My apologies for halt in postings - in the course of my preparations for my house move and the move itself, I have mislaid the CD that this book is stored on.

As soon as I find it I will restart postings. I suggest you subscribe to this blog (see top right hand side of page) so you don't miss any parts of the story.

After about 6 months at Long Grove they started to encourage me to find work. Great! This would give me good excuses to be out all day.
I did eventually get a job. I got a job as a store man at a fruit and vegetable wholesalers in Epsom. I had told them that I could drive a forklift which probably sealed the job for me. I was told I would probably never have to drive one because they had a regular forklift driver, but the job was mine.
I worked there for a month or so until a little mishap. The forklift driver was off sick and I had to step into his shoes, or his forklift. Well I thought, maybe I could bluff it. I jumped on the machine and got it moving within the warehouse with no problem. I even managed to move a few pallets around. I was then asked to unload a lorry out in the yard. I took the machine outside.
The yard was a mess of craters and potholes, I lost control and put the forks right through the side of a car. Not just a car unfortunately. The managers Mark 5 Cortina. Ooooops! I was chased off the premises very quickly.
Life seems so unfair sometimes. All the feelings of anger, rejection and resentment came flooding back to me. I went back to the hospital, wandering around the grounds. I brewed my anger for days. Until a Sunday morning actually. I was wandering around the grounds trying to work out some plan of action when I came across the Occupational Therapy Unit. It was a factory that used to pack plastic model kits. There were a heap of cardboard boxes piled outside the back door. I put a match to them. The building was an old wooden one, and within an hour or two it was razed to the ground. This terrified me. I had never seen such swift destruction.
I was questioned by the police and hospital staff about the fire but denied all knowledge of it. Such was the ferocity of this fire, and the impact it had upon me, I never set another one. Despite the drugs and therapy they had me on, it was seeing the effect of my handiwork that cured me for all time of fire-raising.
It was after this fire that I decided I was out of control, and I didn't like it. I gathered up a cocktail of drugs and medicines and took the lot as a deliberate overdose. I really didn't want anymore of this world. I was mad, I was not nice, and I really wanted to end it all.
That night I took the overdose as I went to bed. As I fell asleep I had no regrets. I really didn't care less. I slept for 3 days. No one woke me. I was just left in my room to sleep. When I awoke I got out of bed and went into the day room. Everyone commented that I had had a long sleep. No one suspected why though. The nurses obviously hadn't cared. But I felt so good. I felt so rested and ready to take on life again.

Rule 43
I cannot say too much about prison life in Ashford as I didn't really experience much of it.  This is because as I passed through what was called 'reception', the screws read the reports from the police which I presume said I was a security risk, and I was immediately put on 'Rule 43'.  This means that I was put in solitary confinement for my entire stay at Ashford. 

I had a cell with a bed, a desk and a chair.  That was it.  The cell was searched at least weekly.  The only time I came out of the cell to associate with other prisoners was when we had a 30 minute exercise period each day, so long as the weather was fine.

Apart from reading books and counting the bricks in the wall my only occupation was polishing dustbins!  Each morning at about 9 o'clock the screws used to bring me a dustbin.  A galvanised metal dustbin complete with lid, and I was supposed to polish it inside and out until it could be used as a mirror.

The only interesting thing that happened was when I was seen by a Home Office psychiatrist.  He asked me, "What would you do if you saw a battleship coming down the High Street?".  I thought for a moment and replied, "I would blow it up with my submarine" I replied, with a brow furrowed with confusion.  "Where the hell you get a submarine from?" he asked, "same place you got your battleship" I replied!  That was the full extent of an interview that formed the basis of a report for the court!!

My Trial
My trial was held at the Central Criminal Court at the Old Bailey in London about 6 months after my arrest.  The only argument in the court room was whether or not I was sent to Broadmoor or another mental hospital.  It seemed to me that I was "an interesting case", now labelled as having a 'psychopathic personality disorder'.  It seemed everybody wanted to get their hands on my brain to twist and manipulate it until it conformed to their image of 'normal'.  I just hoped the Doctor that asked me about battleships didn't get his hands on me!!

Long Grove Hospital, the home of Farmstead Villa, won the court room tussle.  I was to be confined to Long Grove Hospital under Section 65 of the Mental Health Act.  This means that the Home Secretary would have to sign the approval for my release.

Because I was now sentenced and subject to a Mental Health Order I was kept in the prison hospital.  This was even worse than being on Rule 43.  I had no work at all and didn't get out for any exercise.  However, within a month I was transferred from Ashford to Long Grove Hospital at Epsom.  I was put on an adult ward under the care of Dr Pilkington.

Pamela Pilkington was  too nice and caring to be a forensic psychiatrist.  Or maybe she was cleverer than I give her credit for?  What I do know is that, from my perspective, whilst I was at Long Grove I got away with everything! 

I behaved myself for 3 months when I arrived at Long Grove.  Then bit by bit I started rebelling.  I started taking drugs again and stealing cars from staff and visitors in the hospital.  I stole one car and crashed it head on into the art therapy department. 

I bought my own first car, a Triumph Herald, and kept it in the hospital grounds.  Whilst the staff thought I was out walking in the grounds I was actually out and about driving around thieving and getting drugs.  I loved that Triumph, unfortunately I crashed it and wrote it off.  I was travelling down toward Brighton and forgot to stop for one of the new roundabouts they had just built.  The car tried to go over the roundabout instead of round it, stopping on top, snapped in half. 

I went back to the hospital, gathered together some more cash and bought an old Austin Somerset Saloon (A40).

I had one or two sexual encounters with female patients in the ward.  On one occasion I was in my private room in bed with a woman doing the business when a female nurse walked in.  "What are you doing?"  she asked.  "If you don't know now you never will"  I replied!!

One of my favourite hangouts was up at the cricket pavilion at the sports field.  I used to go there quite often.  Often with girls from Farmstead Villa that I had tempted with drink or drugs.  We would sit smoking weed or drinking cider.  Sometimes we would have sex, sometimes we would be incapable.  It was a good hangout though, we never got caught and there was a good shortcut through the woods to the off licence at Ewell.

 

As I got off the coach in Bath City Centre it was early evening.  My anger was about to bubble over again.  I wandered away from the bus station, away from the city centre looking for somewhere to make base.  I walked under some railway arches thinking that maybe one of the units would be empty.  They were all locked up and my anger spilled out.  I set fire to a heap of rubbish left outside of one of the units.  That would teach them!

I walked back up to the bus station and past it.  I would see what I could find up this way.

As evening drew in I found various possible places I could sleep for the night.  I chose a bus stop.  It was covered and it seemed to be in the tourist area of the city, it would be quiet at night time, hopefully.  I retired to bed early that night, snuggling down in my sleeping bag.  Tomorrow would be a busy day.

I awoke about 6 the next morning.  I hadn't been disturbed at all during the night.  I rolled up my sleeping bag and went for a wander around the city centre.  I found a shop the milkman and the baker had already delivered to, leaving the bread and milk outside the front door.  I helped myself to a loaf of bread, pint of milk and a pasty.  A very pleasant breakfast, I thought to myself, I must come here more often!

I spent most of my days begging outside the Roman Baths and the cathedral.  It was a very worthwhile business!  I used to do very well, sufficient to keep in me food, cigarettes and drugs, and I would still have enough to save for a rainy day!

The Burger and Cider trips
I was taking LSD and smoking dope regularly at this time.  One night after taking an acid tablet I was having a fun trip as I wandered around the city.  I came to one of the city squares where the night time hamburger van was parked.  "How many Burgers you got mate?"  I asked.  "Enough for you" he replied.  "Good, give me a hundred" I said.  I gave him a handful of money, I do not know how much, but he started serving up the burgers.  When I had about 10 lined up on the counter I started throwing them at cars driving past.  I fell down to the floor after a while laughing hysterically.  I don't know whether I had my moneys worth or not, but as it is with a 'trip' my mind was on another track now and off I wandered laughing like a maniac to myself.

On another occasion I was tripping on LSD and went for a drink at a pub near the bus station in Bath.  As I drank my pint of cider, the apple taste was enhanced by the drugs and I thought I had an apple stuck in my mouth.  I was sitting at the bar with my mouth wide open and speaking as if there was an apple blocking it.  I then thought a tiny drip in the bottom of my glass was half a pint and nearly got into a fight when the barman tried to take it away.

There was also a downside to the drugs.  Because of depression and anger and what was going on in my head at the time I had more than my share of bad trips.  I had to be rescued from a multistorey car park as I tried to catch aeroplanes.  I was taken to hospital for a check up and place on a casualty trolley.  I was terrified though because the floor was made of small mosaic tiles in neat rows and to me they looked like escalators.  All moving in different directions.  When they told me get off the trolley I nearly fell over because I thought the floor was moving.

I was pulled off the top of traffic lights where I had climbed because I had fallen in love with the beautiful lights.  I also fell in love with the blue of a policeman’s shirt. 

I do not in any way approve or encourage the taking of drugs.  I did it and from my experiences I would encourage people to steer well clear!

Frome
I decided to go and visit Frome again. It was a place I always liked to visit.  My foster parents never enjoyed my visits though. This time I sent the Fire Brigade around to their house on a couple of occasions early in the morning.  I also used to 'phone them in the early hours and hang up when they answered. They had hurt me beyond forgiveness, now I was showing them what it was like to be hurt, to have no peace.

Back in Bath the police were starting to pay me attention.  This I didn't want, so decided it was time to move on.  I did some extra hard begging for a few days to get some cash together and decided to move back to Woking.  I was, for now, satisfied at expressing my anger. 

I travelled back to Woking and went straight to the social services.  They found me a place in a working lad's hostel in Maybury Hill.  The warden gave me a lot of hassle here because I had no intention of finding work.  After I had been there a week he told me that if I didn't get a job within another week I would have to leave.  He was starting to make me mad again.  He sent me out every morning to get a job and told me not to come back until 3pm. each day.  I wasn't going to put up with this. 

My anger boiled over on the Sunday morning.  I hadn't been sleeping properly because of the turmoil my mind was in, so I got up at 6 am and went down into the town.  I had woken up bitter and decided the time had come for my revenge.  I first of all set fire to the rubbish skip behind Tesco's for what they had done to me.  Then I set fire to the Superdrug store.  The store had to be closed for a while whilst repair etc had to be made.  Behind the store was a little lane, this was where I started the fire.  In a parking space opposite the back door of the store was a really flash sports car.  Bastard - bet he had got it from exploiting the workers!!  I set fire to the car too!!  I was so angry this day.

As I left the area fire engines and police cars were flooding the area.  I didn't want to get caught so I started walking down by Victoria Bridge and up Goldsworth Road.  A police car drew alongside me.  The copper in the front passenger seat unwound his window and asked me if I had seen anyone around.  I replied that I hadn't seen anyone, why were they asking.  They told me about the fires and asked if I knew anything about them.  I told them I didn't but the officer asked me why my clothing smelt of smoke.  If it did it was because I had just been walking down that way I told them, but I hadn't seen anything.  They arrested me anyway.

I was taken to Woking Police Station which then was on the corner of Heathside Road.  I was questioned by a copper called Parrott, I think he was a detective sergeant.  I denied any knowledge but he held me in the cells anyway.  On two occasions coppers came down to 'convince' me to own up.  Feeling rather battered and bruised, I did admit them when Parrott questioned me again that Sunday night.  I was charged that night with arson and was asked if I wanted any cases taken into consideration.  They told me it would be better to do it that way than to be charged with them at a later date.  I said I did and that I would clear up all their fires for them.  On one of the occasions when I appeared at Woking court for remand they presented me with a list of fires for every area I had lived.  If I recall correctly there were 168 of them.  I signed to admit the lot of them.  As I had looked through list of offences there were fires at opposite ends of the country at the same time, and I admitted them all.  I don't know why I did that, I think I just didn't really care anymore.

The magistrates at Woking remanded me in custody to Ashford Remand Centre.  This was my first occasion in jail, and I was apprehensive of what would happen to me.  After a long 5 hour journey on a circuitous route collecting prisoners from other police stations along the way we arrived at Ashford.  The journey had been most uncomfortable.  The van was what we used to call a 'horse box'  because the van was made up of some twelve cells each no more than three foot square.  The seats were made of fibreglass and very hard on a long journey and the cells were very small and cramped.

When we reached Ashford my first view was of a massive wire fence with razor wire across the top.  It appeared as a top security prison.  In reality, that is what it was.  It was no different to an adult jail except in name and the ages of its occupants.  The rules were the same as for adults, the regime was the same, if anything the screws attitudes toward their youth prisoners was harsher.  Maybe they justified their sadistic tendencies with the thought that harsh treatment would act as a deterrent for the future.

Jane Walker
I had had a local girlfriend at Chiddingfold too.  Jane was a few months younger than me  and lived almost next door to Donald.  We used to hang out on the village green near the pond.  One summers evening we went for a walk through the churchyard and the field at the back.  As we walked back we were very close, heart touching heart, and we ended up making love on a gravestone at the back of the church.  It was Jane's first time so I tried to make it as painless as possible for her.  We both climaxed.  After a while we cleaned ourselves up, straightened our clothes and went back to our respective homes.  That had been our first and last time making love, and I later heard she had fallen pregnant from that first occasion and had had a daughter.

That night Donald's father returned from the pub drunk as usual.  As we sat in the sitting room he was taken ill.  He couldn't breath properly and collapsed in a heap on the settee.  I am not sure what was wrong with him but the ambulance crew put a neck brace on him, gave him oxygen and rushed him off to hospital at Guildford.  I was left alone in the house and felt very uncomfortable.  I thought Donald’s dad was going to die and just felt I shouldn't be around.  So I left there the next morning and made my way to the child welfare department at Woking.

My first bed-sit  (June 1972)
The social workers got me a bed-sit in Hook Heath Road Woking.  It was large and spacious and felt comfortable, though I wasn't very happy at living on my own.  I started drinking heavily to counter the loneliness, but started looking for work.  I wasn't afraid of work, I enjoyed it and thrived on it. 

Before I had a chance to get a job in Woking I had a visit from the police.  I was questioned over the theft of Donald's dad’s wallet on the evening he was taken into hospital.  For once in my life I was innocent and I resented being questioned.

Work at Woking
My first job in Woking was at Tesco's supermarket in Chertsey Road (now a pub).  I enjoyed the work there.  Again I was working in the storeroom sending orders down to the shop floor for the shelf fillers.  The job involved picking the goods from the shelves, pricing the goods and then sending them down on the conveyor belt.  I stayed at that job for a while enjoying the work and the pay which had been better than the £5 a week at Milford.

I got the sack from that job after I needed a day off on a few occasions because of my asthma.  This was the first time my asthma had come back to afflict me since I was a kid.  Why it should come back at this stage I don't know.  Maybe it was my smoking that had triggered it.  It was ironic that the person who sacked me, Terry the manager, had sick days off every week to cope with his illness.

The injustice made me angry, but I had rent to pay so I concentrated on getting another job.  Within a week I had landed another job, this time store man at Superdrug, also in Chertsey Road.  I think the money was about the same as at Tesco and the job wasn't too bad.  One drawback was that we had no conveyor belt between the warehouse and the shop floor.  Everything had to be carried down by hand. 

I didn't last very long in this job.  Less than a week.  I lasted until we got the first delivery.  An articulated lorry full of goods that had to be carried by hand upstairs to be put away in the store room.  I was quite, well reasonably, happy with this until I developed massive blisters on my feet.  I hadn't been warned we were having a delivery and if I was I could have brought my trainers into work and worn them.  My blisters started to bleed and be really sore but the manager wasn't interested.  he insisted that I continue to do it.  I started to boil over with my temper.  "Do it yourself"  I told him, and walked out the store.  Bastards!!  I would get my revenge.

This incident made me very angry.  The big businessman stamping on the working classes without care or consideration.

I later set fire to this store one Sunday morning.  It was my revenge on them.  The store had to be closed for a week or so whilst repair etc had to be made.  That  morning I had woken up bitter and decided the time had come for my revenge.  I first of all set fire to the rubbish skip behind Tesco's for what they had done to me.  Then I set fire to the Superdrug store.  Behind the store was a little lane, this was where I started the fire.  In a parking space opposite the back door of the store was a really flash sports car.  Bastard - bet he had got it from exploiting the workers!!  I set fire to the car too!!  I was so angry this day.

Islington (July 1972)
My anger bubbled for days.  I now wanted revenge on society for all the rejection and hurt it had caused me.  Over the period of a week I fell apart into a bitter seething mess.  I packed up my few belongings in a rucksack and bought a ticket at Woking Railway station for London.  I had heard about protests at Islington.  There were demonstrations outside Pentonville Prison.  Five dockers locked up, another injustice.  Society was unjust and needed to be taught a lesson.  I would join in the protest.  I caught a bus to Caledonian Road and found the site of the protest.  All this time it was my anger keeping me going.  I was going to have revenge.

I joined the protesters.  I seemed to be a natural leader.  People gathered around me.  I stirred them up.  I had picked up key phrases from people I had heard speaking and spouted them with venom.  Exploitation of the working classes.  Stomping on the right to protest.  throwing men out of jobs.  Increasing poverty, unemployment and homelessness. 

It worked.  The people were angry.  By the time I had been there 2 days people were mad as hell.  Buses were hijacked and set on fire.  Those that weren't torched were driven across the road and their tyres punctured making them immobile.  Our aim was to make the Caledonian Road a no go area.  The police struggled to regain control.  They used ambulances with blue lights and sirens blaring to try to break us up.  We were wise to their tricks and started to refuse to let the ambulances through.

By the 6th day of protests we were starting to win the battle.  Increasing numbers of genuine protesters were arriving each day.  Increasing numbers of rent-a-crowd, rebels like myself who would jump into any opportunity to get even with society were arriving also.  Just as we were starting to build up an effective fighting force, getting the crowds angry, the government ordered the release of the 5 dockers.  The protesters had won.  The rug though, had been pulled from under my feet.  Suddenly I had no cause to fight.  I will now have to find something else to vent my anger at.

Squatting
During the riots I had been living alone in a squat about a mile away in Kings Cross.  During the protest I had made friends with others who were of a similar mind to me some of whom lived in squats nearby.  They invited me to move in with them and so I moved my stuff from Kings Cross up to Leslie Street.  Alas Leslie Street is no longer there, the local authority has built over it.  We had a relatively clean and comfortable house, the electricity was on and we had running water.  So I stayed in this area for about a further week.

One couple I had met during the protests was Dr Rose Dugdale and Wally Heaton.  They lived in a nearby street and taught me a lot about the workers and society's struggles through the ages against the government.  I was shocked when I discovered a year or so later that they were members of the IRA and were convicted of related crimes.  I came so close to being recruited, and knowing my frame of mind I would probably have gladly along with them.  This memory puts a shiver down my spine now.

Julie
During one of the many parties I went to in this short period I met Julie.  We were both very stoned and Julie was very cute, very attractive.  Julie and I ended up in bed together.  It was then I got a shock.  Julie was a guy!!  How could I not have noticed?  I had enjoyed 'her' snogs, and petting 'her', but suddenly everything was turned on its head.  This completely threw me and I was disgusted.  I told Julie I couldn't go through with it and beat him/her up and left the house.  My anger was bubbling again.  

I made my way back to my own squat.  Hurrying so as not to be on the streets when the alarm was sounded.  I lay awake all night.  I just didn't understand.  I had enjoyed gay sex.  What was wrong with me?

Bath and revenge (August 1972)
Early that morning I caught a bus to Victoria.  I packed up my few belongings in a rucksack, and left Leslie Street and Kings Cross behind me.  At Victoria Coach Station I bought a single ticket for Bath, found the coach, and boarded it.  Confused and angry my anger was bubbling away.  I now wanted revenge on my foster parents for their rejection of me and all the hurt they had caused me.  I wanted revenge again on society.  Over the period of just a day or two  I fell apart into a bitter seething mess.   All this time it was my anger keeping me going.  I was going to have revenge.

This was when I was forced to face up to the fact that I had an alcoholic problem.  It wasn’t that I had to drink, it was just that when I started I couldn’t stop.

The next morning I was called before Commander Preston.  I was charged with a whole range of offences including being drunk on duty and causing undue alarm and panic.  I do not recall my punishment, or maybe I left before punishment could be announced.  But I still laugh about this today.

Mutiny on the Bembridge
It was shortly after this event that whole crew mutinied.  We were at anchor off Ryde on the Isle of Wight and I do not remember the reason for the punishment but shore leave had been cancelled for the whole crew for a month.  Everyone was being extremely aggravated and wound up by Preston and his dactatorial ways.  We had just about had enough and the lads started talking about just walking off the ship.  We were well aware of the possible consequences of such an action but didn’t believe for one minute we would be shot.

I think it was about lunchtime when the whole crew met on the port side of the ship.  We clambered into the liberty boat, a motor boat that was used for landing pilots on ships and the crew ashore, and headed away from the ship to Ryde.  As we looked back we could see the solitary figure of Commander Preston on deck calling for us to go back.  We all laughed especially at the thought that he was all alone and had no way to get ashore. 

The liberty boat was grounded on the beach by the pier and as we all scrambled to get ashore we saw police cars with sirens and lights heading along the beach towards us.  We had forgotten he had the radio to call for help.  Holiday makers were running for cover as the police cars slipped this way and then that way in the fine sand as the tried to raced across the beach to reach us. 

We all split up and ran in different directions.  I ran into the town and after an hour or so headed back towards the beach.  It all looked quite normal now.  The liberty boat was now gone off the beach.  The police cars were all gone and all the holiday makers were lounging again on the sand.

I never went back on the Bembridge.  I hung around Ryde for a few days trying to work out what I should do next.  Finally I had a plan.  I  caught the ferry to Portsmouth,  hitchhiked up the A3 and found my way to a mate’s house at Chiddingfold.

Chiddingfold  (April 1972)
After I was landed at Portsmouth I went to stay with a friend in a village called Chiddingfold in Surrey.  I don't know what had happened to the mother but Donald lived with his father and brother.  I had met Donald at Wishmore Cross.  He had been one of my few true friends there. 

I told Donald how I came to be there and was currently homeless and he talked to his dad about me moving in with them temorarily.  They agreed to let me stay for a while I got something sorted out.  Donald and I got on really well as we had at school and became the village hooligans.  Apart from us the village was dead.  The only nuisance was his little brother who was about 9 and wanted to come with us everywhere.

I got a job fairly quickly in Milford, a village a few miles away.  It only paid £5 a week but it was a job, it was a start, and it showed Donald and his dad I was trying.  I was assistant store man in the village supermarket and was happy to stay at it for a while.    I resented the low wages, but it was a job for now.  I got paid more than that when I was at the training school.

Helen Green
Donald’s dad used to take us each weekend to Working Men's Clubs in the area.  On one occasion we went to the Saturday Disco at the Milford Club.  There I met Helen Brown.  She was the same age as me and was beautiful.  We danced a few dances and I managed to steal a few kisses and few cuddles.  At the end of the evening we swapped telephone numbers and she said she would like to see me again.  I had learned from her that usually she and her dad went to the Haslemere Club but her dad had been poorly this weekend so she had come to Milford with a friend.

The next weekend I managed to talk Donald and his dad in to going to the Haslemere club.  I met Helen and her dad at the Club.  Helen was wearing red hotpants with a yellow blouse, and I immediately stood to attention.  She was beautiful and so sexy.  Her dad was a postman and I learned that the club was mainly for postmen, their wives and families.   Helen and I had a few dances but felt watched over by Helen's mum and dad.  We managed to slip away for a while and went for a wander around the town.  We stopped from time to time in a shop doorway for a snog and by the time we got back near the club we were so caught up in passion that I would have made love to her in the street.  She led me round the back of the club where there was a little green area and some benches and we settled down on a bench.  She wouldn't let me go all the way with her.  We had about an hour of snogging, petting and cuddling until another couple came out the back.  Helen felt all embarrassed to be there with me and wanted to go back inside.  I sent her in first so we wouldn't appear together.  I took my time going back inside, I had to allow time for the evidence of my arousal to go down.

I saw Jane a few more times and even stayed at her house, once sleeping on the settee.  Once her mum and dad were asleep I tried to creep into her room but she heard me and came out to meet me.  She told me she didn't want to have sex yet.  I felt totally deflated.  I believe I had genuine feelings for this girl, but fate would determine this would be the last time I would see Helen.

Guernsey
The Bembridge was a bit of an old rust bucket really.  It wasn’t used to long journeys having been used by Trinity House (the pilot’s organisation) to sit out in the channel running pilots out to incoming shipping.

Whilst we were all excited when we were told we were going to cruise over to Guernsey from Portsmouth Harbour, I guess a few of us wondered if she would ever get there.  She did though.  It took 24 hours instead of 16 though.  We tied up at the quayside at St Peter Port and in the evening the officers held a reception for the town mayor and cronies.  I was duty officer on the bridge and whilst on one of my patrols of the decks I popped down to the lounge where the reception was being held, only to check everything was ok you understand.  When I got back to the bridge to write up my log entry for that patrol I found a bottle whisky hiding inside my juacket.  It must have slipped there from the lounge.

As the evening progressed the reception was going well.  I was also having my own little party on the bridge.  I didn’t bother with any more patrols of the decks, I just tucked into this bottle of whisky.

I think it was about 2230hrs (10.30pm) when I remembered I was supposed to be doing security and safety rounds of the decks.  I lifted myself out of the chair I had been slumped in and lurched across the bridge.  The door to the starboard side of the ship swung open as I grasped the handle, almost causing me to fall over.  The fresh night air hit me hard.  As I stood erect and straightened my uniform my head began to swim.  I grasped the rail that ran round the top of the stairs outside the bridge and steadied myself. 

I remember half slipping down the stairs and banging my legs and knees.  I was too drunk to realise how painful the knocks were.  Once again I straightened my uniform and started strolling down the deck,  checking no one had stolen lifeboats or left garbage on the decks.  As I drew level with the engine room I noticed smoke pouring out of the engine room skylights.  Fear and panic took hold of me.  I flung the door open that led down to the engine and smoke poured through.  I couldn’t see my hand before my face.

I tried to concentrate my thoughts.  Turning on my heel I ran back up to the bridge.  Whilst we were at sea, and normally when we were moored in Gosport Reach we had a fire crew allocated.  For the 24 hour period that we were going to be in St Peter Port as far as I knew no fire crew had been allocated. 

The drink once more took control as I swigged at the now near empty bottle of scotch trying to think what I should do.  I remembered the fire drill and alarm procedure.  The alarm was to be a rapid succession of blast on the ships horn.  I grasped the cord and pulled and pulled and pulled.  I must have let off around 25 or 30 blasts and collapsed on the bridge deck laughing hysterically.  Oh no!!  That was the abandon ship signal; the fire alarm was, was, was, I couldn’t remember!!

I recalled what was happening and got to my feet.  This time I exited the bridge on the port side.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it was for a change of scenery.  The sight that met me has confounded me ever since.

Looking down from my position two decks above everyone else I could see There we were, tied up in harbour and people, visitors as well as crew, were jumping into the water.  What on earth was that all about?  I know the emergency routine was to abandon ship from the nearest available position but this was ridiculous.  We were tied up in harbour!!

The island fire brigade turned out as well as local police and an ambulance and it seemed half the town came down to the harbour to see what all the fuss about.  Whilst everyone was on the quayside and milling about, I made my way down to the lounge area to sample the culinary delights on offer.  This was where I was found a short while later, slumped in a chair and incapable of anything other than feeling ill.

September 1970
I had left Farmstead Villa, no doubt much to the relief of all, except Pat.

Hi Ho Hi Ho - its off to work we go
I had been refused the opportunity to go to university.  Pat had tried her best to get Surrey County Council to finance higher education for me but they wouldn’t take responsibility for my further education and were insisting that I should leave school and go to work.  So I left school at 15 and joined a merchant navy training school, based in the Priory at Arundel Castle in Sussex.  The school was specifically for youngsters like myself who had come from institutions and were looking for a step up the ladder of life.  One thing was for sure, the local authorities were wiping their hands of us!

The idea of the school was that it should be land based for basic training and education in seamanship at Arundel and then we would transfer to TS (Training Ship)  Bembridge which was to be based at Gosport Reach in Portsmouth Harbour.  The Bembridge was a 500 tonne ex Trinity House (pilot) ship.  She was an old lady, but to this 15 year old, it was a ship and a new adventure. 

In addition to the seamanship we were also to specialise in one subject.  I was going to specialise in catering, and did well in learning the trade and putting it into practice  (Initially, on leaving the training course, I worked at a popular and well known restaurant in Ewell.  I gave up after just a few hours though when I realised that the job involved opening packets and tins with some drunken Scot shouting at me!!  I hadn’t undergone making 'real' food just to work with this drunk and opening tins or the freezer door!!

Whilst we were land-based the head of the trainings school was Eric St. John Foti.  When we took delivery of the Bembridge and moved onboard Lt. Commander Preston RNR was appointed as Commander of the Bembridge.  Preston was a member of the Royal Naval Reserves and obviously had a naval background.  But as far as handling teenage boys with our sort of background was concerned he was green as cabbage!

Preston used to bark orders as if he was still in the Navy and we used to carry out the order.... eventually.  I remember him as a nasty piece of work and have never forgotten one thing he said to me.

Cowes
We took the Bembridge from Portsmouth to Cowes Harbour on one occasion.  I do not recall why, but I was on the wheel of the ship as we entered the harbour.  Normally I would have been on galley duty being a catering student but I think I must have been on seamanship duty on this day.  As we entered the harbour we were taking the correct line for a ship of our size, on the right hand side of the mouth to the harbour.  Within a moment the ship had been 'thrown' over to the left hand side and was solidly aground just by the quay wall.

We were now obstructing the East - West Cowes Chain Ferry!

Preston shouted at me something like "what have you done you stupid boy?"  I replied that I hadn’t actually done anything and had no idea what had happened.  He continued ranting at me and being the stroppy lad I was I squared up to him and said "You were in charge of the ship - you got it wrong".  He replied to me, "I make mistakes but I am never wrong boy!!"  This has been my mantra of hatred towards authority ever since.  I have never found myself able to forgive that comment.  It seemed to cut right through me.

The press and TV along with the whole population of Cowes, it seemed, all came down to the quayside to ogle.  It felt so embarrassing because everyone was blaming me and I felt the public all knew it was me at the helm when the ship ran aground.

The inquiry into the incident cleared me of all blame.  Preston was ultimately held responsible but with the mitigation that when we entered the harbour there was a spring high tide.  That spring high tide produced its own unique and dangerous undercurrents, resulting in what had happened to the Bembridge.  Preston didn’t know the harbour and its tides, but he was the commanding officer.

He became even worse after this incident.  He didn’t like being wrong and he took it out on us with increased discipline.  As a result he became more hated by us all.

 

Farmstead Villa
I arrived at Farmstead Villa.  To be honest I was quite apprehensive of what I was going to find there.  I had simply been told it was a mental hospital for disturbed kids.  Farmstead was a juvenile unit within an established mental hospital.  Long Grove was one of the 5 large mental hospitals on the outskirts of Epsom.  Little did I know it was going to see a lot more of Long Grove over the next few years.

When I arrived I was shown into the Day room.  It was full of youngsters like myself, boys and girls.  All looked relatively normal.  I wandered around the areas I had access to.  The boys dormitory was one side of the day room and the girls the other.  At the end of the dormitory were some single rooms.  Some had mattresses and no furniture.  There was at least one padded cell, blood, snot and shit spread on the walls.

Later as I settled in I found the girls side was the same but was prettily painted in pink whilst we had green and cream.

The place wasn’t proving to be as hostile and nutty as I expected.  Certainly not as nutty as Brookwood.

Farmstead School
The school was in a separate building just a hundred yards or so away just across our playing field.  We went to school weekdays, 9-3.30.  School was easy going which was irritating because I have always been keen on learning.  I have a hungry mind, but I soon fell into taking it easy along with the others and bunking off for a fag when I could.

In all the time I was there one teacher took a special interest in me.  Pat.  She was a very kind and caring person who somehow had a knack of seeing through how we appeared and acted and saw the real person inside.  She had taken a few of us under her wing as 'friends'.  Once she got to know us she used to take us to her home and family and treat us as family.  She was a wonderful person who I loved very much as a friend and regret having fallen out with her.

Pamela
One girl latched onto me almost soon as I arrived.  Pamela was 15, a year older than me.  She seemed very normal, if quiet, and I liked her.  We used to go for long walks around the woods and fields that surrounded the hospital and Villa and talk and generally just hang out.  I wasn’t looking for an exclusive girlfriend though, and after a bit of disappointment she was content just to spend time with me when she could

It was Pam who took my heterosexual cherry in the woods one summer evening.  She was good.  She was very experienced and taught me well.  She also gave me an appetite for heterosexual sex which I pursued whenever I could.

Drugs
Farmstead was the location for another first for me.  Drug taking.  Chris W was another lad that became a very good friend.  He introduced me to drugs.  It wasn’t too soon before Chris and I were regularly smoking grass and resin together.  We would while away many a sunny evening lying in the cornfield at the back of the Villa smoking and laughing.  I really liked Chris and we spent a lot of time together.

Chris also introduced me to acid (LSD) and heroin.  The acid I liked and took as regularly as I could afford.  The heroin I tried once.  It made me sick and scared and I never went near it again after the first time.

Runaway
Chris and I decided to 'leave' the Villa for a while.  We travelled up to London where he had a girlfriend who had a flat in Holland Park.  The next week or so are a pleasant haze of sex, both gay and straight, drugs, music and rebellion.  We smoked weed so often the cat was permanently stoned.

I did a bit of thievery to get some cash and with Chris taking me to parties with people he knew, he introduced me to a world I could only have dreamt about. 

This era unravelled as I started suffering drug withdrawal from the medication the hospital had had me on.  I had been on an anti-depressant called Tryptizol and suddenly coming off of it was painful.  Too painful, and at the time I had no idea what was happening.  The last straw was when I nearly collapsed at Notting Hill Gate tube station.  I telephoned Farmstead and spoke to a nurse who explained what was happening.  She advised to me to get a train to Epsom and come straight back to the unit.  I did, and never have I been more pleased to take myself back to a place I had runaway from.

Despite their asking I never told them where Chris was, or what I had been up to.  I accepted the injection they offered me to get drugs quickly back into my system and settled in again.

I never saw Chris again.  I heard a few years later that he died.  That, if it is true, was such a waste.

 Holiday in Wales
In the summer of 1970 I was sent on a holiday to Wales.  It was called an adventure holiday and involved sailing on Lake Llangorse, horse riding over the Brecon Beacons and much more.  I had a great time.  The second half of the holiday we transferred to another centre at Ross - on - Wye.  Here most of the activities involved canoeing, getting cold and getting wet.  Ugh!  It was on the last day of this holiday at Ross on Wye that in packing my clothes and gear up ready to leave that I came across a wallet,  I forget how much money was in it, but it was sufficient to tempt me, and so I stole it.  I remember pushing the wallet down the front of my trousers into my underpants so if I was searched it would hopefully not be found.  When I was safely on the train, which fortunately happened before the theft was discovered I took all the money out and threw the wallet out of the train window as it sped towards London.

Social Club
I had visited the social club a few times.  During the day times it was open for tea, coffee and snacks.  Occasionally in the afternoons and evenings they put on bingo, tea dances, whist drive, and events like that.  It was probably the best place in the hospital, if only because there were no staff there, other than for functions like the bingo and 'disco's'.  The club was open from about 10am until 8pm and was a great refuge from the lunacy of the hospital.

I started work and used to help with the cleaning and setting up of tables and chairs for whatever event was occurring and the women helpers used to prepare and serve the refreshments and cold food snacks.  I was soon 'promoted' and was allowed to call numbers at Bingo, play the music for the disco and take on some of the more responsible tasks.  The rest of the time I used to circulate amongst the members of the club, the patients, trying to work out who was mad and who was one of society's rebels.  Who was worth knowing and who should I avoid.

I used the social club job as an excuse for keeping out of the ward as much as possible.  The less time spent there the better as far as I was concerned.  I discovered I could also use the long hours to be out and about around town and nobody would be any the wiser.  This led to me drinking in the local pubs with the money social services game me for pocket money, plus the money the hospital gave me for working in the social club plus the 'commission' I stole from the club takings!

It was on one of my forays into the village of Knaphill near Woking that I came across a local motorcycle gang.  This group of 'hells angels' were hanging out at a local cafe that called itself a 'tea rooms', near the hospital.  The Copper Kettle, as it was called, was a nice clean place that served good tea and cooked food and had a quaintest look about it, but it just couldn’t shake off that cafe feel. 

I made it my business to get to know the bikers and to let them know how much I hated society and just how much of a nutter I could be.  I obviously appealed to them because after I met up with them a few times, the leader, complete with dirty leather and bug bushy beard invited me to join them.  Yes!!  This fitted my plan beautifully.  Now the world would discover just how bitter and twisted and angry I was. 

Hells Angels
I rode pillion with the leader of the gang and so started a new era in my career of mayhem and violence.

I started my 'biker career' at Bisley village hall.  It was the local weekly disco.  We, the bikers, turned up in force.  I guess there was about 20 of us on about 14 motorbikes of varying makes and descriptions.  We forced our way into the hall, refusing to pay the door money.  We were eyeing up the girls but apart from one or two brave, or was it foolish, blokes everyone was keeping well clear of us as we moved around the hall.  The foolishly brave blokes got a push and shove.  If they didn’t heed the warning they got a good kicking.

As a gang we got involved in some local pub brawls.  Some we started, most we finished.  The only consistent thing was that it was always over in five minutes so that we would be well away from the scene by the time the police would arrive.

Whilst all this had been going on I was still doing my job at the social club and being the person they wanted me to be.  I was questioned once about being seen in town with the gang, but I lied my way out of it.

After I had been out on a few 'forays' with the bikers, I met with them at the Copper Kettle on a Saturday afternoon.  In front of the whole gang I was confronted about why I hadn’t got involved in any of the fights yet.  It was true and I had no answer for them.  In the past I had never really been cold bloodedly violent.  My violence in all its various forms had been the result of temper, of being hurt.  My violence had always been an emotional response to circumstances.  I was now being called upon to prove myself.  This would be my initiation. 

That very evening, a Saturday, we were riding around Woking town.  As we sped down Goldsworth Road towards Knaphill we passed a couple.  Someone shouted some sexual encouragement to the guy as we went past and the man shouted back and raised a fist.  That was enough.  The whole group turned around in the road and rode back.  The leader told me, this was it.  Prove myself.  I got off the bike and asked the bloke if he had a problem.  He replied, "Only you lot".  The girl had run off by now and this poor guy was facing us up on his own.  I hit him hard in the face.  As his hands went up I kicked him where you shouldn’t kick a bloke.  He went down, retching and writhing on the ground.  I casually climbed back on the pillion with the cheers of the group ringing in my ears and off we rode.

This was my first, and thank God only cold blooded attack in my life time.

My last act of rebellion against society in this phase of my life occurred at Knaphill police station.  I call it a police station but really it was a police house.  I expect the village bobby lived upstairs and downstairs was his police station.  The bike gang (including me) had called at a local pub for a drink and the landlord had refused to serve us.  There had been a little argy bargy but no violence, but already being a little pissed up we were most indignant.  We had gone to the police house to complain.  You can imagine the chaos as twenty of us tried to fit into the little reception which was just about big enough for one old lady and her dog.  It was a nightmare and somehow we managed to spill into the office area behind the counter.  As we made our complaint the lone copper ushered us out of his office with placations, and one of our group nicked his helmet.

We ran off back up towards the village playing with his helmet.  It was a great laugh.  Before we got back to village centre we heard sirens in the distance.  I threw the helmet over the hedge into the grounds of the hospital, my plan was to retrieve it later.  The police found us and stopped us.  They questioned us and searched us but had to let us go.  We knew nothing about a lost helmet.  As we walked away we could see them tracking our steps and looking in gardens and hedges and eventually they retrieved the helmet.  It was a harmless laugh.

It was about this stage that I got moved on from Brookwood.  I had spent about 9-12 months in this mental hospital.  They had been looking for somewhere to put me that could handle me and cater for my age.  By this time I had almost completely stopped communicating with people on any but a superficial level.  I was completely wrapped up in myself and my problems and creating new ones.  Revenge and hate were my foremost thoughts and though I didn't realise it at the time I was building up quite an effective hatred against myself.  I was also being very successful in making other people hate me.