Open Writing

I don’t recall the exact date, but I remember my
mum was back in hospital and I was left alone. Of
course there were always women in my life, but
they were only hangers on, in love with the image
more than me.

June,a girl I had a sort of semi-permanent relationship
with was a typical example.She spent the night with me.
But the morning before I was due in court for the car offence,
I was literally dragged from my bed in my underwear by
two of the biggest policemen I have ever seen,
thrown down each flight of stairs there were from
the seventh floor in Sandbeck House flats, slung
into a waiting police motorway patrol car, driven to
the Doncaster Police station, put in the cells and
told that my injuries, if I complained, were caused
when I tried to escape.

Later that morning I was
presented to the magistrates to be told I was going
to approve school. No charges or reason were
given. The only conversation was, “Is your name
Ronald Cook?”

I replied, “Yes. ”

The magistrate then said, “ I am sending you to an
approved school. Do you know what this means?”

In astonishment I said, “Yes”.

I was then taken down to the cells and left
with a social worker, once again earning their
money after a crisis has been created. I had no
legal representation whatever and again no
explanation as to why this was happening to me.
After a while in the cells I had a visitor, a damn
social worker bloke, and a typical limp-wristed fool
who asked me a few questions.

It was then I told him, I tried to get into the Army,
along with the reasons for doing it. He said he would try to
arrange for me to go to an approved school where
there would be a possibility that I could join the
forces on or before release. Of course I took this
with a pinch of salt, as he was willing to go along
with this charade they called justice, so that made
him as bad as the others.

Later that day in the evening I was told to take
my medication, a sleeping tablet as I had been
kicking off. I took it as I needed a rest or switch-off
time. If I don‘t get enough sleep my head gets full,
my speech gets slured and I end up in a state of
total confusion. Basically I become psychotic on the
verge of psycopathy - something I still do to this
day, but now know it as dreamtime.

In the early hours of the following morning, two
policemen woke me, and manhandled me into a car.
I was then taken to a place somewhat reminiscent of
what you would envisage Bedlam to be, somewhere
near York. The place itself was like a Hospital but
like what I assumed to be a gaol. It was in fact a
secure unit for the criminal insane.

Well, I had done it this time! This was a big serious
situation, that had happened now. Surely they didn’t think
I was a nutter. Needless to say I didn‘t think it. Each day,
I had to see doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists and
any number of ologists you could name. They had
me do all types of mental tests and fill me full of
drugs.

After a while when I had got my head
together I was moved into the mainstream of
Newton Aycliffe, which wasn’t much better. With the
exception of a lad called Steve that I got to know
better in later years, most of the young lads there
didn’t dare speak to me as I was in their eyes a
mad man. They feared that I would get them into
even more trouble or that I would harm them in
some way, or even kill them.

To be truthful, despite my attitude I was as scared
of them as they were of me. But I wasn’t going to show
it, was I, as that would be a sign of weakness. I didn’t want
the trouble, so I kept my head down and went with the
flow.

I was then transferred to a place called
Netherton. What a dump. I think it must have been
a holding and distribution centre designed to
frighten young lads that were new to the system.
Did I have some kind of fun, but not the fun
ordinary people would appreciate or understand!
Myself and this other lad that had come from
Newton Aycliffe, they were all scared of us, so we
really took advantage of it. We made sure life was
as easy for us as possible even if it meant someone
else doing without or getting hurt.

There was one
occasion where one of the lads stole from the
dormitory so we punished him in a kangaroo court
with me as judge, jury and prosecutor. I thought I
was Oliver Cromwell. I sentenced him to a two-way
dorm run. Which is where the assailants could put
what they wanted into a sock or pillowcase, usually
a big battery or a lump of something hard and beat
the thief as he ran the length of the dorm and
back. Along with a toilet dangle which I made up as
I went along. We would hang him from the water
cistern by his feet and dangle his head in the toilet
basin so he got a good soaking each time someone
went to the toilet or it was flushed.

The amazing
thing was, they all agreed to give the punishment
but soon pointed the finger when it came to trouble
from the bloke in charge of the unit. As a
consequence I was temporarily transferred back to
Newton Aycliffe.