Gypsy Jane - I've Been Shot Four Times and Served Three Prison Terms?This is the Incredible Story of (9 page)

On the way back to my cell I was strip searched yet again and by now it was beginning to piss me off, big time. ‘Do you think I'm a fucking magician and my dad's conjured up a gun out of thin air?' I said. The screws could sense my mood was turning nasty because they were ruining the nice feelings I had from seeing Dad.

‘It's the rules,' one said.

‘Look. I've just seen my dad and I'm not letting you ruin it with another strip search,' I said. ‘You know I haven't got nothing on me so, if you want it, bring it on if you're brave enough but I am not being strip searched again.' I knew they would have battered me but I would have done a couple of them first, as you will find out later on, but not this time. They let me back in my cell without another search.

Soon it wasn't just my dad visiting me. Matt and John came. My defence lawyer, Gary Jacobs, started to visit too. He warned that the charges against me were very serious and that I could be looking at life or years behind bars in double figures. But I told him I was innocent of all the charges and that he had to find a way to prove that. Gradually, as we went through the details over several visits, I could see he was starting to believe me on the attempted murder charges but proving it was another matter. He knew it wouldn't be easy because the police needed a reason to have opened fire on me. He told me to be patient.

One night I smelt burning. Soon enough the word was passed down the wing that someone had set themselves alight. The prison seemed to physically shake and rock with the response, as if there had been an earthquake. I had never heard anything like it. I mean, there were more than 500 women in Holloway and they were all going nutty, jumping up and down. But it wasn't because there was a woman on fire. They knew the fire brigade had turned up and they were all screaming at the firemen out in the yard, ‘Get 'em off, gorgeous,' and, ‘Get over here and get your kit off, mate.' All that sort of stuff and they were jumping up and down like wild women.

The firemen lapped it up. They didn't exactly break any world records putting the fire out. It was more like they were on the catwalk – posing, waving and blowing kisses, flexing their muscles at us lot behind bars. I mean, there was a poor woman on fire and this lot thought they were film stars. You can imagine what would have happened if the women had got their hands on them. They would have been raped. Some of these women hadn't been with a man for years. I mean, firemen are a turn-on even when you aren't in prison so, for us who were banged up, you girls out there know how good they would have looked. And the burnt woman? We were told later that she was OK but she had to go to hospital and we never did know exactly how bad it was.

I had first been allowed a bath after being inside just
over a week. Taking the bandages off had actually done me a favour because the wounds were healing better that way. But my so-called bath was just three inches of water. I stood there looking at it in disbelief.

‘Yous lot are taking the piss,' I said.

One of the heavy mob took out a rule book and quoted from it. ‘Category-A prisoners are to bathe once every ten days and three inches of water is to be used.'

I wasn't amused. This wasn't a bath, it was a puddle and I refused to get in. Then one of the screws said they knew I wouldn't get in it and at last they turned the taps on and filled up the bath properly. They thought they were doing me a favour but I told them their jobs had gone to their heads. I said I thought that they must have been bullied at school and that they were very sad.

The very next morning the heavy mob was back to take me back to Basildon University hospital for a check-up and to have my stitches removed. Eight of them took me to the minibus and then what looked like half of the British police force and army combined escorted me to the hospital. Roads had been shut off. Armed police units flanked the minibus and the hospital was crawling with officers. I was chained to one of the red-and-blacks and around ten armed police surrounded us.

All these normal people were walking through the hospital and I couldn't stop laughing. ‘I'm innocent, I'm innocent!' I shouted but they wouldn't even look at me as they must have thought I was a terrorist or a mad
woman. The security made me look like public enemy No. 1. I knew I was not what I had been made out to be. I never tried to kill anyone. So I just kept my head held high as we walked to the doctor's room.

I had about 350 stitches removed and all the time they wouldn't take the cuffs or chains off me. But I didn't care. I'd had a bit of a laugh at the hospital. I'd had the army come out because of me and I amused the doctors and nurses with a bit of banter. I wasn't pleased that they wouldn't take the cuffs of but rules are rules, I suppose. All was well with my wounds, which was a big relief and lucky given the way I went without a bath in my unhygienic cell for over a week.

I learned that I had further charges to face. I had taken the blame for having the ammonia bottle, knuckle duster and joint in my van so that Matt wouldn't get done for them. Now that little incident reared its ugly head and, having been arrested for it in Kent, I was taken to Ashford magistrates court. I'd already said I was guilty but I still had to appear in court. Inevitably, out came the armed police escort and they even locked the court doors. I swear the three magistrates looked at me with pure terror in their eyes. Only God knew what the police had told them about me. But I was in cuffs and they had no need to worry. When my solicitor spoke, it quickly turned out that this relatively minor case was being dropped because the attempted-murder charge was so severe.

I just thought to myself that God had got a
full-time
job looking after me and I thanked him with all my heart and soul as I left the court that day. Of course, I was still worried about the
attempted-murder
charge but this was a result and a step in the right direction.

God smiled on me again because there was more good news after I'd been in Cat A for about two months. Gary Jacobs was convinced by then I hadn't fired a shot and was determined to build a good case in my defence. I grew to like Gary because I told him from my heart that I had not tried to kill anyone and he believed me and, on that basis of trust, he fought my corner.

He arrived as usual one day with a big smile on his face. ‘It's great news, Jane,' he said before he had even sat down in the visiting room. ‘The Home Office forensics report into the shooting shows your gun was not fired. It proves you did not try to kill anyone and that the police claims are wrong. There is no way you can now face attempted-murder charges against two officers. I'm delighted to tell you, Jane, that this means the police evidence against you on these major charges has crumbled.'

I was virtually speechless but managed to say, ‘Thank you so much. I told you I was innocent.'

‘Well, we still have a way to go on the other charges but it's a major step forward,' he said.

Poor Gary passed away in 2002 but I'd like to thank him and his partner Sunhil for their faith and hard work. They knew I was a villain but they believed in my
innocence and had too much respect for the law just to take the easy path. They were good and honest men.

The night after that meeting with Gary I went back to my cell, believing my luck was finally changing for the better. I read the bible again and I found it a real comfort. Not as big a comfort as the fact of that police case against me crumbling though. That was Gary's word – ‘crumbling' – and it kept going through my head as I read on. There were a lot of the names in the bible I couldn't pronounce properly but I liked and understood the stories.

The Governor turned up later on his nightly visit with more good news. ‘You are no longer a Cat A prisoner, Lee,' he said. ‘As from tomorrow your Cat A status will be removed and you will be relocated in the prison.'

This was brilliant news and there was a very good reason I was no longer Cat A. The forensics had proved my guns hadn't been fired at all on the night of the job, just as Gary had said, so I could no longer be treated as a dangerous woman. Things were now moving fast and in my favour. My excitement at being moved to a new cell after two months in Cat A soon turned to disappointment. The only difference in standard was that there was a small, square tin mirror on the wall, a table and chair made of wood instead of cardboard and I had a real bed with a real mattress instead of a concrete shelf. I don't know what I expected but it was a bit more than that.

But things were going my way, I told myself. I'd got
off on the squirter, knuckle duster and joint charges and now I wasn't going to face an attempted-murder charge. OK, things were not great but they had got a lot, lot better. And now the cops knew they were wrong to have shot at me, which was definitely in my favour, so I was looking on the bright side for the first time in ages. Gary told me to hang in there because I was still facing
armed-robbery
charges.

The Governor told me I was still top security so for the first few days in my new cell I wasn't allowed out. I was still what was known inside as ‘behind the door' but I was now allowed regular baths and all the things that my family had sent me, including a hairdryer, clothes and pictures of my family. It was a lot better than Cat A because other inmates could come and talk to me through the door. I started to feel a lot better. Then other inmates told me about a bully on the wing who had been stealing. I made a mental note not to let that happen to me. I hadn't met this woman and I didn't like her already. She had been robbing ‘canteen' from other prisoners. Canteen was really important in making life a little more bearable. On remand you could spend up to £100 a week on tobacco, chocolate, biscuits, tea bags, sugar, phone cards, make-up and toothpaste. Once convicted you could only spend about £25, which made life less pleasant. This was the general idea, I supposed. The way it worked was you got sent postal orders from the outside world and converted them to prison money. Matt was sending me money in every week without fail.

Almost a month after I had been taken off Cat A I was allowed out of my cell. This was the first time I had been allowed out without the heavy mob and the first time the prison didn't have to go on lockdown when I was out. So what did I do? I walked into the dining hall and shouted, ‘Who's the fucking bullying cow I don't stop hearing about nicking off people and picking on them?'

The whole dining hall went quiet. Even the screws just stood there until, lo and behold, the mouthy cow jumped up and, before she could say a word, I was on top of her. I grabbed her and started punching her. I was beating the living daylights out of her and I swear the screws gave me a few seconds – which was all I needed – before they hit the alarm bell. They knew she was a wrong 'un and needed sorting and they let me do it for them.

In came the heavy mob with riot shields, helmets and batons and I was dragged back to my cell. You might imagine this did not go down too well with the Governor just a few days after my Cat A status had been revoked. I was taken before him the same day.

‘Are you out of your mind?' he asked, genuinely confused but angry at the same time. ‘You have been off Cat A for nearly a month and this was the first time you were allowed out of your cell and you went and beat the living daylights out of another inmate, who is now in the hospital wing. What have you got to say for yourself?'

‘It wasn't me, Governor,' I said.

He wasn't happy with that answer. ‘Don't take the
piss out of me, Lee,' he growled. ‘Fifteen of my officers had to drag you off the girl. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?'

‘Honest, sir, it wasn't me,' I repeated.

He gave up. ‘Well, it's you who is going to have to spend one week in the block and then three weeks behind your cell door with all you privileges stopped,' he said. ‘That's three weeks' loss of canteen privileges and thirty days on top of your eventual sentence. So tell me what you have to say for yourself, Lee.'

‘Thank you, Guv,' I said.

‘Get her out of my sight,' he snarled at the screws.

So I was in the block, which was solitary imprisonment. It was like Cat A all over again but I was OK because it was essentially all I knew of life in prison and I just kept reading the bible. When my dad next visited, he wasn't pleased. I told him not to worry and that I was OK. During the visit all the other inmates were coming up to me and telling me, ‘Well done,' for getting the bully. They were introducing themselves and I swear that by the end of the visit my dad knew more of the inmates than I did. They all told him he had nothing to worry about and that I could look out for myself. Anyway, they said that they would look out for me as well after what I had done to the bully.

‘I don't know, my girl,' Dad said before he left. ‘What are we going to do with you? You're a one off, all right.' But he left with a smile on his face and that was all I was worried about.

I only did a week in the block before I was returned to my cell. Everyone was coming up to my door thanking me and praising me for doing the bully. It was a hero's reception, all right. I was still behind the door for three weeks with loss of canteen privileges but my new friends made sure I didn't go without. I ate like a queen, as the girls who worked in the kitchen gave me fruit and cakes. At one point I had five pillows and five blankets in my cell and you were only meant to have one of each. They brought me phone cards and tobacco, which I wasn't allowed because of the loss of my privileges. They all rallied around me and got me by. When they were allowed out of their cells, they took turns to come to my door and chat to me so I wasn't alone all the time. I couldn't believe how nice these people were to me. I don't know what I expected but I was so touched by the kindness they were showing.

The girl who burned herself with cigarettes also made it into the general population – or normal location, as they call it. They put her in with an 18-year-old who was only in for playing her stereo too loud at night. What a joke that sentence was. I mean, take the stereo away but don't put the poor girl inside for something like that. One night I could hear the poor stereo kid screaming because the nutter who burned herself had gone mental. Well, she already was mental but you know what I mean. She attacked the other girl and I swear the poor girl was screaming for her life but I couldn't do anything
to help. Nobody could. I started screaming for the screws to help her, kicked my door and caused a right racket. Everyone started banging their doors and screaming for help. When the screws did arrive, they could see what was going on through the slit in the door but they weren't able to do anything because they were not allowed in the cell after dark. Only the heavy mob could go in and they needed the permission of the Governor. I could see them all looking at what was going on. They told the nutter to leave her cellmate alone but she didn't.