6 of 24

Write now Article Tools

My landing accommodates only remand prisoners. We dress in brown uniform, while the cons [convicted prisoners] wear grey on the other landings. And I share my days now with two other men in this cell; one a burglar, the other charged with attempted murder.
Malcolm talks little about the incident that put him here, but it seems he shot someone in August. A tall, jovial 36 year old with a keen sense of humour, he strikes me as a most improbable murderer. Colin, my other cell-mate, has been thieving since the age of 16, and now at 25 he has already done plenty of bird [time in prison]. He is also a compulsive gambler, and talks endlessly about his various stealing exploits. I can detect a faint note of pride as he describes how he has slithered furtively into office blocks, escaping with wallets and pay packets.

"Mind you, you've got to have the bottle [nerve] to con your way in, know what I mean?" he says.
He is what is known as a 'walk-in thief'; a simple fellow, but an honest villain of the old school, nothing complex or unpleasant about him. And it is essential to our sanity that the three of us are able to get on, for we spend almost all our time locked in this cell together.
There are occasions when the cell doors are opened briefly, and we can walk the length of the landing. And of course there is the exercise hour each day, when we shamble around the prison yard in a big circle. But, from about 1630hrs we are banged up [locked in cells] until 0700hrs the following morning. The last meal of the day is at 1630hrs, and the cells are banged up as soon as each landing has collected its food from the ground floor. All meals are eaten in our cells.
At weekends the last meal of the day is at 1530hrs, and again we are banged up from then onwards. It is an extraordinary time of day to eat. We usually grab a pile of bread when we collect the last meal, to keep for later in the evening.
But those fifteen and a half hours banged up are a rare endurance test for the old bladder. We are unlocked for evening slop-out at about 1830hrs; a hasty dash to the washing recess at the end of the landing to clean mugs. If quick enough, one can sometimes snatch temporary relief at the urinal there. But we inevitably have to urinate in the cell bucket during the long hours of confinement. The urine remains stinking with us in the cell all night until morning slop-out.
But, fortunately, the three of us do manage to get on quite well, despite the enormous difference in our backgrounds. We lie on our bunks for hours discussing life and its blows, court cases we hear or read about, speculating on our own sentences. Sometimes we pass a few hours playing cards with a depleted pack, so old it looks and feels like a bundle of old rags. We read old newspapers that find their way into the cells. We play word games, one of us giving the first letter of a town or country for the other two to try and guess it. We even play I Spy; three grown men lying there saying, "I spy with my little eye something beginning with," and becoming cross with each other if we feel that a particular word is unfair.
Once, we spent an evening writing down the names of all the pubs we could remember. We compiled a list of about 150 in the end, and the game provided a sound platform for endless reminiscence. But often we just lie for hours in silence waiting for the door to be opened; thinking, dreaming, sometimes sleeping. And despondency quickly rushes in. And we are three isolated souls in lonely confinement longing to be free, saddened by troubled pasts, and fearful of Future's skinny hand.

Learn more about this author, M.B. Shad.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

Add your voice

Know something about Reflections: Inside prison walls?
We want to hear your view. Write now!