DRUGS AND ROCK ‘N’ROLL Ian Dury and the Blockheads had a song out called ‘Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll’ which fitted the story of my life very well. It was the theme tune for this period of my life, and many others around our area and similar areas in the UK. Opiates, heroin, Diconal made me feel warm, comforted and healed. I fell in love with the only love I had ever known. It was deathly, dangerous, yet it took all the pain away. The only way to get it was through regular criminal activities and from doctors, legally and illegally. Meanwhile I had been building up a hefty Crown Court appearance list with various drug related crimes and shop burglary, we even tried to get the safe out of a local Co-op store! We were crazy, but whilst mooching around the back of the largest department store in the town centre, we noticed one of the back doors had been left open! This was like letting kids loose in a sweet shop, well the sweet shop part of the mall or supermarket these days! We were out of our heads on downers, or benzodiazepines, and alcohol. It was more disorganised crime than organised. We started filling bags up with watches, but this was a department store, if we’d have been in a fit state and thought this out properly, well, we could have started to empty the place. It also had a bank on the top floor. I had a brainwave. We got some tools from the DIY department, and slid under the bank tellers’ serving hatches, and started to try and saw through the Co-op Bank’s safe! We took turns at sawing and chiselling like crazy, sweat dripping of us. We were trying to saw through the hinges of the old safe and were getting closer and closer! This could be the big one, all by a flukey chance. One of the team left with his bag of swag – watches, jewellery, etc. – he was the wise one; we carried on and on. Anyway, the top man of the store, the boss, remembered he had not locked this door and came back! Suddenly, looking directly at us were the police, loads of them, some in uniform, some plain clothes. ‘Come on then,’ they pleaded, they couldn’t get through the tellers’ windows. (I told you I was skinny!) So me and my friend Neil ran away and hid in an old dusty room at the back of the department store. We sat there; we must have looked a sight, hiding with all the clothing dummies! All dummies together! We could hear the police and the dogs. ‘They’re gonna find us,’ I whispered as I heard the dogs, this is what they’re trained for. Right then, we made a decision: let’s make a run for it. So we started creeping out of the darkened room, onto the back fire exit. ‘Here they are!’ a policeman yelled. Off we ran. Now opposite the Co-op on this lovely summer’s evening were all the locals cheering us on as we ran as fast as we could; it was very Keystone Cop-ish. The entertainment that night was on us: everyone was cheering and laughing as we kept running. It was no good – we were unfit drug addicts, they were fit healthy policemen with dogs: do the maths, they caught us. They put us in the police van and took us to the police station. As soon as the doors opened again I was off, running as fast as I could. I got about a quarter of a mile away, chest burning, getting more and more out of breath. I was caught, again! This time they handcuffed me. I was taken back to the police station and bailed. The rumour went around that we had been caught whilst posing as dummies in the shop window! At this time I had got talking to a beautiful blonde woman who was my age and worked in a bank. I managed to chat her up and we started dating. This was probably my second serious relationship. Her name was Debbie and she lived in the next town although she stayed over at our house a lot. We did have a good relationship, looking back; we had fun, shared musical tastes, and we smoked dope together. I was still mad for Diconal, or any other opiate when there were none around. You guessed it – she devised an elaborate system to steal money for us, to buy drugs and so that I could play the big shot. This money was in crisp £50 notes and it kept us going until I had to appear at Manchester Crown Court. We were expecting borstal training, and welcomed it; it was another progression in my educational training and the family I was now part of.

DRUGS AND ROCK ‘N’ROLL

Ian Dury and the Blockheads had a song out called ‘Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll’ which fitted the story of my life very well. It was the theme tune for this period of my life, and many others around our area and similar areas in the UK.

Opiates, heroin, Diconal made me feel warm, comforted and healed. I fell in love with the only love I had ever known. It was deathly, dangerous, yet it took all the pain away. The only way to get it was through regular criminal activities and from doctors, legally and illegally. Meanwhile I had been building up a hefty Crown Court appearance list with various drug related crimes and shop burglary, we even tried to get the safe out of a local Co-op store! We were crazy, but whilst mooching around the back of the largest department store in the town centre, we noticed one of the back doors had been left open! This was like letting kids loose in a sweet shop, well the sweet shop part of the mall or supermarket these days!

We were out of our heads on downers, or benzodiazepines, and alcohol. It was more disorganised crime than organised. We started filling bags up with watches, but this was a department store, if we’d have been in a fit state and thought this out properly, well, we could have started to empty the place. It also had a bank on the top floor. I had a brainwave. We got some tools from the DIY department, and slid under the bank tellers’ serving hatches, and started to try and saw through the Co-op Bank’s safe! We took turns at sawing and chiselling like crazy, sweat dripping of us. We were trying to saw through the hinges of the old safe and were getting closer and closer! This could be the big one, all by a flukey chance. One of the team left with his bag of swag – watches, jewellery, etc. – he was the wise one; we carried on and on. Anyway, the top man of the store, the boss, remembered he had not locked this door and came back! Suddenly, looking directly at us were the police, loads of them, some in uniform, some plain clothes. ‘Come on then,’ they pleaded, they couldn’t get through the tellers’ windows. (I told you I was skinny!) So me and my friend Neil ran away and hid in an old dusty room at the back of the department store.

We sat there; we must have looked a sight, hiding with all the clothing dummies! All dummies together! We could hear the police and the dogs.

‘They’re gonna find us,’ I whispered as I heard the dogs, this is what they’re trained for. Right then, we made a decision: let’s make a run for it. So we started creeping out of the darkened room, onto the back fire exit.

‘Here they are!’ a policeman yelled.

Off we ran. Now opposite the Co-op on this lovely summer’s evening were all the locals cheering us on as we ran as fast as we could; it was very Keystone Cop-ish. The entertainment that night was on us: everyone was cheering and laughing as we kept running. It was no good – we were unfit drug addicts, they were fit healthy policemen with dogs: do the maths, they caught us.

They put us in the police van and took us to the police station. As soon as the doors opened again I was off, running as fast as I could. I got about a quarter of a mile away, chest burning, getting more and more out of breath. I was caught, again! This time they handcuffed me. I was taken back to the police station and bailed. The rumour went around that we had been caught whilst posing as dummies in the shop window!

At this time I had got talking to a beautiful blonde woman who was my age and worked in a bank. I managed to chat her up and we started dating. This was probably my second serious relationship. Her name was Debbie and she lived in the next town although she stayed over at our house a lot. We did have a good relationship, looking back; we had fun, shared musical tastes, and we smoked dope together. I was still mad for Diconal, or any other opiate when there were none around. You guessed it – she devised an elaborate system to steal money for us, to buy drugs and so that I could play the big shot. This money was in crisp £50 notes and it kept us going until I had to appear at Manchester Crown Court. We were expecting borstal training, and welcomed it; it was another progression in my educational training and the family I was now part of.

DRUGS AND ROCK ‘N’ROLL Ian Dury and the Blockheads had a song out called ‘Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll’ which fitted the story of my life very well. It was the theme tune for this period of my life, and many others around our area and similar areas in the UK. Opiates, heroin, Diconal made me feel warm, comforted and healed. I fell in love with the only love I had ever known. It was deathly, dangerous, yet it took all the pain away. The only way to get it was through regular criminal activities and from doctors, legally and illegally. Meanwhile I had been building up a hefty Crown Court appearance list with various drug related crimes and shop burglary, we even tried to get the safe out of a local Co-op store! We were crazy, but whilst mooching around the back of the largest department store in the town centre, we noticed one of the back doors had been left open! This was like letting kids loose in a sweet shop, well the sweet shop part of the mall or supermarket these days! We were out of our heads on downers, or benzodiazepines, and alcohol. It was more disorganised crime than organised. We started filling bags up with watches, but this was a department store, if we’d have been in a fit state and thought this out properly, well, we could have started to empty the place. It also had a bank on the top floor. I had a brainwave. We got some tools from the DIY department, and slid under the bank tellers’ serving hatches, and started to try and saw through the Co-op Bank’s safe! We took turns at sawing and chiselling like crazy, sweat dripping of us. We were trying to saw through the hinges of the old safe and were getting closer and closer! This could be the big one, all by a flukey chance. One of the team left with his bag of swag – watches, jewellery, etc. – he was the wise one; we carried on and on. Anyway, the top man of the store, the boss, remembered he had not locked this door and came back! Suddenly, looking directly at us were the police, loads of them, some in uniform, some plain clothes. ‘Come on then,’ they pleaded, they couldn’t get through the tellers’ windows. (I told you I was skinny!) So me and my friend Neil ran away and hid in an old dusty room at the back of the department store. We sat there; we must have looked a sight, hiding with all the clothing dummies! All dummies together! We could hear the police and the dogs. ‘They’re gonna find us,’ I whispered as I heard the dogs, this is what they’re trained for. Right then, we made a decision: let’s make a run for it. So we started creeping out of the darkened room, onto the back fire exit. ‘Here they are!’ a policeman yelled. Off we ran. Now opposite the Co-op on this lovely summer’s evening were all the locals cheering us on as we ran as fast as we could; it was very Keystone Cop-ish. The entertainment that night was on us: everyone was cheering and laughing as we kept running. It was no good – we were unfit drug addicts, they were fit healthy policemen with dogs: do the maths, they caught us. They put us in the police van and took us to the police station. As soon as the doors opened again I was off, running as fast as I could. I got about a quarter of a mile away, chest burning, getting more and more out of breath. I was caught, again! This time they handcuffed me. I was taken back to the police station and bailed. The rumour went around that we had been caught whilst posing as dummies in the shop window! At this time I had got talking to a beautiful blonde woman who was my age and worked in a bank. I managed to chat her up and we started dating. This was probably my second serious relationship. Her name was Debbie and she lived in the next town although she stayed over at our house a lot. We did have a good relationship, looking back; we had fun, shared musical tastes, and we smoked dope together. I was still mad for Diconal, or any other opiate when there were none around. You guessed it – she devised an elaborate system to steal money for us, to buy drugs and so that I could play the big shot. This money was in crisp £50 notes and it kept us going until I had to appear at Manchester Crown Court. We were expecting borstal training, and welcomed it; it was another progression in my educational training and the family I was now part of.

DRUGS AND ROCK ‘N’ROLL

Ian Dury and the Blockheads had a song out called ‘Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll’ which fitted the story of my life very well. It was the theme tune for this period of my life, and many others around our area and similar areas in the UK.

Opiates, heroin, Diconal made me feel warm, comforted and healed. I fell in love with the only love I had ever known. It was deathly, dangerous, yet it took all the pain away. The only way to get it was through regular criminal activities and from doctors, legally and illegally. Meanwhile I had been building up a hefty Crown Court appearance list with various drug related crimes and shop burglary, we even tried to get the safe out of a local Co-op store! We were crazy, but whilst mooching around the back of the largest department store in the town centre, we noticed one of the back doors had been left open! This was like letting kids loose in a sweet shop, well the sweet shop part of the mall or supermarket these days!

We were out of our heads on downers, or benzodiazepines, and alcohol. It was more disorganised crime than organised. We started filling bags up with watches, but this was a department store, if we’d have been in a fit state and thought this out properly, well, we could have started to empty the place. It also had a bank on the top floor. I had a brainwave. We got some tools from the DIY department, and slid under the bank tellers’ serving hatches, and started to try and saw through the Co-op Bank’s safe! We took turns at sawing and chiselling like crazy, sweat dripping of us. We were trying to saw through the hinges of the old safe and were getting closer and closer! This could be the big one, all by a flukey chance. One of the team left with his bag of swag – watches, jewellery, etc. – he was the wise one; we carried on and on. Anyway, the top man of the store, the boss, remembered he had not locked this door and came back! Suddenly, looking directly at us were the police, loads of them, some in uniform, some plain clothes. ‘Come on then,’ they pleaded, they couldn’t get through the tellers’ windows. (I told you I was skinny!) So me and my friend Neil ran away and hid in an old dusty room at the back of the department store.

We sat there; we must have looked a sight, hiding with all the clothing dummies! All dummies together! We could hear the police and the dogs.

‘They’re gonna find us,’ I whispered as I heard the dogs, this is what they’re trained for. Right then, we made a decision: let’s make a run for it. So we started creeping out of the darkened room, onto the back fire exit.

‘Here they are!’ a policeman yelled.

Off we ran. Now opposite the Co-op on this lovely summer’s evening were all the locals cheering us on as we ran as fast as we could; it was very Keystone Cop-ish. The entertainment that night was on us: everyone was cheering and laughing as we kept running. It was no good – we were unfit drug addicts, they were fit healthy policemen with dogs: do the maths, they caught us.

They put us in the police van and took us to the police station. As soon as the doors opened again I was off, running as fast as I could. I got about a quarter of a mile away, chest burning, getting more and more out of breath. I was caught, again! This time they handcuffed me. I was taken back to the police station and bailed. The rumour went around that we had been caught whilst posing as dummies in the shop window!

At this time I had got talking to a beautiful blonde woman who was my age and worked in a bank. I managed to chat her up and we started dating. This was probably my second serious relationship. Her name was Debbie and she lived in the next town although she stayed over at our house a lot. We did have a good relationship, looking back; we had fun, shared musical tastes, and we smoked dope together. I was still mad for Diconal, or any other opiate when there were none around. You guessed it – she devised an elaborate system to steal money for us, to buy drugs and so that I could play the big shot. This money was in crisp £50 notes and it kept us going until I had to appear at Manchester Crown Court. We were expecting borstal training, and welcomed it; it was another progression in my educational training and the family I was now part of.

I jumped fully into the fast moving river called Punk and we went to Manchester to see all the Punk bands: The Damned, Adam Ant before he became commercial, The Ramones, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Iggy Pop. I really did see all the amazing new bands in this revolution called Punk. We had to fight through the streets of Moss Side Manchester ghetto to see the bands, that’s how determined we were. The venue was the Russell Club, which then changed its name to The Factory after factory records, and the driving force Anthony H. Wilson who I had the pleasure of meeting once. He was with the tongue in cheek Punk hit, ‘Jilted John’ by Jilted John! I took the Punk movement very seriously and the political and social comment in Strummer’s lyrics were the Gospel of Punk to me. It wasn’t something commercial to make money from the youth. A line in the song ‘White Man in Hammersmith Palais’ says, ‘You’ve got Burton suits, you think it’s funny, turning rebellion into money.’ This was aimed at the suits The Jam were wearing. This was a dichotomy Joe always had to battle with as The Clash achieved great success, therefore money, even though he did do a double album for the price of one and then a treble! Joe became a hero of mine, who I was later to meet at The Leadmill in Sheffield when I was completely different man. I was also to meet the original Clash drummer Terry Chimes in London and take him for lunch, giving him advice about getting a book published, as I was later to have success with a book. But hang on . . . I don’t want to jump the gun! We had to fight past black gangs, then dance to Reggae music together – punky reggae party. Bob Marley was a great track and sentiment and I did feel a minority, just like blacks did back then. Peter Tosh, from the Wailers, Steel Pulse a Rasta band from Birmingham, and lots of dub reggae were played. I love the track Joe Strummer and The Clash wrote after Joe went to the Hammersmith Palais. We bought resin and ash – then the pub scene came along. The Sex Pistols, The Clash, Slaughter and The Dogs. I got involved in that. I first ran away from home when I was thirteen and left home again when I was eighteen, living in cars, living in a shed, and then got sent to a detention centre. This was for a scam in arcades. I could use a bit of wire, and voila! I could empty the machines, cash as well. They were bound to find out because, talk about thick as thieves, I didn’t even go to different arcades or amusement parks to repeat the scam. I went back and back to the same one and eventually got caught. Again, I went through the process I was used to as a boy, and I was off for a taxi ride handcuffed to two police officers, taking the scenic journey to Blackburn. Detention centres were part of the government’s drive with the short, sharp, shock treatment! I got taken to Buckley Hall Detention Centre in Blackburn. I went there with a sort of excitement and fear. I went through the whole process of putting my Punk attire into a box in exchange for the general prison uniform: cheap-looking denim jeans, a couple of T-shits, vests, underpants (Y-fronts in fact) and slip-on black leather shoes, not the height of fashion but good quality leather shoes. I always got bought ‘pleather’ as a kid. We then got taken in an escorted police van to Buckley Hall Detention Centre – we being the new recruits. I use this term because I was going to be army trained, whether I liked it or not! Part of the initiation was that when you were in your cell for the first night, all the other inmates would bang and scream abuse through your door, trying to scare the new recruits as much as they could. I was fortunate as the other two new recruits came from a heavily publicised case at the time. They had been involved in witchcraft and tortured and sacrificed animals to Satan. Cats! So these two guys got loads of abuse about this. ‘Cat killers, cat killers,’ everyone screamed as they came and went to evening classes. ‘Meow, meow, hiss, hiss,’ everyone taunted them. The next morning we were taken to our respective dormitories, to place our kit and start our induction. It was a three-month sentence, but you did two months then you got an EDR, which stands for ‘earliest date of release’. Why was it not called an EDOR then? I never asked! We were taught how to make our bed, in a special way of presentation. There was also a way of folding your kit, all very neat. The sheets were cotton and the blankets were nice and warm. I was clean, and managed to get on with the other inmates. I didn’t enjoy the gym; imagine how unhealthy I must have been. I was so skinny I had to run round in the shower to get wet! If I wore a red I got mistaken for a thermometer! But seriously, we had circuit training army drill style. Guys would throw up regularly or collapse. I was very fortunate not to. If you got caught cheating, for example doing ten press-ups instead of twenty, the gym instructor, who was an officer too, screamed at you, sergeant major style: ‘Come on you pansy, you horrible little man. Think you’re hard now, do you? We’ll get you in shape, and everyone else another twenty star jumps because of you, Eckersley!’ Star jumps are jumping up and down and making a star shape with your arms and legs. The gym was set up with weights, ropes and benches. You followed around the circuit and at each point it was written on a card how many and what you had to do. We did get good demonstrations beforehand. Anyway, I got very fit, very fast – I had no choice. We were taught to march, go on parade, be inspected outside in the courtyard and inside about our personal space. Again, if there was the slightest thing out of place, you got screamed at and your kit scattered across the dormitory. I learned to become tidy and organised, very quickly. Everyone worked during the day. We all started on cleaning floors, scrubbing them, wiping them down, polishing them. I thought the food, which we ate in a big dining hall, was great, and I struck up some good friendships in there. It was mainly through similar interests – my main love was music, and I connected well with people around this subject.

I jumped fully into the fast moving river called Punk and we went to Manchester to see all the Punk bands: The Damned, Adam Ant before he became commercial, The Ramones, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Iggy Pop. I really did see all the amazing new bands in this revolution called Punk.

We had to fight through the streets of Moss Side Manchester ghetto to see the bands, that’s how determined we were. The venue was the Russell Club, which then changed its name to The Factory after factory records, and the driving force Anthony H. Wilson who I had the pleasure of meeting once. He was with the tongue in cheek Punk hit, ‘Jilted John’ by Jilted John! I took the Punk movement very seriously and the political and social comment in Strummer’s lyrics were the Gospel of Punk to me. It wasn’t something commercial to make money from the youth. A line in the song ‘White Man in Hammersmith Palais’ says, ‘You’ve got Burton suits, you think it’s funny, turning rebellion into money.’ This was aimed at the suits The Jam were wearing. This was a dichotomy Joe always had to battle with as The Clash achieved great success, therefore money, even though he did do a double album for the price of one and then a treble! Joe became a hero of mine, who I was later to meet at The Leadmill in Sheffield when I was completely different man. I was also to meet the original Clash drummer Terry Chimes in London and take him for lunch, giving him advice about getting a book published, as I was later to have success with a book. But hang on . . . I don’t want to jump the gun!

We had to fight past black gangs, then dance to Reggae music together – punky reggae party. Bob Marley was a great track and sentiment and I did feel a minority, just like blacks did back then. Peter Tosh, from the Wailers, Steel Pulse a Rasta band from Birmingham, and lots of dub reggae were played. I love the track Joe Strummer and The Clash wrote after Joe went to the Hammersmith Palais. We bought resin and ash – then the pub scene came along. The Sex Pistols, The Clash, Slaughter and The Dogs. I got involved in that.

I first ran away from home when I was thirteen and left home again when I was eighteen, living in cars, living in a shed, and then got sent to a detention centre. This was for a scam in arcades. I could use a bit of wire, and voila! I could empty the machines, cash as well. They were bound to find out because, talk about thick as thieves, I didn’t even go to different arcades or amusement parks to repeat the scam. I went back and back to the same one and eventually got caught. Again, I went through the process I was used to as a boy, and I was off for a taxi ride handcuffed to two police officers, taking the scenic journey to Blackburn.

Detention centres were part of the government’s drive with the short, sharp, shock treatment! I got taken to Buckley Hall Detention Centre in Blackburn. I went there with a sort of excitement and fear. I went through the whole process of putting my Punk attire into a box in exchange for the general prison uniform: cheap-looking denim jeans, a couple of T-shits, vests, underpants (Y-fronts in fact) and slip-on black leather shoes, not the height of fashion but good quality leather shoes. I always got bought ‘pleather’ as a kid. We then got taken in an escorted police van to Buckley Hall Detention Centre – we being the new recruits. I use this term because I was going to be army trained, whether I liked it or not!

Part of the initiation was that when you were in your cell for the first night, all the other inmates would bang and scream abuse through your door, trying to scare the new recruits as much as they could. I was fortunate as the other two new recruits came from a heavily publicised case at the time. They had been involved in witchcraft and tortured and sacrificed animals to Satan. Cats! So these two guys got loads of abuse about this. ‘Cat killers, cat killers,’ everyone screamed as they came and went to evening classes. ‘Meow, meow, hiss, hiss,’ everyone taunted them.

The next morning we were taken to our respective dormitories, to place our kit and start our induction. It was a three-month sentence, but you did two months then you got an EDR, which stands for ‘earliest date of release’. Why was it not called an EDOR then? I never asked!

We were taught how to make our bed, in a special way of presentation. There was also a way of folding your kit, all very neat. The sheets were cotton and the blankets were nice and warm. I was clean, and managed to get on with the other inmates. I didn’t enjoy the gym; imagine how unhealthy I must have been. I was so skinny I had to run round in the shower to get wet! If I wore a red I got mistaken for a thermometer! But seriously, we had circuit training army drill style. Guys would throw up regularly or collapse. I was very fortunate not to. If you got caught cheating, for example doing ten press-ups instead of twenty, the gym instructor, who was an officer too, screamed at you, sergeant major style: ‘Come on you pansy, you horrible little man. Think you’re hard now, do you? We’ll get you in shape, and everyone else another twenty star jumps because of you, Eckersley!’ Star jumps are jumping up and down and making a star shape with your arms and legs. The gym was set up with weights, ropes and benches. You followed around the circuit and at each point it was written on a card how many and what you had to do. We did get good demonstrations beforehand.

Anyway, I got very fit, very fast – I had no choice. We were taught to march, go on parade, be inspected outside in the courtyard and inside about our personal space. Again, if there was the slightest thing out of place, you got screamed at and your kit scattered across the dormitory. I learned to become tidy and organised, very quickly. Everyone worked during the day. We all started on cleaning floors, scrubbing them, wiping them down, polishing them. I thought the food, which we ate in a big dining hall, was great, and I struck up some good friendships in there. It was mainly through similar interests – my main love was music, and I connected well with people around this subject.