Category Archives: Johnny Mack

London Boy | Johnny Mack | Writing About Demons

This week London Boy film fans are given a totally real and brutally honest insight into Johnny Mack and the man that he is. Johnny talks openly for the first time of his purpose for turning his hand to writing and his continual battle against addiction / alcoholism….

 

The Questions I’m Often Asked & My Journey Of writing So Far

 

Johnny Mack's addictions

The Lows & Fighting Demons

 

Hello guys.

 

Sorry there haven’t been many blogs recently but I’ve been up to my armpits working with our London Boy production team. On top of that there’s been the editing of the script with our director Lee Hutcheon. That on it’s own was truly an inspirational experience!

So all in all it’s been a bit hectic with having little time out for myself let alone the blog.

This week I’m going to try and chat about and hopefully answer the questions I am frequently asked…but then again I’ll probably end up writing about all sorts, so just bear with me guys.

“How and why did you become a writer?” 

Not a strange question to ask any author who is in the process of signing your own personal copy of their latest work.

But the truth is it’s not a question I can answer entirely between signing copies of my work at a book launch. However now I am co-writing the script for “London Boy” with Lee Hutcheon I am now being regularly contacted and asked…

“How and why did you become a scriptwriter?” 

So I thought I would get a grip on this and answer you guys on how and why I decided to do what I am doing today. First of all, I want it known that at no time prior to 2007 did I have any indication, intention, thought or idea that for the next eight years I’d be writing. Unless of course I got myself nicked and started writing letters home. The easiest way to explain the main question is as follows. 

In June 2006 I began my recovery to combat my alcoholism. Part of the process of my recovery program was to write down a brief life story. I was told it would help me unearth things about myself that ultimately made me drink to excess. I’ve since learned that alcoholism is a mental illness that cannot be treated, just by putting the cork back in the bottle. No, far from it, because from my own experience I know there is a lot more to recovery than just staying teetotal. First of all, if I wanted to remain sober, the first thing I had to do was to get honest with my thinking. I heard it said from a guy 30 years sober. “It was never about my drinking, it was always about my thinking.” Those words triggered something within me because my thinking was never entirely honest. Hence, I began writing an honest account of my life, not knowing if what I was doing was going to help me stay sober. Having already tried and failed every known method to remain in sobriety I decided to give it a try. After all I had nothing to lose did I? I was at my rock bottom and so very desperate for the nightmarish life I had been leading for years to come to an end. I want to point out that there are many different levels to addiction/alcoholism. It just depends how far down the scale you’ve gone before seeking help. It is a progressive, powerful, cunning and baffling illness that creeps up on you. It is also the only illness that tells you that you haven’t got it. When you come to realise you have a problem, by and large it’s too late to just stop because you’ve hit rock bottom and it has its grip on you.

It’s a fact that 98% of alcoholics fail to reach 20 years of sobriety. Getting told that when I began my recovery program had an amazing affect on me. I had only been a week without a drink and I was elated. Prior to that I couldn’t imagine going a day without one. Now I was being told only 2% make the 20-year mark, so the odds were not in my favour. When I got sobered up, it wasn’t the case that I thought one morning “Oh I’ll stop and go to a place where I will get support from other alkies.” No, no…far from it, I am one of the few that have had a spiritual experience that took away that nail-biting obsession and craving that only another alcoholic can relate too.

Call it or me what you want, because the experience I felt that early June morning was REAL! Over the years I have taken every drug/drink known to man, yet the buzz I felt that morning was far more superior to any substances I had consumed. It was so powerful that I find it very hard to describe the full affect in detail. If I had to describe what it was like to have a blast on a crack pipe, it would go something like this…”Yeah I felt fucking great, danced all night and everyone around me became my best friends that I gave all my money away.” Or if it had been a meth pipe…”Yeah fucking great, it made the back of my neck numb made me horny as fuck and shrivelled my dick.” What I felt with the experience was nothing other than pure love and believe me if I could bottle it I would.

When it happened I was sitting on the edge of the sofa with only the dog for company. The rest of the family were upstairs asleep, after all it was 4am. I’ve never been a religious geezer, though I’ve always believed in God. Unbeknown to me at that time having that belief became my lifeline to a better life. I would really put a lot of effort into hiding my excessive drinking. At the end of my drinking days I would drink out of the way alone or in the middle of the night. Yet I knew it wasn’t normal to be acting like that, yet I couldn’t stop myself. Previously when trying to stop drinking you’ll probably find me on my hands and knees in an empty Church praying for help. For 15 years usually after a massive bender I’ll sneak into a Church when it was empty and pray for help. Most times I’ll come out of the Church and head for the nearest pub full of self-pity. I put it down to karma, the fact I had a criminal past and had done some awful things that not even God wanted to help me. But God was all I had left to ask for help; doctors, counsellors couldn’t do anything for me, so I turned to my last option… prayer.

My spiritual experience pushed me to floor, then wham I felt it! The room lit up as I felt a presence; the dog flew under the dining table (Pit-bull) and then I felt this amazing sensation of pure love. In the background a soft voice (I couldn’t say if it was male/female) kept repeating ‘It is going to be okay Johnny.’ As soppy as it may sound to some of you, I burst into tears. I am not one for showing my emotions but on this occasion I couldn’t control myself. Tears were running down my cheeks like a leaky tap and in doing so I created a big wet patch on the carpet.

I kept asking for the feeling to remain but it left me after several minutes. Still kneeling I got myself together by wiping away the tears and sat back on the sofa. My first thoughts were…”What the fuck was all that about?” Yet I felt different, unburdened in such a way, that all feelings of anxiety and stress had vanished. I still had a half full bottle right next to me, yet what did I do? I finished it off and went back to bed falling into a deep sleep. A few hours later I was woken by the sound of my wife (Ex now) shouting at the dog for pissing on the carpet. For a moment I had forgot about what had happened only a few hours earlier. My memory quickly returned when I didn’t end up in the toilet for my daily ritual of coughing my lungs up to the point that I would be sick.

Instead I went downstairs to save the dog from getting a boot up the ass by explaining the wet patch to my wife. She couldn’t believe what I was telling her when I explained what had happened. She had heard so many bullshit excuses from me in the past that with this one she thought I had finally lost the plot. I suppose for her it would take a long time to convince her that what I experienced was real. The time that has past since June 2006 I’ve come to call ‘Promoting my wellness period.’ Whenever I share my experience, strength and hope with other sufferers I am always taken back with their reaction on how I got sober. Those that are still struggling with acceptance of their illness are very critical of my story. But to be honest, what others think of me is none of my business. Those that have changed their tune by accepting that they have a problem tell me that I am an inspiration for their recovery because there is still hope for them.

When I began writing my life story, I had to be careful with what I put down on paper. Being too honest could have dire consequences if the law got wind of what I was writing. As I said my life story was never intended for public viewing. It was only to be shared with one other person who was a geezer who I had chosen to be my sponsor. He is a guy I trust, who had led a life that was similar to my own and of course he is a recovering alcoholic. I’m a bit of a perfectionist with most things I undertake, so when I started my life story I got a bit carried away.

When I got to page 200 I had only managed to write the first 28 years of my life. I done another 20 pages before realising that if I continued at this rate, it would take 1000 pages or more to complete. When I showed my sponsor he was shocked, not just with the content but the length of it. But even though I had only managed to get to the age of 28 on paper, there was enough amongst those pages to help me understand what I was about. To be bluntly honest it showed me as a walking character defect. But what strikes me as astonishing was that all my character defects were based on fear. Now I know it were those fears that indirectly led me to drink to excess.

After completing that part of my recovery program my sponsor suggested I burn it for safety reasons. However my daughter had got wind of what I had been doing and asks to read it. She knew of my gangster days but not quite to the extent I went too. She was shocked at some of the stuff her dad had got up to while being active in amongst the criminal fraternity. She then suggested I send it off to a publishing house with the hope that they will publish it. I knew absolutely nothing about the publishing world nor did I know how to submit a manuscript. I thought long and hard about submitting my MS and became aware that there’s a message within it that could help others. So after editing out all the criminating evidence I posted it off to 40 publishing houses. I was so lazy with the layout that I sent it off in the entire wrong format. My thoughts at that time were if it’s to be, then it will be. If it’s not, than at least it has helped me identify things about me that were ruled by ego and fear.

Because of the format, 37 publishing houses wrote back to me to tell me so. Then to add insult to injury I was told that it was unread and ready for the bin. I wasn’t particularly worried about the knock-backs because now when I think on it I had done it for my daughter. It was never my intention to publish my story; I wrote it purely to aid my recovery. There were still three publishers who had not replied so I naturally assumed they had binned my MS.

Within a few days of receiving the last knock back I collected my mail as usual from the box outside. There were three letters inside that I recognised being from publishing houses. My initial thought was, here we go again another knockback and with that I left them on the side unopened. My wife at that time suggested I open them up but because I was in a hurry I told her I’d do it later.

When I eventually returned home it was that late all my family were all tucked up in bed. I ate my oven-warmed dinner and decided to turn in for the night and as I went into the hallway, there on the side were the letters. I thought, I might as well, so I’ll opened the first one…after reading the contents my heart skipped a beat and I let out a few loud yahoo’s! Both my wife and daughter had got up to see what all the racket was about. While reading it I could see their faces change to an expression of elation. We were all chuffed especially my daughter; me, well lets just say I was shocked, shocked that a publisher wanted to publish my story.

I went on to open the other two letters and was gobsmacked that they too wanted to publish my work.

Cut to the chase I checked out all three publishing houses and went with the one that had the best marketing skills.

When ‘Dunpeckham’ was published the reviews from avid readers from all over the world were amazing. It seemed that I had a natural talent at being a good storyteller. So many people said it would make a great movie. Yeah at the time those comments were flattering but to me having a movie production based on my life was nothing more than a dream.

However since then I have been approached by a dozen or more people who called themselves producers etc. I had promise after promise from them telling me that they could get my story on the big screen. All of them accept two were nothing more than time wasters, bullshitters and liars. The last one was the worst of the worst; a washed-up has been with a huge coke habit.

A good pal of mine had introduced me to award winning film director Lee Hutcheon one year after ‘Dunpeckham’ was published. He had read it and thought it would make a great movie or TV drama. Lee pitched it to Sky One TV and low and behold the next thing Lee had a meeting with their production team. They wanted to make a six part crime based TV drama. They loved the concept of Dunpeckham’ and what it represented. They particularly liked the black humour but much more, they loved the raw honesty of the character. Our only problem was the amount of materiel we had. I was only halfway through writing part 2 of my autobiography ‘Landed on the Moon’ But Sky couldn’t wait for that to be finished and to cut a long story short they went with Martina Cole’s ‘The Take’ She went on to do a few series with Sky and earned a fortune…bless her.

But one good thing came out of that which gave me the determination to continue trying to get Dunpeckham’ on to the big screen. Lee explained to me that I should look at the bigger picture. We had come away with the knowledge that professionals’ from the worlds largest media company had considered my work for a TV drama. If I had more materiel at the time, no doubt the deal would have gone through. And finally the Queen of crime fiction Martina Cole nipped me at the post.

When I looked at it from that angle, I believed it would only be a matter of time before someone else would want it.

After that Lee became my mentor especially if I was dealing with people who claimed they could make things happen. I would contact him with a list of questions asking him for advice. He knew I was working my nuts off and at the same time being fucked around by these liars and bullshitters. It was then Lee suggested we both write the script together and since we started we have not looked back.

I have learned so much from Lee because he is a very inspirational geezer who oozes talent. We worked a perfect system to write the screenplay and boy it’s turned out to be the dogs’ bollocks.

Then I was fortunate to have a really good pal of mine Chris Evans who is a wizard with his marketing/promotional abilities. Since Chris come on board he has worked really hard on promoting London Boy. He has managed to spread the word in all the right directions and getting the attention of the right people. Now London Boy is being talked about far and wide. So we owe a lot to Chris and his team and once production starts he’ll be one busy fella.

So from that June morning when I thought life wasn’t worth living, I’ve come a long way. Today my thoughts are that life is worth living and if you stay focussed work hard you can make your dreams come true.

Ta la for now

Johnny

London Boy Movie |Luck Or Divine Intervention |

This week’s London Boy Film blog by Johnny is a real treat and a must read for all followers/fans of the blog and movie project. The story is one which will leave you asking yourself questions by the time you finish. I’ll let Johnny explain….

Luck or divine intervention ? 

London Boy Roulette table

Was Lady Luck on Johnny’s side here, or was some other force at play? You decide…

Hello guys, with a title like this one I’m betting you’re wondering if I’ve lost the plot or gone all God-like. No people, the last time I checked the plot, it was still there which satisfied me I hadn’t lost it. As for the God thing, you bet I’m a bit God like. Putting it frankly, let’s just say I’ve had some amazing experiences happen to me over the years that can’t be explained as a fluke. If I told you guys just a little about what happened to me right now, some of you may well think. “Yep, he’s lost it alright’. But, let’s see how this blog goes down with you guys before you make your mind up on anything. If all goes well and I get enough feed-back, I’ll be sure to write about them in my next blog no matter how hard some of you may find them to believe.

What I can tell you since those experiences happened, is that I don’t believe in coincidences any longer. This little tale happened to me way back when I got a Borstal sentence. I was just seventeen and already I’d been labelled by the powers that be, that I was a menace to society. Even as a kid I believed in God, I had no choice in my house. Both names God and Jesus would come out of my ma’s mouth so often, that as a kid I thought they both lived in my bedroom wardrobe. Even at seventeen the type of life I was leading I thought they wouldn’t want anything to do with me. After all as my ma would keep telling me I was a bad sinner and that God would punish me. But the difference with me was that I bloody liked the life I was leading! After I tell you this little tale, you make your own minds up and tell me what forces you think were at play? Now read on because you’re about to become the first people to learn about this side of me.

Arriving at Wormwood Scrubs at eight o’ clock in the evening is a moment in time I will never forget, it was daunting. You know that feeling of impending doom we sometimes feel; well this felt ten times worse of the worst. My first thoughts as we drove in through the gates were of dread. Back then I was always a bit of a flash bastard, big mouthed with a huge ego? Now this horrific living nightmare that I was now in, made me feel vulnerability and real fear for the first time. It was like having you’re worse nightmare come alive as a play and you’re playing the lead role. That was the time I left my adolescence at the gates of ‘The Scrubs’ I was now stepping into the big man’s world of skulduggery. For me when the shock at my arrival was over, my next thought was that I best learn quickly if I wanted to survive in this Victorian style jungle.

I had just been given a two-year Borstal sentence for terrorizing half of the south of England. Got caught and sentenced at Chichester Crown Court. But because of my age and having a pregnant common- law-wife ready to drop, the judge showed lenience by only giving me a Borstal sentence. That was a right result considering all the trouble I had caused

The after sentencing process meant going into the scrubs to be assessed. After 2-3 weeks I would be assigned to a Borstal that was supposedly suitable for me. If I had been a violent, drug-pushing criminal, I would without question be sent to a closed borstal. I was lucky and wangled it with a bit of ‘’Yes Sir, No Sir, three bags full Sir” that I got sent to an open borstal. Although our little gang had done mainly warehouses and commercial premises. What deserved us all a longer sentence was the length of time we had been at it without getting caught! In the end it required three separate police forces, each of them to work together, just to be able to catch us. Believe it or not, having three forces working smoothly with each other was a very rare thing. All because of the huge ego’s in the ranks of each constabulary. Everyone wanted the credit for bringing our little crew to mark. Which led to each force, not sharing important information with the other two. But before they sorted out their infancy, it took many meetings and debates costing the taxpayer a fortune. So they blamed my pals and me for putting that huge dent in the coffers of the three police forces financial pot. That was a hell of a lot of money wasted, but they had no choice but work with each other if they ever wanted us behind bars. I’ll always remember the old bill’s faces when they actually nicked me. It was one of shock, which quickly turned to violence after realising how young we all were. Three police forces had hired professional profilers who in turn characterised us as a gang of middle-aged professional commercial cat burglars. So you can imagine their reaction when they realised that it was just a bunch of teenagers that had been pulling the wool over their eyes for so long. But at least we kept them on their toes because we were at it seven days per week for months on end. They didn’t let us forget that either. Let’s just say that it was none too pretty when it came down to them dishing out their own version of justice.

After quickly getting over the initial aggro and with me making my mark within the Borstal population. I concentrated all my time on sorting my relationship out.

Prior to my sentencing at Chichester crown court I had been on remand for months in another Victorian shithole a juvenile centre called ford. The day after I was sentenced my first daughter Lynsey-Ann was born and boy was I proud to be a dad. It also gave me the jolt I needed to get out as quick as possible and work legally to look after them. But that jolt was short-lived because a bombshell was about to hit home, in the shape of a letter in my mail containing a ‘Dear John’. For those of you who don’t know what a DJ is? – It’s when the love of your life tells you she doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore and you’re never to see your kid again. Worse still, you’re fucked because you’re not able to do anything about it. I was devastated even more because it wasn’t just a normal girl/boy split up. I now had a family for the very first time, so that Dear John letter really hit the spot.

I suppose my thoughts on love back then were more manlike and responsible than that of a seventeen year old today. I had been brought up as an only child in an Irish run house. Up to the time I met my wife my experience about love was that it was lust in disguise. That consisted of me having regular one-night stands from when I lost my virginity aged eleven. But when I met my wife lust went out the window and for the first time ever I experienced true love. As for my upbringing there was love in my family but it was more sheltered and sensitive emotions were less shared. From the age of five I longed for a family with my own brothers and sisters. Bless her, my Ma lost her first and third child, all she ever wanted was to give me a bro or sis. The doctors warned her she was risking her own life if she got pregnant a third time. She nearly did die as well, I remember the priest giving her the lasts rights. But she was a tough little bird, all 4’ 10’’ of her, a Dublin born no nonsense type of women who just happened to have a blinding left hook.

While emotionally hurting your mind can play all sorts of tricks on you when you are powerless to do anything. This day and age, it must be similar to getting dumped by text. Anyone who does their dirty work by texting you has done you a favour because their actions say it all; they’re nothing but arseholes. There’s a fine line separating love and hate and I wandered down both paths during the first few months.

At the same time I was fast-tracking my adjustment into Borstal life. When I arrived at the Borstal the first thing I noticed there were no fences. Not that I was thinking of doing a bunk at that time, but later on into my sentence I certainly did give it a thought. Having no fences made it seem easy for me to have it away on my toes. But the borstal staff were clever and used tactics to put us off the thought of escaping. They would at least once or twice a week parade a captured inmate in front of us at reveille time. He would look dishevelled, beaten, cold, and hungry. The month in solitary confinement he was about to receive, for him would feel like heaven sent. The stunt was designed to let us know that there was nowhere to go if we ran. In fact I was on an Island with a fast flowing estuary two thirds around it with the North Sea connecting each side. That just left a small bridge to the mainland that was adjoined to a USAF Base that housed dozens of silos with a nuke in each. We at the Borstal all got a free trip around that Air base. They went out of their way to scare the shit out of us. A little show was especially put on by the Military Police. They showed us what would happen if we got caught using their base as an escape route. It was plain and simple that we’d be shot on the spot! Even though it was an open borstal it was situated in a very dangerous area and the cold war was still in progress. The quickest way off the place was to get a job on the outside farm party, then slope off during the day to a waiting car to pick you up. But I had my daughter to consider and being on the run wasn’t going to help my situation.

Normally I would only be allowed to write one letter home every fortnight. But now that I had a daughter, that entitled me to one more specifically for her. But I would use both to write to my Mrs, I would write anything I thought she needed to hear to convince her to take me back. She became my first love after meeting her when I was just fifteen. She was slightly older than me and had been married for around six months before her husband upped and left her for another bird. We got together six weeks after he had left and I became smitten almost overnight.

Basically I only started out thieving on a regular basis because I wanted the best for my soon to-be family. I was too young to collect welfare and too in love to work away up north and earn good money with my old man. After that I dismissed, or more like ignored all other alternatives that could support my family to be. Not that I realised it back then but… I was becoming one self-centred egotistical twat.

I was able to justify to myself, then my wife that it was cool for me to go out each night, clearing out a warehouse or two and living off the proceeds. I would talk bullshit to her for hours that what I was doing was the right thing to do. I now realise I was co-dependent on her, especially if I got banged-up. If I got captured I needed to know she would still be there once I got out. So getting a DJ set free all those subdued emotions I had lurking around. Unbeknown to my wife I’d been brought up in a crime-ridden society and was always on the wrong side of the fence. But all that is another self-centred story and maybe I‘ll write about it in another blog.

I couldn’t show the other inmates that my emotions were affecting me. They would have homed in on me like sharks at a feeding frenzy. But there were plenty of times when I needed to be on my own. I realise now that it was normal to cry in private, it sometimes felt better to let it all out. Similar to someone grieving a newly departed loved one. I’ve felt both at the same time many years later and I’m not ashamed to have shed a tear or two then either. What I learnt about myself is that there was a decent side to me, compassionate, loving, and understanding. I just found it hard to express it and when I did it was usually too late.

In Borstal each of the four units housing around a hundred or more inmates had what we called a Matron. To describe ours would be to say she looked like everyone’s chubby, frumpy, cuddly grandmother including a big hairy mole on her cheek. She’ll be the one that you went to when things like you’ve copped for a Dear John or had bereavement in the family. We could wail on about how sorry we felt for ourselves and how we were going to change for the better once free. Us lot change? Do me a favour, most of what we told her was complete bullshit because she was one of those that assessed us when it came to us being considered for our date of release. The Vicar was another easy touch, but only to the selected few. He’ll have about five born again Christians come through his door every week claiming to have seen the light after hearing one of his sermons. From my point of view, God didn’t favour me and Borstal just made me a better-hardened criminal. But anyway apart from his or her usage to us, we still needed someone to unload on to. But for me I couldn’t’ even try it on to become a born again Christian, all because I was a Catholic. Yes, our vicar was biased to the point of being a racist when it came down to other beliefs and religions. In his tiny self-centred egotistic mind you could only become born again if you were baptised in a Church of England (Protestant) and had listened to one of his sermons. We would take the piss some days when passing him; we’d say something like “Loved you’re semen yesterday Vicar, we all got smothered in it” He was so stupid that he thought the miss-pronunciation of the word sermon was down to our dialects.

He lived at the vicarage adjoining the Church and was married with a couple of brats. I say that lightly because his kids looked down their noses at us inmates and openly say to their father, as they toddled along with their fat arses sticking out, dressed like fucking choir boys ‘Are these the ones that are all going to hell father?’ And the fucker in most cases would agree with them by calling us the dammed! This little trumped up prick had to be related to the first vicar at Botany-bay, the Australian convict settlement. One of his daily chores was to escort the Governor through the block (Solitary) to check on the inmates to make sure they were okay. You know the usual, ‘‘what do you mean you’re getting buggered in the middle of the night by two nonce screws?” or “How on earth did you get all those bruises? Seeing that you’re not allowed to see anyone but our officers? Are you expecting the Governor and I to believe our officers are responsible for your condition?’ There was no point in complaining because it went against you as being a troublemaker. With this vicar, he was a very sick bunny mentally, but more about him later.

I was determined not to give up trying to woo my wife back. She hadn’t climbed into the sack with another geezer. I know now she was teaching me a lesson on getting my priorities right by remembering to put my family first before I thought about going out on the rampage again.

We all had a Personal Officer who would deal with the progress of our borstal training on a daily basis. If you had a problem and didn’t want too much sympathy he was the one to see. Mine was a screw called Mr Shelcock, who was just happening to be studying criminology at the time of us meeting. While being banged up in the block for breaking another inmates jaw in three places. Mr. Shelcock paid me an unannounced visit and asked me if I’d like to join him and take part in an experiment he was involved in. To start with, my first task was to write down my life story. The carrot was if I co-operated he might be able to help me obtain my dates of release earlier. I knew I was going to get a month or three loss of remission for the violence I inflicted on the other inmate. Worse still I could be transferred to a closed Borstal, so I was willing to try anything. Bearing in mind I was only seventeen I thought there wasn’t that much interesting going on in my life that deserved analyzing.

However he took me on as one of his first test case, but to the other screws it was more like head cases.

In Borstal your sentence was 6 months to 2 years, meaning you could get out after 6 months. But to be able to get that you’d had to be a Saint and there weren’t too many of those in there. The average time to earn your date of release was between 8-10 months. How the screws in each unit achieved giving you you’re dates was by keeping a close eye on you and assessing each one of us. I remember going on my first assessment with a screw called Mr. Boyton. He was the trainer of the borstal’s rugby team of which I was the captain. He was a fair geezer and not a racial bastard like the majority of the screws. He called me into his office and tells me that he has just completed my first quarterly assessment of me and that I could read it before he submitted it. In there they gave us freedom of speech to a point and if I didn’t agree with what he said about me, I had the option to air my views and opinions at a tribunal.

I passed all the major questions such as, did I have work waiting for me on my release? They wanted to find out if I was a caring person who would look after his new family. Not be one of those geezers who would piss off as soon as he was released. Would I stay straight, had I been rehabilitated? But then he puts the knife in, that my chosen occupation would be that of an armed bank robber. Then adds, “He is level enough mentally to feel emotion that would most certainly give him the ability to look after his family, no matter the cost.”

With reports like that going in about me it was looking more like I might be doing the full 2 years before getting out. So was it a Godsend to have a PO Officer who just happened to want me as his guinea pig in an experiment.

That experiment could help prove the others wrong and get me out sooner…well? We’ll say no more about that at this moment.

Being the daddy of my unit came with it tips and earners. I was on such a nice earner that I could support my family. Visiting time was very laid back, so it was extremely easy for me to pass money and jewellery out. Even though I had a ‘Dear John’ I still wanted to support my wife and daughter… and I did.

Anyway getting back to this ‘Dear John’ and my mixed emotions. Mr. Shelcock wanted to understand what made me tick with all this crap going on. Because one minute I’ll be acting normally, the next minute I’m in a massive tear-up with someone. My temper was triggered like a broken on and off switch, sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t.

As I’ve said if anyone finds out about a weakness you have, the others would home in on it and test you’re patience. I would have two one hour sessions with him, five days per week. I never had a clue what he was trying to achieve. On some occasions the sessions felt almost primitive in nature. Questions like, would I kill a duck to feed my family, fucking hell I’d rob the nearest HSBC if required. Joking aside I told him that I wasn’t a compulsive thief and all that I did was planned to a tee. Without giving him names I told him a lot of stuff that had bothered me over the years. Being an only child you gather a lot of unanswered questions while having no one to answer them for you. So I only spoke about stuff that would have no repercussions, I was very careful with what I shared. He wasn’t there to change me but to understand the criminal mind from a kid in adolescence right up to the old style gangster hood. He had watched me make my mark in the borstal ranks and then seeing me crying my eyes out at night. The fucker must have stalked a few of us before choosing the right subject to conduct his experiment.

He would sometimes bend the rules slightly especially when we were talking about personal stuff probably to gain my trust, he’d give me the odd brandy to relax me. Anyway after writing my life story, all 50 pages he noticed there was a lot in it about my anger issues. Also realised my devotion to my family was paramount over anything else. He also saw I was in a volatile situation that could go bang at anytime. My feelings were hurting even more as my wife started to be really obstinate. She wouldn’t come and visit with my daughter and she wouldn’t let my ma and dad bring her up either.

Unbeknown to me Mr. Shelcock wrote to my local probation officer. He had asked him to go round and speak with my wife about what was happening to me the longer I didn’t see my daughter. They offered her to arrange a visit for her and my daughter to see me. She knew what my temper was like and knew it could get me into a lot of trouble. So it was left to her whether she would come or not. Shelcock kept quiet about all of this until he had an answer from her. I continued with my letter writing expressing how much I loved and missed her and our baby. I would fill in every spot on those sheets of paper when writing home. I managed to get eight letters into one by writing extra small.

Being the daddy meant you never had to sort things out for yourself, you always got others to use the muscle. But I was getting angry and started to dish it out myself regardless of the comebacks. Anyway it got back to Mr. Shelcock who was none too pleased with me and gave me an order to tone it down.

A few days later I got a visit from my local Catholic priest. His parish included our borstal but he could only manage to do a service every two-weeks. That was because we only had the one Church and our self-righteous C of E vicar needed it every Sunday for a service as well as choir practice. Seeing there was only a handful of Catholics it was decided we had a Friday service once a fortnight. There was no loved lost between their vicar and our priest. What I remember the most was Father O’Brian saying in his southern Irish accent that the vicar was an unhelpful fecking ejiot.

When we spoke he gave me the opportunity to do confession, I hadn’t done one in years, so you can imagine there was a lot to be forgiven for. But one thing that did stay with me and that was when he told me to try and pray for a resolution between my wife and I. Well as far as I knew I had nothing else to try, so why not give it a go and see if God would help this sinner out. As I said earlier I would have done anything to get her back and see my daughter again.

While everyone else was in the TV and snooker rooms that night I went to bed early. I was a confirmed catholic, so I knew the routine on how to pray. Kneel, make the sign of the cross and away I went. I found that I was at it for nearly an hour because the other inmates were now making their way back to their cells. My first thought was where did all that time go? Second, where the fuck did these tears come from that were running down my face? Thirdly I felt a lot better and went on to sleep like a log for the first time in months.

Yet I still had this feeling that what I was going through was my own karma for all the wrongs I had done. Imagine that, being only seventeen and already feeling that God has given up on you. However I had nothing to lose, I had another chat with my priest, told him the outcome and he suggested I gave it another go. The same thing happened again, my knees were killing me but the time just flew by while I said my prayers.

I don’t want you guys out there to think I went all soft but let the first one of you come clean and tell me that none of you have ever prayed for something in your lifetime. After all the Mafia are all God fearing people even though they go round whacking people… I wasn’t that bad so why couldn’t I pray?

I kept it up every night until I had it down to a tee, yet nothing was happening. My letters home were being returned to me unopened. But I owed it to my little girl for me to keep trying and I did.

Then one day I got called into Mr. Shelcocks office. “I have some good news for you Mack, You’re wife has agreed to come and visit and she’s bringing your daughter. I was stunned to say the least because what I prayed for had come true. But hey’ it was probably a coincidence that Shelcock managed to work it out with my wife.

As the days got closer to her visit I prayed asking that we could sort out our differences and be given another chance to have the family I always dreamed of. On the day of the visit I hadn’t realised that Shelcock had driven from the borstal down to London and picked her up. I couldn’t believe a screw would do something such as that for an inmate. I will always be indebted to him for everything he done for me. My wife and I managed to patch things up and seeing my daughter who was now 11 months old was fantastic. Even though the visit was a closed one we only had three hours together. It felt wonderful just to hold my daughter for the first time in months.

My attitude changed so much that reports coming in about me were more positive than they ever had been. I continued to pray for my wife and kids and in one particular prayer I asked to be with them both as soon as possible. It was a tall order to pray for because I still had not been given my date of release. The following lunchtime I was in line to collect my grub from the canteen when a screw walks up to me. “Mack here’s a chitty, go to reception first thing in the morning and draw three pounds from you’re personal savings. I had no idea what it was all about nor was I going to ask. There’s one thing you learn when you are doing a Borstal sentence, don’t ever question an order, just do as you’re told.

The next morning after breakfast I got my mail in a shape of a post card. My wife’s parents had taken them both and the rest of her family on holiday to Great Yarmouth. Enclosed was the address of the caravan park so I cold write to them while they were holidaying. Anyway I finished my breakfast and a loud voice booms across the canteen area. “Mack, why are you not at reception as instructed?’’ I’m full of apologises as I run to the reception area where I hand over my chitty. I’m counted out the money then given a box that contained my civilian clothing and told to get changed. My first thoughts were that they had made a mistake and were going to release me by mistake. They’re another seven geezers all getting changed into their civilian clothing. They all seemed to know what was going on, but I felt it safer to say fuck all and just went along with it.

There I am sitting on a long bench with a bunch of geezers I didn’t really recognise apart from one who sang in the choir. About twenty minutes went by before a white mini-bus backed up to the reception area. I could see two figures inside moving around, when the back doors opened. There in front of me was a young girl with a rainbow coloured-striped jumper wearing a pair of dungarees and odd coloured shoes. The other who was the driver looked like a hippy, with bell-bottom jeans and wearing an old ‘Ban the Bomb’ tee shirt. I think if one of my daughters had brought someone like him home and introduced him as her boyfriend. I think he would have seen the front door from a different angle with the toe of my boot wedged up his arse. But they looked pretty good to me on this particular day. The screws disappeared leaving just these two to sort us out so we all climbed into the back of the mini-bus.

We are about 10 minutes into our journey when the young girl turns to face us with her guitar in hand. “Shall we all sing a song?” I said fuck all, then she starts singing that well known song ‘American pie” So there we were hurtling down the motorway singing ‘Bye bye miss American pie’ After the fourth verse I couldn’t contain myself any longer and asked the black geezer next to me ‘’Where the fuck were we going?” He looked at me with surprise in his eyes. “You mean to tell me that you don’t know where we are actually going?” abruptly I said. “Well are you going to tell me or not?” What he said next left me gobsmacked…we’ll we are all going on Christian week! Still looking none the wiser I ask him what was Christian week?

He explained that we were to meet up with Christians from all over the world at a holiday centre at a place call North Swatham. Now I knew my way about the UK like the back of my hand and I knew Swatham was very near to Great Yarmouth…and guess who was on holiday there?

I warned the black geezer to keep quiet about me not knowing about this Christian week. After all I was about to go on a holiday and I didn’t want anything or anyone messing it up for me. A few hours later we arrive at a beautiful holiday centre, we were housed in a villa with four bedrooms. There were no blankets just duvet covers and for me that would be a first for me to sleep under one. We all had supper in the main dining room where we were introduced to all sorts of people. They were all Christian folk from all over the place. We were the only inmates present and the welcome we received was amazing, especially the supper. About eight in the evening we were asked if we wanted to go to the pub. Well I was loaded wasn’t I, what with the few quid I was allowed to take, I managed to add another fifty to that. By 10pm I was half pissed and got talking to Lady Rainbow (The woman who picked us up) She sensed I wasn’t feeling right and asks me if it was the drink? I remember saying to her if she wanted to hear a story…over the next two hours I told her everything I’ve just told you guys. Including that my wife and daughter were just 12 mile down the road.

Thinking no more of it I went to bed and slept in a bed fit for a King. The following morning I was woken by the smell of bacon and eggs and made my way to the dining room. The other lads were still flat out, probably overwhelmed with their beds. Lady Rainbow comes and joins me for breakfast and suggests we go and look for my wife’s family. I was for once lost for words but managed to ask her to repeat the question. She just smiled and said, “You heard John” I explained that I had the address and knew the area so it shouldn’t take us that long to get there. She drove at twenty miles per hour all the way. I must have left a dent in the floor where I imagined it was the accelerator. Being a getaway driver I usually got out of cars going that fast. After a while we found the caravan park and amongst hundreds of caravans we found theirs. But it was too late; they had already left for the beach. It was then my Rainbow Angel suggested we take a look down on the beach. We got to the base of the pier with the beach being either side. Fuck me! It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I thought we had blown it because I couldn’t see her doing another trip down here to the coast. As we are standing there with people milling everywhere she says to me ‘’John, let’s pray” Whooo! I thought, pray yes, but only in my cell alone at night, not here on the pier. What would people think of me, what about my reputation? Then it dawned on me, this was about my wife and daughter, not my pride. We joined hands and she prayed that we’d find them. We then made our way back to the car and I suggested we leave a note on the caravan door. As we got to the camp there was a hump-back bridge and just as we went over it there were about five people walking, one pushing a babies buggy. Where they had there backs to us something told me to turn around as we passed them. My Rainbow Angel doing her usual mandatorily 20 MPH helped a great deal because I was able to focus on the group of people as I leaned out of the window. Startling her I roared STOP! STOP! JESUS CHRIST! I DON’T J Fruitfully J BELIVE IT! Yeah it’s them all right. While my Angel was doing her usual speed, I was out of that car, rolled like a paratrooper and was upright running back to my wife’s family before she could stop.

My sister-in-law screamed when she set eyes on me, “He’s escaped!” My father-in-law agreed and my wife just smiled. A smile that said how the fuck did he manage this? But the most rewarding part of out meeting was seeing my little girl in her buggy eating an ice pop.

I introduced my Angel to them all, but my family were too stunned to greet her appropriately. Angel broke the ice by telling me we only had 30 minutes before she’ll have to take me back. She could see I was gutted because we had searched and prayed for so long. She saved the day by suggesting we could come back the following morning. Thanks to her that 30 minutes was the best I ever spent with my wife. When we got back into the car, I couldn’t thank my angel enough, she was in every sense of the word a Godsend. She not only brought me back the following day, but she done it every day for the rest of that week. She would drop me off around nine in the morning and pick me up at eight in the evening. Here I was in Borstal, yet I’m on holiday in Great Yarmouth up at the bar having a few pints and making up for lost love with my wife…how the hell did that happen?

The day before we left to go back to the Borstal I asked to her check after me once I got back. She was a bit bewildered at my request, but I said she’d understand if what I was thinking was correct. She said to me, it seems you are expecting troubles when you get back John? Will it be from the other boys, perhaps them getting jealous? I’ll always remember saying to her “ No, no, not from that direction that you’re thinking of Angel”

I never told the others anything of what went on, but they smelt booze on me when I got back each night. Plus they saw me drive in and out everyday with my Angel. As per usual they put two and two together and came up with seven. They put it about that I was having a fling with her and before long the whispers got worse, even before I got back to the Borstal. But that was just hearsay and what with her being a Christian no one at the borstal would believe it anyway.

On our return to the borstal the mini-bus backed into the reception area. The biased vicar was standing there with a couple of screws to greet us with a false smile. My Angel never had a clue what was about to happen. The vicar quickly greeted her then got rid of her just as quick by giving a stupid excuse. As soon as they were out of sight the vicar points at me and tells the screws “Take it’ down to solitary” Not him or even by name, but it! How can a so-called man of God be so biased by calling me a human being a fucking it’ You don’t even call your dog it’ let alone a person? What made it worse was this fucker who was calling me an it’ was a fucking vicar, a Christian, a man who preaches the gospel and is meant to be all-forgiving. But the big question was, why? Why was I being sent down to solitary? Well I’ll find out soon enough probably the next day. So off I went to solitary and the two screws even said the vicar was out of order because there were no charges against me.

My Angel knew something was not right even with what I had told her. She had met the vicar on several occasions but she he had never seen him being so obtuse. She had a feeling that he wasn’t what he was made out to be.

Apparently the whole trip was organised by a Christian group which the vicar was part of. Each year the vicar would pick only Church of England followers, not Jews, Muslims or Catholics. In fact he hated the Catholic faith and was constantly at loggerheads with our priest. Prior to this situation when I had been in solitary it was his duty to come round with the Governor each day. This was to ask us if we were being treated okay and the vicar was there if we needed someone else to talk to that was not a screw. I had asked him on several occasions if I could talk with him, but all the bastard done was say he’ll come back later…which he never did.

Anyway getting back to the story in hand, I never slept at all on my horsehair mattress. I thought to myself, well Johnny boy just tell the truth about what happened. My Angel never said not to say anything and as far as I was concerned she helped me with my relationship. I was sure the Governor would understand because he was a devout Christian. Plus liked me a lot because of my rugby skills of which I was the captain of the borstal team and he was a fanatic.

The following lunchtime I heard the doors of the block unlock and the screws welcoming the governor and that prick of a vicar. I was in the end cell and heard every word that was said between them and each inmate.

Then the moment of truth was about to happen as the key to my cell slid into the lock and turned. I had all my kit laid out for inspection and was standing to attention waiting to be addressed by the governor. He looks at his sheet board, which shows what charge I am on. I could see the confusion on his face when he says to the screw “What is he in here for?” The screw explained that he was under direction of the vicar to bang me up. He then looks at the vicar for an explanation. The vicar started ranting and raving that I had somehow managed to put my name on the list for the trip. Then he tells him that I spent time with my wife and that I organised it all for my family to be there at the time of Christian week. He said I hoodwinked Angel into driving me to the holiday centre and that I came back each night smelling of booze.

Then the slimly shit bag says I should never have been allowed on the trip because I was nothing but a Catholic. I could see the governor was getting annoyed with the vicar because he went off on tantrum.

The governor said he would contact my angel and find out if there was any truth in what has been said. Until then I was to stay banged up unless I had something to say. I said yes sir’ I do have plenty to say and told him the whole story right from being given a chitty to collect my money right up to my angel and I praying on the pier to help find my wife. The vicar burst out and shouted “Blasphemy, you pray, how dare you say you prayed you’re a Catholic!” The vicar was off his fucking head and the governor could see the hatred within him. However he said to me he would back to see me as soon as he gets to the bottom of this situation.

It had been 24 hours since the governor paid me a visit and seeing it was a Sunday the borstal was quiet. There I was sitting on my chair having read bits of the bible (In solitary the only literature you could read was the bible.) After the beautiful week I just had I was beginning to believe a lot more than I did before I went. I wasn’t fearful of my situation because the vicar had showed his true colours by losing the plot. However I was a bit concerned about my Angel because I did ask her to check on me. Maybe I had got her in trouble or the borstal was not going to except what she had to say. It was about 6pm when I heard the main door open and the sound of a familiar female voice…yes you got it, my Angel had come to visit me with one of the other Christians from her church. She also brought her guitar along and the screws allowed them into my cell. I thanked her for checking on me but she told me the vicar had been having a go at her. He wouldn’t allow her to talk with the governor, so she drove down and knocked on his door. The funny thing was she ended up staying for dinner and then he allowed her to pop over and se me.

She told him everything about what she had done while we were away. But no one could understand how my name appeared on the list. He told her the vicar reckons I got into his office and found the list and re-typed it out including the chitty and off I went. She told the governor my version and that was that I prayed to see my wife and little girl. After all I knew nothing of their Christian week let alone get into the vicars office and find a sheet of paper and forge another with my name on it.

So there you have it, was it just a bit of luck or was it a bit of Divine intervention?

How was it I got my name on a list that only the vicar had control of, how was it this just happened when my wife and kid was on holiday. How on earth did we manage to find them after searching all day on the beach? Was it my prayers being answered or was it all a coincidence? How did so much happen in such a short time, I’ll leave you to your own opinion? I have my own ideas how this all happened and my thoughts since those days have dramatically changed. It didn’t stop me going off and becoming a well known criminal, but I suppose that was all part of God’s plan for me.

Ta la for now

Johnny

Dunpeckham book buy it !

Dunpeckham – The true crime Autobiography that the film “London Boy” is based upon – BUY IT HERE !! CLICK on the image…

London Boy | Johnny Mack | The Assassin Conclusion

 This week Johnny Mack concludes his amazing, true life encounter with assassination to London Boy Film followers. He explains how politics and crime came together and created a deadly outcome !!

The Assassin – Conclusion

 Top secret file. MOSSAD Isreal's political assassination squad

 

Fred was face down on the bed with my pal sitting astride him with the barrel of his gun pushed into neck. I needed time to think about our situation because it seemed we were now part of some elaborate hoax or set-up. I wanted answers and I wanted them now because this was nowhere near what we were meant to be doing. I now had a pile of bodies in the next room and if we were caught in the place the only thing we had to look forward to was our execution.

Billy was in his element and had already robbed each of the bodies while in the bathroom. My pal went berserk after he caught Billy going too far. He was found cutting a finger off one of the bodies to get a diamond ring that was attached to one of his digits. He reminded Billy by telling him that he was leaving forensics behind by touching the bodies. But while Bill was robbing them he also took their passports and other forms of ID. What I found that was odd was that these geezers were all different nationalities and one of them even had letters behind his name. My other pal who was still sat astride Fred asks me what were we going to do with him. We had sets of handcuffs, which we intended to use while making our getaway, so I told him to cuff the bastard. He was the only person in the room who could give us the answers. The geezer who was cuffed to the pipe in the bathroom started wailing, even Billy’s menacing face and death threats couldn’t shut him up. I suppose what with Billy cutting the finger off one of his dead pals didn’t help. So Bill gagged him and handcuffed his hands behind his back.

I told one of the lads to go get Tony and to get the door frame bodged up after we had kicked it in. The last thing we needed was someone seeing the damaged door and reporting a break-in. Luckily for us it was still pissing it down with thunder and lightening, leaving the complex quiet with no one about. After Tony came in and got over the shock of what went down he started on fixing the door frame.

I went outside with my pal to have a chat about our predicament to try to get some sort of plan together. It was decided before I talk with Fred I’d phone home and talk with our firm back in London. I instructed my pal to gag Fred and no one was to talk with him until I got back. I wanted answers from our end before I spoke with him because after what had just gone down meant he could not be trusted. I made my way to a pay phone and to be extra safe I used one a mile or two from our location. The region where we were at, if you wanted to make an overseas phone call, it had to go via an operator. To be safe I phoned a local pub our firm frequented and because of the time difference I had to wake the landlord in the middle of the night. Once he stopped moaning about being woken up I gave him an urgent message for a certain person to call me back pronto.

I waited an hour or so before the phone rang. On the other end of the line was our boss’s number two. I explained everything that had gone down and it was a shocker that he didn’t seem too surprised. Angrily I barked at him that my crew and I had been set up and I wanted an explanation. His reply was for me to calm down, watch my tongue and then I was given a quick lecture on respect. I lowered my tone after taking a few deep breaths to regain my composure. He tells me that if he told us the truth at the start about this work, would I have said yes to it? I chose to ignore his question and talking through gritted teeth I asked him what was to be my next move. After all I hadn’t anticipated a pile of dead bodies waiting for me when entering the room. He replied not to worry about the bodies because the cleaners would take care of that side. I asked him “What was I meant to do with our so-called Fred?” “Nothing, do you understand what I’m saying Mack, do nothing, let him finish his job?” There was a pause from me because my brain was going round and round like a washing machine on full spin. “Mack, Mack are you still there?” “Yeah, yeah I’m still here.” He then says to me “You haven’t done anything stupid, like set that mad bastard Billy on him have you?” I told him he was fine apart from being chained up, where he tells me when I get back to unchain him so he could finish the job. Blatantly I asked what was all this about whereby he replies “It’s political Mack, way out of your depth my son.” “Who’s the fucker left alive, what’s his part in all this?” “Listen to me Mack, when you get back Fred will explain everything to you, so you best get your skates on son because there are others on their way.” “Others! Whose side are they on?’’ “Talk to Fred Mack and he’ll fill you in on everything, oh just one more thing don’t forget the money will you son?” “What about the artefacts’?” “They are Fred’s but the cash is ours, he’ll give you instructions on how to get it home okay?” Then the phone went dead; standing in the phone box I felt something that I don’t usually feel and that was fear. It was mainly due to the fact that I did not have control of this operation. It now seemed I was in the hands of a guy who had just whacked a tub-full of people and there were more of his kind on the way…it was that I feared. With our end saying it was political, you didn’t have to be Einstein to realise that the Jewish connection was the main factor in what was going down here.

When I arrived back at the complex the main car park was four inches underwater. The drains couldn’t handle the amount of rain that was pissing down and water mixed with sewage was spewing out of them. Even though I was only ten yards from the room, I was absolutely drenched by the time I got inside.

My pal says to me if I got things sorted? “Not exactly, but I know more once I talk with Fred” I undone his cuffs and removed his gag, then pulled a chair up for him to sit on. I leaned forward so that my face was only inches from his. “Right Fred I’m told you are to explain everything to me, including how we get this money out of the country. What he came out with was way out of our league, that part our bosses got right. He explained that he was an agent of Mossad the Israeli secret service. His job was to track down war criminals and bring them to justice. I asked who the other guy was, where he tells me that he was the son of a well-known Nazi who murdered thousands of Jews during World War II. Once the war was over him and quite a few others fled to Argentina and lived off their gains they stole from the Jews who were sent to the death camps. What he said made a lot of sense especially him single-handedly wiping out bar one in that room. This I did know about Israeli agents, that they were trained assassins. I told him that I was puzzled as to why we were there when he had completed the job single-handedly. “Back up Mack back up if things went wrong” Still puzzled I said to him “Are you telling me that your lot are allowing us to take the cash in that case even though we haven’t done anything.” “Yes my friend, all we want is that Nazi pigs son and the artefacts” “But why us?” Fred explained that one of our bosses was Jewish and had supported their cause to bring these pigs to justice for many years. “What will happen to him now that you have him? He tells me that now that they have him he will lead us to his father? Billy pipes up and says what you actually mean is that you’re going to torture the bastard until he spills the beans. Fred just nodded raising his eyebrows, which without doubt meant a yes.

Time was now rolling along and I didn’t want us to be there when these other characters turned up. I asked Fred what was the plan to get us out and away from this blood bath. He had written down instructions for us to make our way to an old disused airfield way out of the way and there would be a twin engine plane. The idea was to fly us to an adjoining country where we would be met by one of Fred’s associates. “What about the money how does that get home to good old blighty?” He explained that the money would be passed on to a courier who had connections to a well-known airline. Once we arrived back in the UK only I was to book into a hotel next to the airport; it would be there that the courier would return the money. I let him know that I wasn’t too happy about the arrangement because I wasn’t being given a choice in what was going on. Fred assured me that the arrangements were solid and those people who were high up in his organization had put everything together. Fred then went on to ask us all for our passports so he could stamp them all with an entry into the adjoining country. From there we were to split up and fly back home in pairs on different airlines and landing at different airports.

When we left the UK we went by land transport by driving through Europe that had no border check points. Once we came to the point of entry close to the country where we’re at, we were smuggled in. But now I knew Mossad were involved I realized how we got through so easily. They had worked it brilliantly because according to our passports we had driven through Europe and only went as far as the adjoining country. Overall a Government secret department was looking after us. Now I understood what our boss said about this work being political.

I won’t bore you with the details about our trip home apart from that we made it back safely and I was reunited with the cash exactly how Fred said it would be.

Now I’ve been on some amazing jobs during my criminal career, but this one had bitten the bullet as being the most unusual piece of work I have ever done. However I was angry at being hoodwinked throughout, but I soon calmed down when collecting my share of the proceeds. But saying that, the amount I received didn’t last me more than two years; yeah I had a great time spending it. I foolishly invested in a timeshare scam and lost a bundle when it came on top. That was just one of many stupid things I invested my money in. But I believe today ill-gotten gains never go right especially if you invest it into other dodgy scams.

Today my life is completely different, so different that I sometimes find it hard to recognize the person I am writing about. When “London Boy” the movie about my life hits the screens, you’ll see how from a kid how I got into the criminal fraternity and where it took me. If I am to be honest I feel ashamed of some of the things I got involved with. I have made amends to many people especially my family for bringing trouble to the door. By making amends it didn’t all go my way, some people just slammed the door in my face or wouldn’t believe that someone like me could change. But my consolation is that I was willing to try and say sorry even if my apologies were accepted or not. I now help others who are starting out on the path I once walked. This is for me turning all that negativity in my life into positive energy that helps others to halt going along that path. I have one thing in common with those that I help today and that is I have been where they are today. That helps them to relate to me because I understand where their at.

I’ve paid my debt to society, but that seemed that wasn’t enough because something very special intervened in my life and in doing so gave me a purpose in life.

Take care guys

Ta la for now

Johnny 

London Boy | Johnny Mack | The Assassin Part 2

London Boy, Johnny Mack is back with the highly anticipated second part to his Assassin, true crime story. Johnny talks of how he and his “Firm” go on a “Piece of Work” abroad, but things don’t always go to plan !

Assassin | Part 2 

London Boy Johnny Mack talks of a firm of villains in the 1980's and a resulting assasination

The Assassin Part 2

 

Billy was one of our team I mentioned that was doing the odd line of gear. Not that he thought I knew about his antics. When Billy was under the influence his whole persona changed. That natural aggressive look he carried around with him disappeared, as did his grunting and growling. When he had a toot he would start talking a lot, mainly bullshit to the point where no one could get a word in. As soon as the gear started to wear off he’d be back to his usual miserable self. Tony who was the other user was a really clever guy when on a bit of work. He knew electrics, especially alarms like the back of his hand. He was also an excellent getaway driver, due to his participation in the sport of rally racing.
During the years I had known them, Billy and Tony never ever seemed to get on with one another. They had worked together as a team before because of their abilities. On this job I had to be careful where I placed them within the team. The last thing we needed was Billy going OTT because no doubt there would be blood.
 
The work we were about to do was for us to crash in on a dodgy artefact deal. The story behind the artefacts was interesting yet a sad one. During World War II the Nazis had looted anything of value from the Jewish community. This was the period after they invaded Poland and began rounding up the Jews who were then shipped off to the death camps. The sad part was that it wasn’t just adults, who were sent to these camps, but women and children as well. Without going in to too much detail these particular goods found there way to Argentina after the war when the Nazi officer escaped the clutches of the allies. They had been sitting in his mountain retreat located outside the main city. When the pig knew he was on his way out through illness he instructed his son to sell them on so his offspring would be looked after from the proceeds. Though the artefacts were not officially noted as stolen; they were not the kind of things you could take down to Christies to auction off. With anything like this a legit seller like Christies or Sotheby’s would do meticulous checks on the merchandise. If by chance something came up about them, then the whole lot could be seized. Proof of ownership was a definite must on this stuff otherwise no auction house in the world would touch them.
 
Our job seemed really simple; crash in while the deal was in motion, taking both the artefacts and cash. For me, this piece of work was like taking candy from a kid. There were to be seven people in all present, three were the seller and his henchman. The other four were the buyers including a dodgy art dealer to confirm the goods were genuine. My instructions were to get in and out as quick as possible without causing too much of a commotion. Sounds easy don’t it, but from experience I’d learned that nothing is ever that easy.
 
Our contact Fred was to be on the inside representing both, the seller and the buy team. He was also going to give us the nod via a pager signal when to gatecrash the deal. His part in this deal was being the middleman, so he wasn’t allied with either the buyers or the sellers.  With a deal of this scale it would be obvious that everyone would be nervous especially the seller. So Fred had to be sure that the cash and artefacts were inside the room before we came crashing through the door. Our job was to take complete control of everybody in that room then take the lot. It would be clear that both parties especially the henchmen would be armed and professional. No doubt they were hired help who were probably ex servicemen, so we couldn’t take any chances. Billy would be with me on the inside with my other guys except for Tony; he was to be outside in the van. Like I said Billy was a nasty piece of work when it came to the crunch and I know he would stand his ground if the going got tough. He and Tony still didn’t know the score yet, so I spoke to the pair of them separately a couple of hours before the work was to happen. I also let them both know that I knew they were using and if they used while on this job, their lives wouldn’t be worth bottling. Tony was easy to talk to, but Billy was an effort because he kept insisting he wasn’t using. I just made my point and reminded him of the consequences if he used and left it at that. Billy was insistent on using the Uzi machine pistol. Having Bill in a small room with an Uzi and lets say for some reason it kicked off…I doubt anyone would come out of there alive. It took all my patience to convince him that I wanted him to have one of the 45’s. I told him I needed him at the doorway and not to shoot anyone unless it was 100% necessary. I really had to drum it into him that I wanted this job to go off smoothly without having to shoot anyone. Our advantage was to surprise them before they could go for their weapons. Apart from that it was imperative none of the goods got damaged, another reason why Billy should not have the Uzi.
 
Fred paid us a visit to make sure we had understood everything that was going down. He also reminded us that if any shooting happened, not to shoot him. When he said that all eyes were on Billy, there was a brief silence before Bill says “Why the fuck is everyone looking at me?” Fred had noticed our eye contact with Billy and said “He-does-understand-yes?’’ Fuck me; Bill was all up for shooting Fred on the spot because he thought he was belittling him. I had to roar at Billy and told him to fuck off outside or I would put a bullet in his thick skull if he carried on kicking off. Like a naughty schoolboy he sulks out of the door shuffling his feet and slamming the door behind him. Fred was not English, so now you know why we thought the name he used was amusing. After Billy left the room Fred says “Is-he-the-crazy-one-you-spoke-of?” It was then that Tony says “Only on a full moon” From the bottom of the stairs we heard Billy shout “I fucking heard that you cunt, I don’t need a full moon for you Tony.” I told Fred not to worry and explained the two didn’t see eye-to-eye and again reassured him they wouldn’t be in the same room when it kicked off.
 
Fred told me that I had to bell our firm back in London, so I drove a few miles and found a public payphone. The first thing I was asked was if Billy was behaving himself. They did not know about Billy and Tony having the odd line, but knew there was conflict between them. If they had known then they would have been booted straight off the team or worse still taken for a one-way trip. As I’ve already said these geezers were brought up on old school principles and that included not tolerating drug users.
When I arrived back after making my call the lads were getting ready for the off. We were to wear overalls and clown masks when we went in. Our personal belongings were left in our safe cars that were parked up a few miles away. Our escape route was planned to the tee and we were to split up into two groups, each using different forms of transport. At least that way if it came on top, one group would make it home. The artefacts and cash were to take another route home. Even those details I had no idea of, probably to make sure they got back okay. I suppose the less people knowing the route, increased the chance of the goods getting to their destination. And for us it was imperative the goods got back because they were paying our fee.
 
Tony set off first and parked the van up in a designated spot just up the road from the job. He to had a pager and on signal he would bring the van up to the outside once we were ready to leave the building. The remainder of us sat in the van, which was parked up in the courtyard while waiting for Fred’s signal. While we were sitting outside in our van the cleaners turned up to give the inside of the building a thoroughgoing over. This showed how professional the two firms we were working for.
Billy was playing with his gun while sitting next to me mumbling and growling. He was one aggravating bastard who could wind anybody up, especially when he starts twirling his gun on his forefinger like a gun slinger. One of the lads in the back of van snatched the gun off him and removed the magazine and the bullet in the chamber. Billy starts to complain when my pal says to him “You never even had the safety on you mad bastard” That done it for me and I went berserk by smashing Bill in the side of the head with the butt of my gun. Roaring at him I said you could have killed any one of us in the van all because you can’t sit still for half an hour. Billy surprisingly didn’t react; he just sat there nursing his head sulking like a two year old. I knew then at that moment that I should not have brought him on this bit of work.
 
It was an hour before my pager went off; a simple message telling us it was time. I started the van and made the short drive to the hotel complex where the deal was going down. As we drove in we done a 360% drive around the car parking area to make sure there was no one lurking outside. The weather was awful with rain coming down like a monsoon, which for us was perfect. The rain kept everyone off the concrete complex and the noise of it hitting the tin roofs made a deafening sound. There was to be no pausing from here on, it was straight out of the van then the ten-yard walk to the entrance of the room. Weapons drawn one of my pals and me both kicked the door in at exactly the same time. The force used to kick open the door was so fierce that it hit the inside wall and bounced straight back at us. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the door frame was busted I’m sure the door would have shut itself when it bounced back off the wall. I was the first one into the room with my two pals in tow. Billy stood just outside the now busted door keeping an eye out for police, staff etc. Now this is where this story gets weird because once we are in the room the first things I noticed was the amount of blood everywhere. There were trails of it leading into the bathroom also coats and briefcases were hanging over chairs. I heard Fred talking to someone who sounded petrified in a foreign language. Making my way to the bathroom entrance I noticed a half open briefcase full of cash and three boxes with what seemed like statues and small velvet sacks. I called out to Fred, who in turn asked me to come through into the bathroom. Now, my pals and I were totally confused. My pal says “No Fred you come out here to us” The three of us were now pointing our weapons at the bathroom doorway cocked and ready to fire. I heard clunking of metal along with a ratchet sound. My assumption was that the sound I was hearing were handcuffs being attached to a metal pipe. Fred pipes up and tells us he is coming out and is unarmed. I warned him to come out of the room backwards, arms raised. The door opens slowly and the three of us crouch down still pointing our weapons in the direction of the door. Fred emerges from the bathroom with his arms raised where I tell him to kneel keeping his hands up. My pals make a grab for Fred and push him face down on to the bed while I enter the bathroom. The sight in the bathroom made me vomit down the toilet.
Everyone was dead except for the geezer who was chained to the pipe. The dead were piled on top of each other in the bathtub and at the side lying amongst puddles of blood were an Uzi complete with silencer.
At that moment Billy comes in and sees all the carnage and is asking what the fuck has gone on. My pal says, “It seems our Fred had his own plan on dealing with this work” Bill goes into the bathroom and all we hear is him saying “Fucking hell, nice one Fred”
 
I pulled Fred up off the bed and told him to start explaining himself and what he tells us is unbelievable.
 
To find out the conclusion of this amazing story, check in next week where I’ll tell you how this story panned out.
 
Ta La for now
 
Johnny
london-boy-assassin

A Revolver never Jams !

London Boy | Johnny Mack | The Assassin Part 1

Well here it is London Boy fans, the new and highly anticipated version of Johnny’s ASSASSIN blog ! During Johnny’s trip to Goa, India, he found new inspiration and now feels it best to totally re-write this blog. He has done it in a way that the “London Boy” followers who have read the 1st version, will find this a seem less re-write and he has done so, as always, in his own inimitable style….Enjoy

London Boy Johnny Mack talks of a firm of villains in the 1980's and a resulting assasination

The Assassin Part 1

Assassin

The story I’m about to tell you happened a long time ago and for legal reasons I cannot divulge what city let alone what country it happened in. However, for those of you who think you’ve guessed it after reading this. I can assure all you Sherlock’s out there that it did not happen here in the UK…or come to that neither did it happen in France, Spain or Holland etc. I think you’re getting the picture now, so any of you wearing a deer-stalker hat, robe coat, magnifying glass in hand and pipe… don’t waste your time trying to work it out okay? Oh’ and don’t email me either because all you’ll get as an answer, is what the old bill would get from me, “No reply.”

The main firm that I had been linked to since I was a kid had no idea that I was devising a plan to get out of this game once and for all. As I’ve mentioned a few times in previous blogs, I couldn’t just up and walk off into the sunset without they’re being any comebacks. So devising a plan was something I kept very close to my chest. Shame really, because there was once a time when I’ll have at least one geezer I could trust enough with all my secrets, no matter what. But now that drugs had hit the criminal scene, it not only changed how criminals worked, it was also slowly changing the criminal in ways that left little room for that honour and respect among villains. However, the team I was using on this work were the best I could muster from a dwindling list of the less from the best. At a time when I hated drug takers apart from the odd joint smoker, I wouldn’t tolerate users. I had walked away from some tasty work because I had found out one of the gang was using. They couldn’t be trusted could they? The old bill knew that only too well because as soon as they got hold of a user, they would leave him to sweat for 20 hours and then interview him. By then he would be like a singing soprano giving up everyone he’d worked with, past and present. I knew two of the lads were having a line or two but they were brilliant at their work and that’s why I tolerated them. But I kept them in the dark about everything so they couldn’t give too much away if caught. Also my escape plan was in action, which meant I was disappearing after this work was completed. That was how I justified having them on board because if it were under different circumstances, they wouldn’t have got a look in.

My share of the dough involved on this work would be enough to put my plan into action. I needed this piece of work to come off because even in my middle twenty’s I knew I was coming to the end of my criminal career. And by ‘The end’ I mean I’ll be either holding up a fly-over or doing a thirty stretch at one of the hate factories (Prisons) if I continued. If there were statistics, which I’m sure there are, they would read that gangsters don’t last too long one way or another. I was now a family man and my priorities had changed since I first joined the firm as a kid, Meaning my family now had to come first. Apart from that I had genuinely come to the conclusion that I had enough of the entire bollocks of taxing and extortion. Old school principles were now changing at an alarming rate; there was now more violence and putting the frighteners on people who just wanted to earn a crust. But regardless of how long it could take, I was slowly putting something together to get my arse out to live a new life as a family man. I got involved with the firm when I was just an impressionable ten-year-old kid. It wasn’t until I was in my middle twenties I realised this game wasn’t for me. So I had to wait patiently and bide my time until I had the perfect plan ready for my exit from the criminal fraternity.

Well, now that’s out of the way let’s get back to the story in hand because it’s a blinder !

Two of the guys on this bit of work had been grafting the pavement with me for about eighteen months. For those of you that don’t know what that means, well it’s a form of highway robbery, a bit like Dick Turpin, minus the musket and horse. Each job we pulled we would pay our standard 20% commission to the main firm for sorting the work out for us. With the rest being ours to do as we wished. Believe me when I say I done a lot of wishing back then that I started to believe that there were fucking fairies. The dough disappeared so quickly that I wondered where it all went. Whatever my take was from a bit of work, it was always never enough to get my plan on the go. I mainly relied on the firm that was supplying us the work to come up with one that paid higher dividends…and this one seemed to tick all the boxes.

The three of us made a formidable team when grafting together, I can honestly say the best team I’ve had the privilege to work with. I was so lucky to have these guys wrapped around me on this one because they were a minority (A rare breed) who still worked to old school principles. We wouldn’t get out of bed for less then thirty grand a piece, that included paying our dues to the firm. No matter how much we got, it never seemed to last us more than six weeks. It was a bit like an addiction where the next bit of work would pay better than the last. Our ambitions were… and I can probably say the same for the majority of active blaggers out there. The next bit of work was always going to be the last job that would become our “Eldorado” (Retirement to the Costa etc)

This work came by associates of the firm we always worked for. Our firm guaranteed me that they were kosher as was the work, so we were to trust them as we did our own team. Our firm were old school gangsters who knew the true meaning of respect. If they tell me someone is okay, then he was, no questions asked. That’s what respect is always about; if I were to question the decision, then that would be classed as being disrespectful. For those of you who have just starting to read my blogs, then I suggest you read them all. In them I’ve explained how respect is gained, so give them a butchers because they make interesting reading.

Getting back to the story, it would be a nice little touch if it went according to plan. In my case this was the best bit of graft since I was involved with that diamond heist back when I was just fourteen. Back then I was far too young, stupid, impressionable and was a prime target to be taken for ride? Amongst all the bad shit that happened to me back then, I learnt a valuable lesson that there would never be a repeat of what went down back then.  (DUNPECKHAM Chapter two THE GREAT DIAMOND HEIST)

For sure our take from this work would last a lot longer than six weeks, as I’ve already said it would be enough to set me up, providing I spent it wisely and stayed away from the pubs and clubs and harebrained schemes.

After my introduction to their trusted contact I alone was briefed thoroughly of the job in hand. Our contact Fred would sort out everything we needed for the work. All work that came to us via the firm was handled very professionally especially when it came to planning. As I have said the guys and I worked with each other really well. They were to know pretty soon what rolls they were to play. Once we all knew what our rolls were we would become one, always watching each other’s backs. As I said earlier it was the other two I had to really keep in the shadows, all because they were users. They were only there for muscle, driving and cleaning up behind us.

Because I was given the work, I was the one in charge. Along with that responsibility I had to make sure our bosses got their share. Also with that given responsibility, if anything went wrong with our team then it was my neck for the chopping block. Up to date we had worked together really well with each of us having the utmost respect for each other. I felt really comfortable working with my pals but not the other two.

Sadly I am sorry to say that my two pals are no longer with us today but this blog will keep their memories alive. None of them died natural deaths, with one being murdered and the other committing suicide…or so they say. So in a way this blog is a tribute to those guys, my real pals who stuck by me through thick and thin. Some of you reading this must think that the way I am telling this story about the men that we may resemble a Special Forces squad. I must admit we did work in a military format that could be contrived as a military operation. Given different circumstances no doubt we would have made one hell of a fighting unit. They say forces personnel while on front line duties treat and look out for one another like family. Each geezer becomes brother, dad and uncle to each other…a real tight family. That was us all right, one big happy family our only difference being, we went round robbing and looting the establishment.

Some of you are probably thinking he’s making a meal ticket out of his criminal exploits. Well I know what I’m about and that is to tell you guys a story based on my life. If I’m milking it, then you think about it because you must be enjoying it, after all you’re the one’s who are reading this. As I have said a few times now I was brought up and taken under the wing of some very infamous people aged just ten, so that’s my excuse. Also at that time I can honestly say I knew no different.

We travelled to a rented place on the outskirts of the town where the work was to be carried out. Apart from our place being isolated it had been well equipped for our stay with transport, food, drink and of course all the tools required for the job.

This bit of work had been put together by the two firms and believe me this was big. To make this work happen and to succeed, both firms had to be involved. I was picked specially for this one because of my abilities to work to a plan and do as I was told. Even though I had a quick temper I was not considered a loose cannon, the type who would forget or disregard consequences. Another reason was that the team I worked with had a lot of respect for me.

With this type of work, for the moment information on what, where and why was limited only to our contact and me. My guys had respect for me by not bothering me with persistent questions. They knew the score that everything was on a need to know basis so therefore trusted my every word. That’s a lot of responsibility to carry around especially with our crowd. For example if I told them a place was safe and it turned out not to be and all hell broke loose, providing I had done all I could then I’ll be okay. However if I had been lazy or unfocussed and the shit hit the fan than it would be my neck for the chopping block. If that happened the last words I’d hear would be, “Sorry about this Macky boy but its only business”

On the second night we were visited by our contact; who called himself Fred (With such an unusual name like Fred, you’d think they would have put a bit more of an effort into it ha ha). Personally I reckon the name Fred was just a bit of criminal banter mixed in to show that we were working with people that had a sense of humour. He brought with him a catchment of weapons including a Shotgun, Uzi 9mm sub-machine gun and three 45’s automatics all with extra ammo. I had asked for half a dozen smoke grenades because they are fantastic for creating a last minute diversion.

We all sat in the main living room with the curtains drawn to a close. Our contact had brought along a slide show of the entire job. Amongst the slides there were a few including one of the prize. More importantly they showed two alternatives escape routes, just in case something went pear shape. I felt a lot more at ease working with professionals. They seemed to have covered everything, including stuff that only had a small chance of causing us a problem.

Having a slide show was the safest way to show and explain because where we were was a quiet little town and us lot driving around looking at the target could get us noticed. So the guys opted for the slide show presentation providing there was plenty of popcorn.

Billy, our up-front come muscle man, was sitting playing with one of the 45’s while waiting for the slide show to start. Bill was a completely fearless head case; the type of geezer who would shoot you in the face if you cut him up in traffic. However to have him on a bit of work with you, he’ll almost guarantee your safety. If you were in a tight spot he was the type to let you get away while he stayed behind to hold the fort. But with people like Billy you had to be able to control him in a way that he did not realise what was happening to him. Over the years I had managed to suss out a way of working Bill whereby he didn’t use too much violence. I hated having to use it while on a bit of work and nine times out of ten we didn’t have to use it. However on some bits of work you’d sometimes come across a hero who’d end up getting a clump with a gun butt for trying his luck. With most, one look at Billy’s threatening mug was enough for them to comply.

Now you have an idea where we are going with this story and I can assure you next week we fire into a head load of trouble.

Stay tuned

Ta-La for now

Johnny

London Boy Johnny Mack | Injustice = Miscarriage | The Ending

This week’s “London Boy Film” blog by Johnny Mack is the concluding part to his own, true life and harrowing story of police injustice !! Of being arrested at gunpoint for a crime he had not committed, in front of his own kids, to then finding out that his wife has also been arrested, and all this carried out by a police force armed with no more evidence than some would say a long, petty and sadistic memory !! …..and at what cost?  Who pays? I’ll leave it for Johnny to tell you:

 

Injustice = Miscarriage | The Tragic End

 

Miscarriage of justice. This happened to Johnny Mack when he was falsely arrested, along with his beloved wife Carol on a a charge of armed robbery.

A story of injustice & it’s consequences !!

 …Cont’d

Being completely naked and having a size twelve boot pressed down on your windpipe isn’t much fun. Nor is having a submachine gun pressed so hard to the side of your temple that it leaves a lasting indent of a gun barrel. You think that the recipient of such police treatment would be a terrorist, murderer or a child-killing rapist. In my eyes I would be the first to agree that those types deserve that sort of reception when being arrested.

However the powers that be had decided that I Johnny Mack warranted a reception of that calibre.

The big question I hear you ask is why did he get that cruel treatment? Some of you may say. “Well what does he expect, after all he is a gangster?” Some of you will presume the police had every right to come bursting through my front door with guns drawn its acceptable. But some of you may say “Let’s hear this geezer out first before we make an opinion.”

You are all right to think what you like; it isn’t my intention to sway any you from your thoughts and opinions. I have learned over the years that it is indeed none of my business what anyone thinks of me. Everyone is entitled to have an opinion, regardless of what it is. My only intention in writing this blog is to bring out the truth about something that happened to me many years ago. That saying “What goes round comes round” comes to mind, as I get further into this story.

It was complete and utter mayhem inside my flat that winter’s morning. There were now lots of uniformed officers trudging all over the place pulling everything to the floor in their wake. The armed response unit having done their job of restraining me were now putting away their weapons. I was still naked flat out on my front with handcuffs restraining my arms behind my back. They were pulled so tight that my hands were swelling up and going purple from lack of blood circulation.

My arms were used to pull me to my feet; the pain I experienced was so bad I nearly went through the roof. As I was screaming my head off in agony I glimpsed my eldest son and daughter looking on at the treatment I was receiving. (Their poor little terrified faces still haunt me to this day.) The police were trying to get a pair of jeans on me so that they could remove me from the house. Even that simple task they couldn’t get right. I ended up being dragged down the stairs then across the estate with my balls exposed to all and sundry. And believe me it was bloody freezing which added more embarrassment to my situation.

Now I’m squeezed between to fat coppers in the back of a squad car still with my hands cuffed behind my back. I was in so much pain that, if it weren’t for the fact that I am one stubborn bastard, I would have begged them to release the cuffs. But my pride wouldn’t allow me to give these bastards the satisfaction of me asking. When I did eventually have the cuffs removed it took more than three days to regain feeling in both hands. I still had no idea what I was being arrested for. By law I should have been given a copy of their search warrant and read my rights when being arrested. But of course these bastards thought I didn’t deserve the correct procedures and so the mind games began. As we are pulling into the back of Shanklin police station the detective sergeant complete with a Jack Frost hat and moustache turns, smiles and says “Armed robbery” nothing more. My first thoughts were that someone from my past had turned super grass and now I was part of the round up of those named. My conscience was clear because I hadn’t committed any crimes here on the rock so therefore on that basis I had nothing to worry about, or so I thought. But all of a sudden it became crystal clear why this was happening to me. Like a bombshell striking its target, it dawned on me that a few years earlier I had been threatened by the police not to come back to the rock. This threat came after I got nicked for flooding the place with counterfeit notes. For those of you that have been following my blog know I had been arrested, sentenced and done my time for that crime. But now it was dawning on me that the sentence I received for that crime wasn’t enough to satisfy the police. They were now intent on following through with their threat which was to make my life hell if I stepped foot on the island.

The drink driving offence had blown my alias and they now knew who I was and where I lived. But in all fairness I never believed they would follow through with their threat. At the time I thought it was just angry coppers with resentments making idle threats, which at that time was common. But to actually go through with their threats was a shock to the system to say the least. Where I come from in London, if a gangster got a not guilty at court the coppers would treat it like a game of cat and mouse. The law would bide their time, use different tactics and in the end eventually get their man. But what was about to happen to me, even the London police wouldn’t stoop to those levels to get their man. Even if the gangsters who persistently outwitted the police; they would wait their time and play them like a game of chess until they got him. But at the end of the day whatever happened on both sides of the fence, there was always that underlying respect for each other. In most cases they wouldn’t go to those extremes of threatening to make someone including their family’s life a living hell.

Well the Isle of Wight police did stoop to those levels and my family and I were about to get a taste of living hell.

Most of what went on while I was in their custody is explained in my second autobiography “Landed on the Moon” so I won’t go into too much detail. However what I will tell you is that I was being arrested for an armed robbery on a local post office. At the time I had no transport, not even a bike and whereas my wife did not drive we used public transport to get about. (Basically we were skint!)

When I was being interviewed I was refused legal representation but I went ahead with it because, for once I was completely innocent. I had nothing to hide and only wanted to get this out of the way as quick as possible. They gave me details about the armed robbery, such as the getaway driver was a woman. They told me the time and date of the robbery and in return I gave them the perfect alibi of where I was at that specific day and time. And that was, I had been in a dentist chair receiving treatment seventeen miles away at the exact time of the robbery. I explained I had no transport and that my wife did not drive. She also had an alibi for the time of the robbery, which was, she was at home with our three kids along with my mum and dad. My parents had popped in to drop off Christmas presents for the kids and stayed for more than two hours.

After me telling them where I was at the time of the robbery I knew they would check with the dentist. Once that was confirmed I thought I would be released and allowed to go back home. But no that was not to be the case and it wasn’t long before I realised they were seriously gunning for me.

As far as I knew my wife and kids were at home while our flat was being turned upside down. But I was about to get a nasty shock when the Detective Sergeant on the case stuck his head in through the hatch of my holding cell.

I asked him what he wanted and with the biggest smirk a face could contort he said. “By the way I forgot to mention that we have nicked your wife and you’re kids are going to be put into care”

My reaction was fierce to say the least because she was completely innocent as I was. He walked off laughing to himself knowing he had hurt me badly, to the point that I was in tears. The very thought of her banged up in a police cell was to me, like hell warmed up and I could do nothing. Mad thoughts of my kids being taken screaming into foster care were whirling through my mind; I was a broken man at that point.

I insisted on having my solicitor present because it was obvious they had no evidence against me. But those slippery bastards found some wine bottle cleaner in crystal form while searching my house. They claimed it was drugs and therefore I was to be charged with possession of drugs with intent to supply.

To cut to the chase with this story, I was taken to a special court at 8pm on Christmas Eve. There they asked the court to remand me to prison so that they could get tests done on the bottle cleaner. However my solicitor was having none of it and told the court that in all his years serving the court he had never witnessed such treatment to a man.

The court gave me bail in the end and told the police to get the tests done ASAP. I was so relieved to get bail and only wanted to see my wife and family. Arriving home I found my wife in tears and her dress covered in blood. She was so upset that she couldn’t talk to me and locked herself in the bathroom.

I found my kids huddled together in the front living room amongst the wreckage the police had left behind. The Christmas tree had been snapped in two and all the kid’s presents were opened and strewn all over the floor. Some had been trodden on and were in a thousand pieces. I thought, how could anyone be so cruel because my kids were in the room as they ripped their presents apart, fucking animals!

The next shock came when I realised my wife and I had no clothes, the police had taken them for forensic testing. To hammer the nail into my coffin they also took all our Christmas money, again for forensic tests.

Eventually my wife came into the living room after cleaning herself up. She told me of her nightmare of being interrogated by those heartless bastards. When they arrested her she had just realised she was pregnant. They never gave her anytime to dress when they took her. All she had on was a loose fitting green dress and a pair of sandals. She never had a chance to put any underwear on or even a warm coat. After the bastards interrogated her and put her back in the cells she miscarried our unborn child. She was bleeding badly but she was too embarrassed to ask a male copper for a sanitary towel. She was in one hell of a mess and didn’t realise what was happening to her. In the end she got the attention of a female cleaner who gave her a towel. But because she had no underwear she could not hold it in place and spent the next four hours with her legs tight together.

When she got home the miscarriage came to it’s peak and what was left of our child went down the loo.

Did my wife or I deserve to be treated in this way…?  No we did not, in fact no one deserves that type of treatment, not even an animal.

To know the full story you’ll find it in my book ‘’Landed on the Moon” available from Amazon and my own website.

Stay tuned for other instalments of the life and times of Johnny Mack and believe me I have plenty to tell.

Ta-la for now guys

Johnny

London Boy – Injustice = Miscarriage Part 2

Well I don’t know who has been anticipating the publication of this continuing story of johnny’s the most this week. London Boy fans, Me, or the Hampshire police constabulary? What I do know is that this second instalment is not to be missed. You also get a word from the London Boy himself, as Johnny introduces personally this week by video. Enjoy…. 

 

Miscarriage of justice. This happened to Johnny Mack when he was falsely arrested, along with his beloved wife Carol on a a charge of armed robbery.

A life long, a life lost. A story of injustice & it’s consequences. The police in this country and rightly so, possess many powers. However, with great power comes great responsibility !! WHO IS RESPONSIBLE ?

There are slight timing issues with this video and for that all of us at London Boy apologise. However you’ll be glad to know that nothing is lost and the passion for this story to be told and heard still shines through.

There I was, now living on the Island (The Rock) with my family starting afresh and away from crime and drugs. Back in London the false rumour of me being stabbed and dying over in Spain had worked a treat. There was only one person who knew of my whereabouts and that person was family. It was that person who kept their ear to the ground for what was going around on the criminal grapevine. Then promptly let me know the score that my plan worked.

I had no choice but to go to these extreme measures because, me quitting the criminal fraternity wasn’t an option. You see; with regard the firms illicit dealings, I’d been around so long that I knew way too much about what had gone down. Over the years I had witnessed so many things that me leaving would make some of them very nervous. But more importantly if for some reason in the distant future I had decided to go rogue. I would have been in a position to name everybody that was involved in everything. In the firms eyes it would be much safer to run me out to Epping Forest. There waiting for me would have been a pre-dug grave where I would receive my pension award; a bullet to the head.

But of course I would not dream of such a thing because these people were like family to me. I had known most of them since I was that cocky 10 year old that they took under their wings. They taught me everything I needed to know to be able to survive in the harsh world of the criminal fraternity. Included in their teachings was the real value of the word respect and believe me they taught me well because respect, I had plenty of.

But I had broken all the rules by having and hiding the fact that I had a big drug problem. I became paranoid that they would find out about it and if that happened, I’ll be dead in hours of them getting wind of the news. I had been playing with fire back then and knew it only too well. But even knowing what would happen to me if they found out about my problem. My addictive personality was so strong in me that it was beating my will power hands down. I just couldn’t stop myself so it would have only been a matter of time before the shit hit the fan. So when my then wife took my kids away to the rock, it took her doing that to gain the strength I needed to get myself clean.

Spreading that rumour about my death may have worked for most people. I knew the firm wouldn’t have accepted it hook line and sinker. No far from it, because they would have been too sceptical to swallow it straight away. The more time I stayed away off the radar the more they would come to terms with it.

But now I was clean off the drugs and away from the mayhem that crime produces. For the first time in my life I felt alive and free with the added bonus of no more looking over my shoulder. Once I accepted the fact that there was no going back, I tried to live the life of a law-abiding citizen. Though we were skint and living in what resembled a shed where the only heating was a hole in the wall masquerading itself as a tiny coal fire, I was happy. We had 2.2 kids, meaning my youngest son Danny was just a baby. The place was so cold at night that ice formed on the inside of the windows. Some nights we would wheel his cot into the tiny kitchen and light the gas stove just so he could be kept warm.

During the daytime I found myself beach combing and collecting firewood for the fire, real survival shit. The things I would find on a beach especially after a big storm hitting out in the channel was amazing. Some of the stuff was re-saleable and some I would keep for myself. I was now living a life that only a little while ago was totally alien to me. and adjusting to it, I knew would be a huge challenge.

My second autobiography “Landed on the Moon” which is all about my life on the Isle of Wight was named appropriately. Basically because they were the first words to pass my lips when I arrived here on the rock. And don’t get it in your head and think that the book is boring and all about red necks and vegetables because you would be well wrong. Part of this story is published in that book with the highlight of the storyline being me seeing the light that completely changed my life.

I got myself a job at the local shipyard still working under an alias. But because I didn’t have proof of my national insurance number I had to pay at an emergency income tax rate, being one third of my wages. I couldn’t believe I was working 50-60 hours per week for less money then I would spend on a normal night out at a pub back in London. So every penny I earned went on food and coal (Lots of it ha ha) By the end of the winter I had burnt everything that could be burnt from the inside of the shed, doors, cabinets, even the fucking wardrobes. Out in the garden I cut down the whole surrounding 6ft x 3ft hedge, including the apple & plum trees and burnt the fucking lot for warmth. If you are a tree huger then I’m sorry if I’ve upset you by that comment, but where needs be, needs must. But once the summer came along it was a different story. The shed now seemed to take on a different aura because minus that hedge it now had a sea view with lots of sunshine making it a cool place to live.

Cut to the chase after a year or so the local council offered us a top floor three bedrooms flat in a town called Ryde. When I mentioned the location of my new future abode, the locals in my pub pulled long faces and started shaking theirs heads in disapproval. I’m thinking what the fuck is it with my new address that makes these red necks react like this? They go on to tell me that my new flat is situated in a really bad area and on a very bad housing estate that has a very bad reputation. “Scum bags and criminals only get to live there” one local tells me. At that moment in time the very thought of being wrapped around scum bags and criminals almost felt desirable. Since I arrived on the rock I had been wrapped around these local vegetable loving inbred red necks and if I’m to be honest, they were doing my nut in! So when they offered us the flat I thought I would take a quick look at the place before we were officially meant to. The idea being was to see if there was any credibility to the local’s claims about the place.

Well, when my old man drives me onto this so-called hostile no-go scum bag only housing estate I couldn’t believe my eyes. To me it looked like a holiday camp with beautiful lush green lawns; beautiful trees and a lovely kid play area including the sand. Back in London a play area like this one would have been dismantled scrapped for metal value and the sand sold on to a builder or whatever. I compared this place to a housing estate back in South London and this place came out with 15 stars +

So when we started to settle in at our new abode it wasn’t too long before the local criminal fraternity began getting nosy. Word had got round the estate that a cockney wide boy had moved in and they wanted to give me the once over to check me out. They wanted to know all about me and where I’m a tight-lipped fucker they got told in no uncertain terms where to go. I had to laugh at some of these lemons because they seemed to be caught in a time warp. Adorning their heads with Mullet style haircuts was supposed to be the in thing. As was drainpipe jeans with big jackboots to match were to them the height of fashion. But the worse thing about most of them was that they were shy of a bar of soap and allergic to water. Those that suffered from this allergy thought getting soaked in a rainstorm was the equivalent of taking their monthly shower.

There was a bonus about living with locals, who were either inbred or slightly backward, especially where crime and drugs were concerned. For instance they hadn’t a clue about organised crime nor did they have any structure with their law breaking. With them it was all about robbing their own, house break-ins and petty theft. When I first met one of the Island’s top faces who was supposed to be the main man for that particular part of the island. My first impression of him was that he was a shilling short of a pound with an ego the size of a house.

When I think back to those days in the mid eighties, If my then wife had not left London with the kids I would definitely have ended up on a mortuary slab. I suppose there is not many ex husbands who can say that they’re ex wife saved their life. Regardless of our differences later on in life I am still indebted to her for making that decision to move out of London. I understand now she didn’t do it so that I would sort myself out, she done it purely for the kids’ welfare. When she moved to the rock taking the kids I managed to find the strength to get clean off the drugs by going cold turkey. I also realised that a life altering change that was within me was now way overdue showing itself.

I made the tough decision to leave the firm, which meant turning my back on crime to live the life of a normal person. My reason for these all important life changes was simple and that was because I loved my kids more than anything.

Every change I’ve made in my life has had a knock-on effect and me giving up crime and drugs done exactly that. Apart from writing novels and screenplays and of course let’s not forget my blog. Today I find myself helping others such as alcoholics/addicts and criminals to turn their lives around. And I do this, not by giving them advice because me giving advice is not a good thing. I do it purely by sharing my own experiences, strengths and hopes with them. Because of my past, most of my clients relate to me when they first meet me. One thing is for sure and that is they can never say that famous phrase “You don’t understand”

After a couple of years living in my no go, scum bags only three bedroom flat, my anonymity was blown when I got a tug by the police while driving my car. By this time I had not touched a drug but found solace at the bottom of a bottle of booze.

I had been on an all day bender when I stupidly decided to drive the half-mile to my home. One of the red necks had grassed me up to the law, not because they were on an anti-drink and drive campaign. No far from it because the geezer who grassed was a frequent drink driver himself. He had done it because he hated “Overners” (People who are born off the Island) and was jealous of our ways and ideas.

Anyway I fell out of the car when they opened the door to arrest me. The blood sample they took from me came back as having one of the highest readings ever recorded on the island. Of course here in the UK drink driving is a criminal offence and that meant a court appearance. Going through the police process of being charged and assessed for court brought to light my true identity.

Within three days of the incident I got an unexpected visit from a couple of police officers. I recognised both of them from my previous exploits on the rock a few years earlier. I was reminded of the warning given to me back then that if I ever stepped foot on the rock my life would be made hell.

Because I had such a high alcohol reading from my blood sample I could have lost my liberty let alone my driving license. So after getting that visit from the local police I knew they were after putting me back inside. I wouldn’t mind because if that happened I would of only got a couple of months and with our sentencing laws here in the UK I would have been out in two to four weeks. My biggest upset was that they knew where I was now. And from experience I knew that they could set me up on more serious charges if they put their mind to it. In this case if it weren’t for the fact that I had saved a family of six in a house fire a few weeks before I appeared at court I would undoubtedly have gone to prison. Because of my heroics I was banned from driving and given a fine.

Because of my driving ban I decided to get rid of my car. After all there was no point having a car sitting out on the driveway for the next couple of years. We were struggling a bit financially and the money got from my car sale dwindled very quickly.

I started to do a bit of work for a local builder, not much just a few hours here and there. To make ends meet I started to buy and sell a few bits and pieces at auctions. It didn’t make a lot of money but it was enough to get us through. Having three kids at that time was quite expensive to feed and clothe them, so all I earned went straight into the kitty.

It was getting close to Christmas and my then wife who was good with money had already bought little presents for the kids throughout the year. This saved us that last minute run-around trying to find the cash to pay for prezzies.  Not only did she manage to get all the presents, she also got the food and nibbles, the sort of things you have at Xmas time. So we may not have had money but we had a full larder of food and drink to see us over the festive season.

We was also coming up to out wedding anniversary and for that we never really went too crazy. We would stick to a card or a bunch of flowers with a promise of a belated honeymoon once we got flush again with cash. So as you can gather we were skint but we weren’t going to go hungry. The way we saw it, was providing the kids were catered for at Christmas then we were happy. Most of you that are reading this will understand and relate to having hard times financially at the festive period.

On our wedding anniversary (being 23 Rd December), we were to experience something that would change our lives forever. It came right out the blue and was totally unexpected. I was a reformed villain, having no contact or involvement with other criminals nor was I wanting to. However the powers that be decided that was not the case and decided to make my life hell.

It was around six in the morning when I was woken by the nozzle of a sub-machine gun being jammed into the side of my head. A twenty stone police officer complete with body armour was kneeling on my spine screaming at my wife and me. The duvet covers being thrown back exposing my wife’s and I nakedness in front of six armed police officers. My two-year-old son screaming his head off as he witnesses police with their weapons drawn drag his teenage sister from her bed. My ten –year old son petrified by being held to the floor by two burly coppers.

I’m going to leave it their guys and next week is the name and shame time for the Hampshire Police Constabulary.

So don’t miss it !!

Ta la for now

Johnny