944 Quotes by Stephen Richards

I had chosen a blind spot at the end of the plumbers’ shop to make my escape bid. Under my overalls I wore extra jeans, vest, t-shirt and I had a donkey jacket on that I intended to throw over the razor wire. Hopefully the extra clothes would stop the razor wire from cutting me.

In answer to my prayers, the Devil that was supposed to be me scolded me for the request of a clergyman. The Devil spoke to God Almighty and they agreed that I could have the vicar’s soul to aggravate. I wanted something I hated for my escape, and that would be the vicar that denied my powers of the voices in the sky and denounced me as ‘abomination.’ I would escape the obstacles and think of my power, the power to communicate with God Almighty and the Devil.

Time since my escape ticked by and the voices came to me. God Almighty and the Devil coaxed me onwards and stated that the edge of the forest was close at hand. The voices told me that they would search for me by air and put screws on the points and docks where there was access to the mainland. The voices also told me that the three prisons on the island would go on lock down until I was caught or wasn’t.

One quarter of a mile is, in metric terms, about 400 metres. I believe the world record for a man to cover this distance by use of his legs is about forty something seconds. At that time, I would have bet any amount of money that I would have beaten the world record at that distance as I sprinted like a tornado across the open farmer’s fields.

The Solent was one the worse stretches of sea in England; the current and tides were atrocious, but it was summer and this time the currents and tides were predictable. However, I did not know this; I picked a spot that I could see from the phone, where I would swim from.

The sea was washing me crosswise and the speed of my strokes pushed me forward, but at a slower pace than the sideways wash. The float that I had tied around my chest was more of a hindrance as it was caught in the tide and floated sideways on the current, it should have been strung out behind me as I swam onwards. This extra effort was making huge demands on my oxygen requirement, I breathed harder and had to avoid intakes of seawater.

I know people have swum the 3.5 mile stretch of the Solent from the Isle of Wight to the mainland for charity, and some just for the hell of it in the Cross Solent Swim, but this was at night, in the dark and without the help of a nearby boat to haul me in to safety. I didn’t have the benefit of tidal maps, accompanied swimming mates in near perfect conditions or the likes. I only my strength of determination and the beckoning lights on the mainland to aim for.

Sometimes a choppy wave would swamp me, and after I rose gasping I would vomit the foul-tasting water, wiping the sea from my eyes and nostrils. Then I regained my posture to do battle, again with the Solent.

I could see the reflection of the moon on the water’s surface, tantalisingly teasing me forward, that was my target … swimming towards the moon and freedom. I could smell the brine and sense the power of the mass I was in, it engulfed me, yet I was one with it.