For the next month or so, Sarah and the kids suffered daily provocation and persecution from the local juvenile delinquents.  Sarah was puzzled as to why they’d just suddenly decided to target her and her family.  They’d always been a nuisance for most of the decent residents on her road from time to time but these recent spate of attacks were particularly purposeful and rancorous.

            Without fail and often several times a day, yobs [sometimes up to twenty lads of all ages from four years to about seventeen years] congregated on her driveway to hurl a barrage of abuse and missiles of all shapes and sizes- rocks, mud balls, sticks, the contents of her bin, buckets of water, gun pellets and ball bearings.

            They didn’t stay for long – sometimes the onslaught would only last a few seconds.  Quite often they’d hide…. behind walls, on rooftops and in trees….  And they’d catapult stones at her windows with astonishing accuracy.  On occasions she only stepped out of the house just to empty the rubbish and was ambushed by a hail of projectiles – she had to scurry back in immediately, nursing a sore and bloodied forehead or nose.  It was as if there was always someone out there on guard and lying in wait.  David and Anna also suffered the same terrifying assaults and were even victimized in the street and chased home amid a bombardment of BBs.

            On one occasion, Sarah heard a huge commotion in her back yard so she peered out from the bedroom window to find four big youths jeering and laughing and blindly booting her shed door.  She pelted downstairs to find two little lads barely six years old standing in her hallway.  They bolted out of the back door as she approached and tipped off their bigger pals as to her presence.  As they all legged it, yelling and yowling like mad dogs, she could just about make out their taunts of, “Ha ha, Greg’s paying us to wind you up and drive you nuts…. Police are on our side…. They won’t touch us,” amidst aggravating ululation and mocking shrieks.  Sarah discovered that David and Anna had been locked inside the shed and she soon found out that her loose change had been swiped off her kitchen table.

            She slumped into a chair, buried her head into her hands and released an almighty, unremitting yowl that was as loud and as long as her lungs would allow.  It was a culmination of all the frustration, fear and rage that just had to come cascading out.  Just like Greg, those louts were allowed to get away with whatever they wished.  She was incensed and driven to the verge of dementia at the usual police incompetence and ineffectiveness.  Half the time they didn’t even turn up at her door and at other times they turned up hours later to find her house and its surroundings in an acceptable and peaceful state, so they just drove on by!

            The officers who did show up were quite sympathetic but it was the old familiar story of juveniles being a problem everywhere and the police not having the resources to deal with it.  The local cops told Sarah that they constantly brief their superiors about the intolerable hooliganism in Caroline Bay and in particular her area but nobody is interested and in fact their latest policy is to refer young offenders to the social services whereupon nothing is done about it there either!

            “So street scum bags have got the green light to wreak havoc and destroy whoever, whenever and wherever it takes their fancy?” she asked one cop.  “Just like my odious ex.”

            “Well everyone knows what you’ve had to put up with cos of him and no-one can understand why he hasn’t been prosecuted.  If his behaviour isn’t harassment then I don’t know what is – I’ve seen blokes convicted for a hell of a lot less,” remarked the friendly chap.  “And as for the street kids…. Well they rule now it would seem…. It’s a nationwide problem…. Social services are scared of them – they daren’t go near some crack-heads.  I’ve seen social workers turn up at the houses of some hard nuts – well-known thugs; you know, real hard cases, to be told to ‘piss off, or else….’ And they do!  I’ve seen it with my own eyes.  They’ll tick a little box on their note pad that says, ‘no problem at this address’ and that’s it – off they go.  They only pick on easy families.  A friend of mine got on the wrong side of them once over something really trivial and the spiteful gits decided that for the so-called ‘protection’ of his son they’d have to put him on the ‘Child Protection At Risk Register’.  My mate blew a fuse, told them they were a bunch of useless prats and the buggers decided that all his kids needed to be registered at risk!  After that, they wouldn’t leave him alone – they bugged him every week for hours at a time wanting to know what colour loo roll he used and other such irrelevant tittle-tattle.  It just became a personal vendetta in the end but there was sod all he could do about it.  They’re a bit like the ‘Mafia’, but they’re such wimps, they only wield their evil power over gentle, law-abiding folk - the ones who are least able to fight back and the ones who don’t need or want their attention!  I know of lots of cases where kids are having to exist in the most appalling circumstances having been abused for years, physically and mentally.  You know, constant beatings where the kid is always in and out of hospital…. Or lewd, disgusting horrendous sexual attacks on little girls by their fathers/stepfathers and their paedophile pals and yet nothing is done to put them out of their pain and misery.  Occasionally the council may call a conference but all they do is talk, the kid is no better off and the majority don’t even get registered.  I reckon it’s because the next step is ‘care’ and they just haven’t got anywhere to put these poor kids.  It costs the council hundreds of pounds per week to put a kid in a home…. There just ain’t enough money in the pot for children’s institutions and their fat cat salaries and perks!”

            Sarah stood open-mouthed and wide-eyed as the PC smiled and shouted, “See ya,” on his way out.

The victimization continued unabated.  She found bullet holes in her porch, glue in her yale-lock and flour all over her windows.  She found graffiti on her back door which read, “We are being paid to piss you off – ha ha ha ha…. Police are on our side…. Ha ha.  No-one likes you,”

            The family were being forced to barricade themselves in and live like hermits.  Eventually Sarah got so peeved one evening after the fifth time that a football had walloped her living room window that she shot outside and confiscated it amidst protests of, “Oi, slag, give us the ball back…. It belongs to us.”

            But she didn’t and was struck dumb when a copper planted himself firmly on her doorstep and insisted that she return their ball.

            “But they’re deliberately kicking it into my yard and at my window…. They’ve been doing it for the past hour,” she protested vehemently.

            “That doesn’t give you the right to steal their ball…. You’re not allowed to take action yourself…. You can’t even threaten kids these days…. You have to leave that to us….” dictated PC Plod.

            “I’ll be pushing up Daisies by the time you lot make a move,” Sarah exploded.  “Well aren’t you going to have a word with them then?”

            “No, not right now, I’ll do it later; I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction….” He blabbered.

            “Yeh, likely story,” she seethed and slammed the door.

After a few days of relative quiet, Sarah saw about ten lads perched on her back wall chanting, goading and intimidating.  Most of them flashed weapons – knives or sports guns or sticks and all were smoking.  Sarah dialled the police and blasted:

            “You’d better come here NOW or I won’t be responsible for my actions…. You’ll have a murder on your hands.”

            But they didn’t bother to show up.  She re-dialled another five times but was just fobbed off and warned not to take any action that could incriminate herself.  By this time the mob were more rowdy and menacing and had begun to pelt her kitchen window with stones.  Sarah snapped, grabbed the six foot long stick that she kept ‘just in case’ and with a face like thunder hurtled outside, screaming, “Get the hell off my wall and outa my sight NOW.”

            Most of them didn’t hang around to witness the drama, but three of them stayed put, inviting her to see it through.  Her brain was in overdrive.  Thousands of thoughts raced in milliseconds.  There was no going back now.  She had tore outside on impulse, all fired up looking mean and nasty and convincing but three of them had dared to defy her.  If she backtracked now she’d be the laughing stock of Caroline Bay and victimized forever.  She knew she had to hit them hard…. hard enough to make them stay away from her and her family for good.  If she didn’t get it right they would not let her forget it; they might even attack her…. And there was more of them….

            Taking a deep breath and gulping hard, she lifted the stick high above her shoulder and, intending to drive it right through the bodies of the boys, let it swing naturally and powerfully.  It caught one of them on his arm and catapulted him off into next-door’s shrubs.  The other two paled and fled.

            The injured boy let out a piercing wail, clutched his sore side and stumbled slowly after his pals, leaving Sarah shocked and shaken.

            Within only a few seconds the same gang reappeared on her driveway but this time they kept a safe distance.  Two men poked their heads out from amongst them; one she presumed was the boy’s father.

            “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you bitch?  You just hit my lad with a big stick.  You’re dead, you are…. Bitch,” the father snarled.

            “You should keep your kids under control.  That lot were sat on my wall flashing weapons and clutching rocks.  If they come around here again, they’ll get worse…. Now clear off the lot of you,” she heard herself saying, much to her own surprise.  As she swung on her heels and made a determined effort to walk calmly and controllably towards her back door, she heard both men booming:

            “Fucking bitch.  You’re dead you are…. Fucking slag…. Your days are numbered…. Do you hear?  Bitch, bitch, bitch…. Fucking, fucking bitch…. You’re in for it now…. Bitch.”

            But they made no attempt to come down her drive.

Later, in the early hours of the next morning, the household was suddenly woken by the splintering and shattering of a downstairs window.  Sarah sat bolt upright in her bed, too petrified to move until David darted in, armed with his Gat gun, urging her to investigate.  Dreading coming face to face with a burgler or prowler, Sarah [armed with her metal bar] and the kids [armed with their sports guns] crept tentatively downstairs, all terrified out of their wits, to discover the broken backroom window.  Luckily, the hole wasn’t big enough for anyone to climb through.  Sarah cowered behind the glass, clutching the trembling bar.  This was obviously the work of that lad’s dad.  She didn’t dare venture outside to make any inspections.  All she wanted to do was board up every window in the house and hide behind locked doors.  David brought her a cup of sweet tea and she spent the rest of the night sitting in the dark sobbing, searching hopelessly for a solution.

After a couple of days, they bravely faced the perilous outdoors to do the weekly shopping.  On their return they found three louts loitering on the driveway.  The boys bolted past but in their haste knocked into Jason who stumbled screaming into the wall.   David attended to his younger brother while Sarah sprinted half way down her road, grabbed hold of the little sod [who couldn’t’ve been much older than her own son] rammed him against a wall, pinned him there with pressure from her left hand at his neck and held her clenched right fist to his face.  The pleasure she felt as he flushed, quivered and cried was indescribable.  She was aware that his pals had abandoned him and she asked him if he intended coming down her drive again.  He spluttered and then made some smart comment about the police having her for child abuse, so she made him suffer some more before eventually releasing him, to the loud applause of watching neighbours yelling their obscenities at the fleeing lad. 

            To her horror and disbelief, police arrived soon after to warn her that if she attacks another child she’ll be “charged with child abuse under section….”

            “For cryin’ out loud,” Sarah screamed.  “That git pushed my toddler son into a wall.  That yob and his gang have been making our lives a living nightmare.  My nerves are shattered cos of them.  Why aren’t you lot charging them under the anti-social behaviour/criminal trespass act?”

            “You’re not allowed to take the law into your own hands.  I’m warning you; you will be charged next time,” the browbeating bobby repeated sternly.

            “Well all I can say is thank the lord for vigilantism.  Someone has to make a stand against wrongdoing and since you people fail to enforce the law, you forfeit your right to lay down the law.  Same goes with magistrates and judges.  Since they refuse to deal with criminals and apply the law fairly for everyone, they lose the right to pass judgement.  If just one thug/thief/mugger/paedophile/woman batterer…. gets duffed up by a vigilante, there’s a strong chance he won’t re-offend, in which case single mothers like me, kids, the old and infirm etc etc have one less person to be worried about hurting us.  Why do you people and other authorities side with criminals?  Why is the school bully never brought to book whilst his victim is punished?  Kids grow up not knowing right from wrong because YOUR type encourage bad behaviour.  Why is it that out of two people – one good, one bad, when only one of them can survive, it is the bad person that is allowed to live and thrive whilst the good one is crushed by the Authorities?  Why is evil being allowed to flourish?  And why don’t you guys do the right thing for once and side with US, the victims?”

            “You’re off your trolley, you are….” blasted PC Plod.

The next day David was attacked by catapulted rocks as he walked down the drive with his pal, so he immediately picked up the same projectiles and hurled them back.  One kid got caught on the back of his head and he ran off wailing.  Within minutes a police sergeant barged into Sarah’s house, barking mad.

            “I’m sick of coming to this house.  I’ve got more important things to do than to concern myself coming here all the time.  You and me are going down the nick sonny.  You’ve got some explaining to do.  How would you feel if one of your lethal weapons seriously injured someone?” the furious sergeant demanded to know, thrusting a nailed bamboo stick close to David’s face.  The ‘arrow’ was indeed one that the kids had made and had once fired at Greg but that had been a while ago.  Sarah wondered how the police had got hold of it.  Was it the one that pierced her interloper ex or was it one that had been stolen from their shed?

            It did seem as if the archfiend was collaborating with the street gangs.  Sarah felt the weight of the world on her shoulders.  The irate cop continued to castigate her tearful, beleaguered son.

            “You’re known around here as a persistent troublemaker…. You’ll be going into care soon…. Social services will be hearing about this….”

            “Oh no you don’t.  Now you just hang on a minute,” Sarah barked back, springing to her son’s aid.  “Just put that stick down and you listen to me.  Those street kids out there are the villains as you well know, but you can’t handle them so you pick on the good kids instead and make them the scapegoat.  When are you going to direct your impressive zeal at the real culprits?”

            “Don’t you raise your voice to me…. And don’t point your finger,” retorted the lordly sergeant.

            “You people have received numerous complaints from different people about the yobs in this neighbourhood but the truth is you FAIL to deal with them because there are just too many of them.  Christ, all I’m trying to do is defend my family.  We are being targeted mercilessly by Greg Potter; by gangs…. Why aren’t you protecting US?  Why are WE being PERSECUTED?  What the hell is going on?” Sarah cried in exasperation.

            But the derogatory sergeant was unremitting and stormed:

            “You have to learn to keep your kids in and under control.  This will all end in tears for you…. It will be the ‘At Risk’ register next, then your kids will be taken off you…. You mark my words.”

            As he marched off, Sarah screamed after him, “Why are you picking on US?  Why don’t you go after them?” before collapsing in tears to the floor, defeated.