Prison reform - Law breaker to law-maker.

Earlier, I mentioned Hull Prison Special Unit. The name changed from the days when we had Control Units. It was designed for those deemed to be "the mad, and the bad, the difficult and the dangerous". I admit that I was difficult, even go as far as saying that some people would say that I am still difficult. It was a pressure cooker environment, only six of us in there, even though it had capacity for twenty. The Prison Officer's Association said that they would only man it with six inmates, they felt any more was too much of a threat to safety. A "gangster" from Doncaster, when I went to see him in his cell to have a chat with him said, "You're more intimidating than the Kray Twins and the Richardson's put together". We reached an understanding that he would not play any more prison politics, or "mind games" with me, via others, and it ended a peaceful meeting.

I volunteered for the experiment in the Special Unit. I did not take the decision lightly, but had thought it out by examining my options. I was selected because I had, a couple of months before, put an Acting Senior Officer in intensive care. His "crime" was that he had broken an "unwritten rule", power had gone to his head with this temporary promotion, and he decided to change a custom and practice that has been accepted ever since I first went to prison in April 1971. He was going to put an end to the perks behind the Hot-Plate. He offered three other inmates out before I took him up on the challenge. I waited for him on the stairwell, unseen by the landing screws who were sat down at their tables, smoking fags, drinking coffee or tea, and reading their Sunday newspapers. Generally, The News of the World, hence the nick name "News of the Screws".

I had put my rock in a sock, which I kept under my bed, within easy reach, in case anyone had decided to give me "breakfast in bed" which I had not ordered from the Hall Porter the night before. He was supposed to be a tasty bastard, so I was taking no chances, I watched him as he climbed the stairs, a pile of prisoners newspapers in one hand, and his keys in the other. When he inserted the key to unlock the stairwell door to the "Ones", he was attached to a chain and the turned key in the lock meant that he had no escape. That's when I struck him over the head, he staggered and slumped a bit but did not go down. So, I hit him again. That did the trick, he was out cold on the floor. I fully expected the alarm bell to sound straight away. But it didn't, the act was not witnessed by any member of staff. I became a bit concerned that he was in need of medical attention, and that this could have happened in a maximum security prison, and by a Category "A" prisoner who was supposed to be under close supervision.

It was eight or ten minutes later, that a black lad came by who had been one of those offered out earlier. He wanted to go down stairs which would have brought a landing officer to the scene, so I disappeared. I heard swearing and then the sound of the alarm bell ringing. Even though I was expecting it, it still made me jump. I heard "Hirst", "Get Hirst". As the "Heavy Mob" approached, I said to them, "I'll walk". It was a policy that if a prisoner was prepared to go down to the "Block" without a fight, then he should be allowed to do so. "Oh, no, you won't" said the Physical Training Instructor (PTI), with a malicious grin on his face. He put my head into a neck lock, two others grabbed my hands and pushed my thumbs down onto my wrists, two more grabbed a leg a piece, and another grabbed and twisted my balls. I could see a governor watching, but he was too scared to intervene with these heavy handed tactics.

I was carried face down down the stairs, and along the ground floor landing out into the corridor towards the Segregation Unit. I could hear and see a Principal Officer shouting into my ear, over and over again, "You are going to suffer for this...". Someone else said, "Slower, slower", not so that I wasn't hurt, but to prolong the suffering. I kept feeling the air and blood supply being cut off in my neck. I must have passed out. At one stage, I was above it all looking down at my self being carried down to the Seg. I suppose it is what is called an out of body experience. I had not realised the journey could take as long as it did. In the "Strong Box", I was slammed down face first on the concrete bed. "God", I said. "Yes", one said, "God help you". He had misunderstood, it wasn't a plea for help, I was thinking how soft the concrete felt in comparison to the torture I had just endured. I was stripped naked, and a doctor administered some "liquid cosh" by injection into my arse. They released their grip one by one and left, slamming first one door locked, and then the outer door. The last thing I remembered was the spyhole cover scraping across and seeing an eye at the glass.

The adjudication was something of a farce, a kangaroo court, it started off with three members of the Board of Visitors, one of whom was new, and he made the error of following the Adjudication Manual to the letter and questioning in the spirit of impartiality. The Board adjourned and when it resumed there were only two members. This was unlawful. No surprise that I was found guilty, and awarded 56 days "cellular confinement" (CC), the bed and mattress were removed during the day. The Prison Governor came to see me and asked why I had done it. He nodded understandingly, without condoning my action. He said that he had a problem, and that was that the Prison Officer's Association (POA) wanted me transferred. However, as soon as he mentioned my name on the phone to other governors they all said no as whoever their worst was I was deemed to be even worse. I mulled this over for a bit, and asked to see the governor again. I told him that I believed that I had a solution to his problem, he looked relieved and asked "Have you really?". I told him what I had read in the Torygraph, about the Hull Prison Special Unit experiment. And informed him that I knew the Governor at Hull Prison, Phil Wheatley, and to call him as I was sure he would have me. "That's a relief", he said, "because I fear for your safety if I am not able to move you". And, I had already come to the conclusion that to stay I would either kill again or someone would kill me.

I was pacing the cage, outside, when a small, bald headed chap, came up to the wire. He looked at me, then looked about, and said "You don't want to be doing this for the next 20 years do you?". "No", I replied, "not really". "Right, then, leave it to me", and with that he was gone, back to the Home Office. It is said, that the authorities don't strike deals with prisoners. Experience would suggest otherwise. I was selected, but it was against the wishes of the Hull branch of the POA. Phil Wheatley had instructed Dr Peter Bennett, that he wanted me, and to get me. Phil is a powerful man and tends to get what he wants. I wrote to him beforehand asking what he expected of me. He replied "No unwarranted violence". I thought there's trust for you, leaving it too me to decide what constituted warranted violence. As it happened, I never had to use violence again, but there were a few close scrapes, where I thought I hope the "Heavy Mob" gets here quick before I felt I had to start.

It was where the transformation from law breaker to law-maker began.