idea how to survive in this strange outside world. For six years I had relied on the army for everything -food, clothes, accommodation, security -and now for the first time in my life I was hearing all about mortgages and how you even had to pay for your water and electricity.
This may sound stupid to some, but it is something that you take for granted in the army and I was struggling to learn how to cope, in much the same way, as I was to learn later, that long-term prisoners struggle on their eventual release. In the same way, the army had just kicked me back into the society they had just as quickly scooped me up from all those years earlier without any form of rehabilitation or resettlement course as they call it.
While I was desperate for money and guidance, my old mate Simon's dad, Jim, came to my rescue and offered me a few weeks' work labouring for his firm in the Inner Temple opposite the High Court in Fleet Street. This was a good job and I was grateful for the opportunity, but I knew it was only temporary and I was beginning to panic about my long-term future.
In the end I was forced to take a security job with Reliance Security Services on a new development near St Catherine's Dock in East London. Initially I hated this job. After the army it seemed like a right Mickey Mouse company, although I was to learn later after joining the Prison Service just what working for a real Mickey Mouse firm was like. The job entailed seven twelve-hour days followed, after three days off, by seven twelve-hour nights from six in the morning to six at night. I am not taking anything away from security guards when I say that personally I felt that I was worth more than this but I just didn't know what at the time.
Things did look up when after about four months I was promoted to the dizzy heights of shift supervisor and was joined at the site by Harry, my old mate from two RGJ, and Louis, an ex-Green Jacket from the First Battalion who I new from my Shrewsbury days. From then on we formed our own little clique, and it wasn't long before we had the whole complex sussed out and keys for every store cupboard and kitchen on it.
They were long and boring days, but the three of us did our best to liven them up. We carried out classic boredom pranks like putting boot polish on the receivers of all the telephones in the offices in the early hours, then stood giggling as we noticed these pathetic yuppies flapping around all day with black ears, none of them noticing their own ears and each too scared to tell the others about theirs. On night shift we would rig doors to slam and send other security guards and mobile units off on wild goose chases around our site and other sites all over London. On one particularly long and boring night we even moved the entire contents of an office owned by a mobile phone company two floors up to a vacant floor. These were childish acts, I know, but it kept us going, although none of us was surprised that the company had lost the bid for the renewal of the security contract when it came up at the end of the year.
Meanwhile, the situation at home had not improved much since I had left home at fifteen. Although my dad was now away in Wales most weekends and I was working long hours, when our paths did cross it was a pretty tense atmosphere. When I initially left the army I had applied to join the Ministry of Defence Police and had sat and passed the exam at the Royal Ulster Constabulary headquarters in Enniskillen. The officer adjudicating advised me that I would definitely pass as long as I wrote all my answers in pencil. Almost a year later, after I had gone through two further interviews and a home visit and while I was waiting for a date to report to the training depot, I received a letter telling me that the Ministry was very sorry but as a result of the recent announcement of the cutbacks in the military they were cancelling all recruitment. They were therefore unable to offer me employment at this
This may sound stupid to some, but it is something that you take for granted in the army and I was struggling to learn how to cope, in much the same way, as I was to learn later, that long-term prisoners struggle on their eventual release. In the same way, the army had just kicked me back into the society they had just as quickly scooped me up from all those years earlier without any form of rehabilitation or resettlement course as they call it.
While I was desperate for money and guidance, my old mate Simon's dad, Jim, came to my rescue and offered me a few weeks' work labouring for his firm in the Inner Temple opposite the High Court in Fleet Street. This was a good job and I was grateful for the opportunity, but I knew it was only temporary and I was beginning to panic about my long-term future.
In the end I was forced to take a security job with Reliance Security Services on a new development near St Catherine's Dock in East London. Initially I hated this job. After the army it seemed like a right Mickey Mouse company, although I was to learn later after joining the Prison Service just what working for a real Mickey Mouse firm was like. The job entailed seven twelve-hour days followed, after three days off, by seven twelve-hour nights from six in the morning to six at night. I am not taking anything away from security guards when I say that personally I felt that I was worth more than this but I just didn't know what at the time.
Things did look up when after about four months I was promoted to the dizzy heights of shift supervisor and was joined at the site by Harry, my old mate from two RGJ, and Louis, an ex-Green Jacket from the First Battalion who I new from my Shrewsbury days. From then on we formed our own little clique, and it wasn't long before we had the whole complex sussed out and keys for every store cupboard and kitchen on it.
They were long and boring days, but the three of us did our best to liven them up. We carried out classic boredom pranks like putting boot polish on the receivers of all the telephones in the offices in the early hours, then stood giggling as we noticed these pathetic yuppies flapping around all day with black ears, none of them noticing their own ears and each too scared to tell the others about theirs. On night shift we would rig doors to slam and send other security guards and mobile units off on wild goose chases around our site and other sites all over London. On one particularly long and boring night we even moved the entire contents of an office owned by a mobile phone company two floors up to a vacant floor. These were childish acts, I know, but it kept us going, although none of us was surprised that the company had lost the bid for the renewal of the security contract when it came up at the end of the year.
Meanwhile, the situation at home had not improved much since I had left home at fifteen. Although my dad was now away in Wales most weekends and I was working long hours, when our paths did cross it was a pretty tense atmosphere. When I initially left the army I had applied to join the Ministry of Defence Police and had sat and passed the exam at the Royal Ulster Constabulary headquarters in Enniskillen. The officer adjudicating advised me that I would definitely pass as long as I wrote all my answers in pencil. Almost a year later, after I had gone through two further interviews and a home visit and while I was waiting for a date to report to the training depot, I received a letter telling me that the Ministry was very sorry but as a result of the recent announcement of the cutbacks in the military they were cancelling all recruitment. They were therefore unable to offer me employment at this
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