by PR Hilton
During the next few hours, he felt that nothing could make him feel worse than hearing those words spoken on the court steps. He was wrong. Twelve hours after his arrest Mr Moncrief came to visit. The man had bad news and didn't attempt to dress it up. A woman's body had been pulled from the Thames, she had been stabbed with what appeared to be her own knife, as she wore an empty knife sheath on her leg. Moncrief told him that Jenny had wanted him to know this, because Ruth Marker was still missing. Harry felt all the air leave the room and the four walls closed in on him. The man went on to say that he was very sorry, but he had no further information concerning Ruth's whereabouts, and he was equally sorry that he could do nothing about the police charge and that it would have to stand, despite Johnny wanting things otherwise. Harry thanked Moncrief for coming. The old man quietly left the room.
Harry would later have no recollection of the rest of that night or even the following day. Not until he was driven through the gates of Strangeways prison did he reattach himself to reality. Harry Royle became a model prisoner, as he waited for his trial. He knew in his mind that once inside the courtroom, he would be able to explain and the charge would be dropped, once time served had been taken into account. He reasoned that the theft of the weapons from the army base was different to the ironworks robbery. To his mind, he had given the army his all and they had failed him. Not just Mandell, but the whole structure and command. They had been far too quick to judge him. He had expected more for his loyal years of unquestioning service. His time at the prison was frustrating, as all he could think of was what had happened to Ruth, and why nobody had been to see him.
The day came for his moment in court. This time, as he stood there, he knew things would be all right, in a short time he would be free to find his own answers. It wasn't until the trial began to unfold that he realised that he wasn't just being charged with his part in the Ironworks robbery, but also the assaults on the clerk and the young girl, crimes he hadn't even been aware of at the time. The prosecution painted a picture of a desperate man on the run using any means he could to avoid capture. It was pointed out to the jury that had he been innocent he would not steal, lie and beat people to stay free. The jury shook their heads and avoided his eyes. The young girl and the clerk were paraded before the court. The girl had a twisted lip where a large signet ring had bitten into her mouth. The jury learned that her face would be scarred for life. The clerk now walked with a stick, not from the attack, but it looked bad all the same. Welsh Eric came into Royle's mind's eye. Harry remembered the young Welshman not following him out of the ironwork's gates and the man wore a large distinctive gold ring.
The girl from Manchester came as a witness. Susan Brown was just as sweet as Harry had remembered her. She spoke the truth and by doing so condemned him. The car she had sat in had been the same car used in the robbery. The gun had been recovered from the car, but so far no trace of the money had been found. Statements were read out from hospital staff, concerning his escape and his taking a young nurse hostage with a scalpel. A police inspector read a short piece to the court. This consisted of police enquiries into Royle's supposed accomplices in the hold-up. The inspector explained to the court that no such persons had been found to exist and the flat in Denmark Road, was in fact simply a room in a normal family home and had never been let as part of a lodging house. Summing up his notes, the police officer stated that in his experience and informed professional opinion, Royle had acted alone. It was a very short case with an even shorter deliberation. Guilty as charged. The judge leaned forward and glared at Harry, as he pronounced sentence.
"Harold Royle you have been found guilty of armed robbery and will go to prison for eight years and for your shameless violence against innocent members of society, people who need to know that there is not simply justice, but retribution, you will have 20 strokes of the Cat of nine tails. You call yourself an innocent man and yet we have heard today from the truly innocent, how you have brandished a pistol, a medical scalpel and even an item of jewellery, to secure your criminal intent. You are a danger to the public at large and a disgrace to your country, at this time of war. A former non-commissioned officer in one of our leading regiments and you end up in my court exposed as a liar, a thief and a villain. Officer take the prisoner down."
Harry Royle was stunned at the outcome. The more he looked for answers to his questions, the less he liked the obvious replies. Sitting in the prison car returning through the dark streets to the grim Manchester prison, he wondered if there would be any coming back from this. A week later and he was being stretched over a wooden frame. His arms were tied, so he couldn't move, outstretched on either side. He felt shamed and humiliated. He was only thankful that he had been handed down the Cat of nine tails, at least he would be whipped like a man. He could, like so many other violent robbers, have be given the birch and beaten like a naughty schoolboy.
The men around him shuffled and spoke to each other in low mumbles, as they prepared to begin the punishment. He first heard the whip's tails swish through the air, as the man moved towards the punishment frame. Harry felt a foul tasting leather strap pushed between his teeth and he clamped down on it tightly. For a moment, he felt that that they had changed their minds, as nothing seemed to be happening. The next moment, the first stroke hit home. An animal grunt escaped from Royle's throat, as the whip ends tore the skin on his back. Blood trickled from the fresh wounds. He heard a soft swish as the whip was dipped into the brine and then another moments silence, before the next blow. The whole process was repeated.
A loud, clear voice counted off at his side.
"Two-Three-Four-Five-Six-Seven-Eight-Nine-Ten."
Harry felt his senses swimming in the pain and the moments in between. He heard the man breathing heavily and everything seemed to move in a slower time frame before the counting continued once more.
"Eleven-Twelve-Thirteen-Fourteen-Fifteen-Sixteen-Seventeen-Eighteen-Nineteen-Twenty. Punishment carried out. Remove the prisoner and swill away the blood."
He suddenly felt his wrists freed and he slid down the frame onto his knees. His vision was just clear enough to see a thin stream of blood trickling between his bent knees. Strong hands pulled him to his feet and he felt a bucket of salt water hit his back and run down his legs. He was taken to his cell and placed on his stomach. He was told that each night his hands would be tied so that he wouldn't be able to turn over in his sleep. The pain hurt worse than any pain he could remember, but the shame burned even stronger.
He had heard grumbles from the other men, these concerned his supposed violence against innocents. He knew that all he could expect now was aggression from both guards and the other men. Harry's eyes focused on the concrete floor, as his mind became set on the course that would take him beyond the prison walls. Two thoughts drifted into his mind, one was of escape at any cost and the other, was that he was worth more than this. Over and over these thoughts repeated inside his head until sleep claimed him.
After a week and with his wounds healing well, Harry was allowed back into the system and expected trouble the very first morning of association. Instead of the expected animosity, he found respect and hands thrust into his to shake and be shaken in return. Royle was both puzzled and relieved. It wasn't until a man called Tony The Joke, took him to one side and explained that word had come down from The Smoke that had set everyone straight about Harry. Harry Royle allowed himself a smile and mentally thanked Johnny for coming through for him yet again. Things changed for Harry and he very quickly gained good solid contacts inside the prison. He was glad to be firmly back with the ‘us' and only having to now worry about ‘them', which was a great improvement.
Days passed into weeks and still no word from London and still no visitors. Not knowing what had happened to Ruth was playing on his mind day and night. It was a Thursday evening, during association that things finally came to a head. A warder by the name of Barker, known to the cons as Bastard Barker because of his disposition, walke
d in and on seeing Royle grinned from ear to ear.
Chapter 8
"Royle come here lad, front and centre, look lively now."
The prison officer stood and sneered at Harry and his own Guards stance. Harry looked at him coldly. The officer continued.
"Your work, it's not been chopping wood by any chance, has it?"
Harry took a deep breath, knowing that he was going to have to watch his temper, as the man was obviously intent on causing trouble.
"No sir, not me, I've been in the mailbag shop."
"Well isn't that odd, it's just that we had a nigger come around today and I thought he might have fallen out of the old wood pile."
The man smirked and then carried on.
"Yes, he said he wanted to see you, this darkie. I told him that you didn't have any time for a shoeshine."
Harry swallowed and tried to keep his temper in check.
"What was his name sir?"
The laughter stopped.
"Name Royle? Sambo's don't have names. I mean he could have been Mr Golliwog I suppose or even…"
Barker didn't have enough breath left to finish his sentence, as Royle's fist hammered a solid blow to his stomach. Barker folded over like a card table, as Harry moved in fast. He aimed a hard punch to the man's face and quickly countered one of Barker's own blows. The fight was over in less than a minute. A wooden truncheon struck Harry's left shoulder and another jabbed into his right side. The solid wood connected perfectly and Royle fell to his knees in agony. A warder by the name of Robert Preston stepped forward intent on stopping the brutality but felt a warning grip tighten on his arm. Glancing around, he saw it was Samson, one of Barker's cronies, who leaning in close whispered to him. The man told Preston to walk away, or else face the prospect of watching his back for the foreseeable future. At that moment, one of the officers aimed a kick at Royle's head and Harry saw a flash of light and nothing more for several hours.
When he came to, he was in isolation and he could feel a good deal more bruising all over his body. His muscles felt like they were on fire as he lay on the cold stone floor. He realised that someone had come to visit him at last. He cursed under his breath in disgust at the way he knew his friend must have been treated. Devon had come all the way from London and for nothing. Had Jones brought word of Ruth? The not knowing about her was killing him.
Time passed and Harry found his strength returning again and gradually moved through the days of his solitary confinement. Wondering all the time why no other prisoner had pitched in. This he soon discovered and from a surprising source. He was sitting thinking through recent events one afternoon when he heard someone clearing their throat. Looking up he saw a warder leaning around the door-frame. The officer, Robert Preston was known as the best screw in the prison. He was a decent man who really tried to make a difference. Royle started to get up but was waved to remain seated by the other man. The warder came in and smiled a genuine smile at Harry, who returned the smile with a thin one of his own. Puzzled, Royle addressed the officer.
"Good afternoon Sir, what can I do for you?" Harry had had enough, for now. The man shook his head slowly and came into the cell, pulling the door to behind him, leaving just a crack of an opening.
"Look Royle I hear things and what happened to you was disgusting. And the others joining in like that, well that was just cowardly."
Harry looked up at him with interest.
"Was I the only one Sir? I mean did anyone else wade in?"
The man shook his head.
"Just you lad, no wonder, the room was covered. I mean the report said one officer was attacked and two others came to assist. The truth was that four officers stood guard on the other prisoners and three attacked you, it was a setup, I am ashamed to be on the staff here. I mentioned this to a higher authority and was told to mind my P's and Q's, watch my back or be out of a job. I joined the service to be useful, not to bully those in my charge."
"You're all right Royle. I mean I know that you didn't deserve the Cat and that nonsense concerning the ironworks was a pack of lies. Even we officers hear things. I can't do much for you, not day to day, but I have done two things and I hope these will set the record a little straighter, that and show you that we screws are not all the same."
Harry looked at him and asked.
"Two things?"
The man nodded.
"Yes, Royle. I don't like the way you keep getting such a bad press and so I have sent an anonymous letter to Miss Brown, just to set the record straight about you. And I have sent another letter apologising to Mr Jones concerning his reception and explaining that there will be a visiting order ready for him if he will let me know when he next wishes to visit. I included a little something to compensate for his wasted fare too."
The officer left the cell without another word.
A week passed and prison life showed little change. Barker continued to make remarks, but Harry had set his mind to playing meek and mild and this worked perfectly. All he had to do was act as though he had been broken when Barker was around, and be certain to not meet the other man's eyes. Barker was happy keeping his attacks on a verbal level. Harry's mind had turned to the thought of escape and he had decided to look around the prison for any ideas it might give him.
One evening Officer Preston called in to see him. He brought good news and wasted no time in getting to it.
"Royle, I have some information that'll be of interest to you."
Harry looked up at the man from his seated position on his bed. Preston continued.
"Your friend, Mr Jones will be coming to see you Saturday week."
Harry smiled, and then his train of thought caused his smile to drop from his face. Preston saw the look and wasted no time in showing his concern.
"What is it, Royle? Come on out with it?"
Harry blew out a held breath and rose to his feet. He crossed the floor and pushed the door closed behind the officer.
"Mr Preston I think you need to sit down."
The other man looked puzzled and shaking his head looked at Harry with a half smile. Harry continued.
" Mr Preston you're a decent warder and I'm sorry to do this to you."
Preston looked hard at Royle and stood straight, raising his shoulders a little, in defence.
"Listen Royle I play fair, but I'm no pushover."
Harry held up his hand.
"No Preston, you listen. I said you are decent and that stands, and under normal circumstances we'd be friends. But we're not on the same side in here and we both have rules. Rules you've broken."
"Now wait a minute."
Royle continued.
"No you have broken the golden rule, you've gone native and that's the worst. If word gets out, you'll be finished and you know it."
"Royle you wouldn't."
Harry nodded to the man and Preston's face grew white. The officer sat down on the bed. Harry stood over him and leaned in close, his voice becoming a low whisper.
"You and I are going to help one another."
Harry explained his plan and the defeated officer listened in silence. When Royle had finished, the man left without another word, his face a mask of torment and bitter disappointment. Prison routine followed and time marched on, until the day of Devon's visit. Harry was quietly confident that his plan would work, but too much relied on Preston. He had to break out for Ruth and to get back to Soho. He had friends now and Devon would be there for him, as long as he could get to London.
The months had moved along since that day on the court steps and the dark Manchester sky was now pouring late October rain onto the prison yard. He shuddered as the rain turned to sleet. He missed London.
The time came and Officer Barker was obviously shocked to hear Royle's name called to the visitor's area and aimed a sly comment as he passed by, but this fell on deaf ears, as Royle was elsewhere in his thoughts. Devon Jones rose to his feet as Harry walked in and greeted him. They sat down under the watchful eyes of three
warders. Harry knew that for his plan to work timing was the key. He knew that it was now in the hands of Preston and he also knew that everything depended on the man keeping his nerve. The visit consisted of little more than small talk, once Royle had realised that Jones knew nothing about Ruth's whereabouts. The all too brief visiting time was soon at an end. A bell rang and the warders walked forward and ushered the visitors from the room. Devon's face was a picture of confusion, as he was conducted from the room. Harry found himself walking in line with the other prisoners when a sudden order halted his progress.
"Royle, fall out."
Preston's voice had a hard edge and was full of authority. Harry obeyed and stood to attention.
Officer Preston continued.
"I need Royle for an interview over at A block."
The other warders nodded, used to prisoner's being taken to see officials and legal representatives. Preston marched Harry at the double and appeared to enjoy at least some illusion of being in command of the situation. After they had passed through two locked gates, Preston showed Royle into a side room, off one of the main corridors. Preston pulled the door shut behind him and stood guard outside. Devon's face was a picture of confusion at the sight of his friend's sudden reappearance.
"Harry mate, I thought we'd never get to talk properly and worse I thought I'd got myself into some strife, you know being too dark in a government building after hours or something. I know that Manchester used to be King of Cotton, but I ain't picking it."
Harry leaned over the table and spoke to Jones both quickly and quietly. Devon Jones listened and nodded, as Harry told him what was happening and what he needed him to do.
"Harry, you don't half 'ave some nerve you know that, right? This could just work. I'll get you what you need, don't worry and I'll get word to Mangusco, even though that geezer scares the hell out of me."
