When I grew up in Tottenham, we stole sweets; now it's revenge shootings

I was born in Tottenham during the mid-Sixties and lived there until the age of eight when my family moved to Enfield. Watching the television news coverage of the riots and disturbances of the last few days has been like watching my childhood memories go up in flames. I was in gangs in both areas, of course, but while the name we give to groups of youngsters who hang around together and get up to mischief has not changed, the reality of gang membership has. Beyond recognition.

My gang was nothing more than a bunch of kids seeking excitement and danger. We experimented with drugs (by which I mean cigarettes and alcohol) smashed up the odd telephone box and shoplifted handfuls of penny chews at every opportunity.

We also fought with other gangs. Our leader, Danny, was a mousy-haired, slightly psychopathic hulk of a boy who would lead the charge against rivals while swinging his most prized possession ­­- a pair of rosewood nunchakus (a Japanese weapon of two sticks on a chain) high above his head and screaming: "Come on then you bastards," until he was hoarse.

There was always much more running and shouting than actual fighting and on the few occasions that blows came to be exchanged, it was all over in the blink of an eye. A few of us sometimes carried flick knives but it never occurred to us to use them. People got kicked and punched and occasionally clubbed, but nobody ever died. We broke a few laws but no one ever thought of us as criminals.

As we got older we discovered girls, then money, then the fact that girls like boys with money, so we went our separate ways to make our way in the world. Young as we were, we knew that being in a gang was nothing more than a rite of passage. It was fun, but you could never make a living from it.

Then the drug trade exploded. Today gang members barely into their teens can earn more money than their parents. They can look to older or former members of the gang and see the success and material wealth that has been gained and set themselves a goal of achieving the same. For many youngsters, gang membership is no longer a phase but rather the first rung on the ladder to a criminal career.

Having moved to the relatively upmarket Enfield, I missed out on the fact that this shift in gang dynamics was taking place far more quickly in the Tottenham I had left behind.

By the early Eighties, the youths of the crumbling Broadwater Farm estate had formed the Tottenham Mandem and were starting to make serious money from selling drugs and carrying out street robberies.

This was the time of the "Sus" law, which gave police the power to stop, search or arrest anyone merely on the suspicion that they might be planning to commit an offence. Used disproportionately against black and minority communities, it raised tensions between the police and the community so high that parts of the capital became tinderboxes, just waiting for a spark to ignite them.

For Tottenham that spark came in October 1985 when 49-year-old Cynthia Jarrett suffered a stroke and died when police, who were holding her son in custody, searched her home for stolen goods.

In the aftermath of the riots and the death of PC Blakelock, money was poured in to regenerate the area and the police made huge efforts to re-engage with the community, but the underlying hostility has always remained. The hooded youths seen kicking in shop windows and burning down Tottenham's historic buildings were brought up by parents whose anger and distrust of the authorities has never fully faded.

This latest generation of youth gangs has made serious violence an almost constant backdrop with dozens of tit- for-tat shootings between the Broadwater Farm gangs and their rivals as both attempt to widen their sphere of influence to boost drug sales. These days it's all about the money.

In 2002, one leading Tottenham Mandem member, Mark Lambie - accused but acquitted of involvement in the murder of PC Blakelock - was convicted of kidnapping two men and torturing them using an electric iron and boiling water in a dispute over drugs and money. Following Lambie's conviction, the Tottenham Mandem evolved into two new groups. The elders - the name given to any gang member over the age of 18 - went on to become the Star Gang, while the younger generation call themselves the Bloods. Mark Duggan, the man whose death sparked the latest round of rioting, was said to be one of the founding members of the Star Gang and a highly influential "elder" around Broadwater Farm.

Despite some progress, Tottenham remained volatile and the questions that surrounded the initial reports of his death provided the necessary spark. The idea that anyone would open fire on a dozen or so highly trained armed officers, wearing full body armour capable of stopping anything fired from a handgun, always lacked credibility.

That first night of rioting may have been flared up because of the anger and confusion surrounding Duggan's death but it was soon hijacked by members of the new gangs who place the acquisition of wealth above all else, hence the preoccupation with flat-screen TVs. It's all about the money.

It should surprise no one that the locations of the latest outbreaks of violence - Croydon, Hackney, Camden, Ealing, Lewisham - are those areas of London most blighted by youth gang violence. Rival cliques are competing with one another to see who can get the most coverage of their exploits in a proxy war of supremacy.

It's a world apart from the Tottenham I grew up in and whenever I share my exploits with today's youths they invariably shake their heads with disbelief. "That's so lame. You wouldn't last five minutes these days," one former gang member told me. I take that as a compliment.

Author Tony Thompson's latest book Outlaws: Inside the Violent World of Biker Gangs is published by Hodder & Stoughton at £12.99