Bronson (25 page)

Big Stevie Jarvis arrived. He was a good pal, one of the old school. Then his brother-in-law Ray Johnson arrived. The block was starting to liven up a bit, but I was once more beginning to get fed up. I’d had my legal visit, now I wanted my move. I wanted to go to somewhere better so I could get more gym and decent food. I was fucking starving – Wandsworth food was disgusting. On 12 August I spat in the Governor’s face and told him to ‘Fuck off’. I wanted to punch his face in. The next day I spat on his suit. The next day the Deputy Governor came to see me and got the same treatment. On Sunday night, 15 August, I decided enough was enough. I shouted to Steve Jarvis and Steve Gillen that in the morning I would be going into the strong box. I was now getting danger signs; bad things were in my thoughts. I wrote a letter to my lovely Loraine to tell her that I’d had enough. I also wrote to the judge at Luton Crown Court to say that I would be coming to my trial as a madman, unshaved, unwashed and in chains. I wrote to my solicitor to say that 16 August was to be isolation day. Fuck Wandsworth, fuck the system, and fuck my trial.

Monday, 7.30am, and my door unlocked and I walked out naked to face a dozen screws. The senior officer, who treated me OK, said that he would notify the Governor of my stance. I walked into the box and started to do my press-ups. Life was about to put me to the test again and I could sense this would be a long battle. They brought me my porridge and
half-an
-hour later they came to tell me that I was going – the crafty fuckers.

The belt went on and off I went to the waiting van, naked as the day I was born. This bondage lark was becoming a habit. Once in the van, I asked them where I was going. They replied, ‘Belmarsh.’

I was stunned. I was supposed to be going to Woodhill. Now I was well confused. What were they playing at? It was only three weeks until my trial and I was still being fucked about. The screws in the van were a good bunch, so it was a pleasant journey – only one side of London to the other. But I felt more uncertainty.

So here I was, back in my old cell at Belmarsh. It was clean and I had more food as well as sweets and mags. I was still isolated, but it wasn’t too bad. As soon as I arrived they told me that I would not be stopping. At the most I would only be there a couple of weeks, then I would be moving on to a jail in Oxford ready for my trial.

I phoned Loraine and Andy and I spoke to Andy’s pal Les. He’s a good man, a man of respect. I had some gym there and the screws were decent. I promised myself that over the next two weeks I would try to get my muscle back; over the previous month I’d lost a stone in weight. Roll on 6 September, the date of my case.

Two days before that, I was allowed to attend Del Coxen’s service. It was a very, very sad occasion. Del had died there in his cell. He was 36 years old and as
strong as an ox. He was a lovely man who I’d first met in Wandsworth Jail back in the 1980s. He was fit, full of life, honourable and respectful. I remember him talking to me out on the exercise yard. At the service were the other Cat As who were equally devastated by Del’s death. Pete Pesito read out a nice farewell note and I said a little verse.

A screw read a bit out of the Bible, so did the Chaplain. It is a fact of life that we all have to go at some time, but 36 is beyond me.

The stress and anxiety eats away at us all. There has been a lot of bullshit written about how cushy we have it in prison. Maybe open prisons have it easy – sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll – but us Cat As have a very stressful way of life and so do our families. This service hit it home to me. It made me think. The flickering flame of the candle and the expressions on all the faces there that day told the same story. I’ll be straight with you: whatever is said about us Cat As, there were a lot of tears in the room that day – mine included. God bless our mate Del, a man of steel.

The Woodhill screws picked me up at Belmarsh and brought me to Bullingdon Prison, Oxfordshire. It was the day before my trial and I was put in the block. This was one weird place – a local jail. The whole design of it seemed odd. It turned out that I was the only Cat A prisoner they had there, so it was a really big thing for them. They saw me as some sort of danger man. It was like I had two fucking heads – a freak. Out of the dozen cons in that block, I only knew one, Mick Green. Mick was a young guy, about 25. He was serving seven years. He’d been in Full Sutton with me when I took the probation guy, Rupert, hostage on the yard.

The other lads were mostly short-termers. They were all excitable, loud and disruptive, but they were a good bunch. It’s funny, but I always meet the best
guys on my travels through the blocks. These block boys are a breed apart – all fighters. I love them; they love me. It’s how it is. Even though we live in the same units, only feet away from each other, I rarely get to see them. Their faces are hardly ever to be seen but their voices remain with me. Most of them spend a week or a month in solitary and then go back on to the wing. I am the only man who seems to be forever alone.

They told me that I would just be a lodger there. I would sleep there and go to court from there, but at the weekends I would be going back to Belmarsh. That all suited me. Every morning when I got into the van the boys would all cheer … and every evening when I arrived back from court they would cheer me again. These were the original block boys, made of good solid stuff, and those cheers were a big boost for me. Thanks, lads!

We were 40 minutes late for the trial at Luton Crown Court. The Cat A van arrived at 10.40am. Issy, my barrister, and Maggie, my solicitor, were not too pleased, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. We had hit traffic and even though we had an escort with flashing lights, and travelled some of the way down the hard shoulder of the motorway, we were still late.

After a quick chat with Issy and Maggie, I was led up to the dock along with Felix – the man with me when I got nicked – and six screws. Straight away, I noticed Loraine and Andy in the public gallery, and my aunt and uncle, Billy and Leila Cronin. There were also two friends of Loraine and Andy’s who I had met while I was out.

But, of course, the one person that stood out was Kelly-Anne. She looked very smart, but it was obvious to everyone that she was very pissed. I could feel myself getting mad. She was not supposed to be in court; she was a witness. She was told to get out.
Truthfully, she was just a pain in my fucking head. Lord Longford was also there, as were Julian Broadhead and James Nicholson. After the 12 members of the jury had been sworn in, it was time to make our pleas.

For the first charge, conspiracy to rob a bank, we both pleaded ‘Not Guilty’. For the second, intent to rob, we both pleaded ‘Not Guilty’; and for the third, possession of a shotgun, I pleaded ‘Guilty’.

The wheel of justice had begun to turn.

It was like a chess game. Move by move, we were the pieces drawn together by fate. Every single person in that courtroom was now a part of my fucked-up life. And now it was my life that was going to be played with. There were 12 members of the public who would decide my fate.

Jesus Christ, at that moment, I just prayed that they would believe my story or I was fucked – well and truly fucked. Here I was, the madman, facing ordinary people who couldn’t even begin to understand me or my life and how it had been. What chance did I have?

This was going to be a battle, the fight of my life.

Off went the prosecutor, and in came the Crown’s witnesses. No sooner had one cop given his evidence than another took his place. Issy tore into them like a vulture. Right behind Issy stood Maggie. She’s fast, smart and misses nothing. I had a great team – the best – but would it be enough? I sat in the dock for three days, listening to all the Crown’s evidence, and I can honestly say that most of it was a load of shit. They even produced a video film of a Group 4 delivery van which was taking money to the bank months before. It had no relevance to the case whatsoever as far as I could see. But it looked good for them, bad for us.

On Thursday afternoon at 3.00pm, I was called to
the witness box. Man, you should have seen their faces! My story – and what a story it was – knocked the jury sideways!

I wasn’t going to rob any bank or Group 4 van – I was going to blow myself away. The man who was charged with me, Felix, must have been the most unlucky guy in the world the day we were arrested.

This is what I explained to the jury … Felix was driving along one morning when out I jumped with a shooter. I leapt into his car and told him to drive. He was now my hostage; either he drove me where I wanted to go, or I’d stick the gun in his face. He drove. There was never going to be a raid on a bank.

My plan was simple. Two shops up from the bank was a hairdresser’s shop – and that was my target. Kelly-Anne used to go there every Thursday to have her hair done. Bear in mind I’d been trying to contact her for weeks with no luck whatsoever. By now I was totally pissed off. I wanted to see her to find out the answers to my questions. I was very depressed. I had no love in my life, I saw no future for myself, and I wanted her to see what she had done to me. I intended to wait outside the hairdresser’s until she got there, then I was going to rush in and blow my head off in front of her. I wanted her to live with that. Me? I didn’t believe then that I had anything to live for. Felix, who stood alongside me in the dock, was totally innocent.

All the time that I was in the witness box, I could feel Loraine’s eyes boring into the back of my skull. She was giving me energy and strength. I felt her presence in that courtroom like the gentle breeze that a butterfly feels to help it along. I’d noticed that her youngest son was also in the courtroom. He was a good kid, just 16 years old, a cheeky bugger with plenty of spunk.

The next day, I went into the box again. I truly felt
I’d blown their legal machine to pieces. Felix was next in the box. It was hard work for him and for his wife who was in the public gallery. I could almost feel her pain. He was fighting for his future.

The following Monday, all the evidence was over and it was time for the summing up. All we had to do was wait; the sweat was now on. For me it was twice as bad as I had just heard the previous Thursday that my dear dad had fallen ill with lung cancer. Loraine and Andy had broken the news to me. I was allowed to phone home. I spoke to Mum and to Dad, who had been given three weeks to live. I went back to my cell in Bullingdon Jail that night, turned off the light and buried myself under a blanket. I broke up inside. I didn’t know it then, but my dad turned out to be a true fighter to the last. He lived for a year and three days after being diagnosed, and enjoyed every moment of those final months.

By 4.30pm the judge called it a day; he needed more time to sum up. Issy told me later that day that if I was found guilty on the charge of conspiracy to rob, the judge was looking to life me off. My head was pounding … a life sentence! So that night I lived in the hope I’d get a ‘not guilty’, but it was all down to the jury.

On Tuesday, 14 September 1993, the van pulled up into Luton Crown Court at 10.00am. I was tense. It had been a silent journey. Fortunately, the screws all knew me well so they left me deep in thought. I changed into my decent clothes and had ten minutes with Maggie and Issy before I was up in court at 10.30am.

Judge Rodwell finished his summing up. The tension increased. I felt numb; a life sentence was hanging over my head. I looked at Loraine, Andy, Billy and Leila. They all looked stressed. Then in she walked, the one and only Kelly-Anne. I stood up and
shouted at her, ‘Go home. Get out of my fucking life.’ She left. I was taken down to await my fate. A lot would have dearly loved to see me go free, but even more wanted to see me put away for ever. The screws who were with me in the cells were actually all decent blokes. One in particular, Darren, had been with me every day through the trial. He was a block screw from Woodhill and he gave me a lot of moral support.

After three hours, the judge called us back into court. The jury couldn’t decide so he told them that he would accept a majority verdict. The pressure was turned up even more now, and it showed on every face.

Issy and Maggie came back down to see me and we spoke at great length. Issy looked very concerned; she clearly takes all her cases very seriously. Everyone wanted to come down to see me. Loraine came first. We put our hands together against the glass screen which separated us and I could feel her strength. Then Andy and Bill came. Andy was wearing my ring for good luck. Then it was suddenly time to go back up. What would my fate be? Would the police finally get their wish for me to be locked away for ever?

The courtroom was silent. All eyes were on the jury foreman. My eyes were focused entirely on his mouth.

The 12 members of the jury found me guilty on only one charge: ‘intent to rob’. The main charge of ‘conspiracy to rob’ got a ‘not guilty’. Felix was found ‘not guilty’ on all charges. I was glad for him and I grabbed his hand and wished him luck, although I knew all I had to look forward to was more years of porridge.

Issy stood up on my behalf – a nice short speech. I saw the tears well up in Loraine’s eyes, and I saw the look of despair on Andy’s face. It was obvious that Judge Rodwell didn’t think that much of me. He said that I was a danger to society and that prison
was the only place for me. He sentenced me to eight years for intent to rob and two years for possession of the shotgun.

It was all over. Time had stopped for me once more. I knew the clock of life wouldn’t start for me again until – or if – I walked free one day.

Eight years! No man likes to be defeated, but sitting inside a court cell after receiving a sentence is the biggest fucking defeat of all. It comes no harder than that. The system had beaten me back into a stinking cage. I felt hard done by. After all, I was found not guilty on the main charge, so why give me eight years? It was all bollocks. My family was devastated. Loraine actually shouted at the judge in pure frustration. I looked around the court at the faces. It was like a bad dream.

I knew that I had a rough ride ahead. Fuck the system! The only good thing that came out of that day was the fact that Felix was going home. The rest stank!