Memoir : A Silver Sixpence ( WIP title)
an excerpt

There is a boy called Cameron in the class above mine. He is big and he likes to bully.

My pal Tom and I, both aged seven now, are playing on the grass behind the school when Cameron appears. He demands money but we don't have any so he punches me high in the stomach, and saunters away.

I have been punched in the stomach before but the pain of this punch is unlike any other. I drop to me knees gasping for breath and try to throw up but nothing comes out so I curl on to my side on the wet grass and wait. Eventually the burn of it subsides and we go back into school. Even Tom is looking white. He knows it was pure chance that I happened to be standing the closest. It could just as easily have been him who got punched. Where is Superman when you need him?

Near the school there is a stone railway bridge in the middle of some scrubland. We all use the tarred path under the bridge to go to and from school.

I tell Robert about Cameron's punch. Robert is also my age and lives in the flat below ours. He is like a dynamo. Never still, always fidgeting. We hatch a plan to get revenge on Cameron the bully.

Though Robert is not big he is ferocious and could beat Cameron in a fight ( Robert can beat anyone in a fight ) but Cameron will never fight him unless we can trap him into it.

Our plan is an ambush and this is the perfect place. We saw some cowboys on a Saturday morning film using this ambush, so we know it works. It is simple: the goody cowboy challenges the bully and they start to fight but the Sherrif is waiting nearby to rescue the goody and give the bully the hiding he deserves.

In our ambush I will be the goody and Robert will be the Sherrif. We decide to set it up on the other side of the railway bridge.

Big Bad Cameron has to come this way home so we take up our positions in good time. I stand in full view near the stone parapet. The Sherrif goes back some way and hides behind a thick leafy bush.

Townsfolk pass by with hardly a glance. Only a few look back at me, waiting.
I check the bush. It is shaking.

'Keep still! He'll see you! ' But there is no sign of him yet.

The sun is up. I'm hot. I wish I had brought my water bottle but it is back there on my horse with my Winchester and bedroll. The townsfolk have all gone now. Time is dragging on.

Finally I see him swaggering under the bridge at the same time as he sees me. I glance up the hill but can see only the bush. Good. The Sherrif is well hidden.

Bad Cameron marches straight up to me, grabs a handful of my shirt and demands my money. I know what is coming next so this time instead of waiting to be hit I jab at his face with my fists. For a moment he is stunned and lets go of my shirt then he slaps me hard on the left ear and keeps on slapping me with both hands.

At this moment I realise our ambush plan is flawed. I need a bugle to summon the cavalry, but I'm not too worried because any moment now the Sherrif will arrive...

Whack!

Any moment now the...

Thump!

Any moment...

Whack!

When my nose starts to bleed, Bad Cameron stops slapping me around. Anger satisfied, he spits in my face and swaggers on along the path.

As I get my breath back and watch him go I pour glares of hatred into his broad back. If only I were Superman...

I take a moment to gather myself and check the damage. Yes, my nose is bleeding but it bleeds every other day for no reason anyway. My ears are glowing and I'll have a few bruises but otherwise I'm ok.

What went wrong? The ambush worked perfectly in that film, 'Revenge at Grizzley Gulch.'

When I stagger over to the bush, the Sherrif is not there but squeals and laughter are coming from the trees and bushes ahead. I carry on up the hill to investigate and there he is. The Sherrif is hanging upside down from a rope-swing showing off to a gaggle of girls.

When he sees me, he drops off the swing. The girls stop laughing and ask what happened, am I alright.

The Sherrif returns my glare. 'I got fed up waiting! I thought he wasn't coming.'

Sherrif Robert, the fidget. I should have known.

When I get home and explain how I got my bleeding nose and bruises, my Mum patches me up and my Dad can't help laughing. 'That'll learn you,' he says.

It does. I never again rely on the help of a fidgety Sherrif.