Episode 30 - I'm Sorry I Can't Be There

Nothing prepared me for this day. I'm not angry, bitter or resentful, but it hurts. It seems so unfair...

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 30 I'm Sorry I Can't Be There It's the 18th of the seventh, 2016, and I'm sat reflecting, maybe it's contemplating, what is a tough day in here? This, my prison, my workplace, and my home 24/7. All my physical life is spent behind walls, bars, and steel doors, although my mind often inhabits elsewhere. Tomorrow my daughter is graduating. It will rank highly in my proudest moments of her life. What an achievement under the circumstances that hang over her. She was 15 the day they came through my office doors and the awful headlines appeared. I can't imagine how she must have felt. Without ever mentioning it, I'm certain from that moment, shame and stigma must have made an appearance. She's mature, well-rounded with a sharp wit, and she's one of the cool kids. Intelligent and independent. I'm lucky. I've shared in the most important moments of her life until now. I remind myself, a parent is for life. She and the rest of the family are travelling to London today for the big occasion. Three years ago, none of us could have foreseen this me in here and her graduating without me there to join in the celebrations. Queen Mary and London have been her home for the past three years. She is growing up quickly. The trigger for my sudden swell of emotion a day earlier was the phone call to her this morning to wish her all the best and say how proud I am. We laughed at first. She's just worked at JP Morgan for a week as a work placement, and on Saturday she was home in Liverpool working on Phil's catering units, flipping burgers, and making coffees. Ironically, it was parked right outside the Queen Elizabeth courtrooms in Derby Square. A dreadful backdrop and a place where I hold no good memories. Worse is, I fear I will have to return. She was in a taxi when I rang, on the way to the station, and although she was cheery with Hello Dad, moments after laughing, she burst into tears. It was 11.30. I'd swerved the gym to make sure I could ring, but the only phone we can use before 2:00 PM is the communal one, for the prisoners to receive their two minute free call. Thankfully I could use my own phone credit. The phone and I were surrounded by officers and not a private space. Certainly the last place one expects to be, on the end of a prison phone, when your daughter is upset and crying. As tough as it felt, I kept a brave face and did my best to make her laugh. I said her Nan and Granddad, my parents, would be shuffling behind her like ET and Long John Silver. She laughed and I thought, nothing prepared me for this day. I'm not angry, bitter, or resentful, but it hurts. It seems so unfair. I told her Geoff is going to superimpose me onto the photos. The next thing I remember saying is, I'm sorry I can't be there, and I love you with all of my heart. Have a fabulous day. You've achieved it all by yourself. Her last words were, I love you Dad. As my family head south, I'm sat writing as I wait for a trip to the stores. In the background on the radio, Turkey and Nice are still the headlines and it puts into perspective, some things may hurt, but they're not over or a fatality. No. People are enduring far worse situations and pain. I welcome being reminded, it can always be far worse. I do fear she's growing up quickly and hope we did enough in the first 21 years of her life. We've provided her with love, support, and encouragement since the day she was born. And now she's an independent thinker and an independent woman. Of course, I wish I was there sharing in the celebrations, soaking up the atmosphere. Time with the folks is now more precious than ever. However sad I feel I'm acutely aware of not slipping into a doom pit. Although I feel tender emotionally, the truth is, keeping busy will prevent me from becoming melancholy. I've put Radio 2 on instead of Funeral FM. The music is more upbeat. I decided to let the day unfold and welcome all distractions. The first being, the trip to the stores was cancelled. Lads are arriving from court early and reception is short staffed. Trouble on the wings again. One of the arrivals was really a returnee, Yorkie. He's been on remand since February because he's apparently broken his licence conditions. However, today a jury found him not guilty of the crime he was accused of and what originally broke his licence conditions, but he's been returned to Walton. In the eyes of the law, he's innocent, and yet due to his licence and probation, he remains in custody indefinitely. My own fears are what lays ahead for me, if I don't win the appeal. I'd be on licence for years, always treading on eggshells and feeling as though I'm on the end of a very tight leash. It will be interesting to see how Yorkie's situation unfolds. I managed to speak to JB, only for a few brief minutes. He's up tomorrow on a visit with one of my oldest and closest friends, Freddy. He'd spoken to Jeremy. Well, the saga of the legal aid continues. Once again, it's been rejected. The good news is, Jeremy and the chambers are out of the blocks and all over it. Neither are happy at how this is being dealt with, and in their words, it stinks. I'll get the details in full tomorrow. There is only so much that can be said over a prison phone. You have to accept in here every call is recorded and potentially listened to, depending who you are, and what they suspect to be a cause for concern. I'm looking forward to seeing my pals tomorrow. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to see me as much as I them. They'll be shocked. The visit room is intimidating. In fact, coming through the process, through the scanners, corralled into a lobby, and then the sensory overload that is the visit room. They'll stand out and they'll feel the oppressive environment, even though half of it is happy families. It will be surreal seeing me in the knobhead tabard and not in a suit, and I'm white, lacking sunlight and vitamin D in the middle of summer. The visits room makes people feel super uncomfortable, especially if it's the first time. They'll feel all eyes on them as much as I, on all three of us. The day has been a rollercoaster of emotion, but as usual, never dull. We worked until late, but as a result, I managed a two minute call to T. It was the highlight of my day. They're on some classy rooftop bar by St. Paul's Cathedral, and my parents apparently are highly entertaining. Without realising it as such, it's distracted them away from dwelling on my absence. They're out on the town and no matter how old or ill ET and Long John Silver are, both will be last to bed. John Boy will hobble around on half of one foot and half of one leg and my mother will shuffle like ET. The day after the day before. It's not a criticism, merely an observation, is a phrase I use a lot in here. It's fair to say inmates take offence to almost everything that isn't in agreement with them, or at least what they want to hear. So feedback, even when it's genuine and thoughtful, or truthful, well, it seems to always hit a raw nerve in here, and unfortunately, again, an observation likely develops or escalates into a grudge. Some lads reach combustible levels quickly because they feel threatened, inferior, or stupid. Today has been generous in observations. But consider what I'm having to process at the same time as observing. One is never far away from being sucked into somebody else's shit storm. Do I have a face of disapproval at times? Yes. Do my words and body language often differ to the rest of the lads? Yes. And purely by breathing, do I have the knack for offending people? Yes. I try my best every day to be the best human being I can be, be a better person than yesterday type of thing, but none of that matters. There is no doubting my face of disapproval appears when the jail talk reaches baseness. If I cannot escape it, then often the lads will magnify the conversation to provoke further responses and generate entertainment value. Lunch was early today, 11.40. The selection was poor. I chose healthy and simple. It was early because the gym had been cancelled. It was a training day that did make me smile. The facilities and the equipment in the gym is stuck in the 1970s. I've written before that guys get bored and frustrated when there is no gym, and that can end up leading anywhere, which is normally unpleasant. It can become moody, quickly or worse, juvenile, taking the piss out of each other and playing stupid pranks at someone else's expense. Today we were introduced to a new coworker. He's been recommended by Toenails. He's one of his pals. During the morning, he seemed really okay, rough, but works hard. He likes to keep busy. However, by lunchtime it became clear, he was pure jail. The healthy and simple option I'd chosen, jacket potato and beans, turned out to be warm beans over a cold potato that was raw in the middle. I'd done a workout in the bedding stores and was super hungry, contemplating porridge for lunch again, and not paying attention to the lads chattering away. Toenails broke my moment of ambivalence. I saw him nudging our new coworker. Tell the lads what you told me last night, Ratty. I had a sense it was intended for me. Mischief making, pressing button stuff. I was right. Yeah, I get caught by me missus having a wank in the bathroom, that was bad, but she caught me watching the neighbour having a play. You can imagine. The lads loved it and I was up from the table to leave, after all porridge called. Toenails seized the opportunity. What do you make of that? He doesn't like that type of talk Ratty. Then a couple more jumped in and before you know it, you're potentially looking like a right twat. You know me lads. Personal stuff stays private. Toenails is always chipping away. And when two of the posse landed in my betting stores, just as I was in the middle of stirring Plan B for lunch, well, they hit the ground running, here to provoke me, picking up from the conversation around the table five minutes earlier. I'd like to think I'm good for a laugh, but the truth is they were here to agitate me and buzz off it and then do the rounds, same topic. G Dubz was not amused. The less I responded, the more the pair cattle prodded me. Comments were made about what I am and what I am not. Toenails loves to throw in in these moments, or as a result of them, that I think I'm better. When that grenade is thrown in, I have to act sharp and diffuse it. Usually, you know my position lads, George the mop and the Lord made us all as equals. But this time I threw in, in here we're all doing time and it brings out the best and worst in people. I'll put it like this. What would your missus think, listening to you getting off on another bloke wanking in the sink? Crack on lads. I'd rather watch a bad movie that I've already seen. You could cut the air with a knife. It baffles me how the lads descend into nonsense when they're bored, or worse, fuel led by Toenails. His relentless endeavors to derail me, try and embarrass me, or humiliate me, or break me, have been persistent now for six months. Yet the harder he persists, the more he's failed. That hurts him. Interestingly, for all of his sly and devious and wretched creature ways, he hasn't confronted me physically. I've come to the conclusion he's as afraid to be shipped out as anyone. He's at home in this place, probably earning more than he does on the outside. As P said, he's nothing better than a Joey out there. For all of the mischief and baseness born out of prison and boredom, Toenails knows too many lads in the group are in my corner. And officers will prefer to keep me than him, not because I'm close to them, but because I work hard, can be trusted and relied upon. Toenails put that on me too. If an officer is fighting down here and he shouts to you for help, who are you going to help, him or the prisoner? I shut that down quickly. Great question. What would you do? If Mr. C, who you love, we all know you're close, laugh at everything that he says. Well, he's 60, little old fella, and one of these crackpots just back from court, now laying into little old Mr. C, what would you do? I went a stage further and called Mr. H over. Hey Mr. H, if blah, blah, blah, blah happens, code red stuff, and you're being bashed in, what am I supposed to do? It was like everything went slowmo. The lads couldn't believe I'd asked the question. Mr. H looked at me, looked at the lads, and then said, press the alarm first and then get the fucker off me if I'm down. But what came next was the gem. He looked back at the lads and then said, any of you lads have a problem with that, feel free to let me know. My parting words were, we all know where we stand.