The Big Breach - Index of

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The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.combed, he introduced himself as Paul Dobson and explained that he hadbeen remanded in custody for allegedly shooting a rival gang leaderduring the `bootleg' liquor-smuggling wars in Dover. We discovered thatwe had been schooled almost together. He had been at the Deerbolt YoungOffenders unit just a mile or so away from Barnard Castle School. He'dpreviously done a few years in Durham prison, so the six months waitingon remand were a stroll to him. Ì'll get natural life if they convictme, but I'm not guilty,' he claimed optimistically.My other neighbour emerged from his cell, blinking and red-eyed, tocollect a mug of hot water at the lunch unlock. He stuck his shaven,scarred head around my door as I prepared a cup of tea. Òi, next door,I'm sorry about all the noise last night. I was off me fuckin' head.'He rubbed his bleary eyes. Ì'm Craggsy,' he said, extending a hand infriendly greeting. But his eyes narrowed as I introduced myself. Òi,yer not a nonce, are yer?'Ì don't think so,' I replied, not knowing what he meant but guessingthat it was not a good idea to be one.`Well that's alright then,' he grinned, exposing a row of broken teeth.Craggs had been serving a 12-year sentence for armed robbery, butduring a transfer to another prison he and three others had escapedfrom the van after coshing the driver and guards. He had been on therun for two weeks but was now awaiting another sentencing for theassault, and his escape attempt had earned him his E-list `stripes', adenim uniform with prominent yellow bands down each side.Normally new inmates to Belmarsh spend the first week of their sentenceon the induction wing, spur 2 of houseblock 1, to learn the prisonrules with `short, sharp shock' tactics. Nicknamed `Beirut' by theprisoners, the conditions were so dirty, petty and harsh thattransferring to another spur was a move into comparative luxury. I hadmissed the privilege because it was considered insecure for A-catprisoners. Whilst not a problem for other A-cats, who usually hadplenty of prior experience in prison, for me it meant learning theBelmarsh rules by trial and error.Every morning after first unlock we had 20 minutes before breakfast inwhich to collect our mail, put our names down for gym and phonecalls orto see the duty doctor, and I used the opportunity to grab a shower inthe blocks on the top landing. My second morning dawned heavilyovercast and a weak, diffuse light struggled through the shower block'sgrimy barred window. Needing more light to avoid the worst of the filthand swamp flies, I jabbed the push-button switch by the door.Immediately there was a loud klaxon and a sudden burst of commotionfrom the screws on the landing below as their belt-alarms wailed.`Where is it? What's happening?' they shouted, sprinting up the stairson to the landings. The heavy doors leading from the central atriumsprung open and reinforcements from the neighbouring spurs invaded,their batons drawn. Rushing down the landings they bellowed orders -ÒK lads, back in your cells, NOW' - at the few other prisoners whowere out and about, slamming their doors shut. I watched bemused for asecond, then hurried back to my cell. Through the door-flap I watchedthe agitated screws scurry around, anxiously looking for something.Having no idea what was going on, I made a mental note to ask Dobson.page- 175 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com
The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comWe were re-released ten minutes or so later and life re-started asnormal. Back at the shower blocks, with my towel over my shoulder, Ilooked more carefully at the light-switch. Engraved just under thebutton were the words `General Alarm'.`You daft cunt,' Dobson grinned broadly at me in the lunch queue andexplained, `them buttons is only for when a scrap breaks out or sommit.You'll get a week in the segregation block if they catch you meddlin'with them. On yer own in an empty cell, no mattress except at night,exercise on yer own so no cunt to talk to the whole day, nowt te read`cept the effin bible, does yer fuckin' head in.'Every day we were entitled by prison regulations to an hour ofàssociation' which alternated according to the day between mornings orevenings. Our cell doors had to be locked behind us to preventprisoners congregating out of sight of the screws and the upperlandings were closed down, so all 100 prisoners on the spur crowded onto the tiny lower floor. We could take it in turns to play pool ortable-football, queue to use the telephone or sit around on the floorand chat over a cup of tea. There were ten or so comfy chairs in frontof the television, so there was a scramble to get a seat and then afierce debate about which channel to watch. Popular programmes werepolice dramas such as The Bill (called `training videos' by Craggs) andBBC's Crimewatch, watched eagerly to see if any friends were featured.The undisputed favourite, however, was Top of the Pops, transmitted onFriday evening, though we could only watch it every second-week whenthe association times coincided with the programme.On weekends we had the luxury of four hours of association each day,two in the morning and two in the evening. We were entitled to an hourof exercise a day in the bare concrete exercise yard, as long as it wasnot raining, and on Sundays we got a double-session if the screws werefeeling generous. But there were few other opportunities for A-catprisoners to get out of their cells. Being banged up in a cell for upto 22 hours a day was tedious and unrelenting. Even with a good book itwas difficult to forget that even the most basic liberties, such asbeing able to get up and make a cup of tea, had been taken away. A-catswere restricted even when unlocked from our cells. Every move out ofour door, whether to take exercise in the yard, queue for a meal ormake a phone call, was noted in a small black book held by Mr Richards,the evercheerful senior officer in charge of our spur. We had to put informal, written requests for trivial things. A haircut, or growing amoustache, required written permission from the Governor. Even trimmingtoenails required an application for the nail clippers and supervisionby a screw. My status as an A-cat prisoner was a mystery and a joke tothe other prisoners. Even Mr Richards couldn't understand the logic.`They're taking the bleedin' piss puttin' you on the book,' he laughed.`You've never been in jail, no previous record, a white-collar crimeand they make you A-cat! Somebody's got it in for you up on high, Ireckon.'The morning of 10 November had been set as the date for my second bailhearing at Bow Street Magistrates court. Two screws woke me at 6 a.m.,strip-searched me in the cell, escorted me to reception, ordered me tostrip again while they x-rayed my clothes, led me in handcuffs to theprison van and locked me into one of the cubicles. `We're a bit earlyfor the police escort so you'll have to wait,' the screw said throughpage- 176 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com
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