by KW Finch
After about an hour’s wait the first member of our group was called in to an adjoining room. It was time to be processed again which of course meant more waiting. As expected the clothes I ended up with were again worn out and ill fitting. There was this time though an addition of a blue and white striped cotton twill shirt which actually seemed pretty good quality. By the time we were all processed and ready to go to the wing it was late afternoon. A tall and very skinny screw unlocked the door and walked in, he was followed by a shorter, much fatter screw.
“Here we go.” I pointed out. “It's Little and Large.” The cons in the room all laughed. The fat screw looked at me.
“Mmm, you must be London.” He muttered. “Heard a lot about you and your attitude.”
“Yeah, you probably have,” I replied, “and you must be the bloke I've heard nothing about.”
There followed a stony silence. My mouth does seem to work on its own sometimes without any kind of help from me. Someone once told me I had foot and mouth disease, every time I open my mouth I put my foot in it. The screw just looked at me.
“Don't worry.” He said, a bit too menacingly for my liking. “You will.”
“Oh, I'm really scared now.” I beamed at him, I just couldn't help myself, there was a switch inside my head called stupid mode and whenever there was a situation that called for a bit of discretion, a time when it would be best to shut up and say nothing, on it would flick.
The tall officer shifted his attention to the rest of the cons.
“You can have a late lunch here before you go down to the wing.” He announced before he and his short fat friend left.
It was a good two hours later before we finally made it to the wing. The twelve of us were taken down by the comedy duo. We had a reception party waiting for us at the wing entrance. Most prominent of which was a big black bloke and he approached each one of us in turn. When it was my turn he was quick and to the point.
“If you need anything at all, come and see me, Jacob. I can do a good deal on sugar at the moment, six bags for £5. Just ask anyone if you want to find me, remember the name, Jacob.”
I knew I had a sweet tooth but who on earth would want six bags of the stuff? Just then the large prison officer spoke.
“Come on Jacob, that's enough now, clear off.”
“Yes Mr. Monk.” Replied Jacob.
I looked at the obese screw and wondered what his first name was. Being born and bred in London I was hoping it would be something like Harry.
We were led onto the wing and the entrance was separated into two passages and we took the left hand side. As we got to the end it turned a sharp left. To the right before the turn was a locked steel gate and I peered through the bars before turning left. It looked like a mirror image of the wing we were on. As I turned to my left to follow the corridor there was a wing office on the right after the turn and we walked straight past it. We were escorted around our wing in a walking bus fashion to our cells with each con being 'dropped off' at their allocated cell.
As expected I was the last one and my cell was uncomfortably close to the wing office. We had gone pretty much full circle around the wing and I guessed there was a reason for this. It turned out to be a little speech from Monk, a few words of advice.
“You've earned yourself quite a reputation in a short space of time London.” He started.
“I've been talking to some of my colleagues at your last digs. Let me warn you now, if you give me a bad time London you will come to regret it. Time is of course all you have at the moment and how you choose to use it is entirely your choice.”
Satisfied with his little speech he straightened himself up and arched his back. He gave an evil smile which seemed to be more of an involuntary reaction and then he left, obviously pleased with himself.
“Tosser.” I muttered under my breath.
I threw my bag of belongings onto the solitary bunk. Examining the cell it seemed small, about eight foot wide by ten feet deep. I also had a small writing desk, a cupboard, a tallboy type wardrobe, a washbasin and a toilet. It was a lot of stuff in a tiny space, at least it was my own space and I wouldn't have to share it with any muppets. There was a window too, it looked out onto an open field about the size of a football pitch then there was a razor wire topped fence followed by another field and then a large building.
I started to unpack my few belongings which of course didn't take long. Next I decided to take a wander around to get to know my new surroundings. The only way on and off of the wing seemed to be the entrance we had used earlier. I walked past the wing office to check out the outside and a couple of screws were sitting about in there and chatting. I turned to the right after passing the office and continued for 20 yards or so passing a shuttered counter and then out into the open air.
Once outside I breathed in the chill air. I looked down the other passage of the wing entrance but there was nobody about. There was a large field to the front of the wing entrance and decided to take a wander around its perimeter. The fence was about twenty feet high and topped with razor wire. A thirty foot no-man’s land followed and then another fence. What looked like small sheds but in reality were lookout positions stood at strategic points around the perimeter. A prison officer peered out from the hut windows, keeping a watchful eye on things. The cold breeze was starting to bite, the sun had gone below the horizon a little earlier and my arms were beginning to feel numb and I headed back to my cell.
THIRTEEN
I sat in my cell and moped. This had been the longest three weeks of my life. A lot had happened in my time inside and it seemed a long time ago that I was a free man. But it was just the beginning, three years felt like a lifetime to me at the moment.
I really didn't think I could last. It was all so dull and petty, the monotony of it all was just unbearable. I hadn't really clicked with anyone at Borough, the nick in London. I knew I should just knuckle down and do my bird but it was proving tough. The Marcus fiasco had been a real blow to me too, I was so sure he would get me out. He came highly recommended and had cost me a lot of money. Again the question came back to me, should I sort him out? Before being sent down I would have done it without thinking about it but now I was starting to look at things differently.
I got up and opened the cell window, it was a much bigger than the one in Borough and the bars weren't as heavy duty as before. By now it was almost dark outside and the cold wind blew in my face. I closed the window again. There were no curtains to draw. I didn't know what time sunrise was but would find out the hard way if I didn't sort something out before bed tonight.
I decided to head off to the wing office to suss out the rest of the screws. I stood at the door entrance, not crossing the very obvious and freshly painted white line on the floor.
"Yes, London, what do you want?" It was Monk.
"A cup of tea would be nice, milk and two sugars please." I replied.
"No problem London, you get your tea-boat on a Tuesday." Said Monk pulling his pudgy face into some kind of contorted smile.
"Oh, I see and today is Friday"
"Yes, that's right London." Said Monk while holding my gaze. "Well done".
"Ok," I continued, "what about bed sheets? Or is that Tuesday to?"
"No, and don't get clever London. It's on a Sunday morning, but if you wait by the shutters round to your right at 7 o'clock," he said, waving his right hand vaguely, "we'll see what we can do."
I left Monk, smiling like a fat Cheshire cat. People like that just wound me up. But you find in life people always get their comeuppance. It was just a question of waiting, biding your time. Monk would get payback at some point. I had some time to kill before collecting my bedding and wandered around the wing. The gates to the wing entrance were locked shut now and it was totally dark outside. I wandered into what looked like a canteen area, all clean and empty. There were two tea urns of differing sizes gently simmering away on one side behind the hotplate. Fifteen or so tables with chairs filled the r
est of the room. Communal eating then, not like Borough. Not sure I wanted to do that. I could always go back to my cell I suppose.
A bloke shuffled in with a blue plastic cup in his hand and filled it from the smaller of the two urns. He saw me studying him.
"Alright geezer?" He slurred. He looked totally smashed.
"Yeah, alright mate" I replied. With that he looked down at his cup of tea and shuffled off again.
I really fancied a cup of tea and I was pondering how to get one when another con walked in to fill his blue plastic mug with hot water. I decided to try a straight forward approach and just ask outright for a cup of rosy.
"Hello mate." I smiled to the con as he approached me and the simmering urns. He looked at me suspiciously, frowned, looked all around him then he took a step closer. He was about to whisper something, changed his mind, had a quick glance around again, made a decision it was safe and continued to whisper to me.
"Time and space are no barriers for Him." He rasped.
"You what?" I asked dumfounded.
He looked around again before continuing.
"The nameless one knows no boundaries." He nodded at me.
With that he filled his cup with hot water, looked all around again, looked at me in a knowing way, like we now had a bond, a secret. Then he shuffled off. What an absolute fruit loop. And all I wanted was a cup of tea.
Looking up at a wall clock opposite the servery hotplate it was almost seven pm. As I hadn’t managed to ponce a cup of tea decided to make my way round to the shutters Monk was on about earlier. Most of the other cons that had left Borough with me that morning were gathered there as well. One or two of them acknowledged me but the rest ignored me. Angus Broc nodded at me.
"Have you settled in yet yer wee Sassenach?" He enquired.
"Well, I'm working on it. I could murder a cup of tea though." I confessed.
"Don't talk about murder in a place like this." Urged the mad Scots man rolling his eyes upward.
"You're probably right Jock." I agreed.
"Ai, I'm a prime example.” He continued. “Killed hundreds of men myself."
I looked at the weird Scot in astonishment. He was as mad as a fish but I wouldn't have had him down as a mass murderer.
"It’s true." He went on, seeing the look of doubt on my face. "I was in the army."
"Oh." I was somewhat relieved now. "What, as a tank commander or something?" I could just picture him in a tank giving his orders out in that heavy accent.
"Och no," he went on, "nothing as glamorous as that, no, no. I was in the catering corps."
He had a deadly look on his face which, after a few moments gave way to a huge grin.
"Got yer, you soft Sassenach." He laughed.
"You are a one, Jockstrap." I mocked, then walked over to join the shambles of a queue that was gathered by the shutters.
It was about twenty minutes later that Monk finally turned up with one of his sidekick screws. They let themselves into a door next to the shutters and a couple of minutes later Monk opened up revealing a counter.
"Right then ladies," He laughed, boy was he funny. "Which one of you horrible lot is first?" He grinned.
Monk then proceeded to give out bedding and joy of joys a tea boat, apparently! I was hoping it was nothing like a gravy boat. When it was my turn I was handed the rough bed sheets and coarse heavy blankets and a small carrier bag which contained more smaller bags and in which were tea-bags, sugar and powdered milk. I also collected my plastics. After dumping the whole lot in my cell I headed for the simmering tea urn for a cup of hot water.
The tea I was drinking a few minutes later wasn't quite what I was used to or had hoped for. Powdered milk in tea wasn't really on and the teabags were of the cheapest nastiest kind money could buy. It was warm and wet and unfortunately for me, as good as it got.
I sorted out my bed and used one of the blankets as a makeshift curtain. By now it must have been eight pm and the screws were out on the wing calling out bang up. I banged my own cell door closed. I knew what Ricky was getting at now. I settled myself down for the night. It was a dark horrible night outside, the wind had picked up and was howling now and there was a driving rain. I felt lower than ever. Come the morning I would be fine, but at the moment I needed to feel sorry for myself and wallow in self-pity.
I awoke with a start. I’d been dreaming about a blag I did years ago. It was in the early days when I was still finding my feet. It got a bit hairy, the Growler was running the show then and I was one of the hired hands. We had ambushed an armoured truck after it had left the bank by blocking the road with cars. The Growler had used his jag in the road block and the driver of the truck thought he could drive through to escape. He ended up crashing into the Growlers pride and joy before hitting the pavement and breaking the steering on the truck, catapulting himself into the windscreen in the process. As the driver fell out of the truck his face was covered in blood. The Growler, cool as a cucumber, walks over to him waving the sawn off shotgun in his hand at him, “Look what you’ve done to my fucking jag!” He screamed at him, just before blasting his legs with both barrels. You didn’t mess with the Growler.
What would the Growler do now I wondered to myself. He always knew what to do. He made a plan very quickly and followed it through, simple. A man with a plan that was definitely how he worked. I wasn't going to be beaten, not now, not ever! I needed a plan as well. I jumped out of bed and quickly washed and dressed. I took down my curtain. The awful weather of the previous evening had given way to a clear morning. It was very still and cloudless, the sun was just rising on the horizon.
I was going to be here for three years. I didn't want a gap of three years in my life that was an empty hole where nothing happened. It had to count for something. I sat on the end of my bed thinking. I had to get a job, a worthwhile job where I could learn. The next three years must be treated like a college course and I would be a student and keep my head down. I needed to throw myself into it and just get on with it.
FOURTEEN
There was a noise outside on the wing of jangling keys and a few moments later my cell door was unlocked and pushed open slightly. I jumped up and made my way to the wing office. I'd noticed a list of available jobs the evening before on the notice board just outside the wing office. There were jobs for wing cleaners, cooks, servery assistants, store assistants and they all paid quite well, from about £7 up to a massive £10 a week. Wow! The prison actually produced items as well. Clothing was produced here and there were vacancies for sewing machinists, pattern cutters, floor sweepers and the like.
They also had jobs that were of interest to me. I say jobs but they were really educational courses. They paid even less than the other jobs but that wasn’t a concern for me, the Growler would keep my prison account nicely topped up. How to cut out a shirt pattern or sew in a collar was not the sort of knowledge I wanted to take away with me from Fulwood Hill. I was more interested in taking something that could further my criminal activities once I was free again. There was a printing course, using real printing presses. These were actually becoming a thing of the past, this was the eighties after all. The digital age was upon us. It still might be worth learning a thing or two about them though.
I was a blagger by trade and absolutely loved it but learning another skill could only be a good thing. Walking into a bank with a sawn off shot gun in my hand gave me a real buzz. This printing course might have legs though. I had seen some really awful forged bank notes in my time and had always said I could do better than that with colouring pencils. Now I had the chance to prove it. Once I set my mind to achieve a task I give it my full attention. The course ran every day, five days a week for six months. It was almost like working for a living, having a proper job, how disgusting!
The alternative I suppose was to sit in my cell getting bitter and twisted and that certainly would not do. I would eventually blow up and prison is by far the worst place for that to happen. My fuse was short at the be
st of times so it would be far better to occupy my mind while I was here.
The other course on offer was a computer course which was also six months long and after thinking about it decided this would be the better choice. It covered all sorts of things, all of which meant absolutely nothing to me. I knew nothing about computers but that was all going to change, I had to move forward and embrace the technology. After all I was a career criminal and you just had to keep up with the times and learn the new stuff. There could be a whole new way of stealing money I was missing out on and there is nothing worse than a missed opportunity.
That was it then, I was going to become a computer wizard. I walked into the wing office and stopped right on the white line.
"London." It was Monk, he clocked me as soon as I'd entered the office.
"What do you want?" He said in a totally uninterested tone and was more interested in a sweet he appeared to be sucking.
His puffy face stared at me. Not a pretty sight, the vacant and expressionless eyes floating above what appeared to be two round holes in the middle of his face created by his upturned nose and below that two fat slugs laying one on top of the other which were in fact lips.
"The job board out there.” I said motioning my head towards the corridor.
"Oh yes?" Monk went on, the slugs seeming to dance in a strange undulating way.
Very slowly the vacant eyes now started to focus, they began to examine me, up and down they went, suspicions aroused. Monk was going up to amber alert.
"We're okay for bog cleaners at the moment London," he droned in a measured voice, "but rest assured as soon as a suitable vacancy arises you will be notified.'' It was amber alert and sarcasm mode all at the same time, what a marvel, he could multi-task.
“That’s really funny Mr. Monk.” I agreed with him while clenching my right fist and thinking of my absent sovereign ring.
“I was thinking more in the way of the computer course.” I continued.