Here’s a piece I did on visit’s and why the first one is usually a very important one, at least for a first time offender.
Visits.
I always found prison visits to be a bit surreal and very uncomfortable. My circle of friends (like myself) had never had any prior experience of the judicial system – so prison was as much an alien experience for them as me. We would learn together.
As I sat at my table wearing hi-viz vest I watched the door as my visitors emerged fearful and wide-eyed into the visit hall. I waved to catch their eye and they came over to the table. Ah bless them! They were trying to look like they belonged there – like 16 year olds trying to get served in a pub.
After a few hugs, handshakes and polite smiles one of the gang went to the counter to buy coffees and chocolate bars while the rest sat down on the opposite side of the table from me. Gradually the tables filled, around us and the huge visit hall was filled with the hubbub and chatter of the reunited. It took a few minutes before the elephant in the room could no longer be ignored, although it was very gently and subtly introduced.
“It’s difficult to know what to believe like. You know, in the papers and all the rumours and stuff.”
“It’s true.” I said, “I did it, and I’ve told the police everything. Honestly I’m just waiting for my court date and to be sentenced now.”
I could see that they were struggling to reconcile the man that they knew with the crime and that’s all I really need to say about my offence and how I broke it to my friends. But thankfully one of them has a neck like a horse Jockey’s nut-sack, and he broke the tension “Can I have your X-box then? I mean you’re not going to be using it.” There was a great outburst of laughter that relieved the tension and started the other lads laying claim to the things that they wanted of mine. Isn’t it great to have friends?
We chatted about one thing and another. What they had been doing, nights out, hangovers, relationships, work – all subjects were covered in a whirlwind before they started to ask about prison.
“What’s the story with the showers? Is it true?” – Nope.
Robbie asked “Is there anybody famous in here? Any murderers like?” I didn’t say anything, nor did the rest of the group. It took a minute for Robbie to realise everybody was staring at him before he qualified his question, “Apart from you, obviously!”
“Wow, that’s a bit harsh Robbie lad.” The rest chimed in – before turning to me and asking if there was in fact anybody famous in with me.
I couldn’t help myself, “There is one lad I’ve met” said I as I winked. My three visitors leaned forwards. “Who’s the comedian bloke? He hosted one of those Saturday night game-show things.”
They were puzzled, who had they heard of that was a comedian, had hosted a TV show and was in prison? The names came thick and fast. I fed them with vague descriptions, but when they went through the list of Ken Dodd, Bob Monkhouse, Bruce Forsyth et al they started losing momentum. I suggested that he had a memorable catch phrase which set them off again…
“Shut that door!” “Nice to see you, to see you Nice!” They parroted off the catch phrases and put names to the people who used them. As was the usual routine, they began to bicker amongst each other, losing focus so I heard the one name and said that’s the chap!
Robbie was confused, “What, so you’re saying that Jim Davidson is in here?”
“What? No!” I replied, “Jim is the bloke’s name. The famous bloke.”
All three of them were confused now. “He was in the paper (no he wasn’t) after he clocked up his 3,000th conviction” (no such thing happened).
“Oh that guy!” they said as they nodded knowingly. Eejits!
“Are you OK, though? Really?” They were concerned.
This is one thing that I hadn’t considered when I came to prison – how it would affect those who cared about me. In the many years I spent in a local prison, where new arrivals come from court it was always the one piece of advice that I gave people – to re-assure visitors.
Prison is horrible, anybody who says otherwise is just putting up a front – like a kid who is in trouble screaming that they didn’t want ice cream anyway. Most local prisons are oppressive, grubby and de-humanising dumps. But at around 6pm every night your day is effectively over. You are locked in your cell. Unless you have spectacular bad luck and a particularly bad cell mate, generally you are safe for the night. But your family, friends & loved ones don’t know that.
They are on the outside and left to their wild imaginings. They often picture feral gangs roaming the landings, grabbing new arrivals from their cells and subjecting them to all sorts of monstrous deeds. They can’t call you to check if you are ok, they often don’t have anybody that can put their minds at ease – which is why those first visits are so important.
In my case the lads could see that I more or less looked the same. That I could still take the piss out of them and that I had already resigned myself to my fate. I knew that I would be spending a large number of years in prison – the exact number was of lesser concern at that time. As the Kangas began to call time on the visit we said our goodbyes.
“Any messages for anybody?” “Anything that you need?”
“Just send me in people’s phone numbers and addresses. I can start writing to you when I get a bit more settled. But other than that I’m grand.”
“Come on now lads, finish up there please!” A Kanga appeared at the side of our table. Neil, being cheeky turned to him and said, “Listen Boss, we were just hoping to bring him for a quick beer. Any chance?”
“Well he’s only on remand in fairness,” came the unexpected reply, “we can sort that. But which one of you is going to take his place – to make sure he comes back?”
There was a longer pause than I might have hoped for before everybody realised it was a joke. None of them had volunteered though. As they left the hall I had mixed emotions. I was sad to see them leave, but I was glad to be heading back into the prison. What might be happening outside the walls was not something that I wanted to dwell on.
