The road to frigging peer

The road to frigging peer

As a child I liked to sit on the old packhorse bridge opposite the White Swan in South Milford. I could see fish swim by in the shallow water as they passed beneath me. When the races were on in Tadcaster or York, I would watch all the snobs go past in their Rolls Royce's, Bentley's and Jaguars and the middle classes in their Rovers. I loved cars. I would chew a stalk of grass or stick the stalk into a small gap between my two top front teeth. When I needed a wee I would roll off the bridge and down the grassy bank to the concrete pier-like embankment and go in the beck. Then nip back up again for fear of missing something going by.

One fine day Ken Hill the butcher's dog walked across the road and this bloke in a Jaguar just hit him, and it broke one of his blue-tinted fog or spotlights. I was glad the dog was not hurt too much and ambled off in the direction of the pub. The driver was hot under the collar, and red faced with rage as he approached me.

"You're dog should be on a lead", he said.

I said "Why?" and smiled up at him.

"Because it should be" he demanded.

"Why?" I asked innocently.

"Because it's a danger to road users, that's why!".

"Why?" I asked, thinking that it looked like he wanted to slap me for what he deemed as my insolence.

Bored now with the game, I slipped off the wall and said over my shoulder "Anyway it's not my dog. Mine's at home!". The dog recrossed the road and followed me up High Street. The man stood there hands on hips as though in utter disbelief at what he had seen and heard. The dog went into Ken Hll's butcher shop on High Street, and I walked home to Throstle Nest Farm, which was situated about half way up or half way down, whichever view you take, on High Street.

In the orphanage, Glenfield Frith Hall, in Leicestershire, I noticed that some of the boys were black skinned and some were tanned half-castes. I did not think to question why that was the case. As far as I was concerned we were all orphans, and that was all that mattered.

Then in 1973, I was in Lewes prison, Sussex, and there was a racial disturbance between some blacks and some whites. I walked through the middle knowing and liking people on both sides, and wondered what it was all about. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

I escaped from my cell without breaking out and went over the wall.

When I was recaptured and returned to the prison, Governor Pratt asked "Why me Hirsty, why me, what have I ever done to you?". I replied, "Nothing. I did it because I could". He sighed and then said that Security wanted to know how I had managed to escape from a locked cell without damaging the bars, locks and bolts and brickwork.

In the block, I met up with Leslie Payne again, who was down there because it was said that there was a contract out on him. I could tell he looked bothered and was wondering if I was the hit man. I assured him that he was not in my sights. I liked him and was aware what the Underworld word about him said, however, I was happy for us to get on and I did not say anything against the Krays to him and would change the subject if I felt that an attempt was being made for me to take sides in their dispute.

South Milford is 14 miles from Leeds and I had connections with the Leeds Mob, Jimmy Moran, and the Manchester Firm, headed by George "the Greek" Pantelli. And had the pleasure of first meeting the Krays as they arrived at Leeds City Station. We had been tipped off by Detective Inspector Boulderson and put on a reception committee. My instructions were that they had to get straight back on the train and make the return journey, if the diplomatic approach failed. I did notice Ronnie's interest in me, but he didn't ask "is that a sawn-off in your coat pocket or are you just pleased to see me?". I did see the Kray Twins again.

When I had been adjudicated upon, and lost 3 months remission, and awarded 21 days Cellular Confinement, I was transferred to Wandsworth Prison. There I received a reception committee by the screws "So, you think you're hard? Here we'll make you or break you!". Frankie Fraser, who was the Richardson Gang's enforcer, and sworn enemy of the Krays, told me not to let the bastards grind me down. There were a few bust ups with the screws. They wore slashed peak caps, shiny steel toe-capped and part-heeled boots and NF badges. Three weeks later, I was ordered to get on the bus going to Albany on the Isle of Wight. I saw the same Principal Officer on departure as I had seen on reception. I nodded to him and said, "I thought you said you was going to make or break me?". He went red with anger and blustered "Get on the fucking bus!". I left there as the first prisoner to get a not guilty on a Governor's adjudication.

The reception committee was waiting for me at Albany. All the prisoners were called in alphabetical order and I noted that they had skipped past "H". When all the others had been processed, the two reception screws now had another ten to keep them company. "Hirst!" shouted the Principal Officer, who was sat in the middle at a long table flanked by other screws and more stood behind them. "What?", I asked approaching the table with a smile. "Get your hand out of your pocket and wipe that smile off your face!", the PO demanded. "Firstly, my hand's not in my pocket but instead my thumb is tucked into my waist band at the back (I twirled). Secondly, if you want the smile off my face you will have to knock it off because it's permanent", I had accepted the challenge. Some of the screws laughed out loud at the PO's discomfort whilst others tried to stifle grins, and some were angry at my defiance of authority. The PO tried to regain his composure, and flicked at a yellow post it note which read "Albany, if they'll have him". He said, "I don't fucking want you!". I turned and walked away, just like I had done all those years ago on the old packhorse bridge in South Milford. "OK, I'll go back, I got the feeling the screws at Wandsworth didn't like me", I said over my shoulder. More laughter. "Come back here, I didn't say you could go!" called the PO. "Now hold on a minute, first you said you didn't want me, now you are saying you want me. Make up your mind", I said. The laughs showed it had turned into a farce. The PO went on getting redder with embarrassment and tried to get it back on a serious footing by stating, as he flipped over the first page of my prison record, "You've got a red page file! Here it states, 'Five foot six and a stick of dynamite'!". I was impressed by the description. I am five foot six. I thought, 'reel him in, reel him out, stand back and watch him blow, just like a TNT coated Yo-Yo'. Then I joined the screws laughing and tears were rolling down my cheeks. It had not gone as the PO had planned. He conceded defeat and disappeared along with the Heavy Mob, I was left with the two reception screws, who shouted for the orderlies, who wore Red Bands, to give me what I wanted kit-wise.

Henry the traveller, came down to see me in Reception, having heard on the grapevine that I had arrived and helped me carry my kit up on to the Wing. Very soon we were running a smuggling racket, Henry having arranged with Ronnie Rackett, a civilian works instructor, to bring in whisky etc. It was organised to cover Parkhurst Prison and Camp Hill Prison as well, and deliveries would be via the prison vans. I earned more in a day than the screws earned all week. Six screws worked for us including one in Security. Prisoners were asking for sun glasses and all sorts, I can see why some thought it was a holiday camp. However, it was a tense jail and I witnessed screws rubbing down a prisoner who had a eight inch knife tucked in the side of his belt and not bat an eye lid as the hands discreetly missed feeling it.

Now and again I would go into Parkhurst, and meet up with the Krays who were in the Special Security Block, but by co-incidence they would both get admitted to the hospital wing where I was temporarily located. Sometimes I would walk and talk with Neal Adamson, "The Mad Dog of Pudsey", he said watch out for a particular prisoner who had caved another prisoner's head in with a paving slab for lying on his piece of grass out in the exercise yard. It was peaceful out there hearing and watching the birds, and the fish in the pond. A prisoner would sit by the pond with a stick and a piece of string dangling in the pond, I pitied him and called him The Laughing Gnome. Tommy Evans came up to me one day and asked, "Are you really the Lord?". I said that I was, and for awhile I was convinced that I was Jesus Christ, and had come back as a prisoner. Tommy showed me the scars in both palms to prove that he was the thief crucified to my right. We were "Cooper's Troopers", Doctor Cooper was the mad psychiatrist (He was later found naked and hanged in Parkhurst Wood). The Soviet Psycho Prisons would have been proud to see "F2" the "Funny Farm". One day the doctor said to me, "Pull in your horns, I'm sending you back, you're not mad you're bad, you're a control problem. If you come back here again, I'll nut you off to Broadmoor".

About seven months to release, the smuggling racket ended. Ronnie Rackett had got caught trying to smuggle a load of ganga into the prison. It had gone to an address and meant to be opened by the son, but the father opened it by mistake and called Security who called in the police and Ronnie was arrested. He had been instructed to keep his mouth shut, but he grassed up Henry and claimed that he had only smuggled under duress. I was interviewed by the police, initially they said, "We know you have been dragged into this". Then it was, " We know you're the middle man". Finally, it was "We know you're running this". Henry and I kept our mouths shut, and only Ronnie Rackett was charged. The authorities told him to keep a lid on it or else. A week before I was due for release, the Chief Officer "Corned Beef" came into my cell at six O'Clock urging me to get out of bed as he knew I was due to go out today. He said the date was etched in his mind. I informed him I had lost 7 days remission when he was off duty, and my release date had been put back. He stormed off wondering why he had to suffer another seven days and why nobody had told him what was happening in his jail.

In Reception, Officer Pitman said, "You were always one step ahead of me". He searched for money. Then he looked at me as he held my radio in his hands, and said, "There's only one other place to look", 'Is that sweat coming down my forehead?' I thought, "And that's up your arse. If the money's up there", he passed me the radio to put in my bag, "You can keep it!". He walked me to the gate and outside, and wheeled his bike as we walked down the road. Once off prison property he said, "Just tell me one thing, the guns aren't still in my prison" (the Army had used metal detectors digging up the allotments and the football pitch). I replied, "The guns aren't in your prison. They came in and went back out again the same day". We shook hands. "You nearly didn't make it", he said. "I know, I came back from the brink", I said as he got on his bike and rode off.

They had said, "There's only 2 buses, the 1 and the 1A, you want...you can't go wrong". I couldn't remember, and got on the first one that came. It was the wrong one. The conductor told me he would let me know where to get off to catch the other bus, and told me the fare. I thought he had said, "16p" and he said "One of those, one of those..." I was getting angry, people about knowing where I had come from, and this idiot thinking I cannot count, I wanted to punch him. "No" he said, "I said 60p". Then there was the old woman behind me poking me in the back and saying "Young man can't you read?", I turned around to snarl and she pointed out the sign "No smoking in the lower deck". I went upstairs to finish my roll up.

Soon I could see the pier, and was on the ferry. At Portsmouth everything seemed to be going fast. I nearly got run over crossing the road. On the train, I watched this bloke watching me unscrew the back off my radio. I ripped off the imitation leather from the back board, instead of the padding it was packed with £50 notes folded. The man's eyes nearly popped out of his head. I threw the radio out of the train window.

I bought a Ford Zodiac, like the one my headmaster had at Anstey Martin Secondary Modern school, in Leicestershire. I remember the day he told the pupils that President John F Kennedy had been assassinated. I drove here, there, and everywhere. One day, I drove across the old packhorse bridge at South Milford, Canned Heat played on the radio cassette player, "On the Road Again". I looked for the little boy who used to sit on the bridge and watch the traffic go by, he wasn't there. I smiled as I thought, 'I could be Lord John de Sud Milford'. I drove up High Street, passed Throstle Nest Farm, until I came to Steeton Hall. 'And that's where I'd frigging live, Lord of the Manor'. That part was a dream, some of what went before was a nightmare. I did not know what the future had in store for me. That one day control and space, and memories of Albany and Parkhurst, would see me react so violently to the invasion of my mental space.