By Robyn Travis
Written through the boy who used to be there while it all started, Robyn Travis, this is often the true tale of the postcode wars. Robyn grew up correct at the borders while it kicked off in Hackney, E8. For the 1st time ever he tells his tale and his half in it - the fights, the stabbings, the shootings. the tale that hasn't ever been instructed.
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Additional info for Prisoner to the Streets
Example text
There were times when I let people push or cuss me and I didn’t retaliate. It wasn’t coz I couldn’t fight. It was coz I hated fighting. Plus, I had just left a school where I was known for fighting. I didn’t want to have that rep at my new school. To go through these experiences and not fight back was really hard for me. I remember an occasion when some children in Year 6 threw stones at me on my way home from school. This upset me but it also made me angry. I knew sooner or later I would have to fight back.
MIND THE GAP. We boarded the train - me, mum and my brother. I was only two but I remember. It was a long journey. I’ve got a vague memory of saying ‘Bye-bye’ to a tall dark man when we reached our destination. I was more interested in staring out of a massive window with my brother, watching aeroplanes taking off. As I grew older I got to learn that the tall dark man at the airport was my biological father. At three years old I started at Tiverton nursery, a short walk from home. It was technically in Tottenham in the borough of Haringey.
Mohammed wanted to join in and we were too scared to tell him ‘no’. He was crap. He started tackling everyone, even his own team. I didn’t want to laugh too loud but I couldn’t help it. Mohammed heard and pushed me so hard I lost my balance. I went flying to the ground. ” I was angry but I didn’t want to fight. I was scared of this giant child but I promised myself that after the competition I was going to deal with my fear and Mohammed at the same time. I had plans to take out this bully boy. Somehow.
