In 1970, at 26 years of age, I was sentenced to life imprisonment. As much as it was a shock to the system it wasn’t entirely unexpected. I was an active criminal, heavily involved in armed robbery, as well as being a known ‘face’ on the, for want of a better term, underworld scene.
I had served a previous sentence of 6 years for another serious offence when I was 18. Far from making it easier to accept my present sentence, this, in fact, made it harder. I actually had a reference point to quantify time served against. I knew just how long, in psychological terms, it had taken to serve the 6 year sentence.
Further, because of this serious previous conviction, I realised that I would serve very much longer than the average lifer. The Home Office never gave any guidelines, so it was all a matter of guesswork. However, I estimated that I was looking at somewhere between 15 and 20 years.
Quite clearly, I was entering uncharted territory. Equally clearly. I would have to work out some sort of survival strategy.
On my previous sentence I had seen men who had ‘cracked up’. There were regular suicides and others had become so eccentric that they had been certified insane and sent to one of the special hospitals. The risk of losing one’s mind was every prisoner’s greatest fear.
So I looked among my fellow prisoners for human yardsticks to measure against. The majority of men who had served 5 years seemed fully in command of their faculties. Among the much fewer men who had served 10 years a sizeable proportion showed clear signs of eccentricity. Virtually to a man, the handful of prisoners who had served 15 years or more were seriously damaged.
But I was the irresistible force, blessed or cursed with a fanatical self-belief. It was my very strength that had brought me into such violent conflict with the accepted norms of society. Even so, I realised that I would have to make myself immeasurably stronger in order to survive the long years.
An immediate problem was the ‘politics’ of the world I lived in. Violence is epidemic in prison. It is truly a warrior society, with strength and viciousness the most necessary qualities for survival. As a notorious killer I would be a target for other violent men wanting to make a name for themselves. Further, the prison authorities are in the business of trying to break the prisoner’s spirit.
Intuitively, I felt that the strength of one’s spirit was supremely important. This ruled out trying to lead a low-profile existence. I would have to stand my ground whatever the challenge and if that brought me into conflict, then so be it. It would be extremely stressful, but stress isn’t necessarily the enemy. It is all a question of how one handles it.
The strategy I was to adopt would work on two levels, the mental and the physical. The latter was designed to strengthen my will and was really an interaction between the mental and the physical. Grueling work-outs up to three hours a day would hone an obsessive determination that would enable me to make the most rational decision, no matter how much pain and grief it caused me in the short term. A welcome by-product of the work-outs was that I would better be able to defend myself in violent confrontations.
It was also part of my strategy never to accept the life sentence. I was a resourceful and determined escaper. The ‘spiritual’ benefits of this was that salvation could come at any time. Next week, next month, a successful escape could put me on the street and at the end of my life sentence.
I spent a lot of time in solitary confinement in the early years. In many ways this worked directly against my survival plan. Sensory deprivation is the most extreme of human environments, one where the mind invariably fractures. However, in line with the maxim ‘that which does not kill you makes you stronger’, if you can survive it you do emerge the stronger.
But if I was the irresistible force, then the institution of prison was the immovable object. Unsuccessful escape attempts, violent incidents and confrontations with the authorities saw me constantly thrown into solitary and/or moved around the country. Emotionally, physically and spiritually it was tiring. As I approasched my tenth year and my first parole review I realised that it was impossible to sustain such a life.
But with ten years behind me, other possibilities now presented themselves. Lower security prisons offered better resourced, less violent regimes that were more stimulating. I was sent to a well-resourced Category C prison called The Verne, at Portland in Dorset. Here, in conditions of comparative freedom, I continued my programme of mental and physical survival.
There were still shocks and surprises. At the thirteen year mark the incumbent ‘law and order’ Home Secretary changed the whole lifer system. Every lifer was given a ‘tariff’ and mine was to be 20 years. But at least I had something to aim at now.
At the 18 year mark I was suddenly struck by a crippling arthritic illness. Within weeks I could hardly walk and the prison doctor warned that my condition could only worsen. My awesome self-discipline stood me in good stead though. I researched the illness and through a combination of diet and exercise largely overcame it. I was phenomenally strong in every way now.
I continued to do what I had always done and the time passed. On 20 years they sent me to open prison. Four years later I was released.
I have since written six books, one of them a best-seller, with all the others still in print after several years. I became a journalist and travelled all over the world for the Sunday Express and men’s life-style magazines. I attended Surrey University and passed a Master’s degree in criminology. I currently live in Spain.
In conclusion, what I am most definitely not saying is that my life is one to be emulated. The message is, that with a finely honed and focused will, one can overcome seemingly insurmountable problems. Often, the rational, logical decision is plain to see. Equally often, the flesh is weak. Will-power is a muscle It can be strengthened if you have the determination.