Titbits - Or random tales of mirth & mayhem

Individually these two were a pain in the arse - Together they were a fucking nightmare!

For a sergeant-at-Arms at the time (me), looking after the Sons of Hell 'without' these two was not a job for the faint hearted. 'With' these two the job was elevated to 'nervous breakdown' levels. It was because of this pair of bastards that I gave up drinking, there was no way I could stay alert enough to keep an eye on them if I was full of beer. The trick to keeping them out of jail or hospital was to always keep them in the corner of my eye, I knew that at some point when they thought I wasn't looking, they would slip quietly away from everyone to get up to some mischief or other, part of which would always involve starting a fire. So as long as I'd seen which way they'd gone, I could follow quietly behind, listening to them giggling and congratulating each other on how clever they'd been to escape me. They did get the better of me once though, we were partying with the Devils Disciples in a school yard (somewhere in the world). The Sons were all round a blazing fire in the middle of the yard, while the DDs had done their usual and gone off some distance, to light a fire of their own. I'd managed to catch the gruesome twosome in one of the school classrooms before they lit the giant bonfire they'd built in the middle of it, but they caught me and everyone else by suprise when they appeared through a newly made hole in the school roof, and started whizzing roof slates down on everybody. It was as funny as fuck, everybody scattered to avoid death or serious injury from the slates that were raining down from four Storeys up. The DDs were less than amused though, which made it even funnier. Dusty and Gimly were kindred spirits, both of them able to see the irony and humour in just about anything. And both being clever men with no time for fools. Gimlys free spirit and determination to live his life his way to the end, was much admired by Dusty, who in turn was Gimlys confederate, friend and protector.

Loads got shot in the head - life saved by drunken Henchman

Actually, he was in Greece on holiday with some of the Henchmen, (pictured right) and one night on the way back from one of the local bars with Dink and one or two others, Dink decided to play football with some rubbish that was out on the street. "Nothing wrong with that" I hear you cry! Unfortunately the Greek bloke who owned the rubbish, didn't see it that way and came out shouting and waving his arms about, only to be treated to some good old British verbal abuse for his trouble. This in turn, caused the Greek blokes two sons to come out and take a turn at the shouting and waving thing. Meanwhile, the first Greek bloke had disappeared back into his house, only to reappear again moments later with a double barrel 12 bore. Which, (in what I can only assume was an attempt to drive the drunken tourists away), he fired into the air. As it turned out, it had the opposite effect and Loads, having taken offence to this act of 'gross inhospitality' ran straight at the shotgun wielding Greek. The angry owner of the rubbish then levelled the gun at Loads, and fired. Enter Dink, the hero of the hour (not to mention the cause of all the trouble in the first place). He intercepted Loads and rugby tackled him to the ground just as the blast from the shotgun reached the spot where his head would have been. Some of the blast caught Loads on the top of his head, which bled a lot and apparently 'hurt like a bastard'. Everybody dispersed then and that was that. The Greek police did turn up two days later to investigate, but nothing ever came of it. Loads left the Sons in 1990 after an 'incident' that I'm not going to tell you about, but he's back in the fold now after a fourteen year absence.


Peanut's head was solid bone, he proved that one night when he knocked a garden wall down with it. Some twat who had lost control of his car came plowing through a pack of Sons who were travelling the opposite way, sending bikes and riders in all directions. he came off his bike and went head first into the wall, the wall lost and he walked away virtually unscathed. Peanut had one leg shorter than the other and wore a metal caliper, and one of his boots was built up by about four inches. So we called him the club foot. The reason I mention his caliper will become clear below.

Lost At Sea With All Hands

Okay, so it was a canal, but it could have been at sea, except for the fact that we were in the middle of Cheshire, a landscape not noted for it's sandy beaches and rugged coastline. If it had been at sea then all hands could have been lost!! But no, it was a canal in Cheshire. They did all get wet though when the boat sank.

It all began in the pub

It was the night of Peanut's initiation and we had set off in no particular direction, until we came across a pub in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, somewhere in Cheshire. Once everyone was settled in and the beer was flowing, I went to look for a suitable party spot, taking Peanut with me. So we set off down the road and after a couple of miles, we came to a bridge with a dirt track running off to the side of it, and a few yards down the track was a canal, perfect. "oh please not here Powk" begged Peanut "I can't swim and my leg caliper will drag me under the water". "Don't you worry mate" I said "I won't let them throw you in if you can't swim", and back to the pub we went. Sometime after they'd stopped serving, we all staggered out laden with cans and bottles, and rode down to the bridge, parked the bikes on the dirt track, lit a fire on the towpath, and threw Peanut in the canal.
During the night a group of four extremely pissed Sons of Hell decided they wanted to explore some of the surrounding countryside, and set off in search of adventure up the towpath. About half an hour later, the sound of splashing and drunken men shouting insults at each other came drifting out of the darkness from the direction they'd gone in, and shortly after that they appeared out of the gloom to have their picture taken (right). So there they were, floating past the fire, accusing each other of being the one that was rocking the boat and threatening to capsize them, when somebody on the bank shot the boat!, which, being an inflatable, promptly sank taking all on board with it. As it was the canal was only five foot deep so there was no loss of life that night, it also came as a great relief to Peanut, once he'd stopped screaming and splashing long enough to realise he could actually stand up in it. (picture right)
About an hour later a big white shape appeared out of the darkness, and as the rather posh cabin cruiser floated past the fire, one of the still very damp pirates told everyone to be quiet, "that's where we found the dinghy" he informed us "there's people sleeping on there" he said giggling "we cut the mooring ropes" So god only knows where they woke up. There was a lot of loud noise that night!! but it did eventually go quiet as people started crashing out. Funny thing though, in the morning the daylight revealed a fucking big housing estate just under the bridge next to where we were.