Authors: Jimmy Cryans
R
ight from the start it was obvious that undergoing therapy in was going to be no easy ride, and that my lawyer had been just a little bit too cute for my own good.
On the day in court I was picked up from the cells by two psychologists from the unit and placed in their custody. I asked if I could see my ma, who was in the court, to say goodbye to her and I was told, ‘No. There will be no contact with anyone for at least the first three months. Also, there will be no letters received from or written to any relatives or friends and no contact of any kind with the outside world. This will include newspapers, television and radio. And do not attempt to talk to either of us or ask any questions of us during the journey. OK?’ And with those words of welcome we set off.
The journey was to take about an hour-and-a-half and I passed the time familiarising myself with the route we were taking and making a mental note of road signs and towns. As we came to the entrance of the unit in the country house I
noted where we were. This information would prove to be useful to me sooner than I imagined.
The house was a Georgian mansion at the end of a long driveway with well-manicured lawns to either side. After we had made our entrance I was taken to an office and told the rules and regulations. These were numerous and I quickly realised that this was going to be a totally alien environment for me. It was going to be very difficult, but nonetheless I decided to give it a go.
There were about 15 other patients and I deliberately use the word ‘patients’ as that was what we were. Think of
One
Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,
with the difference that my version was set in an English country house and not in a secure hospital – other than that, the cast and characters are pretty much the same. I was the only one who had been sent there by the courts – all the others were there voluntarily or had been placed there by their GPs or psychiatrists.
The only way I can describe them is to say that they were off their nuts and a real bunch of misfits. I suppose that was why they were there in the first place, but I was a criminal and I had absolutely nothing in common with the ‘moon people’ as I called them. The bottom line for me was that they were from a totally different planet. These eight guys and seven females had a variety of different problems, being drink or drug-related or being emotionally unstable. Most of them were on one kind of medication or another – tranquilisers, I assumed, because when they failed to take their medication, some of them became really fucking bonkers.
I found that my own mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Christine and James. She had not been at court and it was pretty much a done deal that our relationship had run its course. Although I had accepted the inevitable I was nonetheless filled
with a certain amount of sadness. Christine had been my first true love and she had been good to me and good for me. Although I also knew she had started another relationship with someone else, I bore her no malice. The real pain for me was that I knew it was never going to be the same for James through no fault of his own.
The coming days were filled with sessions that involved role-playing and these had to be seen to be believed. The group had to enact scenarios. I selected ‘You are a red Indian.’ I thought, ‘Right, you fucking space cadets, I’ll give you a show’ and when my name was called I immediately jumped onto my chair and started screaming ‘Kill all white men, they speak with forked tongue!’ at the top of my voice. I accompanied this with a series of blood-curdling screams and war whoops. When I had finished I calmly resumed my seat and looked around at the others. It was quite a sight: some of them looked frightened, others were quite clearly in shock, one or two were sniggering and the two housemasters avoided my eyes and pretended to be busy writing furiously into their notepads.
Eventually one of them said, ‘Thank you, James, that was very revealing.’ I instinctively knew that he was trying to intimidate me and that this was his way of telling me that they knew what I was all about, but I really didn’t give a fuck what he or any of them thought. I was simply being a bit subversive and I knew that he knew that.
It would only be a matter of time before I had had enough and it would be time for this cuckoo to flee the nest. So I started to give some serious thought to the best way to depart and where I would head for.
On what would prove to be my final day with the ‘moon people’ I had once again gotten into a heated argument with
one of the psychologists, with the end result that I was told I had to spend some time in the ‘silent room’. This was a room upstairs in which the walls and floor were covered in mattresses, almost like a padded cell, and a patient could be alone to let off a bit of steam by screaming and throwing themselves around. After about an hour I was summoned to rejoin the group and was informed that due to my antisocial behaviour I would now be required to wear a sign around my neck which stated, ‘I am antisocial. DO NOT SPEAK TO ME.’
I quickly devised a plan to subvert this latest ploy and turn it to my advantage. This was quite easy to do as I simply asked questions of the other patients along the lines of, ‘What do you think of these new plans to withdraw all medication?’ or ‘I hear that they are taking you to the zoo to learn how to feed the lions – aren’t you scared?’ This not only produced a verbal response but it also had the effect of some very strange behaviour amongst the ‘moon people’. A wee bit cruel, I know, but it was my way of playing the game with those in authority.
I soon grew tired of the whole charade and finally called a halt after the lunchtime break during which I had to sit alone. As everyone gathered in the day room I stood up and said to one of the psychologists, ‘Right, Doctor-fucking-Strangelove, here, you take this sign and you wear it because it’s made for you, you fucking headbanger. Now I am going to get my jacket and when I return you better have the front door unlocked or I will break your fucking jaw. And don’t think about phoning the cops or I will burn this place to the ground, OK?’
When I quickly returned from retrieving my jacket the front door was wide open with everyone all standing in the hallway. The head psychologist said, ‘No one here will try to
stop you from leaving, James, but are you sure that this is what you want?’
‘You’re all off your heads,’ I said, ‘and if I don’t get out of here I may end up killing all of you, and they would be mercy killings, believe me.’ I knew that would put an end to any further discussion, and it did.
The information I had gleaned on my journey by car now began to pay dividends. I knew which direction the nearest town was in. Once I had left the grounds I crossed the road and entered a large field and set off running at a brisk pace, aiming for a large wooded area about one mile distant. It was important that I get out of sight as quickly as possible and to avoid contact with anyone. It was my intention to put some distance between myself and any likely pursuers and then to lie low until darkness fell.
The adrenaline was pumping and I was feeling exhilarated but I was also aware that I was now on the run and the first 12 to 24 hours would be crucial. It was 3.30 in the afternoon and the light would begin fading in another hour. During my ten days at the funny farm I had been aware of trains passing close by and I knew that if I was able to find the track then it would be a relatively simple job for me to find my way directly into town. And that is exactly the way it turned out and at 7.30 that evening I found myself standing on a platform of the train station. From there it was an easy task to jump the London train and within an hour I changed trains and boarded a connection to Newbury.
When I arrived at Newbury it was almost 10.30 at night and I decided to make my way home. Keeping well away from the main roads I did not go directly to the house but lay up for over an hour in a garden at the top of the road. Once I was sure that there was no sign of any cops I made my way to the
house via the back gardens of our neighbours. The lights were on in the living room but the curtains were closed. I cautiously made my way down through the garden until I had reached the window of the living room and keeping low I listened intently for the sound of any unfamiliar voices, but all I could hear was the television which was turned down to a low level. I stayed in this position for a good half-hour and then entered the kitchen. I reached the living room door and as I peered into the room I saw a female friend of Christine’s sitting on the sofa with her back to me. I entered the room and said, ‘Hello,’ which gave the girl a bit of a fright but at least she knew me. The first thing I said was, ‘Where is James?’ I found him asleep in his wee bed and looking like an angel.
The girl told me Christine had gone to visit someone. There was a look of fear in her eyes as she told me this and I knew straight away that she was lying. Before very long a car drew up outside and the girl said, ‘Oh, that’s Christine back. I’m off. Cheerio, Jim.’ It was another few minutes before the front passenger door opened and Christine got out. The street lights made it easy for me to see that the driver was a guy and he wasn’t a taxi or someone I knew.
Christine came through the front door and the first thing she said was, ‘What are you doing here? Have you escaped and you’re on the run?’ No matter what our personal circumstances were I trusted Christine and it was only fair that I was honest with her. So I said, ‘Let’s have a cup of tea and we can sit down and I’ll give you the full story. And we also need to talk about us and James, and try to sort out where we go from here, OK?’ So that is what we did and we talked into the wee small hours before finally making our way upstairs to what we both knew would be our last night together.
In the morning I was up early and went through to awaken James. His little face lit up when he saw me. My heart was breaking as I looked into his eyes but I had made a promise to myself that any time I spent with James from now on would always be happy and full of fun and laughter. So I scooped him up in my arms and we went downstairs to have our breakfast together. Christine joined us and for a brief moment it was as if nothing was wrong in our lives and we were a normal little family unit with no problems. But I knew that there was very little chance of us ever sharing breakfast again.
I was taking a chance even being in the house, so after an hour or so I made my way to Thatcham. There was only one place where I knew I would be made welcome and that was John Renaldi’s house. John opened the door and said, ‘Fuck me, Jim – they didn’t hold you for very long. Are you on your toes?’ When I told him the story he said, ‘Right, no worries, you’ll stay here with me and Pauline.’ Pauline was sitting with us in the living room and immediately agreed. She wouldn’t have it when I said that I didn’t want to cause them any trouble. Now you get an idea of why I have a special place in my heart for Londoners.
For the next few days I maintained a very low profile and stayed behind closed doors. John and me had a chance to formulate a few plans. It went without saying that we were going to be grafting together and that is exactly what we did. In between I had arranged with Christine to see James and spend a few hours with him a couple of times a week. The law did not seem to be putting too much effort into finding me, after making an initial token visit to Christine’s and my ma’s.
Gordon and Pauline Mills were a couple who John and me
knew really well and they would buy all the jewellery that we were able to steal. Another connection was that they had two daughters, Alison and Haley, and my brother Hughie was going out with Haley, the younger of the two. One Friday evening I asked Hughie if he would give me a lift over to Ma’s and he said Pauline would be glad to take me there as she had to drop off Alison. I found myself next to Alison who said, ‘Don’t be shy, Jim, squeeze up next to me. It’s freezing.’ Little did I know it but this was to be the opening line of a romance that would have devastating effects on everyone and Alison would prove to be the love of my life.
Alison was 18 and was absolutely gorgeous and I mean Hollywood-movie-star gorgeous. She was truly stunning, standing about 5ft 6in with shoulder-length, blonde hair and amazing blue eyes. She had a perfect figure and she was the double of a young Marilyn Monroe. She also had the sweetest nature and the best personality of any female I have ever known, and there have been a few. Alison was highly intelligent with a sparkling sense of humour and was adored by everyone who knew her.
I was a bit slow on the uptake but a couple of days later Alison called round to see how I was. I had only told her I was staying with friends for a while after breaking up with Christine. She wasn’t aware that I was in fact on my toes from the law. Alison made it clear that she was interested in me and even though I knew that this could be dangerous for me I was flattered. She also sparked something inside me that I hadn’t felt before. It made me feel good and so began a very intense, physical, sexy, loving and wonderful relationship which would only last a few short months but would squeeze in a lifetime of living. Even now, more than 30 years later, my heart misses a beat whenever I think of Alison.
The danger of this relationship lay in the fact that Alison’s dad, Gordon, was a man who was respected and feared in equal measure and was not someone to be taken lightly. I knew that he would take a very dim view of any relationship I had with Alison, who was the apple of their eye. Consequently we had to be very careful, but even so it wasn’t too long before things came to a head.
John came home one Friday afternoon and told me that he had just left Gordon and that he was on the warpath after being told that I was seeing Alison. John said, ‘Be very careful, Jim, as that Gordon is really handy and he is spitting nails at the thought of you with Alison.’
I said, ‘Well, fuck him, John, I’ve no intention of waiting for him to come into the boozer like a fucking mad man. I’ll go round to his gaff and sort this out now, and if he wants it I’ll fucking do him on his doorstep.’
John laughed when I said this and said in reply, ‘I should have known that would be your attitude, Jim, but be careful just the same. I’ll come with you.’