Unfortunately had a few nights out in Stoke when I was younger as my cousins are from the nearby bumpkin town of Leek by the Peak Districts. There's a decent indie club in Hanley, Stoke, that's always felt safe, but I walked into a club there once, a bloke was eyeing me up and down as I was ordering a drink, and whether it was the accent or what, he decided to flash a long blade, what looked like a sharp kitchen knife at me, from the inside of his jacket. Didn't wait around for my drink to come.
The worst I've seen though for similar small town mindset has been in the new town in Runcorn or in a small town in Shropshire called Market Drayton. I've been attacked in both whilst minding my own business. I've obviously seen some trouble but never been directly accosted in Liverpool, Leeds or Manchester, or London for that matter.
It was Hanley where I had the near-death experience, in 1991, and there's some scary parallels.
8 of us went to an Australian Doors concert at Victoria Hall (?) in two cars, which most of us had popped acids for. After the concert's over, there's a discussion about what to do now. The four in the other car decide to go home, the other 3 in the car I was in wanted to go a club. I wanted to go home really, but opted to stay and go the club as well. All I remember about the outside of the place was that it had huge tropical fruit on the facade and a big car park in front of it, where we'd parked. It was a Thursday night, almost empty, and shit. And I was pretty much still peaking, not in a great state. After we'd been in about an hour, I went the bogs and passed a group of about 10 lads, who were giving the evils and sniggering to each other. On my way back, they blocked my path and one starting dancing like a dickhead right in my face with some to the sides. Another moved behind me. I figured I was in for a twatting anyway so just smacked the one dancing in front of me, turned sideways and smacked the next one I saw; the rest jumped in, I covered up. Then my mates came piling in and for about a minute it was fucking chaos. Then the bouncers broke it all up, and threw them out. We went back to our pints and I remember buzzing like fuck. We all had a laugh about it. None of us were really hurt, but I remember one of 'them', a big fucker, with his shirt torn right open at the front and another with blood everywhere from his nose.
Must have been 15/20 minutes later and we were surrounded by 3 or 4 bouncers. One calmly told us it was time to drink up and leave. One of my mates asked if there were a group waiting for us outside and he said they were, but we could go out the back way. They led us down some steps to these big metal doors and out we went. Waiting for us were what seemed at that moment to me like half of Stoke, but was really about 50 lads and some girls, some sat on car bonnets. I started to turn to go back inside, but those fucking doors slammed shut. I still remember that noise now, 30 years on. My mate who was driving (and the only one not tripping) muttered "Just walk normal to the car".
I heard one of the crowd pipe up with "Is that them?" then another voice with "Nah..." I breathed a sigh of relief. Then "Yeah it fucking is" "Gerrum". I set off like a whippet towards my mate's car, which is toward the other end of the car park. He shouts "Leave the fucking car" and I pelted past it. I'd always been fast as fuck. There were low shrubs bordering the car park and I hurdled them, landing on the pavement on the other side barely breaking stride. There's main roads in front of me and I've no idea where to go. I go right. The other three mates go left. Twats. I'm running up this street and in my mind I'm going Linford Christie fast. But I can hear running behind me, getting closer. How the fuck? I passed an Indian takeaway and mentally kicked myself for not running into there. I chanced a look round. Mistake. It slows me temporarily. There were about half a dozen of them, strung out a bit, with two at the front right behind me. I felt a grab for my shoulder and sped on, deciding the next open place I see and I'm in there. There's lights ahead on the left. I'm putting everything into going faster and I think I'm pulling away. I'm almost at the lit glass doorway; is it a hotel? Yeah! Fucking great! I'll go in there, book a room for the night! Safety! I burst through the door, knocking a bloke in a black suit and bow tie out the way, run to the desk. The bloke I've barged past is shouting at me to get out, but stays by the door and his attention is immediately diverted back to the door when more lads try to get it. He presumably locks it, but I don't see, as I'm half-collapsed at the desk, drawing great gulps of air. I manage, between heaving gasps, to tell the middle-aged woman receptionist that I'd like to book a room. I focus on her as she pulls a face that's half incredulous, half condescending and says, matter of factly, "This is a casino, love". I'm confused for a moment, but dragged back to reality to the sounds of the doorman shouting at me that I have to leave, and the rabid banging and kicking on the glass door. I look past the doorman towards the door and see two faces, contorted with rage, with more figures behind them. One of the two at the front is screaming, "I'm gonna fucking kill ya. I'm gonna cut you up." and my eyes shift to a blade in his fist than he's hammering onto the door with. It's one of several images that are perma-imprinted on my memory; I think it's the emotional heft of sheer terror that does this. I now rationally see the knife blade as being perhaps 4/5 inches long, but at the time it seemed much bigger, and very shiny.
I turn back to the casino receptionist and just say, "Please..." I really do believe at this point I'm going to die, but I feel strangely detached. Certainly detached and lucid enough to think to myself that if I'm to save myself I've got to get her sympathy, and reason that looking terrified and pathetic will help. The doorman's shouting that the door won't hold. The woman peers at me again, then says to the doorman, "We can't throw him out, they'll kill him".
Then suddenly the banging stops and the attackers move away. I'm full of grovelling apologies and thank-yous. There's an awkward pause. I'm hoping they give it a few minutes before chucking me out, so I can get a good head start and fully get my breath back. I'm not sure where to go, though. The doorman asks, "Have they gone?" and the receptionist, peering down and sideways, tells him, "No, they're round the side, waiting for him." Ah, CCTV. Clever. She then announces she's phoning the police.
It's about 10 minutes before the van pulls up outside. All that time, I'm stood very self-consciously in the reception area. And all that time, the evil twats are stood round the corner waiting for me to emerge. A policeman gets out of the van and walks to the door. The doorman unlocks the door and tells me it's time to go. I thank them both over and over and walk out, more relieved to see the police than at any time in my life, but worried that they'll somehow know I'm still pretty fucked up on acid. As I get in the van, there's a few shouts from the gobshites who'd been chasing me, but I just kept my head down. In the van, the two coppers are in the front and me in the back, and the non-driver asks me to explain what's happened. I give a very innocent version - been to a concert, popped into a club afterwards, a group kicked off on us, they got thrown out the club and were waiting for us when we left, we all ran, I got split up from my mates. They asked if I was from Liverpool. "Near there, yeah". "I reckon they heard your accents; they don't like Scousers round here." I just nodded agreement, "Yeah, must be that."
I took them back toward the car park but could see nobody in or around my mate's white Escort. They told me they'd drive round for a bit to try to find my mates but then they'd have to drop me off back at the car, but that they'd wait with me a bit. We're driving slowly down a dark side street when they stop. I look up and a figure is in the road flagging them down. That's one of my mates, I tell the lovely coppers. He runs over to the van and they open the door. When he climbs in, it takes a few seconds to register who I am. He's unhurt; they didn't catch him and he'd climbed over a wall of what he thinks was a school and hid. We drive back towards the car park and my other two mates (one the driver) are walking toward his car. The police stop the van, we get out. More thanks from me. They tell us they'll drive behind us for a bit to make sure we're not followed. I'm beaming ear to ear as the four of us unite, but I'm met with glowering faces from the other two. Glowering faces that are bruised and a bit bloody. Shit. "Did they catch you?" I ask meekly. "Yeah. You fucking prick. I see you got away, though." is the curt reply from the driver.
We got in the car and I'm proper the social leper. I ask what happened. I'm told to fuck off. But the story does come out as we're driving. The two that got caught stayed together but gave up running after a bit, with about 10 lads surrounding them. A big fucker with his short ripped open at the front had stepped forward and said "I've just come back from the Gulf War, my girlfriend bought me this [held out a gold chain that was in bits] and you've fucking snapped it. What you gonna do about it." Before my mates could answer, he's punched the driver and the others waded in on the pair.
Nobody asked me about my experience. I just sat in the back for what seemed like the longest ever journey, increasingly paranoid but also annoyed that I was getting all the blame.
We laugh about it all now.
