Holly's Hell - Seven Years in a Thai Prison

1

HERE WE GO: LIKE IT OR NOT

When I was sitting in the lock-up after I had been arrested in Bangkok, I knew that I would write a book about it one day. It has taken more than two decades, but that day has finally come.

This book covers the worst years of my life. I’m not telling my story for pity or sympathy. I’m telling it so that people will know what it’s really like to do time in a foreign country. Maybe some people will think twice about taking the risks that I did.

Over the years, many people have asked me what it was like in a Thai prison. I would tell them this: whatever your idea of hell is, multiply it by a thousand.

I know there are many people who believe that I got everything I deserved when I was jailed for such a long time in Thailand. And I know others who think I was hard done by. There will always be differing opinions. I’m okay with that.

Mine is a cautionary tale – but I hope it is also seen as a story of redemption, and that it offers hope to those who are suffering from an addiction.

2

MY DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY

For a long time, I thought that my childhood was a normal one. Now, looking back, I can see that our family started off okay but ended up becoming dysfunctional.

I grew up in the well-to-do Perth suburb of Mount Lawley. I was one of five kids. I had a younger brother and sister, Mark and Amy, and two older brothers, Craig and Grant. The five of us were typical kids. We loved each other and hated each other at other times, and we’d fight and do stupid things to each other, as kids do.

Craig and Grant had a different dad to the rest of us. Apparently, he was a real arsehole. The day Mum decided to leave him, she picked Craig up in her arms and was about to pick Grant up too, but John snatched Grant out of her reach. He said that Grant was staying with him. Mum took Craig and left, thinking she’d be able to go back and get Grant at a later stage. But that didn’t happen till many years later.

We started out like any other family. Back when I was really little, Mum and Dad owned a real estate agency. We went to church regularly. But when the real estate business started to falter, Mum started an escort business. It went gangbusters. I always remember our family having a lot of money, living in nice suburbs, in massive houses, sometimes mansions, having very expensive cars and jewellery. The police knew about the escort business and didn’t care – they were occasionally given some of the profits.

I did ballet and tap dancing from the age of six. I enjoyed it, but I didn’t pursue it for long. I started to learn the piano and had a teacher that didn’t live too far from home. I’d usually walk there for my lessons. Mum and Dad bought me a piano as a surprise. It was a nice thing for them to do, but I wasn’t that keen on continuing to play the piano. I stuck it out for a few more months, then stopped. Then I started learning karate, which I got really into for a while, and loved it. But not long after passing my first grading, I stopped that too. I was really good at netball and I also got into swimming in primary school for a while and competed at inter-school events. But I stopped that too.

My dad had started drinking a lot and things were becoming turbulent at home. A relative was also sexually abusing me. It was also happening to my sister, but we didn’t tell each other until we reached adulthood. I didn’t tell a single soul that it was happening at the time. I guess that is part of the reason why I never continued any of these extra-curricular activities. I had other stuff on my mind.

I didn’t have the same kind of childhood as my friends. I stayed home a lot looking after my brothers and sister, and making sure that Mum was okay after Dad had abused her. Mum also worked odd hours, so I would get my brothers and sisters up for school and make their lunch and stuff. I did all the washing and cooking and everything else. It made me feel a lot older than I was.

Sometimes when Mum and Dad went out together and left us home, we’d get up to mischief. For example, Craig and I would take Mark over the road to one of two service stations that were opposite our house. We would handcuff him to a petrol bowser when they were closed. Sometimes we’d leave him there for a short time, and other times for longer. And sometimes we didn’t uncuff him before Mum and Dad got home. We thought doing this to Mark was hilarious, and always got a good laugh out of it.

One afternoon, I was teasing Mark with a big bag of mixed lollies I’d just bought from the shop. Grant and I were sitting on the couch in the lounge room watching TV and eating the lollies when Mark walked in. He saw them and asked me for one.

I said: No, there’s not enough.

But you’ve got a whole bag.

Yeah, I know. But it’s only enough for Grant and I.

I turned to Grant and offered him a lolly, which he took.

Give me one, Holly.

I told you already Mark, I don’t have enough.

The whole time this conversation was going on, Grant and I were eating the lollies while Mark was getting more pissed off. I was saying things to Grant like, ‘Try this one. These ones are really yummy," knowing they were the type that Mark really liked.

Mark said he was going to give me one more chance to give him a lolly – or I would be sorry. I said no again.

With that, he walked out of the lounge and returned a short time later holding a piece of metal that was used in the old manila folders to hold documents together. He walked over to me and cut my arm open.

I couldn’t believe it. The little shit. Blood was pissing out. I ran to the bathroom and held my arm over the sink. With the amount of blood that was coming out of the cut, I thought I was going to need stitches, but it wasn’t actually as bad as I initially thought.

I’d only been joking round to gee him up, but I had obviously pushed him too far. I shouldn’t have kept baiting him for as long as I did.

Mark and Craig got me a beauty one afternoon. Everyone else had gone out and I was in my room asleep.

Craig and Mark were saying Holl, wake up.

I woke up but didn’t open my eyes. I just kept laying there, saying tiredly, What? so they knew I was awake.

But this wasn’t good enough for them, because they kept saying my name until I opened my eyes. Then they sprayed me with pepper spray.

I’d never moved so fast in my life. My eyes felt like they were on fire. I ran as quickly as I could through the house, until I reached the pool out the back. Then I knelt down and plunged my head into it. Mark and Craig had followed me out and were laughing.

What did you do that for? I asked them.

To see what would happen, they said.

Arseholes.

One summer I was sunbaking by the pool when I thought I’d been bitten by march flies. I was slapping my back whenever I felt a fresh bite. But I hadn’t been bitten by anything – Craig was hiding in the garden and burning my back with a magnifying glass.

One afternoon, we were due to go to Ascot racecourse, which I always looked forward to. But on this particular day, I had a massive headache and a sore, peeling scalp. Not long before we were due to leave, I was in the kitchen with Grant, who was boiling water in a saucepan on the stove. I put my head down and dared him to pour some of it on my head. He did. But luckily, it was only the tiniest amount and yet it still hurt like hell. I thought that would be the one dare he’d knock back. I should have known better, because I probably would have done the same thing. Or would I? I told him that I didn’t think he’d do it.

But he just said to me: You dared me.

Mum and Dad were total opposites. Dad was a very hard man and Mum was a real softie. We could pretty much get away with anything when it came to Mum.

I remember two occasions when Dad got really angry. One of those times was when Craig and I were hiding in the cupboard beneath the staircase, and Craig was teaching me dirty jokes. We had no idea that Dad was standing outside listening to us until the door opened, and he started going off at Craig. I was standing there watching Dad lose it, thinking he would have a go at me next, but he didn’t. Craig copped it all. I felt sorry for him. Dad was scary at the best of times, but it seemed worse when you were a little kid.

The second time that Dad got really mad was when Amy and I were having a bath. It was winter, so it was very cold and both Amy and I wanted to sit where the hot water came out of the tap. We’d swap every night, and on this particular night it was my turn to sit at the back, and it was cold. I asked Amy if she’d swap places with me for a while.

But she said, No, it’s my turn tonight.

Come on Amy. Just for a little while.

No, she said adamantly.

Well, I decided that if she wasn’t going to give me a turn for a short while, I’d get her out of the bath altogether. So, I did a poo.

When it floated to the top, I said, Amy – look at this.

The look on Amy’s face was priceless. She started screaming and yelling for Dad. By this time Amy had got out and Dad pulled me out by my arm, telling me what a dirty little girl I was. I had thought it so funny until Dad came in.

When we were young, Dad would take us camping. Sometimes we’d go with another family, but other times it was just our family. Mum usually didn’t come with us because she didn’t like camping. But I loved it.

Dad would always bring some guns, and he taught us all how to shoot. He loved guns and crossbows. He taught us how to use them safely. When Craig and I got a bit older, we’d go out at night on a friend’s property with Dad and some other mates, shooting rabbits and foxes – pretty much whatever moved, we shot it. It was good fun.

Another thing Dad liked to do was rabbiting. I wasn’t big on ferrets though, because they stunk. I thought they were gross. I still went along most of the time though, because we always had fun.

Mum had a horrible childhood. She was one of many children and she was treated cruelly by her mother. For some reason, her mother singled her out all the time. My mum never received presents for Christmas or her birthday, but her other siblings did. She never knew why.

Mum wanted to give us everything she didn’t have. The main thing was love. She and Dad always told us they loved us, and always hugged and kissed us. We never felt starved for affection. And even though we fought amongst ourselves, as kids do, we always had each other’s backs when it came to other people.

3

POSH SCHOOL

Amy and I went to a private girls’ primary school called Perth College. I hated it. We had to wear a school uniform which consisted of a navy-blue tie, blazer, black shoes, white shirt, blue skirt and hat. It was full-on, even down to the navy-blue knickers. If a teacher saw you walking home and you’d taken off your blazer, hat or tie, you’d get in the shit the next day at school. It was posh.

One afternoon, when everyone was heading out of the school, I called out to a girl in my class: Jackie!

I couldn’t get over what happened next. She told her mum, who was there to pick her up, that I had just called her ‘Jackie’ instead of Jacqueline. She was really upset about it. Her mum walked over to my mum, to fill her in on this. And my mum more or less told her to get a life. I hated that school. Most of the girls were bitches.

I wanted to go to a public school, and I ended up going to Mt Lawley Primary, Inglewood Primary, and then Mount Lawley High School, which I left after completing Year 10. Most of the time I didn’t enjoy school, but I did have some good times there. I’ve often thought that if I could turn back time, I’d take myself back to high school.

For a while, Mark, Amy and I all went to the same primary school, and we all wanted to sit in the front seat of the car when Mum picked us up. As soon as the bell rang for the end of the day, the three of us would bolt out of our classrooms and run as fast as we could to the car.

I was in the lead one afternoon and I was so intent on getting to the car first that I didn’t bother to check if there were oncoming cars before I crossed the road. I got hit by a combi-van and was knocked unconscious. Mark reckons I flew high in the air like Superman. Just before I hit the road, I must have put my hands out to brace myself. I broke both my wrists and knocked out one of my front teeth. What an idiot I was. Just so I could win the game and get the front seat.

Maths was my worst subject. I just couldn’t get my head around figures. They held absolutely no interest for me. When I was about 11, Dad was helping me with some maths homework but I just couldn’t get it. Every time I answered Dad’s questions on the problem, I got it wrong. He was getting really pissed off. I just wanted him to go away and leave me alone. But he wouldn’t and I started to cry. After what seemed like an eternity, Dad finally gave up – he probably came to the realisation that it would never sink in.

However, I loved English. That was my best subject all through school. I entered a competition when I was nine. Whoever wrote the best story won a signed copy by the author of a particular book. I won. It was the best feeling to be sitting there, with the whole primary school watching with baited breath as the teacher onstage pulled the winning story – mine – out of a large envelope.

High school was fun. I concentrated during the subjects I liked and stuffed around in the classes I didn’t like. I was one of those kids that sat at the back of the class with my mates mucking round and interrupting the class. I hated science and would always ask to go to the toilet so I could get out and go for a walk. My teacher knew I didn’t want to be there. And I’m sure he preferred it when I was out of the room. For some reason, I started to take some interest in his lessons and began doing a lot better. At one of the weekly assemblies, I received an award for the most improved in science. But I wasn’t there to receive it – I had wagged school that day. I thought my mates were joking when they told me.

I took days off quite often when I was in high school, mostly on the days I had woodwork or maths, the two subjects I hated. The tech drawing teacher was an arsehole; a real aggro guy who often screamed at us. He would even throw dusters and chairs at people. Mum and Dad’s fighting had started to get even worse around that time, and I had enough screaming and violence at home. I didn’t want to endure it at school as well.

When I was in high school, I wanted to be a hairdresser. Grant had girlfriends who were hairdressers, so I was often around them. While I was still at school I did work experience at a salon in the city, and then worked at a salon in Subiaco one day a week after school to get more experience. I had not expected it to be so hard to get an apprenticeship once I left school. It was impossible. I went to so many salons, but no one was hiring. I was pretty confident that one particular salon in the city was thinking about taking me on, until the woman mentioned the engagement ring she spotted on my finger. She was worried that if she gave me an apprenticeship, I’d end up leaving to get married and have kids. How wrong she was. Needless to say, I didn’t get the job.

4

SIMON THE BAD

Mum and Dad had started having terrible fights when I was about eleven. Dad was drinking a lot and would hit Mum and yell at her. We hated him for it. Most of the time it happened in their bedroom. The door would be closed, but we could all hear what was going on. I hated to hear Mum crying.

Mum had apparently tried to kill herself by swallowing a handful of pills when she and Dad were in their bedroom one night. He forced shampoo down her throat so that she vomited the pills up. As soon as Dad walked out of the bedroom, all of us went to see if Mum was alright. She looked terrible. There was shampoo all over her body and her hair, and all over the bed.

It was tense living in the same house after one of their big fights. None of us spoke to him unless we had to. We tiptoed around him because we hated what he was doing to Mum and we were a bit scared of him too. He didn’t abuse us kids, but he had the knack of putting the fear of God into you. He could be