A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller (26 page)

This routine went on for three weeks and then there came a new change. For escaping, Harry was put on a restricted diet of bread and water, and a loss of six months remission. He was moved to another cell, and as the top escape candidate in the prison, his light was never put out. Imagine a world where the darkness never comes, only endless light. Every fifteen minutes a warder would pull aside the spy hole and peer into the cell. Judas hole was the name used on the inside, for it took a sneaky Judas to creep around and spy on a man locked up and restricted by so much already. Life went on like this for over two months with the only difference, being a change of diet. A man cannot survive for too long a period without other forms of sustenance. Porridge, potatoes, as well as the bread and water, went to make up his new, yet non-varying menu.

Then another welcome change, work in the mailbag shop was offered and accepted. Harry loved the freedom of moving in such a large space. He also had fellow men to talk to, in prison whispers, at last things were picking up for him.

Exercising at night in the cell was paying off and the strength began once more to flow through his body. It was now time to think of the outside and thoughts of this, led to thoughts of escape.

"Hey Royle, you ok?"

A voice came in a whisper from behind his right shoulder. He turned to see a sallow-faced youth looking at him. Harry answered carefully.

"Fine, you?"

He looked the boy up and down. There didn't seem any problem, he was just a kid like so many in prisons, just starting out really.

"Got anything planned?"

Harry smiled to himself and continued his work.

"No not me I'm A-list they search me three times a day."

The boy looked put off.

"Oh right, just a thought really, you know I've got a few of my own ideas, just thought I'd cut you in, but never mind."

"Right."

Sure the boy had plans, not bloody likely. This kid was like so many others. Hungry for freedom. All eager to talk and plan, but give them a fair go and they'd either grass on you or leave you stranded when things got rough. Next time would be a solo unless the right player came along, and that wouldn't be a boy still wet behind the ears.

Escape is not something to be rushed or treated carelessly. A good escape could come in many ways, but, as a rule, the planning was by far the most important aspect. There was always the one in a million escape, that would be all but handed to the prisoner on a plate. The kind of opportunity that shouted to be taken advantage of. But on the whole, escapes were like well planned military operations, precise planning and precision timing would go together hand in glove to give success to the brave. To think and to dare, was to succeed. Harry took notice of keys. To most people, keys are needed and are useful, but beyond that little thought is ever given to them. Royle was different because he knew keys as friends.

In a prison, one of, if not the most important tool, is the humble key. To keep a prisoner from his liberty is no small task and locking and unlocking forms the most basic routine of all penal establishments. When a key is damaged and can no longer be of any use, it is treated in a very special way in Dartmoor prison. The key which, of course, is recorded and witnessed is then welded into a molten mass of metal, and then it is encased in concrete, before being buried in the ground. Such is the risk of even a broken, or part key falling into the wrong hands. No one was more aware of this fact than Harry Royle, for he looked on the humble key as his primary escape ally.

Harry had noticed that it took exactly five keys to unlock the doors of freedom, five, no less, no more. Working in the mail shop was proving quite a windfall, for there were always little scraps of metal to be found if you knew where to look, and what to look for of course. If you have the necessary skills making a key isn't really that difficult, so long as you have the tools needed. Harry had none, well none but the most important one, of course, the brain. The human mind is amazing for its capacity to learn and to store information.

Working long hours deep into the night, only pausing when warders peered through the Judas hole, he fashioned the first key. Most men trying their homemade attempt at key making would have felt delirious exhilaration at its successful application. Harry, however, was not most men and expected the outcome of success. Nor was he surprised by the success of the second, third and fourth keys he made during the months which followed.

These were patient months filled with quiet anticipation, of what was to come. Many times the cell would be turned over in a lightening search. These times were dangerous and could prove the end of any intended escape. The officers would enter the cell and order him to stand to attention while they searched every inch of his cell. The single biggest ally and friend to a serious escapee is the fact that those occupied in the search are human. The men charged with searching the cells were men like any other, full of human frailties and concerned with their own lives far more than sticking to the book on search regulations.

A man is searched three times a day, and looked at every fifteen minutes, throughout the night, he has his cell light permanently switched on. The men watching tend not to be as strict as they would be, with someone who they considered might have a ghost of a chance, of taking and concealing some form of tool, or other contraband. Men such as these grow careless, even sloppy and men like Royle rely on this fact in order to carry on hiding and moving things right under their noses.

Since being on the inside, Harry had had something of a crash-course in criminality. There had been no shortage of older cons, willing to pass on their hard-earned skills to the new hope. Many of the other men saw in Harry, a way to get back at the system. Most convicts had no stomach for escape, beyond the idea of the freedom. However, the harsh reality and the brutal repercussions, which always followed a recapture, put all, but the rare few off. In helping a man like Royle, the other men got to share in the thrill of the escape, without any of the danger.

He learned ways to conceal metal fragments in his hair and push picks and steel slivers beneath the skin of his armpits, to be squeezed out, at a later time. He learned that if, at all possible, tools should be left hidden at the point of escape, so as not to run the risk of them being discovered in a random search.

Being caught one morning in a line of men about to be searched, was a moment that sent alarm bells ringing in Harry's head. He stood number ten in a line of twelve men. He watched as each man took his turn, spreading his arms and legs like a starfish, as warders searched every curve and crease of his clothing. Royle was carrying not one, but four keys under his collar. This was it. He watched the men, one, two, three and knew it was now or never. Turning to the man in front, a man who could be trusted, not as an escape colleague for he was a man set on serving his time. A man all the same who knew the code within the walls of prisons. You helped those in need, and bucked the system when you could. He was a lifer and would not see the outside again. He was a man of simple needs and had a child's outlook. When asked once about escape he had answered

"But who will tend my vegetable patch if I go?"

"Vern, I need a hand can you get 'em off me for a minute?"

Vernon answered Royle's whispered request, without turning his head.

"Big, or small 'Arry?"

"Big."

"Will do."

Without another word, Vern whispered something to the man in front of him and a deal was struck. The man turned as if Vern had insulted him, and bellowed in his face.

"You fat bastard, Take it back."

Vernon winked at Harry, and swung a punch at the other man, who grabbed him rugby-style and the two struggled their way to the floor, where they rolled around, swapping punches until they were separated by the warders, who had quickly abandoned the search. As the first punch was thrown, Harry retrieved his keys and clenching them in his right hand lowered it to the crease of his trousers. As the two men fell to the ground, and the shouts of the warders echoed through the corridor, Harry let the keys slide slowly down his trouser leg, coming to rest on the floor. Once the warders were on the two struggling men, and chaos was assured, he kicked the keys into a far corner, where a desk stood, used by the officers. He saw the keys flash farewell, as they concealed themselves beneath the thick serviceable wooden legs. They would be found, but not today, and there would be no one to point the finger at.

Harry made a mental note as to who the other man was, who'd aided Vern in the ruse. Payment would have to be made to both the men. Snout was the currency, tobacco was money. In every prison up and down the country, snout, the slang term for tobacco was used in every exchange imaginable. There were those who didn't smoke, and those who smoked in moderation. But in addition, there were those who chain-smoked, and so would always need more supplies. In this way whether a smoker, or not, a man needed and used snout in one way, or another.

After the key incident and the tragic loss of four keys at once, Harry decided to keep his head down for a while. For three long months he did nothing, took nothing and was on best behaviour. So good was the new leaf he had obviously turned over, that he was given a new job in the mailbag shop. Harry had to stencil letters and numbers onto the finished mailbags. This job was repetitive but quite easy and in good light, as he now got to stand under a window. The loss of the keys and the boredom began to take its toll and his thoughts turned one afternoon to escape once more.

The escape would be no easy task, this he knew, for the window was unusual in its structure. It opened high up by swivelling on an iron bar that ran the length of the window. The more he looked at it, the more he realised that the only way to escape would be to take the whole window out completely from its frame. It was a crazy plan, but that didn't mean that it couldn't work. In the mailbag shop, there were always two warders guarding the men. One officer would walk around, watching the men carefully. The other guard sat behind a desk, and he never took his eyes off the prisoners. This then was no easy feat and would take weeks. One thing was obvious to Harry, he would need to be covered while he worked on the window.

Restricted diets and poor conditions had begun to take their toll on Royle's health, and by the time of the plan, two stone had dropped from his gaunt body. A man called Joey, agreed to help, so long as he didn't have to escape himself. Royle had agreed on a price for the other man's help. Joey would stand in front of Harry while he plaited a rope from the thin strips, which were sewn into the tops of mailbags. Once this task was accomplished, a hook was needed. This was made by way of a piece of metal found in a corner of the shop and strengthened with the handle of a bucket.

Weeks had passed and no one had seen anything. With the homemade grappling hook, well hidden. It was at last time to begin work on the window itself.

It was too high up and so there was nothing else for it. Harry had to jump up and attempt to loosen the end bolts, which held the swivel bar in place. This was, in fact, a ludicrous act, for he had to jump up onto the window ledge, give the bolt a single turn, and jump back down, while the warders were looking elsewhere. It was far from simple, and some days impossible. In fact, once three days went by before Harry could give the bolts a single twist of the wrist. But time is not the enemy of those kept apart from its true meaning. A prisoner cares nothing for the quarters on a clock. And each single twist, brought escape that little bit nearer.

Some snout was traded the week after for a few drops of oil. This was used to smear the bolts, and so ease them loose. It was another two weeks before the bolts at last came free. He had carved pegs from pieces of scrap wood. These were to take the place of the missing bolts. The bolts were at last removed, and this loosened the whole frame. The wooden pegs were fitted in their place, it was then simply a case of pulling out the pegs and lifting the window out. This, of course, only when the time was right.

Work of this nature is very time-consuming and takes a certain strength of character. Poor Joey was made of weaker stuff and began to feel the strain. One morning he turned to Harry and with eyes filled with anxiety said.

"For God's sake go and have done with it."

Chapter 16

Harry now realised that he was on his own with the plan. Not that Joey would do anything to endanger things, but it would only be a matter of time before the other man’s nerves would betray them and all would be lost. Now thanks to Joey and his nervous condition there was a very real danger of being caught. The only snag was that the hook on the end of the rope wasn’t really strong enough to hold a big man, and Harry knew it. He needed to make a stronger hook, but time was against him, this he knew even more.

One cold winter morning when the fog rolled across the moor Harry decided it was now, or never. He leapt onto the ledge pulled out the wooden pegs and over his shoulder heard the voice of the roving warder advancing. There was no time to think, so with the window in his hands Royle jumped back down and hid it behind some mailbag cloth. He was just in time. Harry resumed his place and set to work. The principle officer was walking towards him and it was then that Royle saw it. His heart began pounding so hard, he felt it would burst. Where the window had been was now just a hole. There in the space where the glass had been, was fog, thick cold Dartmoor fog, rolling in through the gaping aperture. Harry couldn’t believe his eyes and watched in sheer horror as the officer walked up and glanced at him, before continuing past and on to another part of the room.