Bronson (19 page)

I thought that I would be better off in a strip cell – out of the way. My head felt terrible. I’ve always suffered headaches when I’ve been anxious about something, but this time I couldn’t control it.

It was late one night. I got out of bed; the place was silent. I covered myself in black boot polish from head to toe. I was bollock starkers and black as soot. I then smashed a glass bottle over my head. The blood trickled down my face and neck. Fuck knows to this day why I did it.

Next, I secured the broken bottle on to a broom handle like a spear. Then I tied a red rag around my forehead and another around my right bicep. I lay on my bed, naked, waiting for the morning to arrive. The sooner my door unlocked, the better.

Long Lartin has electric doors. As soon as I heard that click I would be ready. My landing had 16 of us on it, but the whole wing held 90 cons. I knew that the new day would bring insanity at its best. I felt strange. My head was still throbbing. There was blood and black polish all over me and my bed. I thought about the outcome; would I hurt anyone? Would I damage anything? Would anyone try to stop me? I had no detailed plans. All I wanted to do was walk out of my cell with my spear. Long Lartin was about to explode!

My door clicked. It was time.

I walked out and headed straight towards the screws. One spotted me soon enough. His face turned white and he ran to the alarm bell. I began to run, too.
Then the cons spotted me. A lot of them legged it back into their cells. I was too confused to know what to do, so I bolted into the association room. I picked up the TV and slung it at the bars. It exploded. Then I tore out the lights and smashed about 40 chairs before tearing the door off its hinges. I smashed out the giant plate-glass windows. Some of the glass stuck into my feet and I even cut some of my body, but I was beyond caring. It felt great!

The cons were all shouting and by now the screws were dressed in riot gear. The wing was evacuated and I was in my glory. I ran into the next TV room and smashed up that one as well.

Nothing lasts for ever. It was soon all over. The riot mob came in and I was put into the strong box and given an injection. I slept for days; I was now a very depressed man. Pain had entered my world once again – mental pain – and I was close to the edge. The danger signs were creeping in. After a few days in the box, I came out to shower and clean myself up.

Joe Whitty, the Governor, had a slight problem.

I had to face the Board of Visitors for all the damage that I had done. That meant more lost remission and more punishment. I was getting sick of it and, to top it all, Kelly-Anne had phoned the prison, pissed-up, crying and shouting. I slammed down the phone and I told the screws that if she rang again they should tell her that I had been moved.

It was about this time that I thought about my life very carefully. I came to the conclusion that I was definitely not right in the head. Either I had to slow down and think, or I would be on my way back to Broadmoor.

Joe Whitty decided to give me another chance up on the wing. He was all on his own with this decision; nobody was looking forward to my return. It was at this time that a TV documentary was being made in
Long Lartin. I was asked by Danny Foy if I would like to go on it. I agreed straight away – what could I lose? Jimmy Boyle had been invited to join us. I already knew a lot of Jim’s pals but I had never met him. Ron and Reg always spoke highly of him, as did many others. Jimmy had served his time and had made good his freedom. He always spoke up well for us lads, which we all respected. He got a life sentence and he served 15 years. Jimmy went through the system and got his home leaves and weekends out so he could prepare himself for his release.

Up to my 69 days of freedom in 1987, I’d spent one year less than Jimmy inside … and I’d then got released from a top-secure jail as a high-risk prisoner. No preparation, no rehabilitation. Little, if any, hope.

Kate Akester also attended this televised forum. Kate was my solicitor at the time. I was asked to speak up, which I did. All in all, it was a very worthwhile cause, as it opened some eyes.

I upset Joe Whitty, though, as I held up some posters to say that the Birmingham Six were innocent – and so was Alan Byrne.

Soon after all this, a filthy rapist upset me. He was getting too familiar with me. I went into the showers with a pair of scissors and put them up to his throat. I told him that if he didn’t move out of the wing that day I would stab him. He begged me not to hurt him and bleated that he would move straight away. I said to him, ‘You weren’t scared when you raped that old lady, were you?’ With that I kicked him in the bollocks and left him in the shower. I had to fight a strong urge, because at that moment I wanted to kill him.

I could tell that I was starting to become ill again. The nonce moved that day. Nothing came of it.

Just after this incident, I decided enough was enough. I fancied taking a roof off! A roof was just my
cup of tea. Perhaps I should have had a career as a steeple-jack!

Unfortunately they were not very good, the roofs at Long Lartin. They were all flat, only three storeys high, and very difficult to get up. So many people had tried this route before that they’d put barbed wire on the pipes and on the roof.

I spotted a way up but I knew I would need some assistance. I don’t usually get anyone else involved in my plans, but this time I had no choice. So I asked. The con I approached wasn’t keen, but he agreed.

Now this first stage was all arranged, I could work on the next part of my plan. I would need food, water, blankets and a rope. This protest was going to be
nonviolent
, just a peaceful roof protest.

The only thing was, I hadn’t decided what to protest about!

I was sure that I could think of something once I was up there. I thought about ‘Free Nelson Mandela’ as there were a lot of protests going on about him at the time, but then I thought, Fuck it.

I’d do one demanding: ‘Free the Twins’. They deserved it. Yeah, I’d do it for Ron and Reg!

So my plan swung into action. I knew how I was going to get up and I had the material I needed – I just needed the break. I prayed that it would come soon … it would be a blinder!

A bit later I was going down to the water boiler to fill my flask, ready to be locked in for the night, when I saw young Mark Barnes coming towards me. I could see that he was upset.

Mark was only 22 and to be crying in a long-term jail, where you mix with murderers, bank robbers and terrorists, just doesn’t happen. (Not in the open, anyway.) I got him safely to his cell. I think he was very near to having a breakdown. I’ve seen enough in the asylums to know a breakdown when I see one.
Tears were pouring down his face. It was sad to see. This is what the system does to you. What the fuck was a kid like him doing in a prison like this?

I told him to pull himself together and not to lose heart. I believe he had girlfriend troubles. I told him to get into bed and said I would get him a cup of tea. I felt very concerned about the boy so I told Johnny Bowden. John was clever like that. He went to see the boy and then he went to see the Prison Officer in charge. I don’t know what was said, but I made it clear to every screw that if Mark Barnes hurt himself that night they would have trouble with me. I went to my cell and banged up for the night, but my mind was still on that poor lad.

About half-an-hour after everyone had banged up, I heard a crash of glass and Mark crying out loudly. His cell was more or less opposite mine so I dived out of bed and shouted to him: ‘What’s up, mate?’

There was another crash of glass and more crying.

Fucking hell.

I started to bang my door, then everyone was banging theirs. The screws went in and took Mark to the hospital. He had cut his wrists. I lay in silence for the rest of the night, just thinking about it all … not just about this incident, but about the whole fucking system. I knew that he was very near to a breakdown and if I had been a screw I would have taken him to the hospital before he had had a chance to hurt himself, not
after
. Any silly fool could see that he was upset. I really felt my head thumping against my temples. This was a bad sign for me. I jumped out of bed and smashed my fist into the door.

‘You bastards, tomorrow you’ll get it.’

I never slept all night, as I felt so bad. I felt tension, pain and anxiety – and my plans were being jeopardised. I felt that I had made a bad mistake by warning the screws that I would get them if Mark
hurt himself. They might now put me in the block before the others got unlocked. It really surprised me when nothing like that happened. My door clicked open and I walked to Mark’s cell. I could see the broken glass and the blood. This upset me more. There was tension in the air and I knew the screws were watching me. I stopped and looked them in the face and their eyes darted away.

Inside, I was fuming. I went back to my cell to collect my water bowl and I snapped. I shot down to the hot plate, where the breakfast had just arrived, and I picked up the porridge urn and hit the nearest screw with it. I punched the next one, and the rest of them ran to the office and locked themselves in. I then smashed up the whole recess. I pulled sinks off the walls, pipes off the walls. I went mad. I picked up a two-foot lead pipe and used it to smash up the hot plate. I broke a security camera and then I made my way down the landing where the known sex-cases were. I caught one of them in his cell and, as he ran out, I gave it to him over his crust. He fell on to the floor and crawled off. I then saw another sex-case and hit him as well. All the others were banged up, like the filthy rats they are. I wrecked their place as well.

The riot mob were standing by. Then the Governor arrived and I slung a whole urn of hot tea at him. Fortunately for him, he moved a bit lively. I didn’t know what I was doing – I was completely out of control. I only found out years later the extent of the damage I had done that day.

When I had cooled down, big Albert Baker, Johnny Bowden and Johnny Walker all told the screws not to send in the riot squad. They took control themselves and walked me to the block. They were three good pals. When they had left, the screws put me in the box. I covered myself in a blanket and cut myself off from both worlds, the inside and the out.

This was it. I believed that this was now the end for me. I was convinced that I would soon be on my way back to the asylums, and that I would never see daylight as a free man again.

It felt as if I hadn’t even been to sleep when they all piled into my cell. They put me into a body-belt and walked me to the waiting van. I was naked and on my way to the unknown. I asked them if I was going to an asylum.

‘No,’ they answered. ‘You’re going to Bristol.’

The van backed right up against the block door. The screws were there waiting and they took me straight to the strong box. I was still in the body-belt, hands manacled by my sides, and I was still naked.

That first night, a screw came to my door. ‘Charlie, your wife Kelly-Anne has rung. She says she loves you.’

I shouted back at him, ‘Who’s Kelly-Anne? Never heard of her.’

He walked away. I thought about Kelly-Anne that night. I thought about her past, who she really was and what she was. I came to one conclusion: whatever she was, she was all I had – and maybe the only sanity I had left.

The Governor came in the next day. He told me that I was being moved to a proper cell. He took me out and I had a nice shower, clean clothes, food, tea and a nice clean cell.

I was obviously on good order and discipline in this block and kept isolated for the next two months. During this time there were no upsets. I wrote a lot, read a lot and thought a lot. The charges eventually came through from Long Lartin: two assaults on screws, two assaults on cons, as well as smashing up the place. All I had to do now was sit and wait until they dealt with me.

In all my two months at Bristol, I don’t think I even had one bad day, though I must confess I was getting
fed up in my last week or two. I wanted a bit of excitement … but I fought the urge and won. On 7 July 1989, I heard a vehicle backing up to the block. I looked out of my cell window and saw the Cat A van outside. Nobody got out except screws, so I knew it was for me. Seconds later, my door opened and I was on my travels once again.

It wasn’t long before I was lying naked in my cell. The screws at Winson Green block had told me I was not allowed to wear my overalls. I told them that if they took them away, I would stay naked. Needless to say they took them – so for two days I stayed in my cell, starkers. They came to me with a deal: if I agreed to wear pyjamas, then they would allow me to have a medicine ball. I agreed, and I got a nice big ball.

I used to work out with the ball for an hour in their strong box. It was a bit stuffy, but I loved it. No con had ever had a medicine ball in this Brummie jail before, so I was very privileged. I only spent two weeks there, but I was treated OK.

I got my medicine ball at my next stop, Winchester, and trained hard. My first week or two in the block went peacefully, then I hit a bad patch. I needed to escape the rut I was in. The exercise yard in the block was only small – more like a cage. Even the roof was a steel net which had a padlocked hatch in it. If I could smash the padlock off, I would be able to get up on to the roof. This would definitely cheer me up!

My plan seemed easy: climb up the pipe, grab the steel-wired roof, hang on by one arm and smash the padlock off … get through the hatch … and up I go!

It sounded simple enough, but it’s never that easy. I needed a heavy instrument to smash the padlock, plus there were always a lot of screws out in the yard. I put my plan together one night, and the next day I was ready. I got hold of a PP9 battery and went out into the yard.

As soon as I hit the yard I was up the pipe and in seconds I was hanging on to the cage. The screws pushed the alarm bell and within seconds there were dozens of them below me. I managed to stick my feet into the gaps in the wire. I then got the battery out of my overalls and began to smash the padlock. I hit it so hard I cut my hand. It seemed like I was hanging on for ever. The bastard wouldn’t snap!