On A Humdrum Town

It won't seem to stop raining. Last week the town centre was flooded
with water three feet deep. The day after all the shops on the square
still had sandbags outside them. There was a kind of seige spirit and
the Murky Mail did a four page feature and picture special with lots of
trousers rolled up.

Nothing dramatic has been happening in the Fish House. All seems rather
too calm for comfort. This could be due to the youngest being away at
my mother's though I can't really see that she is the one who causes
all the drama. What she does best is talk.

Perhaps my own calm demeanour is affecting everyone. The boyfriend
living here seems to be a good influence. I have found myself humming a
lot.

Oldest is off for a course advice interview today. His father organised
this for which I ought to be grateful. His father has taken him in his
car. I went in his father's car last week when he gave me a lift to the
station. He told me his "air con" system was having to be replaced at a
cost of ?2,000 but fortunately was still on warranty. This news made me
want to open a vein as it so encapsulates the great gulf there is and
always was between us. I used to be married to this man. A man who
feels glad his air con is still under warranty. I surprised myself my
speculating that the car couldn't be worth that much. It was such a
habitual response. Affronted he told me it cost ?4K.

When did air con become the norm. I feel strange getting into a boiling
hot car and leaving the windows up and letting cold air blow all over
the place. It doesn't seem right. Summer is for open windows and hair
like a great blowing mop and an elbow out.

When my brother drove lorries he had a permanently brown right arm. I
suppose it's the opposite on the continent.

At the weekend I went to stay with one of my best friends in Sheffield.
We had a gloriously girlie time of it. We lay out on a blanket in her
garden and talked about stuff. If men really knew what women talked
about and in what detail they would be shocked I think. I painted my
fingernails electric blue and we lolled about wobbling our bellies and
laughing.

I have just started my second full week of teaching in the prison. I
had three students last week. One had attention deficit disorder which
was a challenge. Their stories are compelling. Anyone who doesn't
believe in rehabilitation ought to spend some time working with these
guys. They speak candidly about life inside, about atoning for their
crimes, about guilt. They are generous to each other and cynical about
the prison system. They tell how much they have changed and what they
would have been like if they had never been convicted. Without
exception my students feel that their sentences were fair, are the
hardest judges of themselves and are clear about the changes they have
undergone. I feel it is a priviledge to be allowed this insight into
them.

As students they are willing to put their views forward. They discuss
the poems I give them rigorously and with no apparent embarrassment
about their own views. Something I notice a lot from other more
reticent student groups. They are incredibly encouraging of each other
and also insist I do the homeworks too. They give me a hard time when I
don't come up with the goods.

Repeatedly I hear from them that they can trust nobody except their
families.

Now I know a lot about prison life. The politics, the face saving, the
8 x 6 cells, the importance of routines, the sound of keys. I am quite
staggered by how some of these men value education and say that inside
the only freedom they have is inside their heads. They make me think a
lot about liberty and choice.

They also talk a lot about time and how it passes. They speak of years
passing quickly and are looking ahead to when they will be released. I
can't get my head round their notions of another seven years being
something that will pass quickly. I have no idea what it must be like
to live under a Life Licence where the merest transgression will mean
they are whipped back inside.

I am learning the language and the pecking order. What earns respect
and what will not be tolerated. Sex offenders and in particular
paedophiles are reviled.

Passing these hours behind bars with these people is a great learning
experience for me. At 11.15 the "screw" walks along announcing the word
"exercise" and those who want to will be let outside for a quarter of
an hour. I walk out then, I let myself out with my keys and checkout of
the gate. The walls are high and topped with rolls of wire. When the
gate opens for me I always take a grateful breath.