Once Upon a Crime (21 page)

Things came to a head with Ma in the middle of September 2008. She had to be taken to Monklands hospital near Airdrie. I had seen and spoken with the A hall manager, a big guy called Stevie Gunn, and he requested that I be allowed to visit my ma at the hospital on compassionate grounds. I just want to say on behalf of my family that we really cannot thank big ‘Gunner’ enough for all that he did for me during this time. His compassion and his support was something that I will never forget and I owe that man a real debt of gratitude. Without his efforts I don’t think I would have been
allowed to have that last precious visit with my ma. So if you ever read this, Stevie Gunn, then I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the kindness you showed me during that difficult time and for the support you gave me. You are a true gentleman and a man in every sense of the word. And I have to say that all the prison staff on the bottom flat in A hall were very supportive and showed great kindness to me, including Chris Hughes, Rab Timmony and wee John McLaughlin.

I also had tremendous support from all the guys, including John Kennedy, Joe Mills, wee Danny Craig and Ian ‘Hissy’ Hislop, who I was very close to. Hissy was, and is, a smashing guy. He is very well respected throughout Glasgow and within the prison system. When I met Hissy he was around 42 and waiting to go on trial for murder. It was alleged he had gone into a flat on the south side of Glasgow and left three for dead. Hissy is a very formidable and capable man who could fight for fun, yet he has the nicest nature of any guy I know and can be hilariously funny with a wicked sense of humour. I was moved on before his trial came to an end and I was very saddened to hear later that Hissy had been found guilty and sentenced to life with a recommendation that he serve at least 15 years. But I know he will take it on the chin and serve his time with his self-respect in place. I have not forgotten you, Hissy.

In the first week of October big Gunner arranged for me to have a special visit on compassionate grounds in a private room within the prison. My sisters Sheena and Olive, along with my brother Hughie, came to see me so that we could make the arrangements for Ma’s funeral. Ma was in a very bad way and had been moved to Hairmyers hospital so she would be nearer the family. The doctors had given her only days to live.

I was able to say exactly how Ma wanted things done. The only thing I insisted on was that I would do the eulogy at the service. I had attended too many funerals over the years where the priest or minister had never even met the deceased and I was adamant that this was not going to happen. I owed Ma that much at least.

Big Gunner also arranged for me to be taken to visit my ma for the final time. I was just so thankful even though I had been taken in handcuffs and chained to a guard. Ma did not know I was coming and I will never forget her wee face lighting up when she saw me. She was lying in bed with an oxygen mask and she pulled it away and said, ‘Oh, Jim, you’re here son, thank God,’ and she gave me that big smile.

I leaned over and gently cupped her face in my hands and kissed her. We both knew that this would be the last time we would ever see each other but we pretended that we would meet again once Ma was well enough. I pulled up a chair and sat holding her hand. I spoke quietly and gently to her, telling her how much I loved her. I told her that I just wanted to thank her for always being there for me, and how grateful I was that she was my ma. I told her not to worry about me. Ma then asked me to promise her that I would behave myself and that this time I would not try to fight the system, and to get back home as soon as was possible. I promised her I would do my time differently and would make all the right moves to get home at the earliest opportunity.

It took all the strength I possessed to hold it together. Inside, I was a mess and I felt as if I too was dying and my heart was in pieces. The thing I had dreaded most was happening before my eyes and a light went out inside me. I could feel the emptiness returning and it was a cold, dead thing. The best friend any man ever had was lying there
before me. I knew I would never again look into that beautiful face that had been there for me since I was a small child, who had loved and protected me my whole life.

When it was time for me to leave, I leaned over and gently squeezed Ma to me. Then for the last time I looked at her and said, ‘I love you, Ma. Thanks for always being there for me. No boy ever had a better mother.’ I kissed her for the last time and left quickly, saying goodbye to Lesley and my sister Sheena. The journey back to Barlinnie in the dog box inside a Reliance prison van was the hardest and loneliest journey of my life. It is very difficult for me, even now as I write this, to relive it. My wee ma had been as much a part of my life as breathing and the thought of her no longer being there was just unimaginable. It was going to take every ounce of strength I possessed to get me through this and I truly did not know if I would be able to measure up.

For the next week or so I would phone Lesley every morning for an update on Ma’s condition. Lesley would also be at the hospital every night and I would phone her on her mobile, which she would hold to Ma’s ear. I would talk to Ma but she was so weak that her replies were muffled whispers. I would never wish the ordeal that I was going through on anyone. My heart was breaking and I had nobody to blame except myself. This truly was the price I had to pay for the crime I had committed and for the lifestyle I had chosen to live.

On Friday morning, 17 October 2008, the first words Lesley said were, ‘She’s gone, Jim. Your wee ma passed away just after midnight and I was with her. She’s at peace now, God bless her.’ I was very grateful to Lesley for breaking the news to me so gently. All the family had been with Ma and I know that must have been a comfort to her. To anyone looking on I seemed to be bearing up well, but inside me
something had died and life would never be the same again. There were no tears and no pain – I was way beyond that. It was if I was in a void that was just a cold and empty place and totally desolate. You could have stuck a dagger in me and I would not have felt it.

But the funeral was less than a week away and I would have to hold it together, be strong and take the lead for everyone. I was aware that all of the family and my friends were worried for me but I intended to lead by example. I was determined to do my ma proud and give her the send off that she truly deserved.

The funeral was the following Thursday, with the service to be held in the chapel of rest in the funeral parlour in the village in East Kilbride. I spent the week preparing. I did not want to use any notes and was determined to speak from the heart, to say all the things I wanted to and tell everyone present about Ma – how she was such a good and loving mother not just to me but all of her offspring, and how she was a wonderful grandmother and aunty. I wanted to speak of her love and her loyalty and her generosity and how she always put herself last. About her independence, her stubbornness and her strength and her sense of humour. In essence, I wanted to talk about all the things that made her who she was and all the good things that she passed on to us. She, more than any other person, had taught me the true meaning of love and loyalty and that nothing comes before family. She taught me about compassion and generosity of spirit and she had given me so much, right up until the very end.

On the morning of the funeral I was escorted from Barlinnie by four Reliance guards in a people carrier. I was again handcuffed and chained to one of the guards, but I was able to greet and have a word with all of the family. There
were lots of tears but I managed to hold things together. I knew it was important that I maintain this demeanour. If I was to lose my composure then it would just have set everyone off and, anyway, I owed it to my ma to be strong. There would be plenty of time for me to do my grieving and let the tears flow.

The chapel was packed and I was glad to see so many people had come to pay their last respects to my wee ma. I took my place and began to speak. I somehow managed to hold my nerve and finished by singing what had been Ma’s favourite song –I used to sing it to her whenever I phoned – Stevie Wonder’s ‘I Just Called to Say I Love You.’ Then I moved to Ma’s coffin. Leaning down I kissed the brass plate with her name inscribed on it and said, ‘Cheerio, Ma. I love you’. We then made our way to Blantyre crematorium. I took my seat on the front row next to Lesley and watched as my ma’s coffin slid forward and disappeared behind the slowly closing curtain.
Cheerio, Ma, and God bless you. Keep a place for me wherever you are
.

I just wanted to get back to Barlinnie, close my door and be alone with my thoughts of my wee mammy. And that is exactly what I did. The officers on duty made sure that I was not disturbed. They asked if there was anything I needed or anything I would like them to do for me. I said no, but I was touched by their kindness and consideration and it is something that I will not forget.

That night there were no tears – only a feeling of total emptiness and of being absolutely alone. I was breathing and I was alive but if there is something after death then I can only imagine that it must be close to what I felt. I knew that I would have to find the strength to face the next day and that I would go on and try to make good on the promise I had
given to Ma that last time we spoke. If I wanted to honour her memory then I would have to keep my end of the deal.

That night was the longest of my life. Eventually I heard the whistling of the birds and when I looked at my watch it was 5.30am. I got out of bed, made a cup of tea and lit my first smoke of the day. When my door was unlocked just after 7.00am the first guy I saw was wee Danny Craig, who put his head round my door and asked if I was OK. I told him I was fine and to come on in. Danny was very kind and said that at least my wee ma was now at peace and in heaven keeping a place for me. I was really touched by Danny’s words and it is moments like that which restore your faith in human nature.

At about 8.30am my door was pushed open as I sat having a natter with wee Danny. It was the screw, Chris Hughes, who told me to get my kit packed for Glenochil. I did not even have time to say goodbye to a lot of the guys I had gotten to know. I was the only prisoner as we set off and I wondered what was waiting for me.

My cell at Glenochil was a two-up, which meant I had to share it. This was the norm in Glenochil – you had to go on a waiting list for a single cell. I fucking hated the place right from the off and knew that this was going to be no easy ride. The guy I had to share with was a big lump from Aberdeen. He was an ex-junkie, or so he said, but on the whole he wasn’t too bad.

At association that first Friday night I saw two old pals I had worked with in Barlinnie, John Kennedy from Maryhill and Joe Mills from Blantyre. Both asked straight away if there was anything I needed. It is always good to see some friendly faces when you move to a new jail. I explained about my ma and that I had just buried her the day before. If I seemed a bit quiet
that was the reason. They were both very kind and understood that I would need a wee bit of time to adjust.

I phoned Lesley to let her know that I had been moved but she was very quiet and did not ask me any of the questions you would expect. I just put it down to the fact that she was probably grieving for my ma just as I was. We made arrangements for her to visit me the following Tuesday but something was bothering me. It wasn’t anything specific but I just had a feeling that something wasn’t right. Maybe I was being over-sensitive. I mean, in a way I was just going through the motions and my head was all over the place. I was hanging on by my fingertips. I knew that the slightest thing could set me off. If I started to perform I knew that there would be no going back and I would be a lost cause.

I had felt this way many times prior to meeting Lesley but since then I had managed to control it. It is difficult to explain, but it is a feeling of desolation and I just do not care what happens to me. It is very self-destructive and is usually followed by me becoming involved in extreme violence.

But I had made a promise to my ma that this time I would do my time in prison differently and avoid any aggro. Now for a guy like me that can be a very tall order because I also have a hair-trigger temper and can explode into a controlled fury very quickly. Even though it had been years now since I’d had any serious confrontations, I was aware that the capability was still lurking just underneath the surface. So I now adopted the policy that I had put into practice during my years with Lesley – I spotted potential trouble before it began and then took steps to avoid any possible conflict. I kept pretty much to myself and while I did not cut myself off completely I think it became obvious to all the other guys that I was a bit of a lone wolf and enjoyed my own company. John Kennedy and Joe Mills both
understood what I was going through and gave me my space, but they were always there for me and I am very grateful to them for the way they supported me during this difficult period.

When Lesley arrived for the visit I knew almost immediately that all was not well. Her body language and demeanour told their own tale. She barely said a word and, to give you some idea, I asked her to sit a little closer to me so that I could hold her hand. She said that she had a sore back, which I knew was bollocks because she avoided my eyes when she said this. And anyway I just
knew
! When you have spent practically every day for 15 years with someone, you know that person better than you know yourself.

M
y right foot was now causing me a lot of pain. Eventually, I was unable to walk for any distance and declared unfit for work. I had to spend most of my time in my cell. If truth be told, this suited me quite well as it gave me time to reflect.

I phoned Lesley a few days after our visit, hoping that perhaps her mood had changed, but she seemed even more withdrawn. I was at a loss to explain this sudden change, as she had been very supportive of me. Now she was a totally different person and the thing that hurt me the most was her coldness and her seeming indifference. It was as if she neither cared nor could be bothered with me, and I was made to feel that I had become a burden.

I was still trying to come to terms with the loss of my ma, but Lesley just seemed to be oblivious. I phoned Cheryl to ask if all was well but she was unable to throw any light on the subject. She said her mum would not speak to her if she asked if there was anything bothering her. It was as if Lesley had
withdrawn into herself. Well, at least that was the impression that she gave to everybody. I continued to phone her but it was becoming increasingly difficult to get to speak to her. I was usually left to talk to an answer machine.

As the situation deteriorated I too began to withdraw and by the middle of November 2008 I was in a fragile state and only just managing to keep things together. I knew the slightest thing could set me off and then there would be no hope for me. This was without a doubt the most difficult period of my life. I had been under pressure before but this was different – this really was the test. I do not mean that I contemplated topping myself but I feared I would explode and then there would be very little chance of me ever getting out. Once you start to go down that road in the Scottish prison system it is a battle you have on your hands for years. I was 55 and time was against me.

I arranged another visit with Lesley and this time Cheryl came along too. It was so good to see her – she was like a ray of sunshine. Lesley barely said a word, no matter how hard I tried to get her to open up. I could sense that I was on borrowed time in regard to my relationship but it was as if she just did not care. I had said to her that she did not owe me anything and that she was under no obligation to feel that she had to stand by me. All I asked was that she at least be honest with me. But all she said was that she was OK.

I have never spent a minute feeling sorry for myself but I was hurt by the way Lesley was treating me. I felt that if she did owe me anything, it was a bit of respect. I was being made to feel that I had outlived my usefulness and was now being cast aside without a second glance. I even phoned my niece Emma, who was very close to Lesley, but she was as much in the dark as me. She had hardly seen anything of
Lesley since my ma’s funeral and whenever she phoned Lesley was very offhand. She too was feeling very hurt.

I decided to try one more time. Lesley came to see me on a cold winter’s night in the first week of December and it would prove to be the last time I would see her. When I entered the visiting room Lesley stood up, smiling with that beautiful smile and her eyes were sparkling. For a few seconds she was the Lesley of old. My heart leapt and I thought we had a chance. We sat and spoke honestly to each other – well, at least I did – but it was pretty clear to me that this was over and that I would have to face the inevitable.

I could see that Lesley was being less than truthful with me and deep down I kind of knew what it was. I just wasn’t ready to face it. In the week before Christmas I arranged another visit with Lesley and Cheryl. The main purpose was to bring me some of my own clothes, CDs and other personal items but the day before the visit Lesley told me she no longer wanted to continue with our relationship. I knew it would be pointless to try to persuade her otherwise, but I did ask that she would still bring Cheryl to visit and my stuff. She refused. ‘Why should I?’ she said. ‘I don’t want to sit in the car park for an hour waiting.’

I could not believe that she could be so uncaring and so selfish. I said that she should give my bank card to Cheryl. I had given the card to Lesley before I went to the high court. Now that Lesley had pulled the plug I saw no reason to continue to support her. I asked how Cheryl was going to manage the visit and she said, ‘I don’t know. That’s her problem,’ and hung up.

Cheryl did make the visit and I owe that girl so much. Her loyalty and her love for me have been there one hundred per cent and she has travelled all over Scotland in all weathers to
visit every jail that held me. When she came to Glenochil she had managed to get a lift from a pal and, as she said to me, she had been absolutely determined. What can you say about someone like my Cheryl? I am a very lucky man to have her on my side and I thank God for her. I said that she really should not have gone to so much trouble.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she replied. ‘You were always there for us and anyway, you are my dad and I love you.’ It took a tremendous effort to hold back the tears. I was just so happy to see my Cheryl and she was a rock. I was later to learn that during this period Cheryl had had her own problems to deal with. You are amazing, sweetheart, and I love you with all of my heart.

I felt so sorry for wee Cheryl. Here she was caught up in the middle of all this and it must have been tearing her up. Only a few short months ago we had all been together and living happily, and now I was locked away for years. I could only guess how Lesley was behaving and the effect it was having on Cheryl. It was all just so unfair and if it takes the rest of my life I will somehow make it up to her. We are closer now than we have ever been and, if anything, the ordeal we have gone through has made the bond between us stronger.

After that visit with Cheryl I gave myself a few days before I phoned Lesley for the last time. I owed it to myself to say my piece, even though I knew it would not make the slightest difference. I thanked her for her lack of consideration and asked her why she felt that she had to treat me in such a disgraceful way.

‘Oh, fuck off,’ she said and hung up.

I have never spoken to her since that day. I am not a stupid guy and I knew a lot more about what was occurring than people thought I did. I won’t go into all the details of what
Lesley did but suffice to say she betrayed and turned her back on everyone who had loved and respected her, including her family. And for what? To throw in her lot with a guy with the morals of a sewer rat who is nothing more than a jealous and spiteful excuse of a man, a complete no-mark. They are well suited and deserve each other.

But for the time being I licked my wounds and got on with it. I am not suggesting that it was easy but I am not the type of guy to crawl away into a corner and curl up and feel sorry for myself. If there was one positive thing that came out of this episode with Lesley it was that it stirred something that has always been in me and which has always helped me when times were tough. And what that thing inside of me is, is a refusal to submit, I will not be broken and I will not be beaten. I refuse to accept defeat and you would have to kill me before you brought me to my knees. I have been like that since I was a young boy and sometimes it has made things very difficult for me but there have been so many more times when it has helped me and gave me the will and the courage to face up to and deal with situations in my life that could have so easily overwhelmed me.

I concentrated on getting on with my sentence. I knew that it would be very difficult for me in Glenochil and I looked for a possible way out. The opportunity presented itself to me sooner than I had expected when in February 2009 I was asked if I would like to go to a new prison. HMP Addiewell in West Lothian was midway between Glasgow and Edinburgh. It was a brand new, state-of-the-art prison and was privately owned and run. I felt that this was an opportunity for me to make a fresh start so I agreed.

Among those who transferred to Addiewell was a fella from Drumchapel named David ‘Div’ Ogilvie, who I was to
get to know and become great friends with. He is a guy I have the highest respect for, real old school. David is into his 12th year after being given a life sentence with a minimum tariff of six years for damaging some guys. He is a complete gentleman and the type who would go out of his way to help you any way he could. He has a heart of gold but it would be very foolish to mistake his kindness for weakness, as he is nobody’s fool. He is respected throughout the system in Scotland and England. David has just recently turned 40 and it won’t be too long now until he is back home. I am proud to call him my pal: guys like David are few and far between.

The first face I saw as we entered the reception area was an old pal of mine, Joe Mills from Blantyre. We had been together in Barlinnie and Glenochil and Joe was another guy whose friendship I valued. Joe had seen and done it all, and had earned and spent more money than most can only dream about. I always took note of his advice and spent a lot of time chatting with him. Joe had spent many years in England and had a wide range of contacts.

I was allocated a cell that was as different as night and day compared to the old cells in Glenochil and Barlinnie. The first thing I noticed was the shower stall and I could hardly wait to get unpacked and get in it. The cell was pristine and everything was brand new. It was quite small and compact but it would do very nicely. For me the best thing about it was that it was single occupancy.

There are just some prisons that, no matter how good they may look, you just know as soon as you set foot in them that all is not well. But that was not the case here. The staff were much more relaxed and much friendlier than in any other jail. I don’t mean that they were soft touches but they were making an effort to make this an environment that would be
pleasant for all of us. That kind of attitude has to be a plus when you are serving a long sentence. In my wide experience of prisons this type of regime is advantageous to everyone, prisoners and staff.

In May I was taken to the Glasgow Royal Infirmary for an operation on my right foot. I was now keen to get into some kind of work so I signed up to train as a wing tutor. I would be qualified to help other prisoners with their literacy and numeracy needs. During the training course I met Donna McBride, head of the literacy department. I cannot speak highly enough of Donna, who was fundamental in giving me the belief that not only would I be able to do the job but I had so much untapped potential.

Not long after I had qualified Donna asked me if I would like to take charge of the literacy and numeracy testing of all prisoners. I would give them test papers and then mark and grade them. I had my own desk and worked alongside the head of appointments, Louise Bell, who had four female civilian assistants working under her. Louise is also someone I owe a big debt of gratitude. These ladies showed faith in me and felt confident that I would be able to carry out this job successfully. It was the catalyst for me believing there was another way for me to move forward with my life. I could see they both genuinely cared and sometimes that is all someone needs to start believing in themselves.

I worked hard and immersed myself in all the assignments and I had not one bit of trouble. I got on well with everyone, staff and prisoners alike, and I found the work to be very rewarding and satisfying. It would be fair to say that I was well liked and was known as a guy that you could come to for help and it wouldn’t be refused. I would also help guys who were new to prison and were finding it a wee bit hard to
cope. Guys knew they could trust me and that anything they told me would stay with me. I would never speak to anyone else about whatever had been discussed.

The one dark cloud was that Cheryl was going through a very tough time at home and this is when I was to learn the full extent of Lesley’s betrayal. Cheryl came to visit and told me that she would have to move into a homeless unit as Lesley had given up the house and handed in the keys. Lesley had got fed up living in East Kilbride and was going to live in Glasgow. Cheryl also told me that her mum had said that she wasn’t part of the package and would have to find her own place.

‘Look, sweetheart,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to hide it from me because I know all about your mum. She is with William, isn’t she? And she is moving in with him. I’m right, am I not?’ William was Lesley’s sister Kim’s partner, William Docherty. He had been with Kim for over eight years and Lesley had been carrying on an affair with this no-use’er since shortly after I had been sentenced and while she was still coming to visit me. It tells you all you need to know about her that she would do such a thing to her own sister. Now she had sunk to new depths by leaving her daughter homeless. Like everybody else the only thing I felt now for Lesley was contempt.

But that was not important now. What was important was Cheryl’s welfare and I wanted to help her as much as I was able to. I arranged for her to have a few hundred pounds to tide her over Christmas and I tried as best I could to lift her spirits. I told her how much I loved her and how proud I was of her. It would not be too long now until I was back home and we would be together. Cheryl is very like me in the sense that she is a wee fighter and has a very strong will, but it was
obvious just by looking at her that she was in pain over what her mother had done. My heart was breaking for Cheryl and if Lesley had been within reach I would have spat in her face.

In May 2010 I said cheerio to a pal of mine who was moving on. His name was Terry Curran and I had met him when the two of us had studied together the previous year. Terry was in his mid-forties and came from Blackhill on the north side of Glasgow. He is a smashing fella who is known and respected throughout Glasgow, but what endeared Terry to me was his obvious love for his family. He is loyal to his friends and he also has a very dry sense of humour that cracks me up. He is a very capable man and would never allow anyone to attempt to take a liberty with him. Only a mug would.

On 3 June I would be leaving Addiewell and heading to the Open Estate at Castle Huntly, so I said my goodbyes to the guys I had gotten close to. As well as David Ogilvie, who I was really going to miss, there was another young guy in our section who I had a lot of time for. He was only 24, he came from East Kilbride and his name was Ritchie McLaren. Ritchie is quite a small guy but he had plenty of bottle and would not take shit from anybody. He was also highly intelligent and had a great sense of humour, as well as being one of the most genuine guys I had met during this sentence.