So … The worst, most dangerous screw in Haslar Detention Centre at the time of my admission was an officer nicknamed Benny Hill, given that name by inmates due to the way he pulled the brim of his peaked cap fiercely down over his eyes like the famous comedian of that name did when playing the incompetent Fred Scuttle security guard sketch on his TV show spectaculars of the early 1970’s.
But don’t be mislead by that innocent comedic name.
Benny Hill was an officer an inmate would never wish to attract the gaze or attention of and in carefully crafting my words to share that chilling fact with you, I am underlining a very serious observation.
I mean Benny Hill was violent … and I mean really violent.
Anyway … several months in but with only days left to serve time at her majesty’s pleasure, by bared teeth, charm, will and personal determination AND with loyal friends like Rhino and Elvis at my side, I had the respect of all inmates, the official title of Yard and Gym Orderly, (the most coveted title in the whole establishment), work assignments beyond the barbed wire in the real world, (another rare coveted assignment due to also being the home of accessible sugar, cigarettes and alcohol), and I had reached green status just a week prior to leaving, a privilege delivering me extra rations and an exclusive spacious and zen like recreational area with pool table that was out of bounds to all other inmates save for JP who I had arrived with.
Except … and comedically … since Pinnington had used a harsh abrasive scouring powder called Vim to give his teeth a brilliant white finish, (actually destroying all the enamel of his teeth by applying a silica and pumice guaranteed to strip that outer layer), he had lost both respect and his green privilege as punishment so I was in the bizarre position of having access to a pool table and a table tennis setup and various other perks that were rendered entirely useless due to not having anyone else to play them with!
That said, and joking aside, with the echo and ghost of Alex DeFarge himself seemingly in my thoughts, I reached a triumphant revelation that, perhaps, the government’s experimental short, sharp shock regime was, indeed, transforming my innate natural ability to lead from the front, (merely guiding / leading troupes of skinheads prior), but now, like some future Deus EX Adam Jenson protagonist, I was witnessing myself grow both from within and without as entirely new augmented features, upgrades and skills were being downloaded and plugged into my body and psyche, burning brand new character traits and setting me up for a future that, as yet, I still had no comprehension of.
Two decades later, I would write and recall how the Haslar experience had actually become part of the crucible and philosophy that I used to invent, patent and develop Gravity technology into exactly what it and I became became as father of “An entirely new engineering principle” and (twice) International Inventor of the year.
I digress.
Just saying … it seemed I had become a fabulous example of what a perfect inmate could achieve and had become a great success as far as enjoying the whole culture, philosophy and lifestyle of the detention centre even while others, left and right of me, were experiencing issues that brought some inmates to the point of or beyond mental breakdown.
Lets go back to the story. Back to our psychotic prison officer, Benny Hill.
Scene 1.
While in the role of Yard / Gym orderly, aside from processing new inmates and having to sweep a huge parade ground of what seemed like tons of falling autumn leaves most days, it had been my job, (amongst other jobs), to pull down, change and then make up the a fresh bed for the night duty officer each day … which I duly did.
And with only 24 hours before I was booked for release AND with me about to give up my esteemed Yard / Gym orderly role to some new rising star of an inmate, presumably, holding all the required qualities and credentials to meet and excel in such a role , I decided to leave the Haslar HMP stage with a swansong directed at one particular individual.
By 8pm of my final evening incarcerated at HMP Haslar, with Prison Officer Benny Hill assigned as the night duty officer patrolling, supervising and intimidating the 200+ inmates of Anson, Benson and Churchill dormitories, I finished all my regular orderly duties bar one.
And I slept well that night with the knowledge that on the morrow I would become a free man.
Scene 2.
A new day.
With the big wooden radio up on the shelf blasting out Dancing Queen by Abba in the far right hand corner of our side of the spacious canteen, I had a particular spring in my step as I joined the queue for the second or third of three phased breakfast time servings. I can’t recall details but I think I was on the 2nd or 3rd breakfast serving due to having folded my bed box and prepping all my Haslar belongings prior to being deemed ready or appropriate for imminent release.
Folding / forming a bed box, laying out your clothes, showing your clean comb, presenting your chattels – with precision – in EXACTLY the way you will have been trained to accomplish during the first days and weeks of the process had been exactly the reason your’s truly had learned and earned the ways to win the benefits or perks available in the ‘dog eat dog’ environment I, seemingly, managed to thrive within over an obscenely short period of time!
And what a breakfast!
After the traumatic ‘Water, cracker and cheese’ incident on arrival, I had assumed that detention centre food would be an ongoing hellish experience but I was spectacularly proved wrong and the quality, variety and presentation of every meal, morning, noon or night, was always restaurant quality.
And this morning, approaching 9:30am, meant I would be just an hour or so away from stepping out into a brand new life.
I can’t remember who I sat with. It might have been Rhino. It might have been Elvis. It might have been Pinnington, also on the same exact release schedule but, whoever it was, chat at the table was centred on my release and we nostalgically joked about how we’d met or how we’d coped or how we’d laughed at whatever adventures or incidents we’d encountered during our time at the facility.
And then all hell let loose ……..
Scene 3.
Someone was hollering. Someone was hollering and shouting at the top of their voice and, somewhere on the other side of the working kitchen side of the canteen, the 10 – 12 strong inmates seconded to their duties were no longer cooking, prepping or serving food and there was something else going on and inmates looking like they were being pushed, thrown or attacked.
And then, like an incensed raging animal, shaking and snorting he suddenly appeared in front of us all; although, with three or four rows of occupied tables between us and a crazed Benny Hill, he was a good 30ft – from our particular table.
Me? My heart sank and I felt a chill feeling of terror envelope me and just knew why we were seeing this crazed spectacle.
“FFS. Was it me? Was it me? Could he really have become this unhinged over an apple turnover bedding prank?” , I found myself thinking.
I never did get a chance to answer my own rhetorical question.
He answered it himself right there and then …
Scene 4.
We all heard him scream …
He roared out at his captive audience
“YARD ORDERLY. YARD ORDERLY. GET HERE … And I mean NOW!”
“OH FFS!”
The blood drained from my body.
I started to rise out of my seat.
But it was too late.
The NEW Yard Orderly, a fresh faced and decent looking lad barely an hour or two into his orderly duties and yet to even start the first task of his day, just stood up and walked to the front of the hall and, by doing so, instantly met the palm of Benny Hill’s hand and was knocked to the floor.
Utterly horrified, and watching the prison officer now dropping to the floor to continue delivering blows, I couldn’t allow this spectacle to continue so attempted to raise my hand as I rose out of my chair.
Alarmed, and reminding me I was just minutes from release, fellow inmates pulled me back down and, as other officers intervened to rescue the yard orderly, I was physically lifted off the ground as the second canteen shift came to an end, third tranche diners arriving as we speedily left.
NOTE. Look what I wrote at the beginning.
“Benny Hill was an officer an inmate would never wish to attract the gaze or attention of and in carefully crafting my words to share that chilling fact with you, I am underlining a very serious observation.
I mean Benny Hill was violent … and I mean really violent.“
When I wrote that, I hadn’t realised the significance of the sentence myself until I completed the telling of this story but I do know the 19 year old me of the time understood it back then.
Why? Because I innately practised what I preached in as much as I, myself, never did meet Benny Hill’s gaze and never did garner his attention for exactly the reason’s that become obvious near the end of my story.
Benny Hill did know a Yard / Gym Orderly would have been responsible for making what he must have recognised as a humiliating fool of himself, (from his own psychotic perception), but by practising my own ‘survive and thrive’ philosophy, (actually learned in real time while within the confines of the regime), I had already made a decision to never willingly engage with such a violent liability.
Of course, sure, I charmed and chatted up Officer ‘Digger’, (because he used to give me an occasional custard biscuit or a puff or two of his No 10 cigarette) and I thoroughly enjoyed, Gym Instructor Berry’s company while acting as his wingman while dishing out (fair) discipline to many, (if not all), fresh new inmates arriving at the gym for their own first inductions.
Just saying. The reason I survived the insane wrath of Benny Hill’s potential for violence was, from my side, a wilful act to just keep out of his way and that initiative made me virtually invisible to him at some human interface level with my low visibility mode approach turning me into one of 200 faceless, low signal, inmates reflecting back my own shape or footprint with as little energy as a stealth bomber radiates back to a radar!
He didn’t scream “GOODLAND. GOODLAND. GET HERE … And I mean NOW!”
Rather …
When he screamed, “YARD ORDERLY. YARD ORDERLY. GET HERE … And I mean NOW!”, he was summoning an archetype, a label, a job description; a faceless inmate that he is used to seeing change every 3 or 6 months!
A grim tale but sometimes we have stark choices.
A choice to fail – or a choice to prevail!
About the Author
