INTRODUCTION

 

It has taken me over thirty years to actually sit down and relate the incidents which shaped my early life. Naturally enough, some experiences have distorted with age and others are but a dim recollection. Consequently what I remember as true is perhaps a little different to the way others who were in my same situation remember it.

Artistic license is something all writers fall back on shamelessly and I confess to having slipped in one or two things that may only be figments of the imagination to keep the general momentum of the story in top gear. However this token of self-indulgence is minimum and does not alter what is basically a true rendition of three years in my early life.

In some cases I have changed the identity of characters to protect them from the ensuing interest that may be generated by this story. Many, I am sure, have now passed on and many will have the lasting impressions that I have.

There is no attempt at sensationalism and I have related incidents as I recall them, the fact that they may now seem sensational is a reflection on the era we life in. That such places could exist and still do, is a condemnation of our society, a society that claims to have a civilised structure but in fact regresses to primordial instincts and greedy self interest when left to its own devices.

I am neither anarchist nor reformist, a flag waver nor recidivist. I leave that to those self righteous bores who somehow attain power in our system and insidiously censor our daily lives with their own barbed, self interest. I am only an observer and this story recounts my observations on an institution that claimed to rehabilitate young offenders.

Somewhere along the way I think they went wrong.

 

CHAPTER ONE

MOVING IN

 

I shifted my weight carefully from the right buttock to the left and Carson glanced at me suspiciously. He had eyes like a snake, hypnotic and potentially dangerous. I shrugged non-committally and he turned his attention back to the road ahead. The very fact that I had moved relieved the tension that seemed to be paralysing every muscle in my body. I settled back as best I could into the leather upholstery and tried to keep my mind off the immediate future. That, in itself was a mammoth task with the chaffing of the handcuffs against my wrists a constant reminder that I was not going anywhere nice.

"You're a fool to yourself," Carson said without warning and I looked at him. Lord preserve me from the bland recriminations of solicitous policemen. He had been trying to engage conversation for over three hours, ever since we had first driven out of the police station in Earls Court, but I had carefully vetoed every attempt with the blind ignorance of youth. I didn't like policemen. It was as simple as that. As far as I was concerned they were a necessary evil to be tolerated and avoided at every opportunity. Somehow I couldn't seem to get that across to DC Carson of the Metropolitan Police Force. He was a trier. I had to allow him that.

I nodded without conviction and he immediately seized the gesture as a form of encouragement. He launched into a lecture on morality as if a show of conscience on my part would eradicate all past errors and drop me back into society as if nothing had happened. There was little doubt that the man was an idealistic moron.;;

I ignored him and let my head rest against the back of the seat. With eyes closed I was able to shut out the sound of his voice and concentrate on the situation as it was. One thing was certain, I was not about to rejoin society for a long time. A minimum of three years the judge had said. The pompous bastard. That left me incarcerated until 1955 at the earliest. Jesus! How was the world going to survive without me?

Carson's voice droned on and I thought about Janet. God, she would be nineteen when they let me out! Three years suddenly seemed like a very long time indeed and I began to feel sorry for myself.

It was Quin's fault anyway. Bloody simpleton. If he hadn't tried to prove what a ladies man he was the whole thing would never have happened. Gary Cooper had a lot to answer for when he starred in High Noon. I'm sure Quin thought he was God's gift to women and Cooper's portrayal only served to convince him further.

I wouldn't really call Quin a friend, not the sort you would want at your side in a major situation, but he was a very strong acquaintance. We had been sort of mates since the third grade but I had never really trusted him. He had the hots for Janet and that would never do, after all, she was my property. It was me who had finally unearthed those gigantic tits of hers where all others had failed. That made me something special, so, when Quin tried to man-handle what I termed 'my property' I was obligated to do something about it. Alright, perhaps I did over react but my old man always told me that when you knock them down make sure they stay down, otherwise they're liable to get up and kick the living shit out of you.

Driving a lemon squeezer into Quin's left eye didn't seem like a bad idea at the time although I was having second thoughts as I sat in the car and listened to the monotonous drone of Carson's voice.

There's something very unnerving about crippling someone for life and knowing that it wasn't really necessary. Quin would doubtless be blind in one eye for the rest of his days and I would carry that responsibility to the grave. It's not exactly guilt, rather, a strange sort of sadness and possibly a little fear that he may seek revenge. I couldn't imagine what I would do if someone took my eye out because I squeezed a girl's tit? It seems an awful price to pay for a minor infraction of the recognised rules of the game.

No matter, I was on my way to paying for my indiscretion, labelled by the judge as a 'dangerous and immoral threat' to society. What the Hell did he know? 'To be isolated from the general public where you will be punished for this evil and unnecessary crime' Yes, Mr Judge, and I love you too.'

Carson had given up and the only sound was the drone of the car engine as he drove along the narrow coast road bordering the River Dee. I knew absolutely nothing about the place I was going to spend the next three years of my life except that it had a bad reputation for evil little bastards like me and their rate of success was highly recommended. Looking back on it now I find difficulty in remembering my state of mind as we approached the building that was to shape my life in a way that I could never have imagined.

The drive leading up to the front door was surfaced with gravel and the tyres crunched out a protest as Carson wrestled the wheel around a huge round about made up as a garden and tended by a youth of about eighteen dressed in overalls and navy blue sweater. I looked at him with interest, after all, he was my first sight of the kind of individual I would be sharing 'my life with. In fact, he didn't look to bad. My youthful standards measured him as an opponent rather than a companion and I thought that I could take him if the need arose. My spirits lifted slightly. If he was the best they had to offer I thought I would do well here.

"This is it," Carson said as he turned off the ignition and opened the car door. "Get your arse out and follow me."

I did as I was bid because I had no other choice. He led me through a huge oak door into a hallway decorated with framed prints of naval battles. I nodded briefly at the youth as I passed but he ignored me and concentrated on the job in hand. 'And fuck you too' I thought, wishing to Christ I hadn't nodded in the first place, it was all about making the right moves and I knew I had just made a wrong one.

Carson removed the handcuffs and tucked them away in his back pocket. I rubbed my wrists with my palms to ease the irritation and he shook his head sadly.

"Sore wrists are going to be the least of your worries up here," he said. He glanced around to make sure that no one was present and then he leaned forward and said quietly. "If you're a very wise young man, which I don't think you are, you'll keep your mouth shut, period, you'll do what you're told without question and when someone says jump, you jump. That way, the chances are you may survive."

"Thanks," I said looking him directly in the eye. "Thanks for nothing."

He shook his head and shrugged.

"I might have known, you're a waste of time, Connor."

"I'll survive, Mr Detective Constable, I don't need any advice from you, so just take yourself back to London and arrest a few parking offenders ... you might get a commendation."

He shook his head once more and rapped his knuckles against a door marked 'private'. Without waiting for an invitation he opened the door and ushered me through. As I passed him he said quietly, "You're a fucking pratt, Connor," but I ignored him and walked arrogantly into a sparsely furnished office.

Behind a desk littered with papers sat the man who was destined to control my life for the next three years. At the time I don't remember being particularly impressed by him but, strangely enough, I can remember every detail of his features to this day, so he must have made one hell of an impression on my subconscious.