1900 hours

By John R. O'Neon

A writer goes undercover as a prison officer to find the truth of how the system works. He finds that being an officer changes one's total outlook on life. 60o/o of the story is factual. Life is sometimes stranger than fiction?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781291178791

Book preview

1900 hours

1900 hours

John R. O’Neon

Also by

John R. O’Neon

Karn’s Chronicle.

Maria’s Revenge

Bast.

Granny & Granddad’s

Household Encyclopaedia

First edition published 2008 by Lulu.com

The right of John R. O’Neon to be identified as the

Author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance

With the copyright, design and patents Act 1988.

Copyright © John R. O’Neon 2007

Cover design © John R. O’Neon 2007

ISBN 978-1-291-17879-1

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,

by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out,

or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent

in any form of binding or cover other than that in which

it is published and without a similar condition including this

condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Dedicated to the ones I love

Time is the moment that lasted forever

And the day that disappeared

As long as we have memories

Yesterday remains

As long as we have hope

Tomorrow waits

Prologue

1900 HOURS is a story about a writer who becomes a prison officer so he can get the true feelings and the inside story about their way of life and their attitudes before and after they join the service.

I recount some funny moments but they are few. In a high security prison there isn’t much to laugh about. There were escapes. Riots. Rapes of young offenders. Many fights and even murder that mostly went unsolved. A fellow officer, a friend, was murdered for no known reason by a prisoner who was originally sentenced for passing dud cheques. Now he too is dead.

What I have written are mostly true accounts drawn from my own ten-years as an officer at the Long-Bay Complex of Prisons, Sydney, Australia; One of the toughest in the southern hemisphere, the truth is woven into a fictitious and interesting story of intrigue.

60% or more of the story is true and as in life it’s sometimes hard to tell the difference between truth and fiction…the truth is sometimes very strange

One

As I sit gazing out over Sydney’s famous harbour bridge, which is lovingly called 'The Coat Hanger' with Shark Island in front of me just over a mile away out in the bay. A ferry glides along on its way to Manly Cove. The sky glows blood red with the sun setting low over the bridge to the west. I closed my eyes and visualized the whole of Sydney harbour as I saw it from the air not long ago. The twisting snake of the Bradfield Highway as it curved its way out high above the Rocks area, the oldest part of Sydney with neat little terraced houses. Some of which used to house the prisoner's who worked there in the early days of the settler’s.

On it went over Dawes point and across the coat hanger to meet up with the Pacific Highway, our number one road around Australia. What struck me most was the greenery around everywhere one looked. The largest area being the Royal Botanic gardens that must cover about one square mile from St. Mary's Cathedral down to government house at Farm Cove, Where also, those magnificent sails of the opera house lie moored. It’s a beautiful harbour. The most beautiful in the south pacific if not the world I thought. Rio de Janeiro came to mind as I wondered if I could make a story from any of my thoughts.

It's been over twelve months since my last book went onto the shelves. I've been looking for new idea's ever since. But sitting here gazing out over the harbour makes it hard, very hard with many thoughts passing through my mind but then again as...Ringgggg...ringgggg...

‘Hello!...Oh Bob! Hi how are you?’

‘Hi Cliff, not bad and you? Hey listen. Did you hear about Colin, he's in prison?’

‘What! Why, when?’

‘Well I heard that he was a bit drunk and driving home from a party, and you know Colin! He gets a bit stroppy sometimes and he had a go at the cop's that stopped him. They arrested him and...But listen to this! They found heroin on him. Now you know Colin wouldn't touch that stuff or any other type of drugs, but he couldn't prove it and so got two years.  He was sentenced just three days ago Cliff!’

‘Wow! I don't know what to say Bob...it's a bloody shock and as you say it's not like Colin to mess around with drugs. Do you reckon they were planted on him? I wouldn't be at all surprised if they were.  Jesus I really am stuck for words. But who the hell is he running around with now...where is he I'll go and visit him.’

‘Long Bay mate!’ 

‘O.K’ and thanks for informing me Bob.’

‘Yeah right! I'll see you soon.’

I wonder...an idea was growing in my mind. Would it work? Could I go through with it? No! Maybe there's another way...my mind was racing.

‘Hi Colin nice to see you again, I never knew what to bring you so here's some cigarettes to go on with.’  We sat looking at each other for what seemed like eternity. Colin was not really a close friend but he was someone you could rely on. And he'd helped me out quite a few times over the past twenty odd years that we've known each other.

‘Well! Cliff Warren. I didn't expect it to be you.  Not a very nice place to meet is it, and you know I'll be in here for another twenty-three months. Three days and so many hours. If I'm good I'll get time off...boy you should see my cellmate! Christ, have drugs blown his mind. Still at least he's quiet.  You should see some of the guys in here.  There's one who thinks he's Rambo.  He sliced someone up with a machete! Then there's skinny. He was...why are you looking at me like that Cliff! I wasn't guilty you know...Doesn’t green suit me or am I talking too much?’

‘Oh! I'm sorry Colin Yes it does. I mean no...Oh I don't know what I mean. My thoughts were on something else. Listen...you know how I've been looking for another subject to write about! Well’ I said gesturing about me. ‘This is it! Prison! But how do I get in?’ I looked at him inquiringly.

‘What! Now come off it Cliff, you've got to be joking. But you're not are you? O.K.' I'll swap places with you, here take my jacket. Ha! Ha! Ha!’  We sat looking at each other again not really knowing what to say.

‘Tell me Colin, what are the warder's like, the so-called screws! Could I be one?  Am I the type? Is there a type? What do you think...well?’

‘You really are serious aren’t you? Well if you are at least I'll have a friend in here!’

‘Look Colin. I'm sorry but I've got to go. I'll see you again soon. I've got to check into this, you never know the next time we meet I might be the one that locks you up for the night...I'll see you soon mate.’

As I walked out of the visiting room I looked about me with a new sense of purpose. This could end up being the best thing I've written yet. They may even make it into a film I thought.  I found myself excited at the prospect but then a shiver went through me as I looked up and saw this huge mean looking prisoner glaring at me. I had never really thought of myself as a tough guy. Yes, I'd had a few fights in my life and won a few of them as well. But this, this is different, totally different. Could I cope with it I wondered.

‘Thanks mate.’ The warder just nodded in reply and the huge Iron Gate slammed shut behind me. Locking me out.  Could I cope if it slammed shut and locked me in?

Come on answer your phone I thought to myself. But it just kept on ringing. It's an omen; maybe they don't want...it was picked up.

‘Hello! Department of Corrective Services, can I help you.’

‘Yes hello um, I would like to apply for employment as a prison warder!’ I stuttered.

’Right sir, I'll make an appointment for; let me see, will tomorrow at two-thirty be all right?

‘Yes! That’s fine.’ I said, surprised it was so soon.

‘Your name sir.’ As I told him my name and a few other details I thought this is it, my whole life is about to change. I'd heard over the past few days that no one who spends any length of time in a prison stay's the same.  Their whole outlook on life is seen through a different kind of window. Well as a writer this intrigued me; it also scared me a bit. But what the hell. I'm thirty-six years old and I don't think anything's going to change my attitude to life now.

I never thought I'd be looking down at a sheet of paper with twenty questions on it. An IQ test. I had fifteen minutes to complete it; I did it in six. Now over to another building where I had to stretch and cough. I was sent back to the first office where I was told of a date to attend a school. A school, which would teach me the rules and regulations of the gaols, including some tips on how to stay alive! Unarmed combat and riot training. Boy that was fun. On one occasion, one half of the school acted as the rioting prisoner's and the rest of us as warders. Of course we were told to make it realistic and some of us sure did,

So much so that a fellow trainee officer had his arm broken by an aluminium bat, a baseball bat! Yes my reaction was the same. But it was the only bat to be had and nobody knows where it came from. But most try and grab for it. The rest of us had the usual wooden batten, which is about thirty-six inches long with a leather thong through the handle.  Which by the way should never be looped round the hand I learnt, just wound around so that if it happened to be pulled by a crim, it would come off the hand and not allow you to be pulled off balance where you might be grabbed and held as a hostage. Or worse, better they have your batten than you.

Anyhow, poor old Dave was taken off to hospital with his broken arm. In the classroom the next day we had to go over the tactics we should use. Which formation's to use in different situations when entering a yard full of rioting prisoner's.  I never dreamt that the training would involve this sort of thing. It's certainly opening my eyes.

It was our second week of training. In all there are three weeks to be done before passing and entering the service.  But even then you are on probation for twelve long months. But that's if you finish the schooling, some didn't.  One chap was an ex-cop. everyone thought that he was the right type for the job; he was big and sure of himself. Or so we all thought.  In our second week we were measured for our uniforms but got one off the peg for the time being until they are made for you. Mine wasn’t a bad fit. That same day we entered the prison proper for the first time.  We were in amongst the prisoner's and Chris, the ex-cop, I noticed kept well to the middle of our group. I noticed at one time he was sweating a lot for a cool day and when we were leaving the prison he couldn't wait to get outside.

‘Chris, are you all right?' I asked thinking that he might be ill.     

‘Yes, I'm O.K'...why?’

‘Oh nothing really, it’s just that you... well you looked a bit nervous.’  He stared at me, a strange sort of look, as if he'd seen a ghost. Had he seen a ghost?  Maybe a prisoner that he had arrested at some time.  I never did find out because the following day he resigned. Word has it that being right in there amongst them frightened the life out of him. He just couldn't handle it...Fear. Was I afraid?

As I recalled my feeling's that night they were of curiosity more than anything, if there was fear in me it was pushed to the back of my mind and I hoped that it never comes to the fore.

‘Point that gun to the ground Davis!’ shouted McEvoy, our firearm's instructor.  It was a hot and humid day and we were on the Anzac rifle range at Malabar.  Our weapons were the .30 M.I. carbines and the .38 Smith & Wesson K-frame revolver. 

Some of the M.Is had splits and cracks in the stocks. I think they were all ex-American Service weapons. And had they seen some service! Every rifle had been used as a hammer, but they still fired. I was a pretty good shot with a revolver. Maybe I was with Wyatt Earp in a former life...Yeah and that could be another idea for a book I thought.  But as I fired I kept asking myself the same question over and over. Could I aim and hit as accurately if my target was an escaping man?  I would just have to wait and see if the occasion arose.

You’re told to fire a warning shot after a verbal warning, and at the prisoner as a last resort. That’s the official way. The unofficial way of course is for the second shot to be the warning one.

I wondered how many times that had happened, no one will ever know.

‘Well don't you look cute?" Jane said as she opened the door to me.

‘Hello darling, I'll bet you never thought you'd see me in a uniform but you look as lovely as ever.’ I said as I kissed her.

‘Hmm! I've never been kissed by a man in uniform before.’

’Was it different?’ I asked thinking that I wouldn't know if that were true or not. I'd known Jane for about two years. She stays over now and again. Does the cooking and generally mothers me. Although that would be the wrong word to use because she is also my lover and a damn good one at that.  I was trying to think where we met.…

‘Come on darling, get out of that pretty blue uniform.’

‘Right, OK but then can we eat? I’ve been out on the Anzac range all day and it’s given me an appetite you know!  You know, I don't think I would last long locked up in a cell if I couldn't have you beside me. I don't think I'd last at all!’

She helped me undress and I relaxed on the bed for a moment, stretching my limbs. What are they like Cliff! Are they like we see them in the films and on the Tele? Do they scheme to escape all the time? What about the poof, the gay guy’s what happens to them?’

‘Hey! Steady on. Slow down. One at a time, please.  I don't really know if there are any escapes planned but that's an interesting thought, I wonder if there are any tunnels being dug.’

It was Thursday, the final day of our schooling.  A mild March day in 1976. Our school started with fourteen in the class. Eleven of us stood there waiting for the roster to be posted so that we could check to see which of the four gaol's in the complex of prisons at long bay, we would be assigned to work in. 

I preferred the Central Industrial Prison. But there was also the Metropolitan Remand Prison. Which should have been renamed because both were used as maximum security. There was the Metropolitan Remand Centre. Which holds those on remand. And then there's the Metropolitan Training Centre. The latter is used to hold the white-collar workers.  ‘Ah! There’s my name against 25post in the C.I.P. 7am. Start, finish at 4pm. On Monday. 

Well this is it. I had just three days of civilian life left before plunging into the life of a prison officer. I looked around me. What have I gotten myself into I thought.

‘Come on Cliff. Wake up...you’re not much fun today, what are you thinking of?’

‘Oh nothing much. But the day after tomorrow I get dressed in blue again and I don't know why, but I'm a little bit anxious. Oh! What the hell, come on then I'll race you to the water.’  We ran but I let her get in front so that I could watch that lithe sensual body glide along. In the water she was like a mermaid, sleek and fast. Where was she? She'd dived in and ‘OOPS! Hey let go!’ She was pulling my trunks off and I knew that in her frame of mind if she got them I wouldn't get them back.

‘Jane let go!’  I managed to shout as I came up for air.

‘Ouch! That hurt. Right now you've asked for it.’ I grabbed for her bikini top and it came off. I started to swim away but that was the wrong thing to do, off come my trunks. 

‘Oh! Please Jane give them back, the water's to cold to stay in for long. Give them back. Come on I'll swap' 

‘It doesn't bother me to go topless!’ she said as she jumped up out of the water like a dolphin showing her two lovely white pointers. I Grabbed and caught her as she fell back. We kissed and held each other until with a bit of a shock we realized we were not alone.  We hastily got decent again.

As we walked hand in hand back up to the car, again I was thinking of how it would be to go without a woman for a couple of years. What a horrible thought. I held her hand tighter glad that I'd dismissed my original idea of going in as a criminal. Locked up, me! Ugh! I shuddered at the thought of it.

At eight-fifteen we were ordering dinner and once again the thoughts of prison entered my mind. What sort of food do they have to eat I wondered.

Two

I was third to last standing in a line of twenty officers waiting to be given keys.  The main key of the gaol is called a Jackson, it opened all the locks to yards etc; and allowed you movement throughout the complex.  Wing keys and cell keys were a different type altogether; each key that was issued being totally different, depending on your post.   Some officers were given as many as six keys! I had two.

‘Right lets go.’ said Mr. Williams. The acting Deputy Superintendent for the day. 25 post officer goes first to 4-wing to Let-go Release the prisoners from their cells to get their breakfast from the food trolley.  The food is dished out I noticed by the prisoners themselves, the sweepers of the wing. Who are also the toughest and run the wing, keeping it clean and checking any trouble that might arise. The head sweeper of four wing I found out was in for murdering eleven people.  A Hit-man for the Brisbane mobs, But to look at him. Well, he could have passed for my father.  Jesus Christ you sure can't tell by looks.

They all returned to their cells to eat their meal.  This answered my earlier thought. They each had a mug of tea. A bowl of corn flakes. And a plate of two eggs, two rashers of bacon and some beans. Which looked and smelt bloody good. The sweepers I noticed had more than anyone else. But I suppose they worked for it, so deserved it.

We locked them back into their cells.  It was now about twenty past seven. We stood around talking until about seven-fifty then proceeded to our respective posts. The officers, who start at eight o'clock, would let-go again for the morning.

It was ten o'clock and my feet ached from the continuous walking of the 160 paces it took from one end to the other of my post.

‘Post correct sir’. I said to an officer with one stripe as he walked towards me.

‘You don't have to report to me mate. I'm only a baggy arse like you! You can go for your tea break now; you've got ten-minutes.

‘Thanks, but where do I go?’

‘Down to the main gate mate.’

‘Thanks. My names Warren, Cliff Warren.’

‘Adam! Don’t be too long I've got a few others to relieve.’ He retorted. 

Not very friendly I thought as I walked hurriedly to the main gate.

‘You took eleven minutes’. I got greeted with on my return.

‘I'm sorry but I...’

‘Never mind, I was only kidding you. Got to go, see you later Cliff!’

Well that was the fastest cup of tea I have ever had in my life.  My feet were burning as I started to walk again and I wondered how many posts like this one there were.

‘That O.K.' boss?’  I jerked round and there stood this old fellow with a rag in his hand, pointing to a copper water pipe on the rear wall of four wing.

‘Is what O.K.’ I replied.

‘The pipe, is it shiny enough boss?’

‘Oh! Yes. I didn't know it had to be kept clean. Do you do it all the time?

‘Yeah boss. I'm the 25-post sweeper anything yer want done just ask me!’

'What's your name?'

‘Smith boss, number 254.’

'O.K. Smith, carry on.’  I said and continued on. A little bit shaken at the thought of being startled like that. I was so deep in my thought’s that I never noticed a prisoner right beside me. I'd better wake up. At that moment a bell rang.

‘I gotta go boss, see you in the wing.’  I nodded at him. Friendly old devil I thought. I wonder what he's in for.

My post duties stated that at 11-4Oam I should check to see that the post is all clear and secure and then proceed to four wing to help lock-in for lunch.  After this was done we all lined up outside the deputy's office. It was like a roll call as the wing officer's called out the number of prisoners they had housed in their wing, and the number actually locked away over lunch. Because some apparently stayed out a while longer to clean away the food trolley's and wash the plates.

We were dismissed, and we all rushed to get out of the main gate. We hung our keys on a board as we filed through. When the board was reported correct by the gatekeeper. The outer main gate was ordered to be opened by an executive.

There was basically no difference between this side of the gate and the outside but by Christ I felt free and I'm an officer on my first day in gaol. I'd rather