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“I thought they were going to kill me there and then, which would have been a relief. To my horror, they spoke words that I will never forget: ‘We are going to keep you in the cellar and let our black friends use you and when they have finished with you, we will kill you and bury you under the paving stones of Gloucester. There are hundreds of girls there, the police haven’t found them and they wont find you!”

“I wished at that moment that the Wests had killed me, it would have been a merciful release from the hell that DC Smith was putting me through. This barrage of questions by DC Smith and his heavy-handedness into this inquiry and his bullying barrack-room interrogation style of interviewing had left me feeling shamed.”

“As a child, I was attractive to paedophiles. I suppose being indecently assaulted when I was 13 years old should have warned me that there were some weird and dangerous men out there, but I had got over that episode in my life.”

“Straightaway, they started chatting and telling me their names: Fred and Rose West. I was surprised that they were married, I wouldn’t have fancied someone like him, and she was pretty. I felt she could have done a lot better for herself, but they seemed happy and he was quite charming, in a roguish kind of way.”

“At 31 years of age, Fred West was a big man trapped in a little man’s body. He thought himself to be a gynecologist and Warren Beatty look-a-like all rolled into one … the surgeon and the stud.”

“Once you’d been with Freddie, you wouldn’t go anywhere else.’ (How true this was to prove.) This incessant bragging by Fred West was at best, annoying and at worst, sickening. According to him, he was God’s gift to women.”

“That high pitch scream emitted by Rose made me wince! Her ear bursting howls would stun me into silence as much as it silenced the eldest child in their home, eight-year-old Anna-Marie.”

“I had forgotten the fact that I had been raped, something no one would understand, how could anyone forget something as traumatic as being raped?”

“The police still found this earlier omission in my statement hard to understand, but they weren’t the ones who had been the victim of the Wests, how could they have understood?”

“I knew I hadn’t been the most innocent of victims, but I didn’t deserve this. DC Smith stood and grinned at me as he thanked me and left the room, leaving me to cry and to ponder on his not very adept handling of the situation.”

“All what stuck in my mind was what the judge had said, and that was during the assault there must have been some passive co-operation on my part. Added to the fact that the Wests had only been fined £25 each for each of the charges against them, a total of £100 was all that I was worth.”

“Rose West was starting 10 life sentences with no prospect of ever being released, Fred West had gone to hell, I had got my life back and the media circus had moved on to the next big scoop.”

“I had only been in Medomsley Detention Centre a few days when I confronted the ‘Daddy.’ It was well know that he, the Daddy, was the hardest in the place but now he had a challenger and everyone could sense it in the air that a confrontation or take over bid was on the cards. Any of you that have seen the film Scum, starring the young Ray Winstone, will be aware of what I’m on about. After a works detail in the gardens, I was one of the last back. There was big queue stood behind the Daddy while he was washing all the mud from his wellington boots with a hosepipe, and he looked to be taking his time about it as well; talk about taking the piss. The screws, as usual, were in sight and watching us out of the corner of their eyes. As I got closer, I thought I’m not standing in no fucking queue and walked straight to the front. When I got there, I snatched the hosepipe out of his hand and told him to fuck off and started to clean all the shit off my wellies. He felt humiliated and tried to grab the hose back off me, but I grabbed him by the throat and told him I was going to rip his fucking head off. As this was going down, the screws were straight on the scene and parted us. We never got done for it, which was very surprising. He did say to people that he wanted to fight me, but in reality, when I confronted him, he cocked off and there was a new kid on the block. I was the Daddy.”

“The scenario where the sprawling anti-hero gets his comeuppance and the champion walks off into the sunset with his arm around the prize, usually a woman, is a pleasing one. This media personification of what a hero is all about used to be the common norm. Examining past events can confirm this convoluted outlook that sees the baddie being portrayed as some sort of evil manifestation sent to cause havoc by any means possible.”

“Examining the background of anyone can bring skeletons to our attention; a blot on the landscape can mar all what pleases the eye. This is how Malcolm Price was perceived by those who would stand back in fear of what he was all about, yet nothing could be further from the truth!”

“Malcolm Price embodies all that is Welsh, aside from the green valleys and male voice choirs. The will to win against insurmountable odds is a penchant of the Welsh, put this with a propensity to never say ‘die’ and that is what makes the Welsh so durable.”

“Call Malcolm Price (Pricey) a ‘chancer’ and you would be wrong. Pricey has, with premeditated determination, won his battles and hung his gloves up; his story is no less dramatic or tantalising than that of his Welsh ancestors.”

“Barbarianism and finesse cannot be rolled into one, Pricey defeats this theory. The barbarianism born from his fight to make it in life, his finesse brought about by his sensitivity that was deprived of him when he was a child.”

“Gradually, the physical cruelty and punishment beatings started and it got worse. He’d be on his knees to try to teach me how to fight, so my father made out. Whack! His hand would slap in to my face with the full force might of a 6ft 4in 18st man!”

“I remember, I walked in to the house expecting to be consoled by my father, but he yelled, ‘What, you fucking lost!’ At this stage I was still only a kid, if I lost then I was given a good kicking by him. He would suddenly turn in to King Kong and proceeded to paint the walls seven colours of shite with me!”

“If I lost a bout then I soon learned not to go home straight afterwards, I would give him time to go to the bar first. Event though I’d go to all of that trouble to escape his ranting and raving, my father would come home steaming drunk, drag me out of bed whilst I was still half asleep and beat the living shit out of me!”

“My aspirations never lay with boxing, but that’s the way I was pushed. I was still a choirboy when I started boxing because I remember I went to choir practice every Wednesday night. I missed some Wednesday nights if I was boxing and then when I missed it I’d have to tell the choirmaster why. I had a battle between the choir and boxing. When my voice inevitably broke, boxing won.”

“One lesson I learned from all of this, and that was a hard one, for all of the good I did people, it was never remembered. I was the one doing jail, not them. Apart from a small circle of close loyal friends, I was and am on my own.”

“I wanted to go in one direction, but my father forced me to follow his direction, and, somehow, he won. In one of these compelling situations, he wanted me to join the police force, but he had previously said that I didn’t have the bastard brains to pass my driving test. What a contradiction of terms?”

“My father was always suppressing the softer side of my nature; it seemed to have disappeared in the course of those boxing lessons, that’s what boxing did to me. My father took away the real me and replaced all what I could have been by imposing his brutal regime of terror upon me.”

“Like Lenny McLean said, and I agree with him totally, he told me it’s these bastards that hurt the old people and fuck up the young kids, they are the animals and they hardly get any prison sentence for it.”

“My time as a doorman was quite volatile and bloody, no door registration schemes or training courses could have prepared you for what it was like back then. You didn’t have vanloads of police patrolling up and down the town then, you were lucky if you even seen a couple of bobbies in a car, never mind on foot.”

“Most of the pubs had barred Des, but he came in to the Tiger bar and he points to me and says, ‘And you, out! I want you by the back of the car park.’ So I obliged him and proceeded to kick the poor cunt all around the car park, he ended up in hospital for a week! Eventually, when he came out of hospital he said that I was the best thing that had happened to him, I’d cured him!”

“As one of the motorbikes came towards me, I let a big heavy right go, and knocked the rider’s head clean off his shoulders! Fucking hell, the guy’s head was still in his helmet and it was clattering all the way down the road.”

“These near death escapades didn’t put me off working in violent situations. If trouble happened then I couldn’t stop to think of what might happen. There were some good people about and my job was to protect them from trouble, I couldn’t let past experiences put me off.”

“As much as Merthyr is a fighting town, these people also have hearts of gold. I worked all over Monmouth, and then the Aberfan disaster happened! That was a very emotional episode in my life. I never want to see anything like that ever again! In my opinion, the tip should have been moved well before the rain got in to it, and the old tip came rolling down the hillside on the school and the walls just caved in!”

“He caught me neat, right on the fucking face and I took one step back and thought, you’re not getting away with that you bastard! I was punching the piss out of him, he kept going down, but I didn’t kick him, he’d had enough. I didn’t put the boot in to a man older than myself. But this confrontation was out of the blue, out of the fucking blue. That’s what I had to face.”

“I never knew any of these people who were using my name, if I had a fiver for every time my name was used for protective purposes by these people to ward off trouble then I’d be a millionaire many times over by now.”

“There was just one cheeky bastard in the club that night and it started World War Three. There was a bloodbath down there, they all got locked up, and the police dogs didn’t need feeding for a week after that.”

“Someone once asked me if I knew the feeling of fear. Oh, I knew fear. Well, really speaking I never feared any fucker at that time; I’ve got to be honest. But I knew fear, the fear of losing! There was never any fear of combat! My father instilled that fear in to me and that was what drove me on to win … the fear of what was to come after you went home saying you’d lost!”

“In a dancehall in Kendal, I chased the bouncers out of the fucking dancehall, they were wearing white coats and they took these coats off, put them on the floor and jacked; Ginger Harris and me, we put the white coats on and took over for the night!”

“People keep telling me that I’m a legend in Merthyr and a legend in many other places. Here’s my understanding on that, what’s a legend? I don’t really know what a legend is, I don’t even know the word. I’m not a King Arthur reincarnate either. I might be one of the Round Table, but I’m not King Arthur.”

“I believe in most men there is a certain amount of violence. Every man has a bit of fight in him, but some of them have to look deeper within themselves, further than most. The fight is there if you search for it; people don’t think they’ve got it at all, but they have got it, like the weakest fucking crony you could see on earth. If someone broke in to the house, I believe he’d fucking have a go rather than somebody hurt his wife and kids; it would press him to his limits. If he’s not going to defend his pitch, he’s not worth a cup of cold fucking water.”