullet heads roaming in the streets nearby. Other things may follow the match, like kicking in shop windows and taking the cigarettes, or the time a crowd went up to Parliament Hill after a match and threw bottles at the Fleetwood Mac.
The clothes and the walk all fit in with the hard image. The usual gear is levis worn short with braces, tee-shirts, v-necked sweaters or cardigans in blue, khaki, brown, mustard or green. An innovation is the v-necked short sleeved sweater that doesn’t quite reach the waist so there is a hint of braces. Sometimes there are tattoos and sometimes gold signet rings worn two or three at a time. The cropped hair started coming in about three years ago and is probably copied from the spade haircut. And then there are the boots, the most important part of the gear. There are different types of boots and the styles change just as they do with shoes. Members of one gang tend to buy the same kind of boots. The boots probably arrived because a lot of bullet heads were wearing them for work, along with levis, and they’d come home from work in these clothes and what’s the point of changing if you are only going to stand round on the street corner. Then a style developed. ‘Like me, I didn’t start wearing them, we not really, because I thought, well I couldn’t half land a good kick with them, I bought them because everyone else did.’
The boots are one of the symbols of the hard image, and of course are very useful for fighting with. If you go out in your boots you are wearing a very handy weapon that is not so obviously a weapon like a knife. Even when the gang gets dressed up in their mohair suits on a Saturday night the boots are still worn, but then they will be highly polished. The trousers of the suits are worn short like the levis in order to leave room for the boots.
The boots are different colours and the favourite ones change over time. When it first started everyone was wearing tuf boots, Big T with the rubber sole, ‘then these boots came out, they call them Cherry Boots, Cherry Reds, with a toe cap like and sort of yellow trimmings. Then the black ones of these, then Monkey Boots which lace all the way up, and then Doctor Martins came out. Now there’s some new ones, with high backs, they’re just called Stompers, big steel toecap and everthing.
The walk too expresses the toughness. Its a sort of bouncy swagger with the shoulders spread broad. Its a ‘here I come stand out of the way’ walk. When there’s a group going somewhere walking is done in a long crocodile in single file, all hunching along behind the guy in front.
Most of the time seems to be spent waiting for something to happen, a bit of aggravation or a ‘caper’. During the week there is little else to do but hang about on the street, in cafes or Youth Clubs (if they haven’t been barred). Usually its the case that a few members of the gang have been barred from a club and so the rest don’t go because they don’t want to split up. The weekend is when it all happens. Those that are working have money and so maybe there is drinking or dancing at clubs. Clubs are not so popular as they used to be a year or so back. Then it was the Tiles and the Scene and other clubs round Wardour Street. A few now may make it down to Birdland. The weekend may also be the time for a caper down to the coast, Southend, Clacton or Brighton. Sundays it may be the Lido for swimming and a film in the evening if there is something on that they fancy, like a cowboy. Clint Eastwood goes down big. Strangely so did The Graduate. Tough films are liked best. Sometimes there are parties when peoples parents are away. Drinking mainly and the occasional smoke or pills.
The thing is that most do not have money to do much, especially during the week. If you’ve got a job and you’re not drawing just your £2 10s. 0d., from the Youth Employment the wage is likely to be around £10 or £15 a week, in labouring, apprenticeships and unskilled jobs. It is like they are in between everything. Not long out of school with a bit of money but not enough to go drinking in the pub every night, and in any case there is the age problem in pubs for most are between 15 and 17. To young and not enough money to buy cars or scooters. Sometimes someone will have a firm’s van which will be used to bomb off to the coast at the week-end. Too old to get much out of youth clubs. The girls they grew up with are now going out with older guys and only a few of the gang have girls. In some gangs girls are important. Squabbles over another gang’s girls may be a source of aggravation. But with other gangs girls are conspicuously absent and if some gets a girl he spends more time away from gang activities.
So the excitement comes from the action. But even that is avoided by some who can’t afford any more nickings. ‘Like that’s why we don’t go down the coast at the holidays no more. We’ve got too many up against us as it is. If you’ve got a lot of previous you’re doomed you are. If a copper gets hold of you and he recognises that you come from the Town you’re doomed to a fucking good hiding before you ever get near that nick.’ Like other groups there is the feeling that you get caught for the wrong things. That the bust is always the phoney one when you are not guilty. ‘We used to be really fighting all the time and they could never get any of us. Then they really started coming down, nicking you for just being there. Then a lot of it died down cause we gave a couple of them a good hiding. These two blokes came at us so we went at them, then one starts shouting that he was a police officer. It was too late then.’ The arrests are for insulting behaviour or assault. ‘I got one for using an offensive weapon. I got a good hiding off all these students and I got a nickering for it. I threw a bottle at them when they run. One of the geezer’s got his nose cut off.’
As well as the gang fights there are fights between just two people. In a team fight between gangs anything goes but if two people fight and it looks fair they are left to it. ‘You get one geezer fighting another geezer, it’s a straightener like, he might be looking for so and so and he might go up and say ‘right you, a straightener, then we leave ‘em alone.’
Some of the gangs like the Highbury and the Angel have leaders but many of the smaller gangs have different leaders for different activities. Some people are listened to more if an event is planned. Someone will organise something ‘like going to Southend for the weekend or a crew going out and whacking someone.’ Then of course there are those that are the best fighters. ‘There are fighters and then there are cranks, madmen. Like Tony. Everytime we have a fight some cunt he just wants to stomp them into the ground. He goes mad and starts shouting ‘Stomp Stomp’. You know that cunt what was on the floor at Ally Pally. Tony had this huge broom pole and was stomping him for five minutes.
‘We had a bit of agro up there like.’ There are other targets as well as rival gangs. The targets are other easily identifiable groups such as students, Pakistanis and Greeks. Weirdos and students they cannot understand. ‘What I hate about weirdos is that the majority of them is students. We’re paying for them to go to their colleges to get educated so they can help us run the country, it may not be my taxes but everyone contributes like, if it weren’t for them your tax would go down even if it was just a penny. Then those fucking peace demonstrations. The’re all shouting about fucking love and peace and that then they go down Grosvenor Square smashing windows and we get a bill from the Americans; we fucking owe them enough dough as it is.’ The feeling is that if weirdos want to dress strangely and be dirty ‘they’re right states they are, right two and eights’ then they are entitled to get done over. One way to get a weirdo is to jump him if he does not move off the pavement out of the way of the gang, or to wait in the entrance tunnels of the tube and to rush at him and jostle him. Sometimes landing a few kicks. ‘Weirdos is no fun to jump though because they don’t fight back, they just curl up while you kick them.’
Weirdos are also hated because they are friends with foreigners – Bubbles (Bubble and squeaks – Greeks) and ‘them Black Irishmen from the north – Pakkis.’ ‘We can’t stand the Pakki’s – we all went down Drummond Street one night, down the road that is, like its all infested with Pakkis. About fifty of us went down fucking putting bottles through their restaurants and that was a good laugh that was. It got in all the papers, how the Pakkis were asking the police if they could arm themselves and form vigilante groups.’ And of course the Irish. ‘I don’t know why we don’t fucking give them back Ireland if they give us back Camden Town.’
Strangely they don’t dislike West Indians. It might be because they dig the West Indian Music and dance their dances. Double D – Desmond Decker, Arthur Connely, Roland Owl, Otis Redding, The Ethiopians, The Skatallites, Buster, The Untouchables, and Max Romeo. Sometimes a bit of bubble gum creeps in but mostly its Blue Beat, Ska, Rock-Steady and Reggae music. The Blacks are admired by the gangs. ‘Like they were the first with the short hair. They’re alright the Rude boys. Rudies hang out with Rudies mostly, and with white girls, and Black fight Blacks and Whites fight Whites and that’s it.’



Punk bands at the Roxy in Sounds, 16 April, 1977

Running With The Ratpack
Buzzcocks/Johnny Moped/Wire/X-Ray Spex/Smak

ROXY RATPACK, Saturday night
Find a friend and stick close: sink or swim. Tony and Julie were right: a club full of ‘Wild Boys’ outtakes and budding SS officers – (Sunday Times headline, Sunday, April 3: ‘National Front Woos the Young’) – plenty of new faces as the music, fashion and attitude is spread by word of mouth and publicity. The soundtrack for this B-movie tonite is five bands, all of which use as a base Punk Rhythm 1 – the drill-Ramones variant.
First on are Smak. They are so goddam awful that they’re hardly worth writing about, except that the main motive for their formation seems to have been to cash in. No style, no music, no presence, and lyrics half-digested platitudes. And they try to ‘shock’ – Yecch.
X-Ray Spex, of all the bands on tonite, seem to have the most potential for mass appeal. The sound is basic, but full and driving and, best of all, well mixed. (The Sax sound gives them an edge of difference). I suppose they’re fashion ‘n’ fun more than anything – Poly buzzes round stage taking hecklers in her stride (Roxy test 1 is how the bands deal with exploratory barracking) and forestalling most obvious criticism with her songs: ‘I Am A Cliché’, ‘I Can’t Do Anything’, ‘Bondage, Up Yours’. She needs an audience and projects … most are converted, even Ari from the Slits , who came to pull mike wires.
Next are Wire, they short-circuit the audience totally, playing about 20 numbers, most around one minute long. The audience doesn’t know when one has finished and other is beginning. I like the band for that … good theatre. Image wise they look convincingly bug-eyed, flash speed automatons caught in a ’64 mod time-warp. As to songs: I’m really not sure – there seems to be some scheme of things, but this is buried in poor sound and the limitations of the format. I caught the words to two songs, which I knew already: ‘Three Girl Rhumba’, and ‘One, Two, X, U’, which was the best of their set. There were glimpses of genuine originality: I’ll hold. The audience only really got interested when the bass player blew his stack at a heckler.
By the time Johnny Moped came on, one riff was beginning to merge into another … Wire’s poor sound and pretension had me blanked out. So Moped didn’t grab my attention too much – watching, I could really take it or leave it. In fact, he’s fun; one of nature’s loons, he prowls round like a shabby tiger, sawn-off leather jacket and forehead full of hair. He’s one of the audience up on stage – the distance between them is minimal – and they love it. The band drives nicely – a solid rock sound. Best are a falsetto ‘Little Queenie’ and a version of ‘Hard Driving Man’. I think he’ll remain a minor cult figure.
Four bands on into the punkathon: numb-out. All the better that the Buzzcocks are so good. Since the release of their EP, they’ve lost lead singer Howard Devoto, apparently pissed at the media monster that ‘punk’ has become – they’ve recruited a new bassist, Garth, switched the vocals to the Starway guitarist, Pete Shelley, and rehearsed.
The last is manifest: they excel at tight band work – no posing, no gobbing, no half-baked ideas of punkismo, just energy, presence and commitment. They sing and play because they have something to say. It isn’t particularly high-flown, brief jottings of everyday small incidents of boredom, frustration and despair, as the supermarkets and motorways spread. The titles tell: ‘Orgasm Addict’ – ‘Fast Cars’ – ‘Oh Shit’ – ‘Friends Of Mine’ – ‘What Do I Get’. Their image/music mesh is good too – the flat Mancunian accent and laconic dryness fitting the lyrics and the cheap as a siren guitar sound.
As befits a band with Product, they get an encore (deserved): interestingly, they don’t do their most obviously anthemic song, ‘Boredom’, but a new one – ‘Love Battery’. Showing that they’ve transcended Devoto’s loss.
So – simply – hard driving speeded up rock, felt and meant and real, a reminder (after so much wretched excess) of how good ‘new wave’ music can be. Let’s hope the audience comes to them. – Jon Savage

Boys In The Corner

Rocksteady poem from Tim Wells’ reggae and soul collection Keep The Faith, 2013.

The Boys in the Corner Won’t Be Told

Wrapped tight
change in yer pocket rattlin’,
beer in hand so cold.
Sounds and pressure.

Tough bass… killin’ the place,
an’ every man off a ‘im face.
Zinc fence dances, blues,
sweaty cellar clubs,

head rockin’, shoulders swayin’,
feet doin’ a likkle likkle shuffle.
Clock the jacket, flash the linin’,
It’s gonna be rougher yet.

Sweat starts to roll
and the night drops its pace:
checking sorts but steppin’, steppin’,
steppin’ on.

The weight of the world
ain”t as heavy as the bass,
the gap between what we have
and for what we strive

opens, that moment of static
as the DJ picks up the mic
and the next cut drops.

Tim Wells

Blair Peach

Chris Searle has this poem in his 1980 collection Red Earth.

Poem for Blair Peach

His was a precious, loving life.
He built his passion with great bridges
from the farthest islands of the southern seas
to the mist that clears in the classrooms of Bow –
Life was too short to stand an injustice,
to stand the insults he saw around him:
Humans used as pawns
Humans named as the blame for sorrow
that they themselves felt and lived!
He saw and lived oppression on his pulses –
Colours to him were beauty,
not a form of self-made blindness!
The human is a beaming jewel,
from New Zealand to the streets of Southall
he shone with brilliance!

You who seek to murder beauty – understand!
It rises with the dawn of the day
It stays and glows with the moon and the stars
It screams with the lungs of every new-born child
It reasons with the truth of every thinking human –
Never forget the blood that crosses oceans,
Blair’s brave heart swells to fill us all.

Chris Searle

Salford Junior

Commended poem from the Write a Poem to Speak Competition as published in Speech & Drama, Vol 39, No 2, Autumn 1990. This was a Spoken Poetry issue.

Salford Junior Mixed Infants, 1970s

Our Leicester Road teacher
Was more than God
She was there in the classroom
Not up in the sky

Writing sums on the board
She knew, oh yes, the misbehavers,
Whom to pin down to confession.
Turning around she would stare:

‘I can tell each time you lie,
A little snake pops out of your head.’
At home I fibbed deliberately
Climbed in a chair to reach the mirror.

Fell off.
Anyway, was always too slow,
Whenever I jumped up to see
Was always too late.

Emma Gleadall

Punk Rocks

Terri Pain poem from her 1993 Wreck Loose chapbook Pearl Casting Before Swine.

Punk Rocks

10AM and the video camera crosses the front yard
to get a better shot of the 2 cops entering
the crack house.
One guy with an “Idiot Flesh” t-shirt
sits on his railing unaffected because it is only a matter
of hours before they are back in business.
Video cops.
I sit eating this donut that will take 13 hours to digest.
Just sit there in my stomach. Just a thought.
Something about the chocolate
on it that satisfies an urge, the empty feel.
chocolate donut
coffee shops
empty feel cop
just a thought
chocolate cures PMS
just a thought
crack and sugar
just a notion.
Donut digesting 13 hours
He’s in jail for 13 hours.
Every corner in Oakland seems to be another bust.
Day and Night.
I walk into the donut shoppe on Shattuck.
The girl at the counter is rambling to someone
on the telephone in Filipino.
I remember these Filipino boys I used to
work with in Detroit.
One guy raped me, and I pretended he didn’t really.
The other guy was a virgin until we were drunk
one night on his parents couch, in his catholic home.
Night and Day.
I am thinking how well people can close off from each other,
like nothing has happened.
I wonder what has happened with the counter girl
she’s working hard on emotional normality you know,
the scary, knife wielding kind of normality.
Keeping it down,
We are whirling in the cesspool dervishes.
Gypsy people, going from one city to the next
trying to get comfortable.
Same video, different house.
Put the eye on the spectrum,
puppets on the TV set.
Live and predictable.
A black man is a naked criminal
in the eyes of the heroes in a nation for everyone
untidy, un-united, hypocrisy,
and bust us we’re wrong.
A woman is a naked whore in the thighs of the nation
for infrequent use and disposal at will.
A means of escape,
like chocolate donuts.
or crack.
Your drug.
Our mind.

Terri Pain


1982 live review of bands on the vague side of anarcho-punk (that’s a good thing!) and Joolz from Ability Stinks, number 6.

Poison Girls/Rubella Ballet/Jools/Sane But Not Heard
Drill Hall Oct 82
£2/£1.50 w UB40

I entered the bar as I arrived, to find a surprisingly varied audience awaiting entertainment. There were still a lot of ‘hard cores’ there but they certainly didn’t have a monopoly tonight. This gig turned out to very very productive as far as selling zines went – a nice reflection.
SANE BUT NOT HEARD, I’m afraid, turned out to be aptly named. They were heard but not seen (same?) by me as I was too busy still selling zines. A female poet, who I assumed to be JOOLS then took the stage. A very art collegy look was verbally denied, but she can’t deny the Bauhaus-audience-type stare she gave me earlier in the bar. Have I got 2 heads or summat? From behind/amidst her pink hair poems were spat out with cynical venom. Maybe trying for a confrontation? No humour here, which made the taste a little bitter for me. Exit stage right.
RUBELLA BALLET struck gold in this boys heart. Lots of other colours too, though the outfits looked a little superfluous. The sounds emitted were sharp, bouncy and non-plodders. I’m not familiar with the song titles, but ‘Ballet Dance’ was good. Female vocalist Zillah (?) has a good voice and guitarist Pete Fender made a nice change when he sang. There’s some potential in this band. The audience liked them – I will too when I’m convinced of what they are…..Dirt meet the Rezillos?
The sight of POISON GIRLS on stage is challenging. An obvious wide range of ages, and brillaint defiance of age-old myths and standards. The lyrics are beautiful, and when they get left in the mix, it’s a disgrace, not just a shame. This band should be important – I just wish they excited me a bit more. Like the Clash. ‘Old Tart’ and ‘Tension’ are still brilliant. New songs seem just as good – ‘Soft Touch’ is especially striking.
The crowd reaction only seemed so-so, which I didn’t expect. Last song and ‘Persons Unknown’ is superb. A good set from a good band. I think they should play to schoolchildren, middle-aged housewives, macho men etc etc.
As I go back home, I look at people in the street and think if only they’d been there, they might have thought….