Maximum Security Prison

39

The warders stood waiting in the passage. The Sheriff was late and the new arrivals could not be taken to their allocated cells before the Sheriff had taken their fingerprints and compared them with the prints on the death warrants.

The initial briefing by the Warrant Officer had been completed. The five prisoners stood in front of the Warrant Officer. They were dressed in the prison uniforms of the men who had been hanged less than a week earlier, the drab garb giving no hint of the agony of the desperate last moments of those who had last worn them, or of the many before them.

But first, the new prisoners had to be taught the rules of Maximum Security Prison.

‘Obey orders at all times. Understand?’

Smack, smack.

‘Say, yes sir, when a warder speaks to you.’

Smack, smack.

‘Don’t look at me! Look at the floor. Keep your eyes on the floor at all times.’

Smack, smack.

‘Didn’t I tell you to say yes sir?’

Smack, smack.

‘Don’t ever talk, not to another prisoner, and not to a warder unless it is to say, yes sir. Understand?’

‘Yes, boss.’

Smack, smack.

‘Don’t call me boss. I told you to say, yes sir, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, sir.’

By the time the Sheriff came in, the prisoners knew their place in the system. They were quickly fingerprinted and placed in their cells. They were brutal men, but they had never seen such brutality before.