Bronson

Bronson by Charles Bronson

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Authors: Charles Bronson
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outbursts were becoming uncontrollable. Even locked in the punishment block 23 hours every day, I still got myself into serious trouble, smashing up cells, attacking screws. On one occasion I tried my luck at escaping!
    I was out in the exercise cage, a small yard surrounded by a 20ft fence topped with razor wire and cameras positioned to monitor us walking around. This particular day, I spotted something worth a go. I can’t say how I did it for obvious reasons, but I got out of the cage. I ran to a building that was being demolished. My plan was to pick up a large wooden joist, take it over to the perimeter fence, lean it up, climb up it, pull it back up, put it over the wall and slide down it. It all sounds so crazy now, but it seemedworth a go. Off I shot, but before I even got to the building, the alarm bells went off, the cameras were on me, dogs were barking and screws running. I was in trouble!
    I ran as fast as I could back to the cage. I saw an alsatian dog 30 yards away coming at me with incredible speed and I could hear the pounding of boots getting nearer and nearer. I leapt on to a 20ft camera pole and shinned up it as fast as I could! From there, I leant over on to the fence and jumped – a long fucking drop! I left half my jeans and shirt up on the razor wire; blood was oozing out of a gash in my arm and out of a leg wound. My right ankle was smashed. Seconds after I hit the concrete floor inside the cage, there were dozens of screws surrounding the fence looking at me. Obviously the camera doesn’t lie, but I still denied everything. I got another six months for that.
    For five months I was on punishment, but I assaulted more screws and just went from bad to worse. My mind was beginning to wander. Then I had a fall-out with a con who would later come back to haunt me, John Henry Gallagher. He was directly above my cell in the punishment block. Nobody liked him. He was a Jock serving six years, always in debt, always in trouble with other cons.
    One night he was banging my ceiling. It went on and on and on until I shouted up, ‘Jock, give it a rest, mate. I can’t think.’ He shouted back, ‘Fuck off, you English pig!’
    To say I was upset is an understatement. For days afterwards, I prayed that my door would be open the same time as his, but with being in the punishment block we all slopped out alone. It was useless, I couldn’t get to him.
    I was getting badly worked up about him. Then after six months, I was moved back up on to the wingwhere I was allowed to mix with other cons. I was starting to get worried about Irene – I hadn’t heard from her for months – but I was sorting out a big soft toy to be made in one of the workshops for my son. Two days went by and, to my shock, Gallagher walked on to my wing, bold as brass and twice as nasty! The screws knew that we didn’t get on, so I wonder whether it was a deliberate case of encouraging us to fight.
    I could take no chances, as he was a violent man himself. It was a case of attack or be attacked. I tore into his cell with a jug and smashed it into his face. I hit him again with the jagged handle. He screamed so I hit him again and again. Each punch was with the jug handle and it cut him every time – legs, body, arms, face, neck. I just kept cutting the bastard, and he kept on screaming. I was actually laughing as I was doing it – insanely.
    My head was really going, the danger signs were there. For the first time in my life, I felt nothing but hate. Prison had created what I now was – a madman! I was taken back to the block covered in blood. Some of my clothes were put in a plastic bag for police forensic tests and I was charged with GBH. They took me to Hull Magistrates, then the escort drove away from Hull. I was being taken to another jail, and I really didn’t give a fuck.
    Gallagher would pop up again, I was sure. And pop up again he did.
    A couple of hours after leaving Hull, the van pulled up to what appeared to be an old

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