patients, I was too engrossed in our conversation. I was too excited. But it couldn’t last – nothing ever did with me!
In that room there were 25 of us. All of us had our own problems, but I can honestly say that three-quarters of those guys were so mad it was impossible to relate to them. They were the craziest fuckers I’d ever met! There were all sorts in the room, all dangerously disturbed men and all on observation.
Dr Pat McGrath was in charge of Somerset. He’d also been the Superintendent of Broadmoor for over 30 years. I personally respected the man. We had several discussions and I found him very interesting. He’d seen it all.
I was put on an anti-psychotic drug called Modicate which was injected into my buttocks every two weeks.Other drugs I had were taken orally – Stelazine, Chloral Hydrate and Largactil. I hated them. I despised having to take them, but I had no choice.
If I was asked what I believed my problem to be, I would say that I was suffering with anxiety and stress caused by five years’ mental and physical abuse. Stress is a very touchy subject. Unless you’ve really suffered it, you’ll have little or no idea. Some doctors don’t even understand it – and many don’t want to.
It is not about being under too much pressure, having too much grief. Anxiety is the same – it’s not about panic attacks. Anxiety and stress can cut you to the core. Your body is not your own; you shake uncontrollably, you have to piss when you don’t want to, you forget things, you cry, you shamble around like a man three times your age. It affects a lot of people and it’s not nice!
I truly believed by then that I was a very messed up and dangerously disturbed man. Maybe I was a psychopath. Who knows? I honestly don’t.
But I did know one thing – once Ron and Robbo moved on, I would flip my lid!
After a few weeks, Ron and Robbo left. Ron went to Somerset Ward Three and Robbo went to Cornwall House. And me? I went to fucking pieces! My mind began to wander. Then Gordon Robinson arrived.
Gordon Robinson was a black guy. From the start we didn’t hit it off as he was just a big-mouth. We had a few words and I managed to slip into the toilets unseen. I hit him so hard with a right hook I thought I’d killed him. It was a perfect punch. I didn’t need to follow it up, but I did. As I left the lunatic in a pile on the floor, I knew our paths would cross again.
Then young George Shipley arrived from Feltham Borstal in Middlesex. The second he strolled into the room I took to him. I called him over. I sorted him out, told him what’s what.
He was a breath of fresh air for me. He lifted me out of a low period. George was a violent, aggressive lad but conducted himself well. He frightened a lot of the loons but I loved the guy. He represented ‘prison’; prison was all over him – he was a ‘time man’. I could relate to him. I could trust him and that, to me, was marvellous.
We played chess and Scrabble and I knew we would end up good pals for a long time. I was beginning to realise that in these asylums good friends are so few. They were riddled with grasses. The lunatics never even saw it as grassing. It used to make me and George sick to witness it.
‘Please, sir – he’s just taken two cakes’; ‘Please, sir – he’s just torn a page out of the TV Times ’; ‘Please, sir – he’s smoking in the recess.’ All silly bollocks like that.
George and I tried to switch off and play our games. We wanted no part. But, sadly, it was impossible being in the same room as them.
It caused us a lot of problems but there were ways of dealing with the persistent loons who kept upsetting us. Even though the wardens were in the same room as us, I stabbed one rat in the eye with a lighted fag. I got another one with a kick to his bollocks as he was going out of the room.
One fat bastard who had killed his wife and kids arrived on the ward. Within a week, he was the staff’s tea-boy. It made
In that room there were 25 of us. All of us had our own problems, but I can honestly say that three-quarters of those guys were so mad it was impossible to relate to them. They were the craziest fuckers I’d ever met! There were all sorts in the room, all dangerously disturbed men and all on observation.
Dr Pat McGrath was in charge of Somerset. He’d also been the Superintendent of Broadmoor for over 30 years. I personally respected the man. We had several discussions and I found him very interesting. He’d seen it all.
I was put on an anti-psychotic drug called Modicate which was injected into my buttocks every two weeks.Other drugs I had were taken orally – Stelazine, Chloral Hydrate and Largactil. I hated them. I despised having to take them, but I had no choice.
If I was asked what I believed my problem to be, I would say that I was suffering with anxiety and stress caused by five years’ mental and physical abuse. Stress is a very touchy subject. Unless you’ve really suffered it, you’ll have little or no idea. Some doctors don’t even understand it – and many don’t want to.
It is not about being under too much pressure, having too much grief. Anxiety is the same – it’s not about panic attacks. Anxiety and stress can cut you to the core. Your body is not your own; you shake uncontrollably, you have to piss when you don’t want to, you forget things, you cry, you shamble around like a man three times your age. It affects a lot of people and it’s not nice!
I truly believed by then that I was a very messed up and dangerously disturbed man. Maybe I was a psychopath. Who knows? I honestly don’t.
But I did know one thing – once Ron and Robbo moved on, I would flip my lid!
After a few weeks, Ron and Robbo left. Ron went to Somerset Ward Three and Robbo went to Cornwall House. And me? I went to fucking pieces! My mind began to wander. Then Gordon Robinson arrived.
Gordon Robinson was a black guy. From the start we didn’t hit it off as he was just a big-mouth. We had a few words and I managed to slip into the toilets unseen. I hit him so hard with a right hook I thought I’d killed him. It was a perfect punch. I didn’t need to follow it up, but I did. As I left the lunatic in a pile on the floor, I knew our paths would cross again.
Then young George Shipley arrived from Feltham Borstal in Middlesex. The second he strolled into the room I took to him. I called him over. I sorted him out, told him what’s what.
He was a breath of fresh air for me. He lifted me out of a low period. George was a violent, aggressive lad but conducted himself well. He frightened a lot of the loons but I loved the guy. He represented ‘prison’; prison was all over him – he was a ‘time man’. I could relate to him. I could trust him and that, to me, was marvellous.
We played chess and Scrabble and I knew we would end up good pals for a long time. I was beginning to realise that in these asylums good friends are so few. They were riddled with grasses. The lunatics never even saw it as grassing. It used to make me and George sick to witness it.
‘Please, sir – he’s just taken two cakes’; ‘Please, sir – he’s just torn a page out of the TV Times ’; ‘Please, sir – he’s smoking in the recess.’ All silly bollocks like that.
George and I tried to switch off and play our games. We wanted no part. But, sadly, it was impossible being in the same room as them.
It caused us a lot of problems but there were ways of dealing with the persistent loons who kept upsetting us. Even though the wardens were in the same room as us, I stabbed one rat in the eye with a lighted fag. I got another one with a kick to his bollocks as he was going out of the room.
One fat bastard who had killed his wife and kids arrived on the ward. Within a week, he was the staff’s tea-boy. It made