The Wicked Mr Hall by Roy Archibald Hall Read Free Book Online Page A

yellow patches on their blue trouser legs. The yellow patches had increased in size, almost covering the whole leg. One blue leg, one yellow leg – I looked like a clown!
    I have always accepted what I am – I am a criminal. I’m not a sex case, I don’t rape people or interfere with children, I am a professional thief. I had always been good and, with the passage of time, would get even better. I believe in dignity. If my professional ‘calling’ is outside the law, then so be it. Loss of liberty and privacy were prices I accepted I had to pay. However, being made to look foolish was completely unacceptable.
    On my very first time out on exercise I took off those ridiculous trousers and threw them with all my might over the prison wall. Immediately, I was grabbed by warders and marched in front of the Governor. I was told in no uncertain terms that I would comply with regulations. I nodded in tacit agreement. The next day while out on exercise I did the same thing. This time other cons followed my lead. A dozen pairs of yellow and blue trousers landed on the free streets of south-west London. Let the public see what the Home Office was expecting us to wear.
    There was now some tension between the E men and prison staff. We were confined to our cells and, come the next morning, more of the same – no exercise, no work details. We sat in our cells, wondering what the penal system had in store for us. Just before noon the next day a dozen of us were taken down to reception. JohnWooton was one of the number. We were transferred to Winchester.
    The atmosphere there was considerably easier. We were again put into patches, but this time the old smaller ones. Something that irked me about this E business, was that I had never actually escaped from a prison. I had absconded from police custody while on a train, but this was a completely different matter to escaping from a secure prison. I pleaded my case with the Governor. Eventually he relented. I was taken off the E list and reverted to an ordinary category prisoner. I went to work as a painter. When I wasn’t working, I would spend many hours reading about jewellery, porcelains and antiques. For the first time I read a book about being ‘In Service’ – butlering, to be precise. As prison time goes, this was quite an easy sentence. I got my full remission, and was released in the spring of 1952.

6
LIFESTYLES OF THE RICH AND INFAMOUS
    B ack in Glasgow things were changing. My parents’ marriage had never been that good, but now the cracks were beginning to show. It was never mentioned, but I often wondered whether my father ever noticed that his young son Donald was the spitting image of his old Army CO. For a few weeks I just rested and enjoyed eating palatable food again. Occasionally I burgled somewhere just to stop myself getting rusty. I continued to visit Esther Henry’s antique shop. It was now several years since we had first met and she had only ever known me as Roy Salvernon. Still, I had her trust. I always made sure I had a packet of black Sobrini cigarettes on me, her favourite brand. An ornate tin box stood on the floor of her office, which was locked in a glass cabinet at night. I had never managed to see its contents, but it intrigued me.
    As the summer approached, my parents’ marriage finallydisintegrated. My mother applied for and got the position of live-in housekeeper to a Mrs Dunsmuir of Kilbride Castle, Dunblane, Perthshire. As it had been her decision to leave my father, she did not feel that she could deprive him of his home as well. After giving her time to settle in, I paid her a visit. Mrs Dunsmuir was nouveau riche , an ordinary girl from the nearby town who had married a rich American. On his death, she had returned to Scotland as the Grand Dame. As well as my mother, she employed a young Swedish au pair . At Mrs Dunsmuir’s invitation I stayed as my mother’s guest. To relieve the boredom I started carrying out small tasks, helping to