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shouted to the others, ‘Run!’ I hopped and limped up the road. A bunch of truckers in an all-night transport café that we had just stopped at were yelling, ‘He’s getting away!’
    I dived over a big hedge and lay there for what seemed like hours.
    My leg was swollen badly, and I was praying like I had never prayed before – not for me, but for the driver of the car. Police searchlights scanned the fields, and then it all seemed to go quiet. I stumbled across fields, climbed over hedges and fell into ditches. It was a long time before I got home – over 90 miles away. I was cold, wet and in pain. But I’d made it.
    The police were waiting. I was charged over the smash and was sent back to Risley. My ‘mates’ got bail. The driver was hurt badly and the police were waiting to see whether he died.
    I saw a lot of familiar faces in Risley, lads who’d got off like me last time, but who were now back inside for something else. I learnt a lot about these guys. Some were born to hate. They had drunken fathers, no love at home. Some were dangerous boys; you could see the fire in their eyes. Others were just too young to be there. They had tears welling when the screws shouted at them. Society was surely to blame for the way they were. I could understand them being that way.
    But me? I had no excuse. I hadn’t had the hell kicked out of me as a kid. I’d had good parents. I had no reason to fight my way through life.
    It was strange how, after a few months, my cell became like a home … photos on the wall, a few bits and pieces, and a radio. I began looking forward to simple things like a pint mug of tea, a bowl of porridge, and an hour’s walk a day in the exercise yard.
    The good news was that the driver pulled through. And I got away without going to Borstal. I got more fines, more probation. I was banned from driving for life and was ordered to pay ten shillings a week for the rest of my life for the damage and injuries to the driver and his car. Naturally, it was my fault, and I was deeply sorry it had happened.
    I was soon back on the buildings, carrying the hod. Then I bumped into my two ‘mates’ in a late-night restaurant. They had got probation.
    I grabbed one outside and steamed into him. A guy called Johnny, who I’d only met that night, did the other one. Johnny and I were best mates after that – like brothers. We hung out at Rhyl, Chester, sometimes Liverpool and Manchester. They were good times, but nothing ever lasts.
    We got nicked in Chester at a police road-block. Our motor was stacked with clothes, leathers, sheepskins, all sorts. They had us sewn up. It was back to Risley, but this time it was worse for me because I had a nice girl on the outside – Irene, who I would later marry – and this time I knew I was going away.
    I kept thinking about Irene. Would she finish with me? Had she met somebody else? When would I next see her? My head was spinning. I’d never had pressure like that. I kept thinking about escape. I needed a break. I tried to pick a lock, Itried to pick a set of handcuffs. Nothing worked. Then our day in court finally came. We both got three months’ detention – a ‘short, sharp’ sentence. We couldn’t complain.
    It was great to get home, and even better to see Irene again. She seemed prettier than ever. I’d met her at the Bull’s Head, Ellesmere Port, and she seemed the most perfect girl on the planet. I used to love her near me, to smell her near me … to touch her hair.
    I applied for a provisional driving licence, just for a laugh and, to my amazement, I got one. Someone slipped up there!
    I ended up getting a car. I always drove carefully when I was with Irene, but I had some close escapes at other times and I never learnt by them. My luck with cars was terrible – I was always smashing them up or blowing the engine. I was never insured, and hardly ever taxed or MOT’d.
    I started to earn good money – self-employed, with two plasterers – but I was