Chopper Unchopped by Mark Brandon "Chopper" Read Page B

give that away to help me’. And I said I would. And when he wrote to me the truth was, he was right, I didn’t want to give it all away. I didn’t want to attack that judge and it really was a half-hearted effort.
    The thing was that I had given my word that I would do it. Back when I was 24, that was very serious to me, that I had sworn, on my friendship to Jimmy Loughnan, that I would try and get him out.
    When he wrote to me, I was having a good time. I didn’t want to walk away from all that but I had given my word, and I was obliged to go through with it. So I went and did what I did, and naturally I got caught.
    If it had worked I was going to surrender myself anyway, so it was certain jail — win, lose or draw. I don’t know if I was insane; I can’t think on that level now. I had a deep sense of friendship, but over the years the more knives that got stuck in my back and the more times I was betrayed, that sense of friendship becomes less and less.
    I remember I was living with a girl named Lindy at the time. I remember kissing her goodbye on that morning and then ‘Dave the Jew’ drove me to the court.
    I went into the County Court building with a shotgun stuffed down the front of my pants. I asked a policeman there which courts were in session. He told me and I walked into the first one I saw. Judge Martin was the first cab off the rank. I climbed onto the judge’s bench, put the gun to his head and demanded Jimmy’s release. I knew it could never work but I had given my word to try.
    I remember after it was all over I wrote to Judge Martin and said I was sorry and he wrote back to me. I no longer have the letters, but it seems I had met him at the Melbourne Cup in November 1977 a few months before. He was very concerned for me and wished me all the very best for the future. I thought that was very nice of him. I had no ill will towards him. It was all to try to get Jimmy Loughnan out of J Ward.
    I wouldn’t attack a judge now, to get anyone out of jail, because too many people have betrayed me. Too many people have stabbed me in the back. Too much has happened to me. To be stabbed by the same bloke that I tried to get out of jail is a terrible lesson, a good lesson, but a hard way to learn. So the Mark Read of then is not the Mark Read of now. We all grow, don’t we?
    *
    Jimmy Loughnan escaped quite a few times from Pentridge simply because he tried so many times. I’ve only tried once, and I knew it was a stupid idea even before agreeing to go along. No one else would be in it, but I had nothing better to do.
    Here is what we did. Me and Jim got ourselves nailed into a small crawl space between the roof of the B Division library and the B Division theatre. We had to then cut our way through the floor of the theatre, cut our way through the bars of the theatre window, climb down then get over the wall.
    It sounds simple. We took a bottle of water mixed with cordial, four bags of lollies, some chocolates — and a butcher’s knife. We were, by the way, going to cut through the theatre floor with the bloody butcher’s knife. It was all so hopeless. We had half a hacksaw blade to cut the bars of the theatre window. And we had to hide in the crawl space, nailed in with no way out except the theatre floor, hiding from the screws. We were supposed to hide for a good 24 hours before we made our move …
    I shook my head when I heard the plan, but went along with it for the sheer hell of it. The things one does in the name of friendship.
    We were in the crawl space. The night muster bell rang and the screws were alerted that two were missing. A big search started for us — there were bells ringing, the whole bit.
    Jim wanted to take a piss. Then he wanted a lolly. Then he wanted a chocolate, then a drink of cordial. We’d been hiding four hours and Jim had eaten all the supplies, drank half the water and cordial and taken three leaks. And there was hardly any air. What a fiasco.
    God, I was glad when they