My name is Alphie and this is my story. I was born on January 1st 1900. Mother was proud to have given birth on the first day of a new century. She said it made me extra special. One things for sure, my life has anything but ordinary. However, my childhood years were predictable and full of hardship. We lived in a back to back terrace in the village of Thornton. My auntie Aggie was ever so jealous. She lived in the heart of Bradford, surrounded by factories and those foul chimneys that pumped out filth every day bar the sabbath. She often complained that washing clothes was a complete waste of time. No sooner had she hung them out than they were grey with soot. She would have given her right arm to live in the fresh air of our village.

I was the seventh born in our family. Two more would follow. Dad worked as a coalman. He worked twelve or fourteen hours a day depending on how the horse was pulling and whether Charlie Baxter-his boss had bothered to feed the poor beast that day. To be honest, I don't think I ever really knew my dad. He came in black and exhausted every evening. He would eat his dinner and often as not, fall into bed without bothering to wash. This drove my mother insane; she hated the stains on the bedding. But for dad, the effort of putting on endless kettles to wash, only to get blackened up again the next day seemed like a monumental waste of time.

Mum used to work, in between having babies. I never understood why she needed so many. Nine kids, can you imagine trying to find food for eleven mouths every day? As I was saying, mum would sometimes work in the mills. She would set off at four each morning to get there for five am. This would save a few bob and go towards her meagre housekeeping, of which there was never enough. My eldest sister Charlotte was given the job of looking after the babies, while the rest of us would attend the local school, which I hated. The teachers were quite mad; many of them not fit to be allowed near children. They ruined many of us with their hateful ways. We were expected to follow their every word. As if that wasn't harsh enough, we had to contend with the bullies too.

I'd noticed one thing about the toughs or bullies, they usually came from the poorest, and invariably, largest families. One in particular, the Halpins had emigrated from Glasgow, fourteen in all. Their dad was drunk the moment he left the factory gates and what a temper he had. He'd almost killed a man for not apologising to him after spilling his mug of ale. This all happened in the Old Crown one bawdy Friday night, and was the gossip for months after. Halpin asked no questions, he simply dragged the poor unfortunate soul out into Ivegate by his hair and kicked him up-not down, but up the hill. By the time he'd finished with him he was barely recognisable. The Peelers were called but it wasn't until they had nine officers there that they were able to make the arrest.

When Halpin was sent to prison the family lost their breadwinner. I saw a change in John and Ross. Normally they were sadistic, now-thanks to the privations caused by their fathers' imprisonment, they turned into complete animals. It was normal for them to steal other kid's jock boxes, those who were lucky enough to have a bit of bread for dinner. Refusing them wasn't an option. Their victims were often too terrified to explain to their bemused parents the source of their cuts and bruises-for fear of repeated attacks. But as I said, they had changed. Nowadays, those attacks were becoming increasingly vicious, and devoid of any motive. Walking home from school was a test of nerves. They would hunt in a devilish pair, but to evade them was only delaying the inevitable.

I remember my one and only encounter with them when I was ten years old, a day that would change my life forever. They had taunted me all day with threats. I was so terrified; I was unable to think straight. I could feel the fear in my stomach rising as three o-clclock neared. When the bell finally sounded I was close to tears. By the time I had reached the school gates, there they were there waiting for me.

The brothers came over and put their arms around me, smiling like it was the last day of term. This was just an act for the benefit of the handful of mothers who bothered to collect their youngsters from school. No sooner had we rounded the corner than one of them threw a punch at me. A white flash exploded in my head, followed by a moment of shock. For a split second I thought, that didn't hurt. Then a dam of pain burst forth, so intense that I almost threw up. My first reaction was to shake loose of Ross's grip and to run for my life. I gave it all I could. But they were older and faster than me. I cleared a flight of snicket steps in one jump and landed on a long cobbled street that ran downwards towards the village. I took off again, like a man possessed, weaving and dodging the endless rows of washing lines that were stretched across the street, the local residents taking advantage of a rare autumn sun. But it was the coal cinders that were my undoing. As I ran full tilt I put my arm up to avoid colliding with someone's woollen blankets and stood on a piece of coal. My front right leg went out from under me and down I went. As I hit the floor I felt a searing pain in left my knee. I sat looking at the flap of skin and the gentle trickle of blood that was weaving down my leg. It fascinated and repulsed me at the same time.

Directly behind me I could hear the hammering of two pairs of clogs closing in. My stomach tightened further at the sound of them cursing me with their alien sounding broad Glaswegian accents. This brought me back to my senses and I stood up-only to be knocked back down by a battery of fists. As soon as I hit the floor I instinctively curled up into a ball. This seemed to be a cue for the Halpins to put the boot in. They rained countless blows in to my body. I felt pain in my ribs, my head, my kidneys, everywhere. The pain was unbelievable. After a while it became a single throbbing agony that seemed to push me towards unconsciousness. But then that I realised, they couldn't hurt me any more. I had reached my pain threshold. Each fresh boot felt the same as the last. Every fist had already been endured. I unravelled out of my protective ball and lay prostrate, looking up at them. They kicked a little less harder now. I shouted, "What's wrong lads, not up to the job?"

They looked at each other confused and began kicking harder again. I was covered in blood. I could feel it running down the back of my neck and onto my shirt. I battled against the blows and got to my feet. I must have looked an awful state, I could hardly open my eyes on account of the blood an bruising. I screamed, "Is that it, is that all you have to offer you weak, pathetic bastards. I want more, hit me harder, show me what you've got."

I felt an inner surge of hatred and power take hold of me. My head burned with anger, the pain I'd felt moments before was a distant memory. My whole body was shaking, I had nothing to lose. Ross and his brother had stopped hitting me now. They looked at each other, wondering what to do next. I pushed the bigger of the two, Ross and demanded that he hit me again. I kept pushing him, staring into his eyes. He looked unsure of himself and backed off. "Ach, ye've had y'r kickin Alf. Jus' leave it will ye."

Just then I noticed a stout length of wood on the ground. Quick as a flash I picked it up and launched it into the side of Ross's head with all my might. The impact made a dull, sickening thud. He fell like a sack of spuds. I followed up with a boot to his head, that flipped backwards on impact. But it was the look of defeat and fear in his eyes that told me he had no intention of reacting. It was at this point that I knew the tide had turned. I screamed at him to get up but he refused to move. So I kicked him again and again. I turned round and screamed at his brother, "Do you want some, eh?" He was petrified, his only reaction was to shrink away in fear. I drew back the wood to belt him and he turned to run. I gave chase and floored him by sticking the stick between his legs and gave him some bitter medicine. By now my body was a boiling cauldron of adrenalin, hell bent on revenge. How sweet when the hunted becomes the hunter. Rather than indulge you with every gory detail I can assure you they got their come uppance. And while yes, I came off the worse in terms of lacerations, concussion and blood loss, I had won a different battle that day. I conquered fear; I learned to never ever be submissive again. I vowed from that day forth to never, ever shrink back from any threat or challenge. That fateful day set off a chain of events that would shape and govern my whole outlook on life forevermore.

By the time I neared my home a small crowd of kids had gathered around me. They were excited and repulsed by my injuries. They flocked around me, obsessed. "What 'appened Alfie, has tha bin 'it by train?" Or, "Eeh look at yon cuts on 'is 'ed. Thass'll scar up a treat." I screamed for them to back off, which they did. People were used to the quiet, happy go lucky Alfie, the one who would run errands for free. But that Alfie had been kicked out of me, in its place were the seeds of a new and stronger person. I looked at the motley crew arranged before me. A crew of raggedy arsed no hopers who were destined for the mills of Bradford. Devoid of ambition, servants who would scrape and crawl all their lives. In that moment I felt so sorry for them, a generation who's fate was already a certainty. I wasn't sure how or why, but I just knew things were going to be different, and those cursed mills would never have my soul.