Taken for Granted

Taken for Granted
By John Riddle
Part One of the Tenerife Trilogy

Blackmore Prison is located about ten miles from Leeds City centre
overlooking open countryside. Built some years before the war, the Boar
war that is, it is the last jail on mainland Britain to retain the
age-old practice of slop out.
Slop out for those law abiding citizen?s who have never graced the
inside of one of Her Majesty's establishments, involves emptying the
buckets of urine and excrement into a recessed toilet on an antiquated
landing. These buckets have been in use by the inmates from 8 p.m. the
previous evening until now, and it's 7.30 a.m.
The stench created by the waste of one hundred and sixty men has to be
experienced to be appreciated, you can not only smell the shit, you can
taste it. So much for humane containment.
"The practice" as the Prison Department calls it will be discontinued
in 1998.
We shall see!
The staff at Blackmore Prison appear to be as old as the jail itself.
Dyed in the wool, hard line Yorkshiremen, or "sheep shaggers" as us
inmates call them.
They see everything in black and white, right or wrong and certainly
no room for compromise or for that matter initiative or common
sense.
To the young breed of enthusiastic prison offers, both male and female,
we call them puppies, who are turned out by the Prison Service College,
in Wakefield, the old staff are dinosaurs, who have no place in the
modern Prison Service.
When the puppies arrive at the jail they are told by the Principal
Officer, the chief welcoming to life within these walls, that they
should forget what they have been told at the college. "This is the
real world," he tells them.
"Lock em up, keep em locked up and give em nowt," he adds.
The greenhorns shiver at initial welcome from officers with outdated
attitudes, the dinosaurs, because they are hanging onto a world that is
rapidly disappearing. The dinosaurs will disappear in the passage of
time, as did their namesakes.
The inmate population comes mainly from Yorkshire, but there have been
several Geordies, natives of Newcastle upon Tyne, and the odd Cockney,
who has misbehaved and been shipped north, hundreds of miles from their
loved ones in the East End of London.
"Shipping" is a method used by the Prison Service to deal with the
disruptive elements in prison, moving them as far away from their wives
and children and loved ones, hoping they will retain control.
Do they not realise that they are only sowing the seeds of hatred,
which one-day will explode?
However that is the way the Prison Service deals with problems, they
move them on, and in reality problems are rarely solved.
Things will change we are told, but Home Secretaries change, not the
prison culture. Directors of Prison Service change, but in prison
nothing changes. The latest change is the statement of intent that
things will change, "All prisoners will be treated with humanity and
respect."
In a word Bullshit!
Me? Oh sorry for the delay in introduction, the name's Grant, Anthony
John Grant, Tosh to my mates.
I am an unlucky, seasoned villain spending yet another period as guest
of Her Majesty, in this four star establishment. My crime, well as the
judge put it for offences of misappropriation of motor vehicles.
I nick cars.
Not your bog standard Fiestas or Corsa?s you understand, my target was
the Rollers, Porsche and Mercs. I was making in excess of five grand a
week, before the Old Bill took an interest, and now the proverbial
wheel has come full circle and I am paying my debt to society.
Occupational hazard.
Not moaning you understand, it was a fair cop, but unlike many, I have
hope, there is light at the end of the tunnel, they can't keep me
forever.
One day I will be out and return home to my beautiful Maggie, to our
island in the sun, our island of dreams, Tenerife, in the Canary
Islands.
Maggie is my partner, a woman in a million who deserves better than
me.
Slim attractive, 5?6" long red hair cascading down her slim shoulders,
a real stunner. She has stood by me through thick and thin and I really
love that lady.
I had always planned to retire to the sun when my days as a villain
came to an end. I had visited various places on the Iberian peninsula,
beautiful Barcelona, one summer in Majorca working in a bar in Cala
Bona, the Beachcomber, several excursions to the tranquil island of
Menorca in the Balearics plus six trips to Marbella on nefarious
activities, Marbella was the home of Ronnie Knight before his return to
England.
I finally decided to settle on Tenerife. In my opinion Tenerife is
heaven on earth, my fantasy island, the place I dream about night after
night.
But back to reality.
Today began like most days at Blackmore Prison, slopping out.
I have resigned myself to the routine of the jail. The laborious
routine of getting up, eating, going to work, eating, getting locked
up, back to work, eating and so the day goes on and on. Routine, hardly
any variety, and boredom leads to apathy, and apathy to
resignation.
Officer Pat Patrick unlocked me as usual.
Not the faintest whisper of a smile on his face. Just doing his job
with total detachment. Unlocking inmates, or cons, as he prefers to
call us, as he has done religiously since time began. I almost said
religiously but on reflection he doesn't know the meaning of the word
or compassion for that matter.
Yes he we have a prime example of the original prison dinosaur.
The old hand prison officer, much like Mr. McKay in the sit com
Porridge, but a thousand times as hard and totally devoid of
humour.
"Come on Tosh rise and shine" he utters in an accent as broad as Ilkley
Moor.
My brain subconsciously says fuck off you old cunt, but is translated
into "OK Guv"; such is the ambivalence and contradictions of prison
life.
I reluctantly rose from my pit, picked up my jeans from the single
chair that furnishes the cell and drew them on over last night's
underpants. Disgusting pure filth, but what can you expect?
The gracious Prison Department only allows two pair of clean underpants
a week. Oh how I long for the day when I can have two pairs of Kelvin
Clein boxer shorts a day, even silk, oh yes silk, now that is a dream
worth savouring. Clean silk underpants rather than the crappy prison
issue I have to endure.
It would be heaven each day to have a shower or two without some
pervert grabbing your dick. Soap on a rope is essential in the showers,
and how refreshing it was for some film producer to tell it as it is in
The Shawshank Redemption.
I know this was an American jail where things are to be said to be more
violent.
Prison officials in Britain tell you this doesn't happen here, so why
have more than a hundred con's topped themselves inside this year?
Rape, drug abuse, homosexuality, or separation, take your pick, there
all here.
Get off your soap box Tosh, you are a criminal, and your opinion means
nothing.
I picked up my plastic bucket that doubles as a w.c. and walked along
the metal landing with one hundred or so other campers locked up in
Jack Straw's Holiday Camp.
What will today hold for Tosh Grant I wonder?
"Alright Tosh," said Terry Rich, one of the Geordies in the jail.
I responded with a grunt, "Aye ok Terry," not having totally woken as
yet.
I emptied last night's waste into the sink. The stench was
unbelievable. I almost puked.
To the uneducated prison stomach such a smell would provoke instant
vomiting. But us criminal's are well used to it by now. We are told
that very soon all jails will have what is called integral
sanitation.
Great!
We can then eat, sleep and shit in the same room.
If the bastards leave a gap at the bottom of the cell door, they can
feed us on Rivita and Kraft cheese slices by pushing the food under the
door. We need never come out. They would like that. Total
control.
Bastards.
You may have detected more than a hint of bitterness. Not at all. Well
not about being locked up.
As Norman Stanley Fletcher was told by the judge, "to you prison is an
occupational hazard".
What does anger me and many other inmates with half a brain is the
total hypocrisy that exists inside.
Everywhere you look there are notices about equal opportunities,
racism, sexism, but the one that takes the biscuit is, "We will treat
prisoners with humanity and dignity."
At the risk of repeating myself bullshit.
Any screw, prisoner officer to the law abiding, who can get one over on
an inmate, will.
If they can stick the boot in as well, either physically or mentally,
believe me they will.
This mentality is seen by many inmates as a war of nerves.
The prison officers are committed to ensuring the inmates get precisely
"nowt". Even those privileges and rights granted by Act of Parliament
are denied by the Prison Officer if at all possible, and any Governor
who thinks he is in charge of the jail is in for a rude
awakening.
As for us cons we are committed, almost like prisoners of war, to
making our lives as comfortable as possible, whilst scoring as many
points as possible at the screws expense.
It's all a game, them and us, and the more committed players are really
tuned in.
Their sole aim is to go over the wall, they talk as though they were
Papillon or John McVicar who escaped from the notorious Durham Jail,
but me, no I have never contemplated such a move, not worth it, only
the chosen few have made it.
Ronnie Briggs, the Great Train Robber, who is living out his life in
Brazil, is the only one I can think of at the moment. Ronnie Knight
escaped temporarily to his haven in the sun Marbella but eventually
returned to London to face the music for his crimes and promptly got
seven years.
Occupational hazard, didn't I tell you?
Incidentally, and we inside are great story tellers, a great many of us
talk in telephone numbers about the jobs we have done or will do on
release. I met Ronnie at his nightclub in Marbella on the Costa del
Sol, or as it is more popularly known the Costa del Crime. I believe he
still has the Knight Club and no doubt will be returning to the sun
when Wormwood Scrubs and the Home Office decide he has served his time.
Ronnie will do his bird standing on his head, as he has a great deal of
respect within the criminal fraternity.
Mind you for every villain or should I say reformed villain on the
Costa there is a retired copper, who having taken early retirement for
that back injury sustained in the line of duty, has swapped the beat
for the beach. That was one thing that put me off Marbella, oh it's a
great place alright, but too many ex coppers and as any villain will
tell you, once a copper always a copper, even in retirement.
Never but never trust a copper, they would shop their own Granny if it
meant promotion.
Ah well no sense in moaning, just have to get on with you time, a model
prisoner me Guv, just want to get on with my bird and get out as
quickly as possible to enjoy the finer things of life.
Margaret, my partner comes top of the list that includes, fast cars,
endless sunshine and fine food. Oh stop torturing yourself Tosh.
Whenever I am inside it is difficult to forget outside but to survive
you must. Within the walls of prison it is a different lifestyle and a
different code of conduct. Normal rules of society do not apply, but
then on the out for many of us the normal rules did not apply
anyway.
Yes I am missing it all badly, but then I hear you say, that is what
prison is for. To teach us a lesson, or as former Home Secretary
Michael Howard said, "Prison works."
If I had to dwell on life in prison too long I would become suicidal
and as I only have another six weeks or so to go, I will get gate fever
soon enough without thinking about the outside now.
Prison does not work for the majority.
For most it is an academy of crime, the opportunity to learn new skills
from other members of the criminal community.
I make my way down to breakfast which is served on the one's, the
landing on the ground floor. Breakfast, is a million miles away from
the good old English breakfast I enjoyed at Champers near the port in
beautiful Los Cristianos, the village on my island of dreams.
This was one of my few English indulgences on the Spanish island, but I
can still taste the bacon and egg, and feel the slap on my back of the
larger than life landlady Linda.
It was Linda's birthday whilst I was away and by all accounts her
partner Ken gave her a real celebration. They are a nice couple and all
their friends turned out in force including the local fire brigade, for
the candles you understand, with one notable exception, yours
truly.
Collecting my metal tray I came down to earth with a bump. Picked up
the plastic cutlery, they won't let us have metal knives and forks, and
approached the hotplate that is Caf? de Blackmore, to be served by
Terry Rich.
Terry is an enormously powerfully built inmate who hails from the West
End of Newcastle upon Tyne. In an accent as formidable as the Tyne
Bridge he bellows, "OK Tosh what will it be today?"
"I?ll have kippers, cereal, bacon and eggs with a round of toast my
good man," I quipped.
This provoked a laugh as large as his frame, as he dumped two dollops
of scrambled eggs onto my tray; quickly followed by two rashers of
bacon that would have shamed the pig it came from. A governor allegedly
samples this food in the jail each day. I doubt it, because it is
foul.
Yuk!
I returned to my cell with the food. We are banged up, locked away,
while the screws leave the jail to have their breakfast in the
officer's mess, which is adjacent to the jail.
In fact everything is adjacent to the jail. Their houses and perhaps
the most important focal point in a prison officers life, the Prison
Officers Club.
If one of them farts during the night by the next morning the whole
prison knows about it. I couldn't live like that, everybody knowing
your business, and as there is a lot of alcohol abuse amongst prison
staff and subsequent matrimonial disputes, there is always a lot of
gossip circulating within the jail.
This gives us inmates the opportunity to score points off the screws
by winding them up about their old ladies, especially when a screw is
on nights.
"Whose your old lady sleeping with tonight, boss" is a frequent
jib.
They will be having none of the shit we have to tolerate for breakfast
oh no. They will be having a mountain of hot buttered toast, grilled
tomatoes, and fried bread, fresh farmyard eggs and best back bacon. Oh
don't.
I stop myself short of an orgasmic food fit.
I finished my slop and laid back on my bunk, hoping that the mass of
scrambled eggs would digest without emitting too many pungent gases
whilst I am at work.
I gazed at the ceiling.
I began to drift off, as is my practice, casting my thoughts back to
happier times in the Canaries, a real happy period in my life.
How I longed for the sun on my back, the sound of the sea, the fine
food, Oh please get me out of here, please Go get me out I
thought.
I was just about to drift off to the sound of the waves pounding on
the shore when,
BANG!
My dream session was rudely interrupted on cue by the door being
unlocked.
Officer Patrick was smiling. He must have had wind.
He cordially invited me to go to work. I don't mind working in the
jail, it helps pass the time and I have a cushy job working in the
prison library.
Yes some inmates can read!
I have access to books and it passes the time and of course gives me
access to some of the few females working in Blackmore Jail. Not that
they are the normal type of women I am attracted to, plain in
comparison to my Maggie. But that odd whiff of perfume, a pleasant if
not hesitant smile, the occasional cup of tea, oh yes there are worse
places to work than the prison library.
I also get the opportunity to visit the other wings, which in addition
to the distribution of literary material affords me the chance to pass
messages from one wing leader to another, for which of course I receive
a small remuneration, usually a Mars Bar, me being a sweetaholic.
I hasten to add at this point, and I have made it as clear to the wing
leaders as I am to you, I don't do drugs. I will not become involved in
this evil sick trade not for any price.
As I have said I get the odd Mars Bar for my efforts, which to me is
better than tobacco as I have never smoked and on the out prefer a good
meal and a drink anyway.
Yes an old lag with a sweet tooth.
Aye an old lag who is getting far too old for this game. Prison is
beginning to hurt and I have too much to lose, as you will appreciate
in the passage of time.
I made my way to the library, a smile from Hilary, the clerical
assistant responsible for the library regime. She gets more beautiful
each day and it was just the start I needed to cheer up what had been a
pretty grotty day so far.
I began to whistle.
"Something in the way she smiles". I believe I caught a knowing grin
from Hilary. Life is not that bad I reassured myself.
The morning flew by.
Happy you see, logging books, loading the trolley for the afternoon
session and a smile from the lovely Hilary.
What more could a bloke ask in my position?
At lunchtime it was bang up again.
The prison officers make ready to leave the jail again as if to confirm
they are not as much prisoners as we are, although they spend half
their lifetime with us inside.
First things first. What has the chef on offer today?
Oh not too bad fish and chips, not up to the quality of Harry Ramsden
or Scampies in Las Americas, but nevertheless fish and chips.
The chips were fired at 9.30 a.m. as I recall from my spell in the
kitchen and placed on the hot plate for two hours. Little rubbery
pieces of potato soaked in fat. The fish had a similar
consistency.
However the plum duff and rib sticking custard compensates. I ended my
meal with a Mars Bar and washed it all down with a cup of tea. Not too
bad really.
An afternoon mid day nap quickly followed and again I lapsed into my
fantasy about returning to Tenerife.
The warm sun coming through the cell bars reminded me of happier times
at Harbour View were we had an apartment or two.
I could clearly hear the water lapping against the side of the pool as
I laid in my sub tropical climate, the girlish laughter rang in my ears
as young holidaymakers go topless watched by henpecked geriatric
husbands sneaking a look at the nubile nymphets well rounded breasts,
whilst their rotund wives soaked up more than their fair share of
African sun.
Oh I really do miss the sun.
I do miss Tenerife and above all I miss my Maggie.
On cue my illusion was shattered by Officer Patrick going through the
same routine he has for more than three decades.
"Tray out, slop out, off to work" he grunted.
I went from the wing as soon as my slop out duties were completed and
picked up my trolley from the library, my trustees badge, which is
still in use at Blackmore, and then its off to the wing.
Blackmore Prison is an ancient jail, classic style with four wings
built around a common courtyard which doubles as the exercise
yard.
It is also home for many of the feral pigeons that haunt every jail.
The pigeons are scavengers always looking for food that hasn't been
scoffed by the mice, rats and cockroaches. I became quite an expert
during one sentence when I shared a cell with a wild life fanatic Brian
Smith.
Smithy as he preferred to be called actually wrote a book entitled The
Wings of Freedom, which gave a graphic account of the many birds, of
the feathered variety, that occupied the northern fortress. Anyway I
digress, back to the library rounds.
My first stop was to B Wing to drop off to my mate Leo Scott his latest
novel.
Leo is a Kingsley Amis fan and he also enjoys spy thrillers. He is from
Scarborough in North Yorkshire; well somebody has to come from
there.
What a terrible place Scarborough is, third rate hotels, third rate
football team, and a tourist industry that is dying on its feet. What
it had to offer in Victorian times has hardly changed and the Director
of Tourism wonders why people prefer Spain to Scarborough. Some bugger
else living in cloud cuckoo land.
I expected to get an earbashing from Leo over a scathing story in the
national press about Scarborough being too quiet and having little to
offer the holidaymaker, but clearly Leo had other things on his
mind.
Leo was doing five years for passing dodgy fivers, a bit harsh you
might feel but when the Old Bill went to his flat, they recovered
another ?20,000.
"Can I have a word Tosh" he said ushering me to one side. "You are out
in a few weeks, aren't you. Do you think you could do me a favour?" he
asked with an air of panic and urgency.
"What's up," I asked, trying to look interested, but I knew what was
coming. Leo wanted a favour when I got out, and that was not in my
projected plans.
Leo told me that he had received the dreaded "Dear John" from his bird.
That is the letter from a loved one we all dread, saying that they can
no longer wait until we have served our time or that they have found
another lover. Leo's missus had gone off with a local hotel owner in
Scarborough.
"Could you call and see her when you get out Tosh," he pleaded. "I
can't bear to live without her, ask her to come and see me, I know we
can sort it out," he moaned with a note of profound desperation in his
voice.
I didn't want to get involved and tried to deflect him. When I get out
I want to be on my toes an away, not doing social work with inmates
wives.
"Why don't you go and see the Welfare", I advised, but that was not the
answer he wanted.
"Oh you know what they are like Tosh, you go in with a problem
expecting them to help you and all they are interested in is your
fucking offending behaviour. Total wankers," blurted Leo.
"Alright Leo," I said reassuringly, "I am out in six weeks, I?ll nip
over there are see her, it will be a nice run out for Maggie. " I
said.
I lied through my teeth.
In reality I wanted to say "Piss off Leo, as soon as I am out of here I
am on my toes to Tenerife," but again contradiction rules in
here.
I had met Leo's bird on visits, the lovely Angie, typical blonde bimbo,
no that's unkind, nice figure, big boobs with an infectious smile.
Surprised it had taken so long for someone to nobble her. She would be
an asset to anyone's bedroom.
Anyway having reassured Leo, I gave out the rest of the books and moved
onto C Wing.
I always look forward to my C wing visit.
Alan Morris, a lad who hails from Sunderland, always has a Mars Bar for
me, as a reward for getting his special reading. I duly swapped this
week's epic for my sweetness.
I finished my rounds on D and A wing without further incident or
request and made my way back to the library. The smiling Hilary greeted
me.
"Oh Tosh", she said at once attracting my attention. Perhaps she
fancied a quickie behind the encyclopaedia, my fantasy quickly
evaporated.
"The Governor was looking for you earlier," she said.
"Did he say what he wanted," I enquired
"Something about your release date I think," she replied with an air of
total indifference.
"What about it?" I retorted agitation taking over.
"That's all he said," she replied bluntly.
I really do wish that people in jail especially the so-called
professionals would not do that. They give you half a message or a
message that has ambiguous meaning and as it is not really important to
them they don't really listen.
I just wanted to know why it was so important the wing Governor wanted
to see me.
Is that too much to ask?
When something effects you, especially news about your release and
going home, you want to know yesterday.
I returned to the Wing and saw the Principal Officer, one rank up from
a Senior Officer, same uniform extra pip.
He knew all about it.
At last communication.
"Come in Grant and sit down," he commanded.
"The Governor wanted to see you," he said. "We have had a directive
from the Home Office regarding the application you made sometime ago
regarding the time you spend in custody on remand. Well they have
agreed that you are entitled to more time back," he trotted out the
official jargon.
I had completely forgotten about those days it was such a long-time ago
anyway, I couldn't even remember making the application, it was light
years ago.
"The Home Office have decided that you are entitled to those days," he
reported reading directly from a sheet of paper on his desk.
"Yes, Yes, Yes," I exploded.
"Steady down Grant" he said. "That means you only have fourteen days to
serve," he continued with a tone in his voice that he was personally
giving me something.
He totally spoilt the occasion with his closing remarks, "But I guess
you'll be back."
Arsehole.
They think they know it all. Oh yes I will be back that's a pretty safe
bet. They never see the ones that make it and as soon as the ones come
back in, the "I told you so mentality" comes into being.
If they are so fucking clever why are they in the Prison Service.
You don't need a brain for that just the ability to turn a key and
knock shit out of the inmates. I ignored his comments and smiled.
Arsehole.
I returned to my cell with a spring in my step that I had not enjoyed
for many months.
"Two weeks, two bloody weeks and I will be out of this shithole," I
said to myself.
Right first things first, letter to Maggie, no the Welfare. Balls can't
see her until tomorrow, calm down I told myself, don't panic.
The first stages of gate fever had shown themselves.
Plan. Right. Tonight I'll write to Maggie.
Maggie.
The love of my life, the woman who was waiting for me.
She had stood by me through this sentence, unlike poor Leo's
missus.
Cow.
Maggie had been an angel and in two weeks time I could repay her
loyalty.
Write to my mates in York, my business associates, who I had kept out
of the frame for the offences I am inside for. There is loyalty within
the criminal community. Although there had been three of us involved in
the UK operation, when I was court I took the full rap, keeping the
lads out of the frame. The Bill could not prove anything and although
it meant I would probably do a further six to nine months, the maximum
I could expect was five years.
They would repay me in time in hard cash.
Plan my return to Tenerife, which at last was going to be a reality, no
longer a dream.
The letter writing would certainly fill in the night and bang up
approached as I finished the last one.
Where did the time go?
As I settled down for the night in the cell that had been my home for
many months, my head buzzing, it finally came home to me. In fourteen
days I would be on my way home.
Yes!
Lights out came and I settled down reassured that the nightmare in
prison was about to come to an end.
I lapsed into unconsciousness with the many sounds of Tenerife
whispering in my ear. Soon those sounds would not be a dream but a
reality and the sun would be burning my back.
Next morning arrived on cue.
Even Officer Patrick's attitude appeared to improve. I handed my
letters to him and an application form to see the Welfare.
I shared my good news with Terry Rich on the hotplate as I collected
breakfast and he was as pleased as I was.
"Good on you Tosh," he beamed "have a Newcastle Brown for me when you
get home," he added.
"Ill have a crate Terry old son, a whole bloody crate," I said in my
euphoric state.
Breakfast came and went and I received a slip to see Miss Grassington
the Welfare wife.
She keeps telling us cons she is not the Welfare but a Seconded
Probation Officer. I?d like to second her.
She is a real cracker, a cock teaser we call her, but alas she is
always professional. Inmates often misconstrue her kindness and empathy
and I suspect officers as the come on to her.
She certainly gives no one the come on.
Nevertheless her looks, style and class are an oasis in the prison
desert.
Very unlike my first prison experience of Welfare.
Miss Burke was her name and quite aptly named. Had everything a bloke
could ever want, muscles, facial hair, the lot.
Anyway back to Miss Grassington.
I shared my good news with her about my time back and that I would be
out in two weeks.
"Right", she said, "I expect you'll want somewhere to live," she
continued with an air of superiority.
Leo was right.
"No", I snapped.
"I have three houses, but I do need you to make some phone calls for
me," I added.
"Don't you have a phone card," she retorted obviously hurt by the
rejection of offer of accommodation.
"Yes I do, but I don't have enough time to tie up some loose ends and
the phones won't be switched on until later." I pleaded.
I did not mention or say the words going home, as I had no intention of
going home.
My only thoughts were of Newcastle Airport and flying to the sun.
"Could you please phone Margaret and tell her I will be home on the
14th please?" I begged.
"Could you please phone my business partners," I quickly followed the
first request with the second.
"Hang on a minute", she said with arresting firmness.
I saw her in a new light for the first time. Not the warm welcoming
Miss Grassington I had seen flitting about the jail, but a cool
calculating detached professional.
She agreed to phone Margaret.
In the old days she would have passed to the phone to me, but since the
intervention of one Home Secretary before a Party Conference and a
recently ousted Prison service Director, we basically got
nothing.
Thank you Michael Howard and Derrick Lewis, the aforementioned
officials.
I could hear Margaret was pleased, judging by Miss Grassington?s face,
very pleased.
Maggie had been brilliant as I told you earlier, never missed a visit
at least three letters a week, even came to Strangeways in Manchester
to see me when the Prison Department shipped me there for twenty eight
days after somebody slipped a note to the wing staff saying I was using
my library job to ferry drugs around the jail.
Grasses, I had grasses-they are the lowest of the low, well not quite,
not as bad as sex offenders or "noneses" as they are referred to
inside, or beasts or animals, no a grass is not as bad as a beast, well
not quite.
Maggie was a real gem, a girl in a million.
I asked Miss G. to pass on my love to Maggie, which she did with all
the compassion of the speaking clock. "He says to tell you he loves
you," she said.
I thanked her for that.
I then asked her if she would contact my two business associates, Larry
Holmes and Alan Atkinson, as I need to finalise my plans for release
and employment. Of course I had no plans to work, it would be up up and
away and as far away as possible from the two lads.
I expected no trouble for them as I had kept their names out of the
frame and took the rap for us all. I asked if she would ask one of them
to collect me on the day of my release.
She agreed, made the call and one would be there on the big day. I
would be speaking to them later about resources, the payment I would
receive for keeping quiet.
I would not be short of cash as money I had accumulated from the
motors, shipped in containers to Australia and the Far East, I had
invested wisely.
I had bought two houses for cash, a four bedroomed detached in Hornsey,
which was let to provide Maggie with an income whilst I was inside, and
a more modest property, a two bedroomed terraced that Maggie and I
lived in prior to my arrest.
The rest of the monies I had invested in four apartments in a beautiful
complex in Tenerife. Maggie and I retained one for our own use, a
penthouse on the top floor, and the three others we let off via a
property company. That gave us an income of about ?300 per week, which
was paid into an offshore account, which I had opened, jointly with my
Spanish partner, Jesus Sandos.
It was not a real partnership but I had no alternative to enlist the
aid of Jesus with the pending prison sentence.
I thought I could trust him and I had no one else on Tenerife I could
turn to at such short notice.
Having been inside for over 2 years I calculated that Maggie and I
stood to collect over thirty thousand pounds on our return to Tenerife
and that is what I call a discharge grant.
I thanked the Welfare for her help and returned to my cell.
The next few days dragged and even the job in the library became a
drag, that is until visits day.
I showered twice that day and used the last of my deodorant in an
effort to ride myself of the prison stench. I don't know what it is
about jail, but it has a smell, a smell that just lingers.
As usual Maggie arrived on time.
She looked as beautiful as ever, her red hair cascading down her
shoulders. She was dressed immaculately and as anticipated the prison
officers and some inmate's heads turned as she made the way to my
table. They must have wondered how I could attract such a beauty; well
they will have to continue wondering except those of course who have
shared a shower.
We looked at each other, paused and then embraced.
Oh it felt good as her warm body pressed against mine and I caught the
first whiff of the French perfume that adorned her body.
"Oh I needed that Maggie," I muttered.
"Alright Tosh calm down, there'll be plenty of time for that when you
come home," she replied.
"How are you love", she asked.
"Excited," I babbled.
"Can hardly wait," I stuttered with anticipation.
We held hands across the table and Maggie gave me her news.
Larry and Alan my mates had contacted her and a car would be waiting
for me on the day of release.
I asked Maggie to tell them not to come in anything that wasn't legal
but I hoped they would know that anyway. Don't want to get picked up in
a hot motor going home.
"Oh Maggie I can't wait to get home and start living again," I
said.
Maggie smiled.
Her smile seemed to say it all.
That reassuring smile.
How could I have got through this sentence without you Maggie I
thought?
"When I get out Maggie we shall have to make plans to go to the island.
I really need a holiday and I expect you do too," I said taking control
of the conversation.
"Oh yes Tosh," she replied, "that would be wonderful, but I just want
you home," she added squeezing my hand.
We chatted away about returning to Tenerife, the house and all too soon
the visit came to an end.
"Right five minutes to go," bellowed the screw perched on his raise
platform at the end of the visits room.
Not that you could blame him for keeping an eye on the prisoners as
only last week it was reported that some woman had got pregnant on one
passionate visit to her husband.
Don't know how they could do that.
No matter how desperate I was I would never subject Maggie to such a
degrading experience as making love on a visit.
Never!
This would be our penultimate visit. I embraced her as I had done at
the end of every visit and resurrected the same feelings, feelings that
I had so many times before.
This was the lady who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, I
didn't want to let her go, but I had to.
As she made her way to the door, I mouthed "I love you".
She disappeared from view.

I knew, I reassured myself that it would not be too long before we were
together again. I am always down after a visit and today was no
exception. I returned to the wing very flat and dejected.
I felt sick.
Gate fever was biting deeper and deeper.
Missed tea, declined, couldn't cope with the prison slop today.
On association that evening, the time when prisoners are allowed to
mix, play pool and table tennis and watch television with other inmates
I remembered I needed to finalise details of the errand Leo from
Scarborough wanted.
I met him in the gymnasium, which was one of his usual haunts and the
passing point for drugs.
Leo's missus you will recall had written him a Dear John and pissed off
with some hotel bloke in Scarborough. I wasn't looking forward to
seeing Leo but there are some things you have to do for a mate
inside.
Leo was ok.
He had a second letter from Angie, but still she refused to
visit.
He gave me her address and offered an outstretched hand.
"Thanks Tosh," he said in a voice mixed with despondency and
resignation.
I think in his heart he knew my trip to the North Yorkshire coastal
resort was likely to be a waste of time.
The next few days came and went.
Every night I had a recurring dream sun, sea, sand and Maggie.
It really got to me, gate fever bit deep into my soul.
Maggie?s last visit was even more emotional than I ever imagined.
After all I only had a few days left. Gate fever was biting deep into
my soul.
I felt rough.
I couldn't think about anything else, just about getting out. But I
needed to keep those thoughts to myself and put on a brave face, even
though it was cutting me in two.
This lady, I thought to myself, she is really something very, very
special. The one bright light in this nightmare, Maggie, and the
nightmare was about to come to an end. You cannot put a price on
loyalty.
Ask Leo from Scarborough. He had been badly let down by his missus,
and he would never forgive her for that. But of course there are always
two sides to ever story. It must be difficult for a woman to survive on
her own, especially in Scarborough.
After we had embraced and taken our seats for the visit, we discussed
the practical issues of being collected at the gate on my morning of
release. We then just held hands and stared across the table oblivious
that all around us were other couples, reunited for a couple of hours,
were engaged in the same activity.
We did not speak for what seemed an age.
We did not need to; we both instinctively knew what the other was
thinking.
We stared at each other like to besotted teenagers, I occasionally
squeezed Maggie's hand and she smiled. That smile, that smile had kept
me going through the sentence and now my time in jail was coming to an
end.
I longed for the moment when I could hold her, close, intimately, away
from the intrusive gaze of the screws and of course to the time we
could make love, for the first time in almost two years.
Come on, after all two years without sex and physical contact is likely
to put a strain on any bloke and Maggie was special.
She made me feel special too.
"Next week Maggie," I whispered,"?next week is the start of the rest of
our lives".
"Yes Tosh," she replied "the rest of our lives", squeezing my hand for
I don't know how many times. I love this lady, more than I could ever
express, and not being able to hold her and express that love really
cuts a bloke in two.
I hated the visit ending, and hated seeing her leave the visits room.
The separation was, if anything greater than on our first visit, but at
least we had the consolation of knowing that this was our last visit. I
would be coming home and I have no intention of ever returning to
jail.
I know that if I had a five-pound note for every con that had uttered
that saying I would be a very rich man, but this time I meant it
I was getting too old for this game.
Prison is a young mans game not for someone the wrong side of
forty.
The next few days dragged and the nights were even longer as the
advanced symptoms of gate fever consumed me.
The feelings were fed and compounded by all the farewell messages of
good luck from my fellow inmates.
They meant well enough, some were envious but others expressed genuine
feelings that one of their number was to be released. The ache in my
stomach got worse by the hour. Anyone who has been inside will know the
sinking feeling, you want to be sick but can't, it's awful. It just
eats away at your guts, and if we could only recall this feeling when
we were doing our crimes, we would walk away and lead law-abiding
lives. However like so many feelings in prison they are only short term
and once outside they are mostly forgotten.
Terry Rich at the hotplate didn't help each meal time repeating "It
won't be long now Tosh" in a Tyneside twang that could not disguise the
envy. But it did not help me. His words just kept echoing, "won't be
long now, won't be long now," over and over again until my head was
bursting.
I clutched my head, buried it beneath my pillow, hoping that the voice
would go away, but it didn't it just kept coming and coming, making
sleep impossible.
Scarborough Leo echoed Terry's thoughts, but I have no doubts his mind
was resolutely fixed on my proposed visit to the wayward Angie. Other
cons communicated similar messages as I made my way round the jail with
my trolley for the last time.
In the last few days a new library boy was attached to me in order I
could train him. He was Wally Anderson, a Scouser from Toxteth. Wally
was an anorexic youth, spotty, with not a picking on him; in fact I had
seen thicker broom handles than Wally. His pale complexion, distinct
lack of colour, no wonder he attracted the nickname, "ghost".
Wally had been caught up in the drug scene that flourished in the
northwest and had some horrific tales to tell about gruesome attacks
with baseball bats and shootings. I didn't really want to know, for as
I have said I don't do drugs. I made my views known to Wally at the
outset and told him quite firmly that I always said no.
Wally will do ok in the library. He will be approached by the drug
barons in the jail who will invite him to move the stuff around the
jail and there is a hell of a lot to move.
Drugs are rife in Blackmore Jail; they are in most jails.
If the Prison Department think they will stamp it out with mandatory
drug testing, then they are living in cloud cuckoo land. It is too easy
to get it in, and with one their own waiting to stand trial on drugs
offences, a Prison Officer caught with his hand in the cookie jar, I
think I have aptly illustrated my point.
If there is one thing worse than a bent copper then it's a bent screw.
Fortunately in my experience they are few and far between, they are not
intelligent enough, but one is one too many.
The final two nights dragged, as they have never done before.
Gate fever gripped my body even harder, I could not sleep and the
sounds of the night kept me awake. "It won't be long now," echoed in my
head all night.
As hard as I tried to click into my dream sequence, the islands, the
blue sea, even Maggie, it would just not come and I lay awake most of
the night more aware than ever before of the sounds of the jail at
night.
The odd inmate wailing.
Others shout telling him to shut up.
The night patrol coughing and other unrecognisable noises.
The next morning I felt like shit when Officer Patrick opened the
door.
He was true to form, not even a fitting thing to say on this my last
day.
"You'll be back," he grunted.
Miserable bastard.
No doubt he has uttered the same puerile phrase to the millions of
inmates he has unlocked on their day of discharge. He is the original
dinosaur for sure.
The day before I appeared on the discharge board chaired by the number
two Governor Barbara Hamilton. The young governor had made a rapid rise
through the ranks thanks to an accelerated promotion scheme and the
gossip in the jail was that Lynda Le Plant had based the television
series The Governor on Miss Hamilton. I have no doubt a similar story
was repeated in every jail with a female governor. I like to think any
woman in the Prison Service got where she is not due to accelerated
promotion but horizontal promotion.
On her back!
Yes I have few friends in the Prison Service, and treat them all with
utter contempt. They loathe us the cons and we reciprocate.
She gave me her usual talk about going straight and not coming back,
and I nodded in agreement. It was a paper exercise, which we both had
to go through but as I had already made my arrangements I was not going
to rock the boat at this stage. Model con me Guv.
In addition to the usual lecture I was told I must contact my outside
Probation Officer Nigel Lamming and seek his permission to take
Margaret on holiday. I would do that but what Nigel didn't realise was
I was not coming back.
The last night in jail was endless, but even the Prison Service cannot
interfere with nature.
Dawn eventually broke.
I was up and dressed long before the dinosaur came to unlock me. I went
without main breakfast, grabbing two slices of toast and a mug of tea
from Terry Rich.
"Good luck Tosh," he said extending his shovel like hands, shaking mine
with all the power that his giant Geordie frame could muster.
"Thanks Terry," I replied and returned to my cell for the last
time.
I collected my few possessions and made my way to reception.
I had already decided that I would not rise to the bait laid down by
the screws. I just wanted to get out.
They all had a go about coming back, but I just smiled and thought sad
bastards.
Prison Officers seem to get an endless kick out of winding up those
they are charged with locking up.
No dignity, no caring, and certainly no humanity, primarily because
they are not human, they are sub humans.
In reception I was ordered to strip out of the prison clothing and they
gave me my own clothes that I had come in with oh so long ago. To be
truthful nothing fitted me. I must have lost a lot of weight. Anyway I
hastily got dressed, as I did not want to stay in this place one minute
longer than was necessary. I was given my discharge grant, which was
about one weeks dole on the out, and I was on my way.
As I began to walk along the corridor that links reception with the
outside gates, nicknamed the M1 because of its length I knew I was on
my way at last. The clump of the officer's boots escorted me paled into
insignificance to the sound of my heart.
It began to thump faster and faster with expectation and at one point I
thought my chest would burst with excitement.
Calm down Tosh I said to myself, don't die now, you are almost out.
When you are coming out, you are never too sure you will actually make
it until you are outside the main gate.
As I went through the electronic gates, the last obstacle to my
freedom, I could see Maggie and Alan standing outside. The gates moaned
as they moved aside and I was out. Yes!
As I hit the outside world for the first time in so many many months,
the sweet, sweet air hit me. Oh it was aromatic; you could taste the
freshness. The lawns outside had been freshly mown and the grass smelt
oh so sweet.
I look across to Maggie.
Yes, I thought, this was to be the first day of the rest of our
lives.
I ran towards her in that sweet air, dropping my bags as I ran.
Embracing her I whispered, "Yes Maggie, this is the first day of the
rest of our lives."

The homecoming

Vista Colina is situated in the beautiful and tranquil resort of Cala?n
Porter on the Balearic Island of Menorca, not to be confused with the
larger Majorca.
Vista Colina is next to the Castillo Sancha, the most inauthentic
reproduction medieval castle you will ever see. It doubles as a hostel
as the large vulgar sign reveals and is very popular with the Germans,
the superior race, or at least they like to think so.
Vista Colina is built in typical Andalucia style and is divided into
two distinct block by a small and yet welcoming pool The complex
belongs to an estate agent from the north east who was in partnership
with a Spaniard who unfortunately was killed in a boating accident. The
partnership went back to the days when all businesses in Spain had to
have a native partner but I suspect with the death of General Franco
and joining the EEC things may be different.
Well some things may be different but not the laid back
lifestyle.
The death of the partner, so local gossip has it, and you have to take
everything you hear in Spain with a bag of salt, great romances of the
truth the Spanish, left the Englishman with a mountain of debt. He had
no option but to carry on as he had invested "millions" in the
site.
This is not the first occasion I have heard of a Brit. in an
Anglo/Spanish partnership being left holding the baby and probably
won't be the last. I don't have that problem I have a partnership of
one in so far as business is concerned, I feel safer that way.
I am the one person who can let me down and yes we have met before,
Anthony Grant, Tosh to my friends.
The last time we spoke on the day of my release from prison when I
returned home to my devoted Maggie, you will recall our plans were to
grab a flight to Reina Sofia airport on Tenerife were I was to collect
thirty grand or so which had accumulated whilst I was inside.
Well the plans as you will have guessed by now did not go according to
plan and hence my description of Vista Colina which figures in the next
part of my life.
Anyway on our arrival home from the jail and after a day settling in, I
will spare you the intimate details, and Maggie?s blushes, I began
putting into operation the plans I had hatched whilst laying on my bunk
in jail night after night.
Maggie had been brilliant.
She understood me like a book.
After all wasn't this the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life
with? First of all we needed to get to Tenerife. We had pledged
ourselves a quick holiday but in reality I had no intention of coming
back, licence or no licence.
I had been released on licence under the provisions of the 1992
Criminal Justice Act and like so many I was pissed off. I had done my
time, paid my debt to society and now they wanted me to report to some
snotty nosed Probation Officer. Its not on you know. Even when we have
completed the licence period we have what the Home Office call an at
risk period. They think it will keep you clean longer but in the long
run they will just be filling up the jails. Anyway that's all behind me
now I just want to forget as quickly as possible the jail although it
is a recurring nightmare.
I rang my friend Adrian who I had met in Portugal. He was working on
the Algarve and British ex-pats all frequented Lorenzo?s Bar and that's
how we first met. Adrian tried to be a wide boy, but he was really a
nice guy. He returned to the UK when his wife became pregnant and they
wanted the child to have a British education so it was back home to
Bradford. Adrian now runs a small travel agency in West Yorkshire aptly
named Solmaster Travel; Sol means sun in Spanish for those who are not
bi-lingual.
"Good morning Solmaster Travel, how can I help you" said the voice on
the other end of the phone.
"Hello Adrian" I replied, "It's Tosh Grant here".
"Tosh, Tosh," he stuttered "I thought you were, you know," he exclaimed
with an obvious air of embarrassment in his voice, not wanting to use
the word prison.
"No mate, got out two days ago" I replied to a relieved silence.
"Oh great, great," he said.
"Listen Adrian can you get Maggie and I a flight to Tenerife as quickly
as possible, we really need to get there this weekend," I
enquired.
"I will run it through the computer Tosh and get back to you. Let me
have your number," he responded.
I gave him the pertinent information and end the call and turned to see
Maggie smiling.
"We are on our way no Maggie," I said.
Right what's next I thought, better make a list.
"We will need to pop over to Scarborough before the weekend to see
Angie," I said. Angie was the wife of an inmate Leo who had written him
a Dear John and then shacked up with a local hotel owner. I had
promised to pay her a visit and invite her to visit her man in jail. I
knew that it would probably be a waste of time but it had to be
done.
"I want that business out of the way before we go," I said.
"Of course I understand you have to do it," replied Maggie.
"I will need a car for tomorrow, some cash from the bank, just enough
to get us to Tenerife," I gabbled.
Maggie just smiled.
She had smiled a great deal since my homecoming.
"Right Maggie, lets get packed," I said with an air of anticipation and
excitement. I couldn't wait, just like a kid rushing off on its first
holiday.
"I don't think it will be as easy as that love," she said stopping me
in my tracks.
"You have lost so much weight, I think well over two stones, most of
your clothes won't fit you, will they?" she asked.
Maggie was probably right. She was in the best position to judge,
having spent many hours since my arrival home moving this old frame
around as we made up for lost time in the passion stakes that is.
"That's ok love, I?ll get some in Scarborough or when I go to the
bank," I laughed.
At that precise moment the phone rang.
"Tosh, its Adrian. Sorry mate can't get a flight to Tenerife until the
20th," he apologised.
"What! That's almost three weeks, bloody hell, that's completely
knackered our plans" I said with a mixture of despair and anger in my
voice.
"Sorry Tosh mate but Tenerife has been very popular this year. But I do
have some good news for you," he added.
"I had a word with my boss and he does have two cheap seats going to
Menorca this week from Teesside," he offered.
"I?ll take them," I said without thinking.
I didn't ask the price.
I completed the paperwork over the phone with Adrian there and then,
paid by plastic and then rang the owner of Vista Colina, hence our
arrival in Menorca.
I had been to the picture postcard village many times before so I was
not apprehensive over the change of destination.
I thanked Adrian and hung up.
I explained to Maggie our change of plans and set about completing the
tasks I needed to do before our departure on Friday from the
northeast.
I won't bore you with the details of getting a car, going to the bank,
but the trip to Scarborough was something else.
I arrived at the hotel where Leo's wife Angie was living with her
lover. The lover came to the door. He was big, as big as Terry Rich
was. I explained who I was and although never one to shy away from a
scrap this lad was big.
"You had better come in," he said.
We walked along the hall of this Victorian hotel and through a door
marked staff only. He showed me into a room where Angie was sitting
watching television. She stood up abruptly obviously surprised to see
me.
"I don't want any trouble," she said nervously clutching the arm of her
lover. "No, we don't want any trouble," he added with firmness and
authority. I was not about to argue with him, my only thoughts were,
let's get the job done and away to the sun.
"Neither do I Angie love," I said, "but I was asked to call and see you
by Leo after you wrote the letter and ask you to visit him."
"I won't be going to see him again, I have a new life now, and it
doesn't include him," she replied.
"Fine, that's my job done, I off," I replied, "Sorry to have disturbed
you," I added.
"Is that it" enquired the lover as if to expect violence.
"It is as far as I am concerned, the balls now in your court mate," I
concluded and made my way to the door.
We walked in silence back to the hotel entrance and I left.
I know you may think it was all a waste of time but when I give my
word, especially to a fellow inmate I do it, not like so many of the
idiots who talk in telephone numbers in jail and then disappear into
the woodwork.
Nevertheless Friday came and we arrived at Teesside Airport and jetted
off to the sun, albeit Menorca and not Tenerife. You know the drill,
dump your bags, board the aircraft, eat the junk food, buy your duty
frees, have a kip and your there.
We arrived at Mahon airport, the capital of Menorca just before 5 p.m.
and in my best broken Spanish invited the taxi driver to take us to
Cal?n Porter.
The journey only takes ten minutes at the Spanish taxi drivers break
neck speed and costs only a fiver or so. We sat in the taxi, holding
hands and devouring the warm sweet smelling air. It was still quite hot
and what a relief to be away from the UK.
We arrived at Vista Colina, paid off Nigel Mansell and opened the
apartment.
It was adequate for our needs, dining room which we would not use only
for coffee at breakfast time, the lounge, the kitchen which had the
most important item, the fridge to keep the ale cool, bathroom okay and
then complete disappointment, the bedrooms.
Two double bedrooms each with a pair of single beds.
"Shall I sleep in this room and you in there Tosh" said Maggie with a
wicked smile on her face.
I seized her by the waist and said, "You have to be joking".
We made love then and there on one of the single beds. We lay there
just looking at each other before repeating the exercise in the shower,
again in the bedroom, before I had the common sense to move the two
beds together. I am not a sexual athlete ordinarily but I suspect it
must have been the sun and total relief at getting away.
I found some green string in the kitchen drawer and secured the legs
together making a makeshift double bed.
We showered again and dressed making our way to the narrow strip that
is Cal?n Porters nightlife.
The strip starts with a restaurant Sa Paissa and then continues through
the full range of international eating houses including several Spanish
of course, Italian, Chinese and concludes with the very popular La
Salamander, which at one time was owned by an Argentinean.
We chose the La Salamander for our first night.
"Vino de la casa" I ordered as if to impress Maggie, and then lapsed
into English and ordered prawn cocktail which I later recalled was
gambass something or other, grilled steak and oh how I had longed for a
large juicy steak. Strawberries and ice cream and a bottomless
coffeepot completed the feast.
Maggie made her choice substituting lamb cutlets otherwise the
same.
You cannot imagine how far removed this menu was from Terry Rich?s caf?
at the jail.
Totally stuffed we ambled along to Barry's Bar again on the strip which
was advertising karaoke. The pull of the stage, the effect of the vino
after such a long period without alcohol was too much and I scribbled
my name on a piece of paper and passed it to the compere to sing Love
Me Tender by Elvis the king.
A few cubalibres later, rum and coke with a dash of lime to the
uninitiated and my rendition to Maggie was oh so much better than
Presley himself. I could see no one else in that tiny bar except
Maggie, my beautiful Maggie, and I thanked God she had stood by me
during my darkest hours.
Soon after we stepped out into the tropical moonlight and walked hand
in hand back up the hill to the apartment. I recall babbling non-stop,
trying to say everything I wanted to tell her over the past few
months.
Maggie said nothing, occasionally squeezing my hand and smiling.
She let me ramble.
When we arrived at the apartment I elapsed into a dream that I hoped
would last forever, sun, sea and Maggie. Oh yes please let it last
forever.
I lapsed into unconsciousness.
Whack!
The next morning started with an almighty crash as I landed on the
marble floor.
The two beds tied together to make a double had parted and old Tosh
landed arse first on the cold tiles.
Maggie was inconsolable with laughter.
"Oh Tosh you look so amusing," she cried.
"Yes pet, " I replied joining in with the spirit of the moment.
After a swift shower and hastily arranged breakfast of toast and
coffee, I reluctantly left Maggie to make herself even more gorgeous
while I went to the aptly named Auto Amigos to pick up a hire
car.
Forty quid for a Fiat Panda for three days was the best deal I could
negotiate but it was just what we needed to get around.
First stop the island's capital Mahon. I returned to the apartment
where Maggie was suitably made up and we set off on the twenty minutes
drive at an unhurried pace to Mahon.
Maggie wanted to go to the market and I wanted to feed the doves in the
ancient Market Square. I had done this many times before and took me
back to the time when I first came to the island in 1981 with my three
children and first wife. Alas that relationship ended in divorce and I
rarely see the children now. The memories would come flooding back but
can't blame the ex, one prison sentence too many and she was left to
cope single-handed. No can't condemn her.
We parked the car on the waterfront that looks across the Mahon
Harbour, the second deepest harbour in the world behind Pearl Harbour.
Steeped in history, Lord Nelson came here and modern history too,
Richard Branson has a villa at the waters edge, its typical
cosmopolitan atmosphere and I like Mahon.
Called in at the Mad Hatter a characteristic English teashop
overlooking the deep-water berth for a coffee. The landlady, a tranquil
demure sole had been on the island for over thirty years and it was a
struggle to cope with even the simplest order. Customers did not seem
to mind, as this was a piece of England in an unfamiliar land complete
with the "Queen" with a silvery crown. Oh this was oh so different to
Champers in Los Cristianos.
Coffee downed we made our way to the market place via the hundreds of
steps from the port to the town centre.
I love Spain, I thought as we meandered through the town, the people,
the manyana attitude; they really know how to enjoy life at a
respectable pace.
It was blistering now and the drips of perspiration needed to be wiped
away.
Mahon, the capital of Menorca is a busy, energetic city with so many
divergent shopping facilities. Not that I like shopping but Maggie
does, and to see her enjoy herself after months in the doldrums makes
it all worthwhile.
Every so often I glance at her and beam, recalling the day I left jail
and uttered those words, "yes this is the first day of the rest of our
lives."
Maggie is a dream come true, my second chance.
The plastic took a bit of a pounding in the various shops in Mahon but
Maggie is worth every penny. If I have one lasting memory of that day
in the sun it is seeing Maggie in a dress that can best be described as
black, silky and most certainly seductive.
As she stood barefoot in the shop, she reminded me of Cher, the
American singer, with one notable exception, all Maggie?s bits were
genuine. I could vouch for that.
The remainder of the day came and went, as did the week with visits to
Cuidadella, the old Moorish capital for the race night. I like
Cuidadella and the horses were very benevolent to this wayward punter,
?80 profit following the popular monies.
No risk Tosh that's me!
Maggie allowed me one jaunt, when the big kid in me was allowed to
surface and we went go kart racing at a dirt track just off the
motorway. Great fun even if the safety regulations left a great deal to
be desired.
Cal?n Porter was an ideal diversion when we were unable to fly to
Tenerife but we had to get away.
On our last night I shared with Maggie a moment that until now I had
kept to myself.
We walked along the beach and at the waters edge kicked off our shoes
and set foot in the warm shallow waters just below our knees.
We turned and looked towards the millions of lights in the houses of
this characteristic Menorcan village.
"When I stand here on the last night Maggie, I always turn and say to
myself, one day I will be back," I whispered.
Maggie looked towards the lights and replied, "One day we will be back"
and squeezed my hand.
She turned in the Spanish moonlight, which illuminated her outstanding
beauty, and we embraced.

"AIH announce the departure of their flight to Teesside," squealed the
defective p.a. system at Mahon airport.
"That's us love, lets go" I announced.
We settled on the plane and about an hour into the flight I suddenly
remembered something I had bought when I returned the hire car.
Reaching into my pocket, I produced a modest maroon velvet box and
passed it to Maggie, whispering, "Will you or won't you?"
Almost as if with anticipation Maggie looked at me and with her
exquisite smile responded, "I don't need to open the box Tosh, the
answer is yes, it always will be."
She did ultimately open the box revealing a single Menorcan pearl
mounted on a gold ring.
"I hope that will do until I get the real thing?" I enquired.
"Oh Tosh, it wouldn't matter if it was a brass curtain ring, as long as
it was from you," she replied placing her head on my shoulder as the
jet sped back towards the UK.
"As long as it was from you," she repeated.

We had been back almost a week when we finally got our long awaited
flight to Tenerife.
I decided to make one final call on my Probation Officer Nigel, and we
were on Christian name terms by now, and got a whole load of shit for
not telling him about the Menorcan trip. I accepted the rollicking and
hopefully smoothed it over.
I declined to tell him about Tenerife, as I was not coming back!
Adrian from Bradford came up with two seats from Newcastle and we
boarded our flight with several hundred Geordies on their way to the
sun. Whenever I hear the Geordie accent, it always reminds me of Terry
Rich in the jail. A great many were dressed in the loyal black and
white stripes of Newcastle United and there was a buzz on the plane as
rumours were circulating about Alan Shearer the England centre forward.
There were quite a few choruses of "Shearer" and the Blaydon Races; the
Geordie anthem before they settled down having consumed the duty
frees.
A few rowdy lads persisted much to the annoyance of the majority.
I swapped seats with Maggie giving her the window seat and took the
opportunity to follow one of the mob to the rear of the plane as he
sought to relieve himself of the excess alcohol consumed.
"Here mate a word in your ear;" I said.
As he drew near I gave him a sharp dig in his massive beer gut.
"Either you and your mates behave yourself for the rest of the flight
or there will be a reception committee at yon end if you catch my drift
- understand?" I asked.
He nodded incapable of speech.
The remainder of the flight was needless to say uneventful but I was
even more relieved when they boarded the bus for Playa Las
Americas.
Maggie and I grabbed a taxi ahead of the crowd and sped off towards Los
Cristianos.
The places I had dreamed of night after night suddenly came into view
and there had been lots of transformations. Green grass replaced the
infertile wastelands of the approach to Cristianos and a new golf
course stretched from the village towards Playa las Americas.
All very impressive.
On the hill towards the rear of the resort I could see Harbour View
were I had invested the majority of my investments. Nice words
investments so much better than ill-gotten gains.
The taxi drew up at the entrance and I carried the bags into the
reception area and made a beeline for Flathunters office.
"Mr Grant how nice to see you after all this time"exclaimed Jesus
Sandos the manager.
"Your apartment is ready, there is champagne in the fridge, oh its
great to see you and hello Mrs Grant," he babbled.
"Alright Jesus, calm down, we are happy to see you too," I
replied.
"Let's go," I commanded.
Jesus said little in the lift as we made our way to the top floor. I
left the bags for him to carry.
"Tosh", said Margaret with an air of disapproval in her voice, "That
wasn't very pleasant."
"Oh well sometimes he really pissess me off with all his false
greetings and gestures," I said defensively.
"They are not false Tosh, that's just how he is," Maggie
defended.
The apartment was just as I had remembered and I wasn?t wasting anytime
unpacking and cracking open the champagne the excitable Spaniard had
promised.
"Sit down Jesus," I invited, getting down to business.
"Now tell me how much money is in the bank" I enquired provoking a
nervous reaction from my enforced partner.
"Well Tosh," he said with more than a degree of nervousness in his
voice and reducing to first name terms, "well Tosh, the past year has
not been as good as we had hoped."
"Bullshit" I exploded, "we had to wait three weeks to get a flight and
judging by what we have seen on the way from the airport the place is
bouncing", I said dismissing his appraisal of the situation.
"Now how much" I demanded with a firmness that warranted an immediate
answer.
"Twenty thousand pounds Senor," he replied meekly.
"Wrong Jesus, so very very wrong. You are about ten grand short," I
said grabbing the miserable wretch by the lapels of his jacket.
"Tosh," said Maggie, stopping me from taking matters further. She was
right, thumping his lights out would not resolve our differences.
"Right, let's go and see the books," I ordered.
Jesus was visibly shaking as we descended in the lift to his
office.
"Right the books," I demanded as he settled into his chair,
"Just the last three years will do," I added.
"I have four apartments, including ours which I told you not to let, so
let's see what's what." I said reaching over to receive the
ledgers.
At the end of half an hour the picture was all too clear.
Not only had our three apartments been let on a long-term basis for at
least six months, but also the greedy sod had let ours for at least six
months.
"I make that at least thirty five grand," and holding out my hand said,
"Bankbook".
Jesus produced the book from Banco Santander, which we had opened in
joint names before my jail sentence. At first glance he had done
exactly as I had asked, regular payments paid into the account for
thirty months or so. What did concern me was three withdrawals,
unauthorised withdrawals totalling fifteen thousand pounds, leaving the
twenty grand he offered earlier.
"What are they?" I asked knowing full well that something was
adrift.
"Expenses Senor," he stuttered-
"Expenses my arse" I shouted, "more like thieving."
Jesus admitted with only limited persuasion that he had got into some
bother at the Casino and needed the money to keep Paul Jardine?s
heavies at bay. I know Paul quite well and Jesus was a wise man to
steal from me to pay off Paul.
Jesus used my money to try and win back earlier amounts he had stolen
and once on the downward spiral, he staked more to win more and just
kept on losing.
"Ok Jesus I understand, now how can we resolve this matter" I
asked.
"You owe me fifteen grand, how can you pay?" I persisted.
"Senor Tosh I don't have that kind of money," he pleaded.
"Stop, spare me the one about the wife and three bambinos. I will feed
you to the fishes unless we sort this out", I said angrily.
My patience was wearing thin.
"Here is my proposal. How many properties do you own in this block," I
asked.
"Six" he replied.
"Well you now own five" I quickly calculated.
"But Senor they are worth at least thirty thousand pounds each" he
protested.
"Well that's the price of borrowing in these inflationary times old
son," I said.
"You do the necessary paperwork to transfer ownership and that will be
the end of the matter. Cross me and prepare to be fish bait," I
warned.
"I left Jesus sitting behind his desk stunned and yet a little
relieved.
I picked up Maggie and went straight to Banco Santander near the market
place in Los Cristianos and closed the account, reopening one in
Maggie?s and my name. After all this was the lady I wanted to spend the
rest of my life with so surely I could share my millions with her,
pesetas if not pounds.
The accommodation sorted and another apartment added to the Grant real
estate, what more could I ask?
Our island in the sun, regular income, oh yes it was all coming
together.
Jesus was a little icy with me over the next few days, but he'll get
over it and after all he is still alive, which may not have been the
case if he had crossed Mr Jardine.
Shouldn't gamble unless you are prepared to pay the price, even I know
that.
I gambled and it cost me many dark months inside. I paid the price, in
full!
That evening we visited the Italian, La Rosa, near the main beach in
Los Cristianos. I had garlic withdrawal symptoms and it was
delicious.
At one time I would have chosen Italy to settle, and enjoyed one
wonderful summer in Cattolica, but the prospect of a kiss on the cheek,
curtains and the Mafia frightened even this tough guy away.
Having stuffed ourselves to bursting point Maggie and I made our way
through the underpass to the new beach and the Claddagh, a pleasant
Irish Bar over looking the ocean.
No matter what the troubles they might have had in Northern Ireland,
and I don't pretend to understand the underlying historical or
religious reasons for the conflict we had always enjoyed a warm welcome
from Eddie and Bobby Walsh in the Claddagh. A married couple from the
Emerald Isle Eddie and Bobby made us welcome and their staff Jayne, and
Rose always had a smile on their faces.
Maggie and I made the Claddagh our local. Willie, the resident
entertainer and his wife Kay also became friends as did Keith who
played the tin whistle and a little Scotsman from Carnoustie, John
Mack.
The entertainment started about 10 p.m. and included everything from
Buddy Holly to traditional Irish folk songs. I loved it, the draught
Guinness, and the crack, that is the Irish Jokes and humour not the
snorting stuff, but tonight I would settle for an Irish coffee.
As I sat there, holding hands with Maggie, singing along to the Red
Rose Caf?, I reflected how fortunate I was compared to the poor
bastards in the Yorkshire jail.
How lucky indeed.
The next morning, with Maggie?s agreement I was going to indulge in two
things I had dreamt about so often whilst in jail, and that for me was
Tenerife.
I would indulge myself in a breakfast at Champers, near the harbour in
Los Cristianos, champagne, smoked salmon and scrambled egg renewing old
friendships with Ken and Linda the owners.
I would then take a boat, one of the many offering trips to see the
dolphins and whales, which feed, off the coast of the island paradise.
The nights I had swam with those beautiful creatures and heard their
cries as I lay on my bunk in jail and now I would sample the real
thing.
Maggie and I could have stayed watching the whales and dolphins for
hours but all too soon it was time to return to Los Cristianos and
comparative normality.
Our great day was soon brought to a close and soured as we bumped into
Jesus in the reception area of the apartments.
He almost ignored us as he drifted into his office, still aggrieved
about the arrangement to reconcile his debt. I wanted to go and sort
him out that instant but Maggie as always provided the level
head.
"Leave it Tosh," she advised, "lets not spoil the day, he'll get over
it in time" she said reassuringly.
No doubt Maggie was right, but isn't it remarkable how some people have
the knack of making you feel rotten for something they have done.
After all was it not Jesus who had his hand in the till not me.
The confrontation with the thieving Spaniard was soon forgotten and
Maggie and I walked down the steep road from the apartment to one of
the main roads that make up this delightful resort. We walked along the
palm tree lined road, passed the many restaurants that occupy this area
of town.
Tonight we chose Chinese and again we were not disappointed. I have
lost count of the number of times we have visited the Overseas Chinese
restaurant in San Marino complex and each time the seven-course banquet
has proved too much. The mouth-watering spare ribs, crispy duck curries
and prawns were a delight, but if I ever feel unappreciative I only
have to think of Terry Rich's hotplate offerings at the jail.
Well stuffed we decided to walk along the seafront towards Las Americas
on the strict understanding that for tonight we would not venture
beyond the outskirts of Cristianos.
Las Americas is so different I will take you there one evening but
tonight we shall be content with the warm breeze and moonlight the
perfect setting for young lovers hoping to find their Shangri-La.
If you don't fall in love tonight you never will I thought.
I believe I proposed to Maggie that night, an act I would repeat many
times in the future.
There was some fun and laughter going on in George's bar, which is
situated below the Claddagh.
I persuaded Maggie we should stop there for a nightcap.
Wrong move.
A brilliant entertainer Paul Stone, who impersonates Billy Idol, was
battling to be heard above a party of rowdy Brits. Pleased to say he
won but the Brits abroad drunk and rowdy make me angry.
We had to leave.
We shall see Paul another night perhaps at Princess Di?s, in the Patch
area of Las Americas.
Popped upstairs to see Eddie and Bobby at the Claddagh. Two Dorada and
we ambled back home and were soon asleep in each others arms, content
in the knowledge that Blakemore Jail and the screws that took great
delight in locking us up each night were a million miles aware and
quickly becoming a distant memory.
They couldn't touch me in Tenerife and I really felt that Maggie and I
had embarked on a new adventure.
The next few days came and went with Maggie and I spending sun drenched
days by the pool and warm balmy nights at one of the many eating houses
Los Cristianos has to offer. Our nights usually concluded with a
nightcap at the Claddagh, listening to the music of Willie and Keith
and sometimes little John from Scotland.
The Claddagh is a comfortable place, never any hassle here, just good
music, pleasant company and the sound of happy people enjoying
themselves without any stupidity.
However we had to make some plans to complete a few deals and tie up
the loose ends that would make our life in Tenerife safe and secure. We
had our home complete with every facility, a regular income from the
apartments, but we did need a car.
When we had been here previously I borrowed a motor from Brian Joyce,
but now I needed something more permanent. Brian had a fleet of hire
cars and regularly disposed of some of his fleet to buy new. Brian's
roadside garage was on the outskirts of town at Las Chafiroas and we
quickly concluded a deal and I became the owner of a white Peugeot 205
complete with test and insurance. It had a few scratches here and
there, the odd chip and 64,000 on the clock. I paid about two thousand
pounds for the car but the deal cemented a relationship with Brian and
we occasionally had a drink in the Claddagh.
I took the car back to the apartment and parked it outside. I could see
Maggie looking over the balcony and I shouted to her to come and see
the latest acquisition.
She declined and when I reached the apartment she said, "You are just
like a child with a new toy Tosh."
"Well at least we are mobile now" I laughed in defence of my toy.
That night we dined at El Cine Bar a typical Canarian bar near the
harbour and the owner Juan Carlos welcomed us as he does all his
guests. We have dined there many times and if you get the opportunity
try the chicken and mojo sauce, delicious. After the meal, which cost
just over 1,000 pesetas each, about four quid at the time, we walked
hand in hand along the road, through the bridge to San Telmo and the
Claddagh.
Same routine we had for the previous few weeks or was it days, does it
matter I thought, but tonight something would happen in the Claddagh
that would change our lives albeit for the worse.
That night was the first night we met Benny Parkinson and his wife
Barbara. The bar was unusually crowded and our seats at the bar were
occupied and we took a table on the balcony overlooking the sea. The
moon was playing with the waves and a slight sea breeze wafted about
our shoulders. We ended up sharing our table with Benny and
Barbara.
"Is this seat taken" enquired Benny.
"No I don't think so" I replied.
Benny and his partner sat down and ordered their drinks from Rose who
was collecting empties and trying to meet the demands of a full
house.
We chatted generally about the weather, which is a bit of nonsense
really as the weather in Tenerife is brilliant all the year
round.
"Here on holiday" enquired Benny
"No I live here, well at least we do," I said taking the opportunity to
introduce Maggie to our newfound companions.
"You" I responded.
"We live here also, have a small villa on the Santa Barbara road,"
revealed Benny.
Benny was about six foot two bronzed and I should have known he was
resident in Tenerife. His clothes were all designer made and the watch
on his wrist was not one of the cheapies from the lookie lookie
men.
It was a real Cartier.
Barbara, about the same size as my Maggie was also ousing class and a
very attractive lady, although I have eyes for no one but Maggie. This
couple had brass.
The night seemed to fly over with a generous interchange of chatter
from the two ladies whilst Benny and I chewed over the troubles of the
world.
It transpired he was involved in a building project on the East Coast.
When prices were at an all time low he bought a sizeable piece of land,
very near the waters edge and had plans to build an exclusive village
complete with marina, health club restaurant and all mod cons.
We met Benny and Barbara several times in the next fortnight and one
thing led to another, a round of golf, a meal at the Overseas Chinese
until one night we received an invitation to have Sunday lunch at their
villa. We are having a few people over for lunch and Barbara and I
would like you and Maggie to come Tosh," said Benny.
How could we refuse?
Maggie had been dying to see their villa almost from day one and she
and Barbara got on really well.
"I?ll send the car for you Tosh" he offered "and then you can relax and
have a good drink".
However having accepted the invitation, before we went on Sunday there
were things to be done.
"Tosh I have nothing to wear," exclaimed Maggie.
I didn't even argue I know when I am beat. "Ok lets go shopping" I
replied.
A one-hour drive to Santa Cruz, three gruelling hours shopping and
hours drive back to Los Cristianos.
It was worth it, Maggie finally settled for a short blue cocktail dress
that sparkled in the sun from a boutique called Flames.
She looked absolutely stunning.
We also prepared to take our swimming gear as Benny told us the party
would be poolside.
Sunday came and the telephone rang.
"Mr Grant you car is at reception," said the voice on the other
end.
"Right we'll be right down" I replied.
"The car's here Maggie, lets go" I said.
When we arrived at reception we were met by an uniformed driver.
Dressed in brown shorts and a dark brown shirt, the tall, slim African
driver led the way to the car, a black shinning stretch limousine. He
invited first Maggie and then myself to take our seats in the
car.
It was enormous with everything fitted. Walnut dashboard, air
conditioning, the lot.
This was luxury personified..
At the Parkinson's villa, I was totally gobsmacked.
The land, the building, the pool the people. Here was the cream of
south Tenerife high society, the Mayor, local businessmen and bankers,
many that I had become familiar with through playing golf with Benny.
When you command such an attendance at your Sunday lunch you are
certainly one of "the people" on the island.
"Maggie, Tosh, how nice to see you" said Benny kissing Maggie in the
time honoured fashion on both cheeks and shaking my hand.
Barbara appeared from the crowd and responded in a similar way. She was
wearing a small blue bikini, which showed, off her ample assets-
Drinks were a plenty that day and we soaked up the atmosphere, which
could only be described as carnival time.
Benny had hired a Spanish trio for the daytime entertainment and they
were replaced at night by a five-piece salsa band. No expense had been
spared and Benny and Barbara certainly knew how to push the boat out.
This was money talking.
We were introduced to so many people that day I could not begin to
recall their names although three would figure in my life many years
later, Manuel Carlos Zortaga, the Spanish business partner of Benny
Parkinson, Paul Jardine a former East gangster who I avoided like the
plague and Bob Johnson one of Benny?s employees. Despite the anxieties
about meeting so many people we had a great time.
Towards the end of the party Benny approached me and asked if he could
have a private word. We went into the villa while Maggie and Barbara
chatted, through a large oak panelled door into a large games
room.
Snooker table, bar, dartboard, one-armed bandit, Benny?s Bar had it
all.
"Tosh I know you are semi retired and I hope you won't find what I am
about to say offensive," began Benny. "How would you like to come and
work for me at the Property Company," he enquired pouring a large
brandy from one of the many decanters behind the bar.
Benny was a generous host and I had really had more than I should have
had, but then I wasn't driving.
"Me, why me" I replied with absolute surprise.
"Well over the past few months I feel as though I have got to know you
and I need a good man in the organisation to help me out", he
explained.
"My business interests take me all over the world and although Los
Cristianos is my base, I can't be here all the time" he went on.
"I need someone I can trust and that some one is you Tosh" he
reassured.
"But you don't know anything about me Benny, for all you know I could
be a crook," I conceded, knowing full well I was a crook.
At that Benny produced a sheet of paper and began reading aloud
"Anthony John Grant, Liverpool Crown Court, Fraud," he stopped abruptly
and looked at me.
I didn't know what to say.
For the first time in many years I was speechless.
I had been rumbled.
"It's ok Tosh, I know all about you. I didn't get where I am today
without doing my homework" Benny said with an air of confidence and
superiority.
He had done his homework and in the months that lay ahead I would have
wished I had done mine.
"You know I am a villain and it doesn't make any difference?" I
asked.
"A reformed villain I hope Tosh" said Benny.
"Oh yes Benny I don't want to go back inside again I have got too much
to lose" I confided.
"Right, will you come and work for me or not" he asked again.
"Doing what" I enquired.
"A bit of this and a bit of that, you know Tosh, muck in here and
there" said Benny remaining equally vague.
"What about pay and conditions, I planned to retire out here and live
on my investments" I explained.
"Your investments, from the cars" he questioned.
My God had he done his homework.
Benny then went on to explain that he needed someone he could trust to
help him bank monies from the various projects and assist at the
village he planned to build on the coast.
"It's about four hours a day, except on Friday, which is busier with
payday, wages and the like. I would like you to work eight hours on
Friday's" added Benny.
"Oh eight hours on a Friday sounds like hard work," I quipped.
"So that's four hours, four days a week and eight hours on a Friday
with the weekends off," he calculated.
Do you think you can handle that?" he asked.
"Oh I think so" I replied.
"Twenty-four hours, say ?200 in your hand is that ok" asked
Benny.
"That's very generous Benny," I said trying not to sound too
grateful.
"Oh and if you use your car on company business I will pay for the
juice," he added.
"Fine" I said trying to contain my excitement at striking such a
deal.
"Right, lets rejoin the party and I will see you 10 a.m. Monday at the
site," he concluded.
The party was something of an anti climax after Benny`s offer but
nevertheless enjoyable.
"Where have you been" enquired Maggie.
"Oh I have just been talking business with Benny I will tell you when
we get home" I explained.
I left the details of the deal until we were within the safety of our
apartment.
I am still rather wary about people on the island knowing all my
business.
The party seemed to come to a natural conclusion and we said farewell
to our hosts.
The car was made available and we drove back home having had a splendid
day in more ways than one.
We arrived home and I told Maggie about the deal I had made with
Benny.
"Are you sure you are not taking too much on Tosh?" she asked.
"No not really Maggie, I was getting a bit bored with lounging around
all day in the sun, it will give me another interest," I
declared.
"Well you can only give it a try," she said.
That's one thing I admire about Maggie she always seems to say the
right things at the right time.
Monday morning arrived and I was up with the larks, much earlier than
usual, as I did not want to be late on the first day.
"Maggie," I exclaimed as she walked into the kitchen, "There was not
need for you to get up this early".
"Well I wanted to see you before you went," she said wrapping her arms
around my waist.
"I hope you have a great day Tosh", she said, "What time will you be
back?"
Oh shit in all the excitement I gave little or no though to Maggie and
how she would be by herself all day.
"Oh Maggie I am sorry," I blurted out apologetically.
"That's ok Tosh, I have a mountain of things to do and Barbara and I
have arranged to have a bite of lunch at El Cine," she said
reassuringly.
"You have a great day and I will see you later," she said.
"I expect to be finished by two o'clock" I replied, "I will call in at
Cine on the way home and meet you there," I said trying to belatedly
express concern and consideration.
I was still feeling a little guilty about not considering what Maggie
would do whilst I was at work and after all wasn't this the lady who
had stood by me during my time in jail and who I had openly expressed I
wanted to spend the rest of my life with?
Yes Tosh old son, you acted selfishly.
I arrived at the building site that was to be the ultra modern village
and marina, and it looked nothing more than bricks and rubble. Nothing
ever looks finished in Spain and the site didn't even look as though it
had started.
I went to the portacabin that was Benny?s office and knocked on the
half open door.
"Come in Tosh," said Benny, extending his hand as I walked into the
cabin. "Welcome to Goldstar Investments, Tosh, I hope you will be happy
with us, " he added.
That first day on the complex was a non-event, with Benny showing me
first the plans and then the site and introducing me to the various
people working with him. I cannot remember all their names as you will
recall I am terrible with names, but the one person Benny stressed I
should remember was the kingpin of the organisation, the site foreman
Arthur Dowson.
Arthur had been a time served joiner who had graduated through the
ranks and night school in the UK to site foreman. He was over six-foot,
but age had taken its toll, and his back was stooped. Arthur's hair had
been thicker but when you get to his age I suppose that's all you can
expect.
"You'll be alright with us Tosh," said Arthur, "you have any problems
or questions just come and see me." Arthur seemed a genuine bloke and
bearing in mind Benny?s ability to pick the right people, he was
probably the best man for the job.
In truth I did very little to justify my wage that day although as time
went by I became more involved.
I like to think I was Benny?s right hand man. He took me to meetings
with the planners, bankers and even on a foursome at Los Maesteros Golf
course as he was trying to clinch a deal involving jetty facilities at
the marina.
I felt more like a mate than an employee.
The number of people that Benny knew was remarkable and in time I built
up quite a catalogue of contact that would prove useful I hoped in the
years ahead.
The weeks just flew by with me at Benny?s side on the complex as it
took shape and Barbara and Maggie spending more time together. The
girls seemed to have a lot in common and Babs was a very important part
of Maggie's life, as indeed Benny had become in mine.
I didn't spend the money I earned from Benny. He paid me each Friday
?200 in pesetas, which meant the rents from the apartments were rarely
touched.
Compared with the nightmare that was prison, this was indeed
paradise.
The winter came and went and the complex, marina and ancillary
buildings were almost finished and with it I had anticipated my job. I
tentatively raised this with Benny.
"Not so Tosh," Benny replied." Whom do you think is going to keep this
ticking over while I move onto other things?" he asked.
"Me" I said with a degree of surprise.
"The very man" he said.
"Thanks a lot Benny, but can I handle it?" I asked knowing that full
well I could.
"Of course Tosh I have every confidence in you", he said
reassuringly.
Thus my future on Tenerife was secure. I had my investments, my wages
from Benny, a home of our own and of course I had Maggie.
Maggie and I had fallen on our feet. We had a circle of friends that we
enjoyed, we had become regulars at the Claddagh, Barbara and Benny were
our friends, oh yes life on this wonderful island, our island of
dreams, was truly wonderful.
Life on Tenerife continued to be a wonderful experience with the
complex going from strength to strength, new owners moving in each week
and our relationship with Benny and Barbara Parkinson flourished into a
real friendship.
Yes life was wonderful in the sun.
Maggie and I spent more and more time in the company of the
Parkinson's, and when Benny and Barbara went to the Bahamas on their
latest business trip they asked if we could stay at their villa and
keep a watchful eye on things. That had a two-fold effect. First of all
it gave Maggie and I an appreciation of real luxury and secondly it
unsettled us with our lot at Harbour View.
The unsettled feeling really did take a grip, to such a degree that we
began to search the immediate area for a detached villa of our
own.
It soon became clear that we would need to sell all six apartments to
raise the necessary capital which if that was what we wanted was ok. On
the down side it meant I would be working for Benny for ever and a day,
and I had come to the sun to retire. Working full time was not in my
original dream.
The time at Benny?s villa was great. We could walk from the dining room
into the garden and the pool area. We had use of the car, but I didn't
want to take liberties while Benny was away so we kept our journeys in
style to a minimum. Nevertheless it was a brilliant time and Maggie and
I thoroughly enjoyed it.
When Benny and Barbara returned from the Caribbean and we returned to
our penthouse in Harbour View.
Maggie and I discussed at length the value of detached living and
although we did appreciate the luxury of privacy and our own pool, we
acknowledge that the Parkinson's were playing in a different
league.
Benny after all was a successful businessman with a network of
contacts on the island and in comparison my little empire of five
apartments was just that, little.
We decided to stay put and be content with our lot although for a time
it certainly unsettled us. When you have a taste of the high life it
does unsettle you, but eventually we settled back down in our
home.
No sooner had Benny arrived home than he was planning his next trip,
this time to Morocco.
I had been to North Africa some years previously as I may have
mentioned staying at the coastal resort of Agadir. I really enjoyed the
different culture even though there was a pronounced French influence
and I am no great lover of the French. I stayed with Maggie at the
Agoudar apartment complex in Agadir. It was great for what we needed,
with a pool almost at the front door. Enjoyed it but would not go
again. Maggie still has a leather jacket I purchased in a market, and I
always smile when I see photographs of Moroccan water carriers, as they
pestered us when we went into the Atlas Mountains on an
excursion.
It was ok but once you have done it.
Benny and I were playing golf at Amarilla with a banker Benny hoped
would finance his next venture, a water world theme park near Las
Americas. The Octopus Park had already tried the idea with some
success, with dolphins and a water chute that really frightened the
shit out of me, but Benny thought there was room for another, and
judging by his successes so far who was I to argue. Everything he
touched turned to gold.
The discussions with the banker went quite well and despite a really
stiff breeze, the banker came through to win on the final stretch,
although the deal he agreed with Benny suggested the shrewd Mr.
Parkinson had actually won.
After the game we relaxed in the clubhouse and following the bankers
departure Benny suggested Maggie and I join him on the trip to
Morocco.
"Why not come with us Tosh and sample the delights of North Africa,"
invited Benny,
"The change of scenery will do you good."
I explained that Maggie and I had been for a week previously and I
wasn't too enthusiastic about going back again. Benny insisted and when
Benny insists I have learned rather quickly that it is easier to say
yes.
"Why not," I replied, "Maggie has always wanted to see North Africa
again".
The trip to the Dark Continent was planned about four weeks away and
after leaving Benny I headed home to break the news to Maggie.
"Maggie," I said excitedly as I entered the apartment, "I have a little
surprise for you."
Maggie came out of the kitchen and asked "What's all the fuss about
Tosh," with a wicked grin on her beautiful face.
"Benny has invited us to join him and Barbara on a short holiday to
Morocco in four weeks time," I replied.
"That will be wonderful Tosh, what will I need to take?" asked the ever
appreciative Maggie.
"You will be seeing Babs tomorrow, why not go through the details with
her and then the pair of you can go off to Santa Cruz if there is
anything you need," I suggested.
"Morocco" she murmured, "that will be exciting."
The next few weeks seemed to drag for me as we waited in anticipation
for the trip and as we set sail from the harbour in Los Cristianos on
board one of Fred Olsen?s ferries. I thanked my lucky stars that I was
here in the sun, with the woman I loved, and with friends I could
trust. The Fred Olsen ferry pulled out of the harbour and we looked
back towards Los Cristianos. So we were at sea, passing La Gomera and
sailing full speed towards Africa. On route we passed the various
day-trippers going out to see the whales and the dolphins. Brought the
memories flooding back of the time I swam with the dolphins.
Trust is a funny animal, so often it has an uncanny knack of jumping up
and biting you, but thank goodness Barbara and Benny could be
trusted.
We slipped out of the picturesque harbour and headed across the short
stretch of water between Tenerife and the North African coast. I felt
as though we were on holiday as we set on deck with the fresh sea
breeze stroking our faces.
Benny suggested we adjourn below for cocktails.
"What a civilised idea old boy," I said.
The forty miles crossing seemed to fly by, much like crossing the
English Channel, but not as rough.
When we arrived at the North African port it was total chaos. Beggars,
water sellers, market traders, more beggars, trying to sell you
everything from water of a dubious origin, to handbags. There was even
the statutory snake charmer, although charmer was not the word I would
have used. He was dirty, unkempt with a mouth full of age-old black
teeth.
Benny advised that the best thing to do was tell them to "Piss off"
with a gesture of the hand to go away.
"Show them the slightest interest in anything Tosh and they will hound
you until you buy I," he advised.
It was sound advice.
We grabbed a taxi and made our way to the hotel through streets crowded
with people of all colours and hues. It was chaos, and yes if I had to
sum up our trip so far, chaos would be a good description.
The next few days in Morocco were brilliant. The French cooking, the
markets, the beaches and I suppose it was oh so different from Tenerife
and illustrated to Maggie and I that no matter how long we lived in the
sun, even if it is a holiday paradise, residents need to get away for a
holiday. We made a promise to ourselves that no matter how long we
lived in Tenerife we would always find time at least once a year to get
away for a holiday.
Whether that is a return to the UK to visit friends and relatives,
which is bound to give you an appreciation of the terrific climate or
further a field, a holiday is essential when you are resident on a
holiday island.
The few short days concluded with a final evening visit to Fantasia.
This is what I could best describe as the North African equivalent of
the Wild West Show, that Wild Bill Hickock sent around the world.
Horses, camels, fireworks, gunfire a noisy extravaganza of fighting and
horsemanship from the days of yesteryear.
Brilliant!
When the time came we reluctantly made our way back to the ship,
fighting off the beggars and traders from the taxi to the ship, and
resisting the offers of 30,000 camels for Babs and Maggie.
The more I saw Maggie and her friend together they more they acted like
sisters rather than two strangers who had met only a few months
earlier. Perhaps Babs was in the same position as Maggie, Benny out all
day securing this deal and that deal, and it was great for my Maggie to
have a friend, a true friend. I was pleased because it meant that when
I went to work, leaving Maggie at least she had someone to talk
to.
The uneventful return crossing was replaced with total mayhem at Los
Cristianos harbour. As the ship docked in the half-light we disembarked
only to be met by three uniformed officers who introduced themselves as
members of the Drugs Squad.
I had nothing to worry about so I went with them displaying an air of
confidence although in reality I was shitting myself. That is the
reaction us villains, reformed villains have when the law is about.
Even more so in Spain, you could not mess with these guys.
There are all armed and these guys draw their pistols at the drop of a
hat.
"Can you come this way please," said one ushering the four of us to one
side.
"Please follow me" he ordered.
There was no room for compromise.
We were taken to an office in the main harbour master building, an
unattractive blue portacabin type dwelling on the quayside. The four of
us were separated.
I was taken to one office. "Which bag is yours Senor" demanded the
officer, in quite good English.
"Mine is the brown leather case with the rainbow stripe and my Missus
is the blue one with her name on the strap," I co-operated.
"Right, open them," he demanded and from now on it was to be demands
and commands all the way.
"They aren't locked," I said.
The officer tugged at the straps and opened the case, tipping the
contents on to the table.
When he examined every item, including underwear he tapped on the
bottom and side of the case presumably for the hidden panel he hoped to
find.
He turned to his cigar smoking colleague and reported, "Nothing."
"What did you expect to find?" I asked, a clever remark that was not
well received.
"Quiet" he shouted, "You speak when I tell you to."
While all this was going on in my room a similar exercise was taking
place in Benny?s room with the two women kept separate from the
proceedings.
At one point another officer came into the room and nodded to the
senior officer in the corner.
"Right Senor, stand up, I am arresting you for the importation of
cannabis resin from Morocco," he said in a tone that sent a shiver down
this ex-cons spine.
"But you examined my cases and found nothing, what's this a stitch up,"
I protested.
Protested too strongly apparently as the senior officer drew his
truncheon and smashed it down on the table.
Bang.
"For the last time shut up" he ordered.
"We found nothing in your case, but your friend had about forty million
pesetas worth in his bag, surely you knew about it? He enquired in a
voice that warranted an answer.
Hours on interrogation and protestation seemed to no avail and in all
that time I was unable to speak to Maggie or indeed Benny.
Eventually I felt I was able to pursuade them that I had no idea what
Benny was carrying. "I don't do drugs" I kept repeating and they
eventually believed me.
I felt like killing Benny, I really did.
He had placed me in this position and I needed to vent my anger on him,
the stupid bastard.
Benny eventually confirmed my statement.
He had been stupid, bloody stupid and he thought he could make quick
killing over one weekend which would normally would have taken him a
couple of months.
Greed pure greed, nothing else.
I was taken away in a police car to the local headquarters near the
cultural centre that I had passed many times before, photographed and
finger printed. I could not at this time understand why I was not
charged.
I was eventually released and reunited with Maggie, a moment that
stirred thoughts of our meeting on the first day I was released from
jail in the UK.
Barbara and Benny were also released.
I immediately went for Benny grabbing by the throat.
"What the bloody hell to you think you are playing at pulling a stunt
like that," I asked.
"Hang on a minute Tosh," said Maggie removing my hands from Benny?s
neck, "Let Benny explain."
"Explain, explain," I protested, "How can you explain what we have just
been through?"
"Tosh is right Maggie," said Benny adjusting his clothes, "I don't have
any explanation, it was just an opportunity to make a fast buck," he
explained.
"A quick buck, more like a quick trip to chokie," I protested.
"Anyway how did we get released," I asked recomposing myself.
I had only ever seen such a swift course of action when someone had
grassed.
"Well they were quite happy to get the stuff and with the million
pesetas bribe I offered them, that secured our release," Benny
said.
"So money does buy anything Benny;" I asked.
He nodded.
"Look Benny we have had one hell of an escape today, can you imagine
what would have happened to me with my record, deportation, I could
have lost everything, " I shouted.
"Don't ever pull a stunt like that again," I said with a threatening
tone in my voice I had never used to Benny.
He was more than surprised by my threatening attitude.
"Sorry Tosh mate," he repeated, "Sorry Barbara, Sorry Maggie," he
added.
"Right lets go," I decided and we made our way home.
Our relationship with the Parkinson's was never to be the same
again.

The next few days were strained.
Benny?s stupid actions could have left me languishing in some Spanish
jail, but more important than that, I can do my time, it could have
left Maggie alone again in a foreign country.
I avoided meaningful contact with Benny and however much I had admired
him in the past, the North African episode had truly soured our
relationship. If you can't trust a mate who can you trust. There are
millions of stories out here of mates who have sold their fellow
countrymen down the river.
I was now added to that list.
Benny was now kept at arms length and I avoided meaningful contact with
him, making excuses about not being able to accept his invitations,
that eventually he got the message and stopped asking.
Barbara and Maggie remained friends.
Towards the end of our second week at home Maggie and I decided to eat
at home. I telephoned local Indian Tandoori, Roy's at San Eugenio. Roy,
the owner, who is a really nice guy, took our order. It usually takes
three quarters of an hour to deliver and Maggie and I after having set
the table, settled down to watch the movie on Sky TV. Our complex has
Sky. They pay for it in England and that means all the apartments can
have regular movies and of course soccer from the Premiership.
Midway through the film the telephone rang and I anticipated it would
be Roy's deliveryman with our Chicken masala.
"Tosh, its Jesus. The police are at the front desk asking about you,
what should I do," he enquired-
Jesus of course was familiar with my past but he too had a fear if not
healthy respect for the Guardia Civil, the police.
"That's ok Jesus," I said not telling about the North African
experience, "You send them up."
I said to Maggie "The police are on their way up," a statement that
drained the colour from my beautiful partner.
The police did not need a second invitation.
A loud knock thundered on the door.
"I?ll go Maggie it will be the police," I announced.
Two very large armed police officers stood in the entrance of the
apartment and I wisely invited them in. They were followed a smaller
officer who I recognised as the arresting officer at the quayside in
Los Cristianos.
They produced some documents and the officer who I recognised said
"Anthony Grant I have a warrant for your arrest."
"Arrest, what for?" I protested.
"You Senor are an absconder from custody, and absconder from licence,
and the British Police, our colleagues would like you returned to
London. You must come with us" he demanded.
I said, "There must be some mistake," knowing full well there was no
mistake.
I decided not to protest too loudly as I did not want to alert anyone
and I certainly did not want taking out of the building struggling and
in handcuffs.
"Oh Tosh," cried Maggie, "What's gone wrong?"
"Don't worry love, ring Barbara, and see if Benny can sort it out," I
suggested.
I agreed to go with the officers quietly and asked them not to handcuff
me until we were in the squad car.
Surprisingly they agreed.
"We understand Senor Grant, that's ok," replied the more senior of the
two officers.
Our island in the sun, our island of dreams, fantasy island, the dream
was abruptly shattered.
The nightmare returned.
As soon as the police had taken me away, Maggie telephoned Babs and she
put Benny on the phone.
Maggie explained to Benny the events of that evening and he quickly
mobilised his legal team on the island, regrettably to no avail.
The delicious Indian from Roys arrived and lay on the table unopened
and was dispatched to the bassura the next morning as it had
arrived.
Benny was advised by the Chief of the Police, whose cousin is the Mayor
and who plays golf with Benny that any efforts to stop my return to
London would be a waste of time. If I ever wanted to return to
Tenerife, the least fuss I made the better it would be.
Bigger fish than I, who say nothing to the Spanish authorities, are
allowed to come and go as they please and some have been known to have
dinner with the Chief.
The news of my arrest and departure never reached any of the English
press on the island and Maggie and Benny were under strict instructions
to say nothing to anyone. I was back in the UK on business, was the
official line. I did not need some nosy hacker making money from my
enforced departure.
I had suggested to Barry that the quicker I was off the island the
better it would be for him and as it was directly his fault I was on my
way back to the Scrubs that he should shoulder some responsibility by
looking after my interests and Maggie.
Maggie came to see me everyday at the local jail whilst they were
awaiting details of my deportation and was clearly very depressed at
the possibility of being parted yet again by Her Majesty's Prison
Service.
I wanted to blame Barry, no that's not entirely true, I wanted to
throttle him, but when it came down to the wire, I had skipped my
licence and I knew I always ran the risk of being returned to
jail.
Go to jail do not collect ?200.
Maggie and I looked at the options.
She wanted to come back to the UK, at least she could visit me every
week, but I pleaded with her to stay and look after things. I could not
give Jesus the opportunity to rip me off again and with the reassurance
that Benny and Barbara would be looking after her, Maggie reluctantly
agreed to stay in Tenerife.
A few minutes later, an officer came into the room, "Finish visit
please," he said politely and I embraced Maggie for what would be the
last time for a while. I did not want to let her go my heart beat so
fast and I could hear her sobbing at the prospect of separation.
"Don't cry Maggie," I pleaded. The visit ended and I did not see Maggie
again until much later.
I was taken by taxi at the same break neck speed we had arrived to the
airport and placed on a scheduled Iberian flight to Heathrow,
handcuffed between two officers from the Met who had come out to
collect me. I would not engage in conversation with the two men, who
after all had a few days in the sun before returning to the beat in the
West End.
All I could hear as the plane took off into the azure sky was Maggies
final words, "hurry back Tosh, I need you" as the tears streamed down
her face.
Another nightmare had commenced.
We landed at Heathrow and I was taken by police car to Wormwood Scrubs
where I stayed the night. I hardly got settled when I was told by the
Governor on reception that I would have to go back to Blakemore Jail
and the next day I was put on the National Express. The National
Express is the Prison Service bus which calls at about half a dozen
jails on route to the north. The nine-hour journey ended at the gates
of Blakemore, a jail I had hoped I would never see again. This time
when the electronic gates opened it was to take me back in and not
release me.

Well, well, well, if it isn't Anthony Grant," said an oh too familiar
voice.
I turned to see the cynical face of Officer Patrick smiling with that I
told you so look on his face. It just had to be him waiting as part of
the reception committee.
"I knew you'd be back," he gloated.
"Piss off you old cunt," I retorted.
No Maggie here now to control the temper.
"Right down the block with the clever bastard," demanded the
dinosaur.
"I was grabbed by three big shithouses of prison officers and
restrained. They had been prepared for trouble. On the way to the
segregation unit I accidentally hit my head on the cell door, well that
was what was reported at the adjudication.
Yes I was back in Blackmore Prison.
I was recalled on parole licence although I protested my innocence but
it later transpired because of changes in the legislation I was only
required to serve 28 days.
No wonder this bloody country is going to the dogs. I was brought back
almost 4,000 miles at taxpayers expense to serve twenty-eight days,
what a bloody waste of time and money.
I spent seven days in the Seg for telling Patrick to piss off.
Twenty-three hours a day locked up, half and hour exercise in the
morning repeated in the afternoon. Those seven days were hell and I
vowed to keep my mouth shut.
When I went back to the wings all the old faces had moved on, even
Terry Rich who had been transferred to a new prison, privately owned,
near Doncaster which the inmate population had dubbed
"Doncatraz".
I kept myself very much to myself remembering the age-old adage, never
a borrower or lender be.
I wrote to Maggie, but as I was only allowed one airmail letter every
fourteen days, it was likely I would be back in Tenerife before the
letter.
I felt so alone, but alas such is the price we villains have to
pay.
One day basking in the tropical sun of North Africa and the next in
Her Majesty's Prison.
Occupational hazard didn't I tell you?
The discharge date arrived and the second nightmare ended.
Immediately on release I had to report to my Probation Officer Nigel as
he had issued a warrant for my arrest and I wanted to thank him for
that.
Under normal circumstances I would have chinned him, officer of the
Court or not, but I needed his help to contact Maggie. We had been out
of touch for more than a month.
He was a bit reluctant to help at first and said he would have to get
special permission from his Senior Officer to ring Tenerife.
"You would be the last person I would ask for help, but I have no money
and no way of contacting Maggie," I declared.
Nigel saw his boss and put forward a realistic argument as to why I
should be allowed to use the telephone.
His Senior Officer agreed and I eventually got through to Maggie.
"Oh Tosh, are you alright?" she cried over the phone.
"Yes I am, are you?" I replied.
"Oh yes," she sobbed, when are you coming home".
"I am out, I am in the Probation Office, I will be back soon, I will
ring you later" I reassured Maggie.
"That's it Tosh," said Nigel, "You'll have to go now."
"Look Maggie I have to go now, I will try and ring you later" I
explained.
"I love you Maggie," I concluded and the line went dead.
Nigel for whatever reason, I suspect some level of guilt for his part
in my enforced return gave me a tenner from the befriending fun to tied
me over.
I thanked him for that but I suspect he was just doing his job.
"Do you think you could make one more phone call for me to Bradford," I
asked stretching things as far as I could.
"Oh yes, local and national calls are ok" he agreed.
I phoned Adrian at Solmaster Travel and explained my predicament.
"You are in luck Tosh, there's a flight to Tenerife from Heathrow this
evening, can you make it?" he asked.
"I will have a dam good try Adrian," aware that my call was monitored
by the law abiding Probation Officer.
I explained to my friend in Bradford that my credit cards were still in
Los Cristianos but he knew I was good for the money and said I could
pick up the tickets from the flight desk at Heathrow.
I thanked Adrian for his help and gave a similar response to Nigel the
Probation guy.
I can't tell you how I got to Heathrow or the speed at which we
travelled .I used community contacts, a fast car and a prayer to make
the flight.
I arrived at Heathrow, collected the tickets, checked in and went
through to the international departure lounge. I still had a few bob
left from the Probation Officers tenner, but I resisted the opportunity
to have a drink, knowing I would need one on the flight home.
I slept most of the way home and clearly the Canary Islands are more
home to me now than England ever will be.
As we landed in Tenerife, on a flight crowded with holidaymakers, I
pledged that from now one I would not embark on anything that was
remotely risky, from now on everything has to be whiter than
white.
I cannot afford to lose again.

The airport in southern Tenerife is always crowded even in the winter
when the swallows as they are known fly to the island from all parts of
Europe turning Los Cristianos into a geriatric cosmopolitan community
for the next six months. The swallows are retired people who return
year after year to soak up the sun hence their nickname.
I had expected a reception committee from the local Guardia Civil, but
no old Tosh slipped through customs and the crowd unnoticed, except
that is of course for Maggie.
Maggie was there as I expected, again tears streaming down her face,
reminding me once again of our parting in the police station. But that
was all behind us now.
"Oh Tosh, I am so pleased you are back, Welcome home love," she sobbed
as she hugged and kissed me.
"Come on Maggie, I'm alright, don't cry love," I consoled.
Maggie had driven to the airport in the little white 205 we had
bought.
"Let's go home Maggie, I need a shower," I said selfishly.
I drove from the airport while Maggie calmed down and reapplied the
makeup that had smudged under the deluge of tears.
We arrived at Harbour View to be met as always by Jesus Sandos.
"Welcome home Mr. Grant," he uttered.
I know the welcome was insincere because he would have been more than
pleased to see the back of me. He still bears a grudge over my missing
money and the solution.
"I smiled and said, "Hello Jesus, how are you?"
"Oh ok, you know how things are," he replied.
I guess by his words that he is still trying to make the big killing at
the Casino and no doubt he was up to his neck in debt again. The
Spanish although not as bad as the Chinese are gamblers and Jesus just
can't help himself.
Maggie nodded towards the lift, squeezed my hand and whispered, "Let's
go Tosh."
When we eventually arrived at our apartment, the door firmly closed and
locked, I grabbed Maggie and whilst kissing her neck, whispered, "How
can you ever forgive me Maggie?"
"Oh Tosh don't, don't blame yourself, there's nothing to forgive. All I
ask is that you learn from experience. Now go and get a shower," she
said, "there are clean towels on the rail."
"Aye ok love," I agreed.
I stripped off my clothes and dropped them on the bathroom floor and
stepped behind the shower curtain and felt a blast of water that I
hoped would wash away the memories of my latest indiscretion and
incarceration.
I did not notice that Maggie had slipped into the bathroom. -
She climbed into the shower, ran her hands across my shoulders and down
across my chest whilst holding her naked tanned body firmly against
mine.
I turned to look at this lady, who I had abused through my stupidity,
and who I had left alone for weeks on this island paradise.
She smiled her long red hair draped over her shoulders, now soaking up
the torrents of water.
She was brown, she was beautiful.
"Oh Maggie," I said, taking her in my arms and kissing her from her
lips to those parts only a man and his partner should even talk about,
"I love you Maggie, don't ever leave me" I said like an insecure
teenager.
"Oh Tosh, don't be silly, I will never leave you, I love you," she
reassured.
I beckoned to Maggie to get out of the shower, and I dried her soft
naked body. I can't remember the exact dialogue as I dried and kissed
her simultaneously, I wanted to make love then and there in the
bathroom.
My arrested passion was firmly roused.
Maggie dried me off.
I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom laying her most
carefully on the bed. I walked back and closed the door. Closing doors
is a habit most difficult to break when you have been inside.
We emerged from our first embrace an hour or so later like two young
lovers enjoying their first night of passion. I cannot begin to
describe how much I love Maggie.
"Tosh," she said, brushing her long red hair about her shoulders, "Have
you any plans about what you are going to do now" she enquired.
"What do you mean love," I said, my thoughts still full of the love
making session.
"Well you know, work or anything," she elaborated
"Oh I am not going to do anything for a few weeks, we have enough money
and income from the apartments, I don't even want to consider working,"
I concluded.
"In any event I have a lot to make up especially to you," I said, my
thoughts returning again to the bedroom.
"Where would you like to eat tonight?" Maggie enquired and I realised
that our prolonged sexual activity had not only made my love hungry but
yours truly was ravenous.
"Oh you choose Maggie" I surrendered knowing that she would select the
Overseas Chinese and that suited me fine.
It was an easy option; they had set banquets for two, which meant we
could concentrate on the meal, the wine and the moonlight.
We dressed and left Harbour View and walked down the hill and along the
avenue adjacent to the ocean. The colourful African traders plied their
belts and watches. It was a beautiful night, made even more beautiful
by my Maggie. I looked at her in the African moonlight; I was a lucky
man.
I squeezed her hand, we didn't say much, but I was so relieved to be
back in Los Cristianos, a million miles from Blackmore Prison.
We arrived at the Overseas and it was unusually quite. The Overseas is
typically Chinese, red lanterns, the Great Wall of China prints, and a
warm welcome from the owner.
I always find it amusing when the waiter addresses customers he thinks
are Spanish, in a Chino/Spanish accent. Maggie was brown and could have
been Spanish but the red hair is a give-away.
"You order Maggie," I resigned.
"Would you like anything to drink Senor," asked the waiter.
"Yes, a carafe of the house red, and a bottle of Sprite, please, I
replied.
I should explain about the Sprite.
Although I love red wine having graduated from the Riesling range many
years ago, I enjoy a tinto debarrano, a drink typical in
Andalusia.
Red wine and lemonade, refreshing and not too heavy.
Maggie ordered for us both.
We consumed a colossal meal of spring rolls, crispy duck, and king
prawn with pineapple and beef in a black bean sauce. We were both
bloated and a desert was out of the question.
We pondered over the remains of the wine, ordered a coffee, which came
with a complimentary liqueur from the owner.
Full as a butchers dog I think the expression is.
Whenever I enjoy a meal I can't help think about the mess in Blackmore
Jail. I know I should try and get the jail out of my head, but it is a
recurring nightmare, that sometimes won't die.
"Come on Tosh," said Maggie shattering my trance, "it's over
now."
Is this lady telepathic or what?
"Ok Maggie, let's go," I agreed.
We paid the bill and walked out of the Chinese into the warm balmy
air.
"Do you want to go to the Claddagh?" asked Maggie.
"It's up to you love", I replied half hoping she would opt for an early
night and a repeat of our exploits in the shower, but I did want to see
the guys again in the Irish bar.
I looked on the Claddagh as my local, which seems strange for an
English villain to choose any Irish bar, but it was a regular meeting
place for English, more of a magnet in fact.
"Yes the Claddagh" said Maggie and as usual she was right.
There would be more than enough time to cement my homecoming but the
island needed to know Tosh Grant was back.
We walked hand in hand like the true lovers we were, through the tunnel
that connects the old beach area from the new, passed the two fish
restaurants with their chattering customers consuming enormous fish
that earlier that day had been swimming in the ocean.
We passed the Boardwalk belting out the sounds of soul with Marvin
Ruffin, who claimed to be the cousin of the famous Jimmy Ruffin and I
noticed later that evening there was a tribute to Freddie Star by a
local entertainer Buddy Graham.
"I would like to see that Maggie," I said pointing out the large
poster of the man in the red Teddy Boy suit.
"Ok Tosh we'll call back," Maggie agreed.
There was a young lady handing out leaflets for the Claddagh, but as we
climbed the steps to the middle level I noticed one or two changes
since my enforced holiday.
An art gallery had opened since my last visit and encroached on to the
steps with their products. More significantly perhaps was that the
Fantasy Bar had closed its doors down below the Claddagh to be replaced
by a bar the Incognito.
The Fantasy Bar had moved upstairs next to the Claddagh.
As we walked into the Irish Bar, Willie the imported singer from the
Emerald Isle struck up a welcoming song to loud applause from the
assembled mass. Maggie had quickly arranged a surprise party with Eddie
and Bobby, the owners of the Claddagh and all the customers joined in
with the welcome.
"Gin and bitter Tosh" enquired Keith, one of the bar staff, "and yours
Maggie?"
"Oh I?ll have a coffee please Keith." She replied.
Keith had been at the Claddagh a long time and now was partnered with
Willie in the entertainment and sometimes a little Scot, John Mack on
the violin.
At the conclusion of the entertainment Willie came over and said a
simple welcome home.
He was a man of few words but the welcome in his soft Irish brogue rang
with sincerity.
Willie's wife Kay and Maggie had become good friends whilst I was away,
as Maggie felt one of the few places she could go without been targeted
by men was the Claddagh. They had looked after Maggie and for that I
was eternally grateful.
Benny Parkinson and his wife Barbara had, despite all their assurances
left Maggie to God and providence.
In fact it transpired that Benny had tried it on with Maggie one night
whilst I was away and when she rejected his advances advising him that
she did not need servicing whilst I was away, that concluded the
relationship.
When I found out about his inappropriate behaviour my immediate
reaction was that he needed a slap. But once Maggie had reassured me
she had handled it, I think I will let matters lie.
Mr. Parkinson will get his just deserts in due course without my help.
His type always does.

Back in the Claddagh my surprises were not over.
Kay, Willie's wife and Maggie had got their heads together for yet
another big moment.
Kay said to Willie after we had consumed a few drinks, "Why don't you
take Tosh into the bar next door while Maggie and I catch up on girls
talk?"
I did not notice the wink that passed between the three
co-conspirators.
"Come on Tosh, let's go and have a quick one," said Willie.
I should have known better
Keith joined Willie and I and we went into the bar next door.
"Hi Gary," said Keith to the tall bouncer on the door. "This is our
friend Tosh from England I told you about."
"Pleased to meet you Tosh," Gary said stretching out a hand as big as a
shovel. Not quiet as big as Terry Rich, but big enough to command
respect.
"Have a great time he added."
I did not notice the green and gold sign above the bar; the earlier gin
and bitter lemon had done their job. As we entered the bar I could not
believe my eyes, this was a lap-dancing bar, The Fantasy Bar.
"Oh come on guys give me a break," I protested. "I don't need this," I
explained.
There were girls, some of the most beautiful young women I had seen in
a long time, excluding Maggie of course.
Young women who ages I guess were between 19 and 25 dressed direct from
the pages of an Ann Summer's catalogue. Leopard skin thigh boots, suede
bikinis, white thongs, clinging to bronzed bodies, was this a fantasy
or what?
"Thought it might make a nice homecoming Tosh," said Keith as he
pressed a Fantasy note into my hand. "What's this," I asked.
"That is a Fantasy note Tosh, and it entitles you to dance with any of
the girls in the Fantasy Bar," explained Keith.
"You can dance with any girl of your choice," added Willie.
"It's our little gift," said Keith "Welcome home."
"Oh I couldn't," thinking of Maggie upstairs, even thought the youth in
me said, "go on."
"Of course you can there's no harm in it," said Willie.
I have always avoided such places, strip clubs and the like, as the
only woman I am really interested in is in the Claddagh. I am not going
to spoil it for a quick grope or affair.
In the centre of the darkened room was chrome bar stretching from floor
to ceiling. The girls took it in turn to dance around the pole in a
suggestive fashion to a variety of provocative music.
It was too much.
"Oh come on Tosh, chill out get into the spirit of the party" urged
Keith.
Around the walls were notices about behaviour and the one that caught
my eye and finally made my mind up this was not for me said, "The less
you touch the more we do."
I watched one punter pick the girl with the long blonde hair in the
leopard boots. She took him to a quiet corner, sat him down and then
proceeded to dance with him.
This was lap dancing?
She sat astride his legs, effectively pinning him to the seat, while
girrating on his lap. She was making me feel horny, so I can only
imagine how the young lad felt. After the dance, his erection was there
for all to see. His mates applauded with wild enthusiasm and the young
lad went beetroot in colour.
No I could not cope with that.
"Thanks lads, but can I keep the note for another night, not really in
the mood you see," I pleaded.
"Oh come on Tosh," insisted Willie.
I could see that I would have to submit to the "set up" and looked
around the girls to see the one who would pose the least threat. There
was no such thing as an ugly girl that was the problem. If I could find
an unattractive one it would be easy to avoid getting a hard on, but
there was not one that would not arose a customer. The dilemma was do I
pick a blonde or a redhead.
What would Maggie say?
Buggar it.
I walked towards a small blonde dressed in a short Red Indian outfit
and invited her to dance. She took me to a darkened corner and just
before the record started I made a deal with her to behave and I would
give her an extra thousand pesetas.
"If you go easy on me I will give you an extra mille," I
whispered.
She agreed.
The young girl was true to her word and went through the motions
without my rising to the occasion. I appreciated that. Mind you in
other circumstances her young vibrant body would have been welcome, but
I have all I want at present.
I thanked the young girl with a peck to her cheek, pressing the mille
note into her hands and returned to Willie and Keith to a round of
applause.
"Right lads it's your turn," I gloated.
"Oh no that's for you Tosh, we would never dare do that with our wives
next door," laughed Willie.
Bastards.
I had to laugh as the three of us made our way back to the
Claddagh.
When we arrived back in the Irish Bar, Maggie and Kay giggled like
naughty schoolgirls.
"Thanks for that Maggie," I said pretending to be angry and she leaned
across and pecked me on the cheek.
I laughed outloud and grabbed her spinning her round in a full
passionate embrace,
I was roused now.
"Let's go home Maggie," I pleaded.
"Can't just run off like that," Maggie retorted, "There's something
else".
At that Keith's wife, Carole came from behind the bar with a cake and
sparklers burning on the top.
In blue icing was a simple message, "Welcome home Tosh."
I couldn't thank the Claddagh crowd enough. In a few short hours they
had wiped away the nightmare and I appreciated that. I must have said
thank you a thousand times.
The night at the bar ended at 4 a.m. and I had enough gin and bitters
to float a barge.
I struggled up the steps supported by Maggie having said our goodbyes
and to be honest I can't remember the journey back to our
apartment.
I do recall Maggie saying, "Just wait Tosh," as I made a juvenile
attempt to excite her.
The gin had taken over.
I can't remember much of the remainder of the night, but I awoke the
next morning, as I would have wished asleep in the arms of my beloved
Maggie.
She was still asleep when I awoke and I just spent some time looking at
this gorgeous redhead who had stood by me through thick and thin.
The Canarian sunshine was beaming through the window as Maggie
awoke.
"Alright love," I enquired.
"I am now you are at home" she replied.
We hugged each other, as there was no tomorrow and made love several
times before deciding to explore the world outside.
Yes I was home and this time determined to stay.
The next few days flew by with Maggie and I doing the rounds catching
up on lost time and letting everyone know Tosh was back on the
island.
One of the fun events of the first week was tenpin bowling with Keith
who had challenged me to a match.
We went to Harley's Superbowl in Fanabe.
I had been there before as tenpin bowling was one of my pastimes in the
UK, when I was at liberty. Got quite good, playing in the National Silk
Cut league and the North Yorkshire league for a while. Nevertheless I
thought I had too many guns for Keith who only played local league
bowling. How wrong I was. I did not take into account the home
advantage edge. Keith had been playing in the Tenerife singles league
and won the title, and he had his own ball. I went down 2-1.
I hoped that the game with Keith would re-kindle my interest and it did
and I agreed to play in the new doubles league that was about to
start.
Keith and I agreed to pair and Maggie and Keith's wife Carol also
decided to form their own team.
I knew Maggie had no bowling experience but Carol was quite a little
bowler and as the league was handicapped I would be stupid to write off
their chances.
Harley's superbowl was to become as important as the Claddagh in out
settling down to a life in the sun. The compact ten-lane centre
reminded me a lot of the Star Bowl at Northallerton where I had once
worked for three years under the watchful eye of George Crow. I had
learned a lot about the bowling business in North Yorkshire and hoped
that experience would help.
One day I was ploughing my way through the many English newspapers that
flourish on Tenerife, The Western Sun, The Paper, The Canarian Weekly,
Tenerife Times and Island Connections when an article on the Mafia
caught my eye.
You may recall I had mentioned earlier that at one time I had
contemplated retiring to Cattolica in Italy, but the Mafia was an
influencing factor in moving to Spain. Reading through the local
English press I was amazed to read a frank interview with a Member of
the European Parliament, Angela Sierra.
She revealed that there is a lot of drug trafficking and laundering of
money via the local property market and businesses associated with the
tourist trade.
However the official line from Madrid is a total denial that organised
crime does not exist in the Canary Islands. I don't know whether or not
a Mafia type organisation, whether Russian, Chinese or whatever
nationality exits or not. If I did I would deny it.
The Mafia is to be respected, feared, admired, despised and hated. You
choose whatever description you feel comfortable with, but for me I
have no intention of floating in a complex pool with a canary stuffed
into my mouth. The Mafia and organised crime and I don't sit well
together. I will do anything I can to avoid contact with them
What does concern me about the future is the new letting legislation,
which has plunged the island into chaos. If Maggie and I cannot let our
apartments bang goes the regular income. The authorities say that the
move is to protect tourists and ensure they have a good standard of
accommodation. What the town hall's fail to say is that it is all
motivated by greed for gold.
Yes its important for me as our main income comes from letting property
to the millions of holidaymakers who visit Tenerife every year. I have
discussed our predicament with Maggie and she has made enquiries and as
always put a sensible perspective on the situation.
"Everything will be alright" says Maggie, "Provided we register the
properties with the town hall, complete the necessary documentation and
of course pay taxes, our income should be secure," added Maggie.
If the worst comes to the worst we could always sell up and move
somewhere else but I really do love it here.
Alternatively I could take advantage of the panic in the market and
pick up properties at good prices as owners decide to move.
Maggie and I looked at various properties in Los Cristianos but with
studios still commanding over 36,000 pounds, we would wait until they
dropped below the 30,000 mark.
However we are not the only people to have noticed this window of
opportunity and clearly there are some big boys on the island playing
for big stakes.
A Vietnamese with a Dutch passport was found in the El Portillo area,
laying face down in the snow. He died from 26 stab wounds. He was a
timeshare street dealer, but I doubt his mortal injuries could be
attributed to some customer who was annoyed by his sales patter. The
official verdict of a vengeance killing is to say the least suspect,
but you judge for yourself
But enough of the seamy side of life in Tenerife, it is as I kept
saying a brilliant place to live. Maggie and I live here because it
gives us a good standard of living, brilliant weather, and the fear of
crime, despite what I have said is significantly lower than in the
UK:
I have stopped referring to the UK as home, as Los Cristianos is our
home for better or worse.
There are those from the UK who suggested I would miss a great deal
including the Premiership soccer. Nonsense, with the advent of Sky
Television I can watch international soccer games and at least two
Premiership games every week plus Spanish and local league soccer. I
can also see live Premiership games on a Saturday and last week joined
a group of lads on holiday in the Laurel and Hardy Pub in Los
Cristianos to watch Coventry play Chelsea. We have Sky in the apartment
but if Maggie wants to have the girls round or watch a movie in peace,
I nip down to Linekers Bars in Playa de las Americas or to Laurel and
Hardy and enjoy the big match atmosphere with the lads.
In addition if I want a live fix of soccer we have Tenerife playing in
the Spanish premier division and with the likes of Barcelona, Real
Madrid and Athletico visiting the island oh yes I miss the likes of
Derby v Bolton!
Tonight we were going bowling at Harleys with Keith and Carol. Maggie
had seen Carol earlier in the week and confirmed we would travel in
their car, a Mercedes, a little roomier than my Peugeot. Tonight they
were going to form the doubles league. Keith was elected secretary and
the opening fixture pitted Keith and myself against, yes you've guessed
right, Carol and Maggie.
I had managed to secure a ball Regency 300 after some difficulty with
drilling, and although in the UK I would have preferred something a bit
more reactive, it was the best they had to offer.
Tenpin bowling is not very big on Tenerife and although the same
company has opened a second bowling centre in Santa Cruz in the north,
league bowling has not taken off. Our match was great fun and the
result immaterial as it was the first week, but what was more important
was that we had a good time.
During the game the girl's suggested we have a night-cap in the
Claddagh. Keith and I had no objection to that; after all it was our
local.
We left Harleys in good spirits and arrived at the Claddagh in San
Telmo to find a very subdued atmosphere.
Kay, the wife of Willie the resident entertainer, told us that one of
the regulars, Tony Paccini, had been kidnapped from his home.
Tony, a demure, but nevertheless pleasant little Italian was involved
in the timeshare business, and life in timeshare was really getting out
of hand. His wife, Pilar, was inconsolable according to bar gossip and
Maggie and Carol decided they would like to call and see her and offer
support. Carol rang Pilar from the bar and arranged to go up there and
then.
Carol took Ken's car for the short journey to Candado, a complex
overlooking the new golf course, were Tony and Pilar lived.
"Maggie be careful," I said, "We don't know what we are dealing with
here."
"They will be alright," assured Keith, "Come and have a drink it will
settle you down."
I didn't want Maggie to go to see Pilar, but she is one determined lady
and apparently Pilar had been very supportive to Maggie during my
enforced "holiday".
I sipped quietly on my gin and I could not get my mind off Tony.
Kidnapping in Tenerife, the death of the timeshare tout, no please God
no, I thought. This is our island of dreams, our future, please don't
spoil it, I thought.
"Come on Tosh, snap out of it," suggested Keith; "Tony will be
ok."
"I know, " added Keith, "Let?s go to the Fantasy Bar."
"Oh no not tonight, if you don't mind Keith will sit this one out," I
declared.
"That's ok Ill just nip in for a quick one," added Keith.
"Right I will catch you later," I concluded and Keith disappeared out
of the door and into the night.
I couldn't hack it tonight, the thoughts of those young bodies dancing
up and down, when Maggie was comforting Pilar and her old man could be
laying in a ditch somewhere. No I could not enjoy myself for the rest
of the evening as Tony and his plight was the only thing on my
mind.
Willie finished his spell of entertainment and came to sit with me at
the bar. I had been exchanging views with his wife Kay on the
disappearance of Tony Paccini.
"That's an awful thing that has happened to Tony;" said Willie with an
air of despondency I had rarely detected in the Irishman's voice. "An
awful thing," he repeated.
"Aye Willie, Maggie and Carol have gone to see Pilar, and I wish they
would come back," I groaned.
Just at that Maggie and Carol walked through the door.
I put my arms around Maggie relieved that she was back safe and
sound.
"Are you alright love" I enquired.
"I'm fine," she reassured.
"Don't go off like that again I have been sat here worried sick," I
said.
"How is Pilar?" I added with hindsight forgetting the real purpose of
Maggie and Carol's mission.
"She is as well as you would expect," interjected Carol, adding, "Where
is Keith?"
"Oh he's just gone to see Gary, hasn't been gone long," I lied.
"Oh yes," said Carol, "more likely to see that little tart."
"No honest, he said he needed to see Gary about a barbecue trip next
week," I said sensing all was not well with Keith and Carol,
particularly over the position of the little tart.
"I?ll go and get him," I volunteered.
"No, I?ll go," said Carol with an angry air of urgency and revenge in
her voice.
I grabbed her by the arm.
"Look you sit here, calm down, it's been a stressful time for
everyone. I?ll go and get him and then we can all get off home," I
insisted.
I moved next door to the Fantasy Bar with great speed bumping into Gary
on the door.
"Gary mate, where's Keith?" I asked.
"He is inside Tosh, shall I get him?" he offered.
"No I?ll get him, his lass is next door and she is not a happy bunny" I
gasped.
Going in to the darkened club I didn't see Keith at first.
It was in semi darkness as usual with one of the young women strutting
her stuff with the pole. I spotted Keith naked from the waist up, lap
dancing and I think I am giving him the benefit of the doubt, with the
little blonde girl I had paid on the night of my homecoming to be
gentle with me. Keith seemed well into her. I had made a wise decision
to stop Carol from coming down. There would have been all hell to pay
if she had seen him stripped and embracing the girl. What happened to
the less you touch the more we do. Yes Keith was into something.
"Keith, quick the girls are back and your Carol is going of it," I said
brushing aside the little blonde with little ceremony.
"Sorry luv, he has to go, you can finish that another time" I
apologised, as she grabbed the top of her outfit.
"Oh shit," said Keith grabbing his short from the nearby chair.
"Come on get yourself straightened up," I said with a note of
disapproval.
"Listen I said to Carol you had just come down not long ago to see Gary
about a barbecue. Stick to the same story and you will be alright with
Carol," I explained with an air of displeasure.
Making sure he was decent, Keith and I returned to the Claddagh, where
Keith was to face the music.
We walked through the door of the Claddagh.
Carol's face was like thunder when we returned and I heard her mutter,
"Wait till I get you home".
The remainder of the evening was muted and flat.
Apparently Keith had been allegedly straying for a while and the "tart"
was the obvious attraction. I hoped the troubles Keith and Carol were
having would not stray into our relationship as Keith and Carol were
very good company.
I made a mental note to give Keith's head a shake. I know it is not as
easy as that, for when your brains drop four feet to your groin region,
the latter always wins.
My thoughts were interrupted by the telephone ringing.
Kay answered and said, "It's for you Maggie, it's Pilar".
Maggie took the phone from Kay and I could hear her responding to
Pilar.
"Ok, yes right, don't panic, we are on our way," replied Maggie.
"Pilar?s had contact with the kidnappers," said Maggie. "They want
?20,000 for his safe return," she added.
"We must get back to Pilar," added Carol, for the moment forgetting
about her rage towards Keith.
"Yes, but this time we all go" I insisted. I could not bear the thought
of Maggie and I being separated when we did not know what we were
dealing with. Thoughts flooded my mind. Surely the little Italian was
not worth 20,000 pounds, how would Pilar raise the money; if she could
would that ensure his return?
We left the Claddagh and went to Pilar?s.
I thought initially the quiet in the car was due to the animosity that
existed between Keith and Carol, but on reflection it was the concern
we felt for Pilar and the kidnapped Tony.
We arrived at Pilars and Maggie held the?young woman for a while
reassuring her that everything would be all right.
I wasn't convinced. Some months earlier a nationalist group had kept a
Prison worker Phillipe Gonzalas captive for over 12 months, demanding
something or other. Nevertheless we had to be supportive and at least
we knew what the kidnappers wanted.
"How did they contact you Pilar" I enquired.
"They rang just after Maggie and Carol left. They told me not to
contact the police, but I told them I had already reported him
missing," she babbled.
"Slow down Pilar," I said trying to calm the excited Italian.
"They did say we can have twenty eight days to raise the money or they
will send Tony back in bits through the post," Pilar broke down
sobbing.
"Tosh, I don't have that kind of money," she cried.
That answered one of my earlier thoughts.
"I know Pilar love, but Tony has lots of friends on the island and I am
sure the local businessmen and bars will help. I know," I said without
thinking of the implications, "We will start a Free Tony Paccini
campaign.
The gin must have take over, as this declaration would give me enough
work to keep me occupied for weeks.
I had some experience inside of how prisoners conducted campaigns and
although this was slightly different I assured Pilar we would mount a
campaign to raise the money and get Tony free.
This gave Pilar hope, but in my heart of hearts I know that many
kidnapped victims are rarely returned.
We spent the rest of the night discussing the campaign statergy, press
action, concerts and how we could raise the money demanded by the
kidnappers in just four weeks.
We finally left Pilar with her thoughts as dawn was breaking assuring
her once again that everything would be ok.
Keith and Carol dropped Maggie and I off at our apartment and they
proceeded home no doubt to debate the tart factor.
As Maggie and I settled down to sleep she turned to me and asked if
everything would be alright.
"Go asleep love, we have a long day ahead," I whispered.
We fell asleep in each other's arms; content in the knowledge that at
least we were together, unlike Pilar who was spending her first night
alone without Tony.

The next morning I was rudely awakened by the telephone. Reaching
across to the bedside cabinet and still half-asleep I lifted the
receiver and said, "Hello" whilst trying to kick the brain into
gear.
"Is that Tony Grant," said the caller.
"Yes" I replied, knowing that the caller did not know me. Nobody on
Tenerife calls me Tony, not even Maggie unless she is really
annoyed.
"This is the Tenerife Sun, we have spoken to Pilar Paccini and she
tells me you are co-ordinating the campaign to raise the money to free
Tony.
Do you think we could meet?
My name is Arthur Spanswick, I am a reporter," he added.
"Yes Arthur, let's meet today, how about lunch, " I stumbled.
"Lunch" he said with a puzzled tone in his voice, "Tony it's 2 p.m." he
laughed.
"Oh right," I said sounding like an idiot, "How about the Claddagh at
5pm, not wait come here it's more private, I said.
I gave Arthur the address and we concluded our early morning call that
turned out to be mid afternoon.
Maggie by this time had got out of bed and had put the coffee on before
making her way to the bathroom. I could hear the shower running.
Shouting above the running water I told Maggie about the reporters call
and visit later this afternoon. She couldn't hear and turned off the
shower and I repeated my message.
"Ok Tosh, do you want breakfast or lunch," she smiled. "Just a sandwich
will do love," I replied.
Maggie dried off and whilst she made lunch I showered trying to go
through in my mind what I would say to the reporter.
I made a mental list of all the facts but I am sure if he is
professional he will extract more information. Needed to get across the
fund raising aspect for if I know reporters he will be more interested
in the kidnapping and the prime aim of publicity at this stage was to
raise the twenty thousand pounds.
When I came out of the bathroom Maggie was busy tidying the
lounge.
"This place is a mess Tosh and if that reporter is coming round, I must
get tidied up," she retorted.
"Maggie love, there is nothing wrong with the place," I replied.
She always kept everything in its place and was a wonderful
housewife.
"In any event," I added, "He is coming to talk about Tony and the money
we need to raise not look at our pad," I quipped patting her well round
buttocks as I squeezed passed.
"You are awful" she responded wrapping her arms around my waist and in
her flirtatious mood invited me to repeat the exercise.
In the past that had signalled a period of passion but on this
occasion I was strong.
"You go and finish getting ready, there will be time enough for that
later," I smiled.
Me Anthony John Grant turning down the opportunity of a love making
session with Maggie.
I must be mad.
"Not like you to refuse an offer like that Tosh," she laughed as she
retreated to the bathroom with a wicked twinkle in her eye.
Seemed strange if not immoral fooling around like this when poor Tony
was God knows where, but life has to go on.
At precisely five o'clock Arthur from the Sun arrived. I introduced
myself and then introduced Maggie and invited him to sit down.
"Would you like coffee," invited Maggie.
"That would be most kind," replied Arthur.
I then proceeded to outline what I saw as the priority but soon the
experienced Arthur took over.
"How long have you know Tony," asked Arthur.
"Well I have been going in the Claddagh about 3 or 4 years and he was a
regular then," I replied.
A question and answer session followed.
I told Arthur we needed to raise the money in just four weeks and that
was a tall order of about five thousand pounds a week.
"We want all the bars, clubs, restaurants, entertainers, in fact any
business on the island who can help will be welcomed with open arms, "
I explained.
"If the Tenerife Sun can accept donations Arthur that would help too,"
I added.
I hoped that by directly involving the newspaper that would get all
Tony's friends and associates involved in the campaign.
"Right" said Arthur, "The Sun will start the ball rolling with a
donation of ?100" he added, provided he would get any story
first.
I confirmed that the Sun would be the first to know anything and
promised to ring the reporter everyday with an update.
Arthur thanked me for the coffee said his farewells to Maggie and
left.
I returned to the lounge and looked at Maggie sitting on the sofa and
shrugged my shoulders.
"We have a lot of work to do in the next four weeks Maggie. I think we
had better get Carol and Keith involved as there will be too much for
us to do alone," I explained.
I also thought that if they were involved in trying to free Tony it
would take their minds off their personal problems. We also needed to
get Pilar involved, as photographs of her accepting cheques and
donations would be vital to keep the bandwagon rolling, and in the eye
of the press. She would have to contact the Spanish Press as I did not
speak the language and it would give her something to occupy her mind
until her husband was released.
Maggie telephoned Keith and Carol and arranged an impromptu meeting in
the Claddagh that evening. She then rang Pilar to check on the
situation and get the lass involved.
I was full of enthusiasm on day one and at the time I and no one else
involved in the campaign appreciated the devastating effect the
campaign to free Tony would have on our lives.
Before the meeting in the Claddagh with Keith and Carol I telephoned
various contact I had on the island and tried to get them to organise
special events to get things moving.
I contacted a very good mate Dave at the Cats Club. He agreed
immediately to organise a function and told me not to worry about a
thing, just pick up the cash a week on Friday.
Dave and Kath his partner and other members of their crew had done a
lot for charity in Tenerife and I knew I could rely on him for at least
three hundred pounds. Only another nineteen thousand seven hundred to
go!
The Wigan Pier, located in Playa de las Americas was my next port of
call. As Tony Paccini was working in timeshare he got to know many of
the local business people and the Pier responded, as I would have
expected. They had live shows every night of the week compared by a
drag artist named Crystal Star. Crystal, real name David, agreed to
talk to the bosses of the club but was sure they would rally round. I
then hit other bars in the area including Murphy's a very popular Irish
bar, now the Irish are noted for their generosity. The on to Linekers.
Linekers is the top destination for young people in Tenerife and I was
sure the lads there would rally to the call.
Their DJ, a nice lad called Nathan Swift said he would see his gaffer
but was sure they would help. The people at Linekers are a nice crowd
and I had hoped one day to meet the man himself. Surely wasn't he the
greatest English footballer since Bobby Charlton?
The other bars in Starco responded in a similar manner and I then moved
to hit Veronicas.
Now I have to admit I am not a fan of Veronicas, because of the
businesses but the reputation and the few lager louts who spoil it for
the other eleven million visitors to this island. Nevertheless the
response was good and top nightspots such as the Soul Seller with its
resident group the Lizard Kings right along the strip to Bobby's bar
all offered to help. The response was magnificent. My phone bill took a
hammering.
I then targeted the area of Playa de las Americas called the Patch. Now
Tony was well known down here as many of the girls who worked the
timeshare also worked as PR?s for the various bars on the Patch.
Dennis the Menace pub that was a big venue had recently changed hands
and now called The Full Monty, taking full advantage of the publicity
from the film of the same name. They agreed to put on an adult show,
one for the boys to help raise funds. The Drunken Duck, The Drop Inn,
Stage International, and the Blaydon Races all promised to help and
Princess Di?s a venue used by the family of entertainers that exist on
the island agreed to put on a charity night two weeks on Friday. Friday
night is traditionally the night most artists have a night off. It is
change over day when one set of holidaymakers leave the island at the
conclusion of their holiday to be replaced by the next lot. I knew I
could rely on Les Styles the compere at Di?s and the owners Leno and
Ray to come up trumps.
I then hit various other areas of Playa Las Americas, Torviscas,
Fanabe, Sanytein, and the response was the same. Harleys Superbowl
would put on a charity event for Tony one Friday, their super
restaurant which had been the venue of many big events on the island
also agreed to stage a show, The Caf? New York, Snooty Fox,
Yesteryears, Garfields, the Downtown bar below the Hotel Noellia, the
list was endless.
I turned to Maggie and said, "I think we need a big notice board Maggie
otherwise we are going to lose track."
Maggie had been a secretary in her early days and agreed to do the
admin work to keep me as free as possible to chase up the owners. We
erected a notice board in the spare bedroom and persuaded one of the
local computer shops to lend us a system for the duration of the
campaign. It was invaluable.
I then moved away from the bars and clubs and targeted other businesses
that I think could help. The offers of free meals for two were
forthcoming from a variety of restaurants, The Overseas Chinese, El
Cine near the port, Bourbon and Beouf in Avenida de Suecia, all in Los
Cristianos agreed to help and those further afield including Paraiso in
Valle San Lorenzo and Bar Bodega in Los Abrigos. I also hit all the
Italian places in both resorts and they were only too pleased to help a
fellow countryman. The ball was well and truly rolling.
At the conclusion of my telephone marathon, Maggie and I showered had a
quick bite to eat and then drove down to the Claddagh in San Telmo to
meet Keith and Carol. Keith had already had a meeting with Eddie and
Bobby the owners, Willie and other members of the staff. Eddie and
Bobby agreed to charge 500 pesetas on the door. They also placed a
small notice as to why we were collecting; Willie donated his wages, as
did the rest of the staff that evening. That would start the ball
rolling.
Keith had acquired from a florist friend about 50 red roses, which he
intended to sell at 200 pesetas. Not a novel idea seeing that each
night half a dozen oriental rose sellers came into the bar thrusting
their blooms under the customers noses.
However Keith recalled that The Red Rose Caf?, one of Willie's numbers
was Tony's favourite and hence the red roses.
I kicked the ball off by buying one each for Maggie, Carol, Kay and
Bobby and that seemed to encourage others in the bar. The fifty roses
soon disappeared but you can imagine the rose sellers faces when they
arrived later that evening and every customer was clutching a red
rose.
Keith and I decided we would continue to contact the businesses in the
twin resorts of Las Americas and Los Cristianos where Tony was well
known, but we needed more assistance. Eddie agreed to put up posters in
the bar and Maggie offered to design a poster on the new computer we
acquired.
"Well there is nothing much else to discuss," said Keith "Let's get on
with it."
I hoped that the initial surge of enthusiasm could be maintained.
The next day I contacted Ian and Maggie Lennard broadcasters at Oasis
FM one of the English speaking radio stations that offer a 24 hour
service to listeners in the south of Tenerife. Although they were
unable to make a donation, Maggie agreed that she could do a
five-minute interview, introduce the item in the news and give
listeners regular updates. I thanked her for that and the additional
offer to act as a collecting point for donations of goods or
cash.
The following few days were a blur. I was here there and everywhere.
The Tenerife Sun reported that their fund now stood at ?7,000 and the
local radio station confirmed their support.
During the week the red pin night at Harleys Superbowl and a golf
tournament hastily arranged by the British Legion at Son Parc pushed
the total towards ?10,000. Through the British Legion, which up to now
I had no contact with, I was introduced to other organisations who all
helped in their own way.
The Lions, and there are several branches on Tenerife held a hastily
arranged members night at the original Wigan Pier where Charlie and
Jayne White raised over 100,000 with a pie and pea supper bingo and
tombola. The entire community was pulling together to safe the life of
the popular Tony. But would their efforts raise enough cash in the time
available? That was the question that continually nagged me.
The local churches too, in addition to the daily prayers offered for
our captive friend organised their own events, which raised the total
towards ?12,000.
By the time the weekend arrived Maggie and I were knackered. We had
tried to visit as many events as possible to keep the momentum going,
bowling, bingo, pie and peas, if I never see another pie or play bingo
again it won't be too soon.
As we relaxed on Sunday to recharge our batteries for the final push
Maggie rang Pilar to see if she was holding up. Pilar was just about to
ring Maggie as the kidnappers had contacted her again to say they
expected the money to be ready not later than the 1st of the
month.
I reassured Pilar that the money would be raised, I was confident of
that.
In the final week Keith and Carol, Maggie and I and as many as Tony's
family and friends as was humanly possible set about the task of
collecting the monies which had been raised in a variety of way by the
bars. We collected money and prizes we intended to use in a final grand
push on the last Friday at Princess Di?s. Everyone had wanted to use
the Claddagh but Di?s held almost 500 and 500 at a mille a head would
make all the difference. Eddie and Booby appreciated this, all they
wanted, as we all did, was to see Tony and Pilar reunited safely.
Money kept rolling in and the prizes as well and I remember little
about the final Friday night. The entertainers turned out in force from
the various bars and after midnight the crowd at Princess Di?s were
entertained by Tina Turner, alias Karen Numan, Buddy Graham who does
Freddie Star, Paul Stone with his impersonation of Billy Idol, Paul
actually won Stars in Your Eyes on t.v., and numerous other
entertainers who gave their services free of charge to help Tony. His
kidnapping had shocked the whole community and the whole community
turned out to help him.
On the Wednesday before the final push I told Arthur of the Sun that we
would only reach our target if the show at Princess Di?s was a success.
His publicity and the publicity on the radio had a two-fold effect. One
I had hoped for, a full house at Di?s and the second which I had not
foreseen.
A package was delivered to the Claddagh addressed to me. Inside was the
severed finger, which the note said, belonged to Tony. It was grey and
lifeless, with congealed blood. I kept the horrific discovery to myself
and visited the local police station and gave them the evidence. They
now were very concerned for Tony's safety. I did not reveal the facts
of the package to Arthur, as I feared that more adverse publicity might
mean that Tony would arrive back in little bits. The kidnappers had
threatened to do that when they initially contacted Pilar and that was
the last thing anybody wanted.
Friday arrived and after a busy day on the streets, a quick meal and we
had many of them that month, Maggie and I showered and made our way to
Princess Di?s. The show as I said earlier was a success and the total
surpassed our wildest dreams, almost ?28,000 more than eight grand over
and above the target set by the kidnappers.
The people of Tenerife, the residents, entertainers and holidaymakers
had pulled out all the stops. We had the money all we needed now was to
get Tony home safely.
After the show and having thanked everyone a thousand times we popped
into the Claddagh as was our practice for a nightcap.
No sooner had we arrived than the phone rang.
"Its for you Tosh," said Kay.
"Hello, Tosh here how can I help you," I enquired.
"We have Tony. Listen carefully. You will take the money in person to
the bridge over looking the swimming pool at the hotel near the
Meditterean Palace. Come alone Tony will walk across the Bridge and you
will bring the money," said the voice and then silence.
"Hello, Hello," I repeated but he had gone.
I told the few people who were interested, Kay, Keith and Carol that
contact had been made and the exchange would take place on
Sunday.
We left the Claddagh shortly after the call.
That night Maggie and I returned home and settled for the night,
falling asleep in each others arms as we had done so many times before.
My sleep was constantly interrupted by the thoughts going through my
head of the exchange arrangements. I went over them again and
again.
I was already half awake as the sun streamed through the window but
unlike many other sub tropical dawns on my island of dreams, today I
felt like shit.
The efforts of the past few weeks had taken its toll and I really felt
like a holiday. Ironic really needs a holiday when I live on this
island paradise.
I look at Maggie. She was still asleep. I felt the urge to kiss her,
thankful that we were together. As my lips touched her forehead, her
eyes opened and she smiled.
"Oh Tosh," she said, "I had a terrible dream last night, I hope Tony is
going to be ok," she added. Her tone was anxious and when Maggie had a
dream it had an uncanny knack of coming true.

I tried to reassure Maggie, not telling her about the severed finger.
"We have raised the money, everything will be alright as soon as we
have exchanged Tony for the money, I said, thinking that the poor
bastard was probably terrified somewhere, bleeding with his pinkie
missing.
As soon as Tony gets back we will have a big reunion in the Claddagh,
half trying to convince myself but kidding no one especially
Maggie.
We lay there in each other's arms for what seemed an age. Neither of us
wanted to let go of the other, and momentarily I had a flashback to the
jail when Maggie and I were parted.
This was the first time in a longwhile that the nightmare had returned
and I couldn't help thinking, along with Maggie's dream, was it an
omen?
I didn't like the feelings I was having and gripped Maggie even
tighter.
"Relax Tosh", said Maggie detecting the tension in my body.
"Come on let's get ready," she urged.
We showered and I made some toast and coffee and carried the tray onto
the balcony. Los Cristianos was alive and well with the swallows
promenading along the seafront and the "Looky looky men" going about
their business of selling imitation watches and "real" leather
belts.
The warm sun brought some cheer at this time and as I looked out to
sea, I prayed that the business with Tony would soon be
concluded.
My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing telephone.
"Hello" I enquired.
"Tosh" said the caller, "Yes;" I replied.
"Tosh, it's Arthur Spanswick from the Sun".
"Oh hello Arthur what can I do for you" I enquired.
"I have some bad news for you mate," said Arthur.
My heart sank.
"Tell me Arthur," I asked, knowing full well I did not want to hear
what the reporter was going to tell me.
"I am sorry Tosh, but Tony Paccini was found dead early this morning in
his car".
"Oh my God" I gasped.
"What's up Tosh?" asked Maggie.
"Its Tony, he's, he's dead" I stuttered.
Maggie froze in stunned silence.
"Look Arthur, I?ll come straight away," I suggested, adding, "No you
come here Arthur."
"I'm on my way," replied Arthur.
I replaced the receiver and took hold of Maggie. I had a sickening
feeling in my throat, my stomach churned, I was on the brink of
breaking down. That poor bastard dead.
"Oh Tosh" Maggie broke down. I grabbed her even more tightly.
"I know love," I said trying to console her. Tony was dead.
"Poor Pilar and the kids," she sobbed. I allowed Maggie to cry and
said, "let it all out love," she needed to release the tension.
My sadness turned to anger. If I could get my hands on those murdering
bastards I thought I would kill them. My anger burned up inside but I
also felt confused, bitter, angry and perhaps it was better just to
hold Maggie in her grief and say nothing.
Maggie was crying inconsolably for a while and only dried her tears
when the doorbell rang.
"Go and get freshened up love," I said, "I?ll get the door."
Maggie disappeared into the bathroom closing the door behind her.
?I opened the door to see Arthur from the Sun standing there. "Come in
Arthur mate" I said, "This is a bad day, a really bad day for
everyone," I added.
Arthur told me that a tourist from the cable car on Mount Teide had
spotted Tony's car and when the police arrived he was dead. A bullet
had passed through the windscreen and entered his head. His eyes were
still open. Poor sod. Horrific.
Tony was a nice guy, a nice little guy, who apparently got caught up in
something far bigger than we all would ever know or ever want to
know.
Arthur went on to tell me that he had already been round to see Pilar,
not as a newspaper reporter but as a friend and that's what he had
become over the past few weeks. He also used his newspapers
international links to contact Tony's family in Sicily and they were
already on their way.
"Poor Pilar," I blurted out, "how is she," I enquired, guilt taking
over because she was an after thought.
"She is devastated Tosh and if ever she needs support she does now,"
added Arthur.
At this point Maggie joined us from the bathroom.
"Hello Mr Spanswick" she said her eyes red from crying.
"Hello Maggie, I am sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, but I
thought you and Tosh should know as soon as possible," he
apologised.
"How is Pilar," asked Maggie.
"Not good," said Arthur.
"She really needs someone there until the family arrive from Sicily" he
advised.
"Tosh we have got to go to her" insisted Maggie.
"Of course love" I agreed. "You had better take Carol with you." I
added
"Oh hell, I had better ring Carol and Keith," I said.
"Well I had better be off," said Arthur rising from the sofa.
"Thanks a lot for everything you did Arthur;" I said acknowledging the
tasteful way in which he had handle the entire situation. I had seen
reporters in the past deal with tragedy in a cold, detached, matter of
fact manner, but to his credit Arthur had done a grand job and he at
least would not be hounding Pilar.
As soon as Arthur left, I rang Keith and Carol and they both came over
to our apartment.
We agreed that Maggie and Carol would take Keith's car and go to
Pilar?s house. She would need their help.
"Maggie, if the press boys are there, put them on to me. Give them this
number and the Claddagh?s number and Keith and I will deal with them.
Keep them away from Pilar," I instructed.
The girls left and Ken and I were left with the easy task of deflecting
the press.
"Listen Keith, I have been thinking if we contact the press before they
camp outside Pilar?s house that might satisfy them", I suggested.
"Good idea," Keith agreed.
I then proceeded to contact press, radio and television and enlarged on
the statement they had received from the police. It had not crossed my
mind but we still had ?28,000 from the various events. The money issue
was raised by one newspaper who asked why they thought the kidnappers
had killed Tony when we had raised the money. I said I had no idea but
felt that the money should go to Pilar and her family Afterall she was
now alone and the lads would need feeding and clothing. When this was
reported in the press there was not one objection to the money going to
Pilar, who of course would have given it all away for the safe return
of her beloved Tony.
My mind kept harping back to the little Italian and the horrific
circumstances in which he died.
The local radio suggested I went to the studio to do a live interview
and then proceeded to plug the interview every fifteen minutes.
Keith came with me to the studio.
Maggie Lennard, the newsreader read the police statement and then
introduced me as the co-ordinator behind the Free Tony Paccini
campaign. She asked me a series of questions that I supposed she had to
ask.
"Tosh I suppose you were devastated by the news" she asked.
"I feel as though I speak for the entire community in south Tenerife
when I say this senseless death has touched us all and we are all
devastated by the loss," I replied.
"Our listeners know you were trying to raise money for his release. How
much did you raise," asked Maggie.
"Well the kidnappers asked for twenty thousand but with the generous
help of ALL sections of the community and I must stress all, we raise
over ?28,000," I replied.
"Why do you think the kidnappers killed your friend when the money was
there for his release," Maggie asked.
"Oh, I can't answer that question, perhaps he recognised them," I
speculated, "But I hope they rot in hell" I added.
"What about the money raise Tosh, any thoughts on how that could be
used," Maggie concluded.
"I couldn't even think about it at such a time as this. My immediate
reaction is to suggest to those people who helped raise the money that
it should be passed to Tony's widow, Pilar and his family. I am sure
that will be little compensation for the loss of a husband and father."
I responded.
"Tony Paccini was a great little man, a devoted husband and loving
father. How anybody could kill him is beyond me. We did everything they
asked. We raised the money," I rambled.
"Thank you Tosh Grant," interrupted Maggie regaining control of the
interview.
"There you have it. The death of Tony Paccini has rocked our island,
and our thoughts go out to his family tonight. God Bless them," said
Maggie near to tears herself.
"Thanks for that Tosh," she said fighting back the tears "Let us hope
the police catch those responsible."
Keith and I left the studio and went back to the Claddagh. Willie was
sat at the bar.
"Hi there guys," said Willie, " a bad business, real bad business as he
took a big swig of his brandy."
Willie was near to tears as were the people who had come to the bar
that night.
Keith said, "Not singing Willie, I don't think Tony would have wanted a
wake do you?"
Keith had his sensible head on for once.
Willie to his credit went through the motions of tuning his guitar, but
I had grave doubts that his heart was in it tonight.
Nevertheless Keith was right. Tony would have wanted Willie to try and
keep the show on the road regardless.
"Willie, do you best mate," I encouraged.
"Good evening everyone and welcome to the Claddagh on this sad night.
This is my tribute to Tony," said Willie in his soft Irish
brogue.
Willie began to sing the Dean Martin classic Amora, but struggled to
fight back the tears when it came to the Italian in the song. He
struggled through and then began to sing "I f you ever go across the
sea to Ireland, but could not continue at first and the audience helped
him out. He struggled through the rest of the show, which became a sing
along, and it was apparent people were singing to stop crying.
Willie cut the show short and thanked everyone for their support.
"Well done mate," I consoled, "you did just fine,"
That was the worst night we had in the popular Irish bar and we just
sat around slowly getting pissed. We all abandoned the Guinness and
lager and were pumping the shorts into us, as if that would stop the
pain.
Maggie and Carol arrived and all I wanted to do was put my arms around
her.
The tears just streamed down my face, the face of this hardened
criminal, my island of dreams had once again turned into a
nightmare.
"Its alright Tosh," Maggie assured, "let it all out." I sobbed into her
arms.
I finally pulled myself round. Nobody was embarrassed they all shed
tears that night. We bid our friend's goodnight and made our way to the
top of the promenade were the car was parked.
"Lets walk tonight Maggie, I need the air," I remarked. We walked along
the shoreline in silence until I asked, "How's Pilar?"
"She has been seen by the doctor and he has given her something to make
her sleep," explained Maggie.
"Tony's family will be here tomorrow," she added.
The rest of the night is a blur, the drink, the se air, and the
emotion. I lapsed into unconsciousness the pain of Tony's death well
and truly eating into my soul.
The next day Tony's family arrived from Sicily and made arrangements to
fly the body home. Pilar agreed to return with them and that was the
last we saw of her or the children. She sent thank you letters and
cards to everyone who had helped, but after that we never heard from
her again.
You will recall I always avoided Italy for fear of the Mafia, but
Tony's death served as a reminder to us all that this beautiful island
we call home is changing, and we seemed powerless to prevent such
changes.

The next few months confirmed my worst fears.
The island of Tenerife was changing and organised crime was taking a
foothold.
The death of Tony, arson attacks on clubs and restaurants, horrible
assaults, fingers hacked off business men who refused to co-operate,
cars trashed, our island of dreams was becoming a nightmare and
something had to be done.
The Russian Mafia had arrived and several other organised crime groups
but it was very difficult to know who was a friend and who was an
enemy.
A bar owner in Las Americas lost over a million pesetas on his way to
the bank when an axe wielding assailant forced him to hand over his
takings. Another was slashed about the arms and body as he fought to
protect his face, two Brits were caught in possession of ?30,000 worth
of dodgy money and 17 kilos of pure cocaine was seized by custom
officers at Renia Sofia airport.
The whole situation was getting out of hand but the local media did not
present a true picture of what was happening. This island survives on
the eleven million tourists that visit every year. Nobody is going to
come to a place with drugs, violence and crime and so the authorities
keep it quiet and the vast majority of the local British Press kept
very quiet.
The local media hardly reported one incident and yet the press back
home was beginning to take notice. It appeared as though some of the
local press were being controlled by the local Mafia who have moved in
to take over the lucrative areas of Los Cristianos and Playa las
Americas. Could it be that established newspapers and even some of the
new ones where being controlled by organised crime. Surely not?
Something needed to be done. People were not going to stand by and
watch their businesses ruined by organised crime. The weaker ones sold
out but the fighters and there are many people with spirit on Tenerife
decided to meet the threat head on and confront the newcomers who
threatened to disrupt their way of life.
Several businessmen approached me on the island that had helped with
the late Tony appeal and they indicated they felt that local business
needed to be organised into an association to fight the influx of
organised crime. They thought that I was the best person to draw them
together.
Can you imagine it, Tosh Grant ex con, turned crime fighter?
I told them I was flattered but they should find someone else. I was
told quite firmly that I had been chosen to lead the fight back. You
can imagine how horrified I was. I wanted to walk away from conflict, I
could not afford to be deported, and I had avoided Italy for the very
reason I had now been chosen. To fight organised crime.
Over the next few weeks I met with bar owners and businessmen in the
south and discussed a plan to keep their businesses under their control
and out of the hands of the Mafia bosses. I use the word Mafia because
everyone understands that, but I think it is organised crime, organised
from the old Soviet Union, Great Britain, anywhere but Italy.
During the time of our discussions and establishing the organisation
two armed men wearing dark glasses, armed, walked into the hotel
Noellia and gunned down their clerk Francisco Henry. He was alone at
the time and he ignored their threats to hand over the cash. They shot
him and left empty handed. He managed to summon help and was taken by
ambulance first to the Clinica San Eugenio and then on to the Hospital
de la Candelaria in Santa Cruz where he remained in a critical
condition for months.
On the same day two Algerians burst into the Kiwi Club, grabbed 600,000
pesetas before making their escape after pistol whipping the
receptionist.
The time had come for action,
Spurred on by the assaults and requests from local businessmen I called
a meeting using the contacts I had with the local radio and press.
Feelings were running high and businessmen demanded action. The off
shot of the meeting was that I was given the task of forming an
organisation to protect businesses in Tenerife from unfavourable
attention.
There was going to be a war. I did not want to become involved in such
a conflict, but some of the big boys on the island made it quite clear.
I had no choice whatsoever. I could have left the island, sold my
apartments, but events overtook any action I could take.
During the next seven days I was busier than ever and was able to
present to the next meeting a business plan I hoped would protect
businesses on the island.
I had contacted Terry Rich who by this time had been released from Jail
and Syd Dodds another member of his firm who I had met briefly inside.
I had hoped to put my association with the likes of Terry and Syd
behind me but I needed their help to resolve what we all called, "the
situation."
Terry and his firm agreed to take up an offer of work for just eight
weeks in which time they were confident they could restore peace to
this island paradise. I had seen Terry and his peacemakers operate in
the nick and who was I to argue. Terry was ruthless and took immediate
action and left messages that even the most stupid people could not
understand.
When I presented my business plan to the local business community,
Terry and his crew who I had flown out with the minimum of fuss and
accommodated in Las Americas sat in silence. Their physical presence at
the meeting was enough to convince the owners that we meant
business.
I called the organisation, the Tenerife association of Bar and Club
Owners, (T.A.B.A.C.O.) which I thought was quite catchy. I explained to
each person present that they would be required to become members and
pay an annual registration fee of ?50 and they then would only pay
Terry and his mates if they were summoned to their premises.
They would be called the Bouncer Action Team and very quickly their car
became known as the BAT mobile, but their task was certainly no
joke.
There were a few wry smiles that night from the assembled businessmen
who all agreed to register. There were also some doubts that they could
do the job where the police had failed. The police had failed because
they had a vested interest and certainly over here there are more than
an odd story circulating about bribes not only to the police but the
authorities. Even Spanish Television admitted that criminals in the
south had bribed local police and the police commissioners must take
action to restore confidence.
Terry and his team decided to stay beyond their eight-week contract and
were regularly called upon to protect life, limb and property until the
situation was resolved. Terry quickly organised his team into a rapid
response team and very soon they became part and parcel of the
peacekeeping force that drove the Mafia away or underground.
Moreover had I found my true vocation in life, Mr. Organiser?
Terry quickly became tired of Tenerife as the number of altercations
dropped dramatically but with the foundations he and his team laid the
owners formed their own committee and carried on the organisations aims
and objectives.
I declined to be involved after Terry's return to the UK, but felt I
had contributed to returning the island and in particular Los
Cristianos where we lived to the peaceful tranquillity we
enjoyed.
Maggie and I did escape for a short weekend after Terry went home. We
went to the neighbouring island of La Gomera. Its rugged beauty,
tranquillity and rustic simplicity afforded us the opportunity of total
relaxation. The rolling mountains, quiet fishing villages make it a no
go area for those seeking the bright lights and nightlife.
La Gomera is wonderful. Maggie and I returned refreshed ready to face
the more active life that Los Cristianos commanded.
We had dinner with Keith and Carol and recommenced bowling, the league
having been put on hold during the traumatic period between the
kidnapping and Tony's death.
Life was getting back to normal.
During the next few days I received several invitations to organise
events for various organisations but I turned most offers down "due to
pressure of work". I didn't have any pressure but I had made a decision
that Maggie and I needed space.
One invitation I could not ignore cam from one of the respected members
of the island community. When this person summons you, you did not
refuse. I could not even dare contemplate refusal.
"Come in Grant," said the taller of the two men I could see in the
room.
The room was illuminated by artificial light, the curtains having been
drawn to keep out any preying eyes.
"How are you," the tall man enquired extending his hand to shake
mine.
I responded cautiously. "Very well thank you," I replied.
"Our names are not important" he declared nodding to his associate sat
next to the table located at the end of the room. Both men were dressed
in identical poloshirts, black with black leather jackets, and black
slacks and shoes.
The shorter man of Middle East appearance was sporting a Don Cortez
style beard but the noticeable feature was his piercing ice-cold blue
eyes. I have never seen such blue eyes.
"What you did for Tony and his family is appreciated by us all, and we
want you to know everyone is grateful for the effort you made on his
behalf, said the shorter man.
"You have made a great deal of friends and people want you to know
that. They really appreciate it and if there is anything we can ever do
for you, well just ask," added the taller man.
"Who are grateful" I enquired, knowing full well as soon as I asked
that the answer would be on a need to know basis.
"You don't need to know that Grant," replied the shorter, with a
firmness that was unchallengable.
"All you need to know is that they are grateful." He concluded.
At that they decided the meeting would end and I was ushered out of the
door back into the brilliant sunshine.
I thought as I made my way back home that I had only done what anyone
would have done for a friend and despite all my efforts the little
Italian was dead. However I was reassured that if I ever needed help,
the most powerful man on the island would respond.
Insurance or assurance, whichever way you looked at it, it was
mine.
Tenerife was never the same in my eyes. Its beauty had been tainted by
Tony's death and the lifestyle I hoped to escape and start afresh, was
all around me on the island.
I began to have the same old nightmares again about jail and that
bastard Patrick would appear and say with a smile "You'll be
back."
I would wake up abruptly in cold sweats.
"What's wrong Tosh," said Maggie on one such occasion when I woke
bathed in sweat.
"Oh it's all gone wrong Maggie, I can't settle," I moaned.
"I am having nightmares about jail, this was supposed to be our island
of dreams and it's all going horribly wrong," I explained.
"Perhaps we need a complete break Tosh a holiday away from Tenerife,"
Maggie suggested.
"This is supposed to be a holiday 52 weeks of the year," I argued, "But
its all gone wrong," I added.
We agreed that the next day we would visit the local travel agent, the
Travel Shop and book a holiday well away from Tenerife. We hoped that
giving ourselves a complete break might settle us down again to a
lifestyle we had planned for many years.
But nothing is forever I am told, and I am taking each day at a
time.
The Travel Shop staff were brilliant and we decided that we would go
the whole hog and visit Canada. With the help of the staff we decided
to visit Calgary for the stampede. The tour also took in Lake Louise,
Banff and of course the Rocky Mountains.
The prospect of a holiday on the other side of the world seemed to give
me a degree of inner peace and the next few months would provide a
period of reconciliation, consolidation and reflection.
My next adventure with Maggie would be in Canada and no doubt our paths
will cross again in the not too distant future.