Читать книгу Insanity - My Mad Life - Charles Bronson - Страница 10

How did madness start as an industry, employing millions of people around the world? Probably back in the days of the Egyptians when people were being lobotomised with nothing more than a hand drill … and being charged to have it done! Since then, the world of madness has become a lucrative business to be in.

But as far as the industry in England is concerned, we have to go as far back as 1375 when the religious priory of St Mary of Bethlem, in London, was seized by the Crown and used for lunatics from 1377.

Would you believe that, by 1403–04, it had just six insane patients and three who were sane! This old Bedlam was a small institution by today’s standards. The asylum stood on a site underneath what is now Liverpool Street Station. By the time the seventeenth century had arrived, it had about 30 patients. The Moorfields Bedlam replaced this in 1676 and, soon after that, I became an inmate … only kidding, but it seems that long ago it might as well have been built in readiness for me.

There are different categories of madmen, and different types of asylums! I know absolutely nothing about the asylums that house the madman who thinks he is an astronaut. Would you believe that 90 per cent of madmen are treated in outside clinics? They’re considered non-criminal, pathetic cases. This book refers to the other 10 per cent of madmen — the criminally insane. Killers, arsonists, poisoners and rapists — violent men. Men who have completely flipped, fallen over the edge, had nervous breakdowns and are brain diseased.

I was first certified mad in Parkhurst Prison in December 1978. Three doctors diagnosed me as being a psychopath and paranoid — Dr Cooper, Parkhurst; Dr Tipmarsh, Broadmoor; and Dr Falk, Home Office. So my prison world turned into the asylum world! I witnessed insanity at its best. If I wasn’t mad when I arrived, then I certainly was when I left years later. I’ll start my story of madness by explaining the everyday existence of being locked up in the asylum.

Rooms are cells! There are bars and locks everywhere, electronic cameras, walls, fences, alarms! And lots of highly trained psychiatric nurses built like rugby players, ready for anything. Ready to pounce, restrain and stab in the hypodermic needle to put the madman to sleep. They ask questions later.

When a madman flips, he normally has twice the strength of a normal man. So the male nurses go in fast, before somebody’s missing an eye or a throat. These nurses live on their wits. They watch for signs — eye movement, body language, aggression. They only have to think a madman’s gonna flip and they pounce.

These asylums are run by the Departments of Health and Social Security. After all, they are hospitals, or supposed to be! I’ve met them all and they’ve all met me! I became the most destructive madman the asylums had ever known. I could never accept life in the asylum. I’ve lived in a cage, in a strip cell and in a strong box. I’ve been injected, beaten, tortured and strapped up in jackets, but I could never come to accept who I was or what I was … or what they said I was. Why should I? How should I? I never would.

One madman sat next to me. He kept looking, staring, bulging eyes. I felt tense, uncomfortable and edgy. I started to think fast. Be prepared. No madman’s gonna get a crack at me! He started shaking, mumbling to himself; he looked upset. Tears welled up in his eyes, and then he hit me with the biggest bombshell ever! ‘You killed my mum,’ he said.

‘How the fuck did I kill your mum? What the fuck are you talking about? I’ve never killed a woman in my life,’ I replied.

He reckoned I killed his mother up in Scotland in 1948! For one, I’ve never been to Scotland, and for two, I wasn’t born until 1951!

But this madman could not accept this! In his mind, I killed his mother. I had to keep an eye on this one. If I gave him half a chance he would kill me. No matter what I said or what I did, this madman truly believed I was the man who’d killed his mum!

Later, I used to shout back, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah and you killed my Aunty Rose, you evil slag, and you dug her up and shagged her, you filthy beast.’ You learn to laugh or you would go mad!

I investigated, and it turned out he’d been sent to Broadmoor for stabbing his mother to death in a frenzied attack!

Another madman tore out one of his testicles and slung it over the wall in the exercise yard. This, I would have said, was humanly impossible, but I was there, and it happened.

And the madness in the asylums just piles up as time ticks on. One madman stripped off and climbed up a wall. At the top he shouted, ‘I can fly.’ He flapped his arms, and away he went … with two broken ankles. Insane, but true! Another madman stabbed a fellow inmate with a pair of scissors a dozen times, just to liven up the day. Another madman drank another madman’s blood, whilst the other drank his blood. Another two madmen killed another inmate by cutting his throat, wrists and penis. Another madman stabbed himself with a needle in the eye. He lost the eye. Another madman attempted to cut his penis off with a razor blade. Another madman snatched a doctor’s gold pen and swallowed it. Another madman punched his mother in the nose, on a visit. Another madman stuffed a spoon in another madman’s ear. Another madman attempted to use a saw on a nurse’s neck. I was there. Another madman kept running at walls, head-butting them. Another madman swallowed a box full of drawing pins. And how do I know all those things? Because I was there!

I’ve truly seen some sights that even I still find hard to believe, and I can tell it all because … I was there.

And if you think that’s enough weirdness, here’s some examples of madness at its best:

 One lunatic in Rampton used to have bouts of hysteria, in which he would let out a scream, and run at a wall and dive head first … He was given a crash helmet!

 A nurse kicked another nurse in the bollocks at Broadmoor and got the sack! The nurse he kicked deserved it. Well done, mate.

 One lunatic in Broadmoor used to flop his dick out on the dinner room table and smash it with the teapot! Why? He just did it, that’s why.

 One lunatic in Ashworth used to drop his trousers in the garden and shit in the rose bushes. Why? ’Cos he liked to do it.

 A loon thought he was Frank Sinatra and every time Frank came on TV or the radio the loon would go mad — ‘Imposter!’

 A loony in Broadmoor picked up a TV set and hit another loony over the head with it. Why? ’Cos he was laughing!

 A loon made a model gallows out of matches; it took him ages, it looked so real! Later, he did actually hang himself.

 A loony stabbed another loony 12 times with a pair of scissors just to brighten up the day!

 A loony was found in the dormitory wearing a bra, suspenders, a wig and a very sore arse!

 A loony once buried his watch and rings in the gardens at Broadmoor then forgot where they were!

 A loon asked a nurse to ride around the exercise yard; he got so upset, he took a hostage!

 A flotilla of used condoms was often found in the soup! (I never ate it, ever.)

 A loon used to suck off three loons in one go. They called him Jaws!

 A game of bowls was banned as one ended up over someone’s crust!

 A loony used to pay other loons in fags to rip his pubic hairs out!

 A loony fell in love with his budgie and applied to marry it!

 A loony bit through the TV wire and almost died!