Honour of the Line (15 page)

Swinton was a Caribbean looking chap who looked equally as horrible as he actually was. As you looked across the dining room you could see the terror he etched into peoples brains.

After breakfast it was off to classes where the lessons were so simple you could fall asleep. Chiv was in my class so it proved he was better educated than most of the others, probably because most had spent their entire youth being involved in crime and dodging school. Mid morning there was a short toilet break then back to class until lunchtime where the best you could hope for was a plate of steamed cabbage that resembled seaweed because, once again, the tables tough guys confiscated any decent grub for themselves. Afternoons were spent in class until 4 pm and then everybody went to the common room until tea at 5.15 pm. There was also a quiet room which contained books and out of date newspapers. Chiv suggested this was the safest option as in the common rooms your chances of getting beaten up were far greater. Once tea was over both blocks picked their teams for a full length soccer match and those that weren't selected just kicked around amongst themselves but because of a steady change of inmates there were rarely games against exactly the same opponents. This was followed by a shower and the final meal of the day. Can you believe it, bread and dripping and a milky drink. The sole reason for this being the best meal was there was an unlimited supply, meaning there was enough food for one and all. I found the very best policy was to stuff yourself senseless as it would be another 24 hours before you would feel adequately fed again. 9.30 pm was bedtime with lights out at 10 pm. This half hour could be spent reading or chatting and was always quite relaxed but the best fun was after lights out when you heard the older lads telling of their exploits or you could hear others letting out the most enormous farts because they had gutsed so much bread and dripping. If the staff heard any laughter they would turn the lights on and make us all get out of bed and stand to attention, sometimes for as long as an hour which seemed like forever. It was so difficult to keep a straight face when they asked who had been farting to own up. Not surprisingly nobody ever came forward.

On day two I was told that I would have to see Dr Craig, the psychiatrist, and this would form part of the medical report required for the court, and the thought of it disturbed me and my first thoughts were ‘what would he be looking for’? The day started badly as the usual happened at breakfast time, the bullies took the other lads bacon and just left them with a spoonful of scrambled egg on a piece of soggy toast. If only someone had the balls to stand up to them I thought. Immediately after breakfast I got my first taste of Swinton, the so called Mr Big. I was sitting on the pan in the dunks when the door was pushed open by a lad who was known as the dunk rat. He spent all of his time in the toilets trying to scrounge fags and was the most unhealthy looking teenager I had ever seen. He reeked of stale tobacco, puffed like a carthorse and was so unfit I somehow doubt if he lived beyond 20. He asked me if I had any gear, to which I replied “piss off, can’t you leave people to have a shit in peace”? That remark was a grave mistake on my part as he must have told Swinton. As I went to the basin to wash my hands I got the biggest punch in the kidneys, it was like being hit with a sledgehammer and it made me double up with pain. As I bent over in agony Swinton, who had obviously lain in wait, then kneed me in the face. I had no idea what damage it had caused but decided against going to see the nurse for the fear of being given the dreaded shit pills for which she was famed.

Up until now I had not been picked by our blocks bully for our footie team and had to be content with kicking around with the fatties who would be knackered after five minutes and I prayed that I wouldn’t get picked that evening. Luckily my prayers were answered as I wasn’t even considered but I could tell from watching that the vast majority wouldn’t get into my school team. The exceptions were our blocks goalkeeper, a slightly overweight guy by the name of Walker and a forward called Gary Seales, who was high up in our blocks pecking order. During the game the ball was kicked out of play in the direction of the stiffs who were kicking around (stiffs was the nickname for those not good enough to make the team). Without thinking I controlled the ball instantly and chipped it back. Gary Seales noticed my first touch and because he slept in the next bed to mine decided to talk about footie that night before lights out. For someone so high up the order Gary was solid as a rock and he said he would get me into our blocks team for tomorrows game. Secretly I felt I was being accepted but that was of little consolation for the bruising around my ribs and back caused by the hiding I had taken. That night our sleep was disturbed when a couple of lads who had done a bunk were captured and returned by the Police. Everybody winced in horror as these lads were given a thrashing to pay for the three weeks holiday they had taken without permission. If anybody was contemplating making a break for freedom this would surely have put them off.

At lunch the following day Gary made sure I got at least a bit of decent food to keep me happy for the nights football but I didn’t really want favours I just wanted everybody to get fed fairly. I found out I was to be playing as a defender which really suited me as I always fancied myself as an outfield player and not a goalie. The dubious pleasure of playing in defence meant I was always in reasonably close proximity to Swinton and although he threw his weight around he couldn’t trap a bag of cement so he was easy to dispossess, which gave me some form of revenge although he left his calling card on my shins at every possible opportunity. Somehow the footie made me forget about my pains and I tried desperately to hide the severe bruising when taking a shower. The sharp pains of the day before had now become more of a dull ache and the bruising was slowly beginning to turn yellowish in places, which I took as a sign that things were slowly healing.

Suddenly as I left the shower to walk along the cloisters to the common room I felt more terrible pain, this time in the bollocks courtesy of Swinton’s right foot. He made it abundantly clear that I was not to mix with him when playing football.

In bed that night my brain was at melting point, had Angela had our baby yet? If so were they well and how would she be coping? I kept asking myself why I had only got one letter from Mum and Dad and why was it so short and matter of fact? Would they visit me? Etched in my mind was the image of Sue trying to pull out all the stops for me but the thought I kept coming back to, time and again, was of Jill sobbing her heart out and deep down inside I wondered why and was having to face the fact I was getting deep feelings for her, although she was way out of my league.

Saturday came and went with no visitors and it was so terribly distressing sitting, waiting and hoping to be called forward if someone had come to visit me. Looking at the hurt on other lads faces I could only sympathise as I was so deeply torn to shreds but tried to come to terms that I was a long way from home and to visit me would cost as much as a weeks holiday in a caravan at Hastings.

During week two the loneliness became even more unbearable. Every day I waited in vain as the post was given out but nothing arrived for me. I began to wonder if I had been sent a letter that had not passed the vetting process as all letters were opened and checked to see if their content was suitable.

My appointment with the psychiatrist was on the Wednesday and he tried instantly to shock me by asking why I couldn’t keep my cock in my trousers, but I didn’t rise to his taunts and just hoped his report would be favourable, but inside I had no idea what he was attempting to find out about me. What would be the point in me saying I would never have under aged sex again because I had every intention of doing it in the not too distant future.

On the football front things just got better as I was moved up field when the other lads found out I was okay. Several times I got on the score sheet and another advantage was, in most cases, I kept Swinton at arms length.

One of the high points of the week was when Mr Cooke, the thicko’s teacher was on bedtime duty in the dormitory. Everybody nick-named him Sam after the singer Sam Cook and after lights out some of the lads started whistling some of Sam’s songs. Mr Cooke went mad and turned the lights on and invited the culprits to own up. Not surprisingly nobody did, so he made us all stand by our beds and hum to the tune of Chain Gang for over 30 minutes until we had learned our lesson in not to take the piss.

Another Saturday came and, again, no visitors and I began to feel really isolated from everything and everybody, but I couldn’t tell a soul how I was feeling, many others must have felt the same. That evening at the film show visitors sweets were shared out and promptly handed to the bullies as soon as the lights went out but eventually they saw some remorse to their actions and sent back all the coconut and marzipan ones they didn’t like. Secretly I hoped their greed would cause them unbearable stomach discomfort.

Week three offered some small glimmer of hope that the constant bullying might stop. Aggie Boot called us on the Tuesday morning and as she was doing her rounds to check who had wet the bed she noticed blood on a new arrivals pillow case and sheets. She was quite kind to him as he suffered from severe nose bleeds and excused him his cleaning duties for the day and ordered him to the surgery to be checked over. The lads name was Colin Penton and he was about my age which helped, as I am sure I was one of the youngest there.

Aggie Boot summoned me to take Colin’s sheets to the laundry which was a bit embarrassing as I had to go with the tankers and at that time of the morning the laundry smelt like the gents public toilets in town. It all suddenly seemed really worthwhile as who was there after pissing his bed, none other than Swinton. His facial expression made getting up and being alive so worthwhile until he grabbed me by the throat and told me not to utter a word if I valued my health. He said it was the first time it had happened to him but I didn’t believe him, I felt sure he threatened everybody to keep silent.

Most days at breakfast you would see one of the boys dressed in their civvies ready for their destiny with the Courts and I would estimate that around half of them were back by teatime waiting for a vacancy in a proper secure place of detention. I was told that remand counted as part of your sentence so I figured if I were to be sent down for three months I was nearly a quarter of the way through it.

After Thursday’s footie the word was around we had a problem for Friday’s match. Walker our keeper, who I thought was brilliant, was up for trial on Friday, and it seemed extremely unlikely he would return as his crime was so serious it was generally assumed he would be sentenced to HM Borstal, the ultimate in punishment for youths. His crime sounded rather inconsequential as it was only stealing oxygen and acetylene bottles but the fact he was supplying them to a known gang of safe breakers made it extremely serious. Desperately our block needed a new goalkeeper and Walks was pretty good to say the least so volunteers were asked to step forward. When no-one came forward I decided to volunteer my services and very few took me seriously but Gary knew I had dabbled in goal owing to our late night talks.

Friday nights footie was the game you could only dream about. Effectively we had lost an outfield player and we were left with our backs against the wall, but this was to be my finest hour, or at least half an hour. Our block were totally under the hammer from minute one but somehow I saved everything thrown at me, it was the performance of my lifetime. After around thirty or so minutes play two players challenged quite innocuously for a ball and one of them, namely Swinton, went down like a sack of spuds. Mr Sansom, the officer in charge, who was known as Sieve, due to his lack of memory, raced over to give him first aid. In his panic he shouted that Swinton had stopped breathing and without thought I ran over to help. Quite fortunately I remembered something Georgina had told me about first aid which she had learned at Girl Guides. Mr Sansom was in a state of panic, as were most of the lads, but I gently pushed Swinton’s chin back to free his airway and he started to breath as normal. It then became apparent, although purely accidental, he had a major problem with his leg. Mr Sansom got me to stay with him until he had taken the other lads back and then the Superintendent took over until an ambulance arrived to take Swinton to hospital. Fortunately I never saw him again but before lights out Gary asked me the question “why did you help that bastard”? My reply was simple “where I was bought up only a coward would take revenge that way”. Deep down inside I so hoped Swinton would become a much nicer person but sadly it almost certainly would not happen.

When Saturday’s mail was given out I received a letter from Mum which was again very matter of fact, basically telling me that Dad would see me in Court on Tuesday but no real news apart from that. Mum’s handwriting was really superb and just seeing the way she wrote cheered me up immensely but inwardly I felt something was being held back and the fact that none of her letters mentioned Daisy began to cause me considerable concern. I resigned myself that yet again I would get no visitors and unfortunately this was confirmed as I patiently waited in vain but never received a call to go and see anybody.

During the Sunday morning service one of the hymns was Abide With Me and it bought to me a distinct sense of grief. I started to fear that something was terribly wrong at home but inwardly hoped it was just the distance playing tricks with my brain. The following day unsettled me even more as both of the lads who went to Court returned late that afternoon. They had been sentenced to Detention and were being held at Lemworth Green until places were found in Detention Centres for them. Mr Jewson the Super called me into his office that evening for my pre-Court interview and told me that I would get a good report but that probably wouldn’t carry much weight whereas the medical reports would. He warned me that it was fairly likely I would be back owing to the severity of my misdemeanour. That night I lay in bed and resigned myself to being ‘banged up’ but hoped beyond all hope that my luck would be in. Somehow the prospect of seeing Dad in Court didn’t seem comforting enough and I was terrified. Any fears I had about moving away to be a footballer were now totally dispelled as I began to fear I would be spending a long time surrounded by the low life I had been forced to accept as my temporary family.