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french prison drug smuggling caper |
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This story is based on true events that happened in 2 French prisons between June 2000 to July 2002. It is a story of events that became surreal, frightening, and funny. With an insight into the French justice system. A foolish person duped into the world of a small drug smuggling empire with saddening consequences. MEMOIRS OF A MULE (by r.j. Saxon) -------------------------------------------------- The conversation was overheard in the local boozer; I was with my friends and work partners, the Conversational Group sat to my left. I knew the person, but not to talk to, but I some how got myself Talking. The first meet with him was the day after in Salford, at the home of a friend of mine, we talked And agreed with the work in hand, all I needed was my passport, my driving licence, Which was a provisional not full, but them sort of things don’t cause A problem in this kind of work. My contact gave me £1000 for the journey, accommodation and any other Necessities. The job was to start the morning after; I was given the keys to the van plus all relevant Documents And a fake insurance cover. I was given the address to where I was heading which was to Become one long journey. I started up the van and headed back home to think over the no win risk I was About to undertake. ............................................................................... My alarm awoke me at 6am so it was up, shower, breakfast and preparations for the trip. I put a bike, a tent, A Sleeping bag and various items of camping materials in the back of the Bedford small back van, locked My front Door got into the van and headed to Thomas cook to change some money, which I was going to Need on the 3 day Trip through France into Spain. It was a short trip from where I lived in openshaw, Around fifteen minutes into Manchester town centre. Then I headed toward the Mancunian way with a map That lay upon the passenger seat, with this contained the directions to the hotel. I was to stay at on my arrival in estepona (Spain). The first part of the journey, was quite tedious a six hour drive to Dover, so it took a little longer due to the traffic in London, I made A few stops on the way at various named service stations, had the odd burger, collected a few snacks then Began On the road again. The motorway was flooded with traffic the usual commuter’s heavy goods traffic, And holiday Makers. At least the weather was pretty warm, warm enough for jeans and a t-shirt, it was Probably around tea time Time when I arrived at the travel desk in Dover there were lanes that were letter Preferenced guiding the vehicles into orderly queuing positions on a strip of road that that forked off into Different sections. I purchased a ticket, return for two weeks later, The reason for a two-week ticket would take off any suspicion, than making a quick return. The ticket also Allowed you to return anytime within the two weeks. I began queuing in the relevant section whilst the Stewards of the ferry Company waved on the vehicles in front until it was my turn. It was a slow paced Drive onto the ferry I followed the Procession of cars into the bays, which indicated on the ticket. Once Parked, I made my way to the upper deck Refreshments; I took advantage of the £1000 expense money to Purchase music tapes for the rest of the journey. More fast food was consumed, and then I had a stroll around the ferry. I felt a little out of place as everyone Seemed full of the holiday spirit whereas I wasn’t here for sightseeing. I sometimes have a Weakness for fruit machines and video games, so when I saw the sign saying "Aladdin’s cave" Weren’t many people telling me not to blow some money whilst I travelled the hour journey to France? I Was in full flow now eyes glazed to the flashing and tempting lights of the electronic Money makers, but who cared the money was free and for me to spend at my leisure a Tenner here a tenner there and not seeing much of a return. It was the sound of the tannoy system that made Me Realise that we were coming into the port of Calais, it was pretty lucky really because I was about to Break another £20, which would bring the amusement total to £120. I made my way back down to the van, In a bit of a flutter with a slight headache from all the flashing lights the ferry docked with a bit of a bump As I was coming down the stairs from the third deck sending me off balance a little, but finally made it to The car station. The parking area was full on boarding when I arrived. It was becoming quite empty and the People behind me did not seem too happy as they could not move until I moved the van. I got myself in adjusted my seating position moved a few crisp wrappers and and other shit From my foot well and alighted down the large ramp that deploys from the back of the ferry. The heat from the French air was warm and refreshing, it felt good to be miles from Manchester and Nobody Knowing who you are and where you are. I don’t know whether it’s just me but the feeling I got Once on French soil felt liberating, miles from home. I started the journey adjusting the driving routine, it Took a car nearly Hitting me head on before I realised they drive on the other side of the road over there, I Am not that stupid but I Think after smoking a spliff on the ferry it could impair your judgement slightly. The first part of the journey was a Bit of a blur nothing more than taking in the sights of beautiful France Along the long strips of road, just me the Van and vast fields the trip to my first port of call was "Orleans" On the way I was taking in the sights nothing was A problem at the moment, everything was going well for Now. ......................................................................................... It was getting late, and I was tired so I stopped in a town called Olivet (Orleans). The town was pretty Quiet, apart From the sound of French music softly being played from some half empty quiet bars and the Odd stray dog. I Managed to find a reasonable hotel for the night made my way to my room and made my First phone call to My Contact in Manchester. I told him where I was so he could contact the guys in Spain To tell them of my Whereabouts, I was instructed to only contact the guys in Spain when I reached Malaga. I ended the phone call got ready for bed, ordered a movie from the hotel TV. Services, before falling asleep Half way through it. I awoke around eight thirty, got dressed threw my rucksack over my shoulder and Headed down to the van. The morning sun had been beating down on it since Sunrise, when I opened the, Door it was like opening an oven on 220, I rolled down the windows put a towel on the Seat to protect me From burning my arse. I realised now why other drivers had parked under a canopy, I think my Vehicle was The only one that wasn’t; I would need to start thinking smarter than that. I started up and set off once More. I hit a busy motorway on the trip down to the next town (Poitiers), I came to the town where the Traffic had come to a standstill, I had only been on the road a few hours and I felt horribly hot and sweaty, The heat was Overwhelming I just felt like getting out of the car for a little fresh air, but I was locked in With cars from back to back the gendarmerie were at the side of the road Pulling vehicles. I felt slightly Nervous, there was no need to as at the moment I was carrying nothing, but to this Day I will never know Whether I was carrying money concealed in the van. The gendarmerie waved me past and I Carried on. The traffic was beginning to disperse as my journey continued on to (Mont de marson) it was getting Late, I was to find a hotel here in (Mont de marson) but the journey was starting to take its toll on me. I was to Check in on my contact back in Manchester. I would spend the night here, and make an early start first Thing in the Morning towards the border of France and Spain (Bayonne), little did I know this border would Be the down fall of my journey on the return back home with the goods and which would leave me with a Lengthy stay there. ......................................................................................... After monotonous hours travelling the journey to (Mont de marson), I was becoming very tired so I decided To take Refuge in (Bordeaux). Instead of the planned stop in (Mont de marson), this seemed a better option As this way in the morning I could bypass (Mont de marson), head through (dax) then straight through the Border of (Bayonne) Into Spanish territory. After a restless night in a plush hotel, maybe the red wine Contributed to that, I re-instated my journey. The usual feeling of an extremely hot vehicle awaited me and The chocolate bar I had left on the Passenger seat had become a packet of goo. I set off negotiating the Heavy traffic through (Bordeaux) centre, before getting to the motorway. The French sights on my way to (Bayonne) were phenomenal, a few hours and a Few toll bars and shortening of my expenses later I Approached the border of (Bayonne) and the Spanish territory. It seemed desolate but to my knowledge, That I know now the problem arises on your return. I drove a steady Speed through the checkpoint for Vehicles and into Spanish territory. It seemed easy enough I did not see any Customs officers hanging Around so it was a smooth drive through. The next port of call was (Burgos) a few Hours drive in passing The (Basque country), which separates Spain and France. To my knowledge there has been Ongoing political disputes between these two countries, the journey started to become more of a chore than a Pleasure. The novelty of the of beautiful landscapes had run their course, the views were still outstanding but now the norm. I had played my music tapes in the car stereo until the vocal lyrics had become distorted, I reassured myself There was only 1 more day of travelling until I reached my destination of (estapona), there I would be able To chill, Get my shit together and call my contact in Spain, I called my Manchester contact,to let him know I would be Arriving in (estapona) p.m. the following day, my message was relayed to the contact in Spain, I Was to call my Contact back on my arrival in (estapona), he would then give me details of the the following Days rendezvous with the firm who were to fix up the vehicle I was driving for my return. It was Late Afternoon when I arrived in (Estapona) I quickly parked my vehicle a good few metres away from the Hotel I was to stay in, I alighted from the Vehicle with a few clicks and creaks in my bones, and headed to MyHotel to get cleaned and ready for a well Deserved restaurant meal no expense spared. I booked into the Hotel, took my well deserved shower and headed to The Chinese restaurant situated right next door, I Ordered half of the menu, ate like a horse and got myself a little Pissed and went back to my hotel, flopped Onto the bed with the air con on full crank and mulled over my next few days’ events that were to take Place, I eventually drifted into another restless nights sleep. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I awoke around 8.30am to the feeling of being in the Antarctica; the air con had been on all night. I switched it off And opened the patio doors to the bedroom a blast of hot air came rushing in warming up the room pretty Quickly. I went back to the bed and lay back on the bed just staring into space and relaxing, hot breeze Washing over me. My hotel phone began to ring it was my contact in (estapona). He told me that he had Sent two of his workers to pick me up in 15mins. I got dressed, called my contact in Manchester and told Him the present situation, he had been given my whereabouts by my contact in (estapona). I locked my Hotel door and Made my way down to reception and met two guys smartly dressed sunglasses and a Mancunian accent. I got into the bmw convertible that was parked outside the hotel doors, the van stayed Where I had left it the night before. Our conversation was quite brief on the 10-minute journey to meet two Other people that would perform the work on the van. We arrived at rooftop bar that overlooked a yacht Mooring area the view looked far into the ocean. 5 of us sat down for coffees and sandwiches, while I was Briefed on the actions I was to take, these people didn’t seem like the job was an important issue, as all of Them were nursing a heavy hangover from lasts nights clubbing, I handed the keys to one of the contacts, The time was now 10.30am. He had given me instructions to pick up the van at 5.00pm, this was enough Time for the mechanics to take out the flooring of the van conceal 80 kilos of marijuana Close to the wheel Arches, then weld down the floor a little sanding, then a coat of car spray paint to hide the weld Marks. During this time I took advantage of the local town, and then had a spell on the beach. I had toasted Myself after A few hours and had got myself a little sunburnt. I made my way back to my hotel at around 4.30pm took a shower and changed. 4.57pm I received a phone call it was my main contact in (estapona), Which I never got to see he told me that the van was ready, its whereabouts and the keys would be under The left wheel placed by the mechanic. The van was situated one mile from the hotel; I locked my room Once more and headed for the van. At This stage my potential crimes were starting to hit home, but I passed This off by thinking of my £5.000 reward on Return to England not bad for 6 days work. I found my way to The van which had been parked amongst a few other Cars on a small dirt track car park which overlooked The beach, I walked straight up to it and reached for the keys under the wheel, they wasn’t there I checked The other wheels but to no avail, by this time I had allsorts going through my mind. I fumed back to the Hotel hot, frustrated and annoyed at the sloppiness of the work. I rang my Contact in England he told me to Calm down while he rang the Spanish contact and he would get back to me Straightaway. Now when it Comes to paranoia I think I am in the top ten so when I got the call from my contact in England saying they Had forgot to leave the keys but they would bring them to me, due to my English Contacts cocaine habit, Which made him a little neurotic, he decided for some reason to start telling me if I am not Sure that everything is going right, fuck it all off and get on the next plane out of there. I dismissed his Judgement and told him it should be ok and I will speak to him when I get back, so that was the last time I Spoke with him I put the phone down and the hotel phone rang immediately, the concierge told me there Was an envelope addressed to me at the desk? I went down to front desk to find the two guys that I met Earlier in the day had dropped off the van I don’t know why the keys were not where they were in the first Place, but the van was now back in my possession I Went to it had a look around and nothing seemed like it Had changed, it had the same look crisp wrappers e.t.c. In the back to make it look lived in, the mountain Bike and tent added to the look. I locked the van and Went to spend one last night on fine dining, before heading back to my hotel to bed with the alarm call set for 7.30am, ready to hit the road back toward the French border. ................................................................................................................... I awoke to the alarm call, got up, got my self changed made the call to my contact in Manchester, paid up For my Stay with the hotel and set off for my 4th day of travelling, little did I know that there was a van? Travelling half a Mile behind me with a hundred kilos of cocaine. I was enjoying the drive back the views Of The Spanish mountains were breathtaking, at one point of the journey I got myself lost and ended up in Central Madrid, that was quite Stressful as you could imagine a vanload of cannabis and police on every Street corner. I had to keep cool for the Trip over the border, so I decided to test myself and my nerve by Asking a copper the directions to France. It went well the copper gave me a small pocket map indicating The route towards France. I carried on and thanked the Officer and after a good few hours driving I stopped At another hotel in (Burgos), This would be necessary before the final major hurdle, which was the French Border of (Bayonne). The usual night was enjoyed with the mini bar and room service. After my nights eating and drinking I settled down for the night. The morning had arrived and I was up and out, I set off, I had just passed (San Sebastian) and was now approaching the French border of Bayonne. I was dripping In sweat from Top to toe, the border was empty and my heart was coming out of my throat, there were Three (Douane) customs Flagging me down I pulled alongside the customs garage, which was fully equipped with Dog’s car ramp burning Gear and enough tools to supply (snap-on). One of the customs shouted me out of The car I looked like a lobster, after my day toasting on the beach. The French custom's officer started Speaking fast and in an angry tone, I didn’t Understand a word of his French, until he pronounced the word (Papiers), which I presumed it, would be my Documents. I reached to the glove compartment on the Passenger side and took out the documents he had asked for. I passed them to him and He immediately My passport from the paperwork, he then passed it over to one of the lady colleagues, she Proceeded into the officeThe office. The officer that had passed on my documents, was quite Aggressive as he ordered me out of the Van put the handcuffs behind my back, and led me into the garage to sit on a stool, he then added another Chain through the handcuffs, onto a wall that had a bar welded in to it! I was left alone in this garage for a Couple of minutes which felt like a couple of hours, my mind was a blank, I could not think of anything, But if they found what was in the van, then I knew I was looking at a nice prison spell; two Alsatians were On the other side of the garage giving me the eye they were loose so I kept extremely still to avoid being Bitten. The van turned into the garage and onto the ramps, the customs officer, who I first encountered Came over to where I was and began screaming his French obscenities at me once more, then he went into The back of the van and began throwing out all the items that I had placed there. There was a lot of customs Officers coming and going, through a door to the left of me There were a lot of French conversations and Computers tapping. In an office to my left from inside the rear of the Van I could here banging about. After around fifteen minutes without any of the dogs that were at hand the customs officer Shouted loudly to one of his colleagues "chocolat" "chocolat", another customers officer came running in, I Thought this was all a bit much, for finding one of my melted dairy milk chocolate bars but this was not the Case as in the centre of the van there was a small metal disc welded to the van floor, which is an inspection Panel for Mechanics to inspect the undercarriage of a vehicle. The customs officer had prised this open With a flat head Screwdriver, there was laughter from the two officers in the back of the van, as they shone Their torch through the Inspection panel to each side of the wheel arches containing the 40 kilos on each Side. One of the customs Officers came from the back of the van released the chain from the wall, but left On my handcuffs, I was then Marched into a corridor where I was seated once more and rechained to a Similar bar connected to the wall. Immobile for around five minutes, at this stage knowing that I was in Deep Shit, all that I could think of now was to somehow, get friendly with one of the customs officers, to let me have the bottle of red wine that Was in my rucksack that I had paid 37 euros for, Because I knew it was the Last time I was going to get pissed for a While. .................................................................................................. I sat and waited for one of the customs officers, who began to bring in the brown cellophane wrapped kilo Blocks Of cannabis. In front of me lay 2 tables 8 ft long, on top of the tables were industrial sized scales. The blocks of Cannabis, were stacked at the side of the scales, I was counting the blocks as he was coming To and fro, I got the Amount to seventy blocks, I found this a little strange as there should of been eighty, But I was not going to Question anything at this stage; because the more you speak the more problems Arise. He began to place the Blocks on the scales, this took a considerable amount of time as he was in and Out of the customs office Answering phone calls and other issues, by the time that all the blocks were Weighed it had taken around forty Five minutes, this was logged in some sort of manual that lay beside the Scales. This was the last time I saw the Cannabis, after I had my photo taken with the goods with six Customs officers standing behind me joining in for the photo shoot I was then moved to a small cell Around four feet by six, it was painted in bright yellow. The door was slammed shut before I could ask for Anything. I was left in there without shoes and just a thin Mattress and a bright light flickered at the top of The room, I lost track of time at this stage, and I was feeling Tired and fell asleep, I couldn't have been Asleep long, when the door to the room was opened and I was led into another room, which was the Interview room. This room had a large window that overlooked the place where they Stopped me in the Van. I was questioned in broken English by who seemed to be the head of customs, my guess Due to all the medals he was brandishing on his shoulders, and the biggest table in the office. My Answers to each of the questions were just a yes and no. The interview lasted around thirty minutes, before I was Placed back in the holding cell, I didn't have a clue what was going on, it was now becoming dark, I Could tell this as there was a gap about an inch at the bottom of the door, which gave a little light from the Outside world. I had a dreamless night. I awoke to the door being opened once more this was the start of The next day, I Was escorted, handcuffed and led, to a police van that awaited me outside the customs check Point, this was the hand over from the customs to the local town, labenne (gendarmerie) police, I was then Whisked away, which seemed about three miles to the police station in (labenne)? Here I was placed i In a Holding cell, and I was held here for around four hours, the cell was not like your usual Manchester prison Cell you was on full view it looked like a Scene from the (silence of the lambs), not as grotesque but the cell Set up was. I was then taken to an Interview room, where an officer and a translator were present. The Questioning began, with the officer speaking In French and then this was explained to me by the translator present. it was the usual questioning, whom you work for? How much were you paid? Etc, it seemed like This was the usual routine, questions that I have been asked before! But still handcuffed to a wall I didn’t Have a clue where they thought I was going. I had to quickly make Up a cock and bull story that my job Was to take a van out to Spain for sale there, this was all the information that I was given by my contact in Manchester, of course this was total bullshit. That was up to them to find out. I explained that I was not an Experienced criminal that they was used to but someone who was just doing something to correct my Finances in England. (50% true). They didn’t buy it anyway and after that hour interview, I was placed Back into the Hannibal lector cell where I stayed until the next day. It was a lovely night ahead on a wooden bench about 3 feet wide 6 foot long and a 12 foot by 8 diameter room, at This point I knew I was Going to have a lot of problems, I had not eaten for a while and I was real hungry. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- After a rough nights sleep, I was awoken by the sound of the police banging about, I didn’t have a clue What time it was but my body clock told me it was early, the cell door was pulled loudly open and I was Marched into a Basement garage handcuffed, there awaited two more (gendarmerie) police who roughly Pushed down my head into the back of a small Renault police car. My details were passed from the Labenne police, to the (Bayonne) Police, a few brief words were exchanged from each copper, and then we Were on our way to the police station in (Bayonne) this journey took roughly 20 minutes. On arriving the Police station we descended into a basement car Park similar to labenne, where myself and the two police Officers alighted from the vehicle we walked across the Car park and into a lift to a first floor headquarters, I was then released from my handcuffs and placed into another cell once more but this one was A little upmarket compared to the customs cupboard, larger with a giant glass window and door totally on View to All and sundry, same type of cell as labenne but a little cleaner. I was given a ham baguette an Apple and a carton of orange there was a clock outside of the cell, which read 9.30am. Once again the sleeping arrangements were shit but I managed to slip in a few hours before Being awaken by a c.i.d. Looking character I was taken from my cell and led to an interview room, where I Was met By a French translator, from now until my trail day this would be my go between to convince the French justice System that I wasn't a habitual criminal. I sat next to the translator and the officer sat across A desk from me as the Questioning began to take place, the same questions as the customs had asked so it Was a good job I had been memorising my story, I was to take a vehicle to Spain for sale but ended up Bringing it back due to the would be purchasers lack of interest and me not knowing what I had brought Back, saying that I had been duped into something not knowing. It sounded like a pile of shite, but it was The only story I could concoct as my Mind was set on not being caught; I stuck to this story even though They tried their best to twist my words into Admitting that I was part of an international organisation, which I thought, was quite funny, due to my lack of co-Operation my translator told me that because the Officer did not believe a word I was saying (and I don’t blame him) that I was looking at a maximum of 10 Years Imprisonment, my heart sank I felt breathless and dazed. The interview was finished and I was told I Was To spend the rest of the day, and night here before I was taken to the examining Magistrates court early Morning, unlike English law of (innocent until proven guilty) the French like to do things the other way Round. I was told that in the morning I would be offered a list of (advocats) solicitors, to choose From and this would be my legal support up until my day of sentencing. I was to tell the examining Magistrate my Story and hope that she could some how believe it and go light on my predicted future Sentence. I didn’t know At this point, that this would be in 10 months time. I was led back to my cell and Given a flea bitten blanket. It was now 1.25pm it was going to be a long wait until morning its hard when You have a loud ticking clock effacing you outside of your cell minutes are like hours the only thing you Can do is resort to your own mind and memories of a better place. It eventually reached 8.00pm and the Police headquarters hustle and bustle seemed to quieten down and I slipped into a nightmarish sleep. ............................................................................................................................................................................................... The morning came too soon, there were no questions asked and I was quickly escorted to the nearest remand centre, this was Bayonne, this was the real deal no messing about no glorified bollocks, this was more like 'Papillion'. I was met by the most horrible screw you could ever meet. he’s issue was in, take your shit, all that was left of your worldly goods, what the customs "douanne" had not already taken, and whisked right down a corridor into the main prison holdings. 40 cells side by side, with the upper floor making a total of 160. looking at this from above there were a flight of stairs at each end of the holding area. I was put given a medical by the prison nurse then, straight into a cell 9ft by 6ft, cell number four. the far left of the prison on the bottom, one terrifying experience that’s hard to forget, this humble abode contained one ignorant psychotic Dutch guy, who could only speak broken English, i.e. hello, goodbye, thank you and fuck off, about as much use as a chocolate fireguard, one Yugoslavian not a word of English, one French guy say no more, and me, what the hell do you do when not one of each other speaks each others language. The cell door slammed shut, I was given a few of my items I had in my rucksack a couple of shirts, pants, couple of pairs of underwear and three packets of Marlboro cigarettes. I wasn't much of a smoker but I think it was now time to take up the habit. There wasn't any type of rulebook that gives you guidance into the settling in of your home, I would have to play it by ear. I felt a little intimidated by the prying eyes of my cell mates I took a look around and positioned myself, onto the bottom bunk the only one available. I realised that you would have to wait awhile for a top spot in this joint. A couple of sheets were there for me so I made my bunk. The three other guys carried on watching the TV, which was showing "precio justo" which was the Spanish version of the price is right. Quite amusing when I think of it now, as none of us could speak each other’s language, and none of us could speak Spanish. I climbed into my bunk and lit up a Marlboro. I had not took two puffs of it before the French guy above me gestured to me dangling his arm over the edge of his bunk. "Sil vous plait un cigarette pour moi". It didn't take a rocket scientist to work out what he wanted, so I passed him a cigarette to which he replied "merci". From my schooling days I knew that meant thank you. There was silence in the cell as you would expect with the language barrier, I stared around the cell, to my right was a sink and toilet close together, a makeshift washing line that contained socks and underwear but I couldn’t see the washing machine, just a bucket that was full with more clothing. so this looked like the washing arrangements. One bucket between four. This toilet area was covered with a mop pole and a sheet this was the only privacy you had. The noise and the smell couldn't be hidden this place was hell and I had no idea what was to become of me. It was around seven thirty at night and I began to think of my family, I felt dizzy confused and alone, it wasn't long before I fell asleep. the only way to escape this place, thinking and hoping tomorrow, would have some kind of explanation of what was to become of me. ...................................................................................................................................................... The sound of unlocking bolts echoing around the cell startled me out of a deep sleep. the solid old oak door to the entrance of the cell swung open the demented Dutch guy stood at the door. A French screw stood on the outside of the door jangling his keys with a blank expression on his face. The breakfast trolley had arrived and we was each given a large French stick, a small pot of jam, a pat of butter and a sachet of coffee dried milk and sugar. I got out of my bunk and approached the screw and said can I have a word with the head of the prison. He looked at me as though I was from another planet, as he slammed the cell door back shut locked it and threw back the two bolts secure. The French guy above me just laughed. the Dutch guy was talking to himself as he lovingly buttered a quarter of his French stick, and the Yugoslavian guy was doing the same as he sat at a desk that occupied the cell. This was the study area for us all. I sat back on my bed and wondered how long these people had been here. I followed the ritual and ate some of the French stick with a little apricot jam on it. I would of preferred strawberry but they were quickly snapped up by the other guys, you know what they say first up best dressed. I finished off my breakfast and wrapped the rest of the French stick in a polythene bag. At this point I didn't know how long this bread was supposed to last, I stepped toward the cell door and looked through the spy hole. The metal plate that covers the hole from the outside was slightly bent, giving me a forty five degree view on the left side, I could just see the breakfast trolley serving prisoners on the cells affacing. The trolley moved out of sight, I sat back down on my bed, got a pen and the pad the prison had given me on my arrival along with two envelopes and two stamps. I wasn't sure at this point how I could send this letter, as I don’t think the screws would let me nip down to the local post office. But anyway I began to write my first letter to my mother, telling her that I had made a mess of things and I don’t think I would be coming home for a while and that I loved her and I am sorry. The next letter I wrote was to the local consulate, I was given this address on arrival at the prison. His name was (bob hope) quite a surreal name don’t you think considering what I was in this place for. The time was seven o clock, the rest of my cellmates were watching the TV. Euro news, this time at least one of us could understand the language, no prizes for guessing who, as it was French channel. I finished my letters sealed them and asked the French guy in a waving gesture as to how I get these in the post. He waved his cigarette and spoke the words (tous les matins place le poste en le Porte). I didn’t have a clue as to what he was saying and thought to myself I don’t know why I asked him. Then I realised before I set off on my journey I had put a French phrase book in with my belongings, I looked in my possessions and there it was, I couldn’t believe it this was the answer to surviving in this place, learn the language and learn the ropes. After an hours reading I had got hold of the simple needs of surviving in this place. What the French guy had told me earlier is that every morning the post is collected by a screw, you must make sure that you place the letter into the little slot that was on the back of the cell door. I would do this at the night time ready for the morning. The time was now eight thirty am and I was startled by the cell door being unbolted once more, the screw shouted (promenade!). I had only ever heard of that word when visiting Blackpool, but I’m sure he didn't mean that we were going for a walk on the golden mile. I watched as other people passed the cell looking in, one of the inmates stopped and spoke to the French guy. He jumped off the top bunk and made his way after him. The Yugoslavian followed. The Dutch guy stayed watching the TV. The screw re-appeared and shouted and waved at me (allez). I quickly put on my trainers and followed this chain of inmates, scared and wary of all the new faces, we walked down the prison to the end. I looked up to my right and noticed a door with leaflets attached to it, with the word (biblioteque). I needed to look up this word, as I did not have a clue what the fuck it meant, I looked to my bottom left and noticed a kitchen area right effacing me. I could see through the bars a couple of prisoners preparing the shit that was delivered daily, we stopped as the screw opened up a metal door that led into another corridor which contained three other metal doors. I took a quick peek through the spy hole of one of the metal doors, and saw other prisoners walking around a small yard approximately thirty foot square. One of the other doors was opened and we were marched into it. It was the same size as the one I had just looked at, there were about twenty of us to share this walking area, and these twenty were the dodgiest looking of characters I had ever seen.... ........................................................................................................................................................................................... On my own I followed the procession of cons, listening and hoping for an English speaking person. But there was none, just the sound of Spanish and French. I knew this was going to be hard I kept my eyes averted from the other cons, This wasn't the place to start trouble. There was no way out and by the looks of these characters scar faces, missing teeth, raggedy clothing and potential murderers, who knows what, would happen. There were cons in pairs, cons in threes all talking and laughing. There were a few that were like me walking alone, the paranoia was intense but if anything was to happen it would be pot luck to single me out. It was about fifteen minutes into the meaningless walk, looking at the scraped graffiti along the walls, dates and names which derived from the nineteen seventies. I noticed that on the floor was a square hole that had been cemented over, I was later to learn that this was where the blocks were positioned for the guillotine, the French abolished the chopping off of heads in the late eighties, lucky for me hey that I had missed this era. Until the first incident happened, some words were spoken between a French guy and a Spanish guy, And before you knew it the French guy was floored, with a mass of blood pouring from his head. The procession carried on. The French guy sat in the corner cradling his wounded forehead, as the Spanish guy carried on chatting and laughing with his friends like nothing had happened. During this brutal incident the screws either ignored this or never heard. Even so it did not fill me with any sort of safety. The cell that I had come from, I wished I was back in. my heart was pounding and I wondered how long the endless walk would be before we went back, so I just carried on walking averting suspicious eyes. It was an hour later before the screw that let us out unlocked the door for our return journey to our cells. I was relieved; the military march was the reverse of when we first came out. I returned to my cell, the cell door was bolted once more and so began the arduous boredom of sitting on my bunk, and listening to the odd lone rant and rave from the crazy Dutch guy. A few hours passed as we watched French TV, before the door was unbolted once more, at just after twelve p.m., With dinner service in tow. I was starving, as the French stick didn't fill me up much earlier. Four trays were delivered and as usual the Dutch guy took control of the waiter service. I took my tray as the cell door was bolted once more. I sat on my bunk with legs crossed and the dinner tray on my lap, I took a look at the meal in front of me, which I can only describe as horrid. The four compartments of the tray consisted of one hand sized portion of some strange kind of meat, what I learned at a later date to be horsemeat. It may sound nice to some people, but I much prefer rib eye steak. The second compartment consisted of cold-diced carrot, peas and Swede. Mixed together with mayonnaise. The third was what looked and tasted like sauerkraut and fourth and finally was dessert, which was a small tin foil tin of apple compote, which looked like a Heinz tin of pureed apple baby food. I took one bite of the meat and spat it straight back out, it tasted foul as for the rest I left for the other guys to dissect and they did. I think you have to get a taste for the stuff before you can enjoy it but it wasn't for my palate. I took out my bread that I had saved and went for a good old jam butty once more and hoped for a better meal at teatime. Half an hour later the bolts to the cell went once more and the dinner trolley arrived for the pick up. My cellmates lay on their bunks and napped like their body clocks were timed to perfection. I myself joined in the fashion and drifted in and out of sleep once or twice being awoken by the jangle of the screws keys, and shouting from other prisoners in cells somewhere in the prison. It was two in the afternoon when the dreaded bolts went again and the screw shouting (promenade). I was definitely going to give it a miss this time round, so I was left with the crazy Dutch man. I don’t know what was worse, in the cattle yard, or the insanacell. I just lay and stared at the TV. Which was showing (mcm music channel)? The equivalent of (mtv), only this channel preferred to show ten French songs to one English and plenty of repeats. After the other guys had come back to the cell, it was another couple of hours till five o clock, before our evening meal arrived, boy was I hungry, the trays arrived into the (clutches of Dutch), and I quickly snatched mine like an animal, took the same seating arrangement and stared in dismay to the next offering. Steamed tripe, herring in tomato sauce, new potatoes in mayonnaise and fruit cocktail for dessert lay before me. I ate the potatoes and fruit cocktail but there was no chance of me finishing the rest. Once again the rest of my cellmates helped eat my leftovers before the food trolley arrived once more for the pick up. This was to be the final lock up for the night, I took a shit in the minimalistic privacy suite, had a wash brushed my teeth, with the prison issue wire toothbrush that I was provided with, put my letters into the door slot and settled down for the night of French TV. Entertainment. I think it was about nine p.m. I finally fell asleep waiting the morning once more... ................................................................................................................................................................................................ The morning came with same events as the morning before. I joked with myself and now thought that’s why the French invented the word (deja vu). I made a point of giving my letters to the screw and he placed them into a box that he was carrying, along with a collection of other letters. The in mail was distributed to my cellmates also. This same routine carried on for two weeks. Until this time two good things happened to me, in one day I received mail back from my family and the consulate. I read my family letter first, which brought tears to my eyes, it mentioned they would give me support and my father would be coming to see me as soon as I had words with my consulate which was the next letter I read. It told me of a date of which he would be visiting to tell me of the procedures I would need to follow, to get me through this prison term and addresses of a company called prisoners abroad. This is a charity that sends a magazine subscription to the unfortunates that are incarcerated in foreign lands, also support and guidance to dealing with your incarceration. As I was flicking through this information, there was a shout through the door to me in English, I jumped up and looked through the spy hole to see a large guy. I couldn’t believe it. This guy called Mario told me that there were more English prisoners in here but you need to put in for a cell transfer to the upper floor. He slipped me a letter through which was written in French, asking the governor for the move. I was ecstatic just the littlest of any hope in this place was enough and now I knew that a bit of my sanity would return. I re-written this letter and handed it to the screw at the next bolt-opening event. Day after day I waited and the food issue changed, as I found out about the prison canteen that is delivered to your cell every two weeks. This was a choice of groceries that were brought in from local shops, an order sheet had to be filled in twice per week along with a lump sum of money from your prison account, these monies were held in the prison office, monies could be sent to your account from relatives in postal orders addressed to the prison governor. The standard prison food was o.k., about twice per week; the rest of the week was substituted with tuna and sweet corn. After another week of patiently waiting for my transfer, the day arrived, I had already been packed because while I had been in there I had never unpacked! I was moved to the upper floor into cell forty. In there were two English guys who greeted me saying,' you took your time’? The word had gone round that there was another English guy that had arrived. I was happy for now but this was to be short lived......... .................................................................................................................................................................................................... The two guys I had moved in with, one was a so called Salford lad from the city of Manchester, acting the goat thinking he knew it all, the other was the brains the two, a little more sensible, anyway that was a different story, I had accomplished what I had aimed for and that was to get from devils canyon downstairs at number four, to where I was now, with the rest of the English. It was around four o clock and the stories from the Salford lad were meaningless and boring, the kind of stories that make you a little sleepy. These two had already been in this place for eleven months, so that didn’t fill me with a lot of hope of getting out and spending my birthday at home, which was to be in a few weeks time, but this was a distant dream. My two new cellmates were still under investigation by the examining magistrate, this is the person I mentioned earlier. His/her job was to hold you for as long as they can in the remand centre, hoping someone may send you a letter that was incriminating to your case, or you decide to break under the pressure of this prehistoric remand centre and tell them all and sundry. It turns out that the two I was in with had been back and forth to the court rooms, and the pair of them couldn't get any story to match. I was more concerned about my case, but their case was quite amusing trying to cover up 140 kilos of cannabis in a van. Double what I had. The next day came with the same routine, but today instead of the screw-shouting promenade, he shouted sport. I had already been told by my two new cell mates that we have a sport area, but it had been in repair for the past few weeks, so today was the day to mix with the whole of the prison population, which included Mario and around five other Englishmen together with a few English speaking good Dutch guys. We headed for the metal doors again at the bottom end of the prison and through a new door that had previously been boarded up. Through this we passed the showers and into a blazing hot old looking open space, half the size of a football field. In this area there were several people playing a French game named (petanque). This was the equivalent of crown green bowling, only with smaller metal balls. In the corner was a game of handball Basque country style, there was a small alcove, which contained a table tennis area and gym facilities, also the sport officer. I decided to take a seat on a concrete ledge, that was on the side of the wall in the football field and check out the surroundings before approaching anyone, the same routine took place here, a procession of inmates walking around, but on a bigger scale. It wasn't long before overhearing an English conversation-taking place by three guys that passed me. I decided to take this opportunity to introduce myself; I got up and slowly walked over to them. The guys I met were Charlie a mature wise man. A Dutch guy with a perfect take on the English language and a lot saner than the guy from downstairs. And last was the guy named Mario, who helped me get to the upper level. My prayers had been answered. I knew I could rely upon Mario to give me the ins and outs of this French hotel, and most importantly of all was how to get the fuck out here.... ................................................................................................................................................................................................ Mario explained to me that to get out of here, would be a long process as he had been here for two months already, and his case was no where near finished, before he was found guilty or not. He had been arrested on the way out from England, with a car loaded with £250,000 stashed in the door panels. He would have to prove that this money was for business purposes and not for the financial means of drug importation. He had told me that this would be a lengthy process to try and convince the examining magistrate, we believed that we were all innocent. The old guy Charlie had been in here for 1 year, he had been extradited from Spain in connection with an alleged big crime syndicate, involving large quantities of cannabis heading for England. The Dutch guy had been under investigation by the French authorities, and the Dutch police for the attempt of importing ecstasy into Spain. He had been here the longest of three, 1 and a half years. These people were shady and very cagey and would not give much info away due to the fear of any prisoner, giving the police info that they did not have. If someone was to do this it would go good for you and maybe give you the chance of a lighter sentence, this was just prison gossip that could never be proven. But people were sly like that and seen as though it was dog eat dog in this place it was thought that it was worth a try. But the way I looked at it, this seemed like a silly idea, my theory was, if you knew more, they would want to know more, hence you stay more. We walked around the field a number of times and I had not had much chance to explain my story, but I suppose they did not want to listen they just wanted out of here and so did I. the conversations consisted of when they could get to court and resolve their case. It had been a slow 2 hours before it was back to the cells. The two new guys I was sharing my cell with Dave and Neil, had stayed in writing letters to their loved ones back home, I was so confused not knowing what I was to expect from this experience. It was three in the afternoon I climbed onto the top bunk of our three tier bunk bed, this position was terrible it seemed like there was no air it was clammy at least 85 degrees, I was profusely sweating. The single sheet I was lay on was soaked, I was feeling very uncomfortable and agitated it was miserable. We were only able to shower twice per week Mondays and Thursdays, today was Friday so you could imagine the smell that this cell produced, with three males inside. I lay and watched the usual French rubbish on TV, as I lay there I began to think of what I was to do in the next couple of days to make life a little easier. I had heard that a few other English guys had applied for work in here, (service general) this was the job title, it was just a glamorised work title for a cleaner, but this work would give you a cell change to another part of the prison, where you were trusted to reside with other workers outside of your cell in a communal area. There were games to play i.e. chess, cards, and access to the library all day, everybody wanted to do this, so the jobs were limited, 22 hours per day caged in was unthinkable, so this was the only type of escape you were going to get. The library was situated to the far right of the upper floor were I was now staying, I had mentioned this before but until now I had not known what this room was the (biblioteque). I decided to write to the prison governor, of which I had been told would be a tedious process, people had waited up to 3 months for any type of reply, but never the less if you don’t try, you don’t get, so I decided that I would write one letter per week, until I got a reply. I completed the letter and I would place it in the door post slot on final lock up every Friday night, ready and waiting for the governor on Monday morning. It had now approached tea time and the ever clockwork arrival of the food trolley with gourmet slops had arrived. I had received my outside canteen order which I paid for, so I would eating my own food and passing on the prison grub, my own food consisted of tuna, sweet corn and French stick, with mayo. This was my food supplement 4 days of the week, the other three days the prison food was quite edible. Final lock up had arrived once more and at around 7.30 pm, I drifted off to sleep ready for what the next day might bring. ....................................................................................................................................................................................................... after breakfast I was feeling good, as had received two letters these were the replies from the two I had sent two weeks earlier, one from the consulate (bob hope) and one from my family. My family letter was quite moving, I didn’t expect to have received such a positive response from them, they said they would stick by me and they would send me money once per month. In this place it was essential that you had money as your life could be hell otherwise. To this day I don’t think they realised that this support meant the world to me, and it picked me up from a potential suicidal feeling. The consulate letter told me that he would be visiting me today, to tell me of my fate and an honest overview of the way to get through my predicament. it was early morning and mr hope was to visit me in the afternoon, this was normal procedure for every English prisoner, but I was on a high and I felt that I could get out of here quickly, this shouldn’t happen to me, they should understand that I was no big time drug smuggler. Anyway I stayed in the cell the rest of the morning feeling anxious awaiting my visit. The prison screw opened up the cell at two in the afternoon, and I was led down into the visiting area, where Mr Hope awaited cigar in hand, Rolex on wrist, looking like a throw back from a James bond film. I sat down and listened to mr hope explaining what was to become of me, he told me that like other English drug smugglers before me, who had come to Bayonne prison, I would stay here until the examining magistrate had made enquiries about my trip, and to make sure I was not a habitual criminal, I already knew this from my meeting with Mario, as he had recently sent a letter home, to his family. In the letter he had written, he was having a joke and said "in this place they want to know everything, yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir. a popular nursery rhyme, the examining magistrate took this the wrong way, and thought and thought he was making arrangements for more alleged drugs jobs, this held up his case a while until he could explain himself, he did this by asking a member of his family to send to the examining magistrate, a book of popular nursery rhymes, highlighting the rhyme in question. Let’s put it this way she wasn’t pleased with that. The investigations that were to be made were not something I knew about, but once they were concluded then I would be sentenced. This process Mr Hope explained to me could take between 1 to 2 years. My heart sank, Mr Hope explained this to me matter of factly as he smoked his cigar. The only good advice to me was to get character references from anyone back home who could vouch for me. This way when my court date did arrive, the sentence could be low. I asked him what the worst scenario could be, he replied with anything from 1 to 10 years. At this point I felt dizzy and sick, he told me of a number of solicitors I could write to, to take on my case. He explained that if I was to start work for the prison this would go good for me, I told him I was I the process of applying. I spent around 20 minutes talking with Mr Hope, before we shook hands and he wished me good luck and he would contact my father and give him directions of a good hotel, if he was to visit me. His job was now done he left and I was marched back down to my cell. my cell mates, Dave and Neil asked me what he had said, I told them and this was the same advice they had been given, I got back on to my sweat soaked bunk once more once again, I spent the night feeling depressed and worried about my future, I had to get over this feeling and hope that when my trail date did come around, the prosecution would go easy on me. I spent the next couple of months with the same routine as every day, breakfast in the morning then a walk around the small yard, back to the cell, have lunch then out to the gym area for a little weight training, back again lock up until tea time, then food arrived followed by the final nights lock up. this was repeated and nothing changed only deeper depression, until one day after four months misery with arguments and fights and at least 10 cell changes mixing with the prison lunatics, a screw arrived giving me orders to see the governor, I was worried, I had no idea what this was about, I was marched down to his office where I was asked to sit down, my letters had finally got through to the prison governor. My time on the job waiting list had arrived, I was thrilled, just the change was good enough for me, I accepted the position of (service general) which was to take effect immediately. I went back to my cell, gathered my belongings and was moved to the area I had been wanting to go to since my arrival. It was a separate part of the prison, 10 cells effacing each other with a row of tables in the centre of the clearing, prisoners were seated playing cards and chess. I felt relieved to have a little of my freedom back. I was put into a four man cell, sharing this cell was an English man called Dave, a Dutch guy called Costa and a German guy called Ulf, these guys were o.k., and a far cry from the psychos I had been shacked up with previously. I had a feeling that things were gonna get a little easier now, they all greeted me and it felt good. .................................................................................................................................................................................................. I started work first thing in the morning at 6am, with a guy called Pedro, a black Spanish guy who spoke broken English, this was Pedro’s last day, as he was to leave in the morning for a main prison, he shown me the ropes, this was to collect the food trolley, from the kitchen gates that were near the promenade area and deliver the breakfast to all cells, it was good to be on the outside of the cells doing what I had seen other prisoners doing for the last four months, it is hard to explain what sights there were to be seen from the prisoners in each of the cells, some were normal looking with sentences for car theft right up to killers and Basque terrorists, scary people, prisoners committed suicide during the night, but you could never see what was going on just the screams. I also delivered lunch and dinner the same job as the breakfast deliveries. after dinner was served we were locked up for a screw change then let back out to carry on with the days duties which were, cleaning of the prison hallways, sweeping up, cleaning of the screws toilets which wasn’t the most pleasant job in the world, the governors office, the medical and the dentistry rooms. This work took most of the afternoon, so time went quite quickly. This was a daily routine for me which carried on for 10 months until the day of judgement arrived. my friend Mario had been let out two weeks previous, the French justice system could not prove that the money that was concealed in the car was for drugs purposes, so he was freed with the confiscation of the money plus a 50 thousand pound fine which was to be paid on his arrival in England, I don’t know to this day whether he paid that. Dave and Neil the two guys I shared a cell with before I moved to service general were sentence to 3 years, they had already spent 13 months on remand here in Bayonne, and they were shipped out to a main prison near Bordeaux called (userge,) that was the last I seen of them. The rest of the prisoners I had come to know were still awaiting their trail day as their crimes were of a serious nature. My case had been straight forward not much to go on, so it was a matter of getting me sentenced for what I was carrying. I cleaned myself up and was taken from the prison handcuffed with the local gendarmerie. I was then whipped to the local court in Bayonne, I was placed in a holding room where I was visited by my solicitor who was representing me in the case. He was accompanied by a translator who explained to me that I would be sat in front of the judge, prosecutioner and a jury. to the rear of me would be the (douane) customs and members of the public, who of which were local law students, who I hoped would take pity on me as these young people were to cast their opinion on my case, then the judge makes her decision to my sentence. I entered the court room with my heart in my throat, this court room had the powers to imprison an offender to a maximum of 10 years, my case was read by the translator at the side of me, and she explained what was being said. My French was not perfect, but I understood a few words. The customs officer behind me didn’t have many good words to say about me, other than I was a repeat offender and I probably done my crime many times before, this was not true, which I knew but the judge needed to believe me. The prosecution had their say and made their decision, they were asking for four years. at this point I was feeling worried, my solicitor finally had his say and explained my story which was the truth if you decide to believe it, I was in a lot of debt back home and I decided to take on a job for a guy I knew of in a pub, I was naive but desperate to clear all my financial worries. There wasn’t much more to it. after this was said the judge and jury took time out for deliberation and returned 15 mins later, I was told to stand whilst the judge passed sentence, this was a completely nerve racking moment, my name was read to me then a few other French words were spoken, my translator was talking to me after each sentence was spoken then the judge ended with (trois ans). I knew what that was, the prosecution asked for four and the judge gave 3 years. I was slightly relieved but not totally happy; this sentence came with a five year expulsion from France, plus a customs fine of 1.250.000 (ff), which was the equivalent of £125.000. Being in my desperate situation from the start, I thought that this was a little excessive. This fine was separate from my sentence, the customs had control over the fine, and at this point I was told, that if this was not paid there was an additional 5 years on top of my sentence for non payment of the customs fine. This nearly broke me there and then. I felt sick and I could not understand how the French customs could give you a fine for illegal non taxable contraband. But it could have been worse, could it? I had already done 10 months, so if I was to get parole at one and a half years this would not leave me much more to do, but this again would be another long process as I was to be shipped out to a main prison the morning following my court case. I left the court room and took the return journey back to the remand centre to pack my things, ready for the journey which I was told by my solicitor would be to neuvic prison about 30 miles out from Bordeaux.. ................................................................................................................................................................................................... I spent the last night with my cell mates Dave, Ulf and Costa drinking the home brew that we had been saving for a special occasion, which happened to be tonight this was a home brew that we had been fermenting for the last three weeks, which consisted of apples, apple juice, sugar, bread, water a couple of plastic containers and a large sock. Don’t worry the sock was a new one, but I will leave it to you to decide in which order you needed to put these items together. We had a few laughs and got quite pissed. we had put a couple of bottles on to the window ledge so the night air could chill them whilst we played cards, accompanying our home brew was a few marijuana spliffs, the perfect accompaniment to any party. me and Dave played our card game with English good sportsmanship and dignity, whilst the Dutchman and the German played the game which should last around 30 minutes, took 1 hour and thirty because of the arguing. Me and Dave just laughed, maybe the weed added to the hysteria; anyway, we chatted and talked bullshit until one of the screws took a random inspection of the cell. A normal feature that happens from time to time. it was like slow motion, the bolts went on the door as we inside scrambled to clear up the weed and waft as much smell of cannabis as we could, through the open window, the keys to the cell door turned just as we had sat back down in an inconspicuous manner, not realising that we had forgotten the home brew on the window sill the screw looked at us, my heart was pounding, and at that precise moment it could not of been timed more perfect, one of the tops on the home brew exploded, sending hooch gushing everywhere. We all looked at each other in dismay. Luckily enough for us though the screw that was on the inspect was a bit of a drinker himself, as many times before we had smelled it on him. So he seemed not to take much notice of this incident, just a cheeky grin he shone. The cell door closed, bolts were threw back keys locked and all we could do was laugh to each other and carried on with our card playing. This was probably one of the best nights I had spent in here since I arrived, but my next experience was awaiting me in the morning on my trip to neuvic, where I was to spend the rest of my sentence... ................................................................................................................................................................................................... It was an early start, an hour before breakfast was to be served at 6am, I said my goodbyes to my cell mates, then it was off to the minibus handcuffed and escorted by two prison officers. Along with a few other criminals totalling 10. We were marched in single file to the main gates where we were then unhand cuffed and put into a more or less bullet-proof bus. We were then guided into separate compartments of this prison minibus. The journey was going to take around four hours and we were all packed in like sardines, half the prisoners I was on board with stank of piss, because they didn’t give a shit about their personal hygiene. Being locked up for 22 hours and wrecking their cell, turning it into a shithole, these people needed to be locked up. it was a space 2ft by 2ft, not enough room to swing a kitten let alone a cat, the containers gave little light from the outside an 8in x 8in window, which was misted over, obviously if you are driving down the motorway, nobody wants to see some lunatic criminal flashing obscenities at them. The journey seemed like forever, with a few bumps and grinds, but we eventually arrived at (neuvic) prison, (neuvic sur L'isle). the sound of automatic shutters echoed as we drove into the main entrance of the prison, the van doors were opened and we were off loaded, one by one, which took another hour, and I was gagging for a drink of water, but from this point I learned to realise that there was another three hour wait in a holding cell. My turn had arrived after the pissy prisoners had checked in. once into the reception area my details were handed to the new screws and the screws from Bayonne left. I was strip searched given a photographed swipe card and placed into a holding cell and awaited my escort into the prison. Another hour lapsed and then I was moved into a cell away from the main prison, this is called segregation. You were held here for one week for medical tests, before being moved into the general prison population, once again this way was to make sure you had not carried disease into the prison. This is where I stayed 24 hours a day in a bare cell with no luxuries. Meals were brought to me and with access to the shower once per day, which was a relief compared with the remand centre in Bayonne. I was able to purchase a phone card and once per day I was able to call home. The sound of my family’s voice was music to my ears, it had been ten months since hearing them, and they gave me a lot of reassurance to get me through my predicament, so this made me stronger. after one week of near mental boredom and insanity, I was moved onto the main prison (wing b), second floor this wing was one long corridor of cells, with a gate giving prisoners limited exit and entry with your swipe card. I was given a key to my cell and left to my own devices. Once again I was going to have to work out the way to get by in this prison. I unpacked my belongings arranged my bed and hung up my clothes in a small wardrobe provided. This place was a lot better than (Bayonne), as it was a fairly new prison. My cell was about 10ft by 4ft, with a small table and chair, a separate small toilet with sink and a view out of the barred windows over a full sized football pitch, afar from this there was a view into what looked like a forest literally in the middle of nowhere. I decided to have a wonder down the corridor in search of any English life. There seemed to be a lot of shouting in a foreign language, but it wasn’t French it came from a cell about three down, I walked past and into the shared kitchen where a few people sat. I decided to make a cup of coffee from the sachets that were distributed to each prisoner every morning, this is when I met an old guy named Alan, a full on cockney geezer, he told me that he had been given 6 years for importation of cannabis, 240 kilos of the stuff, he had already done 2 years of it and he hoped to be released in one years time, if his parole was accepted. I took my coffee and followed him to his cell where we sat and chatted. He told me that there were about eight more English guys in here, the rest were dirty Moroccans, Iraqis and other immigrant throw backs, and he said that he had been working in the prison warehouse for the past year doing a menial job making insoles. He said the pay was not that good but it got you away from all the scum that hang around doing nothing but taking drugs. I liked his sentiments and he seemed like a down to earth guy. at that point a screw came to the front of the gates and shouted (la poste) which in English meant the post, alans delivery was a large brown package of various newspapers from England, which was great as I had not read anything or heard any news from England for ten months. Dinner time was approaching and after one of the service general had delivered our lovely selection of French delicacies, it was a similar lock up as Bayonne for the change of guards. This procedure took an hour, in this time I read some of the newspapers Alan had gave me. The hour went quickly before our cells were open once more, I locked my cell and went straight over to Alan’s cell again where he was preparing for his afternoon in the factory, and he told me that if I wanted to work in there it was the usual routine of writing to the prison governor. After Alan left for work I decided to go back to my cell and read a book, (bravo two zero), by Andy mcnab. Then I heard prisoners going through the gates at the end, I looked out of my cell and noticed that a number of prisoners had gone through, I picked up my swipe card, locked my cell door and walked to the end. at this point there was nobody left in their cells, I was stood at the end where the gates were and wasn’t sure how to get through, then I noticed at the side of me was a swipe machine for my card, I slid it through and there was a loud click, the gate unlocked and I had to push it open. I walked through another door into a stairwell where I walked down to the ground level, through another swipe card gate out of another door where a screw was stood outside and into the football field, the view that I had seen from my cell window. There were people that were walking around the outside of the football field, to the rear of the football field was a small basketball court, tennis court and volleyball court. All these amenities were in use from an interracial group of prisoners. The weather was extremely hot, way into the 80's. I felt like a bit of a spare part as everyone seemed to be doing something, so I just decided to follow the train of prisoners round the football field keeping my ears out for any English speaking prisoners, which I found a lack of at this point, languages I couldn’t understand they might as well of been marshan. after a number of times walking around the field and watching the football that was being played or trying to be played, as the number of players were Moroccan and there tendency was more to argue, than actual playing, I decided to sit down on some steps at the back of the goals, where a big guy was stood in the nets dressed from head to toe in us army combat wear shouting and swearing to the players in English, this was music to my ears, his name was (john Castillo), he was in here with his brother (Juan Carlos Castillo). Both of Colombian origin, his brother was the guy I had noticed run past me about ten times sweating his head off round the football field. John had been in the us marines for the past four years and his brother had just finished a six year sentence in a Paris prison, before being caught once more with his brother. after their partying in Amsterdam, they had been caught at the French border with a 120 thousand ecstasy tablets, the judge had given them four years each, they didn’t care about the French justice system, as when they were both interviewed each of them had put a story together that matched up perfectly. it lasted about an hour where the judge was hoping it would come to a conclusion where the ecstasy was heading, and the confession from them both, hopefully leading the judge into information about a big ecstasy smuggling ring, but at the end of the story they made a fool out of the judge by saying they were looking for the best croissants in France. The judge didn't take this lightly hence their sentence. the six years that (Juan) had served before this sentence, three years of it was served in the French foreign legion, his sentence was for the export of weapons into the Basque country, this is where an ongoing terrorism issue takes place. At the end of the exercise period I joined up with these two for a chat... ..................................................................................................................................................................................................... I introduced myself and told them of my own misfortunes that had happened to me, they were very friendly and we arranged for another meeting the day after on the next exercise period, but for now it was back to the cell block for dinner and the final night’s lockdown. John and Juan proceeded to another block on the other side of the prison. The prison comprised of twelve blocks. An overhead view would look like three forks, with long walkways connecting to a circular section, central of the adjoining forks. The central section comprised of the prison kitchen, schooling areas, medical dentistry, gym facilities, launderette, prison canteen and work house, where Alan worked. The place was quite vast, comprising of at least 5000 prisoners. I followed the procession of prisoners back to my block, the same route I had taken on my way out to the exercise field. I went back to my cell, Alan was not back from the workhouse so I got my wash bag and towel and proceeded to the showers, which were situated on all cell blocks and were free to use at any time, which was a total relief compared to the twice a week ritual of Bayonne. After showering our block service general worker arrived with the night’s meal delights. this worker delivered our meals three times per day, he collected the food at set times throughout the day from the kitchens where they were prepared and placed into a sealed trolley, which the guards opened and vigorously checked on arrival at our block. This was to prevent any type of trafficking from one block to the other. I collected the night’s food, which as per usual was nothing to shout about, the food was sealed in plastic trays which were then micro waved at your own convenience. I left mine for a while, as there were always a mad rush from the rest of the animals, in the gorilla style I want to eat first. Alan had arrived back so I strolled over to his cell for quick chat before I ate. We sat down and he told me of his story of how he had come to be in this god forsaken place, he owned his own bar in Portugal and needed a cash injection for his business, as he was to put an extension on his premises. To do this he was given the job of taking a large consignment of cannabis the same way as me, and low and behold faced the same consequences as me, a nice stop from the douane. His bar was now being run by his wife, who had found out from Alan about his sentence, and she then filed for divorce, as she was not the type to wait around. And to rub salt in the wounds of Alan she was trying for full ownership of his bar, which infuriated Alan, so he was making counter claims with his solicitor for the sole possession himself. That was pretty much it for Alan’s story, he had mentioned to me that there were jobs available in the workhouse, so I said my goodbyes for the night to Alan, heated up my meal and retired to my cell to eat and write a letter for work. Shortly after the guards arrived and locked the block down for the night. I sat at my table switched on the TV. Which I rented from the prison, as it was privately run prison and these amenities could be taken advantage of. I decided to write my letter for employment and stared out of the barred window of my cell. I finished the letter and placed it in an envelope ready for delivery to the guard in the morning. I lay on my bed watching a variety of French rubbish, trying to blank out the shouting from various foreign convicts from the windows outside my cell. This was combined with the monotonous sound of Moroccan religious music, which was played every night into the small hours of the morning. As it began to get dark I drifted off to sleep.... .................................................................................................................................................................................................. The morning arrived once more, every waking day seemed like I was waking up to a nightmare, realising that I was still here in this foreign country. It felt lonely and desolate, the jangling of keys could be heard as of every morning the prison guards arriving to unlock the cell doors, along with the service general delivering breakfast. The loud clicking sound of the gate at the end of the corridor as the workers headed off for the morning shift. Today was when I received my letter confirming my position in the workhouse. I was to go for my work briefing and the job I was to undertake. It was after dinner time when I was called down to the workhouse, where my role was explained and I started my job. IT was quite tedious, gluing shoe insoles together, Alan had spoken to one of the prison guards for me to work with him, as there where only a few English guys working in there. the work was a monotonous process, it was the kind of work what other companies would not take on, so it was sent to this privately run prison for the inmates to do, whilst the prison took a healthy profit, the inmates were earning pittance, but you had to put your mind at ease somewhere, other than sitting around your cell block all day doing nothing, there was only so much masturbation you could manage in one day, the strange thing about this work place, was there was another section of the factory where children’s party stuff was being packaged, i.e. balloons, glitter, stickers, e.t.c. the workers for this job were convicted paedophiles, which I and many others found quite unnerving, who knows what goes through the mind of them sort of people. it was my first week in the workhouse when one of the nonce’s was attacked severely and quickly by another inmate, who was another French guy serving time for violent assault, I didn’t actually see it but I heard it alright. from where I was stood it was about 10 feet away, I turned as I heard a scream like a banshee, the offender had walked casually back after sticking a pair of scissors into the other guys eye. It was like a scene from a horror film, blood spurted every where, it was a sickening sight enough for me to feel unsafe in this environment. So that was my first and last week in the workhouse, I decided to get a bit more French schooling, which I had started in Bayonne. If I was to brush up my French language, I would be able to apply for work in the kitchen, as my usual job in England was a chef. So this was what I decided to do., I spent two months, two hours, twice per week learning the language. then I was offered the job, this was more my thing, I had as responsible position in the kitchen, I with about ten other guys prepared on a large scale, the meals for all the 5000 inmates in there. time went fast and it was a month into my job when I come down with a problem with my wisdom teeth, I was in agony the dentist referred me to the hospital that was situated about three miles from the prison, I was put into a hospital room that was designed specially for prisoners, no handle on the inside of the door and two prison guards awaiting on the outside. You would think that I had committed mass murder. I was given an anaesthetic which made me totally drowsy, the same feeling as having a bottle of wine. I waited what seemed like hours, but everything seemed like hours when you’re in prison. I became a little paranoid to what was going to happen, as I had been to the dentist before and never been through what I was going through now. I was trying to sleep but having trouble due to the window to the room being ajar, complete with bars to stop me from escaping, even though one of my feet was handcuffed to the bed. I was visited by a mosquito which decided to buzz around my ear, I was already bitten to pieces by these little critters so it was virtually impossible to sleep, because of the fear of me drifting off and being bitten even more. The time scale had now become irrelevant, whilst waiting in this room that was completely bare, just for me and the greedy mosquito. the door opened and I was wheeled into an operating theatre, I thought this was madness just for one wisdom tooth, but I was that much out of my tree with the drugs the nurse had injected me with I didn’t complain much, I was given some gas to knock me out whilst they went to work, I didn’t remember anything until I awoke, the process seemed fast to what I could recollect, but when I awoke my mouth felt like it had been hit with a hammer. I was given a leaflet by the dentist re-handcuffed and put back into the van that had brought me there. still feeling drowsy the prison guards unlocked my cuffs and locked me in for the journey back to neuvic prison, I started to read the leaflet, it explained the procedures to take after having my teeth taken out, (yes teeth), I went in for one out and they had taken all four, maybe this was to stop repeat journeys, but as far as I am concerned there was only one that needed to be removed. On arrival back at the prison, I went to visit Alan who thought the whole incident was quite funny, I didn’t share his sense of humour, at this point but was just pissed off with the roughness they had used. I felt like I had just visited an abattoir, but prison life must go on. I had spent 15 months up to now in the prison regime and there seemed no end in sight yet, my sentence was three years, feeling like fifteen years, but I was now eligible for early release. Each prison commission board which granted you this gift as the French put it. Was to be held in four weeks time. So I made my application to the (juge de applications). Just another judge on the pay roll that dealt with peoples lives. After a week of re-cooperation it was back to the kitchens for my job to proceed again, with the hope of no more hospital visits. Think again Mr Saxon........ .................................................................................................................................................................................................... on my return back to the kitchen, the guy I met earlier that I had mentioned, Juan Castillo the Colombian had arrived in the kitchen, I thought to my self this would go good now as I knew he had the prison guards under control, and if he could make his life easier in here so could I. the first couple of days he had arranged for the service general who delivered the food to the blocks to do his trafficking, which consisted of full cooked beef joints and various other delicacies. The guards never checked the food trolley on its halfway point to the blocks, but only on arrival. So during the transfer along the corridors to the blocks, the service general were met by a Moroccan inmate, who picked the padlock to the food trolley unloaded the goods into a plastic bag and then off to the block for delivery, to Juan’s cell. He resided one floor above me and apparently his cell looked like sheik Mohammed’s palace. once Juan’s goods had arrived they were hidden to the best they could until he arrived the following afternoon, when work had finished, this food could then be exchanged for cannabis, whisky, cigarettes anything really, the contraband was brought in by visitors from the outside, god knows how it was done, but anything was available from the outside for the right price, prison security were not as smart as they thought they were. Anyway I became Juan’s friend one day when he had broken his reading glasses. I myself had come to the prison with three pairs of spectacles, these items were one thing that he couldn't get from his illegal trafficking, it takes a long time like anything in the prison system and spectacles were at least a two month wait, as you know everyone needs a prescription for the right vision, but the day that he had broken them I mentioned that I had a spare pair if he would like them, I asked for nothing at this stage just for him to try them and see how he goes. The next day to my disbelief the glasses were perfect for his eyes, he couldn’t thank me more and from this time on my life was easy. it was now my nineteenth month in the prison, my cell was looking like Juan’s and I had the respect and friendship from other inmates, because I was friendly with a Colombian arms dealer, with this guy as my back up who wouldn’t be friendly with you. my commission date had arrived for possible parole, it was set for June 1st 2002 at 10am, it was now may 2nd 2002, this is when things took a turn for the worst once more as I was having an episode of appendix problems, I did not know this at the time but things were going to be tough once more, it was a Sunday and very little happens over the weekend in prison, so there was only two prison guards per each three tier prison block. My cell window was wide open, it was scorching outside but I was freezing, I knew that this was not a good sign, I was feeling dizzy and I was finding it hard to move because of the pain. Luckily a French guy who passed my cell spoke a little English came in and I explained to him the problem. He went straight to the intercom that was positioned on the side of the cell doors. These were to be used in emergency and to use the phones. the French guy began to call the guards and it was about fifteen minutes before he got a reply and even then, because prisoners misuse the intercom and try any excuse to get out of the block for a wander, he did not seem to take much notice. My condition was becoming more serious, after about four attempts to get the guard to believe me he arrived and he sent me down to the infirmary, where I had to wait for a while until the doctor arrived. Once he had arrived he could tell straight away this was no prank. I was placed into a wheelchair, handcuffed at the legs and scooted off to a waiting ambulance. One prison guard followed this time, I wasn't going to the hospital where I had my teeth out, but I was off to Bordeaux hospital. I travelled in the ambulance and every bump on the road jolted pains into my abdomen, it seemed like I was slipping in and out of consciousness, it was about an hour’s journey before arriving at the st. Nickolas hospital in Bordeaux. I was moved out of the ambulance, through the double emergency doors and down the corridor into the hospital. first I was taken into a small cubicle, here I was met with a female nurse who decided that my illness may be through ingesting drugs, due to the stomach pains, well matron decided to slip on the rubbers and less than gently poke around in the anal slot for trapped drugs. This made the pain even more excruciating. She didn't find anything, so then I was taken up to a private ward where the guard that had brought me from the prison, was met by the local gendarmerie, two of them. I was moved from my wheelchair and put onto a bed, here once again I was handcuffed by my feet to the bed. After an hour or so of pain and frustration I was seen to by a doctor who placed an i.v. drip into my arm, and explained that I was going to need an operation, but he couldn’t do it tonight, as I had a fever and this needed to be controlled before surgery. I asked him why the operation, he replied that I had an abscess on my appendix which needed removing along with the appendix. He said hopefully this will take place in the morning, until then I needed to rest. It was around 7.30pm Sunday evening, I felt like shit, there were two coppers guarding me with guns outside the room, and I was handcuffed by my feet just in case I made a mad dash for the barred windows. I had drip hanging out of my arm and last but not least I had a fever and a life threatening medical condition, life couldn’t get any better!...... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The morning came and I was still full of the worst feeling flu you can imagine, my temperature had slowed down, which gave the doctors the go ahead. I was rushed into the operating theatre and given a needle with god knows what was in it, but it knocked me clean out. when I came round I felt really drowsy, I had two i.v. drips going on, at this point I was that high on morphine I was saying (bonjour) to all and sundry. I can’t remember the time that it took for me to recover, but I was back in my own personal hospital bed with the French police guarding my every move. I had, had a quite complex operation which consisted of key hole surgery, I had an abscess growing on my appendix, this was life threatening at the time of my symptoms, so it was a good job I was admitted to hospital when I was back at the prison. I stayed in a single hospital cubicle for ten days with police guarding me 24 hours per day, there was a change of police shifts three times per day whilst I recovered, the ten days dragged until the day of my return came, back to the prison. I arrived back at my prison block where I was met by Alan; I sat in his cell and told him of my experience. He told me that nothing exciting had happened on my ten days out, only the usual prison life which is a monotonous journey. The guards arrived for the final lock down of the night, I returned to my cell and relaxed as I was still feeling under the weather after my operation. I fell asleep earlier than I usually did that night, it was the best night’s sleep I had had in ten days. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I awoke to the Moroccan hymn chanting early around 6.30am. the sun was beginning to heat up so I opened up the window for a little fresh air, the guards did not open up the cells until 7.30am so I decided to write a letter to my mother back home, after finishing the letter the guards opened up my cell and delivered me a letter, addressed from the magistrates commission board, this was good news, this was what I was waiting for. This letter was a date for me to sit on the commission board for a review into my stay at the detention centre, it was to find out whether I should be granted early release. I was 1 year and seven months into my sentence, if I was to get my parole I could be out in another 5 months, but this was not going to be an easy task, my date was set for three weeks time and in this time I needed to settle my customs fine which was 175.000 ff, this roughly worked out in English pounds at £75 000. I new this amount was impossible for me to raise so a bit of bartering was going to have to be done, not only this I would have to convince the commission board that I had learnt my lesson. The guidelines for this procedure was to have had no issues going on inside the prison, and chance of employment on my return England. I started another letter first to customs office, the whole reason I was in this mess in the first place, was because I was short of money in England and in a mountain of debt, so the customs asking for this kind of amount was ludicrous, before leaving England I had been waiting on a employment tribunal answer from my previous work place, I had rang my father the week before and he had informed me that I had won my case and had received a cheque for £1.800, luckily for the customs office, but unlucky for me this was going to be the money I was going to have to offer the customs office for my fine. I had been told from other prisoners that the French customs are willing to accept a percentage of the actual fine, but the bartering process could be lengthy and an agreement was hard to win, but never the less I was going to have to give it a go. I started my letter explaining that the only monies that were available were £800, the way I was told by other inmates were to start low as I would surely have to pay more. I finished the letter and started my other letter to the commission board, as to why I should be released. I knocked up a couple of reasons before sealing both my letters, and posting them in the box at the end of my cell block. it was a Saturday and nothing really happens on a weekend so I went over to alans cell for a chat, he had received a letter from his soon to be ex wife, so he was not in the pleasantest of moods, but we began taking anyway, just idle chit chat, he told me a story of when he was younger, when he and two of his cockney geezer friends had scammed an expensive shoe shop in the Kensington area of London, they had had a tip off from a truck driver that on a certain morning there would be a delivery of Italian shoes, so he and his guys thought up a good scam. Alan himself arrived outside of the shoe shop dressed in a smart suit, 1 hour before opening time just as the delivery guy had arrived, Alan spotted the truck pulling up so he took out a bunch of keys and made it look like he was opening up the shutters to the shop, the truck driver alighted from his cabin with a clip board and spoke to Alan in broken English about the delivery, Alan cursed to himself shook the bunch of keys and told him that his colleague given him the wrong ones, and that he would be at least another forty minutes before arriving, he then said to the driver would he like to go to a nearby cafe, where they done the best English breakfast in the whole of London, and wait for his member of staff to arrive with the shop keys. The Italian agreed leaving the truck unaccompanied they set off to any old greasy cafe round the corner. Mean while across the road two of Alans accomplices were sat watching the whole event one of them went over to the truck broke in, and barrel pulled the ignition and away it went. There had been set timing between the group after fifteen minutes of being sat with the duped Italian, Alan slipped to the toilet out of the back door back round the corner and into the awaiting car and off. They had made away with around £30.000 of Gucci and prada shoes, the wives of the three were happy that night. A few hours and a few coffees later it was time for the afternoon lock up. The weekend passed slowly it was Monday morning and time to pick up my canteen order, an every Monday ritual together with the whole block. The canteen was at the far end of the prison it was the worst queuing system you could imagine. If you was not vigilant you could spend most of the day waiting for your supplies, luckily for me I was in with the Colombian brothers (Juan and john) so it was a quick and swift shuffle to the front of the queue. After taking my supplies back to my cell, I went down to the exercise field and played a little basketball with the Colombian brothers in the sweltering heat. The usual football game ensued lawless and rule less, prisoners walked around the field and some relaxed in the sunbathing position, topping up the tan. just a normal day there was no type of rehabilitation to this place you just had to sit back, and ride out your sentence to the best way you could, some prisoners could not handle the relentless routine and there were many suicides during my stay, but there was no way I would be taking that easy way out. The afternoon was over and it was back to the cell block and a shower before tea time. after tea I made a phone call home and explained to my father that I had written to the commission and the customs, my father told me that he had deposited my cheque from my tribunal and the monies were there as soon as I needed them. This was a relief for a start, but the next mission was to persuade the customs of my offer of £800. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A couple of weeks past and it was time for my commission hearing; it was set for the afternoon at 2.40pm. I had still no reply from the customs and was feeling quite nervous, as the commission board could reject your parole if your customs fine was not settled. I could not believe my luck, dinner time had arrived and I received a letter from the customs, it could not have been timed any better. I opened the letter with haste and began reading. It was written in French so I done my best to translate. The majority was jargon but the main part was at the bottom the customs had refused my £800 offer but was willing to accept £1200. I was relieved everything was complete and in order for this afternoon's commission, I had a letter that my father had sent giving instructions of employment on my return to England. The guards locked up for dinner and I got ready, washed and ready for the commission board. After the changing of the guards and the reopening of the cells, I just hung around the cell block impatiently and nervously until the moment arrived. I was escorted down to the holding block adjacent to the commission offices. There were other detainees waiting for their hearing excited and nervous just as I was. After a few hours wait, it was my turn to face my fate, I was ushered into a small room where two of the commission officers sat effacing me. I sat along side my translator; the hearing took around half an hour. During this time there was an array of questions consisting of how my behaviour had been inside the prison, to what my intentions were to be on my return to England. I had said all I could say now, it was up to the board to decide my fate, they said I would find out the decision in one weeks time, so it was back to the cell block where I decided to make a phone call to my father, to tell him the process of sending the money to the customs. Once this was arranged it was just a matter of time to find out my answer to the commission boards decision. It was 4.00pm and time for an afternoon stroll around the football field with my two Colombian friends Juan and john. The conversation was small, as of always. The highlight of the afternoon was a fight breaking out with the French and Moroccan click, there was a little blood shed before one of the screws broke it up. An hour into my stroll and it was back once more to the cell block for dinner and then the final lockdown for the night. I had a sleepless night thinking only of what my outcome to commission hearing would be. It was a week later when I got a letter from the commission, my heart beat hard as I opened the large brown envelope, and I knew it was from them as of previous letters I had seen from other inmates. I pulled out the letter slowly and began reading. It was a result I had got what I wanted a release date, which was to be in one months time 4th July 2002. I was ecstatic the feeling was overwhelming, it had been just under two years in this hell, my release date would make my total stay two years and three weeks, not as much as some of the other guys in there but enough punishment for me. there were inmates in that place that were habitual criminals, but who was to judge them half the crimes were so used to the system, that they knew the ropes. But to a foreigner that was a different story. But hey who cares I was on my way out. I went over to Alan’s cell to tell him the news, he was happy for me but only in a matter of factly way, he had enough problems to feel my excitement. The day went as per usual the same rigmarole, so I hooked up with my friends Juan and john they were up to some shit that I did not want to get involved in, knowing that I was to be released soon, but anyway prison life must go on. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The day had come, time for my release the fourth of July 2002. One big milestone of my life. The release was for the afternoon, but I wasn’t being let out the front gates, oh no, that would be too easy. My first stop was to stay one night still inside the prison but on the wing for prisoners to be released. I said my goodbyes to the British click, and hope I never see you again to the screws. I was on my way home as I wheeled a trolley down the corridors of this very large prison, I recapped the moments in my mind and was amazed to think, that how ever did I make it through this tough time, the violence, the boredom, the loneliness, the fear and not forgetting the two operations I had undergone. It was hard to contemplate. I arrived at the halfway cell it was 2.45pm and this is where I would be staying for the next 15 hours, until my next part of the journey home which was a few hours drive in the sweat van to Charles de Gaulle airport. The cell door opened it was 6.00am and off I went. I had a distorted view out the window of the cattle truck; there was not much room to move either, only about 2ftx4ft. The prison just faded away into the distance, as the old sweat van rumbled onto the tarmac of the French motorway. My arrival at the deportation centre at Charles de Gaulle airport was again to turn into an arduous wait, until there was a spare seat on a flight to England. This to me seemed a little excessive, but the procedures had to be abided by. After all I couldn’t see the French authorities paying for a first class ticket with extra leg room it. it was 8 hours later I heard the lock to the cell door go, two police waved me out I left the makeshift deportation cabins and into the waiting police car. I couldn’t believe when the police car went straight through a gate and onto the runways of the airport. I was being escorted straight to plane, I laughed to myself and thought this was so surreal, it was like something that could really only be associated with Ronnie Biggs on an extradition order. we arrived at the foot of the stairs to the plane, the roaring engines sounded mean, I looked around as the police led me up the stairs and noticed a bus about fifty yards to the left of the plane. Up till this point I thought I was going to be walked onto the plane in front of all the passengers, with a copper on each arm., But to my surprise it was empty i then realised that the bus I had seen, they were the passengers to the plane I would be flying on. To this day I think for the final insult from the French government, was to put me on the back of the plane before any other passengers, for them to have a good look at the bad guy. The police debarked from the plane and from this point on I became a free man. The passengers embarked so I just buried my head in an in flight magazine. There were four seats to the area where I sat and two English couples sat effacing. The plane door was tightly shut by one the stewardesses and the plane began to taxi onto the runway. I felt a satisfying sense of happiness. After take off and a nice serving of lager, which I ordered in French to the hot stewardess, I listened to the conversation in front of me from the couples. They had stayed in Paris for a few days and didn’t seem to be happy with their stay. They were the moaning sort and made their point across to each other of how bad the French were. the stewardess passed me and asked in French if everything was ok with the in flight meal and drinks, after the shit I had been eating for the last two years this plane food was like dining at the Ritz. I replied back in French everything was perfect, and at this point the couples in front of me presumed I was a French man and began having a little joke, to themselves at my expense. I carried on speaking French throughout the one hour flight and carried on listening and trying to hold my laughter back, to the little jaunts the couples entertained themselves to. The flight went swimmingly and it was touch down at Manchester airport. I had arranged for my mother to pick me up from the airport. I made the call at the deportation centre at Charles de Gaulle. I had explained to my mother I would call her if I successively made it through English customs, as I had heard rumours about the English police force may be waiting wanting more answers. Me and the rest of the passengers began the debarkment and on leaving the plane the couples that sat effacing me, started to walk in a different direction. I quickly said to them in a Manchester accent, (I am not really French). They looked startled. I smiled and walked in a different direction. I nervously approached the nothing to declare section and passed through, there was no one there, I had made it my nightmare had come to an end, and the presence of that horrible two years was over. I was unable to return to France for five years, an expulsion order had been in place as part of my sentence, but I didn’t want to go back there anyway. I made the call to my mother it was big hugs on her arrival. We set off back home to where I was going to have to pick up the pieces, I had left broken before my visit to France. fin.... |
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