{"id":3416,"date":"2015-07-31T10:41:32","date_gmt":"2015-07-31T09:41:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.longkeshinsideout.co.uk\/?p=3416"},"modified":"2015-07-31T10:41:32","modified_gmt":"2015-07-31T09:41:32","slug":"september-rain-jack-h","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.longkeshinsideout.co.uk\/?p=3416","title":{"rendered":"September Rain: Jack H."},"content":{"rendered":"

September Rain.<\/strong><\/p>\n

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Compound 21. Long Kesh. A place of residence. But \u00a0never home. \u00a0I\u2019ve been here over 8 years. \u00a0\u00a0In special category. \u00a0Inside a cage of high wire, lights and 20 foot concrete walls. Escape is around the wire, not over it. Run every day. Gusty started the routine of running twice a day.\u00a0 7 Laps to a mile. Round and round.\u00a0 Past the screws hut. All lit up and quiet. Past the toilet block. \u00a0Stickie\u2019s \u00a0on the right in cage 20. \u00a0Past the end hut, the middle hut, the half hut and the gym hut. Right angle corner at the end. \u00a0Up past the screws sentry box. Round by the open yard. The long straight. Can just about see the hills of Lisburn. Into the tight corner at the air lock – the gates. The gates to everywhere.\u00a0 What to think of while I churn out the miles? \u00a0We have endless hours. Holding onto those previous memories that slowly get washed out. Think of anything; football; the troubles; music. For some reason school memories start to return. Never was one for poetry but some of that English literature stuff now floats back.\u00a0 I get into a rhythm. \u00a0Nearly trance like. The miles roll on. Poetry. Not my thing yet it comes creeping in.\u00a0 How does that go?<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Once in Persia reigned a king, Who upon his signet ring,<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Graved\u00a0 a maxim wise and true, Which if he held before his eyes\u2026<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

The rain rolls in from the west. Im totally soaked but I just run on.\u00a0 The cloud lowers and there\u00a0 is a feeling of running in a large grey box. Darkness descends. Feet beating out a watery tune.\u00a0 September telling us what type of winter awaits. The mood of grey that covers the country outside. The real world. The free world. The rain bites into my bare legs. One good thing- the rain keeps people in the huts. There\u2019s less of the mundane slagging\/ bantering that goes on. \u2018Hey you, get the lead out\u2019 and \u2018get the hump up, ye boy ye.\u2019\u00a0 Got boring after the hundredth time.\u00a0 So many smartarses; so little space. I\u2019ve lost feeling in my hands ages ago.\u00a0 My breathing is laboured. The sweat top is getting heavier. \u00a0I can feel chaffing start.\u00a0 Some of the men like Gusty have knocked out a marathon. Could I? I\u2019m feeling good. So onto the half marathon. \u00a0Why not, not exactly going anywhere special to night.<\/p>\n

Gave counsel at a glance, Fit for every change and chance<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Solemn words and these are they, Even this shall pass away.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

The compound life carries on around me but out here – I\u2019m on my own. \u00a0For now. All but 2 of the 60 men do some form of exercise. Some are well into their weights. Big Rab, our Arnie. Some are into their boxing. The Mad Major.\u00a0 But some excel at the running. We are allowed once a week onto the football pitch. It is a blessing to get out into a wide area. Less corners. More removed from confinement. Space. \u00a0Openness. \u00a0Some sort of freedom?\u00a0 The miles mount up. The wind has picked up and the rain is smarting on my face. My old geography teacher would be proud of me.\u00a0 Metrology on a Monday morning. Whoopee. This is nimbostratus.\u00a0 A long and very wet period. \u00a0I do some maths. How many seconds in a year. In two years\u2019 time I will have spent one third of my life in here. Nearly all my adult life. \u00a0Got to keep going.\u00a0 Fight the wee voice that says \u2018stop, that\u2019s enough\u2019.\u00a0 The words keep coming.<\/p>\n

Struck with palsy, sere and old, Waiting at the gate of gold<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Said he with his dying breadth, Life is done but what is death<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

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I finally finish. \u00a0I walk round to warm down. My breath streams out in front of me. Steam rises from my sweatshirt. I go to my cube, (room) get my wash gear and head for the showers. The rain is still falling. My hair is plastered to my head but I feel pleasantly tired.\u00a0 Knackered actually. The warm water is a blessing.\u00a0 It bites and stings at first. Some days there is no warm water. Bummer.\u00a0 I have a towel wrapped round me.\u00a0 I run round to the middle hut dodging the puddles. I get in, dry off and get something warm to eat. Most of us would walk 1 hour before lock-up at 9. Not tonight Josephine. One soaking a day is enough. Some brave souls do walk round. Screws are in at 9. They looked pissed off. And very wet. It\u2019s dark now. One of those nights we are not too unhappy about being locked up. \u00a0\u00a0The hut is a bustle of noise. \u00a0T.V. on, men playing cards, some chat, some make handicrafts, beds being made, letters written.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m in bed early. Always find that a soaking like that makes me very drowsy and tired. \u00a0I have an end cube. I have a window in the gable wall and I can look out over the yard. The lights struggle to shine in the menacing night. Rain pelts of my window. I read for a while with the noise of the rain as background music. It competes with the laughter of the men down the other end at the TV.\u00a0 I finish reading.\u00a0 Another means of escape. \u00a0I lie down and watch the rain run down the window pane.\u00a0 The wind has picked up. The round roof is made of corrugated tin sheets.\u00a0 It won\u2019t be so quiet tonight. \u00a0The noise becomes deafening. The wind threatens to lift the roof. \u00a0The rain catches a loose sheet and sounds like some mad drummer having a breakdown. \u00a0I try to drift of but can\u2019t get that poem out of my head now.<\/p>\n

Then in answer to the king, fell a sunbeam on his ring<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Showing by a heavenly ray, even this shall pass away.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Jack H.<\/strong><\/p>\n

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