three jails on it: Albany, Camp Hill, and the most notorious of all, Parkhurst.
Parkhurst is probably the most infamous jail in Britain. It’s known around the world. It’s seen it all: riots, murders, stabbings, hostages, fires, suicides, sieges, attempted escapes, the lot. The hardest villains in the country have spent time there. Legends, myths, have all been created. Stories have lived on for decades.
From the second I entered Parkhust, I could taste the atmosphere. It’s the only jail that can throw off an aura. It reeks of history.
Every cell tells a story – mine certainly did. The first night I was there, some idiot upset me and I smashed up my cell. In the early hours, they came for me; I was on my way to the block. I spent the first night in the box, the next day I was moved to C Unit, where I was to meet the best two guys I’ve ever met in my life – Ronnie and Reggie Kray.
Obviously, I had heard of the Kray Twins, but meeting them was something else. As I tell my story 26 years later, I remember Reg as the loyal friend I met in 1976. Ron, too, I remember as a gentleman. Both passed away while serving their sentences. God bless them both.
The Twins were unique, a special breed of men.Later, I was honoured to meet their lovely mother (who sadly is no longer with us) and also their brother, Charlie.
‘C Unit’ was known as ‘Cooper’s Troopers’ – after the doc in charge – or, sometimes, the ‘Psycho Wing’. There were 12 to 14 of us, most with bad problems. A lot of us had spent months, if not years, in punishment blocks. We had our own gymnasium, library, exercise yard. It was a self-contained unit, segregated from the other wings. Some of the guys I met down there included Dougie Wakefield, Eddie Wilkinson, Wally Lee, Chilly (from my home town in Luton), Colin Robinson, Joey Cannon, Johnny Bond, Johnny Brookes, Mad Jacko, George Wilkinson, and Nobby Clark.
I thought I might settle there, but it was strange for me to mix with people. Solitary can affect people in different ways. It turned me inside myself.
I was withdrawn and very bitter towards the screws – and the Parkhurst screws were really very relaxed compared to those in a lot of prisons. They just wanted a peaceful time – they couldn’t afford trouble, not with the kind of cons they had in there. Thirty years is no fucking joke and some of the cons in Parkhurst had absolutely nothing to lose by sticking a knife in one of them. The screws accepted this. The policy was to keep us happy. But there was always a minority who upset us.
I had been doing well, thanks to a lot of the lads. I worked out in the gym with Ron, Reg and Robbo. I ate well, slept well, and felt a lot better in myself … until this fat screw upset me.
I pushed the bastard up against a wall and spat in both his eyes. I told him I’d kill him if he upset me again. I meant it and he knew I meant it. I was moved the next day over to the hospital wing – F2. This wing was notorious, the wing that certifies people insaneand sends you packing off to the asylums. F2 was a dangerous, bad, bad place to be locked up.
I fucking hated it, I had to get out. I was now plotting to smash a sex-case’s head in with a brick. Me and another con were going to do it … but for some reason I got moved out! After only a month in Parkhurst, I was put in the van and whisked away. I don’t know if I was pleased or sad. Strangely though, I felt I would be back. They say that Parkhurst is a magnet which will always pull you back. How true that is.
* * *
The van drove off the ferry at Portsmouth and we headed for London. A couple of hours later, we pulled up outside the punishment block at Wandsworth. I was fucking sick! I knew one thing though – there was no way I was going to stay in this block for another ten stinking months … no way. They put me in the same old cell and the Governor came to see me. He said if I behaved myself for a month I could go up on D Wing, the
Parkhurst is probably the most infamous jail in Britain. It’s known around the world. It’s seen it all: riots, murders, stabbings, hostages, fires, suicides, sieges, attempted escapes, the lot. The hardest villains in the country have spent time there. Legends, myths, have all been created. Stories have lived on for decades.
From the second I entered Parkhust, I could taste the atmosphere. It’s the only jail that can throw off an aura. It reeks of history.
Every cell tells a story – mine certainly did. The first night I was there, some idiot upset me and I smashed up my cell. In the early hours, they came for me; I was on my way to the block. I spent the first night in the box, the next day I was moved to C Unit, where I was to meet the best two guys I’ve ever met in my life – Ronnie and Reggie Kray.
Obviously, I had heard of the Kray Twins, but meeting them was something else. As I tell my story 26 years later, I remember Reg as the loyal friend I met in 1976. Ron, too, I remember as a gentleman. Both passed away while serving their sentences. God bless them both.
The Twins were unique, a special breed of men.Later, I was honoured to meet their lovely mother (who sadly is no longer with us) and also their brother, Charlie.
‘C Unit’ was known as ‘Cooper’s Troopers’ – after the doc in charge – or, sometimes, the ‘Psycho Wing’. There were 12 to 14 of us, most with bad problems. A lot of us had spent months, if not years, in punishment blocks. We had our own gymnasium, library, exercise yard. It was a self-contained unit, segregated from the other wings. Some of the guys I met down there included Dougie Wakefield, Eddie Wilkinson, Wally Lee, Chilly (from my home town in Luton), Colin Robinson, Joey Cannon, Johnny Bond, Johnny Brookes, Mad Jacko, George Wilkinson, and Nobby Clark.
I thought I might settle there, but it was strange for me to mix with people. Solitary can affect people in different ways. It turned me inside myself.
I was withdrawn and very bitter towards the screws – and the Parkhurst screws were really very relaxed compared to those in a lot of prisons. They just wanted a peaceful time – they couldn’t afford trouble, not with the kind of cons they had in there. Thirty years is no fucking joke and some of the cons in Parkhurst had absolutely nothing to lose by sticking a knife in one of them. The screws accepted this. The policy was to keep us happy. But there was always a minority who upset us.
I had been doing well, thanks to a lot of the lads. I worked out in the gym with Ron, Reg and Robbo. I ate well, slept well, and felt a lot better in myself … until this fat screw upset me.
I pushed the bastard up against a wall and spat in both his eyes. I told him I’d kill him if he upset me again. I meant it and he knew I meant it. I was moved the next day over to the hospital wing – F2. This wing was notorious, the wing that certifies people insaneand sends you packing off to the asylums. F2 was a dangerous, bad, bad place to be locked up.
I fucking hated it, I had to get out. I was now plotting to smash a sex-case’s head in with a brick. Me and another con were going to do it … but for some reason I got moved out! After only a month in Parkhurst, I was put in the van and whisked away. I don’t know if I was pleased or sad. Strangely though, I felt I would be back. They say that Parkhurst is a magnet which will always pull you back. How true that is.
* * *
The van drove off the ferry at Portsmouth and we headed for London. A couple of hours later, we pulled up outside the punishment block at Wandsworth. I was fucking sick! I knew one thing though – there was no way I was going to stay in this block for another ten stinking months … no way. They put me in the same old cell and the Governor came to see me. He said if I behaved myself for a month I could go up on D Wing, the
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