When the audience including Belfast-born actor Stephen Rea gave Pat Sheedy a standing ovation for his speech at the Listowel Writers’ Week Awards on the 31 May, it might have been the first time in the history of the Prison Writing Competition that a prisoner on temporary release accepted the prizes on behalf of all the incarcerated winners. Pat won first prize in the advanced category for his short story Escaping, repeating his success in 2022 with Voices of Death, and his book he explained, due out once he’s released, is a memoir of his years as a compulsive gambler, while Escaping is an imaginative work of fiction inspired by a family event. This clue will inform a close reading of Pat’s story, but I won’t spoil the suspense by explaining the real-life event.
It’s often said that writers create “pen pictures” that come to life in the imagination as we read, and my role as picture editor involves searching for images “worth a thousand words” by prisoner artists, to illustrate texts by prisoner writers. After you read Escaping (p. 30), take another look at the pop-art piece alongside, four words on a superhero’s shield, painted by a young man in Wheatfield Prison, deeply meaningful in itself, it expresses a theme concealed in the story.
All In editorial policy regarding the use of artwork is reflected in this issue, in the original, free-flowing patternmaking of the cover artist, while other artists work directly from images stored in their memories or formed in their imaginations (pp. 26-27). One man paints landscapes in vibrant colours entirely from memory (p. 11), and a woman captures the innocence of butterflies fluttering around flowers in a beautiful, spontaneous, gestural painting, that is as much felt as seen (p. 39). I leave you with a quote, relevant to making all forms of art, from Belfast’s Van Morrison, as he left the stage at Self Aid in Dublin in 1986, he said, “There are no copycats in heaven”.
Tom Shortt (Co-editor)
Arts Officer Irish Prison Education Service Limerick
Welcome back! Writing the editorial is an emotional event following on from our collaboration last year. The immensely positive responses to All In magazine endorses the Editorial Board’s determination to produce an issue again this year.
Our 40 pages of content and artwork are attributed to writers and artists from: Arbour Hill, Castlerea, Cloverhill Prison, Cork Prison, Dóchas Centre, Hydebank Wood College and Women’s Prison, Loughan House Open Prison, Limerick Prison, Maghaberry, Magilligan, Midlands Prison, Portlaoise Prison, Progression Unit, Mountjoy, Training Unit, Mountjoy, Wheatfield Prison, as well as Prison Arts Foundation’s (PAF) Community Hub. This is a singular, collective achievement foreshadowing wider perspectives. All In has become a significant contribution to prioritising intercommunication between prisons in terms of the arts and education. Clearly, this is a landmark moment. Effectively, this edition of All In has a vision of creating community between the prisons; and beginning with this publication leaning on the achievements of the First Issue.
Inside are our content features: new writers, articles, memoir, flash fiction, recipes, opinion pieces, reviews, crafting, music, monologues, a selection of images showcasing art, ceramics, model making and tapestry, and crucially, the Writing in Prisons at Listowel Writers Week 2023, Prison Writing Winners in the short story and poetry categories. All In presents the standard that proves on display that the submissions from the contributors, reflect the solid commitment from all our supporters. With issue 2 in print, we look to the future…
Pamela Mary Brown (Co-editor) Writer-in-Residence Prison Arts Foundation
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Sincere thanks are offered to all who played a part in the creation of this magazine and who gave most generously of their time and insights in shaping the content. The creation of this collaborative work would not have been possible without the tireless support of Prison Arts Foundation, The Irish Prison Service and the Northern Ireland Prison Service. All In magazine gives special thanks to the project innovators and Editorial Board: Tom Shortt, Pamela Brown (interior layout), Shauna Gilligan, Geoff Power, Fred Caulfield, Adele Campbell, Allison Moore. Edel Higgins and Alan O'Donnell at IPS HQ. Olivia Doyle at IPS Arbour Hill. Sincere appreciation is extended to the many teachers and prison educators who supported their students during the submissions process. Thanks to graphic designer Eva Wason for the poster and magazine cover. Cover Art: >>Untitled, Anon, Maghaberry Prison
ALL IN—A PERSONAL RESPONSE
The first issue of the ALL IN magazine was published in the Summer of 2022. It follows the work of prisoners all over the island of Ireland, North and South. It features prison life activities, programmes, education and sport. The editors are Tom Shortt and Pamela Mary Brown. It would not be possible without these people, their back room staff and the cooperation of The Irish Prison service and Northern Irish Prison Service.
BEHIND THE WALL
I think the magazine is a good idea. Within its thirty-five pages, it shows many things that are going on behind the walls, productive things. You can see the woodwork, the painting, and all the education that is happening in prison. You see the bonds made between teachers and prisoners, and from prisoner to prisoner. These bonds bring prisoners on so much that they start to show the promise and the good that God put inside them. Prisoners are entering the Listowel Writers Week Competition. It’s amazing what is happening in this magazine.
ANOTHER CHANCE
I like the layout of the magazine, the colour on the front with the white and black print makes it stand out. Inside the magazine all the photographs are in colour, this shows that all the people involved care about the magazine presentation. Fingers crossed that it
THERE IS HOPE
“It shows many things that are going on behind the wall, productive things.”
keeps going this way. I think this magazine should be put into local shops for free to let people see the tax money is being put to use inside, that there is still good inside us and that we deserve another chance. I hope this can take off and gets bigger and better. Hopefully, we will get to see a few more happy outcomes for ex-prisoners in this area, within the next few years. My friend’s father had a painting in this issue; he started painting in prison and is getting great money for his art works now.
So, this magazine should not stop. It would be good if it were used to help prisoners understand that there is hope and success if you apply yourself. This is what I took from the magazine and I hope some of my work will be in it one day and for someone to say, “If he can do it, so can I.” I’m going to put a poem into The Listowel Writing Competition this year, 2023. Much of the work in the magazine resonates with my own views. For example, the article on “Education changed my Life”. I too feel that education is changing my life. I would like to thank everyone involved in this publication. >>Anon, Portlaoise Prison
>>Group Project 2022 with Typographer Mark Smith, Wheatfield Place of Detention
ME, ADHD AND PRISON
For most of my life sleep was not on the menu for me. With my ADHD there was no off switch. I could be nodding off, and a thought would come into my head which would lead to me going from bringing my car to the NCT to taking over the world and ending with what I was going to have for breakfast. But I started getting into a routine the last few years. I’d have a bit of supper with my partner, watch a certain programme, zone out from work and cool the jets down in my mind.
HARD TO ADJUST
Then in a thirty-minute trip to the Central Criminal Court, everything changed. When I knew I was going to prison, the fear of being confined in a small space gave me panic attacks. It was hard to adjust to being in the cell but when the day came and the nightmare was real, I used my daughters, my partner and my family to give me strength. Fear can break you down into little bits if you let it.
A QUIET ROOM
I had no routine, and to get to sleep…there was a better chance of Kildare bringing Sam home! When I closed my eyes, it was like it triggered fireworks with twenty lads in souped-up cars and trays of drink, Red Bull and a large bag of magic. It was like going from a quiet room to an illegal rave where yokes are being popped like smarties and people are going flat to the mat like it’s their last day on earth. Sleeping and me were just not getting on.
DAY AND NIGHT
People automatically think that because someone is smiling and joking that everything is rosy. In the open prison, I’m surrounded by nice lads, lovely staff and the teachers are amazing. But still, when I go back to my room, I’m as lonely as a man in the middle of a rainforest on his own. I find it hard to eat over in the food hall. All the time I have to think and reflect on my life, and does act the bollox with my mental health. Missing my partner, girls, grandson, family and friends always breaks my heart day and night.
FEELING SAFE
I spent a lot of my childhood on my own. Most of my time was spent down in Wicklow with my Nanny who was my best friend growing up, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. She had the biggest heart and always made me feel safe. When I was back in Dublin I struggled to be part of sports and groups. I got bullied because of my sleepy eyes and big teeth and having no big brother or sister to stick up for me but I would never let anyone pick on me no matter what size they were. One of the hardest things that ever happened was getting attacked by a dog at my friend’s birthday party. The guard dog got out and went straight for me, dragged me around the garden like a rag doll. Both of my legs were tore to bits. I was unable to walk for nearly a year. The
effects were ongoing but the thing about fear is that it can be overcome.
EXERCISES AND TIPS
Some people see ADHD as a sickness or a disability but when I got diagnosed in my 20s, it really changed my life. I started to look at things so differently. I doubled my workload with less stress; I was planning ahead and not going around like a headless chicken on smack. I learnt some exercises and tips to help control my ADHD which help make my time in a closed prison a little easier.
Drink as little coffee as possible.
Reading stops the brain from feeling like it’s getting chased down the M50 on the wrong side of the road by twenty FED cars.
Talking to people helps you stop thinking too much about the outside world.
Going to the school and having a job helps.
Get into a routine and keeping busy will help you sleep.
To help panic attacks, I learnt breathing techniques from a teacher that helped calm me down, get myself back together. >>Anon, Loughan House Open Centre
I AM A PROUD TRAVELLING MAN
Icame to Cloverhill Prison in March 2022, and it is now January 2023. When I first came I was depressed and lonely. I was in a dark place with suicidal thoughts, and I had a drugs problem. I had a prison mind. I was on landing B2. A prison officer asked me if I would like to go to school and I said yes. It would pass the time for me. I left school at 12 with no education. I went to the school in Cloverhill that Monday morning not knowing it would change my life for the better.
TALKING HAS HELPED
I took English and maths classes, and I became a Red Cross volunteer. There were Red Cross talks about suicide awareness and drugs overdose prevention. This is something I had never talked about before. My prison mind was free at last. Talking has helped me overcome my mental health issues. I also went to a Mindfulness class. I learned breathing techniques. This helped me to deal with my stress and my way of thinking.
A PROUD TRAVELLING MAN
I am now drug-free, and I would encourage travelling men in prison to speak out and not to suffer in silence. There is help for mental health and education. Just ask! I hope my story will change lives of travelling men in prison. I would like to thank all the staff at Cloverhill Education Centre for helping me out with my education and my mental health and for changing my attitude towards life. There is light at the end of the road. Just ask for help! I am a proud travelling man. God bless you all in Jesus’ name. >> Anon, Cloverhill
A TRAVELLER PRISONER
My name is Owen. I am an Irish Traveller. I am 48 years old and I live in Dublin. Prison is prison no matter what way you look at it. We’re all under the same roof. We’re all the same, traveller or not. There’s no difference. When I first came to prison in the late 80s prison was so different. There was a lot of stigma, the likes of name calling and so on. I could go on forever.
NOT A GOOD PLACE
Being a traveller in prison back then it wasn’t very good and we had a lot to put up with. For example, prisoners shouted out the word ‘Knacker’ on the landings. It was very embarrassing for us, it made us
>>Anon, Cloverhill Prison
”
“My prison mind was free at last.
feel very small. Back then I could not read or write, another embarrassment. I could go on really, it was not a good place at the time.
GETTING AN EDUCATION
It is a lot different in prisons now. We are more accepted by prisoners and officers. Yes, we had it from both sides. It was what it was and there was not a lot you could do at the time. Now it’s so different. I go to school, and I work in the prison laundry. It’s good, it keeps my mind occupied and I am getting an education. I am doing my Leaving Cert and it makes me feel so proud of who I am.
I am very grateful to the teachers and staff and of course other prisoners. I would not be where I am only for them, so thank you everyone. My name is Owen. I am an Irish Traveller and proud of it. So prison is prison, good or bad –you decide. >> Anon, Cloverhill Prison
MOVING FORWARD
Life is made up of phases and processes, during which the human being is subjected to experiences, which result in their natural evolution. Each person has an ideal and goals to be fulfilled that require knowledge and wisdom. There are no easy paths on the long road of life; at every step, we achieve privileges that provide us with a significant increase in our perspective on life and the world. This is what I always believed, but being arrested for the first time made me lose sight of this theory.
SACRIFICE
My name is L***, I'm 27 years old, and I’m Brazilian, born in Sao Paulo. The life I had in Brazil was simple; my family didn't have a lot of money, but we were happy with what we had, everything was achieved with a lot of sweat and sacrifice. I started working at the age of 16, and had the opportunity work as a joiner and carpenter. I came to love the profession because art is involved in the entire production process. I learned to play the guitar at the age of 16, since then it's something I love to do in moments of leisure and as a personal therapy. I thank God for having blessed me with talent and aptitude for art and music, as this has given me strength.
FEELING DIRECTIONLESS
Living in Europe has been my dream since I was a child, but the way I got here was not the best. In a matter of hours I saw my dream go down the drain with a tremendous shower of cold water. I was indeed confined to the COVID-19 isolation area in Cloverhill Prison, Dublin. My first days in prison left me feeling directionless. Everything was very difficult not knowing how to speak English properly. It was the worst way to learn the language. After a while, I accepted that this was my new reality. I had to find a way to cope with life in prison and make the best of the situation. I had to talk to myself to help me stay strong until the end of this journey with an indefinite end, as the violent and hostile environment made negative thoughts flow frequently. My routine was based on waking up early, having breakfast, lunch, having coffee in the afternoon and walking in the yard between each
meal during the day. At night, I spent time reading the Holy Bible or some book of interest, watching series and movies until I fell asleep. Keeping up with the gym helped and has helped to keep body and mind active.
MY OWN CREATION
I arrived in Cloverhill, a remand prison, in July. In the midst of boredom, an idea for a drawing came to me. I’d been given a sheet of A4 paper by a prison officer to put down phone numbers of people I wanted to call. I put my idea on the back of the A4 page. It was a light illuminated my path as I drew, as if the metal gates and the concrete walls disappeared; all my anxiety and anguish went away. After finishing, I was very happy: it was the best drawing I had ever done, my own creation inspired from God. Friends were impressed. Inmates began to bring me ideas to represent on paper. They put my drawings on the walls of their cells. I began meeting people, making friends and gaining respect. I felt I was living in a warmer and a friendlier environment. A friend asked me to do a portrait of Marilyn Monroe and the outcome was incredible. I’d found my artistic identity and was getting new requests daily to draw family and loved ones. My drawings went viral across the landing and then the whole prison. Drawing kept me busy, serving as a therapy. It was satisfying to see people's expression of happiness when they had a drawing of their relatives and loved ones in their hands.
STRUCTURE AND SUPPORT
After 2 months, classes returned and I enrolled in ESOL (English as a Second or Other Language), ICT, Art and Music classes. In the music class, a few of us immediately formed a band called The Committals. We performed a few songs and recorded an album where I designed and drew the cover. In school I didn’t feel helpless, thanks to the structure and support from the teachers. I plan to stay involved in education, seek qualifications and take care of my physical and mental health, so that one day I can return to society, work for good and make a difference. >> Anon, Cloverhill Prison
ITS NOT EASY BEING ON THE RUN
Igot out of prison after 6 years in 2020. From locked up to locked down, the pandemic hit the world. It was a mad experience but I took advantage of the situation, not to say that out of context, by “took advantage” I got a job in Dublin. During the pandemic people were happier to collect the Covid payments and not go to work. Employers were screaming for workers and I managed to get myself a job in a 3 star Michelin restaurant. I had never paid taxes before this and it was a godsend that I got into a place like that. It gave me great life experience and a great boost of confidence, as well as built my character too.
CAT AND MOUSE
But something that was eating me away was the fact that I was on the run from the Gardaí in Limerick and it was a game of cat and mouse everyday. It’s not easy on the run to be honest, everyday I was trying to avoid getting stopped and searched by the shades. I was hoping that everyday I went to work I wouldn’t be arrested and f***** on remand. I hopped around from job to job, going from kitchen porter to landscaper and groundworker to taking down and putting up the vaccines centres in Dublin and Belfast but… It’s not easy being on the run.
SECOND HOME
Dublin has always been my second home. I love the place. The cultures, the nightlife, but most of all the people. I’ve had some great times there through the years and saw things that I could
>>Untitled, Anon, Maghaberry Prison
never forget. There was another burden that I carried along the 23 months on the run during the pandemic. I was suffering from addiction and I was in denial. To be honest, I was on the run and hoping to be caught, in the back of my mind. It’s not easy being on the run and suffering from addiction and working. Anyway, the cat finally caught the mouse on January 22 when I went to see my son in Limerick. I arrived on a train from Dublin, as I did frequently, and was met by 3 plain clothes detectives. It’s not easy being on the run.
SOME SHOCK
I wrote this story 2 nights after I received 7 years. I have to say it was some shock to the system to be working in a Michelin Star restaurant to eating coddle every
second Monday. I am 12 months in to my sentence and have done a lot of work in the school here in Limerick Prison. The school is a godsend to be honest and it’s my coping mechanism in jail. I guess the moral of this story is that even though I have spent years in jail since a teen I still went on to get a job because I really wanted it. If you really want something you can get it if you put your mind to it:
The power of positive thinking and all that.
Even though it’s not easy when you’re on the run.
Even though it’s not easy when you’re an addict.
When you put your mind to it? Nothing’s impossible. >>Anon, Limerick Prison
LICENCE AND RECALLS
Throughout my sentence I’ve heard about the dreaded ‘recall’. Breaking licence conditions is the main reason why I see the same people back after their release. It seems nearly everyone that walks out those gates eventually comes back in through them, and within three months.
SIX YEAR LICENCE
Now that the end of my sentence is nearing I’m looking at a six year licence and thinking more often about what can go wrong. My sentence has been spent looking towards my release date, but now I’m worrying about every minor detail. How will I last waiting a couple of weeks for benefits to start up? When I go to the hostel who’s going to be there? Will there be any problems? If I get recalled would my children understand? Or like everyone else think I’ve just messed up again? No one in my family believed me when I explain the reasons I could be recalled. The reality is that both north and south more than half of prisoners reoffend within three years but these statistics don’t show how many prisoners come back for things like failing drug tests, not cooperating with probation and in a few instances overdosing.
BREAKING THE CYCLE
Speaking to others that have been recalled most only lasted a few months, and a lot of this was for small things that have built up or been blown out of proportion. Breaking the cycle can be hard enough without people trying to trip you up and
bringing you away from friends and family, planting you somewhere full of drugs, frustration and anger. At this point even the most optimistic of people can lose hope, fall off the wagon, turning to drugs and other destructive coping mechanisms. This means they can be kept in prison. Recalls appear in front of the single commissioner within three to six months and then the panel usually around six weeks after that. They can knock you back from being released back into community and keep you in jail for up to a year later. All this and a lot of the time there are no new charges just breaching conditions of parole.
>>Cry for Help, Anon, Maghaberry Prison
CONSTANT WORRY
Now I’m nearing release I am constantly worrying about what is on the other side of that gate. If I mess up what will happen? All I can do is keep my head down, focus on keeping busy and make sure I don’t end up recalled and taken away from my kids again. Though I’ve to be honest I’m expecting to come back for at least another year. Yes, it’s cynical, and this might be a self-fulfilling prophecy, but this will make it less hurtful if I do return and realistically the odds are stacked against me. >>Anon, Prison Arts Foundation, (PAF) Community Hub.
EDUCATION AND TILING WITH GEOMETRIC OBJECTS
Ifinished an Open College Network Level 3 in Creative Writing and next I had to pick a new subject to study. Tiling came to my mind. I’d heard about a shortage of tradesmen these days and a major one being tiling, people can wait for months to find a tiler to work in their homes. I also had an appreciation for tiling and liked the different types of tile designs.
DIVISION AND ANGLES
I explained to my sentence manager that I was interested in this course, and almost straight away I started a Level 1 qualification in tiling. After spending a week brushing up on things, I needed maths and had to review things like division and angles, I then learned how to carry out the health and safety written work. Finally, I was taken over to my very own 5ft by 5ft workspace that had a workbox filled with all the necessary tiling tools. Facing the tool box was two plain walls plus a cement floor for me to practice tiling.
REWARDING WORK
My teacher showed me the basics of tiling which I found to be rewarding work. The work was obviously very practical. It was also precise and skilful work as there’s a lot of measuring like finding centre points on walls and tiles, and this must all be done by the millimetre. Also working with the tile bonding agents such as adhesive and keeping tiles constantly level and plumb. There is the cuttings and clippings of the tiles.
WORK FOR MYSELF
All these things combined made me realize that tiling was much more of a skill than I previously thought it would be. I had watched people tile before and didn’t realise the skills involved which was a nice thought too as it meant not just anyone could do it. This told me that if I became skilled at it, there could be a bright future for me in which I could possibly one day work for myself with plenty of work available.
I started off laying ceramic tiles to the wall, the type you have in your bathroom. At first it took a very long time for me to tile just a very small space with my work space looking chaotic and the tiles unlevelled. I thought I would never be able to make much money at this as a job outside prison. I just wasn’t fast or skilful enough. As the weeks rolled on however my skills started to improve and I learned all the wee tricks of the trade, and added my own personal small step rules to make my jobs cleaner, faster and more professional. After a month I happily realized I had the
A GLOBAL WARNING
Abeautiful vision obscured by a grotesque reality, the planet burns as we face impending tragedy. How can we learn? We need to turn to sanity. Pollution is a product of humanity and Mother Nature in our hands placed a key, yet we continue to cut down trees.
They say the best things in life are free, an ultimate test of fate, but how can we expect to succeed in the future - a life we will
MOTHER OF ALL
One thing that all people should ask themselves when it comes to Nature, is what does it mean to you? How does it make you feel? Why I love being in Nature is that like things in most people’s lives, it can’t always been controlled. That’s good because
never lead. As an apple fell it sowed a seed but action is what we need.
Why teach a generation greed and to believe global warming is not real? For the planet I grieve. We need to learn a lesson - Place our kids’ future above material possessionsEnough I can’t stress it! Impending doom, count down hours, minutes and seconds. The planet is dying and extinction beckons.
Presidents respond by testing nuclear weapons, deny that it’s to disaster we are headed, treat the climate crisis as if it’s just another headache - Future generations can’t afford our mistakes. As rubbish pours into our rivers, seas and our lakes, we haven’t got a spare planet earth to break. It’s up to me and you to future shape or face global disaster with no escape. >>Anon, Progression Unit, Mountjoy
not everything needs to be controlled, it’s just better to let life happen.
ONE TRUE FRIEND
From when life started on this big spinning rock, nature has been our one true friend. helping to provide food, homes and medicine. I’ve been learning that one handful of soil can have just as much life in it than we can ever comprehend. Its true power is how it makes you feel by simply running your hands through the soil, breathing in the beauty of a flower or the changing of seasons. From the first song of spring to that first bitter nip of winter. The long beautiful days you and your family and friends spend at the beach, and when you see the first leaf turn from green to golden brown in the fall.
FOND MEMORIES
We have our fond memories of life with nature and sometimes we take what is not ours from her. She still gives, and
sometimes we’re in places like jail and we don’t get to see much of what is outside the walls. Nature will always find a way to keep us in touch with her. Let it be the deepest part of the ocean, or the highest point we can reach, she lives and breathes. We don’t often see nature as a living thing, but often she is the best friend we have. That’s just one fool’s thinking, at least I’m thinking of her, and not just myself.
LONG GOODNIGHT
We can build cities and keep expanding but we are the guest nature was there when we took our baby steps as a race of people. She’ll be there long after anyone is left to see her go gracefully into that long goodnight. Do you remember your first memories with your loved ones in the changing of seasons? Wouldn’t it be amazing to give that to the generations that are still to come?
>>Anon, Loughan House Open Centre
>>Anon, Cork Prison
LIVING IN LOUGHAN HOUSE
A prisoner’s view on life in Loughan House
Most of us prisoners serving sentences today look forward to when the ISM officer comes to you and tells you that you’re on your way to Loughan House. The Open Prison is the RollsRoyce of prisons and is a sure sign that you’re on the right path, on the way home.
HISTORY
Loughan House opened as a prison in 1972, and last year celebrated its 50th anniversary I’ m one of the lucky ones to be finishing my sentence here, and it certainly lives up to expectations. You are still very aware that you are in prison, but the freedom to move within the complex during the day, while it can take a little getting used to at first, is fantastic. My typical day includes work, school, and walks to the majestic Lough McNean. There’s an AstroTurf pitch hosting a game of football most evenings, or if football isn’t your thing, maybe a game of tennis, basketball or handball.
TRUST
Family visits are available every day, and being able to walk around with your loved ones is a great experience for all. Being trusted with your own mobile phone is a very big part of the programme, and being able to talk to family and friends for as long as you want, whenever you want is a great perk. Okay, it’s not a smartphone, it’s restricted, but it’s still great. There is an
“An integral part of the local community...”
excellent Chaplain in the prison and there are regular services in the church that are open to all.
SCHOOL
The school in Loughan offers different courses, from music to arts and crafts, computers to horticulture. Maths, woodwork, and cookery are also available, as are other courses from non-accredited to QQI Level right up to Open University degree courses.
PATRONS
Situated just outside Blacklion on the Cavan-Fermanagh border, Loughan House isn’t just a prison. It is an integral part of the local community, and locals from Blacklion, Glenfarne, Manorhamilton, even from Enniskillen are regular patrons of the outstanding facilities that are available to the public on a daily basis. These facilities
include a Car Valeting service and a Garden Centre that are operated by prisoners and provide top class products and services at the most competitive rates. The bicycle workshop has been instrumental in the re-working and delivery of bicycles to The Gambia to those in most need of them. The Coffee Shop offers a range of quality refreshments and snacks. Loughan House is also very proud of its partnership with Bóthar which sees prisoners working on the onsite farm, tending to up to thirty cattle.
DARKNESS INTO LIGHT
On May 6th last, Loughan House held its first ‘Darkness into Light’ walk in aid of Pieta House. This was a memorable event, very well attended by prisoners, staff and the local community. As part of the 50th anniversary celebrations, the prison also hosted a very successful Christmas market, offering local businesses the opportunity to display and sell their wares.
RWANDAN COMMUNITY
Loughan House has been working with Bóthar for a decade now, as part of a programme that sees dairy cattle enter the farm in Loughan at 6 weeks of age and reared to maturity when they can be airlifted to a Rwandan community where they will produce offspring and supply milk to a community creamery that has been developed by Bóthar. Bóthar has been supplying Irish animals and purchasing others locally for the impoverished Rusizi area of Rwanda for 18 years.
SUCCESSFUL MODEL
Under the supervision of Mr. McGowan, Work and Training Officer in Loughan House, the hugely successful model sees that each family that receives the gift of the dairy heifer also agrees to pass-on the first born female calf to another needy family. Looking after the animals is a very responsible job. It teaches the prisoners a strong work ethic and helps them to develop a sense of personal responsibility and this is very important in the rehabilitation process.
LUCKY AT TIMES
I’m not in prison by choice, but feel pretty lucky at times that I am getting to finish my sentence here. It’s not every prisoner that wakes up to a view of a magnificent lake surrounded by a forest of trees, and a field full of grazing cattle. >>Anon, Loughan House Open Centre
Loughan House Bóthar Initiative
Loughan House Bicycle Restoration Project
By prisoners, for prisoners
TIME TRAVELLING
If I told you I was a time traveller you’d probably wonder if I’d been accidently transferred to this prison instead of a secure unit… however, I’m only half crazy due to an insatiable hunger for interesting sounds: familiar sounds, nostalgic sounds, thoughtful sounds, new sounds, old sounds, darkly sad sounds, bright cheery sounds…I could go on forever but familiar sounds have an important role as a musical pantheon in my mind. They can be old sounds or brand new music created right in front of you by a musician. These notes can be brand as new or an old song on the radio. Either way, when you hear them, when your ears pick up these sounds and your brain registers them, you do indeed travel. Your mind goes back to the memories you made when you first heard them. Sometimes we make connections to things that happened and we are forced back to that place. Sometimes it’s a happy memory that can in turn make you sad that it’s in the past.
MAKE A PLAYLIST
Almost every night I make a playlist, and I try to change the mood I’m in in the morning (mostly grumpy with a chance of mania). I make a playlist for night as well in the morning. Sometimes I just like to chill out, sometimes indeed I am a time traveller exploring the past and all the possible futures. There are so many possibilities, so many destinations available when you hit play and shuffle the playlist. At first, when I came to Prison, I couldn’t bear to listen to the sounds on the radio. Every song made me sad. They took me to different places. Some to happy destinations only to shoot back to the present and to realise the mess I’d made for myself. Some took me to sad destinations that I found hard to escape. Now I look at things different, and find comfort in the ability to go to these places in my mind, so that the memories don’t sneak up and attack me out of nowhere at the worst times. I go to these places to remind myself that things have been bad and that I’ve come through the other side better, forged in fires forever fragmented in mind. I go to these places to remind myself that happiness is out there, it can be achieved again. I am constantly travelling to and fro to remind myself of how far I have come. I suppose I am a frequent flier.
>>Anon, Cloverhill Prison
A SONG TRANSPORTS ME
Sounds serenade and saturate time’s linear form, turn the flow to ice as the song reminds me of my darkest coldest day plays. I remind myself that it’s all going to be ok. Then sudden sunlight comes to thaw the ice which captures my will and ways as the world around me transforms to the smile on her face the first time I said, “I love you”. A song transports me to these different places in time. This is how we are time travellers. I hear the sounds in my mind, and in the wishing I see shadow and light mixed with joy and jealousy, the man in the mirror’s past and present.
EMPOWERING
We all are capable of this feat. Every person in the world can hear the same song, and all have these different meanings. My collection is like a catalogue of time tickets, each song a fare for fantastic, overwhelming, sorrowful, mournful, empowering, humbling travels. I’ve learned music from experience and the thing I learned first was love. So many words I could speak to show this love, though none could ever say enough. Emotion sweeps me away when I sing my solemn, uplifting, darkly light sounding songs in the cell at night and morning. >>Anon, Magilligan Prison
WHY MY LIFE CHANGED IN 1978
As the song goes, “When I was young, so much younger than today…” In 1978, when I was 16 years old, having resided in Northern Ireland all my life, with the bombings and killings raging, there was hate in the air, no matter where you lived. It was like a clock trying to engulf you. It was a very sombre and negative place to live. If you turned on the telly, it was always doom and gloom in the face of a straight faced newsreader, telling you how many people were shot, blown up or injured that day.
MUSIC TO MY EARS
However, that changed for me. as I was about to get my eyes opened big time. A whole week of films and documentaries were put on the telly, all about The Beatles during the 1960s. This was music to my ears, I watched The Beatles’ life story which in my opinion, changed the music world. With their mop tops and collarless suits, they were witty and intelligent and spoke out against injustice. When touring the southern states of America, they were told that black people wouldn’t be allowed integrate with whites at their concerts, so The Beatles simply refused to perform unless this situation was reversed. This resonated with me as the same segregation was happening with Catholics and protestants in my home county. The Beatles won and for the first time at a concert in America, blacks and whites sat together.
THE POWER OF MUSIC
For me, this showed what could be done when a few good people stood together through the power of their music and transcended politics. I started collecting their albums. However, the group broke up in 1969 so my interest was post The Beatles era. I started to become interested in the songs of Paul McCartney and his newly formed band, Wings. The band had produced a lot of lyrics for songs from their personal experiences like, “Band On The Run”, written by Paul when his wife, Linda and himself were trapped by a gang in Lagos while on tour. Linda told the gang that Paul was an ex-Beatle and the gang immediately released them without harm, although things could have ended differently were it not for The Beatles’ connection.
A GREAT ARTIST
John Lennon made a few solo albums in the 1970s, his most renowned song was “ Imagine”. He also penned songs about the Northern Ireland conflict. John went into the shadows in 1974 to spend family time with his son, Sean, but he re-emerged in 1980 with his new album, Double Fantasy. While he was signing this album for a crazed fan, Mark Chapman, Chapman shot John dead in December 1980, and I cried that day because the world, in my view, had lost a great artist and human rights figure.
MUSIC TRANSCENDS
I decided to get a tattoo of The Beatles on my right shoulder to always remember how the four lads changed the world forever, musically, and did their best to change human nature. To me, their music transcends religion, politics and reaches people on a universal level no matter where you live in the world. As John Lennon said, they (The Beatles) were bigger than Jesus Christ back in the 1960s! >>Anon, Training Unit, Mountjoy Prison
PIANO DREAMS
When I am lying in the darkness and half afraid to sleep I keep thinking of those piano keys and the effect it has on me.
Those sharps and flats and high octaves reach a loving feeling and I just want to play.
With this song I’ll play for you, this piano music I’ve learned is especially just for you, from these 88 keys through the black and whites, all this music I play is for you tonight.
From Emeli Sandé to Lewis Capaldi the pick is yours because you’ve always stood by me. Through this music I just want to say, when words fail, I am lost without you my love for you will always say.
From the moment we met you stole my heart, you’re always with me and through this music I send you my heart. >>Anon, Portlaoise Prison
NEW WRITERS
NEW WRITERS EDITORIAL COMMENT
It was wonderful to see the breadth of work from new writers. The pieces were not only inspiring to read but serve as good examples of writing exercises for our readers. Forms such as diary entries, six word stories and time-prompt writing frameworks can be used to explore creativity and as a way into developing a sustainable writing practice. We hope you enjoy the fine examples below.
DIARY ENTRY: CHRISTMAS DAY 25/12/2022
Dear Diary,
Today on the landing we got a fry up for breakfast then turkey and ham for dinner. It was a long day. Not nice missing the kids.
The noise on the landing…I just closed the door, playing the banjo, done some drawing but I could hear someone calling out he-ar, pal, he-ar, pal. Him and his bloody pal! It was driving me mad so I turned up the TV.
Here, but sure some people like to hear their own voice! >>Anon, Portlaoise Prison
OSCAR
Overwhelming Scared Careful
Astonishing Rewarding
My beautiful son Oscar was born on the 17th of January 2023 at 1.15 am. That date now means the world to me. On that date, I got my partner’s father to buy two newspapers which we will give to Oscar on his 21st birthday. >>Anon, Wheatfield Prison
SIX WORD STORIES INSPIRED BY FOR SALE: BABY SHOES, NEVER WORN
(attributed to Ernest Hemingway)
Even when free, I was trapped. Need work, have trowel, will travel.
The quiet mouse, the least heard. >>Anon, Progression Unit, Mountjoy
AN AGE
A year ago I was deep in the jungle in no man's land armed to the teeth, taking on all comers, get 25 kills on a streak, head shots and combat knife.
A month ago I was in the Middle Ages battling dragons and zombies, becoming King of the castle and God to all surviving.
A week ago I was in Gotham City, kicking the Joker around the city with Catwoman solving crimes and being the hero of the city.
A day ago I am still playing all of these roles on my PS4. Gaming for life. >>Anon, Arbour Hill prison
MY COMPLICATED PRISON LIFE
A year ago my niece Amilia May was born on the 13th of January. Getting sent photos of her was one of the nicest days I had in prison. It brought me immense joy getting those photos.
A month ago my life spiralled out of control when I started drinking hooch after being 5 years clean from drugs and alcohol. My father committed suicide in December 1992 so that month is always hard for me to cope.
A week ago I was in my cell drinking hooch when suddenly I got really depressed and started cutting myself on the arms, neck and stomach. Self harm and alcohol have always been a burden in my life.
A day ago I came to school for the first time in 4 years. It felt great, it was so relaxing learning rug making. I’m glad I’m back in school. It might keep me out of trouble. >>Anon, Arbour Hill Prison
MEMOIR: STARTING SCHOOL
Inever went to school growing up. School meant nothing to me. I never liked it. I worked like a workhorse. I was my own boss.
I always felt like a piece of driftwood on the big, blue ocean and not knowing what beach I was going to wash up on. I’ve spent so much time in the back of a prison van on journeys to other prisons in Ireland and not letting anyone into my life. Why would I want to go to school, put my poor mind through all that pain of looking at silly books, or picking up a pen and trying to spell a word like ‘me.’? ‘Me,’ I thought, that would drive me crazy.
SOMETHING GOOD
In prison, I swept the landings instead. I’d find myself stopping, leaning over the handle of the brush and watching as prisoners went into school with big, happy smiles. They were doing something good for their minds and well-being. Good for me was keeping the floor clean every day. What a fool I was. All I was doing to my mind was starving it and not giving it a chance to learn new things in life.
GAZING OUT THE WINDOW
I don’t know what came over me but one day I thought I’ll go to school. I was sure I’d end up sitting in a classroom gazing out the window at the sky. I walked into a room and met a teacher. I was just about to turn around and walk out the door but she asked me my name. I sat down and spent the morning there. I did worry she’d give me homework at fall in, I just wanted to get out of there. But I returned.
MY MOTIVATION NOW
One day the teacher gave me a pen and paper and asked me to write a small story. I did. I never saw myself writing stories and poems but it’s my motivation now. I’ve won a few prizes. I think of the hours
>>Anon, Wheatfield Prison
I spent watching TV in the cell and learning nothing. It was wasted time. If you haven’t yet, maybe try your hand at the school. You learn different skills or just do something good for your well-being. Education is my motivation and stops me from isolation in my mind within this prison. I still find it difficult to spell words but it doesn’t stop me from writing stories and poems. I got a great gift from the school, it opened my mind and helped me feel less isolated. I’ll always be grateful for that. >>Anon, Wheatfield Prison
Wheatfield Prison
Capall Curra Horse: Community Arts Project
FLASH FICTION
NEW WRITERS EDITORIAL COMMENT
The selection of Flash Fiction shows how this genre gives writers the space to explore the importance of objects and habits, examine personal memories, use the senses to evoke a reader response, write descriptively, and create stories from visual prompts. The Editorial Board hope you enjoy reading them as much as we did. We’re sorry there wasn’t room for all submissions.
THE CASE
At the same time every morning the old man walked slowly down the road carrying a battered old suitcase. Dressed in a shabby old suit he never spoke to anyone. He walked along with his head bent. No one knew where he was going or what he carried in the battered old suitcase. But today was going to be different… He had thought about this day over and over again. He had walked down this road so many days only for his nerve to fail and he turned back cursing himself for being a coward. Today he was going to see his daughter for the first time in over twenty years. He had thought about this day for twenty years. Every day, while he had been locked up for a crime he didn’t commit, he’d thought about her and at last he was going to meet her. His heart raced as he boarded the bus. He trembled with excitement even though the day was warm. He thought he’d never reach his destination. The bus stopped at last. He was nearly there. Only a few more yards and there it was, the house he had been looking for.
He stepped forward to cross the road. Suddenly around the corner came a speeding car. The old man had no chance. He was killed instantly. His battered old suitcase fell to the ground and burst open and a pile of old newspapers were scattered and blown everywhere in the wind. One page of the newspaper lay open. The front page headline read ‘Daughter of convicted killer found dead in deserted house’. People gathered around in little groups. ‘It’s so sad’ said one to another, ‘his daughter was killed on this same day all those years ago’. >>Anon, Arbour Hill Prison
CHESS TIMES
The first time I met Frank Krauser I didn’t like him. He was sitting alone at a table for two, reading a book, a chessboard set up and ready to play. It wasn’t out of place; Carmino’s was an Italian café with black and white floor tiles where you could smell the coffee beans roasting and buy a decent cappuccino.
Every Monday evening, Tony turned the narrow café into an informal chess meet, and the two skinny brunettes in their black, pencil, kneelength skirts brought coffee to the thirty or so men, cup after cup of black gold.
I looked around and saw all the other tables were already paired, so I made my way back to the front, ordered a latte, and paid.
“Are you busy?” I asked. Krauser looked up from his book and tilted his head to one side. “For a game, I mean? Are you busy?” I nodded at the chessboard. “Do you want a game?”
“By all means, take a seat,” he said.
I turned, and the pretty waitress raised an eyebrow, giving me the faintest wry smile. I took my seat and set my latte to one side.
“Black or white?” Krauser asked.
“White.” I wanted the first move.
Krauser rotated the board, and I set off on my merry way, following all the rules of opening. My central thrust was ignored, and Krauser broke every rule. Somewhere around move twenty, he threw his Queen into my pawns, and I froze.
Taking the Queen seemed mandatory. I developed, I positioned, I castled, and Krauser made moves I dismissed as unusual, but not dangerous. I accepted the Queen and found myself checkmated five moves later.
“Good game,” he said, picking up his book and returning to where he’d left off.
I sat and stared in disbelief at how rapidly my situation deteriorated and how calmly he dismantled my position. “How did you do that?” I said. He looked over the top of his book at me, like an ant was calling up to him to move out of the way.
“Sac, sac, mate,” he said with an eyebrow slowly creeping up his forehead.
FLASH FICTION continued...
Have you ever liked something, cars, music, I don’t know, camping in the woods, and found someone who has gone so far into it, they can’t talk to anyone anymore about it? Well, that was Frank. And not just about chess, it seemed to me, but to be detached from it all. >>Anon, Midlands Prison
A GLOW
It was the only day of the year when the whole house felt warm. On all others, my father lit paraffin heaters in what he thought were the neediest rooms. On Christmas Day, the oily smell was replaced by coal and wood fires burning in all rooms. The kitchen was a glow of roasting turkey, and my mother, red-faced, transferred pots from cooker to sink with the dexterity of a magician. The good room smelt of pine needles and Auntie Birdie’s Eau de Cologne, sitting within six inches of the fire she beamed benevolence, knitting needles put away for the day in exchange for a glass of sherry. Roaring fires, rich smells, succulent food, presents under the tree: this was Christmas Day. The next morning, the blue paraffin flames flickered, a bag of fancy paper lay in the hall. A long year stretched ahead. >>Anon, Midlands Prison
THE BOXER
There is nothing quite like it, I’m standing in the dressing room waiting to be called for my fight, the world title. I hear my name. The butterflies are going mad, I’m walking past the crowds who are cheering me on, clapping their hands, I feel very excited and at the same time nervous and full of adrenalin and focused on my opponent, checking him out and trying to suss his boxing style. The bell rings, round 1 and before I know it we’re on round 6. I’m tired and getting a bit slower, but so is my opponent. The bell goes again, I go back to my corner, I sit on the stool, I tell my coach I see 3 of him, he tells ‘hit the one in the middle’ and giggles. I think this is no time for jokes, this is a war and I’m determined on winning, being champ of the world. I look down to the crowd and see my family cheering. My wife and two kids look exited and shout for me to win. The last round, and my coach is telling me it’s a draw.
The bell goes again, I go after my opponent, I throw everything at him, not giving him a minute to breath, he is dazed, I go again, one two left hook, he drops his head and I finish him with a right upper cut, he hits the canvas like a ton of bricks, blood rushing from his nose, and his eyelid is slit, the referee jumps in and stops the fight. I’m tired and sore, I look down at my wife and kids jumping with joy. I done them proud… Champion of the World! >>Anon, Magilligan Prison
PICTURE PROMPT‘THE GYMNAST’
Run, bounce and fly
Run, bounce and fly
That’s all I have to do: run, bounce and fly. I wish these butterflies would go away. Run, bounce and fly.
These coaches tell me to relax, but they’re not the ones wearing this suit. Up for Gold. Yes, run, bounce and fly! Ready.
Buzz.
Go. Jaysus. What’s all the shouting about now? What, what? “Dear god, I’ve done it!” >>Anon, Midlands Prison
>>Anon, Wheatfield Prison
THE ART OF PEACE
“The essence of karate is nonviolence. To subdue an attacker without fighting is the highest skill.” Sensei Funakoshi (founder of modern karate)
Regrettably, we live in a violent world and often people seek to impose their will through its use. Particular groups such as women, members of the LGBTQ+ community and migrants, experience a distinctly higher level of threat and, although the state has processes in place in an attempt to combat this, they are unfortunately not wholly effective. Of course, there are many factors that contribute to any violence in society, and a wide ranging set of measures would be necessary to tackle it. However, there are steps that individuals and communities can take to protect themselves. It is an accepted assumption that a defence against attack is a fundamental right. In violent circumstances, communication and conflict resolution may prove to be ineffective, particularly if those involved feel physically intimidated or unable to assert themselves effectively. Physical selfdefence skills can have a positive impact on this.
PHILOSOPHY OF PEACE
patience, and respect. Martial Arts promote the use of ‘protective force’ and securing safes outcomes for all involved. A common principle is to find alternative ways to resolve a situation including negotiation, defusing aggression, deception by diversion or deflection and withdrawal when all else fails and an escape is open.
“I am more likely to find [another way out] creatively if I have already forbidden myself the easy violent answer. I am still more likely to find it if I have disciplined my impulsiveness and fostered my creativity by the study and practice of a nonviolent lifestyle, or of Aikido.”
John Howard Yoder (Aikido practitioner)
“We don’t rise to the level of our expectations; we fall to the level of our training.”
Archilochos (ancient Greek soldier and poet)
While some people may equate self-defence systems or martial arts with physical violence, many are in fact imbued with a philosophy of peace that encourages a community spirit, alongside nonaggression and self-restraint.
“The aim of the warrior is the restoration of harmony, the preservation of peace, and the nurturing of all beings. […]
The art of peace does not rely on weapons or brute force to succeed. […] The true meaning of samurai is one who serves and adheres to the power of love. Protect the attacker. […]
To injure an opponent is to injure yourself.” Sensei Ueshiba (1883-1969, founde of Aikido)
An example is Aikido with its principle of taking the attack of another person and neutralising it through a non-violent method; Brazilian Jiu Jitsu which again is non-violent and whose name translates from Japanese as the ‘gentle art’; and Kung Fu which teaches values like morality, humility,
It is only after these options are exhausted or impossible that any force is allowed. Even then the use minimum effective force is encouraged to prevent violence and avoid harm to all.
EVOLUTIONARY IMPULSES
Non-violence is not simply a choice that people can make. Socialisation into a violent world (not to mention any evolutionary impulses that may exist) means that physical force is normalised for us all. It is only with conscious effort and preparation that it becomes possible. Developing the necessary skills is absolutely essential. Widespread adoption of these self -defence systems into our educational and social lives would allow people to internalise positive values concerning the use of force. Thus, people would be able to end conflict in the least harmful way. People would be confident in their abilities and less likely to feel threatened, more willing to intervene in situations, whether or not they were initially involved. Equally, many would be less likely to become perpetrators, to bully or intimidate. Some effective ways of disseminating these values into society would be to introduce it at a young age to our children, to offer programmes to the most vulnerable in society and to extend the option to those with a history of violence thus allowing the problem to be engaged at both ends. >>Anon, Magilligan Prison
CRAFT, A MEMOIR
Istarted to get into matchstick craft in 2003 in Limerick Prison. I was going through a difficult time with depression and I didn’t want to get involved in prison politics. I saw another prisoner was making matchstick ships in his cell and I decided to give it a go. Here I am in 2023 in the HSU medical unit section of Mountjoy and I’m perfecting my craft and helping other younger prisoners try it. I get great support from Governor Kelleher and my teacher, Margaret. I now have the confidence to get help with reading and writing too, which I struggled with. My cell is my workshop and my craft and schoolwork, my therapy. This helps me cope with my sentence and I hope people like my craft which I enjoy giving away for presents. >>Anon, Mountjoy Prison (Medical Unit)
>>Anon, Training Unit Mountjoy Prison
MY FAVOURITE POEM WORKED INTO A TAPESTRY
As part of my work in the textiles class I made a representation of my favourite poem in a tapestry. It was an enjoyable experience. I loved the idea of taking something written down, imagining it visually and then creating that piece. My favourite poem is one we studied in class, a series on Irish poets, “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” by W. B. Yeats. It begins, “I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree. And a small cabin built there, of clay and wattles made.” The image of the thatched cottage is the central focus of my tapestry. It includes the honey bee, the bean rows and the linnets dancing in the sky. It has the poems images of peace and tranquillity. The garden in the Dillon’s Cross Project is where I began to imagine this project. >>Anon, Cork Prison
“I hope to paint the scene in the form of a mural when I get out.”
‘Peace comes dropping slow,’ and the ‘Evening full of the linnet’s wings.’
>>Anon, Cork Prison
IRISH MYTHS AND FOLKLORE
Myths, legends and folklore are an important part of the culture, history and traditions in any society. Not only do they preserve history, they pass down morals and values, and original versions of the tales are often a fantastic opportunity to preserve language. They can take different forms, from fairy tales and stories, to art or songs and ballads. People learn these as children and they stay with them right into adulthood, then passed down to subsequent generations. This is one reason why each retelling of the tales are different, they are remembered differently, and details change. So is there any difference? Although the terms are often used interchangeably, each is unique in subtle ways.
MYTHS
Typically, Myths are commonly used to explain the unknown. In addition to being used to explain origins, myths can be used to decipher a supernatural or unresolved event. Myths present reality in a sensational way, often using creatures and gods. Many cultural traditions are rooted in myths. One example would be the myth of the Lough Ness Monster.
FOLKTALES
Folktales on the other hand often involve some sort of conflict that has to do with events that happen in everyday life. Unsubstantiated beliefs and superstitions play a prominent role in folklore. Folktales can be told in the form of a song or proverb.
LEGENDS
Legends are stories that seem realistic and historic in nature, but they are not verified. Some familiar examples of legends include Robin Hood, Atlantis and King Arthur. Some legends are based on real characters, although the actual stories may not be true. Legends tend to evolve and become exaggerated as they are passed down.
AN EXAMPLE
For example, the tale of The Salmon of Knowledge had its beginnings with Noah and the great flood. Versions explain that the first people in Ireland were Bith, the son of Noah, his daughter Caesair and her husband Fintan MacBochra, who arrived by boat along with 50 virgins. After Bith died, Fintan left his wife, who later fell into despair and grief and died. The deluge wiped the world clean, and the only people to survive were Noah and his family on the Ark. God took pity on Fintan, and allowed him to become a salmon to survive the flood. As time passed, Fintan swam up the Boyne River and found a pool. Around this pool nine hazel trees grew, on each tree there were nine nuts, containing all the knowledge of the world. The nuts matured and fell into the pool where Fintan was swimming, the wisdom passed to him, and he became Bradan Fease, the Salmon of Knowledge. Centuries passed and civilisation returned. Finegas, a druid poet, wanted to catch Fintan, because it was
prophesised that he would gain all the world’s knowledge, so he, and his student and servant, spent years fishing for the salmon. One day he eventually caught Fintan in his transformed state. He instructed his student Deimne to set up a fire, and cook the salmon, ordering him not to eat it. As it cooked, Deimne noticed a blister on the flesh of the fish, and touched it with his thumb. The hot oil burned him, and he tried to ease the pain by sucking his thumb. Finegas returned to eat the fish, and noticed that something in his student had changed. Believing he had disobeyed him he challenged the boy. When he explained what happened, Finegas instantly knew it was not his destiny after all to gain the knowledge, rather it was that of his student, Deimne, who would later become the greatest of all the men in Ireland, Fionn Mac Cumhaill. Versions of this tale exist in Welsh, Norse-Gael and Icelandic folklore. From this we learn lessons about accepting destiny and the rewards for doing so, as well as the importance of loyalty and obedience.
MODERN DAY
The importance of this fable still exists in pop culture. In 1999, the “Big Fish” sculpture was installed in Belfast detailing the history of the country, and it is believed that knowledge is bestowed on anyone who kisses the fish. It also features in songs by the Dublin-based band Gilla in their album The Talkies >>Anon, Magilligan Prison
THE DARKER SIDE OF HORSERACING
Horses are often seen as money making objects rather than animals worthy of compassion and respect. Most horses start racing when they’re two years old and at this age they are not fully grown, their bones are weak and they are pushed to the absolute max. A common substances used in horse racing is Lasix in order to stop bleeding in the lungs during intense exercise and allows the horse to keep running, even though their body is literally shutting down. Officials have taken major steps to stop the use of performance enhancing drugs but there is still a lot of controversy about this matter.
PAIN AND SUFFERING
Other techniques used by trainers is inflicting pain or fear on a horse to motivate it to run faster, using illegal electric shocking devices. Horses are being abused by jockeys with reports of them kicking and punching horses. They also cause pain and suffering to the horses by excessively whipping them. After the death of a horse at the notorious Cheltenham racecourse a well-known jockey stated “you can replace a horse”. This shows the attitude people within the horseracing industry have towards these animals. If a horse becomes seriously injured during racing it is killed instead of being treated. Often trainers and owners basically see the horse as useless to them, as it can no longer race and earn them money.
SOLD FOR MEAT
When horses are retired they are sent to slaughter houses and sold for meat. It’s estimated this happens to 10,000 every year, alt-
>>Anon, Cork Prison
hough not all horses are slaughtered, some do end up going to caring homes and living happy lives but the percentage this happens to is very, very small.
BECHER’S BROOK
The vast majority of horseracing is extremely cruel and more needs to be done about it. It is rapidly losing supporters, as more is exposed about the sport but unfortunately it seems highly likely that it is a sport that will never be stopped. Aintree is one of the world’s deadliest horseracing courses. The course is where the Grand National is held annually every April, where 40 horses jump over the worlds most dangerous fences, including the infamous
Becher’s Brook which stands at 4”10. The race is run over a gruelling distance of four and a half miles, horses have died in 16 of the last 18 Grand National races.
OTHER PRODUCTS
One of the main products made from a horse is glue, horses are used because they are so large and provide an abundance of collagen which is a bonding agent that makes stuff stick together. Body parts used to make glue include the hide, bones, muscles, tendons and hooves. Collagen then can be turned into gelatine which is in many food products such as jelly and lots of confectionary. Hair from the horses’ mane and tail are used also to make violin bowstrings, jewellery and paintbrushes. >>Anon, Magilligan Prison
RECIPES
Arecipe we tried out this year and we loved it. It’s easy to make and very tasty.
CAJUN CHICKEN BURGERS
Serves4
Ingredients
4 large chicken fillets – butterfly
Vegetable oil
For Coating:
6 tablespoons of plain flour
4 teaspoons of Cajun spices
4 teaspoons of paprika
1 teaspoon of garlic powder
½ teaspoon of hot chilli powder
½ teaspoon of black pepper
For Serving:
Lettuce
sliced tomatoes
4 slices of cheese
4 rashers
4 toasted burger buns
Cajun mayonnaise.
Method
1. Heat the oven to 1900C, brush the rashers with oil and put them on a baking tray,
Ceramic Mural Launch
Artist in Prison, Ceramic Mural Launch, Arbour Hill Prison, May 2023
3. Wash the lettuce and tomato, slice the tomatoes.
4. Mix the flour and spices together on a large plate.
5. Butterfly the chicken fillets and dip them in the flavoured flour, until well coated.
6. Heat oil in 2 frying pans and fry the chicken fillets on both sides, until fully cooked.
7. Lift the chicken fillets onto a plate, put a slice of cheese on each one and allow it to melt. Cover and keep them warm.
8. Toast the burger buns and assemble the burgers. Enjoy!
CAJUN MAYONNAISE
Ingredients
8 tablespoons mayonnaise
1 teaspoon Cajun spices
¼ - ½ teaspoon garlic powder
¼ teaspoon chilli powder
Method
Put all the ingredients in a bowl and mix well together. >>Anon, Portlaoise Prison
BOOK REVIEW: UNTIL WE RECKON BY DANIELLE SERED
Danielle Sered is an activist for prison reform in the U.S., and uses her experience working with violent offenders to inform her opinion. Danielle has worked for many years with an organisation called Common Justice in New York, which provides healing to both victims and perpetrators of violence through Restorative Justice.
In the introduction to her book Until We Reckon: Violence, Mass Incarceration and A Road to Repair, she states that: Incarceration is limited as a tool because it treats violence as a problem of ‘dangerous’ individuals and not as a problem of social context and history. Most violence is not just a matter of individual pathology – it is created. Poverty drives violence. Inequity drives violence. Lack of opportunity drives violence. And like so many conditions known all too well to public health professionals, violence itself drives violence.
PASSIVE CRIMINAL JUSTICE SYSTEM
In this book, Danielle eloquently and poetically, points out that the criminal justice system is quite passive, it does not meet the needs of victims, and it rarely contributes to fixing the problems that are actually causing offending. In fact, she explains that prison often makes the situation worse, by damaging the people that go there, and increasing their chances of hurting more people in the future. She outlines this by stating that prison is ‘criminogenic’. Danielle calls for a rethink in the language we
use when speaking about violent offenders. The common narrative in society seems to be that violent offenders are monsters and are somehow physiologically different to the rest of us. This book clearly points out the holes in this story. Danielle is unequivocal in the fact that the amount of violence a person is capable of committing is often directly related to the amount of harm they have experienced.
SOCIAL ISSUES
This book also tackles social issues like inequity and inequality, explaining how they relate to violent offenders. She explains that violence is often a manifestation of unhealed pain and trauma. In society, some people have the resources available to deal with their traumas. Some have the economic means to go to therapy. Some have a family or caring support network to help them heal. For those that do not have access to these resources, they often find other ways to survive. There are many ways people survive through traumatic events, for example, some use drugs, some minimize the harm they survived and/or bottle everything up, and some do a combination. This can lead to the trauma manifesting itself through violence, says Danielle.
CONTEXT OF ACTIONS— ADDRESSING “THE WHY” AND HEALING
For me as a perpetrator of violence and a recovering addict, this book has allowed me to understand the context of my actions. In understanding the
external factors that contributed to my violent tendencies, I have come to understand my ‘whys’. This book made me realise that I needed to figure out why I hurt people, why they hurt me, why I told myself the things I did in the aftermath, and why I continued to allow these experiences to define me.
COMPASSION
Danielle also helped me to understand that in understanding this, I have an obligation to address it and to heal. Ultimately, she showed me that compassion and empathy provide the space for healing. Through healing, I learned, we begin on the path to becoming people who will not harm anyone else in the future. This book is a must read for anyone on a quest to understand themselves, the pain they have experienced and the limitations of the Criminal Justice System in dealing with the issue of violence. >>Anon, Progression Unit, Mountjoy Prison
>>Prison View, Anon, Magilligan Prison
GALLERY PAGES
>>Anon, Progression Unit, Mountjoy Prison
>>Anon, Wheatfield Prison
>>Fused Glass, Anon, Arbour Hill Prison
>>Anon, Progression Unit, Mountjoy Prison
GALLERY PAGES
>>In a Trance, Anon, Hydebank Wood College and Women’s Prison
>>Ink Drawing, Anon, Cork Prison
>>Untitled, Anon, Maghaberry Prison
>>Untitled, Anon, Maghaberry Prison
SPONTANEOUS MADNESS
Ifind pottery and art classes very therapeutic and they have always been a place of healing in my somewhat chaotic life.
IDENTIFY WITH MY PAST
In 2022 I was planning to make a chiminea in the pottery class in Cork Prison and I was attempting to recognise and identify with my past, which has been a rollercoaster of madness and mayhem. As I gave out about the injustices in my life the pottery teacher suggested “putting it on a pot and shutting up about it”. The pottery project based on my experience during the riots on Spike Island in 1985 started there.
OLD MILITARY PRISON
Fort Mitchell on Spike Island in Cork Harbour was an old military prison where joyriders were housed back in the mid80s. On 1st September 1985 the inmates rioted and took over the island. “I was one of those rioters.” Spike Island closed since as a prison and is now a tourist attraction and we
were told that there was a possibility we might get to display our work there during the summer season.
BUILDING BIG POTS
The race was on and making the pots took about two months using the coil building process. I put on only two or three coils a day to keep them straight. This
works best if you are building big pots. Then the drying process took about two more weeks. Then came the decorating phase and photographs of the riots from the newspapers were found and I drew the images onto the pots, finishing the last one on the day of the exhibition.
PROCESS
I really enjoyed making them. The reward is in the making and the end result is a bonus.
EXHIBITION
The exhibition was in a former cell and it was decided three of my pots would be shown and a couple of other lads did some paintings. Then Peter Mulryan from RTE visited the island with his thirteen year old son who got very excited when he saw my pots. Peter decided to make a radio documentary about the riot and he contacted Cork Prison to set up an interview with me and the
interview was aired in a podcast on RTE Radio 1 some weeks later.
RTE ARCHIVE
That is the story of the three pots I had on display on Spike Island and the journey I undertook here in Cork Prison making them. It was fun and it is nice to know that they inspired someone. You will find the podcast Spike Island Spontaneous Madness Episode 10 Season 2022 in the RTE archives.
>>Anon, Cork Prison
EDITOR’S NOTE:
Documentary on One Podcast are multi award winning documentaries from Ireland telling and retelling real life stories. With over 1,800 documentaries available, the Documentary On One Podcast is credited as having the largest archive of documentaries available in the world, dating as far back as 1954, right up to the present day. Furthermore, the series is winner of over 340 national and international awards.
Documentary On One -
Spike Island - Spontaneous Madness (rte.ie)
PRISON
LISTOWEL WRITERS WEEK
WRITING COMPETITION WINNERS 2023
“Poetry is, above all, a singing art of natural and magical connection, because though it is born out of one person’s solitude, it has the ability to reach out and touch in a humane and warmly illuminating way the solitude, even the loneliness of others.” Brendan Kennelly
Listowel Writers Week offer prison writers a rare opportunity to enter their work into the Creative Writing Competitions that are a hallmark of Ireland’s oldest literary festival. The short story and poetry categories have a distinctive place in the annual writing calendar for prison writers, as well as the Arts and Education Centres. Crucially, the Prison Writing Competition inspires people in custody to prepare their work between December and March each year. Teachers and Writers-in-Residence integrate the competition into their Creative Writing Programmes which offer skill development, focus, productivity, engagement with literature and confidence building. Opportunities for prison writers are invaluable to people in custody, fostering a sense voice and enhancing their writing standards that grow exponentially, year on year.
SHORT STORY ADVANCED
ESCAPING
They are trapped. There is no other way to describe it. They swam in to this place together, and now there is no way out. Frantically, they move in all directions, often passing each other along the way. Try as they might, they simply cannot find the gap they managed to sneak in through. So many of the others tried to get in, but they failed. Now, after what seemed like an eternity to them both, they turned to each other, and the look they shared said that it was them against the world now. They are alone in this cavernous pit, and in order to survive, and ultimately escape, they are going to have to work in unison. Quite simply, their lives depend on it. They know that safety wasn’t far away. But they are totally helpless, and have no way to get in contact with anyone. Sounds are audible for long periods. Different sounds. Laughter, crying,
coughing, singing. Then there are other sounds. Voices. Ones that neither David nor Katie can recognise. But these sounds constantly pique their curiosity, and give them a strange solace that they will be rescued soon.
A few days passed. There was seemingly no sign of a rescue party looking for them, despite their apparently close proximity to so much activity outside the cave. This seemed to take its toll on David more so than Katie. They were the same age, and physically matched, but it was Katie that was the ‘leader’ as such. When it came to finding the stream of drinking water it was Katie who brought him there. The same with the food supply, a spongy, cake like substance that was abundant on the walls of the cave. It didn’t taste great, quite chewy in texture and bland but it provided all the sustenance they needed on a daily basis.
Time seemed to be standing still. The daily routine for them both involved several trips to the wall for water and the boring cake, some swimming, and sleeping. One thing that they both noticed was that the walls seemed to be closing in on them, little by little, day by day. There was less and less room to manoeuvre. There were also several movements that at times gave them false hope that they were about to be rescued.
“Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” said a worried David to Katie one morning. “There are so many things I want to do.”
“Don’t worry, we’re getting stronger every day. If we stick together, there’s nothing we can’t accomplish.” Katie replied.
David smiled. He trusted Katie unconditionally. She was the rock that had gotten him this far, and even though
they were seemingly imprisoned, her positivity and attitude in general inspired him, and was a source of great motivation.
David tossed and turned in an uneasy sleep. He was in the midst of a dream. He was surrounded by cars of all shapes and sizes. He loved being around these vehicles. He tinkered with their engines until they purred like a cat that had just indulged in a big saucer of fresh cream. He polished the bodywork of each car, waxing and delicately concentrating on each panel until it shone like a new pin. When he awoke from his reverie, he felt happy, safe and contented. Then, through sleep filled, blurry eyes, he saw his reality. He glanced over at Katie, seemingly just as content in her own utopia.
He had a warm and fuzzy feeling every time he looked at her this way. He could not explain it. It wasn’t a romantic feeling, but at the same time he knew there and then that another day wouldn’t pass where he didn’t think about her, no matter where they were on this earth.
Katie’s dreams were very different to David’s. Most of them involved her at work in a big, very manic Casualty Ward in a hospital, or as a Paramedic at the scene of some terrible accident. In all of these dreams, Katie was a consummate professional;
calm as you’d like under the most severe pressure, yet nurturing and caring to each individual need.
Katie often awoke from these reveries to find David fast asleep, just as he did her. She also felt the same warmth and fuzziness, but also a strong sense of responsibility and guardianship. Whenever they did manage to liberate themselves from the cave, she knew that those strong senses would remain with her forever.
“Do you feel any differently lately?” he asks her.
“In what way?” she replies. She could sense apprehension in his tone.
“Like the walls are closing in on us. It seems that every hour we are here, it’s becoming more and more claustrophobic.”
“I do,” she replied. “But I also feel that we are getting stronger. The walls of the cave might be penetrable. I think we need to start forming our own exit plan. We have been here long enough, and it looks like nobody is going to find us.”
She had immediately regretted her comment as soon as she had made it. There was an immediate fear in David’s eyes.
“We are going to die here, aren’t we?” he asked. The fear, coupled with the look of resignation on his face said it all.
“Of course we’re not!” she said both forcefully and compassionately at the same time. “We came into this together, and we’re going to get out of it together too, mark my words.”
>>>Anon, Wheatfield Place of Detention
She smiled at him, and embraced him warmly. He was completely reassured again.
Next morning, David excitedly called out to Katie. There was no response, so he swam around the ever decreasing cave in search of her. He found her eventually, eating a large portion of the waxy, spongy cake. She guiltily smiled, wiping her mouth as she saw him swim in her direction.
“Hey, what’s up?” she said “Come quickly,” he said excitedly. “There’s something I really need to show you.”
She followed. What he had to show her was about to change their lives forever, and perhaps lead to their escape from the dark, ever decreasing cavern in which they were entombed.
David was at the section of the cave wall that they had swam into prior to becoming trapped.
“Look!” he said enthusiastically.
Katie watched on as David started to pick at the wall. To her astonishment, part of the wall began to crumble away.
“I know it’s not a lot, but I think that with a bit of hard work, I can keep tearing away at the wall, and we should be able to escape” he said, with a big beaming smile that went from ear to ear.
“You mean ‘We’ can keep tearing away.“ Katie replied,
as she raced towards the wall. Within seconds, both of them were standing side by side, scratching and picking away at the cave wall with a determination and grit that would have impressed even the hardest labourer on a construction site.
Several days passed, and the wall was slowly, but surely coming down. It was tough work, but they worked well together, David taking the morning, and evening shifts, with Katie taking the afternoons. David was physically stronger, and made good headway. Katie was the strategist, showing him the best angles to work at, and what part of the wall was proving most vulnerable.
Then, the big breakthrough happened.
The sounds and voices they were hearing outside the cave had gotten more audible and easier to understand. They had to be close. They could hear a woman speaking to a man. She seemed quite distressed, him trying to soothe and calm her. It wasn’t working.
David took a few steps back, and launched himself head first at the wall. Katie looked on, very afraid that he may have hurt himself. That feeling soon changed to euphoria. His flying head-butt had penetrated the wall. The lake in which they were swimming cascaded free. Both David and Katie were propelled towards
the broken away exit, but they quickly realised that there was only room for one to go. Panic again filled David. He really wanted out, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t leave Katie. Katie, on the other hand, was calmness personified, just as she was in her dreams.
“You go, now,” she said. “I’ll be fine, and will follow you.”
“No, you’ve done so much for me here. You deserve to be first out.” he said, his voice filled with the familiar fear and panic.
She paused, and placed her hands on his shoulders, looking him affectionately, yet in a school mistress type manner.
“Now, listen,” she said. “You go now. If there’s any difficulties out there you’ll be stronger than me and able to deal with them. We don’t know what’s out there and I’m scared”
“Okay,” he said. “As usual, that makes sense.”
Of course, it made no real sense. It was just her being her usual nurturing, protective self.
***
He dived hard and fast, head first at the exit point they had made in the wall. Slowly, but surely he escaped. It was almost as if he was dragged to safety. She looked at him go, and it was only when she saw the soles of his feet disappear through the wall that she
knew he was gone.
Now it was her time to panic. All of a sudden she was alone. She could hear muffled cries outside the wall. And was sure she heard David crying. This provided her with all the focus she needed to follow his path to freedom. She swam vigorously towards the gap. As David went head first, she followed suit and tried to get out the same way.
It seemed to take an eternity. But then there he was. David. She could see him, hair ruffled, swaddled in a white blanket. And cradled in the arms of a woman she had yet to meet, but felt like she knew all her life. Soon after, she was wrapped in a matching blanket, cradled in the other arm of this amazing woman. A tall, handsome man stood over them, tears of joy rolling down his face.
“Congratulations Mr. & Mrs. O’Neill,” said the theatre nurse. She was smiling as much as the family she had just delivered the most perfect set of twins to.
The unbreakable bond that only twins can share had been introduced to the world. What lay ahead for them was a mystery. But if it was half as exciting as the journey they had just been on, then Katie and David O’Neill would have a very fulfilling life.
Probably as an Auto Mechanic and a Nurse…>>Anon, Loughan House Open Centre
SHORT STORY INTERMEDIATE
WHEN THE SUN MET THE MOON
Whoever said that romance was dead should know that nothing ever really dies…we have all heard of the story of Romeo and Juliet, a pair of young star-crossed lovers so inlove witheach other theywouldratherdiethan notbewitheachotherand theirratherironicending. Welllet’sjustsaydon’tbelieveeverythingyouread.
Roman never tried to understand women. He found the opposite sex to not just be opposite to him, but a total mystery. He thought there’s no point trying to understand why a sunset is beautiful instead of just enjoying its last rays, colour and warmth of the day.
Julie never tried to understand men. She didn’t care enough to bother as she thought they were all the same; bull-shitters! There was no point trying to understand the moon as she never wanted to visit it anyway.
Roman and Julie had known each other all their lives but if you asked either of them who the other one was, neither of them could tell you. They both grew up in the same little village where everyone knew everyone, they went to the same primary school a year apart, the same secondary school, and they even got accepted to work
for the same news channel they had both applied to for work experience. Roman wanted to be a news writer and write everyday stories about people’s lives but never wanted to be in the spotlight himself. Julie loved the spotlight. She dreamed of being famous and thought even being a weather girl was her way to the big screen and for people to see her.
Julie was a very pretty girl, deep dark brown eyes almost verging on black, long blonde hair, long legs that ran all the way up to her slim body which made her not so petite that people would look over or past her and not too tall that people would judge and think she was a freak. She was always fending off unwanted male attention. Roman was above average in the height department at 5 feet 11 inches, short dark hair with large marine blue eyes and very well-toned form, resulting from a very active lifestyle, appealing in most women’s eyes but, because of his incomprehension of women, he never noticed any advances, he was just too bewildered to even to think about them in that way.
While working at the news channel, Julie was spotted by talent scouts over the years for modelling agencies and television soaps, among others. It seemed that everyone was after her, but her interests were music and singing. On her twenty-ninth birth-
day, she made a demo and sent it to a record label who signed her immediately. A star was born!
Roman continued writing for the news channel. He had a column in the local newspaper, writing about up-andcoming stars. This wasn’t what he wanted to be writing about, he thought fame and the media were not important. He preferred the important issues like wars, charities and politics but he enjoyed writing so he was still happy to write the column.
By the age of thirty, Julie was one of the most famous singers in the world, having six Number 1 hit singles in both America and the UK, her first album was the Number 1 Album of the Year. The newspaper Roman worked for wanted to do a biographical review of Julie and told Roman. They set up an interview and wanted him to write the piece on Julie as he was the entertainment column writer.
The interview was set up in a conference room at the newspaper, Roman recognised the name but wasn’t sure how. He hadn’t listened to her music and wasn’t even aware that she was such a big star. Reading the background information from the research team, we noticed they were from the same hometown and even went to the same school. This spiked his interest a little. But he still wasn’t that interested in her or her music, especially after interviewing a lot of ce-
lebs. He found many to be self-obsessed ego maniacs,
“I’m not the most eloquent of people myself and rather quite clumsy at times.”
only involved in their own realities, not caring about real -world issues such as world hunger just how the hell was the world in such a crisis if half the planet was starving and the other half overweight and clinically obese from over-eating. Roman didn’t like the irony. ***
On the day of the interview Roman was in work early, as usual, and getting ready to meet Julie who was due at 10am. He was his usual quiet self, but also cool, calm and collected. He rarely got anxious, he was reading over the set questions that the newspaper wanted Roman to ask. He noticed the clock at 10:05AM so he checked his watch to double check 10:10AM. Roman tutted, sighed deeply into himself, he didn’t like people being late or tardiness in general.
Julie was running late, she didn’t drive and the newspaper had sent a car to get her. The car was on time but Julie kept the car waiting. She had actually forgotten all about the interview until her manager phoned her to tell her the car was on its way to take
her to the newspaper for the interview. Julie arrived at around 10:20am. She was wearing an outfit that a woman would wear to the gym, white leggings to her knees with a white crop-top that seemed to accentuate her small breasts, and illuminous pink running shoes.
Roman was sitting in the conference room, waiting patiently, on his third coffee, when the receptionist showed Julie into the room.
‘Good morning Mr Montana,’ the receptionist said when presenting Julie, ‘this is Miss Capella.’
‘Honestly just call me Julie, Mr Montana,’ Julie said in a soft unobtrusive tone while holding out her hand towards him
Roman was in awe for probably the first time in his life. He couldn’t even find the right words to respond in a professional manner.
‘Okay, Miss Montana! I… Capella! Ah…I mean…Julie,’ Roman replied in a doleful way, looking at his watch again, trying not to look directly into Julie’s eyes in case she had seen how dilated his pupils were.
‘Oh dear, I must’ve drunk too much coffee while waiting for you this morning.’ His eyes met with Julie’s deep, dark, almost black, eyes just as he finished the sentence.
Julie could automatically tell that Roman was nervous but wasn’t sure if he was actually
having a jibe at her for being late.
But he was!
‘That’s okay, Mr Montana, I’m not the most eloquent of people myself and rather quite clumsy at times. But you know what they say… Good things come to those who wait.’
Roman’s racing heartbeat began to relax, as did his mind. He hadn’t come across this situation before with anyone and was uncertain as to how, and why, this beautiful woman could make him feel so awkward and at ease all at the same time.
‘Okay, Miss Capella, ah… I’m sorry again, I mean Julie,’ Roman said with a grin. ‘Please take a seat and let’s get on with the interview, our readers are dying to know more about you.’ And so am I, he thought.
‘I don’t think we’ve enough time for that today, Mr Montana, I’ve a couple more appointments lined up. They keep me so busy now, and I hardly get any time to myself,’ Julie said with a sullen demeanour.
‘Well Julie, we can postpone this if you want to, and do the interview another day?’
‘I’ve a better idea Mr Montana! I’m starting a new concert tour tonight in this area, and I’m playing every night this week, why don’t you come as my guest, and ask me your questions while listening to my music? So you get a picture of both my personal and working life.’
‘Yes of course, I must admit to you that I don’t know any of your music.’ Roman answered without thinking.
Julie smiled at Roman, she found his answer both a comfort and amusing.
‘It’s not my music, I sing other peoples songs. I give them a voice with my voice.’ Julie hadn’t noticed Roman’s piercing blue eyes until he spoke.
‘My eyes and ears could use some new sights and sounds. Thank you, I accept your invitation, and please, Julie, just call me Roman,’ he said.
Julie asked for Roman’s address.
‘I’ll send a car for 7:30PM, the show starts at 9PM.’ ‘Until then, Julie.’
‘Until then, Roman.’
Roman moved to shake Julie’s hand again, but she ignored his hand and gave him a hug. He could smell the scent of perfume that still lingered with him after she’d left the room. ***
That night, while Roman was getting ready for the concert, he was reading over some of the questions that the newspaper had given him to ask Julie. One of the questions read:
Are you single? And do you find it hard to have a relationship being a popstar?
Roman found this question to be a little intrusive. However, he pondered over this
question while looking in the mirror.
‘Don’t be silly, Roman, a girl like that wouldn’t have any interest in you. Just stay professional buddy.’
At 7:30PM Roman looked out the window at the street below and saw a limousine parked outside.
‘Well, the drivers on time, probably because he didn’t have to wait for Miss Capella,’ Roman smirked to himself. He grabbed his coat, opened the front door and walked towards the black limo. The driver was outside waiting for Roman and he opened the door.
‘Hello Roman. Quick, get in, handsome, you don’t want to be late for my show, do you?’
Julie was in the limo, wearing the most revealing dress Roman had ever seen up close on a woman.
Roman didn’t reply until he was sat next to her and the driver had shut the door. ‘I didn’t expect to see you this soon before your performance, Miss Capella.’
Julie inched her bum a bit closer to Roman and leaned into his ear. ‘I told you before, call me Miss Montana, I mean Julie,’ she said with a playful smile.
Roman could feel her breath on his neck, he could feel himself begin to perspire and the hairs on his neck stood up in a pleasant way. He immediately thought back to that question about her being
in a relationship.
‘Okay Julie, I’ll try to remember, is there a Mr Capella? I mean do you have a…? Err. Well. I’m so sorry, it’s one of the questions the newspaper gave me to ask you.’
‘Are you sure Roman?’ Julie could see Roman was very nervous and usually she enjoyed making men squirm, but not this time. ‘Are you sure the readers want to know this?’ Julie said re-wording her question.
‘Oh Yes, I’m sure they…’
Julie cut Roman off. ‘No, I don’t, Roman. I’m quite single, there’s no boy- or girlfriend! I don’t think I could deal with the media chasing them around, or trying to get pictures of us together’
‘I can understand that Julie, I wouldn’t want people knowing about my personal life either. I apologise for being so intrusive, and will try to redact those type of questions from my list.’
‘Still ask them, Roman, but keep the answers for yourself,’ Julie said with a playful smile that Roman couldn’t interpret, ‘you never know, you might find some of the answers useful.’
‘If I didn’t know any better, and I usually don’t, Julie, I would say you’re flirting with me.’
‘O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?’ >>Anon, Magilligan Prison
GETTING STARTED
ANN MACGREGOR FITZSIMMONS
Ann sat at the kitchen table. It’s done now, she said to herself. The empty pill bottle rolled across the table on its way to the edge. Calmness now enveloped her. “He would be safe; he would be well looked after. Bobby would see to that.” She knew it; he had always looked after her, he was her big brother. Memories of the bar floated into her mind. From a young age she had wandered and played between the tables, the smell of stout and the taste of cigarette smoke, it was all coming back now.
The snug for the auld ones was always busy, the ladies of the town did not like to be seen drinking.
“She is a pretty little girl,” they would say. “Ann, you are a good girl.”
Ann’s childhood was good, being Church of Ireland in a mainly Catholic town made no difference to them, they even went to a Catholic national school.
As she grew into her teens, she became a popular and an attractive young woman. Shoulder length blonde hair, slim frame, and an outgoing personality made her popular with all who knew her.
Despite her days and evenings working in the bar, Ann always made time for her friends and some fun. She loved to watch Bobby and the
other boys play hurling. One in particular, Seán Murphy. (‘Oh, he is a dream boat,’ she often said to her friends). All the girls liked Seán.
Seán Murphy, tall, broad shoulders, handsome, and those thighs were built for playing hurling. Seán was captain of the minor team and was going to play for the county. He was Bobby’s best friend, they done everything together.
On her seventeenth birthday, Ann had her first kiss under the fir trees surrounding the pitches.
“Seán Murphy kissed me, Seán murphy kissed me.” The joy in her heart could not be concealed as she skipped home – the best present she had got all day. “Seán Murphy, inter-county hero, and he is all mine,” she thought.
By the time of Bobby’s American wake, Ann and Séan had
>>Wildflowers, Anon, Hydebank Wood College and Women’s Prison
been an item for some time, to the surprise and envy of her friends. He had remained faithful to her, and her him.
The pregnancy came as a total shock, how naïve we both were then, she thought. Having not told Seán yet, and with Bobby in Chicago, she would have to face up to her parents alone. Father cried, Mother shouted and swore. She would fix it, and they would avoid the shame, she said with bitterness.
Ann heard from friends that Seán Murphy would sit at the bar, pestering bar staff about Ann’s whereabouts, drinking beer after beer in despair. His heart was broken.
Ann’s mother packed a brown leather suitcase for her, all her good clothes packed nicely and neat. She could hear father crying in the next room. “He has not been the same since you told him, he is a broken man,” Ann’s mother reminded her often.
Ann was met at Heuston Station by the Fitzsimmons family: the father, a tall, lean bearded man in a black tweed suit, complemented by a dickie bow. His bank manager’s job made him somewhat aloof and strict. His wife, not quite as tall as her husband, with hawkish features, said very little while in her husband’s company.
Mathew Fitzsimmons, Ann’s future husband, was just as tall as his father but much slimmer and with his mother’s looks. He was twelve years
>>The Drugs Don’t Work, Anon, Maghaberry Prison
older than Ann. He was dressed again in a black suit that hung uncomfortably on him, he carried himself with an air of effeminacy.
Within days, Ann was married to Mathew. “Good Church of Ireland stock,” her mother had said. Her father did not attend the wedding.
To Ann’s great relief the wedding night was uneventful: Mathew drank too much wine in the company of all his male friends. The effects of the wine put him straight to sleep without a word to his new wife. That was how it remained for the next few months.
Mathew’s disdain for Ann grew as the pregnancy progressed. The birth of Eugene brought Ann some long overdue happiness, she now had some part of Seán to call her own again. She doted on
Eugene and as he grew, she could see Seán in his features and his ways, this being her only relief from the darkness and depression of a loveless life.
For the Fitzsimmons no one questioned the early arrival of the child, the pretence of their son’s life was now complete. To all concerned Eugene was Mathew’s son. Eugene would be sent away to boarding school as soon as he was old enough and that would be that. Mathew could now inherit his father’s position and, in secret, continue with the life he had wanted.
Ann Macgregor Fitzsimmons last view in this life was that of the pill bottle crashing to the ground. >>Anon, Midland Prison
POETRY ADVANCED
ONE SIZE FITS ALL
A broad beaming smile must count as contraband in a place like this.
I chuckle inwardly – I am already learning how to beat the system.
White Velcro training shoes, pants too small, jumper too big.
‘I bet you’ve had plenty of that in your time,’ someone sneers. I slow my pace just slightly to let him know that I heard what he said.
I slam my solitary cell door shut, thankful for some decent company.
Such a featureless place that bright eyes would be a point of interest.
I follow as my keeper leads me down
After five weeks of isolation. I could use some fresh air.
When I arrive, I am alone again; it is an angular view that distorts perspective
And offers nothing by way of a landmark other than a solitary broken telephone.
I look to my right and see a familiar face; I approach for a better look,
“How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while,” I hesitate.
I think to myself, ‘Jeez, when did you become so peely wally? And when did you get so flabby, so old and so grey?’
It is a scuffed mirror, and I am its reflection.
Bedecked in grey top, two sizes too big, and Grey bottoms, two sizes too small,
In this place, it seems, one size fits all. >>Anon, Midland Prison
POETRY
INTERMEDIATE
EARLY BATH
“Good, I meant it to hurt.” Oh, what a thing to say, The ref definitely heard me –straight red card, I was on my way.
I played full-blooded, like my exemplar, a giant in Dublin blue,
He won an All-Ireland after a near-fatal crash. Unbelievable, yet true.
In a similar vein, I tackled late and was sent off with a red, I ignored the boos from the side-lines and heard Hill-16 chants instead.
“Six-foot-two, blue and blue, Bri-an Mull-ins after you…”
Only that day he was in his teacher’s gear, smart and pristine,
Glaring as I left the pitch, so angry he could’ve turned Hulkgreen.
“What the hell did you do that for? You make me sick to my belly.”
“That’s a bit rich coming from you, sir, I saw yours on the telly.”
“You got sent off for your school! Where’s your bloody shame?”
“Well, you got sent off for the Dubs, it’s on The Sunday Game!”
My hero, my coach, and my teacher; there was no one quite like him,
When we got back to the school, he amended my attitude in the gym.
Then encouraged me to just ‘play better’. I could have ‘a great career’.
Instead, I focused on chasing girls and drinking too much beer.
Sure, I’d never be as good as him, there was no point even tryin’, An all-time great in every way, especially wearing the number nine.
Despite that row on the football pitch, we got along really well, Bumping into each other in later years, and the stories we could tell!
It’s sad when I reflect on the Blue Colossus, holding the Sam overhead,
He’s left this pitch forever, he’s received his final Red. >>Anon, Midlands Prison
POETRY GETTING STARTED
THE OLD HOUSE
Last night as I lay dreaming I stepped on board a cloud, That flew me back to childhood days and stopped at the old house. I stood a while and listened to voices now long gone, And heard my dear grandmother as she sang a joyful song. The parlour door was open as I made my way inside,
The fire blazed a welcome glow with the kettle on the boil.
My eyes were filled with wonder at the way things used to be, How this old house was once a home and meant so much to me. Boxes full of memories stored for many years,
The house may now be empty but a presence was still here.
The sacred heart still glowing, it hung upon the wall,
For me a small reminder to keep my faith in God.
Outside, I’d walk the old bog lane and search for fairies gold, Or look for hidden treasure from the stories I was told.
I ventured to the river where my father used to fish, And took in the view and beauty of my native town Drumlish. I thought about my neighbours, some still living and some not, Some had emigrated, some had married and moved on.
The chestnut tree had fallen down, the garden overgrown, But the roses were still blooming
>>Flowers and Butterflies, Anon, Dóchas Centre
in the hedgerow by the road. More memories came back to me as I held back the tears, To think this house could mean so much after all these years. I watched a blackbird rising as it hurried and rushed past, It flew towards the Hill of Cairn and its giant towering mast.
The time had come for me to leave I had to journey on,
I’d miss my dear grandmother as she sang that joyful song.
The fire blaze, the parlour door, the kettle on the boil,
The roses in the hedgerow, and the neighbours on my mind.
Oh I wished that I could stay a while and sleep in the old house, But my memories were just a dream and I stepped back on the cloud. >>Anon, Castlerea Prison
