Who If Not Me?

Hey love, youve got to hear this one about the old block down in the suburbs of Manchester, the little fivestorey council tower where everyone knew Gran Ethel May. She was short, wiry, with silver hair tied up tight, and she shuffled around the courtyard with a stick, but she moved so briskly the kids could never catch up.

Gran had lived there since the building went up, knew every single neighbour, and they all respected her not just because she was old, but because she had a razorsharp tongue and an iron will. Whenever someone ran into trouble, Gran Mum (thats what we all called her) was the first to lend a hand, and if anyone broke the peace she was the first to lay down the law.

One day a new family moved in a young couple with a teenage son. The lad, Tommy, quickly fell in with a gang of other mischiefmakers, and soon the courtyard turned into chaos: broken light bulbs in the stairwell, vulgar graffiti on the walls, and once even a smashed window in the basement where Gran kept a bunch of rescued cats.

Tommy wasnt just a troublemaker; he was a proper prankster with a twisted imagination. One minute hed stretch fishing line between the trees to make cyclists tumble, the next hed toss surprises from neighbours dogs into the sandbox. His parents would sigh, just a phase, but Gran didnt buy it.

Oi, Tommy! she called out one morning when he was trying to strap a firecracker to a bench. Come over here, love.

What do you want? he muttered, but shuffled over.

Are you a clever lad? she asked.

Well he scowled.

Because I can see youve been up to your usual nonsense. Smart kids dont act like that.

Leave me be!

Cant do that. If not me, wholl give you the straight talk?

He huffed, but took the firecracker down.

The next day Gran caught him in the act again this time he was spraying a profane word on the garage wall with a marker.

Oh dear, she said, smiling. Looks like weve got an artist.

What? Isnt it brilliant? Tommy grinned cheekily.

Brilliant, Gran agreed. Except the garage owner, Uncle Colin, is due back from work any minute. If he sees you

I dont care!

Fine then, she sighed. Just know this if Uncle Colin doesnt give you a proper slap, I will.

Tommy snorted, tossed the marker, and fled.

That night Uncle Colin, redfaced with anger, stormed around the courtyard, belt in hand.

Who did this? he roared.

Tommy hid behind a corner, but Gran was already standing beside him.

So, little artist, you gonna run or own up?

Hell kill me! Tommy squeaked.

Did you think scribbling would be without consequences?

In the end Tommy spent the evening cleaning the garage under Uncle Colins watchful eye and Grans supervision.

See? she said once the job was done. Now the garages spotless and youre still breathing. Couldve been worse.

Yeah, whatever Tommy muttered, but his swagger had faded.

Time went on. Tommy still caused mischief, but not with the same reckless gusto. One afternoon Gran spotted him pushing the younger kids around the courtyard.

Doing this again? she asked sternly.

Theyre the ones starting it!

Youre older now. You should be smarter.

What am I supposed to do with them?

Dont chase them. Teach them something.

What?

She thought for a moment. Maybe show them how to play football. Or a game of British Bulldog.

Theyre tiny!

Give it a go.

Reluctantly Tommy fetched a ball from his flat. Half an hour later the courtyard erupted in laughter he was teaching the little ones how to take penalty kicks.

From then on Tommy changed a bit. Not a saint, of course, but no longer the little devil everyone tried to avoid. When Gran broke her arm later, it was Tommy who hauled the groceries from the local shop for her.

Feeling better, Tommy? she teased.

Just so you dont have to yell at me, he mumbled.

Everyone in the block knew Gran could be strict, but she was fair, and thats why people listened. Because if not her, who would?

Summer rolled around. Tommy stopped hassling the youngsters now theyd trail behind him, calling him big brother. He showed them how to hammer nails, fix bikes, and even set up a secret club with a password and the motto: Real men dont bully they protect the weak!

One day Gran, perched on the bench, watched Tommy break up a fight between two lads.

Arthurs a wimp! one shouted. Beat him up!

No need for fists, Tommy said, stepping between them. Lets sort this out properly.

Gran smiled.

So, Tommy, she called after the dust settled. Almost a hero now, are we?

Come off it, Gran, he blushed. Theyre just a bunch of daft kids.

Youre grown up now.

Tommy paused, thinking.

Gran, why did you bother with me? I was a proper terror.

Because I saw the person you could be.

What about the others?

Most would just shout and walk away. I I was like you once, you know.

Tommy widened his eyes.

No way!

Yep. Even got hauled off to the police once.

And then?

Then an old bloke told me, Girl, youre clever. Why waste it on nonsense? That stuck with me.

Tommy chuckled.

So now Ive got to think too?

You already are. I can see it.

He lowered his gaze.

Gran, what if I slip up again?

You wont. And if you do, youll fix it.

Since then Tommy became the goto bloke in the courtyard. He helped the elderly, repaired the swing set, and even convinced his mates not to litter. When Gran fell ill again, he visited daily with meds and the latest gossip.

Youve spoiled me rotten, Tommy, shed grouch, but her eyes twinkled.

Its my pleasure, Gran, hed reply.

Eventually a new kid moved in, a little scamp just like Tommy had been a couple of years back.

Hey, lad! Tommy called out. Come over here

Gran, still on her bench, gave a quiet smile.

And who, if not him, would keep the block together?