On July 14, 1977 – three years after his arrest – Irishman Colin Martin was convicted in Thailand of the murder of 40-year-old New Zealander Bret Holdsworth, a bodyguard to an Irish “businessman, conman and crook” named Gerry O’Connor, who had ripped him off.  
The father of four from Crossmaglen, south Armagh, spent almost eight years in the notorious rat-infested, disease-ridden ‘Bangkok Hilton’ prison where many say hell was spawned.
At the time he had divorced his wife Paula, who lives with their children Jason (17), Carl (13), Nicole (12) in Crossmaglen and had married Long Plumesaisaeng, a Thai native with whom he’s had another child, Brenda (9).
In his best-selling book Welcome to Hell (Maverick) which has now gone into its fourth print-run, he said the police tortured him with electric shocks to his body and testicles and brought him within a gasp of breath from death through suffocation by placing a plastic bag over his head.
“They threatened to kill me if I didn’t confess and at one time held a gun to my head and told me they would shoot me if I didn’t sign the statement they had prepared in Thai and say I was shot whilst trying to escape. After five hours of this Gestapo-style hell I signed,” he said, “And so would you.”
In January he was deported and reunited with his family in Northern Ireland. He was forced to leave Thailand without saying goodbye to his son and thanking the Irish community who kept him alive while he was in jail.
This week he returned to Bangkok – not knowing if his entry would be refused – to hug his son for the first time ever, take him back to Ireland to live with him, and to thank Nenaghman John Kealy and the Irish community, to whom he says he owes his life and his sanity.
Here he talks EXCLUSIVELY to Proinsias MacPheadar who had visited him several times in his Thai prison hell during his eight-year incarceration.

CONVICTED murderer Colin Martin (43) had reservations about entering Klong Prem Central Prison as a free man for the first time. He was so scared he almost did a U-turn.
“It was a horrible feeling. I wasn’t sure if I were up to it or not. My body was outside, but part of my mind was still on the wrong side of the prison wall. I was still thinking as a prisoner and wondering if I went in, would they let me out,” he said.
“Of course, there was no lawful reason for them to hold on to me, but eight years of brain-washing when you’re told not to think, just do, it’s hard to wipe clean in a few months.
“I kept telling myself … I can walk in as a free man; I can walk out as a free man, but it took some convincing,” he said.
Eventually, he built-up the courage needed and overcame his fears.
“I was nervous … nervous as hell … almost to the point of s****ting myself,” he said.
“Once I went through the gate, passing all the security checks, I began to feel more at ease, but I was never at ease.
“Many of the guards on duty knew me, some greeted me by name. I was given no hassles save for one bastard. The commandos (prison officers) treated me with respect and like they would any other member of the public … as a human being.
“On the other side of the wall it’s entirely different. I saw only one side of them for eight years and that was horrific.
“Even those who were total arseholes were very diplomatic and polite to me this week.
“On the outside you have laws and rights that protect you. On the other side of the wall you’re deemed to be scum with no rights at all.
“I was treated like a human being … a person, for the first time in eight years. Inside you’re a non-person … you’re somewhere between an animal and much lower.
“One commando who was obviously an arsehole on both sides approached me and said, ‘take me for a drink and you can give me some money’.
“I told him to ‘f*** off” and that ended that,” said Colin.
As Colin walked through the entrance he was taken aback by the beauty of the prison grounds.
“The grounds were landscaped with flowers and plants to near perfection like Powerscourt or Kilkenny Castle. In the centre was a pond filled with gold fish and a romantic little bridge you could walk across like a scene from Alice in Wonderland.
“For the want of a better expression it looked like Heaven. I was probably the only ex-prisoner present that day who knew hell was a mere walking distance away.
“Inside, all we saw was concrete … boring f***ing concrete and bars, and more boring f***ing concrete and bars,” he said.
Since his arrival in Bangkok, her has visited his former prison mates three times.
“I don’t know how people felt when they visited me, but I felt it very strange each time,” Colin said.
“You’re seated on benches like two lines of turnips with wire mesh window in between which kills 90% visibility. When the sun is shining you can’t see jacks***. You see only an outline or a shadow of the person, and talking to a silhouette for a half-hour or more is very off-putting.
“I’m glad I didn’t chicken out and not visit. I would have liked to have caught up with a lot more prisoners because I know only too well what these visits mean to them,” he said.
The kickboxing champion said the inmates appreciated his visits because it’s rare for ex-cons to take the time.
“Those who got out before and after me, just kept on going. They say when you leave prison look straight ahead, and don’t look back just go, and most former prisoners do just that.
“I couldn’t. I shared eight years of my life with these people. I’m lucky to be on the outside. I know how they feel.  
“These people were my family and it’s only right and proper that I return and give them something to ease their misery. I can sympathise with anyone who suffers and endures even a small percent of what I went through,” he said.
When I visited Colin in prison over the years, we chatted for 30-60 minutes at a time, but since a couple of guys tried to escape, the entire prison population has been made to suffer.
“They’re now only given 20-minutes. It doesn’t matter if their parents and loved ones have spent a fortune flying across the world to see them, they still only get a lousy 20-minutes,” said Colin.
“God only knows what punishment was given to the would-be escapees, I don’t even want to think about it,” he added.
When Colin’s Etihad Airlines flight touched down in Bangkok, there was no turning back … but he considered it.
“Getting from the plane to immigration was the longest walk in my life – it felt like the emigration desk was ten miles away.
“Each step, heavier than the one before. I feared I might be refused entry and deported again.
“There were ten people in queue at immigration … reducing gradually to my turn. If anyone had had a tape recorder I’m sure they could have recorded the thunderous sound of my heartbeat.
“As I got closer to the desk, it became louder and louder I could swear the people beside me could hear it – I know I could!
“My palms were sweating as I handed over my passport. When the officer hesitated and looked me in the eye I was full sure the airport police were going to be called.
“Even as I waited for my suitcases to arrive on the carousel, it was nerve-wracking.  I kept looking over my shoulders; thinking I was going to be pounced on by police at any time. I feared being blacklisted and deported without getting to see my nine-year-old son, Brendan.
“It wasn’t until I was outside the airport, inhaling the fresh air, it sunk in that I’m a free man, guilty of no crime and not wanted by police anywhere in the world. Only people who have ever been incarcerated would know how I felt.
“Ironically, the air in Bangkok is far from being fresh, but my first gulp tasted like sweet nectar – beautiful,” he said.
Not knowing if he were blacklisted or not, Colin took the courage to return to Bangkok to thank the Irish community for its support while he was in prison and to make arrangements for his son to join him in Ireland.
“Brendan’s a bright spark – my genes, no doubt! He’s the number two pupil in his school and he’s brilliant at mathematics,” said the proud father.
“In the village we had several family discussions about Brendan’s future and it was decided he would join me next year. Meanwhile, I’m going to send his teacher some Irish primary school books to bring him up to speed with what’s being taught in Ireland.
“Children, as you know, can be very cruel. I want Brendan to learn English and when he does attend an Irish school he won’t be ridiculed or disadvantaged in any way.
“He’s a lovely boy – any father would be proud to call him their son – and with the good head he has on his shoulders he’s going to go far.
“I have to be careful that I don’t throw him in at the deep end. There’s going to be a cultural shock for him going to Ireland and being away from his grandmother especially, who cared for him over the years,” he said.
Colin said moving to Ireland is something Brendan wants to do.
“He can’t wait to meet my other children.  I’ve shown all of them photographs of each other and I know they’ll get along fine like brothers and sisters should,” he said.
Initially there was distance between father and son …
“Understandably, I was like a stranger to him. He was shy … he wouldn’t come to me and give me a hug or a kiss, but after a couple of days it was different.
“He was sitting beside me hugging me, kissing me and going places with me. When I went to his school he was so proud I was with him.
“All the other boys had dads who visited the school regularly, but this was the first time for his dad. It was a special for Brendan and a special one for me.
“Eight years in jail had not only robbed me of my son, but my son of his father,” he said.
Colin said he owes his “life and sanity” to John Kealy from Nenagh, Co Tipperary, Northern Irishman Norman Peters, his wife Natt, and to John Mulcahy, publisher of Dublin’s Phoenix Magazine.
“These people were there when I needed help most. They provided food clothing and money on a regular basis and I may not have survived without them,” he said.
John, who owns the Dubliner pub in Bangkok and provides daily help to Irish and other European prisoners, said: “Norman, Natt and I don’t expect thanks for what we do, but we’re grateful, almost surprised, when we’re given it.
“What we did for Colin we’d do for any Irish or British person incar-cerated in a Thai jail. If not for Colin’s book Welcome to Hell or films like the Bangkok Hilton people in the west would have no concept whatsoever of how horrific Thai prisons are,” he said.