by Paul Jordan
Sitting in my cage up against the wall looking at all the visitors to the zoo and then gazing down at the loaf of bread and all my water, I couldn’t help remembering my mother’s warning when I was boy. She repeatedly told my brothers and me that if we were bad we’d have to go to gaol and all they’d feed us would be bread and water. Well, Mum, here I am and you’re right, but I have some biscuits as well — must be the luxury gaol.
Despite the some 200 to 300 prisoners staring at me, I felt totally alone with no control over my fate. I suppose this must be prison life. I had no freedom to do as I pleased. I was forced to rely on everyone else for food, water and assistance to get out of here. The only freedom I had was the freedom of thought, so I lay down on the hessian sack, pulled the sheet over my eyes, and thought and thought and thought until I started to hit that spot close to sleep. I was quickly pulled back from the point of sleep by someone yelling. It was Loud Talker and, if he had swung that cane any faster and harder, he would have started to lift off the ground. The prisoners never seemed to learn or they must have found me incredibly interesting. When all the prisoners were gone, he again approached Ugly and delivered another nice smack across his left ear. It was a pretty solid hit. Loud Talker must have put his hips into the delivery because Ugly fell up against the wall and I thought I saw a tear in his eye. Damn, this could end badly for me.
I lay down again and then opened my eyes to thick smoke pouring in through a barred window on the back face of my cell about three metres off the ground. This is great, I thought, and just pulled the sheet over my eyes again. One of the clerks came into my cell. He seemed to have some authority as a prisoner as he walked straight past the guard and into my cell with a plastic bag in his hand.
‘Mr Paul, I have some stuffs for you.’
‘Thanks, what is it?’
‘A plate, cup, spoon, bucket for washing, bucket for toilet and soap, okay.’ God help me, I thought. ‘Great, thanks,’ I said instead. ‘What is your name?’
‘My name is Manish.’
I shook his hand and said, ‘Nice to meet you, Manish. Why are you here?’
‘I’m accused of kidnapping.’
Manish got up and walked to the front of my cage to spit a great gob of red tobacco juice on the dirt. Oh, God.
‘Kidnapping,’ I said, ‘why?’
‘The other clerk and me is accused, but we innocent.’
I’d seen enough movies to know that everyone is innocent in gaol.
‘That’s terrible, Manish. How long do you have to stay here?’
‘We don’t ask this question. It is not polite.’
‘Oh, sorry mate.’
‘It is okay, I must do 20 years.’
‘Shit! How long have you done?’
‘Nine months.’
‘Shit! Sorry to hear that, mate.’
‘We are still waiting for the appeal, we are innocent.’
‘Well, good luck, mate,’ I said, but I thought it was time to change the subject.
‘Tomorrow I’m going back to court and will hopefully leave here, so maybe I won’t need all this stuff.’
‘No, you do not go to court tomorrow. You go to court in 14 days’ time.’
‘What! No, you’re wrong. My lawyer told me I’d go back to court tomorrow for a bail hearing.’
‘No, this is not possible. You are already listed to return to court on the 7th of June, I think.’
I was convinced Manish had no idea what he was talking about so I let it go. ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘no problems.’
Manish left and I wondered what the hell was going on. There’s no way I could still be here in 14 days, just no way.
At 5.00 pm I lounged in my cage with absolutely nothing to do but think. I hadn’t even been here one day and I was sick of thinking this through. I’ve ‘what if’ed’ this thing to death already. What if I had just stayed in my room resting? What if I hadn’t gone for the rickshaw ride? What if I had paid more attention to where we were? What if Ujwal and I had just bolted through the police? What if I had tried to pay them off earlier? Why me? Why fucking me? What else does one man have to go through in one life? Surely I’ve already done my share?
Ugly Guard entered my cell and stood at the grill staring at me for a while. I looked back and he said nothing, just kept looking. Again, I felt like the animal in the zoo. Eventually I said, ‘You all right, mate?’ Ugly just grunted a few times and made some noises like a caveman. Excellent, he’d be back with a knife later, I thought. I soon worked out that he was trying to tell me to shower. Okay, I thought, it’s been a hot, sweaty day and I’ve still got a good sweat going, so I could use a wash; but I won’t be dropping the soap. I’ve seen enough movies about prison life to know what that means.
The bathing process was simple. In the massive underpants with my new sarong wrapped around me, I used the very old fashioned pump and filled a bucket with cold water. I placed my boots and sarong to one side and used the small blue bucket to pour the cold water over me until I was completely wet. I soaped up, then poured more water over me to wash the soap off. As I was doing this, 580 prisoners stopped what they were doing and came closer to watch me and stare. I suppose they’d never seen a white man shower before. A few prisoners stepped in to hand me my towel and boots and I became concerned that this meant I owed them something now. When I was totally finished I bowed to the audience and returned to my cage only to be followed by what seemed like the entire population. Loud Talker soon sorted that out with his cane and booming voice. And he had another go at Ugly.
Back in the cage I realised that I had just killed 15 minutes. I changed into the dry pair of jocks and wrapped the sarong around again, deciding to stay like this as it was much cooler. I hung the Calvin Klein jeans on one of the nails and decided not to wear them again until I was released or went back to court. I wondered if Calvin Klein had ever had a pair of his jeans in an Indian prison before. Probably plenty of fake pairs, but these were definitely the real deal and were my favorites. I wished I hadn’t been wearing them yesterday as I didn’t want there to be bad memories in the future when I wore them again.
It started to get dark and I noticed fewer people hanging around my door. In fact, it seemed as though people were only walking past with a few stragglers hanging around to gander for a while. I ventured outside and saw the guards pushing people into their cells. There appeared to be three other dormitory-style cells with prisoners shoved in wherever they could fit. Poor bastards. An identical cell attached to the left of my cage seemed to be for the sick guys as there were some badly damaged souls in that joint. I realised how lucky I was to have the Sub-Inspector and Nepali SP’s help when I arrived. I had my own cage and there were eight guys in the cell next door that was the same size as mine.
As there was no toilet in the cage I decided I had better visit that repulsive drain again before I got locked in for the night. It was easier this time in the sarong and jocks, but still required some balancing so as not to touch the wall or anything else that might have the Ebola virus waiting in ambush. As I walked slowly back to the cage the yard was almost deserted and Ugly Guard waited for me to return. He motioned for me to get inside and, at 7.00 pm, the gate was locked for the night.
About 15 minutes after I was locked in, the Hari Krishnas started with their tambourines, drums and songs. Where the hell did the Hari Krishnas come from? I wondered; but, to be honest, it was something different and wasn’t too bad. Oh God, I hope I’m not here for so long that I end up shaving my head, leaving a small pony tail and start wearing a yellow frock. Maybe I’ll get my own tambourine?
As I sat and listened to the Hari Krishnas belt their tambourines, the Warden and his prisoner assistant walked to my gate. I got to my feet and welcomed the chance for a quick chat in English.
‘Hello, Sir,’ I said with as much respect as I could muster.
He always seemed to have a smile on his face.
‘Good evening, are you okay?’
‘I
’d be happier if I wasn’t in here, but aside from that, I can’t complain, Sir.’ ‘That is good. Just be patient and pray to God. I’m sure everything will be fine.’
‘I hope so, Sir, and thank you for your kindness.’ A bit of sucking up never hurt either.
‘It is no problem. Okay, good night.’
‘Good night, Sir.’
My G Shock told me it was 8.30 pm when Manish walked to my cell with some food.
‘Oh, thanks mate,’ I said as he handed me some roti rolled in newspaper and some thin yellow liquid in a steel tin.
‘Why are you outside your cell, Manish?’ I asked, looking for some conversation.
‘I have privilege until 9.00 pm because I work as a clerk.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Yes, I go now.’
‘Okay, bye.’
When Manish disappeared into the darkness I threw the food into the plastic bag I had designated as my rubbish bag. I didn’t expect to be here for long, so didn’t want to suffer any stomach problems; besides, I still wasn’t sure how the toilet issue worked at night.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten since those sandwiches the Inspector had given me on the way to court this morning, so I cracked open a packet of biscuits and guzzled some water and decided there was nothing else to do except sleep. I used some of my clothes to fashion a pillow and, as the squadrons of mosquitoes were already trying to carry me away, I knew I had to cover myself for the evening otherwise I’d end up with dengue fever or malaria. The best I could do was to cover myself with the sheet and hope the fan would blow the mozzies away from me. The last thing I did was to remove the light bulb and store it for safekeeping in the pocket of the Calvins. About five minutes later, a few guards arrived in a mad panic and wanted to know what had happened to the light. I guessed everyone else slept with the lights on, but I wanted to push this point, so I screwed the light back in and out again and said I can’t rest with the lights on. They seemed to accept this and left. Every hour thereafter the guards shone their torches in my face to make sure I hadn’t escaped. One of the guards grunted at me every time he did it. Excellent.
Sleep was a challenge as, every time I came close to sleep, I’d be quickly brought back to reality by the dread of what my future held. How could I be so fucking stupid? I’m so much better than this. In my line of work, I just couldn’t afford to drop my situational awareness even for a moment, otherwise this sort of shit happened. I decided sleep was a waste of effort and sat up to watch the guard patrol pass the gate. As I sat in the dark I discovered I wasn’t alone in my cell. Two rats scurried in and out of the cell and ran right past me without fear — their fear not mine. I suppose it was because these rats looked massive, like cats with short legs. I was worried about the diseases they might bring. It’d be just my luck to survive this and then get some terminal illness from the place. I really needed to focus now and change my mindset so I could get through this night and get out of here tomorrow. As far as my life went till this point, I’d certainly done much harder things than this —much harder.
6.
SAS SELECTION COURSE
In 1987, I’d been in the army for about 18 months and was doing quite well. I was already the acting 2IC of my section, but I had become disillusioned with the army. Most of the guys just got by; they weren’t really into the army way of life and didn’t really accept soldiering as a profession. I felt out of place, but had no option but to plough on as best I could.
One day two blokes from the platoon approached me and said that they wanted to do the SAS selection course. No worries, I approached the Platoon Commander and explained the situation. Given that the course was to start in March 1988, he said the men could spend the time after Christmas break training for the course. To me this sounded great because, at the time, a few of us were competing in every triathlon held in the Townsville area, and full-time training would be perfect for our triathlon program. So, off the cuff, I told the Platoon Commander that I was also interested in doing the course. ‘Great,’ he said, ‘you write up the training program and take care of it.’
So the three of us applied to the SAS and were accepted to do the pre-selection test in August 1987. This consisted of doing 20 chin-ups and 80 sit-ups in two minutes, and a five kilometre run in under 20 minutes. Then, two days later, we had to do a 3.2 kilometre run in under 16 minutes wearing greens and boots, carrying a rifle and wearing webbing that weighed 10 kilograms. The 3.2 kilometre run is one of the hardest runs that I’ve ever had to do, but I managed to pass with a minute to spare. We then had to do a monster psyche exam before being interrogated by a shrink. With these results in hand, we all had to front the Board for an interview. The Board consisted of the Commanding Officer (CO) of the SASR, the Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM), the Officer Commanding Training Squadron and the shrink. I managed to pass this part of the pre-selection although, at this time, I still had no idea what the SAS was all about. All I wanted was time off to train for triathlons. Everyone I asked had a conflicting story and I don’t think anyone really knew what the SAS was about apart from the members of the SAS themselves.
Now let me take this opportunity to dispel a myth commonly circulated by loud-mouth wannabees. The process to get onto the selection course and, if successful, into the SAS, is the same for everyone. People who brag, ‘the Army asked me to go to the SAS, but I said no,’ are spouting bullshit. No-one ever gets asked to go to the SAS. You ask them and, if you are very lucky and a good soldier, they might give you a go at the selection course.
For me, 1987 was a great year. Two months after we returned from the Fiji coup, we went to Malaysia on a three-month deployment. For a single bloke, the three-month deployment was just great. I spent the first month of the deployment at the Butterworth RAAF Base. I was fortunate enough to be nominated to do my first promotion course for corporal while in Malaysia. This took four weeks to complete and I managed to come third in my class. The second month was spent on exercise in the jungles of Johore Bahru in southern peninsular Malaysia. The month spent in the jungle provided excellent training. While we never saw the enemy, it was the perfect opportunity to sort out our ability to survive and operate in the jungle for long periods of time. When we were extracted from the jungle, we went straight to Singapore for a week of R&R. This was a pretty good week, although Singapore is an expensive place. We then spent a week in Bangkok and Phuket in Thailand. We had a great time. I was 21 years old, the women in Thailand were beautiful and the more money I gave them the more they loved me. It was excellent — damn, it was like throwing a kid into a lolly shop with a $100 note in his pocket.
I never got used to walking into a Penang nightclub. They were so dark inside you’d always assume they hadn’t paid their power bill, but in fact this was just the way these places were. Before my eyes could adapt to the darkness, I’d feel my way to the bar and then to a seat, and on the way I would trip and fall over couches and/or people.
Butterworth was a great place to train for the selection course. It was always hot and damned humid, so it was a great venue for some long, hard runs and pack work. But that was Malaysia and, in early December, we headed back to Townsville. In fact I arrived with just enough time to fly to Brisbane to help my old mate Dave celebrate his 21st. When I arrived back at the battalion I was promoted lance corporal and then sent on Christmas leave. But my holidays were over; it was time for the training to start. I decided I had better get serious about training for the selection course because I didn’t want to look like a dick, nor did I want to suffer too much.
I drove from Townsville to Brisbane for my annual leave. I had my pack, webbing, boots and greens with me to train while on leave. I also took my bike so I could vary my fitness training. During the six weeks I spent in Brisbane, my training schedule consisted of cycling 20 kilometres first thing in the morning, then having breakfast and relaxing for a while. Before lunch I went to the gym and spent two hours working out. I only worked out four times a week, th
e other three days I went to the pool to swim two kilometres. In the afternoon I would run eight kilometres in shorts and T-shirt, but I’d wear my boots with soft weight belts wrapped around my ankles. Again, I did the run four times a week, did a 15 kilometre pack walk twice a week, and then had one afternoon off. This may seem like a lot of training, but most of my mates in Brisbane were working, so I had to keep myself occupied during the day. I also knew that, if I didn’t do the training, I wouldn’t have a hope of surviving the selection course, let alone passing the thing. I’m not one of those naturally fit people who can run a marathon with little training. I need to train hard to maintain my fitness level. There’s a great old saying in the army: ‘train hard, fight easy’, and this became my mantra. For me, that translated to: ‘train bloody hard before, so the actual event is a little easier and I could perform better’.
Early in March 1988 I boarded a Hercules C130 at the Townsville RAAF base and, with a heap of other blokes, flew direct to RAAF Base Pearce in Western Australia. It was a strange situation on the plane with everyone checking one another out. The big goose across from me asked the bloke next to me what corps he was from.
‘Engineers,’ answered Cookie.
‘Hah! There’s no way in hell an Engineer will pass the selection course,’ replied this big mouth twit. This guy withdrew himself from the course on day five and Cookie went on to attain the rank of warrant officer in the SAS and I’ll bet he never forgot that wanker.
The Herc landed at Pearce and an SAS Corporal got on board. I was ready for a rain of abuse but, as calmly as you please, he said, ‘Okay fellas, grab your kit and jump on the bus.’ Gingerly and quietly we all located our packs and webbing, threw them into the storage compartment and then climbed on board. No-one said anything. They probably all felt the same as me — wondering what was going to happen next. I just wanted to play the grey man. I didn’t want to be noticed. I just wanted to be the bloke who was always there but never seen.
