David Taylor - Shane: The True Story of One of the Most Dangerous Prisoners in Britain:

SHANE

David Taylor

Glasshouse Publications Ltd

FOREWORD

ONE - MAY 1980

TWO - JUNE 1980

THREE - 1982

FOUR - 1985

FIVE - 1987

SIX - 1987

SEVEN - 1990

EIGHT - 1990

NINE - 1990

TEN - 1990

ELEVEN - 1993

TWELVE - 1998

THIRTEEN - 2000

FOURTEEN - 30TH MARCH 2000

FIFTEEN - AUGUST 2000

SIXTEEN - 2000

SEVENTEEN - 2000

EIGHTEEN - 2001

NINETEEN - 2000

TWENTY - 2001

TWENTY ONE - JANUARY 2002

TWENTY TWO - JANUARY 2002

TWENTY THREE - 18TH JULY 2002

TWENTY FOUR - AUGUST 2002

TWENTY FIVE - SEPTEMBER 2002

TWENTY SIX - 2004

TWENTY SEVEN - 2005

TWENTY EIGHT - 2005

TWENTY NINE - 2005

THIRTY - 2006

THIRTY ONE - 2006

THIRTY TWO - 2007

THIRTY THREE - 2007

THIRTY FOUR - 2008

THIRTY FIVE - 2008

THIRTY SIX - 2018

THIRTY SEVEN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

FOREWORD

The Home Office keeps a list of the most dangerous prisoners in Englands jails. In 2002, Shane Taylor was in the top six and he was still only 21 years old.

If Shane was transferred into your prison, then as governor you had to ensure everyone was completely briefed on the danger he posed and implement your highest security protocols. Unlike some others, the danger wasnt that he would escape; it was that he was going to try to kill your prison officers. Because of what happened in his first prison, maximum safeguards had to be employed, with absolutely no physical contact allowed with guards, staff or inmates. Food had to be placed in a hatch that could only be opened if the outer door was locked. The minimal furniture in his cell was made of cardboard and he was locked up for 23 hours a day in solitary confinement. Legally, under human rights legislation, he was entitled to one hour a day exercise. However it often didnt happen because the prison couldnt provide the necessary manpower. For Shane to be moved required seven prison officers in riot gear, face masks, shields, helmets and armour to escort him from his cell inside the specialist unit to his exercise cage, a tiny, heavily protected space for one.

Yet even under such control measures Shane Taylor still managed to fight back and came close to killing an officer despite blows being rained down on him from the truncheons and shields of the other guards. Any mistake a guard made would be ruthlessly exploited. He was a man that seemed destined to kill and remain in prison for all of his natural life, until one day something happened that changed everything. Shanes life prompts obvious questions that should impact on our society as a whole. How does a man become a monster? What can change a person? And if change is really possible, what should we do to offer help to those caught up in crime, drugs and violence?

Out of respect to people who were subjected to extreme violence, names have been changed in order to minimise the stress they may experience when reading this book. Equally some characters are composite figures made from combinations of real people where we need to hide their identities. However, it is important to understand that all these events really happened and are transcribed from interviews with all the leading characters. Since the book is aimed at a wide audience, we have taken a view that the language will adhere roughly to the standards of international PG films but we must point out that this is a true story and recounts some extremely violent incidents. They are not invented or exaggerated but written down from the accounts of those who were there.

David Taylor

We would like to draw your attention to the fact that the first chapter is an account of domestic violence on Shanes mother while she was pregnant. It is factual and not gratuitous, it happened and Shane and his mother believe that her story should be told. However readers should prepare themselves or skip to the next chapter, if they feel that they would be upset.

ONE - MAY 1980

MAZ

Maz picks herself up from the floor, her head is bleeding down the side of her face, her sides hurt when she tries to gulp in air, and her shoulder burns fiercely with pain. She grabs the side of the sofa for support and then hears the front door slam shut. She presumes he has gone back to the pub. Her glass coffee table top has shattered into small, sharp, gleaming squares and is all over the carpet, the cheap chrome frame is lying upside down, feet in the air.

She hauls herself into the chair next to her. Slowly her crying reduces to wracking sobs. Her hands go protectively to her belly, although it is too soon for her to show, never mind for her to feel anything moving inside. The downstairs rooms of the house have been knocked into one via an archway through the brick wall. The kitchen stands at one end, the living area at the other. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the demolition was carried out with far greater enthusiasm than the subsequent building work.

Maz lifts up her top and looks down at her ribs; they are incredibly sore and the bruises are starting to rise up. She takes a deep breath and the sharp stabbing pain doubles her up. A wave of nausea sweeps over her and she looks down at the car battery lying on its side next to her. The acrid smell reaches her as it leaks out on to the threadbare carpet. He threw it at her, picking it up at random from the pile of dismantled car parts piled up on the kitchen worktop.

She sits back in a daze and her mind floats free as if she is a viewer watching it all happen on the telly to someone else. She is only 19; her husband Stephen Almond is ten years older. They live in Middlesbrough in an old terraced house. Shes here all the time; Stephen is only here when hes not in jail. She looks into the kitchen as if seeing it for the first time.

The worktop stretches from the tall fridge, past the window to the sink, and then on to the doorway. It is filled with things that Stephen is working on. The newspapers under the oily spare parts do little to stop the grime and oil from spreading. The lino on the floor is filthy and torn in places. Stephens footprints have trodden the muck into the living room, his large shoes leaving clear outlines on the carpet. He is an immense man, thickset and strong.

He had never beaten her before, that is until she told him she was pregnant. She stupidly expected him to be pleased, but he reacted with fury, now the beatings are frequent, but never before like this, never has he lost it so completely. Maz knows he could do anything, she sees it in his eyes, his face, his utter lack of control. A wave of fear grabs her and pulls her attention back.

She pants, hard, short, small breaths trying to get air in her lungs without breathing in too deeply. Her ribs must be cracked or fractured. Another wave of dizziness sweeps over her and she starts exploring the damage to the side of her head. Her hand comes away with dark, sticky blood from her hairline, the flow still coming strong from the wound, and her top is now covered in blood. She starts cursing him with every breath, a constant stream of names, but even that becomes too much effort. She moans again, then tries to stand so she can get to the mirror and check how bad it is. It is easier said than done, her legs give way and she drops back into the armchair.

Suddenly the door slams open and he is there again, he hasnt left the house at all and he is still in a rage.

'You stupid cow.'

His fist strikes out, hitting her already damaged shoulder, Maz cries out in pain. His face is livid, his dark matted hair soaked in sweat.

'Is it mine?'

His face is now pushed into hers, his spittle flecks on her brow. Her hands come up automatically to protect her eyes but he bats them away.