Bronson 3

by Charles Bronson

  Joyce’s daughter, Mrs Heather Iandolo, a schoolteacher from Gillingham, England, fought successfully to have her father’s body exhumed from the cemetery at Wandsworth Prison and buried in Eire.

  The conclusion to this story could be that argued that because Joyce was not a legitimate British subject, he could therefore not have been tried for treason. If the trial were to have taken place today, maybe the outcome would have been ‘not guilty’.

  There have been many killers dubbed ‘The Acid Bath Murderer’, but the original was John George Haigh, 39. Haigh shot three men and three women to death between 1944 and 1949, all for financial gain, disposing of the bodies by dissolving them in sulphuric acid which quite quickly reduced them to a liquid sludge that he could pour down the drain.

  Another famous name was hanged at Wandsworth Prison by Albert Pierrepoint – Derek Bentley, who was hanged on Wednesday, 28 January 1953 for his part in the well documented armed robbery which resulted in the shooting dead of PC Sidney Miles.

  Eventually, Derek Bentley was finally granted a well-deserved posthumous pardon in 1998.

  The only other teenager to be hanged at Wandsworth was Francis ‘Flossy’ Forsyth who was dispatched through the gallows trapdoor by Harry Allen on 10 November 1960. You hear about gangs of youths running around assaulting people today; well, it happened just as often back in the 1960s. This is how Forsyth came to be hanged, having been part of a gang that attacked and kicked a twenty-three-year-old man to death in a motiveless and vicious attack. One of the other gang members, Norman James Harris, was also convicted of capital murder and, while hangman Robert Stewart hanged Harris at Pentonville, simultaneously, Forsyth was being executed at Wandsworth.

  The last man to be hanged at Wandsworth on 8 September 1961 was Hendrick Neimasz, 49, who had been convicted at Lewes Assizes of a double murder.

  This is only one of only a few prisons in the English penal system that uses a PO Box address, and are you aware that cons are not supposed to write to PO Box addresses … not allowed. Yet if you write to a fellow con, which you are allowed, and you write to Wandsworth, then you are breaching prison rules! What a backward system.

  I first hit Wandsworth back in 1975. And make no bones about it, it was the toughest jail in Britain. Hard and ruthless, just like the screws. All these hanging prisons seemed to have the same case-hardened screws working in them. The day after I arrived there, I attacked three screws, so my start there was a bad one. A week later, I dived on the Governor and tried to rip his throat out. I just never liked him.

  The prison was the last one to remove its gallows, and it was fortunate for one of the prison officers that it was removed and the death penalty for murder abolished. It would have been handy for a prison officer from Crystal Palace who was found guilty of killing a homosexual man by kicking his head in and then, just to make sure he was dead, he put a plastic bag over the victim’s head.

  The screw, Francis Kavanagh, had been out for the night with other warders from Wandsworth Prison on the night of the killing, four days before Christmas of 2001. Kavanagh was found guilty of murder when the court heard how he flew into a rage after heavily-built homosexual Michael Smith tried to ‘touch him up’ in a bar near Wandsworth Prison.

  But, sometimes, I wonder if he didn’t bring it on himself … Kavanagh had planned to go to a ‘school disco’ themed night in the West End dressed as a schoolboy! But he violently kicked his fifty-eight-year-old victim with heavy work boots after having an encounter with him.

  Kavanagh left the County Arms pub to go to a nearby friend’s house to change into shorts for the disco. This is when the victim was seen leaving the pub at 8.30pm to go to his nearby home, and this is when two of Kavanagh’s work pals then saw the defendant run towards the block of flats, shortly after that the touchy-feely encounter took place between Kavanagh and Keith Smith. Half-an-hour later, Kavanagh turned up at the pub and continued drinking like a fish.

  Wandsworth hanged more murderers than any other jail in Britain. Some should never have swung. The likes of Derek Bentley – that was a disgrace. A public shame. They murdered that boy for nothing. And Craig, the lad who shot the copper dead, he served just ten years and was freed. It shows what a fucking bunch of slags the whole system is. It is so corrupt, it is insane.

  The big house, this cesspit of a place, once housed up to 2,000 cons under one roof – awesome … amazing … fucking electrifying.

  It was 1990, I almost tore that roof off but I got stuck in the wire. What a disaster! What started it off was my Uncle Jack Cronin’s funeral in Luton. And the pigs stopped me from going to it. So I made a vow to myself, ‘You’ll pay for that insult.’ I made the climb up … and got trapped. Such is life. Back in the box. Back to darkness.

  Wandsworth is the jail Ronnie Biggs escaped from all those years ago. And what an escape it was, they never did forgive him for that, even now in his old age and close to death, they punish him for it, and show him no respect or compassion as he lies in desperate hope. There’s a fight on by Ronnie’s son, Michael, to get him released early. I mean, you don’t need him banged up the way he is. He’s s sick man, but the Home Office holds him as a trophy. This is how heartless they are, a wicked bunch of bastards!

  In the last three decades, I have been back there about twenty times. Each stay is short, and I am kept in solitary. I have not actually been back since 1994, as for a time it stopped accepting Cat ‘A’s. But I believe they do now, so no doubt, in time, I will pass through again; I can’t wait. Wandsworth is what it is – a prison. All the screws are what they are – screws. And everybody knows where they are. There is no shit, no falseness; it is a man’s jail.

  But the seg block has always been hard. More punishments have been dished out there than in any block in the county. The worst I had was back in 1977, and believe me, that was some set to between us. My body was black and blue from head to toe.

  I lost over two years’ remission in that place in the 1970s. That’s the equivalent of a five-year sentence with a bit of parole.

  That place cost me a lot of years; it also pushed me over the edge. I even attacked a doctor. Take my advice, never do this; it is like attacking a god. You will suffer afterwards, believe me. And in the seventies, it meant injections.

  You can’t beat tranquillisers, they can knock an elephant out, they can put a tiger on its knees, so we have no chance.

  Violence in this place was a regular issue. Plenty of it. I punched my way through that place. I got so bad, I enjoyed it. And I can hit so hard with a table leg, I swear I thought I killed him. It was the way he fell. His eyes. The way his body landed. I must admit, I panicked, as it was bang on top.

  I also had a pop at escaping, but I have been so unlucky at that. I am just not meant to go over the wall; if I had, I would have gone a long time ago.

  I met some great guys in this place, ‘proper’ cons, such as Frank Fraser. I first met Frank in 1975; what a legend. A top man in my book. I also met George Wilkinson there. Who? Yeah, you may well ask. George (RIP) was a giant of man, a Geordie from up north. I rate this man as the most dangerous man ever to walk the prison yard. Forget your Frank Mitchell look-a-likes.

  The screws feared George so much that they used to panic and steam into him first. There were always ten on him and with sticks. George took the screws hostage; he also used a lot of violence.

  It was 1979 when they drove him out of Strangeways on a journey to Walton. He was, mysteriously, dead on arrival. One of prison’s mystery deaths. Read a book called Frightened for My Life by Geoff Cugan, it will explain about George’s death.

  I admired George, as he was fearless, a big man, over 6ft and 19st, a natural strong man. I once met his mother, a small, brave lady. George idolised her and she loved him, too. A bloody sad end.

  It was in this jail I cut John Fielding right down his ugly boat. Dirty fucking rat! It was this piece of shit who grassed my escape up to the screws. You won’t miss him if you face him. He’s go
t a Mars Bar (scar) from his right eye all the way to his neck. I am just sorry I never ripped his eyes out. I could have gone over the wall if it hadn’t been for him. Slag!

  Wandsworth is an institution. It’s the flagship of all prisons. It will never change its image, too much has gone on there over the last 100 years for it to ever be forgotten. Executions of innocent men, escapes, murders, violence, corruption, brutality, hunger-strikes.

  I remember back in 1977, three cons raped one con, a gang-bang in a cell. The poor chap had to have stitches in his arse; he later had a breakdown and tried to end it all. That is Wandsworth in a nutshell – brutal.

  It was there I dived on a guard dog just for the fun of it … that dog bottled it. So did the dog-handler.

  It was also there I nicked a big urn of porridge and barricaded up with it … so the cons couldn’t have any. Great days. Funny. Crazy memories. Legendary!

  But through all the hell, there were also decent screws like Mr Wells, a PO down on E Wing seg unit. He was a gentleman, a very fair man, a rare breed in that place. I would say to anybody, when you meet a decent screw, ‘Respect,’ because it is in your favour. One day, he may stop you falling into the bottomless hole of emptiness, or from being pushed in.

  I will give HM Prison Wandsworth 5/10, just for the sake of Mr Wells. Not bad for such a hell-hole.

  Wandsworth 1945 – had not changed right up to when I first visited in 1975

  LOCATION: Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire.

  CAPACITY: 110 beds.

  CATEGORY AT PRESENT: Closed YOI (Young Offenders Institution) – Male.

  OPENED: 1895.

  HISTORY: Werrington House originally started out as an Industrial School and then, in 1955, it became part of the big system when the Prison Commissioners took it over. In 1957, it became a DT (Detention Centre) and then, in 1985, it became a Youth Custody Centre and changed to a YOI in 1988.

  I landed at Werrington back in 1970 with my best pal John Bristow. It’s a detention centre that I was in thirty-four years ago … it sort of makes me look an old git. All our yesterdays …

  Anyway, John and I were sent there for three months. This gaff was run like a military jail. Hard … spit and polish … but it was fair.

  We all knew where we stood. Step out of line and it was a war zone. The routine was a strict regime with plenty of discipline, plenty of gym, plenty of hard work and plenty of hard whacks. And the food was brilliant. And lots of it. We were all in bed by 8.00pm! And up at 6.00am to the shout of, ‘Hands off cocks, on with socks.’

  Those were the places you went in as boys and come out as men. You walked in and marched out.

  I have got some good memories of Werrington House. But as hard as it was, it did nothing to deter me from a life of crime. It just made me a stronger man. More determined. It was called a ‘short, sharp shock’, but it just didn’t work. The only thing it shocked was your senses; it exploded any grasp of what good order and discipline was all about. It showed that you got what you wanted by violent means.

  There was a screw in Werrington House called Mr King; he was a right bastard. A big man, a hard man. I believe he was ex-Forces. For three months, he really put me through it.

  But on my day of freedom, he stuck his hand out and said, ‘Good luck.’ He meant it, too! I shook his hand and said, ‘You old bastard.’

  I now look back on those three months, and screws like Mr King, and feel a bit proud of that time. But believe me now, it can never work. How can it work? But I had some lovely memories. Hell, I had one of my best ever fights there. It was in the boot room, a proper fist fight – toe to toe! This fight went on for half-an-hour. It was with a Taffy. Could he hit! If that Malcolm Price from Wales was bit younger, then I’d swear it was him, but he didn’t go to prison until he was in his twenties, so it must have been someone else.

  We were young, and full of it. At that age, we were invincible, or so we thought. It is only with time that those sorts of fights take their toll. Ask Ali how he felt over his classic three fights with Joe Frazier.

  Werrington House for me played a big part in my strict self-discipline that has pushed me through such bad times in my life. I really do believe that.

  I will give HMYOI and Juvenile Detention Centre Werrington House 8/10. That isn’t bad, is it, for a short, sharp shock that was supposed to cure me? It fucking turned me into a raving lunatic!

  LOCATION: March, Cambridgeshire.

  CAPACITY: 600 beds.

  CATEGORY AT PRESENT: High-Security – Male.

  OPENED: 1991.

  HISTORY: This prison occupies a massive site of 90 acres and is state-of-the-art max-secure. All the top geezers have been here, the majority being mandatory lifers with tariffs of over twenty-five years and even up to thirty years. In 1994, a mass breakout resulted in a prison officer being shot.

  This is another of the maximum-secure jails and, believe me, one of the maddest places ever. It is so mad, it is unreal.

  I first went in there in the 1990s. But it was the first of many times I had landed, each time only to be dragged into the madness.

  Whitemoor takes a lot of the Cat ‘A’ and the high-risk prisoners. I suppose it became infamous over its IRA breakout when five members of the IRA and one Londoner had it over the wall, only to be caught in the area.

  Strangely enough, one of the IRA men, Liam McOtter, I smashed over the head some years earlier in Brixton Prison, but it turned out he was a diamond.

  Whitemoor must have had more riots than Alcatraz. After the Parkhurst escape in the early 1990s when three cons had it away, but couldn’t get off the island, Parkhurst closed down on taking any more Category ‘A’ and it became a Category ‘B’ jail.

  So all of us Category ‘A’ cons were shipped to Whitemoor and, believe me, it was Bedlam.

  Whitemoor had to handle a lot of frustrated men, as they were happy being at Parkhurst. Now they had to start afresh there … so it often blew up. Jails often have new ideas. Silly rules. And men are not machines.

  We all have a routine, and when routines are smashed – trouble starts. Riots were on the cards. I would say the assaults on screws had to be the highest total of any jail.

  Big Ferdi Lieveld was sent to trial over throwing a bucket of cooking oil all down a screw. The screw lost his ears and his face peeled off. Ferdi got a ‘not guilty’. The screw was ex-Parkhurst.

  Another time, Parnell stabbed three screws; he, too, got a ‘not guilty’. Then Charlie McGee stabbed a couple of screws; it was like a war zone. Screws were getting cut up regularly. There were that many shit-ups that the place looked like a sewer. Ronnie Easterbrook was on a dirty protest for two solid years! Phew, where’s the air freshener? Then Frank Quinn almost escaped again like he’d done up in Frankland.

  I went on a hunger-strike over my art materials being taken away from me. I lasted for forty days, and almost lost 4st. That was long before this David Blaine guy went on TV to do his forty-four-day stint in a box over the Thames. Fuck me, that would have been a pleasure for me, just to see the sights, it would be worth going on hunger-strike again. And while I was doing it, I was in a set to with screws. Throw that into the pot, Blaine, and let a real man show you how to do it. I bet Blaine couldn’t do a Bobby Sands.

  All I lived on was water, tea and sugar for forty days. The same as Jesus did out in the wilderness. But I bet he had the odd rabbit. I had sweet FA while on the hunger protest; I was rushed twice by the MUFTI (riot squad) and smashed up.

  On one of these incidents, when I was thirty days into the hunger-strike, I could barely stand up, I was so weak, and the cowardly scum had a go at me!

  That sums those dogs up. It was stated later that I had attacked them! In the weak state I was in, I couldn’t attack a bag of crisps properly.

  While I was attacked, they left me in the box. My pal, Tony Crabb, climbed up a wall to protest about my treatment, and he, too, was punished for that!

  It was a sad day when Dessy Cunningham hanged himsel
f. That upset a lot of people. It was a great day when (Catweasel) Bailey got killed in his cell by two cons. He was a member of the paedophile gang who raped and killed Jason Swift, a young boy from London, along with his cronies, Sidney Cook and Smith.

  The two cons who killed Catweasel strangled the fucker. They both, sadly, got life for it. They should have got a medal.

  The food at HMP Shitemoor – er, sorry, HMP Whitemoor – is not bad. But it’s filth in the seg block; they serve it up cold and it is a fact the screws take the best for themselves; they steal all the cakes and biscuits. You don’t have to go on a hunger-strike here, you are starved anyway with the portions they give you.

  Yeah, it has all happened in this place, I could write a book on it all. Female screws having sex with the cons! Screws bringing in drugs. Screws using steroids. You don’t believe it? Check it out! Go to your library, dig out the stats! Why else are they sacked?

  In March 2002, a screw, Andrew Hubbard, 39, from HM Prison Lewes in East Sussex, was jailed for seven years for operating a mini drugs supermarket behind bars. Doesn’t that tell you enough? Complaints at Lewes Prison in 2001 led to eight warders being suspended, although they were brought back when assault allegations collapsed.

  There are also screws bringing in porn. Some of these screws are sicker than the cons. They have a licence to do it. They hide behind the walls of shame. In all walks of life, there are those who weaken. And screws are no different. If you wipe a bundle of notes in their face … two out of ten will snap it up.

  Why do you think they are any different? Next, you would be saying there are no bent cops, or psychotic soldiers, or alcoholic royalty, or no perverts in religion. Prison is no different to any other way of life. It has got all the pressures and problems of any other walk of life, and there are more bullies than in any other form of life I know of. The Army has its fair share of bullies. Well, remember, a lot of screws are ex-Army, and many have been chucked out of the Army. I rest my case. That is why we know Whitemoor as ‘Shitemoor.’