Burbank
I was sent to a children's home near Woking.  Burbank, as it was called, was on Wych Hill, just about a mile from the town centre.  My behaviour was bad here also and after a few months I had been expelled from a West Byfleet secondary modern school for disruptive behaviour,  had been in trouble with the police for shoplifting in Guildford and Woking, and was in and out of trouble almost as often as Big Ben strikes the hour.

This period culminated one Sunday in an attempt by me to kill another boy. We had been playing football and I knew nothing of what happened until one of the staff members was trying to beat me off of Paulo. I knew nothing at all of the attack but apparently I had leapt on him and started strangling him. What made it very strange was the fact that this boy who lived in the home with me, was my best friend.

Suicide
After a couple of hours the boy was brought back from hospital and was OK.  I was very confused and frightened.  Attacking my best friend, nearly killing him and not knowing anything about it!  To say I was upset is probably an understatement.  I ran away from the children's home about 3 hours after the incident  and climbed up on Victoria Bridge in Woking town centre.  This is a railway bridge that runs over a road and is quite high.  I sat on top of it and decided I was going to jump.  I spent a few minutes preparing myself and just as  I was pushing  off some one shouted at me from behind.  I looked around and there was a swarm of policemen running across the tracks from  the direction of the railway station and from the opposite direction.  It looked as if there was about 20 of them altogether.  As soon as I saw their uniforms I leapt of the bridge (on the railway side fortunately, a drop of only four feet) and started running across the tracks.  For those that do not know Woking it is quite a large junction and shunting area.  I was leaping across the tracks (not thinking of the electricity which they had probably shut off anyway and we ended up having a game of cat & mouse amongst all the railway carriages and wagons.  The police eventually (probably quite soon) cornered me.  It was quite a friendly inspector who grabbed me and took me away to a waiting police car.  I was now aged about 13 and the police drove off to Brookwood Hospital, taking me with them.

Brookwood Hospital is a mental hospital.  It was a local hospital so I knew of it.  But I knew it wasn't really a hospital - it was a loony bin - a nut house.  I was terrified. I imagined people frothing at the mouth strapped up in straight jackets.  Big burly guards who carried special knock out injections with them all the time, ready for when they would be attacked.

 

Brookwood

When I arrived at the hospital I was considered dangerous.  I had tried to kill some one and then tried to kill myself.  I was locked up in a padded cell and 3 big burly male nurses came in told me to roll over on my front and gave me an injection to put me to sleep for a day.  I later discovered that injection was called the 'Largactil cosh'.  I was kept in that padded cell for 3 days until I had calmed down. (their perspective).  Most of that time I was asleep after the 'largactil cosh'.  Each time I awoke 3 nurses would come in and inject me again.

These injections were always readily available at anytime of day or night for those who became violent, upset or wouldn’t do what they were told.  The staff also used to threaten us with them.  It was their power trip to control the patients even for matters as trivial as getting what they wanted on TV or for us to do for them.

After 3 days a nurse came to the door and threw me a multi-coloured candy striped dressing gown and told me to put it on and follow him for breakfast.  I did so with apprehension.  I didn’t know what to expect from this nuthouse.  When we had finished breakfast a nurse took me on a tour of the ward.  I was shown the day room and treatment rooms, the TV room, laundry, kitchen and occupational therapy room.  The grand finale was, the padded cells!   They actually had about 5 or 6 of them.  As the nurse showed me it he said, "Any more of that nonsense you tried on Sunday and this is where you end up".

My god - this really was a loony bin.  I had lived locally for a little while and we called it the loony bin, the asylum, the nuthouse; and it was right.  I was 13 years old, in this place with nutters and power crazed staff - and I was crapping myself.

Padded Cells
I did end up in the padded cells a couple of times.  One time was for crying because I felt so lonely and afraid.  They obviously couldn’t handle it because they came to the day room where I was and took my hand and led me out of the room.  I thought I was going to the office for a chat but as soon as we left the day room and were out of view of the other patients, other male nurses were waiting and they picked me up, carried me down to the cell and injected me again.  Again I was left in the cell for about 3 or 4 days.  Most of that time I was asleep after the 'largactil cosh'.  Each time I awoke they injected me again.  But when I was awake I was plotting.  They weren’t going to do this to me again.

At this stage I was coming to quite a few conclusions. My real parents had never wanted me, my foster parents didn't want me or like me, I had been kicked out of schools and homes because they didn't want or like me. I had tried to kill my best friend. These nurses thought I was mad because they kept locking me up in padded cells.  I decided I didn't like me.  I obviously wasn't a very nice boy.

After I had been at the hospital about 3 months I was given jobs.  First of all it was cleaning the ward, then I progressed to sweeping the roads in the grounds.  After about 3 months I asked if I would like to work in the patient’s social club.  I said yes eagerly.