Bronson (12 page)

I sat there quite cool and listened to all he said. The sun was lovely, so were the sandwiches. I was dying to demolish the place but something stopped me.

Dr Hamilton told me that he would do everything possible to get me moved to Park Lane Hospital. I had a good think about this. I was now in a position that I had never been in before.

I wanted so much to pull the roof off, but I also wanted so much to move from this hell-hole. I had that chance if Dr Hamilton was being truthful. Was he for real, or was he giving me bullshit just to get me down?

It was decision time. It upset me to think that they had so much power over my life, but I had to take this chance. I went back to Hamilton.

I told him that if he was lying to me, I would get my revenge one way or another.

‘I give you my word, Micky,’ he said.

So I climbed down … and not one tile was damaged. They put me straight behind double doors. Hamilton stayed away from me for days.

It was all a lie.

Doug was a staff nurse. A big strong man, he was a typical rough-and-ready guy. I liked him a lot as he stood his ground. I told him to tell the doctors that from now I was on a hunger-strike – ’til death or ’til they move me!

Doug said, ‘Don’t do it, Micky.’

But I was determined. Eighteen days I starved myself. I survived on just tea and sugar. My muscles disappeared, my whole system was fucked.

Doug talked to me all the time. He even came to see me on his days off. Doug told me if I started eating, Hamilton would see me. He convinced me it would be OK. I started eating and on the eighteenth day I saw him. He told me Dr Malcolm McCulloch, the Superintendent from Park Lane, was coming to interview me with the prospect of a move. And I was actually told that same day by a senior person that I would move to Park Lane. I felt that I had won.

I had beaten Broadmoor and survived. Four-and-
a-half
years of my life had been wasted in that place. Four years of that was spent on Norfolk. It had been a hard battle, but one that I was proud of. You don’t get anything in this world unless you fight for it. Obviously, I can look back now, all these years later, and I can see two sides to it.

Lots of other things have happened since I left. There was a big TV documentary on drug control in Broadmoor, which exposed a lot.

Dr Hamilton died of cancer in his early 40s. I would not wish that on anyone, but he was a liar and I still deeply regret not doing that roof.

My mate Peter Lovesey survived Norfolk and went
back to Parkhurst. He was released and died within weeks of having his freedom. Poor George Shipley was, the last I heard, still in Broadmoor. Ronnie Kray plodded on there, doing his time like the man he was.

His death hit me like a sledge-hammer blow in the back of the head. That sad day will forever be etched on my memory. It was 17 March 1995, a little over ten years after I got transferred from the asylum. I woke up like any other day, ate my porridge, and then went into the exercise cage for my hour. I completed my press-ups, squats and sit-ups. The air was fresh and the sky was clear. Even the sun shone. But it turned out to be the darkest of days.

When I was out in that yard, under that lovely sky, I lost one of the greatest friends I’ll ever have. I’ll try to put the record straight once and for all. Since Ronnie’s death, all sorts of maggots came out of the woodwork, going on and on about how mad and bad he was.

Ronnie Kray was a special man. He had the biggest heart of any villain I’ve ever known. There won’t ever be another like him.

A week before Ron’s death, he sent me £25 through his friend Stephanie King. Ronnie always looked after me. When Ron liked someone, it was total loyalty. I can close my eyes now and drift back more than two decades to the time when Ron walked into my cell at Parkhurst. I knew from our first ever meet that he was going to be a special friend. He had a handshake like a grip of steel, eyes that were full of strength and he conducted himself with dignity.

When Ron spoke, people listened. I learnt so much from him. He never spoke of crime or violence. He was always polite and respectful and he lived by a code of honour right to the end.

The reason that I feel I know Ron so well is simply that we both suffered mentally. A confused mind can
and does tear a man to pieces. Paranoia is something that I wouldn’t wish on any man. Prisons and asylums are full of paranoid people. Ronnie was very ill – Parkhurst made him ill. But once he went to Broadmoor, he settled. In the 15 years he was there, he had very few problems.

For most of the 26 years that Ron was locked away, he helped other people. He would read a newspaper and if he heard that some kid had cancer or an old lady had got mugged, he would straight away try to raise some money to help them. He would paint a picture or write a poem or organise a charity do, all to help the sick. He gave away thousands. He despised child abusers and people who took liberties with sick people. He looked after so many; he never stopped helping. That is why Ron was so special and why he was loved by so many different people from all walks of life.

Ron always got upset when he heard about my constant battles against the system. He used to write and tell me to slow down or I’d never get out. He was one of the few people who understood me.

Ron is now free and with the only woman that he really loved, his dear old mum Violet.

There were other inmates who helped me get through those depressing years in Broadmoor. Some I’ve already mentioned, but I’d also like to give a heartfelt thanks to Charlie Smith, Dave Wright, George Heath, Mickie May, Michael Smithers, Michael Martin, Steve Shore, Aubrey Cunningham, Jock Smith, Ron Greedy, Danny Clark, Walter Prince and Eric Davies. In spite of what I’ve told you about Broadmoor, there were some members of staff who I found to be truly decent men, who I came to respect: Barney Wright, Roger Russell, Trevor Pimm, Clive Mason, John Turner, Dave King, Dave Bevan, Mel Evans, Stuart Elliot, Tim Frampton,
Doug Mephum, Terry Griffiths and Les Mephum. Some doctors treated me OK – Dr McGrath and Dr Shaw. It’s not worth mentioning all the evil bastards I came across in there – I would have to start another book! But they know who they are. They won’t forget me – and you can be sure I won’t forget them. May they rot in hell.

I left a big part of myself in Broadmoor. On summer days, the old boys of Broadmoor will surely tell their stories about my roof protests. It’s how institutions come alive. Stories like those keep the loons happy! They know that one of them fucked the system. My deepest regret is that I never made it over that infamous wall. That would have been the ultimate slap in their faces – but it was never to be.

You should have seen the send-off when I finally walked out of there! As I was led out of Norfolk House, the loonies were at the windows, shouting and waving little Union Jacks. I couldn’t believe it! The flags were obviously given to them by the staff. I couldn’t work out what they were shouting at first, but I picked it up … ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish’. I saw the funny side of it all and shouted at them, ‘If I come back, I’ll do your roof again and you won’t see telly for weeks!’ It was a good way to go.

Leaving Broadmoor to go to Park Lane top-security hospital was, without a doubt, the nicest feeling I’d had for ten years – pure ecstasy. It was 16 June 1984. Big Roger Russell was the nurse in charge of the escort; he was pleased for me. By the van there were a few officials waiting for me to go, and if I ever reach 100 years old, I will have more spunk in me than those boring old farts!

It seemed like no time at all before we arrived at Park Lane. This place was a miracle. It was situated in a little place called Maghull, near Liverpool. The whole design was different from what I was used to.
It had only been open a year or so; the whole place seemed incredible to me. It had an indoor swimming pool, gymnasium, squash courts, tennis courts, bowling green, a massive library, education classes, and the food was superb. It was like nothing I’d seen for the last ten years. They put me straight into Hazlett Ward. The first thing that hit me the moment I walked in there was the full-size snooker table. They showed me my cell … it was like a furnished bed-sit! It had a built-in wardrobe, dressing-table, bed, curtains, carpet, and a push-button radio on the wall. There was a sliding door which led to a bathroom with my own toilet and sink. It was a shame to call it a cell. I had never seen anything like it. For the first time in years I actually felt relaxed. The whole atmosphere had given me a fresh new outlook on life. I was seeing myself in a new light.

My doctor was Chris Hunter, a man I gained a lot of respect for. He stuck his neck out for me and gave me a lot of trust. After all I’d done in the past, he never once judged me. This was a complete new start. Now it was up to me. Chris took me off all the drugs. I ate better and I slept better. I felt altogether better. I began my training. I took up running, swimming and went to the gym. It was great. The staff were decent. My visits were nice ones – even my parents could see the change in me. I was finally smiling my way through – getting to the end. My confidence was coming back.

Stevie Booth was there as well. Rampton sent Steve there soon after I left. He looked fit and strong. He had done something that not only touched me but all my family, he changed his name to Peterson. He truly wanted to be my brother. As I tell you this story, he is still locked up.

Even in this place I had my bad days, but I got through them. I controlled my aggression. Some
days I would just go and bang up in my cell – it was no big deal.

The big day at Park Lane was the Sports Day. We could invite people from outside to come and enjoy it with us. I made a list up for myself and Steve – we had more coming than anyone else. The sun was blazing and we all had a great day. There were no problems – the lunatics behaved. The staff were all surprised by me. They’d been told to expect a madman.

I felt I was truly changing. Violence had been a big part of my life, but it now made me sick to think of what I had lost. Violence had cost me ten years. Boxers were paid to knock people out, but I smacked people and got locked away. Enough was enough. It was time to think seriously about my future … before I ended up like old Jip Carter in Rampton.

I was now preparing for another mental health tribunal. Everything was in my favour. Even Dr Hunter thought that I ought to be released. He recommended an absolute discharge in his report. A date was being fixed, my tension was rising.

It was going very well – then the day came that I came face-to-face with Gallagher once more. He had now changed his name to Morrison. At first I didn’t realise that it was him, but I soon recognised his eyes.

I looked deep into those eyes. I watched him tense up. I noticed the scars on his face, the scars that I had given him back in Hull Prison in 1975. I had a strong urge to attack him again.

Instead, I smiled. This completely confused him. This was my ultimate test. I knew he had nothing to lose, not even by killing me. I, however had my whole future at stake. Even though I knew he’d killed four people, I couldn’t chance it. We both walked away.

Even now, I wish that I had poked his eyes out!

I was later called in to see Dr Hunter. Morrison
(Gallagher) had complained to his doctor that I should not be allowed near him. I was praised for my conduct; it proved that I was trying to change my ways. I’d passed an important ‘test’. Unfortunately, the next one was set to be a disaster.

Every morning I would jog four miles around the grounds. It cleared my head and prepared me for a brand-new day. I was only weeks away from the tribunal. I might be just weeks away from release. Chris Hunter explained it was a 50/50 chance that I’d get an absolute discharge. If I didn’t get it this time, then it was almost certain I would get it at my next tribunal in six months’ time. So, either way, I would be out in weeks, or months … as long as my progress continued.

One morning I went out as usual on my daily jog. It was cold and wet, but I loved running in the rain. The wind and the rain on your face is really refreshing – something I miss so much now. I ran past Tennyson Ward when I heard a wolf-whistle. I stopped, then I heard it again. Some fucking idiot was taking the piss out of me! I went over to the Tennyson dining room window to see who it was. It was Mervin Horley, a well-known homosexual from Broadmoor. I went mad. I tried to hit him but I hit a steel bar on the window instead.

That made me flip. I was ranting and raving. My head was completely gone. I went back to my ward, brooding. The old thoughts were going through my head once again. Steve came over and told me to calm down – I had to think of my tribunal. Later, I was handed my mail. I had three letters from outside, and one from inside. The letter from inside set me off once again. This was a test I couldn’t pass. Fuck the consequences. Horley had written me a filthy letter, saying that he wanted to do things to me, how he loved oral sex and that he dreamt about me. I felt sick. It disgusted me. My
head exploded. All our mail was supposed to be censored, so how come I got this load of filth?

I smashed a sauce bottle and prepared my plan of action. I would run past his ward as they came out to go to the occupational therapy workshop. I was going to ram the broken bottle into his neck, drag him back to his ward and take him to the day-room where I would barricade myself in. At this point, I can honestly say that I didn’t really know what else I was going to do to him. All I knew was that he would never insult my name again.

The plan was set for the next morning. It was a very stressful day for me. I was about to throw my life away again. But, my mind was set – nothing could or would stop me now!

I started my run. I was spot on time. As I was coming towards Tennyson Ward I saw a dozen loons and six staff come out. As I got closer, I pulled the broken bottle out of my tracksuit. I spotted Horley wearing a big, heavy, brown coat. No one suspected a thing. I sped up my pace; my adrenalin was pumping. I was about 20 yards away when Horley smiled and blew me a kiss! I couldn’t believe it! I was on him in a second. I grabbed him around the neck. Some of the staff tried to stop me, but I waved the bottle around and told them all to stay back. Somehow Horley worked his way free out of my grasp. I panicked – I was losing him! It was now or never. I let him have it there and then. I smashed the glass straight into his ugly face.