Ben Kersley

SNOWBALL FIGHT

It snowed very heavily one year.
I was in the second or third year at school and snow meant snowball fighting. At my school this was on an epic scale. The sixth formers, stick.
They were dressed like paramilitaries: balaclavas, scarves tied round their faces, rugby shirts over their uniforms and trousers tucked into socks in combat boots.
An hour before lunch break they rolled enormous snow balls into a row to create a massive snow barricade. When the rest of the school came out it was them against us, like a medieval battle of the well armed, well prepared few versus the underlings whose only strength was in our numbers.
We became bolder and bolder, lobbing snowballs at the big kids. But they knew what they were doing. When we eventually ventured close enough, they charged with a gutteral war cry. One or two boys were not quick enough and were dragged back to the barricade and set upon.
These boys emerged, winded, wet, bedraggled and red-faced with snow down the trousers and up the pulled out shirt, some without shoes. They skulked inside to wring out their pride before afternoon maths where they would try and get a seat by the radiator.

Ben Kersley