Confessions from the Clink. Timothy Lea

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СКАЧАТЬ at Penhurst. Of course, I have heard stories – and it is not surprising when the crumpet ration is akin to the number of nips rolling up to a Kamikazi pilots reunion dinner – but I did not expect to get lumbered before I got through the front gate.

      This article presents itself before I have had to slap my companion’s wrist more than a couple of times, and bears a stronger resemblance to the entrance to a crematorium than a nick – with my family you get plenty of chance to see both. There is a bloke in a peaked cap behind the wrought iron gate and the minute I see him, I am reminded of the Funfrall Holiday Camp I once worked at. I hope the nosh is better here.

      The driver’s neck, seen through the glass panel behind his seat, looks like a pink elephant sitting down, and I turn away from it to feast my eyes on Fran plucking at his disgusting hair.

      ‘Oh, it’s awful, isn’t it?’ he squeaks. ‘I saw you looking. I’ve got split ends and my follicles are clogged.’

      Please! I feel like saying to him. Spare me the details! I mean, there are some things you just don’t want to know about, aren’t there? ‘I was on remand for three weeks,’ he clucks, ‘never had a chance to do anything about it.’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ I soothe. ‘I’m certain they’ll make allowances.’

      ‘O.K. you two. Out!’ The prison officer swings open the door and divides his contempt between us. I am not certain I like the way he says ‘you two’ as if we were some kind of double act.

      ‘Oh dear. What a shame. Just as we were getting down to brass tacks, too. It’s always the same, isn’t it?’ I ignore the bent gent’s twitter and step down to take a butcher’s at the scenery. The building we are outside looks like a modern country house with two wings and a front bit that has more windows than a Peeping Tom’s training camp. They all have bars across them but apart from that, there is nothing that shouts ‘nick’ too crudely. There is even a football pitch in the middle of the ample grounds.

      ‘Right. Up the steps and report to reception. The Governor will want to see you.’

      ‘Ooh. Aren’t you going to carry my bag?’ sniffs Fran.

      ‘I wouldn’t trust myself to bend down and pick it up,’ says the screw. ‘Now hop it.’ He slams the door and climbs back into the driver’s seat.

      ‘Charming!’ says Fran. ‘No room service and nobody to meet us. I wonder they didn’t make us walk from the gate. I’m not certain I’m going to like it here. The vibrations aren’t right. Do you ever feel like that? Maybe I’m over-sensitive. I had a friend once who –’

      ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say, before he can get into full spate. ‘We’d better do like the man says, hadn’t we?’ I nip up the steps and push open the door that is already ajar.

      Inside, a tall bloke in blue shirt and denims is counting a roll of greasy one pound notes. He stops when he sees us and looks us up and down suspiciously.

      ‘We’re looking for the Governor,’ I say.

      ‘Oh yeah. New boys, are you?’

      We nod.

      ‘Welcome to Sinnerama Holiday. Follow me. I think he’s free at the moment.’

      ‘Is it nice here?’ twitters Fran.

      ‘It’s bleeding lovely, mate,’ says our guide. ‘You two together, are you?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘No!’ I yelp. ‘We came together, that’s all.’

      ‘That’s all?’ trills Fran. ‘Don’t knock it, ducky!’ Before he can pursue the subject further our guide taps respectfully on one of the doors and a voice that sounds like two pieces of sand paper having it away bids us enter.

      The inside of the room surprises me. I had not been expecting the state apartment at Windsor Castle but certainly something a bit more flash than this. The Playboy Calendar on the wall strikes an odd note, too. What is most unexpected is that there are bars on the windows. I puzzle about this for a minute before it occurs to me that they probably have some deep psychological significance. Maybe it helps the inmates to identify with the governor if he gives the appearance of living under the same conditions as they do. Fascinating, isn’t it? Oh well, please yourselves.

      ‘Two new boys, governor,’ says our guide, waving us forward.

      ‘Thanks, Grass,’ rasps the figure behind the desk. ‘Harvest coming in all right?’

      ‘Fantastic. We’ve almost got more than we can process.’

      ‘Excellent. Excellent. Don’t let me hold you up, then.’

      Our guide withdraws and I concentrate on the governor. He is a large, squarely built man with a couple of days’ growth of stubble and tattoos going right up his arms. He, too, is wearing a blue denim shirt with rolled up sleeves so it is easy to see the artwork. ‘Mum, I love you’ says one arm. ‘Per ardua ad astra’ says the other. A nice combination of the sentimental and the intellectual, I think to myself. Very rounded personality, obviously. I never thought that a nick would go to the trouble of making it so easy for the prisoners to identify with their surroundings. Fancy, even dressing the governor up like one of the inmates. Maybe life is better under the Conservatives.

      ‘Hello, boys,’ says the governor cheerfully. ‘Fancy a drink, do you? I’ve got a nice drop of Spanish Burgundy here, or how about Bristol Cream?’

      ‘Ooh, I thought you said Bristol queen for a moment,’ squeaks Fran. ‘You almost offended me. I come from Bristol, you know. It’s a rough, manly town absolutely bursting at the seams with Jolly Jack Tars.’

      ‘Hello, sailor,’ says the governor. ‘Who’s your shipmate?’

      ‘We’d never seen each other before today,’ I yelp. Blimey, if this goes on I’ll have to get a placard printed.

      ‘Two orphans of the storm whom fate has thrown together,’ simpers Fran. ‘Will we be sharing a cell?’

      ‘No! No!’ I shout before the governor can say anything. ‘I have these terrible nightmares when I start lashing out at anything that stands in my path. I can be uncontrollably violent. I wouldn’t ask anybody to risk that.’

      ‘Ooh,’ says Fran, ‘I’m a great soother. I bet you, if I massage your temples every night before –’

      ‘No!’

      ‘Ooh, you’re such a spoilsport. I know you want to, really.’

      ‘Yeah, yeah,’ says the governor, waving at Fran to belt up. ‘If you’ve got any complaints about the accommodation we’ll sort those out later. The Domestic Affairs Committee will deal with it. Now, what are you two boys in for?’

      While we tell him and sip our drinks it occurs to me that it is strange that he does not know already. This must be a very free and easy place if prisoners can roll up unannounced. Maybe a lot of them escape too, so that it is difficult to keep track of numbers.

      ‘Do you have a large turnover?’ I ask.

      ‘About two hundred thou at the moment,’ СКАЧАТЬ