by Lee, Jane
I had earlier asked Matt on the phone to get me a pair of sovereign earrings for my birthday but he refused. He said, ‘You think you can leave us out here on our own, picking up the pieces, and then ask us to buy you presents? Dream on, Jane. You’re lucky we come up to see you.’ But that was just Matt’s way. He said it with tenderness and charm. And I was lucky. Them coming to see me was priceless anyway. No number of presents could match that. We were the only people in the visiting hall and I was like a little girl at Christmas. ‘I’m glad you made it,’ I said.
‘I wouldn’t let you down, girl, now, would I?’ Matt said.
‘Never,’ I replied. For all our differences, he never had. Yet I’d let him down so many times. We might not be together as a couple but he was still my knight in shining armour, my best friend and soul mate. What would I do without him? I thought. I said, ‘I didn’t think you would be able to get here because of the petrol strike.’
‘I’ve been out nicking petrol all night just to get here,’ Matt said. Well, we all screamed with laughter. It was a brilliant day. John was doing really well and looked so happy. He always made me proud. My poor son had gone through so much with me and took it all in his stride. He was a real soldier and I shone with pride at the sight of him. When it was time for them to leave, I was choked. I knew I wouldn’t see them again for a while. But the visit had made me the happiest woman in the world.
‘Guess who is getting the strip search at the end of this visit?’ I said. ‘It is usually random but, as I’m the only one with a visit, we know it’s me.’ I didn’t mind though. There was a big difference to being strip searched in Cat A to enduring the odd random search on a visit. This was all good, in my book. I kissed them both goodbye and waved them off. After the strip search, I was taken to the reception area, where they said there was package for me. There was the biggest card I’d ever seen and a small box. Inside it was the pair of sovereign earrings that Matt had pretended he would never buy. I wanted to cry with happiness. But I didn’t. I was in prison and needed to stay strong so I just screamed and ran as fast as I could back to my wing.
That night the girls arranged a surprise party for me. If I say so myself, it was one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had. Believe me, it was. You might think I’m mad. But let me tell you that I met some decent, loyal and safe people in prison. They wouldn’t stab you in the back, set you up, grass you up or go on the enemy’s side. On my birthday they made me feel so good and happy. Don’t get me wrong. I would have loved to have been at home with my son and Matt and I wasn’t but we made the best of it. I thanked them from the bottom of my heart.
Our wing was generally one big happy family, apart from the odd bit of bitching, which never lasted. There wasn’t that much trouble in Cookham Wood as a whole. On our wing we used to hold our own court sessions, just to stop anybody getting out of hand. I was judge, my mates the solicitors and barristers and we would pick the jury from the rest of the inmates. When anyone was rowing, we’d just bring them before our own court and deal with it. It always ended up with everyone laughing and not taking it too seriously. It passed the time and lightened the mood sometimes. We got the odd wrong ’un but they didn’t last long. We soon got them evicted off the wing, no bother at all.
One weekend the prison went on lockdown because the screws were on strike. To tell you the truth, I hated it. I didn’t mind being in a single cell because, as soon as my door opened, everybody came in. But when the door wasn’t opening all over the weekend, it was a bit quiet and lonely. In those days we didn’t have televisions in our rooms and I’d already read virtually the entire library. Well, when I say the entire library, I mean Martina Cole, the fiction writer who writes about gangsters – and especially female gangsters – from the East End. Dangerous Lady was one of my favourites, even though I read loads of her other books. But I’ve got to tell you, Martina, my life has been crazier than any of your characters and I’m not a work of fiction. Lynda La Plante and Patricia Cornwell were my other favourites. I read loads of their books. It was mad though. I’d never read a book in my life until I went to prison.
I decided I didn’t like being on my own in a cell and doubled up with my friend Sharon, by now my best mate. She was working in the laundry and it had got a bit much in there. She had hundreds of women’s clothes to wash. Some wanted it done one way and some another. I don’t know how she coped with all the women bitching about how they wanted their washing. So I told her to do it all the same way and say that, if anyone had special requirements, they should do it themselves. She couldn’t stand the moaning she got from them, she told me, and she was worried she would lose her job because of it.
‘No, you won’t,’ I told her. ‘If they want their clothes washed in a different way, they can do it themselves or it won’t get done. Tell them that.’ So she did. One day we were lying on our beds when the door flew open and a skinhead bird with a few of her mates told Sharon to get outside, as her top had shrunk in the wash and she was not happy. I just jumped up, grabbed the bird by the throat and warned her that, if I ever heard her talk to my mate like that again, I would do her.
‘You are one of nearly four hundred women whose clothes this girl has to wash and, if anything’s going to shrink, don’t fucking put it in there. Wash it yourself by hand,’ I told the skinhead. Well, baldy wasn’t so brave anymore. ‘If you want to pay her for giving your washing the special treatment – like a few other people do – and she agrees, that’s fine. But for now, you had better apologise to her before I batter you for piling into our room like you own the place.’
Her mates had already done a runner and left her on her own and this bird was now shitting herself and begging gypsy Sharon for forgiveness. But Sharon wasn’t having it and told her to get lost and learn some manners. Good on her.
Another time I was coming back from a visit with Dad when I came across one of the inmates from another wing doubled up on the floor. I picked her up and asked what had happened. She told me she had been ‘de-crutched’ but that she was alright. Then we went our separate ways. Now, I’d never heard of being de-crutched so I asked my mate what it meant and she told me. I was not amused. In fact, my blood was boiling. Believe me, the Gran just turned up for the first time in a long time. Being de-crutched meant that this girl had been held down by two inmates while a third stuck her hand up her crotch to see if she had any drugs up there. She had just come from her visit when they pounced. In my book, that’s called rape. These sick inmates sexually assaulted this girl and I wanted to know who they were because, if they thought they were getting away with that, they were mistaken. It didn’t take long before I found out who all three of them were.
I battered each and every one of those dirty, filthy nonces. I thought I had been around but I had never heard of anything like that before. It didn’t happen on our wing and, although I wouldn’t usually get involved in the troubles of other wings, I thought this was a prison thing and it wasn’t happening while I was in here. Over my dead body. And it didn’t. I made examples of those three and it soon got round the prison that I had battered them.
I found time to put my sentence to some good use and get some education. So I signed up for English, maths and computer studies and, you know what? I loved studying and passed with flying colours – NVQ levels 1 and 2 in English, maths and computers. I’d never really had an education. I mean, when I was supposed to be at school, I was out doing armed robberies but I decided it was better late than never.
But now it was time to move on. I’d been in this prison nearly a year and, although it was the best I’d ever been in, I needed to be thinking about home leave and I couldn’t do them here so my aim was to get back to an open prison. I needed to get a move on. I could only get one home leave visit a month and I could claim them after I had done half my sentence. I put in an application for a transfer and, because I had done courses in anger management, reason and rehabilitation, I was allowed to go back to East Sutton Park. I was sad to le
ave all my good friends at Cookham Wood, especially gypsy Sharon. We were so close but I had to think about myself and getting home and being back looking after John. I went back to East Sutton Park with a few other people and there were others from Cookham Wood who had got there just before us, so I was well pleased.
I went straight on to doing a catering course to help me get a job on the outside because I had decided I wanted to go straight for the first time in my life. I loved the course. I worked eight hours a day for five days a week and passed NVQ levels 1, 2 and 3. Now I had something to show for my time locked up.
I began home leave and my first 12-hour visit was mad. My brother picked me up and we drove past an Essex pub, which had been taped off with yellow tape used by the police at scenes of crimes. It looked like something serious had happened there the night before. We reached my house and my John was waiting for me. He was so excited to see me and there were a few tears and a lot of hugs. Then some of his mates turned up looking worried. I asked John what was going on and he told me that him and his mates had been to that pub the night before and there had been a big row. He said it didn’t have anything to do with him but he got dragged into it when a coke dealer in the boozer threatened him. John said he didn’t understand why this bloke turned on him and I believed him.
He said, ‘I thought he liked me, Mum, but when it kicked off, he turned on me in the car park. So I picked up a brick and hit him with it. It took his ear off, then his mate come at me and I done him as well. A couple of them ended up in hospital and now all their crew are coming after me with guns. My mates have said their wives have got together to talk about what their husbands are planning to do to me.’
Now I knew why the pub was taped off and I was not amused by these fucking coke dealers. Another bunch of Essex boys. Well – they were actually men and my boy and his mates were kids. John was still only 16 and these men were in there 30s. I could have done without this grief on a day out of prison but it was my boy and it needed sorting. ‘Don’t worry,’ I told John, and I went to dig up my guns. They were well hidden somewhere nearby. Armed with my Browning pistol and my 9mm automatic, I went to find the wives. They didn’t expect to see me at their get-together. I pulled out my gun. ‘Get your fucking husbands here now,’ I said. ‘Anyone who thinks he can harm my boy is going to get buried today.’
They started panicking because they knew they were dealing with the Gran and, unlike Jane, she had zero sense of humour. So they phoned their blokes and told them to come over. As they arrived, I got them all at gunpoint. I’d got guns in both hands and I told them that my boy was off limits. ‘If anyone lays one hand on my boy, I’ll wipe their name from the fucking phonebook,’ I said. ‘So who’s the big fucking gangster who’s going after my boy?’
It was pure fear on their faces. They were out of their depth and they knew it. They could not believe how far I was prepared to go and they could see from my eyes that I meant every word. ‘I will blow yous all away here and now,’ I said as they stood there shitting themselves.
They soon begged me to ‘calm down, calm down’.
‘I’ve been in prison for over a year,’ I said. ‘I come out for a day and my son’s at war with a load of fucking wannabes. Just because you sell coke, you think you’re gangsters. Picking on kids… you should be ashamed of yourselves. Well, let’s see how fucking brave yous are.’
They quickly agreed and said they shouldn’t be arguing with John but looking out for him instead. ‘We don’t want to fall out with you, Jane,’ one said and everything calmed down. I went home with their promise to leave John alone.
It was lucky I was home that day. I let them apologise but I warned that, if I found out that anyone said so much as a bad word to my boy, I would go after them and they wouldn’t get a second chance. I put my guns back in their hiding place and spent the last few hours with my son. And it turned out to be a good day after all. I told John to keep away from pubs because what had happened scared me. Yet I also knew I wasn’t setting him the greatest example.
When it was time to go back to prison, I was very sad but I knew John would be OK now, as each and every one of those blokes from the pub had phoned him and apologised. They even offered him their help if ever he needed it. So my mind was at peace when I went back inside. Or as much as my lifestyle would allow.
When I got back, all the other girls who had visits were in the TV room discussing their day. When I walked in, they asked me how my leave had gone. ‘What did you get up to, Jane?’ one asked.
‘I went to war,’ I said. ‘My boy was having a bit of trouble so I sorted it.’ I think they thought I was joking. I had to laugh myself. That was the way my life was. My first visit home in over a year and I had to go to war but at least I won, so it was all good.
I had only got a couple of months left to serve and was well excited at the thought of going home. I phoned John every day to make sure everything was OK before being released in August 2001 after serving 16 months – half of my sentence. I was so happy to be back with John and to look after him properly. I thank God that, when I got home that day, he was in one piece and as healthy and strong as ever. By now he was a strapping six-foot-tall young man. He was 16 but he was a man. He had taken everything that life and I could throw at him and come through strong. I pledged there and then that I would go straight for the rest of my life.
PART THREE
IT ALL TURNED EVIL
12
GOING STRAIGHT
In the straight-and-narrow world I was being robbed blind.
I was home and found that, not only had the bills been paid but my dogs were healthy and John had even managed to save ten grand. A lot of men can’t survive in today’s world but my boy had not only survived but turned a profit.
Matt stayed around for a while because he was so used to helping out John. But one day he said he was going away and we said our goodbyes. He encouraged me to go straight before he went. He didn’t want to see me inside again so I promised him I would stay out of trouble. And, believe me, I really meant it because I’d had enough. I so wanted a normal life. I prayed for things to get boring, believe it or not, because I knew John and I needed that sort of stability.
Now, I’d never had a proper job but I had some qualifications from prison and I thought I might have a chance. I applied for a job as an assistant manager in a coffee shop. They didn’t ask about my convictions so I kept quiet and got the job. I absolutely loved it from the start, even though it was actually costing me money to go to work. Each week, when I was signing on, I got £100 rent, £25 council tax and £70 living expenses for a total of £195. Now I was taking home £180. Take off the £100 rent and £25 council tax and I was left with £55 – down £15 a week. But it didn’t matter because, at last, I felt like somebody. I felt like a normal person and it was such an honest and good feeling. It was funny because armed robberies as a 14-year-old girl had made me feel like somebody. Now things had turned full circle.
Going straight wasn’t as easy as you might think it would be, not when you come from a background like mine. One of the managers in the coffee shop was bad news because he was never there. Yet he put down on the wage sheets that he was doing 12 hours a day, 6 days a week, when it was unusual for him to be in for an hour a day. I was doing all the work with the other staff. He was a miserable man, who picked on the others, and I grew to hate him. I didn’t care that he wasn’t there, as it was a happier place without him. The truth was, though, he was fiddling the owners out of thousands of pounds and I just turned a blind eye because I’m not a grass.
I wasn’t tempted to do the same thing. I loved my job and my new life. I was home every night for John and I wasn’t worrying about being nicked or anything like that. So I suppose you could say the game had changed for me. I never stole a coffee bean from that place. And that was another thing. I might have been an armed robber but, as soon as someone put their trust in me, I was proper. I was doing everything in that shop, from the wages t
o delivering the takings to the bank. Can you believe it? I was on cloud nine and revelled in what I was doing. Then one day I noticed £30 was missing from my purse. I told the other manager and he asked me if I knew who was responsible but I didn’t. I suspected it was one of the lads who worked in the shop but I had no proof so I kept my mouth shut. I went off that boy but I didn’t do or say anything.
Christmas was coming up and I had a grand with me when I went into work one day. I was going to buy John a present. I gave the bundle of cash to the other manager to put it in the safe for me until closing time when I planned to go shopping. But when I came to ask for the keys to the safe to get my money, he told me he hadn’t put it away but had left it on top of the safe. Bloody hell, I thought. Luckily, it was still there – or at least it seemed to be. But when I counted it out, it was £100 short. The manager said, ‘I hope you don’t think I took it,’ all insulted when I confronted him about it.
I said it had never crossed my mind that he would have taken it but that, now he had denied it, I knew that he had because I hadn’t even accused him. He said he was going to call the police. ‘Fuck the police,’ I said. ‘You had better call an ambulance if you have nicked my money.’ How quickly things can change through no fault of your own. Oh, how I wanted to do him but I just walked out of the place that day because I knew I would have ended up back in prison for killing this man if I hadn’t left there and then. He didn’t call the police and I never went back to work there.
I was so gutted and, when I got home, it was hard to hold back the tears. I didn’t feel like that because of the money or the manager but because of how hard I was trying. I had put in eight months’ work for nothing. This so-called normal person had nicked off me and yet I was supposed to be the villain. I knew I was but this scum was worse than me because he had stolen from his own.
