and tastes of prison. I was to spend my next ten months here.
The block was tough. But from the word go, the screws and the Governor told me what the rules were. There was no bollocks, no lies, just straight talk to my face. I respect that. Obviously, I did not like the prospect of staying too long there, but the decision had been made long before my arrival.
Unfortunately, after a couple of days, I blew. I chinned a hospital screw and a block screw – and, as I was being manhandled, I bit another screw on the hand. He was a senior officer called Mr Hastings, who was, in fact, a decent guy. I spent a week or more in the strong box. Bad, lonely, empty times – but the biggest shock of all was to come for me in this box.
Only days after I had survived a good kicking, a screw slung in a big brown envelope and said, ‘Even your missus don’t want you.’
Inside the envelope were divorce papers.
It was the smack in the face that I never recoveredfrom. I cried my fucking eyes out that night, in my own emptiness, under a stinking blanket.
I had thrown my whole life away, the woman I loved and the son I worshipped. I knew from that night that my life would never be normal. I’d lost everything, including my sanity. I could hear Irene’s voice in my head: ‘You’ll end up in a nut-house …’
I was beginning to believe her.
CHAPTER THREE
It was only a matter of time before Irene’s prediction came true.
I managed a month or two without any incidents, then a big fucker arrived from Chelmsford Jail. His name was ‘Sie-Sie’. He was black as coal and he was a bully. I hate a bully.
They put him in the cell next to me and we had words through the window. He was going to tear my head off, I was going to stab him in the eye. We were both going to kill each other.
The problem was – how? In this block we had toslop out alone, we didn’t mix. It was frustrating for us both. The tension was building and we couldn’t get at each other.
But I had a plan. I was going to poison the ugly fucker! I’d never poisoned anyone before, but I felt happy to poison this slag. The only problem was, I had no poison. So I used glass. I got a piece of glass and crushed it up into dust and added it to some sugar.
I banged on his wall, ‘Oi,’ I said. ‘Do you want some sugar?’
‘Yeah, I’ll have some,’ he said.
So I arranged a hiding place for when he slopped out. After he got it, he banged my wall, ‘Cheers, brother!’
Three or four days passed, then it happened. He began pissing blood. The security were brought in, the bag of sugar was analysed, I was questioned. He made a statement to the effect that I gave him the sugar. He also said, again, that he was going to tear my head off. I’ve never seen him since.
* * *
It’s weird how the mind works in jail. You have to be mad to survive it. There’s a lot of violence – it’s facing us every day. Even talk of violence goes on all the time. I’ve lain on my bed listening to them until I’ve fallen asleep … how the guy will kill the lover-boy when he gets out, or shoot the copper. Most, of course, is just talk. Pure hot air.
I saw a lot of cons come and go over the ten months I was at Wandsworth. Dave Anslow popped in, along with Stevie Lannigan, ‘Mad’ Frankie Fraser, Micky McConnell, Billy Armstrong, Cyril Berkett, Tommy Tedstone and Albert Baker. Not forgetting poor Dave Martin, who hanged himself in Parkhurst Prison some years after – a very sad ending.
I kept my training up every day and the ten months just flew by. I was getting my head together. It was now 1976.
However, my world was solitary confinement and it was obvious I was achieving nothing. I began to feel restless, aggressive. It was clear to everyone, including the Governor, that I needed a break. Soon I was on my way to the Island!
It was a weird feeling going over on the ferry. I was double-cuffed and had to remain in the back of the van with five screws. The Isle of Wight has
The block was tough. But from the word go, the screws and the Governor told me what the rules were. There was no bollocks, no lies, just straight talk to my face. I respect that. Obviously, I did not like the prospect of staying too long there, but the decision had been made long before my arrival.
Unfortunately, after a couple of days, I blew. I chinned a hospital screw and a block screw – and, as I was being manhandled, I bit another screw on the hand. He was a senior officer called Mr Hastings, who was, in fact, a decent guy. I spent a week or more in the strong box. Bad, lonely, empty times – but the biggest shock of all was to come for me in this box.
Only days after I had survived a good kicking, a screw slung in a big brown envelope and said, ‘Even your missus don’t want you.’
Inside the envelope were divorce papers.
It was the smack in the face that I never recoveredfrom. I cried my fucking eyes out that night, in my own emptiness, under a stinking blanket.
I had thrown my whole life away, the woman I loved and the son I worshipped. I knew from that night that my life would never be normal. I’d lost everything, including my sanity. I could hear Irene’s voice in my head: ‘You’ll end up in a nut-house …’
I was beginning to believe her.
CHAPTER THREE
It was only a matter of time before Irene’s prediction came true.
I managed a month or two without any incidents, then a big fucker arrived from Chelmsford Jail. His name was ‘Sie-Sie’. He was black as coal and he was a bully. I hate a bully.
They put him in the cell next to me and we had words through the window. He was going to tear my head off, I was going to stab him in the eye. We were both going to kill each other.
The problem was – how? In this block we had toslop out alone, we didn’t mix. It was frustrating for us both. The tension was building and we couldn’t get at each other.
But I had a plan. I was going to poison the ugly fucker! I’d never poisoned anyone before, but I felt happy to poison this slag. The only problem was, I had no poison. So I used glass. I got a piece of glass and crushed it up into dust and added it to some sugar.
I banged on his wall, ‘Oi,’ I said. ‘Do you want some sugar?’
‘Yeah, I’ll have some,’ he said.
So I arranged a hiding place for when he slopped out. After he got it, he banged my wall, ‘Cheers, brother!’
Three or four days passed, then it happened. He began pissing blood. The security were brought in, the bag of sugar was analysed, I was questioned. He made a statement to the effect that I gave him the sugar. He also said, again, that he was going to tear my head off. I’ve never seen him since.
* * *
It’s weird how the mind works in jail. You have to be mad to survive it. There’s a lot of violence – it’s facing us every day. Even talk of violence goes on all the time. I’ve lain on my bed listening to them until I’ve fallen asleep … how the guy will kill the lover-boy when he gets out, or shoot the copper. Most, of course, is just talk. Pure hot air.
I saw a lot of cons come and go over the ten months I was at Wandsworth. Dave Anslow popped in, along with Stevie Lannigan, ‘Mad’ Frankie Fraser, Micky McConnell, Billy Armstrong, Cyril Berkett, Tommy Tedstone and Albert Baker. Not forgetting poor Dave Martin, who hanged himself in Parkhurst Prison some years after – a very sad ending.
I kept my training up every day and the ten months just flew by. I was getting my head together. It was now 1976.
However, my world was solitary confinement and it was obvious I was achieving nothing. I began to feel restless, aggressive. It was clear to everyone, including the Governor, that I needed a break. Soon I was on my way to the Island!
It was a weird feeling going over on the ferry. I was double-cuffed and had to remain in the back of the van with five screws. The Isle of Wight has
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