A lot of stuff has been written about me, but I’d like to put the record straight. A geezer sent me the Paul Ferris book recently, The Ferris Conspiracy. Now I’ve never met Ferris; I’ve heard of him, in fact some of my pals speak highly of him, but after reading the bit in which I’m mentioned, the guy’s been misinformed.
I won’t bother with the details, but remember this: get your facts right, Ferris, before you slag people off. It’s men like me who have fought for all your prison comforts, your curtains, your rugs, your bedspreads, your nice visits and your flask. Me, Ferris!
I’ve spent my whole adult life fighting for cons’ human rights, but I’ve never had any benefits myself. I’ve stopped the pigs bashing cons; what have you fucking done? You have never been next to me in a cage; I never saw you up on any of the roofs protesting for better treatment and conditions. That was me, Ferris, doing it for you. It’s me who’s had to take the full force of my actions, and all I get is people like you slipping me into your muggy book as if I’m some sort of animal!
If you had met me, maybe you would have a different opinion, then I could have accepted your judgement. You mention some great guys in your book, men I admire, but to judge me without meeting me … who the fuck do you think you are? That’s insanity to me!
Talking of insanity, Riff Memhet, a serious armed robber who copped a 21-year sentence, exchanged words with me one day through the closed doors. I’ll always remember what he shouted. ‘Bronson! You’re a liberty-taker … you wrapped that poor governor up in Hull Jail for nothing.’
I was lost for a reply, I was in shock! I felt lost, like I no longer belonged in jail. How can I have taken a liberty by kidnapping a governor? He is the system … he runs our life; I’m a prisoner … it’s my duty to wrap up who I want! I said to Memhet, ‘As long as I don’t wrap you up, what’s your fucking problem?’
It was the same in Parkhurst when I came out of my cell in the late hours and smashed the jail up. Cons were slagging me over it! It’s a poxy prison I’m wrecking, not their homes! Or are they all insane?
Once, in Wandsworth, I was slopping out, dozens of us, scores of us, queuing up to slop our pots away. The stench alone depresses you. Some guy, somehow, spilled some of his piss on my boot … accident or on purpose, who knows? But it was no accident as I smashed his head into the wall. I just lost it. I kept smashing his crust into the wall. My mate, Mickey Stevens, grabbed me. I was killing him! That’s how you can snap. You don’t get out of bed and say, ‘Oh, I’ll cave someone’s crust in today,’ it doesn’t happen like that, it’s just an explosion of madness!
Tony Martin, the farmer, got life for shooting two burglars; one died. An Englishman’s home is his castle. The law is insane! What a joke British justice is … two little pricks climb into your house to steal your property, and they could have had a gun or knife. Tony Martin, a farmer, lived alone; what else could he do but shoot the scumbags? Now he’s got life! That’s insanity!
I see mad Frank Cook’s back in jail again. In his book Hard Cell, he wrote, ‘Bronson will kill me on sight.’ What a silly thing to put in a book! But you have to ask yourself why.
All his little chats on TV and radio and all his work with the ‘pigs’, and what do they do? Nick him and put him back in. Still, he always wanted to be the hard man of the United Kingdom. Why not stay in, Frank? Do society a favour, ’cos I think they’re tired of your crap.
And I’m not gonna kill you, Frank, so why say it? I’m now at peace with myself. I’ve put all the madness behind me! But even so, I’d never crawl away from my past; I am who and what I am! No act and no regrets! I’ve not even got any sympathy for my victims, only some I should have hit harder. No doubt you’ll be crawling again for some parole. No wonder you’re a short arse; you’ve lost 6in by crawling around.
I remember in Full Sutton in the late ’80s when Frank did me a big favour. I hit this big black guy in the TV room. He had to have some, as he was getting very silly. It was Frank who helped him up and took him away to clean him up. Frank later told me, ‘It’s sorted, no comebacks.’ But the next day, I was moved up to Durham cage. I’m not saying Frank was involved, but if I had sorted it myself, I’d have made certain I was in the clear. See you in hell, Frank!
Albert Donaghue had the cheek to write a book on his life with the Krays … what a fucking insult! He turned Queen’s Evidence (QE) on the Krays. Some people just have no morals at all! He should crawl into a hole with that other ‘slag’ John Barry who went QE on the twins as well. Don’t confuse him with Ian Barrie, though, who is a gentleman! A loyal man, he served 20 years for the Krays, like the man he is!
I’ve got this thing about grasses … I just get the urge to rip their tongues out and pop their eyes with a needle! I wonder if you could put your lips over an eye and suck it out! I’ll have to try that if I ever bump into Berti Smails.