John Judge, Page 4

  Chapter 3

  2024

  After John Judge had spent some time visiting major towns in the north, he was satisfied that the basis of an organisation was in place. He spent the next 6 months watching the Army Engineers in action. The last two years had been a busy time for the establishment. Containment Pens were visible all over the country and were filling up. They were large cage-like structures roughly two metres tall, most of them covering an area of about 200 square metres. Depending on the park area selected for use some were larger, but on average about 50 offenders could be held. There was only one entrance to the cage and that was heavily guarded. They were in effect large outdoor prison cells.

  The police had the snatch squads working around the clock. They were machine-like in their application. During a riot, a line of police heavily protected with full-length body shields and batons would march line abreast from one side of the street to the other. They would march forward towards the jeering, stone-throwing crowd, banging their shields with their batons. The noise was rhythmically deafening and as intended, frightening for some of the mob. Just at the rear of the line a spotter, using night vision binoculars, would identify a ringleader and pass the information to the front line. Directly behind the line a snatch squad would wait for the signal for the row of riot police to part, opening a gap in the file. Once the gap was created the snatch squad would emerge from it.They were protected by a cohort of shielded riot police, and would very quickly grab the identified individual, bodily lift him back through the gap and the gap would close. The rioter would be handcuffed and placed in a holding vehicle until the police gathered a full vehicle load for transportation to the containment pen. This process went on throughout the night like clockwork. After a time the rioting stopped.

  John watched this activity from a discreet distance for many nights and admired the police officers efficiency. He had been trained in these techniques and understood that it was a very effective way of stopping the rioting and mindless damage, but he didn’t like the Conpens, as the containment pens had become known. The courts were where offenders needed to be dealt with. The democratic principles that he believed in were already seriously eroded. Unfortunately, much of the population especially the elderly were pleased to see what they believed were vandals and thugs in the cages. Their pleasure was evident as they were now able to walk out without harassment or fear. State TV interviewed people on the streets regularly as part of the State’s “public relations”. John thought it was more like propaganda. Many interviewees thought even more should be locked away, and that the police were “doing a great job.”

  John Judge often hoped they could hear his thoughts. ‘Be very careful what you wish for.’

  CCTV was everywhere; not a single street or alleyway was spared. No one was allowed to obscure their face, especially youths who were accustomed to wearing hooded jackets. Muslim women were virtual prisoners in their homes, not wanting to uncover their faces or break the law. Many Muslim families decided to return to their birthplace or their ancestral homeland.

  Some years earlier Islamist extremists had set off a series of bombs seriously damaging the underground rail network, killing many people including themselves. The State decided that repairing the damage in the current dire economic climate would not be practical. So, Londoners became accustomed to travelling over-ground even though travel times were significantly longer. They were all now well aware of how valuable their underground rail had been. For the State, however, it suited their purpose to keep everyone above ground and in full view.

  Information that people regularly provided to their banks, to their doctors and to the now, defunct electoral register was being collated. In fact, every piece of data innocently given by the public was being compiled into a central register by the state. The Data Protection Act had been scrapped. So John knew it would not be long before the task of bringing it all together was completed. Following his Army discharge and rehabilitation, he managed to get a job as a security guard for one of the main Civil Service offices in Whitehall, the Central Information Office. This was a massive organisation that gathered data from various sources for use by government departments. In that role, he had uninhibited access throughout the building and was well known and highly respected. The wages were not good, but it was a steady income and given the economic environment, John considered himself fortunate to be in employment. His two boys were now seven and nine years of age and growing up quicker than he liked. Over dinner one evening Jason, his eldest son asked ‘are those people in the Conpens going to have to stay there forever Dad?’

  ‘I don’t think so son if Mr Garside does what he says he will do then perhaps we shall see less crime and hooliganism. So when things are quiet on the streets and there’s no more rioting, then I believe the Conpens will come down and those people will be able to go home to lead normal lives.’ John knew he was painting a much rosier picture than he himself believed but he wanted to protect his children from his own fears, for the moment anyway – they will have to face reality soon enough. Some of the edicts coming from this unelected Government were bordering on an Orwellian scenario. And God forbid if he was right about that and what would follow he thought.

  After work one evening, he decided to take a closer look at the Conpens. He had broached the subject with Graham Johns, who said he thought he could get him through the cordon of soldiers protecting the warders. Soldiers were now being deployed beyond their original remit because Commissioner Reynolds had asked General Keatson for the support of his troops after a number of incidents where some of his men were injured by detainees. So, now there was a military presence protecting the police from the public.

  John’s police officer friend met him on Central Avenue, which ran through Battersea Park. This was one of the first containment pens to be set up.

  ‘Hi, John how are you, my friend?’

  ‘I’m fine Graham, how about you?’

  ‘Ok, but not too happy about what’s going on here.’ He nodded his head towards the park. John could see the wire cages and shivered.

  ‘I know it’s not pleasant Graham but is it working? Are we getting results?’

  ‘I just don’t know. There are some individuals that have been in there since the operation started. So it’s not working in those cases. And some of my colleagues are becoming a bit overzealous in how they are managing the process.’

  ‘What do you mean, overzealous?’

  ‘I think it will be best if you see for yourself, John.’

  They walked together and Graham flashed his badge at the soldier on duty at the entrance point. They entered the containment pen.

  John’s first impression was the silence and the smell, a strong smell of urine. He quickly saw the reason why; one young man was urinating through the cage walls, others around him took no notice.

  ‘Surely they’re provided with toilet facilities Graham?’

  ‘Yes they are but they have to ask a warden to escort them. The warden will tell them to wait until there is a group who want to go and then they are marched together under guard to the portable toilets situated outside the wire. Quite often they can’t wait or just can’t be bothered.’ Graham explained that each detainee was provided with blankets but little else. At each meal time, a small area was cleared by the troops to allow the cooks to set up a serving area. Detainees would be allowed one at a time to collect their food. The food was basic but warm. Sleeping arrangements were elementary; find a space, lie down and that was it. A canvas sheet was rolled out on the roof of the pen whenever there was rain, but the wardens took their time putting that in place. Apart from that, there was no other protection from the weather.

  At that moment, a noise erupted just ahead of the two visitors. A tall youth was screaming abuse at a Warden who stood to face him. The warden barked a command. ‘Step back from the wire now.’

  The young man gripped the cage wire, with his face close to the gap, and shouted ‘get stuffed pig.’r />
  The Warden repeated his command. ‘Step back from the wire.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it prick, why don’t you come in here and show me what I should do? Or don’t you have the balls?’

  The warden made one swift move and slammed his baton, full force with a backhanded swing against the youth’s hands that were exposed; his knuckles cracked and the young man screamed out in pain. ‘You’ve broken my fingers you bastard.’

  The warden laughed and walked away.

  John was shocked. ‘So, what happens now? Surely there are some medical facilities here and they’ll get him seen to?’

  ‘No John, I’m afraid not. The direction was given from the top that if they were rioters then they took the risk of getting injured during rioting; in here they take the same risk. If they were anti-social, they don’t deserve civilised treatment. That was the briefing everyone received.’

  The young man was crying out, groaning and clearly in a lot of pain. John approached the cage wall near the injured youth, ‘I’ll see if we can get you some medical help son, just hang on in there.’

  ‘Why should you give a shit?’ The youngster replied through pain induced gritted teeth.

  ‘Because I do and you had better believe that there are people around who do give a shit.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’ The young man turned his back and carried on groaning, rocking back and forth and holding his injured hands under his armpits.

  John walked on with Graham and was horrified, ‘this is barbaric. The state is not going to change behaviour like this they will just entrench it, are they mad?

  Graham agreed to try and get medical attention for the injured youth.

  John was more convinced than ever that his preparations here in London and in the major towns and cities were well justified even though at this stage they were nothing more than community help groups. John arrived home that night even more concerned about the future than he had ever been. This last two years had convinced him that he needed to do something. Garside and his cronies were not putting the country right; he was developing a police state with him at the top.