Episode Transcript
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Episode 24 Life Bombs Coco Pops.
We live in a sub world, not cutoff from the outside world, but
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not part of it.
We're not in a parallel worldeither.
The longer I'm a resident here,then I must accept this too.
Interestingly, relationships aremagnified out of normal
proportions.
Take my pad mate, Reeve.
One month ago we'd never met,probably would never have become
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friends or stand side by sidefor each other, now after only
four weeks we have a strange,loyal bond that will never be
forgotten or broken.
I have to accept hisidiosyncrasies as much as he
mine.
It is all about compromise.
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It is nine o'clock Fridayevening and we are caged like
animals, while only a throw of aball away from my window, the
world passes by.
Who cares for us other than ourloved ones?
And why should they?
To the outside world, we're allcriminals and scum and deserve
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what we get.
However they're unaware of theconditions and environments in
which we survive under constantstate of duress.
Or if you're a taxpayer, thinkof it in terms of the high cost
compared to the terrible servicethat is failing everyone.
Follow the money is what thetaxpayer should be doing.
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Since landing in Walton, I'vewitnessed close to 10 murder
trials take place.
Day after day, the accused ordefendants returning from court.
You may be surprised to hear,but normally they're in good
spirits.
My suspicions are, bravado ismasking fears and
inevitabilities, especially whenthey're facing such life
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changing sentences if foundguilty.
I've witnessed the Manchesterlads, the Preston Duo dad, or
should I say lad, and morerecently, LK and RB.
The boyish looking pair havebeen on trial for the last month
and today the verdict has beenreached, both found guilty.
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We heard it on the radio first.
Surprisingly it said both willbe sentenced this afternoon.
I thought that was strange as itwas announced on Smooth FM.
Ironically, after D:Ream andThings Can Only Get Better had
played.
By the time the youthful B hadarrived back at Walton, the news
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had changed to, he'd received 24years rec.
He's 24 years old.
Kay had been shipped out twoweeks ago for fighting with the
guards one night after returningfrom court.
The two of them back then usedto return larger than life, more
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like ragamuffin school boys, ormaybe like youth offenders, but
not as two men on trial formurder of a 19-year-old lad.
This last week B has beenreturning in buoyant positive
spirits.
I get a chance to talk to him ashe passes through, on the way
back to the wing.
My workstation is next to thefirst door that leads through to
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a number of steel doors andbars, and then eventually leads
through to the wings and no onepasses through without me seeing
them and offering them abreakfast and brew pack with a
baby sized carton of milk.
Each night as I give him hispack, we chew the fat, and the
only bad news so far this weekcame from me.
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Sadly, no Coco Pops.
My co-workers had alreadygrabbed them.
It sound ridiculous, but you getto know what the lads prefer.
From Frosties to porridge toWeetabix, not the real ones, but
cheap fakes, you could say.
Ryan, or B as I know him best,was open and confident about the
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progress.
Apparently, last week hisgirlfriend took the stand.
Who, by the way, had just givenbirth to his child.
It's all crazy and surreal.
He was upbeat and felt as thoughthe trial was going really well.
In fact, as late as last night,he believed it was going to be a
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Not Guilty, and today he wouldwalk free.
Tonight he returned alone.
K probably went back to Kennet.
Kenko saw him first and said heseemed remarkably upbeat and
that he only appeared to go overa cliff when K couldn't sort him
with a fix.
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It's a surreal experience.
What looks like a young boy isnow a convicted murderer,
appeared in front of me justafter six.
His hair ruffled, but that ishis usual look.
I swear you could put a schooluniform on him and he passes for
16.
Number One rocked up and gavehim his Coco Pops and smiled.
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It was a nice gesture.
You learn that there isn't muchto say on nights or moments like
this.
There are no words that can makeany of it easier.
The reality is RB has beenconvicted of ending another
boy's life.
I'm sure that boy's mother andfamily wishes the pair of them
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rot in prison.
B will most certainly have askedthe doctor for something that
takes reality away.
Worst case scenario, it's Spiceor green or tabs and no doubt
he'll pick something up betweenhere and his cell back on the
wing.
I can't be certain, but Iimagine he's on suicide watch,
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and I could be called out later.
How does he feel?
Right now, in my experience, itwouldn't have sunk in properly.
Maybe when the door slams and hesuccumbs to the dark reality,
there is no hope.
This is the moment that the headfuck will kick in as this is the
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start of the rest of his life.
His child will be at least 25 bythe time he sees a chance of
freedom, if ever at all.
The fallout for everyone isincomprehensible.
Kengo later mentioned that he'dbeen talking of an appeal.
Tonight, a boy is dead whilsttwo are found guilty of his
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murder.
And if that's not bad enough,the convicted murderer's partner
has just given birth to theirfirst baby a week ago.
Once again, I have the strangestof feelings born out of prison
life.
It is not that I have anaffinity with the M lads, but
somehow in a short space oftime, they've become a band of
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brothers type of scenario.
Somehow, sometimes it's as if noone has committed any crimes
inside here.
We see a side of each other thatfeels sorry, in a strange and
surreal type of way.
Even I'm guilty of wishing thebest for the guys, forgetting
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for a moment, the gravity oftheir crimes.
Often, dare I say it, the Mlads, more than any other
prisoners, come across as reallynice guys.
How do you explain that topeople in the outside world?
Honestly, as you read or hear mywords, I can feel sorry for men
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such as these.
I accept this can potentially beseen as some misguided prison
loyalty or looking at lifeinside through some broken,
cracked lens.
I'm aware a young man is deadand won't be returning ever and
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I can't imagine the pain andsorrow and void left in his
loved one's lives.
Often when you read the detailsin the Facebook of crime, a.k.a.
The Echo, it can be extremelybrutal and grotesque, as in this
case, but for some reason thatcannot be explained properly
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unless you are here, compassionkicks in at the most unexpected
of times and situations.
So many lives shattered.
One man's over, a prisoner forlife with the M badge, his child
only born a week ago, and here Iam giving out Coco Pops.
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If it wasn't all so serious,then you could be forgiven for
laughing.
Yesterday I became a Listenerafter completing the course.
I await my first outing when thenight officer will switch the
light on and open the door,which I'm expecting as early as
tonight.
I'm going to land in front of awide variety of weird and
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horrible lads.
Plenty will be desperate, someafraid, and struggling in here
out of their depth.
Some will be despicable, andsome just want you to pass on a
message to another prisoner.
We're warned that intimidationcan be an issue, but whatever
the call out, try to be asimpartial as possible.
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Tomorrow will be the morningafter the night before for K and
B and the family of the dead boytoo.
I wonder, will they feel sodifferent?
What I mean is, their lives havechanged profoundly forever.
There is no turning back theclock, and both are living their
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own form of nightmare, but fortotally different reasons.
Up on top bunk I decompress, andafter another mind popping day,
I consider the unavoidabledysfunctionality around me.
I think about mood and mindaltering substances.
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And is prison better or worsefor them?
Would lads be better off sedatedbehind the door if that's what
they choose to deal with thishead fuck of a place and
situation?
Ironically, there would be lesshassle, but more significantly,
it would cost a fraction tomaintain a satisfactory
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equilibrium.
Many are not a threat tosociety, but sadly have become,
as a result of these conditionsand environment, a threat to
themselves.
Walton is not the only prisonsuffering these dreadful
conditions and issues.
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The footage leaked onto socialmedia shows the shocking truth
of how desperate and violent itreally is.
As a result of my incarceration,I've learned regrets, it
appears, are a life issue thatseemingly have a habit of
reoccurring on a regular basis,and something of which to
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varying degrees we all, ashumans, experience.
In prison, we're all faced withtoo much time to think and
sadly, the environment in whichwe experience this is toxic.
There is nobody holding yourhand to guide one through the
impact of regrets.
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It is now Sunday morning and thepen is back on the paper.
The wing is beginning to awaken.
Our alarm clock is the sound ofan officer's keys and chain.
The guard shuffles up and downthe landings, and we sit behind
the door hoping it will beopened.
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Once again, it is not to be.
The wing cleaners are out.
It's one of their perks, andbecause we receive so many in
reception, then wing officersenjoy keeping us in our place.
The lads, let out, run aroundlike children on the school play
yard.
The only thing we are missing isthe bell.
All I'm hoping for is anopportunity to make a love call
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to T.
Even if it's only for a minuteor two, it nourishes me and
reassures her that I've survivedanother night.
It's moments like this that makea person question, should I stay
or should I go?
Surely there must be an easierand more humane way to treat us
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all than this.
Regularly deprived of our mostbasic human needs or human
rights.
I dare not say that out loud.
Ship outs follow quickly withthat type of talk, and attitude.
Sundays are a strange day.
It's the one day when I have tosuccumb to wing life.
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If the over forties gym iscancelled or we're not unlocked
to go, then I'll be behind thedoor for about 22 hours.
Most of the lads in here arebehind the door for about 23
hours every day.
Time is the real enemy in here,and the timekeeper is really the
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time tormentor.