17

Inmates around me were D-Wing; laughing, screeching, kicking balls, bouncing balls and flicking them at basketball nets but most intimidating, they were in groups, all knowing each other, and there was me, separated. I hadn’t recognised I’d been separated from my own group. Many around me were black and loud, like the loud black people that I was used to except this wasn’t my turf, protected by my B-Wing colleagues. Prison officers were noticeable by their absence. This was their turf, occupied by them like an invading force, and I could sense it with every step I took. For some, association was walking in a large circle and I could feel a hundred pairs of eyes watching me walk back across the large circle of walking prisoners towards where the majority of B-Wing prisoners were. Four large black men, with Afro haircuts and razor-marked tattoos on their faces, left the circle and stood in my path.

‘Are yous, Captain?’ said the one on the left.

‘I am.’

‘Yous a frien’ o Sergean’.’

‘Yes.’

‘He raised his hand flat in the high-five indication and we slapped.

‘Everyting criss, man,’ he said.

‘Right on, man,’ I responded. I just hoped it was at least somewhere in the right direction. We started to walk together and suddenly we were faced with a group of eight men. They were white and burly with tattooed arms and necks and shaven heads. The word ‘Hate’ appeared on most of them. The ones I recognised were from B-Wing but mostly they were D-Wing. There were two in front and four in a line behind them blocking my route through to the B-Wing group. Behind the four were another two facing B-Wingers.

A man joined them and walked to the front. ‘You’re dead, Captain,’ he said. It was Tug Wilson.

‘Oh goody, I love new experiences.’

Tug Wilson was surprised by my response but covered it quickly. Two of the Afro-Caribbeans stepped in front of me, facing the now gang of nine, and two were behind me; the odds weren’t great and the observing prisoners near us moved back.

‘Tell you what; let’s make it a fair fight: each of you in turn just against me.’

‘Yes, let’s make it a fair fight: we just kill you lot.’ Wilson held up his hand containing a closed knife and nine knives flicked open. They must have been mad; they were in prison and if I were attacked and killed they would spend the rest of their lives there, but why kill me? So I asked.

‘Why kill me?’

‘Cos you’re a copper and a grass.’

One of the two at the back spoke. ‘Trouble, Tug.’

I looked past the group blocking our route to B-Wing at a small advancing group. There was Sergeant, Arthur, Big Fred, Maniac, Robbo, Johno, Liz and Spider. They weren’t all fighters but the numbers made the difference – stalemate.

Suddenly, there was turmoil from the main building to our right: the sound of feet coming at us at the double and prisoners trying to get out of the way. Six, no seven, prison officers in helmets and riot gear with shields and batons were coming towards us, two lines of three with one in the lead. Prisoners parted, our opposing forces just melted away and I was left with the four happy Afro-Caribbeans with happy, smiling, tattooed faces. The prison officers stopped. Senior Officer James, who had been in the lead, walked forwards.

‘What goes on here then, Jake?’

‘Nothing. Just associating with some new friends, ma’am.’

‘Oh you were, were you?’

The four Afro-Caribbeans laughed with big friendly grins. There was a pathway through the D-Wingers in the yard and we kept walking until we reached the B-Wing group. It was only then that I realised it was raining. Tension does that; it blocks out irrelevancies. Sergeant certainly had respect here and for the first time the separations in the prison were tangible to me. I went into the prison building, climbed the stairs and walked along the corridor to our cell. Another day done and the picture was a little clearer.

I was walking towards the dining room when I saw Senior Officer James so I went over to her.

‘How did you know, ma’am?’

‘Know what, Jake?’

‘That I was likely to be attacked and I would also be protected.’

‘What makes you think we knew?’

‘You were in riot gear and that takes time to get into, so you must have been prepared.’

She smiled. ‘We do have sources of information and sometimes those are surprising.’

‘Thank you, Senior Officer James.’