Uncontrollable - my autobiography

He started trying to smash my windscreen with his truncheon and when that didn't succeed he rummaged in the boot of a police car and returned with a chainhoist.

Meanwhile I was laughing hysterically which didn't make matters any better.

As he started swinging the chain hoist the look in his eyes told me that he was no longer concerned about my safety. His eyes told me that if the chain hoist crashed through the windscreen and hit me, he would be unconcerned. It seemed that the most important thing was for him to stop me making his police force a laughing stock. He obviously derived no pleasure from Keystone Kop movies!!

I surrendered after the first swing of the chain hoist. I knew the windscreen wouldn't survive a second swing, and that with flying glass and the flying chain hoist I could end up severely injured!! I stepped out of the car and felt policeman grab me from all directions.

The mad inspector was about to put me into a car when the detectives took charge. They were certainly saving me from a good hiding by taking me themselves.

The score for the day was; One police car written off, three damaged, I was captured, charged and in custody, and now looking at a 7 year prison sentence.

I had been on the run from the police for about 18 months after the theft of a payroll in London. I was wanted by police in London, Margate, Sussex and Surrey on charges of theft of the pay-roll, fraud, and various other thefts and burglaries.

I had been caught once before on these matters and had had a word with a magistrate friend of mine about bail. This had been arranged with the police and I had been bailed unconditionally, with no charges having yet been made.
I had jumped the bail and fled to the South Coast, moving along the coast between Margate and Hastings to Eastbourne and Brighton. I had spent my time defrauding banks and credit card companies with stolen cheque books and credit cards along the way.

It was the continuing and repetitive story of my life. Conning, manipulating and if all else failed, stealing, to meet the ever growing demand for materialistic satisfaction. This time though, having only been out 2 years after 5 years inside, I was guaranteed a more permanent address, courtesy of Her Majesty's government for at least 5, probably 7, years.

I suppose my life of crime really started when I was eight years old. I was living in Somerset with foster parents in a small town called Frome. We had moved there about six months previously, and my first crime was to steal my sister's pocket money.

A year later I was at a boarding school near Sturminster Newton in Dorset where I was supposed to be learning spelling and other educational subjects, instead I was learning and practising the art of burglary and stealing from cars. These crimes culminated in my appearance at a juvenile court charged with burglary, theft and criminal damage. We had also driven a bulldozer over the edge of a quarry, and this was the start of my enjoyment of being destructive, which ended in my burning down a supermarket and a factory.

But let us go right back to the beginning.....................

I thought for a moment that I had made a great a mistake. I started to shake inside. Everything seemed so quiet, were they waiting for me to make a move? Was I waiting for them to open fire? It seemed a long time until someone stirred. The detective who was still pressed flat against the side of the car asked me very politely if I would give him the gun. He seemed to have changed his tack. From the aggressive, demanding instructions he had given only a few moments ago, he changed. Maybe he had tried to bully me, found it hadn't worked and would now try a different approach. His politeness surprised me for a moment and I found myself agreeing.

It occurred to me that they then might put their guns away which would give me a breathing space to do some very quick thinking. I might even get a chance of escape.

The detective moved to the back of the car. I opened the front passenger window just enough to slip the rifle through, and picked the weapon up. I was suddenly aware that everybody was staring intently. The holiday makers and locals that had gathered were probably hoping for a 'bit of action' to liven up their mundane lives, and the police were waiting for me to make a move that would signal their opening fire and blowing me from the cliffs of Beachy Head to who knows where.

I hesitated for a few seconds as I picked the rifle up, it occurred to me that I was now on my way to prison for a long time. Life had never been a lot of fun, why not go out in a blaze of glory? Hit the headlines!! No more worry, no more running scared, no more looking over my shoulder waiting for the long arm of the law, or the revenge of other villains, that one of these days would catch up with me.

A second thought came into my mind, is this all really worth dying for? It all suddenly seemed so ridiculous, like an american movie. I almost started laughing. I pushed the rifle through the window, shouted a warning to the policeman that it was loaded and closed the window again.

I was lighthearted again now, the danger had passed, the fear had gone, let's have some fun. The police were putting their guns away and taking their protective jackets off, now expecting to just talk me into surrender.

I started the engine with a roar and shot away, tyres throwing up gravel from the surface of the car park, weaving between the parked police cars......the chase was on again.

I don't think they had considered for a moment I might try to escape. They had left enough room to almost get a double decker bus through. Or maybe their day needed brightening up too!!

Now it seemed like a game, and the prize was my freedom. We were off, just like the movies. I had spun the car around in the car park only to see that the car park entrance was sealed off with a police car parked across it. Only one way out, up the embankment.

Before I had been stopped up on Beachy Head the chase had taken place all around and through the town, through the pedestrian precinct, the wrong way down the one-way street outside the police station, up and down the sea-front. Dangerous enough, but now we would go up on to the cliff top. Let's see if they will follow at 40m.p.h. along the edge of the cliff, I thought to my self!!

I left the car park, bumping up the steep grass embankment and drove up onto the cliff. I figured they would bottle out on the cliff-edge, it would be too dangerous and they wouldn't follow.

I looked in the mirror and saw how wrong I was. There were eight police cars and an ambulance chasing after me. It was certainly the most hair raising driving experience I had ever had. The cliff top was covered in pot-holes and craters which made for a very rough ride.

As I approached a crater I realised it was deeper than most and slowed down just in time to slip into it and be able to drive out the other side, the first police car following was not so fortunate. He hit it at speed, went in and never came out, I heard later the chassis had snapped.

The chase went on for a little while. I would stop for a breather and a chance to think, they would try to surround me and off I would go again. Slowly they were depleting their stocks of police cars!! One by one they were falling victim to the craters and rough terrain.

Eventually I was stopped. I had been cornered after playing cat and mouse and having been rammed by two police cars. The officers chasing had thought it a lot of fun, but one inspector had really blown his top. Maybe his car has been wrecked!!

BANG!! The door slammed shut. The heavy tumblers of the lock fell with a thud, and then....silence. I was alone, alone with only my thoughts for company.
I had just been chased around Eastbourne by the police. I was in a stolen car with a .22 rifle in the passenger leg space, it was loaded and somehow, the police knew.
After a chase lasting an hour they had stopped me on Beachy Head and, wearing bulletproof jackets, they surrounded the car pointing their own fire-arms in my direction. This was just about the nearest I had come to death and I was terrified. Gone was all the bravado with which I had burgled houses and businesses. and with which I had always kept one step ahead of the police all the time they had been looking for me. Gone was the confidence and brashness with which I had conned my way through the last year or so as a professional criminal. Gone was the arrogance which told me I was brilliant at my chosen profession.
I was sitting in the car almost a quivering wreck, trying desperately to recover my composure from the frightened little boy I had become. I realised that one false move on my part, however innocent, and I could be gunned down where I sat.
The way I had often threatened others in the past was now being inflicted upon me. I had sowed violence and now I was in danger of reaping a violent death.
One detective had crept up to the back of the car. I had been watching him in the mirror, dressed in his bulletproof jacket, with a pistol in his hand, wondering what he was planning to do. He crept up the side of the car and told me not to move a muscle. I listened very carefully to what he said, I did not plan any misunderstandings at this stage.
He tried to open the passenger door but I had locked all the doors. The lifestyle I led demanded that for my own protection I had to keep doors locked. Whether it was for protection from the police or other villains it had become instinct to lock all the doors of any car as soon as I had got in.
The hard man had become a prisoner of his own hardness. I was living, running scared, locked up in my car, my hotel room, even in cafe's and restaurants, never sitting with my back to the door. Choosing positions where I could keep a constant watch on the comings and goings.
I had wanted to be thought of as a hard man, someone to be treated with respect for fear of attack, and now I had that reputation I had to protect myself like a frightened rat, hiding in a darkened corner. So much for the hard man!!
The detective who was now pressed against the side of car, out of sight except in the door mirror, told me to lean over very slowly with my hands visible and open the front passenger door. Despite my fear, and without really knowing why, I refused.