Australia's Most Murderous Prison: Behind the Walls of Goulburn Jail Read online

  About the Book

  WELCOME TO GOULBURN JAIL, AUSTRALIA’S MOST MURDEROUS PRISON

  An unprecedented spate of murders in the 1990s — seven in just three years — earned Goulburn Jail the ominous name of ‘The Killing Fields’. Inmates who were sentenced or transferred to the 130-year-old towering sandstone menace declared they had been given a death sentence.

  Gang alliances, power plays, contracted hits, the ice trade, the colour of your skin — even mistaken identity — any number of things could seal your fate.

  The worst race war in the history of Australian prisons saw several groups — Aboriginal, Lebanese, Asian, Islander and Anglo — wage a vicious and uncontrollable battle for power. Every day there were stabbings. Every day there were bashings. And then there were murders.

  A controversial policy known as ‘racial clustering’ might have put an end to the Killing Fields, but soon something far scarier would arise, something called Supermax … Within the stark white walls, clinical halls and solitary confinement, it is where Australia’s most evil men are locked away. It is home to serial killer Ivan Milat; the ‘Terror Five’ militants who plotted attacks across Sydney in 2005; Brothers 4 Life founder Bassam Hamzy and gang rapist Bilal Skaf, to name a few.

  Murderers, terrorists, serial killers, gangsters and rapists — you will meet them all inside Australia’s most murderous prison.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1. Welcome to Goulburn

  2. The Killing Fields

  3. Apartheid

  4. Riots

  5. Supermax

  6. Terror

  7. Contraband

  8. Escape

  9. High Risk

  10. Rape and Rapists

  Preview: Australia’s Hardest Prison

  Select Bibliography

  Picture Section

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright Notice

  This book is for Iris Phelps – the greatest woman I have ever known

  1

  WELCOME TO GOULBURN

  A Shitty Reception

  The famous fish was finally here.

  ‘Hey Dad!’ the inmate yelled. ‘Cop this, you kiddy-fiddling fuck.’

  Smack! Shit slapped against Robert Hughes’s face, the faecal blow forcing his cowardly eyes from the concrete and into the crowd.

  ‘Keep walking, Hughes,’ screamed a Goulburn guard, the safety of the wing sheltering him from the flying shit. ‘Move!’

  Hughes took another step.

  Smash! A urine-filled milk carton crashed into his shoulder, stinking yellow liquid splattered his face.

  ‘Hey Dad!’ screamed another. ‘Why don’t you pissssssss off?’

  Judge Peter Zahra predicted the ‘brazen’ and ‘predatory’ Hughes would be at ‘significant risk’ of harm from other prisoners when he sentenced the star of the famous Australian sitcom Hey Dad …! to a maximum of ten years’ jail for indecently assaulting four victims, including a child co-star.

  And he was right …

  The smirk – the one Hughes wore throughout his trial, even when he was sentenced – was now gone. A carton containing shit had slapped it from his face.

  ‘This is Goulburn, mate,’ said one of the 30 or so inmates crossing the concrete yard called ‘the Circle’, a section in the middle of the prison compound that connects all the jails together. ‘What did you expect?’

  The inmate pushed Hughes in the back. ‘You walk ahead,’ he continued. ‘We’re going to hang back a bit.’

  Hughes looked to the end of the yard.

  It’s only 40 metres. Not that far.

  He then looked to his right where another 30 general population inmates eyeballed him from behind a wire yard fence.

  Are they holding milk cartons?

  He looked to his left – more inmates stood behind another fence, all tattoos, muscles and jail-yard tough.

  Yep. They’re milk cartons, and they’re filled with shit.

  Robert Hughes pissed his pants. And then he was given Goulburn jail’s shittiest-ever reception.

  ‘They just unloaded,’ recalled a Goulburn guard. ‘Piss and poo – they covered him in it. It was his first day in Goulburn and he was brought out into the yard. I was standing on the Circle. Hughes was a protection inmate because of his crimes. He was never going to be put in, or out, with general population inmates because they would have killed him. But while he wasn’t going into a yard with them, he had to walk through the fenced-off corridor between two other yards to get to an area called the Cookhouse before being let into the activities yard.’

  The 40-metre chain-gang march from one prison block to the next was usually uneventful. But an exception was made for Hughes that afternoon; his fame and his crime made him an irresistible substitute sewer.

  ‘I’m not sure how they knew he was coming,’ the officer continued. ‘But they knew. And they had all armed themselves up with shit and gone out to meet him. He was in the yellow yard, which is strict, strict protection. He was with all the rock spiders and paedophiles and was safe from them, but he wasn’t safe from anything that could be thrown over or through the fence.’

  The Goulburn guards did not have time to protect Hughes from the shit-storm. Or maybe they just didn’t want to.

  ‘When Robert Hughes came out of that wing I would estimate 50 to 70 inmates all ran to the yard,’ the officer said. ‘We thought, Oh shit, it is on here. Before we knew it he had shit and piss thrown on him from the time he walked into the yard to the time he walked out of the back of the yard. What they do is shit and then piss in the little milk containers they’re issued, and then they put their arms through the bars and fling it. You would be really surprised how far.

  ‘Hughes was attacked from both sides – one was a protection yard and the other a general yard. They were all into him. The other inmates did their best to let him go first.’

  Covered from head to toe in human waste, Hughes sat on top of a small grassy hill in the activities yard.

  And he cried.

  ‘He would have tried to clean himself up,’ the officer said, ‘but it was impossible without having a shower. He spent the entire time sitting on the hill, sooking. He was a stinking mess.’

  Then he was sent back to his cell; first to the Cookhouse and then back through the yard.

  ‘It happened again on the way back,’ the officer said. ‘They had reloaded and come back for more.’

  Hughes held the phone against his ear.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ he sobbed to his partner on the other end of the line. ‘This place is horrible. I thought I would be okay, but I can’t stay here. I can’t stay in Goulburn. This place is hell. You have to get me out.’

  A Goulburn officer overheard his conversation.

  ‘He was crying like a baby,’ the officer said. ‘He was on the phone to his missus, the one that stood by him, and he was like, “I was covered in shit and piss today.” It was one of the funniest phone calls ever. He had just been issued his prison greens. He was a big girl through the reception process, sobbing the whole time, begging to go back to Silverwater [Correctional Centre].’

  But Hughes was not transferred, his tearful pleas falling on deaf ears. And unfortunately for Hughes – not his victims – the prison punishment from his peers continued.

  ‘He is the only inmate in Goulburn who wears a jacket in summer,’ another Goulburn officer said. ‘He walks around when it’s 40 degrees wearin
g a ski jacket.’

  Why?

  ‘To stop his shirts being stained by piss,’ the officer continued. ‘Not just that, but spit. The inmates are more opportunistic now; they will throw whatever they have when they see him. If they have nothing, which is most often the case, then they will just spit.’

  They also yell; an inmate recently split bellies with eight witty words.

  ‘He was walking back from muster across the Circle in early February [2014], getting sent back into his wing,’ revealed an officer. ‘He was wearing this big fucking jacket on a 40-degree day. All was quiet and nothing was going on. It was one of the funniest things I can remember in the last year … You have to picture it. This big Aboriginal bloke broke the silence by getting up against the fence and screaming, “I’m a celebrity … Get me out of here.” The whole yard fell over laughing because they had all been watching the reality show by the same name that had just started on TV.

  ‘Robert just went red, kept on walking like it wasn’t meant for him.’

  Hughes isn’t the only inmate who has broken down in the Goulburn Correctional Centre, a high-security ‘hell hole’ located in the picturesque Southern Highlands of New South Wales, about two hours away from Sydney. It is home to the worst criminals in Australia – serial killers, rapists, mass murderers, drug kingpins, gang bosses and terrorists, both convicted and aspiring.

  Yep, the Goulburn Jail, opened 1 July 1884, is Australia’s answer to Guantanamo Bay detention camp, with the ‘Supermax’ prison at the heart of the iron and sandstone institution. That’s where the beasts live: Ivan Milat, Bassam Hamzy, Bilal Skaf and Khaled Cheikho.

  You will meet them all soon …

  Guarding Goulburn

  Former Goulburn guard Mick Pezzano described the difficult conditions Goulburn prison presents, and the kind of grit you need to make it every day as a guard.

  ‘I was the Manager of Classification at Goulburn prison for a number of years, and I was well-aware of the types of inmates that were classified to go there. Goulburn was regarded as the arsehole end of the world as far as an inmate was concerned. It wasn’t because of its distance away from the Sydney metro region, but because of its reputation for being a hard, barren, ruthless prison.

  ‘Basically, an inmate was sent to Goulburn because he was either a maximum-security rating or he was unable to be managed in another prison. It also serves as a reception prison to the local southern region. I recall many times the arguments we would have with staff at Goulburn when they were receiving inmates from other centres because they had been “tipped”, which meant they had played up, were involved in a serious assault, were trafficking drugs, were a risk of escape, etc. More than likely they were placed on segregation, were regressed in classification and sent to Goulburn as some sort of punishment. Goulburn was regarded around the state as the prison that took any inmate who could not be managed at other centres. I never regarded an inmate being sent to Goulburn as a punishment; it was just that there were very little options where we could house maximum-security inmates at that period of time or separate them as such.

  ‘On many occasions when I was classifying inmates to Goulburn they would literally go into shock; some of them would get aggressive and threaten the officers if they tried to send them there. Some would just crumble in fear at the thought, because of what they had been told by other inmates or what they already knew of the place. It had a reputation.

  ‘Not only was it the end of the road with no turning back, but to then get out of Goulburn really took a lot of work and effort for an inmate – who was placed at Goulburn for his non-compliance and threat to the good order and safety of the prison – to be able to finally reduce in classification and eventually transfer out of there. For some inmates this took years, but eventually they got through. It was pleasing for us to see that inmates were able to progress while in custody, conform to the system and prepare themselves for eventual release back into the community. Unfortunately for some inmates at Goulburn, they never transferred out and remained there until their sentence had expired, a lot of them serving well into their parole period.

  ‘Along with senior management, I would carefully scrutinise every recommendation and transfer application that came before us for an inmate to progress. Officers on the ground at Goulburn, who had the arduous task of supervising them day in and day out, also played a vital part in the management of the inmates.

  ‘As bad as Goulburn was regarded by inmates, the officers who worked there knew their stuff – they are a well-organised and drilled unit. They have to be, the types of inmates there have nothing to lose, and it’s not like working on a prison farm. I really respect the officers and admire their courage; they put their lives on the line daily.

  ‘The Goulburn centre itself is an old jungle of concrete and steel yards and razor wire separating the various cultural groups. The wings and cells are old-style, with no showers in them like the modern-day prison cell. A lot of the assaults and stabbings happen in the shower block. As much as staff supervise and the installation of CCTV monitors are in place to assist them, it does not take long for an inmate to be bashed senseless and stabbed.

  ‘The MPU (Multi-Purpose Unit) at Goulburn is also a well-run area. Basically staff have to manage inmates in that environment who cannot be managed anywhere else in the state. The 2002 Goulburn riot was a classic example of how dangerous prison can be – not only for inmates but for the officers who work there.

  ‘This place is certainly the most violent jail in Australia, and it holds the most violent men.’

  Lions and Legends

  Never, ever look at the lion.

  ‘Don’t even take a peek,’ said former Goulburn Jail Governor Allan Chisholm of the lion carved into the sandstone entrance arch. It hovers over the green iron gate, watching everyone who enters and leaves.

  ‘There is an old superstition that if you look at it you are going to come back … as an inmate. No one looks at it. No one is game … just in case. The lion scares the shit out of the people.’

  And so does this jail – an Australian legend full of fear and fright.

  ‘I knew it was the roughest jail of them all, even before I got there,’ said former Goulburn officer Ian Norris. ‘My dad worked at Long Bay prison, and he was always telling me horror stories about Goulburn Jail. This is a place full of stories … I had served in the military, I went to Vietnam, and I thought I had seen everything. But I hadn’t. I can remember the first day I walked into that place and thinking, What the hell have I gotten myself into. I can tell you from experience that all the stories are true.’

  Goulburn Jail has had many names over the years. It has officially been called the Goulburn Reformatory, the Goulburn Training Centre and the Goulburn Correctional Centre (its current name).

  Unofficially, it has been known as the Killing Fields, the HARM(U) and, as Pezzano put it, a ‘hell hole’ for inmates in the ‘arse-end’ of the prison world.

  In fact, this place is so bad it scares serial offenders straight.

  ‘The only good thing about Goulburn was that it made the worst inmates in other jails across the state become model prisoners because they were so afraid of being sent there,’ said former high-ranking prison official Dave ‘Emu’ Farrell.

  ‘Inmates were being murdered, guards were being bashed and stabbed, and there was just a terrible, terrible feeling in that jail. I remember walking through the yard and all I could hear was the sound of metal hitting concrete. It was the inmates dropping shivs [makeshift jail weapons]. We had metal detectors but still couldn’t find them all. They were all armed up and ready to kill.

  ‘You really had to have done something bad to end up there. Rapists and killers like the Murphy brothers are here, and gang rapists like Bilal Skaf are here.’

  There are also ex-commando contract killers, arsonists, paedophiles and five men who tried to blow up a nuclear reactor in Sydney.

  Soon you will meet them too …

 
The Ghost and the Gallows

  Norris was beat; eight hours on his feet had his back screaming sore.

  A quick rest will do the trick. Ten minutes off my feet and I will be fine.

  And why not? The night senior had just checked the wing and the inmates were all safely locked up. They were dreaming in the dark.

  ‘So I pulled out the chair and sat down at the desk that was in the old B Wing office,’ Norris recalled. ‘I decided to listen to the night. To hear if there was anything going on.’

  Norris leaned back in the chair. Peace at last.

  ‘And then I heard singing,’ Norris said. ‘Gentle, soft singing and the strum of a guitar.’

  Norris sat up – so did the hairs on the back of his neck.

  ‘We had just done a ramp [a raid where contraband is seized] early that day, so nobody had guitars or radios. There was nothing in that wing and everybody was asleep.’

  Norris pushed away the chair and looked down at the out-of-place rug beneath him. He realised where he was standing, well, more like what he was standing on …

  ‘The old trapdoor,’ Norris said. ‘Right under the gallows. It was the assistant superintendent’s office, and they had just thrown a rug over it and sat the desk on top.’

  He stood and listened with an equal measure of curiosity and fear.

  ‘It sounded like a really old song,’ Norris said. ‘Like an early Aussie folk song. It was nothing I had ever heard before, but it was really harrowing.’

  He listened harder; still curious, still scared.

  ‘I got up and walked towards the noise,’ Norris said, ‘out onto the landing and then to a door. I opened it and walked into a corridor, and I was standing in front of one of the two condemned cells.’