The Mammoth Book of Prison Breaks (30 page)

The crime for which Hinds was arrested and convicted in December 1953 was to make him a household name over the next dozen years. According to the police, Hinds committed the robbery alongside William Frederick Nicholls. At the trial, the Lord Chief Justice described Nicholls as the principal offender in the robbery at the Maples department store in London, and the jury refused to believe Hinds’ protestations of innocence. That left Hinds facing a twelve-year stretch in Nottingham prison. (Nicholls eventually admitted that Hinds wasn’t involved, leading to questions regarding his evidence in the House of Commons in June 1961.)

Hinds tried all the normal routes: he appealed, but it was turned down; he made a petition to the Home Office, but it was dismissed. As far as he could see, the only way in which he could make his story known, and thus achieve justice, was to be on the outside. But how to get out without compounding his problems?

Hinds wrote an account of his various escapes, which was published as
Contempt of Court
in 1966, and became the accepted version of his escapades, at least until his co-escaper in the Nottingham incident spoke with writer Paul Buck in 2008. The prison in which he found himself had been built in 1912, replacing the original city jail, and presented the usual obstacles: high interior walls, barbed wire and an outer barrier. According to Hinds, he reasoned that if all he did was escape from lawful custody, then he wasn’t committing a criminal offence, just breaking prison rules. He didn’t want to face separate criminal charges which would be much harder to deny while trying to prove his innocence of the offence for which he had been sent down. He therefore believed that if he didn’t discuss the plan with anyone, he wouldn’t be liable for a conspiracy charge; if he didn’t do any technical action, such as creating a key, or opening a lock, then he couldn’t be responsible for the breakout – all he was doing was taking advantage of an opportunity that presented itself. Of course, there was no question of any violence during the flight: that would be the fastest way to ensure that no one was thinking about his part in the jewellery robbery, but only his escape. And if someone else did all of the technical parts of an escape, and Hinds happened to come along at exactly the right moment and decided to go along, then who could blame him – at least, technically?

Hinds therefore latched on to an escape attempt already being prepared by Patsy Fleming, another robber. Fleming had already made a key for a grille that, once opened, would allow him access to the coal cellar. From inside the cellar, he could open the flap on the coal chute, and crawl up into a small well that was covered by a grating. When he undid the padlock on that, he would be in the prison yard.

The first time that Fleming tried out the route, on the night of 25 November 1955, it was a failure; although he was unable to get as far as the grating, the key, which someone else had made for him, didn’t fit. Fleming had to give up and return to the cells, covered in coal dust, which he hastily showered off. The man responsible for the ill-fitting key denied there was a problem, but when Fleming tried again on 28 November, he sensibly took a hacksaw blade with him, just in case! It added ten minutes on to the escape, but was worth it.

Fleming went over to the prison workshop, where he tried to use a clamp to widen the bars on a window so he could get in, but when he realized that it was insufficiently strong, he broke in through a wire-meshed fanlight. Inside were two door frames that Alfie Hinds had made, which fitted together to form a makeshift ladder. Fleming took them out through the workshop door, leaned them against the interior prison wall, and used them to get over. He then ripped his way through a barbed-wire fence, and then climbed over the eight-foot-high outer wall, arriving in a private garden nearby.

He wasn’t overly happy to find he had a companion. When he reached the garden, he heard Alfie Hinds calling out to him. Hinds had followed him through the coal cellar, and over the walls, simply taking advantage of the available route. Fleming didn’t argue and allowed Hinds to tag along. They were collected by one of Fleming’s friends, and managed to get through a roadblock that had been put up after the escape had been discovered by hiding in orange boxes. They were then driven down to London, where they parted company. Fleming was caught three months later in the East End.

Fleming’s version of events is rather different. Hinds’ account paints Fleming as the instigator of the escape, and Hinds as simply someone who came along for the ride. However in 2008, the elderly robber insisted that Hinds had been in charge, and that he had been alongside Fleming the whole way through the escape, creating the key for the padlock as they were in the coal cellar. Fleming was insistent that Hinds could make any key, and that he had also created one to get them into the prison workshop. He also claimed that it was one of Hinds’ contacts who had collected them and driven them to London.

Whichever way the escape happened, Hinds was able to get out of the country and head to Dublin, where he believed that he was safe. He made numerous pleas for publicity for his case – his recorded comments which were broadcast on the new commercial television station (ITV only began broadcasting in September 1955) led to questions in the House of Commons, and the wonderful question from Sheffield MP John Burns Hynd: “Will the Minister not consider extending similar facilities through the Press, radio and television to other criminals who have loyally remained in prison, so that they make an appeal for public sympathy?” Nicknamed “Houdini Hinds” by the press, he supported himself by working as a painter/decorator for 248 days before being arrested at gun point. He had even spent part of that eight months attending law lectures at Trinity College, Dublin.

As far as Hinds was concerned, his arrest was illegal: he hadn’t actually escaped from prison, and therefore, without any hesitation, he brought legal proceedings against the police for false imprisonment. However, it became clear to him that he wasn’t going to succeed with this action, so he decided to escape, with a view to starting proceedings in the Irish Court. He wasn’t going to cease his current action, though: it was providing him with the method of escape, from the very heart of the seat of justice, the Law Courts in the Strand in London.

Hinds’ second period of freedom lasted considerably less time than his first, and just over a month after his escape on 24 June 1957, he found himself in court giving evidence in the case that was being brought against his brother Albert and a friend of his, John Maffia, for unlawfully aiding his escape. Flanked by three prison officers, rather than the usual single guard, Hinds explained that on a previous visit to the Law Courts, he had spotted that a lavatory door was locked; if he could somehow lock his escort inside the toilet, then he would be able to make his getaway unimpeded. He therefore had a chat with a prisoner at Pentonville who was shortly to be released; this man, who Hinds refused to name, but told the court was “quite a notorious locksmith”, duly arranged to leave a key for the lavatory underneath a table in the staff canteen at the Courts.

On 24 June, Hinds was escorted to the Law Courts by Prison Officers Martin and Hadley, who hadn’t been there before. He therefore led the way to the canteen, and went to the designated table. However, when he reached underneath to find the key, he had a bit of a shock, since there was no key waiting for him. Instead there was a small parcel, which seemed to be wrapped up in paper and secured to the table with adhesive plaster. Hinds pulled off the plaster, screwed it up and put the package in his pocket. When the two prison officers became engrossed in a conversation with one of Martin’s former colleagues, Hinds was able to open the parcel. Inside there was a small padlock, but no key. He realized that something must have changed, and he had been given an alternate way of dealing with the situation – although he clearly was going to have to think on his feet.

When the three men left the canteen, they went upstairs and came to the lavatory, and when he saw two new “eyes” fitted to the door and the frame, Hinds understood exactly what was going on. They were so new – glaring like searchlights, he later said – that he realized that he had to act immediately, or someone would get suspicious and wonder why they were there. He only had one shilling in his pocket, but he would worry about that once he got away from the guards.

Hinds went to the lavatory door, with a packet of legal papers held in his left hand, and his mackintosh in his right, covering the padlock. He pushed the door open, and Martin went straight in, and down to the end. Hadley seemed to be suspicious of Hinds, and stayed a couple of yards from him, expecting to follow Hinds in and close the door behind them. Swiftly, Hinds turned, and pushed Hadley through the door, slamming it shut, and fastening the padlock between the two eyes to keep it shut. It was clear to the veteran thief that the lock wouldn’t hold two angry prison officers for very long, so he ran as fast as he could down the corridor, and skidded into the first opening on the right, hearing pounding on the door and shouting from behind him.

Slowing down, Hinds passed through groups of solicitors’ clerks who were milling around the law courts, and out of the building. Although the shouting must surely have attracted attention by then, no alarm had been raised in the vicinity of the courts, so he made for Temple underground station.

As he went through the barrier, he heard someone call out “Alf”. Hinds turned to see his younger brother there, shocked at finding him suddenly free. Hinds had asked Albert to come to the courtroom that day when his brother had visited him the previous Saturday, but, so Hinds told the court, his brother had not been expecting his escape, and, likewise, he didn’t expect to run into his brother in the middle of a Tube station. He had intended to head to a hide-out in London until he could get out of the country. Albert told the court that he had heard a shout that “Hinds had escaped”, and he himself had been chased by one of the prison officers. After he had shaken off the man, Albert spotted his brother in the Strand and followed him down to the Tube station.

According to Hinds’ testimony, Albert had previously arranged with John Maffia to go to Bristol, and he then suggested that it would be a good idea if Alfie went with them. With hindsight, Hinds regretted taking up the offer, as it led directly to his re-arrest. He claimed that they didn’t tell Maffia that he had escaped, but spun a tale that he had been acquitted on the appeal. Instead of going straight to Bristol, though, they went to Heathrow Airport, where Hinds just missed a flight to Dublin. They therefore carried on down the Great West Road, arriving at Bristol Airport in time for a flight. Albert went to buy the ticket, but he was so nervous that he made the girl behind the ticket counter very suspicious. Thinking that he might be connected to a local murder enquiry, she contacted the police – who were delighted to apprehend Alfie Hinds once more. He had been free for less than five hours.

Hinds was sent to Chelmsford Prison, and became one of the few ever to abscond from the place – his escape makes him one of its most famous inmates, according to a local website. To get an idea of what Chelmsford looked like at that stage, watch the feature-film version of the prison sitcom
Porridge,
which was filmed on location within its walls.

Again, if you believe Hinds’ own account, he wasn’t necessarily the instigator of the plan, but was happy to go along with it. Fellow prisoner Georgie Walkington had worked out a way to get out, and Hinds was simply a helpful assistant on Sunday 1 June 1958 when the two men went over the wall with keys that Walkington had been able to obtain.

Walkington was meant to be cleaning his cell while many of the other prisoners attended the church service. When he went down to the ground-floor landing to collect a bucket of water, he made his way into the linen store. From there, he went through a hatch and along a passageway. At the end of this was a set of double doors, for which Walkington had a key, which led to the prison yard. Separating the yard from the compound was a wall with a pair of big gates; Walkington had keys for these too.

Hinds caught up with Walkington as the latter reached the double doors; he had persuaded Walkington’s friend, who was bolting up the hatch behind him, that he was part of the escape. Unfortunately, when they reached the gates, the key didn’t fit, so Hinds suggested balancing two of the wheelbarrows used for carrying coal around the prison one on top of the other, and they could then climb over the gate. Rather than see the barbed wire on top of the gate as an obstacle, Hinds fastened his jacket to it, and the pair of them were able to haul themselves up, even though Hinds fell at one point and broke his glasses.

The two men went along the top of the wall, until they found a suitable point to jump the twenty-five feet to the ground. Hinds injured his leg in the jump, so Walkington pressed ahead through the graveyard that adjoined the prison until he reached a car that was waiting for them. Despite his injuries, Hinds drove them through Essex back roads, through the Blackwall Tunnel into Kent, to a friend of Walkington’s, who was appeased by a suitably large payment to put up with the risk of harbouring Hinds.

Alfie Hinds managed to stay on the loose for twenty months this time, making his way back to Dublin via Liverpool and Belfast. While continuing to lobby the Houses of Parliament and the media about his false conviction (he sold his story to the
News of the World
for a reported £40,000), he used the alias William Herbert Bishop to become part of a ring smuggling cars from the Republic of Ireland into Belfast. However, he was caught during a police operation against that. He was returned to Britain and was sent to serve the remainder of his term at Parkhurst Prison. That didn’t stop him from taking legal action: he sued a police officer who mocked his claims of innocence, and continued to make applications to the Home Office for his immediate release from prison, and applying for a free pardon. After one was turned down, he told Lord Justice Sellers, “I am not going to remain in prison. It would be very hard for me to leave again. But I assure you I am going to.” Officers at Parkhurst discovered in February 1962 that he had fixed the lock on his cell so he could get out at will. But eventually, after thirteen appeals had failed, he gained his pardon, and, as a free man, regularly spoke about escapes (an ITN documentary showed him explaining the pros and cons of various methods).