This week’s London Boy blog by Johnny Mack tells of how when the police in this country abuse their powers, it can have harrowing and long lasting effects on the people involved. This true and tragic story is so raw and intense it has been broken down in to 3 parts. Here is Part One and it’s not to be missed !
INJUSTICE = MISCARRIAGE
What I am about to tell you in this week blog is so distressing that even though twenty-nine years have since past, I still feel a whole heap of mixed emotions. They range from sadness; despair and some are really deep-rooted with a whole heap of hatred towards the police. I suppose I have had more than my fair shares of bad experiences happen during the course of my life. They always leave their mark after they have shed heaps of pain and suffering on me. The story I am about to tell you will be told exactly how it happened and what affect it had on my family and me. Some of you will probably say. ‘’Well he deserved that” or “What do you expect being mixed up in that world full of wise guys and villains.’’
Well all I can say is everybody is entitled to his or her opinion and his or her opinion of me is simply none of my business. So please feel free to judge me, if that is what rocks your boat by all means because I certainly won’t hold it against you.
The title of this blog is, I feel is very fitting for this particular story because the words Injustice and Miscarriage come hand in hand. The only difference in this case is that there are two meanings to one of those words. And it’s that, which I’m going to tell you about.
When I was re-arrested for the snide notes, I was brought back to the Isle of Wight for sentence. The idea being that I be put in front of a High Court Judge as soon as possible, get my sentence and spend the next 5-8 years in HMP Dartmoor.
Nigel had already been weighed off on the Island and considering he grassed me up and cooperated with the law they never done him any favours. If he got a five stretch and sang like a canary, what the fuck are they going to do to me? I remember my counsel telling me ‘‘your bang to rights, escaped police custody and made the law look an ass. Do yourself a favour put your hands up plead guilty and expect an eight stretch”
That was a lovely bit of news to hear, it really cheered me up no-end to say the least. But I’m a lucky bastard in a lot of ways because luck certainly shown down on me that day.
The courts on the Island were very bias to people that came over here and committed crime. Especially wide –eyed cockneys with plenty of gob; they hated you and God help you if you went before their Judges. Nigel had already had a taste of their justice and now it was about me getting mine…or should I say not.
This is how my lucky streak came into play; my pals would always say I had the luck of the devil. But they were so wrong to think that way because I’ve always believed someone, something up there is looking out for me. The reason? I personally believe it’s because life has a plan for me; it’s already mapped out and rearing to go. Trouble with my planned route was, I’d often get waylaid and take another route, the wrong route and always the bad route. So every now and then, I will be totally lost and in a pickle enough to mess up my life plan, when bang! That bit of luck comes along and helps to put me on my way again.
So there I am sitting in the holding cell of the police station waiting to go to court. A copper sticks his mug through the open hatch and says to me. “Oi you cockney wanker, don’t you ever think of coming over here again after you finish your sentence, not even for a fucking holiday.” I looked up at him, paused for a second and said. ‘’I’ll do better than that you fat prick, I’m fucking going to move here and have twelve kids.”
Well his face went a sort of grey and then it went purple, as he got angry. Then he gave me his going away speech that entailed that if I ever set foot on the Island again, he and his cronies would make my life hell.Of course I was only projecting wasn’t I? So his threats were like water off a ducks back to me.
As I’ve said I have learnt over the years that our lives are already mapped out for us. When that copper threatened me, at that moment I wished I had access to that map of life. Just so I could give him a pat on the back for being true to his every word, even the hell bit.
Anyway getting back to my so-called luck; there I still sitting in my cell when my lawyer comes in. He tells me the news that the Island courts have just gone into summer recess and will not be able to sentence me. He then goes on to tell me that I am to be taken to Portsmouth Crown Court to be sentenced on a bench warrant provided I pleaded guilty. Now this is my thinking, not getting sentenced on the Island was a right result to start with. So now I’m left with taking my chances with a judge who would be between trails. His job would be to get me sentenced quickly; which meant he wouldn’t be reading the evidence etc. Well thank you God because that seemed to me the better deal. I ended up with two years and not the eight as expected.
So that was my luck; I knew I would be out in a year or less if I kept my nose clean.
Anyway cut a long story short I served my time, got out and went back to Peckham, South London. A year later, where am I living? You got it, on the Isle of Wight; the very place where I was told if I took a step on my life would be made hell.
I’m use to threats, for Pete’s sake I grew up in a threatening environment where it was second nature for someone wanting to blow your head off or cut you up with a chiv. That thing I could handle, but here on the Island I had my family with me. That unspoken respect we had between us and the old bill in the smoke was not present here on this rock. They didn’t give a fuck on the impact they had on families of crooks etc. Back in London, villains went after the villain, not his family. It was one of the unspoken rules of London’s criminal fraternity. The police did the same, not once while being raided by an armed unit, (which was often) did I ever have concern for my children’s safety. They were experts at the welfare and safety of innocent people while in a situation of arresting someone.
Now imagine having similar threats, but only this time they are from the very people who are paid by us to serve and protect our communities.
I mean, I know that they wouldn’t take me out in a boat, slit my throat and weigh me down into Davy Jones locker. No, I was the one that had embarrassed them over the snide notes. Their plan was simple, nick me and put me in jail for a very long time for some moody crime whether I was innocent or not.
Even with all the mayhem that was going on at that time it wasn’t my idea to move out of London to the south coast. My then wife couldn’t take it any longer. She couldn’t take seeing me in the states I was getting in to from taking huge amounts of rock cocaine, morphine etc. I was on the run and making stupid mistakes when out grafting I knew it was only a matter of time before I got caught again. So when I was dished up my two years jail sentence for the notes, I got myself clean from the drugs. But as soon as I got out I started up again and it was then that she grabbed the kids and made for the Island. My parents had moved over there three years prior mainly due to the riots, so she and the kids had a place to go to. I stayed on in London but I was missing my kids and off I went again, fought the battle of getting off the drugs again. I was risking my life taking the amount of coke I was taking. I’m not talking overdose here; far from it. The people I worked with were all ‘made people’ and I knew a hell of a lot of things about them all. It was all about respect with those geezers, you open your trap you lose it all and a bit more. Now if they had really known about my problem I wouldn’t be here today writing this blog. The question you have to ask yourself is…would you trust an addict who knew all about your illegal business dealings?
So how is the best way of dealing with that sort of problem? Do they take into consideration that they’ve known the geezer for most of their lives when deciding what his fate is to be. Of course they do, but it’s not their choice because in the criminal fraternity there are rules, rules that cannot be changed. I would have ended up with a bullet to the head that’s for sure. And I wouldn’t blame them either because before I got hooked on the shit, I would have done the same.
Those that are on hooked on drugs and active within the crime scene believe me when I say they are a grass in the making. Twelve hours in a police cell and they start to cluck is when they start to sing like fucking canaries unless they have a whole lot of very rare willpower. I was lucky because I wasn’t in that situation of them knowing but if I was, I would very much doubt I would have opened my mouth. Done the cold turkey first hand a few times and know it would never be bad enough for any chance of me turning turncoat.
I got clean before it came on top for me because I missed my wife and kids; I needed to be with them. It was then I decided to give up crime, drugs and start afresh away from London.
I put out a rumour that I had died from injuries received during a stabbing while abroad in Spain. It spread like water flowing down a hill and within two weeks I was done and dusted. Only I was now living on this rock under an alias with my wife and kids living in an asbestos prefabricated shed (Temporary housing) with no furniture or a pot to piss in.
I’m going to leave it their for this week guys because the next instalment is very powerful. I need to be in the right frame of mind to explain it without being bias either way. After all I am writing and telling you guys a true story of injustice by the Hampshire Constabulary. And we all know I best get that down right.
Ta la for now guys be lucky