As promised, the line was drawn down the middle of our street. Someone said young Billy did it, late last night, using some green paint he’d found in his dad’s old shed. It wasn’t a very straight line, far from it, but it would do.
As the sun rose over the terraced houses, we gathered out of sight, armed with our bricks and bottles. We stood there silently, eyes firmly fixed on that green line.
Before long those on the other side, with their armoured visors and long handled truncheons, would try to cross it.
When they did we’d be ready.