An early lesson learned

I wasn't a day older than six . But the memory is as clear as if it happened this morning.


My walk to school was down a dirt road to the Meadow Farm. If it was raining we had to skip across puddles. After the rain stopped and the sun came out ,sparrows would flutter their wings on the edge of the puddle  taking a bath.

 At the end of that road was a smoke blackened ,spooky old school for Protestant kids.

Then a stretch of road with high walls on either side. Around the corner, alongside the river to the footbridge was the Waterside. I

I had to cross the river. Once across, the swings were on one side and the slaughter house on the other. If they were killing, the blood ran out  from a pipe straight into the river.

 School was on the moor at the top of a brae. Protestant kids were coming the opposite way to their school. I became aware of a bigger girl regularly making threatening moves. I watched and went out of my way to avoid her.

 Then the inevitable happened. I looked up one morning and found her looming over me. Feet planted wide,arms akimbo, I knew there was no escape.

 At six years old, you don't really know who you are. Most experience is new. I could have yelled. I could have cowered. I could have covered my head for protection. Or I could have begged for mercy

None of those things occurred to me.

 I clenched my fist, pulled my arm back and landed one right in the face. Then I ran . In a wide circle and never looked back until I was safe inside the school gate.

 I was a skinny little kid with a limp. Typical target for a bully.I doubt my small fist did much harm. I never saw my tormentor again.

 But I never forgot the satisfaction of landing that punch and taking care of the situation.

I don't go out of my way looking for a fight. But I never back away without giving a good account of myself.