I'm Still Standing [2 ed.] 9781906534202, 9781872870588

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I'm Still Standing Bob Turney was released from Wandsworth prison in 1979 having spent the best part of 20 years in penal establishments and other institutions. Since 1990 he has worked for Berkshire Probation Service initially in one of its hostels. In 1997 he completed a degree in forensic social work and soon afterwards was appointed a probation officer. I'm Still Standing was published in the same year, since when Bob Turney has been in constant demand on the speaking circuit, TV and radio where his insights about life at the wrong end of the criminal process and his account of how - through determination, willpower and the support of friends and colleagues - he turned his life around sound a message of hope and optimism. The extent to which his life has changed can be appreciated from the Preface to this reprint written shortly after he disembarked at Heathrow after one of his frequent engagements in the USA, Germany and The Netherlands. Bob Turney lives with his wife and five children in Reading where, as a probation officer, he is a member of a youth offending team and spends much of his spare time helping people with alcohol, drugs and other problems (having himself overcome dyslexia, dependence on the 'safety and security' of gaols and hospitals, alcoholism and a phase as a street drinker). His second book, Going Straight: After Crime and Punishment (written with Angela Devlin and published by Waterside Press in 1999), contains recollections by other ex-prisoners who have succeeded in turning their lives around. Bob Turney's ambition is to 'put back into society some of what I have taken out'.

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I'ill Still Standing Published 2002 by

WATERSIDE PRESS DomumRoad Winchester 5023 9NN Telephone or Fax 01962 855567 E-mail [email protected] Web-site www.watersidepress.co.uk First impression 1997 Reprinted 2001, 2002 (with a new Preface) Copyright Robert Turney. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or stored in any retrieval system or transmitted by any means, including via the Internet, without the express permission in writing of the copyright holder. ISBN Paperback 1 872 870 58 9 Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book can be obtained from the British Library Cover design John Good Holbrook Ltd, Coventry. Original artwork created by students for a competition held at Berkshire College of Art and Design. Caroline Fearns (front cover) and Kyle Jaques (back cover). Illustrations Kara Gibson. Prior permission to reproduce any of the drawings in this book must be obtained from Waterside Press. Printing and binding Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham

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I'm Still Standing

Bob Turney

Foreword by The Earl of Longford KG PC Reprinted 2002 with a new Preface

WATERSIDE PRESS WINCHESTER

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Acknowledgements It would be quite impossible to list all the people who have helped me to write I'm Still Standing. However, I feel I must mention Lord Longford, who was the prime mover behind this book which was conceived during a conversation we had on a car journey from London to Reading. After telling him about my life, he urged me to put pen to paper (or should I say finger to key-board!). But for his friendship and enthusiasm the book would never have been written. My special thanks are due to Sue Turney, Diane Haisell and Pippa Chapman. All three were very patient in helping me at various times to make my manuscript legible. I am also indebted to Angela Devlin and Sue Ottaway, both excellent authors in their own right, for giving me encouragement and the ability to believe in myself; and to His Honour Sir Stephen Tumim and Dr Deborah Cheney for the notes which appear on the cover. All four have been highly supportive in relation to my endeavours. I would also like to thank Berkshire Probation Service, my tutors at Reading University, and previous to that my tutors at what is now Bracknell and Wokingham College, where I first received encouragement with my writing and was thereby 'accessed' to higher education. Thanks would be incomplete without acknowledging Bryan Gibson at Waterside Press for his editorial advice and help - as well as the many people who have endured far more than I have, but whose stories remain untold! Bob Turney January 1997

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Foreword to the First Impression This is a remarkable book by a remarkable man. It is now nearly 60 years since I first visited prison. Today I have made and kept many friendships among prisoners, men and women. In recent years four members of the House of Lords have been to prison and have won much respect when they returned to the House. But I have never known a prisoner who served in penal institutions for so many years and who later devoted his life to working for his old companions. But Bob Turney has done and is doing just that. Bob Turney was born in Carshalton, Surrey, the youngest son of a manic depressive father and a deaf mother. In his early years he witnessed several suicide attempts by his father, until eventually at the age of ten he discovered his father's body. As a result of this he was made an outcast by the local community. Bob had a cruel time at school as, unbeknown to the authorities at the time, he was dyslexic. He was tormented by his teachers and became the butt end of many an unkind joke from them - and indeed he suffered physically at their hands, for being 'thick'! This got so bad that he faked stomach pains. He did this so well he did not have to attend school for a long period and finally his appendix was removed. Needless to say it was in perfectly good health. Bob left school at 15 years of age, unable to read or write, hardly able to sign his own name, and very soon he started to use alcohol and before long was hooked on drugs. He spent the next 18 years drifting in and out of prison. During this time he married, and became the father of two sons, and was divorced. This marriage came to an end due to Bob returning to prison again. In 1981 Bob was admitted to Wallingham Park Hospital for treatment for his alcohol and drug dependency. He spent three months there, and from that time he has used neither drugs nor alcohol again. Since then Bob has been a volunteer with self-help groups for people with alcohol and drug problems. This has led to him giving talks in prisons, and also with judges, magistrates, probation officers and police officers. Twelve years ago Bob was married again and has five children: four daughters and a son. He has also become converted to Christianity and been ordained into the lay priesthood. 1 In 1991 Bob was employed by the Berkshire Probation Service working in bail hostels for men. During this time he sat on a probation service committee responsible for formulating policies for substance misuse. He is now studying for a degree which will enable him to become a probation officer. As a result of researching his book, he has I

Now a part of the National Probation Service.

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been invited to give lectures at universities and colleges and to other people about criminal justice and about dyslexia. Two short extracts from the book give something of its flavour Within a couple of weeks I was working for Micky Bradford again and Hilary had arranged for me to move into a bedsitter which was run by the probation service in Wimbledon. Living on my own was something I could not handle. I would visit David and Paul, who seemed to be well adjusted to their new lifestyle with regard to which I was of little importance. I would get angry with myself that this was something else I had messed up. Was there anything that I could do right? After one visit to the boys I was so much eaten away with resentment that I got drunk. By the time I got home I was so intoxicated that I could only just stand up. There was a second-hand shop across the road from the bedsitter which had a television in the window. I smashed the window and stole it. In doing so, I cut my hand badly and there was blood everywhere. When the police arrived all they had to do was follow the trail to where I lived. I set off with my two Sainsbury's carrier bags - with all my clothes in them - and twelve pounds fifty in my pocket. When I got to Horace Bennett House, I was welcomed by Joan, the warden, who was a Salvationist and a very gentle woman. She showed me to my room and told me that when I was ready I was to come to her office for a chat. It took me all of two minutes to unpack, then I made my way down to see her, Dr Gayford's words still ringing in my ears. Over coffee, Joan told me that I was on the threshold of a new life and there was no need for me to rush off to seek employment if I did not want to. She went on to say that I should seriously consider taking a six months sabbatical. I had, she said, up until then, led a traumatic life and now the best thing I could do was take stock, take time out to think how I was going to rebuild it. I did not take her advice, and regretted it. I had to wait ten more years before I took that six months off to find out what I really wanted to do.

He ends the book sincerely and movingly, 'I am grateful for God's love in my life today. Without it 1 am sure that 1 would be dead or in some long-term institution'. I hope and believe that many people will read his book and be inspired by the story of a great recovery from the depths. Frank Longford

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Preface to the 2002 Edition I found myself in the arrival lounge at Heathrow Airport with my 17year-old daughter Sarah. We had just got off a transatlantic flight. I was standing with my travel bag across my shoulder, mobile to my ear and looked every bit the respectable middle-aged executive returning home after a successful business trip. I thought to myself 'What on earth has happened to me?' As our driver was pushing the trolley laden with our luggage towards the car park, I was engrossed in conversation with a television producer who wanted me to appear on a chat show. I told her that I would have to decline the offer because I felt that my diary was too busy in the next couple of weeks and I would simply not have the space to do it. By now we had reached the waiting car and the driver was holding the door open for me. The TV producer was very persistent - promising me the earth, and pampering my ego, as they tend to do with everyone! As I seated myself in the car and we sped out of the airport, I reached into my travel bag and began to look at my schedule for the next four weeks. It was truly manic - I had speaking engagements at both Eton College and the Oxford Union, as well as an after dinner talk at the House of Lords! Within the next couple of days I would have to string together a thousand words for my regular column in the local newspaper, and return to a full-time job as a probation officer. 'They want to record the programme tomorrow afternoon for an hour or so,' she said, continuing to press me (knowing full well that it would be more like three hours before they finished!). However, I was at the stage of thinking that maybe I could fit it in as my second book, Going Straight,2 was about to be published and if I did the programme it would be a good opportunity to promote it. My royalties from the book were being donated to a charity so any promotion could help to raise much needed money. Eventually, I agreed to do the programme, even though I would be jet-lagged and not really sure if I would be up to it. Arrangements were made that the BBC would send a car for me the following day, to collect me from Westminster after I had lunched with Frank Longford. 3 He was very keen to hear about the lectures I had given in America. The car

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Going Straight: After Crime and Punishment, Angela Devlin and Bob Turney, Waterside Press, 1999. Lord Longford died at the ripe old age of 95 just a few months later. We had become great friends over the years and shortly after his death his family contacted me; they were setting up a charitable trust in his name and asked if I would be one of the patrons. I willingly agreed, knowing he would have loved the idea of someone like me being in such a position! It was Lord Longford who first said that I should write down my experiences and in his enthusiasm took it upon himself to telephone the publishers urging them to take on my book. He preferred me to call him 'Frank',

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would then take me to the White City studios where we would record the programme - in the shadow of Wormwood Scrubs.

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After the recording - which went well - the producer, true to her word, let me promote Going Straight. I was then driven to Wandsworth Prison where I had agreed to talk at a fundraising event for the Prisoners' Education Trust. The audience included senior judges and leading barristers, magistrates, prison staff and police officers. Chairing the event was the Bishop of Wandsworth who introduced me. I got to my feet and began: I'm told the best way to start a talk is either with a joke or a lie. Well I'm afraid, ladies and gentlemen, I do not know any jokes, but I must say that you're the most intelligent looking bunch I've seen for a long time!!!

I had long discovered that people liked the bits where I 'talked out of the side of my mouth' when telling them about my failures as a criminal and the evening went well - I spoke for 45 minutes and the event raised much needed money. I eventually got home around midnight feeling shattered, got into bed and fell asleep. The next morning - still suffering from the effects of the flight - I called into the local radio station to review the newspapers and was on the air for a good ten minutes. Then into my office to start my days work with the youth offending team of which I am part. I'm so lucky that I'm doing a job that allows me to make a contribution to the community in which I live. At one time in my life the only contribution I made was to the crime figures! As I survey the landscape of my life, I'm truly grateful to all those enlightened people I've met along the way who have had the ability to bring out the best in me. Although there were many times when I myself was filled with self-doubt they did not doubt me. They were constantly encouraging me in whatever project I was involved in (and still are) and always willing to help in whatever way they could. They know who they are; all I can say to them is a sincere thank you - from the bottom of my heart. Bob Turney Reading, April 2002

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Publisher's Note I'm Still Standing was one of those speculative, unsolicited manuscripts which arrive every so often. The immediate impact was of a story told from the heart by someone determined to get their message across - that it is possible to return from the depths and overcome the disadvantages of a lifetime. A deal of interest lay in the fact that the author - with help and support from a variety of people - had found solutions himself to the kind of questions which tend to fascinate criminologists, sentencers and other 'experts' alike. Why did the author give up crime? What were the turning points for this self-confessed former alcoholic, now a pillar of his local community? Where did his determination and resolve come from? What were the dangers that it might all go terribly wrong at any moment? Might some of the hope which the story provides transfer to other people, or lend them reassurance? There was also a naive, almost primitive, yet captivating feel to Bob Turney's writing. Only later did I discover that he is dyslexic - or 'word blind'. Given this fact, the manuscript was remarkably fluent. It had been achieved with the aid of a word-processor. But despite modem technological advances there are certain things which even the best computers cannot guarantee. Although a spell-check will identify errors, it may replace an offending word with the wrong alternative (such as 'surfing' instead of 'suffering': see p.152) - whilst electronic grammar-checks will not usually question a sentence which makes sense in itself - which has internal integrity - even where that sentence does not match the overall context into which it fits. Sometimes, Bob Turney had been let down by the machine, and only recognised this when errors were pointed out. If the manuscript were to be published, the first decision to be made was whether to reproduce the material as it stood - as a book written by a dyslexic - or whether to make it read as the author had intended. We settled on treating it as we would anyone else's work. The author's attention was drawn to mistakes, gaps, inconsistencies and so on - and several editorial suggestions made. Bob Turney then read and approved a revised version line by line. So that this process can be understood and people can see that this book remains very much his work, Chapter 1 is reproduced at pp.149 to 157 exactly as it stood before editorial work began - with a note about recurring errors. I hope this will be of particular interest to people involved with dyslexia.

A brief update Bob has come a long way since the day we first met to discuss his manuscript: both as a writer - as can be seen from his new Preface which, it must be said, arrived at our offices needing little attention (the result, I guess, of several years' hard work writing pre-sentence reports and other assessments for the courts, a regular newspaper column and a second book); and a long way in his life altogether. He has graduated

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with a good degree and established himself as a probation officer and also as a (much sought after) commentator on crime and penal affairs. Over the years I have joined him at events as diverse as a presentation to prisoners at Littlehey Prison in Cambridgeshire, group discussions and on the rostrum before 600 public schoolboys in formal attire at Eton college. No matter what strata of society he moves in, Bob's natural warmth, humanity and lack of pretension mean that he never fails to connect with people and to entertain. It is an incongruous image. An ex-con in a suit and tie ruminating on the problems of crime and punishment: but it usually takes only seconds to break the ice, especially when he adopts the posture of a villain, talks from the side of his mouth, or mutters self-deprecating comments to demonstrate the angst of the unsuccessful criminal - who is not even good at being bad. This is the 'double whammy' underlying much of his writing and speaking - failure heaped upon failure and with self-respect at its lowest ebb. It is through such snapshots of an earlier and seemingly inescapable lifestyle that it becomes possible to appreciate - as Lord Longford puts it in his Foreword - what is really involved in coming back 'from the depths'. Even though I have heard some of Bob's stories many times they still strike home - or raise a smile. Like his explanation of how, for years, he worried about being categorised by professionals as 'dyslexic', until he eventually discovered the term had nothing to do with sexual orientation; or his account of a hue and cry in which, out of sympathy for a veteran policeman, he was forced to slow down (the policeman later looking to take the credit over his junior colleagues for outpacing a youngster). My own particular favourite is the one about his first flat following years in institutions, when he suffered for some time from the inconvenience of having the bed in the lounge where the decorators had left it - because it never occurred to Bob that he was allowed to move it! These and similar stories are interspersed throughout this book in the same way that they litter his presentations - and always support some serious point. With Bob there is always a new project on the horizon. I understand that his latest involves being short-listed as the presenter of a new television series about crime prevention. They have already filmed an audition, and when I quizzed him about it he said that, yes, he had spoken out of the side of his mouth occasionally - so the prospects are good, I guess. As one sign of how far Bob's life has moved on I can do no better than quote one of his former associates who, troubled about not being able to contact Bob for a day or so, remarked 'He's forgotten he was once a criminal!' I doubt whether he has but like many ex-offenders he has succeeded in changing matters, in putting distance between the past and the present. I am sure that his writing and speaking have played an important part. Bryan Gibson April 2002

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To Sue, my eternal companion

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Chapter 1 It was a June afternoon in 1981. I was being driven through the grounds of Wallingham Park Hospital in Surrey which is a mental institution. I felt that my life was over for I was withdrawing from alcohol and drugs. My head felt like it was going to explode and I was shaking from head to toe. At that moment I would have done anything for another drink. I had been abusing substances for more than twenty years. My last drink was the previous evening in a public lavatory with my wrists slashed from an earlier suicide attempt. As the car made its way along the drive I looked out of the window and noticed that there were patients walking in the grounds, and seeing this my mind flashed back to 1952. I was eight years old and walking with my mother through the grounds of Cane Hill Hospital in Surrey-another mental institution. We were there to visit my father who was suffering from manic depression, a mental condition in which disturbance of mood is the major symptom. This may consist of depression or mania-being 'high'-or it can swing between these two extremes. In a severe form of the illness, the mood swings may be accompanied by grandiose ideas or negative delusions. Needless to say, the illness can seriously disrupt normal life. A significant number of depressed people commit, or attempt to commit suicide and this was the reason why my father was in hospital. He had made yet another attempt on his own life. Other people who are afflicted by the condition suffer from social isolation, poverty or problems caused by alcohol dependence. Thankfully the illness is rare, affecting only about eight in every thousand people, men and women equally. Today it is managed with drugs like Lithium and sufferers can be restored to near normal health. Such treatment was not available to my father. Nothing was explained to me about his illness. All I was told was 'He's unwell and in hospital' so that it is not hard to imagine my surprise when he met us in the grounds with all his clothes on. I thought that if you went to hospital you were put to bed. I was pleased to see him nevertheless and started to ask questions: 'Where are your pyjamas?', 'Why aren't you in bed?', 'Are you better now?', 'Can you come home?' My parents believed that 'little children should be seen and not heard' and I was told to go and sit on the grass. I remember feeling frustrated about not having my questions answered, or being given any explanation about why my father was in hospital.

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My parents were Winifred Violet Page and Thomas Leonard Turney. They were born and raised in the Bloomsbury area of London. My mother had a cleft palate-a gap in the palate which separates the mouth from the nasal cavity. Many people with a cleft palate are partially deaf, and this was so in my mother's case. She refused to have any sort of hearing aid and it was not until I was a teenager that she relented and agreed to get one. I spent my childhood and adolescence talking very loudly. To this day, when my brothers and I get together the volume in our conversation will rise. Because of her deafness my mother became frustrated at not being able to understand what was being said to her. On one occasion when I was about seven years old she misunderstood something I had said, became very angry and lashed out, slapping me round the face so hard that my left ear drum was damaged and I have suffered from tinnitus-ringing, buzzing or whistling in the ear--ever since. There is no cure although some days it is better than others. Because of her cleft palate my mother also had a speech impediment and this would make her sound like she was talking through her nose. Surgery had been attempted and failed and despite the advice of doctors to try again my grandparents refused to put their daughter through what they thought was another ordeal. When she was eighteen years old my mother had an illegitimate son, my half-brother Stanley. At that time, in the 1930s, single mothers were ostracised and treated almost like criminals or some kind of degenerate. Many young, single mothers were put into institutions, and with her other problems I am sure my mother was a prime candidate for one of those establishments. Although Stanley is only my half-brother, throughout my life I have never thought of him as anything other than my brother. The fact that we have different fathers has meant nothing to me. My father never treated him any differently to the rest of us. It was my mother who would tell me about Stan having a different father. Stan is very bright, but I feel he never reached his potential academically. Mother always claimed that he deliberately failed his eleven plus exam

because he did not want to go on to grammar school. She said he did not want to wear the school uniform. Out of all of us I would say that he is the most serious-minded. He went off to be a professional soldier and rose to the rank of sergeant in the Pay Corps. After twenty-two years service, he and his wife settled in Taunton where he joined a national company and by the time he took early retirement, at age sixty, he had become chief cashier.

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When he was seventeen years old my father was working in a warehouse and fell down a lift shaft, resulting in serious head injuries. He was diagnosed as having 'neurasthenia' a general term which was used to describe any mental condition which doctors could not categorise. He was told by a doctor that he would be certifiable by the time he was twenty-one. He became obsessed with the idea of going insane, so much so that his condition deteriorated to the point where he was making himself ill and he spent a lot of time in mental hospitals. In 1931 he was sent to Banstead Hospital where he was certified insane. He was in a vegetable-like state, unable to communicate with anyone and for some of that time he was put into a padded cell. He remained at Banstead for more than a year. He underwent music therapy in which a nurse was able to teach him to play the piano, which helped him to communicate with the other patients as they would make requests and he would play for them. Slowly, he started to interact with people again-until he was declared sane and discharged. He met my mother shortly after this. They were introduced through their families, and were in fact second cousins. When my mother found herself pregnant again, marriage represented a solution to the problems of both families. It would get the pair of them out of the way and off other people's hands. Winifred and Thomas were married in 1934. My mother always denied any knowledge of my father being certified before they were married, maintaining that she was only told of this after the wedding. Once, shortly before her death, I asked if it would it have made any difference if she had known the full details of his illness and whether she would have gone through with the wedding. She was unsure what she would have done. Shortly after the wedding Albert Thomas Turney arrived in this world. He was dark-haired like my parents and looked so much like my father that they soon started to call him Tom. He was the apple of my father's eye-and has been a father figure to me. When I was a child he was someone I could look up to and he went on to become a 'high flyer' in the London Fire Service where he ultimately commanded 16,000 men and women. He then took early retirement, became a successful businessman and entered local politics. Two years later Frederick James Turney made his debut. Unlike his two bothers, Stan and Tom, Fred had blond hair. He has always been the comedian of the family and I also inherited his sense of humour. The way he handles any of life's problems-as I do in many ways-is to laugh in the hope that they will get better on their own. Like me, Fred had many jobs. He worked as a bookmaker's runner in

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the late 1950s, then as a window cleaner and eventually became a milkman from which he retired on grounds of ill health. Just before the Second World War, the family moved to the S1. Helier estate in Carshalton, a new housing development to the south of London, where we lived in a two bedroom terrace house. With the outbreak of war, my father did not want to go into the army and he played on his disabilities to keep out of combat. Surprisingly, he did manage to join the police which he had always wanted to do. However, in peacetime his disabilities kept him out of the police service, and as soon as the war was over he was in the job market again. In 1940 my parents had another son, Victor, who only survived four weeks. When my mother recalled Victor's death-from an obstruction of the duodenum-she was only able to give a factual account. She was unable to show any emotion about it. Both of my parents knew how to look after us on a physical level-if we hurt ourselves they could apply a bandage-but on an emotional level they could do nothing for us. They also had problems communicating. I cannot recall them telling each other of their love for one another, or either of them saying that they loved me. At 6.30 a.m. on 21 June 1944 I was born. There was an underground shelter in the back garden and my father decided that because of the boys' sleep being constantly interrupted by air raid sirens, Stan, Tom and Fred should sleep beneath my parents' bed which was in the sitting room. So I was born during an air raid with my brothers underneath the bed and my mother on top of it in labour-which lasted for most of the night. There were problems with the delivery and I was in a distressed state at birth. Later,my mother would tell me that I was an 'agitated' baby. As they had three boys already, my parents were desperate for a daughter and my mother had gone as far as to knit pink clothes. Because of the war there was a shortage of wool, so I was dressed in girls' clothes for the first six months of my life. They would tell me-in what I am sure they thought was a humorous way-about how disappointed they were in me for being a boy. This felt very real to me. I could not work out whether they were really irritated and I think this was the first of many guilt trips I was to have during my' childhood. The feelings of rejection stayed with me for a long time. To compensate for this, I was always trying to seek their approval. As a small child I was loved and cared for by my brothers. Tom would sit by me and I would hold his finger until I fell asleep. However, there was a big age gap between me and the rest of the boys

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so that in a sense I was an 'only child'. By the time I was three years of age Stan had already left school to join the army. Similarly, although I was a member of a large family I always felt as if I was the odd one out. I never felt that I belonged to the family. Today those feelings are still with me-although knowing that I was 'on my own I quickly learned to look after Number One. My father would keep my mother short of money and give her a fixed and limited amount each week to keep us all on. It was never enough. Once when she had no money to buy food for the family she deliberately put her purse down a drain and told my father she had

lost it, in the hope that she would get some more money out of him. He made her go to the police station to report the loss before he would give her any more money. He was obsessionally jealous of her, coming home at lunch-time to see whether he would find her with a lover, even though he was promiscuous and having affairs himself. I know that this was the case, because he wrote in one of his suicide notes about the guilt he felt from the way he was treating his wife and family. But he was a gifted man who could play several musical instruments. He was also good with his hands and would make beautiful wooden toys for birthday or Christmas presents. I remember sitting by him when he was cobbling shoes and feeling highly important at having him to myself. He would let me hold his tools for him. Sometimes he would let me do some work but my co-ordination was poor and he used to get quietly agitated with my efforts. Mother would then have to come and take me away. He did not suffer fools gladly. We never had holidays as a family. The money was just not there, but I do have fond memories of him and my mother taking me to Brighton for lovely day out one Whitsun Bank Holiday. I was seven years old at the .time and it really was hot. I remember my parents taking me to Sutton railway station to get the train. They were both in a good mood and I was walking between them holding their hands. Once at Brighton we made our way to the beach. My father played with me for most of the day. He bought us fish and chips for our lunch and on the way back to the station to catch the train home we stopped at a shop and he bought me a cricket bat. It was, I felt, the most wonderful day of my childhood. In Graham Greene's Brighton Rock when he writes about men strolling in twos wearing their summer suits with knife-edged trousers and elegant shirts, that is how I remember my father on that wonderful day. Greene goes on to describe the Grand Hotel with its Victorian terrace with men who had silver hair looking like retired statesmen. That is how I remember the

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Grand Hotel when we walked past it and my father telling me that you would have to have a lot of money to stay here. On the train on the way home I fell asleep in his arms and he must have carried me all the way home.

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Chapter 2 When I was six years old our grandmother came live with us. She was my maternal grandmother, my grandfather having died in 1939 just before the war. When the war ended she was unable to look after herself and so my parents offered her a bed in our house. The situation was not ideal, as she had to share a bedroom with three growing boys. Stan had by now gone into the army. There was Fred, Albert and myself, in one bed and my grandmother in the other. Although we were overcrowded, I have vague memories of my grandmother being

a lovely person. One Christmas morning I woke up to discover a wooden garage underneath her bed which my father had made for me. I rushed to open the doors and a clockwork car came racing across the floor, and my grandmother joined in the excitement with me. There were times when I woke up in the night crying after having a bad dream (which happened a lot) and she would sometimes let me get in bed with her for a cuddle. My parents would not normally allow me into their bedroom, let alone their bed. Although my mother's brothers were comparatively well of( with their own houses and plenty of room, and childless, none of them wanted to accommodate their mother despite my father's pleas to them to take her. Eventually he had no choice but to have her placed in an old people's home, in Richmond. I can remember feeling disappointed because my night-time cuddles stopped. I recall one occasion when Tom and Fred took me to visit her and when she saw us she started to cry. She did not survive more than a couple of months in the nursing home before she died. After that, my father's state of mind began to deteriorate. We could always tell when he was going into a depression as he would let his dress standards slip and not wash or shave. He would start to play morose music on the piano, or he might go into a violent rage smashing up things-and, of course, he was not able to go to work. Then it would be time for him to go into hospital again. Following one of his outbursts I would ask my mother and brothers what was wrong and would be told it was nothing to worry .about, and to go and play in the street and not mention it to anyone. I could never understand what was happening to him. If I had been told it was an illness that was making him behave in that way it would have gone a long way towards helping me to understand what he was going through and what was happening to the rest of the family. Maybe they thought I was a bit stupid-that I would not understand. A part of it was that they were trying to protect me, but I could not

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understand why they seemed to be lying! There was much denial on my mother's part, not only in her replies to my questions but with herself as well. Looking back, I think the situation was all too much for her. My first memory of a full conversation with both of my parents was when I was lying to them. It was over some plants that I damaged playing football in our back garden. It was obvious that it was me. I was the only one in the garden at the time. But I denied it emphatically and insisted that the blame lay with our next door neighbour. My parents had me pinned up against the wall in the kitchen. My father was a well built man, over six feet tall, my mother five feet five, and I was a small boy of seven-so they seemed like giants. They bore down on me and I found it very threatening, but I stood my ground and kept denying that I had had anything to do with the damage. I could not stand their disapproval, and one way of keeping in favour was to appear to do no wrong. The lie back-fired because, in the end, they gave up on me and sent me to my room for the day with a thick ear. It was three in the afternoon and I had to stay there until the following morning. All the time I cuddled my teddy bear Micky. He was my comforter and I would always turn to him in moments of distress. At least I got some attention from my parents. It may have been negative, but nonetheless it was attention. Telling lies was my first real experience of how to get attention to focus on me. Lying and my own fantasy world helped me to cope with what was going on around me. I would build my own world of make-believe and have imaginary friends-but I would never tell anyone about them. Safe in a secret world I felt much better and could keep adults at bay. I also became steeped in a form of self-pity which was to stay with me well into adult life. By now things were not going well for me at school. I just could not understand the lessons. Years later I discovered that I was dyslexic. Dyslexia is a condition whereby someone cannot match sounds and letters and has great difficulty in spelling and reading. It is sometimes described by saying that the sufferer is 'word blind'. I also have a problem pronouncing words. When I was at school no one acknowledged the condition. Even in the 1990s I still meet parents who have considerable problems getting their local education authority to recognise it. People thought that I was stupid or lazy, or just not interested. However, children of all abilities can have dyslexia. It has nothing to do with intelligence, although it is often assumed that anyone who is dyslexic 'is intellectually backwards. If someone is told often enough that they are foolish or plain idle they will start to believe

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it-and that is what happened to me. I assumed that the things my parents said about my abilities were true. After all, there was nothing to say that they were wrong and even the teachers said that I was slow. My self-esteem plummeted until it was almost non-existent. It was not until I was in my late forties that I started to believe in myself and stopped thinking that I was a fool, and it has taken me a long time with a lot of help from my wife, children and friends to rid myself of the belief that I was some kind of imbecile. As it was, my teachers might as well have been speaking a foreign language. Nothing went in. Because of the problem I had pronouncing words my speech was poor and I had the vocabulary of a child half my age. The school at least picked this up, and ~rranged for me to go to a speech therapist. My mother took me to see him for a short while and it did help a little, but she stopped taking me because my father's mental condition was going into decline. He was getting worse by the day and all her resources had to go into trying to help him. She had no support from any of her relatives and was on her own with growing children and a depressed and dependant husband to look after. It was just about all she could do to keep the family afloat. As my father's state of mind got worse she spent more and more time confined to the house. I came home from school one afternoon when my father was the only person in the house and my mother was out shopping. I walked into the kitchen where there was a smell of gas and saw that the cooker had its shelves out and there was a pillow half in and half out of the oven. He had tried to commit suicide, this time by gassing himself. But he had run out of coins for the meter and given it up as a bad job. Just then my mother arrived home and seeing what had happened dropped her shopping and ran upstairs to the bedroom where my father was screaming 'What have you done?' over and over and over again. What with all the noise and that distressing scene in the kitchen it was too much for me and I started to cry. I ran upstairs to my bedroom, shut myself in, got in the bed with Micky and pulled the covers over my head. I just wanted to create a place in the dark where I felt safe. I held onto Micky hoping that life would pass me by. By now the neighbours had shown up to investigate and my mother was telling them about what she had discovered in the kitchen. It was agreed that the doctor should be summoned and one of the neighbours must have heard my sobbing in the other bedroom and she got my mother to see if I was all right. My mother lowered the covers and told me to pull myself together, but she was unable to comfort me as she was much too worried about what was going on with my father

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to handle my crying as well. In between my sobs I was asking her questions about what was happening. She did not answer, partly I felt because she was not able to understand due to her deafness and partly because she thought she was protecting me from reality. All I wanted at that moment was a cuddle and to be told that everything was going to be all right, but the reassurance I was seeking did not come. My mother said that I should go out in the street and find some other children to play with. I did as I was told and stood there feeling alone and guilty. Did my father love me? Was it something I had done to make him want to die? What could I have done to make him want to do the things he was doing? Standing in the street I felt a chill in my soul, a chill that would freeze out any feelings for the next thirty years. After a time in hospital my father came home and returned to work. He tried a range of jobs from being a milkman to making artificial limbs for children at Queen Mary's Hospital for Children in Carshalton. He was a talented man, but I do not think God makes people perfect. Employers would not keep jobs open for him during the long periods that he was in hospital. I found my childhood lonely, due partly to my habit of shutting myself away. The other main reason was that some of the children who lived nearby were discouraged by their parents from playing with me, or if I was to go and call for them their parents would tell me that their child was not coming out to play, or even that they were not in. They must have thought that my father's illness was contagious and I would pass on some terrible disease. Some children would tease me, saying things like 'Don't talk to him. My Mum says his Dad is mad'. I had friends, but not many. By 1953 both Stan and Tom had left home for the army. They had chosen to 'join up' rather than wait to be 'called up' for National Service. Stan had chosen the Pay Corps, had served in Egypt and was now stationed at Bulford Camp near Salisbury. Tom had gone into the Military Police and was serving in Germany. Neither returned home except for short periods of leave. Tom was soon married after joining the army, so we saw even less of him. Fred was working and spent a lot of time out drinking with his friends. I spent most of my time at home with my parents or at school. Both places seemed equally distressing. I remember January 1954 as a particularly cold month. We had no central heating and the warmest place in the house was the lounge with its open fire. My father was off work with depression and had taken to his bed, and my mother had decided to make him comfortable on the sofa-bed in the lounge. This meant that I would have to keep

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out of his way for long periods and so I would go up to my room and cuddle Micky. Unable to read a book, I would lie there waiting for Fred to come home ft:om an evening out drinking with his friends. He would talk to me about what he had been doing and make me laugh, telling me about the wonderful time he had had with his friends. My other brothers 'were also drinkers. As a small boy of ten years old I observed that drinking seemed to be a good way of forgetting your troubles. Fred and myself were still sharing the same bed. It never occurred to my parents or anyone else that we should have single beds. It came

as a great surprise to learn that most people did indeed have their own beds. During that cold snap there were times when I was allowed to go and sit with my father in the lounge. I would sit on the bed and warm myself by the fire. One evening my mother told me to go and sit with him. She wanted to do some washing in the kitchen and told me that under no circumstances was I to give him anything. I was unsure what she meant, so I told her I did not understand what she wanted me to do. She simply repeated her last statement and told me to go and sit with my father. I entered the room and saw him in bed lying quite still, as if he was asleep. I sat on the end of the bed, looked at him and began to stare into the fire enjoying the warmth. With a start he sat bolt upright in bed and with a wild gaze in his eyes told me to pass my mother's handbag which was next to me on the table. I walked towards him with the bag and as I got close to him he snatched it out of my hands and pushed me to the floor. By the time I managed to get to my feet he

had already opened the bag. Inside were some sleeping pills in a small cardboard box which the doctor had prescribed for him. He opened the box and tipped the tablets into his hand then put them into his mouth. Some of the tablets spilled out onto the bed and he started to scoop them up and push them into his mouth like an addict. I just froze, not believing what I had seen. When he had finished he lay back on the bed and just at that moment my mother appeared from the kitchen to check that all was well. When she found the empty box on the floor and a couple of capsules in the bed, she yelled 'Tom, what have you done?' and turned on me. 'You stupid boy, I told you not to give him anything. Why did you give him the tablets?' I felt so guilty and started to cry. By now her attention was focused back on my father who was not answering her questions but lying there looking up at us with a sickening grin on his face. The doctor was summoned once again and

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my father was taken to hospital for the contents of his stomach to be pumped out. I went to my bedroom to cuddle Micky and after a long time I fell asleep. In the morning my mother roused me for school as usual. She did not make any reference to the events of the previous evening. The only thing she said was 'Your father is asleep. Don't wake him up when you go to school.' At least I knew that he was still alive! Later in life I concluded that there are two types of people who take an overdose, or deliberately harm themselves in other ways. There is the kind of person who attempts suicide because he or she is unable to cope with a difficult problem. The majority of would-be suicides seem to fall into this category. It is a cry for help. Those concerned do not necessarily want to die. They may aim to harm themselves and a large proportion carry out their acts impulsively in a way that invites discovery, and using methods which are unlikely to be dangerous. Unfortunately some of these attempts do end tragically. I am one of this group. I knew, for example, that I could not handle my alcohol and drug problem and wanted help, but I did not know how to get it. I would resort to self-harm because I had discovered as a child living with and watching my father that it brought attention. If I had not stopped drinking it would probably have ended my life sooner or later. The second group of people are those who suffer from psychiatric disorders. They plan their suicidal acts carefully, take precautions against discovery, and use dangerous methods. My father was in this group. The groups are not distinctly separate. I think my father could have been in the first group in the early stages of his illness. As his desperation became more and more intense he moved across into the second group and became serious about his intentions. The last pleasant recollection I have of my father was of a time in 1954 when I was sitting on his lap and we were watching television. It was the day Roger Bannister ran the mile in under four minutes for the very first time in history. There was great excitement in the house as Or Bannister entered the record books. It was one of those rare moments in my childhood when I felt secure. My father was in a good mood, which meant that my mother, whose state of mind was often determined by his, was in a good mood also, and this had a knock-on effect on the whole family. Not long afterwards he was hit by an equally extreme bout of depression-from which he never recovered. On 11 August 1954, a Wednesday, I had been shopping with my mother. When we arrived home at lunchtime I went upstairs to see my father. As I entered the bedroom there was a strange smell in the air. I

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looked over at the bed and saw that he was not in it. I walked round it to find him curled up on the floor with his eyes closed, his face white and his mouth open. I knew that this time it was the end. It was discovered later that he had drunk a bottle of ether, which explained the smell in the room. My mother appeared. This time she seemed to be calm and was not shouting at me as she had done on previous occasions. She also sensed that this was the end. In a gentle tone she told me to go next door and get a neighbour and to stay out of the way. I got the neighbour and then I went out into the street. Something happened inside me. My emotions closed down

and I just stopped feeling. My head was thumping as if it was trying to close out the events I witnessed in the bedroom. I found Ronnie Fields, a lad that I knew from school and started to play games with him as if nothing had happened. Ronnie and myself watched as the ambulance arrived to take my father to hospital. He was still alive although only just. Ronnie asked me what was wrong and I said 'Oh he'll be all right' and went back to playing football as if nothing had happened. He relayed my remarks to his parents and their reaction was to stop Ronnie playing with me. They must have thought that I was heartless and cold, and that there was something wrong with me. Tom and Stan were sent for and Tom's wife Pam came to stay with us so that she could look after me. The police made their inquiries, for at that time it was illegal to commit suicide, or, more to the point, to attempt it. The next day was much the same with my mother at the hospital for most of the time. Pam looked after me and made a great fuss which I liked. However, no one told me what was going on. By that. time I was past caring anyway. Pam did tell me that my father was ill, which I already knew. On the next day-Friday the thirteenth-Stan arrived from Bulford. He went up to the hospital and returned with my mother in the late afternoon and I was called in from the street by my sister-in-law who was crying and who told me that my mother wished to talk to me. I knew what she was going to say as she sat at the kitchen table crying. She told me that Daddy was not coming home. I knew exactly what she meant. However, I told her I did not understand what she was talking about. I wanted her to tell me that he was dead-which she then did. When my father died he was just forty-two years old. I felt that he was so young and that he had robbed me of many years of having a father around. I also felt guilty about his death and the fact that I seemed to have no feeling about it. I thought that I had contributed to his death in some way. But the biggest sensation I had waS one of

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abandonment and rejection. If he had really loved me he would not have done what he did, whilst I felt angry that I had not been able to do something to stop him. When my mother stretched out her arms as I walked towards her, my anger seemed to focus on her. In my mind, I was now blaming her for what had happened (although I never voiced those feelings to her). For many years I felt a great deal of anger toward her and as a result did not treat her with the respect that a son should have for his mother. Maybe if we could have gone into some kind of counselling or therapy together it might have helped. She was a simple minded person and had had a hard life. Fate had dealt her some nasty blows. One of them was my behaviour towards her when I was drinking heavily and using drugs. I know that when she tried to comfort me on that day I was too angry to cry. I renlember thinking that I had better make out that I was upset and I forced out the tears-but inside I had no feeling for anyone. It was as if I had been emotionally mugged.

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Chapter 3 The following day Tom arrived home from Ge~many. The family were now all there and making arrangements for the funeral. I spent most of the time at a neighbour's house but when I was at home a great deal of fuss was made of me. People were feeling sorry for me, which I used to get my own way, asking for things which I knew would not be refused. My mother thought that I was too young to understand what was going on and so it was decided that I should spend the day of the

funeral with some friends of the family, the Townsly's. Harry Townsly was a lorry driver with a scaffolding firm and the plan was that I should go with him and his son, Henry, who was about a year older than me, for a day 'on the road'. Children were not allowed in the yard at the scaffolders, so that we had to wait outside for the lorry to be loaded and this took longer than anticipated. I was sitting on the roadside when my father's funeral went past. The coffin had a purple cover over it to note the circumstances in which he died. He had to be cremated because at that time suicide was regarded by the church as a sin and he could not be buried in consecrated ground. As the funeral cortege went by I stood up· and waved to the family. They all saw me and I think at that moment they were in greater shock than I was. I felt that I had been left out of something they were sharing. My grandmother had an old fashioned clock with a glass dome over it. I felt that a glass dome had been put over me. I could see what was going on but I could not reach out and touch it, or be involved. I was robbed of the opportunity to say a last farewell to my father and this reinforced my sense that I was not a valued family member. I was an outsider looking in on something I so badly wanted to belong to. These feelings remained with me for years. A short time after the funeral Fred was called up to do his National Service, which left me at home with my mother. She was so racked with grief that she began to focus all her energies on me, as if to compensate for her loss-just as she had focused ~ her time and energies on my father. ) , She had played the role of the victim ~ all her life. She would tell me of the she made because of his sacrifices ---~ illness. Although life may have been /..

....

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unbearable at times, there was now this big void in her life and only me around to focus in on-whilst I was traumatised by what had happened. Now that my father was gone the discrimination from the parents of other children intensified. They told their offspring not to associate with me. Also, by now I was being singled out by teachers because of the problems I was experiencing with my dyslexia. They would make me sit on my own and give me picture books to look at, because they saw no point in involving me in the lessons. I was too slow to pick anything up and this in turn reinforced what the other children had been told by their parents. Many of them ridiculed me in the playground and my pronunciation problems invited yet more mockery. I would isolate myself from them and find a corner in the playground where I could be on my own. I came home one afternoon from school feeling crushed. My mother was working full-time in a factory which meant she would leave before I did in the morning so that I had to see myself off to school. She would not return until six o'clock each evening, which meant I would be on my own for another two hours at the end of the day waiting for her. On one of these evenings I went to my room for a cuddle with Micky only to find him missing. I searched the house but could not find him, and waited for what seemed like a lifetime for my mother to come home. I asked where he was and she told me that she had thrown him away! Next morning, before going to work, she said 'You are now the man about the house and must act in a responsible way'. She could not stand the thought of her ten-year-old son still wanting a teddy bear. When I broke down in tears this proved the point to her that I was some sort of softy. I was devastated. I really hated her at that moment. Not having many friends, I became withdrawn. I did have one though-another Micky strangely enough-Micky Bradford. My own mental condition was now suffering, and Micky still tells stories of my mood swings (despite my poor treatment of him I am pleased to say that he turned out to be a life-long friend). I would arrange for him to call for me to go out somewhere but when he arriveq. my mood would be completely different and I might be insulting towards him. I would sometimes claim that I had never made the arrangement at all, and at times he was reduced to tears. I would go with my mother to visit Tom and Pam when Tom was on leave. By this time they had set up home in Tooting, South London. On these visits I would not say a word to anyone but sit in the corner cuddling Tom's slippers. They would try to draw me into the

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conversation but to no avail. When we were on the Underground on the way home my mother would tell me off for being rude. I went for days without talking to anyone. I had no confidence and found communication difficult, but people assumed that I was ill-mannered. It was just a year after my father's death and I was spending long periods of time on my own. I was left all day with some food and sometimes a modest amount of money. I might take myself off to Chessington Zoo, or the War Museum and other places around London, or spend days wandering the streets on my own. Looking back, anything could have happened to me and I go cold at the thought of it. I was desperately lonely. Anyone could have talked me into anything, or taken me anywhere. Someone must have been standing guard over me. Things went from bad to worse at school. My mother received a letter from my form teacher saying that it would be a waste of time if I were to sit the eleven plus examination as I stood no chance of passing. The best option was that I should go straight on to secondary school (as comprehensives were then called) in the hope that I might be more responsive there. She was scathing about my lack of academic achievement, yet, on the other hand, she took no interest in my school work. Education had never been high on the agenda, with all the problems when my father was alive. I started the autumn term at Tweeddale Road Secondary School for Boys, Carshalton in 1955. The school had a reputation for being 'tough'. My brothers went there and they would tell me stories about how severe the teachers were and of the beatings that were meted out. I was terrified at the whole thought of going there and spent the summer holidays worrying myself senseless about it. On the first morning, one of the masters met us in the playground. This was Mr Jackson, a young man in his mid-thirties who had been a rear-gunner in the RAF during the war. He was to be my form master as well as the physical training teacher. He always wore white plimsolls, navy blue blazer and grey flannel trousers. He turned out to be one of the more friendly members of staff. The ones I was warned to watch out for by my brothers were Mr Wise and Mr Bentham. They were the most feared teachers in the school, their reputations as disciplinarians preceding them wherever they went-and in due course I was to discover that all the rumours about them were true. Mr Wise was in his thirties, tall and with a large nose and a full head of hair. He always wore a sports jacket with leather patches on the elbows and a pair of brown trousers with a shiny seat. He drove an American ex-army jeep and taught English and History. Mr Bentham 31

was in his mid-to-Iate-forties, overweight and balding with a glass eye. He also wore the obligatory sports-jacket-with-patches. His transport was a motor-bike and he taught metalwork. Both of them were sadistic in the way they treated us. They would cane us at the drop of a hat. If they were still teaching in the same way today they would face accusations of abuse. The school joke was that they had been drummed out of the SS for cruelty. Joking apart, I would not let men like that anywhere near my children. The fear they imparted was unbearable at times. My reputation of being a simpleton followed me to Tweeddale. I was still mocked by my peers, but mercifully this was muted somewhat. I soon fell foul of Messrs. Wise and Bentham. In Wise's English lessons I was singled out as the class dunce. He made me sit in the front row, claiming this was to keep an eye on me, but he would ask me to spell a word he knew I did not have a cat in hell's chance of spelling. Then he would say 'Come here Idiot Boy' and grab me by the short hair on the side of my head and pull me out from my desk. He would march me to the front of the room and make me stand before the whole class, who by now would be jeering, and ask me to spell the chosen word. When I failed he would hit me on the back of the head in time with his hand as he called out the letters one by one himself. He would then tell me to return to my seat, to more jeers. The same thing would happen in Bentham' s metalwork class. Because of lack of coordination, I find it difficult to work with my hands, and when I made a mistake he would grab me by the chin with his thumb and forefinger and lift me up to my tip toe and hit the back of my head with his free hand and call me an idiot. I was not the only one to receive such treatment at their hands, even the more able were frightened of them. I spoke to my mother about the situation, but she was reluctant to take time off from work to go and complain. In the end she agreed to do so-but it was not really a helpful move because she came back upset and was very sarcastic about my lack of progress. The masters denied using physical force and she punished me for wasting her time. My credibility with the other boys was blown, and from then on I was looked upon as a mummy's boy. The abuse by the teachers continued. One way to get attention and some respite was to fake illness, so I made out that I had stomach pains. It worked. When I did this at school I would be sent home. Sometimes my mother would even have a day off work to look after me. As soon as I discovered that this ruse worked I was hardly ever at school. My mother never rumbled the fact that the pain always went when it was time for the school holidays and

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that as soon as the holidays were over the pains returned. By now she was taking a lot of time off from work to take me to my hospital appointments. This went on for eighteen months or so until I was thirteen years old. I was passed from one doctor to another as each failed to find anything wrong with me. After a time the doctors had a case conference to decide what to do. They told my mother that they had explored all the options and that the only course of action they could now take was to remove my appendix-which was still a quite significant event for a child in 1956! I could hardly announce that I had

been lying all along and so they went ahead. I did confess that it was all a lie when they were pushing me into the operating theatre. No-one believed me. They thought it was pre-operation nerves. The doctors took out my healthy appendix and I got six more weeks off school to convalesce. When I eventually returned to school, my reputation was that of a simpleton, mummy's boy and now invalid-and the teachers' attitudes towards me had not changed in any way. Attending school continued to be a nightmare. I was not brave enough to play truant like some pupils, so there seemed no way out for me. Or perhaps there was. I had noticed that people who shone at sport-like my brother Fred who was a brilliant footballer-tended to be treated differently and got time out of lessons to play and train. However, sport and I were not really compatible due to my lack of coordination and it is difficult for me to play any kind of ball game. The only thing that seemed to be open to me was boxing. I did not need coordination for someone to hit me. The only problem was that I could not stand violence. I managed to get myself into the school boxing team. Mr Jackson, the team coach, was also one of the few masters I got on with. I weighed in at bantamweight and my opening fight was in the first round of the All-England Schoolboy Championships. Our school team was drawn away in the first round and we had to visit another school and miss a day's lessons to prepare, which I went along with. At the weigh-in I was drawn against Vic Taferelly who the previous year had made it to the All-England Finals and was an ABA champion, so I was on to a hiding to nothing! After leaving school he turned professional. Mr Jackson was trying to be helpful by giving last minute instructions but he knew my fate. The fight was one of the last ones on the bill for the afternoon. I watched the other bouts with fear, but sitting in a classroom held a lot more fear for me than waiting to get a beating in the ring. When it was my turn, the referee called Vic and myself to the centre and told us he wanted a clean fight. I looked at Vic

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who seemed very much a boxer. Indeed, with a nose which had been broken and the start of a cauliflower ear he looked every bit a champion. The bell rang for the first round and Vic came at me like a train, raining blows. I managed to fight him off, and at the end of the round I went to my corner with my nose pouring with blood which Mr. Jackson just about managed to stop. The second round was like the first with Vic raining punches. The blood started. to pour from my nose again and the referee stepped between us. I thought he was stopping the fight, but no such luck-my boot lace had come undone and he told Mr Johnson to do it up. At the end of the round my eyelids were starting to swell over my eyes and the referee asked if I was fit to continue. My pride would not let me throw in the towel. The third round was much the same. I received a jab to the mouth which dislodged my gumshield, and with a couple more blows Vic managed to bed my teeth into my top lip, slitting it from one end to the other and causing a fountain of blood to spring from my mouth. Seeing this the referee finally intervened and stopped the fight, with the crowd on their feet cheering. I had to go to hospital to have stitches put in my lip and my broken nose set. I did not mind. It meant that I could have more time off school. On my return, my reputation had soared. All in all the event had done me some good. I stayed with the boxing team until I left school and went on to win a minor schoolboy championship and a couple of club fights. The boxer Don Cockle, whose mother lived near us, fought Rocky Marciano for the World Heavyweight Title in 1955. He lost, but put up a brave fight. I remember running into him-as a small boy of ten

years he seemed like a giant of a man. He was a remarkable sight, wearing sunglasses and with two small Pekinese dogs in his arms. In the early 1970s I would drink with Don in seedy smoke-filled clubs, where I would lie about my boxing feats and tell him and anyone else who cared to listen about the day I fought Vie Taferelly!

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Chapter 4 By the time I was fourteen years old, Fred was home after active service in Cyprus. He was now working as a bookmaker's runner. Stan was married and he and his wife were on a tour of duty in Hong Kong. Tom was out of the Military Police but still living in Tooting with his wife and baby daughter, where he was carving out a career in the Fire Service. Through boxing for the school team I had made a small circle of friends. I have always found it difficult to form relationships. There is a saying that 'People with addictive personalities do not form relationships, they take hostages.' That was very much so in my case. If I had a friend I wanted to dominate their time and be with them to the point of suffocation. If they befriended someone else I would feel rejected. One friend I did make was David Ivy who I met in the boxing team. His father, Sid, ran a boxing club in Cheam and David invited me to join. David had an older brother Steven who also enjoyed the Noble Art. Their father played the role of promoter and always gave me the impression that he was dreaming of discovering 'The Great British Hope' that might one day claim the world title. He reminded me of my father in his mannerisms, being about the same age and build. He took me under his wing. I think he felt sorry for me and I would play on this, milking the situation for all it was worth, telling sob stories that my mother could not afford the fees and Sid would waive them for me. My mother would give me the money for the sessions and I would pocket it. The club was open for training on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the evening and I would go along with David and his father and brother. One of the symptoms of dyslexia is that the sufferer has a good chance of being left-handed, which in my case is so. I boxed as a southpaw, leading with my right hand and putting my right foot forward as opposed to the orthodox style of leading with the left (I understand the term 'southpaw' was originally applied to left-handed baseball players-whereas baseball pitchers traditionally face west, the lefthanded pitcher throws with the hand, or paw, on the south side of the body). Sid would spend hours trying to get me to adopt a more orthodox style of boxing. He went to great lengths and at one stage had me standing in front of a punchbag with my left arm strapped to my side telling me to punch with my right hand. All his attempts failed. Every time I got into the ring for a sparring session I would revert to my natural southpaw style. Sid and the others would keep telling me it is more difficult for southpaws to defend themselves

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because the opponent can easily get in under the guard, and in turn it is more difficult to break through an opponent's defences. I would try my best to do what they were asking but I failed miserably. This only served to reinforce my feeling of self-doubt and being the odd one out. I was always joining organizations, first the Sea Scouts which I left after a short time because I could not do simple things like tying knots. I just did not have a clue and my co-ordination let me down again. Then David Ivy and I joined the army cadets and I had a similar problem with the arms drill and square bashing. David went into the band and learnt to play the bugle. He did really well and later took up the trumpet. I became envious of him making new friends and discontinued our association, which was a great shame because he was a good friend. I ran into him in the late 1960s. He was playing in a jazz band which sometimes appeared at Ronnie Scott's in London's Soho. I never showed commitment to any relationship or project. The feelings of self-doubt would make me want to run away from things when they got difficult, instead of trying to work them through. I would simply remove myself from the situation. That is how it was in my adult life-if I could not handle a problem I would get drunk and the problem would go away for a short time. It did not seem to matter that the problems were still there when I sobered up, and usually worse. Fred's work as a bookie's runner was carried out from the corner of the road where my school was. He worked for no more than two hours at mid-day taking the bets, and for just an hour later in the day paying out winnings. At this time it was illegal to place a bet on any event apart from at the venue where it was being held. Fred would spend his afternoons drinking in a Club called Max' s which was over the Tooting Broadway market. Then he would come home, get changed, go to payout the winnings and spend the rest of the night in those pubs where he could find after hours drinking. He returned home in the early hours to sleep, got up late and started the process all over again. I was intrigued by his lifestyle. Living outside the law seemed to give a person status. Sometimes, when Fred was evading capture he and his colleague would run through the school grounds with the police in hot pursuit, bringing cheers from me and my school colleagues and humorous remarks from the teachers. 'Turney, next time your brother wishes to visit you could you kindly ask him to come in through the front door!' But both my boxing and Fred 's antics caused my 'street cred' to rise.

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At home things had not changed a great deal four years after my father's death. I still had feelings of anger which would consume me at times. A lot of it focused on my mother. I would look at her and feel bitterness towards her. Throughout that time I do not think that I expressed my feelings to her. I never told her how I felt about anything. It was not until many years later when I stopped drinking and taking drugs that I was able to do this. One evening while we were watching television she offered me a cigarette and I told her I did not smoke. She did not believe me and said that all her boys had smoked since they were my age. The truth of

the matter was that I had not smoked because of my boxing training, and in any event I was scared of getting caught. There was some truth in what she was saying. Most of my contemporaries were smoking, and my brothers had taken up the habit when they were a lot younger than I was then. She insisted that I had a cigarette and the 'people pleaser' in me could not refuse the offer. It made me dizzy and sick, but it was the start of a relationship with the dreaded weed which lasted for the next twenty-five years. At school things were no better. I had long since lost all motivation. I was in the lowest grade and bottom of the class. My school reports were abysmal, and the comments by my teachers were of the kind 'Robert is lazy and should try much harder'. My mother would reinforce these statements by saying that I would end up in a dead-end job. I started to deal with problems the same way that Fred seemed to cope with his dilemmas-with humour, for h~ had the ability to make fun of anything or anyone he found difficult to handle. I found that by playing the clown it got me through some of the fears I had at school and at home. Around this time there was a bully who was making disparaging remarks about my father which I found very hurtful, so I had to get him to retract the remarks or I had to fight him, which I did not really want to do. He would not withdraw l\is comments so the fight was set for after school that day. As the time drew nearer I felt more and more nervous. The boy was winding me up saying 'Wait till I get you after school, I will kill you'. When the time came we made our way to the playing field nearby. We were surrounded by a crowd of twelve-to-14year-old boys and I felt as if I was in a scene from Tom Brown's School Days and knew how Tom felt when he sized up to the dreaded Flashman. I saw the film one Christmas on the television when I easily slipped into to·the role of the poor little chap who was all on his own in an awful school.

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I squared up to the imaginary Flashman in true Marquis of Queensberry style. He made a lunge at me, trying to grab me around the neck to wrestle me to the ground and if he had done so I am sure he would have beaten me there and then. As he ran at me, I sidestepped him and turned and hit him with a right hook to the mouth, which sent him reeling backwards to the other side of the circle and to the cheers of the onlookers. He protested that he wanted to wrestle-at which I was no good at all-and not to box. With that I knew I had him beaten. I went for him with two right-hand jabs to the face and a left-hand punch in the stomach, which sent him to the ground. Then all the anger I was feeling inside came to the surface and it seemed as if I was out of control. I moved towards my opponent who was by now sitting on the ground and grabbed him by the shirt and gave him two head butts to the face, which caused his nose to pour with blood. My head was still spinning with anger. The next thing I remember is seeing the blood on his face which stopped me in my tracks. He and I both looked at each other for a moment, then we turned and ran in opposite directions. I continued running until I reached home. There was no-one in the house and I sat in the corner of the living room in a state of shock. I did not think that I was capable of such aggression. It was the first time I had felt any real emotion in a long time. I sat there motionless until my mother returned from work. I did not say a word to anyone about what had happened, expecting the police or someone in authority to call to question me about the savage attack. I spent the rest of the evening gazing out of the window watching for someone in uniform or remotely resembling an official and my heart would skip a beat each time a stranger walked past the house-but no one came for me. The next morning my victim was not at school. Rumours ran wild that he was in hospital, and that the police were looking for me. Another rumour was that he had older brothers who were coming to beat me up. I spent all day in a state of anxiety wondering what would become of me. The fact that it was Friday meant that I had it hanging

over me all weekend. I would not leave the house to avoid capture by the police or my victim's relatives. I had no-one to talk to about my problems and for a brief moment I contemplated suicide, but I was too much of a coward. On the Monday morning I went to school to be met at the gates by the boy I had beaten and he apologised for the things he had said about my father. He had two black eyes, which he had told his parents he sustained by falling off his bike. Because of his injuries his mother had let him have the previous Friday off school... I could have kissed

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him I was so relieved. I promised myself that I would never get involved with anything like that again. It was a promise I would not be able to keep. Around the same time on a visit to Tom's place in Tooting he told me about the facts of life. I came from a male dominated family, was going to an all-male school and with the problems I was experiencing with my schoolwork sexual relations played little part in my thinking. The only immediate relationship I had with any woman was with my mother and that was not a good one. The feelings of anger I had towards her I took with me into future relationships; I used and

abused women for self-gratification. I had a misogynist's attitude and because of my lack of self-esteem I could not understand anyone wanting to be in a relationship with me. Groucho Marks once said 'I would not be a member of a club who would have me as a member!' That was the way I viewed relationships. There must be something wrong with anyone who wanted to be involved with me and I showed scant respect for anyone who did show an interest in me. It was not until I met Sue, my wife, in 1981, that I began to realise that women were not to be hated or feared. She has shown me that I can have a meaningful and long-term relationship and that it is all right for people to get close to me, and that they do not have an ulterior motive or something wrong with them. It was also a time when my mother took me to one side and said that-as she put it-she wanted to talk to me about my father, or more to the point about how he died. She said I was old enough to know the truth concerning the circumstances of his death. She launched into a long rigmarole about how it would be better if I heard it from her rather than from someone outside the family. I could hardly believe what she was saying. Did she really think that I was completely unaware of what had happened? Did she really think that I was that much of an idiot that I did not understand what he had done? 'You foolish woman', I felt like screaming. I had lived through all that and here she was talking to me as if I was completely dumb. I did not say anything. I just let her go through her sanitised version of the horrendous events of their marriage. All the time I tried to look shocked. I left school in 1959 barely able to write my name. Just before leaving I had an interview with the careers teacher. When he asked me what I wanted to do for a living I did not tell him that I wanted to be an alcoholic, drug addict and thief! But that is how I ended up. I was not sure what I wanted to do. I knew my friend David Ivy wanted to be a cabinet maker and so I told the careers master that I had this

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burning ambition to make furniture. I was sent for interview to the firm that my mother worked for a couple of years previously, Clark and Smiths in Wallington, Surrey. I felt resentful about the fact that I had to go on my own for the job interview. Most people at school had a parent to go with them. I was told to report to the foreman, who was to interview me. He was a small, balding man in his early fifties. When my mother worked there he was her superior and she would make innuendoes that he fancied her. I do not know whether there is a grain of truth in what she said but he did recognise the name and said he remembered her. He showed me round the department I would be working in and told me I had the job if I wanted it. I was to work from 8 a.m. to 5.30 p.m. with a half hour lunch break, five days a week, for which I would receive three pounds and ten shillings a week before tax-or £3.50 in new money. The firm made public announcement systems and my job was to help put together the wooden cabinets the loudspeakers went into. So much for my ambitions. Life did seem easier now. I had a job and felt more part of the human race. Although the work was dull-it mostly involved me in making the tea, running errands and sometimes drilling holes in pieces of wood-at least I was away from the dreaded school. I made a friend and he invited me to go along to the Wimbledon Palais on a Saturday afternoon. It was the forerunner of the discotheque. For three hours they would play the latest records by performers such as Cliff Richard, Del Shannon, Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley. The idea was to meet a partner and then go on to the cinema for the evening. I was painfully shy. The best I could manage was to sit in the corner on my own with a Coca-Cola. My friend would nearly always 'score' and I would be left like a wallflower. On the following Monday morning he would ask me how I got on the previous Saturday afternoon. I would make up some story about the wonderful time I had with a girl I met after he left. I am sure that he did not believe me. For a while, my entire social life centred on Wimbledon Palais and the couple of evenings each week when I went to the local youth club and then on to a coffee bar. Christmas Eve 1959, when I was fifteen, was my first Christmas at work. We finished at mid-day and I was invited over to the local pub for a drink. When I stepped inside it seemed like a magical world. I had up to that point never been in a public house. I had waited outside one for my father while he had a drink with a friend. He would bring me out packets of crisps and a bottle of lemonade. Once inside someone asked 'What are you drinking?' and I quickly recalled that

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my brother Fred once told me he drank 'light and bitter'. So as to look as if I knew what I was doing I asked for one of these. I could not stand the taste. I have never liked the flavour of any alcoholic drink but have always used alcohol for the effect it has on the mind and body. It made me feel different. Many times since then I have heard people talk about 'social drinking'. Some people have said that they drank socially for five, ten and in some cases twenty years before alcohol became a problem. I drank socially for all of ten minutes. After that, there never was anything remotely social or sociable about the way I drank. For a long time the only thing I did well was to drink badly! I forced down the first pint. Someone else got me another, which I again knocked back. I felt that I had arrived. This was where I belonged-in a drinking world. I found after a couple of drinks that I could communicate with people. Two things happened when I started to drink. My lies got bigger and my fantasies more fantastic-perhaps the biggest of both of these being that I was perfectly normal. I got paralytic that day and had to be taken home. That was the way I was to drink over the next two decades. I have never had the ability to stop drinking on my own. Something has to happen outside my control: closing time, passing out or being arrested. Most people can tell when they have had enough. Not me. From that first drink onwards I never knew when to stop. When I got home my mother put me to bed and that was the end of Christmas Eve for me. I spent Christmas Day feeling hung over. On Boxing Day evening I went out with Fred for a drink. He introduced me to some of his friends. I just loved the atmosphere. Nobody seemed to have a care in the world. We all went on to a party at closing time where I got extremely drunk. The same thing happened on New Years Eve, but this time I took myself to the pub and found some old school friends there with their relatives. I got drunk again and tried to start a fight. So the beginning of 1960 saw a dramatic change in my social life. It was now more focused around public houses than the youth club. One Friday evening in February I was at home and Micky Bradford called around for me to go out. We left the house and, walking down the road, a friend of Micky's pulled up on a motor scooter. Micky asked where he had got it from and he replied that he and another friend had stolen it that evening! Micky jumped on it and rode it round the block. When he came back the lad who had stolen it asked me if I would like to have a go. I declined because I did not know how to ride the thing. But I did not want to lose face, so I told them a pack of lies about how I

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was not into scooters. The lad who had stolen the bike then said he was going ride it to Box Hill and meet up with his biker friends and asked if I would go along with him. I did not want to, but to save face I agreed. We had got no more than a mile down the road when a police car picked us up. We were taken to Wallington police station and questioned. The police wanted to know who the other people were who were involved in the crime. They told me that there was a good chance that I would be sent to prison if I did not tell them. As it was, I did not have the vaguest idea who else was implicated. The other lad did tell them the name of the other person involved and he was arrested. The three of us were charged with what used to be called 'taking and driving away' and with having no insurance. My mother and my brother Fred were called to the police station to take me home. There, in front of them, the station sergeant tore us off a strip. After being bailed to appear at Wallington Juvenile Court the following Tuesday, all three of us were marched away by our respective parents. My mother was angry but somehow resigned to the fact that I might be pre-ordained fora life of crime. Because of his lifestyle, Fred was more worried about my involvement with the police-and the fact that it might make him more high profile with them. I was terrified by the whole ordeal, being arrested, having to be fingerprinted and being locked in a cell. Yet there was one part of me which enjoyed the attention. It was negative, but nonetheless it was attention-and I liked the image I thought it gave me of someone living outside of the law.

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Chapter 5 We were remanded on bail by the magistrates for reports from the probation service a~d school. When the probation officer made a home visit to interview my mother and me she was once again remonstrative about my school work, and now that I was in trouble with the police she felt that 1 was beyond her control. She thought the best thing I could do was join the army-like

my brothers-where, they would sort me out. We returned to the juvenile court four weeks later. The chairman of the magistrates started to pass sentence on my two co-defendants and myself. He said that for taking and driving away the scooter we would each be fined ten shillings (SOp) and for driving without insurance we would be disqualified from driving for a year. Then he turned his attention to me: 'In your case Robert Turney the court takes a more serious view of these offences, in the light of your school report which is appalling-the teachers say that you are lazy and uncooperative-and the fact that in the probation report your mother has said that she feels you are out of her control, in addition to the other penalties you will be placed on probation for two years'. After the court appearance life at home became difficult and there was a lot of pressllre from my mother for me to go into the army. She just wanted me out of her hair. She had not had a great life and now she had a problem teenager on her hands, which was too much for her to contemplate. On my sixteenth birthday I took myself off to the local army recruitment office but I was unable to fill in the application form, which brought veiled mockery from the recruiting sergeant. I was told that because of my subnormal educational standards it was unlikely that I would be offered a job in the armed forces. Nonetheless I wellt for the medical. I failed because of my damaged ear drum. So that was the end of military aspirations.

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My first probation officer was a Mr Hamilton. He reminded me of my old school teachers and also wore the regulation sports jacket with leather patches on the elbows. I must have been hard work. It was extremely difficult to engage me in any sort of conversation. Apart from 'yes' or 'no' answers he got little out of me. I was highly defensive and none of his questions got under my radar. I often think of him nowadays when I work with clients who are just as difficult as I was. However, he was a true professional, and never let me see the frustration he must have felt. I left Clark and Smiths just after Christmas and drifted from job to job working in local factories as a labourer, not staying in any employment for more than three months. Sometimes I would only last a few hours. My difficulty in forming and maintaining relationships also applied in relation to the people I worked with. I had no sense of the value of money and little sense of responsibility when it came to financial matters. I would be paid on the Friday, spend my wages in the pub over the course of the weekend and then need a loan from my mother to 'get me through the week. I thought of money in terms of 'drink vouchers'. About a year into my probation order I was out drinking one Friday evening and as usual I had had too much. At closing time we all poured into the street where there must have been about fifteen of us. We were making a lot of noise on our way home and I was so drunk that I could just about stand up. Our journey took us over a railway bridge. By now a couple of us had forced an inspection cover off a drain, and some of the others were holding it over the bridge and at that moment a train passed underneath. They let go and the cover went smashing through the roof of the train! It was a miracle no-one was killed or injured. Soon the police were everywhere. People were running away, but I was too drunk to run very far and was soon captured along with three others. The police hit me in the stomach which made me vomit. I was then thrown into the back of a police car and taken to the police station. On arrival, I was dragged out of the car and they pushed me straight into a cell. I must have fallen asleep or passed out from too much alcohol because the next thing I remember was being dragged out of the cell by two policemen and taken into the interview room to be questioned. There were more police in the room by now and I was beginning to sober up a bit. I was confused and did not really know what had happened. I asked what·was going on? I was told that making out that I did not know would not work, and that I would be charged with

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criminal damage as well as being drunk and disorderly along with the others. I had forgotten that there was anyone else involved. They also said that I would not be getting bail and that they would be keeping me in the cells overnight, before I was put up in front of the magistrates. A part of me was pleased that at least I would be allowed to go back to sleep. The following morning we were taken to court in the Paddy wagon. We all pleaded guilty. A couple of my co-defendants had solicitors to represent them and I found out later that their parents had organized their legal representation. The police had contacted my

mother but she had refused to come to court. We were remanded for two weeks. My co-defendants were released on bail, whereas I was told that because I was on probation the court took a more serious view and I was refused bail and remanded in custody! I was devastated. I froze to the spot. Me going to prison. What was going to happen to me? These thoughts were interrupted by the policeman standing in the dock alongside me who grabbed my arm and started to lead me down the steps to the cells. Once in the cell I asked where I would be taken? I was told to a remand centre for young offenders at Ashford in Middlesex. As the cell door banged behind me I experienced a deep sense of hopelessness? I must have waited for three hours for the prison van to arrive. That was my second shock of the day. The van itself was large but inside it was a different story. It was partitioned off into tiny cubicles about half the size of an aeroplane toilet. There was barely room to move. Each cubicle had a small wooden seat, and a frosted window to let the light in but which I could not see out of. The windows were doubled-glazed and I learnt later that between the panes was a capsule of gas which would be released if the glass was broken-so as to render the occupant unconscious. I was locked into this small compartment. It felt very claustrophobic. I could hear other inmates talking. They had obviously been picked up from other courts. We were on the road for another three hours collecting prisoners and arrived at Ashford at about 8.30 p.m. We must have gone through some gates. I could not see them, but I heard them close. My cubicle was unlocked by a burly prison officer with a clipboard in his hands. Not looking up he called out 'Name'. I told him. Then he pointed with his pencil to the end of the van, which meant that was the way he wanted me to go. So I walked to the side door and as I got there he shouted 'Turney!'. There were two more officers waiting at the bottom of the steps. of the coach. They motioned to me to

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indicate which way to go. There was a doorway with a big iron gate which was open and through which I walked into the building. Once inside I was put into another cubicle, but this time a much bigger one. Inside there were three of my travelling companions. I sat down on the bench. They were talking about their offences. Two of them said they were in for burglary and the other for robbery. Then one of them asked me what I was in prison for. It was obvious that I was in esteemed company, and I did not want them to think that I was only there for drink-related offences, so I told them that I too was in for robbery. However, I had to go one better-I told them that I had robbed a rent man of five hundred pounds, thinking this would put me up in their estimation! I was taken out and made to stand in front of a high desk of the type described in Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, like Ebeneezer Scrooge sat at. Seated on a high stool was a prison officer looking over the top of his spectacles. He asked me for my name and I was told to empty my pockets whilst he listed the contents. When this was done he told me to take off all my clothes. As I did so I passed them to a prisoner who folded them and placed them in a box. Once naked I was given a towel by the inmate to cover myself. Then the officer started to ask me questions. 'Have you ever had or are you now suffering from any venereal disease? ' 'No,' I said. 'Are you a practising homosexual?' 'That means that you've not perfected it yet!' said the inmate, quick as a flash. The inmate and the officer started to laugh and I smiled. I was then told to go into the adjoining room, which was the bath area. There were six baths down each side partitioned off with half a door. The toilets were the same. From now on everything I did could be observed by the staff and inmates. After a shallow, lukewarm bath I was taken into the next room where I was given prison clothing and a meal. Then I was taken to my cell. This was the first of the many prison receptions I would go through in the next eighteen years. I made up my bed and got into it. I felt so lonely, so out of touch with the world. I began to cry, until I fell asleep. The following morning all the reception prisoners from the previous day, twelve of us, were taken for a haircut. Other prisoners were doing the cutting. We were herded in like sheep being sheared

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for our 'short back and sides'. Then we were allowed our canteen which means a visit to the prison shop where we could buy some tobacco-a quarter of an ounce of Boar's Head, a black tobacco which made it seem as if you were smoking tar from the road surface-and a pack of prison cigarette papers and a box of matches. They gave me writing paper and stamp for a letter home and also a visiting order that would allow people to come and see me. Pride would not allow me to confess that I could not read or write. That night I did try to write a few words to my mother and the following morning I put the letter in the censor's office. It was returned in a couple of days. The

censor could not make out what I had written and could not read the address. I was allocated a cleaning job which meant I was on my hands and knees scrubbing floors. After a few days I got into the routine of prison life and somehow 1 started to feel that institutional life and myself might just be compatible. Living in an institution I was not responsible for anything. It was all done for me, so prison did not seem too bad after all. John Lennon, when asked why he chose to live in New York, was quoted as saying 'I feel safe there'. That is how 1 came to feel about prisons. They were places of refuge. 1felt secure in them. I elaborated on my fictional robbery to the other prisoners and started to believe my own lies. Even then I was in denial about my use of alcohol if the conversation came around to drinking, which it invariably did in prison. 1would tell people that 1 drank very little. After two weeks 1 was back in court for sentencing. My codefendants were fined-as 1 was-and in addition 1 was placed on probation for a further two years. We left court at lunchtime and went straight to the nearest pub. I was treated like a returning hero. I was proud of my prison haircut and tattoos and took on a pseudo cockney accent. I started to work in the building industry as a labourer where the money was better and the lifestyle suited me, and would move around different building sites in my area. Every pay day I would go out and get drunk. I would pay my mother for my keep and then borrow the money back again for drink. When I got drunk all my anger came to the surface. I would put my fist through telephone box windows and cut my hands. I would smash milk or beer bottles across my own forehead. I just wanted to abuse myself. The rage I felt was being directed inwards. Because of my drinking and the behaviour that went with it my mother asked me to leave home, so I was now out on the streets at eighteen years of age. For the best part of a week I spent the nights in a public lavatory. It was mid-winter and freezing cold. I found that by

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getting drunk the cold did not seem to matter so much and I was able to sleep for some of the night. But after that experience I made a pledge that I would not sleep rough anymore, at least in the winter. I was better off in prison. At least I had a clean, dry and warm bed. I managed to get a couple of nights sleep on the floors of friends before I had to return to my mother's house hungry and without any money. I threw myself on her mercy, begging her to let me have my old room back and with promises that I would get a proper job and pay her back the money I owed her. Only on these conditions was I allowed back into her house. Then I struck lucky. The following day I got a job working in Banstead Hospital where my father had been a patient. I was to start work with the maintenance team as a scaffolder. My mother said that it would be better than working on building sites. I was fine and behaving myself at home-until I got my first wage packet. That evening I went down to the pub the first chance I had. Fortunately I managed to get home first to pay my mother some money before I started drinking or she would not have seen any of the money. A short while after this someone introduced me to amphetamines. A friend in the pub gave me four tablets to take. I stood there waiting for something to happen. A couple of minutes went by and nothing did. I told my companions that I thought drugs were a waste of time. However, after fifteen minutes I had this tickling sensation in my gut and a feeling of great energy. My mind opened up, my teeth started to grind and my jaws clenched together. What was this wonderful thing that I had just taken? Where had it been all my life? I had a feeling of power, elation, confidence and my desire to communicate increased. All the anger that alcohol seemed to bring out in me had gone. The world seemed a better place. I thought that I had discovered new insights and witticisms and that I had found my libido. I had no confidence in myself and amphetamines gave me the selfassurance I needed. They also kept me awake. I could go to parties and clubs and dance and talk all night. I did not have to miss out on anything. My time was not wasted with things like sleep. For about a year I would take the drug on a Friday evening and be awake until the following Sunday morning. I would go with friends to an all night bowling alley and talk to people into the night. On Saturdays I would get more of the drug, the anticipation being exciting in itself. Would the dealers be in? If so, would they have any supplies? I would spend a lot of time racing around south London looking for drugs. On the Saturday afternoon I would go to my mother's place for a change of clothing, lock myself in the bathroom, take the drug, get into

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the bath and wait for the rush. Somehow I never hit the same high as I did that first time. No matter how I tried I could not recapture that first moment. Once the drug was working I would meet up with friends. We would make our way to the Cellar club in Kingston, or go to the Marquee in the West End. Both were open all night. They were the equivalent of the 'rave scene' of the 1990s. They played loud music for us to dance to. I would dance all night, getting into the music and shutting out the rest of the world. Nothing else mattered. Only the music and the drugs. My use of drugs increased until I was taking them on Mondays. Then it became Tuesday. Sometimes, I was only sleeping three nights a week and when I was coming down from the drug I would take other pills to help me to sleep off the effects of coming down, which made me depressed. After about two years I was losing a lot of weight and my gums began to bleed. Some of my teeth were falling out. My hair was like straw. I had violent fits, which luckily I would direct at objects rather than people. I was becoming psychotic, losing touch with reality and had started to hallucinate. I would see people and objects tIlat were not there. I would have imaginary conversations with nonexistent people. There were nights when I would wander the streets trying to find a coffee bar open or a bowling alley, just so that I could be with people. Early one morning, I was walking the deserted streets and as I passed a factory I thought I saw crowds of people on a picket line. They were all chanting 'Out! Out! Out! ' I did the same. My mother noticed a change in me and asked what was the matter. I was open with her and told her that I was using drugs. She told my brothers, who were not sure how to handle the situation. They tried telling me to pull myself together, saying that drugs would kill me. But this was all they could do. I had a couple of friends, ]immy and Ronnie who were drug dealers. They each did it to finance their own drug habit. They would trade in most drugs, so I was able to experiment, but would always go for amphetamines if they were available. If I was not near the drug I loved, I loved the drug I was near. By now the Wimbledon Palais had become a first tier touring venue for up and coming rock bands and groups. The Rolling Stones, The Who and The Beatles all played there. Ronnie and ]immie were dealing drugs to the bands as they passed through, and of course they were invited to the backstage parties. I would fantasise about going to these and meeting the stars. I even found some people who believed me. The more I retreated into my lies the more I believed them.

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Eventually, I was unable to work. I would get money for my drug habit by stealing what I could from offices or by breaking into people's houses-and also by doing a few odd jobs. Drugs were a lot cheaper in the 1960s than they are today. In March 1965 I was arrested for office breaking. The magistrates remanded me in custody for two weeks. That was the first of the many visits I had to Wandsworth prison. It ha4 a reputation as a 'tough' prison and lived up to its name. It is a Victorian building, which was matched by its ideas and the staff ran a tight ship. The conditions were appalling, with slopping out and not the best of food. I think out of all the prisons I have been in, Wandsworth rates the worst. In the Good Pig-Sty Guide its rating would be zero. But I felt safe in there. I was placed in a cell which had an old metal-framed bed in the corner and which was about six inches off the floor. It had a drab green bedcover made out of a rough material which would make sackcloth feel like silk. In the corner was a metal pot which smelt of stale urine and obviously had been used by many people. In the opposite corner was a metal-framed wooden table and chair, with a bucket and a bowl on it, and above the table was a small mirror screwed to the wall. All mod-cons were catered for! I was put to work in the mail-bag shop. We sat in neat rows and were given bags to sew, five stitches to the inch. Some of the more experienced inmates would turn their bags into works of art. The best I could do was make a hash of the se:wing. However, on my subsequent visits to Wandsworth I did gain the necessary experience, even though the task seemed completely mindless. Due largely to staff shortages, we could only work a couple of days each week. The rest of the time we were locked in our cells, for twenty-four hours each day except thirty minutes exercise in the yard outside. We were only allowed to walk in one direction around the yard, in twos, and under no circumstances were we permitted to put our hands in our pockets, even when it was freezing cold. I would walk around fabricating stories about the big-time criminals I had known and the show-business parties I had attended-and try to give the impression that I was wealthy and in prison on a trumped-up conspiracy charge. During the first few days in prison it was like death. I was going through withdrawals, or 'cold turkey'. I would pace up and down my cell for hours on end talking to myself. My world soon became that ten by eight cell on E wing, the exercise yard and the mail-bag shop. The world beyond Wandsworth prison soon had no meaning for me. I did not think much about it except when I tried to write a letter home to

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my mother or when I received a visit from her or my brother Fred. When I did get a visit there was not much communication on my part, and my visitors would soon dry up. Like any visit to an institutionsuch as a hospital or boarding school-for some people it is difficult. I found visits hard work. I expect that my visitors felt the same and it was a relief to everyone when it was time for them to go. I went back to the magistrates' court to be sentenced. I received three months imprisonment and felt a sense of naturalness about the fact that I would be returning to prison. My mother and Fred visited me in the cells below the court and I played the role of someone outraged and frightened at the thought of being incarcerated. With pledges to my mother.and brother that on my release I would stop using drugs, get a job and settle down, I was taken off to Pentonville prison and soon settled into the culture of 'The Ville '. Time went quickly. On my release at the beginning of the summer of 1966 I returned to live with my mother. She was not happy about it, but when I told her I had nowhere to go she felt obliged to take me in. I was true to my word. I did stop taking drugs, well almost. I had started to smoke cannabis whilst in prison, but now I switched to alcohol. I felt the anger getting more intense and I started to selfmutilate again. One evening, after a drinking session, I found a milk bottle, smashed it over my head and pushed the jagged end into my face, the blood was pumping out of the wounds. I staggered down the road and someone came to my aid. They asked what had happened? I told them that I had been attacked by a gang of youths and feeling sorry for me they helped me to a nearby hospital where I was stitched up and sent home. The following morning I told my mother and brother Tom who visited me that I had been involved in a car accident which they believed. Tom feeling sorry for me took me out for a drink. A short time after my release I managed to get a job as a kitchen porter at Butlin 's holiday camp in Filey-not far from Scarborough-in North Yorkshire. I soon settled into the camp routine. It was, after all, another institution, where most of the thinking was done for me. Everything was found, I had wages to spend and no responsibility for myself. A lot of the staff were just like me, drifting, heavy drinkers. It was easy to form relationships with some of them because they were just like prison friendships-short lived. Short term acquaintances are easy to maintain. I could lie as much as I liked and there was little chance that my subterfuge would be discovered. I got drunk at every opportunity. My pseudo-cockney accent and stories of Wandsworth prison all went to draw an image of me as a hard man from London's East End. If the truth be known I have never really been near the East

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End-but I was away from people who knew me and I could fantasise and lie as much as I liked. Summer passed and I was back at my mother's house by the end of September. I was unhappy, missing the institutional way of life. I did not want to get a job. I would finance my drinking by stealing lead from roofs, or anything I picked up that I could sell. I told my mother that I was working and I would get money from her on the promise that I would pay her back at the end of the week-when I received my wages. She said if I did not pay her back I would be thrown out of the house, and my brothers would make sure I stayed out. When the end of the week arrived I did not have any money. Remembering the time I slept in a public lavatory and making a vow never to do so again, I managed to find some people in the pub who stood me a few drinks. At closing time I had nowhere to go. I made my way to a local builders where I had once worked and broke in. Finding nothing to steal I phoned the local police station and told them that there was an intruder! I sat back and waited for the police to arrive. When they came I thought that to maintain my street cred it would not look good if I was arrested in the office so I made to escape by jumping over the gates and running across some open ground. I made sure I was seen by the police. I started to run, looking over my shoulder to ensure I was being followed. I was-by a lone policeman who, unfortunately, was a lot older than me and not as fit. I was pulling away from him so I started to slow down. He was still not closing in on me, so I almost slowed down to walking pace. As he got nearer he reached out and touched me on the back and with that I fell flat on my face with my arms behind me. He fell on top of me, so much out of breath that he could not talk or blow his whistle. I felt like snatching it out of his hands and blowing it for him. Back at the police station the arresting officer was bragging about how he could show some of the younger officers a thing or two about chasing villains. I was put in front of the magistrates charged with office breaking

and going equipped. I was remanded to Brixton prison and later sentenced to six months imprisonment. It was then back to The Ville. That was my lifestyle for the next few years. Going to the holiday camps in the summer and in the winter going back to the mail-bags at Wandsworth or Pentonville. I continued to tell lies to my fellow inmates. The most frequent one was that I once met Jack 'The Hat' McVicar. I was drinking in a club and taking amphetamines and someone introduced us. I could not remember much about the encounter and it was not until the infamous Kray twins were on trial

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for his murder that I recalled him. I would tell other inmates that I knew the Krays. I would talk out of the corner of my mouth and refer to them as Reggie and Ronnie. Most people in prison would give the impression that they knew the 'Brothers Grimm'. During the times I was in prison I managed to teach myself to read and write a little. At that time, short term prisoners like myself were not allowed radios in their cells. I could only spend so much of the day pacing up and down the stone floor talking to myself, so I started to look at books. I knew some of the words and I was able to teach myself to read and write a little. I could understand enough to get a bit of the plot. The more I tried the better I got, but it was hard work and I would lose interest or get tired. I would also get very frustrated, but nonetheless I was doing it. It took me nearly two weeks to read a one hundred and twenty page book. I did not understand much of it. It was about a gang of bank robbers, but no one could take away from me the fact that I had read a book! On New Years Eve 1970 I found myself in front of a judge at the South West London Quarter Sessions. I had just been acquitted of burglary, but found guilty of fighting with the police for which I received another six months sentence. I had been drinking in a pub when the cab office nearby was broken into. I knew the woman who worked at the office and I told her that I had done it. She went to the police and they came to the pub for me. I was drinking with a crowd of friends when one of the officers tried to arrest me. I thought I would get a hard man image if I hit him in front of my friends, so I did. All that my friends did was to laugh at me-and once at the police station I got a beating. I cannot remember much else about the offence because by now I was having alcohol-induced black-outs and often had no recollection of what I was doing-sometimes for two or three days at a time. I would come round in a police cell and bang on the door to find out what had happened. When I look back I could have murdered or raped someone, or set fire to a building. Thankfully it was never that serious.

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I was released in April 1971 at the age of twenty-seven. I noticed that a lot of my peers were in long-term relationships, or they were married and some of them had families. That is what I needed, a wife to look after me and to sort me out. Within seven months I found a partner and married her.

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Chapter 6 My relationships with members of the opposite sex were limited. I had had associations with women, but they had always been short lived. I was preoccupied with alcohol and drugs. I was at a reunion for the fiftieth birthday of one of myoId friends and someone said that they remembered me as always having a different girlfriend each time they saw me. That was true. However, it was not because I was the local Romeo. It was because I was unable to maintain any sort of relationship. I asked women out on a date, and would always take them for a drink. Depending on how much I fancied my companion I would decide if I took them into the public bar or the saloon bar!

/

/

I would get drunk and be all over them like a rash, which turned most women off. Very few wanted a return match. That is why people might have thought of me as some kind of romantic, but with my track record how was I to get married? I had to find someone who would be impressed with my lifestyle. Someone who I could dominate. I had to take a hostage! Within a few days I found one. Pam was nineteen years old but going on ten emotionally. I knew her before I went to prison when s11e was in a relationship with one of my friends. It was not the best of starts-I ran into her in my local pub, The Rose, and I asked how she and Mac (my friend's name) were getting on. She told me that they had just ended their relationship. This was my green light and we stayed in The Rose drinking all evening. I talked about my life of crime, which seemed to fascinate her and we ended up getting drunk together.

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After that we saw each other every day. I even got myself a job. Myoid friend Micky Bradford was now a roofing contractor and he had just won a contract with Lambeth Council. The job was comparatively well paid. We started early and finished early, which suited me. It meant I could go for a lunchtime drink. Within a couple of weeks Pam and I were declaring our undying love for each other. Like me she came from a dysfunctional family and when she was a child her mother committed suicide. She had been about the same age as I was when my father died. Hers was also a large family and there was a lot of denial about her mother's death. She had two sisters and three brothers of whom she was the youngest. Her relatives tried to protect her from the truth in the same way mine did with me. When we met she still believed that her mother had accidentally gassed herself. Pam 's father had remarried and she did not get on with her stepmother who had a son and daughter of her own. We were like orphans in a storm-a recipe for disaster. However, my mother was pleased that I had a girlfriend. I think in some way I was encouraged by her hope that I would get married, which in turn would get me out of her hair. It was history repeating itself, just like my parents' union. I had virtually stopped taking drugs and my drinking was down to a more manageable level. I still drank most days but was only getting seriously drunk when I went on a boys' night out on a Friday. Sometimes I would get involved in a pub brawl when I always came off worst. Pam was mesmerised by my role as the loveable villain. I was confusing love with lust. Within a few weeks of the affair starting we were talking about marriage. We were married in November 1971 at Sutton Registry Office. There were only a few family members from either side present, and a couple of friends. The ceremony was held at 11.30 a.m. on a Monday morning. At 10.30 a.m. I was in The Rose having a few drinks and getting over my stag night the previous evening, when I was so drunk that I had to be put to bed. When I woke up the following morning I had wet the bed. I had been incontinent for years and it was not unusual for me to wake up with the bed in such a state. I just lost control of my bladder, mostly when I was asleep. That day I got up, had a couple of drinks and went off to the pub with my brother Fred who was my best man. The time was now 11.20 a.m. and I still had a drink to finish. I told the barman to look after it and that I would be back in half an hour and walked out with Fred. not telling anyone that I was about to be married. When we arrived at the Registry Office Pam was already

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there with her father. I must have looked like death. I was already half drunk. I could not concentrate on what was going on, only on that drink back at the pub. When the registrar said you may kiss the bride I must have smelled like an ashtray filled with stale beer. It did not seem to bother Pam. She was in love with the idea of being married. As for me, I had found somebody to look after me. We went back to the pub, this time in the saloon where the barman handed me back my drink. We all sat drinking until closing time. I was so drunk by then that I was put in the back of Fred's window cleaning van and taken to his house-where we waited until opening time and

started all over again. We spent our wedding night at my mother's. The following morning Pam and I had to pack all our possessions because we were moving to Crawley to her sister June's home. June and her husband Ted told us that it would be much easier to get a council house in Crawley than in our part of the world. It never occurred to us that we should sort out our living accommodation before we were married. We thought that the world owed us a living and that a house would materialise out of thin air. Before we could set out on our new life I had to have the hair of the dog that bit me and so, leaving my new wife, I went to the pub. Of the first twenty-four hours of my married life I spent eighteen of them drinking. That was more or less how it continued throughout the marriage. My in-laws were wonderful people and made us very welcome. They had a four-year-old daughter Karen. Ted was a hard-working man who would spend sixteen hours a day at his job as security guard at Gatwick Airport. I think June welcomed Pam 's company in the long hours that Ted was away. Within a couple of days, I found a job on a building site. Crawley was still being developed so there was plenty of work in the building industry. Pam got a job in the Mother's Pride bread factory-but within a couple of weeks it was confirmed that she was pregnant. She left her job on the spot. She wanted to be at home with June so that she could enjoy her pregnancy. Being married and having a baby were her sole ambitions and it did not seem to matter to her that her husband, the father of her child, was an alcoholic. When I was told the news my sole contribution was to go out and get drunk with Ted. I could not settle in Crawley. I was like a fish out of water away from all my support mechanisms-such as The Rose-and my drinking friends. Ted was not much of a drinker. When I did get him down to the pub he would only have a couple of drinks. Christmas

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was soon on us so at least I could get drunk for a few days without sticking out like a sore thumb. By the time 1972 arrived I was feeling completely cut off from all that I valued and craved. Pam and her sister were absorbed in the pregnancy and Ted was working all the hours he could. The thought of becoming a father did give me some hope. I have always very much loved children. However, I had no idea what I should be doing as an expectant father. Instead of asking someone, I did what I always did in times of trouble. I turned to the bottle. I would get a train at weekends back to Carshalton to visit my mother and The Rose. On one such visit I ran into Micky Bradford who still had the Lambeth contract and he offered me myoid job back. I jumped at it. I went to see my mother and asked if she could put me up during the week while I worked for Micky, and I would return to Crawley at weekends. I told her a pack of lies about losing my job and that I could not get any work in the Crawley area. She said that she would have to discuss it with Fred, and he talked her into agreeing with the idea. He thought the fact that I was married to Pam and soon to be a family man meant that I was a reformed character-and to be fair I was trying to change my lifestyle. But all this time I never took alcohol or drugs out of the equation and there was little chance that I could sustain any change in my behaviour over a period of time. On my return to Crawley after a very productive day's work I had to sell the idea to Pam and the in-laws. The way I pitched it to them was this: I told them that by living at my mother's during the week and with them at the weekends we could not only put Crawley council under pressure to re-house us but also Sutton council as well. We would claim that because we had no accommodation we were living apart and our marriage was in trouble. All of them swallowed my lies, hook, line and sinker. All I had to do was to make sure that no one got together and compared notes. I settled into the routine quickly, finishing work on a Friday afternoon and catching the train to Crawley and then back on a Sunday afternoon. The arrangement went well for a couple of weeks until I noticed that most of my friends did their drinking at the weekend. They would start to party on Friday evening when I was on a train to Crawley playing the role of the dutiful husband. I soon started to delay my return to Crawley until Saturday morning, telling Pam that Micky was now making me work late on a Friday. Ted and June did not have a telephone at the time, nor did my mother, so it was easy to keep up the pre.tence. The truth was that I was fhlishing work at lunchtime on Friday, drinking until closing time then going on drinking in the afternoon and then into the pub for the rest of the

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evening. Then I might go on to a night club and finally back to a friend's place for some sleep before getting the train to Crawley in the morning. My mother thought I had gone to Pam's the previous day. I was living the life of a married bachelor. There were a couple of one night stands. I was not really a promiscuous person, but some of my married friends were having affairs and I thought it was expected of me. I would do anything to be accepted by my peers. I always felt guilty in the morning. Something inside told me that what I was doing was wrong. By now Pauline, Pam's other sister, had a baby daughter and she

had just married Chad, the baby's father. Chad was a man after my own heart who loved drinking almost as much as I did. They had moved in with my father:"in-law and were also trying to get council accommodation. Somehow I had to move Pam back to Carshalton. There was a chance, if I was not careful, that Crawley council might offer us accommodation-in fact we had to get back to Carshalton before the baby was born because it was highly likely we would be given a council house when the child arrived. I had convinced my mother that my drinking was under control and she thought Pam had made a new man of me. One evening I told her that I would like to live closer to my family. That way she would be close to her grandchild. I asked her if Pam and myself could move in with her. I enlisted the help of my brother Fred to convince her that it would be a good thing to move in with her. She agreed and all that was left for me to do was to sell the idea to Pam. This was easier than I thought as she was missing her father. I convinced her that she would see more of me and she jumped at the suggestion. When we moved in with my mother Pam was six· months pregnant, and now I had two women to look after me. There is a saying that 'Two women in one kitchen, does not work' and it was true in our case. Pam and my mother were soon having arguments, mostly orchestrated by me so that I could go down to the pub and tell people that I could not stand being in the house. That was all the justification I needed. On 30 June 1972 our son David was born. I was present at the birth. It was the most amazing thing I had ever witnessed. They gave him to Pam for a cuddle, then it was my turn to hold him. I was close to tears. He was the most handsome child I had ever seen. Most fathers will wet the baby's head by having a drink. I went on a bender for a week. Pam and the baby were in hospital, so I was left to my own devices. Even some of the nursing staff made remarks that maybe I had gone over the top celebrating David's arrival. Of course

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Pam would defend me by saying 'He works hard, so he drinks hard'. Like me she was in denial about my drinking, she would say to people that I could really hold my drink, which is like saying someone who has TB can cough really well! With Pam and the baby, home life did take on a new meaning for me. For a short while I liked the idea of changing nappies and bottle feeding. Being a father had given a new meaning t6 my life, far more than being.a husband had ever done. I would only go out for a drink on a Friday evening and at Sunday lunchtime, and I had Pam's blessing to do so. What more did she want? She was married and had a baby. All that was missing was a home of her own. It was coming up to the Christmas of that year and things started to get on top of me. Once again my drinking was increasing from two sessions a week to four or five and I had returned to using drugs. I had also started to steal again. Pam told me she had seen a winter coat she liked in a shop window near to my local. One evening after a long drinking session I smashed the window and got the coat for her. When I arrived home with it she treated me like a hero. It was her size and she 'overlooked' the fact that it was stolen. The responsibility of family life seemed daunting to me. I had been married for over a year and it had not worked out as I thought it would. In taking away the fear of loneliness it had only isolated me further. I had built up an image in Pam's and other people's eyes of some sort of tough guy. Inwardly I was just a frightened little boy who could not cope in a man's body and an adult world. But there was no way that I could express my fears and feelings and the only things that seemed to suppress the anxieties were alcohol and drugs-but when I sobered up the dread and the fears were back, only this time magnified. I sought solace with other women, but again all I got was more guilt which in turn led to depression. There seemed to be no way out. All that was left was myoid friend alcohol. In March 1973 we were offered accommodation by Sutton council. It was a brand new maisonette in Belmont, not far from Banstead Hospital. Pam and my mother were over the moon. I went along with the pretence that I was pleased to have a home of my own. Inside the small boy was crying out for help. At that moment I wished they could have locked me up in Wandsworth prison and thrown away the key. We had been moved in for about three months when Micky Bradford started blowing hot and cold with the work. It happens with contractors. Sometimes they have to lay their labour force for a while. Up until now he had always had plenty of work. Now he was laying us off three or four days a week and without any retainer.

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With more time on my hands I just drank more. In the pub I made big decisions like whether the country should cut back on foreign aid, or Britain should join the common market or the Americans withdraw from Vietnam-and Pam would make the more mundane ones like whether to pay the rent and buy food. I was a first-rate bar room politician. I knew exactly how to put the world to rights. But I did not have a clue how to look after my family. By now I had a regular drinking partner Terry who was a burglar. I was complaining about lack of work and my reduced income and he invited me to 'work' with him. I did not need a lot of encouragement and snapped up his offer, chiefly to get instant funds for my drinking. After a lunchtime session we stole a car and broke into a house and with the proceeds we had enough drinking money for the next couple of days. That was the start of a 'working relationship' with Terry that would last on and off for the next three years. Pam was very much in a world of her own. She would try to keep a nice home but most of the money I was getting was going on drink and drugs. I was driven by my addiction. I did not respect other people's property in any way-it was simply there to be had to feed my craving. I got so that if there was any legitimate work from Micky I was unable to do it. On a typical day I would wake up about 9.30 a.m. and smoke some cannabis before getting out of bed. Then I would get into the bath, have a couple of large scotches, get out of the bath and drink anything that was in the house. Often there was not much. I would give Pam any money I had. I would then make my way to the pub to meet Terry. On the way I would do some shoplifting, stealing the most expensive after-shave and men's clothes, and sell them. quickly in the pub so that I could get a round of drinks. Then at closing time we would steal a car and do some housebreaking-returning to the pub for the evening session. There were days when I never went out. I would just sit around the house drinking on my own. I would send Pam out to get more supplies of alcohol. She would work around what I was doing, just carrying on the best way she could, taking David out to visit people. We very soon got into our roles. I played the tyrant and she played my victim-although we were both victims of life. If there is one thing that I cannot tolerate it is someone who beats up women. I think of them as spineless people who need to be locked up. But by this time I had started to become violent towards Pam. Most of the time I was in blackout and could not remember much of what I had done. The shame still lingers with me today. I deeply regret my actions. No woman should be treated in that fashion. Yet, even

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stooping that low never made me think that I should stop drinking. In fact the more I did it the more I drank, justifying my actions by blaming her for picking on me when I was drunk-and despite my violent rages and misplaced anger Pam wanted the marriage to continue. She would make excuses for my actions. At the beginning of 1974 I was arrested whilst attempting to steal a car. I felt relief. I thought I would be locked up which meant I could get off the merry-go-round of drinking and drug taking. It was not to be. A probation officer called Hilary Coleman wrote social inquiry reports (as they were then called) on me which recommended that I be placed on probation in the light of the fact that I was now married and had a family. The court agreed and I was given a two year probation order. That was the start of a relationship with Hilary that continues to this day. For a short while I again went to work with Micky Bradford and my drinking seemed to be under control. I would report to Hilary once a fortnight in her office for about half an hour. Each time we talked about excessive use of alcohol and I would go into denial about my drinking, claiming that I was working and looking after my family, and that I only went for a drink with the boys at weekends-because I had been working so hard. It was my reward and Pam did not mind me going out. Hilary would ask me questions like 'Have you ever stolen money to buy drink?' I thought that someone who had done that must have a drink problem, and in no way did I. I might have stolen money to pay the rent to replace what I spent on drink but not otherwise. Hilary would point out that my crimes were drink-related. If not directly involved, substance misuse was also an issue around my offending. She never pulled punches. She saw the situation for what it was. I was a damaged individual incapable of functioning without some kind of support. She felt it was not wise to look at my childhood in too much detail, that, if at all, this ought to be done in a hospital setting and that I could become suicidal. Her only hope was to try and work on my

alcohol and drug problems. Not only would she have to try and break down my denial but also try and get me to change my regular haunts and associations. I will always be grateful for her professionalism and dedication as well as her friendship. Life seemed to go on an even keel for about the first six months of the probation order. I was working and I was not drinking over much. Our son, David, was just over a year old and he was great fun to be with. My relationship with Pam seemed to picking up. Then the work started to dry up. Instead of looking for other work I began to rekindle

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my friendship with Terry. Within days we were up to our old tricks again. About the middle of 1975, mixing cocktails of amphetamines-or any other drug that was to hand-and alcohol, I would go into blackout and be missing for days on end. Pam did not have a clue where I had disappeared to. There was a squat near to where we lived and I would spends days there-and when it got too much for me I would go home and promise Pam that I would get myself a job and things would be all right. She always believed me, cooked a meal, ran a bath and let me sleep it off. I had good intentions, but just as soon as I had that first drink I was off on a binge. Nothing changed. In October we discovered that Pam was pregnant again and I was also arrested for carrying a replica gun I was planning to use in a robbery. Before I could actually use it I got drunk and am told I pulled it on a policeman. I have no recollection of the incident, but apparently armed police raided my home and took me away in the middle of the night. The first thing I recall is coming round in the morning in a cell with a black eye and sore ribs. Hilary, my probation officer, wrote yet another report, at which I took umbrage as she said that in her opinion I had a drink problem. However, it must have been a skilful one because the court took a lenient view and only sent me to prison for a month. I was taken back to The Ville and when I arrived there I was in terrible shape, shaking and feeling unwell. I was withdrawing from drugs although I did not realise it at the time because feeling as if I had the 'flu and craving for another drink were normal sensations to me. I would kid myself that I was just hung-over. In prison it took three or four days and then I felt better. Pentonville was known then as a dossers' prison. Only taking prisoners who were serving less than a year at that time, a lot of the inmates were vagrants and sleeping on the streets. I would look down on these people with contempt, deceiving myself that I was nothing like my fellow prisoners. Pam came to visit me after ten days. By then all the alcohol and drugs were out of my system (apart from the cannabis I was smoking in there). It was the first time in our four year relationship that she had seen me like this. It was like the old joke: 'My wife did not know that I drank until I went home sober one day'. I must have looked much brighter and fitter and I was talking in a positive way about our future together. She believed me and I had even convinced myself that what I was saying was true.

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On my release in the middle of November, I made my own way home. I was only back for an hour before I was in The Rose with Terry and

my other drinking friends. Three hours later I was stealing a car with Terry and then we went to do some housebreaking. All my promises had come to nought just as soon as I had that first drink. During the four weeks I was in prison my head had started to clear. No sooner did I start to drink than insanity returned-but this time more intensely than before. I think I was permanently drunk until the following year. I had stolen a van and was driving about in it most of the time. I did not even bother to conceal the fact by changing the number plates, or its colour. I would go out in it burgling with Terry, then the next day I would take Pam and David shopping in it. By now I was past caring about what would happen to me. It ended with a high speed car chase on Boxing Day evening. I managed to avoid capture by driving the van the wrong way down a one-way street and it is a miracle that I never killed anyone. I had an appointment with two other people who I had been drinking with all that day. We left the van at the back of the The Rose, walked into the pub and continued drinking. 1976 started with me making a fool of myself at my brother Fred's New Year party. I started a fight which left me needing to be taken to hospital with a head wound. The next day Pam gave a blow-by-blow account of what I did. I took to my bed and I did not get up for over a week. I just wished I was dead. The embarrassment was too much and I did not want to face the world. It was only a visit from Terry that coaxed me out of my bedroom. But even my friendship with him was beginning to go sour. My mood swings and constant drinking were proving too much and I was becoming a liability to the criminal fraternity even. People just did not want me around, except in small doses and my relationship with Pam was fading. In the end she said 'The only thing we had in common was that we got married on the same day'. On 19 June 1975 our second son Paul was born. Again, I was present at the birth and it had the same emotional impact on me as did David's. I cried with joy. He was also a very handsome child. Again I went over the top celebrating, but this time the birth did not slow me down. At the end of July that year I was arrested again, this time for a bungled attempt to break into a tobacconist's shop. I was very drunk. I tried to make my escape in a stolen car and there was another chase. This time I was not so lucky and rolled the car over onto its roof. Once again it is a wonder that no one was killed and that I only had cuts and

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bruises. I was released on bail and after a few weeks the magistrates committed me for trial at Kingston Crown Court. Things were not looking good. Even Hilary was unable to save me from a longish prison sentence this time. Anyway, I was really: hoping that I would be remanded in ~ustody awaiting my trial, so that I would have to face up to my responsibilities. However, my solicitor, no doubt aided and abetted by Hilary, managed to convince the magistrates to give me bail. My drinking continued to get worse and my mental health was going into a decline. I was hearing voices in my head and was

convinced I was going insane. Perhaps my neighbours had been right when I was a child in implying I had inherited my father's disposition. I did not want to go to the doctor's. I was sure they would lock me up in a mental hospital. By the October, Pam had discovered that I was having an affair with one of her friends. She could not go into denial about it this time as she had done on other occasions. All the times I had been away from home, mostly I was too drunk to make my way back. But there were times I did spend the night with other women. When I did it I felt guilty which in turn would cause me to drink more. This time there was no doubt in Pam's mind. She asked the pair of us if we were having an affair and we both admitted it. So I moved out and stayed with my mother and later with friends. By that time The Rose had been refurbished and a night club called Napoleon's built onto the back. An old friend with whom I worked in the roofing business had become the manager. I used to get on well with him and his wife. I was in my seventh heaven. I started to spend all day drinking in The Rose and then I would continue in Napoleon's until the early hours. I might phone Pam once in a while to see how she and the children were-and she would let me come home for a few days. Then I would be off again on another drinking and drugs spree. One Friday evening, someone gave me a large quantity of amphetamine tablets in exchange for some stolen property. There were about two hundred. I planned to sell the drug, but I started drinking. With each drink I .took two or three of the tablets. The next thing I remember I was standing at the same bar and it was Sunday lunchtime. I thought I had been in blackout that weekend, then I discovered that ten days had passed and I had no recollection of them. I was told that I spent most of the time in the pub and that the manager had let me sleep there at nights. I had visited Pam, but I was in such a state that she would not let me in the house. Apparently I tried to kick

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the front door in. I think that was the turning point in our marriage. She threatened to call the police. I in turn threatened to kill her which she took seriously. In that condition I was capable of anything. I went to my mother's house to convalesce and she and my brother could see that I was seriously ill, and if she turned me out on the streets I might take my own life. To be honest I think I might have done so if my mother had turned her back on me as well as everyone else. After a few days in bed I was feeling much better. I tried to patch things up with Pam and after a lot of coaxing she agreed that I could visit the children. She was surprised when I turned up sober with sweets for them and flowers for her. I managed to sweet talk my way into her good books to the point where I was allowed to spend the odd night at home with her and them. Time was running out and it was getting near my trial date. I started to drink again. In November 1976 I had a one day trial at Kingston Crown Court. I do not remember much about it. I was high on drugs. At lunchtime, a friend, Eddie, who came to give me support, took me to the nearest pub. I took more drugs and drunk as much alcohol as I could in an hour and a half. By the time I returned to court I did not know where I was-or care much about what was going to happen to me either. The jury were only out for half an hour and returned a verdict of guilty on each count. Again, Hilary said in her report that I had alcohol and drug problems, and that my marriage was on the rocks. I think I got off lightly with two years in prison.

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Chapter 7 On the way to Wandsworth prison in the dreaded meat wagon I found a few tablets of amphetamine that the police must have overlooked when they searched me after I was sentenced. They were just what I needed as I had started to go into withdrawal. I managed to swallow them without a drink of water to wash them down. By the time we arrived I was getting a rush. I was garrulous and viewed with suspicion because I was behaving like a holiday-maker waiting to fly off on a package holiday to the Mediterranean. My

behaviour was not that of a man starting a two year sentence. The fact is that I was pleased to be there. At least responsibility for my life would be taken over for the next couple of years. After the routine of reception, a bath and changing into prison clothes I was offered a meal-which I could not eat because the drugs had suppressed my appetite. I had not eaten very much in the last few weeks and I was looking frail, which only reinforced the thoughts people had about there being something wrong with me. I was placed in a 'single' cell, number twenty-four on 'the threes' (the third landing) on G wing. I got into bed but I could not sleep. I just lay there staring at the shadows of the bars from the window which were cast on the cell door by the security lights in the yard outside. As the effects of the drugs wore off, reality started to dawn on me. My marriage was over. I was in prison and there was a question mark about whether life was worth going on with. The anger that had been with me since childhood swirled around in my head and I started to cry uncontrollably. Alone with my thoughts, that night felt like an eternity. When morning did arrive the familiar sounds of the prison coming to life made me feel much better. Physically I was a mess. I had the sweats and the shakes. It was like having a bad bout of the 'flu as well as not having a night's sleep. I knew the routine so well I could have carried it out in my sleep and the place had not changed one bit from the first time I was there. The discipline was just as tough. It took two or three days for the alcohol and drugs to leave my system. After that I tried as best as I could to write to Pam (pride would not let me ask for help in writing letters) hoping that she would forgive me and we could save our marriage, but to no avail. She wrote back telling me that she wanted a divorce, which devastated me. When there were enough staff I was put to work in the mail-bag shop where I started to make friends. However, I could only work two or three days a week because of staff shortages. The rest of the time I

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was locked in my cell all day and would pace up and down talking to myself for hours on end. We were let out for an hour of exercise each day when we walked round the yard. I would retreat into a WaIter Mitty existence telling lies about the life I was leading outside as a big time villain and stories of how I was paying off corrupt policemen. I became someone in prison-and, inside my head, I could choose to be anybody I wished. It was on the outside that I could not ·cope. Out there I was just another failure. Within three weeks Fred visited me and brought me a radio which I would listen to in between marching up and down the cell. I loved the plays on Radio 4. To me this was like reading books. By the time Christmas came I was feeling really sorry for myself. Each day I would pace up and down with tears in my eyes, full of selfpity. Pam had sent me a Christmas card from the children with a note saying that she hoped I was well, but there was no hope of a reconciliation between us. It was not from want of trying on my part. I had used all sorts of emotional pressures to get her to change her mind about the divorce and I did not want the marriage to end. I tried to get Hilary to talk to her-and also Fred. However, unbeknown to me she had formed another relationship and her new partner had moved in with her and the children. She was like me, so insecure that she hated living on her own for any length of time. She eventually married her new partner, after living with him for about three years. The next year, 1977, started with me receiving the divorce papers. Pam was suing me for adultery. I think I hit an all-time low emotionally and a black cloud hung over me-an unshakeable weight. Who would look after me now that Pam was not there? It was only the humour of fellow inmates that kept me going at times. There is something funny and reassuring about the institutional mentality. The prisoner in the cell next to mine, whose name was Ron, was serving a three year sentence for theft and was one of the wittiest people I have had the good fortune to meet. He had this ability to make fun of anything, the staff being his favourite topic. I would tell him about my domestic problems and he would joke with me to cheer me up. I would look forward to the exercise hour so that I could walk round the yard with Ron, and on the days we worked in the mail-bag shop we would sit next to each other. Some evenings he would have conversations with me by calling out of his cell window. We would be told to be quiet by the dog-handlers who were patrolliIlg ~he perimeter fence. He always had a witty reply. I was grateful to him and other friends for helping me through one of the most depressing periods of my life and I appreciated the camaraderie of prison life. G wing

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became my world. Life outside had no meaning for me. I had a small supply of cannabis which was provided by Ron and other prisoners, and which helped me to put Pam and the children to the back of my mind. The only time I really thought of life outside Wandsworth was when I received a visit or letters from a member of the family. I even managed to persuade Pam to visit me. I tried to convince her not to go through with the divorce until I was released telling her that if she went ahead it would reduce my chances of getting parole. I was hoping that if she waited until I was out we might be able to patch things up-my real motive. She agreed to wait before doing anything. However, I received a letter from her a few 'days later telling me that she had changed her mind and was still going ahead. The break-up of the marriage eventually played a large part in coming to terms with my drinking. By now I had started to attend elementary English lessons on a Monday evening. The teacher suggested-after looking at some of my writing-that there was a possibility I was dyslexic. I was not too sure what dyslexia was and pride would not allow me to ask. At that time I truly believed I was stupid-and assumed that the word 'dyslexia' was just another term for this. Anyway, by now I knew that I would soon be transferred to another prison. I told the tutor of my pending move and he told me that I should ask for an assessment at the new prison-which, as usual, I failed to do. By the end of March I had been transferred to Coldingley prison near Woking in Surrey. It was a modem prison which opened in 1969 and at the time was seen as radical. It was an industrial prison which meatlt that prisoners were put to work in one of two industries. One was a factory which made road signs, the other was a laundry for all the hospitals within a fifty mile radius. Prisoners were paid £3.50 a week for a thirty-five hour week. The most I could earn sewing mailbags was seventy-five pence a week. Unlike at Wandsworth we were paid in cash which could be spent in the prison shop. It was like a prison within a prison. We had our own keys to our cells. However, at night the doors were locked by computer. Each cell had an intercom which meant that if I wanted to go to the toilet during the night we could ask the night staff to open the door from a central control room. Our trip to the toilet was then monitored by closedcircuit television cameras. We were unlocked at seven o'clock in the morning and did not return until nine in the evening. On each wing there were two colour television sets and a music room which we were free to use in our

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spare time. Each wing had its own dining hall. It was a novelty to eat with another human being-it was well over six months since I had done this. The staff at Coldingley were so unlike the warders at Wandsworth. I felt that they really wanted to help. They were on first name terms with us, but because I was institutionalised I would still refer to them as 'guv' as I had done in all the other prisons I had been in. I found it difficult to change my attitude (even now when I visit prisons I find it difficult to address members of staff). It was a prison which only took prisoners serving sentences of two years or more. I was put to work in the laundry and worked alongside Vince who was fourteen years into a life sentence for murder. I got on very well with him. Also there was Charlie Wilson who was doing thirty years for his part in the Great Train Robbery. Charlie was one of two members of that gang who escaped from prison, the other being Ronnie Biggs who broke out of Wandsworth and is still living in Brazil. Charlie escaped from Winson Green prison in Birmingham. He was recaptured in Canada three years later. He was shot and killed in Spain in 1992 and there was speculation that his murder was linked to drug dealing. Also working in the laundry was Jack (John) Witney. He, John Duddy and Harry Roberts were in a stolen car on their way to rob a rent collector when the car was stopped by police in Shepherd's Bush. when they shot and killed three policemen. All three were convicted of the murders and sentenced to life, with a recommendation that they serve a minimum of thirty years. There was also a comedian called Jimmy. I think they based the character of 'Del Boy' from the television series Only Fools and Horses on him. He was serving five years for theft. Jimmy, Vince and myself worked packing the finished laundry and dispatching it back to the hospitals. The three of us spent most of our days discussing the different institutions we had been in. Vince had been in prison since 1963, and before getting his life sentence he had spent most of his adult life in prisons. Jimmy was the same. He had been in and out of institutions all his life-there was a meeting of minds between the three of us and we understood what each other was talking about. Jimmy's/ wife had divorced him during a previous sentence and had remarried. Vince had found out that his girlfriend had been unfaithful, or at least he suspected her of having an affair, and he killed her. We were a trio of misogynists. Each time I received bad news from home the pair of them would feed my resentment, telling me that all women were unfaithful and treacherous beings.

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Fred and Carol would bring my sons to visit me. On one such visit David told me all about a man called Mick who was now living in their house. I looked over to Fred and his wife who were both looking at the floor and asked if it was true. I asked how long it had been going on and I was told that they were not sure. I felt sickened-not just due to the fact that Pam had a new partner-but it now made a lot of sense that she had been unwilling to try and patch up our marriage. That evening, with help from Jimmy, I wrote Pam a nasty letter. I told her just what I thought of her. She wrote back apologising that I had heard about her new love through one of our children. She claimed that she was only trying to protect my feelings because I was in a vulnerable position. The anger I had within me which had been there since my childhood again came to the surface. After being locked up in the evening I would pace up and down in my cell for hours on end. My anger would be fuelled by Jimmy and Vince's words: They would say 'The bastards need hurting badly' and alone in my cell I would plot what I was going to do to them when I got out. I would then write to Pam with veiled threats of what I would do on my release. Hilary, my probation officer, was in regular contact through letters and the occasional visit. In the event of my being paroled she would be my supervising officer. She asked me what feelings I had about the divorce and the fact that Pam was in a new relationship. I would say that I felt it was the best thing for all concerned, and when I was released I would start a new life for myself but see the children regularly. Inwardly I was seething with resentment and hatred towards Pam and Mick. At that moment in time I could have committed murder! I was due for parole at the beginning of December 1977 but was released in the January. Hilary had made a recommendation to the Parole Board that I should be kept in prison over the Christmas period because she felt that I would be unable to handle the festive season due to the break-up of my marriage. The Board agreed with her. I was convinced that Pam had a lot to do with the delay. I thought that she had been complaining about my attitude towards her. Jimmy and Vince were convinced that this was what had happened and it just added to my resentment so that once again my anger was vented towards an innocent female. Early in December I was granted four days home leave in preparation for release. Fred picked me up. I was to stay at his home for the four days. My mother by now had moved to a one-bedroom flat just around the corner from Fred's house. The plan was that he could

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keep an eye on her. Within hours of being out I was in The Rose having a drink with Terry and the rest of my friends. I had an appointment in the afternoon with Hilary for which I arrived late and drunk, which did not go down well. She said that I would be 'on licence' for the first six weeks after my release and did I think I could handle this. I told her it would be no problem. I did not go anywhere near Pam and the children on that home leave and Hilary asked why. I told her that I felt too emotional and the thought of going back to prison for Christmas was too much for me. The fact of the matter was that it was a plan made up by Jimmy and Vince. They thought it would frighten the life out of Pam if I did not make arrangements to see the children. She would be waiting and wondering what was happening, and when I did not appear this would add to her paranoia. I passed four days drinking with myoId friends, but nothing could take away the feeling of being vulnerable. I wished I had not come out on home leave-and at that moment if I could have stayed in prison for the rest of my life that would have suited me. The outside world was a frightening place to be, especially now that I did not have Pam and the children to prop me up. I was welcomed back at Coldingley by Vince and Jimmy. I told them what I had been doing on my home leave, colouring it with a few lies as I did not want them to think that I had been drinking all the time. Jimmy was in high spirits. He was to be discharged in a couple of days. Christmas soon came and went, and when the New Year was over my release date beckoned. As I walked through the gates of the prison I was struck by a strange fear that I could not understand. I know now that I was institutionalised. Fred was waiting at the gate. For the time being ~ would be living with his family. Again I had an appointment with Hilary in the aftemoqn, and this time I was not late, even if I was under the weather from drinking. Pam telephoned to ask when I would be coming to visit the children-something I did not want to do. It would only remind me of things. I was being eaten away and had so much pride that I could not tell people I was falling apart. I needed help to overcome the break-up. Whilst in prison I convinced people that I was coping with the divorce. But now I was out it was a different story. Yet I knew in my heart that Pam had done the right thing and that there was nothing else she could have done in the circumstances. I was only dragging her and the children down to a level that was totally unacceptable. Ours was very much a co-dependent relationship. She had broken out from that relationship and gone into another one, within a very

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short time. When I was later having treatment for my alcoholism, I said that the break-up of my marriage was ninety per cent my fault. Then I was asked to describe what I was like when I met Pam. I explained that I had just come out of prison, was taking drugs and drinking heavily. I financed this life-style through crime. Then they asked me 'Would you marry anyone like that?' and my answer was 'No'. It was pointed out to me that there might have been something wrong with Pam if she wanted to get involved with someone who was demonstrating the problems and failings I had, and that it was therefore fifty per cent my fault, and the other fifty per cent of the

blame had to rest with her. That helped me to get the situation into proper perspective. It was a marriage of convenience for us both-I wanted someone to look after me and she just wanted to be married. We had little in common and just used each other to satisfy a need.

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Chapter 8 Within a couple of weeks I was working for Micky Bradford again and Hilary had arranged for me to move into a bedsitter which was run by the probation service in Wimbledon. Living on my own was something I could not handle. I would visit David and Paul, who seemed to be well adjusted to their new lifestyle with regard to which I was of little importance. I would get angry with myself that this was something else I had messed up. Was there anything that I could do right?

After one visit to the boys I was so much eaten away with resentment that I got drunk. By the time I got home I was so intoxicated that I could only just stand up. There was a second-hand shop across the road from the bedsitter which had a television in the window. I smashed the window and stole it. In doing so, I cut my hand badly and there was blood everywhere. When the police arrived all they had to do was follow the trail to where I lived. I was sent to Brixton prison for two weeks. While there I came across a member of the Salvation Army. She asked how old I was and I told her that I was thirty-four. She said 'Once men of your age are still coming into places like this there is little hope for them. There is a very good chance that they will do it for the rest of their lives'. That remark really hit home but at the time I treated it with contempt. With hindsight that conversation with an anonymous woman was the start of some sort of change within me. I will always be grateful to her, whoever she is. It triggered some kind of awakening. Once again Hilary was on hand with yet another report that convinced the magistrates to place me on a two year probation order under her supervision. I felt so depressed I hoped they would lock me up and throwaway the key. Hilary had managed to keep my room vacant and she was pulling out all the stops. She noticed that my mental health was declining. I was getting more and more depressedand the more I drank the more paranoid and inconsolable I became. At that moment in my life I felt that I was beyond redemption. She got me to go and see a psychiatrist at St George's Hospital in Tooting. He put me on a course of tranquillizers which did little to help. I took the lot and was rushed to hospital for my stomach to be pumped out. The more I saw Pam and the children the more angry I became. I had by now renewed my acquaintance with Terry and he was very much reflecting what Vince and Jimmy had said to me whilst I was in Coldingley-that I should take out my revenge on my former wife and Mick, her partner.

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Then came the night in April when all the pain, resentment and vindictiveness came to a head. It was too much for me to bear. I had been drinking with Terry and he was provoking the situation by saying that he would do something about it for me, and there would be no need for me to get involved. He told me that he and a couple of our friends who we were drinking with would go round and sort things out for me. I told them that if anything was going to be done I would be the one to do it. We continued drinking and provoking each other about what should happen when we got our hands on them. By closing time I was very drunk and seething with anger. I am unsure what really happened next. I remember little of my actions. However, I do recall the vehement feelings of rejection and abandonment which had been there since the death of my father some twenty-four years previously. My former wife and her partner were not the cause of my anger, they were just a symptom of it. The four of us armed ourselves with hammers and iron bars. Then we got into someone's car and made our way over to the maisonette in Belmont. When we arrived we started to shout for them to come out and when there was no response I pushed Mick' s motor bike over and tried to set fire to it. Luckily I was so drunk I could not do it: if I had been successful I could have killed myself and other people. Then Pam came to the window shouting for me to stop. Her partner had come out with a bucket of water to put out a small fire which I had started on the ground. By now I was arguing with a neighbour who I was threatening with a hammer. Terry and the others were having a confrontation with other neighbours who were coming to their front doors to investigate what all the noise was about. I saw Mick trying to put the fire out. I tried to run after him but I was so drunk that I fell over. He saw me coming and ran back into the house and slammed the door. By now I was on my feet again and making my way towards the door which I tried to kick in. Pam was still at the window screaming for some the neighbours to call the police, and some of them were trying to come to her aid as Terry and the others kept them at bay. The police appeared and I was pulled away from the door by one of my accomplices. We made our getaway just in time. I spent the night at Terry's place. When I woke up in the morning I got a full report of what had happened the previous evening. I knew that I had blown it this time and the words of that Salvation Army woman in Brixton prison came back to haunt me. I could not stand the thought of being arrested yet again and for something I had not really

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wanted to get involved in-but when alcohol told me to do something I did it. I had a few drinks and then decided that I needed to lie low. It would only be a matter of time before the police picked me up. I had to find somewhere where I could think. I made my way over to Eddie's place. He had been my companion at Kingston Crown Court when I was sentenced to two years imprisonment. It was a warm spring afternoon. I walked through a park, so depressed over the promises I had made to my family, Micky Bradford and Hilary which had come to nothing yet again. I lay down on the

grass in the sunlight and started to cry as I have never cried before. A feeling of emptiness and a chilling sense of loneliness came over me. I was socially isolated and cut off from life itself, lost in an ocean of bitterness, loneliness, resentment and anger. No-one could have reached me. I must have laid there for about an hour with dispair coming over me in waves. What was to become of me? After some time I managed to compose myself and I got up and continued to make my way to Eddie's. He was drinking cider and welcomed me by offering a glass. His wife had left him-as she had on numerous occasions-over domestic violence. She and their four children had gone into hiding, worried that when he was drunk he would try to find them and repeat the assault. I took the drink and settled down to tell him what had happened. He lent a sympathetic ear and kept interrupting my story by saying it was their fault-meaning our wives-for provoking us when we were drunk. I agreed with him. What we were actually doing was blaming our victims for our own brutality! When I finished we were well on our way to being drunk. He was on bail for a burglary and was expecting to return to prison. He said the best thing we could do was move out of the area. We decided to jump a train and go up to Yorkshire saying that he had a friend from his last prison sentence who lived in Leeds. Eddie said that the friend would find accommodation for us and that we could live off the proceeds of crime. It sounded like a good idea-with a few litres of cider inside us. We made our way to Kings Cross, stopping off at various public houses on the way to 'top up'. We jumped the last train to Leeds. This was easy to do as we had found a couple of old tickets, and we just held them up to the ticket inspector at the entrance to the platform and boarded the train. We had a bottle of Teachers' whisky and several bottles of cider to keep us going on the journey. The more we drank, the more paranoid

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we became about being discovered as stowaways. The train stopped at Grantham and the paranoia was so great that we got off. The station was deserted apart from the ticket collector to whom Eddie passed the old tickets and we carried on walking. It was early morning and raining and we did not have a clue where we were. We had both started to sober up, which only added to my paranoia and I wanted to lie down and cry again. Eddie was also going into withdrawal and started to blame me for his predicament. We began to argue violently and exchange punches, the commotion becoming so great that it brought out the staff from the station to see what was happening. They in turn threatened to call the police which made us run off. We ended up in a bus shelter wondering what to do next. There were no more trains for at least three hours, and anyway we could not go back to the railway station after the rumpus we had caused there. There were no buses running and our only way out of Grantham was to hitch-hike. We were lucky. Within fifteen minutes we got a lift to Nottingham and from there we got a ride in a lorry all the way to Leeds. Eddie made a telephone call to his friend John who picked us up and took us to his home. We were offered a hot bath, then John's wife cooked us a huge breakfast of bacon, eggs and sausage which was washed down with mugs of piping hot tea. After we had eaten it was opening time. The three of us made our way down to John's local where we drank until the pub closed, then made arrangements to meet John back at his local when they opened up again the same evening. Eddie and I set off to do some shoplifting. We returned on the dot of opening time with two suitcases which we had stolen from one shop and filled with stolen property from others. John was there to meet us and introduced us to people who were interested in buying our goods. By eight o'clock we had sold everything including the suitcases! Then we settled down to some serious drinking. By closing time all three of us were the worse for wear. On the way back to John's house Eddie and I started an argument in the back of the car which resulted in a struggle. This almost made John have an accident which he was not too happy about. In the morning he asked us to leave the house, which we did. We made our way to the pub and drank until closing time. After that we went shoplifting again, repeating the pattern of the previous day. We even visited the same shops again and got away with it. When we had finished we got a taxi to Dewsbury. One of John's friends had told us we could sell contraband goods in a public house there. The only problem we had was that we could not remember the

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name of the pub. We were both sure he had said Dewsbury but the name of the establishment eluded us. We got to the town centre and went into every seedy looking pub we could find. We managed to sell some of our goods and then we were directed to a public house in an old mining village called Ossett just outside town where we sold the remaining items to the licensee. We spent the rest of the evening in the same pub spending the money he had given us. The landlord was happy with this self-financing arrangement and told us that if we had any more cheap merchandise he would be interested. At closing time we bought a few litres of Woodpecker cider, and some Woodbine cigarettes and left. We had nowhere to sleep, so we walked around for a short while until we came across a dilapidated house which looked like no-one had lived there for some time. We got in through the back door and were greeted by an almost overbearing smell of dampness. There was no electricity or running water and it was very cold. There was just enough light from the street lamp to see what we were doing. We started a fire in the old fireplace with wood from the garden and settled down on the floor drinking the Woodpecker and smoking the Woodbines. I soon fell asleep-I had not had much of it in the past seventy-two hours-and the next morning I woke up with sunlight pouring through the dirty windows revealing that the whole place was filthy. I felt as if I had gone ten rounds with Henry Cooper. I was stiff, withdrawing and shaking all over. My eyes took time to focus and when they did it dawned on me that in the night I had lost control of my bladder. My trousers were soaked through. Eddie appeared in the doorway holding a couple of bottles of cider. He offered one to me which I took and started to drink from it. Within a short time I was feeling much better. I lit up a Woodbine and my discomfort did not seem so bad after all. We topped ourselves up and started to make plans for the day. We had enough money to get us through the lunchtime session, and then we would go shoplifting. With the money we obtained we would book into a bed and breakfast for a hot bath and a decent meal. Our plans worked until we sold our merchandise to our friendly publican. That is when they fell apart. We continued drinking until closing time and with our money spent returned to the abandoned house. This was to be my way of life for the next few months. My attitude to personal hygiene had become casual, to say the least. My hair was matted with dirt and the smell of stale urine hung in the air. I would sit with Eddie on a park bench first thing in the morning drinking Woodpecker and smoking Woodbines, mocking people as

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they walked by on their way to work. One or both of us would have some facial damage such as cuts and bruising where we had had drunken fights with each other. I suffered from an image problem altogether. I could not comprehend that I was living in squalor in a derelict house and had not changed my clothes in weeks. Somewhere along the line I had even lost my underwear and socks. Yet I had this illusion that I was doing all right. Everybody else was out of step. There were down-and-outs around us-but I did not class myself as one of them. I pitied them. I had a blue plastic anorak which I wore all the time, sleeping in it and never taking it off. It stunk of urine along with the rest of my clothes. I really believed that if I took it off someone would steal it! I would watch Eddie perfecting his begging technique. He did not beg very often but when he did he was expert at it. If it had not been for Eddie I would not have survived as long as I did. He initiated all our 'fund raising exercises'. This was the root cause of our drunken fights. He felt that I was not pulling my weight. I was always the look out, or in Eddie' s terminology a 'pavement artist' . He resented the fact that I was not more active in obtaining what he called cider and cigarettes vouchers. One evening at the end of August we had been drinking and got separated. I made my way back to the squat and fell asleep. When I woke up next morning there was no sign of Eddie. I did not know that he had been arrested the previous evening for an attempted burglary. I stayed in the house until lunchtime and when he did not appear I felt so alone. I had nobody in the world. I drank my bottle of Woodpecker knowing by now that he was not going to return. There was no way I could survive on my own and, helpless without him, the only solution I could think of was to get myself arrested. I left the house and started to walk to Leeds, a walk that took most of the afternoon. Arriving in the city centre, I telephoned the police and gave them a description of myself, telling them that this person was trying to break into cars. When they arrived they went straight past me. I had given them a description of what I thought I looked like, so they were not looking for someone like me. They took absolutely no notice so I had to start acting suspiciously, ducking down behind cars in an attempt to attract attention. When they finally saw me they walked over and asked what I was doing, and I responded with a barrage of obscene language. They grabbed hold of my arms and one of them said 'I am arresting you on suspicion of breaking into cars'. With that they marched me across the road to their car and I was taken to the police station.

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I was placed in a cell and when the door closed behind me I felt a great sense of relief. All that I needed would be supplied. I had no problems now and would not have to worry any more. After about an hour the cell door was unlocked and there were two policemen standing there. I was told that I was being taken to the charge room. I walked with them with a spring in my step. In the charge room the station sergeant was sitting at the table and I was made to stand in front of him. He looked up and said that I was lucky that there were no charges being brought against me. It then dawned on me that they were going to release me and a rush of panic came over me. My heart sank. What was I to do? The sergeant was still in full flight with his reprimand when I broke into what he was saying. 'There's a warrant out for me in London!' 'What do you mean?' he asked and I told him about trying to set fire to the motor bike outside Pam's house. 'I'll forget you told me that. ' 'I am giving myself up.' I knew my rights and insisted on being arrested. He was not happy about this and muttered that he was going off duty shortly and that the paperwork would make him late for his evening out. I was put back into the cell and after a while I was given a mug of tea, a Spam sandwich and a cigarette. After drinking the tea and eating the sandwich I lay on the bed smoking the cigarette and thinking. I was feeling rough but at least I had a roof over my head and it was weeks since I had spent the night in a real bed. The following morning I was allowed to wash and given breakfast. I was told that an escort from Sutton police station in Surrey was on its way to take me back there, where I would be questioned about an arson attack. I was then locked in until lunchtime when fish and chips were served along with a mug of tea. I was feeling much better after a reasonable night's sleep and two square meals. I could not remember the last time this had happened. About two o'clock the cell door opened and standing there were two police officers I recognised from my days in Sutton. They said 'Hello Bob. You are in a bit of a state. What have you been doing?' I just smiled and one of them asked me to put out my hands so he could put the handcuffs on. I was taken to the railway station in a police car from where we boarded a train to Kings Cross. On the journey, over a couple of beers, I was told that Eddie was in Armley gaol in Leeds on a burglary charge. When we arrived in London we got into a waiting

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police car and I was driven to Sutton police station. I was charged with arson and told I would not be getting bail. It was Friday evening which meant I would have to stay in the police cells over the weekend before going to court. I did ask if the magistrates were sitting on Saturday morning and was told 'You'll be lucky'. I sat on the floor in the corner of the cell with nothing to do. It had walls about fifteen feet high covered with white tiles. There was a fixed bench on one wall with a pillow and some blankets on it. At the end of the bench was a toilet. It was like a vault-clean, cold and devoid of interest. At the top of the wall were a few translucent bricks so that "natural light could enter the cell. I spent a lot of the time looking at the light and watching it grow darker. I knew evening was coming and again in the morning when it got lighter I knew that morning had arrived. I could hear the comings and goings in the yard outside. I felt isolated from life, a sensation which was not only mental and emotional but now physical as well. I was cut off from life. My solitude was only broken three times each day by my gaolers bringing my meals-when I would beg for cigarettes. One of them did succumb, but then refused to give me a light and started to laugh. In the deepest moments of my despair I thought of my two sons. I knew in my heart that I would not be able to continue the relationship I had with them-not that there was much of one in the first place. When I was released Paul did not ~ow who I was and David was not at all keen on my visiting them. Who can blame them. I was unreliable and did not show up when I should. When I did turn up I was usually drunk-or at least had been drinking. I was so full of resentment towards Pam and her partner. It was painful for me to see them all so happy. I could not bring myself to face their happy home life without a drink inside me. It was at this time that I realised the only decent thing I could do was to stay out of their lives for ever. There has not been a day since when I have not thought of the children. The memory of what I did will stay with me for the rest of my life. For two days and nights I wrestled with my heart-breaking decision. I was incapable of looking after myself, let alone of maintaining a relationship with them.

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Chapter 9 Monday morning cOHld not come round soon enough. When it did I was taken to Sutton Magistrates' Court and visited in the cells by the duty solicitor. My court appearance lasted all of five minutes. The clerk of the court asked questions in a way that required only one word answers. 'You are RobertTumey?' 'Yes' 'You are of no fixed address?' 'Yes' 'You are represented by Mr. Carpenter?' 'Yes'. It hit me hard to realise that I was 'NFA'. That was how vagrants were described and surely I was not like them. The police opposed bail on the grounds that if I was released there was a high chance I would abscond and intimidate witnesses. With that I was denied bail and my solicitor was on his feet asking for legal aid to be extended. I was taken to Brixton prison and went through the standard reception routine of a bath-which left the water black-putting on clean clothes and having a meal. I was then taken with other remand prisoners to a cell which three of us had to share. I got into a proper bed with clean sheets and slept well. In the morning I was allowed to shave. I also had my hair cut short. At long last I was starting to feel like a human being. This time there was no sign of the woman from the Salvation Army to say 'I told you so!' Of the two other prisoners in my cell, one was a street drinker (who I actually felt sorry for!) and the other a first-timer. I was happy to show him the ropes. The window of our cell looked out over the exercise yard of D wing. That was the top security wing which at the time housed several IRA terrorists and other prisoners on the escape list. I would watch them exercise, and in a way 1 envied their status and place in the prison pecking order. Fred visited me and brought in some clothes for when I next went to court. As a remand prisoner I was allowed a visit each day and my visitors could bring in tobacco, which Fred kept me well stocked with. One morning I was told that I had a visitor and I was unsure who it was since Fred was not due in for several days. Anyway, he would come in the afternoon after he had finished work. When I got to the visits room I was amazed to see my mother sitting there all on her

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own. She would never visit me unless she had a lift from one of my brothers and so I asked her what was the matter? She said there was nothing wrong. She just wanted to see how I was. I was touched by the gesture, and the fact that she had made her own way to see me, and it made me warm towards her. We had a long chat. She even offered her sofa for me to sleep on when I was released, but because she had moved into a one-bedroom flat it could only be a temporary measure. I was grateful to her-at least I knew that I had somewhere to go on my discharge, and there was the spin-off in that I would now no longer be classified as NFA. I returned to the magistrates' court with a home address and a clean set of clothes. Nevertheless, I was remanded back to Brixton for a further week and there were a couple of similar appearances before the committal proceedings when my case was sent to the Crown Court. My solicitor advised me to put in a plea of not guilty to the charge of arson. In his opinion we could get it reduced to one of attempted arson since the motor bike did not catch fire. As I saw it I had fully intended to set it on fire and the only reason this did not happen was that I was too drunk to succeed. I explained this to him and added that it was only a miracle it did not happen-and that, whatever the legal position, I was going to plead guilty.. This was a big shift in my thinking, the first time I had actually taken responsibility for my own actions. My attitude was starting to change. However, he advised me to wait until we got to the Crown Court. I might change my mind. I was committed to Kingston Crown Court for trial and returned to Brixton. Before I was taken back to the prison I had a visit from Hilary. She told me there was little she could do and that I had run out of options. I had breached yet another probation order and the only recommendation she could make was for a custodial sentence. Hearing this from her, I knew that I was beyond redemption. Over the years I had known Hilary I had never seen her in this light. I told her that I understood and thanked her for all that she had done for me in the past. Back at Brixton prison I was moved from B wing, which housed remand prisoners, to C wing, which housed the men awaiting trial. Within two weeks my solicitor was in touch and I confirmed that I was pleading guilty. I told him there was no point in putting my wife, Pam, and the other witnesses to the ordeal of testifying in court, just because there was some point of law involved. He finally agreed with me. I think it was the first time I had any consideration for other people's feelings.

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1 asked the staff if I could be considered for a job as a cleaner on the wing and was told that if any vacancies came up they would think about it. Within a couple of weeks I was told that I had the landing cleaner's job if I wanted it. I jumped at it. It meant that I had to move into a single next to the staff office. It also meant that I was unlocked before the rest of the prisoners on the wing so that I could make the staff their morning tea. As a bonus I would be out of my cell all day apart from two hours at lunchtime. I was allowed lots of fringe benefits by the staff who would give me cups of coffee or tea and their daily newspapers when I cleaned

their office. We would exchange jokes and the whole atmosphere was more relaxed. The staff were genuinely upset when an inmate received what in their view was a harsh sentence, or pleased when, appropriately, someone was acquitted. About five years after my stay in Brixton-when I was about three years sober-I was asked by a self-help group to visit someone who had telephoned requesting that a member of the organization call at their home to talk about their alcohol problem. A friend and myself went to the house and were met by a man called Ron, and his wife who offered us a cup of tea. As is the normal practice I started to tell Ron about the effect that alcohol had had on my own life. Ron sat in the chair opposite to mine with a puzzled look on his face. He seemed familiar, but I could not place him. We continued to talk when Ron suddenly said 'I know you. You were a cleaner on C2 in Brixton!' It all came back to me then. Ron was a member of staff. He was always looking green around the gills when we slopped out first thing in the morning. There were times when I would pass him a mug of tea and his hands would be shaking. I did not take much notice of this at the time, but it all made sense now. Ron went on to tell us that he had taken early retirement because of his drinking. He managed to get out of the Prison Service on health grounds, and told us that he still could not stop drinking. He asked if we could help him. It seemed so strange to be in this reversed situation, but of course we were prepared to help if he wanted us to. We took him to a meeting of the self-help group and I am glad to say he took to it like a duck to water. I lost touch with him over the years. The last I heard he was sober, happy and enjoying retirement. I was still a cleaner at Brixton when, at the beginning of December, 1978, my case came up in the Crown Court. I was put up in front of a High Court judge and the sentence he imposed seemed remarkably lenient to me. He said I was a comparatively young man and should put my life in order, then sentenced me to a year in prison.

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This time I was taken to Wandsworth where things had not changed at all since my last visit. I was allocated a cell on 'the threes' on G wing near to myoid cell. Apart from a few familiar faces among the staff, there were some inmates I recognised from my previous sentence. I greeted them with remarks like 'You'.re not in here again are you?'not fully appreciating that I was in there again with them! I saw the penal system as a way of life, not as punitive. It did not seem at all abnormal for anyone to want to live that way. There was a greater shortage of staff than during my previous sentences, which meant that there was no-one available to supervise prisoners in the workshops. The main effect was that we were locked in our cells for virtually the whole day. It was at this time that I finally wrote to Pam telling her that I thought it would be in the best interests of the children if I did not see them again. I felt at the time that I could not look after myself, let alone take responsibility for two young children. I knew in my heart that they would have a much better life without me. Pam wrote back agreeing. What I can never come to terms with is the fact that I did abandon my two sons, and that I relinquished my responsibilities as a father for the sake of drugs and alcohol. There is no person on this earth that could say anything to make me feel worse than I do about what I did. It is something I have to live with. I still have occasional contact with my former sister-in-law, Pauline, who lets me have all the news about how they are getting on. I was walking round the exercise yard on Christmas morning when the realisation dawned that my last Christmas on the outside was in 1975-and the periods for which I was out of prison in between times were very limited. Again, the prediction by the anonymous Salvation Army lady at Brixton prison-that I would end up spending my life behind bars-returned to haunt me. Was she right? Was this the kind of future I had to look forward to? Easter came and went and I was due for release in May. In the last six weeks, four inmates had committed suicide all of them just weeks or even days away from their release. They were all known alcoholics. I understood how they must have felt. It was not prison life that was unbearable for them, it was the world outside. I was released on May 16, the day after Margaret Thatcher came to power as prime minister. As arranged, I moved in with my mother, feeling healthier than I had for some time. I had not had any alcohol for eight months and apart from the odd bit of cannabis I was drug free. I am sure that going in and out of prison mu!'t have saved my life in this regard. If I had not had some respite from chemical abuse I am

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sure drugs and alcohol would have killed me. That evening I went out for a drink. As I was standing in the pub I felt that life had passed me by. My friends seemed to have moved on in terms of settled relationships and careers. I could not put my finger on it, but I was out of step. Within a few days I got myself a job working on a building site as a labourer. Some weeks went by and my alcohol consumption was rising. I was feeling more and more depressed. The honeymoon period between my mother and myself after my release was over. I kept coming home drunk and it was too much for her to handle. At first drinking just made me feel depressed, but, as it increased, my behaviour got more and more bizarre. I was again making anonymous telephone calls to the police. I would tell them that there was someone at my address or at a neighbour's house with a gun. I would then go home and wait to see what would happen. When they arrived I acted surprised and claimed that I had no idea who made the call. I also got into a relationship with a woman who I abusedverbally and sometimes physically. I think the reason why I did so was that I despised her for wanting to be in a relationship with me. She had her own problems, but she did not deserve me or the treatment I gave her. We had a love hate relationship. I would move in with her and her two children for a couple of weeks. Then there would be an almighty row between us, full of my usual histrionics, with me storming out of the house in the early hours and her throwing my belongings into the street. I would then move back into my mother's flat for a week or two before going back to the woman's place. I would orchestrate most of the cOl1frontations so that I would have an excuse for drinking-all the time not taking responsibility for my actions and blaming them on her. By the time Christmas came I was out of work and living at my mother's again. She soon told me that she could not stand me living with her anymore and I had to go. I moved into a squat in Mitcham in South London. By now I had rekindled my relationship with Hilary, my probation officer. I was seeing her on a voluntary basis. In fact I was visiting her more regularly than I did when I was under her supervision. I found that by going to her office and talking to her it helped me to make some sense, however little, of what was happening to me. The only thing I took umbrage to was that she kept going on about my drinking. I would tell her it was not the drinking that was the problem, it was the fact that I did not have a proper roof over my head, was unemployed and was now divorced. These were the real problems, so who could blame me for drinking?

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On one of my visits she told me about a self-help group for alcoholics, and how they could help people like me. What did she mean 'people like me'? They were alcoholics. In no way was I an alcoholic! She really did have difficulty getting through to me. She showed me a pamphlet put out by the self-help group called 'Who me!' In it there were twenty questions asking if drinking had caused any problems at home or with work and so on. I answered 'yes' to all but one of them-the last one I lied about and I told her that I could not have a problem because I did not get twenty out of twenty. Then she read more of the pamphlet to me, in which it was said that if the answer was 'yes' to three or more of the questions then the chances were that the person concerned was an alcoholic. I told her that the people putting out the pamphlet did not know what they were talking about. She, in desperation, implied that I was an alcoholic! I felt insulted, to the· point where I got drunk and was arrested-and then I blamed it on her. Meanwhile my love life had taken a turn for the worse. My lady friend sold up and moved to Australia, the furthest away from anybody that you can get! I was unable to work full-time by now. I would do the occasional day labouring, or steal lead and other metal for drinking money. I would sit in the squat drinking Woodpecker and smoking Woodbines, kidding myself that compared to that other squat in Ossett this was a palace. With the cocktail of drugs and alcohol that I was taking I was having a lot of blackouts and up~etting many people. Some of them were violent types and not pleased with what I was up to which added to my paranoia. There was always something going on in the squat, at any time of the day or night, and people calling round, usually with alcohol or drugs. No matter what time I woke up there would be someone drinking or shooting up. This way of life went on for months. In between times I would visit Hilary. One particular day I came round on my urine-soaked mattress in the corner of my room and, when I got myself together, I realised that I had just had enough. I was sick and tired-what is more I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Then I thought about all the conversations I had had with Hilary over the years about my drinking and drug taking. Perhaps she had a point. I thought about the self-help group she had told me about and the questionnaire we filled in at her office. I managed to get off the mattress and, feeling shaky, I went downstairs where, for once, there was nobody around. I made my way to the sofa. I was unsteady and had to sit for half-an-hour or so, then I tried to reach the telephone box which was just outside the house. It was a lovely, sunny autumn morning and there were people out walking. I

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felt as if I could not handle it, I had to get back to that stinking mattress. Several times I had to stop, take a deep breath and wait for the anxiety to pass. It seemed that I was having a panic attack and how I managed to overcome my fears I do not know, but in ten minutes I was on the telephone. I asked the operator to get me the number of the group. I dialled and when my call was answered I told the person on the other end that I thought I might have a problem with alcohol. I was told that if I could admit that I was half-way there. I was asked whether I. would like someone to come and visit me. Conscious of the conditions I was living in and knowing the group was run by alcoholics for alcoholics I quickly decided that I was not having them in my house. The place was so filthy you needed to wipe your feet when you went out! So I refused the offer. I was asked if I would like some literature, and refused that as well. I did not want these alcoholics to have my address, thank you very much. Finally, I was asked if I would like to go to a meeting. I said I would. I was told that there was one at Clapham that very evening. There was no way that I could make that meeting. I could hardly manage to get to the toilet and back. So I said that I wanted to do something about my problem but not today, and maybe I could make it at the weekend. I took down the address. Then I made my way back to my room, which seemed to take forever, to the safety of myoid mattress. The one good thing is that I had not been drinking or taking any drugs even though the other occupants of the squat were doing so. I started to refuse their offers to join them in a drink, making excuses that I was feeling unwell and would be staying in my room. A few days passed and I started to feel slightly better. I spent an entire week, on my own, going through withdrawals in that dark smelly room. The week passed slowly, but each new day I was getting slightly stronger. I must have gone out for food and other essentials, but would retreat back into the bedroom and try to sleep as much as possible. Thursday came around and I telephoned Micky Bradford asking if he could give me a lift to the meeting. I had my doubts. I had let him down so many times in the past and I thought he might refuse my plea for help now that it really counted. I could not face a bus ride on my own, and meeting strange people-not without a drink. To my surprise he agreed. When we arrived at the church hall where the meeting was being held I did not want to go in, but Micky persuaded me to make this crucial effort. I was met in the entrance hall by a well-spoken and welldressed man. He introduced himself as Harry and told me what I thought at the time was an outrageous lie-he said he was an

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alcoholic! I was sure alcoholics did not dress or talk like him. He told me that some time ago he had been arrested for drink driving and had had to go to the meetings for help. Then he came out with outrageous lie number two. When asked how long he had been without a drink he told me five years. I could not visualise anyone with a drink problem going much beyond five days. However, he was a very warm man and seemed to speak with genuine concern. Immediately, I sensed an affinity with him. We both had problems and were telling the truth about them. Before he invited me into the main hall he asked me if I would keep an open mind about what I heard inside. With that Micky disappeared and I was on my own. There were sounds of people milling around, some exchanging witticisms and causing laughter. Harry and I walked in and he took me to where the tea was being served. Then I was introduced to some more people who seemed to have the same friendly attitude towards me. They all looked surprisingly normal. They were smartly dressed. They told me that they too were alcoholics. This time I did not ask how long they had been sober. I was starting to believe them. The room had rows of chairs facing a table where two men sat facing us. One of them called the meeting to order, and said 'Good evening, my name is Jimmy and I am an alcoholic'. I glanced around the room and the only person who looked shabby was me. Most of the people there looked happy and relaxed. I discovered later that only some two or three per cent of people with alcohol problems descend to street drinking-yet, for many people, that is the stereotype alcoholic. Jimmy ran through a few announcements and asked someone to read from a book. The reader started by introducing herself as an alcoholic, and then read the passage. Jimmy turned to the man sitting next to him who introduced himself as lan and told us that he too was an alcoholic. Ian spoke for about forty minutes. He described the devastating effects that alcohol had had on his life. He must have been in the same category as me. He spoke about sleeping rough and going to prison. Then he moved on to talk about how he had stopped drinking with the help of the meetings. Again I found it all difficult to believe. Ian looked so happy and respectable. I remember thinking it was all right for him to talk but there was little hope of me becoming like him. I was different. After Ian had finished Jimmy told us something about his own drinking. Although he had not followed the same path as lan he said he understood. Then he threw the meeting open so that people could speak from the floor. There were about twenty of us in the room and most of the others spoke about their lives in a refreshingly honest way.

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At the end of the meeting we were invited to say the Serenity Prayer. 'OK', I thought to myself. 'That's it. There's the catch. It's a religious movement'-and I did not want anything to do with God. But I was wrong again. I was offered more tea and people came up to talk to me, offering me their telephone numbers. Someone gave me a list of other meetings I could go to, and someone else said words I had not heard for a long time: 'COME BACK'! I did start to go to meetings. However, I found it hard to take Harry's advice about keeping an open mind and I would sometimes

walk out when people began to talk. After about four weeks of not drinking Micky offered me some work and my mother allowed me to move in with her. Because of my existing friends and the conditions I was living in I was under a great deal of pressure. I was coming home from work or a meeting to be greeted by someone with a drink in their hand. Christmas came and I had not had a drink for over two months, but I was very depressed. I did not feel part of the meetings-and found it hard to keep an open mind or alter my attitude to the way I thought about drink. I would still go into pubs and clubs and watch people drinking. I would hear people say at meetings that it was a dangerous practice for people who had just stopped drinking to continue to go into public houses. I would go to meetings but would always turn up just as they started because I feared being asked to speak, or even worse to read from a book. I did not want people to know I could not read, for them to realise how stupid I really was, believing that they would have nothing more to do with me. I would never talk from the floor, but I might talk to people on a one-to-one basis before I rushed off at the end. I hated getting cornered over tea when the meeting had finished when someone might ask searching questions like 'How are you today, Bob?' It was impossible for me to answer such straightforward enquiries. I was not sufficiently in touch with my own feelings. All I knew was that I was in pain emotionally and that it was enough to get through each day. One evening I did get pinned down by a member before I could escape. The conversation came round to my social life and I told him that I felt I was different to most people in the meetings and could handle going into pubs and clubs without drinking alcohol. He said that he had not drunk for some time, and felt that if he was still continuing to frequent public houses he would fall into temptation and start drinking again. 'Celibate monks should not live in brothels!' he remarked. I must have looked perplexed because he went on to

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emphasise this by saying 'If you hang around a barber's shop long enough you'll get your hair cut!' and followed up with 'People who sit on fences end up with splinters in their backsides!' I repeated that I was different and could handle going into such places without having a drink. I was always too clever to learn, drunk or sober. It was now April 1981 , six months since my last drink. I cannot say that I was sober, but I was dry. The only way I' can describe my condition is 'dry drunk'! I was not drinking, but I still had the attitudes of a drinker. There was nothing sober about my thinking. I was doing virtually the same things as when I was drinking. I had gone headlong into an inappropriate relationship with a married woman. Her husband had just left her with four children. In true addict fashion I took her hostage. I had no social skills. I would take her to pubs, clubs and parties where booze flowed. I wondered why I felt like a fish out of water, but at that time I knew nothing about the finer things in life like going to the theatre or out for a meal. Friends in the meetings advised me that I should perhaps cool my relationship, and try and concentrate my energies in a more positive way. I was told that I should be more involved in the meetings and not make any life changing decisions for at least another year. I was arrogant. I thought they were jealous because I had managed to get my life back in order so quickly! As a matter of fact I had been thinking about cutting down on the number of meetings I was attending because I did not want these people poking their noses into my business. I was doing OK, thank you very much. However, the truth was that, by now, the relationship had started to go wrong, and after just six weeks. I started to steal some of my mother's valium tablets. I just wanted something to calm me down. I was in trouble, but pride would not let me go to the only people who could help me-those at the meetings. I had reached a stage where I could not live with alcohol or live without it. One wet afternoon I walked around in the rain for hours until the pubs opened. I knew exactly what I was going to do. I went in for a drink.

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Chapter 10 From the moment I picked up that first drink it was as if I had never stopped. It was worse. I drank for four days solid and within that time I lost my job and slashed my wrists in a weak suicide attempt that required twelve stitches. Coming out of a blackout, I found myself drinking in a public toilet. I must have been there for some time-not drunk, just topping up my alcohol level. I finished the last drop of Teachers' and had no idea what to do next. I was in desperate need of help and the only people who I thought could help me were those in

the meetings. Fear overcame my pride. I made my way to a meetingand that was my last drin~ to this day. When I got to the meeting no-one said 'I told you so'. They were just very nice to me and when it came to the point when people were invited to speak from the floor I started to talk. It all poured out of me about my relapse and I told them I felt I could not stop myself. Then I started to cry and the man sitting next to me put his arm around my shoulders. After the meeting people were highly supportive. They told me that they understood. I was thirty-six years old and for the first time in my life I felt that I belonged. These people knew what I was going through. It was as if I had finally come home. The following day being a Tuesday, one of them suggested that I could go to the Oaks Day Hospital in Thomton Heath from where I could get admitted to Pinel House at Warlingham Park Hospital about five miles outside Croydon. Pinel was a detoxification-or 'detox , and rehabilitation-'rehab'-centre. Many people at the meetings had. told stories of being in this particular centre, and about how successful it was in helping them with their addiction. Before, in the meetings, I had heard people talk about going into hospitals for treatment for alcoholism and this was one of the areas where I thought I was different. I knew that I had been in hospital having my stomach pumped out, or having stitches after some affray or other, but not because of my drinking. I had never been treated in hospital for that. Well, that is how I tried to justify things-and of course it was simply not true. The next morning I got a family friend, Steven Carter, to drive me over to Thornton Heath where Dr John Gayford a consultant psychiatrist had his regular Tuesday clinic. I saw one of his nursing staff for an assessment of my drinking. I really did not believe that they would think I had a drink problem. After all I had been through in the past twenty years or so, I was still deceiving myself that I was

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not that bad, thinking that I might just have a slight problem with alcohol. But it really is black and white. You either have a problem or you do not. It was no good me thinking that I was a little bit of an alcoholic. It is like a woman thinking that she is a little bit pregnant. There are no half measures. I was told that I would have to wait and see Dr Gayford before a decision could be taken on the form that the treatment would take. I discovered later that it was standard practice for him to interview all his patients personally before deciding whether to admit them to Pinel House. I had heard a lot about him from people at the meetings. They spoke of him as some sort of guru, this great man who had saved them from the misery of alcohol addiction-and in many instances had saved their lives. I did not have to wait long before I was shown into another office, where he sat at a desk-an elegant looking man with greying hair and piercing blue eyes. He introduced himself, told me to take a seat and started to look at the notes which his staff had made earlier on. Then he stared at me as if he knew my innermost thoughts. 'Do you want to stop drinking? ' 'Yes', I replied. 'Then I am going to admit you to Pinel House. But I will not pull any punches. Compared to me the Ayatollah is a Liberal!' I would have to agree to five meetings a week as a condition of my residence. I told him I would have no problem with that because I had been attending meetings on and off for the past eight months. I went on to say that it was the people at the meetings who had persuaded me to come to his clinic, but if I was looking for approval in his face I did not get any. He just told me to go home, get my toothbrush and go straight to Pinel House. One of his staff would give me directions about how to get there. I was lucky in that Steve said he would drive me there. I think that he was only too happy to do this because by now I was starting to crave for a drink. As we drove through the grounds of Warlingham Park Hospital the craving became more intense, and yet I started to feel safe for I was in another institution. The unit was set apart from the rest of the hospital, with a long driveway to it. At the end of the drive there was an open area with a fish pond and some benches which were occupied by pa"tients. It was an elongated single story building housing thirty-two beds. The centrally positioned entrance had two large wood-framed glass doors.

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We got out of the car and walked through them. Inside the hallway, the staff office was to the left. At this point Steve stopped and making his excuses left me to my own devices. I was about to panic when a member of staff came out to greet me. I recognised her from earlier in the day at the clinic. She invited me into the office and told me to sit down, saying that I would be put into a side ward so that they could keep an eye on me. I soon realised the reason for this. It was because they thought I was a suicide risk. I was shown into a room next to the office which had an observation window in the wall and was told to make myself at home.

The nurse said that she would be back with some medication to help me with my withdrawal. Left on my own, I sat on the bed wondering what on earth was going to happen now. She returned with some tablets and told me that they were Heninevrin and that they would take the edge off the discomfort I was feeling. Then I was shown the television lounge where there were a couple of other patients. The nurse introduced me to them and one of them offered me a cigarette which I took gratefully. We started a conversation, and I discovered that they too had been admitted that same afternoon. One of them introduced herself as Jil!. She was in her mid-thirties and had an exaggerated Sloane Ranger type accent. She was very butch in her mannerisms, to the point that she smoked a pipe. On reflection, she was quite an eccentric person altogether. She was worried about her husband and she had been drinking for several years. Their marriage was under a lot of pressure and she thought that he was on the point of divorcing her. I was to become quite friendly with her. I would see her at meetings after our discharge from Pine!' She was known as 'Tally-ho Jill '. Sadly, she died of a heart attack five years later. My other companion was Malcolm. He was the same age as me and a school teacher who spent the best part of half-an-hour telling me that he did not have a drink problem and should not really be there. The only reason he had agreed to be admitted was to get his family and his employer off his back. By now the Heninevrin was beginning to take hold and I did not have a care in the world. Jill showed me to the kitchen where we collected our food and then went on through. She told me that I could sit at any table except the one near the window which was reserved for members of 'the group'. She spoke of them with reverence, as if they were some kind of elite. It transpired that they were people who had already been through the detox programme and had now moved on to three months of intensive therapy. Jill held the group in high esteem. As we sat down more patients joined us at our table when Jill poked me in the

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ribs with her elbow and, looking towards the table by the window, out of the corner of her mouth and in a low voice said 'That's the group'. I looked up from my meal and watched eight people file in and sit at the far table. It was just like prison-with a pecking order among inmates. After dinner the rest of the patients got ready to go out. They were being taken to a meeting. However, I was told that I would have to stay behind with Jill and Malcolm because we needed more medication. They also needed to change the dressing on my wrist. I was told that I would have to attend four meetings a week and one inhouse on Sundays. With the rest of the patients out and having had further medication, I was courageous enough to venture about and to get my bearings with the help of Jill. I discovered that the unit consisted of two parts. One side of the building housed patients who were being detoxed, the other the people 'in group'. Jill told me that not everyone was offered a place in the group. They had to have a high level of motivation. I found out later that she had been there on five previous occasions but had always failed to gain a place in the group. This time she hoped that Dr Gayford would let her join it. Over the next couple of days I settled into the routine of Pine!' We started the day with breakfast followed by our cleaning chores. Then, together with the group, we would do physical jerks. The members of the group were all in matching tracksuits whereas we ordinary mortals wore our everyday clothes. After half-an-hour of running about outside, we went inside and the staff put us through some relaxation exercises. After another half-an-hour, the members of the group went to their therapy session and the rest of us back to our part of the building for our own. A few days passed and I was still in the observation room. It was by now mid-June. I woke up very early one morning and just lay on the bed gazing through the window which overlooked a green field over which the sun was rising. As I was taking in the view I sensed, all of a sudden, that the room was being lit by a warm glow and I was caught up in a rapturous feeling I had never experienced before. It literally engulfed me. A feeling of warmth crept over me and my mind's eye was opened. I could see that I need not drink or use drugs again if I did not want to. I had a choice. I knew that if I wanted to be free of my addiction I could be. A new world of consciousness and understanding was opened up to me, and a great feeling of peace came over me. No matter how wrong things seemed to be at the moment, from now on everything would be all right. No drug could have brought on this feeling. I knew, without any doubt, that I was loved.

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Slowly the sensation subsided. I am unable to explain what happened in that room. By now I was not taking any medication. I know today that it was a spiritual awakening. In Acts XXII in the Bible, Paul gives his account of his conversion. He was on the road to Damascus when he was blinded by a great light. I am sure many of us with addiction problems have, in our own way, found a road to Damascus. Some people choose to ignore the moment of truth and go on until the drugs kill them or they drink themselves to death. Others choose to act and turn their life around. Les, the night nurse, must have seen from the office that I was awake because he broke my thoughts by bringing me a cup of tea. He asked if I was all right. I told him I was fine and he noticed my watch on the bedside table. He picked it up and wound it for me and put it on my wrist (my arm was still strapped up and I would have had great difficulty doing this myself). Although it was only a simple act of kindness it really touched me. It is not so much the big things we do in this life-just by helping me with my watch and bringing me a cup of tea without being asked he showed that someone cared for me. On Monday evenings the members of the group would entertain we lesser mortals to an evening of board games and tell us what life was like in the group. The objective was to help the patients who were being detoxed to investigate whether three months of intensive group therapy might be beneficial. I was certain it would be in my case. However, I was not so sure that Dr Gayford would allow someone like me into the group. At that time most of the members were professional people. There was a doctor, a clergyman, a police officer, an accountant, a nun, a student and a postman. The treatment programme at Pinel was based on what is known as the 'Minnesota Model' and as part of the course those taking part had to write an abridged version of their life story-which represented a major stumbling block in my case. I could barely write a letter. However, I also knew that I was not ready to go back into the world after just ten days of detoxification. I must at least try to convince Dr Gayford that I was group material. My second reservation concerned Jill. After a week of her friendship I was beginning to understand why her husband was seeking a divorce! She was a very demanding person and I was not sure if I would survive three months alongside her. There were also other people who wanted to join the group, and there was a limited number of places, not enough for all concerned. I felt sure I would not be offered a place but nonetheless I intended to give it my best shot. Or Gayford's next day at Pinel was Thursday and in the morning he would see patients in the detox section. After lunch he would have

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his regular session with the group and just before the evening meal he would get the whole unit together in the large room. He would hold court, flanked by his staff. The purpose was to sort out any problems that might have arisen in the previous week and to. deal with any complaints people might have. All the time I was there I never knew anyone who had the nerve to complain. There were rumours that someone had done so once and that the person had never been seen or heard of since! It was my second Thursday at Pinel which meant a decision would have to be made about what was going to happen to me. I was shown into Dr Gayford's office and told to sit down. Once again his piercing eyes pinned me to the spot. Then he asked what I thought I should do next. I told him that I felt that the group had a lot to offer me. He asked what I had to offer the group and I told him I did not know. He then said that he thought I had a lot to offer. I did not understand what he meant or want to risk looking a fool so I did not ask him to elaborate. He said 'I want you to join the group'. I felt a panic come over me and told him 1 could not spell and that 1 would have problems writing my life story. He said 'I will let you into a secret. 1cannot spell either'. Back in the television lounge 1 sat down to recover. I had gone for something and got it. My first taste of success since my boxing days. Jill was the next one in. She came out and started getting abusive with the staff. She had not been offered a place. In fact there were only two of us out of six people wanting a place who were offered one. That evening I asked one of the nurses what Dr Gayford had meant when he had said 1 had a lot to offer. 1 was told that the staff felt 1 was well motivated. That evening on the coach to the meeting members of the group came over and congratulated me and I felt there was a lot of hope. I was still in an institution, removed from many obligations and responsibilities, including for my own food and shelter. However, compared to prison this was different. However long a period in prison might be it had never fundamentally challenged my attitudes or behaviour. That was where Pinel scored. I had to start taking

responsibility. Saturday was the last day before I was to move up to the group and we were waiting for a couple of people from the meetings to come and talk to us. Then came another bombshell. When they arrived it was a man and a woman. The woman was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. As she walked into the room it seemed to light up, and 1 felt as if I had been hit by a ton of bricks. She had long blond hair and the most amazing blue eyes. She introduced herself as Sue, and told us

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that she was an alcoholic. The man was called Nick. Both of them talked to us about the damage alcohol had done to their lives. The next day I moved over to the wing where the group was accommodated. It was my thirty-seventh birthday. Holding two Sainsburys' carrier bags with all my possessions inside them-and along with Marion who was another of Or Gayford's hopefuls-I made my way to my new room. None of our group companions were around. They had all gone home for the weekend. After a couple of weeks the people in a group were allowed weekend leave. I was dreading my turn to go out into the big wide world and did not know how I would handle it. That evening after an in-house meeting with the rest of the group we settled down to more detailed introductions. Linda was a police officer and in the weeks that followed we were to become very close. I think it was Dr Gayford's sense of humour-a police officer working with an old lag. He called us his 'legal advisers'! Sometimes he would stop the discussion and ask Linda and myself what the legal rights of group members were-or their likely sentence. Michael was a doctor. We got on well, again becoming close in the weeks that passed. After we left Pinel we stayed in touch for several years and I would spend weekends with him and his wife. Peter was a clergyman. He viewed me with some suspicion. I do not think he could come to terms with the fact that he was sharing his fate with an ex-convict. He became group leader, which meant that he had to liase between the staff and the group. He was responsible for reporting on any problems which the patients might have. On Thursday afternoons when Dr Gayford held court with all the patients in the unit Peter would be the spokesperson. It was a task he found difficult, pitting his wits against the mighty guru. He would get anxious to the point where his stammer became exaggerated. Karen was a student doing a degree in catering. She would cook wonderful meals for us all on a Friday evening before we went off for our weekend leave. Ken was an accountant. I did not get to know him well because he left the group a couple of weeks after I joined it. John was a postman and again his time was soon up after I joined the group. Zena was a nun. She had been struggling with her alcohol problem for a long time. She had come to Pinel hoping to put her life in order. About five months after my discharge I received a telephone call from someone telling me that Zena was completely drunk and in the casualty department of the May Day hospital in Thomton Heath. The caller told me that Pinel House had agreed to re-admit her, and she

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had asked if I could come and drive her there. I was only too willing to help. I set off in myoid Volkswagen Beetle in near blizzard conditions and, on arriving at Thornton Heath, I found her so drunk she could hardly stand. I bundled her into the back of the car and in heavy snow made my way towards Warlingham, Zena all the time giving a rendition of You'll Never Walk Alone. By now the snow was thick on the ground and I tried to approach the hospital by the hill. This was impossible, even in a vehicle with front wheel drive, so I turned the car around and went the long way round, which took far longer than I had anticipated. By then Zena had sobered up a little, but she was still very depressed and threatening suicide. I thought 'Why me?' How come I am the one who is stuck in a snowstorm with a drunken, suicidal nun in the back of my car! Then there was Marion, who moved into the group along with me. She was a housewife and mother. She very much reminded me of my own mother-even down to the hearing aid! There were times in the group when there was a lot of antagonism between us, and I had to keep reminding myself that at least she was not Jill! Within a few days I had to make a start on my life story, which, when my turn came, I would have to go through with the staff and other group members. This process would take place over a period of four days. The person in the hot seat would be grilled for an hour each day about his or her life. They would be dismantled, mentally, by the other members of the group, who would point out the person's shortcomings. On the last of the four days, Dr Gayford would take the helm, completing the assault on the storyteller. Then the idea was to spend the rest of your stay with the group putting yourself back together again. The approach has proved too much for many people, and they have walked out of the unit before completing the course-and continued to drink. Pussyfooting around with peoples' feelings does not help. Once someone finds themselves in a rehabilitation unit that is the time when the kid gloves have to come off. The sooner someone is confronted, the sooner they can start to take responsibility for their actions, and so get on top of their problems. I know that this sort of thinking is out of vogue in some quarters of addiction work, people feeling that non-confrontational work is better. But confrontational methods are still working in many cases. After my first two weeks in the group I was allowed to go home for the day, which I found difficult. The following week I was out both on the Saturday and the Sunday but I had to return on Saturday

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evening. After that I was allowed to stay out for the whole of each weekend. With a great deal of help from Linda I managed to write my life story. She typed it up for me. Then it was m:r turn in the hot seat. I started to read my story to the group and when I got to the point where my father died I cried uncontrollably. All the feelings I had been blocking out for years gushed out. The little boy inside was crying out for help. Excluded from the events as a child, it was in that room at Pinel, some twenty-seven years on, that I was allowed to mourn his death. All the pain I felt as a child came out. I was told by the staff that it was not my fault that he had committed suicide. How could I be responsible for his death? When the grief came out it was the most painful thing I have ever been through. I tried to divert the conversation to my life of crime. I did not want to face any more emotional pain, but they kept coming back to my childhood. Up until then I really did not see that there was anything all that wrong with my upbringing. I was using my dysfunctional childhood and dyslexia to manipulate people-to make them feel sorry for me. That way they would 'parent' me. I was refusing to grow up emotionally and it was time I did, time that I left the small child inside me behind and moved on to become an adult. Once I started to disempower people and events from my past, and started to live in the present, I could start to move forward, to get on with a new life. From that very day I felt that my struggle with my childhood was over and that I could start to build, to change my attitudes. Neither did the world owe me a living. Thursday afternoon came around, which meant that Dr Gayford would give his conclusions about me. I had already witnessed such sessions when he had summed up other people's lives. He was a wordsmith, very gifted with language. He would launch into a long discourse, using terms I had never heard before. As a dyslexic I had tremendous problems with pronunciation and have always admired people with the gift of language. When in prison I would listen to debates on Radio Four. I did not understand much of what was being said, but the way it was delivered impressed me. After Dr Gayford had heard the report from the group and staff on my life story he turned his attention to me. With a stare that pinned me to my chair he said 'Bob, I feel that you are institutionalised. You are now using hospitals instead of prisons. You are at the cross-roads of your life. If you continue to drink, you will end-up as an inmate in some long-term institution. The choice is yours!' With that he got up and walked out with the staff trailing behind him. I took myself off to 101

my room, disappointed that I did not rate a long wordy monologue. But he was right to do what he did. He had to keep to my level of comprehension. That was the only way he could get through to me. As for being institutionalised, surely he was wrong there. How could anyone like being in prison? I sat there thinking for some time. What if they were to ask me to leave that night? What would I do? At the thought of this a feeling of panic came over me. He was right. I was institutionalised. Life in Pinel continued and my self-awareness grew. The desire for drink had gone. Hilary, my probation officer, came to visit me. I think that was the time our relationship changed from a professional one to one of friendship. I would go to my mother's or Fred 's home for the weekend and on the Saturday evening I would go to a meeting. Then I would return to Pinel eagerly on Sunday afternoon. By now Peter, Linda and Michael had all gone home, and were replaced by other patients who had passed Dr Gayford's entrance test. The staff made me group leader which meant that I was the spokesperson when Dr Gayford held court on a Thursday afternoon. I would conduct the business and there were several verbal battles when, I think, I held my own. Also, on one occasion, I accused the other patient in my room of being mad and some bright spark said 'Well you are in here with him!' My time at Pinel was coming to an end and the staff asked what I would do about accommodation when I was discharged. I told them I thought I would live with my mother. Their reply was 'Don't you think that you are too old to be living with your mother?' I told them that I had nowhere else to go. Arrangements were then made for me to go for an interview for a place in a half-way house in Norbury. This was Horace Bennett House-a dry house which meant that as a condition of residence everyone had to undertake not to drink. It housed eighteen men, many former patients at Pine!. I met the warden and was told they would let me know if I was to be offered a place. Within days I received a letter telling me that my application had been successful and I was discharged from Pinel on the Saturday of the August Bank Holiday in 1981. I will always be grateful to Dr Gayford and his dedicated team and to all the patients who helped me. Most people in Pinel felt sorry for me, seeing that I had no home, no job and no relationship. I did not see it that way. The majority of people in there had damaged relationships and careers that they would have to deal with as soon as they were out. As for me, all I had to do from then on was to work on myself. There was only one way forward and that was up. I used to say that I ended up in Pinel. I know today that it is where I started out.

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Chapter 11 I set off with my two Sainsbury's carrier bags-with all my clothes in them-and twelve pounds fifty in my pocket. When I got to Horace Bennett House, I was welcomed by loan, the warden, who was a Salvationist and a very gentle woman. She showed me to my room and told me that when I was ready I was to come to her office for a chat. It took me all of two minutes to unpack, then I made my way down to see her, Dr Gayford 's words still ringing in my ears. Over coffee, Joan told me that I was on the threshold of a new life and there was no need for me to rush off to seek employment if I did not want to. She went on to say that I should seriously consider taking a six months sabbatical. I had, she said, up until then, led a traumatic life and now the best thing I could do was take stock, take time out to think how I was going to rebuild it. I did not take her advice, and regretted it. I had to wait ten more years before I took that six months off to find out what I really wanted to do. In September 1981 I passed my driving test. It was the first exam I had passed in my life. I have Michael and the other members of the group to thank. One day, in group, I was complaining about the fact that I was not qualified to drive. For years I had been driving illegally, without a licence. It was then that Michael and the others suggested that it might be a good idea if I was to apply for a driving test! It had never occurred to me to do something positive, but it was pointed out that it took more effort to sit on my backside and complain than to do something about it. I soon settled into the routine of hostel life. I was going to a meeting every night and to two a day at weekends. I would have done anything to avoid drinking again and if that meant nine meetings a week so be it. I ran into Sue at the Thomton Heath meeting and she recognised me from Pinel House. As she talked to me I felt like a schoolboy, shy and tongue tied. She gave me her telephone number and told me that if I had problems I should give her a call. I got myself a job driving a van, which took me all over the country. It opened up a new world. I was visiting places I had only seen on television. Life had begun to take on new meaning and I was able to form relationships with people at work that were not centred around drinking. Also, I was making new friends through the meetings. I asked someone 'How does it really work? '-and he said 'It's simple. If you don't drink you can't get drunk!' I thought that man was inspired. I was always trying to complicate things and could not keep anything

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plain. I was told by members 'Don't drink and get to meetings and everything will be OK.' They were right. I was trying to run before I could walk. I could not believe that what I was doing was the right answer. I thought there had to be more to it than that. I was warned not to confuse 'simple' with 'easy'. The rule was 'Just don't drink, no matter what happens-and life will get better' . I was also told that I should find someone who I could talk to on a one-to-one basis, someone to share problems with. When I was in Pinel I had heard this fellow talk at the Thomton Heath meeting. His name was Andrew. He had spoken honestly about himself, and I liked him very much. By chance, I ran into him again at a meeting about three weeks after my discharge from Pinel and asked him for his telephone number. It was the start of a long friendship. I would telephone him regularly as problems cropped up in my new life. There were lots of things I was discovering about myself that I needed to discuss with someone, and Andrew was on hand to lend an ear. He always made time no matter when I telephoned. I was able to discuss a lot of things with Andrew that I was unable to talk about with other people, and he was often reassuring, helping me over the trouble I had getting in touch with my feelings. He could be very confrontational at times. He had been in Pinel eighteen months previously, so he knew the ropes and how to deal with me when 1 was in self-pitying mode. He did not play games, but told it to me straight. One day I went to him and said 'I am sick and tired of being in the rat race'. Andrew 's reply was 'Well stop being a rat then'. He was the first person that I was able to be intimate with at an emotional level. He was my confidant and I became close to him. In those early days it was Andrew who kept me going. We both went along to a convention that people from the meetings were holding. It was on a Sunday at Cane Hill hospital. As we were walking in the warm autumn sunshine it brought back memories of that Sunday twenty-nine years previously when my mother and I visited my father there, but this time it was different. I was not that small frightened boy. I was a man. After years of self-abuse I felt that I was free for the first time. As we went into the hall where the convention was being held we were met by Sue who was selling raffle tickets. She looked stunning. The sunlight came through the window and lit up her long blond hair. Once again I was bowled over by this woman. We bought some tickets and Andrew made arrangements with Sue that the three. us would have lunch together, and then we took our seats.

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There must have been at least 250 people in the hall. On the stage there were seven people. One of them was Harry who I had met a year previously at my first meeting. Harry outlined the programme for the morning and then moved on to introduce the other people at the table. They were our speakers for the morning session. Each would speak for about twenty minutes. As they stepped up to the microphone I thought to myself that maybe in five years or so I might be asked to speak at a convention. I was carried away with the spirit of the occasion. Some of the speakers were like stand-up comedians they were so entertaining. They spoke about what alcohol had done to their lives. I believe that once we have the ability to laugh at our errors we are forgiving ourselves. Laughter is a great healer. Lunchtime came around and I eagerly set off with Andrew to find Sue. We sat on the lawn eating our sandwiches and I was busy admiring her when we were joined by Harry. He was asking Andrew to speak that afternoon. Andrew's face went white. He had never spoken at a convention before. However, after a bit of cajoling, he agreed to do it. I just sat there thinking 'How on Earth can anybody stand up at such short notice and talk to an audience.' 1 was grateful that I had only been around for a short time, which I thought would make me exempt from the task. Then Harry turned his attention to me and announced 'Bob. I would like you to speak this afternoon as well'. I told him there was no way that I could get up and speak in front of all those people. In any case, I had only been sober for four months so what could I possibly talk about. Harry then said 'I have heard you speak at meetings and your gratitude for being sober has always come across so strongly. Just talk about your gratitude. It is only for ten minutes.' Only ten minutes! I stood there dumbstruck with my mouth wide open. Andrew spoke on my behalf and said 'I'm sure he would love to Harry'. 'Thanks for nothing Andrew!', I interjected, at which Harry simply said 'I'll meet you backstage with the other speakers ten minutes before the start of the session'. With that he walked off. I told Sue that I thought I could not handle it. She was so reas~uring, telling me that I would be fine. It was agreed that Andrew would speak first. I was to follow him and then the rest of the speakers. With that we moved onto the platform and sat at the table. I looked out over the audience. It was just a sea of faces. Harry started the session off and Andrew got up and spoke. Before I knew it he had finished and it was my turn. Harry introduced me and I walked up to the microphone. I noticed Sue was sitting in the front row. She smiled at me, which was reassuring.

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'Good afternoon. My name is Bob and I'm an alcoholic', I began. The whole audience replied 'Hi Bob!' I started to talk about my drinking, putting in little jokes which went down well, and I finished up with a tear in my eye telling them that I was grateful for being sober. As the applause rose I felt that I belonged to a whole new family. Those people had been where I had been, in the pit of despair. They had come back from the same abyss. It was my first attempt at public speaking. Little did I know that one day I would be giving lectures and conducting seminars at universities and colleges, and taking part in television and radio programmes, as well as preaching from the pulpit. I bought a Volkswagen Beetle from a friend at work. Now I was mobile I was able to pick up people and take them to meetings. One evening a few of us from the hostel went to our local meeting, and that is when I next ran into Sue. We had a long chat about coping with life without alcohol. I asked if she wanted a lift home and she said that she would love one. That was when I found out more about her life. She was living in a flat in Crystal Palace with her daughter Charlotte who was just two and half years old. Sue had a regular boyfriend who was not her daughter's father-he had abandoned Sue when the baby was born. After that evening I started to pick her up and take her to meetings a couple of times a week. Christmas came. This is the time of year which is most difficult for people who have stopped drinking. I spent my first sober Christmas with my mother. I went out in the evening with Andrew and others and felt very vulnerable over the entire holiday period. Today I find I really look forward to such times. I cannot think of anything more rewarding than spending Christmas with Sue and the children. On New Years Eve I went to a dance in Chelsea, along with Andrew and other friends. We all had a wonderful time-and there was not one drop of alcohol in the place. Sue was there with her boyfriend and I had a girlfriend with me. I walked over to Sue at midnight to say 'Happy New Year' and she gave me a peck on the cheek, as well as a most beautiful smile. Little did either of us know that by that time the following year we would be together. By now my relationship with my mother was improving. Both of us were trying to build bridges and patch things up. I visited her one evening and had a heart-to-heart with her. I tried to apologise for all the problems I had brought into her life, saying that in future I would try and show her the respect that I had not done in the past. I told her I loved her. I think that was the first time I told her that. She was unable to respond, but it did not matter. The point was that I had made my feelings known to her.

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At the end of January 1982 I left my existing driving job and started to work for Bob. He was a friend I had met at the meetings and was in the house clearance business, and I had to drive his van. He was a wonderful man and very generous. Within a couple of months of the start of that year I was ready to move out of the hostel into a semifurnished flat in Dulwich. Living on my own was an all-time first for me. I remember getting the keys. It felt like the day when I went from wearing short trousers to long ones-and so grown up. Living on my own was a whole new experience with all kinds of hazards. I did not understand why I had a very small lounge where I would be sitting almost on top of my television, whilst the bedroom was so large. I was moaning one day to Bob about this, saying that the people who had converted the house needed their heads testing because the rooms in my flat were the wrong way round. I went on for weeks about it and eventually he decided to investigate. He came round to the flat and had not been in the place more than a few seconds when he told me the solution which was to move the furniture around. I had been living in the wrong rooms! When I first moved in, the bed had been put into the lounge because they had just decorated the bedroom and they had not moved it back. I am not stupid. I saw the bed, therefore it must be the bedroom. That was what it was like for someone such as me who had spent years in institutions and who now had to fend for himself. Unbeknown to me at the time, my ex-wife Pam, her new husband and the children had moved away from Belmont and were living just around the corner in Peckham. They had moved out to get away from me-or so they thought, believing that once I was out of prison I would be turning up on their doorstep to make trouble. I cannot blame them. Pam almost passed out when I ran into her at the bus stop outside my flat. I tried to make amends for what I had done in the past, but she was too apprehensive to take in what I was trying to say. As time went by I would see David and Paul near the shops where they lived. I wanted so much to approach them, but they were happy in their new life, a life which had no part in it for me. By now I was growing closer to Sue. I would pick her up to take her to meetings. We were good friends and there was no doubt about it that there was a meeting of minds. It was the first time I had had a relationship with a woman on that level. I was becoming more and more involved in the meetings. I was asked to take on jobs like organizing speakers, which meant going to other meetings and persuading people to come and talk at the meeting which I was involved with. With encouragement from Andrew I

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started to help with the telephone system. This meant taking calls from people who were ringing in for help, from an office in Pimlico with three other members (one of them being Andrew). We sat at our desks, each with a telephone. Some calls were run-of-the-mill, such as people asking for the address or date of a meeting. Others were from the relative or friend of a drinker, pleading for help. I was starting to see what it was like from another perspective. Through this I began to appreciate the damage my drinking had done to others. I would take calls from mothers, fathers, husbands and wives and many other people asking for help. I passed them on to another self-help group for the families of drinkers. Then there were the drinkers who would phone for help. Some were in a desperate state, crying down the telephone and not knowing where to turn. Their lives were out of control. I would talk to them about my experiences with alcohol and tell them that, just like them, I too had been desperate. Some would say things like 'Thank goodness there is someone who understands how I feel'. Then there were those on the point of suicide, calling us in a last ditch attempt to get help (people with alcohol abuse problems are seventy-five times more likely to commit suicide). Our job was to try and give them hope, to say that there is a way out of their living hell, to try and open up their options-because by the time they reach" that point they often see only one option, to kill themselves. Some we did not get through to. On a brighter note, there were many people we were lucky enough to turn around-and I hope they are now living happy, sober lives. As time went by I felt more and more self-assured. However, what was still giving great concern was my mood swings. There were times when I was completely high. I would laugh at anything-and then this would change and there were days when I was sullen and melancholy. I told Andrew about my concerns and that at times there was little balance in my thinking. He told me to go away and pray. He said he gained peace of mind from praying and that it cost nothing. Mark Twain remarked that when he was a small boy he thought his father was really dumb, but that as he got older he considered his father had started to learn a thing or two. I felt the same way about Andrew. When I first met him he knew nothing. After about five years I felt that he had started to learn something. So when he said 'Go away and pray' I agreed to do so to keep him happy. I actually felt resentment. The first time I went to him with a real problem what did he do but tell me to go away and pray about it! I remember thinking that I should find someone else to whom I could talk. But he was right. It had been a year since I had taken a drink or drug, yet I could not see

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that it was probably due to some divine intervention. I knew that I could never stop drinking on my own. Something had to happen outside of me for such a change to take place. Rejecting Andrew's advice, I carried on in my own sweet way struggling with my mood swings. Then one evening at a meeting it seemed that everyone was talking about praying and the comfort they got from it. I was still unsure if I believed in God anyway. I went to the meeting with Sue and driving her home I asked her whether she prayed and she told me she did it all the time and got a lot of comfort from it. So there I had it. The two people I respected most had both told me how important the power of prayer was in their lives-and if two or more completely different people were saying the same thing then they probably had a point. I dropped Sue off and returned to my flat. I went to my bedroom and knelt by the bed, with the lights off and the curtains drawn. I pulled the cover over my head just in case anyone could see me. I did not know what to say, so I said 'Will Andrew 's God please help me'. The next day I was on the telephone to Andrew telling him what I had done and that nothing had happened. There were no flashing lights or angels to tell me that I was the chosen one. He asked me how many times I had prayed. I told him 'Once'. He said 'If you can't make it, fake it', and that I should keep on trying. He felt sure that I would get the comfort he and many other people did from it. I started to pray regularly, asking God to help me stay sober. After a time, I started to get some sort of stability in my life. I would hear people talk about prayer and meditation. I knew what prayer was, but as for meditation I thought it meant sitting in the lotus position smoking a joint and listening to 'Dark Side of the Moon' by Pink Floyd. I asked Andrew what meditation was. He told me that prayer was talking and meditation was listening. He said that when I finished praying I should take a few moments to be still, to ponder things and be grateful that I was free of my addictions. By now I was seeing a lot of Sue. I would pick her up and drop her off at her home after a meeting. She had, by now, ended her relationship with her boyfriend. Bob lent me his bra11d new Valva and I took Sue and her daughter Charlotte to Brighton for a day out. All three of us had a marvellous time and when we returned home, late in the evening, Sue put Charlotte to bed and we sat and talked for hours. As I lay in bed at my flat that night it dawned on me that I was falling in love for the first time.

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I could not bring myself to tell Sue of my feelings. I was sure she did not feel the same way about me-and if I told her it might put an end to our friendship which I valued above anything. Anyway, I was thirteen years older than her and an ex-convict, and she would not want anything to do with me. She was a beautiful and intelligent ex-public schoolgirl. I could just about write my own name. What would a woman like that want with someone like me? It was very difficult. Each time I saw Sue I wanted to tell her how I felt but I was convinced that if I did it would spoil things. I tried cutting down on the amount of time we spent together. That did not work. I was in so much pain. I kept praying for guidance as to what I should do. I did not tell Andrew about what I was going through. I thought he would have told me that I was out of my mind to even think such a thing. Bob and I were planning to go on holiday to Spain. I thought it would be an ideal time for me to 'cool off'. I would talk to him about my dilemma while we were away and hoped that a break would help me to get Sue out of my system. The evening before we were due to go I telephoned Sue to say goodbye for now and that I hoped to see her on my return. As we were talking, I could not contain myself any longer. I told her that my feelings for her were more than the friendship we had. Then came the biggest bombshell. Instead of telling me that she thought it would be a good idea if we did not see so much of each other, she said that she felt the same way about me. Now what should I do? I could not handle this. I told her that we should both think about what was happening between us while I was away. We agreed to meet when I came back. 110

I did not sleep a wink that night. As a matter of fact, I did not sleep much for the next few nights, I was so busy thinking about Sue. All through the holiday I was like a lovesick teenager, starry-eyed and giggly. However, we worked our way into the network of meetings and we met some wonderful people. Packo was a Belgian living in Spain, Michael a Brit, or more to the point he was very proud of being Welsh. He was married to a Spaniard and they had a son. They showed us the sights of Alicante. Bob and I were taken to places where the ordinary tourist does not go. It was a wonderful holiday, my first time abroad. I was made to feel very welcome, but all I could think about was Sue back home.

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Chapter 12 Friday the thirteenth of August 1982 was our first date as a couple. After all the years of trouble and desolation, I was in a relationship that actually meant something. Sue and I would spend our weekends together and she began to introduce me to another way of life: eating out, the theatre and dinner parties. We would listen to music. Sue's flat was full of books. She always seemed to be reading to Charlotte, excessively so to my way of thinking at that time. Sue loves books and I was worried that when she found out that I could only read or write a little she would think that I was odd and would not be so keen on me any more. So one day I took the bull by the horns and told her the whole sorry tale about my being semi-illiterate. She just smiled and threw her arms around my neck and said 'Darling. I love you for who you are-not what you can do'. Then she kissed me and I felt ten feet tall. It was her and the children who helped to stop me feeling that I was an idiot because of my dyslexia. Sue tells people that she thinks my dyslexia is endearing, and that it is one of the reasons she loves me. She has helped me to come to terms with it. When we started to live together she would get upset when I wanted to turn out the light and go to sleep. Reading a bedtime book was something she loved to do. Nowadays it is me who likes having the light on to read. We would spend a lot of time talking about how we felt on different issues. I would talk about my growing faith in God, and the miracle that I was sober and in a loving relationship. She would talk about her faith. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints-in other words she was a Mormon. Because of some of the life problems she had been experiencing she described herself as 'an inactive member'. Her parents were divorced and her father was re-married and still very much involved with the church. She told me she still believed in the doctrine, but felt she was not yet ready to take on the commitment of becoming an active member. Sue's mother would have Charlotte and we would go away for romantic long weekends. It was on one such weekend that we went to Salisbury and walked around the cathedral. We were discussing what we thought the reason for this life was. Sue told me that she believed we were all spirit children of God, that we had always existed. She went on to say that she felt that there was a pre-mortal existence, and when we were born a veil was drawn across our mind so we would not remember our previous lives-and that mortality was a time when we were tried and tested. After death, we returned to the spirit world

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and were reunited with our loved ones. I have to say that I felt really close to her, as if I had known her somewhere before. I knew that there was more to this life than just being born, living it out and then dying. I only had to look around the beautiful world in which we lived. Surely it was not all just an accident of nature. There had to be some sort of plan behind it. We have all had the feeling of deja vu to haunt us and give the feeling we have met someone or done something before. Wordsworth says it more cogently: Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life's star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home.

There was no doubt that there was a spiritual awakening going on inside of me. Before this, I viewed anyone who had a religious belief as some kind of crank, or someone who was weak. I shared Karl Marx's view that religion acts as an opiate to dull the pain. My relationship with my mother and brothers improved. I was now 'two years sober' and my family were just seriously starting to take on board that I had a new lifestyle-but there was a part of them that was suspicious and thought that it was all just another hairbrained scheme of mine. They were waiting for the catch. Who could blame them. They had experienced well over twenty years of me behaving badly, so two years was not that long for them to start believing what I was now saying and doing. I was helping to organize and run the meetings-and I was, by now, the liaison officer for the probation service, which meant that I worked with probation officers making them aware of local meetings. If there were offenders that our services could help I would pick them up and take them to the meetings. I was also doing telephone work, and work with newcomers. Just before I stopped drinking, I would speculate what I would do with all the time that I would have on my hands if I did give up alcohol. I thought life would become boring. The reality is that there are not enough hours in the day. In May 1983, Sue and I went on holiday to Alicante. Packo and his friends made us welcome and treated us like visiting royalty. We had a wonderful time. About 'six weeks after the holiday, Sue told me that she was pregnant! It was great news and I was overjoyed. Life took on 114

a whole new meaning. I moved into her place and we got ready for the birth. I felt that God had in some way forgiven me for what I had done to my two sons-and this time I would not make the mistakes I had with them. I threw myself into the pregnancy. I stopped smoking. I didn't want the baby to come into a world full of my smoke-and thank goodness I have not smoked since. I went to most of the anti-natal classes with Sue and followed the baby's development with great interest-and what joy we shared when we saw the scan pictures. As time went by, Sue grew more radiant and beautiful. I was becoming more and more aware of God's hand in my life. I know today that he has always been with me, and the rest of us. I started to notice things around me like the beauty of nature, the trees in the park. A new way of thinking was opening up. I was able to spend time with my own mother, for no other reason than wanting to be with her. I had stopped using her. However, her health was beginning to deteriorate. In September she was admitted to hospital with cancer. Mercifully her death came quickly and she did not suffer much. In the last days of her life I spent time just sitting with her. Her last words to me were 'Keep going to them meetings, they're doing you the world of good'. Next day she died. At least we did have a couple of years getting to know each other. I feel sore about the fact that if we had had more time together we might have got closer. My brothers were worried her death might start my drinking off again, but that was the last thing on my mind. I just felt that I could have done more to make amends when she was alive, for all the problems I brought her. Both my parents had limited abilities when it came to being parents. They did their best and if my own children can say that I did my best I think that is all I can hope for. It was a time of confusion. On one hand I was mourning the passing of my mother, and on the other I was looking forward to the birth of our child. I spent a lot of time discussing morality with Sue. She would talk about Mormon doctrine, her own Christian ideology, and what she was saying appealed to me. I had long ago lost my faith in God. The God of my childhood was one of fear and I was told as a child that 'God punishes children who do not behave themselves'. As an adult I rejected any concept of a God-to the point where I would describe myself as an atheist. However, my opinions had started to change. That inexplicable sensation I had had in Pinel, and the fact that I had not wanted a drink or drugs for well over two years--eombined with the fact that I was in a loving relationship, as well as the friendship I had with Andrew and

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others, all things that had been out of my reach before-convinced me that there was something bigger that was directing my life. Sue would talk about her Heavenly Father as a God of love, someone she could turn to for comfort. I was impressed with what she said and something within me which I could not quite understand told me it was true. Sue has always been an understanding person. I could go to her with any problem. Her depth of understanding is unfathomable, and to me she demonstrates true Christian values. Anyone who sees her with our children could not fail to observe that for themselves-she really has got alongside of them and they can turn to her for anything. The only talent I have developed since I stopped drinking is that I can choose a good wife! I asked her why she was not going to her church and she said that living that way of life was a big commitment, which she was not yet ready to make. But she felt that one day she would return to the fold. Christmas came with Sue growing more gorgeous by the day, as she was growing with her lump. There was something special about her when she was pregnant and I was so proud of her when we were out Christmas shopping. I am sure a lot of people envied me for being with her and I was absolutely besotted-and still am. Just after the holiday we had a couple of false alarms when we thought that the baby was coming. On one occasion, I spent the night asleep in a chair at Sue's bedside in the maternity ward of East Dulwich hospital. I woke up in the morning surrounded by pregnant women. The doctors told us that the baby would arrive sooner rather than later and we went home and waited, but nothing happened. We had to wait a further five weeks. It was early on a Saturday evening in February, 1984. I was so impatient. The suspense was too great and I had to go and lie on the bed. Then Sue came into the room and told me that she thought that the baby was on its way. After a long night of labour the doctors decided to deliver the baby by caesarean section. I was allowed to be present and at 6.30 a.m. on February 5 our daughter Sarah was born. She was such a beautiful baby. I was in a daze for weeks. Friends from the meetings sent flowers and cards and I walked around with tears in my eyes, tears of gratitude. I got to my knees and thanked Heavenly Father for blessing us so greatly. When Sue and the baby came home I was so happy. I had a wonderful partner and with Charlotte and now Sarah in my life what more could I ask for? Sue had a bad time with the operation and we were told that there was a good chance we 'would not have any more children. We soon recovered from the bad news, however, as both of us sensed that we 116

had more children to come. After a while she started to feel well and we would go out shopping together, which made me proud, showing them off. In the evening, when the children were in bed, I asked Sue to marry me. She told me that she loved me, but she felt that she could not marry me. She would only feel right if she was to be married in a Mormon church-and she was not ready to return to her religion yet. I respected her wishes, telling her that I would marry her one day. I just kept asking her at every opportunity. I would even wake her at two o'clock in the morning, hoping to catch her off guard! When I left Pinel House I thought that I would end up in some lonely bedsitter fighting off the craving for drink and drugs and going to meetings for the rest of my life. I had no other aspirations, other than that life might be better than before. To have Sue and the children was beyond my wildest dreams. I was now able to help other people who had alcohol problems. I got so much out of the work, and my motives were not entirely altruistic. I needed to do it. Even today, when I work in a caring profession, there is still a part of me that needs to help other people. I hope that one day I may be able to be truly philanthropic. Sue's father, Jim, who by now was living with his new wife, Marion, in Henley, invited us to spend the weekend with him. It was the first time I had met him. He and Marion were very involved in Mormonism. I was impressed with Marion, who had lost a thirteenyear-old son in a drowning accident. It is a nightmare for any parent to lose a child, but Marion's faith had helped her through that very difficult stage in her life. She had no doubt that she would be reunited with her son one day. Jim, Marion and I had a long theological discussion. Sue could see the way the conversation was going and that I was becoming interested in religious doctrine. It concerned her because she felt that she was not yet ready to make the commitment to return to the church. It looked like I was overtaking her. In September 1984, a year after my mother's death, one of Sue's step-brothers was married and the couple invited us along to the wedding. When I walked into the chapel the people had something about them that I could not put my finger on. They seemed at peace with themselves. What they had was faith. Up until then I had lived without it. All I had were doubts. I think my faith started to grow when I was in Pinel, and I was helped to cultivate it by people like Andrew and others-but without doubt the biggest influence was Sue, who continues to inspire me. We started to go to church regularly on Sundays. Sue was still a bit reluctant about returning, but there was no stopping me. I just could

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not get enough. The Mormon church is highly family-orientated and they put a lot of work into their children, which impressed me. I continued to badger Sue with proposals of marriage and one day on the platform of Sydenham Hill railway station I proposed and she said 'Yes'! I could not believe it at first. But it was true. Sue wanted to marry me. It was like a scene from Brief Encounter. We were married on 29 December 1984 at Wandsworth Chapel. After the reception we went off for a few days honeymoon, but came home early because we were missing the children. As we drove by the prison I reflected that if anyone had told me when I was in Wandsworth as a prisoner that one day I would be driving past the place married to someone like Sue I would have told them they were out of their mind-but I would probably have used stronger language. It sounds like a fairy-tale. But ours is like any other relationship. It demands hard work and there are sacrifices and compromises. I am a basically selfish and insecure person. At the end of my first marriage, to Pam, she said 'The only thing we have in common is that we got married on the same day!' Both of us wanted guarantees in a relationship. I now realise that there are no guarantees in life. You only get those with cookers and freezers-and only for a year at that! A few days after our wedding I was baptised into the church. We discovered that Sue was pregnant again. So much for the doctors telling us we might not be able to have any more children. The whole family went down to the health centre to get Sue's results and when the midwife told us that the test was positive all four of us let out a cheer. She was taken aback by our reaction, telling us that she did not usually get that sort of response. A little while after that I was ordained into the lay priesthood.

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Chapter 13 Because Sue's mother had lost three babies with heart defects, the doctor thought that this time it would be a good idea if we went for an in-depth scan-just to be on the safe side. Afterwards, the specialist told us that the baby's heart was fine, although, again to be on the safe side, Sue should go back in three weeks time for a further one. We just thought they were being overcautious. By now I was driving a van delivering newspapers in central London, which meant that I had to start out very early. This allowed me to be home by mid-morning, so that I spent a lot of time with Sue. The three weeks soon passed and we were back at the hospital. This time, the consultant did his scan, and he seemed to take forever. Then he said words that all expectant parents dread: 'We have found some abnormalities with your baby'. My heart sank. My head was spinning. What was this man saying? He had to be wrong; not our child. I managed to take in that the baby had a hair lip and cleft palate. He asked us if we understood what this meant and I told him that my mother had a cleft palate, which reinforced his prognosis. He said that he wanted to do more scans, but would wait for the baby to grow some more. He also wished to do a more detailed examination, and so we agreed to attend in four weeks time. Straight away the hospital put us in touch with a self-help group for people who had children with similar conditions. It was Jeffrey who contacted us. He was a cleric who had eight-year-old twin boys, both with cleft palates and hair lips. He invited us for tea at his home in Streatham. He and his wife were so understanding and very supportive. Their sons had received corrective surgery-and both looked extremely fit and well. Then their parents showed us photographs of them before surgery. I was quite shaken by these, but the point about the self-help group was to prepare us for when our baby was born. By the time we were due to go back to the hospital, Sue and I had accepted that the baby would have some problems. But-in comparison to what many other parents had to deal with-they appeared to be minor ones. In any event, they could be put right with surgery. The consultant did another scan-this time seeming to take even longer than before. He handed us a picture of the baby, which looked perfect to us. Then he sat us down. 'I am sorry to tell you both, Mr and Mrs Turney, that we have discovered that the baby has an enlarged stomach'. He went on to say that the baby would need surgery as soon as it was born because

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otherwise it would not be able to feed properly. But there was more to come. He went on to tell us that in his opinion the baby was afflicted by Downs Syndrome. All I could hear was my heart thumping. The sweat ran down my back and I looked across at Sue who was in a state of shock. I so much wanted to put matters right for her and would have done anything to take away her pain. I started to focus on what the consultant was saying once again. He wanted us to talk with one of his senior doctors, and he told us that there would be some difficult decisions which we would need to make. That doctor would advise us of our options and help us draw conclusions. What decisions? I did not understand what he was talking about. All I knew was that I was in emotional pain-and that drink and drugs were not an option. We were shown into a small room so that we could be on our own for a while. I sat there holding Sue's hands and we looked at each other in disbelief. Was this really happening to us? Next we were taken to the office of the doctor who had been mentioned to us. He was a foetal medicine specialist. He asked us to be seated, then began telling us about the problems our baby would face and the quality of life he thought it would have, which, according to his view, was not high. Hospitals are usually warm places, but the room seemed to go cold. If we wished he could terminate the pregnancy. Both Sue and I told him that under no circumstances would we go along with what he was suggesting. They had only a short time ago given us a picture of the baby, and now they were saying that they could terminate its life if we would agree. We were asked what the reasons were for our decision and we said that we believed life to be sacred. From our point of view, the baby had two parents and two sisters who would love it-and we could cope. He pressed us to explain further but finished by assuring us that he would support whatever decision we made. When Sue was four months pregnant I could feel the baby kicking if I put my hand on her tummy. As a student, I have been drawn into the debate about when life starts. Some people argue that it is at birth, others that it is twenty-six weeks after conception, and so on. I would argue that it starts at the moment of conception. Looked at this way, if scientists discovered two cells coming together on another planet they would claim that they had discovered life there-and no one would disagree! However, for people who do have abortions that is their choice-they are free to make that decision. How can anyone blame parents faced with the same dilemma that we were if they chose to

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terminate. We were lucky. We had our faith to carry us through. I cannot say what decision we might have made if we had not had our beliefs, but I like to think that it would have been the same one. I thought along similar lines long before I joined the church, but I did not have to face up to the predicament. We were advised that there was another test which the specialist would like to carry out. This involved testing a sample of the amniotic fluid surrounding the baby. This test would enable a fuller assessment. All the doctors were certain that the baby had defects, but they were unsure as to the extent of the problem. We enquired whether the baby would be in danger from the test and were told that there was a risk of miscarriage-but only a one in seventy chance. We replied that we would need time to think it over, and were asked if we could give our answer within the next couple of days. We seemed to go back into a state of shock. On the drive home we said little to each other, and what we did say was on a purely superficial level. We were both emotionally drained from the events of the afternoon. All we wanted to do was to get home to Charlotte and Sarah and try to put what had happened out of our minds for a while. We picked up the children from the baby-sitter and made our way home, then spent the rest of the day in a kind of stupor, not really saying anything to each other. Reality started to dawn on me and that night I could not sleep. I was going to be the parent of a severely disabled child. In that darkened room all the fears from my childhood returned and combined with the feelings I had when I was abusing chemicals. My life once again seemed out of control. A feeling of fear hit me-and continued to hit me. Once again, the world seemed to be crashing down around me, I was devastated and helpless. I wanted to cry out 'Why me?' I looked over at Sue who was asleep. Mercifully, the events of the day had exhausted her and she was able to sleep. Then waves of self-pity washed over me and tears filled my eyes. There was no way I could kill the pain. The only option left open was to face up to the situation. I was out of bed and on my knees asking the Heavenly Father to show me the way. It was the end of the honeymoon period of my life of sobriety, time to take life on its own terms. I managed to get some sleep and the following day I had a conversation with Andrew-still feeling sorry for myself. He was very caring, but also firm. He was not about to let me swamp myself in selfpity. He did say 'You must be feeling awful " but he did not come out with the answer that some people might have 'At least you're not

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drinking'. That was the last thing I wanted to hear. All I wanted was to know that someone understood that I was agonising inside. We talked about unconditional love for the unborn child, about Sue and about my sobriety. I could not put conditions on my abstinence or on my love for Sue and my children. When I stopped drinking and taking drugs I did not do so provided life was good to me. I had my faith. I knew the Heavenly Father loved me and that what was happening was all part of some grand plan. I knew I would somehow receive the strength I needed and began to concentrate on the fact that I was sober and able to give Sue my full support. After all, she was the one carrying the baby. As time went by, I started to feel out of the picture, with everybody's attention focused on Sue and the baby, and I was desperate to find a role I could play. With the help of prayer and Andrew I found one. It was to be behind Sue all the way. There would be times ahead when she, like me, would start to have irrational thoughts and my job would be to keep everything on a positive footing-instead of burying my head in the sand like I had done in the past. The best thing I could do to stop myself from being racked by self-pity was to throw myself into this pregnancy-as I had done with our last child. It can be a problem for many expectant fathers that the mother gets all the attention. For me it was all part of the bonding process with the unborn child-especially as the baby would have to face up to a lot of challenges. It would need strong parents. I had a strong feeling that we should not go through with the amniocentesis-the test on the baby's amniotic fluid. To my way of thinking we would not place our existing children at that level of risk, not intentionally, so we should not do it to this one. But how was I going to put over my feelings to Sue? Ultimately, it had to be her decision, and it had to be made by the next day. Up until then we had not really discussed matters in depth. I asked her how she felt about the test and she came up with the same reasons for not having it as I had. I was so relieved. I think it was our first lesson in what we should do in the weeks that lay ahead of us-keep good communication going between us at all cost. We were a partnership and we should not be struggling with problems on our own. We went off to the hospital and told them our decision. They told us that they wanted to see us at least every two weeks to monitor Sue and the baby. When we got home we discussed the hospital and came to the conclusion that although the doctors were in a powerful position, it was our baby, which we had full responsibility for.

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We decided that we should give the baby a temporary name as we did not like to keep referring to it as 'baby' and for some unknown reason I came up with the nickname 'Ron'. As time went by our children changed it to 'Ronnie Roo " which in turn was shortened to 'Roo'. We were lucky to get a lot of support from our friends at our church and from the meetings, as well as from the hospital. They put us in touch with the Downs Association which was very supportive also, and our 'mentor' Jeffrey telephoned to offer his 'good wishes. With so many marvellous people behind us, we knew we were not on our own. I tried to work out why Heavenly Father allowed children with disabilities to be born. After a lot of prayer, I came to the conclusion that they are special children who are sent to motivate the rest of us into being more caring and loving people. When I am with the parents of disabled children, I realise that their love for their offspring just oozes out of them. My great fear was that I would not be able to match up to them. As time went by, Sue grew more radiant-but the news from the hospital seemed to get worse each time we turned up for an appointment. They did other scans and tests and told us that Roo had more disabilities than they first thought. We had a meeting with the dental surgeon, who told us how he intended to rebuild the baby's mouth. He showed us the special way we would have to feed Roo because it would be several months after the birth before he could perform the necessary operations. The surgery would be intense and would possibly need to be repeated. Sue and I grew closer with each wave of bad news. I think this sort of trauma can effect couples in one of two ways-it can completely destroy a relationship, which, sadly, I have witnessed, or it can bring a couple together. Luckily, that is what happened to us. I do not think that we could have been closer. An appointment was made for us to meet yet another specialist, and he told us that Roo 's chances of survival were low, and if the baby did survive then, in his opinion, it would be in a vegetative state. We had further conversations about the quality of life that Roo and we would have. We arrived home feeling helpless, disempowered and in the hands of the doctors. We were sure they thought we were wrong in not wanting to go through with the termination. We met with all concerned and it was agreed that Roo would be delivered by caesarean section on 27 June 1985. They told me there would be a bed for me in the intensive care unit, and said they would take a photograph of Roo-because they thought the baby would not survive very long-and told us that if it was strong enough it would be

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transferred to the Great Ormond Street Hospital for Sick Children where an operation would be carried out on Roo's stomach. The day before the birth I spent most of the time with Sue at the hospital, then went home to see Charlotte, Sarah, and my mother-inlaw who was looking after them. As I put the children to bed we prayed for mummy and the new baby. I then telephoned Andrew, who was very comforting, and spoke to friends from church who reassured me that we had made the right decision. That evening I did not have much sleep but did do a lot of praying. I just asked Heavenly Father for help to enable me to give Sue and the baby all the care and support that she would need in the weeks, months and years ahead. Next morning I was up early and made my way over to the hospital. We were first on the operating list. It had been agreed that Sue would not have a general anaesthetic but an epidural, so she would be conscious-and that I could be present at the birth. Waiting for them to come for us seemed like an eternity. I sat at Sue's bedside and we held hands and told each other how much we loved each other. Then they turned up to take us down to theatre. When we got there they showed me into the changing room where I put on a green grown and a mask and just before I made my way into the theatre I fell to my knees and asked Heavenly Father for the courage I needed. When I got inside the operating theatre there were a lot of people milling around, surgeons, nurses and paediatricians. I sat by Sue's side, grasped her hand and with tears in our eyes they started the operation. After what seemed like a life-time someone announced that it was a girl and Roo started to cry. I turned round to see her for myself but the paediatricians already had her on a table in the corner. I walked over anxiously to where they were, but before I got there one of the doctors turned and said that he could not find any defects in the baby's mouth! I knew from that moment that Roo was a perfect baby. They said they must rush her into intensive care where they could carry out tests. With Roo in an incubator we started for the door. I stopped by Sue-who seemed to be in a state of shock-to tell her I would be back once I had the results, which, by now, we both believed would be negative. It was not long before Roo was given the all clear and I was able to convey the good news to Sue. They put Roo in my arms for a cuddle, and as I held her I started to cry. A nurse came and put her arm around my shoulders and she also had a tear in her eye. Then someone said 'Would Father like to feed his daughter?'

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I fed Roo then made my way back to the theatre as Sue was being taken out. I kissed her and told her that Roo and I would join her on the ward very soon. The rest of that day was a blur to me. I went home to begin telephoning people with the news that a miracle had happened. We re-named the baby Kate, although to our family she will always be 'Roo'. Anyone visiting mother and baby could not fail to appreciate that something very special had happened. Sue seemed to radiate bright light in the room Cards and flowers poured in from well-wishers. A few days later I was making my way to the ward when I bumped into Jeffrey. He yvas on his way to pay a visit to Sue, and asked how things were. In a strange way I felt guilty telling him that the baby was all right. Of course he was delighted with the news, and asked me what I thought had happened. I told him I was convinced that it was a miracle. He looked at me in an incredulous way as if he thought the experience had been too much for me! However, I am convinced that the age of miracles is still with us. I have only got to look about me for confirmation. The fact that I have not had a drink or a drug, or more to the point that I have not felt the need for either, in years-and the fact that Kate is alive and healthy-proves the point to me. Jeffrey was thoroughly pleased for us and spent fifteen minutes or so at Sue's bedside. Sue then told me that she had had a visit from the consultant that morning, and she had told him about our miracle theory. He told her that there are some things that medical science just cannot explain-and this was one of them. On my way out, in the corridor, I noticed the specialist who had favoured termination of the pregnancy and a part of me really wanted to go for him. I

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He caught sight of me and glanced towards the floor as I walked over to him. As I got closer he looked up and I said 'Things turned out better than expected'. He smiled in acknowledgement and was about to speak when, leaving him with his mouth slightly open, I made my way out of the door.

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Chapter 14 In August 1985, two months after Kate was born, my father-in-law offered me a job. Sue and I had visited him in Henley regularly and had fallen for the area, a love affair which continues to this day. We rented a cottage in a place inauspiciously named Gallowstree Common, just north of Reading. We still live in the area today. We soon got involved with the local community, the church and the meetings, where we were made welcome-and I threw myself into all these activities. The church has a welfare programme and as part of this Sue and I were asked to give presentations to church members about alcohol and drug issues. We took on the task willingly, and I also became involved in helping to run the meetings. Ours were very busy lives. After about a year, the job I had with my father-in-law was not working out in the way we thought it would, and so I left and got a job driving a black cab. Ever since I was a child I had wanted to drive a taxi. Just before Sue became pregnant with Kate I started to do 'the knowledge' which would enable me to become a London cabby. But this fell by the wayside with the move to Reading. Nonetheless, I took the 'Reading knOWledge' instead and tried to make a living driving cabs in and around that part of the country. Work was never that important to me. As long as I was earning a living by legitimate means-just enough to keep us going-I did not mind what I did. What I do like is to work with people, trying to help them to sort out their problems. I suppose you would call it a vocation. About this time we had the opportunity to buy the cottage we lived in, which we did. Then Sue announced that she was pregnant again! It was great news and on 9 September 1986 a stunning red head called Elizabeth entered our lives. I had reached the stage where I thought I could not love the children any more than I did, but when Libby arrived I discovered that I had yet more love for her. Through our work in the church, we came into contact with a couple of people who had problems with drugs. I got in contact with the local ,drug agency called Neutral Zone. At that time the director was someone called Ailsa Duncan. Sue and I would have long conversations with her about the fact that there was no 'rehab' in the area. One afternoon we received a telephone call from her asking if we would start a self-help group for drug addicts. We said we would do it and I agreed to organize the group for the addicts whilst Sue would co-ordinate a group for their families.

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As the groups took off more and more people came. One was a young man who was on probation. We saw him for a couple of weeks, then 1 received a telephone call from his probation officer who told me that the man was in Reading prison on yet another criminal charge. He had asked for me to visit him. I agreed, and this was the start of a long relationship with the Berkshire Probation Service. Through the network of meetings, 1was asked to go to Broadmoor Hospital to talk to the patients. I spoke about what alcohol and drugs had done to me and when I finished I threw it open for questions from the floor. One young man said that he was just like me. He said 'I used to drink and take drugs just like you, and I ended up in here'. I understood exactly what he was talking about. 'There but for the grace of God go I', I thought. I was fortunate. I did not end up in a place like Broadmoor when 1 was abusing chemicals, but anything could have happened. My life had been completely out of control. Someone must have been watching over me. 1989 was a testing time for our marriage. It hit all sorts of problems. We had put an extension onto the cottage, and we had a huge mortgage. I was working long hours and if I was not working I was doing a lot of voluntary work. I was never at home. A wise man once said 'No other success can compensate for failure in the home'. But here I was taking things for granted again. With the pressures which this created our marriage could have quite easily broken down, but thank goodness we were able to turn things around in time, leaving Sue and I closer for the experience. One problem I have is that I find it difficult to be successful and happy at the same time. If I were asked to write a book about being melancholy and despondent I could write volumes. However, for me, being happy is an alien condition. I think this is one of the reasons why it took so long to put my life in order in the first place. The unacceptable had become acceptable. The fact that I was in the gutter did not matter-it had become a familiar aspect of life. Likewise my emotions. I had been unhappy for such a large part of my life that feeling dejection was quite natural to me. I have always said that if I was hit over the head with a lump of wood each day I would miss it when it stopped. I might not like it, but it had become the norm. Here I was with my caring family-yet I was missing the feelings of rejection. The old me would have retreated into alcohol and drugs, if only as an anaesthetic. I would use them to block out life's problems instead of facing up to them. Now that they were not an option I was using work as a means of escape. I was perplexed with my role as a husband and a father, and I did not have a role ~odel, certainly not a positive one. A

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question that constantly kept coming into my mind was 'What is this family life all about?' My experiences taught me that the most important work we eyer do should take place within our homes. When I was a child, family life was a battleground. It is up to each of us to create an environment where our children can develop and gain in self-esteem. To my mind, the best way is to marinade them in love until they are grown up and then see what happens. Over the years I have worked with a lot of people with addiction problems. They came from all walks of life. They have had very different personalities, and diverse outlooks. However, I have noticed one thread which I think runs through the make-up of all these people-and it is that they lack self-esteem and thus respect for themselves. The only way we can feel good is if we have a reasonably positive opinion of ourselves. One way that can happen is if other people tell us that we are valued. The first point of contact for children is their parents or those other adults charged with bringing them up. It is vital that children receive the necessary 'emotional strokes', whereas many adults are only too ready to condemn their children, whether deliberately or unintentionally, as when they are off-hand or 'too busy'. We spend more time worrying about our motor cars. We join social clubs and societies. We go to great lengths to look after our possessions, insuring them against damage, and some of us probe in great detail into our children's lives, or criticise them. Although we may deny it, we often know little about caring for our children. I have a friend who claims that it took him seven years to train as a dentist before he could put his fingers in patients' mouths. However, when it comes to being a parent, then at best we get eight months notice-and we know very little about what to do with children when they do arrive. Who can the average parent go to for advice at times of difficulty or pressure? Why do we not encourage parents to seek help to bring up their children before any rot sets in? Surely we should help parents to create an environment in which young people can develop to their full potential. Simple things help. Sue and I will always try to praise our children for their achievements, no matter how small they maybe. I have difficulties with these parenting skills. My childhood was a confusing time and I still have some of my parents' ideologies, especially the one about 'little children being seen and not heard'. I can feel these attitudes coming out at times when dealing with my own children. Sue is much better at parenting than I am. She has this ability to get along side them, to talk to them on their own terms. She is a 'good friend' to them, someone they can turn to in troubled times.

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With our matrimonial problems behind us, we put the cottage on the market and with the proceeds bought a lovely town house with four bedrooms. It was around this time that I received a telephone call from Roger Singer, a probation officer with Berkshire Probation Service. A few months previously I had given a talk to a group of probation officers and one of them had recommended me to Roger. He was running alcohol study groups ('ASGs ') designed for people who have been convicted of an offence in which alcohol was involved. The court would place them on- a probation order provided that they undertook to attend the ASG. The idea was to get offenders to look at their drinking behaviour, and Roger asked me if I would come in on one of the evenings and talk to them about my drinking problem and how I was coping with it today. From the very first time I did a session, I knew that this was exactly the sort of work I wanted to be _ involved in. I believe that the groupwork approach is a sound way to help people to begin to understand their individual problems. The evening was well received and I was invited back to do more sessions. Roger was encouraging. One evening over dinner he suggested that I should consider becoming a probation volunteer. I asked him what point there would be in this. He said that it would be a first step on the road to becoming a probation officer. I almost laughed in his face. Me a probation officer! 'What is this man on? " I thought to myself. There I was with a criminal record-together with the other small point that I could just about read and write-and here was someone suggesting that I become a probation officer! Apart from anything else, I would need to go to university and get a degree. There was absolutely no chance of me doing that. However, I noted the expression on Roger's face. He was not joking. Shortly after that fateful evening, Roger invited me to join him on the Reading Alcohol Forum. The Forum was set up to bring together local professional and voluntary agencies working with people with alcohol-related problems. It was a 'talking shop' of the more constructive variety, an information exchange. It was chaired by Dr Mary Whally, a consultant psychiatrist. I went along to my first meeting, was introduced to the rest of the members of the Forum, and, after the meeting, was invited to attend on a regular basis. In 1991 Sue announced that she was pregnant yet again. We had been trying for another child for some time. I was worried I was losing my touch, and we decided that this would be our last child. We started searching through lists of girls' names. In the meantime Roger had introduced me to the local Community Alcohol Service ('CAS') based in the Battle Hospital in Reading. It

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involved the joint efforts of local authority social services, the health authority and the probation service. Dr Mary Whally was also based there. I started to do some voluntary work, helping to run group sessions with Roger and others. I also helped to man a helpline for people willing to talk about their alcohol problems. In the summer of 1991 I received a telephone call from someone who told me that his name was Kevin. He said that he had got my number from a friend of a friend. He went on to tell me that he was having serious problems with alcohol and asked what could be done to help him. 1 asked what he did for a living. He was very reluctant to talk about his work, so 1 told him that he did not have to disclose anything to me-but he did say it was a high profile job. I told him he should take some time off work, and tell whoever he was working for that he was unwell but that he did not have to go into detail about the illness. Kevin told me he could not stop working and I told him that, if he wanted to, I would meet him and take him to a meeting. He did not want to go to a meeting, so I told him he should at least go to see his GP. He told me he did not trust his doctor and I spent the best part of half-an-hour coming up with ideas about what I felt he should do, and him coming up with reasons why he could not. At the end of the conversation I felt completely frustrated. Nothing 1 was doing seemed to be helping him, so I told him if he wanted to talk to me again he could telephone me at any time. I remember thinking that his voice was familiar-but I did not give it much thought. Two days later Kevin telephoned again. This time he disclosed his real identity. Almost simultaneously, on hearing the voice a second time, I recognised it as that of a well-known media personality (I will, however, continue to use the name Kevin here). He burst into tears and told me that he had reached the end. He had nowhere to turn and he asked what he could do about his drinking. I invited him to come to a meeting with me, but he refused because he wanted to keep his anonymity. He said that he was worried that the press would get hold of the story. He went on to say that someone else in his profession had started to go to meetings and the news was leaked to the media. I again advised him to go to his GP (I was worried about his state of mind). I told him that if he did not do anything about his drinking it would only get worse and eventually he would not be able to stop the tabloids running the story. He asked me if he could stay in contact and whether he could use me as a back-up. Over the next couple of weeks we had lots of telephone conversations. Kevin would be on the telephone in pieces. He invited

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me over for dinner at his home near Newbury. When I arrived his wife was away working and there was Kevin, his young daughter and Sarah who had been working for the family for about seven years as a nanny, housekeeper and driver. The three of us spent the evening discussing his problem and ways for him to get help. Everything that I suggested was met with a great deal of reluctance from the pair of them. I felt that he still had a long way to go. After that first meeting there was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing by telephone between Kevin and myself, mostly at times when he had started drinking again. I also had long conversations with his wife who appeared to be trying to keep everything under control. Quite naturally, she was worried about the damage to their careers (they were both in the public eye) which might be caused if news of Kevin's drinking got out. I told her the same thing that I had told him-that if he continued to drink there would be very little that they could do to keep the story out of the media. The level he was drinking at, something would have to happen, and I thought the best solution was that they should book him into a rehab. I recommended that they should go to Huntercombe Manor in Maidenhead, but said it would be better if I contacted Huntercombe as I knew some people there and maybe we could keep his problems under wraps and out of the press. They felt it was not that serious-which reminds me of a story about a funeral I was watching. When I asked a woman who it was that had died she said it was her husband. When I enquired what was the cause of his death I was told 'He drank himself to death'. When I asked if he ever went into a rehab I was told that it was not that serious! It was another year before Kevin would make a serious attempt to stop drinking. Late one evening Sarah called to say that he had been drinking and had disappeared. They did not know where he was. Did I have any idea? A short time after that Sarah was back on the telephone to tell me that they had found him. He was drunk and holed-up in a hotel sixty miles away in Bath-and would I talk to him. I told her that I was not prepared to talk to him that evening because he had been drinking. That would be like trying to play chess with someone who was under anaesthetic. The remark did not go down well. But I did telephone Kevin in the morning. He was in a bad way. He did not know what had hit him. He had been drinking for a couple of days. I told him to get himself home and start to seriously think what he was going to do about his drinking. A short time after that Sarah called for details of Huntercombe Manor. I asked her if she would like me to make enquires on their behalf. I was told that they felt sure that they could handle it from now

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on. Kevin was not in the place more than twenty-four hours before it was banner headlines in the tabloids. I called him to ask what went wrong and he said he did not know, but to be fair to the tabloids they were good to him. I have seen what they have done to other people, and he had got off lightly. But that was not the end of his drinking. A year later he appeared on a TV programme. He was due to talk about a project he was involved in, but he had been drinking in a hotel the night before. In the interview he confessed to the whole nation that he was an alcoholic. To this day he does not know what made him do it. He just did it. That was his rock bottom. It was the turning point. So far as I am aware, Kevin has not drunk alcohol since. Meanwhile, Roger had convinced me that I should try my hand at being a volunteer with Berkshire Probation Service. I was selected for the volunteer training programme, which took place one evening a week and some weekends over a period of six weeks. I passed with 'flying colours', but then I had been working with Roger for almost two years on the ASGs, so that I did know the ropes around the probation service from the inside-as well as from being on probation myself! Now it was up to the powers that be to give me accreditation as a volunteer. My colleagues on the course were employed as volunteers and after a couple of months Roger started to ask questions about whether they would or would not give me accreditation. I was convinced that they would turn me down because of my criminal record. But to my amazement they agreed to take me on, and I became a voluntary associate. That was my first big step towards becoming a probation officer.

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Chapter 15 In 1991 I found myself unemployed. Sue was eight months pregnant and I was feeling depressed. She sat me down and asked me what I really wanted to do with my life? I told her that I wanted to get involved in some form of social work. However, to do that I would need to get a qualification which I didn't think I could because of my academic ability. 'Well, go for it then!' she said. I thought that being married to me had finally got to her. My wife was just as mad as Roger. She told me I should take some time out, to see what I really wanted to do, without the pressure of having to go to work each day. The conversation I had ten years earlier with Joan the Warden of Horace Bennett House came flooding back. It was Joan who suggested that I take a six month sabbatical and now the idea was beginning to make some sort of sense. So I decided to look around and see what kind of career I would like to have. Just, maybe, I would be able to find someone who would take on an aspiring social worker. I also decided to throw myself into my voluntary work with Berkshire Probation Service and CAS and to see what happened. On November 26, Sue gave birth to a boy! We just could not get it into our heads that·we now had a son. It was a complete shock. Having four daughters we assumed that we would have another one. Once the initial surprise wore off we started desperately sifting through boys' names. We called him Joseph Robert Charles. When I look back, that time was such a special period in our lives, with all of us together. It was a time for renewing my values and improving my relationship with the Heavenly Father, and of the realisation that he had played a big part in my life. One of the projects that I was involved with as a volunteer for the probation service was a three-way partnership between that service, the National Association for the Care and Resettlement of Offenders (NACRO) and Big Wheelers (the local driving school). Big Wheelers is a company specialising in heavy goods vehicles and thus employing drivers with HGV licences. The idea was to design a programme which would get offenders through their HGV driving test. Big Wheelers came up with an attractive package, which consisted of the offender attending the course for a number of sessions which were held over a ten-week period. In addition to learning to drive, the offender spent a couple of hours daily in the classroom studying road safety, First Aid and rudimentary car maintenance.

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They would also have the opportunity to drive on a skid pan. The main value of the course was that participants were ready to take their driving test at the end of the ten weeks. One of NACRO's main parts in the project was to raise the funding-which they got from the Home Office. Initially, there were enough funds to put three participants through the course. My job was to get the offenders to go on it. I went to see probation officers to get the necessary referrals. The criteria that we set for applicants was that they had to be unemployed and provide evidence that if they passed their driving test it would help them to get a job. I started to interview the applicants, whittling them down. Jimmy was the first one. He had just successfully completed a computer course and would need a driving licence so he could visit customers to service their computers. The second was Barbara. She wanted to start her own mobile hairdressing business. The third was Danny who had launched his own window cleaning business-and if he was able to drive he could expand by visiting more areas. After I informed each of them that they had been successful in getting a place on the course my real work began. Jimmy was quite confident, having just passed his computer course, but it was a different story for Barbara and Danny as neither of them had much self-confidence. For them it was all right to talk about what they would like to do, but when it came to the crunch they really had little selfesteem. Although they were still young people, they had been around the criminal justice process for some time. It had treated them as failures and they believed this to be the case. I worked on them, giving positive strokes and motivating them. It paid off. All three of them completed the course. Both Jimmy and Danny passed their test after the ten weeks. However the trainer at Big Wheelers felt that Barbara might fail, so it was agreed that rather than set her up to do so we would hold her back for a couple of weeks-then put her in for the test, which she passed with flying colours. As far as I know none of them have re-offended. The project was taken on by Berkshire Probation Service, which continued to have more successes-but, alas, it was discontinued due to lack of funding in one of the rounds of government cuts. As ever, it is often the most vulnerable who suffer. By now I had also started to look at the problems I had with my dyslexia. It had begun to dawn on me that if I was to go into any sort of social work I would have to undertake some academic trainingwhich would mean reading, taking notes and writing up essays and projects. I talked to Sue about my anxieties and she just kept telling me that it really didn't matter, as I was gifted in other areas. I thought she

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was biased, so I went off to talk to Roger about it. I could not believe what he told me. He claimed that he was dyslexic as well! He could not see me having any problems going into higher education. Next I went along to my GP and told him ~bout the difficulty. He referred me t a Consultant Clinical Psychologist who put me through something known as the Bangor Test. He diagnosed me as having a moderate dyslexic type problem, which made me feel so much better already. Maybe I was not as stupid as I thought I was. With the psychologist's statement I went off to get myself registered as disabled. I had an interview with the Disablement Officer at the employment centre and was told that they did not have anyone on the disability register as a result of their being diagnosed as dyslexic. I put forward the argument that in view of the fact that I was going into higher education I would be at a distinct disadvantage-like being in a swimming team without the ability to swim! The fact is I would need concessions to be made for my disability. Eventually, they agreed with me and put me on the register-and gave me the required 'green card '. My next step was to enrol on an adult education course. The college was understanding and put me through a basic English course. I was assigned a volunteer called Dennis who was a retired businessman. He was really helpful and took me under his wing. Dennis and I would spend whole afternoons discussing the meaning of words and the use of language. He was a remarkable man, who opened many doors for me. He helped me to see that I could get on top of my problem if I was willing to work at it. I was. By this time I was being asked to do radio interviews and to give lectures at schools, colleges and universities as well as to go into prisons to talk to inmates. That has to be one of the highlights of my life. When I was asked to talk to some prisoners at Coldingly Prison, I realised how much my life had changed. The place had not changed, but I had. When I was talking I looked at my audience and I could feel their unhappiness. I told them that I could truly understand how they felt. I was once in their place and I had felt that my life was beyond redemption. Judging from the feedback, my talk was well received. Six months later I was back giving the same talk to a different group of prisoners. Roger had arranged that he, Dr Mary Whally and myself would give a presentation to Reading magistrates. We did this late one afternoon when the courts had finished sitting. They had seated the magistrates, about forty in an, in the well of the court. I was sat where they usually are, 'on the bench' and 'in the chair' on the bench with

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Roger and Mary on either side of me. We took it in turns to talk about alcohol misuse issues. Mary's talk was from a medical standpoint and Roger put forward the Probation Service perspective. Then it was my turn. I had a field day. I told them about my time in the penal system, then went on to say that never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I would be doing anything like this. I was becoming more involved with the Reading Alcohol Forum and was voted onto a sub-committee which was to do a feasibility study on setting up a charitable trust to raise money to establish a residential rehab in Reading. From that research, the Reada Trust was established, 'Reada' being the Anglo-Saxon word for Reading. Next, I was voted on to the fund-raising committee. At one of the committee meetings I put forward the idea that we should produce a promotional video which would be a useful tool for fund-raisers. This could be included in their presentations when they were visiting local business meetings and other events. It would create a professional dimension. Some bright spark, I think it was Roger, suggested that I should produce the video. I remember thinking to myself 'I do wish I would keep my big mouth shut!' but to save face I agreed. They gave me a budget of £1,250 and an assistant called Fran Engleman who proved to be a real powerhouse. I did not have a clue about making videos. The first bit of luck was that Fran' s late husband had been a television cameraman, so she knew a little about the business 'second hand' and had been involved in making a documentary with her husband some years ago. She insisted it was 'a long time ago', but nevertheless it was a step in the right direction. She had more experience than I had! The first thing I did was to get Kevin on board. I persuaded him to appear in the video and to talk about his own problem with alcohol. Fran and I spent hours working on the 'treatment' (the name for the production format). We decided that the video should be a short documentary, which would run for no longer than 15 minutes. It would highlight the benefits of residential care for people with alcoholrelated problems and the need for such a project in the Reading area. The Forum approved each step in the production although sometimes we had to fight hard to get our ideas accepted. Throughout, Roger played a key role feeding us with advice. By the beginning of April 1992 I had been unemployed for six months, and I had started thinking about a job. I knew that I wanted to go into probation work. Luckily for me the Berkshire Probation Service had started to recruit p.art-time staff in one of its bail hostels. I now knew that my criminal record would no longer debar me from getting

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the job, as I had already been working for the probation service as a volunteer for some time, and if I was good enough to do voluntary work then it should be in order to seek employment with them. My references must have been good because within a couple of weeks I was short-listed with five other applicants and invited for an interview at Wellesley House, a hostel in Windsor. I was shown around and I knew then that this was where I wanted to work. As I walked into the interview room I knew that I would have to give it my best shot. I sensed that I was in with a real chance of the job, so straightaway I brought to their attention my criminal record. Once that was out of the way I went on to sell myself. When I got home I told Sue that if I failed to get the job it would not be for want of trying. Any fears were short-lived. Two hours later I had a phone call to say that they would like to offer me the post-and I started work three weeks later. The hostel rota meant that I worked every fourth night, 'sleeping in' and going home the following morning. I had a feel for the work from the moment I started. However, I found the transition from being a volunteer to a professional worker difficult. As a volunteer I had much more of a befriending role with the people I came into contact with. I was now an employee, which meant taking on a disciplinary function. This meant quite an adjustment. I had to be more assertive with the residents. Residential work is one of the coalfaces of probation service responsibilities, and perhaps the most intensive work probation officers do with offenders. When on duty they are living and eating with the people they are dealing with. After a couple of months several full-time posts fell vacant in the area due to people leaving to take up their studies at university. I applied for one of these and, although the competition was again fierce, I was short-listed and offered a job at Wellesley House. Together with the hostel warden, Julia Rhymer, the staff set about designing a fresh programme. I invited people from the local community to give presentations to the lads. I also talked Kevin into paying the hostel a visit. He talked to the residents about the problems he had had with alcohol. He did more good in two hours than we could in two months with some of them. I also started to run assertiveness and angermanagement sessions. We were trying to show residents that there is a positive alternative way to respond to some of the situations they might find themselves in. Meanwhile, we were making progress on the video. With the help of Norman Rees, a reporter with ITN, who had himself been working on and researching into the topic of alcoholism we took the tenuous

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step of approaching Sir Anthony Hopkins. the Oscar-winning actor. Tony had spoken out in public about his drink problem on several occasions and so we wrote asking if he would contribute to the video by being interviewed. He agreed and gave his services for free, inviting Norman and I to his London home where he quizzed me about my life, about my views on the criminal justice process, and provided an interview notable for its sensitivity to the subject matter. We came in under budget because he and several other people gave freely of their time and support. It cost just £800, and the surplus of £450 went towards the launch of the trust. The whole thing took nine months from start to finish. Fran and I spent most of the time making sure that the people involved in the production were in the right place at the right time, as well as keeping the Forum happy with progress reports. A few weeks later, after much preparation, Kevinand I made our way to the Ramada hotel for the launch. He acted as compere and I gave a short speech. After that there was lunch, and it was time for Kevin and myself to provide a photo-opportunity together with the Mayor and other dignitaries. The story ran for days. It was even picked up by the BBC who screened part of the video. I was stopped in the street by a couple of people who had heard about the trust and wanted more information. All in all, it proved to be a highly successful project and my first real experience of people joining together in creative activity.

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Chapter 16 I left the trust after the launch of the video to concentrate on my career. By now, I had been selected for a place on an Access course at Bracknell College, a part-time course to 'access' people into higher education-in my case to social work training. If successful on the course it would be an opportunity for me to gain a place at university. I would have to go back to part-time work. Sue and I knew that if I was to go off to college it would mean a considerable financial strain. Our main income would be cut in half, and with five children to support there would have to be major cutbacks. Sue and I sat down together and made a 'five year plan'. This involved selling our house and moving into rented accommodation. Despite it being the home that we all loved , Sue said 'The house must go if you are to continue with your ambitions '. With that kind of support how could I fail? I still had to find a part-time job. There were none at Wellesley House where I was working, but there was a part-time vacancy at St. Leonard's-known as 'St Len 's'-in Reading around the time I would be starting college. So it was agreed that I should move hostels. In September 1993, I left Wellesley House to take up that post. I had had some success with group work programmes and Peter Dunn, my new manager at S1. Len's, gave me a brief whereby I was responsible for planning and running the Monday morning projects with the residents-a challenge which I gladly undertook. I really had caught the bug for group work, which had worked wonders for me over the years. Some people argue that the method is not appropriate for every offender. My view is that we live in groups: families, our local community, with all its sub-groups, and society as a whole. Group work helps with interactive skills and can teach us to communicate in a positive way. This is essential on a personal and social level. Communication skills apart, groups can help people-such as the residents at St. Len' s-to get in touch with their feelings, to understand their emotions and to express these in appropriate ways. In one-to-one work, some of these skills can be overlooked, although it is often useful when finding out about someone's needs. In communal living, which is what hostel work is mainly about, I believe there is ample scope for group work programmes. Peter Dunn allowed me free reign with the projects. I had a supervision session with him once a month and most of that time was taken up bouncing around ideas concerning my plans vis-a-vis the residents. I tried to involve as many people from the local community as possible, people with special skills who could talk about what they 141

did for a living. I also invited friends from the church to talk about their lives, including the manager of our local leisure centre. Another contributor was a local employer. He really was good in encouraging offenders to try for work. Needless to say, a problem many offenders have in landing a job is their criminal record. This particular employer was very positive, explaining what an employer would be looking for and why he or she might be cautious about taking on someone who had been convicted by the courts. He said if he interviewed someone who was good at the job they were applying for he would hire them even if they had a criminal background-which made a lot of residents think more constructively about the employment market. Another friend ran groups in building self-esteem, a session which always went down well. Once again I prevailed on Kevin to come and talk to the residents. By now he was doing great things again on television and most of the residents watched his programme in the mornings. He was quite brilliant with them. He talked about life without alcohol or drugs and how good he was feeling. I invited the Mayor of Reading-Rajinder Sohpal-who sparked off a fierce debate with the residents about housing and racial issues, in particular the former, which some of the residents were struggling with as they left S1. Len's. They were worried about having a roof over their heads. Given my own experiences of life on the street and in rundown accommodation or squats, I really felt for them. From the feedback after the session, the residents felt better after having had the ear of the mayor (I later ran into Rajinder in my second year at university when I became an eager student at his lectures). Among others, I wrote to Lord Longford and asked him to come and see the work we were doing. Within a few days, Sue received a telephone call. It was Lord Longford asking when we would like him to come. Sue thought it was a friend trying to play a trick on her. Because 1 was working part-time 1 would put my home telephone number on much of my correspondence, just in case people needed to talk to me quickly, and 1 had not told Sue that I had written to him. Fortunately, just as she was about to tell him to go and jump in the lake she realised it was not a joke. He left his telephone number and told Sue to get me to contact him that evening, which I did. We made arrangements to collect him from his London home and on the drive to Reading he wanted to know my life history, and when I recounted it he said that I should write a book. At 51. Len's he started a debate on punishment and the criminal justice process with the residents and staff, which was well received. As I drove him back to the House of 142

Lords the conversation again turned to me putting pen to paper. Lord Longford has, in fact, been a major influence in my writing this book. Once at the House of Lords he invited me in for a drink before I made the return journey to Reading. In the bar, he introduced me to Lord Callaghan and, as we talked, I smiled to myself. If I had thought-all those years ago, when I was sitting in my cell at Wandsworth prison and he was Prime Minister-that one day I would be standing next to him chatting about law and order in the bar in the House of Lords I might have wondered whether my life of drink and drugs had had a more bizarre effect than I thought! Lord Longford invited me to bring a party of residents from St. Len's to the House so that we could sit in on the second reading of the Victims Compensation Bill which was going to be debated within the next couple of weeks. After the debate, we were to join him for tea. It was a good day out for the residents and myself. After that I was invited to accompany Lord Longford to other functions such as the Koestler Awards which are made to prisoners for achievement in the arts. My application to Bracknell College was successful and I started my year-long course in September. At first I found it hard to be back in education and daunting, to say the least. However, the lecturers were very understanding and did everything they could to help me. I discovered that my dyslexia was not as debilitating as I had first thought. I was introduced to the world of computers-as a result of which my disability is now well managed by high technology and I can 'surf the Net' with the best of them. I passed the access course with flying colours and won a place at Reading University where-as I put the finishing touches to this book-I am in the final year of a full-time BA Honours course in social work. I left my part-time job at St. Len's in September 1994 to take up these studies, after working in residential care for two and a half years. I have often been asked why I want to be a probation officer, especially when the Probation Service itself is going through a period of change and, some people would say, struggling to redefine its role now that welfare considerations have become less significant than maintaining National Standards for dealing with offenders. I need to think long and hard about my answer. Of my two main role models, Hilary Coleman and Roger Singer, Hilary took early retirement after 25 years in the service and Roger has taken up a lecturing post at Henley College after 20 years service. So why do I want to do the work with which they became disenchanted? I do not want to sound sentimental, but it is one way in which I can put back some of what I have taken out

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of society over the years. I believe, from direct experience at the wrong end, that probation does work. It turned my life around and I am sure that-with a proper approach to the difficulties, and often the personal disadvantages, which offenders face-it will work for many other people. Lord Longford calls the present Home Secretary, Michael Howard, 'The Prince of Darkness'. I think Michael Howard is politically shrewd and he responds to public opinion. But to my mind, the scenario during his law and order speech to the party faithful at t~e Conservative Party conference in Blackpool resembled a mid-1930s Nuremberg rally. The only way he would have received a bigger ovation would have been if a young offender had been executed in front of his audience. He used the phrase 'If you can't do the time, don't do the crime'. This adage was bandied about by inmates in Wandsworth prison at least 20 years ago and is well-known to the criminal fraternity. Michael Howard' s policies may be a way of winning votes, but, in terms of any serious attempt at a solution, simply locking up more and more people is as unproductive and outmoded as his phrases. Mark Leech, author of The Prisoner's Handbook and himself a former prisoner, a contemporary of mine, wrote in a Guardian article that 'Building more prisons is like building more hospitals in the hope that they will reduce road accidents'. With the prison population now approaching 60,000 the question must be whether the 'bang 'em up' approach is working? If it was doing so we would surely be one of the most law-abiding countries in the world. Society has the right to be protected and the Rule of Law must prevail. However, a report by the National Association of Probation Officers shows that only eight per cent of people in prison are serving sentences of four years or more, and 38 per cent are remand prisoners-most of these not convicted of anything. This leaves the bulk, 54 per cent of prisoners, serving comparatively short sentences and hardly a danger to the public. This was the category I was in, committing petty crime and appearing time and time again in court, and being sent back to prison. What happened when we were inside? They locked us up in a large building without any purposeful activities, where we could discuss crime and drugs from morning until night, and in a lot of cases continue to use drugs whilst in prison. On release, society would expect us to lead crime-free lives. The personal and behavioural problems I was experiencing in the outside world were simply intensified by going inside. 144

Locking up people for longer and longer periods of time and doing nothing with them but punishing them adds to the growing crime rate. In a few years, most of them will be back on the streets. There will probably be a new government in power, and, if not, there will be a new Home Secretary who will have to try and sort out the problems that the present law and order policies have created. In recent times there have been countless articles in newspapers and academic journals warning of the ill-effects of the slide towards a punitive and, arguably, vindictive response to crime. All I can do is to voice the concerns of a former convict. Lack of respect for other people is a common, basic factor in most crimes. But it also happens to be a common feature of many procedures or practices adopted by officialdom-police, courts and prisons-when dealing with (often called 'processing') offenders (sometimes called 'bodies'). It is therefore not surprising, perhaps, that there is sometimes a lack of respect for authority-and so the cycle continues, with the offender becoming more and more marginalised. I am frequently asked what made me change my lifestyle and give up crime. I can say that it was not locking me up in prison. This never worked. As Dr Gayford told me when I graduated from Pinel House, I simply became institutionalised, dependent on prisons and hospitals. The more I was locked up, the more I came to rely on the system to provide for my needs. I did not have to take responsibility for my life or my behaviour. I became isolated from the community where I should have been working on my problems. I will always be grateful to the probation service, as I will be for God's love in my life today, and without which I am sure that I would be dead or in some long-term institution. With the help of a probation officer, I worked out a sentence in the community, which I found challenging and hard work and where I was given responsibility for my actions and my life. I was able to tackle the problems I had with alcohol and drugs, and to work with other people who had problems functioning in mainstream society. Slowly, I came to feel that I had a stake in society and was not on the outside looking in. Often when we look at offenders we are problem-centred in our approach, instead of being people-centred, concerned about their personal circumstances and their rehabilitation. Yes, offending behaviour can be a big part of what a person is, but offenders also have aspects to their make-up. If we seek out and work on these positive aspects, drawing out strengths, this can be a way forward. There is a greater chance of reducing the crime rate by this means than there is by locking people up and hoping their attitudes will change.

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It is perhaps unfortunate that many imaginative projects have fallen by the wayside as a result of financial cutbacks or changed values or priorities. To take one of many examples, there was a project in Bristol called 'The New Career Project' which started in 1973. It was founded by the National Association for the Care and Resettlement of Offenders with funding from the Home Office. It offered an alternative to young male offenders who were at serious risk of receiving custodial sentences. One years' hostel residency was part of a two-year probation order. The programme offered training in practical social work. The chief aim was to build on the skills and relevant life experiences of the offender, and the project helped the talented but disadvantaged young law-breaker. The project continued for almost 20 years, capitalising on the notion that the offender had something to give and something to gain and producing people who went on to do social work training. However, in 1992 this unique effort came to an end to make way for new priorities. There may be a chink of light in that the idea behind such projects is now at last re-emerging. Early in 1997, the Institute for the Study and Treatment of Delinquency produced a Handbook of Community Programmes for Young and Juvenile Offenders which shows that more initiatives may be under way to deal with offenders within the community than many people realise. Community sentences are more economically viable than impri,sonment, but, at present the government prefers to pour millions of pounds of tax-payers' money into the prison system. George Bernard Shaw once wrote 'Imprisonment, as it exists today, is a worse crime than any of those committed by its victims!' If he were around today he would be astounded at the lack of progress since his time. In my first year at university I was sent out on a placement in which part of my job was to run groups for patients from Fairmile Hospital, a mental institution situated between Oxford and Reading. As I drove through the grounds of the hospital on a warm summer's afternoon I noticed that there were patients walking in the grounds and I had a strong sense of deja vu. It may be difficult for people to comprehend, but-despite the great joys, such as Sue, the children, and the opportunities and happiness which now fill my life-I am still attracted by such places. Somewhere, deep inside of me, there is a secret longing for the safety and security that premises like Pinel House or Wandsworth prison offer. Who knows, it might always be there.

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Extract frolll the Original Manuscript Chnpter 1 is reproduced below exactly as it appeared in Bob Turney's original manuscript and before any corrections'were made or editorial changes agreed. For people interested in dyslexia and the question whether writing can be assisted by computer, it is perhaps worth mentioning that the manuscript displayed certain regular features: • occasionally, a wrong word appeared which was not discerned by the spell-check. Thus, e.g. in the penultimate line of the third paragraph of Chapter 1, the words 'surfing from the illness' appear instead of 'suffering from the illness' • occasionally, essential words were omitted altogether • punctuation was often omitted or inappropriate-the end of a sentence frequently being marked by a comma and sentences beginning without the use of a capital letter • words were often hyphenated when they should not have been • certain familiar (seemingly 'comfortable ') words or phrases were relied on repeatedly almost as if learned by rote • superlatives ('very', 'excellent', 'a lot of) appeared repeatedly and thus indiscriminately. • emphasis (by italicising or other means) was often misplaced. Some of the above items are not different in quality to the kind of errors in any manuscript received by a publisher, although, in Bob Turney's case, the frequency with which they occurred suggests that they were not easily recognised by the author. Other items needing to be dealt with included a tendency, on occasion, to delve into greater detail than the storyline merited. In the original version of Chapter 1, e.g. medical expressions are used, explained and elaborated upon. In the revised version, the point is brought out that being surrounded by illness and medical or psychiatric problems impacted on the author's life as a child, and information which is largely gratuitous is dispensed with. However, items of this kind are a matter of style and-to a nonexpert-do not seem relevant to 'wordblindness'. All revisions were discussed with and approved by the author with a view to retaining the sense and feel of the original. Dryan Gibson

CHAPTERl It was a June afternoon in 1981, I was being driven through the grounds of Wal1ingham Park Hospital in Surrey which is a mental

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institution. I felt that my life was over for I was withdrawing from alcohol and drugs. My head felt like it was going to explode at any moment and I was shaking from head to toe. At that moment I would have done anything for another drink. I had been abusing substances for over twenty years. My last drink was the previous evening in a public lavatory with my wrists slashed from a earlier suicide attempt. As the car made its way up the drive I looked out of the window and noticed that there were patients walking around the grounds, seeing this, my mind flashed back to 1952.

I was eight years old and was walking with my mother through the grounds of Cane Hill Hospital in Surrey-another mental institution, and we were there to visit my father who was believed to be suffering from a mental condition which is now known as "Bipolar Affective Disorder" which is a mental disorder in which a disturbance of mood is the major symptom. This disturbance may be unipolar consisting either of depression or mania or bipolar which means a swing between the two states. In a severe form of the illness which is referred to as "Manic-depressive psychosis" mood swings may be accompanied by grandiose ideas or by extreme negative delusions. This illness can seriously disrupt normal life. A significant number of depressed people commit, or attempt to commit suicide which was the reason why my father was in hospital for he had made yet another attempt to take his own life. Others suffer from social isolation, poverty, and problems caused by alcohol dependence. The illness thankfully is rare, affecting only about eight per thousand people, men and women equally. Today it is well managed with the use of "Lithium" restoring people surfing from the illness to near normal health. Unfortunately this treatment was not available to my father. Nothing was explained to me about my father's illness, all I was told was that he was unwell and was in hospital. It is not hard to imagine my surprise when he met us in the grounds with all his clothes on for I thought if you went to hospital you were put to bed. I was pleased to see him and started to ask questions like where are your pyjamas" ? or why are you not in bed" ? and "are you better now, can you come home"? My parents very much believed in the ideology that" little children should be seen and not heard" and I was told to go and sit on the grass and not to ask so many questions. Even then I remember feeling JI

JI

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frustrated about not having my questions answered, or being given an explanation for why my father was in hospital. My parents were Winifred Violet Page and Thomas Leonard Turney who were both born and breed in the Bloomsbury area of London. My mother had a (Cleft palate' which is a gap in the palate which in turn separates the mouth from the nasal cavity. Many people with a cleft palate are partially deaf, which was so in my mother's case. She refused to have any sort of hearing aid, it was not until I was eighteen that she relented and agreed to get herself one. I spent my childhood, adolescence and most of my teenage years talking very loudly and as a result of this when my brothers and I get together the volume in our conversation will rise. Because of her deafness she became very frustrated at not being able to understand what was being said to her, on one occasion when I was about seven or eight years old she misunderstood something I had said, became very angry and lashed out at me slapping me round the face so hard that as a result I received damage to my left ear drum and have suffered from a condition known as ITinnitus I ever since. It is a ringing, buzzing, or whistling heard in the ear, in my case it is a buzzing sound. There is no cure for it , and some days it is better than others. Because of the cleft palate she also had a speech impediment which would make her sound like she was talking through her nose. One in eight hW1dred babies are born with this deformity. It can be improved by surgery, my mother told me that surgery had been attempted in her case and failed- doctors tried to convince my grandparents that they should try more surgery but they refused to put her through what they thought was another ordeal. At the age of eighteen she had an illegitimate son, my half-brother Stanley, and at that time in 1930 single mothers were socially isolated and treated as if they were criminals or some sort of mental degenerate, ( it could be said that not much has changed in the 1990s). many were put into institutions, and with her other problems I am sure my mother was a prime candidate for one of those establishments. At the age of seventeen my father was working in a warehouse, where he fell down a lift shaft, resulting in serious head injuries and was

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diagnosed as having a condition know as INeurasthenia '. The term was first used in 1869 by an America doctor by the name of Beard, the phrase was used to describe any mental syndrome which they were not sure of or did not understand, in fact the term was not used after 1937. Father's mental disorder was not fully explained to his family, the term was used to describe (Bipolar Affective Disorder' (or at the time the condition was called manic depression). I have since been told by Doctors that Bipolar Affective Disorder

cannot be brought about by head injuries, it is a organic mood disorder like schizophrenia which means that someone is born with the problem in their mental make-up. I feel that because the doctors of the time were unsure what the problem was they had to label it, and as his disorder was characterised by a change in mood and usually accompanied by a change in the overall level of activity, which resembled Bipolar Affective Disorder, they told the family that was what they thought it was. One thing is for sure is that he had a very serious mental disturbance. He was told by a doctor that he would be certifiable by the time he was twenty one. He became obsessed with the idea of becoming insane so much that his condition deteriorated to the point where he was making himself ill, and in turn spent a lot of time going in and out of mental hospitals. In fact in 1931 he was sent to Banstead Hospital where he was certified insane. He was in a vegetable like state and was unable the communicate with anyone and for some of that time he was put into a padded cell. He remained in Banstead for a period of eighteen months. He underwent music therapy in which a nurse was able to teach him to play the piano, which helped him to communicate with the other patients as they would make requests and my father would play them, so slowly he started once again to interact with other people so much so that he was certified sane and discharged from hospital. He met my mother shortly after this discharge from Banstead. They were introduced to each other through their families, they were in fact second cousins, and started a relationship and when my mother found herself pregnant once again, it was the answer that both of their families were looking for, for they viewed them as problems and thought it would be a good idea that they should get them married,

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thinking that it would get the pair of them out of the way and off their hands. They put a lot of pressure on the young couple to marry... They were married in 1934. In many ways it was an arranged marriage by both families. The marriage was unlawful, it was not until 1974 that the change in the law allowed second cousins to marry. However, my parents were unaware that they were not legally married. My mother believe that she was legally married until her death in 1983, and she always denied any knowledge of my father being certified insane before they were married, she maintained she was only told of his problem after the wedding. On one occasion shortly before her death I asked if it would it have made any difference if she had known the full history of his illness, would she have gone through with the wedding ? She was unsure what would had happened if she had known. Shortly after the wedding Albert Thomas Turney arrived into the world. He was dark haired like my parents, he looked so much like my father that they soon started to call him Tom, and he was the apple of my fathers eye in many ways. He has played a father role in my life, when I was a child he was someone I could look up to, he went on to be high flyer in the London Fire Service where he commanded sixteen thousand men and women. He took early retirement, and become a successful business man, and has now gone into local politics. Two years later Frederick James Turney made this debut into this world. Unlike his two elder bothers Stan and Tom, Fred had blond hair, and has always been the comedian of the family. I have got his sense of humour, I think the way he handles any of life's problems is with humour, I did that in many ways and would laugh at life in the hope it would get better on its own. He, like me has had many jobs, he worked as a bookmaker's runner in the late 1950s, then he was a window cleaner , and then became a milkman from which he had to retire on the grounds of ill health. Although the eldest son Stanley is my half-brother, throughout my life I have never thought of him as anything other than my brother. The

fact that we have different fathers has meant nothing to me, my father never treated him any different than the rest of us, it was my mother who would tell me about Stan having a different father. Stan is very bright, however I feel he never reached his potential academically. Mother always claimed that he deliberately failed his

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eleven plus exams because he did not want to go on to grammar school. She said he did not want to wear the school uniform, out of all of us I would say that he is the most serious-minded. He went off to be a professional soldier, he rose to the rank of sergeant in the pay corps. After serving twenty two years he and his wife s'ettled in Taunton in Somerset where he joined a national company. When he took early retirement at the age of sixty he was chief cashier. In 1938 the family moved to the St Helier estate in Carshalton, Surrey a new housing estate just south of London where we lived in a two bedroom terraced house. With the outbreak of the war, my father did not want to go into the army and he very much played on his disabilities to keep out of combat. He did go into the police service which he had always wanted to do, however, in peace time his disabilities kept him out of the service, and as soon as the war was over he was on the job market once again. In 1940 they had another son Victor who only survived four weeks, he developed a condition known as 'Pyloric stenosis' which is the narrowing of the pylorus (the lower outlet from the stomach) that obstructs the passage of food into the duodenum (the part of the small intestine) Pyoric stenosis occurs in infants three to four weeks after birth, it is the thickening of the pyoric muscle, there is no known reason why this happens. About one in every four thousand babies are affected. In 1940 the only way to treat the condition was by surgery, nowadays drugs are being used in some cases. Victor did not survive the operation, my mother said the doctors told her the anaesthetic was too much for him. When my mother was to recall the story of Victor's death she could only give a factual account of the story, I felt that she was unable to show any emotion. Both my parents knew how to look after us on a physical level-if we hurt ourselves they would be able to bandage us, however, on a emotional level they could do nothing for us. They also had problems communicating, I cannot ever recall them telling each other of their love for one another and I cannot remember either ever telling me that they loved me. On June 21 st 1944 at 6.30 am I was born, after one of the heaviest air raids there had been for sometime. There was an underground shelter in the back garden, my father decided that because of the children's sleep being constantly interrupted by air raid sirens that the three

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boys should sleep beneath my mother and his bed which was in the sitting room. I was born during an air raid with my brothers underneath the bed and my mother on top of it in labour which lasted for most of the night. There were problems with the delivery and I was in a distressed state at birth. Later, my mother would tell me that I was an agitated baby. My parents were desperate for a daughter, my mother had gone as far to knit pink girls clothes, because of the war there was a shortage of wool so I was dressed in girls clothes for the first six months of my life. My parents would tell me, in what they thought was an humorous way, about how disappointed they were with me for being male. But nonetheless they were disappointed in me, it felt very real to me, I did not know if they were really that irritated with me. I think at that was the first of many guilt trips I was to have in my childhood. The feelings of rejection were stay with me for a very long time. I was always trying to seek their approval I felt disapproved of by my parents, a feeling that would stay me for years to come whether those feelings where legitimate or not I do not know I know feelings are not always fact. However, that is the way I felt, it is not uncommon .for children from 'Dysfunctional Families' .it was sociologists Vogel and Bell were the originators of the term in the late 1960s. They did a study of a small number of families with emotionally disturbed children and discovered that the child was a scapegoat, all the negative feelings of the parents were focused on the child. As a small child I was love and cared for by my brothers, Tom would sit by me and I would hold his finger while I fell asleep, however, there was a big age gap between me and the rest of the boys so in many ways I was an only child Stan had already left school, and had become a professional in the army, by the time I was three years old.

Although I was a member of a large family I always felt the odd one out. And today those feelings are still with me, I never felt I belonged to the family. Maybe it was because I was the youngest and there was such a big age gap between us. Some how I do not think it is that simple ,I have always felt that I had been egotistical person, living in a world populated by one me ! So what was happening in the family

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only magnified those feeling of self-centreness, I learnt to are after number one. My father was very much a patriarchal tyrant. He would keep my mother short of money he would give her a set amount of money each week to keep all of us , which was never enough. On one occasion she never had any money to feed us so she put her purse down a drain and told my father she had lost it, in the hope she would get some money of him to buy some food. He made her go to the police station to report it missing before he would give her anymore money. He was obsessionally jealous of her, coming home at lunch time to see if he would find her with a lover, although he was promiscuous and was having affairs. He once wrote in one of his suicide notes about the guilt he felt about the way he was treating wife and family. However, he was a very gifted man. He could play many musical instruments. He was also good with his hands he would make lots of lovely wood toys for our birthday and Christmas presents. I remember sitting by him while he was cobbling shoes. I felt very important when allowed to sit by him on my own which meant I had him to myself. He would let me hold his tools for him, sometimes he would let me do some work. However, because my co-ordination was poor and I had problems working with my hands he use to quietly get agitated with what I was trying to do, mother would then have take me away, he could not suffer fools gladly. We never had holiday has a family the money was simply not there, but I do have so such warm memories of him and my mother taking me to Brighton for lovely day out one Whitson bank holiday 1951, I was seven years old, it was a really warm day, I remember my parents taking me to Sutton station to get a train, they were both in very good moods I was walking in the middle of holding their hands. Once at Brighton we made how our way to the beach, father played with me for most of the day, he bought use fish and chips from our lunch. And on the way back to the station to catch the train home we stopped at a shop and he brought me a cricket bat. It was I felt the most wonderful day of my childhood. In Graham Greene's IBrighton Rock' when he writes write about men strolling in twos wearing their summer suits with knife-edged silver

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grey trousers and elegant shirts, that is how I remember my father on that wonderful day.

Greene also goes on to describe the Grand Hotel with its Victorian terraces, with men who had silver hair looking like retired statesman. That is how I remember the Grand Hotel when my parents walked past it and my father telling me the you would have to have a lot of money to stay here. On the train on the way home I fell asleep in his arms, he must have carried me all the way home, because I woke-up next morning in bed.

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158 Extracts from the Waterside Press Catalogue

Prisons and the Voluntary Sector A Bridge into the Community Edited by Shane Bryans, Clive Martin and Roma Walker With a Foreword by Terry Waite CBE An important new work as HMPS looks to more community partnerships From 2002 there is a major initiative to engage the voluntary sector and wider community in the work of prisons, part of a broader government strategy for the public services. This key work is edited by three experts in this field and contains contributions from a range of well-informed commentators. As such, it will 'set the standard' becoming a touchstone for both parties - the voluntary sector and members of HMPS - as they begin to cooperate more fully in partnership ventures consistent with security, control and other general aims of the Prison Service. The editors of Prisons and the Voluntary Sector have assembled a range of excellent materials focusing. on key issues and which give pointers to what is realistic in this unique and challenging environment. The materials offer sound practical advice: as well as describing the increasing potential for voluntary sector involvement in prisons they warn of pitfalls and difficulties. The book also summarises th~ long and reputable history of voluntary work in prisons - which goes back for over 200 years - and has an Appendix containing a Directory of Voluntary Sector Organizations operating in and around prisons, many with practical experience, skills and relevant know how. As launched by Beverley Hughes MP, Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State, Custodial and Community Provision 2002 ISBN 1 872 870 95 3. £15.50

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Catalogue Opening Up a Closed World Crime, Punishment, Policing, Criminology Courts, Sentencing, Criminal Policy Citizenship, Human Rights Youth:Justice Restorative Justice, Mediation, Conflict Resolution The Prisons Handbook and Prison Writing The Waterside Press Prison List Child Law, Family Law, Domestic Violence Capital Punishment: Britain and Around the World Drugs Electronic Monitoring Guides for Newcomers The Waterside Press Criminal Policy Series Telephone 01962 855567 Full details of all these publications also appear at our web-site

160 Extracts from the Waterside Press Catalogue

eneral interest Introduction to the Criminal Justice Process Bryan Gibson and Paul Cavadino. An outline of the system from investigation and arrest to prosecution, conviction, sentence and beyond. An excellent description of roles, powers and responsibilities. Accessible and highly readable - including for people with little or no experience: 'Rarely, if ever, has this complex process been described with such comprehensiveness and clarity' Justice of the Peace (First edition) NEW SECOND EDITION AVAILABLE MID-2002 172 pages. ISBN 1 872870279. £15 Introduction to the Magistrates' Court Bryan Gibson with Winston Gordon and Andy Wesson. The FOURTH EDITION of this popular work contains a basic explanation of the work of the magistrates' court and an outline of jurisdiction, procedures, sentencing and other powers - plus proposals for reform. Contains a Glossary of Words, Phrases and Abbreviations - 'The Language of the System'. 'An ideal introduction' Law Society Gazette (First edition). Other editions received excellent reviews, including from The Magistrate and Victim Support etc. 2001 192 pages. ISBN 1 872870996. £15 Introduction to the Probation Service Dick Whitfield SECOND EDITION A straightforward account of the Probation Service, its history and modern"day role including its primary functions in relation to the courts, pre-sentence reports (PSRs) and community sentences. An ideal companion to other books in this range. Reprinted 2001 with extra material by Mike Nellls dealing with the coming of the National Probation Service. 192 pages. 1998 ISBN 1 872 870 81 3. £15 Introduction to Prisons and Imprisonment Nick Flynn. With a Foreword by Lord Hurd of Westwell. Basic information about imprisonment in England and Wales, HM Prison Service and prison regimes. Ideal for people who want a clear guide about how English prisons operate. 160 pages. Under the auspices of the Prison Reform Trust. 1998 (Reprinted 2002) ISBN 1 872 870 37 6. £15 Introduction to Youth Justice Winston Gardan, Philip CUddy and Jonathan Black Edited by Bryan Gibsan. 1999 ISBN 1 872 870 75 9. £13.50

Introduction to Road Traffic Offences Winston Gordon, Philip Cuddy and Andy Wesson. Everything for the general reader: commonplace road traffic offences, licence endorsement and disqualification from driving. Highly accessible - and an ideal aide m'emoire. 176 pages. 1998 ISBN 1 872870 51 1. £13.50 Introduction to the Scottish Children's Panel Alistair Kelly. An outline of the Scottish system of justice for children. 'Very interesting reading' The Law. 1996 ISBN 1 872 870 38 4. £13.50 Introduction to the Family Proceedings Court Elaine Laken, Chris Bazell and Winston Gordon Foreword: Sir Stephen Brown. Excellent reviews. 1997 ISBN 1 872 870 46 5. £13.50

Introduction to Criminology Russell Pond. 'Most helpfUl and readable' •.. 'fascinating and thought provoking': The Magistrate. For anyone wanting to get speedily to grips with the central ideas, beliefs, sources and terminology of an otherwise complex - sometimes mystifying - topic. Sound pre-course reading at various levels. 160 pages 1999. ISBN 1 872 870 42 2. £13.50

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There could not be a better reference book Martin Narey, Director General HM Prison Service (January 2002) Highly recommended Criminal Practitioners Newsletter (Review of 2001 Edn.)

T·he Prisons Handbook 2002 Edited by MARK LEECH and DEBORAH CHENEY This definitive annual work always attracts 9utstanding reviews for its scale, comprehensiveness, accuracy, clarity and reliability. It has the support of the director general of HM Prison Service and many serving governors, officers and prisoners contribute to it with current information. The handbook is quite simply the best day-to-day work that there is on prisons in England and Wales. Contains in Section 1 a detailed A to Z of the Prisons of England and Wales (one to two pages per entry and including this year, for the first time, 'governor profiles' where supplied) and nine further substantial sections dealing with virtually every aspect of imprisonment: law; human rights; prison regimes; minority rights and a host of other topics - including, new this year, a section on Prison Officers and Prison Governors. NEW SIXTH EDITION: BIGGER AND BETTER THAN EVER AT WELL OVER 700 PAGES ISBN 1 872 870 16 3 Price £57.50 (NB to add £5 p&p) Prisoners, Families, Friends and HM Prison Service £44.50 (plus £5 p&p)

Going Straight Angela Devlin and Bob Turney Foreword Jack Straw, Former Home Secretary Based on first-hand accounts, Going Straight seeks to identify turning points and key influences in the lives of criminals (some well-known) who - often against all odds - turned their lives around. Includes contributions by His Honour Sir Stephen Tumlm and broadcaster Roger Graef 1998 Reprinted 2001 ISBN 1 872 870 66 X £18

Prison{er) Education: Stories of Change and Transformation David Wilson and Anne Reuss An unswerving challenge to penal policy-makers to accept the value of education - beyond 'basic skills'. With contributions Or Ray Pawson, Stephen Duguid and Emma Hughes. The first major collection of writings about the transforming power of education In British prisons. As featured by Jeremy Paxman on BBC 'Start the Week'. 2000 ISBN 1 872 870 90 2. £18

Murderers and Life Imprisonment Eric Cullen and Tim Newell. The range of this major work is wide: from an examination of 'Who Are the Lifers?' (including a UKlUSA comparison), lifer profiles, 'The Structure of Life Sentence' and 'The Psychology of the Murderer', 'Containment and Treatment', 'Discretionary Lifer Panels' and a range of ethical, Human Rights and associated issues. With contributions by Professor Davld Wilson ('Delusions of Innocence') and Roland Woodward now director of HMP Dovegate ('Lifer Risk Assessment'). The work is further enhanced by anonymised case stUdies. An expert analysis by two people who have spent their careers with lifers. 'An extremely timely addition to Waterside's remarkable series of criminal justice texts': Stephen Shaw (Foreword). ISBN 1 872 870 56 2. 1999. £18

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162 Extracts from the Waterside Press Catalogue

Prisons of Promise Tessa West Foreword Sir David Ramsbotham This forward-looking book counteracts images of prisons as negative places and challenges people to identify 'goodwill', energies and skills which might be maximised to make prisons safe and purposeful communities. 'A positive and purposeful book ... which I commend, unreservedly, to anyone who has an interest or involvement in prisons' Sir David Ramsbotham. 'Extremely well-researched ... Should be seriously considered by the Home Secretary' Justice of the Peace. 1997 ISBN 1 872 870 50 3. £16

Prison Patter Angela Devlin A dictionary of prison slang culled from prisoners, prison officers and other people working inside prisons. 'Useful for the custody suite' Police Journal. 1996 ISBN 1 87287041 4. £13.50

Punishments of Former Days Ernest Pettifer One of Waterside's earliest publications, this survey of old-time punishments serves to inform the present day. Historical and absorbing. 'A good read' The Magistrate. 1992 ISBN 1 872 870 05 8. £12

Deaths of Offenders The Hidden Side of Justice Alison Liebling (Ed.) Examines deaths in police, prison and special hospital custody - including on remand and in court/police cells. Contains a range of expert contributions. Published on behalf of ISTD (Now the Centre for Crime and Justice Studies). 1998 ISBN 1 872 870 61 9. £18 IN 2002 WATCH ALSO FOR No Truth, No Justice Audrey and Paul Edwards - The personal account of parents whose son was killed whilst on remand, their struggle to find out what happened and the barriers which - with endless determination and tenacity - they finally overcame until the tragic events were referred to Europe. Further details to be announced

The Pain and the Pride: Life Inside the Colorado Boot Camp Brian P Block A fly-on-the wall account of life inside an American Boot Camp. 2000 ISBN 1 872 870 84 3 £10

Invisible Women What's Wrong With Women's Prisons Angela Devlin Highly acclaimed - Angela Devlin's classic account of women's prisons: 'What an excellent book' Justice of the Peace. 1998. Second reprint 2002 ISBN 1 872 870 59 7 £18.

Anybody's Nightmare The Sheila Bowler Story Angela and Tim Devlin As dramatised by ITV and starring Patricia Routledge. One woman's fight to clear her name of murder - in the end successfully. ISBN 1 901470 04 0 £12.50

I'm Still Standing Bob Turney The widely acclaimed autobiography of a dyslexic ex-prisoner (who later became a probation officer). lA truly remarkable book' Prison Writing. (1997, reprinted 2001) ISBN 1 872 870 43 0 £13.50

Drug Treatment in Prison An Evaluation of the RAPt Treatment Programme Carol Martin and Elaine Player (Eds.) The findings of a two-year study into the effectiveness of the RAPt programme which enables male prisoners with self-confessed problems of substance misuse to lead a drug and alcohol-free life in prison and in the community after release. The report also assesses whether completion of the programme is associated with a reduction in the likelihood of reconviction post-release. A unique and highly significant collection of data and information. 2000 ISBN 1 872 870 26 0 £10

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163

Drug Trafficking and Criminal Policy Penny Green See the Waterside Criminal Policy Series in the catalogue or at our web-site 1998 ISBN 1 872 870 33 3. £18

Women, Drugs and Custody Margaret Malloch Looks at the interaction of the three strands of the title and their often competing agendas to show how all drugs present complex problems in a closed environment. 2001 ISBN 1 872 870 91 0 1 £16

The Longest Injustice Alex Alexandrowicz and David Wilson Alex Alexandrowicz entered a Kafkaesque nightmare in which protestations of innocence only deepened his predicament. He served 22 years without adequate explanation. His own 'Prison Chronicles' are put into perspective by former governor and BBC Crime Squad co-presenter David Wilson. 1998 ISBN 1 872870457 £16

Introduction to Prisons and Imprisonment Nick Flynn NOW REPRINTED. See Beginners Guides 1998, Reprinted 2002 ISBN 1 872 870 37 6 £15

Criminal Classes: Offenders at School Angela Devlin Angela Devlin's highly acclaimed first work - which identifies areas at the schooling stage which influence and predict future offending behaviour. 'If you are in any doubt about the links between poor education, crime and recidivism, read it': Marcel Berlins The Guardian. 1996 Reprinted 1997,2000. ISBN 1 872 870 30 9 £16.

Prison on Trial Thomas Mathiesen Mathlesen's classic account in a SECOND ENGLISH EDITION. See Criminal Policy Series 2000 ISBN 1 872 870 86 6 £19.50

All the World's a Cage Maggie Marshall (Novel) See endpage 2000 ISBN 1 872 870 83 X £10

The Prison Officer Alison Liebling and David Price In association with Prison Service Journal: 'The most important book for HM Prison Service of the past 30 years': Phil Wheatley, Deputy Director, HM Prison Service. 'This outstanding book will be a major source of reference': Martin Narey, Director General. ISBN 0 952 8413 2 0 £10

Grendon Tales Stories from a Therapeutic Community Ursula Smartt - With aForeword Lord Avebury ISBN 1 872 870 96 1 £18

As featured on BBC Radio 4 'A breathless personal slide through her year talking to some of Britain's most dangerous prisoners': Community Care 'A work of intimacy and frankness ... Concrete evidence that therapy does help expose the failures of the past whilst offering hope for the future': Prison Service News 'As readable as a novel ... I could not put it down until finished': The Magistrate 'The tales are recounted in a style which allows the reader to read in colour ... A tale well told and worth reading': RPGA Newsletter 'Indispensible reading ... for practitioners and policy-makers alike': Scolag Legal Journal 'Several books have already been published about [HM Prison Grendon] but none with the depth of understanding that this author brings to Grendon Tales ... Uplifting ... A book that deserves a wide readership': New Law Journal

164 Extracts from the Waterside Press Catalogue

Prison Writing Edited by Julian Broadhead and Laura Kerr As featured In The Guardian Prison Writing is published annually in book form to promote creative writing among prisoners in the UK and beyond. The contents are of a high standard and cover a range of topics, prison-related and otherwise. Many prisoners first saw their work in print in Prison Writing. Some went on to be published in national newspapers and magazines and to attract the interest of book publishers. Interviews are a feature of Prison Writing, and interviewees have included Eddie Bunker ('Prison Writing is doing a real good job. Keep up the good work!), Martin Amls ('Writing depends on the only thing these guys have plenty of: solitude'), Howard Marks, Hugh Colllns and Razor Smith. A full list of the contents of each Waterside edition appears at www.watersidepress.co.uk 2001 Edition Number 15 2000 ISBN 1 872 870 87 2 £12 2002 Edition Number 16 2002 ISBN 1 872 870 406 £12 (Spring 2002) Special two book offer: Both the 2001 and 2002 editions for £25 inclusive of delivery (to be despatched together on publication of the latter).Prison Writing •.• We value your support ANOTHER HIGHLY INNOVATIVE PUBLICATION •••

the Geese Theatre H~ndbook Drama with Offenders and People at Risk Edited by Clark Bairn, Sally Brookes and Alun Mountford The Geese Theatre Handbook explains the thinking behind the company's approach to applied drama with offenders and people at risk of offending, including young people. It also contains over 100 exercises with explanations, instructions and suggestions to help practitioners develop their own style and approach. The materials can be readily adapted to other settings including conflict resolution, restorative justice and interpersonal skills training. With easy to. follow directions· and with over 100 practical exercises and instructions ISBN 1 872 870 67 8 Price £19.50.

Inside Art Creativity and Crime Mary Brown Now rescheduled for 2002. The significance and importance of art for people seeking to come to terms with their offending behaviour and rebuild their lives - with the connection between the creative impulse and criminal offending explored. Further details to be announced. ISBN 1 872 870 89 9. £16

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TPS (216mmx138mm)

ISBN: 1-872-870-430 Demy Octavio (216mmx138mm)(210)