Hooligan Nights

The Hooligan Nights
by Clarence Rook
1899
Being the Life and Opinions of a Young and Impertinent Criminal
Recounted by Himself and Set Forth by Clarence Rook
Introduction to the 1899 edition
This is neither a novel, nor in any sense a work of imagination.
Whatever value or interest the following chapters possess must come
from the fact that their hero has a real existence. I have tried to set forth,
as far as possible in his own words, certain scenes from the life of a
young criminal with whom I chanced to make acquaintance, a boy who
has grown up in the midst of those who gain their living on the crooked,
who takes life and its belongings as he finds them, and is not in the
least ashamed of himself.
My introduction to young Alf came about in this wise: Mr Grant
Richards, the publisher, one day showed me some sheets of manuscript
which he said might interest me. They did. They contained certain
confessions and revelations of a boy who professed to be a leader of
Hooligans. But what interested me most was the engaging personality
behind these confessions, and I asked Mr Richards to bring us together.
A meeting was arranged, and I was not disappointed. This led to other
meetings, during which I became so interested in young Alf that it
occurred to me to place him on record, thinking that you would not be
unwilling to have a photograph of the young man who walks to and fro
in your midst, ready to pick your pocket, rifle your house, and even
bash you in a dark corner if it is made worth his while. For young Alf is
not unique. His views are the views of a section of Londoners that
would suffice to people--say Canterbury. They live in certain more or

less well-defined areas, but their business quarter is the metropolis with
its suburbs, and the warfare that they wage is constant and pitiless.
I do not know that there is any particular moral to be drawn from this
book, and in any case I shall leave you to draw it for yourself. But
please do not accuse it of being immoral. When the Daily Chronicle
published portions of the history of young Alf early in the year the
editor received numerous complaints from well-meaning people who
protested that I had painted the life of a criminal in alluring colours.
They forgot, I presume, that young Alf was a study in reality, and that
in real life the villain does not invariably come to grief before he has
come of age. Poetic justice demands that young Alf should be very
unhappy; as a matter of fact, he is nothing of the sort. And when you
come to think of it, he has had a livelier time than the average clerk on
a limited number of shillings a week. He does not know what it is to be
bored. Every day has its interests, and every day has its possibility of
the unexpected, which is just what the steady honest worker misses. He
need not consider appearances, being indeed more concerned for his
disappearances, he has ample leisure, and each job he undertakes has
the excitement of novelty and the promise of immediate and usually
generous reward. It would, I think, be very difficult to persuade young
Alf that honesty is the best policy. I am not responsible for the
constitution of the universe; and if under the present conditions of life a
Lambeth boy can get more fun by going sideways than by going
straight, I cannot help it. I do not commend the ways of my young
friend, or even apologize for them. I simply set him before you as a fact
that must be dealt with. Young Alf has interested me hugely, and I trust
he will not bore you.
Clarence Rook

Chapter 1
Young Alf
On this particular occasion we met by appointment at the Elephant and

Castle. He had a kip in the vicinity; that is, there was a bed, which was
little better than a board, in one of those places where your welcome
extends from sunset to sunrise; and to this he had recurred for some
five nights in succession. For some reason or other he was unwilling to
conduct me to his precise address for the current week. So we met, by
appointment, where the omnibuses converge and separate to their
destinations in all parts of South London, on the kerbstone at the
Elephant.
I was in a sense a pilgrim. Good Americans, when they come to
London, may be seen peering in Bolt Court and eating their dinner at
the Cheshire Cheese. I was bound on an expedition to the haunts of a
more recent celebrity