Gangsters, Guns & Me - Now I'm in Eastenders, but once I was on the run. This is my true story. Jamie Foreman
to go just yet.’
‘I told you. Time!’ said the screw, his hand coming down on the table three times. Bang, bang, bang.
Dad ignored him and smiled at me. ‘Come here and give me a little cuddle,’ he said. I smiled back.
‘I thought I told you, Foreman,’ shouted the screw, his face reddening. ‘Time!’
‘I told you, I’m coming,’ said Dad, calm as anything. He didn’t raise his voice one bit. ‘Come on, time to go,’ he added, smiling at us.
We stood up and moved towards the door, Dad with his arms on my shoulders. We got outside, and Dad gave Mum a kiss and a hug. The same routine as always, yet something felt strange. It was as if Dad was a little bit removed from the situation, like there was something else on his mind as he went through the motions of saying goodbye. In the middle of whatever we were saying, Dad broke off suddenly.
‘Hang on,’ he said quietly, ‘I won’t be a second.’
With that, he walked back into the visiting room. Mum looked a bit alarmed, so Ronnie took her arm a second and smiled. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. Then he went after Dad.
Ronnie must have known something I didn’t. All I knew was Mum looked worried and Dad was back in the visiting room for some reason. I walked over to the door and peered into the room. On one side there were three or four wardens. Ron was looking at them but they all seemed to be looking the other way. I’ll never forget the scene that met my eyes.
Dad had gone to the front of the lectern, grabbed the guard by his collar and dragged him across the desk with one arm until their faces were level. The cocky bastard who, moments ago, had been banging his fist and barking orders was now hanging over his desk, my dad’s finger in his face, and begging for mercy.
‘I’m sorry, Foreman, I’m sorry,’ he pleaded, his arms flailing around while Dad quietly laid down the law.
I crept forward enough to hear my dad saying, ‘If you ever talk to me like that in front of my family again, I’ll break your fucking jaw.’
Even I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.
‘I’m apologising, I’m sorry,’ the screw kept repeating. He looked petrified, desperate to calm my dad down.
Perhaps the other screws thought Dad had a point and that the screw had what was coming to him, or were scared of interfering with my dad in full flow – maybe both – for they did nothing to try to stop what was happening. Even so, Ronnie was there to mind my dad’s back. They all just looked the other way as Dad seemed about to go to work.
I was transfixed, my mouth agape at the scene. I’d never seen Dad really lose it before, and it was an awesome spectacle. I was frozen, fascinated, shocked and proud, all at the same time. I wondered if Dad was about to take things further. Was he about to lay this odious, objectionable man out?
The answer was no, thankfully. After a few more strong words, Dad threw the bloke back into his chair as easily as you’d brush off a fly, then calmly walked back to where I was waiting. I took one more look at the screw slumped in his chair. He was a different man. Instead of pulling him from his perch to the floor, Dad had dragged him over it, bringing their eyes to the same level, literally showing the screw that he could not talk down to my dad. Then, when done, he’d shoved him back up to his position of authority and made a mockery of it. Before, the screw had been puffed up with self-importance and power, above us all at his lectern. Now he looked weak, defeated. Pathetic. It was the last time I ever saw him. On our next visit a new – very polite – guard was sitting at the lectern.
Then Dad was back with us, breathing just a little harder and licking his slightly curled lips. I would see that face many times again over the years, but it was that day I learned to read the signs.
After a couple of minutes, Dad cracked a smile and gave us a hug. The storm had passed.
‘Just like the old days, Freddie,’ smiled Ronnie, and they had a bit of a giggle about it. Ronnie would not have hesitated in risking getting nicked to help my dad. The sense of loyalty my father commanded was earned because he had shown the same to his friends all his life. It was and is an unimpeachable code of honour.
‘I’m going to have murders over him,’ said Dad with a grin. ‘Still…’
I’d read about my dad’s reputation, and now I’d been given a taste of how powerful he could be, and how suddenly he could switch from one mood to another. There had been no screaming and shouting, just a steely determination to take it to the edge. Dad would never let anyone disrespect him or his family. The more I came to understand my father, the more I loved him, and the more I could believe things were OK for him in prison. There was light at the end of the tunnel.
I had been in pieces, but slowly I was getting back together. My dad had made his decisions in life, and now I had some decisions of my own to make.
By now I’d been out of school for a good year and I was staring my 15th birthday in the face. I’d knocked about here and there, revisiting old mates in the Borough, I’d been down the library and looked after the house, but I was getting bored. I didn’t want to go back to school, but I knew I needed to find something to occupy my days. Mum agreed.
‘You can’t just do nothing,’ she said one day. ‘I feel terrible you’re not at school, and I’m not going to let you waste yourself.’
Thank God for those words. It wasn’t that I was wasting my life, but she was right. If she hadn’t made me have a good think, I may well have ambled along as I was for a good few years, or maybe the authorities would have caught up with me and made me go to school. Who knows? Anyway, Mum was the catalyst I needed to help me take control of my destiny.
During my time at home, I’d been watching a lot of telly, and good telly at that. It was the early seventies, and at that time British drama was at its best. We had the greatest writers in the world writing plays that were shown weekly on the BBC – earth-shatteringly brilliant people like Dennis Potter, Alan Sillitoe and Alan Plater were giving the nation programmes to really get their teeth into, and I remember being glued to every Play For Today, among other fantastic dramas.
I was still an avid cinema-goer too, and ended up spending a lot of my time thinking about the other worlds I encountered at the pictures or on the box. I suppose it made me a bit of a dreamer, which meant I was never bored. As I started to wonder what I could do with myself, I began to dream that I could do what all those people I took such pleasure in watching did: acting.
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