Episode 24 - Life Bombs + Coco Pops.

So many lives shattered. One man's over, a prisoner for life with the M badge, his child only born a week ago, and here I am giving out Coco Pops. If it wasn't all so serious, then you could be forgiven for laughing.

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

Transcript

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Episode 24 Life Bombs Coco Pops. We live in a sub world, not cut off from the outside world, but not part of it. We're not in a parallel world either. The longer I'm a resident here, then I must accept this too. Interestingly, relationships are magnified out of normal proportions. Take my pad mate, Reeve. One month ago we'd never met, probably would never have become friends or stand side by side for each other, now after only four weeks we have a strange, loyal bond that will never be forgotten or broken. I have to accept his idiosyncrasies as much as he mine. It is all about compromise. It is nine o'clock Friday evening and we are caged like animals, while only a throw of a ball away from my window, the world passes by. Who cares for us other than our loved ones? And why should they? To the outside world, we're all criminals and scum and deserve what we get. However they're unaware of the conditions and environments in which we survive under constant state of duress. Or if you're a taxpayer, think of it in terms of the high cost compared to the terrible service that is failing everyone. Follow the money is what the taxpayer should be doing. Since landing in Walton, I've witnessed close to 10 murder trials take place. Day after day, the accused or defendants returning from court. You may be surprised to hear, but normally they're in good spirits. My suspicions are, bravado is masking fears and inevitabilities, especially when they're facing such life changing sentences if found guilty. I've witnessed the Manchester lads, the Preston Duo dad, or should I say lad, and more recently, LK and RB. The boyish looking pair have been on trial for the last month and today the verdict has been reached, both found guilty. We heard it on the radio first. Surprisingly it said both will be sentenced this afternoon. I thought that was strange as it was announced on Smooth FM. Ironically, after D:Ream and Things Can Only Get Better had played. By the time the youthful B had arrived back at Walton, the news had changed to, he'd received 24 years rec. He's 24 years old. Kay had been shipped out two weeks ago for fighting with the guards one night after returning from court. The two of them back then used to return larger than life, more like ragamuffin school boys, or maybe like youth offenders, but not as two men on trial for murder of a 19-year-old lad. This last week B has been returning in buoyant positive spirits. I get a chance to talk to him as he passes through, on the way back to the wing. My workstation is next to the first door that leads through to a number of steel doors and bars, and then eventually leads through to the wings and no one passes through without me seeing them and offering them a breakfast and brew pack with a baby sized carton of milk. Each night as I give him his pack, we chew the fat, and the only bad news so far this week came from me. Sadly, no Coco Pops. My co-workers had already grabbed them. It sound ridiculous, but you get to know what the lads prefer. From Frosties to porridge to Weetabix, not the real ones, but cheap fakes, you could say. Ryan, or B as I know him best, was open and confident about the progress. Apparently, last week his girlfriend took the stand. Who, by the way, had just given birth to his child. It's all crazy and surreal. He was upbeat and felt as though the trial was going really well. In fact, as late as last night, he believed it was going to be a Not Guilty, and today he would walk free. Tonight he returned alone. K probably went back to Kennet. Kenko saw him first and said he seemed remarkably upbeat and that he only appeared to go over a cliff when K couldn't sort him with a fix. It's a surreal experience. What looks like a young boy is now a convicted murderer, appeared in front of me just after six. His hair ruffled, but that is his usual look. I swear you could put a school uniform on him and he passes for 16. Number One rocked up and gave him his Coco Pops and smiled. It was a nice gesture. You learn that there isn't much to say on nights or moments like this. There are no words that can make any of it easier. The reality is RB has been convicted of ending another boy's life. I'm sure that boy's mother and family wishes the pair of them rot in prison. B will most certainly have asked the doctor for something that takes reality away. Worst case scenario, it's Spice or green or tabs and no doubt he'll pick something up between here and his cell back on the wing. I can't be certain, but I imagine he's on suicide watch, and I could be called out later. How does he feel? Right now, in my experience, it wouldn't have sunk in properly. Maybe when the door slams and he succumbs to the dark reality, there is no hope. This is the moment that the head fuck will kick in as this is the start of the rest of his life. His child will be at least 25 by the time he sees a chance of freedom, if ever at all. The fallout for everyone is incomprehensible. Kengo later mentioned that he'd been talking of an appeal. Tonight, a boy is dead whilst two are found guilty of his murder. And if that's not bad enough, the convicted murderer's partner has just given birth to their first baby a week ago. Once again, I have the strangest of feelings born out of prison life. It is not that I have an affinity with the M lads, but somehow in a short space of time, they've become a band of brothers type of scenario. Somehow, sometimes it's as if no one has committed any crimes inside here. We see a side of each other that feels sorry, in a strange and surreal type of way. Even I'm guilty of wishing the best for the guys, forgetting for a moment, the gravity of their crimes. Often, dare I say it, the M lads, more than any other prisoners, come across as really nice guys. How do you explain that to people in the outside world? Honestly, as you read or hear my words, I can feel sorry for men such as these. I accept this can potentially be seen as some misguided prison loyalty or looking at life inside through some broken, cracked lens. I'm aware a young man is dead and won't be returning ever and I can't imagine the pain and sorrow and void left in his loved one's lives. Often when you read the details in the Facebook of crime, a.k.a. The Echo, it can be extremely brutal and grotesque, as in this case, but for some reason that cannot be explained properly unless you are here, compassion kicks in at the most unexpected of times and situations. So many lives shattered. One man's over, a prisoner for life with the M badge, his child only born a week ago, and here I am giving out Coco Pops. If it wasn't all so serious, then you could be forgiven for laughing. Yesterday I became a Listener after completing the course. I await my first outing when the night officer will switch the light on and open the door, which I'm expecting as early as tonight. I'm going to land in front of a wide variety of weird and horrible lads. Plenty will be desperate, some afraid, and struggling in here out of their depth. Some will be despicable, and some just want you to pass on a message to another prisoner. We're warned that intimidation can be an issue, but whatever the call out, try to be as impartial as possible. Tomorrow will be the morning after the night before for K and B and the family of the dead boy too. I wonder, will they feel so different? What I mean is, their lives have changed profoundly forever. There is no turning back the clock, and both are living their own form of nightmare, but for totally different reasons. Up on top bunk I decompress, and after another mind popping day, I consider the unavoidable dysfunctionality around me. I think about mood and mind altering substances. And is prison better or worse for them? Would lads be better off sedated behind the door if that's what they choose to deal with this head fuck of a place and situation? Ironically, there would be less hassle, but more significantly, it would cost a fraction to maintain a satisfactory equilibrium. Many are not a threat to society, but sadly have become, as a result of these conditions and environment, a threat to themselves. Walton is not the only prison suffering these dreadful conditions and issues. The footage leaked onto social media shows the shocking truth of how desperate and violent it really is. As a result of my incarceration, I've learned regrets, it appears, are a life issue that seemingly have a habit of reoccurring on a regular basis, and something of which to varying degrees we all, as humans, experience. In prison, we're all faced with too much time to think and sadly, the environment in which we experience this is toxic. There is nobody holding your hand to guide one through the impact of regrets. It is now Sunday morning and the pen is back on the paper. The wing is beginning to awaken. Our alarm clock is the sound of an officer's keys and chain. The guard shuffles up and down the landings, and we sit behind the door hoping it will be opened. Once again, it is not to be. The wing cleaners are out. It's one of their perks, and because we receive so many in reception, then wing officers enjoy keeping us in our place. The lads, let out, run around like children on the school play yard. The only thing we are missing is the bell. All I'm hoping for is an opportunity to make a love call to T. Even if it's only for a minute or two, it nourishes me and reassures her that I've survived another night. It's moments like this that make a person question, should I stay or should I go? Surely there must be an easier and more humane way to treat us all than this. Regularly deprived of our most basic human needs or human rights. I dare not say that out loud. Ship outs follow quickly with that type of talk, and attitude. Sundays are a strange day. It's the one day when I have to succumb to wing life. If the over forties gym is cancelled or we're not unlocked to go, then I'll be behind the door for about 22 hours. Most of the lads in here are behind the door for about 23 hours every day. Time is the real enemy in here, and the timekeeper is really the time tormentor.