Thread: Each In There Darkness part 1

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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? You’re a thief you c.nt, at that he lashed out at me knocking me into the compressor room, he came towards me and swung again catching me on the left side ribs, this guy is going to hurt me I thought, near my right hand on the desk was an empty milk bottle I grabbed it smashed it against the wall and pushed it towards his face, he fell down on his knees and begged me not to cut him, he had tears in his eyes, he looked pathetic, I told him to go in a quiet voice and never come back, he went.

The next day Ted told me how Wallace had bullied him to do all the work even making him work until 10 and 11pm on some nights, and he did it because he was scared, I gave Ted the keys to the garage, put his wages up by £50 a week, bought him the car he wanted which was a viva and he was like a pig in shit, happy. The garage was doing real well, Ted was happy and felt secure, I could relax a bit, Mick had asked me if I wanted to go into Europe for a week with him and his wife, I asked my wife if she would mind she no, so the following week I went, on my first trip outside of the UK.

Chapter 19

The Holiday

The brand new v8 trans am Mick had bought from a mate of his down Swiss Cottage London purred down the A2 from Canterbury towards Dover at a steady 90mph, in another 45 minuets we would be on the P&O ferry heading towards Calais. The ferry ride was wonderful, the sea air cleared my head, Mick was a chain smoker he would get through 100 Bensons a day, if passive smoking kills you, I would have left this earth a long time ago. We docked at Calais the customs were just a formality we headed out on the route National 3 heading towards Nancy, at Nancy we went towards Metz and from Metz into Luxembourg were Mick had booked rooms in the best hotel it overlooked a church hidden in a valley lit with beams of light, it was something special.

The hotel and Luxembourg were spotless I never saw one bit of graffiti it was a breath of fresh air. We finished the night off in Luxembourg with Mick drinking 14 double brandies with lager chasers and he still managed to walk back to the hotel. The next day we headed towards Strasbourg, Mulhouse, finally Zurich, we didn’t stay in Zurich just rested for a few hours and had a meal. We travelled up to Geneva and arrived early evening and got booking at the University hotel. That evening we visited the lake and had a meal in old Geneva, the meal was fabulous and the piano player a real professional, I got my wife a gold chain from one of the many antique shops in the old town.

I phoned Ted every day just to make sure he was okay, he just kept saying enjoy your self, bless. The next stage of the journey took us into Italy were we joined a motorway just outside Torino heading for Milan, I was driving Mick wouldn’t drive on the continent, doing a steady 120 mph a Ferrari went past us as if we were standing still, then another and another, the factory must use the motorway system as a test track. The scenery was breath taking our destination for the night and following day was Venice.

When we arrived in Venice we parked the car in secure underground parking on the advice of a local who spoke quiet good English and he told us why, in the night the window wipers would go, the chrome wheels would go, then if we were lucky the next day offered back to us at a price! Made sense to make it secure although it cost a few bob. We took a gondola to the hotel, the floors were pure marble and the decor was beautiful. On the evening after a meal we took a water taxi (speed boat) to the islands Venice is built on. The Venice canals were pretty clean possibly due to the tidal system in the area, Venice is full of art and even if your not interested in it, you cant help being impressed by it. We spent the following day walking around Venice using the many bridges, the crystal they make must be the best in the world and chandeliers were everywhere for sale.

Next up on our list was Naples, they say see Naples and die, the prophecy almost came true Mick nearly did. Micks wife was tired and just wanted a meal and bed so Mick and I went out for the evening, Like I said Mick could drink and this night was no exception, I not sure how many brandies he had but it was to much, a tall beautiful Italian girl in pure white skin hugging trousers, white blouse showing her tits was sitting on a chair near the bar, Mick put his arm around her within a second a young guy wearing dark glasses was heading towards Mick with a stiletto Knife I jumped between Mick and the guy just has he opened the blade the tip of the blade nicked the inside of my left hand and cut a 2 inch line in the skin, an old guy immaculately dressed walked over to us, he pointed for the young guy with the knife to sit down, then put his hand near the girl, not on her near her and said mort and in broken English you understand? I understood enough to realise we had been lucky, this time. I got Mick of the bar and into a taxi. The hotel was a welcome sight after the nights adventure, I went to bed and left Mick at the bar drinking.

The next morning Mick and his wife came down to the dining room for breakfast, It was just 9. 30 and I didn’t expect Mick up for hours after the night before, he looked across the table and gave me one of his stupid grins as much as to say, we got away with it mate. After breakfast we put the bags in the car and said goodbye to Naples we headed back towards Milan and the Italian Alps.

We crossed the Alps that day through all the tiny mountain villages, when we finally crossed we found ourselves back on the French side on Mount Blanc, I got out of the car to stretch my legs the others doing the likewise, when I looked up at Mount Blanc it seamed to put everything into perspective, I suddenly realised how insignificant we are compared to nature, does that make sense?

We were going to try and get to just outside of Calais ready for the ferry home the next day, so we headed for Lyon, then up the motorway towards Paris, we stayed over night at a simple bed and breakfast in Arras, major battles were fought there during WW2, it wasn’t lack of money, we had plenty but we wanted to flavour the real France. The beds were as old as the house, and the mattresses were pure feather. After a meal of local cheese and wine we went to bed, when I awoke the following morning I could smell the breakfast cooking, I washed and made my way down stairs. Both the bed, and food provided were the best tasted, all three of us agreed on that, the price for the night was a little under £5 pounds each we gave the old lady £30.

Again a wonderful ferry journey back to Dover, in just over 6 hours we were back home to face reality at least for a short while.

Chapter 20

O What A Life

The Garage was doing great Ted was a little diamond even if I wasn’t there Ted made sure we made money, I was now living in a private two bed flat in Waynesfield with my wife and son she seamed happy and secure, money was no longer a problem she had the best. I had got myself a one owner Ford Mustang bullet shape with the 489cc v8 engine Mick’s brother totally rebuilt the engine for me. Mick and his partner John had moved to Phoenix road which was off Neachells lane Wednesfield and a nice 6ooo square ft unit with top offices he called the company Gold Star Engines, employed around 14 people including his brother Graham and he was going up, his Rolls Royce stood out front the registration TD 1149 I’m not sure but believe it had been owned by Terry Downs the boxer at some point, but it was standing there cleaming in the sunshine, a signal to the world that he had made it to the top.

The gearbox on the mark2 Jaguar was not going to come out, to replace a full clutch on a jag at that time Hewitt’s the main dealers wanted the vehicle for three days at a cost of £360 I had quoted £140 to do the job. We had taken the radiator out so that when the back of the engine dropped the bottom of the cooling fan couldn’t damage it but we still didn’t have enough clearance to drop the box, the front gearbox motion shaft would not clear. I racked my brains over a cup of tea then told Ted to remove the front carpets. With the air chisel I cut a flap out of the floor directly over the engine bell housing were it joined the gearbox then pulled the flap upwards into the car. It worked it gave us the clearance we needed, the gearbox dropped, we replaced the clutch I re-welded the floor carpets back job done, time a little over 4 hours, we had found a new market and were now advertising as jaguar clutch specialist, and the money rolled in and both myself and the bank manager were happy.

Pat Roach had been a friend of mine for some time, I was introduced to him by Gordon Futral a Birmingham club owner and car sales guy who I had known for many years, when Pat wasn’t away filming he was in one of the two salvage yards he owned opposite Winston Green prison, Pat asked me to replace a clutch on an MGB roadster he had purchased for his wife of course I said okay. We faced almost the same problem with the MGB as the Jag, clearance; this was another moneymaker for the main agents. Again we took the radiator out but the box would not drop, after hours looking a t the way the MGB was constructed I found a way, we took off the engine mountings and lifted the front of the engine the gearbox dropped at a 30 degree angle enough to unbolt the gearbox bell housing from the engine, when the engine and gearbox parted we had a clearance between engine and box of 8 or nine inches enough space to undo the clutch pressure plate and drop the clutch, final time on this was 5 hours but with practice we got it down to under 3 hours.

The days were for graft but the nights were for real living, Mick and I along with our wives always made a point of going to the Night Out in Birmingham when ever the Drifters were performing, nice place, with a small but decent meal while you watched the show. Mick was now the engine King putting most of his rivals out of business including engine companies that had been going since the 1930s, he wasn’t popular in some circles but then, business is not a popularity contest, its about making money. Our good friend and promoter Ron Grey used to give us tickets to the boxing every time he held an event at the Civic Hall, best seats front row, it was always Mick, Mickey Werrnik the bookie and myself we did everything together, Mickey was a great poker player and even went to Las Vegas and won a lot of money, he would bet on two flies climbing up a wall, unlike his dad Solly Mickey had no fear when it came to gambling, Mickey had got his wife a new MGB for her birthday but two days later it went missing when his wife asked about the car he replied, it came in second at Worcester races in the 3 o’clock, he had sold the car to pay the debt. Maurice Hope was about to fight Wilfred Benitez for the world title it was 1981 and we were going for two weeks, we had already booked into Caesars Palace.

Chapter 21

Las Vegas City Of Plastic

The Jumbo 747 was an impressive site as it stood at the loading dock, I had never been on a plane and certainly never seen one close up, neither had Mick, the call was being made over the airports information speakers asking for the last two passengers to please go to the departed lounge, Mick said don’t worry they will wait as he sipped the last of his 6th brandy down his throat. We got on the plane and everyone gave us evil looks as we made our way to allocated seats at the rear. The cabin steward spoke to us about safety and if the plane crashed from 30 000 ft which was its cruising height, Mick said why don’t they tell the truth, if it crashes from 30000 this 40000 ton plane will go into the ground like a big f,cking dart, a women behind said O my God you horrible man, Mick laughed.



The plane owned by Branif known as the (Big Red) operated from Fort Worth Dallas Texas, and the crew were all American. We finally taxed to our take off position and waited for the control tower to give the okay, although the brakes were on the planes engines went on full power we were off, the g force pulled me back into the seat, at one point I didn’t think it was going to make it we were running out of runway then we were in the air climbing, the wings lifting and quivering for a while I thought they might snap off, then they became stable and the remove seat belt sign came on, my ear drums hurt with the cabin pressure.



Mick was on his chair button in a flash ordering his brandies, he chained smoked for the next three hours to the disgust of the people front and back until he fell asleep. I went to the toilet then stood looking out the window, I could make out the landscape as we travelled up the West coast of England then across the Irish sea towards Ireland then on towards North America. Lots of kids were on the plane running up and down, and I entertained them the whole journey doing cartoon character voices, bugs bunny ect, One of the kids dads said go up front and get Maurice Hopes autograph the kid said I’m getting funky Fred’s first he ran back to me and I signed his book and all the bits of paper for every kid on the plane, they really thought I was the guy behind the scenes doing the voices made there day, and mine.



We landed at Dallas Forth and changed to a domestic flight to Vegas, the captain was from the Deep South and his voice over the intercom sang. When we got over the Grand Canyon he banked the plane to port and starboard for people to take photo’s he must have done it a hundred times in the past he was skilful, from the air Vegas looked like thousands of building with galvanised roofs but at a 1000 ft you could see the beauty of this Mecca for holiday makers. Off and into a taxi heading for the hotel, to say the place was like Blackpool in its hay day would not describe the amount of people on each side of the boulevards. The taxi was a Dodge It must have carried a million passengers because springs had come through the fabric and one was now sticking up my ass, thank God we arrived within the next few seconds, I was out like a shot rubbing the wound through the rip in my trousers the spring had made to every ones laughter and delight.



After booking into the rooms we all met down in the casino bar, a big wooden ship on water which was rocking backwards and forwards court everyone’s eye someone was on the upper deck playing a piano, people were dancing on the deck, it must have been 30 ft long and it was inside. If you sat in the pit near the roulette and poker tables drinks were free 24/7 Mick loved this little novelty, in your rooms there were even phones in the loe, the casino TV showed you how to gamble, the bed sheets were pure silk, security men were on every floor, and they were built like brick shit houses, each one carried a gun.



Over the days until the fight we ventured out down the strip, looking in other casinos like the Stardust, Circus Circus, which had a high wire act going on, while people gambled, of course no trip would have been complete without a visit to the Golden Nugget Casino. On the advice given to us by a great highway patrol officer we never left the main strip, in fact you could see the muggers in the doorways waiting for tourists, its part and parcel of Vegas mugging had become a cottage industry.



The hostess girls who worked at Ceases Palace were all 6ft or over and you could find practically every nationality represented; in there Roman outfits they looked stunning. The Palace had outside hot pools with a whirlpool affect and I spent the big part of everyday sitting in them, I had broken the glass on my Longines watch so I purchased a cheap Casio to use, the ones at that time with a long oblong strip and the time running across it. I’m in the hot pools one day and a yank said, what’s the time buddy, I looked at my watch, no time displayed just a bubble like you have in the spirit level, I don’t have the time but can tell you if your level or not, he looked at my watch and laughed, your a funny guy he said.



Mick, John, Mick’s partner and I had planned to take a trip out to Bolder City and see the Hover Dam, we went to the car hire inside the Palace and tried to pay in cash, no way no credit card no car, we all had credit cards but John wanted to do the honours with his American Express so we let him, the girl waiting behind took her wallet out to pay for her hire car and it fell open the little credit card holders unfolded and almost touched the floor, she had a credit card for anything you could name, that’s why I named Vegas, plastic City.



The Hover Dam is a special to see and a credit to the engineers who built it, the views are spectacular it takes your breath away, Death Valley and the Grand Canyon are equally breath taking, they have old Vegas just the other side of Bolder City which is now used for re enacted Gun fights between the Marshall and the bad guys, good fun but a bit cheesy, anyway a good day had by all apart from Mick who never stopped smoking or complaining about the heat, his 21 stone body was feeling the pain, I chuckled to myself while winking at John.



The next day we took a taxi to the Boulevard Mall on the outskirts of Vegas


To do clothes shopping, Mick got himself 30 silk shirts with his initials put on, I got a jacket and two pairs of trousers, both Mick’s and my clothes needed slight alteration to be perfect and the shop did that and delivered them to our rooms the following day, good service, something we seam to have lost in the UK.



Fight day came and we are sitting on the bleaches (long benches bleached by the Nevada sun) we are on the fifth row from the ring, obviously they didn’t know we were coming otherwise we would have had ringside seats he he. The guy I had met in the pools during the week was standing at the side of the ring, I went down and talked to him, found out he was the time keeper for the fight and he invited me to join him for breakfast the following day across the road at the Barbary Coast Casino. The fight started and Maurice Hope fought like a true champion for the first three rounds, at the start of the 4th round Benitez must have thought enough of this and landed a punch that took Hope off his feet it was all over, Hope was out classed and out boxed by one of the best.



The following day I went to breakfast with the timekeeper, great guy spent around two hours with him, then went back to the Palace and bumped in Mick’s partner John who had paid for me to go and have a massage in the gym upstairs. I had never been in a steam room but when I came out after almost one hour I felt the cleanest I had felt in my life, The massage was done by the same guy who always massaged Mohamed Ali when came to fight in Vegas, the signed pictures he had on his wall of all the greats bore that out. When he had finished I could have jumped over a 30ft building I felt that good.



That night Mickey Wernik phoned my room and said he had managed to get two of the best tickets to see Diana Ross who was at the Palace and to get down stairs right away as the show was about to start. Great is not the word, when she sang the song reach out and touch somebody’s hand everyone in the place took the hands of the people sitting next to him or her, it was very emotional. After the show we all met in the princess restaurant at the top of the Palace, Diana Ross was sitting at the next table, I paid the waiter $20 to get me the fork and spoon she was eating with, I still have them, Spanish silver covered in gold plate, beautiful design.



The next day we booked out and headed for Dallas, I always wanted to go into the store that Elle Hewing used on the TV series of Dallas, and hear I was in the store buying an ice cream and almost getting arrested for jay walking, (running across the road while the police officer was directing traffic) The Hewing oil offices that big glass fronted office block is actually Dallas 1st national bank building. It was time to go, the trip back was uneventful apart from Mick trying to burn patterns in a little Japanese guys hair who was sitting in front of him, when I said Mick they will throw us off the plane mate, he came straight back giving me his silly grin saying what, at 40000ft.

Chapter 22

Dirt, Grime, And Money

The Garage was doing great, Mick, John and Graham were doing okay at Gold Star Engines and life was good, Mick gave his partner John his Rolls and Mick got himself a new one a two door Rolls that had been converted by Mullaner park ward, it was absolutely beautiful and a pleasure to drive, I used to bank Gold Stars daily takings at times along with my own when they were busy and there is nothing like getting out of a Rolls with a two day growth of beard, oil stained jeans and walking into a bank, you can read peoples minds saying who the f.ck is that.



The worst piece of engineering ford produced was the V4 engine which ended up in the early Transit models and Corsairs, Ford couldn’t get them right first time round so what chance did anyone else have? Mick tried hard but for whatever reasons the warranty rate on the engine was frightening. One guy who was a friend of ours had managed to build a V4 that at least ran for 12 months without problems. Dave at Derby engines Mansfield Road; he was a fine engineer and had sussed the problems.



Mick stopped doing the V4s and I took over, I purchased short engines from Dave (crankshaft, cylinder block with bearings pistons and oil pump) we did the cylinder heads in house. One of the major problems with the V4 was the front timing gears, the crankshaft gear was steel and the camshaft gear was made from carbon fibre, when the fibre gear got old and was contaminated with a mix of oil and petrol the gears stripped causing major piston and valve damage. The secret was to replace the fibre gear and diaphragm on the mechanical fuel pump.



I did the V4 engines and the V6 Wessex engines for 12 months then three situations accrued within weeks of each other. Dave wanted to sell up and go to live in Portugal, so that was an end to the supply of the V4 and V6 engines. Ted bless him wanted to move on and had purchased a house in Coventry for himself and his family, my wife left me taking our son with her. I gave Ted my blessing and wished him a happy life; Mick purchased Derby Engines from Dave, my wife


Left me a short note simply saying, I have found someone who wants to be with me full time, not part time, good by and good luck. I went to see my wife’s parents but they said they didn’t have any information, I phoned social services who would only say, we are happy with the arrangements your wife has made for herself and your son, that was it door shut.


You take people for granted sooner or later you turn around and there gone, I had thought more about building a business and seeing new countries and cultures than I had thought about my family and stable home life, up to a point I had neglected her I had been almost 18 months since we had spent any quality time together as a family of that there could be no doubt, I was guilty, as I locked the door to the bay It was like finishing a chapter to a book turning over the page to a new one. I was in the shit again but did I have the strength to climb out, I felt drained; and to be honest for all the money I had made, I felt a bit of a failure.

Chapter 24

The Engine Wars

Mick had taken staff away from Gold Star Engines for Tri-Star engines, John Mick’s partner had also taken staff to set up his own Company Mid-West engines with his newly found half brother Dave, leaving Mick’s brother Graham on his own at Gold Star with a much reduced staff, for a few months I helped Mick organise Tri-Star using contacts and friends like Pat Roach and Gordon Futral to purchase old engine core for re-conditioning. The Birmingham local market place was much bigger than Wolverhampton and Tri-Star really took off.

For what ever reason Mick went out of his way to poach agents away from Gold Star, further reducing Gold Stars income and boosting his own, Graham was getting frustrated with Mick’s antics. Mick still had his financial interest in Gold Star so for the life of me I could not work out any sane reason for continuing in the same vain, but he did, relations between the brothers was fast getting towards boiling point, and the engine war started

Mick sat at his desk for eight hours a day five and a half days a week doing what he loved doing best, smoking and shouting orders down the workshop, he sat there making patterns in the cigarette ash and doodling in the booking in diary, I tried many times to decipher the doodling thinking it was some kind of code but never could. Between Mick’s smoking, high powered drinking after work, late night meals trips to the Victoria casino he started to lose it big time, shouting at staff every few minuets degrading them in front of the workforce for any minor mistakes, they stated calling him the Furer and gave him the Nazi salute at every opportunity while his back was turned, he had lost there respect and they didn’t give a f.ck about producing anything like a quality product.

I didn’t get off the hook either, an hour wouldn’t go by without him saying to me, if you had a brain you would be dangerous, or you’re a bum, as much as to say your only here because you cant make it on your own taking my money each week. In the times between the club being sold and Tri-Star opening I had met a wonderful girl, who had a four year old daughter, she was divorced from her career army husband, I had now moved into a house with them in Telford and we were happy, I didn’t have a lot of savings due to the life style I had been living including paying for at least three new roulette tables at our local casino over the last year, I was a bad gambler and always ended up chasing my money to the delight of Barry the Casino owner at the time. It was time for me to move on from this man I had given my friendship and loyalty over the years. Graham had asked me to join him at Gold Star and being at a lose end, I had agreed much to the hatred of Mick.

Graham was an engineer, not a business man but he understood the value of money and the rewards it could bring, I sat for hours with him explaining that the finished product (the engines) needed to be made to look better, not paint sprayed over oil, he agreed. Next came our talks on the unit itself, the interior decoration had been neglected for years, it needed a re-paint as the unit was after all Gold-Stars shop front, again he agreed. Over the next few weeks it was transformed from something that had looked like a salvage yard to a wonderful clean working environment, to the joy of Graham and the workforce, at last they even had a proper rest room to eat there food during morning and afternoon breaks. A new dip plant was put into the engine stripping area and at last engine blocks were being produced that were totally clean and ready for build. The local trade increased in volume, in the past people had booked work in arrived and after seeing the unit with its piles of old units near the entrance had simply had a change of mind and drove off. That changed, the paint, cleaning along with the workforce wearing overalls with gold star logo on them had convinced the general public that here was a proper company they were content to leave there vehicle for a replacement engine, Graham was on the way up and he loved it.

Unlike Mick, Graham and I could talk in private throwing ideas about; between us we solved most of the engine build problems by restructuring the workforce. Builders would no longer build a complete engine unit, one section built the crank, block, pistons, oil pump, while another section built the shorts into a full engine, checked at every stage by a workshop foreman. The formula worked, production went up and warranties were reduced to practically 0% by using the method profits had reduced per engine unit, but these were offset by increased sales and low warranty returns, we were both happy with the results and the money rolled in.

Mick still being chairman of Gold Star didn’t like the success Graham and I were creating, plus the fact that Graham now had the one person with him he truly missed, yours truly. Mick had decided that if he could get me away from Graham I would come running with my tail between my legs if for nothing else financial reasons, he knew I had a mortgage to pay, was living with a girl and had a child to support. Graham told me I had to go or Mick would make sure in his bitterness that he, Graham would end up with very little for his years of hard work, I left without argument.

In my home town of Telford I ran into one of Gold Star engines old crankshaft grinders Tanskie or Tank as everyone called him, he told me that he was a one man band building engines up Dawley Bank in a small 1000 square foot unit. Over the next few days I spent a lot of time with Tank in his unit, It wasn’t exciting in fact the population of Telford new town wasn’t big enough at that time to support good regular sales of engines, but he did enough to put money in his pocket each week although he wasn’t very good at paying bills! Together we decided that together we could have a bright future, Tank knew my reputation for getting things done and he was more than happy to become my partner in a ltd company. Tank had a Van Norman boring bar, couple of benches a few old units mainly the Ford OHV Cross flow type that fitted the early escorts, Tank also had a few assorted hand tools, but no money. I had £1500 pounds saved and credit card with a £1000 limit giving us £2500 capital.

We moved into a council owned 2000 square ft unit on the Ford house Road industrial estate witch had a three-month rent free period offered to new businesses. We registered the company PowerGlide Engines Ltd and went to work. We didn’t have a crank-grinding machine; we couldn’t take them to Gold Star so we made the 25-mile journey to Shrewsbury to a company called Swiftfree to get them done. We were soon producing an engine that was almost as good if not better in some circumstances than the original equipment supplied by OE (Original Equipment Manufactures), the money came in and we re -invested almost every penny apart from a small living wage back into the company. No more pubs or clubs, no more casinos, it was work home and bed for the first five months. Tanks brother joined us as an engine builder, and we also employed big Frank who had worked for Gold Star as a grinder. We got our first Prince 6075 crankshaft Grinder and Bupi Enclosed engine cleaner and we were now pretty well fully equipped. The workload got bigger as our reputation for producing a quality engine grew.

We were approached by a large local company to produce up to five Ford 2lt overhead cam engines low compression type a week to fit into their site vehicles. We had the capacity to deliver but not the space, we needed to expand into larger units. We were lucky, a 5000 square ft unit became available on the same estate, the last occupants had spent fortunes on none slip tiled floors and half tiled walls, plus it was on a main road site position. We moved in over one weekend ready to start production on the Monday. We now employed a fitter for local engine fits, a driver to deliver engines nationwide, and three more engine builders all who had worked as builders in the reconditioning industry.

Over the next seven months we had took all but one of the agents from Gold-Star simply by producing a better product, with extras fitted and shrink raped, something no other engine re-manufacturer had ever done before, we had made it. Graham was still producing engine units but 80% of his production stood against the wall unsold. We employed a gearbox builder giving him his own section of the workshop, we were complete, the staff were happy, Tank was over the moon driving his dream car an Alfa sport, I was happy with my life and Jenson Interceptor.

The call came in just before Christmas, hello I said, look after Sean promise me, the phone went dead, I tried to trace the number but no luck it had been made from a call box. Christmas over and back to work another phone call this time from a local doorman in Wolverhampton your sons trying to get in touch with you he’s living at his Nan’s it was in the personal column, just noticed it and thought you should know, thanks I said, when I got to my x in-laws Sean was there a grown boy, he was already working at a local company, I didn’t know what to think or to feel, for the biggest part of his life he had not been with me, I hugged him and he walked away into the kitchen and shut the door. His Nan told me to site down, my x wife Sean’s mom had died of cancer of the blood at the age of 35, I was shocked. The guy she ran away with took her to a caravan site in Devon, she got her wish, the guy stayed with her 24 hours a day he never worked, she died penniless and cold in the caravan in my sons arms with nothing left in the caravan to eat but stale corn flakes, her man was out drinking the social security money away, I was sad.

We didn’t know it but our success was about to turn into failure due to Mick. Mick looked like JR Hewing, walked like JR Hewing, and acted like JR Hewing from the hit TV series Dallas. He was cunning, had the patients of the Devil and money, lots of money. We had managed to do what Mick couldn’t do, we had taken away the majority of agents and Mick was going to get them back, he did it by sending his delivery driver into the agents premises, while the agents were distracted in some wall ball bearing were put through the spark plug holes on our engines, the amount of warranty work we received in a two week period was equal to that of all the time PowerGlide had been in operation. It cost us big time because when engines were fitted they failed usually by the inlet valves hitting the steel ball bearing that was on the piston crown smashing it to pieces. After two weeks without exception all our agents cancelled further orders, Mick had given them a free stock of engines without the ball bearings! We were f.cked well and truly. Mick and Graham had made up blood being thicker than water, or so the saying goes, between them they had poached our main staff offering twice the wages, the agents were now Mick’s.

Tank wanted to go his own way again with his brother, Mick helped him by giving him equipment and tools leaving me and two staff left, I paid the guys, sold the equipment and stock to Mick to pay tax owing and small suppliers gave him the keys and walked away. The King had won, long live the King.

Chapter 25


A New Old Day Dawning



It was a new day dawning, but it would be doing the same old things, with the same old people. I instinctively knew that it was only a matter of time before Mick came looking for me, promising me the earth, telling me that things would be different, I also knew that I would fall for every word he said, misguided loyalty, love for this man I had called my friend, or even admiration, I didn’t know but I would say yes to his proposition. It took longer than I thought before he pulled up outside my house in his Rolls, I could see Graham sitting in the passenger seat, Mick got out and waddled up the drive of my home walking as if he had got a piece of shit stuck in his ass, I couldn’t help thinking about JR Hewing walk.



I ended up that day drunk in the pub they used locally called The Dog and Partridge in Wednesfield. I was to go back to Gold Star with Graham for a few weeks while new premises were located to amalgamated the companies together under one roof, Tri-Star, Gold-Star, and the equipment from my company PowerGlide Engines, my percentage share was to be 10% of the net income of the new company which was to be called, The Engine Transplant Group Ltd. My brief was to locate potential new premises for sale, view and report back to Mick.



After a week of searching Wolverhampton and the surrounding area, the property we eventually purchased, correction Mick purchased were only a matter of a few hundred yards away in Neachells Lane. Over two acre’s of land with a concrete road running up to a 13000 square ft building with overhead crane age, it was ideal if the price was reasonable. The premises belonged to a company called Richards and Ross pipe manufacturers to the power industry, the financial Director I had met several times in a wine bar in Wolverhampton, he was surprised to see me when I made an appointment and knocked on his door. The property was purchased for £100,000,00 free hold and within thirteen weeks we were up and running as the Transplant Group.



The Group produced an average of 220 engines per week, petrol and diesel all makes and models, in itself a recipe for disaster, the builders in the main trained only to build General Motors, BMC and Ford products. The group opened quiet a lot of its own fitting bays with our own paid managers, Birmingham, Stoke on Trent, Manchester, Cardiff, plus the agents of two companies totalling 16 nationwide, over capacity gave the Group the opportunity to supply to large companies such as Heathrow Engines who at the time were the largest independent supplier of engines and gearboxes in the UK.



Johns company Mid-West Engines ltd had failed, John owing over £23000 to suppliers, for what ever reason Mick paid the debt and John, Dave his half brother Johns two sons ended up at the Group, john as a Director on his old income of £500 a week, very nice when I was on £250! The new Directorship soon showed cracks, Mick no longer had the final say as to the direction of the company, he didn’t like it demanding the company pay him back for the land and unit immediately as he wanted to leave. He asked me to go with him, I refused.


Mick gone and of all people John was made chairman of the Group, I never knocked Johns engineering ability but his wild thinking and irrational decisions had cost, over and over again. The companies accountant was taken in and made financial Director, my wage went to £300, but I knew it was short term, we held vast amounts of new stock lots went missing never accounted for, suppliers like GKN, AE Edmonds Walker, FAI Auto Parts were giving the Group virtually unlimited credit, warranty had become almost impossible to catch up on, engines that had been back to the warranty department three even four times went back out worse than they had come in, you needed sedatives just to answer the phones towards the end of my time there. And disregarding all the problems John wanted to open a branch near Zaragozza in Spain.



In the weekly meeting of the Directors chaired by our financial director I argued that we could not even consider finding capital to open a Spanish branch on the basis that we could not service our own fit bays and agents efficiently. He got up and shouted, do you want my job? To which I replied, yes and the wage that goes with it, I could become great at coming up with stupid suggestions with a bit of practice, the other Directors laughed, but not John, he stormed from the meeting he was not a happy man.



At home that night I received a call from a mate of mine on Anglesey, Ron Williams, he had not long finished his term as Lord Mayor, Of Holyhead.


There’s no easy way of saying this Fred Gary has hung himself, Gary was my first born child, from the first marriage he was just 24 years old, I threw the phone in the air and cried out, I wanted to die, f.ck this world, what had it ever done for me and I cried and I hurt and cried until there were no tears left to cry and phoned Graham, he was out his daughter told me, were I screamed at the restaurant in Codsall, okay, I put the phone down and rang the restaurant, Graham I shouted again tears welling up in my eyes get to me please.



Graham had left his party and arrived at my home, I couldn’t tell him the words would not come out of my mouth I was just making noises, he grabbed me and held me close, while my wife explained, by now as hard as he was tears filled his eyes, I said take me to him please, he drove 125 miles to Holyhead that night and took me to Ron’s house were I stayed for the next three days.



Gary was a tall lad 6ft 1 6ft 2inches tall and well built, he owned properties he had paid for out of his prize fight winnings, winnings he made fighting in gypsy camps, people gave him wide birth when he was in a pub such was his growing reputation as a fighter. He had a wonderful girl and was engaged she was pregnant with his son, for some reason he walked out of the flat they had planed to make a home while decorating the nursery and hung himself.



The undertaker told me, Gary had gone into a local chapel, had a smoke but found a tin to put the stub, took his jacket off and folded it neatly on the floor, climbed up 30 ft, tired the rope to the beams and around his neck and jumped, the force ripping his head clean off his body, I was never allowed to see him.



I could not go to the funeral, tensions were running high, and with the best protection in the world things would have been difficult, so I went the following day and took a white rose someone had left for him, I still have it to this day, I am also sure Gary knew I was with him, at that moment, at that time, I got the feeling he had been waiting for me so that he could move on I whispered, know that I loved you son, I walked away clutching the rose.


The Engine Transplant Group did not last as I had predicted, I walked away without getting a penny and left the others to rob the company of its assets before it went into liquidation. Graham set up his own company with Dave John’s half brother and have been successful to date. John sold his wonderful home over looking the river seven in Bridgenorth, purchased a cheap council house in his wife’s name, then made his way to Spain with equipment to set up in engines but it never got off the ground, the Spanish guy who had convinced John of major grants from the Spanish government was in actual fact a con-man, the equipment was confiscated and put in store at a warehouse in Barcelona, John lost everything, including his dream of a life in the sun. Mick purchased new premises in the centre of Wolverhampton to set up in engines, with his two sons and the odd staff from the Engine Transplant Group, Mick couldn’t see that with Trading Standards and consumer rights things couldn’t continue the old way, petrol engine reconditioning was on its way out fast in the United Kingdom, he would have to change with the times or fail, Me? I walked w away to a brighter future, or so I thought, but I had for gotten one important fact of life, you can never escape "fate"!

Chapter 26

Learning Curve

The difference between the private sector market and the commercial sector market when It came to replacement engines was vast, I needed to learn quick, because after much thought I had decided to supply to the heavy goods vehicle transport companies, if they had a vehicle off the road they lost income and if it was proved to be your fault the claims for loss would be at a premium.



I purchased a 1 tone Nissan diesel pick up truck placed an advert in Commercial Motor magazine under Iveco. My home and home phone became my office, the phone rang constantly the day the magazine was published, and I was back able to make a living. The benefits of working from home as far as my new found customers were concerned was that I was not some obscure ltd company that could go into receivership over night, I was a private trader with my home address and private phone number given on each invoice, they could contact me 24/7 if needs be, I offered them a quality product at the right price plus a personal service offering good sound engineering advice, they loved me.



The secret of running any business is a simple one, never lose a customer and always keep a database. From complete engines to power 40 ton articulated vehicles to heavy plant even ships engines big V12s V16s air start, I was the kid who could locate and supply. Enquires came in from all parts of the UK, Northern Ireland and Europe. My wife had given birth to our second child a beautiful a girl, I now had two girls and a boy and we were happy.



The fax machine churned out enquires for engines and engine components on a daily basis and my regular customers returned time after time with repeat orders. The mobile phone would ring at the side of the bed some mornings and I had made £2000 before my feet touched the floor but I didn’t go out and buy a Rolls, I kept my feet firmly on the ground and paid any extra money off my mortgage. On the grapevine I found out that Mick had practically left the business staying at home all day drinking himself silly, his two sons and his wife virtually left in control, John who had returned from Spain was visiting him on a daily basis feeding him vodka. Don’t ask why, but I had to go to Turin in Italy with a brand new Mercedes crankshaft and decided to ask Mick to go with me.



When I got to his house I was shocked, his Rolls was on the driveway and hadn’t moved for months, next to it was a Daihatsu 4x4 new, with two old engines oil running out of them stuffed in the back, I thought nothings changed. He came to the door unshaved for at least 4 days, for a man in his 40s he looked 80 he was ill. Well I asked him and he agreed that to get away for three days would do him good, I felt sorry for this man who was a shadow of his former self, and he was happy to see me.



The drive to Turin in December is an experience in itself especially when you reach Mount Blanc and the tunnel that leads under the mountain and into Aosta on the other side, the snow flakes that were falling were as big as tennis balls and the valley with its houses doted along the mountain side looked like a Christmas card. I booked us into a hotel in central Turin with a backdrop to the green river this time I was paying the bill and wanted to give him the best for old times sake. When I knocked on Mick’s door and asked if he wanted a drink, he surprised me by saying no, would you like some dinner I asked, no, came the reply, he was lying down on his side I could see the stain that was growing as I watched on the seat of his trousers, what’s the matter Mick I said, he started crying, I’m bleeding and I’m scared mate.



I knew he was embarrassed, I left the room and went outside to find a pharmacy to get some women’s sanitary towels and get directions to Turin’s hospital, when I returned to his room the stain from the blood he was losing had travelled down the inside right leg, I told him to use the towels to soke up the blood and put some other trousers on as I was taking him to hospital. The doctors were very good, they took Mick into emergency and inserted a plug to stop the bleeding but they wanted to operate, Mick was having none of it, The doctor called me to one side and told me, your friend is a very sick man under the circumstances we have done all that we can, please try and persuade him to see his doctor when you return home, I said I would. Mick slept like a baby that night the next day we both went to deliver the crankshaft and arrived at Mec Diesel, and another door opened for me.



Fabio one of the partners at Mec was one of nicest persons you could meet, he had that certain air about him, I instinctively knew he was a man you could trust, a man of his word, after he had paid me for the crankshaft he showed me the units full from floor to roof with new Iveco stock, it was like Aladdin’s cave, and the brain started ticking. By the time it took us to get back to the UK I had persuaded Mick to cut down on the alcohol, I told him over and over again that he was the Woolworth’s of the engine market, he was the King and to get back to work and prove it, he took my advice because a week later he was back sitting behind his desk, smoking his 100 Bensons plus a day, shouting orders down the workshop and he was happy.


Engine enquires we still coming in thick and fast but it was taking to much out of me travelling up and down motorways six days a week delivering or locating the right engines, it was time to change tack slightly but I needed to do a lot of research homework before I made any quick turns, I didn’t want to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire, that would have been stupid.

Chapter 27


A Time To Forgive And Forget



My wife had now given birth to another addition to the family another girl and working from home was now becoming almost impossible, my wife needed space, she needed a life without the fax and phone going every five minuets, Mick had kept in contact and at one point had offered me free office and storage which I had refused, but giving the situation a re-think I decided to take him up on the offer, after all it was free, and I was my own boss.



I moved into Mick’s factory over a weekend and on my first Monday morning the shit hit the fan. Mick had taken his long time partner John back telling him he would get a 30% share, in reality there was nothing in writing, just a promise, he had John driving the recovery truck and Johns two lads building engines, he knew John had nowhere to go, very little money, and Mick took full advantage ridiculing John and his sons at every opportunity, Mick had turned into a verbal bully. John came into the office and said what’s he doing, Mick turned round and said what’s it got to do with you? F.ck this John said, I am supposed to be your partner, John walked out got into the recovery truck slammed the door and drove down the road getting every once of speed from each gear, Mick looked at me arms folded Benson between his fingers smoke curling up into the air and gave his silly grin.




The rep from AE Edmonds Walker arrived Mick shouted to his wife, get me two f.cking coffee’s from the machine and make yourself useful, when she came back into the office with the coffee she threw both cups over him, I couldn’t believe it. Over the next few weeks Mick ridiculed John so bad I thought enough is enough maybe Mick was doing this because I was back on the scene, he knew that I had never got on with John so it seamed feasible. A point came when Mick thought he could start to control me manipulate me again and interfere with my little company, it was time to move on. When John found out I was leaving he became my new best friend, what about setting up a company with me, my sons and Craig? Craig was a fantastic fitter in fact a good all round guy, he was funny and I liked him, okay but listen before we start John, I’m running it this time okay, John nodded his head in agreement.



I got the unit at Snedshill Telford, produced the name we would trade under Diesel Masters, got the letterheads printed, the bank account sorted giving my personal guarantee, cleaned and painted the unit with the help of my 15 year old daughter Kerry and it was all ready to work when John had finished working his notice for Mick. Graham gave me £5000 on the understanding that we took in a Martin Carlos as manager, I believe initially to keep and eye on us and report back to Graham. Reluctantly John and I agreed. I had managed to book our first work and the business got off to a good start.



Using local magazines we started to get a regular weekly workload of mixed work but all diesel engine, never petrol. I visited the local bus company which at that time was Midland red and convinced Ray Griffiths chief engineer that I could produce Iveco engines for the mini bus fleet at a fraction of Fords prices and that it would be a better unit giving up to 50000 miles extra before needing replacement, he said he would think about it, that very afternoon two buses on transporters arrived at the Snedshill unit we had hit the big time. We produced both the engines with a modified crankcase breathing system I had designed some months before and the buses were returned and put into service. Every week we had two or three buses turn up for replacement engine units the small workshop had outgrown its usefulness it was time for bigger premises.



We moved into 30000 square ft at an industrial estate in Dawley Telford, we were now advertising in the Bus and Coach weekly, bus companies nationwide were now taking an interest in our product, first company to come online was Leicester City Bus, then Northern Bus and most other bus companies in the country followed over the months. Ford were charging over £3600 +Vat to fit a replacement engine, we charged £1995 + Vat for a better fitted product, as far as the major bus companies were concerned Ford Iveco had fallen out of bed as they could not compete with price or service.



I decided to Run another company to compliment Diesel Masters, I called it Diesel Parts International Ltd, and went back to visit Fabio in Italy to buy stock for Diesel Masters Iveco engines and national component sales, as John was a 50% partner in Diesel Masters, I felt it only right he should have 50% of DPI, he was working hard along with his two boys, it truly looked as if we had all learned lessons from the past. I had agreed with Fabio that I would be personally, responsible for any stock sent to us on credit and he trusted me.



Over the months Diesel Masters and DPI went from strength to strength John practically running the engine side and me running the parts side, the staff were all on good wages it was a happy environment to work in but nothing lasts forever does it! I arrived at the unit at 2am one morning to collect paper work I needed from my office for a meeting in Stoke on Trent later that day, John had left two of the men working a night shift unsupervised, bad mistake, they were loading new cylinder heads into there van, my new cylinder heads, I got on the phone to John and told him to get there pronto. When he arrived he sent the two guys home, I said they need sacking John how long have they been at it, he replied they are our top men if we sack them we will come to a stop, I could see his point of view up to a point…. but I had signed for the stock how much was missing?



The next day I stock checked as near as dam it I calculated maybe £40000 missing, John didn’t seam interested which made me more than a little suspicious, I said I’m out John, find me £10000 cash and I’ll sign Diesel Master over to You, You can do the same with DPI. The next day I had moved all the stock to an empty unit in Wednesbury. By the end of the week I had my money, John now owned Diesel Masters with a full order book, I owned DPI, the very next day I ran into one of the guys who had been working for Mick he told me that Mick had gone into hospital for a simply procedure and died after the operation walking down the corridor smoking a Benson, he had collapsed and died in front of his wife, when I contacted Graham he told me that the surgeon had said that Mick did not have one good organ left in his body.

It was a new day dawning, a day to leave the past behind, to forgive and forget and go forward, hopefully to better things. My world travels, high powered connections, my thirst to survive in an ever-increasing hostile business environment drove me on, some would say to great achievements for a boy who couldn't read or write at 17, others to inevitable failure, but that’s another story, for another time.

No better words could be used to finish this book than those of Frank Sinatra

I Did It My Way

The End

Not to be a dick, but oh my god. You have zero posts to your name aside from the 13 you accumulated from this thread. You've posted a novella here with various fonts and sizes, the title of which has a glaring grammatical error, and you expect someone here to tell you whether or not you have a future in writing and if this is publishable.

If I had time to read 25,000 words of a brand new member's post, I'd be using that time writing and trying to sell my work.

I recommend checking out other parts of this fine message board, actively participating in other discussions, and posting up your work in small doses.


EDIT:

Because I was feeling nice, I decided to randomly select one sentence to read.

This was the lucky clunker I picked:

Over the next few weeks Mick ridiculed John so bad I thought enough is enough maybe Mick was doing this because I was back on the scene, he knew that I had never got on with John so it seamed feasible.

I probably don't need to read further.

I am sure any good ghost writer could correct any error, I am not an educated man but have a story to tell, try reading the story then correct the mistakes and I shall be forever grateful kind Sir.