This is quite a long story, but I shall attempt to shorten it.
The backstory -
My relatives had lived in the British community in India for about 200 years. Unlike most Brits there, they were poor and usually had to take whatever work they could get. Although living in Bombay, my (I will call him uncle) got a job as warder at Madras Central Prison - some 800+ miles away.
The Central Prison housed some of the most violent prisoners in the whole of India. Warders always moved about the prison in a "unit" of 4 men. All were armed with a billy club (18"-24", teak, with brass cap and bands, handcuffed to their wrist).
1st - dealt with the prisoner,
2nd - guarded the 1st,
3rd - had the keys,
4th - guarded the 3rd.
The incident -
An incident/murder was happening in one of the larger cells. My uncle's unit was sent to deal. The incident was in fact staged, so that the prisoners could attack the warders in an enclosed space. My uncle was a 2nd. Upon entering the cell, the most notorious and violent prisoner attacked 1st. The prisoners tear and shred their own cloths down to individual strands to re-make them into ropes, which they use as a garrotte. Within a moment, the prisoner had the garrotte round 1st's neck and was starting to strangle him.
My uncle struck the prisoner on the head and stopped the attack. The blow was probably fatal, but we will never know. One blow, as a defence, was legal and standard practice. Unfortunately, the red mist came down, and my uncle did not stop. He beat the prisoner's head to a pulp.
There was an official enquiry and in spite of glowing tributes from all colleagues and superior officers, my uncle was sentenced to life imprisonment.
The middle bit -
In the normal course of events, that would have been the end of the story, but Hitler invaded Poland and the Empire needed soldiers. My uncle was offered "wartime parole". As soon as hostilities ceased, he was to report back to prison. A parole board would then adjudicate as to how much time might be allowed off his sentence for war service.
My uncle was a natural leader and rose to sergeant within months. He was being considered for a field commission when the war ended. He was in Bombay, from where the troop transports were leaving for England. He found a sergeant of his size from an English regiment, got him drunk, exchanged uniform jackets, stole his ID and at the last minute got on board the ship. During the journey, he organized daily keep fit, quizzes, a choir, impromptu entertainments, juggling lessons, handwriting improvement, readings from the classics (and debate afterwards). Suffice to say, the troops were kept busy!
They landed in Southampton and troop train to Birmingham. Discharged, with the wrong name, but a free man.
The aftermath -
After all the troops were gone, he was left in the station, in a country he had never been, with only a few pence to his name. He went to the tea kiosk and spoke to the young lady. They were married two months later. Went to work at Dunlop and retired as Senior Foreman. She died just after their 50th anniversary. He changed his name by deed poll back to his birth name before his marriage. He still had his army pay book in his real name.
If I had not been told by my mother, I would never have found all this out.
Regards
Chas
