Free Bronson by Charles Bronson Page B

a hostage, so did Mad Jacko and Wally Lee. There were conskilling cons, cons cutting up cons. The Psycho Wing; the Nutters’ Wing. The reputation was deserved – and it stuck. Obviously, Ron and Reg had seen enough and had had enough of it.
    Years of C Unit could drive any man insane. Colin Robinson was on here, my best pal. We trained together and both got super fit. Life passed by fast. Obviously, there were days which went wrong. Like the day when I came out of a recess and dived on a screw. A mob of screws dived on me and the cons began a row. A riot was on the cards, but a senior screw had the sense to defuse it.
    They let me go and walked me over to the block, only to be jumped again and slung into a cell. The next morning I slung my piss-pot all over a screw, only to be jumped on again. Life was becoming a battle! There was contempt in the air. Hate had set in and bitterness was eating me away.
    Doctors came to see me. So did Governors, the Board of Prison Visitors, chaplains, Home Office officials. I told them all to ‘Fuck off’.
    They were all the ‘system’. Let me tell you now, bitterness is an illness. It affects everything: diet, sleep, bowels, anxiety. It causes stress. I always felt a heaviness in my heart, a dull ache in my head. I hated myself for being so hateful. It’s just not nice. I started to suffer terrible tension. I would get so highly excitable and at times lose control.
    The ultimate had to happen – and it did. I seized up and had a breakdown.
    A neurologist was brought in to see me. It was thought that I had brain damage. Tests were done. Epilepsy was diagnosed. Hysteria was also believed to be part of the problem. A Dr Faulk, a consultant forensic psychiatrist, did a report on me at the time. He said I was psychopathic, with very sensitive ways that caused paranoia.
    I was let back up on C Unit. I had visits – Mum and Dad would come, so would my brothers. My cousin Loraine used to visit me as well. So did my Auntie Pam and Uncle Ian.
    1978 rolled in. I should have been going out, but I had years left. I’d lost remission, plus I had time added on. But I consoled myself with the thought that I was still lucky, as all of the other cons on C Unit were lifers.
    Poor old Nobby Clark was in his late fifties. He’d got life in the ’60s and then he killed a con in Broadmoor. Now here he was with us. I liked Nobby a lot and I learned a lot from him. He was an intelligent and dangerous man. He said something to me once, which I will never forget. He said, ‘If you’re not prepared to die fighting the system, then don’t fight.’ Words of wisdom and truth, sadly.
    Nobby passed away in Parkhurst Prison, but I still think of those words. God bless you, Nobby.
    Colin Robinson was by this time causing me more fucking headaches than any other human being. I love Colin like a brother, but he sometimes became disturbed and dangerous. You have to bear in mind that he was only four years into a life sentence, plus he had another one added. Some days he stayed banged up in his cell, others he would march up and down the landing like a storm trooper. I would like to think that I helped him over this period. I always went into his cell to see if he was OK. Others, including screws, never dared. I used to sit with Colin for hours, trying to convince him that there would be a tomorrow.
    Colin was famous for swallowing objects … bed springs, tobacco tins, razor blades, nails. He’s been rushed to hospital for more stomach operations than any man I know. In a black mood, he just used to do these silly things. I understand why he does it – it’s away to fuck up not just himself but the system. He almost died on some of those swallowing bouts, but I’m glad to say he’s still alive. Alive, but caged up.
    Johnny O’Rooke came on the unit soon after that stabbing. O’Rooke’s a rat! He was a big, strapping six-footer with a shaven head. He not only upset me, he upset all of us. He wanted it all