The year was 1963. I had been incarcerated for 15 years, I had broken 37 teaspoons and taken thousands of trips outside emptying rubble down my trouser legs. I had dug a tunnel out; it took me into the forest surrounding Parkhurst. I was a stowaway on a ferry. When it landed in Portsmouth whilst making my way to the new forest I was dreaming of the money hidden there. At least £25,000 in crisp white five pound notes.
It was surprisingly easy to find, hidden inside a huge oak tree. As I prised it open I trembled in anticipation. There is was exactly as I had left it 15 years ago. I peeled one £5 note off, first to get some fags.
The guy behind the counter looked at me as if I was from outer space. ‘Where have you been mate? These went out of circulation years ago!’