by Jimmy Cryans
It was so good to see George and Margaret again. They had been so supportive of me and I can’t thank them enough. They dropped me off at Olive’s house and I made arrangements to see them over the weekend. I went in to hear that Olive was very ill, having been diagnosed with cancer of the bowel. She had started to undergo chemotherapy and it had really knocked her for six. I was devastated as I had always viewed Olive as the strongest of us and she seemed almost indestructible. But my sister is nothing if not a fighter and she is facing up to this in the only way I would expect from her – with bundles of courage and with a dignity that humbles me.
I stayed at Olive’s on that first night and I had a very sleepless night. In the early afternoon Olive got up and we had a cup of tea, but she was feeling so exhausted that she soon returned to bed. At around six o’clock Sheena arrived and said that I should come over to her place and she would cook me a nice meal. I agreed and before we left I went upstairs and told Olive where I would be.
Sheena had made a lovely stew and I wolfed down the food. I had not realised just how hungry I was. After we had finished Sheena went upstairs and came back with a large box containing hundreds of family photos stretching back before the Second World War. We sat on the floor going through them and both of us lost all track of time. The telephone rang and Sheena answered it and I saw straight away that something was wrong. When she had finished she said, ‘That was Olive. The police have just been round at her house to check that you were there and they have to report that you are not at home.’
When you are on a home leave there is a curfew in place. You have to be in between the hours of 11.00pm and 7.00am. I looked at the clock on Sheena’s mantelpiece and it was just after 11.30pm. I knew at once what this would mean. I would be downgraded and returned to closed conditions. I would not be home for Christmas and I would almost certainly lose my parole. I explained as much to Sheena and said that at this late hour there was nothing to be done and that I would phone the Castle in the morning. I remained very calm, as I always do in this type of crisis, but I was gutted inside. I had worked so hard to get where I was, and now I was about to lose it all. I thought to myself, ‘Right, OK, Jimmy boy. This is another wee test for you. So let’s see what you are made of, eh?’
In the morning I phoned Castle Huntly and explained the situation to them. While they were sympathetic to the circumstances they pointed out that I should hand myself in at Barlinnie otherwise a warrant would be issued for my arrest. Failing to do so would have meant subjecting my family and friends to having their homes searched. I phoned Cheryl and told her how sorry I was but she told me not to be silly and that I had nothing to be sorry for. My Cheryl is nothing if not a wee toughie and she simply said that she would be up to Barlinnie to see me as soon as I was able to arrange a visit.
I phoned Rab Dochery and told him that I was sorry that I would not be able to make our meeting later that day. ‘Don’t fucking worry about that, wee man,’ said Rab. ‘All that matters is that you are OK. Phone the Castle and tell them you are handing yourself in and maybe that way you’ll have a bit of a chance with your parole. I’m really going to miss you, Jimmy.’ I am not too proud to say that there was a tear in my eye after I had spoken to Rab. A bond had been created between the two of us during those few months in Castle Huntly. Rab was truly like a brother to me and I know that he felt exactly the same way. I also spoke to John Kennedy, who was also gutted for me but he told me that he would keep in touch with me through Cheryl.
I packed a few things into a small holdall and then Sheena, Jack and myself left for the Bar-L. Sheena was close to tears and I had to tell her not to start crying or she would set me off. Not that I was feeling sorry for myself but it was upsetting to see how badly this had affected Sheena. If I am honest, though, it was quite tough to have to hand myself in to Barlinnie on a Friday lunchtime when I knew that I had a dinner date. But I just bit my lip, squared back my shoulders and thought, ‘What’s for you, doesn’t go by you.’
I was shown through to a processing area accompanied by Sheena and Jack. I gave Sheena a hug and kissed her on the cheek and told her not to worry. I then shook Jack’s hand and watched as they walked away. I could see that Sheena had broken down and my heart was breaking for my sister. She had been so good to me and had supported me, along with Jack. But now I had to be strong because I was back at square one.
I was escorted through to the prisoners’ reception and did what I had done so many times in the past. I stripped off and was handed prison issue. The only thing I was allowed to keep was my trainers. I was surprised to be told that I would not be going to any of the halls but instead the segregation unit, the infamous ‘Wendy House’, where I would be placed on a rule for ‘the safety of other prisoners’ until a decision could be reached about what to do with me.
I knew a few of the screws on duty and I have to say they were very good with me. I was quickly shown to a strip cell and I mean strip cell, because there was absolutely fuck all in it. No TV, no kettle, no nothing. Only a bed board, a small toilet and wash basin. I did what I had always done during previous visits to segregation units in other jails. I stripped down to my underwear and began to pace back and forth from the door to the wall opposite, roughly five paces. Then a curious thing happened: I laughed out loud – really laughed, not just a small snigger. In that moment I knew I was going to be OK and I do not mean only that I would be able to get through this. It was much deeper than that. I suddenly realised that whatever life was to throw at me from now on, I would be able to handle it.
Even though I might be expected to feel very down about my present circumstances, I had never felt better, and the reason for that was that there was absolutely no feeling of emptiness – not a single iota. My cup was full. There was a calm and peacefulness about me that I had never experienced and I knew that the inner turmoil I had felt for most of my life was gone. Whatever life may have waiting for me, I would embrace it.
After five days in the Wendy House I was taken out and allocated a cell just along from the one I had been in two years previously. The good thing was that I was in the cell on my own, as I had made it quite clear that I was not prepared to share. The down side was that the cell I was put into was absolutely freezing – fucking brass monkeys!
At least I now had a TV and a kettle, so I quickly made a cup of tea, lit a smoke and gathered my thoughts. I had been told that it was now in the hands of Castle Huntly to decide what my fate was to be and that an assistant governor was to travel down to see me. But bad luck: a really severe snow storm blanketed Scotland over the weekend and all main roads and rail lines were closed. I didn’t hear anything from anyone at the Castle and was stuck in a kind of no man’s land.
An operation on my right leg had been due to take place that first Thursday, 2 December, and I showed the special licence that had been issued to me by the Castle giving details of the op. It was scheduled to take place at 7.30am but I wasn’t taken until the afternoon by which time my op had had to be rescheduled. I was brought back to Barlinnie’s dog boxes to await an escort. I should explain the dog boxes are small cubicles in which prisoners are placed on arrival. As I walked past the first row a familiar voice called out ‘Jimmy boy!’ It was my closest pal, Rab Docherty.
I gave him a big smile and said, ‘Hello, Rab. We will need to stop meeting like this. People will talk. What the fuck are you doing here?’
Before Rab could answer me another voice called, ‘Jimmy! Jimmy!’ It was Joe Mills and then the whole section started chanting my name. All the guys from Castle Huntly on my home leave coach were in the dog boxes!
Rab explained that they had been unable to travel back to the Castle due to the weather and were just about to leave on the coach that was outside waiting for them. It had been a chance in a million that we had bumped into each other like this. Rab told me not to worry and added he would look out for Cheryl, who had been having some grief from a fucking no-use’er of an ex-boyfriend. ‘I’m really gonn
ae miss you, wee man,’ shouted Rab. ‘It won’t be the same in the Castle without you.’ Then all the guys started to shout words of encouragement and I had to turn away as I’d started to choke up. It was a very special moment and it will live long with me. Every one of those guys was rooting for me and I knew that they were genuinely sorry to be leaving me behind.
Cheryl came to visit me while the weather was still atrocious. That did not deter my Cheryl and it was so good to see her again. Cheryl is like me in so many ways and even though I could see she was hurting for me, she spent the entire visit being positive and I loved her for it. When the visit was over I stood and held Cheryl close, kissed her and thanked her for being so loyal. We had been on a long journey together but I told her that we were now on the home straight and that this was only a temporary setback.
Then it was back to my cell. Apart from getting out for meals and to use the telephone in the evening I was locked up 24/7. The only other time I was unlocked was when I was allowed to take a shower twice a week. But being behind my door did not bother me as long as I had my smokes and a good book.
The following week I had a visit from Sheena, Olive and my brother Hughie. I was amazed and so touched that Olive had been able to make it up to see me considering how unwell she was. but she told me she had been determined to see me. What can you say about that kind of love and loyalty? I assured them that I was coping and that my spirits were high, and I think all of them were relieved to see me looking so well. The visit was over all too quickly but before they left Olive told me that they had put in £50 to tide me over.
Christmas came and went and the least said about Christmas in the Bar-L the better. Cheryl paid me another visit during the first week of the new year and it was great to see her again. I told Cheryl that I had still not heard anything in regard to what was happening, no matter how many requests I had made.
O 8 January I was told to get my kit packed as I was going back to Addiewell. There I was visited by a few familiar faces asking how come I had been returned and if I needed anything. I quickly explained the situation and then it was time for lock up. I had the weekend to settle in and make the rounds to catch up with some of my old pals. I quickly found out that David Ogilvie was still just around the corner and I sent a message round to him to come out on exercise on Saturday.
I also renewed an acquaintance with a fella I had met the year before in Addiewell, Rab Harper, and before long we were firm friends. I have bundles of time for Rab. He is an impressive man, very old school, a loyal and generous friend and conducts himself well. He was six years into an 18-year stretch for a bank job, and had also served a 17-year sentence after being convicted of the Torquay bank job where he, Ian ‘Blink’ McDonald, James and Michael Healy and others had attempted to steal over £1,000,000. Now, either of those sentences would have crushed a lot of guys, but to have the two of them and still be able to keep your head up tells you all you need to know about the calibre of the man. I have never once heard Rab complain and he carries himself and handles his sentence in a way that is a lesson to us all.
Rab and I knew a lot of the same people in both Glasgow and in London. Rab had done time with men such as Joey Pyle, who has often been described as the Godfather of British crime, and spent a lot of time in segregation units with the infamous Charlie Bronson. I have become very close to Rab and I would trust him totally and without question. He reminds me so much of many of the major London faces that I know from my years down south.
Rab has celebrated his 45th birthday and he is in great shape. He is a big man, standing about 6ft 2in with a solid build and is more than capable. Like me he prefers to do his time quietly and does not put himself about, though that has not always been the case. During his 17-year stretch he fought the system, battered screws and spent years in solitary. This time he is serving his sentence in a whole different way and as he himself has stated, when you fight the system, in the end you are the only loser. That is not to say he has lost any of his spirit – he just chooses to do his time the smart way. Now all Rab wants to do is serve whatever time is left and get on with his life. I have no doubt he will come out of jail with his self-respect intact and succeed in whatever walk of life he chooses. I am just thankful that I got to know him – he’s a diamond geezer!
I made an appointment to see Louise Bell so that I could sign up for fulltime education and continue with my writing. Louise was so helpful and I also saw Donna McBride that same day. Both she and Louise were surprised to see me back in closed conditions, but once I had explained the circumstances they were very understanding. I told them about my writing and showed them the letter from a publisher offering me a contract, and they were just so happy for me. I was to find that would be the case with everyone in Addiewell.
Eventually I received notice from the parole board that they had suspended my release on parole until they had made enquiries regarding the circumstances of the breach of my curfew conditions. So that was how things stood as I finished this book and I am now at the end of this journey that I have undertaken. Writing my story has not always been easy, but it is something that I am glad I took on. I have had to learn the discipline of writing every day, staying with it even when my personal circumstances were very difficult. But it has also been so rewarding and the fact that my publisher has felt confident enough in my writing abilities to offer me a contract has inspired me to continue with my writing and other projects I have in the pipeline.
I intend to move forward: it is all in my hands and I do not intend to waste a minute of whatever is left of my life. I am by no means finished and am a long way off from watching life pass me by. I am footloose and fancy-free and I am open to offers… legitimate only, please! So if you feel that perhaps you have something to offer me or that I may have something to offer you, then don’t hesitate to get in touch with me.
In the meantime I hope you have enjoyed reading what I have written in this book. If you have, then that will do me. Be good and stay lucky.
Finally, to everyone who helped, encouraged and supported me, not only during the writing of this book but through this whole sentence, I just want to say a big thank you. I owe you guys.
Epilogue
If this book achieves anything, I hope that it would be to show that it is never too late. Never too late to turn your life around and away from a life of crime. This book has presented me with the opportunity to achieve just that and it is one I do not intend to let slip away. If it can also inspire just one person to do the same then it will have been well worthwhile.
The other side of that coin is that it may lead some readers to think the lifestyle I have led has been exciting and glamorous, but that would be a huge mistake. While I will concede that there were times when my life was exciting, I would never describe any part of it as glamorous. I leave that side of things to Hollywood and make-believe – my life has been lived in the real world. So I would enter a note of caution here to those who may be tempted to follow in my footsteps.
There is a price to pay for choosing to live as I have done and it is a heavy one. I am not just talking about going to jail, as you inevitably will, but the wider implications that should be considered. There are the victims of whatever crime you may commit and not just those who are directly affected by your actions. There are also those closer to home who are victimised by your deeds – those who love and care for you, whether they be parents, partners, sons and daughters or brothers and sisters. Whenever you go to jail they too have been sentenced and for a crime that they did not commit. It is a heavy burden to bear, believe me.
You should also consider exactly what you are up against if you choose to be a criminal. The advances in both technology and forensics, combined with all the power that the law and the state can bring, has taken a quantum leap since the days I started out. It is now a game that ultimately you cannot win.
Then there is the quality of the copper who is on your case. If you have some success as a player and move up the cr
iminal ladder then so too does the quality of the lawman. The guys who make up the special squads are often from similar backgrounds to you and sometimes even from the same inner city housing estates. They are dedicated, tough, intelligent, and highly motivated. And let me tell you this – and I speak from personal experience – when they are on to you, you won’t get a sniff and the first you will be aware of them is when they are standing over you with the bracelets and, usually, a gun pointed at your nut.
Even if you do manage to have a bit of success you had better be prepared for the day when they come knocking and you have to be able to account for every penny you have and prove that it is legit.
Now, after considering everything I have said, you still fancy your chances then I have one final piece of advice for you and it is this… Develop a liking for porridge, because you are going to be getting plenty!
All the best,
Jimmy Cryans, March 2012
Me aged 10 in Malcolm Street, Parkhead, Glasgow, in 1963.
My ma aged 17. She was called Sarah but everyone knew her as Sadie.
Members of ‘The Cheeky 40’ – a gang of Glasgow wide boys in the 1930s. My uncles Willie and John are seated in the front row – centre and far left.