Inside the Monkey House by John Cuffe

Author:John Cuffe [Cuffe, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Personal Memoirs, Law Enforcement, True Crime, Espionage
ISBN: 9781848892996
Google: cmsjMQAACAAJ
Publisher: Collins Press
Published: 2017-01-15T05:50:00+00:00

7

Sledgehammer

Courage is fire and bullying is smoke.

BENJAMIN DISRAELI (1804–1881)

Late August 1989, back from our holidays, I was refreshed and ready for the rest of the year. As I walked towards the main gate the usual banter was taking place: ‘Mayo for Sam, John?’ being the main currency of my workmates, referring to my native county’s first All-Ireland senior footbal final appearance since 1951. I gave as good as I got, and as we walked we discussed our latest Chief Officer.

Inside the ACOs’ office I spotted a young, fit-looking man sitting near a radiator. I was introduced to the new boss, and was met with a warm handshake and called ‘John’. We had met, briefly, over the years, mainly passing through Mountjoy as we turned around our prisoners. All Arbour Hill prisoners returning from court had to go to Mountjoy first, as the Hill wasn’t a committal prison: a technicality whereby we lodged them and, once the paperwork was sorted, took them back ‘home’.

The new chief, as 8 a.m. approached, jumped up, grabbed the morning detail roster and went out to face the assembled troops. His reputation as a fearless warrior had gone ahead of him, such were the loud ‘Sirs’, ‘Anseos’ and ‘Heres’ from the troops as they acknowledged their attendance and duty call. Quickly the CO gathered a few nicknames, but the one that stood was ‘Sledge’ as in Sledgehammer. Nothing was impossible to him within the confines of the jail. He brooked no opposition and quickly showed one and all his confidence and capability.

Years earlier, as the staff in Mountjoy were under external attack from a group of thugs who labelled themselves as the PRG (Prisoners’ Revenge Group), Sledge’s name came up as being under threat. Earlier, as I have mentioned, two very prisoner-welfare-conscious and decent senior officers had been attacked: one had his house torched and the other was dragged and beaten with iron bars on his way home near the Strawberry Beds. Sledge heard of the threat towards himself, found out where it originated from and calmly walked into the fabric shop in Mountjoy with two batons stuffed down the back of his trousers, past forty hard chaws, and demanded that the hardest come up and take him on, there and then, in front of everyone. Not surprisingly, after much looking at the floor, there were no takers.

Put bluntly, you didn’t fuck with this guy. Behind his tough demeanour dwelled compassion of sorts: sometimes very warm, sometimes quite practical, but with a granite force that feared nothing, including Satan (that’s not a joke, by the way). In time we would all feel his presence and his power. The next ten years of my career were to be determined by this man, with widely different outcomes.

Initially he was a breath of fresh air. He cleared out all the debris Mountjoy had earlier sent us up; more than likely he played a huge part in selecting what we actually got. In the end only one of those troublesome prisoners survived the cull.

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