Dear Diary,
Everyone in the courtyards of the old tenstorey council block on the outskirts of Manchester knew Mrs. Ethel Thompson. She was short, wiry, with silver hair pulled into a tight bun, and she moved around the grounds with a wooden stick, but so sprightly that the youngsters could never catch up with her.
Ethel had lived in that building ever since it was first erected, remembered every resident by name, and they, in turn, respected hernot merely for her age but for her sharp tongue and iron will. Whenever a neighbour fell on hard times, Gran Ethel was the first to lend a hand; whenever someone tried to stir up trouble, she was the first to set them straight.
One summer a new family moved ina young couple with a teenage son. The boy, called Harry, quickly fell in with a gang of mischiefmakers, and the courtyard descended into chaos: shattered bulbs in the stairwell, lewd graffiti on the walls, and once even a broken window in the basement where the resident catlover tended to her rescued felines.
Harry wasnt just a ragtag hooligan; he had a twisted imagination. One day he stretched fishing line between the trees to make cyclists tumble, the next he slipped surprises from neighbour dogs into the sandpit. His parents sighed, Its just a phase, but Ethel was having none of it.
Hey, Harry! she called one crisp morning as he tried to strap a firecracker to the bench. Come over here, now.
What do you want? the teen grumbled, but shuffled over.
Are you a clever lad?
Um Harry scowled.
Im watching, and I see your foolishness. A clever boy wouldnt act like that.
Leave me be!
I wont. If not me, wholl give you the truth?
Harry twisted his face, but he did remove the firecracker.
The next day Ethel caught him in the act againspraying a vulgar word on the garage wall with a spraycan.
Oh dear, she sighed. A budding artist, I see.
What? It looks good to me! Harry sneered.
It may look good, but the garage owner, Uncle Colin, will be back from work any minute. If he catches you
I dont care! Harry snapped.
Fine then, Ethel replied, exhaling. Just remember: if Uncle Colin doesnt punish you, I will.
He snorted, tossed the can, and fled.
That evening Uncle Colin, redfaced with fury, stormed round the courtyard, brandishing his belt.
Who did this?
Harry ducked behind a pillar, but Ethel was already standing beside him.
So, artist? Running away or will you own up?
Hell kill me! he wailed.
Did you think a little scribble would be without consequence?
In the end Harry spent the afternoon scrubbing the garage under Uncle Colins watchful eye and Ethels stern supervision.
There, she said once the job was done. The garage is clean and youre still breathing. It could have been worse.
Go on then Harry muttered, the bravado gone from his tone.
Time passed. Harry still caused mischief, but not with the same reckless abandon. One day Ethel saw him chasing the younger kids in the yard.
Again, are you? she asked sharply.
Theyre the ones who start it!
Youre older now. You should be wiser.
What am I supposed to do with them?
Dont chase them. Teach them something instead.
Harry stared at her.
What?
Ethel thought a moment. You could show them how to play football, or teach them a game of Cops and Robbers.
Theyre tiny!
Give it a go.
Reluctantly he fetched a ball from his flat. Half an hour later the courtyard echoed with laughter as he coached the littles on taking penalties.
From then on Harry changed. He wasnt a saint, but he was no longer the little devil everyone avoided. When Ethel broke her wrist, it was Harry who lugged her groceries from the shop.
Feeling better, Harry? she teased.
Just so you dont have to shout at me, he mumbled.
Everyone in the block knew Ethel could be strict, but she was fair, and thats why people listened.
Because if not her, who would?
Summer faded. Harry stopped chasing the kids; now they ran after him, calling him big brother. He taught them how to hammer nails, fix bicycles, and even started a secret club in the yard with a password and a motto: Real blokes protect the weak, not bully.
One afternoon, while sitting on the bench, Ethel watched Harry break up a scuffle between two younger boys.
Tommys a weakling! one shouted. Hit him!
No fighting, Harry said firmly, planting himself between them. Lets settle this properly.
Ethel smiled.
Well, Harry, she called after the boys dispersed, youre almost a hero now, arent you?
Come off it, Gran, he blushed. Theyre just silly kids.
Youre growing up.
Harry paused, a flicker of thought crossing his face.
Gran, why did you fuss with me? I was a right troublemaker.
Because I saw the man inside you.
Did nobody else?
Others found it easier to yell. I, she winked, was the same sort of thing in my youth.
Harry widened his eyes.
No way!
Sure, but worse. They even handed me over to the police once.
And then?
Then an old cop told me, Youre clever, girl. Why waste it on nonsense? That stuck with me.
Harry laughed.
So now I have to think too?
You already are. I see it.
He lowered his head.
Gran, what if I slip up again?
You wont slip. And if you do, make it right.
Since then Harry became the goto lad in the courtyard. He helped the elderly, repaired the swings, and even convinced his mates not to litter. When Ethel fell ill again, he visited daily, bringing meds and the latest gossip.
Youve spoiled me, Harry, she grumbled, though her eyes twinkled.
Im just raising you, he retorted.
One day a new boy arrived, a fresh bundle of mischief much like Harry was a couple of years ago.
Hey, lad! Harry called. Come over here
Ethel, perched on the bench, smiled quietly to herself.
Who, if not him?
