Here’s another in the ‘My Prison Journey’ series. More of this series can be found in the link on the right of this page or by clicking ‘My Prison Journey‘
“I guess it takes 3 men to make a rapist.”
The mood was sombre. There were six of us locked into my cell. Two of them were on high protein diets trying to bulk up for the gym, so there was a palpable fear of toxic emissions.
A storm of tension that had been building on the wing had broken when three men had fairly battered a fourth guy using table-legs as cudgels. As the Kangas (prison officers) hit the alarm bells, the sirens screeched and the entire wing was being put on lockdown. The cleaners had happened to be outside my cell and were ushered inside in order to clear the landings.
What was most disconcerting was how ‘matter-of-fact’ the whole process was. It didn’t take long to become inured to the sporadic violence and the ensuing alarms. The first time I saw a charge of Kangas it put the shits right up me. I dived for cover, hands raised in supplicant compliance and breathed deep relief as they ignored me. As the days and weeks of my time in prison went by, I simply stopped noticing them. In some regards it became normal, even as farcical as the procession of Roman soldiers conducting searches in ‘The Life of Brian’ movie. So on this day we merely shuffled along eyes down (it did not pay to witness anything), shuffled into my cell and waited for the situation to be resolved.
“Who was it?” one of the lads asked.
“Who what?” came the reply, “Who was doing the hitting him or who was being hit?”
There were various names suggested for the three assailants, but nobody seemed 100% sure who the victim was.
“I reckon it was that nonce rapist,” came a suggestion. There followed an exchange of descriptions. The lads in my cell were trying to picture who it was, listening to them he was both tall and short, fat and thin, wore glasses and didn’t – as one description was challenged and superseded by another.
While the lads were arguing about the man’s description I asked, “How do we know that he’s a rapist?”
The crowded (and increasingly sweaty) cell became quiet.
I continued, “All I’m saying is that if he was a rapist, why would he be on this wing? Surely as a VP (vulnerable prisoner) he would be on the nonce wing?”
“Well one of the lads said that he saw him in another jail and he was on the VP wing there,” came a helpful suggestion.
“Did it not worry you a bit how you got your information? How did your source see him on a Nonce wing, eh? Unless he was also on that nonce wing.” Vinney picked up on the train of thought.
While I was grateful for Vinney’s lateral thinking, I was concerned too – his arse emissions were legendary. He was a huge lump from St Helen’s.
“All I’m saying here is that we don’t know for certain that the lad who got battered is a rapist, or nonce or anything. There’s an old saying that it only takes three men to make a tiger – and that happens in here every day.” I continued.
“Ah here he fuckin goes again. It’s like being back in school with you Moose!” came the protest of the group.
I have to admit that I was ‘that guy’. I have a head full of stories and parables and I often struggled to just shut up sometimes. I think I might have a form of allegorical Tourette’s syndrome. Anyway, I ignored the complaint. I was good at that.
“Vinney mate, do you want to hear how three men can make a tiger?”
“Oh aye Moose. Sounds fascinating!” came the reply. “And anybody who doesn’t want to hear this tale of wisdom can just leave the cell! What? No Takers? Very well, on thee go Moose – learn me about this tiger thing.”
After some good natured grumbling I told my captive audience about a Chinese urban legend that involved a concept that a court adviser had proposed to his king.
He asked the king what he would do if a man came running into the court claiming that a tiger was roaming the market. The king said he would dismiss the story as ridiculous. The adviser asked what he would do if a second man came and said there was a tiger roaming the market. The king said he would still dismiss the story, but with reserve. The adviser asked what the king would do if a third man claimed a tiger was roaming the market. The king replied that he would probably dispatch some soldiers to investigate the claims.
“All I’m saying lads is that it only takes a few people to say the same thing before everybody will start to believe it. We need to be careful before we jump to conclusions about what people are in for. It’s too easy for any of us to be painted as a nonce or a grass just because a couple of lads claim that they knew a bloke who knew a bloke who heard something.”
Vinney was first to respond, “I guess it takes three men to make a rapist. He’s not wrong you know lads. It’s too fucking easy to ruin a lad’s life in here.” That would have been a poignant moment to end, but Vinney was not finished. “And on that note, I’m going to ruin 6 lads’ lives right now.” Vinney emptied his guts in the cell to much gagging and cursing. Two of the boys started banging on the door and eventually we were released back onto the landing. The commotion was over, the bio-clean lads were already at work on the blood and the wing was returning to ‘normal’.
We never found out who the victim had been, what he had been convicted of or why he had gotten battered. His ordeal was merely a blip, forgotten save in this account.
