June 22, 2025 • 22 mins
As I settled and focused, there was a young inmate slumped on the floor with a bed sheet noose tied around his neck. He was alive, but he was desperate.
During the three and a half years I was in prison I wrote over a million words by hand. Tales From The Jails is a contemporaneous account of my life, and attempts to thrive rather than merely survive, whilst incarcerated.
Most names have been changed. The events have not.
This is a Jekyll & Pride production.
Producer: Trevessa Newton
Title Music taken from The Confession, on the album Crimes Against Poetry (written and performed by The Shadow Poet, produced by Lance Thomas)
Copyright Jekyll & Pride Ltd 2025
@jekyllandpride2023
@theshadowpoettsp
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
During the three and a halfyears I was in prison, I wrote
(00:03):
over a million words by hand.
Tales from the Jails is acontemporaneous account of my
life, and attempts to thriverather than merely survive
whilst incarcerated.
Most names have been changed,but the events have not.
Episode 39 The Worst Night Of MyLife It's October.
(00:40):
2016.
I'm on top bunk and my new padmate is below.
He's a breath of fresh air tocell 3-17, has a great sense of
humour, laid back, not a numpty.
Never tries to talk it big oract tough.
Working in reception togetherfor the last few weeks has
(01:03):
solidified our relationship.
Macca is clean and really tidyand does not mind getting stuck
in.
More than anything, he wants todo his time as straight as
possible so that he can leave assoon as possible.
Neither of us want hassle or tobe caught up in the prison
(01:24):
bullshit.
We're the same age, althoughvery different, and we both
received seven years and so areserving three and a half in
prison.
He arrived here before Christmasand I a month after.
Big Reeve was the perfectpadmate at the right time and my
instincts tell me so is my newone.
(01:48):
Presently cell 3-17 feels likean oasis in the middle of an
asylum.
And the two inch steel doorsadly protects us as much as it
is designed to imprison us.
I contemplate as I write,observing.
We're all watching, observingeach other in here.
(02:11):
It's unavoidable, such is theenvironment we inhabit.
A personal observation now somenine months in, is wondering how
I'm doing compared to my fellowinmates?
Somehow I'm doing all right.
I do not see many lads managingtheir days and time as well.
(02:32):
Many are struggling to cope.
Life and time stuck on the wingsis tough, and 23 hour bang up
for half the prison is akin toleaving your favourite pet caged
in the back of a small van everyday.
Jobs are limited and courses andeducation are not taken
(02:54):
seriously amongst the generalprison population unless
enforced.
Believe me, binging on realityTV and old episodes of Only
Fools and Horses is not aluxury.
Cells with lads stuck behind thedoor are pressure cookers and
doom pits.
Loads of the lads areemotionally stretched to their
(03:16):
limits, which eventually resultsin a short fuse.
Internal dilemmas affect most ofthe prison population and inner
turmoil manifests in eitheranger and aggression or
depression.
All of us to one degree oranother are managing fears,
anxieties, and grappling withhope and despair.
(03:40):
Few, very few seem happy, morestable.
Compared to most around me, I'mdoing all right.
Day after day, I see guys makinga call to a loved one only to
feel worse afterwards.
I watch men have their spiriteroded as days turn into weeks,
(04:02):
but there are years ahead, nobetter or different than this.
Big characters and notoriouscriminals become shadows of
their former selves as time andhopelessness and powerlessness
consumes a person.
Family, once children, parents,friends, and life as you know
(04:27):
it, all slipping by as you haveto face each day with the
futility of prison.
What happens to anyone whentheir spirit is either broken or
worse, drained to empty?
What or who do you become as aresult?
Some guys connect or reconnectwith their faith, and although
(04:51):
some lads only go to church onSunday to get out of the cell
for an hour, somethingresonates.
But as they say, all the prayersin the world can't help you much
in here, especially if you areexposed or vulnerable or not
handling your prison time well.
It pains me to say it, but mostof the guys in here are bad
(05:14):
actors in a B movie where thescript is either the same lines
over and over or making them upas you go along.
I'm here with a ringside view ofchaos, violence, treachery, head
fucks and depression, allconverging and colliding at any
given time.
(05:35):
Presently, there is chaos andscreaming in the block, and as
such, it is difficult to hearexactly what is going on, but
it's madness and for real.
I was in the middle of writingwhen suddenly we heard the
footsteps of a guard slowingdown as he came closer.
(05:57):
The chain is another distinctivegiveaway.
Then the key in the door, andthen the flap pulled back.
In he came, it was 7.35.
I put down the pen and Maccaswitched off the TV.
Ian Lavender was on The Chase.
(06:18):
I knew the officer, but only bysight, not name.
He is mature.
He was dressed in black and withthe look of a man with serious
news.
Alright lads, nothing to worryabout.
Are you two Listeners?
We are, we told him.
(06:38):
Good.
There's been a major incidentdownstairs in the block.
Follow me.
As we followed him along thelanding, lads were up on their
feet and ears to the doors.
You can hear everything as youwalk by.
The officer stopped at theentrance to the block.
(07:02):
It's a steel security door.
The Penguin, another Listener,was waiting.
We were told there is a deadbody, and asked if we would be
okay with that.
My first thoughts were, is itthe Frenchman who wanted to take
his own life?
(07:23):
Did he somehow end up in theblock?
The wing is an eerie place atnight, but it suddenly takes on
a whole new meaning when on thisside of the door.
It's a big steel and concretetomb at night.
He explained that a young manhad committed suicide.
(07:45):
He'd hung himself and he wasdead on the floor.
It was like stepping into acavern of dungeons, descending
the narrow spiral staircase intothe bowels of an old Victorian
prison.
It wasn't like entering TheCavern where the Beatles used to
play.
No, it was a dungeon.
(08:05):
Dark, flickering emergencylights barely glowing, but worse
was the smell.
It was like a morgue laced withsewer, and it stuck to the back
of your throat like tar.
The spiral staircase was darkand the concrete stone steps
cold and wet and deathly slippy.
(08:30):
Crouched and awkward we shuffleddown each step, years of pain
and sorrow embedded into thestone.
Nothing prepared us for what laybeyond.
Lying on the floor face down andwith a filthy orange prison
blanket thrown over his head andshoulders.
(08:53):
He'd obviously been dragged outof the cell dead and left on the
floor here by officers.
However, we were not here forthe dead occupant.
No.
We were here because the rest ofthe lads in the block were going
crazy.
I've often said that prison andthe wings are a cross between
(09:14):
the zoo and asylum, but this wasnext level stuff.
Cell 3-17 was paradise comparedto this sub world and these
conditions.
The cells were more likedungeons in the 1700s.
It was dark except for theofficer's torch light, each cell
(09:37):
set back.
Honestly, it was like being in azombie movie, and behind each
door was an inmate in distressof one kind or another.
The officer said that ladsneeded to be calmed down for
their own safety and that theywere not being cooperative with
the officers.
(09:57):
He warned us of not getting tooclose to the door, especially if
the glass had been smashed out.
We could be spat at, swilledwith filth or blood.
Then he flashed the torchtowards particular cells.
It was terrifying, but we had ajob to do.
Some of the lads were shoutingout that the kid had warned
(10:18):
them.
He told them he was suicidal.
And they did nothing.
They're to blame.
I approached the cell two upfrom where the kid lay dead.
The glass was out.
The officer appeared like adementor and whispered to me, be
careful.
(10:39):
As I stepped forward and peeredthrough the slit in the door, my
eyes adjusting to the darkness,I tried to work out what was
inside.
Where was the inmate?
Was he suddenly going to appearout of the darkness and attack
me?
No.
As I settled and focused, therewas a young inmate sat slumped
(11:04):
on the floor with a bed sheetnoose tied around his neck.
He was alive, but he wasdesperate.
There was enough light to noticehe'd been self-harming and cuts
from a blade were fresh andstill bleeding.
It was a harrowing sight andtook my breath away.
(11:27):
I asked whether we could go in,but there was no way, not
without more staff.
Then he left me to get on withit.
I was staring at a dead inmateon the floor and another behind
me in a dungeon, dripping inblood, and halfway to hanging
himself.
(11:48):
It's strange.
I could not help but go intoparent mode.
This poor kid, whoever he was,doesn't deserve to die like
this.
It was so sad and lonely andinhumane, as much as degrading.
(12:10):
What a sorrowful, pitiful endingto a person's life down here.
I introduced myself and wentfrom there.
Slowly I asked him normal thingsand waited patiently for any
response.
He mumbled a few things and Iasked him would it be possible
to make it to the door.
(12:32):
I asked him whether he had afamily, did they know he was
here?
I explained that the officercould not let me in, and if he'd
got the strength to try and makeit to the door and tell me
what's going on and would helike me to pass a message onto
his parents?
(12:53):
Slowly the kid started to move.
I watched him remove the noosefrom around his neck and then
suddenly appear out of thedarkness, almost nose to nose
with me.
In less than 10 minutes, theyoung man from Manchester
explained that he'd been inpsychiatric care.
(13:14):
They took him off his meds andhe was restrained by staff.
Then he was shipped out fromthere into the block in Walton.
He hadn't spoken to his motherin six months.
It was clear that he was acasualty of a broken system, and
he was lost in this system.
I felt helpless.
(13:38):
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to wrap my arms aroundhim like a father, and say,
everything's going to be allright, son.
Here was a kid, 22, who quiteclearly needed psychological
help and medication, notdevoured by the worst of the
state.
(14:00):
I felt like I was the onlyperson who cared in the world
and could help, but I washelpless.
It was the most insaneexperience I've ever endured.
Wanting to help, desperate tohelp, but utterly helpless.
(14:22):
What would become of this kid?
Would he make it through thenight, but worse, what had he
got to live for?
He was in the worst, mostdesperate place and position I
have ever experienced in mylife.
I felt ashamed having to leavehim, but the officer insisted.
(14:43):
There was another inmate, andthis one was wilder.
Again, the glass was smashed,and it was face into the
darkness and hope.
It was like Jack Nicholson inThe Shining as he squeezed his
face against the slit in thedoor.
A flashback to, Here's Johnny...
(15:06):
Manic, jabbering a Scouser.
And then I recognized him.
His voice.
Is that you David?
It was.
He'd been on the nets a fewweeks back.
The place was in lockdownbecause of him.
And now he was a distortedfigure of a guy who used to
(15:28):
bounce around on the wing largerthan life.
He was gone.
Whether it was Spice, he waspsychotic, or just a plain
psycho, he'd crossed to madness.
His cell was bleak and dark andwet.
Flooded in fact.
He went on about the dead ladand then started dancing like an
(15:50):
Indian warrior.
David was fucked and I feared hemight not make it back either.
He's not handling his prisonwell and his 12 year sentence
has flipped him over the edge.
That and Spice.
A person loses all sense of timeand existence down here.
(16:15):
How the Governor is overseeingthis is a scandal.
Everyone down here tonight is,to varying degrees, traumatized
by the whole situation.
Through the manic jabbering,David was clear about what
happened with the kid.
(16:35):
It wasn't the case David neededa Listener, no, more he needed
somebody normal to speak to.
My pad mate appeared on his wayto next door.
He looked shocked and somber.
I wondered if he felt the sameas me, like I was having a head
fuck on acid.
(16:58):
We are not watching a nightmare,we're in it.
Tonight I saw men in worseconditions than in Aleppo, worse
than how hostages or prisonersof war are treated.
How do officers go home andbelieve any of this is normal or
right?
How can there be jobsatisfaction?
(17:20):
I can honestly say that we threeListeners cared more about the
desperate plight of the lads inthe block than any member of
staff.
It's worse than inhumane.
It's criminal.
We were silent as we returnedupstairs to the wing, but the
wing heard us returning and ladsalready knew someone was dead.
(17:46):
It's the worst case scenario.
Witnessing the trauma downstairsand then bombarded with
questions from the lads.
By the time we reached our cell,the wing and prison was in
pandemonium.
Macca and I just wanted todecompress, drink coffee, and
(18:09):
share a packet of chocolatedigestives.
It really is difficult to putinto words what we witnessed and
experienced.
Smurf was itching to know whatwent on.
Other lads shouting over fordetails.
Tonight, we saw how the worst ofthe prison and justice system
(18:33):
are really treating people.
Those lads are abandoned onevery level.
Lost in a system that does notcare.
Living in squalor.
It's horrendous, on an epiclevel.
(18:56):
It's the day after the nightbefore.
Neither of us slept well and theblock was howling crazy until
three in the morning.
I haven't stopped thinking aboutthe kid.
Did you make it through thenight or did you return to the
noose and end the pain anddesperation?
The worst part of thesesituations is we never get to
(19:18):
find out if these guys survive.
Mr.
P was coy about the Frenchman.
All I know is he's still aliveand on the hospital wing, but
the caring Mr.
P only lasted as long as it tookto process the big guy.
24 hours after the caringgranddad it was, he's a crier,
(19:42):
not suicidal.
If he'd really wanted to do it,he'd have done it.
Criers.
You see loads of them in here.
I think this morning we werestill numb.
We knew there would be lots ofquestions and loads of attention
(20:04):
once the door opened, but I leftthat to Macca as I disappeared
to the morning love call,although that sounds surreal,
more like love mixed withrecovering from the events and
emotions of the night before.
I told T what I could.
(20:25):
We were on the prison phone, butI told her I felt helpless,
truly helpless, unable to helpin what was the worst event I've
ever witnessed.
I've experienced many traumaticmoments in life, but nothing
comes close to this.
The best I could do was to becalm and practical.
(20:49):
T said, that's what makes thedifference in a crisis.
As the day went on, I reflectedmore than I worked.
The Frenchmen, the guys in theblock, one dead and hundreds of
other inmates in here, mentallyand emotionally struggling to
(21:10):
the point between desperationand despair.
Men in pain, feeling isolatedand helpless.
Self-harming and suicidal enmasse, and no one is saying or
doing anything about it.
(21:30):
Tea time around the table waspredictable.
The wretched creatures werescoffing at the events and said
that the dead lad was weak.
Toenails asked me whether I wasscared down there.
I told him, scared, it'smedieval down there.
It's no badge of honour, becausethey're either suicidal,
(21:54):
psychotic, or insane.
One kid dead, another with anoose around his neck.
And David unrecognizable fromthe lad bouncing around on the
wing three weeks ago.
Scared does not come close towhat we experienced last night.
Terrifying and brutally sadwould be a more honest
(22:17):
description.
During the three and a halfyears I was in prison, I wrote
(00:03):
over a million words by hand.
Tales from the Jails is acontemporaneous account of my
life, and attempts to thriverather than merely survive
whilst incarcerated.
Most names have been changed,but the events have not.
Episode 39 The Worst Night Of MyLife It's October.
(00:40):
2016.
I'm on top bunk and my new padmate is below.
He's a breath of fresh air tocell 3-17, has a great sense of
humour, laid back, not a numpty.
Never tries to talk it big oract tough.
Working in reception togetherfor the last few weeks has
(01:03):
solidified our relationship.
Macca is clean and really tidyand does not mind getting stuck
in.
More than anything, he wants todo his time as straight as
possible so that he can leave assoon as possible.
Neither of us want hassle or tobe caught up in the prison
(01:24):
bullshit.
We're the same age, althoughvery different, and we both
received seven years and so areserving three and a half in
prison.
He arrived here before Christmasand I a month after.
Big Reeve was the perfectpadmate at the right time and my
instincts tell me so is my newone.
(01:48):
Presently cell 3-17 feels likean oasis in the middle of an
asylum.
And the two inch steel doorsadly protects us as much as it
is designed to imprison us.
I contemplate as I write,observing.
We're all watching, observingeach other in here.
(02:11):
It's unavoidable, such is theenvironment we inhabit.
A personal observation now somenine months in, is wondering how
I'm doing compared to my fellowinmates?
Somehow I'm doing all right.
I do not see many lads managingtheir days and time as well.
(02:32):
Many are struggling to cope.
Life and time stuck on the wingsis tough, and 23 hour bang up
for half the prison is akin toleaving your favourite pet caged
in the back of a small van everyday.
Jobs are limited and courses andeducation are not taken
(02:54):
seriously amongst the generalprison population unless
enforced.
Believe me, binging on realityTV and old episodes of Only
Fools and Horses is not aluxury.
Cells with lads stuck behind thedoor are pressure cookers and
doom pits.
Loads of the lads areemotionally stretched to their
(03:16):
limits, which eventually resultsin a short fuse.
Internal dilemmas affect most ofthe prison population and inner
turmoil manifests in eitheranger and aggression or
depression.
All of us to one degree oranother are managing fears,
anxieties, and grappling withhope and despair.
(03:40):
Few, very few seem happy, morestable.
Compared to most around me, I'mdoing all right.
Day after day, I see guys makinga call to a loved one only to
feel worse afterwards.
I watch men have their spiriteroded as days turn into weeks,
(04:02):
but there are years ahead, nobetter or different than this.
Big characters and notoriouscriminals become shadows of
their former selves as time andhopelessness and powerlessness
consumes a person.
Family, once children, parents,friends, and life as you know
(04:27):
it, all slipping by as you haveto face each day with the
futility of prison.
What happens to anyone whentheir spirit is either broken or
worse, drained to empty?
What or who do you become as aresult?
Some guys connect or reconnectwith their faith, and although
(04:51):
some lads only go to church onSunday to get out of the cell
for an hour, somethingresonates.
But as they say, all the prayersin the world can't help you much
in here, especially if you areexposed or vulnerable or not
handling your prison time well.
It pains me to say it, but mostof the guys in here are bad
(05:14):
actors in a B movie where thescript is either the same lines
over and over or making them upas you go along.
I'm here with a ringside view ofchaos, violence, treachery, head
fucks and depression, allconverging and colliding at any
given time.
(05:35):
Presently, there is chaos andscreaming in the block, and as
such, it is difficult to hearexactly what is going on, but
it's madness and for real.
I was in the middle of writingwhen suddenly we heard the
footsteps of a guard slowingdown as he came closer.
(05:57):
The chain is another distinctivegiveaway.
Then the key in the door, andthen the flap pulled back.
In he came, it was 7.35.
I put down the pen and Maccaswitched off the TV.
Ian Lavender was on The Chase.
(06:18):
I knew the officer, but only bysight, not name.
He is mature.
He was dressed in black and withthe look of a man with serious
news.
Alright lads, nothing to worryabout.
Are you two Listeners?
We are, we told him.
(06:38):
Good.
There's been a major incidentdownstairs in the block.
Follow me.
As we followed him along thelanding, lads were up on their
feet and ears to the doors.
You can hear everything as youwalk by.
The officer stopped at theentrance to the block.
(07:02):
It's a steel security door.
The Penguin, another Listener,was waiting.
We were told there is a deadbody, and asked if we would be
okay with that.
My first thoughts were, is itthe Frenchman who wanted to take
his own life?
(07:23):
Did he somehow end up in theblock?
The wing is an eerie place atnight, but it suddenly takes on
a whole new meaning when on thisside of the door.
It's a big steel and concretetomb at night.
He explained that a young manhad committed suicide.
(07:45):
He'd hung himself and he wasdead on the floor.
It was like stepping into acavern of dungeons, descending
the narrow spiral staircase intothe bowels of an old Victorian
prison.
It wasn't like entering TheCavern where the Beatles used to
play.
No, it was a dungeon.
(08:05):
Dark, flickering emergencylights barely glowing, but worse
was the smell.
It was like a morgue laced withsewer, and it stuck to the back
of your throat like tar.
The spiral staircase was darkand the concrete stone steps
cold and wet and deathly slippy.
(08:30):
Crouched and awkward we shuffleddown each step, years of pain
and sorrow embedded into thestone.
Nothing prepared us for what laybeyond.
Lying on the floor face down andwith a filthy orange prison
blanket thrown over his head andshoulders.
(08:53):
He'd obviously been dragged outof the cell dead and left on the
floor here by officers.
However, we were not here forthe dead occupant.
No.
We were here because the rest ofthe lads in the block were going
crazy.
I've often said that prison andthe wings are a cross between
(09:14):
the zoo and asylum, but this wasnext level stuff.
Cell 3-17 was paradise comparedto this sub world and these
conditions.
The cells were more likedungeons in the 1700s.
It was dark except for theofficer's torch light, each cell
(09:37):
set back.
Honestly, it was like being in azombie movie, and behind each
door was an inmate in distressof one kind or another.
The officer said that ladsneeded to be calmed down for
their own safety and that theywere not being cooperative with
the officers.
(09:57):
He warned us of not getting tooclose to the door, especially if
the glass had been smashed out.
We could be spat at, swilledwith filth or blood.
Then he flashed the torchtowards particular cells.
It was terrifying, but we had ajob to do.
Some of the lads were shoutingout that the kid had warned
(10:18):
them.
He told them he was suicidal.
And they did nothing.
They're to blame.
I approached the cell two upfrom where the kid lay dead.
The glass was out.
The officer appeared like adementor and whispered to me, be
careful.
(10:39):
As I stepped forward and peeredthrough the slit in the door, my
eyes adjusting to the darkness,I tried to work out what was
inside.
Where was the inmate?
Was he suddenly going to appearout of the darkness and attack
me?
No.
As I settled and focused, therewas a young inmate sat slumped
(11:04):
on the floor with a bed sheetnoose tied around his neck.
He was alive, but he wasdesperate.
There was enough light to noticehe'd been self-harming and cuts
from a blade were fresh andstill bleeding.
It was a harrowing sight andtook my breath away.
(11:27):
I asked whether we could go in,but there was no way, not
without more staff.
Then he left me to get on withit.
I was staring at a dead inmateon the floor and another behind
me in a dungeon, dripping inblood, and halfway to hanging
himself.
(11:48):
It's strange.
I could not help but go intoparent mode.
This poor kid, whoever he was,doesn't deserve to die like
this.
It was so sad and lonely andinhumane, as much as degrading.
(12:10):
What a sorrowful, pitiful endingto a person's life down here.
I introduced myself and wentfrom there.
Slowly I asked him normal thingsand waited patiently for any
response.
He mumbled a few things and Iasked him would it be possible
to make it to the door.
(12:32):
I asked him whether he had afamily, did they know he was
here?
I explained that the officercould not let me in, and if he'd
got the strength to try and makeit to the door and tell me
what's going on and would helike me to pass a message onto
his parents?
(12:53):
Slowly the kid started to move.
I watched him remove the noosefrom around his neck and then
suddenly appear out of thedarkness, almost nose to nose
with me.
In less than 10 minutes, theyoung man from Manchester
explained that he'd been inpsychiatric care.
(13:14):
They took him off his meds andhe was restrained by staff.
Then he was shipped out fromthere into the block in Walton.
He hadn't spoken to his motherin six months.
It was clear that he was acasualty of a broken system, and
he was lost in this system.
I felt helpless.
(13:38):
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to wrap my arms aroundhim like a father, and say,
everything's going to be allright, son.
Here was a kid, 22, who quiteclearly needed psychological
help and medication, notdevoured by the worst of the
state.
(14:00):
I felt like I was the onlyperson who cared in the world
and could help, but I washelpless.
It was the most insaneexperience I've ever endured.
Wanting to help, desperate tohelp, but utterly helpless.
(14:22):
What would become of this kid?
Would he make it through thenight, but worse, what had he
got to live for?
He was in the worst, mostdesperate place and position I
have ever experienced in mylife.
I felt ashamed having to leavehim, but the officer insisted.
(14:43):
There was another inmate, andthis one was wilder.
Again, the glass was smashed,and it was face into the
darkness and hope.
It was like Jack Nicholson inThe Shining as he squeezed his
face against the slit in thedoor.
A flashback to, Here's Johnny...
(15:06):
Manic, jabbering a Scouser.
And then I recognized him.
His voice.
Is that you David?
It was.
He'd been on the nets a fewweeks back.
The place was in lockdownbecause of him.
And now he was a distortedfigure of a guy who used to
(15:28):
bounce around on the wing largerthan life.
He was gone.
Whether it was Spice, he waspsychotic, or just a plain
psycho, he'd crossed to madness.
His cell was bleak and dark andwet.
Flooded in fact.
He went on about the dead ladand then started dancing like an
(15:50):
Indian warrior.
David was fucked and I feared hemight not make it back either.
He's not handling his prisonwell and his 12 year sentence
has flipped him over the edge.
That and Spice.
A person loses all sense of timeand existence down here.
(16:15):
How the Governor is overseeingthis is a scandal.
Everyone down here tonight is,to varying degrees, traumatized
by the whole situation.
Through the manic jabbering,David was clear about what
happened with the kid.
(16:35):
It wasn't the case David neededa Listener, no, more he needed
somebody normal to speak to.
My pad mate appeared on his wayto next door.
He looked shocked and somber.
I wondered if he felt the sameas me, like I was having a head
fuck on acid.
(16:58):
We are not watching a nightmare,we're in it.
Tonight I saw men in worseconditions than in Aleppo, worse
than how hostages or prisonersof war are treated.
How do officers go home andbelieve any of this is normal or
right?
How can there be jobsatisfaction?
(17:20):
I can honestly say that we threeListeners cared more about the
desperate plight of the lads inthe block than any member of
staff.
It's worse than inhumane.
It's criminal.
We were silent as we returnedupstairs to the wing, but the
wing heard us returning and ladsalready knew someone was dead.
(17:46):
It's the worst case scenario.
Witnessing the trauma downstairsand then bombarded with
questions from the lads.
By the time we reached our cell,the wing and prison was in
pandemonium.
Macca and I just wanted todecompress, drink coffee, and
(18:09):
share a packet of chocolatedigestives.
It really is difficult to putinto words what we witnessed and
experienced.
Smurf was itching to know whatwent on.
Other lads shouting over fordetails.
Tonight, we saw how the worst ofthe prison and justice system
(18:33):
are really treating people.
Those lads are abandoned onevery level.
Lost in a system that does notcare.
Living in squalor.
It's horrendous, on an epiclevel.
(18:56):
It's the day after the nightbefore.
Neither of us slept well and theblock was howling crazy until
three in the morning.
I haven't stopped thinking aboutthe kid.
Did you make it through thenight or did you return to the
noose and end the pain anddesperation?
The worst part of thesesituations is we never get to
(19:18):
find out if these guys survive.
Mr.
P was coy about the Frenchman.
All I know is he's still aliveand on the hospital wing, but
the caring Mr.
P only lasted as long as it tookto process the big guy.
24 hours after the caringgranddad it was, he's a crier,
(19:42):
not suicidal.
If he'd really wanted to do it,he'd have done it.
Criers.
You see loads of them in here.
I think this morning we werestill numb.
We knew there would be lots ofquestions and loads of attention
(20:04):
once the door opened, but I leftthat to Macca as I disappeared
to the morning love call,although that sounds surreal,
more like love mixed withrecovering from the events and
emotions of the night before.
I told T what I could.
(20:25):
We were on the prison phone, butI told her I felt helpless,
truly helpless, unable to helpin what was the worst event I've
ever witnessed.
I've experienced many traumaticmoments in life, but nothing
comes close to this.
The best I could do was to becalm and practical.
(20:49):
T said, that's what makes thedifference in a crisis.
As the day went on, I reflectedmore than I worked.
The Frenchmen, the guys in theblock, one dead and hundreds of
other inmates in here, mentallyand emotionally struggling to
(21:10):
the point between desperationand despair.
Men in pain, feeling isolatedand helpless.
Self-harming and suicidal enmasse, and no one is saying or
doing anything about it.
(21:30):
Tea time around the table waspredictable.
The wretched creatures werescoffing at the events and said
that the dead lad was weak.
Toenails asked me whether I wasscared down there.
I told him, scared, it'smedieval down there.
It's no badge of honour, becausethey're either suicidal,
(21:54):
psychotic, or insane.
One kid dead, another with anoose around his neck.
And David unrecognizable fromthe lad bouncing around on the
wing three weeks ago.
Scared does not come close towhat we experienced last night.
Terrifying and brutally sadwould be a more honest
(22:17):
description.
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