“ What’s their pool team like then boyz?” questioned Fast Eddie Felson dressed in his white hat and black and white brogues as he sat in the back of the minibus.
“ Not bad- they have a few Welsh players but nothing we can’t handle on and off the table!” said Bobby Mogzy cricking his knuckles.
The boys in the team minibus, had set out from the Iron Horse Public house in Galon Uchaf Road ,Merthyr Tydfil at 6.00pm to arrive for 8.00pm.
They knew if they arrived late, they would be docked a frame every twenty minutes.
It was a best of nine pool match in the South Wales area ‘Rhymney Brewery’ sponsored cup knockout competition and the two teams had more scores to settle than just the outcome of this grudge match .
Both the Iron Horse Public House and the Eden Bush Inn in Cwmaman were both featured in the television mockumentary on Sky TV as being two of ‘Britain’s Hardest Pubs’.
There were however, no prizes for finishing second.
There was also a bit of a personal too as two of the boys had a had a ‘two’s up’ with the pub landlord’s wife around the back of the Kooler Nightclub two weeks ago.
As the six Merthyr boys got down out of the clapped out minibus last used for transporting flying pickets in the 1984 miners strike- they sensed that they were on forbidden territory.
Mogzy stopped pissing through the hole in the floor of the rust bucket as they hit Aberdare’s Sobell roundabout.
Snake Valley…. home to the River Cynon….and Valley rivals of Merthyr since the 1926 General Strike when the blacklegs (with no legs) slithered back to work on their bellies.
The contaminated ground upon which they stood seemed to ‘hiss’ defiantly at the Merthyr Iron Warriors- or was that just the pollutants from the nearby Abercwmboi phurnacite plant.
As they arrived at their destination there was an air of trepidation.
From the outside the Eden Bush Inn, Cwmaman looked like a dive.
From the inside it looked worse.
As ex- army man and veteran of the Falklands Island War pushed open the door of the Pub - the entire region became ‘ a silent valley’.
Only the sound of a single stereophonic album being played on a cassette tape could be heard in the distant still air of a Valley that once was full of noisy heavy industry but now no longer had any work.
Mogzy was joined by Jim Remploy from the Gurnos , Richard ‘Hannibal’ Stevens- a known face and ear biter from Galon Uchaf and three other likely lads, as they passed in single file through the narrow entrance to the Inn.
The Dowlais Boxer, Jezzie Jones carrying his metal cue case slammed it down on the bar sending some of the alcoholic crowd and more timid creatures scurrying for the shadows.
Kellog Scalper was next replete in waistcoat, metallic chalk-holder stuck to his belt and matching knuckledusters on both hands.
“ Six pints of Snake-Bite-Bow and Lager and do you do any food my good man?” asked Fast Eddie politely to the slob behind the bar dressed in a grey string vest that had at one point been white.
Three arrows thudded into the bar as he said so.
The barman threw a packet of pork scratching onto the bar and asked for £2.00.
Fast Eddie thought that was a bit steep but handed over a £2.00 coin anyway.
“ We don’t take ‘forged’ Merthyr money….there ain’t no thing as a two pound coin!” said Bob Slobb, landlord of the Eden Bush Inn tossing it back at Fast Eddie.
The bar went silent again as Fast Eddie weighed up his options carefully.
He knew if there to be a fight BEFORE they had won the pool match his team would be thrown out of the competition and the £5,000.00 prize money disappear in a flurry of fists.
“ Sorry, my missed snake…mistake !” …..he said putting four old style no longer legal tender 50p pieces on the counter.
Bob seeing real money instead of IOU’s and giros for a change grabbed greedily at the coins.
“ That’ll be £1.80 for the six pints too!” Bob demanded with menaces.
“ Great to be outside civilisation sometimes….at these prices!” said Remploy.
“ Now where’s the pool table at?” asked Jezzy.
Over by the toilets, the Iron Warriors Pool Team caught sight of a huge blue pool table with a Simonis – no nap cloth- new back in 1981- the last time the place had been cleaned.
There was no baulk line or D….only three rings where pint glasses had marked the cloth.
“ Whose your Captain?” roared Mogzy.
“ It is 7.30pm and the game must start on time!” demanded the ex- Welsh Guardsman drummed out of the army for cruelty to the Argentine prisoners.
He was seen planting the British Flag on Goose Green in the eye socket of one of the conscripted kids singing ‘Don’t cry for me Argentina!” as he did so.
He was hard….Merthyr hard.
“ Me….!” said a barrel-chested ex Tower Colliery Miner stepping out of the dark shadows of the pool table lit by a 15 watt bulb.
“ Bryn Pica is the name….you may have heard of me!” said the bruiser face filled with scars from fists that had cut him on many a Friday and Saturday night.
He slung a white card contemptuously at Mogzy with the names of the pool players written in blood red ink on the card.
Mogzsy had heard of Bryn Pica and was aware of the fact he was the leader of the notoriously violent gang the ‘Cwmaman Cobras’ but wasn’t going to admit the fact or be intimidated by it.
“ No…never heard of you…!” he spat back with more venom than his Snake Valley Rival.
Mogzy picked up the card and wrote down the names of his six players in the order he felt best with a miniature blue betting shop pen.
He would play Jim Remploy first, as he lived on the table.
He played six nights a week – hadn’t had a job since he left school at 14 and made his living hustling pool and gambling on horses or dogs to supplement his invalidity money.
He like most men in Merthyr had a ‘bard back’ ….it was nothing to do with Shakespeare….he could bend over the table alright with it…but when it came to doing an honest day’s work for a decent day’s pay he suddenly became like the Daily Mirror cartoon character - Andy Capped.
Jim had actually been found abandoned, having been born under the pool table of the ‘Matchstick Man’ Public House in the Gurnos and had been adopted by the Landlord as one of his own.
He did literally LIVE on the table….having been conceived there to….with the stain mark still visible on the baize cloth where his twin brother had just missed out.
When the landlord registered his birth of the pool prodigy , the first name that came to mind for his father was Riley….and little Jim had lived the life of Riley ever since.
After winning the toss of the coin, it didn’t take Jim long to break and ‘swish’ the balls from the break .
As he set himself up to pot the black into the top pocket – with his opponent not having had a shot- he could hear the crowd trying to put him off by farting, belching hissing and dropping loudly coins into the jukebox.
None of the above bothered Jim as they were all familiar pub sounds to the potting machine…so much so that he sited the black 8 ball before potting it with his eyes closed to the dismay of the other team that their underhand tactics had not worked.
His show of arrogance however, had lit an already tense atmosphere and the slow burning of the touch paper didn’t take long for the bar to ignite.
No sooner than a Billy Ray Cyrus song had started up than it kicked off as the bar turned Cuntry and Western .
“ Cocky bastard!” said skinhead Bavo Stock, as he struck Jim from behind over the head with the bottom of a pool cue from the rack.
Jim not expecting this treatment from the ‘referee’ , slumped unconsciously to the floor where he was booted unmercifully by the pub regulars.
Jezzie was the first to react, as he raced to the table and picked up the still spinning white ball and slung the heavy ivory object at the skinhead.
The ball slung with full force , hit the venomous reptile in the chest just as the Country & Western ballad picked up speed.
“ Don’t break my heart….my achey snakey heart…!” warbled Fast Eddie as his team mate Richard ‘Hannibal’ Stevens, as he leapt onto the closest person and sunk his teeth into the fleshy part of the ear of local head-banger Plisskin.
He hung on for dear life, teeth clamped like an aural version of a Calgary Rodeo rider as he rode the punches of his opponent who was in complete agony.
Plisskin would soon need to adopt a new nickname of ‘Eighteen Months’ as he was left with a ear and a half by the Merthyr biter.
The landlord joined in, shouting and whooping like a red Indian, as after six cans of red bull his adrenaline was so pumped, he leapt clean over the serving hatch and swung a long thin metal object towards Fast Eddie’s face.
“ Your ‘barred’ !” he said -expecting to see some teeth come flying through the air from the man that had knocked out his wife’s teeth a very different way previously .
But they don’t call him ‘Fast’ Eddie for nothing, as he dodged the iron bar heading his way and stuck the head into the landlord with all the crunch of an Ibex goat hitting a love rival .
Fast Eddie and co being from Merthyr were used to getting their ‘retaliation in first’.
Fists flew and cowboy boots were bloodied, as the five remaining Merthyr Iron Warriors fought against the usual Aberdare odds of three to one.
They were however forced due to sheer weight of numbers backwards through the front door they had originally entered.
It was like a scene from an Indiana Jones movie, as the snakes covered the floor of the public house….with Bavo Stock in a serious condition-- as the pool ball had smashed his ribcage and damaged his heart.
Alongside him , lay the equally mortally wounded Jim Remploy , his head and shoulders sticking out from under the pool table that now served as his blue coffin lid.
The Iron Warriors knew that they had to get the door of the pub shut -as their only advantage was to keep their attackers in as narrow a place as possible- to prevent being surrounded and overwhelmed by numbers.
Smacking heads with his metal cue case Jezzy- looked to anyone passing- like Luke Skywalker, as he wielded his ‘light sabre’ as the Warriors forced the door shut and jammed the pool case across the handles stopping it being opened from the inside.
“Kellog …..barked the leader- go and get the petrol can from the bus….lets teach these Snakes how he do things Merthyr-style!” said Mogzy…still pumped up with adrenaline from the fight…his black eyes rolling like a great White Shark about to strike.
“ The bastards have smashed the bus windows and knifed the tyres!” replied foot soldier Kellog.
“ Never mind that now...toss me that petrol can!” Mogzy ordered remembering his army days aged 17 creating Molotov Cocktails in Port Stanley.
Pouring some of the red diesel through the letterbox, he set about lighting the rag on the top of the canister as a fuse…leaving it in the doorway he glanced up at the double glazed window to see one of the rival Cwmaman Cobras taking his and the other Iron Warriors photographs on his camera-phone.
“ Let’s watch these heat loving reptiles really hiss!” he said as the flame started to engulf the door.
He nodded his head in triumph and made a throat slitting gesture at the young hooligan sat in the window.
He turned his back and walked away with his Gurnos-style pit bull terrier bollocks swinging from side to side.
The explosion thirty seconds later -sent bricks and wooden splinters flying - over 200 feet in all directions.
All five remaining Iron Warriors were deafened by the blast.
How was Mogzy to know the whole of Cwmaman was built on landfill tips full of methane- at least over in Merthyr they were put on the side of the mountains where the leachates , could harmlessly enter the water table and drinking supplies.
But one thing Mogzy did know, was that they were trapped ten miles inside enemy territory in Snake Valley - were there were most hostile reptiles than the cast of the 1970’s sci-film ‘V’.
He would have to get the Iron Warriors back to Merthyr on foot and evade patrols of rival street-fighters with such colourful names as the Mountain Ash Moccasins, Robertstown Rattlers , Aberdare Asps and the Hirwaun Slowworms.
Some of the Cynon Valley equivalent of the Bloods and the Crips were all talk…or in Galon Nouchie speak ‘all mouth and trousers’ but Mogzy knew that with only five men collectively against the numbers of the ‘Gangs of New Fork ’- it would be a real hard task.
After a brief silent minute riposte for their fallen comrade, Mogzy rallied F- troop … five men in the late forties and early fifties…men who had all been street fighters …hard as nails….men that always had his back on Soul Crew visits in the late 1970’s and 1980’s to place like Millwall, Chelsea and Manchester United.
His job was get these boys back to Merthyr alive to tell this tale.
“We need to get off the main roads as there will be people out there looking for us and baying for our blood!” said Mogzy.
He went into Falklands survival mode as he led his ‘platoon’ into the roadside bushes and ditches.
Richard ‘Hannibal’Stevens said what everyone else was thinking.
“ How will they know it was us?” he asked.
“ Well you still have a bit of that bloke’s earlobe stuck in your teeth for a start …but seeing five men with tattoos on their faces spelled CORRECTLY is a bit of a giveway….!” said the smartest one of the bunch Kellog- himself a tattoo parlour owner and hairdresser who had invented the ‘Number one down to the bone’ haircut.
Jezzie replied innocently but dimly to great amusement from the rest of the tribe.
“I didn’t know snakes had ears!” .
As they headed through the outskirts of Cwmaman, the Abercwmboyz stopped dead in their tracks.
Mogzy made hand signals to indicate silence and to drop down as two cars – a Dodge Viper and a Shelby Cobra- sped passed on the road full of men who appeared to be part of a gang of Teddy boys.
Fashion was so far behind in the Cynon Valley that it was now trendy again….and the gang known as the Abercwmboi Asps…were number one with a bullet.
The Rock-a Bully rebels complete with ducks arses , black bootlaces tied around their necks with way too short drainpipe trousers and luminous green or shocking pink socks and loafers looked menacing tooled up with bicycle chains and flick knives.
They were indeed looking for the Merthyr Iron Warriors, as the in-car radio confirmed - as the cars slowed down scanning the road-scape for signs of life.
Booming out on Viper Valleys Radio was the Martha Reeves and the Vandellas song – “ Nowhere to Run to – Nowhere to hide!”
It was ‘dead-icated’ to the Merthyr Iron Warriors as a message of intent from the Tower Colliery ‘Underground’ Movement.
The young man in the pub window had in his final moments on Google Earth, taken a photograph of the Merthyr Mob and uploaded it to Face-book.
The video of the pub burning was there too, seconds of panic before the explosion took hold and then the screen ominously went black.
Not surprisingly there was now a bounty on the heads of the Iron Warriors.
The cars seemed to stop instinctively as if the Asps had a sixth sense that the Merthyr Warriors were hiding in the undergrowth on their turf.
Their leader , Adder Jacobson - a huge man with black rings around his eyes from years of ingrained opencast coal dust- poked his tongue out on the night air as if trying to locate his prey with his sensory organ.
He pointed in the direction of the ditch the five were in fact hiding in.
Mogzy whispered to his friends to stay down, but that if they started to approach they should use their usual scatter technique – the way they evaded police- where they all run in different directions- every man for himself and they meet at the next available road underpass they found on the main route.
‘Black’ Adder had a ‘cunning plan’ to flush his foe into the open.
He got four miniature beer bottles and placed them on the fingers of his right hand and began to clink them rhythmically while uttering a terrifying ‘Iron Warriors come out to play…..Warriors….come out to plaaaaay!”
Never one to run from away from a fight- always towards one- the five Merthyr boys were sorely tempted to emerge from the ditch and give the car occupants albeit only outnumbered two to one a good hiding.
Mogzy biting his lip warned his fellow ‘Merthyr Rats’ to stay hidden until the very last moment.
They were unarmed , whilst the Asps had bicycle chains, baseball bats and flick-knives at their disposal.
The two vehicles reversed slowly back around the S bend snake valley road towards the hiding men.
“ Wait for it!” whispered Mogzy.
The five Iron Warriors all crouched like a gathered clan from the film ‘Braveheart’ awaiting the signal.
The codeword as always was ‘Malcolm Price’.
The second car – the Shelby Cobra- stopped six feet away from the European funded undergrowth concealing the Merthyr Mob.
As one, F-Troop emerged, slinging rocks, stones and empty bottles that had been tossed into the roadside verges by passing traffic.
The element of surprise was their only weapon, as they raced passed the shocked Asps and out onto the railway line on the opposite side of the road.
The Warriors scattered like Gurnos tenants on rent day , as they appeared and disappeared in a flash….becoming invisible again as they leapt fences and ditches in a desperate attempt to get away.
They all manage to do so , except for Jezzy, who unfortunately caught his shiny snooker waistcoat pocket on the barbed wire fence.
Before he could undo the final third button, the Asps were on him…all five of them beating him senseless with the bats …giving him a good kicking with their blue suede shoes.
By the time the ex- Cardiff prison veteran had received his third strike to the head, Jezzy was deader than the corduroy trousers worn by his murderers.
Mogzy sprinted on…he went back 30 years to his basic training in the army…in his mind, he was still clad in a backpack containing three house-bricks, running the
‘fan dance’ and three peaks challenge on the Brecon Beacons mountains.
The combination of extreme discipline and extreme violence that he had learned in his basic training had served him well, to survive in the mean streets of a town like Merthyr.
It has not just been the birthplace of Iron and Steel for Lord Nelson’s cannons at Trafalgar but also the forge for some of the hardest men in the World.
Their codeword of ‘Malcolm Price’ was used in reverence to Merthyr’s own beserker warrior who once riled wouldn’t stop until everything around him was horizontal.
Mogzy ran on…lungs straining from years of smoking 60 a day, his heart struggling after binge drinking to excess for over 40 years (since he was 8)….as he ran for his life across the train tracks and fields towards Robertstown .
The shouts of ‘Cwmbach you cowardly bastard ‘ were hissed at him as he legged it cross country.
Mogzy had a built in fight or flight mode and on this rare occasions he ignored his rage and took to his heels…discretion was the better part of valour and he had won enough combat medals in his lifetime.
The plan to scatter was working even if it had cost him his ‘lance corporal’.
The other three rendez-voused at the concrete underpass on the A4059 near the Tesco roundabout.
They were all out of breath but more importantly still alive.
“ Where are ?” gasped Stevens…finding it harder than the others, as the wind was whistling through his ear….not his own but the partially digested one that was still stuck in his gullet.
“ We are not far from Aberdare Town Centre…up the road to Robertstown…!” said Kellog checking his app on his mobile phone.
“ What gang runs this area?” asked Fast Eddie.
“ The Robertstown Rattlers….!” said Kellog.
“ Small but vicious….big fans of that 1970’s film ‘Quadrophenia!” he continued….beware of anyone dressed as a Mod for the next three miles!”.
Mogzy had ducked out of sight amongst the multitude of furniture warehouses in various stages of closing down….to him it was like being on a different planet….being in Snake Valley ….like Jupiter or something.
He knew it would be going dark in the next half hour and his chances of hiding and evading capture would improve significantly.
He had spotted a couple of likely lads hanging about messing around on a small motorised vehicle .
It had been made out of bits salvaged from the local scrap-yard and looked like a cross between a scooter and a quad bike.
Mogzy knew this could be his big chance, as with his poor chest that if the snakes didn’t get him then that big hill at Llwydcoed certainly would .
At least if he failed , it would be handy for a cheap cremation but Mogzy planned on outliving the rest of his old school mates and being the first one to reach 50- ten years more than the average life expectancy of a Gurnosite.
There were about half a dozen of them in total and were distracted and busy bullying a disabled kid and his friend who had been on their way to a kiddies party dressed as Harry Potter and Professor Dumbledore.
As he crept around the back of the warehouse, he could see layer after layer of polythene sheeting on the floor.
“ Shit….these Aberdare Snakes do really shed their skin!” he said to himself.
He knew he had to work out a way of stealing that vespa scooter without being detected.
He noticed that the youth in the parka jacket with the mod ‘target’ on his back every ten minutes did a lap in the scooter- cum- quad bike between the two factory buildings.
He decided to sneak over into Philip Street and pinch a clothes line from one of the gardens.
He tied one end to the building around four feet off the ground and let his end drop.
He hid behind the edge of warehouse and awaited the return of his quarry.
With five anxious minutes hoping not to be spotted from the road the mod rider started back.
As he built up speed to show off for his mates Mogzy lifted the rope and
clothes-lined his victim knocking him clean off the scooter by the throat in the same way our Army Operatives took out German dispatch riders in the Second World War.
Mogzy grabbed his helmet off the unconscious youth and legged it after the driverless scooter in the direction of Aberaman.
The rest of the Robertstown Rattlers could not believe the ‘balls’ of the Merthyr man…they all suddenly turned their attention away from their disabled sorcerer victims…towards the Merthyr Man.
The problem for Mogzy was that he had no other option than to drive back through the pack of snakes the way the bike had come.
Like Steve McQueen in the ‘Great Escape’…. he paused looked at the crowd of six or so nutcases who were baying for his blood pushed down the mask on his helmet three sizes too small for his huge ‘Rocky Dennis’ head, revved up the engine and sent the vehicle spinning towards the gang at its top speed of 5 mph.
He rode straight at the centre of the gang who all parted for fear of collision with the quad bike as ‘Quad-rophenia reigned’.
Mogzy would have probably made it too, if he hadn’t collided with the poor disabled kid who refused to get out of the way.
Mogzy hit him full force and the bike bounced around like a metal ball until he crashed head first into the solid breezeblock building that was
‘Reptile House Interiors Furniture Showroom’.
Poor Mogzy was decapitated by the flagpole and his head -still in the crash helmet -bounced around the yard spinning wildly and head-butting the gang.
In truth, the same thing would have happened had Mogzy been alive .
That wizard- , the deaf , dumb and blind kid sure played a mean pinball - with Mogzy’s head.
To Fast Eddie , Richard Stevens and Kellog it was just another day at the office.
They had been detected by a small but vicious gang of ‘Hirwaun Hissers’ and a fist fight had ensued near the Petrol Filling station near Gamlyn Terrace and had spilled over onto the nearby Hirwaun roundabout.
Richard ‘Hannibal’ Stevens had been slugged with a sneaky shot from one of the petrol hose pumps , as he passed through as ‘tail end charlie’ and both sides had retaliated by spraying petrol over each other – to the horror of the garage attendant who was too frightened to intervene.
Thankfully, the fumes overpowered Kellog’s diesel aftershave.
The fight raged on, as the trio fought a brave retreat against the odds.
Fast Eddie was busy administering a series of left jabs- Howard Winstone -style to an overweight accountant who thought he was a street fighter.
The adder adder had lost count of how many times Eddie had punched him but he still lumbered forward at the smaller Merthyr thug.
Richard ‘Hannibal’ Stevens severed more flesh than footballer Luis Suarez at a PFA awards ceremony- an all he could eat buffet- but the snakes still kept on coming silently through the grass.
Kellog- the karate man, was busy round-housing one big fella-clad in an imitation snakeskin leather jacket bought from Rheola Market- which three sizes too small for him.
Everytime he kicked him in the face -a button would pop and an extra roll of fat would appear.
Blood and earlobes flew everywhere, until the roundabout looked like a scene from the Somme or Bristol Zoo Reptile House, as unconscious bodies lay strewn on the mud and low weeds.
How the Merthyr boys outnumbered three- to one- continued to fight was a mystery to most but not to the boys themselves.
Before they had decided on Custers Last Stand on the Hirwaun roundabout they had all had a head full of white amphetamine powder.
This had the mental effect on them that they were immortal to both fist or traffic…just like most people in Merthyr on a standard Friday night feel.
Having laid out the opposition, the three Merthyr Men decided they should start to run back up the dual carriageway of the A465 (T) and leap any traffic they encountered.
The ‘Invincibles’ raced up the Heads of Valleys oblivious to danger like Greek Warriors on their way to ‘Elysium Fields’.
In triumph, they sniffed more and more quantities of amphetamines on the two mile uphill stretch towards Baverstocks ‘Watchtower’ Hotel and the County Line.
In the distance behind them, the Aberdare Plods had heard about the melee and wanted to catch the Merthyr thugs before they escaped their jurisdiction.
It was neck and neck, as the drug fuelled trio raced passed the Llwydcoed Crematorium entrance towards the roundabout near the crest of the hill.
The blue light flashed above on the state of the art Austin Allegro Panda Car that was the Cynon Valley ‘pursuit vehicle’.
The three coppers peddling as fast as they could up the steep hill.
Standing just inside the Merthyr boundary next to the County Borough sign , the three thugs taunted their pursuers.
But Snake Valley had its revenge on the boys…well on Richard ‘Hannibal’ Stevens anyway.
“ Stop …right there!” said Inspector Gadgett through his megaphone three feet away from the thugs.
“ We didn’t do it!” snarled Richard Stevens, someone else’s nostril part sticking out from the gap in his teeth.
“ We weren’t involved in that fight on the Hirwaun roundabout nor that fire at that pub in Cwmaman !” said Fast Eddie fessing to the fuzz by accident.
“ We caught you on camera boys!” said the three Bow Street Runners that had been in the car.
“ Bollox!” said Kellog.
“ Taking drugs on our turf…!” said the copper.
“ Amphetamine in tablet form is legal!” said Richard ‘Hannibal’ Stevens…
” I know because my granny sells her prescription ones on the estate !” he said swallowing more body parts than a Jordan video.
“ Ah but you took all your drugs in one go didn’t you…there are AVERAGE speed cameras now on the A465(T) ….!” laughed the inspector pointing up at the sign.
“ Your nicked!” he said.
“ You can’t touch us…we’re in Merthyr now!” said Richards ‘Hannibal’ Stevens accidentally spitting a lip out at the Inspector.
“ Less of your lip son….you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time!” said Gadget as he gave the pre-arranged signal to his men.
“ Fire the tasers!”
The three Iron Warriors convulsed, as they were drawn back over the county line by a combination of the electric wires and involuntary body convulsions.
The three men covered in petrol suddenly caught fire from the spark.
“We are a reasonable force ….using reasonable force!” said the boys in blue.
“ Hard lesson boys…. but you can never beat the ‘man’ …one consolation at least you Iron Warriors went out in a blaze of glory!”
“ It’s my birthday !” said Gadgett waiting for the boys to drop to the ground and roll.
“ Do you want to blow out the candles or me?”