Category Archives: prison life

As this article in the Irish News shows plans were implemented as early as 1986 to close the special category compounds.  This article tells the story of the closure of Cage 20 which then housed the remaining Official IRA-Stickies-prisoners.  Just over a couple of years later the remaining UVF/RHC political prisoners were transferred to H2.

With the granting of political status in late 1972 the compound-or cage-system was set in place to house those prisoners who were deemed to be politically motivated.  Four years later and government policy had changed with the inception of the new H blocks where those still deemed to be incarcerated for politically motivated “offences” had to endure a system set in place to criminalise them.

The compounds that remained from a UVF/RHC perspective diminished in keeping with the number of men being released when their determinate sentences expired.  Gusty Spence was released in 1983 and two years later the last of the men who had been sentenced to 20 years were also gone.
In effect what was left was a group of men–now housed in a single compound-21–who were either Life Sentence prisoners or SOSP’s.–younger guys who were serving Secretary of State’s Pleasure.  No new faces arrived into Long Kesh after early 1977 and they were people who had been sentenced for something that occurred pre March 1976.  With the numbers dwindling–not just in the UFV/RHC compound–but in the others–compound 20 housed Official IRA men and the numbers there dropped to 3 before the decision was taken to close the compound and move the trio to the Crumlin Road jail.  The talk then was the authorities had “done a deal” with the Stickies to close the cage.  The theory was that they would be looked upon favourably in the next Life Sentence review.
By 1988 the writing was on the wall for the entire compound system and we knew for quite a while that the move was inevitable. The move actually came in June that year after much wrangling about how we would be locked up–free association–doors unlocked–yard opened up for running–being able to keep pigeon lofts and bird cages etc;  By the time we moved there was less than thirty of us–just enough to occupy one leg of H2.  There was–through our compound command staff–much negotiation and a host of communication from the highest echelons at Dundonald House.  Here LKIO produce some of those communications that still–25 years later–make for fascinating reading and gives an insight into the lives of our Life Sentence prisoners.

Primo

The University of Anti terrorism.

“He who opens a school door, closes a prison”,  Victor Hugo

As it became obvious that I wasn’t going home for a while I started to turn my attention towards education. I was a loyalist life sentence prisoner in Compound 21. I had begun my sentence by completing a fair bit of art work. It was a discussion with Davy Ervine that led me to veer towards education as a full time ‘occupation’. He said to pick one or other and give it my full attention. I picked, thankfully, education. ( I would keep on doing some art work over the next 10 years  as a pastime). I started off fairly easy with an ‘O’ level in Art.  At this time some of the men had started their Open University courses. I was prompted to begin a Social Sciences course and started this by undertaking D101 Making Sense of Society. Quite ironic really, when I reflected on my life experiences to date. The course involved some geography, some psychology, sociology, etc. I passed it and decided to go for the Degree. At this time we were limited by what the prison would allow us. This course was a full credit and we could only do one credit per year. Later I would do 2 half credits in a year. That was a lot of work.

The next course was an introductory Technology course, ‘Living with Technology’. I really enjoyed this and came away with a top class mark. But I now decided to select Psychology as my basic degree. There was Mathematics (I wasn’t bright enough), Computers ( had not a clue), Philosophy ( still less of a clue) and so Psychology it was. As well as academic studies there were other courses available. Evening time classes involved a teacher coming in and delivering various courses such as English, Maths, etc. Some of the men in the cage learned their own foreign language, German being a common one. Gusty already had some men learning the Irish language.

One course I do recall was the Football Coaching course as run by the IFA. This was demanding, required a high level of fitness, ability to understand football theory and then a fair degree of social skills to implement and interact while being assessed.  This was a tough course which happy to say I passed.

In the Open University I moved onto the Introduction to Psychology which I found surprisingly difficult. I may have passed but no top marks. Within the O.U. there were basic sets of courses that would get recognition by outside bodies, so from here my courses where easily chosen. The next course was the most difficult; Cognitive Development: from Birth to Adolescence. It was heavy going that required a lot of reading, rereading and writing. Next was ‘Personality and Learning’ which was informative and applicable to myself and others.

Passing it I went onto what was regarded as a very difficult course called the Biology, Brain and Behaviour. It was amazing and a new world opened up. However I loved this course and fared well. By this time I had run foul of the security department of the prison who seemed to thrive on blocking and annoying students at every turn. One of the funnier times came up over a plastic model of half a human brain which outlined all the different parts of the brain, occipital lobes, medulla, etc. This was held by security for some reason. The joke was that some of them wanted it for themselves. So it was M.P.s and petitions to Governors and what not. What a farce. So compare and contrast visions of men at bomb classes against me learning about a human brain. ( As a side note, I never once seen one of these bomb, gun or terrorist classes.) The O.U. courses involved meeting with a tutor on a monthly basis to go over essays and other issues. I found all the tutors very intelligent, dedicated and of a great help to me.

I started on level 3 courses. I began the Social Psychology full credit. Here was the real meat of the course.  This was superb and parts of it could be applied to my prevailing situation. How do we all interact? Why do we follow certain people and ideas? Why are we social animals and why does conflict occur between individuals and groups?

Possibly the most interesting course and relevant (in a way) was the course ‘Crime and Society’. This of course was geared to the British system of Law and Order and not our lovely little spot with its Diplock courts, internment (although that was used in the war years on the mainland), scheduled offences, supergrasses, hunger strikes, etc. However here was a clear and systematic explanation of the normal criminal justice system. From the police to the courts, from the law makers to the prison and probation. I was of course interested in the stories about lifers in G.B.

An interesting course (A Level) was Government and Politics. Here was one of the few times that 3 of the factions could study together. Due to declining numbers of Special Category prisoners a compound came free which was turned into a study place. Both the UDA, the Sticks (Officials) and UVF/RHC could study together. A few of us on the politics course had discussions. Of course ‘real’ politics was a faraway cry from N. Ireland.

Another funny event was when one of my evening time teachers said he was getting a new job and would not be back. I wished him well and thanked for his time and effort. Shook hands and said goodbye. It was a short time afterwards that I saw him walk back into the phase accompanied by lots of staff. He had got another job all right. He was now an assistant governor! I laughed. We did speak later and I still held my respect for him.

At this time I was undertaking many courses to help pass the time and there was quite a variety. I studied Yoga (pretty good) except I was so relaxed I kept falling asleep! But very useful when I was on punished, by being on the boards. I took up Statistics following on from my Psychology stuff. Next I completed an ‘Awards for All’ in Weightlifting. I finished an Athletics coaching course with one of the senior instructors from outside. A few of us completed a Boxing course with an absolute gentleman who was the Irish boxing coach at one time. Some of us tried our hand at Irish History. Quite a laugh.

A decade of captivity had passed now and with a shift to the H blocks away from the cage/compound I undertook ‘A’ Level Art and ‘A’ level Statistics.  But I have to admit I have easily failed ‘A’ levels Maths three times!  I was very happy at passing the ‘A’ level Statistics which required a lot of revision.

However at this time I had gained my Honours Degree in Social Sciences (Psychology) and had to decide what I was now going to do. Fairly simple, start another degree! This time it would be Science as other lads had blazed the trail. So I started S101 but I was not to finish it. Events moved quickly and I was to be released. However I had been paid into the course and I was pushed to undertake the Summer School part of the course.  None of us ever had completed a summer school while in the Kesh for obvious reasons. Of all places I had to go it was Stirling, Scotland. I had never been to Scotland before.  I had been to England once and never out of the British isles.

So while still technically a serving life sentence prisoner I went to Stirling University which was brilliant. The people there knew nothing of my background or circumstances but I made friends and we had a great time.  However, I would not finish the course as life events over took it. I was back at home, had a job for a year, was building up new relationships and getting back into the real world.  During my workout phase I began a Creative Writing evening course in QUB. That was really good, but a bit odd. On Monday night I would be sitting in a class in QUB and the next evening I would be back in the Crum ‘work out’ unit locked in a cell.

Being a glutton for punishment I went for some reason to QUB to do of all things an MSc in Computer Science. Not one of my better choices. Totally flunked it and went and got a job in 1990 at the grand wage of £50 per week.

So my time inside was not totally wasted. One funny recollection concerns the term ‘University of Terrorism’. As I said above not once did I see a bomb or gun class. There was no talk of armed conflict and the use of terror. Obviously I have missed all that. I had people like Davy Irvine, Gusty and Billy Mitchell all urging us to use our brains. And I did discover, the pen is mightier than the sword (or gun).

I came out with quite a few qualifications which was satisfying but meant nothing in the face of prejudice, ignorance and discrimination. I have carried on my education and training since then and I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I enjoy studying and learning. I can only hope to pass that attitude on to the young people (and older ones) that I meet and work with.

Primo.

I awake but lie still listening to the sounds that come though the open window. I know it is night outside. It is December, but light streams in from the hundreds of orange and red lights that surmount the walls, fences and gates. It is cold. There are no heaters in the hut. Above me is the steel corrugated iron roof. I am in my room or cube on my own, a welcome change from being doubled up with someone for years. I have been here for over 10 years now. It is very quiet in the hut that has 20 men. There used to be over  30  men when sharing was a necessity.

It is 7.15am and the hut will be opened by the guards in 15 minutes. In the stillness I can hear them coming through the gates from far away. The clangs ring loud and clear as they have done since the Long Kesh /Maze prison opened in 1972 as hundreds of prisoners swamped the meagre prison system. I get up and put on my training gear. There are 3 or 4 people waitng to get out to go the gym or their early morning run. We wait in silence as the rest of the men do not need to get up until 9am. We hear the footsteps, the jangle of keys. Locks being opened and bolts being snapped back.

We get out. I go to the gym. The gym is a large Nissan hut divided in two. There are punch bags, lots of old rough free weights and some gym items such as parallel bars. It is a weekday and I have no visit. We get 30 minutes a week with our visitors.  The gym routine is sit ups, press-ups and some light weights. Later I will go out for a run. After 3 miles I go back to my cube, get my stuff and go to the shower. It is primitive and spartan. Concrete floors, wooden roof and plastic sheets divide the showers. Other men are getting up. Those on visits usually get in early to get the warm water before it runs out. I find that exercising early warms me up and keeps out the cold that settles in with a vengeance. One year I had frost and ice on my window. On the inside.

After this I go and get breakfast. Tea, cornflakes and some bread; if there is any. We all have chores after 9am, the lights go on and the place comes alive. Men cleaning out their own space – their cube. Then the communal areas are cleaned. The central space running the length of the hut, the toilet and shower block. Outside the main huts men are picking up litter and butts. After this I go to the small square wooden study hut. I am completing my Degree with the O.U. Forward planning and a realisation that I’m not getting out of here for while yet.  This is Compound 21 of the special category section of the Maze prison.  Less well known than the big brother across and behind,  the 20 foot high concrete walls of the infamous  H Blocks. Prison life continues on inside and there is a sense of normality despite being in, it was claimed, the highest security prison in Europe. Men go to visits. A guard comes to the wire, shouts a name. Both men will go in a mini bus to the visiting block. Men also go to see the doctor or the welfare.  It approaches lunchtime. Some men supplement their food from parcels that were left in by visitors. Others go to the canteen to see if it’s edible today. Stew is always a careful meal to eat after finding some things in it such as the mouse’s head, bits of a brillo pad, etc. There is time to talk to friends and engage in some craft or artwork. In the afternoon I get ready and go for a run or back to the gym. We run round the wire fence that surrounds us and becomes the first line of defence for the prison system.

We run 21 laps to cover 3 miles. It is a short section at the back of huts then turns left. Up the side of the gym, and turn left. Up to the corner of the compound and turn left. The long straight parallel to main concrete wall and turn left back in behind the 4 huts. And so on and so on. Daily, weekly, monthly,  yearly.  Looking through the steel mesh of the fence I can see other men in other cages doing exactly the same thing.

I go in get my stuff and go for a shower. At 5pm dinner is served. Some men take it, some do not. People gather around the single black and white T.V.  in the hut to watch the news for the day. Some days there is plenty of news about prisons, protests and releases. Those who had visits would receive a parcel from their visitor about 6 o clock. Its checked for smuggled items. A good excuse to mess up someone’s highlight of the week. Not all of the staff are sadists but there’s usually one there to mete out some injustice. Today there is nothing on the news. Many men wait for the increasing number of TV soaps to come on and live out lives in another place away from this concrete grave. Evenings are spent writing letters. By 8pm most men are out walking the wire. Groups of  2 or 3 men walk and talk. After 10 years of prison it difficult not to recover precious memories from a time of freedom that seems long ago and dream like. Much talk is about the troubles outside and what we will do in the future when we get out. Whenever that may be. Better to live in hope that wallow in reality.

At ten to 9 we see the screws gathering at the compound gate. They walk in and we know it is time to lock up. We go to our huts. They count heads. That’s it for the night. The hut seems bright and lively. Men get tea and toast on. It is warmer now. There is debate and discussion about what to watch on the TV. Films are a favourite. Some men go to a friends cube to talk the night away. To relive their war memories and some spoof the night away. Others are still writing letters or re reading one left in from a visit during the day.

Another day gone.  Another day closer to getting out? Don’t really know. A lifer doesn’t have a date.  Midnight and the lights are put out by the hut officer.  Most men are in bed but the die hards can watch the TV in the dark as long as the volume is turned down. The fence lights shine all night. We have curtains to keep the light out. It’s quiet now except for the birds singing away. Fooled by the thousands of lights. I read for a while until sleep overtakes me.

I awake. It is 7.15am and the hut will be opened by the guards in 15 minutes. In the stillness I can hear them coming through the gates from far away.

Another day.

G.Igitur

Over the next few weeks LKIO will serialise the story of how one young political prisoner made a dash for freedom from the confines of the Cages of Long Kesh.  Awaiting the granting of political status he is detained in the Compound that holds ODC’s.  He describes every day life here where prisoner abuse was rife and sectarian tensions were never far away.  With a determination and a will to escape this environment he tells, often with a vivid sense of humour–from a seventeen year old’s perspective a story that is profoundly relevant to the past conflict.

THE NOT SO GREAT ESCAPE

Six a.m. and the alarm goes off without warning—like every other morning—like the previous forty five mornings since coming here.  Not an alarm clock mind you—No—a screw’s baton trailed against the corrugated iron sides of the Nissen hut that had been home for the preceding six weeks.  A sound that had become so recognizable—it was impossible to confuse it with anything else—a cacophony of noise that jolted you—if it was possible–into a rigid horizantalness in your bed.  Instantly wide awake.  The assault on the iron timbers lasted for the length of time it took some half wit of an excuse for a prison guard to run round the entire hut.  Sometimes a fat fuck would have taken half the morning.  But the likelihood of an extra few moments in bed was nil.
As soon as the baton trailing exercise was complete the end door was opened. Two or three screws entered.  A head count was taken –primarily to ensure that the same number of poor bastards were there in the morning as were locked up at eight o’clock the night before.  On the odd occasion there may have been a need for the screws to remove an unfortunate soul who had done himself some damage during the night by means of a razor blade/plastic knife/fork/spoon—or by swallowing something he wasn’t meant to—bottle tops or bits of pens or needles or safety pins (opened)—or ate a full tube of toothpaste, supposedly to bust your appendix—or deliberately dropped something heavy on their foot—or got a friend or fellow inmate to smash their fingers with a smoothing iron—or by overdosing on large quantities of readily available tablets ( usually mild painkillers or antibiotics )—or who had had a form of cage justice administered by way of a selection of work boots–or pillowcases filled with scrubbing brushes or bars of buttermilk soap—whilst he was encased in a mattress cover.
Not everyone went to work at six but it was tough shit for those who didn’t—they were awake.  Those of us who did had fifteen minutes to get washed and formed up in lines of two inside the Cage gate prior to being escorted to wherever your work stations where throughout the prison.  No breakfast—you got that later at whatever section you worked at. As soon as the screws had completed the head count and rattled a few ankles along the way with their trusty batons, the parting shot was for one of them to turn the hut radio on full blast in order to make it virtually impossible to doze off again.

TBC……

In an age were it is common place to call newborn children after the latest pop stars or minor celebrities it makes me wonder will thos kids ever develop a nickname or an alternative moniker.  The Wazza’s and Dazza’s have all but faded into obscurity to be replaced by Britney’s and Paris’s–the Keanu’s and the Jay-Ze’s. 
But where have all the nicknames gone?  In days of old many people were better known by the nickname bestowed upon them than the one given at birth.  Where are all the Soup’s and Spud’s of yesteryear?  Twenty-odd years ago a TV programme and accompanying book was produced relating the many glorious nicknames that were preculiar to Harland and Wolff Shipyard.  Steel Chest, Nail in the Boot and The Barking Dog.  to say that some of the names were inventive is a gross understatement..they are, in many cases the work of genius.  And by far the best –or most appropriate nickname I ever heard came from The Yard–Pop-Up.  If ever a name described the character this is it!!
Having sailed through Long Kesh Camp for the better part of both the 70’s and 80’s it will suffice to say that I heard quite a few nicknames over the years.  I will reproduce many of them here in the hope that it jogs others memories who can provide the ones that I have either overlooked or forgotten.  It will, I’m sure bring a few smile to a few faces around the province and beyond.  With each name listed there is of course a story–but–as they say–that’s for another day.  Feel free to comment and add your own favourites.
The most common nicknames tended to be derived from surnames and over the years I came across a host of Jonesy’s and Stewarty’s–Smudgers and Smickers.  There were Blackie’s, Whitey’s, Greeners and the odd Red.  And then you had Janty’s, Beller’s Dinger’s and Dougie’s.  Quite a few Winky’s on my travels as well.  The list goes on.  And it will be obvious with many what the name relates to.  Some are too obscure to even hazard a guess. Keyhole Kate–Barney Rubble–Dogs Dinner–The Frog–Seven Stone–The Gannet–The Rooster–War Dog–Chinaman–The Buck–Humphrey Littleone–Nipper Lawerence–Boko–The Hat–Bamber, in reference to a sadly departed MLA!!.
Dumpkoff–Binge–Verbal Abuse–Snatters–Blinky Palermo–Fat Head–Skel’s a Singer–Big Eyes/No Thumbs–Hoker–The Galloper–The Wobbling Brush–Tut-Tut–The Grout–Burgermaster–again very appropriate if you know the person–Alarm Clock Harry–The Sherriff of Nottingham–The Bubble–Scaramouche–Hacksaw–The Muppet–Henry the Hippo–Karl Heinz Rummager–it’s a long story!!–Brick–The Scout–A couple of Niggers–Cleo–Jazz–Facecloth Willie–The Ghost–Jolly Jack–Wingnut–Two by Two–McSlob.
Hopefully this has given a few smiles and jerked a few memories for the auld hands out there to add to.  There are many more so get writing!!

Billy Joe

4 x 2’s

One element that is underwritten by us and our prison life is about the people men who actually locked us up, turned the keys and either made life easier or harder for us. I know some people still are scarred by the experiences at the hands of the screws. And I know many officers are scarred by their experience at the hands of the prisoners. I will be talking about my experiences, stories and recollections of screws in the Crum and the compounds of the Kesh. To be clear,  this article is not going to say all are bad. Nor will it paint them as all angels. I will give examples of both. No names appear in this article!

The first usual point of contact is the reception in the Crumlin Road prison. I have since revisited the Crum and done the tour with guide. Be under no illusion, the tour is nothing like reality. I found the few times I was in reception there was an underlying tension. This was a meeting of worlds. The screws would know who was who i.e. paramilitaries or ODCs!  And if a screw wanted to give you a hard time here, well maybe he could be seen later in a situation where he would have less control and backup. The Crum had a regime and procedure which, with good will, worked. When good will was withdrawn the protests started and that’s another whole story on its own.

While on remand in C wing a prison officer was shot dead as he left the prison. We were in the rec (recreation) room. A system worked whereby the loyalists and republicans organised ‘day about’. One day they got association and walks the next day the situation was reversed. While sitting in the rec room we knew there was something happening. You soon learn to read situations and atmospheres to know something bad had occurred. The screws came in to us and said ‘lock up’. This was before our allotted time. We were not happy and less so when we heard the news. A rumour quickly raced round that one of the officers had been shot at the front gate hence the high tension within the staff. It transpired that it was a PIRA job (They had already shot dead some staff including Crum staff) We were annoyed because we got part of the backlash and we felt that why punish us if the PIRA done it? Go and punish them.

The Crum was a not a place to show humanity or be nice. I personally hated it. The staff done their jobs. Lock and unlock doors. Requests. Escorts to visits. Searches. However while awaiting to return to the Kesh after my trial  2 heavies came to me and said ‘put on the prison uniform’.  I said ‘no, I was a Special Cat(egory) man’. Pure intimidation.  Conversely while I and another young prisoner were locked up waiting to go to the Kesh one officer went out of his way to get us to a bath. We had been simply side-lined. Forgot about. He was polite, caring and wanted to do his job. As this point I have to make a huge difference between the prison staff. There were local men and then you had the English, Scotch and Welsh who had come over for the good money. This screw was a jock.  And I appreciate his help and decency when it was in short supply.

I was told a story of two loyalist prisoners humiliating and intimidating a local prison officer in the early days of the Kesh when things where a bit madder. Later that night under the cover of darkness a number of prison officers came into one of the huts and dragged the two men out. They proceeded to give them a kicking. They were then delivered back to the cage. Both the men refused to make a complaint as it was part of the fabric of the prison at that time. There is one story of a loyalist prisoner who attacked a Governor in the H blocks. He used a screwdriver. (As a strict rule the loyalist ‘special cat’ prisoners did not attack staff unless ordered to. The H Blocks was a different story. ) The man in question, a lifer, was taken to the punishment cell. Where, in a fracas he sustained a fractured skull. I can’t help but recall the case of Barry Prosser, an ordinary prisoner, in England who died in Winson Green prison,  Birmingham after 3 prison staff entered his cell. No finding has ever been held on his death. No one has been convicted of any offence in relation to his death which had left him with horrific injuries according to a local newspaper?

Once in the Crum I witnessed a piss pot being poured over a prison officer who was standing on  the ground floor. Humiliating and embarrassing. I didn’t feel comfortable with that even if he was a bad screw.

During my time in the cages no prison officer was attacked or hurt by loyalists. And while there were tensions there were often funny and humane moments. I seen a staff member throw the keys of the compound to Billy Mitchel to let himself back INTO the cage. Billy came in, locked the padlocks, then threw the keys back over the wire to the staff. One day a prison officer (English) was invited in to have a game of table tennis with our best player. I went down to watch it and it was very competitive. Hand shakes at the end. What the prison system didn’t realise was that by building up relationships and communication we were less likely to attack staff doing their job. There are a couple of staff I would love to meet again and have a cup of tea for the decency and respect they showed to my parents.

On the other hand, there were staff who had poor attitudes, personal issues and a chance to exert power over people. I hope, I do not meet them. One story that is pretty sad is that one screw took the money belonging to the families of dead prison officers. (Who had been killed by PIRA). After spending it in the USA he returned home, took his punishment in court and then topped himself. Given the number of prison staff, the hostile climate and the pressures involved it was no wonder there were rotten apples. However I was dismayed recently by a senior prison officer who has been convicted of child porn offences. Not great for instilling trust and faith in people with a huge responsibility. I personally spoke several times to the senior officer who betrayed his colleagues to the republicans and ended up in prison where he eventually died through a progressive disease.

One situation where I have mixed feelings concerned a screw asleep on his post. I was sitting in the sun studying.  At the back of the cage away from the front gate was a wood and glass booth where, through the day, the screw would sit or patrol about. This beautiful summer day the man had his cap down over his eyes. His feet were up on a crate and the chair was balanced back against the booth. He was fast asleep. Over to his right the wicker gate opened in the large steel gate. In stepped a governor, an assistant governor and chief officer in uniform. They would do a walk about every now and then. Had it been a screw I liked I would have shouted over but I decided to let the situation develop. The small group walked up to the sleeping screw. The chief was the most displeased looking. They obviously knew I was looking on.

The chief kicked the crate away from his feet and the screw shot forward. Talk about waking up. His face was a picture of shock first (had we got out and attacked him?) Then he looked at the Governor and the face got redder and redder. Then he was plain scared. Then the embarrassment set in. He was told to stand at his booth and soon a replacement came to relieve him. We heard later he was ‘half sheeted’. The first stage of their punishment process.

I have met many of the officers since my release. We have had many amiable discussions. My attitude is, that was then, this is now. Its gone as far as I’m concerned. They were victims and players in the game like the rest of us. One way that the screws had to really annoy prisoners especially, the paramilitaries, is through the parcels. One common way of messing us about was through interfering with parcels. These contained food, books and clothes. Just prior to my trial my parents left in suit, shirt, tie, etc. Some unknown person poured a lovely dark liquid over my shirt. Nice one. Another favourite opportunity for the nasty brigade was search time. Usually once a week sometimes more, we got herded to the canteen and the screw team where left on their own in our rooms /cubes. Many times we returned to find our place wrecked. All in the name of security, so that makes it OK.

One excellent way of judging the screws was to be on punishment. I was on the boards 3 times in all for 3 days. It is as plain as day to us off the attitude that a screw brings to the cell door. There were good screws that did their job. There were others who were enjoying every moment of our situation and seeing what they could do to make the experience more painful. I recall on my third spell of punishment that a principal officer was arguing for me. The assistant governor, a real Mr Nasty, was just wanting me locked up as quick as possible. Fair play to the officer for standing up.

Towards the end game of our time Special Cat prisoners moved over to the H Blocks. It was obvious that all of us, staff and prisoner, wanted an easy time. We certainly were not going to escape knowing that release was around the corner. Many of our number had been released between 1985 and 1988. It was a strange situation. We talked with staff we had got to know well. We exchanged banter and talk. However that all changed when I went to the Crumlin Road prison to get released. (That reception again!) It was like going back to the start of my sentence. It was not pleasant. Again there were very good prison officers who would pertain to be professional. And then there were others. I recall being woke one night during my pre-release phase at 3am. He wanted to see if I was there?? Not great for getting someone ready for the real world. Nor does it leave a good memory. But overall the unit staff were good at their job.

There are many other (funny) stories to tell but maybe not in this forum. I would love to hear some of their stories and recollections, both good and bad.

Jason M.

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Who Put That On—Again?

Another great lead from Gaudeamus following on from his recollection of books.  It is hard to know where to start in regards of forming a list of albums—or LP’s as they were commonly known back in the day.  I was an avid album collector before incarceration at the start of 1973 and always tried to develop my collection during the time spent in prison.
I had built up quite an anthology by October 1974 but sadly like the rest of my possessions they disappeared in a puff of smoke—and many flames—during the Long Kesh fire.  Many of the albums I lost at the time were later replaced and of course added to.  As a young man my taste was fairly eclectic.  Normally if I liked something I played it or listened to it—often to the dismay of friends—many of whom I found had a certain air of snobbishness around their musical preferences.  However, I like to think I stopped short with the bubblegum and saccharin sweet pop that seemed to abound in the early to mid seventies.
My early heroes or heroines were Neil Young—The Faces—Rod Stewart went down in my estimation after the Smiler album of 1974—Joni Mitchell—Van Morrison who was one of the universally liked artists throughout the compounds—and bands like Creedence—Lynyrd Skynyrd –and most of the West Coast stuff that seemed to be the legacy of the sixties cult.  I had favourite albums for all of these stars—Harvest—Every Picture Tells a Story—Blue—Astral Weeks—Pendulum and Pronounced.
In my time the record player had to be booked.  There were notebooks for everything then—Doctor—Welfare—Governor—Visits–Growing a Beard—and the record player.  In theory you may have had to wait quite a while before you got your turn.  Especially if one of the Big D merchants got on to it before you!!  These guys tended to be married—had kids—were prolific letter writers and all round Sad Sacks.  They hogged the Dansette big style.  If you heard the wail of Charlie Pride asking if Anyone was Going to San Antone—or indeed Patsy Cline telling us all repeatedly that she was Crazy—or Porter Wagoner declaring his undying love for wee Dolly—then sure as shit you were in for a real downer of a night.
January 1975 in Compound 18—not long after the Fire and we had been relocated to a decent compound.  Our hut OC was Jackie Whitten.  A great guy—very popular—smashing sense of humour—but an aficionado of Country and Western music.  Then it was possible to book the record player for the full night.  That covered from tea time to around ten o’clock.  Earphones didn’t exist so basically everyone could hear what someone else was playing.  The record player held around six LP’s and once one was finished the next one dropped.  So this particular evening the rest of the hut were suffering while Jackie wallowed in his country reverie and overdosed on Johnny Cash and Slim Whitman.  The yodels were echoing off the timbers.  Luckily Jackie needed to go to the toilet.  It was the chance we were waiting on.  Quick as the proverbial flash I nipped into his cubicle while he was in the toilet.  I removed the top three LP’s and slipped in one of my own.  Monty Python’s Flying Circus—Live at Drury Lane.  Jackie returned and went back to the letter writing and Slim was telling us all about That Silver Haired Daddy.  The record ended and we—all ten of us gathered in the next cubicle—listened to the mechanical sounds as the next record dropped…First track on the B side—Spot the Brain Cell—John Cleese..” Hello, Good evening and Welcome….”  Cue–Mayhem!!   There was no muted mutterings from Jackie—just a loud explosion with all conceivable bad words thrown in.  Of course I got the blame but he couldn’t prove anything.  In the absence of proof Jackie done what all OC’s would have done—he gave the ten of us a half hours fatigues each!!
Of course as anyone will tell you it would be extremely difficult to choose one LP over another and rate it as your favourite.  I had too many that I liked to have one that I would have played more than another.  You had your favourite at a certain time that rapidly changed upon the release of another.  Everyone had their own genre that, in general they stuck to.  Older guys had easy listening or country music.  Punk occurred at a time when there weren’t too many new people coming through the gates so to me that style had a limited following.  Some of the bands that emerged out of the Punk era certainly had their followers—The Clash—The Pistols and The Jam being the best examples.  I had a fondness for The Jam and latterly Paul Weller.  Albums also did the rounds.  As Gaudeamus pointed out the up tempo ones were used for the gym and he points to a good example.  Records that I remember being passed round the most included Bad Company—Running With The Pack—The Eagles—Band on the Run by Wings.  We all had our favourite albums for leaning on when writing letters and mine was Bad Co.—the first album.  It had a million little marks on it from thousands of letters over the years.
I could write a list of my ten favourite albums right of the reel and come back tomorrow with a completely separate list.  Music played a huge part in everyday life within the compound system—if it wasn’t listening to your LP’s it was watching Top of the Pops and for the younger ones the Old Grey with Whisperin’ Bob.  I remember a programme that was aired for a short period of time—Revolver—and it was here that we witnessed Dire Straits for the very first time.  They played Sultans of Swing and blew everyone away to the extent that we all phoned out on Monday morning–no mobiles mind you–by using the Welfare facilities– to have the LP sent in with our next parcel!!  Writing this short piece has whetted my appetite to go out and listen again to many of the albums that I would eventually replace with CD’s from the early Nineties on.  I feel guilty for leaving many great albums out here and will no doubt be reminded by others about that.  But over the years the albums that would have given me the most pleasure were—and bear in mind for each artist I could list their full catalogue—briefly as follows…..

Led Zeppelin—Physical Graffiti
Ry Cooder-Borderline
Bob Dylan-Dylan—cover versions
The Stones-Exile on Main Street
Talking Heads-Stop Making Sense
Nine Below Zero-Live at the Marquee
Paul Simon-Gracelands
U2-Rattle and Hum
R.E.M-Eponymous
This list goes on and on, and may in fact be revisited soon!!

Billy Joe

Who Put That On?

One of pleasures of the compounds was being able to have a few LPs. However listening styles in the late 70s were slightly less advanced than today. One of the Nissen huts which held up to 30 men had a single record player such as pictured . Whatever you put on could be heard by the whole hut. A queue operated so if you were in first then your record was on. There was a hut radio but some days we just wanted music we could select. There was one record player in the gym hut which was very welcome but used mainly to play suitable ‘up tempo’ music for those doing boxing training or weights.
This is a piece about some of the more memorable LPs that would be heard often floating through the ether especially on a sunny day.  I entered in the late 70s and stayed throughout the 80s so the selection is slanted towards that period. I wonder how many of us still have the LPs or are they all gone and replaced by digital versions. Although I see vinyl is making a bit of a comeback.
Punk had come out of nowhere in the mid 70s and one group that came along new wave and one was Blondie. Now despite the fact that they had a very glamorous lead singer the music was lively, classey and sounding fresh. The album ‘Parallel  Lines’ went to number 1 in the UK charts in 1979 and had many excellent tracks. These include Heart of Glass, One way or another, Sunday Girl, etc. While I did not own one I recall asking to borrow it from different people.
I include Mr Cohens album for one reason and one reason only. This was the most depressing music I heard in prison. Usually when this went on the hut record player there was a strange compulsion to leave the hut and go for a long walk.
There was also a great urge to ‘lose’ each copy. During the playing of the album all razorblades were put away.  As a sneak catch up on the album (in case my memory played tricks) I called up ‘Suzanne’ on YouTube. It still sounds as depressing now as it was then! Not one of my albums but one that has stuck in the memory.
In complete contrast was ‘Bat out of Hell’. Who was this rather large American? And what a stupid name. Who cared. Great music and showmanship. I recall one summer day when the record player in each of the 3 huts was playing that album. The album was amazing. It went platinum 14 times over? Has sold mega millions. It was recorded in 1975 and 76 but released in 1977. After a slow start to made it to only   9 in the British album charts and 22^nd in the all-time chart sales?   I would not pick out any particular tracks because I like them all. I seen Meatloaf live in the Odyssey, Belfast when he toured in 2005. He was escorted onto the stage by two lovely nurses because he had recently taken a heart attack. Great show, great sound.
Another classic album which was heard many times around Long Kesh was Rumours  by Fleetwood Mac. Pure magic and genius even if some of the band were clean mad. Another album that was released in 1977. It was a cheer me up type album which could be listened to anytime. It has great tracks like Don’t Stop and Go your own Way.  While Albatross was not on this album I recall it playing when the funeral service for Billy Mitchell had finished. A sad time but a very iconic memory of the music of the compounds.
I could not cover the albums we listened to without mentioning Mr   Zimmerman. There  were  a couple of real ‘Dylanites’ in the camp so we had plenty of scope for listening to classic tracks like Hurricane,  Blowing in the Wind, etc.      The stand out album was ‘Desire’ with greats such as Joey, Sara and Mozambique. This was released in 1976 and ‘Rolling Stone’ named it as  number 174 in the all-time 500 great albums. I also recall one of his follow up albums ‘Slow Train Coming’ when he was in his Christian phase. Some good tracks. I have never met Dylan but did meet Van Morrison. Their joint singing of ‘Knocking on Heavens Door’ in 1998 is great.
Another great band to rise in the 70s and actually change popular music in so many ways was Queen. The problem with Queen was that they had changed so much from their early work which was on the edge new and at times quirky.  By the mid-80s they were giants, very commercial, and  established.         The album I recall the most ( and there was one real Queen freak who we all know) was Night at the Opera.
Another amazing  band of the 1980s who helps usher in one of the great changes in popular culture was Dire Straits. A very British (Newcastle) band,  it was their track ‘Money for Nothing’ (about MTV)  that indicated the changes happening in the music world. Of course MTV meant very little to us. We had Top of the Pops, fair enough, but were lucky to get colour TV in the 80s.This album was popular with the budding guitarists in the compound. I suggest a few wanted to be the Knoppler of their time.

 The idea of a concept album had been around for some time but the one that stood out for most of us had to be Jeff Wayne’s ‘War of the Worlds’. I had the original LP and have the Special Edition,  double CD set sitting on my table as I type this.Released 1978 in  it was different in so many ways.
My partner and I went to see the stage showing of the album in Dublin’s Point theatre. Amazing.  It still sounds great today.
Last but by no means least,  is the greatest album of all time. They were a British group who had many great hits. Grossly underappreciated their music helped me through the gym, through studying, through writing letters through my entire time there. Starting with their mix of classical orchestra and electronics
The main album, from many, was ‘Out of the Blue’. This had everything you needed. The group included the likes  of Roy Wood, Bev Bevan and Jeff Lynne.
I have to ask;  was the 1970s the greatest decade ever for the release of good music? Yes the ‘80s was OK with many big names and then a slump in the 1990s. The ‘naughties’ just don’t count and this decade doesn’t look too promising yet.