Old hatred that goes with the territory

Joe became the unofficial leader of his own little patch of Castlemilk when his older brother drifted out of the scene after his girlfriend fell pregnant and responsibilities beckoned. Fatherhood didn't save his brother, though, from a hit-and-run car attack. ``They hit him, then reversed over him. He's OK though. He's tough. It's all been tit for tat for years. You attack them, they attack you. Now all the wee brothers are in on it.''

Fights are regular and, he insists, unavoidable. ``It's because I stand up to them. Last night this **** pulled two kitchen knives out on me. My bird had to hold me back from killing him.''

The gangs of the city of Glasgow have a long, bloody history, starting with the penny mob gangs of the 1870s, when they were referred to as ``keelies'', which means ``hooligans''. The territories that were divided up at this time lasted for the next century as the razor gangs of the twenties bred successive generations of sons to take their places. R G MacCallum's controversial history of street gangs in the city, Tongs Ya Bas, says Glasgow has seen more than 600 gangs during the past 150 years.

But today's gangs are not as they were. No longer do 200 teenage boys meet at a pre-arranged spot armed with knives, ready to commence battle. Old names such as the Bundy, Torran Toi, Drummy, Aggro and Skin Heads are still used by groups, but as a loose definition of where they live.

Extreme violence still occurs, all the more chilling for its casualness. It's 12-year-old kids playing ``chasies'' with knives - a schoolyard game played on the streets during the summer when light nights, boredom and cheap drink build tensions which are released by the ``buzz'' of ``us versus them''. Confrontations are preceded by rumour, speculation and recollections of an enemy's last hateful act against ``us''.

But at the night's end it's often a pack of boys in baseball caps, single-hoop earrings, white Nike trainers and tracksuit bottoms, chasing a boy with a different postal address.

In Easterhouse, which still boasts gangs such as the Drummy, Aggro, Torran Toi and Bar Toi, police are each night mounting heavy disorder patrols, involving marked and unmarked cars, 20 officers and mounted police, just to clamp down on gang fights before the summer holidays. When asked if the horses were effective, one teenager said: ``Well my mate's begonias are coming along well, his da's been using horse crap on the garden.''

The figures, however, are encouraging. On the first week of the operation - christened ``Lone Ranger'' by the gangs - police arrested an average of 12 youths each night for disturbances. This has now fallen to two per night. However, the type of weapons confiscated in increased stop-and-searches remains disturbing. Meat cleavers, machetes, butchers' knives and daggers. Malcolm, 15, is a tiny boy who talks big. He runs with the Drummy and says he's been in a ``few fights''. He uses his fists and feet, maybe a bottle or his belt. ``You cannae carry anything these days, it's too jail-bait,'' he says.

His area is near St Leonard's Secondary School, north of the Lochend football pitches that generally lie unused, except as a battleground. It's too dangerous at night: a crowd kicking a ball is asking for trouble. Malcolm was last arrested three weeks ago for beating up, with his mate, a lad from Aggro round at the Lochend shops.

He lay in the cells, unconcerned for a few hours, before his mother collected him. ``She just said: `You again, you bastard.''' He got no pocket money, but was out of the house the next day. Another pal, Thomas, 15, explained how fights begin. ``The Aggro give us grief. They just act wide-o singing their gang names, so we attack.'' Neither lad would hesitate to attack a teenager from a rival scheme. ``They'd dae it to us.''

Half a mile down the road, Mathew, 18, is talking about chasing Drummy boys with a hatchet. He didn't catch them. But would he have used it? ``Aye! They'd have done it to me. We hate them.'' The question seems stupid to him. The next night he coshed a boy with a plank of wood, revenge for his mate, who had been attacked with a scaffolding pole. Strictly speaking, Mathew's not Aggro. He's Den Toi, but both gangs formed an alliance, against the Drummy.

Alan is just 12, and has been running around on the fringes for two years. ``Some people say it's some laugh when the police come and chase you. It's exciting. And if you catch one of the Drummy on the pitches, everyone just lays in and batters them, and all that. So you try and just get into it. You get addicted, but I'm trying to get out. Too many polis.''

Talk of addiction can be dismissed as a child's use of a media buzz-word. As soon as he says it, his friends claim addiction too. However, it does address the point that gangs are a social life that it is hard to leave. Even the limited social facilities of Easterhouse are divided down territorial lines. No teenagers from outside areas will use the swimming pool which sits in Drummy's heartland.

Across town in Castlemilk the Machrie Fleet gang can be found between 6pm and 10.30pm, Monday to Friday, on Machrie Street, playing football or hanging out in the mouth of a close, smoking dope from a bong they hide up another close. Each weekend Barry and David and the crew may be there all night, drunk, wasted or wanting to fight.

None of them live in the area. Instead, they're drawn from Castlemilk Drive or the Birgadale houses to carry on a distant gang name, guarding what they feel is their parents' old territory. ``Our parents used to be in this gang,'' said David, 18, sitting on the steps.

The Machrie Fleeto began hanging out at Castlemilk secondary School and were quickly banned from youth clubs and centres for disruptive behaviour.

There is no big boss. ``We've no leader, it's just all mates, nae colours either, it's no America.'' Neither are the gangs drawn along religious lines. A fight is usually straight without blades. ``Hands and feet will dae us. We can win that way. Or maybe a cosh or a baseball bat if it gets too heavy, know what I mean, if we find out the rivals are carrying. You get the odd square go. But it's no like you cannae walk where you like. It used to be like that but we've grown up now.''

Football, the arena marked out-of-bounds in Easterhouse, proved a point of contact in Castlemilk. The Community workers who operate from St Margaret Mary Secondary School kicked round the idea of an 11-aside football match between the Stravanan boys and the Downcraig lads, and both gangs ran with it.

Mutual fundraising paid for the hire of the pitch, with enough left for a visit to the local burger bar afterwards. The night passed peacefully, even though Stravanan won 9-8. ``We were worried a bit about what might be in their bags beside football boots,'' said Jim Fay, a community worker. ``But it was fine.''

At one point the Machrie Fleeto arrived to chuck stones, but stayed, watched, and eventually asked for a game. However each step forward seems to be marked by a slide back. Joe wants a re-match against the Downcraig - at paintball.

``We'll slay them.''