Winamop.com Thinking on the internet

Originally it was a Children’s Home, back before the Coup, and some of the more imaginative residents claimed to have been woken up by the cries of weeping children in the early hours of the morning, but then some of them were barely out of adolescence themselves so perhaps the cries were real.

Induction

I had heard of Bunbury Bank of course, most inmates had, although most of them referred to it by its grosser nickname. It had something of a fearsome reputation, and back in Walton, the other prisoners said it was the place to avoid. But at least, I would be freer than I had been and I wasn’t lying dead in a corner somewhere. And I have noticed in life that it is best to ignore gossip and rumours, especially from the young and silly.

In the old days apparently you got a police escort to the front door or even to your room, but nowadays they give you a train ticket and handwritten instructions and expect you to make your own way and get there by the time your curfew starts, even if the Approved Premises is on the other side of the country. And that is after you have had to queue up for ages to get your meds.

One bloke I heard about only discovered he was being released at four that afternoon, due to a mix-up by the prison or his probation officer (both were adamant it was the other). He had four hours to get from Walthamstow to the outskirts of Manchester; incredibly he was only an hour late, but still found himself being sent back to prison for missing his curfew.

“It’s crap here; the food is worse than in the Quadrangle, there’s nowhere to go and one of the toilets is locked up so there is always a queue if you need a piss.”

I knew Orange from way back; our paths would cross again and again, although we had little in common, but it was good to see a familiar face.

“What are the staff like?” I asked him.

“Ptsss” he said, whatever that meant, and wandered off. He looked in better condition than when I saw him last, a little plumper and less smelly, but there was a weariness about him, as if he were bored of going from institution to institution.

“I am Angela, and I am going to do your induction.” She was a blonde-haired young woman with a smile but her blue eyes looked sad. She was wearing a loose top, which revealed a good part of her breasts and the top of her bra when she bent down. And there was an air of untidiness about her; her hair barely brushed and make-up, hastily applied.

She took me into a cold office and read a whole lot of rules and regulations.

“You can leave the Premises”, she told me, “but I wouldn’t recommend it, the locals can be nasty and a few weird things have happened. Even if you go over to the shop, I wouldn’t go on your own. Anyway everything is here, you don’t need to leave.”

She smelt a little of sweat, not over-poweringly so, quite erotic particularly with her pale bosom so close to me. I had missed women whilst I was away and even someone far less attractive than Angela would have attracted me. I crossed my legs, put my hands in my lap and tried to concentrate on what she was telling me.

Another member of staff came in, without knocking.

“Have you seen Sam?” she asked ignoring me.

“No, I haven’t seen him for a week or two; I thought he was on leave,” I was looking at Angela as she spoke and noticed that she flushed and gripped her arm tightly with her other hand.

The other officer; young but stern looking, sighed, “where has he gone? He is supposed to be here,” and she stormed out, without having acknowledged me once. As if I wasn’t there.

“That’s Lisa, she’s your keyworker. Now let’s get these forms signed. Unfortunately you missed lunch, but we might be able to find you some jam and toast.”

Residents’ Meeting

“I am Mike, and I am manager here; welcome to anyone new…we have these meetings once a week, just to let you know what’s happening, and any complaints that we might have….now noise….”

“Who’s the prat in the blue shirt?” I whispered to the guy sitting next to me.

He sniggered, “that’s Wazzer, he’s the Resident Rep., they get to wear the shirt, and have more food at teatime, only an idiot would think it worth it….”

“Could you stop talking” interrupted Mike; “see me both afterwards….now let’s talk about activities.”

I looked at my fellow inmates as they sat looking listlessly at anywhere but Mike; some looked the type you would expect; spotty with tracksuits, the minor drug dealer uniform. But there were a couple of respectable looking older men, and I wondered what they were in for, if anything. Lisa was sitting next to Mike, looking bored, she gave me a glance so I winked, which she answered with a glare, and turned away to concentrate on what Mike was saying.

Manager’s Office

“You have only just arrived; it is best not to get on my bad side.”

Mike was a tall man, with a beard and a grubby jumper. I glared at him; I did not want to get in trouble, but likewise I had no intention of being kicked around by anyone; neither staff nor fellow residents, not even by the manager, who clearly thought a great deal of himself. There was a silence, until the door suddenly opened and a young woman came in.

“Oh sorry, I was going to clean your office.”

“Come back later, Helen” Mike said without looking at her, “I am busy.”

She gave me a grin and fled.

“Is that all?” I asked wearily, “I have an art session to go to, apparently.”

“You will go when I tell you, you can.”

I shrugged, and stared at his shoes (black and unpolished).

“I don’t think you are going to last” he told me eventually, and I took that as a dismissal, and after I giving him a long stare, which he ignored, I left

Helen the cleaner, was stood outside the office when I left and our eyes met, but as there were other people about we did not say anything. She was wearing a grey uniform, which looked cheap and uncomfortable, but she seemed cheerful nonetheless.

“Come on, you’ve got art class” Angela told me, as she came up behind me, “it is in the dining room,” and she gave me a light push in the right direction. I noticed she was more professionally dressed today, which was a pity.

And she hurried off, whilst I sauntered down to the dining room, to do some art.

Art

There was a young man wearing a long white shirt and green yoga pants, standing at the front, whilst a dozen men (about half of the intake) were sat at the dining room tables with paper and crayons.

“Sorry” I muttered as I walked in; “had to see the manager.”

He shrugged; “go and get some paper and draw me something interesting; if it is any good we can put it up in the Television Lounge.”

I used to be good at art when I was at school; I had even thought of going to art college; but when they were all closed I lost interest in doing it professionally, and anyway I had too much going on, but when I got the chance of a piece of paper and a pencil I would still draw. And I set to work, oblivious of everyone around me.

“What’s this?”

“A landscape; Sheffield where I used to live” I told him, looking at my picture, “it’s what came into my head.”

“I was expecting nudity, or violence.”

I shrugged, “well I am glad that I surprised you.”

“It isn’t bad, a bit grim and I think you rushed it, but I will put it up on the Lounge wall.”

“I don’t think so” I told him, and picked it up and took it to my room, where I pinned it to my noticeboard. A couple of days later it had disappeared and I wondered which member of staff had pinched it and why.

Lisa

She looked at me with something like contempt throughout our meeting.

“Not the best of starts” she says; “called to see the manager, due to a lack of respect. You’re here for your own good you know. I just hope that your drug test was negative.”

Her accent is Yorkshire like mine, which should give us a bond but doesn’t seem to have, and she is beautiful, long black hair which I imagine she washes at least twice a day, I can smell the shampoo along with her perfume.

“Do you enjoy this job?” I ask, and for the first time she smiles, if only for a moment.

“It has its moments.”

I wait for her to continue, but that’s it, as if she cannot give anything of herself away, and after a moment she starts to ask me how I am getting on and what are my plans for the future.

“What future?” I ask.

“We all have a future; it might not be what you intend, but just persevere. I started with very little; brought up by my mum on a council estate in Leeds, but…anyway.”

I wanted to hold her, if only for a minute, but there were cameras everywhere so I contented myself with holding the door open for her at the end of the meeting, and giving her the slightest of bows, and she walked past me, like a queen.

Water

Helen is already hard at work before I am awake. Mopping upstairs and then down, leaving the odd splash of water on the floor, which soon evaporates. The whole place smells of disinfectant, like a hospital or a school. Then she does the offices; mopping, spraying and emptying bins. She does it quietly, not wanting to draw attention to herself. But when anybody does say anything to her, she smiles and answers politely; to staff and residents alike.

I saw her come out of the toilet once, with a spray and cloths in her hand, there was a smell of disinfectant, but underneath something more earthly and vile. She looked pale and I felt sorry for her.

“How can you do that?” I asked.

“What choice do I have?” And then she shrugged and walked away, the only time that I saw her fed-up, and I hoped desperately she wouldn’t give in, but would carry on, she was one of the few bright spots of the day.

Some residents got cross about the mess in the building; shouting at the would-be culprits or at the staff, but never at Helen, perhaps they realised that deep down she was one of them, was on their side, not part of the authority. Even the usually bolshie Orange treated her with respect.

One of the toilets had been closed for almost a month, leaving only two between twenty men.

“I don’t know how long” she told them, “I was told that it will be fixed soon, that’s all.”

“That’s a very strange smell though.”

She laughed, “isn’t it, hopefully they will come today.”

“They are always promising to get things fixed” said Orange, “and they have two of their own, so they don’t care”.

“I will speak to staff” the ever helpful Wazzer told him, “don’t worry, I will get it sorted.”

“Oh fuck off you creep.”

Helen had a cupboard, and often there was a faint smell of tobacco coming from it, particularly in afternoon a little before she was due to go home. Once I gave the door a push and it opened; the room was empty, so I snuck in and left a couple of cigarettes on the chair. It was the least that I could do for all that she had to put up with.

Sam’s Wife

Whilst I was waiting to sign on at midday, I heard them talking in the office.

“Sam’s wife rang again; she thinks he is having an affair with Angela.”

There was laughter, “he needs to be careful, if he doesn’t come back soon, he will be sacked, I am surprised Mike hasn’t done it already.”

“We are so short staffed I doubt he would sack him unless he really has to.”

“But he is taking the piss.”

“He always does.”

“Where on earth is he though? Could he really be with Angela?”

“They were always close. Do you think?”

“I doubt she could keep it a secret, and anyway she has got a boyfriend, or so she says.”

“Well he has to be somewhere…she did sound quite bossy, I am not surprised that he has decided to have a break…”

“He is a good looking man…well compared to what else is on offer. I would, if he asked nicely.”

And then they saw me and Lisa came over, “why are you eavesdropping?”

“I am not, I am waiting to sign.”

“You have still got five minutes until twelve, go and sit in the lounge or have a smoke outside. You really need to learn to mind your own business.”

Recall

It was late, about one or two in the morning, and I was trying to sleep between the eleven pm check and the one at three in the morning, when there was a loud banging, and half asleep and less than half naked I opened the door. There was a tall dark man from the night staff.

“Go back to bed” he told me, “they have not come for you.”

Behind him I could see four police, all with guns at their sides and black helmets covering their faces. They continued to bang at door number 17 farther down the corridor. Then there was a very loud crash and shouts of “get down and put your hands in front of you”, and then the sound of some of groans as someone was picked up and dragged down the corridor.

Number seventeen was Ash’s room; he had arrived two days ago, a long haired lad with a Cumbrian accent. He had seemed harmless enough, his spotty face suggesting he had not yet left puberty far behind him, if at all. God knows what he had done to be recalled back to prison; late for his sign in, a positive drug test, or just looking at a member of staff in the wrong way.

After awhile I ventured out to use the toilet, and walked past Room 17, the door was still on its hinges, but the lock was broken. I pushed the door open and there was Orange looking guilty.

“I lent him my fire stick, just getting it back” he told me unconvincingly.

“What did they get him for?”

“God knows, they come more and more nowadays, and no messing either; in and out, don’t even let you pack a bag, like they used to. Straight in a van with dogs.”

He wandered off to the toilet, but then I heard him shout, “still fucking out of order; this place is crap….and it stinks. I can’t stand it.”

Booze

I was standing outside smoking; Helen was nearby emptying one of the bins, she gave me a look and I saw Orange staggering up the drive with two carrier bags.

“Have you been to the shop?”

He nodded, I haven’t had a drink for weeks; even in prison you could get hooch. I know it is risky…but I am desperate.”

“I wouldn’t go in yet” I told him, “they’ll smell the drink on you.”

“Nah I am fine; and there’s chocolate in these bags and bread, I had my drink whilst I was out.”

I watched them search his bag after he walked in and him engage with Angela, happy and loud. It was true that there was nothing illicit in his bag, and he gave the staff a Wispa each, but he was too loud and boisterous, not like the usual sullen Orange.

“Can we breath test you?” asked Lisa.

“You are all right” Gary said with a laugh and skipped past them, before spending the rest of the day in his room.”

Musical Appreciation

We sat around in the television room whilst Steve played us some of his favourite music.

“This is from Dark Side of the Moon, their best album.”

“Why is it always your choice?” asked one of the lads, whose name I didn’t know, “and it is crap. You should let us choose something.”

“What about a bit of Tupac?”

Steve laughed, “we are not having any of that rubbish. Just listen and learn, this is proper music.”

Scran muttered something from the back; “that Roger Waters is a racist; he hates Jews, I shouldn’t have to listen to him.”

Steve glared at him; “shut up and listen.”

Scran was sat next to me, and he muttered as the plodding, awful music continued, “God he has been doing this since I first came here ten years ago; the same music, the same chat.”

“How many times have you been here?”

“This is my seventh; I usually do my time but then they catch me on something else, and back I come. It isn’t so bad I suppose; at least you get fed and somebody to talk to.”

The music came to an end, and then Steve found something else for us to listen to.

“You will like this one” he told us unconvincingly, and he put on Another Brick in the Wall, and I remembered being at school in Sheffield, and one of my classmates, a cocky lad called Ralph turning up late, and walking down the corridor, singing “We don’t need no education, we don’t need no thought control” whilst the rest of us got on with our lessons; and for a moment I forgot where I was and laughed out loud.

Orange

They came for Orange that night; he must have got some booze in later on, as that evening he was very loud, banging on doors and windows. When a member of the night staff tried to calm him down he pushed him in the tummy, hard, getting a punch in the face in return.

He then banged on my door, but I ignored him; I wanted to tell him to calm down and just hide away, but I knew that if I got involved there was a chance that I would be taken too, and I had too much at stake. I put on my headphones and listened to something loud and angry and waited for the staff to deal with the situation.

Later I heard him banging on the locked toilet, shouting, “there’s someone in here.” Apparently he eventually fell asleep in the laundry where the police found him lying on some damp towels, snoring away. He was asleep as they carried him out, so presumably would wake up in prison with a headache and a few extra bruises.

At breakfast I spoke with Scran.

“Orange is an idiot, but he knows the system, he will be all right.”

“Shame he had to go.”

“Yeah, the staff complain how busy they are, but any excuse they call the police to have someone taken away…God this muesli is awful; like rabbit food, not even any raisins.”

“I stick to toast, although you sometimes have to scrape the mould off the bread.”

“At least they are fixing the toilet today” he told me, “Angela told me, someone is coming out.”

“Yeah I told them, they had to get it fixed, and they did” Wazzer told us.

“Oh fuck off” Scran told him.

And then we saw a van pull up in the carpark.

“That will be them, watch they will sit there for about an hour and then come in, look at the job and say they can’t do it because they don’t have the right equipment. Always happens. They should let us do it, for a deduction in rent; it is isn’t difficult to fix a toilet.”

But Scran was wrong this time. We were sitting in musical appreciation (“this one of Roger’s solo tracks, I think you will like it”), when Scran came running down.

“The toilet, it was filled with shit; everywhere. That bloody Wazzer it was, bound to be. Shit on the floor and on the walls.”

We all ran upstairs, and the smell hit us; overpoweringly awful. A couple of the men vomited in the corridor.

“Get back downstairs” shouted Mike, “and where’s the cleaner? Has anybody seen her? How the hell did this happen?”

I walked downstairs, and then I saw Helen peeping out of her cupboard and she pulled me in, and locked the door….

Freedom

That night I lay in Helen’s arms, for the first time in a long time.

“I have missed you; seeing you but not being able to hold you.”

I smiled at her.

“Did you know about the mess in the toilet?”

“Oh yes, I came across it the first day, and just locked the door and put it as out of order; I will do a lot for you, but I won’t do that.”

I laughed.

“Don’t blame you, but you were a very good cleaner.”

“I am good at a lot of things” she told me, and rolled on top of me.

She was also good at forgery or more likely knew somebody that was, because within twenty four hours we were in the departure lounge of Heathrow airport with false passports and identity cards. We were sat apart just in case, but I could see her, staring out of the main window, looking at the aeroplanes coming in and taking off, like me hoping that nothing would go wrong, and that we could escape this benighted country.

It had been easy to get out, with so much confusion going on. After Helen released me from the cleaning cupboard I had sauntered out and stood in the grounds having a smoke whilst carefully watching my surroundings. The staff seemed to be chatting amongst themselves, probably talking about the mess in the toilet, just as the other residents were. And anyway I did not look suspicious; I had no bag with me; my money was in my jacket pocket, everything else I would leave behind.

And then when I saw Helen’s blue Fiesta at the bottom of the drive I hurried over to it and we drove off, heading straight for Manchester where Helen had her flat. I doubt that anybody saw me go, and anyway technically we could stay out until our curfew, it is just that nobody ever did. It probably wouldn’t be until the curfew check they would realise that I was gone; and as a Minor Criminal I doubt they would waste resources on me; just a few checks of family (none) and friends (likewise), hopefully by the time they realised that I was gone and not coming back we would be in foreign parts.

And yet, as I left the grounds, I had looked back at the grey building with bars on the windows and the smell of cannabis hovering over everything, I saw a face looking out of the office window, Lisa looking beautiful and lonesome, so I smiled and bowed, wondering if she was as much a prisoner as any of the men, and with even less hope of redemption.

Our aeroplane was on time, and soon they would call us to the departure lounge and then to board. In the meantime I half-read a book a thriller and nibbled on a sandwich, just waiting, and keeping a discrete eye on Helen, who looked beautiful, far too lovely for me. I doubted if any of the residents or staff would have recognised the attractive young woman, for the cleaner who washed away their shit.

And as I sat looking about, waiting for our flight to be called, I saw someone familiar walk into the airport lounge, it was Angela, I stared her in confusion, my heart going cold, and wondering what she was doing there. Surely she was not after me. And then I realised that she was arm in arm with a young man I did not recognise. She, stopped when she saw me, clearly a little flustered, and then she regained herself, gave me a wink before hurrying away, her friend following close behind.

And I wondered if it was the mysterious Sam, or was it her boyfriend, and they were off for a pleasant few days away, I think I knew and hoped that they would be happy.

As Helen and I got on board our El Al aeroplane, still studiously ignoring each other, I continued to wonder, and it was only when the aeroplane took off for Israel that I sighed with relief, and relaxed, whilst a couple rows in front of me, Helen turned around and gave me a smile and I blew her a kiss.

At night I think of the men wonder where they have gone; what they are doing, some are dead of course, some back in prison, but some I hope are making a better life; somewhere far away from this benighted country where the safest place is behind lock and key.