Stories Of my Life By Pete Saunders

Stories of my Life Part 6 Pet Saunders

  397                                             'Welcome to hell, lads !'

Now I can remember the coach had pulled up out side of the main gate of reading borstal. I have this very clear picture of it parked there waiting for the officers to open up those gates. I do not know if all the other boys had felt like I had at that point, but I remember that they all seemed to go rather quiet as the coach stooped there with it's engine running waiting to enter the gates. I noticed out the window of the coach, that as the screw from the coach stood waiting by the little gate that was in the big gate, the little gate opened and out came a bloke wearing civvies, clothes that is. Now I remembered his face when I saw him again inside that kick. I got to know him for Bastard he was. I latter found out that his name was Johnson, Yes what a complete and utter Bastard he had been. I will tell you more of him later. But in some ways I had great respect for him. I will explain latter.

Eventually those gates opened, I remember looking around at the outside world as the coach pasted through to enter Hell. I would not be seeing the outside world again for at least six months. Once inside the gate the coach came once more to a halt. At that point I had been sat there hoping that they would take forever to get us off. But no as soon as the coach had stopped a voice from the front of the coach shouts out:

"Come on get your fucking assholes out of this coach and up those fucking stairs. You're not in a fucking holiday camp." No sooner had these words been shouted out than we were all on our feet and moving. I am now stood in a line of bodies in the center isle of the coach, I heard come from the front: 'Slap.' Followed by;

"What the fuck do you think you are looking at, move your fucking ass." I was later told that the screw that had came out to let us into the main building had slap one of the kids up front so hard that he had fell down the steps of the coach. No doubt one day it would be said he had pushed him.

Now as we filed up at the top of some stairs to go down them, there had been another screw counting us as we entered. I say counting but I would not be wrong if I had said hitting us as we entered, for by fuck did he ever hit us hard on our backs as we went past him. I then after entering the building found myself stood with the other ten or more kids, we found ourselves stood in what reminded me of that choke block back at Rochester Borstal. Well we never had to enter those cells other than to change our cloths. We had on our own clothes at that point and had to change into Borstal kit once more. I remember thinking that reception at Reading did not take long. For no sooner where we in our Borstal kit, we were lined up and took up onto the wing.

Right I could go into great detail about getting placed in my cell that afternoon. I could tell you of some of the boys that had been hit by the screws. I could indeed tell you so much about Reading. I could write a book about the place. But I won't, I will just tell you, that after noon had been just like the first afternoon, the afternoon I had first gone into a prison. Winston Green, for once more just like that day, I was now once more going into the unknown. Mind you, when I say it was just like that day, it happened at five times the speed, and while it happened I was shitting bricks. Yes every thing that we had to do at Reading had to be done at the double and in fear of getting a kicking if we made a wrong move.
Before we had left that induction wing to come up onto the main landing, we had been told that when we got up onto the main wing, we were to stop in front of the wing control box. (Yes once more that place had the inevitable control box at the center of those landings.) We were to stop there but carry on running on the spot until told to stop. I remember coming up those stairs and turning right and making our way at the double along to that box. I remember having to turn right once we had stopped to face the box. I remember the screw that had sent us on ahead, had then walked up behind us as if he had all the time in the world.