Fifty Years of Fear

by Ross Greenwood

  You were sent to prison and dropped in a sea of human failures. Then you drowned, while the ripple effect tore through those who knew you. Who recognised the signs, why didn’t anyone notice, or, what should we have done?

  You have a lot of time to think behind bars. Your worries are inescapable. Where would you go when you were released? Would you ever work again? Who would help when you came out with nothing? People shun the sick and evil; they are unloved and unwanted. A life alone is something few can endure.

  As I was now sentenced, I was assigned an Offender Manager and a Resettlement Officer. An appointment was made for me at a place called ‘The Link’ to see them both. I had to be escorted from my wing by an officer, as the mainstream prisoners were liable to assault anyone they suspected of coming off the ‘nonce wing’. The Resettlement Officer was first. He took me into a small booth and opened a file.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Roach. How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thank you.’

  ‘Right. My job is to make sure you prepare for your release. Housing, jobs, that sort of thing. Do you have somewhere to go when you're released?’

  I’d lost my house, but I hoped I wouldn’t be homeless.

  ‘My brother said he'll put me up.’

  ‘Excellent. Will work have you back?’

  ‘No. I’ve been dismissed.’

  ‘It’s lucky Peterborough is such a thriving place. The fastest growing city in England. Or is that Milton Keynes?’

  ‘Look, is this necessary? I got eighteen years.’

  His face fell.

  ‘Ah, sorry. I thought it was months.’ He drummed his fingers on the table and then stood. ‘I’ll see you in eight years then. Wait here, your Offender Manager has arrived. I’ll send him in.’

  I waited with my back to the door.

  ‘Eighteen! Nice to see you again.’

  Now, it was my face that dropped. It was the idiot from Reception, who booked me in after sentencing.

  ‘You can imagine my joy when I got assigned your case, having met you when I was helping out in Reception.'

  He sat opposite. No pen, no paper, just an inquisitive expression.

  ‘Do you know what an Offender Manager does?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s my job to complete a report on you so we can transfer you out of here. This is a local jail to receive people from court and to manage short sentences. We aren't set up to look after inmates who have decades to serve. I need to ascertain your risk levels. Therefore, I have to understand your thinking and motivations. We will have quite a few chats over the next few months, starting now.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Let’s start at the beginning. Why did you do it?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  He leaned back in his seat. A smile came which didn’t meet his eyes.

  ‘I’ve been doing this for years. I’ve had murderers, rapists and arsonists in my care. People from all walks of life. I read your case file. What I’ve learnt in my time is that men convicted of terrifying offences like yours rarely admit to what they’ve done. At least not at the beginning.

  ‘Let me guess, she was at your house, but you never touched her. She was lonely and vulnerable and you were just helping out. You don’t know why a twelve-year-old would make up those accusations but she was damaged. You don’t hold any malice for her as she was confused. Am I close?’

  The smug shit was spot on.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yet, in the end, you went guilty. Even though you knew you would get a heavy sentence. Scared to go to trial; to stand in court and deny it all? Didn’t want to make a poor girl experience the trauma of cross-examination?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think you’re guilty. The judge did too. Your barrister didn’t even provide any character references. Looks like your friends didn’t believe you either. You were in her bed by your own admission. Don’t you know that’s wrong? Whether your hands roamed under those sheets or not is just a matter of how mistaken you were.’

  ‘I didn’t do the things she said I did. It was her mother’s boyfriend.’

  ‘Really? Why aren’t the police questioning him?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Very convenient. We wouldn’t want him denying it either.’

  He shook his head as he stood.

  ‘I can see you aren’t going to admit to the charges. Not today, anyway. You have many long nights with your own company over the next nine years. I believe it’s the guilt that breaks people and finally makes them confess. Who knows, maybe it's boredom.

  ‘Understand this. If you don’t admit to what you did, then how can we rehabilitate you? We can’t lower your risk profile if you can’t see the error of your ways. We will want to see remorse, guilt and shame first. Then we can discuss how to stop these awful events occurring again. Otherwise you'll always be high risk and will never leave maximum security prisons. No cushy open jails for you. No working in the garden or popping home at the weekends. You will do hard time.’

  It didn’t feel like prison on our wing. Except for Kilkenny, most people were polite. We had vicars, teachers, airline pilots, police officers, prison officers, doctors, you name it.

  Sex offenders take many forms. There was even a carpenter – who, as you could imagine, was the orderly at the wood workshop where I took a course. I tried to keep busy, and started to make a bench. There wasn’t any rush.

  On the day Doc left, I had my first cell search. It was a degrading experience. Two officers came in our cell.

  ‘Your cell has been targeted for a cell spin. We will begin with a strip search and then we'll examine your entire room. Do you have any unauthorised items or anything illegal?’

  Doc left the room and the two officers stood in front of me and put blue plastic disposable gloves on.

  ‘Any religious or legal items you want us to be aware of?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Anything that could hurt me or my colleague?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Remove your T-shirt please and pass it here.’

  I did. He searched it and handed it back.

  ‘Put that back on and remove your trousers and socks.’

  I did.

  ‘And your pants. Turn around.’

  Humiliated, I bent over. The two of them collapsed with laughter.

  ‘Whoa there, tiger. It’s a bit early for any of that.’

  The other one tried to choke his amusement back, yet still couldn’t resist adding to the mirth.

  ‘I’ll go to the seaside if I want to see starfish.’

  They were a regular comedy duo.

  ‘You want anything so bad you need to keep it up there, then it’s yours.’

  Still sniggering they sent me onto the wing to wait. They found nothing and, judging by the fact most of our stuff was where it was beforehand, they didn’t search very hard either. They’d watched TV as our channel had been changed, and it smelt like they’d had a cigarette. Doc reckoned they’d eaten some of his biscuits.

  When they left, they handed Doc a big plastic bag.

  ‘You’re being transferred. HMP Whatton. The bus leaves in an hour. You will be packed and on it.’

  After they left, I questioned Doc.

  'Don't they give you any more notice than that if you’re moving prisons?'

  'No, sometimes they don't even give you an hour. If you've been troublesome they just drag you on the transfer vehicle and your belongings follow at a later non-specified date. If you're lucky.'

  It was strange to be so worthless.

  ‘Where’s Whatton?’

  ‘Nottinghamshire. They call it the Paedo Palace as it’s a whole jail full of sex offenders. It’s okay. I’ve been there before.’

  I helped him pack. We didn’t fill the bag. I walked with him to the gates and shook his hand. It was lunchtime by that point, so everyone queued up by the shutters. A lot of prisoners wished him good luck. As he was marched off, I wondered at that. He’d done des
picable things in his time, yet here he was a popular guy. Without him there, I felt vulnerable.

  I walked back to my cell to get my plate and bowl. Someone was looking out of my window when I stepped inside. Kilkenny turned around and gave me an evil grin. He shoved past me but stopped at the door.

  ‘I like Mars bars.’

  The door swung shut and I remembered the Offender Manager’s words. He was right. I would do hard time after all.

  Chapter 38

  2010 – Aged 44

  Clara came to visit me on the first day of August. I had to blink to make sure it was her. She’d spent the summer in the sun. Although she must have been cooling in the fountain of youth as she looked ten years younger. She was back to a normal size and seemed relaxed, even smiling at me when I approached her seat. It was a surreal moment.

  When I got close to her, it seemed impossible that she was once mine, to love and to cherish. All the feelings from when we first dated, that had been forgotten, remained. My heart lurched as, yet again, I thought of the life I could have had.

  I sat opposite and our eyes met. Mine dropped and I found myself looking at her hands which she clasped on her lap. I had a strong urge to touch them. To feel someone else’s warmth. They were so near, but I knew those hands might as well be behind a window.

  Once again, I remembered all the opportunities when I could have held her and never did. I realised that it would be many years before I would be close to another person.

  Prison had been my home for two years by that point. I received a letter from Clara saying which days she could come and I booked the visit. It had been a long wait for that day to arrive. I let her start the talking as there was unlikely to be any interesting news from me. There would be nothing good from her either. She had written to tell me she was coming to say goodbye.

  ‘How are you, Vinnie?’

  ‘Fine, thank you.’

  I wish people would stop asking that. They don't want to know the truth. I felt like a flower, wilting through lack of sunlight and water. If I didn’t get the things I needed to survive it would be too late to save me.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me. I didn’t want to just disappear, even after what happened. I’m going to get everything off my mind first and then, well, if you want to go back to your cell, then that’s okay.’

  ‘Go for it, Clara.’

  She paused and then looked blank.

  ‘God, I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Anywhere is fine.’

  ‘I don’t think you deserved all those years. People have killed and been given less time.'

  She stopped to wipe a solitary tear away.

  'I also had a visit from Kirsty’s mum, Michelle. She wanted money. Said that you owed her for what you did to her child. She was crazy when she came over, like she was on a different planet. I had to ring the police and they took her away. They also took Kirsty away. I heard she’s been taken into care. I only saw Michelle once after that when she collected her stuff. There’s a rumour going around that they found drugs at her house and she got sent to prison.’

  ‘I haven’t seen her.’

  She stopped talking and laughed loudly. She struggled a while to recover her senses. A release of tension, I supposed. People don’t seem to laugh like that in prison. I’m not sure exactly what these walls take from you but the ability to be carefree is something you miss.

  ‘Ahh, Vinnie. Where did it all go wrong?’

  We both leaned back in our seats and considered those words. It was babies, or the lack of them. That said, other couples survive not having children. Although perhaps not ones who needed them as much as Clara. Maybe I should have wanted them as desperately as she did and we would have suffered the hopes and failures in a more united way. I tried to be strong when I should have been weak.

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up about that, Vinnie. What happened would have broken most relationships. For a long time, I was elsewhere. I knew you were there for me, at home, and I’m grateful for that. Yet, I think I lost my sanity. The miscarriages I had in the house, I kept one of them. Did you know that?’

  I shook my head. Surely a good husband would have been aware. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  ‘I kept it in the jewellery box. The first time, I flushed it away in disgust but then I wanted it back. It was gone, too late, and there was nothing I could do. I would cry for hours with guilt and despair. So, I kept the second one. I would hold it.

  ‘It was just a small bag really with a lump in it, yet sometimes it helped and other times I felt strange and morbid. I couldn’t get any peace, or still my mind except when I was eating. I suppose I was mad. You put up with me when many would have left. I must have been awful to live with. I never blamed you, Vinnie. Only myself and my father.’

  ‘No, you…’

  ‘Shush now. I need to finish. My father raped me. That’s where that STD came from. I finally told my mum what happened and she believed him instead of me. That’s why they never visited our flat. I felt crazy and that’s what she said I was.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell the police?’

  ‘He was my father and I didn’t want him to go to prison.’

  ‘Yet you let me go to prison.’

  ‘When I told him to stop, he did. I told you and you carried on.’

  ‘I didn’t do it.’

  ‘That’s what he said. He was convincing too. You doubt yourself and I was there. I don’t know precisely what you did. You did do something wrong though and you’re being punished. I hope that girl is safe now.’

  Another small piece of me died as I realised she would never be able to look at me in the same way again, whatever I said. She continued, her voice getting stronger with each word.

  ‘My father dropped down dead not long after you were sent here. Heart failure was better than he deserved. I hope they saved an unpleasant fiery pit for him. Without you to help me, I had a complete breakdown: screaming, shouting - a total stereotype. I was hospitalised and that was my rock bottom.

  ‘They gave me therapy and support for all the things that had happened. They taught me that what I’d done was nothing to be ashamed of. That I was normal. My mum came to see me and apologised too. All of a sudden, my compulsion to overeat vanished. One of the male nurses took a shine to me and, well, we began dating.’

  She sensed me stiffening in my seat but continued. Brutal. Each word bumping into my heart.

  ‘I live with him now. We’re going to foster in the future. I will have my children, Vinnie. Be sure of that. I want to get married again too, so I suppose I’m here for a divorce.’

  What can you say to that? I couldn’t think of a response. I was the man slumped at the stake after the firing squad had filled its purpose.

  ‘This is closure, for us both. Look what we did to each other. We can still have a life just not together. I’m afraid I associate you with so many bad things and I want to move forward. I hope, with enough distance, I could perhaps remember you fondly. But I have to say goodbye.’

  Surprisingly, there were tears for neither of us. They'd been shed. She stayed for a few minutes longer but we could both see there was little point in continuing. I wished her the best. She hadn’t done wrong and maybe now she could get what she deserved.

  She gathered her things together and stood before me. This time it was me that held her gaze until she looked away. With a wry expression, she made her way to the back of the visit hall and nodded to the officer, who unlocked the door and escorted her out. I sat forward in my seat, head in hands, tired.

  ‘What are you waiting for, Roach? Get up and get a move on, or your next visit will be with a dentist.’

  That year was a tough one. The only respite from Kilkenny's never-ending bullying was a letter from my brother saying he’d received a cheque for £30,000 pounds from Clara. My share of the winnings, less some expenditure. I clung to that like a drowning man thrown a rope. That money was my future. With it, I had a chance.

&nb
sp; I knew I wasn’t the only person on the wing who was suffering Kilkenny's reign because many an inmate sported random bruises and limps. As if we were all forced to play a ferocious sport each night and suffered the next day. Oddly, it wasn’t the violence that drained your soul, it was the hopelessness and vulnerability. It consumed every moment.

  The industrial kitchens in the prison used to cook the food and send it to the wings for distribution by the wing workers out of the servery. Kilkenny used to wander in and help himself to what he fancied, even though there was only enough for each man. Someone always went short.

  On the odd occasion, an officer would catch him and tell him to clear off, but he was sneaky and knew the staff had other concerns. As far as they could see, it progressed smoothly because no one complained.

  Every Saturday morning they gave us a fry up for lunch. Sausages, bacon, hash browns, beans and a boiled egg. It was the high point of the week for many. As I said, in prison you focus on the small things. I saw a man cry when Kilkenny took his sausages. He didn't eat them, just threw them in the bin.

  Once, I saw Kilkenny with his face buried in the large servery fridge as I passed the open door. I found myself wandering in. He was unaware I was there but the aggression I occasionally felt was gone. I imagined kicking his backside and then slamming the door on his head, many times, perhaps while laughing.

  However, I left, before he saw me, and spent the next few weeks trying to think of a reason why I hadn’t done it.

  Chapter 39

  2011 – Age: 45

  I thought my life would never change, and then my transfer came through. HMP Wakefield, or as it’s affectionately known; ‘The Monster Mansion’. Over 700 of the worst rapists, perverts and murderers behind many bleak walls. Nevertheless, if it got me away from Kilkenny, I was happy to go.

  It felt odd to have been somewhere so long and have so few good memories. The problem was they were running out of spaces for men like me as the number of historic sex offences convictions was increasing exponentially. On a daily basis, they brought new shell-shocked residents to our wing. Fresh poison each week. I would help those who asked, as Doc had looked after me.