by Barrie Jones
Chapter XIV (there is no Chapter XIII). Henry recounts the system “searching” and his skill as a bone faker.
The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 23rd April 1910, page 6.
Chapter XIV
Having been reported so many times, and seeing my remission rapidly decreasing, I thought it was just about time for me to try and “get a bit of my own back,” as the lags call it, so I thought I would try and turn my hand to something which would bring me in a little luxury; and if I happened to be caught, well then I should get punished for something which I did on more than one occasion, as my business was quite a puzzle to them. Nearly every day when I came in from the quarry, I would find my cell in a “topsy-turvy” condition, and every article, from my saltcellar to my shoelaces, turned over. Sometimes my cell was so artfully searched that I could hardly detect it, as all the things were so carefully arranged back into their proper places so as to deceive me and make me think that the searcher had not been there, but I was one too many for the searchers and warder, being equally as clever as they.
Many an old lag, double my experience, was in the habit of coming to me, and asking my advice as to which was the best place to plant this, or conceal that, but I never made it my business to tell them, for, one simple reason, should the searcher happen to draw his needle from a crack in the wall or behind the door with his magnet, then the lag in most cases would accuse me, and tell others that I “shopped” (informed) against him. But thank God, I never was called a “copper” (informer) during all my servitude. I always made it a habit to put a little black spot near the corner of my slate, with the edge just touching the spot, and should the slate be removed a little way or over the spot, then I would know at once that the searcher had been there. Another game the prison detective used to practise, but not a single convict did I ever know to tumble into it, but I found it out. The searchers, after searching the mattress, would sew the sides up with his own private stitching, then if a convict would undo the stitches in order to conceal anything in the mattress, even if he sewed it up again, he would tell the difference between his own stitches, and there would be a capture. I told the searcher this on one occasion, and he said, “Williams, how on earth did you tumble to it? Why, only the other day I captured an old lag in the very same way; but promise me, “he added, “that you won’t give the game away, and I will let you run loose.” I replied, “I shall tell no one.” At the same time, I warned several not to conceal anything in their mattresses.
My readers, no doubt, would like to know what the searcher was looking for every time he turned me and my cell over, and they will be surprised to learn that it was some toothpicks, and the tools I used in the manufacturing of them, that’s what they were after, for I was well known at Portland Prison as the “bone faker.” Instances of such could be seen in the stone quarry daily, when all sorts of conditions of bone would be offered me, even from the old tough chicken bone to the beautiful white mutton bone. The marrow bones I used in the manufacture of signet rings or tie clips, and thick mutton and beef bones for making ladies’ boots, with the imitation of the leg and two blades to be closed like a penknife. I also made the fancy pipe cleaners and scarf pins, the shape of hearts, anchors, Maltese crosses, etc. It was all these articles that the searchers were after, for I was known as the “bone faker” even from the common civil guard to the director. Although they were prohibited articles, they were highly interested in my bone carving, as the governor himself once told me, when reported for having one in my possession. “You are a clever man, Williams,” said he, “but I have told you before, it is against the rules, so therefore I must punish you.” “Alright, sir,” I replied, “it’s a fair cop; so many days No. 1, and so many marks, and I will start again after the punishment.”
My object in making these things was to exchange them for tobacco, which I would share equally with my fellow convicts, who ran the same risks in getting me the bones. How I managed to get the tobacco, of course, I shall not mention here, as it would be unfair to those who treated me with kindness. I will here give my readers one or two instances of how I cheated the searcher under his very eyes.
It was on a Saturday, in 1902, being a pudding day, that I was quite unexpectedly visited by the searcher already mentioned. It was after dinner, and I always made it my habit to save my pudding till suppertime, to eat with my cocoa, for I was particularly fond of “cold duff”; but this was not my sole object in saving it, for it served my purpose also as a toolbox. I know readers will laugh at the idea of a piece of “duff” serving as a toolbox, but my tools were not many, being only three in number, namely; an old piece of steel, a rusty barrow nail, and a piece of copper wire. With those prohibited articles on my table, I was busily at work, manufacturing a female’s boot, when I was suddenly given the tip, which meant the scratching of the iron partition of my next-door neighbour, whom I engaged in the observation line. Scarcely had I received the signal when the cell door was flung open, and in walked the searcher with his searching instruments, but it was too late, for my tools and unfinished article had disappeared as if by magic. I was ordered to strip naked; my clothes were searched; everything in my cell was turned over, but he found nothing, so he locked me up, and then departed. I then took up my “duff”, cut it in half, and out dropped my tools. I then finished my article. I exchanged it on the following Monday for an ounce of twist, and gave my pal his whack, who heartily thanked me with a “God bless you, Williams: I have not smelt a chew for over two years.” I made a friend of that little fellow, who was known as Brunney George Devereux, undergoing a term of six years. I never did regret it, for he was as true as gold, and not like some of them, who are for ever putting their fellow prisoners away, As I have already mentioned, in order to carry favour with an official.
In the next chapter, I will give you an account of how I cheated a screw at the impulse of the moment, and how I was transferred from Portland to Parkhurst Prison, Isle of Wight.
To be continued….