Another weekend, another party. This time, the dad was there. I heard a girl screaming and crying. She yelled out to F--- off. There was a loud bang. Then silence. A little while later, I heard one of the guys yell out get the car. They backed a car into the driveway. I saw them carrying something out. One of the guys said, "Put her in. Put her in. Just do it." Then the car drove away.
The car came back a while later. All the guys went down the backyard and started talking. Of course, they were all drunk, so their talking, was my yelling. Their voices carried clearly. One of the guys said, "Let's get our story straight." They went on talking for a while and then someone said, they had taken her to Centenary Lakes (which is a local park near Caboolture). "We'll say a white man and a black man hit her," and then another said, "And, that she was gang raped."
A little while later, I heard one of the guys call out, "Just get rid of it." I saw something thrown over our fence and into our yard. Then one of the guys said, "get it." They then began kicking at our fence and trying to smash it down. I presumed so they could get the thing they had thrown over. At this stage, I yelled out at them. They all ran inside the house.
I called the police and told them what I had heard. The police apparently went to Centenary Lakes and couldn't find anyone there. They then called the hospital and found a girl there, who said she had been in Centenary Lakes, and had been raped and attacked by two men - a white man and a black man.
The police spoke to the father, who was so drunk he couldn't stand upright. Their story was that they had received a phone call from the girl, who had told them she been raped and attacked. She was in Centenary Lakes and would they come and get her. They said they then took her to the hospital.
The police spoke to the girl at the hospital who refused to change her story, refused to speak with them, and refused to lay any charges against anyone.
The police then advised me to take out a Peace and Good Behaviour Order against the neighbours.
Monday, 31 October 2011
Another Party
Another weekend, another party. We shut ourselves in the bedroom with the air conditioner and fans on, trying to shut out the noise to get some sleep. About 2.00am, we were woken with loud bangs. It sounded like someone was smashing our house. We flew out of bed, and looked outside. We soon discovered what was happening.
It wasn't our house that was being smashed, it was the neighbours. And, they were doing it! Yes. The neighbours were smashing up their own house. We couldn't believe what we were seeing. The boy next door was smashing in the back door of his house with his foot. He was halfway through the door. Another boy was smashing up the front tilt a door. And, we could hear someone else smashing a wall. The noise was unbelievable. It really sounded like they had been smashing our house.
We stayed up and watched for about an hour. Then, at 3.00 am we called the police. It was impossible to sleep with the loud bangs. There were about 50 - 100 kids at the house by this time and more were arriving. Three police cars turned up. The kids ran off in all directions when they saw the police arrive. The police went into the house and saw the damage the kids had done. They said to the boy, "that he was going to get it when mum and dad came home.'
The police left and all the kids came back. They began fighting on the road. We again called the police. Three police cars arrived again. All the kids ran off again as soon as they saw the police. When I phoned the police this time, I told them they had been smashing their house. The police said there was nothing they could do about it - because it was their house. The police left again.
A short time later, the kids arrived back. I again phoned the police. And, again three police arrived. This time however, one police car went round to the back street and managed to herd the kids back up the street. The police spent some time here chasing all the kids up the street and telling them to go home. Then, finally, they went into the neighbours house and officially shut the party down. The remaining kids were given a 'move on' order. The kids left the house yelling and abusing the police and saying they had done nothing wrong. The police said they had been called three times and this was the final time. Eventually, all the kids left, the police left and quiet descended on the street. But, by this time, the sun was up and the thought of sleep was impossible.
It wasn't our house that was being smashed, it was the neighbours. And, they were doing it! Yes. The neighbours were smashing up their own house. We couldn't believe what we were seeing. The boy next door was smashing in the back door of his house with his foot. He was halfway through the door. Another boy was smashing up the front tilt a door. And, we could hear someone else smashing a wall. The noise was unbelievable. It really sounded like they had been smashing our house.
We stayed up and watched for about an hour. Then, at 3.00 am we called the police. It was impossible to sleep with the loud bangs. There were about 50 - 100 kids at the house by this time and more were arriving. Three police cars turned up. The kids ran off in all directions when they saw the police arrive. The police went into the house and saw the damage the kids had done. They said to the boy, "that he was going to get it when mum and dad came home.'
The police left and all the kids came back. They began fighting on the road. We again called the police. Three police cars arrived again. All the kids ran off again as soon as they saw the police. When I phoned the police this time, I told them they had been smashing their house. The police said there was nothing they could do about it - because it was their house. The police left again.
A short time later, the kids arrived back. I again phoned the police. And, again three police arrived. This time however, one police car went round to the back street and managed to herd the kids back up the street. The police spent some time here chasing all the kids up the street and telling them to go home. Then, finally, they went into the neighbours house and officially shut the party down. The remaining kids were given a 'move on' order. The kids left the house yelling and abusing the police and saying they had done nothing wrong. The police said they had been called three times and this was the final time. Eventually, all the kids left, the police left and quiet descended on the street. But, by this time, the sun was up and the thought of sleep was impossible.
Another Party
Another weekend, the boy next door didn't want his pushbike anymore, so he threw it onto the road. Two utes (cars owned by friends of the boy), then ran over the pushbike. They did burnouts on the road. The music was so loud, I had to shut myself in the bedroom and put on the air conditioner and fans to try and drown it out. The drinking continued all weekend. The language could be heard all over the street.
Then the boy next door got onto his trail bike and roared up and down the road for a while. As he came down the road the last time, he was going way too fast, and tried to spin the bike around. It didn't work and he came off the bike. He didn't hurt himself, probably too drunk to feel it. But, the bike smashed into our driveway and dug out some concrete. Pieces of the bike lay on the road and on our footpath. All the boys were laughing and yahooing.
One of the boys then went to the road and using a mop, and a bucket of water, began scrubbing at the burn marks, that the cars had made from their burnouts. Surprisingly, a lot of it came off.
We spoke to a neighbour after this incident, who told us that one of our neighbours further down the street, was sick and tired of the boys smashing palings off her fence. She was on her own with her two small children, and was scared for her children and herself. So, she was moving.
A few days later, I spoke to another neighbour, who also said they were selling up and moving. They said they didn't want to leave Caboolture, but they had had enough of living here.
One of the neighbour pointed out the shoes hanging over the electricity line. I hadn't noticed them before. She told me that someone had told her that shoes over the line near a house meant that it was a drug house. A house that sold drugs. I hadn't heard that before. I mentioned it to the police, who said they also had heard of that before.
Another neighbour rang the local council to complain about the state of the road. The glass on the road was now pretty thick and she was worried that a child would walk on it. She also informed the council of the shoes on the line, and of the tags painted on the road. A few days later a council truck appeared. Two guys swept up the glass from the road, retrieved the shoes from the line and painted the tags on the road. The paint they used to paint over the tags however didn't work. As when the sun shines on the road, the tags can still be clearly seen. Also, the council guys ran out of paint halfway through, and left. So part of the tag is still clearly showing on the road.
Then the boy next door got onto his trail bike and roared up and down the road for a while. As he came down the road the last time, he was going way too fast, and tried to spin the bike around. It didn't work and he came off the bike. He didn't hurt himself, probably too drunk to feel it. But, the bike smashed into our driveway and dug out some concrete. Pieces of the bike lay on the road and on our footpath. All the boys were laughing and yahooing.
One of the boys then went to the road and using a mop, and a bucket of water, began scrubbing at the burn marks, that the cars had made from their burnouts. Surprisingly, a lot of it came off.
We spoke to a neighbour after this incident, who told us that one of our neighbours further down the street, was sick and tired of the boys smashing palings off her fence. She was on her own with her two small children, and was scared for her children and herself. So, she was moving.
A few days later, I spoke to another neighbour, who also said they were selling up and moving. They said they didn't want to leave Caboolture, but they had had enough of living here.
One of the neighbour pointed out the shoes hanging over the electricity line. I hadn't noticed them before. She told me that someone had told her that shoes over the line near a house meant that it was a drug house. A house that sold drugs. I hadn't heard that before. I mentioned it to the police, who said they also had heard of that before.
Another neighbour rang the local council to complain about the state of the road. The glass on the road was now pretty thick and she was worried that a child would walk on it. She also informed the council of the shoes on the line, and of the tags painted on the road. A few days later a council truck appeared. Two guys swept up the glass from the road, retrieved the shoes from the line and painted the tags on the road. The paint they used to paint over the tags however didn't work. As when the sun shines on the road, the tags can still be clearly seen. Also, the council guys ran out of paint halfway through, and left. So part of the tag is still clearly showing on the road.
Sunday, 30 October 2011
Gang Tags on Road
It was about this time that one morning we woke up and looked outside to find gang tags written on the road in white paint. I have included the photo of this on this blog, but will include it again here.
After some research on the Internet, I discovered what the tags meant. The tags were put there by a member of the East Side Crips gang. The Crips and Bloods are two gangs who are enemies. The gangs began in America and have now come to Australia. One area the gangs operate from is the Ipswich area. The second part of the tag - the BK means apparently Blood Killer. The 187 is the Californian Penal Code for Murder. It may be seen in Graffiti as a threat, that someone may be killed. (http://www.gangsorus.com/slang_numbers.html)
Members of the Crips and Bloods from the Logan and Woodridge areas have been arrested this year over assaults and robberies of train commuters between Beenleigh and South Bank. (http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/queensland/highschool-bloods/story-e6freoof-1111112201987?from=rss)
Naturally, when we found out this information, we were somewhat concerned, considering it was painted in large letters, on the road, right outside our house. We took the photos to the police station. Their reponse was, "Where was this painted?" And then, "No. We don't have a gang problem in Caboolture.
My response was astonishment to say the least. Could they not see the photo? Did they not understand what it meant? Apparently not. We even contacted an Inspector of Police. His response was the same. We don't have a gang problem in Caboolture.
Well, then, how do they explain the photo? Aren't they concerned at all? Our lives were being threatened. Didn't they care? No. They didn't. Why didn't they? Because absolutely nothing was done. Nothing. Am I angry? Yes. Can I do anything about it? No.
For weeks afterwards, we were extra cautious. We made certain the house was always locked. We shut windows and doors at night, even if it was hot. We installed security cameras, extra locks. Whatever we could to protect ourselves. We were basically living in fear. Of our neighbours.
After some research on the Internet, I discovered what the tags meant. The tags were put there by a member of the East Side Crips gang. The Crips and Bloods are two gangs who are enemies. The gangs began in America and have now come to Australia. One area the gangs operate from is the Ipswich area. The second part of the tag - the BK means apparently Blood Killer. The 187 is the Californian Penal Code for Murder. It may be seen in Graffiti as a threat, that someone may be killed. (http://www.gangsorus.com/slang_numbers.html)
Members of the Crips and Bloods from the Logan and Woodridge areas have been arrested this year over assaults and robberies of train commuters between Beenleigh and South Bank. (http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/queensland/highschool-bloods/story-e6freoof-1111112201987?from=rss)
Naturally, when we found out this information, we were somewhat concerned, considering it was painted in large letters, on the road, right outside our house. We took the photos to the police station. Their reponse was, "Where was this painted?" And then, "No. We don't have a gang problem in Caboolture.
My response was astonishment to say the least. Could they not see the photo? Did they not understand what it meant? Apparently not. We even contacted an Inspector of Police. His response was the same. We don't have a gang problem in Caboolture.
Well, then, how do they explain the photo? Aren't they concerned at all? Our lives were being threatened. Didn't they care? No. They didn't. Why didn't they? Because absolutely nothing was done. Nothing. Am I angry? Yes. Can I do anything about it? No.
For weeks afterwards, we were extra cautious. We made certain the house was always locked. We shut windows and doors at night, even if it was hot. We installed security cameras, extra locks. Whatever we could to protect ourselves. We were basically living in fear. Of our neighbours.
Baseball Bats
One night, about 3.00am, at one of the parties, there was about 50 - 100 kids at the house. A fight broke out. Some more guys arrived armed with baseball bats. There was a huge confrontation on the road outside our house. We called the police. The police told us that they had four other neighbours call about the fight as well. Two police cars arrived. The guys bolted in all directions.
The police stopped and talked to the son. They asked him what all the glass was on the road. He said he didn't know. They asked him what the fight was about. He said he didn't know. They asked him who was involved in the fight. He said he didn't know. So, the police left.
About 10 minutes later, the guys arrived back again and the fight was on again. We again rang the police. The police again arrived. The guys bolted again. The police left.
We again spoke to the father when he arrived home from the weekend away. He shrugged and asked his son was so and so here. The son replied yes. That was it. Apparently that meant something. It certainly didn't solve the problem though. The next weekend, the parents went away again and it was on again.
This continued for months. Every weekend, the parents would go away. Every weekend, from Friday night until Sunday afternoon, the kids took over the street. The other neighbours in the street, would lock their doors, shut the windows or go away themselves.
One neighbour spoke to me about the problem. She told me her husband had banned her from calling the police anymore. She said she was sorry she had moved here. She also asked me how on earth do we manage to live here? Which, was a very good question. But, I had no answers. We had gotten to the stage by now, that we hated the weekends. We hated leaving work Friday night and knowing what was ahead for the weekend. Everyone else at work would have great plans. Some would have friends over for a BBQ. Others planned a quiet weekend at home. We just dreaded it.
The police stopped and talked to the son. They asked him what all the glass was on the road. He said he didn't know. They asked him what the fight was about. He said he didn't know. They asked him who was involved in the fight. He said he didn't know. So, the police left.
About 10 minutes later, the guys arrived back again and the fight was on again. We again rang the police. The police again arrived. The guys bolted again. The police left.
We again spoke to the father when he arrived home from the weekend away. He shrugged and asked his son was so and so here. The son replied yes. That was it. Apparently that meant something. It certainly didn't solve the problem though. The next weekend, the parents went away again and it was on again.
This continued for months. Every weekend, the parents would go away. Every weekend, from Friday night until Sunday afternoon, the kids took over the street. The other neighbours in the street, would lock their doors, shut the windows or go away themselves.
One neighbour spoke to me about the problem. She told me her husband had banned her from calling the police anymore. She said she was sorry she had moved here. She also asked me how on earth do we manage to live here? Which, was a very good question. But, I had no answers. We had gotten to the stage by now, that we hated the weekends. We hated leaving work Friday night and knowing what was ahead for the weekend. Everyone else at work would have great plans. Some would have friends over for a BBQ. Others planned a quiet weekend at home. We just dreaded it.
Parties
The parties began soon after. While the parents were away for the weekend, the son and his mates would throw parties. Girls would appear. Fights would soon break out, especially after a night of heavy drinking.
The guys would walk around the yard naked. They were having sex down their back yard and in the house. We would find condoms in our yard.
Even when the father was there, the parties would continue. The father would get drunk early and then go upstairs to bed and leave the kids downstairs to continue all night.
One Saturday morning, I was downstairs putting the washing on. I walked out from under the house and saw a large Maori standing in our backyard staring at me. I yelled at him and he jumped the fence into the neighbours.
After that, we built a six foot timber fence down the neighbours side of our property. We left the existing fence there and put the fence on our land.
The first night it was finished, the neighbours tried to smash it down. We called the police. The police officers said to us that the father was the one who was supposed to be in charge of the kids, but he was drunk, he could barely stand up. Nothing was done. No-one was charged.
The guys would walk around the yard naked. They were having sex down their back yard and in the house. We would find condoms in our yard.
Even when the father was there, the parties would continue. The father would get drunk early and then go upstairs to bed and leave the kids downstairs to continue all night.
One Saturday morning, I was downstairs putting the washing on. I walked out from under the house and saw a large Maori standing in our backyard staring at me. I yelled at him and he jumped the fence into the neighbours.
After that, we built a six foot timber fence down the neighbours side of our property. We left the existing fence there and put the fence on our land.
The first night it was finished, the neighbours tried to smash it down. We called the police. The police officers said to us that the father was the one who was supposed to be in charge of the kids, but he was drunk, he could barely stand up. Nothing was done. No-one was charged.
The Violence Escalates
Then, the mother began going away on her own for a weekend, taking the daughter with her. The father used to allow his son and the son's mates to drink. So, the father would get drunk, the son would get drunk, and the son's mates would get drunk. The trail bikes would come out. They would be ridden round and round the yard and up and down the road, over and over, for hours. The yelling and drunken abuse would follow. Beer bottles would be smashed on the road. Bottles thrown into our yard. Smokes thrown into our yard. The whole weekend was a nightmare. And, it happened every weekend. We lived for Sunday afternoons, for when the mother would arrive home.
Finally, we had enough and approached the father again. I spoke with him and explained the noise and abuse couldn't continue. His reply was that he would speak to his son.
Well, after that, the abuse got worse. We ended up with just about all their rubbish in our yard, and on a daily basis. We found sandwiches, bottles, bottle tops, smokes, eye drops, a baseball bat, balls, old cat food, papers, tins of softdrink, tins of beer and spirits, bottle openers etc - and this was on a daily basis.
One day we had tradesmen at our house repairing the roof. Their comment to us was about the neighbours was they had never heard anything like it. While the tradesmen were on the roof, the neighbours kids and friends, yelled abuse at each other and at the tradesmen, and at anyone who walked past the house. They were smashing whatever they could find. Yelling and swearing at the top of their voice.
Again, we spoke to the father about the language. His response, "I've told the son to keep the language down." That was it. He really couldn't or wouldn't see the problem.
We also spoke to the son ourselves. He just repeated, "Dad knows everything that has happened." No mention of we're sorry, we'll keep it down or anything like that.
Of course, because we had again spoken to the father, it was on again. This time it progressed to getting our roof rocked. The kids would throw rocks and pieces of metal onto our roof. The noise was unbelievable, especially in the early hours of the morning. Then, it progressed to slingshots. They used small pieces of metal for this. Then we had our locks jammed with something. We had to replace the locks on the doors. Balls would hit the side of our house day and night.
This behaviour continued for years. Many times we thought of moving, but when we did the sums, we just couldn't afford it. We didn't have the money to put to another house, and we wouldn't get enough from the sale of this house, to buy another. And, we couldn't get a loan from the bank. So, we were stuck here.
Finally, we had enough and approached the father again. I spoke with him and explained the noise and abuse couldn't continue. His reply was that he would speak to his son.
Well, after that, the abuse got worse. We ended up with just about all their rubbish in our yard, and on a daily basis. We found sandwiches, bottles, bottle tops, smokes, eye drops, a baseball bat, balls, old cat food, papers, tins of softdrink, tins of beer and spirits, bottle openers etc - and this was on a daily basis.
One day we had tradesmen at our house repairing the roof. Their comment to us was about the neighbours was they had never heard anything like it. While the tradesmen were on the roof, the neighbours kids and friends, yelled abuse at each other and at the tradesmen, and at anyone who walked past the house. They were smashing whatever they could find. Yelling and swearing at the top of their voice.
Again, we spoke to the father about the language. His response, "I've told the son to keep the language down." That was it. He really couldn't or wouldn't see the problem.
We also spoke to the son ourselves. He just repeated, "Dad knows everything that has happened." No mention of we're sorry, we'll keep it down or anything like that.
Of course, because we had again spoken to the father, it was on again. This time it progressed to getting our roof rocked. The kids would throw rocks and pieces of metal onto our roof. The noise was unbelievable, especially in the early hours of the morning. Then, it progressed to slingshots. They used small pieces of metal for this. Then we had our locks jammed with something. We had to replace the locks on the doors. Balls would hit the side of our house day and night.
This behaviour continued for years. Many times we thought of moving, but when we did the sums, we just couldn't afford it. We didn't have the money to put to another house, and we wouldn't get enough from the sale of this house, to buy another. And, we couldn't get a loan from the bank. So, we were stuck here.
Trail Bikes
Nearly every weekend, the parents would go away. We soon came to realise from the yelling and shouting that went on constantly, that it was the mother who ran the house. The father simply didn't care. The father drank constantly. When the son brought his mates over, they would all sit and drink. At this stage, the son was only 13-14. Many a night we would be woken up with the sound of the son smashing timber, or whatever else was handy. When he drank too much, he became violent. No-one was able to control him.
Then the trail bikes started. At first, it was only for a few minutes. Start the trail bike and ride it round the yard. Then it began. Most days the son didn't go to school. His mates would arrive and then all day, they would ride the trail bikes round and round the yard. The constant noise was incredible. The roar of the bikes, the swearing and yelling of the boys as they slowly became drunker and drunker. Then they began taking the trail bikes out onto the road. They would ride them up and down the road for hours.
During the week, if mum and dad were going to be late home, the noise would continue some nights until 9.00pm or later. Friday afternoon and night, the noise would continue all night. Early Saturday morning it would start again, go through until about 8.00pm. Then the boys would go out for a couple of hours. They would come home drunk and yelling abuse, and smashing whatever they could find. Sunday morning early, it would all begin again. The boys spent Sunday afternoon cleaning up the yard and house, so no evidence would be left for the parents to find.
We were forced to shut all the windows and doors of our house. Still, we couldn't hear the television. Couldn't hear ouselves talk. The stink from the trail bikes filled our house. To walk outside was like walking in the middle of a speedway.
Late Sunday afternoon the parents would arrive home from their trip away. The son's friends would all be gone. The house was cleaned and the yard spotless. The parents never knew what the son had gotten up to while they were away.
Then the trail bikes started. At first, it was only for a few minutes. Start the trail bike and ride it round the yard. Then it began. Most days the son didn't go to school. His mates would arrive and then all day, they would ride the trail bikes round and round the yard. The constant noise was incredible. The roar of the bikes, the swearing and yelling of the boys as they slowly became drunker and drunker. Then they began taking the trail bikes out onto the road. They would ride them up and down the road for hours.
During the week, if mum and dad were going to be late home, the noise would continue some nights until 9.00pm or later. Friday afternoon and night, the noise would continue all night. Early Saturday morning it would start again, go through until about 8.00pm. Then the boys would go out for a couple of hours. They would come home drunk and yelling abuse, and smashing whatever they could find. Sunday morning early, it would all begin again. The boys spent Sunday afternoon cleaning up the yard and house, so no evidence would be left for the parents to find.
We were forced to shut all the windows and doors of our house. Still, we couldn't hear the television. Couldn't hear ouselves talk. The stink from the trail bikes filled our house. To walk outside was like walking in the middle of a speedway.
Late Sunday afternoon the parents would arrive home from their trip away. The son's friends would all be gone. The house was cleaned and the yard spotless. The parents never knew what the son had gotten up to while they were away.
Thursday, 13 October 2011
Wednesday, 12 October 2011
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
TEENAGE DRINKING
The parents who live next door often go away and leave their kids at home. One time, when the oldest child was 14, the parents went away for the weekend. The parents usually leave Friday night and arrive back late Sunday. As soon as the parents leave, the boys mates arrive. They would go out into their back yard and play cricket whilst they were drinking. The empty cans and bottles would be thrown over into our yard. The language was unbelievable. The swearing, the yelling and the constant bang of the ball as it slammed into a tin shed in their back yard kept us awake most of Friday and Saturday nights. The cricket would usually continue until 2.00 or 3.00 am.
The drinking would get worse throughout Friday night, Saturday and by Saturday night, we were kept awake with the constant sound of vomiting by the boys. I wondered where the boys were getting the beer. I overheard a conversation where one of the boys said that a girl who worked in the pub would give them beer, if they had sex with her. Of course, along with the drinking would come the arguments and the violence. The sounds of drunked boys yelling abuse, swearing and the sounds of things smashing filled the once peaceful quiet night.
After they got sick of the cricket, usually at about 3.00 am, they would progess to the front yard. Where they spilled over to the road. They would be out on the road yelling abuse and swearing drunkenly for hours. Quite a few times they would walk down to the corner shop and come back running furiously. They would all then run upstairs, turn out all the lights and sit inside the house. Then, cars would come screaming down the road searching for them. When the cars had left, the boys would come out again and stand around laughing and drinking and bragging about how they had got away with it. I don't know what they were doing. But they never got caught, to my knowledge.
The drinking would get worse throughout Friday night, Saturday and by Saturday night, we were kept awake with the constant sound of vomiting by the boys. I wondered where the boys were getting the beer. I overheard a conversation where one of the boys said that a girl who worked in the pub would give them beer, if they had sex with her. Of course, along with the drinking would come the arguments and the violence. The sounds of drunked boys yelling abuse, swearing and the sounds of things smashing filled the once peaceful quiet night.
After they got sick of the cricket, usually at about 3.00 am, they would progess to the front yard. Where they spilled over to the road. They would be out on the road yelling abuse and swearing drunkenly for hours. Quite a few times they would walk down to the corner shop and come back running furiously. They would all then run upstairs, turn out all the lights and sit inside the house. Then, cars would come screaming down the road searching for them. When the cars had left, the boys would come out again and stand around laughing and drinking and bragging about how they had got away with it. I don't know what they were doing. But they never got caught, to my knowledge.
Neighbours From Hell 2
The new neighbours started slowly. We should have recognised the signs but we didn't think we could be that unlucky twice. We were. It started with the eldest boy. He was still at school. Every morning for 30 minutes, before he went to school, he would put his music on - loud. The music was a lot of the F--- word. We were forced to shut our windows and doors. But, we could put up with it. After all it only went on for 30 minutes.
Then, he began wagging school and brought his mates around. The music went on for hours. I have no idea what the boys did in the house, but they were all gone by the time the parents arrived home from work. This happened at least three times a week. We overheard a comment from one of the boys about drugs. Maybe they were inside smoking. I don't know. All I know is they spent all day inside the house, with the music blaring. We had to shut our doors and windows and put fans and air conditioners on. We still couldn't hear ourselves talk. We certainly couldn't think. And, we couldn't hear on the phone when someone rang. We lived for the times when the parents arrived home and all would be quiet.
This continued for weeks. We were getting desperate. Our heads were pounding daily. It was difficult for us to sleep. The boom boom of the music would still echo in our heads long after it was switched off.
One night the parents didn't arrive home on time. The music continued. There was only a few boys left there at this stage. It was about 7.00 pm. I was sitting in our lounge room trying to hear the television - which was hopeless, when I thought I could smell smoke. At first, I ignored it. Finally I had to check it out. I looked outside and saw huge blue flames coming from the neighbours yard. I called my husband to come and have a look. The boys stomped on the fire to put it out. They set fire to the grass again and again stomped on it to put it out. While we watched, the boy next door poured what looked like petrol on the grass. He then set fire to it with a blue flame from a cylinder object. He tried to put it out by stomping on it, but it didn't work. They then tried covering it with a bucket - but that didn't work. The fire was growing bigger by now. Lastly he ran under the house and came back with a small blanket. He beat at the fire continually until it finally went out. I have no idea why. Finally, I yelled out to him to cut it out. All the boys then ran inside the house.
The parents didn't come home that night. They arrived back the next morning. I approached the father of the boy and told him what I had seen. His reply stunned me. He said there was no cylinder object in the house or shed. I again told him what I had seen. He repeated there was no cylinder object in the house or shed. At no time did he say he would speak to his son. His wife was upstairs listening to our conversation. At no time did she come down to speak with me. I heard her yelling at her son about using a blanket to put out the fire. She yelled out that he would have to pay for it. They didn't seem concerned about the fact that their son had set a fire in their backyard.
I was shocked at his uncaring attitude.
The next night, some of the boys mates arrived. The parents were home. The boy and his mates walked over to behind a petrol tanker parked in the street. I saw a flicker of flames and noticed one of the boys underneath the petrol tanker with a cigarette lighter. He was constantly flicking it. A short time later, the flickering of the lighter occurred again. This time the boys were standing behind the tanker, on the footpath, near the electricity pole. They were trying to set fire to the grass on the footpath.
Then, he began wagging school and brought his mates around. The music went on for hours. I have no idea what the boys did in the house, but they were all gone by the time the parents arrived home from work. This happened at least three times a week. We overheard a comment from one of the boys about drugs. Maybe they were inside smoking. I don't know. All I know is they spent all day inside the house, with the music blaring. We had to shut our doors and windows and put fans and air conditioners on. We still couldn't hear ourselves talk. We certainly couldn't think. And, we couldn't hear on the phone when someone rang. We lived for the times when the parents arrived home and all would be quiet.
This continued for weeks. We were getting desperate. Our heads were pounding daily. It was difficult for us to sleep. The boom boom of the music would still echo in our heads long after it was switched off.
One night the parents didn't arrive home on time. The music continued. There was only a few boys left there at this stage. It was about 7.00 pm. I was sitting in our lounge room trying to hear the television - which was hopeless, when I thought I could smell smoke. At first, I ignored it. Finally I had to check it out. I looked outside and saw huge blue flames coming from the neighbours yard. I called my husband to come and have a look. The boys stomped on the fire to put it out. They set fire to the grass again and again stomped on it to put it out. While we watched, the boy next door poured what looked like petrol on the grass. He then set fire to it with a blue flame from a cylinder object. He tried to put it out by stomping on it, but it didn't work. They then tried covering it with a bucket - but that didn't work. The fire was growing bigger by now. Lastly he ran under the house and came back with a small blanket. He beat at the fire continually until it finally went out. I have no idea why. Finally, I yelled out to him to cut it out. All the boys then ran inside the house.
The parents didn't come home that night. They arrived back the next morning. I approached the father of the boy and told him what I had seen. His reply stunned me. He said there was no cylinder object in the house or shed. I again told him what I had seen. He repeated there was no cylinder object in the house or shed. At no time did he say he would speak to his son. His wife was upstairs listening to our conversation. At no time did she come down to speak with me. I heard her yelling at her son about using a blanket to put out the fire. She yelled out that he would have to pay for it. They didn't seem concerned about the fact that their son had set a fire in their backyard.
I was shocked at his uncaring attitude.
The next night, some of the boys mates arrived. The parents were home. The boy and his mates walked over to behind a petrol tanker parked in the street. I saw a flicker of flames and noticed one of the boys underneath the petrol tanker with a cigarette lighter. He was constantly flicking it. A short time later, the flickering of the lighter occurred again. This time the boys were standing behind the tanker, on the footpath, near the electricity pole. They were trying to set fire to the grass on the footpath.
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