LITMIR.BIZ

       BACKGROUND

      I was born in Cornwall. There’s nothing much to say about Cornwall except that the pasties are nice! The eldest son of two brothers and two sisters. My dad was in the Army most of the time, so the discipline was left to my mother, and I must say she was a dab hand with a broom handle!

      I came to London when I was 42 years old, after I’d been round the world doing various naughty things. I followed my heart, and a girl, to London. The romance didn’t last long. When I got some ‘bird’ she pissed off with someone else. Aah well, you can’t win ’em all. But I stayed in London – on business of course!

       LIFE OF CRIME

      I’ve been away for 18 years altogether but have been sentenced to about 35, most of which were for crimes of violence and armed robbery.

       WEAPONRY

      I only need one finger to beat the biggest man in the world – my trigger finger.

       TOUGHEST MOMENT

      Losing my dad, I think, was the toughest moment in my life. He died in 1963 when I was in Dartmoor. The screw unlocked my cell and told me straight that my dad had died. I couldn’t even get a day out for the funeral.

       IS THERE ANYONE YOU ADMIRE?

      Joey Pyle. He’s a fair man, he’s loyal, he’ll stick to his guns and he won’t turn anyone over. What you see is what you get with Joe.

       DO YOU BELIEVE IN HANGING?

      For crimes against women and children – yes, I do.

       IS PRISON A DETERRENT?

      While you’re young it’s not, the consequences just go over your head. You don’t think about getting caught or else you wouldn’t do the crime. Every thief in the country believes he will never get caught – someone else, but never him.

      I know some of the hardest men around who cry themselves to sleep because they just cannot stand being locked up. Then there’s people like Reggie Kray and Ronnie Fields. They don’t do it easy, they do it the best way they can. When you get to a certain age, you look back and think about everything you’ve missed and start to think twice. I’m 65 now. I don’t want any more bird.

       WHAT MAKES A TOUGH GUY?

      Pride is a part of it. If you’ve got pride in yourself, there’s no way you’ll be made a mug of. It’s not muscular development or anything like that. I know little blokes that are as hard as nails. I think it’s pride and having a sense of right and wrong. If somebody does you wrong, then you’ve got to do something about it. It’s hard to put into words. You can have a bloke as big as a house that can’t hold his hands up because he just hasn’t got the heart. Having a heart plays a big part in being a tough guy.

       MICK’S FINAL THOUGHT

      I don’t feel in danger in my local pub just having a quiet drink. But there are times when I go out and stand with my back to the bar and watch certain people all night. To me, Roy Shaw was one of those. Although he’s straight with his mates, if I didn’t know him I’d be very, very careful. I think it’s the unpredictability of some people’s nature. Ronnie Kray would fly into a rage for no apparent reason, like swearing in front of a lady. Roy Shaw is exactly the same. Something would snap in Roy if he thought you were taking the piss. You can say what you like to me, but if you take the piss or if I thought my life was in danger or I was going to get nicked, I’d kill you – no hesitation.

       HARD BASTARD

       Charlie Bronson

       D oing a life sentence

      CHARLIE BRONSON

       I visited Charlie Bronson – the most dangerous prisoner in the penal system – at Woodhill Prison, Milton Keynes. Woodhill is a top security prison and hasa specially designed unit for men with no release date and nothing to lose. It’s a prison within a prison, known as Britain’s Alcatraz.

      Charlie has spent 26 years out of the last 30 in solitary confinement in prisons like Woodhill. He has been locked in dungeons, in iron boxes concreted into the middle of cells and, famously, in a cage like the fictional Hannibal Lecter. He has endured more periods of isolation than any other living British prisoner, spending months at a time with nothing more than cockroaches for company. He is always held under maximum security, in a spartan cell with little more than a fire-proof bed and a table and chair made from compressed cardboard. When he’s unlocked, up to 12 prison officers – sometimes in riot gear and with dogs – are standing by.

      I arrived for my visit half-an-hour early. I parked my car and went to the reception desk, told them my name and gave them my passport for identification.

      I wasn’t told to sit with other prison visitors but was shown into a small, secure room. An officer handed me a piece of paper with a number on and motioned his head towards a large tray. I was then told to remove my jacket, shoes and watch ready to be searched. I passed through an X-ray machine identical to the ones you find at airports. I was then asked to move to another area and stand on a special box with both my arms out in order to be searched.

      I was asked to open my mouth and lift my tongue. An officer looked in my ears and up my nose, then felt under my arms, around my chest and down my body. I had to lift my feet so that they could examine in between my toes. I was then told to lean back and throw my hair forward. I asked what they were looking for – concealed drugs and weapons. Eventually, I was given back the tray containing my possessions and permission was granted for me to continue to the next gate accompanied by three officers.

      ‘Lima two six, lima two six, permission to walk?’

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