Always Read the Label Chapter 26 Little Bird are you Happy in Your Cage?
By Domino Woodstock
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The fun of that last lost weekend seems a lifetime ago sat in the court listening to evidence leading to a friend being sent to prison. It's the first time since a long ago wedding that I've seen Johnnie in a suit and it looks like the same one. I'm trying not to look at him in case I see tears and he's trying not to look at the public gallery in case it causes them. There's no real argument to put forward, but the brief has to be seen to earn his money. Character references are read out, emphasis is put on it being a first offence involving drugs and how he has now forsaken any involvement with drugs ever again, by the sound of it, even for headaches. It's a tale the judge looks bored to hear yet again. When all the evidence has been heard there's a break while we all go out to let him decide on a suitable punishment.
You can tell the family and friends apart from the legal profession by who's laughing, however discreetly they do it. For the latter tomorrow brings no more than another case to offer expensive hope to, before heading off at the weekend to spend the fees and remember it's just a job. For everyone else it changes everything. What happens before the sentence no longer exists after. Whatever it was has gone. No amount of wishing will bring back how it was.
All rise. Two years. 24 months. He'll be inside, even if he's on his best behaviour, for at least 16 months. Have you ever tried to stay in for a week? Now imagine that for a year and a half. Or think of your next 2 birthdays and imagine celebrating them without your friends. Locked in a cell. What's always kept me from doing too much wrong is the thought of someone else locking the door and deciding when I can leave. Johnnie can look forward to that for the foreseeable future.
I have to watch from behind my hand as I see him led away, grimacing from the effort I can see him tensely making not to let his face crumple. The last thing I see of him is a hand pushing his head down as he gets taken from the dock. His mum and brother are sobbing as they get up to leave. I can't face looking at them, never mind talking, so slip towards the back exit with Angus, past the line of vans, one of which will probably take him away later. I don't want to hang about, even for a drink and simply wave away Angus as I head to the tube. I never ever want to see that happen to someone again. Even someone I don't know.
Scottish Paul's the first to phone and ask what happened. Quickly followed by Russell, Thommo and a few others. Two years. There's not a lot more to say and neither I nor they bother trying. Then I'm left alone in the silence to realise there's not gonna be the sound of a key in the door as Johnnie returns from a night out. Not for at least 16 months.
It was his mum who sent me a Visiting Order. I had no idea that you needed one and had simply asked her which prison he was at when I phoned her. She told me he'd been moved from Brixton after 4 days to Coldingley, somewhere near Woking in Surrey. He liked it cos he had his own cell and was actually let out of it. The more we talked the more I could hear she was struggling to discuss it. I promised to go and see him as soon as I got the Visiting Order and couldn't get off the phone quick enough.
The prison, surrounded by razor wire, was grim blocks of buildings, mainly hopeless grey in colour, with what windows there were covered in wire. What did I expect? An amusement park with bright flashing lights? It was for keeping people in and didn't need to be a tourist attraction to keep the visitors coming.
I'd travelled down with Scottish Paul and we were sat in the waiting room, which was also dour, but in a nasty shade of magnolia, laughing at our passport pictures and trying to decide if we'd ask him if he'd been bummed. There were some chairs around the edges and a constant snaking queue, which we reluctantly joined, to get searched. Some had brought kids, who also had to be searched, that wouldn't sit still despite the stares from the also grey Prison Officers. Anyone who wasn't smoking looked odd, as did anyone who smiled. The regulars knew to stand at the front near the entrance to the next room which was why we'd found so much space at the back of the room where we eventually sat guessing how he'd be.
When he finally got let through and headed to the Formica table we'd been assigned wearing a red five-a-side bib, I didn't recognise him. His head wasn't shaved and what hair had grown back looked misplaced, like it had been stuck on in the dark. He hadn't been allowed his clippers yet. Apart from that he looked OK and was pretty cheery, demanding tea, which he got when the queue died down. He seemed to like the structure he was having to follow and was due to start learning how to screen-print. He said the food was shit, but most people who go on cheap foreign holidays say the same. He didn't like most of the people he was there with, ditto cheap foreign holidays, and had managed to stay out of trouble. For now.
"He walks round like he owns the place. Strutting about like he has the right to demand respect. He looks like the gypsy he is. Smells like one to."
I have a picture of Timmy from the Waltzers getting on Johnnies nerves. He was always having baths though, just never bothered to wash his hair.
"I'm stood waiting for the phone, like we all have to in here, and he just walks up and takes the hand-piece off this little speccy geezer who just walks away in shame. Bare knuckle my arse. It's just bare faced cheek. I fucking hate bullies. Just let him try that with me".
The guy he's talking about turns out to be sitting at the other side of the room and is slouched so low in his chair it's a safe bet he doesn't know he's being talked about or would even care if he did.
"I was chatting to a few of the guys who've been here a bit longer and they hate the cocky fucker as well. He's getting on everyone's nerves with his power plays and barging in".
There's a pause as a Prison Officer walks past slowly with his hands behind his back.
"We're gonna do something about it".
He's been in here for less than a month and is trying to start a war. I realise some of it's bravado and he's trying to make what must be deathly boring sound more glamorous and am about to tell him as much when Paul beats me to a reply.
"Look, you came in here to get your head down and get out as soon as you can. You really don't want to spend any more time than you have to here. If someone's getting on your goat, walk away. Don't go fighting other people's battles. The people in here should be big enough to fight there own".
It's not gonna work that easily, but at least he'll have to think about it. He's got enough time.
I buy another round. Of tea. Johnnie sits with the plastic spoon in his mouth waiting for it to cool. We've just finished it when a bell rings signalling the visit is over. That was when it got emotional. When the old world was asked to leave this new world. It's shit to know when you're walking out someone who wants to can't.
I worked out after a few visits that you don't ask what they've been up to. It's the same everyday with only minor variations and you can pretty much guess where they've been. You needed to bring news they didn't know. Convince them that life was still going on and would be waiting for them when they returned. Do all the talking, they're sick of hearing their voice. Bring hope. It helped them avoid tinfoil, hollowed out Biros and turning up to visits with pinprick eyes, like too many in the room had, flinching whenever a match was struck.
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