I guess it's about time I told you all about my criminal conviction for terrorist activities, isn't it? (Christ, that's a good sentence to start a blog with!!!).
This all occurred a long time ago when I was at the tender age of 14/15, and still fascinated, as boys tend to be, with making explosions. It all started innocently enough. You remember those strips of caps you used to be able to get for toy guns, with the little circles of gunpowder? Well, we used to strip those out with a penknife, make a small pile and drop a rock on it. This was quite entertaining, and we experimented with larger and larger piles. We finally went all out and made a massive pile of gunpowder on the floor of the school toilets, left our friend to drop the rock, and almost died of hysteria when the ensuing explosion nearly took out the windows, produced a huge cloud of smoke and must have been heard a mile away! Our friend emerged looking like Stan Laurel, with a sooty face, his hair stood on end, and various cuts where the stone had shattered.
We moved on. This time to copper tubes filled with powdered weedkiller, and crumbled matchheads, and sealed at both ends. We'd light a paraffin soaked rag in an old sardine tin, lie the tube over it, and run like mad. You didn't want to be anywhere near when the ripped copper tube went barrelling randomly through the air!!! These were fantastic explosions, and resulted in our first police callout, as we set one off near where the army was dredging a park lake for old munitions.
But. One of our small group, and for the life of me I can't remember which, suggested that it would be incredibly funny if we planted a hoax bomb. In Blackburn Town Hall. Please note, if one of your friends ever suggests anything like this, just ignore them.
We left our home-made device on the thirteenth floor of the town hall (the tall building below)...
...and one of my friends rang the local evening paper to inform them there was a bomb there. This was also NOT A GOOD IDEA, in case anyone is in any doubt by this point.
We thought someone would come along, find it, have a mild heart flutter, and then chuck the thing in the bin. No. They evacuated and cordoned off the whole of the shopping mall in the town centre, including the town hall and surrounding buildings. They called in the bomb disposal squad from Liverpool, about 30 miles away. And, before carrying out a controlled explosion on the 'bomb', the commander of the squad said it was the most sophisticated device he had ever seen.
Our sophisticated device consisted of an old shoe box, half a house brick for ballast, an alarm clock set to go off at 4pm, and some switches from an old video game sticking out of the lid.
Not being members of a sophisticated terror organisation, we were quickly rounded up. I remember my Dad's expression walking into that police station. It basically said, 'One wrong word from you, my lad, and I will knock seven shades of shit out of you'. We were in BIG trouble.
In order to smooth the ground leading up to our court appearance, I wrote letters of apology to all the traders who had lost business that day, plus the Lady Mayoress for ruining her Bring and Buy Sale. But some things you can't legislate for. We had hoped that the controlled explosion would have wiped out most of the evidence, so when the prosecutor detailed the message they had found in the bottom of the box, saying 'Suckers!', that's the point you wish a hole would just open up and swallow you!
Amazingly, we got away with a fine and community service. And didn't get expelled from school either (for which I was particularly relieved, as my parents had done the rounds and got me lined up for a boarding school at the other end of the county). We were lucky in that it was not a high terrorist period in which we'd carried this out, I guess. Even the IRA was quite quiet at that time. I reckon if we'd done it now, we'd probably have been extraordinarily rendered somewhere!
I'm not sure there is any high faluting lesson to be drawn from this, other than don't be a fucking idiot if you can help it. But I still get called 'Bomber Mac' by people who bump into me in my parents' village. Which is not the most helpful tag to have these days really! And once my Dad had restrained himself from turning me into a smear on the police station wall, even he found something to laugh about. I suspect it was through gritted teeth though!
L x
This all occurred a long time ago when I was at the tender age of 14/15, and still fascinated, as boys tend to be, with making explosions. It all started innocently enough. You remember those strips of caps you used to be able to get for toy guns, with the little circles of gunpowder? Well, we used to strip those out with a penknife, make a small pile and drop a rock on it. This was quite entertaining, and we experimented with larger and larger piles. We finally went all out and made a massive pile of gunpowder on the floor of the school toilets, left our friend to drop the rock, and almost died of hysteria when the ensuing explosion nearly took out the windows, produced a huge cloud of smoke and must have been heard a mile away! Our friend emerged looking like Stan Laurel, with a sooty face, his hair stood on end, and various cuts where the stone had shattered.
We moved on. This time to copper tubes filled with powdered weedkiller, and crumbled matchheads, and sealed at both ends. We'd light a paraffin soaked rag in an old sardine tin, lie the tube over it, and run like mad. You didn't want to be anywhere near when the ripped copper tube went barrelling randomly through the air!!! These were fantastic explosions, and resulted in our first police callout, as we set one off near where the army was dredging a park lake for old munitions.
But. One of our small group, and for the life of me I can't remember which, suggested that it would be incredibly funny if we planted a hoax bomb. In Blackburn Town Hall. Please note, if one of your friends ever suggests anything like this, just ignore them.
We left our home-made device on the thirteenth floor of the town hall (the tall building below)...
...and one of my friends rang the local evening paper to inform them there was a bomb there. This was also NOT A GOOD IDEA, in case anyone is in any doubt by this point.
We thought someone would come along, find it, have a mild heart flutter, and then chuck the thing in the bin. No. They evacuated and cordoned off the whole of the shopping mall in the town centre, including the town hall and surrounding buildings. They called in the bomb disposal squad from Liverpool, about 30 miles away. And, before carrying out a controlled explosion on the 'bomb', the commander of the squad said it was the most sophisticated device he had ever seen.
Our sophisticated device consisted of an old shoe box, half a house brick for ballast, an alarm clock set to go off at 4pm, and some switches from an old video game sticking out of the lid.
Not being members of a sophisticated terror organisation, we were quickly rounded up. I remember my Dad's expression walking into that police station. It basically said, 'One wrong word from you, my lad, and I will knock seven shades of shit out of you'. We were in BIG trouble.
In order to smooth the ground leading up to our court appearance, I wrote letters of apology to all the traders who had lost business that day, plus the Lady Mayoress for ruining her Bring and Buy Sale. But some things you can't legislate for. We had hoped that the controlled explosion would have wiped out most of the evidence, so when the prosecutor detailed the message they had found in the bottom of the box, saying 'Suckers!', that's the point you wish a hole would just open up and swallow you!
Amazingly, we got away with a fine and community service. And didn't get expelled from school either (for which I was particularly relieved, as my parents had done the rounds and got me lined up for a boarding school at the other end of the county). We were lucky in that it was not a high terrorist period in which we'd carried this out, I guess. Even the IRA was quite quiet at that time. I reckon if we'd done it now, we'd probably have been extraordinarily rendered somewhere!
I'm not sure there is any high faluting lesson to be drawn from this, other than don't be a fucking idiot if you can help it. But I still get called 'Bomber Mac' by people who bump into me in my parents' village. Which is not the most helpful tag to have these days really! And once my Dad had restrained himself from turning me into a smear on the police station wall, even he found something to laugh about. I suspect it was through gritted teeth though!
L x
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
wsoxfan:
Thank you so much for your continued support and encouragement. It means more than you know.
secretary:
That story is pure brilliance my friend. x
x