Each In There Darkness part 1 - Writers Forum

chalky · 02-11-2008, 05:09 PM

Introduction

Many people over the years have written books, skilled writers who know how to manipulate words, filling chapter after chapter with irrelevant junk just to fill the pages. I do not have those skills; each page I write will be factual as I remember them covering events in my life. Dates may not be correct the memory fails; getting any information from government is almost impossible even though we have the freedom of information act in the UK. If you are in your 60s there is a chance you will be able to relate to some of the hardships I faced as a child and my adult life, although I must admit, many of the hardships were self inflicted and could have been avoided. I never was a villain and never had any intentions of being one; you could say I was on the fringe of organised crime and got sucked in, but the reader can be the judge of that.

(I am not scared of Hell; I have been there)

Chapter 1

The first darkness

I was born on the 8th of February 1946 in a doss house on the Wolverhampton Road Wednesfield Wolverhampton West Midlands; four sisters welcomed me into the world on a cold February day. Thelma, Pat, Josie, Brenda, I’m not sure if they were happy at seeing the new arrival or if they viewed me as a rival for the food which at that time was still on ration. My mother Nancy Freda White had spent most of he life in service as a down stairs maid for the upper classes, my father Fredrick William Vincent White had been a cook on the Queen Mary then did a spell in the RAF, when I was born he was working at the Goodyear Tyre plant Stafford Road Wolverhampton.

My father was born in the West Ham tidal basin district of London and from all accounts, was as bad as they come, spent most of his early youth in and around White chapel and the Angel Islington were he was well known to police and public alike. I can remember him just about, he stood 5ft 4 stocky and well built with a violent temper at least towards us, he was seldom sober, he left the family when I was around 6 years old he died in Chelsea 1962 were he had been a caretaker of a block of flats, I never did get to say goodbye.

My mother was born in Whitchurch Shropshire had a strict upbringing by bible bashing parents, sent to a convent school, she hated the nuns, the raps across the knuckles with the ruler when she got anything wrong, the hours of punishment dished out by different sisters at the convent, scrubbing cold stone floors all day or washing bed sheets until her fingers were red raw, at 18 she ran away to London and went into service.

In 1951 the family moved from the doss house into a council house at Coronation Road, the only thing we owned was a kitchen table and 6 chairs, the kitchen table was scrubbed by mom everyday it must have been her pride and joy. Thelma my eldest sister never got to see the new home she died of diphtheria at the doss house. Mainly through moms hard work doing two jobs a comfortable home took shape, she worked 8 hours at Lyons Tea house in the centre of Wolverhampton, then 3 hours at new cross workhouse washing hospital sheets to reduce debt my father had left the family in.

It was a beautiful summers day in 1952 my sister Pat had collected me from the nursery school and we were on our way home, something was wrong, why were the windows all white I thought to myself, I looked up at Pat and she squeezed my hand, we both entered the house together it was empty, every bit of furniture had gone, even the few wooden toys I had were missing, we both sat and cried holding each other. When mom arrived home that night it was already dark it was the only time I ever heard my mom use bad language the bastard, the bastard she kept repeating over and over again tears rolling down her face dropping like rain onto her clothes. He had left us an old double mattress and army blanket, no food that night, only a drink of water from the tap.

I woke the next day by mom shaking me, two people I had never seen were standing in the room looking down at me, I noticed that one was holding my little brown case I had brought with me from the doss house, my mom said take him, at that I was roughly grabbed by the hand and stuffed into the back seat of an old black ford car, I looked out of the window to see my mom and sisters waving at me, It would be another two years before I saw them again.

This was to be my home for the next two years, it seamed to me that any kid who wasn’t wanted ended up in one of these places, kids in wheelchairs, kids with mental health problems, kids like me who could not be kept at home for financial reasons.Disoplin was strict, the cane ruled. Don’t get me wrong they looked after us kids as far as food and clothes were concerned but one of the main ingredients was missing…love. Days were spent doing various tasks cleaning the shoes for kids in your cottage, mowing lawns in summer months, washing up ect ect. The cane almost became my constant companion, I was always being punished for some indiscretion, and I was rebelling even at the tender age of six I wanted my family back, many a night I crept into my bed crying from the wheels left on my tiny little body by the cane.

Chapter 2

Into the light

My mom and four sisters came to collect me from the orphanage and we took the 57 bus from Wednesfield to Coronation road, I was home. The house had been decorated in bright colours, a new tiled fire place had been fitted, bright coloured curtains were up at the windows along with snow white lace, a danset record player stood on a small table in the one corner with piles of 78 HMV records next to it, the pantry was full of food, I had my own room with a wonderful soft bed and a chest of draws filled with new clothes, on top were small toys one of which became my favourite a chrome model of a spitfire, I jumped up and down on the bed to the delight of my mom and sisters, I was happy.

My mom now worked full time at New Cross Hospital cleaning the medical wards, I could see the change in her, she had lost so much weight, her hands were nothing more than a thin layer of skin over bone, I could see she was working herself to death to keep the home together. Even though I was eight years old I did my best to help getting jobs with the milkman early morning and the fruit and veg man three nights a week which gave us free milk, fruit and vegetables. On weekends I would take an old pram to the canal side and fish the lumps of coal out that fell from the barges on a daily basis so we could have heating.

School was a sore point, I never had any interest I cant remember how many times the school board man came looking for me but I must have kept him in a full time job over the years. When he did catch me; which was very rare it was back to school to meet my old friend, the Cain and a promise from me not to continue with my disruptive behaviour. Heath Town park runs alongside the main Wolverhampton road I remember the trolley buses passing the park on hot summer nights as we played football, we pretended that the flashes from the wires were photographers taking our pictures and would jump in the air and pose.

All the kids had home made catapults God knows how many factory windows we broke, in the summertime we would catch big meat flies then stick them onto home made planes made from lolly pop sticks and watch them fly. On winter nights we would get a length of black cotton attach a button 12 inches down the cotton and a pin, the pin stuck into the putty on the window, give it a tug and the button taped the window, the occupants would be in out in out to the giggling delights of us boys behind the hedge. Kick the can was another game we played but it never went down to well with parents who had to replace the shoes, in my case boots were the order of the day with steel tips and studs, they came in handy. The girls would play hopscotch or jacks.

Life was not bad for the next three years, I continued to help Pete the milkman seven days a week and apart from free milk he used to give me ten shillings, which I gave mom. Fred Bedows the fruit guys round got bigger and he also paid me a few bob. I wasn’t very educated but had the sense even at eleven years old to realise money made the world go around. Things were about to change for me and not for the better, my status as head of the family and provider were about to change and I didn’t like that one bit.

Chapter 3

Grey Days

After almost three years of relative happiness came the grey sky in the shape of Bert Lockley. Mom said she was going into Wolverhampton to do the weekly shopping, three hours later she was back with Bert who was introduced to us kids as, your new dad. Bert was a big man 6ft 4 tall with hands like shovels, for the most part of his life he had been a farm labourer, leaving the farm work to be a press shop labourer at Jenks and Cattell a local press work company. This man was naturally supper strong if you like a freak of nature. I didn’t like him from the word go and he most certainly didn’t like me; I think mom had already given him the warning to expect trouble.

Some people say that Bert disserved respect for taking on five kids that were not his and in normal circumstances I would agree, but Bert had other motivations other than being a father figure, I watched him enter the bathroom when my sisters were bathing and always when my mom was out. Brenda went to live with my Nan in Shrewsbury and never returned, Pat and Josie were both training as nurses and left to live in the nursing home! The man was a paedophile but in those days things like that were hushed up, and as a kid if you said anything you were a liar. Rita my youngest sister and myself remained at home and I did my best to always be with her when ever we were alone in the house with him.

By this time I was attending St Peters school, still getting the Cain, not doing well with lessons apart from metal work, and swimming. Why I could not take in subjects like other kids remains a mystery to this day, mental block, lazy, slow learner, I just don’t know even the education physiatrist gave up on me. Swimming was my love I entered for eight events in the town gala and won all eight, the school was so impressed they paid for a coach to train me for six months, but then came the self inflicted, I started to smoke, missed training sessions so they gave me the boot from the program.

Bert was up to his old tricks again with my little sister so I decided to tell mom, one of the worst mistakes I ever made, either she didn’t believe me, or defended him out of some miss guided loyalty anyway she set about my head with a boiler stick, when I tried to stop her Bert joined in the fracas, I remember waking up in the hospital I could hear my Nan but couldn’t see her, I was blind, for weeks my Nan took me everywhere my head and eyes covered with bandages. The bandages finally came off and the doctor told me how lucky I was, there had been blood between my brain and skull causing pressure on the nerves. The story given out as to my injuries was that I had fallen out of my bedroom window, it was the next door neighbours Mr Williams who had called the ambulance and notified my Nan after hearing my screams, but in the 50s the rod ruled and parents could almost get away with murder especially if they had a child who was seen to be out of parental control.

My Nan couldn’t keep me she was to old so eventually I was forced back home, Bert gave me a pep talk it went something like this, I don’t want you hear Freddy your trouble with a capital T, stay out of my way and out of my life or else. I ran as far and as fast as I could away from this man, I was on my own in a big world and the only person I could depend on was me.

Chapter 4

Streets Paved With Gold

One of the stories read to me as a boy was Dick Whittington and how he became Lord Mayor of London

I thought my fortune would be made if I could get to London so off I went. At that time the M1 motorway started at Coventry, I was lucky and got a lift from a lorry driver from the Birmingham new road in Wolverhampton almost to Coleshill were the motorway began, I thanked the driver and jumped out of the cab onto the curb. My next lift again from a lorry driver took me to St Albans, I then got a lift off a private motorist to Archway Road Islington, and I had reached my destination.

With the little money I had taken from my money box I got myself a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich from one of the many cafes in Archway Road then made my way on foot into the city following the directional signs. After hours of walking I found myself in Covent Garden, it was getting dark but the place was alive with activity, I could hear the opera singers practicing, council cleaners were sweeping up the left overs dropped by the barrow boys during the day, women in long evening gowns and men in dress suits seamed to be on every corner or getting out of cabs, wonderful lights on certain buildings had me spellbound I had never seen anything like it.

For a while I lost track of time everything I saw held my interest including the sign, which said Underground. It was hot in the underground station and soon the chill of the night was forgotten as I settled into a dark corner and fell fast asleep. I woke to the sound of a mans voice saying, come on lets have ya, you cant be sleeping there son, it was early morning the man was a station cleaner, I had been locked in all night and nobody had noticed me. I made my way up to ground level and out into the bright sunshine, found a toilet, had a wash then made my way back to the market area.

If I was going to live I needed to work, I spent the morning asking the owners of the retail fruit and veg shops for work, finally and old Jewish guy said yes my boy come inside. I never knew his name but he was one of the kindest people I had met, he didn’t ask questions. He must have seen me looking at his breakfast because the next thing he said was take this money, go to the café eat then come back, he had given me five shillings. When I got back to his stall I gave him the change, he took it then handed me a polishing cloth, take the apples out of the trays and polish them until they shine. I did that for around three to four hours, different barrow boys came by and were taking away the boxes of apples. At the end of the day he gave me ten shillings and told me to come back the following day.

My urgent need was to find somewhere to sleep each night and had noticed a few young people going inside cardboard boxes they had taken from the market skips, so that night I decided to give it a try. The box I found had been used for transporting multiple boxes of grapes into the UK, the smell was wonderful and the box clean. As I went to get into the box a guy in his twenties shouted to me, you got newspapers? I replied no, have some of these he said keep you warm, he explained how to use the newspaper demonstrating by stuffing it into his own clothes, its like a blanket see. I thanked him and went back to my box. Over the weeks before my capture the guy who gave me the newspapers Tony showed me how to get food, medical help and basically how to survive on the streets.

I was just getting out of my box one morning when a hand went on my shoulder I was nicked, the young police officer took me to the local police station and put me in a room, breakfast was given, I was told to shower and was given a clean set of ill fitting clothes to put on. They told me that two welfare officers were on the way to pick me up. At around 3pm the welfare offices arrived, the police drove us to Kings cross railway station and I was on my way back to Wolverhampton and a court appearance for being out of parental control. I never did find gold on the London streets, just rubbish and rats.

chalky · 02-11-2008, 05:44 PM

Chapter 5

Running Boy

Standing in the Wolverhampton magistrates court listening to my mom and step father telling how I was out of control and that they did not want me back home ever again did not come as a shock, never the less it was painful. The magistrate made an order that I should be put into the care of the local authority and placed in the orphanage at Wednesfield. I was going back to a place I hated, the fat red faced police officer took me down from the dock and put me in a cell, but not before saying the bastards how could they do that?

Red Lion police station became like a second home to me, they called me the running boy and gave me jobs like cleaning the cells, and polishing the brass door locks, I must have run from the orphanage at least once a month only to find myself being brought back from different locations by welfare officers, in the end they had enough and it was back before the local magistrate. Both the local authority and the magistrates, not to mention the police had come to their wits end. I was remanded to Winston Greens G wing and have been told that I was only the second minor placed in an adult prison since 1940. I spent 4 weeks on G wing, scrubbing floors each morning and sowing mailbags five stitches to the inch every afternoon. No talking was allowed it operated a silent regime.

During my four weeks on remand I was visited by Welfare who asked me what I would most like to do, I told them go to a naval school. I was taken from the Prison and put on a train with a welfare officer destination the sailors home Paradise Street Liverpool; they had granted my wish I was soon to be an Indi boy. I stayed in the sailors home over night with several other boys and the following day went across to the Liver building to have a lantern test (eye test ships lights at a distance) I passed and with the other boys boarded a train from Liverpool Lime street to Anglesey.

Indefatigable was a wonderful place set in the most beautiful grounds bordering the Meni Straits, I enjoyed the seamanship, rowing practice on the Meni on up to Conway twice a week, un-armed combat lessons…. but I soon found out that violence was a way of life for many of the boys, I don’t mean a one to one fight and finish, I’m talking sadistic violence administered by older boys on younger ones each and every night in the dorms, I had run from violence into violence and I didn’t want it. I wasn’t a coward I boxed at Indi and won but the violence at Indi got to be over powering in its nature, Although I had received a letter from my sister saying mom had almost died in hospital I didn’t need that as an excuse to run, I just ran with another boy who wanted out.

It was the wrong time of year to run, the winters in North Wales can be bad, with just number 8s and naval jumper we were both candidates for the hospital before we got out of the mountain range, but of course we didn’t know that. We tied three bed sheets together and lowered ourselves down to the ground and ran. All night we ran only stopping to catch breath, avoiding built up areas not that there were many once outside Bangor, we ended up early morning at Llandudno Junction cold hungry just in time for a police car to pick us up and return us to Indi, what a waste of time I thought at the time.
The next day we were both drummed out, full uniform, cap badges, silks torn off us, cap chucked on the floor and stamped on and all the time drum rolls playing, I was given my train pass with instructions to report to the welfare officer in Wolverhampton on my arrival which I didn’t do, I ran and hid, working on the out door market in Wolverhampton with bleached blond hair hoping they wouldn’t recognise me, they found me my next stop was the magistrates court that very day, I was sentenced to be remanded at Wissage remand homes secure unit until further notice.

Chapter 6

The Great Escape

The Wissage remand home held both sexes within two separate units, make no mistake, although civilians not prison officers rattled the keys it was secure, until fate took a hand that is. Days and nights spent on remand gave plenty of time for thought, your mind was the only thing they could not take away from you, if they could have read my mind they would have been worried because my feet were itching to run, I looked for any avenue by which to escape but it seamed impossible. Lichfield Staffordshire is a quiet rural town at the best of times but on Sundays it was as quiet as the grave. Each Sunday morning we were marched in columns two by two 300 yards to the local church for a service. It would not have been any problem to break away and run but getting out of the town and surrounding countryside without detection would have been impossible so I shelved that idea. If I was to escape it had to be at night or early morning.

Our secure sleeping quarters held 20 boys with a night watchman’s cubicle at the far end. The windows had bars on the outside, there was a fire exit door leading to a fire escape but that was locked and the watchman had the key and he locked his cubicle from the inside. It seamed impossible. Fate took a hand, some problem was found with the lock on the night watchman’s cubicle, a lock smith came took the lock away, when we went to bed that night the lock had not been replaced. It had to be tonight or never I remember thinking to myself, as luck would have it the night watchman was really old and fell into a deep sleep very quickly, we used to laugh at his snoring.

At around 1 am with the old guy fast asleep I entered his cubicle and took the keys that he had placed on the hook backing out the room and closing the door. When I looked around all but two of the other lads were dressed they had quickly clocked on to what I was doing. I opened the door after trying several keys in the lock and it swung open to freedom, wow, the lads made so much noise running down the fire escape it’s a wonder half of Lichfield didn’t wake up. We crept through the outskirts of the town and made our way into open countryside along the A5 towards Birmingham. The early morning was pitch black and it wasn’t to long before we were seeing blue lights flashing in the direction in which we had travelled from the remand home, we all jumped over the fence away from the main road into a farmers field and sank ankle deep into mud.

The lead police cars had seen one of the lads jump over the fence and it was all over for the rest of us in a matter on minuets. We were all given the cane but I as ring leader and instigator of the escape plot was made to do bunny hops up and down the exercise yard for hours on end for the next 3 days. I had sealed my own fate and was sent to Red Bank at Newton-le-Willows for assessment. When the Governor sent for me some 10 weeks later it was to tell me that the Home Office had decided to send me to Wellesley Nautical School until I reached the age of 17. I was duly dispatched with a prison officer by train to Newcastle upon Tyne railway station were I was duly handed over to Albert Crompton.

Chapter 7
Wellesley Nautical School

Links Road, Blyth, Northumberland

1960-1963

Albert Crompton along with a few lads from the school collected me from Newcastle railway station, I climbed inside the big blue comer mini bus and plonked myself on the slated bench seat up front drivers side. I must have looked worried because one of the lads said, don’t worry it’s a great place. Albert Crompton never said a word during the journey he just concentrated on the driving. My first recollection was going through Tyneside with all its shops and arcades, then Seaton Sluice with its small harbour filled with little clinker built boats of every shape and size, on to Links road with wonderful sand dunes stretching as far as the eye could see, I noticed ships out in the open sea, and white caps on the waves, then my view was blocked by the wood yard fence and planks of wood in bundles stacked maybe 30 ft high, we turned left into the Wellesley gates the mini bus stopping between the cook house and chapel.

Albert Crompton took me into the office and he handed papers over, I was given a pep talk on does and don’ts by Commander Janaway RN then taken across to the tailors shop to be kitted out. Janaway was an impressive little man for his age, supper fit, hard as nails, was told he was at the battle of Jutland and I could believe it but that would have made Jan at least 64 years old in 1960; as the battle of Jutland took place in 1916! Kitted out I made my way between the toilet block and laundry room to my allocated division Drake; unfortunately a welcoming committee was waiting for me just beyond the toilet block by the name of Sadler.

We didn’t need any words between us, he was there to try me out, to see how I ranked and I was going to make him wish he hadn’t bothered. Sadler was my size and around my weight, which was about 9 and a half stone at the time, he had blond hair and came from South Wales. Sadler introduced me to street fighting with a head but which split my lip and a kick in the balls that made me want to die, I backed off and composed myself I could see Sadler’s confidence was growing fast. I fought him the only way I knew how with both fists, after a few right hands and a roundhouse left to the side of his head it was Sadler’s turn to back off, we must have fought for what seamed an hour but in reality was most probably only 10 minuets, both exhausted we mutually agreed to pack it in, Sadler shook my hand and walked away, I never had trouble with Sadler again and the bully boys never sent him after me, in there eyes Sadler had failed them as I was still walking.

I can still smell the polish, its seams that every institution it had been my misfortune to be in used the same brand, the smell was over powering as I opened the door to Drake division dorm. To my left was a row of white sinks, in front of me was an area painted in red floor paint with buckets and deck scrubbers arranged for display. Left again were the heads (toilets) to my right the locker room, directly ahead were beds on either side with centre deck walkway, the wooden floor gleamed you could see your reflection in it. The steel beams and inner roof were painted pastel blue, the walls white all but around 3 ft to floor level which was painted black, big 8 inch heating pipes ran the length of the dorm on both sides.

My next stop was the locker room to stow my newly acquired kit away, in the corner leaning against the lockers was a 4ft nothing boy with a red face, the type of face you would normally see on a heavy drinker after years of abuse, this was McMurdoc self appointed dorm PO and bully boy. Its not always like this he said looking at my split lip then followed that up with a swift kick at lightning speed to my groin, the wind went out of my sails and tears filled my eyes as I sunk to the floor in a crumpled heap, after a few seconds he told me to go clean myself up which I did. Apart from a few looks from the boys the rest of the evening was uneventful.

I thought about running that night but eventually decided that come what may I could never run again. The following day I awoke to the sound of Jan marching up and down the centre deck in an old black tracksuit and black pumps. I never in my life witnessed boys move so fast including McMurdoc, we washed and shaved, got dressed into number 8s then made up our bed packs. The beds were carried from one side to the other side of the dorm, then a row of lads got down on there hands and knees and rubbed the lumps of polish thrown down by the PO into the wooden floor, another set of lads came behind the first set and polished the floor till it was almost a mirror finish, if anyone of the lads got out of line while polishing a sharp kick corrected it.

All six divisions lined up outside ready to march down for breakfast self appointed POs walking down the lines of boys looking for faults, any excuse it seamed to punish individuals, the PO of Boscawen was Ginger Barry red headed Welsh bastard of the first degree, he walked up to me told me to hold still and punched me on the jaw full force, he was amazed that I was still standing I gave him a grin, he would have hit me again if Jan hadn’t walked out of Hawkins and called parade attention. I found the meals okay and never had any complaint; the dining hall was always clean and tidy.

We lined up on parade between the rear of the cookhouse and chapel waiting for the staff to assemble and usually Jan to read the orders of the day. My orders were to report to the schoolmaster for a test, which I failed. I think the Wellesley staff realised at an early stage from reading my chronology that I was not a good or willing candidate for formal education, they decided to my delight to teach me a trade, bricklaying. A Mr Foster was in charge of the building department during my first year, a kindly man with personality and skills to match, under his tuition I flourished and won the builder of the year award (A leather cigarette case filled with John Players tipped) Unfortunately Mr Foster moved on but an equally skilled and nice guy took over Reg Lidell who I had great admiration for. After 18 months I left the building department and took over as boiler boy, being boiler boy was hard work but it gave me a level of freedom not many others had, up at 6am every morning not finishing until 10 pm most nights after stoking each of the boilers. I was out of sight of the bullies, that didn’t stop the odd bit of match making by the likes of Chunky Pine or McMurdoc but after fighting Ginger Jones from Grenville a couple of times and new kid on the block Keith Bell and a boy called Roberts from Hawkins things died down and I was at peace with the world.

I boxed Ginger Jones from Granville in front of the whole school, and I mean the whole school including Albert Crompton and his girls, Chunky Pine told me that if I won he would kick me around the school, McMurdoc told me if you lose your going to get a kicking, being between a rock and a hard place I decided in my wisdom to lose knowing full well that Chunky had a harder kick than McMurdoc. I could beat Ginger Jones and McMurdoc any day of the week, Chunky was a different kettle of fish, he wasn’t just hard, he was vicious and a force to be reckoned with. Wilf Chunky Pine became the only English guy ever to be indoctrinated into one of the five Mafia families in New York after being adopted by Joey Pagano. Keith Bell turned out to be a well-known North East villain and later changed his name to Keith Collins. I loved the Wellesley it was my first real stable family and although it was hard at times to get through the days I kept the promise made to myself on the first night at the school, never to run again. In 1963 I walked through Wellesley gates with a heavy heart wondering if I would ever find the same stability in my life, maybe I was becoming institutionalised, but I like to think it was because of the comradeship I found with certain other boys, and the tradition that Wellesley boys truly are the best.

chalky · 02-11-2008, 05:53 PM

Chapter 8

Freedom Road

Freedom means a lot of things to a lot of people, to me with no immediate family I could turn to freedom meant hardship at least for the foreseeable future, I had exactly £21 in my pocket, a rail warrant to Wolverhampton and a hostel to call a home. I didn’t feel free, I felt lost, lonely and unsure of my future in the real world, for the first time I noticed people gazing at the amateur tattoos on my hands associated with criminals, love, hate, rip, a girls name on my lower wrist and a sword going through a heart in the middle of my left hand all done with Indian ink, and although I was in a nice set of clean clothes I felt unclean in some way which all added to my increasing lack of confidence, how I wished for my boiler room and the sanctuary of Wellesley once again.

St Georges house in Wolverhampton was run by a religious brother hood as a hostel for any down and out, alcoholic, people with mental health problems, it was a bedlam to put it mildly, The rooms had three bunk beds accommodating six sleepers there were four rooms in all. I woke after my first night to the smell of urine, “which”, was dripping down onto me from the top bunk and my worldly goods missing including any clean clothes. I still had £20; I walked down the stairs and slammed the door never to return.

I managed to find a bed sit and a landlord who was trusting, next I needed work which I found with a company laying a pipeline between Bridgnorth and Wolverhampton I was on my way, the confidence was returning I felt almost human. Eventually I got work with a company called Biddolf and Thrift who did mainly Government work or work for charities, week by week I learned the company put me on better jobs, my last job with the company was laying blue bricks at the Cheshire Homes unfortunately the company went into liquidation leaving a large workforce unemployed including yours truly.

I decided to change my occupation and went to work for a small one man band local garage who specialised in engine rebuilds, Terry Taylor was without doubt one of the most gifted mechanics alive at the time doing engine rebuilds on almost all local rally cars that were taking part in the tulip rallies. What this man didn’t know about crank and con rod balancing wasn’t worth knowing he was one of the original BMC mechanics at the research centre Longbridge. If there was any draw back working for Terry it was the wages they were very poor, I now had a wife who was pregnant with my child, I had to provide which would mean a new job, I went to a company called Bettles ltd who produced buckets and front loaders for Massy Ferguson tractors, within 12 months I had worked my way up to nightshift foreman, the money was good and the bank account balanced. Any spare time I had was spent learning to read and write, I got to the point were reading books became addictive first the ones in big print then normal print, I had a thirst now and would take books to work to read during breaks.

With the help of my wife who passed all her GCSEs I managed to be able to communicate with people on the same level, the grammar may not have been to Oxford or Cambridge standard, but people could understand me and of course over the years with practice I feel confident. My son was born and for the next six years everything went great, we had our ups and downs like any couple but we always made it up to each other, my wife wanted to move to Anglesey to give our son a better life, but the reality was she had been seeing another guy, a rich Romany gypsy who lived on the island, She eventually left taking our son with her and although I sent my son Christmas and birthday presents they were always sent back un-opened but with the contents smashed. I gave up telling myself that one day he would find me. I have never felt pain like it, nothing so far in life had prepared me for this kind of hurt, my world was gone along with any hopes and dreams I may have had for a normal family life.

Chapter 9

Back to my roots

I left Anglesey and returned to Wolverhampton my birthplace met a girl. Got her pregnant and moved in with her family. Both the girl and her family were great they loved me and supported me when I needed it, with the little savings I had I rented a small garage in the centre of town, got myself tools and went into business for myself. I worked from 7 am until 7 pm six days a week establishing the company, within seven months I was turning work away, had employed a part time book keeper, and given my new father in law a part time job. One of my main customers was a guy called Bob Hughes, he owned several companies including Search a Car Ltd, I used to maintain all his warranty work mechanical and paint, the guy was also building what would have been Europe’s largest two story night club complete with heli pad on the old low level station it was to be called the Solar System. He drove a new Lamborghini espada and wore £300 suites £120 Italian shoes hand stitched, he was top of the heap as they say, and he made people know that in no uncertain terms.

The day came when Bob invited me to join his company as sales manager on an income that was hard to refuse especially as tax was paid by the company, a new car of my choice was also on offer, and to make the offer more attractive he would take the garage over at a price to be fixed. After giving it much thought I accepted he was at my garage like a shot got me in the car and drove me down to his tailor ordering me 3 new suits, silk monogrammed shirts, silk ties, 3 pairs of Italian shoes then stuffed a grand in my pocket telling me to take the wife out and use the Lamborghini for the night.

The next day I arrived at my new job only to be told that Bob had said for me to have the new Triumph Stag and to collect my things from the tailor then go to his home and pick him up after I was changed. I did as I was told to the letter after all £300 a week in 71 was good money especially when you could walk around looking like a millionaire never getting your hands dirty and driving a brand new car to boot.

Bob started getting unexplained vandalism at the club site and car site and decided to employ bodyguards, so on the parole went two of the midlands most notorious villains Erick and David Anslow and life long friend Tommy Brooks sometimes called Tommy Anslow. These guys modelled themselves on Ron and Reg Kray even down to clothes; these guys would blow your leg off in front of your family and still get good nights sleep. With respect to the brothers they took prison as an occupational hazard, it was part of the job description, they never hurt members of the public intentionally, only other villains. Problem, other people started hiring muscle things started to get nasty at a fast rate.

The worst part about hiring the Anslows was the West-Midlands crime squad was watching there every move 24/7 around the clock, they didn’t want to arrest them for driving without a licence, or a cheap burglary, they wanted them for the big one, they wanted them away for a long time such was the contempt the crime squad held for the brothers and it was only a matter of time. It wouldn’t be easy for the crime squad money and fear talk and police after all are only human, with first hand information being past to the brothers via a corrupt officer it was possible they would avoid any traps set, a call came in to the office for Erick, he didn’t say anything but put the phone down turned to Bob and said, the white transit parked the other side of the road has a camera in the back avoid it. One night Bob told me to go down to the club building site to check on the brothers when I got out of the car to open the gate to the site I herd crack, crack, David was shooting at some puppies that had been born on the site with a 45 revolver just for target practice for Gods sake.

Next a local car dealer Warren Shelly had his desk blown in half while he was sitting at it, he closed the site and went to live in OZ I don’t think he ever came back. Another dealer Keith Pumpfry had his car sales site burnt down to the ground, and if the wages were not good enough for the brothers they attempted and armed robbery were recognised and on the run, that’s when all hell broke lose.

I was in the garage when the Anslows step father phoned asking for me, Erick wants to borrow your car, knowing he was an old lag I said okay come the car. After doing 30 years of his life in institutions and the nick the stepfather didn’t want to go back, and the crime squad used him to put me in the frame, it worked. I could hear the bull horn shouting out my name, come out with your hands above your head, when I got outside the crime squad were there waiting for me, three rushed me two held me while the other handcuffed me, my days of freedom were over.

Chapter 10

G Wing Re-Visited

From the garage in Willinhall I was taken to Dudley police station were one of the West-Midlands most high ranking police officer Author Bradley was waiting for my arrival, he was sitting on a chair facing the top of the stairs watching me approach. I am going to make this quiet plain so there can be no understanding he said in a broad brume accent, we no you are not involved, but we believe you can shed light on what has gone on between the Anslows and Hughes, it’s a simple choice, will you cross the line and make a statement for the prosecution, or will you stay that side of the line and be charged with everything they will be charged with, don’t answer right away I want to give you time to think about it, he waved his hand to Johnny Perkins a member of the crime squad and I was taken to a room and left alone, about five minuets went past the door opened and in walked Jack Wellings a local detective, do not make a statement, if you do you’re a dead man, he walked from the room. Now at this stage in my life I was what you may consider worldly wise and a threat issued by a police officer of that nature surely must have substance!

When Bradley called me out of the room, he ask the question, are you going to make a statement and walk, or do we charge you. I will not make a statement I replied; take him down and charge him came the reply from Bradley. I was charged with fifteen counts the first count would carry a 15 year sentence if proved.(To injure by way or means of violence a person in pursuit of his/her business by the use of a firearm contrary to section bla bla bla)

Apart from reading all the names or counting the bricks in the cell life becomes dull, eventually the key went in the lock and the door flew open, all five of us were present when we were remanded in custody to HMP Winston Green, none of us were given bail. It was late when we arrived, the food given was stone cold, after being given the standard issue of bedding and toiletries we were escorted through the main hall to G wing, not a lot had changed since being on the wing as a boy, maybe a fresh coat of paint a few years back but nothing else. The Anslow brothers and myself were put in one large cell on the corner of G wing whilst Bob Hughes and Tommy Brooks for some reason ended up on rule 43! When I asked the screw what was going on as to the accommodation with Hughes and Brooks he simply replied, Governors orders.

The police had some evidence but not enough to put a solid case together, but we were dealing with the corrupt West-Midlands crime squad, they would make the evidence if necessary. Time stood still, each day was no different to the next and that went for the diet which must have constipated every con in the place, the smell first thing in a morning from the shit parcels that had been thrown through the broken cell windows during the night and the stench of the cell piss pots was enough to make anyone confess. Directly above me was father Patrick Fell and Francis Stag from Coventry accused of being a members of the IRA, I used to shout up to him for a blessing and he used to reply saying, yes my son I bless you, not that I was religious but any bit of help even from the almightiest messenger was welcome.
I had only 2 police visits in 5 months and refused both of them, when you refused a visist it had to be recorded, and you had to go with the screw and tell the police that you were refusing the visit. That was all they needed to fabricate an interview, we said he said bla bla bla. On the second visit the police conned me for time by saying they had information about my new son, they said he had been taken into hospital which was a sham on there part but they gained the valuable time needed with me. After the police visit came a cell search, tap the bars, look through private letters make the cell as untidy as possible, One of the screws said so I could hear him, Id fuck Whites wife given half the chance, he was holding a picture of my wife and new born baby in his hand. I ran into the cell snatched the picture away from him and gave him a slap, he ran from the cell with his mate and banged the door shut. All the cell doors were being locked I got the feeling that soon they would be coming for me, and they did six handed, they almost chocked the life out of me while carrying me down to the block, my clothes were ripped off my body and the screw I had hit stood on my ankle and twisted his boot ripping skin away from my foot, another screw kicked out at me fracturing two of my ribs, I was never allowed back into the main stream prison population. The prison doctor told me it was the way I had been sleeping that had caused the fractures he was a joke. The bastards kept the light on in my cell all day and all night, durring the day my matress was put outside the cell so I had to sit and stand on a cold floor, they pissed in my tea and food, so I stopped eating and drinking until a screw drank my tea and tasted the food, you can not be found not guilty in prison when you go on governers report that would not make the prison union very happy. I gave my side of the story and the screw gave his and the governor came out with his wit, White, if my officer tells me that you have been riding around the landings on a motor cycle I shall want to know who gave you the petrol, my officers are paid not to lie, guilty confined to block.

chalky · 02-11-2008, 05:57 PM

Chapter 11

The Trial

The trial date had been set for June at Birmingham’s no 2 court the trial judge was Mr Justice May, prosecutor was Michael Pratt QC, defence for the Anslows and Brooks was Tucker QC, Ashworth QC represented me Bob Hughes had a London QC who’s name eludes me at this time. Representing solicitor for all five of us was John Bug.

The morning was taken up by picking the jury and the afternoon by submissions by prosecutor and defence in the absence of the jury, all but three charges relating to myself were dropped by the prosecution before the end of the day, compared to everyone else the charges remaining were (1) helping offenders (2) receiving a stolen jacket value £40 (3) accessory to arson and criminal damage. They would not give me bail and I was to sit in the dock with the other accused for the duration of the trial estimated to last 14 days.

Explanation as to remaining charges. The jacket mentioned was given to me by Bob Hughes, I had worn the coat openly, even had it on when I was arrested, I didn’t know it was stolen at the time and Bob never mentioned it, The coat had come from a raid the Anslows had carried out, shows that even top villains can be stupid at times, the coats were all prota types they never went on the open market for sale!

Helping offenders, offering the Anslows the use of my car when they were on the run for armed robbery via telephone conversation with their stepfather!

Accessory before the fact. A person may know about a crime and should report it but is under no obligation in law to do so!

The trial lasted for 14 days as estimated, each day we were put in the van and made the journey to the law courts flanked by two police motor cycle out riders and two fast pursuit police cars. Hughes’ and myself were lucky, as both of us did not have a criminal record so our QCs could attack the witnesses without any fear of retaliation by the prosecution.

One of the questions regarding a supposed interview with me at Winston Green prison proved to be interesting and made headlines.

My QC Chief Superintendent Bradley, you say that you had a 20 minuet interview with White at Winston Green and I can see from your diary that you have wrote on 12 pages a matter of 400 words, did you ask a question, get a reply and write the answer down in your police diary at the time?
Chief Superintendent Bradley, no I asked the questions and wrote the replies given as soon as I arrived back at the station.
My QC Are you telling me that you can drive through rush hour traffic, remember the questions asked and answers given to accurately record them in your diary, please remember Superintendent you are under oath.
Superintendent, I am a police officer of long standing I do not lie, and yes I have a good memory and remembered the questions and the answers given in reply.
My QC, really then please tell me the first question and answer given in this court room not 35 minuets ago by your good self.
After a long pause and prompt from the judge he replied I can not remember.
My QC, you cant remember, of course not Superintendent, and you could not remember over 40 minuets later after the so called interview with white, Its all hog wash, eye wash, and what’s more Superintendent it will not wash you tell lies sir. The judge adjourned the case until the following morning.

Chapter 12

The Trial Final Days

Over the week various crime squad officers gave evidence, they even had a white board showing the route and time scale taken by the Anslows on the night of the arson attack on the car sales site, to be honest it was impressive and the jury thought it was judging by the look on there faces. The evidence was verbal not one of us had made a written statement so it was up to the the prosecution to prove the case.

Evidence against Erick and David was farcical to say the least but the jury lapped it up, In an interview at Dudley police station inspector Williams asked David Anslow, David we are making enquiries into a robbery at George Masons supper market Netherton Dudley, £3000 pounds was taken and 40000 green shield stamps went missing, what can you tell us about it David? David replied If you want to make the old judge laugh tell him we used the green shield stamps as a deposit on a Rolls Royce and we only need two more books.

Again another question, David when you were arrested we found surgical cloves in your property why do you have them? David’s reply, I’m a doctor aint I! The crime squad obviously had a comedian working for them to produce such statements because the Anslows never give statements verbal or written and that’s official.

The crux of the trial rested on the alibi of the Anslows being in a pub in Market Street Wolverhampton called “The French Duck” on the night of the burning down of the car sales site. I was the only one to give evidence in support of their alibi, against the wishes and advice of my QC, I might add. I gave my evidence.

Under cross examination by Michael Pratt QC I got cocky and in a reply to a question regarding superintendent Bradley I stated that if he had put his pen to paper and wrote a fiction novel know doubt by now he would be a famous writer making millions, it didn’t go down well with the judge, if looks could kill!

A girl who worked for Bob full time and at the French Duck part time was called to everyone’s shock and amazement, but Michael Pratt QC had a smile on his face. She disproved my evidence by saying that the Anslows were never in the French Duck on the night of the arson attack, apparently she had been caught dipping her fingers in the tills at the French Duck but never prosecuted! Also the owner a guy called Sala sold up and went back to Egypt during the trial!

The last day of the trial finally came, both defence and prosecuting QCs summed up during the morning leaving Mr Justice May the early part of the afternoon to sum up and give directions to the jury, the jury went out. After only 30 minuets they were back finding the Anslows Brooks and Hughes guilty, he sentenced David first 12 years, Erick 10 years, Brooks 4 years, Hughes 4 years, take them down he said.

When the prosecutor started to read out previous convictions for the Anslows and Tommy Brooks I wanted to curl up and hide, you could see the shock on the juries faces, 22 and 23 previous convictions for the Anslows including Kidnapping, armed robbery on Woolworth’s store Dudley at the age of 14 with there mother ect ect. Tommy Brooks had slashed a policeman with an open razor the list went on and on, looking at these guys in the dock immaculately dressed in blue pin striped suits, white shirts and poca dot ties it was hard to imagine. they looked like angels. I was tarred with the same brush and watched my chance of freedom slipping away before my eyes.

The Forman of the jury explained that they could not reach a verdict as far as I was concerned, the judge re explain the ingredients of being an accessory once again, my QC augured quoting different sections of law as to why the judge must direct the the jury to find me not guilty as there was not evidence only that of association with the other accused, in the end he sat down frustrated and Tucker QC jumped up in my defence again explaining that there had been a misdirection and I should be found not guilty.

Justice May was having none of it, I had in his courtroom ridiculed a fine upstanding police officer with over 30 years service, and I was going down. May instructed the jury to go out and re-consider the verdict of me being guilty of being an accessory before the fact to arson and criminal damage. 3 hours later they returned, guilty, The judge sentenced me to 3 years, then asked how I pleaded on the remaining charges, I replied not guilty, he spoke at length to my council explain that if there were a re trial on the remaining charges, and if I was found guilty the sentence would be a stiff one, after sitting in the dock for 14 days listening to the fiasco I took my QCs advice and pleaded guilty, I got a further 2 years making 5 in all, take him down.

How was I feeling? Numb, drained, in shock that the British justice system could convict a person on verbal evidence and take away their liberty. As I walked down the steps to the cells underneath the court the sentence given hadn’t sunk in.

My QC said he had logged an immediate appeal on the grounds that there was a point of law of public interest and that the learned Judge had misdirected the jury in explaining the ingredient of being an accessory before the fact, and that the sentence was to harsh. Well I could hope, couldn’t I?

The greatest quality a fighter needs is to get off the floor when knocked down, that’s the true mark of a champion, I was up and fighting.

chalky · 02-11-2008, 06:01 PM

Chapter 13

The Godfather The Captain And the Soldiers

The Birmingham Evening Mail described Bob as the Godfather; I was the Captain transferring Bob’s orders to the soldiers who were Erick, David, and Tommy a structured organised crime outfit involved in car wars. The reality was very different; Bob had simply got out of his depth and hired what he felt were the best to put an end to constant vandalism organised by jealous car dealers and club owners and it escalated. The media including national TV didn’t do my parole prospects any good at all, the reputation from the trial stayed with me for years both in and out of prison, it was hard to shake off.

The house I was buying in Kimberly street had to be sold along with the furnishings the mortgage fell into arrears, my wife’s parents who were getting on in life had fallen into debt, I signed all my tools and equipment over to them so they could raise money and clear themselves poor dears. My wife visited me every month with our son, she must have loved me very much, the thought of holding them both kept me going through the prison years.

The Governors block order on me was still in force and from court I was immediately sent back to the block. Erick and David needed someone to blame for there incarceration it fell on Bob Tommy and myself, the three of us were accused of giving the crime squad information off the books! The arrangements the crime squad had made with the prison authority to put Bob and Tommy on rule 43 for there own protection and good order of the prison had made the Anslows think that someone was trying to get off the hook at there expense, the so called interviews I had whilst in prison didn’t help my case, and yet I was the only one who supported there alibi and in doing so condemned myself. I was on exercise when David shouted from his cell window, when I get out I’ll get my gun put it in your mouth and pull the trigger, I shouted back, do your bird.

Once convicted you are assed by the prison regime and although I had committed no violent crime I was made an A man, which ment a long-term top security prison for me. Bob spent time at the Green, then he was transferred to HMP Stafford, Erick was sent to HMP Parkhurst isle of Wight, David to a psychiatric wing at HMP Hull, Tommy to HMP Dartmoor, myself to HMP Leicester, but again down the block.

When I arrived at Leicester prison Wellford Road Roy Shaw and one of the Richardson’s had just been transferred, Roy for organising a three day sit in whilst on association, from what Johnny Griffin told me they watched the TV until the dot went out, watch with mother, the magic roundabout and the screws were feeding them, the protest ended peacefully but Roy was a hard man and Leicester didn’t need anymore hard men it had its fair share, Richadson was moved for security reasons somebody most probably wanted to stick a tool in his back.

I stayed in the block for several weeks although I must say compared with the Green I was treated like a gentleman, the food was five star and the prison was spotless maybe that was due to Leicester having one of the most feared Pos (Principal Officer) on the centre deck Dartmoor Joe, whatever formula made Leicester tick was working.
Chapter 14

Learning To Live Under The Communist Regime

In 1972 we didn’t have the human rights act, the prison system like many other Government departments was institutionalised and the prison officers union in particular wanted to keep it that way. You would have to go a long way to find any prisoner who was found not guilty on governors adjudication, the punishment books are full with guilty verdicts, equally prisoners who have appeared before visiting magistrates on more serous charges would get the same results, guilty.

The Governor of any prison relies on his staff, he has to back them, and he does not have a choice because if he doesn’t give them backing then the prison will not function. If you are a convicted prisoner then you can not be relied upon to tell the truth, and all words from a prison officers mouth are as if, words from God himself. The prison officers run the prison but only with the cooperation of the prisoners, each layer of people depend on the other. When riots broke out at Manchester Strange ways the offices lost control because they lost the cooperation and trust of the inmates. It’s a fine line to walk on all sides.

They feed, clothe, find you work, educate, make the rules, punish, it’s a great employment industry; prison is a society within a society its on par with any communist society. This was one society and one industry you had to get to know and understand quickly or you would not last the distance that was a fact. You can do a sentence the hard or easy way, I chose the easy way, keep a low profile and mouth firmly shut.

The keys turned in the lock of my cell door and it was pulled open by Dartmoor Joe, the Governor wants to have a word White state your name and number, White 500591, I’m going to let you out into the prison population but I must have your word that your conduct drastically change, the reports from my colleagues at your last prison are not encouraging at all, I give you my word I will not create any problems for you sir, the officers or general population. Thank you White I believe you.

That afternoon I ended up on C wing, (usually one of the long term wings in local prisons) That’s when I first met Johnny Griffin from Loughborough just outside of Leicester, stocky 26 28 years old covered almost from head to toe with prison tattoos, John had been in institutions all his life with the occasional breaks in the real world, I would describe John as a likeable villain, smoke he said, thanks, I took his tobacco tin and rolled myself one, Johns the name he said, people call me the Griff, Chalky White I took his hand and shook it, pleased to met you. John was looking at my identification card hanging up outside the cell, 5 years he said, yes I replied, hmmm I’m the butcher in the kitchen cushy job out till 9pm every night best food, I’ll have a word, at that John walked away to the landing steps heading towards the prison kitchens. The cell was bare, but at least it was a single cell and it over looked the special wing.

Tea was called and I made my way down to the food counter and picked up a stainless steel food tray, five different choices of meals on offer, John was at the counter and seamed to be making sure I had everything I wanted he gave me a wink, hope he’s not gay I thought to myself, then dismissed the thought in an instant. The veg pie with new potatoes and gravy was brilliant, and the apple pie and custard finished off the meal nicely, I didn’t have any sugar so the tea took a bit of getting used to, apart from that this really was five star.

I didn’t see John that evening but at slop out (empty your ablutions) the following morning he was outside my cell with a wonderful beef sandwich he had smuggled out the kitchens and some magazines, enjoy he said see you later. The beef sandwich went down a treat and the mags at least gave me something to read until I was able to find something more to my liking. Down to breakfast, cornflakes, fresh milk, a cup of tea, was all I wanted although bacon and eggs were available, I remember thinking to myself the bloody poor old pensioners would love this lot everyday.

At 8am a screw (prison officer) came to my cell and said I had to follow him to the workshops, I spent up until 12.30pm in the plastics shop, in the four and a half hours I had been in the shop two cons had got high on the solvents and a fight broke out, I refused to return to work after dinner. I half expected to be put down the block but to my surprise no action was taken against me.

The following day John true to his word got me a job in the kitchens, it was great, we had the best of everything, I washed the meal trays and cleaned the server then helped out putting potatoes in the spud machine, or rolling doe for bread rolls, the two kitchen screws were a laugh especially Taffy Bowkett he came from the valleys of south Wales and had a right sense of humour. We had our own TV room in the kitchen and watched as we worked.

I asked John why he had been so good to me, news travels fast, you put one on the chin of that screw at the Green, and you became special mate one of a few. To be honest John I wished I had held back got a feeling some repercussions are still in the pipeline. Arrr don’t let the rats get you down he said, we carried on working preparing dinner, John dicing meat for a stew, me rolling dumplings with the baker who I found out was in his last 9 months of a life sentence x French foreign Legion, funny guy never said much, but got the feeling he could handle himself.

I watched the seasons change, my wife travelled in all kinds of weather for the 30 minuet visits each month always bringing my son with her, what a little darling she was. John and I used to prepare the raw food going into the special wing, they had to have the best or there would be riots. Got the feeling that John McVicar did most of the cooking for himself and Ronny Dark, they always seamed to be together out on exercise or playing tennis, used to watch tutors going in and out of the special wing from Leicester uni that’s when John was studying for his degree. I shouted down to him one day “how you doing” he shouted back okay, don’t find yourself in hear when your 40, don’t be a cunt stay out, the screws in the special wing didn’t like any communication between C wing and the special wing and they were trying to pinpoint what cell the conversation had originated from, I ducked down and made my way to the kitchens pronto.

Last year John sent me the latest signed copy of his revised book, McVicar by Himself. I phoned his x wife Valentine who told me John was in Portugal chasing all the girls lucky devil.

chalky · 02-11-2008, 06:05 PM

Chapter 15

To Be, Or Not To Be: That Was The Question

I walked from Stafford prison gates never looking back, it was a bright sunny morning the year was 1976, the gate screw shouted, you’ll be back, I never took any notice of him, just thought you f..king rat, I’ll never be back. I recognised the driver sitting in the car immediately It was John my wife’s moms next door neighbour, I climbed into the car and thanked him for being there, he hugged me, started the engine and away we went. John didn’t speak during the 25 some odd miles to my home he could see something was wrong with me, and I defiantly knew something was wrong with me, I was drugged up with over 300 mg of sedatives given me by the prison hospital screw, I had a months supply of the 100mg tablets in my bag and two bottles of metatone, It was a great way to ignore the world or so I thought at the time.

The home welcoming was emotional, everyone was crying including my wife’s father, I picked my son up and held him close to me for a long time, the day past with idle chit chat bringing me up to date with what they felt was important to me, they could have been telling me I was going to die for all I cared the sedatives had put me on another planet, the first night in bed with my wife was also a disaster, I had no feeling, no emotions, I was a zombie and a tear rolled down my cheek and onto my chest; and I lay there silent looking out of the window at the sky wishing it could be different.

The days and weeks rolled by and I didn’t even notice the seasons changing, I functioned just about like a faulty machine, I was in some kind of fog 24 hours a day I found it difficult to hold a cup and saucer my hands shook so bad with the tea or coffee ending up on the floor, I would have to ask people if they had just spoken to me, even sitting next to a gas fire I would shake violently at times. Eventually I went to see the local JP who reduced the intake each day to 75mg of each tablet after a week at the reduced intake I started feeling better, I wasn’t so tired during the day, my hands stopped shaking, and I could hold a conversation.

Over a short period of time I started to lose weight and came down from 11 stone 2 lbs to just over 10 stone but held it at that, however the shakes were back, lack of concentration and forgetting things at times, the love life didn’t improve much although it was better, I had to make a decision to be or not to be! To be would mean that I stayed in a semi zombie state for the rest of my life, not to be would mean kicking the sedative habit. I chose to rid myself of the pills telling myself that I was worth more and my family disserved more.

I tipped the contents of the medicine bottles down the toilet. Flushed and said goodbye.
That night I didn’t sleep at all I was wide awake as if I had been asleep for a hundred years like that Rip Van Winkle in the story books, the next day I started to suffer with withdrawal symptoms the itch was like a 1000 fleas running over my body, I scratched until my arms and legs were bleeding, I had three hot baths that day covering myself with calamine lotion to try and get relief. Relief didn’t come and I repeated the routine over the next 7 to 8 days, finaly the itching stopped, I started feeling my normal self for the first time in over 7 months, the sex life improved and all relationships were soon back to normal.

Chapter 16

Normality

My wife had put her name down on the housing council list when I was sent to prison and finally they had offered her a two bedroom flat in Blakenhall Wolverhampton, it was the kind of district that most immigrants from the West Indies and India had decided to settle, we were on the 18th floor of the multi story block, apart from the wonderful view of urban decay in the district and the fact that the council thought you were privileged to be part of a 24/7 crime scene, it didn’t have a lot going for it!

To say living in the block was a nightmare would be a gross under statement, we had it all on a large scale, the West Indians ran the drugs business from the local pub to the right of our block along with the prostitutes who never seamed to get tired of walking up and down the surrounding streets waving at potential clients, couple that with police sirens and blue flashings lights on the hour every hour and it gives you some idea of the quality of life in the area.

All your household rubbish went down a shut to large bins at ground level and the vandals loved to set them on fire at least once a week so the flats were evacuated, it gave them a buzz, but it pissed the residents off big time. If you were in the scrap business a fortune was to be made collecting the dozens of empty aluminium larger cans left in the lift daily, if you liked art then living in the block was a bonus multi coloured graffiti covered almost every wall, usually depicting the hate for the local bill, or la revolution. You had to laugh at some of the notices pined on the residents doors like (Don’t bother you nicked everything last week) or (If you decide to break in again, can you please take the wife, she’s all I have left, thank you)

The area at one time had been the hub of Wolverhampton’s industrial past, companies such as Villiers engines, Gibbons locks, and hundreds of medium sized press work companies and foundries, now the factory sites were derelict and the gypsies used them to recycle there rubbish before they moved on to new pastures. Employment prospects were good if you were a mugger, drug dealer, burglar, prostitute or pimp. Council workmen would only visit the block to carry out repairs if the local Bill stationed one of the officers for the duration of the visit in the foyer A good ontrapanuer could have advertised the local area in the medical journal as a working holiday destination for physiatrists, everyone it seamed living in the local had problems.

No matter what the problems most residents tried to keep a sense of humour, it was either that or go mad. It was a bit like being back in the nick living in the block, if you learned system got to know the players, turned a blind eye, life was liveable, just. I had to find work, we were doing okay but savings don’t last forever, I skimmed the local paper everyday until finally I found a possibility.

chalky · 02-11-2008, 06:09 PM

Chapter 17

William Wallace

A company called Mills Transport in Cradley Heath, which is just outside Dudley West-Midlands, also known as the Black Country were advertising for a long distance class 2 hgv driver fitter. After scouring the area for a phone box that hadn’t been vandalised I made the call and arranged an interview that day. Id managed to buy a Ford cortina mk2 , which I had taxed and insured so it was no trouble getting to the transport yard which lay on the out skirts of Cradley.

Percy Mills gave me the interview, then told his head fitter to test my driving skills around the area, when we got back to the yard the fitter went into the portable buildings which were used as offices and light storage and spoke at length to Percy. Percy came out and said, when can you start, I replied tomorrow morning, okay he said you got yourself a job son.

I couldn’t wait to tell my wife the news and think I broke the land speed record on my journey back home. As I approached a parking space in front of our block I could see my wife on the small veranda cleaning the window, I shouted at the top of my voice, I got the job start tomorrow, then I realised what I had done announcing my good news to the world, on pay days I would now be a mug able target hmmm.

When I arrived at the yard the next day the fitter pointed to the truck, which was to be mine. Ministry log books are in the cab, make sure you fill them in, delivery notes are waiting in the rest room on your clip board, the tanks full and ready to go. I went into the port a cabin office and could see the tiny rest room and clip boards, I grabbed mine and away I went.

My delivery was an urgent one; a 12 ton casting to the BMC works at Swindon, looking at the notes the casting was for pressing door panels out on MGB sports cars. A few hours later I arrived at the Swindon works and could see all the MGB body shells stacked outside on steel racks. The gate house security looked at my notes and pointed to a large building to the right, I parked outside the door and waited, and waited, eventually a guy came out wearing a brown smock coat walked up and down the side of the lorry then taped on the cab window. WE cant take that off mate its not chocked, I said what do you mean its got lifting hooks imbedded in the casting, that’s how they put it on; “O no mate we aint x rayed the welds it might snap and hurt a brother, f.ck me I said British industry its no wonder the rest of the world is passing us by. Are you in a union he asked? No, I replied, then f.ck off and take the load back and get it chocked, he wrote on the notes( refused) and signed it.

This was the time of Red Robbo and the unions held the power, the time when British Leyland workers were making Christmas lights out of Leyland stock parts rather than produce vehicles, this was a time when three men did one job, this was a time when they went on strike over management not allowing them to take the Daily Mirror into the shit house, this was a f.cked up time in British history full stop. I took my time driving back stopping for something to eat at a transport café, when I did get back Percy was not pleased, he listened to my explanation of events, looked at the signed notes, jumped onto a JCB digger, told the head fitter to unchain the casting, and used the bucket to push the casting off the truck and into the mud, and that’s were it remained for over three weeks going rusty. The refusal of the casting held up body production for over four weeks the money lost must have been incredible. My next trip the very next day became a regular one, I would load quick fit scaffolding from a company called Rapid Metal Developments who were situated in Aldridge Cannock staffs along with anchor chain from Cradley Heath and deliver to Belfast Northern Ireland.

The ferry crossing from Liverpool to Belfast that night was a rough one many of the people in the bars were sick, one minuet you were up on a wave the next dropping, thud as she came down the whole ship vibrating. I slept like a log after a few double brandies, the ship had just docked as I woke, I went and got some breakfast then made my way down to the truck, as I drove onto the dock I stopped and asked another driver for directions to my first drop which was a company on the falls road. I found it quiet easy navigating the streets of Belfast, bit un-nerving at times passing sand bagged British army posts doted along the streets, it was a reminder that this was not a totally safe destination. I unloaded at the company and got directions for my second drop Harland and Wolf ship yard, although you could see the ship yard cranes for miles they were a landmark. Again no problems everyone was so nice to me. I bid my fare wells and headed back to the ferry dock only to be told that I could not load until 7pm, so I went walk about and ended up in Robinson’s Bar, the atmosphere was great and over the months I got to know the barmen quiet well.

Back in Liverpool and down the East Lancs. Heading for home, the truck was a six wheeler Ford D1000 with the cumin’s V8 engine, unfortunately it had the old crash box which ment doubling the clutch every gear change, hard work in built up areas, just as I got to the traffic lights on the East Lancs. The first prop shaft dropped off the truck. I had to leave it, Mills were going to recover it, but I had to hitch a lift home which took me hours, and it was cold.

I worked for Percy Mills for quiet a few months but the trucks were old, unreliable, and poorly maintained, he had no interest in improving the fleet so I gave in my notice after securing another driving job with G and S removals, local to our home, in fact 300 yards away. I worked for G and S for well over six months, great job lots of perks, it was in the street behind G and S that I first met Allan William Wallace, could have been related to Brave Heart, but this guy as I found out later had a chicken heart.

I had savings now and didn’t want to be working all hours for someone else to get 90% of the benefit so I rented a small work bay on a service station in Wednesfield along with Wallace, Mick Lucas had just moved out of the bay to a unit 400 yards further up the road doing engine reconditioning, I hit it off with Mick from day one, they used to do a one hour clutch service in the bay I had taken over, he gave me all his contacts and old customer list as he was concentrating on engines. Allan worked at the bay with another guy we employed Ted. Ted was born on the canal boats and was never educated, he had spent 26 years on the water with his parents but Ted had a gift with anything mechanical and such a grafter. I remained at G and S for several weeks to give them time to replace me; they had been good to me and felt I owed them at least that.

Chapter 18

The Garage

Wallace stood 5ft 5inches he was in his late 40s when I met him and he was going nowhere, semi skilled mechanic at best, his arms were powerful at some time in his life he had grafted, instead of having a six pack he had a bear barrel, he was fat and out of shape. When I had nothing else to do in the nick I exercised doing press ups and sit ups for hours, I didn’t carry weight and had good muscle definition, I carried on with the exercises after the affects of the pills had worn off and completely gone from my system, I was supper fit.

The garage work bay was a double one, ramp one side solid floor the other, on the ramp side we did clutch replacement on the other side engine fits and repairs. A small compressor room to the left acted as the office with desk and chair and rest room, a small bench at the top of the bay had a cash box bolted to it, all the days takings and National Insurance cards were keep in the box, just Wallace and I had a key. The bay had now been opened three months and the order book was full every day plus Mick sent us two or three engine fits a week but for some reason the bank money wasn’t right, I took the books up to Mick and he gave them the once over telling me that someone was at it, over the three months the garage had been opened there was a shortfall of £400 that couldn’t be accounted for, it couldn’t be Ted, he didn’t have a key so I decided to watch and wait.

I was sitting at the desk on the phone to a customer and shouted Wallace to make some tea, he went to the bench and switched the kettle on, but also opened the cash box, from my position I watched him grab a bundle of notes from the top of the tin and place them under the national insurance cards at the bottom of the tin, I said nothing. Every night we counted the days take together it was put back in the tin with a slip giving the amount then it was locked and Wallace took it home, trust right? We were partners 50-50 right? Wrong, Wallace wanted bonus.

6pm came time to knock off, Wallace opened the cash box and counted the money and wrote the amount on the slip and went to close the box, I grabbed his hand and said, no, no what about the money at the bottom? Wallace went bright red, I took the notes out from under the cards £80.00 why I said, why did you steel from me? Y