There was a short fight in the middle school playground between Wilton (whose jacket I held) and some big kid named Saxon (two kids held his coat).
What it was about I don't know, but Wilton squared up to Saxon and Saxon stood like a barn door, waiting.
A crowd of kids gathered chanting: fight, fight, fight.
I watched as they began to wrestle each other, but Saxon being stronger, pushed Wilton to the ground.
I helped him up saying, Box don't wrestle.
He threw a couple of punches which hit the big kid's arm; Saxon threw a wide punch which caught Wilton on the chest and he went down.
I helped him up saying, Move in close and gut him.
He moved in close, weaving past Saxon's pathetic defences, and drove his right into the big kid's gut, and Saxon winced and just as he was about to retaliate, two prefects came and hauled both kids off to the head master, after we handed them their coats.
The girls in the playground never came to watch the fight: they played skip-rope or hop-scotch.
The boys dispersed back to their games, and I walked with Jupp taking about the rumble, but I couldn't understand what he said half the time because of his mumble.