We stood staring at the last obstacle between us and freedom. How was it that this miserable little door would not yield to our persuasions? With minimal effort we'd opened 14 other doors to get to it, most of them the giant prison steel doors and grilles, yet this last one, an ordinary wooden door with an ordinary house lock, had decided to put a halt to 18 months' worth of planning and preparation. We would have none of it! If it would not give in to our gentler persuasions there was only one other option - force!
Alex asked for the chisel. He was going to dig out the wood from behind the locking plate on the doorframe and then when he'd removed enough he would be able to bend it back so that the bolt could clear it when he pulled the door open. I was thinking that maybe we should make our way back to our cells and try again another day. If we did not get the door open before the sentry came on duty in the street outside it would be the end of the road for us. We would not be able to make another attempt as the damaged doorpost would be evidence that there had been an escape attempt and they would strengthen the prison's existing security to make it impossible to get out. But the others insisted there was only one direction we would be going - out!
I flinched as Alex dug the point of the chisel into the well-varnished wooden frame and a giant chip of wood fell onto the doormat. Now the prison authorities would know which way we had got out; our dream of having pulled off the perfect escape was no more. We had hoped to leave our captors completely confounded as to how three long-term 'terrorists' had spirited themselves out of their cells and out of one of South Africa's reputedly most secure prisons.
Alex furiously carried on chiselling as we watched in terror. We knew that the sentry normally came on duty at six and it was now approaching that time: it was more than an hour since lockup at four thirty. The pile of chippings on the floor looked greater than the hole out of which they came but the locking plate could still not be bent back far enough to allow the bolt to pass. Several times Alex tried to force it back with the large screwdriver we'd brought along from the workshop but each time it just slipped and made a frightening noise. Each time it happened we were sure the night-warder, who was sitting less than 20 metres away and the guard on the catwalk just 5 metres above, had heard it. But nothing happened.
We prepared ourselves for departure. We pulled off our gloves and face masks and put on our running shoes: once we were out we'd have to get off the prison terrain, out of Pretoria and out of the country as quickly as possible. We knew they'd treat us as hunted fugitives and that there would be a nationwide search; we knew that if we got caught our already long sentences would be infinitely extended.
Eventually Alex had removed sufficient wood to allow him to bend the locking plate back far enough. He grasped the doorhandle and gave it a sharp yank. With a loud grating sound the bolt scraped past the plate and the door swung open. The sweet air of freedom wafted in.
Alex cautiously looked up toward the end of the catwalk above the door to see if the guard was in view. There was nobody - the guard had conveniently taken a walk down to the far end. Alex boldly stepped outside and signalled to us to follow him. I was the next out and then Stephen, who pulled the door closed after him. It did not close properly on account of the still protruding bolt, but it did not matter at that moment - we were out.
After making sure the coast was clear, we walked down the few steps leading from the door out of which we had just emerged and stepped into the warm summer's sun in the street. We were free. We saw our hours, days, months, years of boredom, frustration and isolation behind us. And ahead, freedom...