We waited in that room for a long time, wondering what was going to happen. Perhaps some of us knew, having been there before. But this was my first time in an English gaol and I felt apprehensive. Maskells words about the unpleasant circumstances that attend the high-risk prisoner began to worry me.
At last they began to take us out, one at a time and in strict alphabetical order. Rearden comes a long way down the alphabet so I had to wait longer than most, but my turn came and a warder took me down a passage and into an office.
A prisoner is never asked to sit down. I stood before that desk and answered questions while a prison officer took down the answers like the recording angel. He took down my name, birthplace, fathers name, mothers maiden name, my age, next-of-kin, occupation. All that time he never looked at me once; to him I wasnt a man, I was a statistics container he pressed a button and the statistics poured out.
They told me to empty my pockets and the contents were dumped on to the desk and meticulously recorded before being put into a canvas bag. Then my fingerprints were taken. I looked around for something with which to wipe off the ink but there was nothing. I soon found out why. A warder marched me away and into a hot, steamy room where I was told to strip. It was there I lost my clothes. I wouldnt see them again for twenty years and Id be damned lucky if theyd be in fashion.
After the bath, which wasnt bad, I dressed in the prison clothing the man in the grey flannel suit. But the cut was terrible and Id rather have gone to Mackintoshs tailor.
A march up another corridor led to a medical examination, a bit of bureaucratic stupidity. Why they cant have a medical examination while a man is stripped after his bath is beyond me. However, I undressed obligingly and dressed again, and was graded for labour. I was top class fit for anything.
Then a warder took me away again into an immense hall with tiers of cells lining the walls and with iron stairs like fire escapes. Ill tell you once, said the warder. This is C Hall.
We clanked up some stairs and along a landing and he stopped before a cell and unlocked it. This is yours.
I went inside and the door slammed with a cold sound of finality. I stood for some time, not looking at anything in particular. My brain had seized up gone on strike. After, maybe, fifteen minutes I lay on the bed and damn near cried my eyes out.
After that I felt better and was able to bring some intelligence to bear on the situation. The cell was about twelve feet by seven, and perhaps eight feet high. The walls were distempered institutional cream and Borstal green and in one of them was a small barred window set high. The door looked as though it could withstand artillery fire and there was a Judas hole set in it.
The furnishing was sparse; an iron-framed bed, a wooden table and a chair, a washstand with jug, basin and chamberpot, and a bare shelf. Exploring a prison cell is one of the quickest tasks a man can set himself. Within three minutes I had checked everything there was to find three blankets, two sheets, a lumpy mattress, another shirt, a pair of felt slippers, a thin non-absorbent towel, a spoon and a mug. Hanging on a nail in the wall by a loop of string was a copy of the Rules and Regulations governing HM Prisons together with an informational pamphlet.
Three minutes and I knew practically everything there was to know about that cell. I wondered what I was going to do for the next twenty years. Right there and then I decided Id have to ration my curiosity shut down the dampers on thought. There would be too much time and not enough happening, and every new experience would have to be jealously hoarded.
The walls of that prison suddenly had physical meaning. I felt them looming all about me, thick and strong. It was a claustrophobic quarter-hour before the feeling receded and I was able to stop shivering.
I immediately broke my promise about rationing curiosity by beginning to read the informational pamphlet, but that was absolutely necessary. I was a new boy in this school and the sooner I learned the ropes the better. There were too many tricks that could be played on the newcomer by the old hands and I didnt want to fall for any of them.
It was an interesting compilation of data. I discovered that the spare shirt in the cell was to be used as a night shirt, that lights-out was ten-thirty, that the waking call was six-thirty in the morning, that I was to be issued with a razor blade to be returned after shaving. There were other helpful hints even to the point of finding a way out of prison.
For instance, I could refer my case to the Court of Criminal Appeal and, if that failed, I could apply to the Attorney-General to put the case before the House of Lords. At any time I could petition the Home Secretary and I was permitted to write to my Member of Parliament.
I couldnt see myself doing any of those things. I wasnt pally enough with the Home Secretary to enter into any kind of extended correspondence and my Member of Parliament was a shade too far away to do any good 6,000 miles away.
I read the booklet through and then started on it again from the beginning. I had nothing else to do so I decided to memorize the whole goddamn thing. I was still reading it when the light went out.
IV
The bell clanged and I opened my eyes and was confused until I remembered where I was. I dressed hurriedly and made the bed, then hoisted it up so that it stood on end in a corner of the cell. I sat on the chair and waited. Presently there was a slight metallic sound from the door and I knew someone was watching through the Judas hole.
There was a sharp snap from the lock and the door opened. I stood up and the warder came in. He looked appraisingly around the cell and then fixed me with a hard eye. Youre new here. Youve been reading that thing, havent you? He nodded to the booklet on the table.
Yes, I have.
Your beds in the wrong corner, and the book should be hanging on the wall where you found it. Youll learn. Take a tip from me; do just what youre told and youll be all right. Now, pick up your chamber-pot and get ready for slopping out.
Yes, I have.
Your beds in the wrong corner, and the book should be hanging on the wall where you found it. Youll learn. Take a tip from me; do just what youre told and youll be all right. Now, pick up your chamber-pot and get ready for slopping out.
I havent used it, I said.
It gets slopped out whether youve used it or not, he said curtly. Remember what I told you do as youre told with no arguments. Thats lesson number one.
I picked up the chamber-pot and followed him on to the landing which was full of men, all lined up and each holding his pot. All right, someone shouted. Move along.
There was mephitic stink in the air. I trudged along and found that I was expected to empty the pot into one sink and wash it in another. I went through the motions and returned to my cell, taking my cues from what the others were doing.
The warder came back. You can eat in your cell if you like. Youll be served with the others down in the hall, but you can bring your tray up here if you dont feel like joining the party just yet.
I didnt feel like talking to anyone at all right then. I was too busy trying to keep a firm hold on myself. Thanks, I said, and heard my voice crack.
He was ironic. Dont thank me; its regulations for new prisoners. And another thing, youll be seeing the Governor this morning. A trusty will take you to his office.
The trusty came just before ten oclock and I went with him out of C Hall. Youre Rearden, he said. Ive heard about you.
Have you?
Im Simpson. He nudged me in the ribs with a sharp elbow. Youre going before the Reception Board. Dont volunteer anything thats my tip.
What happens?
Oh, its just the big boys giving you the once-over. The Governor, the Bible-Slapper, the Senior Screw, the Welfare Officer people like that. The Governors not too bad if you keep on the right side of him, but Gawd help you if you dont. Some of the othersll try to feed you a load of old cods wallop a crowd of flaming do-gooders. But watch out for Hudson hes a right bastard.
Whos he?
The Chief Screw.
Simpson took me into a waiting room in which half a dozen other prisoners were sitting. They all looked dispirited. Simpson chuckled. You wont have to wait your turn, mate. Youre on first; youre someone special.
I stared at him. Whats so special about me?
Youll see. The Governorll explain it all very nicely.
I was about to pursue that a bit further but a warder came into the room. Rearden, come this way. Simpson, get back to C Hall.
There were five men seated around a large table, two of them prison officers in uniform. Its a funny thing about prison officers they never take off their caps, not even when sitting in the Governors office. Perhaps its a tradition of the service. One of the civilians wore a dog-collar, so hed be Simpsons Bible-Slapper the Prison Chaplain.
The military-looking man in the middle spoke up first. Rearden, Im the Governor of this prison. You are here because you have committed a crime and society has decided that you cannot be allowed to remain at large. How you get on in this prison is your own affair. There are two ways of looking at a prison as a place of punishment and as a place of rehabilitation. The choice is up to you; we have ample facilities for both modes of operation. Do I make myself clear?
Yes, sir.
He picked up a paper from the table. It is normally my practice to treat all prisoners alike. However, I have received notification from the Home Office that you are to be treated as a high-risk prisoner and that entails certain restrictive modifications of your treatment here. For instance, you were brought to this office by a Star Class trusted prisoner, that will never happen again. In future, if you have to move about inside the prison you will be escorted by a prison officer. You will also wear coloured patches upon your clothing. I have prepared a list here of all the other restrictions appertaining to a high-risk prisoner which you will study and to which you will conform.