HAVE AT THEE GRANDAD

.....as he stood triumphantly over the trapped, fallen and wounded  body of Alan Quartmain, standing ready to deliver the final, coup de grace. He hesitated to look down at his nemesis, who was even now struggling to sit to up, and spoke his triumphant last words, "quatermain, I hope Ive still got your fire when Im your age".......
I was at some traffic lights the other day and as the colours changed I launched myself off just in time to see a fight spill out of a Betting office that was on the corner to the left of the lights.
I stopped to see what was happeneing and if I could do anything to help but couldnt work out what was happening in the melee that was about six to eight strong, when all of a sudden the people parted as one, to reveal two old men, one Black, one Asain, who must of been in their seventies, brandishing their walking sticks as if they were trained to use them Ninga style.
Despite trying, no-one could get near enough to them to split them up because they were both swinging like men possessed, both were giving and taking blows to the body, arms and head. They also managed to deliver whacks to eachothers head that made all around them cringe.
It was only when the two old men had run out of steam that we could get between them and pull them apart, and even then after thirty seconds or so, once they had got their second wind they were fighting us off and going for eachother again, each getting in what must of been painful body and head blows with their canes.
Eventually we were able to split them up and I was given the unenviable task of taking one of them one way while the other was lead another, my one kept repeating "Im going to kill that Coolie" over and over, his obvious West African accent and the use of such an outdated racist term was a little odd I thought, but I put it down to the 'Prince Phillip effect' that age has on some men.
Once I had led my man as far as I could I headed back to the spot where it started and saw the other fighting pensioner, "are you alright,what was that about?" I asked, "he keeps coming up to me in the Betting shop and whispering in my ear saying things like "Im gunna kill you Paki and he keeps calling me a Coolie, but no one do nothing, so what am I supposed to do, I dont call him bad names" he replied, while I could agree that what he was saying was wrong it was about all I could do.
On hearing this, and from what I heard the man I led away saying I could understand the other blokes frustration boiling over, but still, the sight of two old men who could of easily killed eachother with those wooden stick beatings they were giving eachother was not only a bit unsteeling but odd.