Jason - A Way of Life - Part One

THE BAD OLD DAYS – PART I

1987


Prisoner NZ1442 (or has he preferred, Jason Emmings) sat on the edge of his uncomfortable prison issued metal slatted bed in cell number eleven. The beds tubular design cutting deeply and even after all this time, still dented his arse. At last, association had finished, which meant only two things, bang up for the rest of the evening and the last opportunity of a watery beverage to finish the day off, would soon be arriving, at least after that he would be able to relax for the evening. On cue a key slotted and moved heavy mechanisms, clicking his cell door open. Prison Officer Winsor stood with his keys jangling beside a trustee called Laingey (A convicted peddle pepper) who as per usual, inquired if tea, gravel coffee or tepid milk would be required on this eve and as per usual Jason gave the same automated response as he had done for almost seven years now ‘No thanks Guv’. Officer Winsor returned the actions of the scheduled routine by closing and locking the cell door and telling Laingey to wheel his urns onward and move onto the next forty nine inmates.

Once the familiar intrusion and twenty minutes had passed, Jason banged twice on the hard brick and concrete wall that separated him from cell number ten. Inmate Paddy Fagan (or as the state knew him DY2354) answered immediately ‘Alright Jay! One coming through mate’ Jason smiled; Paddy was always on the ball. Jason heard the sound of scraping paper making its way through from cell ten into his. Two 100mm cast iron pipes ran the length of each of the three tiers of C-Wing and connected each of the cells with a primitive and constantly disrupted central heating system. Imaginatively, the two pipes had also become the unconventional but main postal route for illicit flattened goods throughout the prison. Paddy pushed from his side of the thick divide and a folded A4 piece of paper just made its way into cell number eleven and onto the tips of Jason’s fingers. Pinching, he pulled the gnarled paper along the pipe until it was free from the tight space. Unfolding his gift produced a squashed joint; by the smell of it, some lovely Gold Seal Paddy had managed to get his clever hands on. Even after its tight journey the joint still smouldered (which always saved the need to use another sparse matchstick) taking a long deep drag Jason blew the blue smoke in the direction of a tiny barred oblong window and out into another wasted night. ‘Cheers Pad, nice bit of gear!’ Paddy was already wrapping up joint number two as he heard the echo of his next door neighbours appraisal. ‘No probs me ole mate, you got a line?’ Everyone on C-Wing including Jason, had a line ‘Of course, what you after?’ Reaching into his starched pillow case, Jason unravelled his ‘line’ made up from several thin torn bits of bed sheeting knotted together, making a rough three metre length of rope. ‘Never mind, just swing it across’

Jumping onto his unforgiving bed and squeezing his right arm through one of the windows bars, Jason wound his makeshift rope until he had enough momentum to send the line into the blind grasp of Paddy’s left hand. Satisfied Paddy had a good connection he relaxed his grip and watched at least two metres and three knots disappear out of the small cell window. A couple of minutes later and the line was ready to be pulled in ‘Be careful, it’s heavy Jay’ Intrigued, Jason slowly, carefully and hand over hand tugged the rope into his cell. A fat double knot had secured the bottle neck of a quarter bottle of Haig whiskey. Well half of it at least, Paddy had already consumed the rest. Good old Pad, he was a boy! ‘You fucking beauty Pad, where the fuck did you get that from?’ On the other side of the wall, Paddy smiled and already slightly worse for ware ‘Wouldn’t you like to know. Drink up, cheers pal. Gona miss your ugly mug mate!’ Raising the bottle in the direction of Paddy’s cell, Jason replied ‘Cheers Pad. I won’t forget you mate’ Taking a big gulp of the caustic nectar and taking a long deep drag of the joint, he surveyed his surroundings. A heavy steel door, one table, one bed, a stained plastic piss pot and that was pretty much it, save for a few saucy posters, toiletries and some half eaten munchies purchased from the limited weekly canteen. Seven long years he had sat in similar surroundings, not anymore mate! Paddy blindly returned the salute ‘You better not you jammy git!’ Jason grinned and grimaced as he swung his head back and downed a second gulp, clenching his teeth he managed to say ‘Don’t you worry paddy ma boy! Another four months and it will be your turn mate’ It was 8.30pm – The one and only night-man (Dave) would appear about 8.45ish, have a quick mooch through the slatted wickers and make sure sixty inmates, including Jason and Paddy should be where they were supposed to be. After Dave’s inspection, and ten or so hours later Jason’s freedom would be tangibly granted. It couldn’t come soon enough.

Two more joints and a final throat burning swig had passed before Dave the ‘Clockwork’ night-man had begun his systematic rehearsed SAS style routine. He had been checking these cells longer than most of their residents. Methodically sweeping the tier, Dave’s deep voice and its echo’s of occasional protest at the favours he was being asked could be heard throughout out the still wing. At least six of the occupants behind the inspected doors of the first nine cells wanted various things. ‘Can you ask Jenkins for that comic please Guv?’ or ‘Penfold’s got a stropper for me Guv’ but more often than not it was a very discreet request to transfer however many joints, cash, a few lines of Charlie and whatever to the appropriate designated recipient. A privilege not easily afforded. It had taken Jason almost three tortuous months before he was able to be accepted into Dave’s little elite circle. Paddy had vouched for him one evening when Dave’s guard had been down due to some ‘Very grateful’ mellow Lebanese Paddy’s clever hands had once again secured and had generously shared. The tables were now turned as Paddy waved drunkenly to a smiling Dave, a quarter of the night-mans shadowed face filled a scratched plastic slot. Slightly off balance, Paddy waved again to the ghostly face ‘Alright Davey Boy!’ Not missing a beat, Dave replied ‘Having fun are we Pad?’ Paddy indeed was having fun. Give it half an hour and he would be snug as a bug in a rug, pissed and out for the count but for now he was game ‘I’m sweet Guv, just chilling’ closing Paddy’s wicker, Dave moved onto cell number eleven.

‘Hello Jay’ raising the spent bottle of Scotch to the cell door, Jason signalled his acknowledgement ‘Blinding Dave, one more night of your ugly mug and then I’m a free man mate’. Once again never missing a beat, Dave hit back ‘Bollocks big nose!’ Jason feigned injury ‘Seriously Jay, you be careful out there. Good luck mate, it’s been a pleasurable six years’. With a quarter smile, the night-man closed in another night. ‘See you about eleven big nose!’ Dave’s voice trailed off as he moved on to make his solitary inspection. Any other person who had the nerve or naivety to address Jason this way would have found themselves with deep razor injuries and long lasting scars. Fortunately, a soft spot had been developed. Dave’s steel toed boots clicked away in the direction of cell number twelve. Jason or Paddy never made it to the eleven o’ clock count and that was last time he ever saw the man (allegedly the enemy) who had committed many job ending risks over the last six years and who would now no longer be part of his ritual life, slightly choked Jason replied, ‘The pleasure has been all mine Guv’ and just like that a surreal long term relationship ended. Never to be rekindled. It sure is a funny fucked up world.


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