Free Bronson by Charles Bronson

long-term wing. I thought it over. It had to be better than staying in this cell, as this cell was becoming a tomb.
    There were around 250 cons on D Wing, all doing five years and over. A lot of faces, London mobsters, armed blaggers, murderers, terrorists. I never liked it; eyes seemed to be everywhere. I’d spent too long in solitary.
    I sat in the mailbag shop, watching villains sewing bags for £1 a week. I couldn’t understand it. I don’t know if they were doing it for the money or for good reports. Whatever, I wasn’t sewing fucking bags – not for £100 a week. I was sick to my back teeth of it all. It was time to put something together. Escape!
    I got some gear to dig through my wall, I made a rope and I got a steel chair to make a grappling hook.I began digging. Wandsworth is an old jail, the brickwork crumbles. I worked bloody hard on that first brick until it finally came out. I was buzzing, I actually felt convinced I was on to a winner. Once out of the cell, I reckoned it would be easy. Once over the wall, it’s just fate. I would flag a car down and take the driver hostage … my own taxi! Life’s a gamble – win or lose, you have to take a chance. This time, though, unknown to me, the odds were stacked against me.
    Through the Judas hole in my door I could normally see the light shining through a small gap. I was chipping away at the cell wall when I just happened to turn. There was no light! I rushed to the door to see why. Through the hole I saw a con walk away – a south Londoner, a flash bastard. Every time he looks in a mirror, until the very day he dies, he’ll remember what he did.
    Five minutes later, screws came down the landing – heading straight for my cell. Obviously, someone had grassed me up. Within minutes, I’d been hauled down the punishment block, put in ‘patches’, or escape clothes, and had lost 120 days. I wasn’t happy.
    This rat who’d grassed me up didn’t only steal four months of my life, he stole a big dream of mine.
    Escape is every con’s dream. Even the trustees – the Governor’s pets – dream of escape. Sure, we may only dream, but it’s those dreams that keep us alive.
    The dream had been snatched from me. And the man responsible became my dream.
    I ended up back on D Wing and I stayed on the escape list for almost a year-and-a-half. But the shock was, I went to collect my lunch one day and the filthy grass was serving the chips. I couldn’t believe my eyes! It was obvious that he didn’t know I’d seen him on that fateful day. But he soon realised that I did know. It was all over his face. When I kept my plate infront of him for more chips he couldn’t even look me in the face. He just kept piling on the chips. I said, ‘Cheers, pal,’ and smiled right at him. He managed to say, ‘Nice to see you back up out of the block.’
    I almost let him have the tray in his face, but I had something better lined up for him. I’ll leave it there at this stage as I don’t wish to incriminate anyone, but I’ll just say that this con now has a scar from his right eye all the way down to his neck. They found him in a cell on D Wing, bleeding all over the floor and in a terrible, dazed shock. Probably self-inflicted … it’s terrible what some people will do for a bit of attention!
    After he was found, the whole wing was banged up. The screws came to my cell and out of 250 cons I was the only one to be put down the block. The snitch had made a statement; his attacker wore a pillow-slip on his head and socks on his hands. No one was ever charged, but I was kept on good order and discipline for another year.
    It was at this time my old grandad’s house blew up and we sadly lost him. He was my dad’s dad, Jack, and he’d had a good innings, but it’s always gutting to lose people we love. I went through a silent period. I literally cut myself off from the world. I read a lot, slept a lot, and thought a lot. I now know I was making myself ill.
    It was during