by Mark Ward
Paul and I were both accepted to Buckley Hall prison in Rochdale and moved to our new home on January 25, 2006.
Before I left Walton, the faithful Nokia was passed on to someone else. I didn’t seek any money for the big brick. It had never let me down and had served its purpose. It kept me in touch with loved ones when I needed them most to help me through my darkest hours.
That made it worth every penny I’d paid for the vintage antique.
35. TAKING THE PISS
THE journey to Buckley Hall was an uncomfortable one. Sitting handcuffed in the stinking prison van gave me the opportunity to reflect on my time at Walton.
I knew I’d never, ever be able to forget my first spell in prison. The long days and sleepless nights, the unbearable stench, the unbelievable sights and the deafening sounds. Not to mention the spate of suicides. And yes, those horrible cockroaches too. I can honestly say that I never want to endure such an experience again.
Paul McGrath travelled with me and we spoke on the 90-minute journey to Rochdale, wondering what was in store for us both at our new ‘hotel’.
We had the option to apply for Buckley Hall or Risley in Warrington. I didn’t fancy Risley because of its reputation for being rife with drugs. Buckley Hall had recently been converted from a women’s prison to a Category C men’s prison and, because it had been open for just over a month, only 100 prisoners were held there when I arrived.
Nothing could be worse than Walton and this was definitely a step in the right direction.
Arriving at the reception area of Buckley Hall was so different from my ‘welcome’ to Walton a year previously. It was just me and Paul being brought in this time, and everything seemed much more laid-back and friendly.
Straight away I noticed there were no high walls and the buildings were all pre-fabricated.
I was worried that I wouldn’t receive as many visits from friends and family because of the extended travelling distance from Liverpool, but I knew that I had to move on in the prison system as quickly as possible. On first impressions it looked like I’d made a good choice.
After a strip-search and security check, we were allocated our cells. The prison comprised a division of eight billets situated on a hill. Paul and I were put on the induction wing, where we were pleased to be greeted by Paul Dunn.
Paul, from Huyton, was a lad we both knew well. He had arrived from a Category B prison in Nottingham called Lowdham Grange. He introduced Paul and me to the other Scousers who had arrived with him – Peter Wilson, Tony Molloy, Peter Riley and Andy Rogan.
The prisoners allocated spaces at Buckley Hall were all coming from Category B prisons – lads who were doing big sentences and still had a long time to serve. It soon became clear that there were some hard lads at Buckley Hall.
The good news for me was being allocated a single cell. To have my own personal space was a massive bonus. No disrespect to Paul, but I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to listen to his snoring any longer!
However, the cells were flimsy compared to the old Victorian walls of Walton. You could hear everything that was going on in the cells next door because of the paper-thin walls. At least they had recently been painted and were clean. And there wasn’t a cockroach in sight.
There were showers at the end of the landing and a room with a bath in it – a legacy of its days as a women’s prison. The trouble was, everyone arriving from Category B prisons wanted to use the bath.
On my first night, Dunny sorted out the key to the bathroom for me so that I could have a nice long soak. I lay in the hot water, letting my body relax and enjoying the luxury that I’d missed so much. It was the best bath I’d ever had and I then realised that it’s the simple things in life that you miss the most when they are taken away from you.
I was also pleasantly surprised by the food. A new kitchen had been added and the cuisine was Michelin star quality compared to the slop we had to suffer at Walton.
I rang Nicola that night and she wanted to visit me the following weekend. We were becoming very close now and I was looking forward to seeing her.
The three most important things in prison are your visits, followed by the gym and then your food. Well, those were my priorities anyway.
The prisoners at Buckley all seemed much more settled compared to those on B-wing at Walton. All had come to terms with their sentence and the majority just wanted to progress through the system and move up to the next level – a Category D prison.
* * * *
It was amazing how quickly Buckley Hall filled up. Within a couple of months it was bursting at the seams.
Paul and I had been moved on to the VTU (Voluntary Drug Testing Unit) billet. This was a billet to help prisoners come off their drug habits. We thought it would be a safe bet there because there would be no drugs available but, on the contrary, the complete opposite was true.
Because of the lack of security and low fences, the prison was full of drugs within a couple of months of opening, and the prisoners who were supposed to be trying to get off drugs were actually using them in the bathrooms at the end of the landings.
Smack-heads are dangerous men in prison and it made me sick to see them use the security of the bathroom to shoot up with heroin and abuse their bodies with other hard drugs. Before long, this practice was rife and I never lay in that bath again.
* * * *
On February 1, 2006, Mr X and eight others were arrested on conspiracy to supply class A drugs. I’d found out through Lenny Font that there had been an ongoing surveillance operation on the arrested nine, which had been code-named Operation Vatican – something that was not known to me at the time of my trial.
On March 21, I was taken to the reception of Buckley Hall to be greeted by two officers of the Serious Crime squad. I nearly shit myself.
It was the good cop-bad cop routine straight from the off.
‘Mark, we want to question you at Rochdale police station on conspiracy to supply class A drugs.’
My heart was pumping. I’d already been given an eight-year sentence. Why were the police questioning me again?
On the way to the police station, the good cop in the passenger seat was giving me the full works. ‘You’ll be all right, Mark, we just want to question you on your association with certain individuals we arrested last month.’
On arrival at the police station, I got in touch with Lenny. He was in court and couldn’t make it over to Rochdale, so he sent his colleague Alex Campbell to advise me on the situation.
While waiting for the solicitor I was drug-tested, which I found bizarre as I was already in custody. Apparently it was a procedure they did with everyone who arrived at the police station, with a DNA sample also taken.
The test was negative. Having to go through all this shite was really pissing me off. I was already serving an eight-year prison sentence. Hadn’t they had enough?
Alex Campbell sat me down and told me that the police were going to ask me a load of questions concerning my association with certain individuals they had in custody. I was adamant – and Alex agreed – that I had been handed my sentence and was entitled to give a ‘no comment’ interview, so that’s what I did.
For two hours I was asked a multitude of questions, as they attempted to connect me to certain persons and events. Just as it had been at my original police interview, my answer to every question was a simple: ‘No comment.’
They were hoping I’d grass on the main conspirators who were known to me, but I refused to name anyone.
Later on that week, I discovered that police had simultaneously taken four others out of prison for questioning – all five of us having been sentenced for having drugs found at addresses or in our possession.
The nine other individuals were to be charged with conspiracy to supply class A drugs. The three main conspirators – Mr X, Y and Z – received nine, 10 and 11 years respectively, involving five seizures of drugs over a 24-month period.
I took my sentence of eight years ba
ng on the chin but I’ll always question why I was treated in court as if I was the ‘main man’ acting alone in the crime. How on earth could I receive an eight-year sentence when Mr X was only given nine years? Where was the justification of sentence?
I would have been better off facing the conspiracy charge along with the others. There was no way I would have been given a sentence of eight years when Mr X, who rented the property and put the drugs there, got nine years.
Even the police inspector commented after I’d been sentenced: ‘Ward was a foot soldier in this operation, but we will get his Commander-in-Chief.’
After the co-conspirators were sentenced, I later received a letter from Mr Z, who received 11 years. He said to me that the police had had their cake and eaten it. They had dealt with me as the main man and then dealt with him as the main man, too. ‘They can’t have it both ways,’ he argued.
But they did. The police and prosecution knew the tiny role I’d played in renting the property in my name. But on the day of my sentencing they couldn’t disclose in court the fact that Operation Vatican was ongoing. That would have wrecked their surveillance operation and blown the whole thing wide apart.
I accept that I deserved to be punished for my part in the crime. But I’m bitter about the fact that the police and prosecution actually pushed for me to receive more than the eight years.
How criminal of them – they knew my limited role and who the drugs really belonged to. It turned out that McVinnie Road was the fourth seizure of drugs linked to the accused conspirators.
People tell me that I got eight years for being a former high-profile footballer. Maybe. But I think I got eight years for keeping my mouth shut. I didn’t keep quiet because I was scared of repercussions – it was the way I was brought up. And I don’t regret continuing to live by those principles.
Six months before I was arrested, there was a seizure of drugs in Prescot. The individual charged received four years for possession of three kilos of cocaine, with scales, paraphernalia and money found at the address. This person is now known as a grass and has to live with that stigma for the rest of his life. I got twice his sentence for the same crime. How can that be fair?
Leaving the police station in Rochdale to return to Buckley Hall, the two cops were still giving it all their shite, and asking me questions ‘off the record’.
I told the cop in the passenger seat: ‘I watch The Bill, you know.’ He just laughed.
Later, reflecting on the day’s events in my cell, I realised it was a routine line of enquiry they had to follow, to tie up the loose ends of the case. But, as I say, they were getting zero information from me.
* * * *
I settled down at Buckley Hall and had progressed to working in the gym as an orderly. There was a little bit more freedom there compared to Walton but, when you weren’t working, you were still banged up in your cell.
I was really pushing myself to the limit to improve my fitness even more, training sometimes for up to four hours a day. I’d start by completing a circuit and then do a long run on the running machine before moving on to weights in the afternoon.
I passed a sports science course, which I really enjoyed, thanks to the help of Adrian Fields, who organised it. In fact, my reason for doing it was to help me achieve the aim of becoming a personal trainer upon my release from prison.
The gym screws were easy to get on with. One was named Glen Fox and the other, Mark Hilditch, was an ex-pro footballer who had played centre-forward for Rochdale, Tranmere Rovers and Wigan Athletic. Mark had been employed as a screw for 13 years and also worked in Oldham Athletic’s youth academy. He was still fit and was unbeatable at the game of soft tennis – tennis played on a small court with a soft ball. It was a great game, and I began to play it religiously whenever I could.
I became very good and won the prisoners’ Christmas tennis competition. But I couldn’t manage to beat Mark Hilditch. And it was getting to me. He had been playing for 13 years and had the edge with experience.
Andy Rogan became my sparring partner at Buckley Hall. He too was a gym orderly who was very fit and we would compete at everything. We both ran a half-marathon on the treadmill on behalf of Glen’s charity, The Bethany Project.
I’d written to everyone I knew for sponsorship, and we managed to raise over £2,000 to help a children’s home for orphaned, abandoned and abused kids in Tanzania, east Africa. Andy ran first, and I followed straight afterwards. Even this became a race – Andy finished in 100 minutes and I managed to do it in six minutes less. It was tough on the treadmill, in a small gym with very little air.
I have to thank everyone who made a donation, including Tony Cottee, who really helped and collected money from some of the ex-pros. Former West Ham United chairman Martin Cearns also sent in a cheque.
* * * *
The day I got a message saying that Howard Kendall wanted to see me, I became very nervous.
I sent out a VO (Visiting Order) and I knew he was coming in to see me with his good mate Tommy Griff and former Everton star Duncan Ferguson. The whole of the prison knew that two of the most famous figures in Everton’s recent history were coming. Some of the screws even brought in football shirts for them to sign.
Walking down to the visit hall I remember feeling very anxious. What was Howard going to say about his ex-player’s dramatic fall from grace?
I sat at the table waiting for the three men to appear. Duncan walked in first, shook my hand and said: ‘Good to see you, wee man.’ Howard greeted me with: ‘You’re looking fit son,’ and Tommy said the same.
Their visit flew by and the one thing I’ll always remember from it was Howard’s words. He said to me: ‘Mark, nothing has changed between me and you, son. I don’t want to know how you got involved or any of the details. We’ll be there for you when you get out.’
Those words from my former manager, a man I’ve always had the greatest respect for, meant so much to me.
The rest of the visit was built around stories from Duncan’s six weeks spent in Barlinnie prison back in 1996. We had a good laugh and it really boosted me to see all three of them.
John Blake was still very interested in publishing my book. He even sent his senior editor up to visit me. But I’d already decided to go with Tony McDonald – somebody I could trust – who runs his own Football World publishing company from Romford, Essex.
I had to complete a Victim’s Awareness Course as part of my rehabilitation. It was interesting, because I had to write down on a piece of paper who I perceived to be the victims of my crime.
I had no direct victims of my crime. I didn’t force anybody to do anything against their will.
I listed the main victim of my crime as Melissa and other family members. Of course, down the line, there are thousands of victims of drugs, but I will always maintain that my family have been the biggest victims of my crime.
* * * *
Buckley Hall’s drug problem meant I was constantly targeted for MDTs (Mandatory Drug Tests). When I raised this with an officer, he admitted that 70 per cent of the MDTs were coming back positive.
And get this … the screw told me I was being targeted because the prison was fined for every positive MDT and so they picked me out all the time because I was guaranteed to prove a negative!
The test procedure wasn’t a nice experience. A strip search and then you stood over a toilet to piss into a plastic cup.
By the time they demanded I took a third MDT in the space of one month, I’d had enough. I started to complain. Why weren’t they testing the smack-heads? It wasn’t hard to tell who was on drugs.
I was put in a room to calm down. I’d been plucked from the gym and was soaking wet with sweat. They left me there for a good hour and by the time I was back in the test room, I needed to use the toilet … and not just for a piss.
I told the officer that I needed to do a ‘number two’ but he said I couldn’t!
With that, I just dropped my shorts and sat on the t
oilet. It wasn’t long before the room stank.
There was no bog roll and so I just sat there until they brought me some. I told them I wasn’t moving. The PO in charge of the piss-testing station arrived and he wasn’t very happy.
I wiped my arse, provided another negative sample of piss and then basically told them that if they continued to literally ‘take the piss’ by asking me for an MDT every week, then they were getting my shit too. They never asked me again!
* * * *
Big Warren Cox had followed Paul McGrath and I from Walton. He and Andy Creighton ended up on the same billet as the pair of us, and Paul became a big help to me.
Warren had got himself a mobile phone and allowed me to use it so that I could keep in touch with loved ones. I had my own SIM card – inmates would arrange for them to be passed over the low prison walls or smuggled in on visits and then sell them for a tenner each. Phones would cost a couple of hundred quid each and if you wanted one, you had to make your own arrangements to pay friends or relatives of those who supplied the goods on the outside. Or, rather than physically hand over cash, what tended to happen was that prisoners would get someone on the outside to buy them phone credit and then text the relevant details to their fellow inmates, who had an instant £10’s worth of top-up credit on their mobile. Well, they don’t have a shop in prison where you can buy phone credit!
But it was more difficult to use the phones in Buckley Hall than it had been at Walton. The screws were cracking down on the use of them, and it was difficult to conceal them in your cell or anywhere else in the prison.
I even resorted to hiding my SIM card within my foreskin. It may sound crude but it was the safest place, as the screws were searching the cells every day and had scanners that could detect mobile phone signals.
Warren had the phone overnight but I’d use it in my cell before bang-up and sometimes during the day. One afternoon I was on the phone to Nicola, who was actually in Australia visiting her brother. The battery was very low, and suddenly the phone just switched off. I gave it to Warren just before dinner so that he could re-charge it.
