071 - Chapter 71

There but for fortune go you and I

In January 2009, Barack Obama was inaugurated as president of the USA, their first black president. We had been glued to the screen watching the build-up to the election, and Bob and I, and many people all over the world, were delighted with the result. It felt that the world was a safer place to be all of a sudden. He was young, so very eloquent, so relaxed and popular, with such a lovely family. There was much celebration, though not all were happy with this result in the United States.

Just before this, a door had opened for me to enter prison ministry, once a month in Northumberland. I was due to go in for the first time, to their Christmas service in 2008, but I was so ill that my friend, a fellow priest, covered for me instead. I travelled there each month from then on via the Northumberland coastal route, past Woodhorn Colliery. In time, huge wind turbines were erected in the fields by the road and became such a welcome sight as I passed by them. They seemed to be waving their arms in welcome as I made that journey.

Years before, when I was in the United Folk group, we had visited prison fellowship groups a few times here and at one in Durham. At first, we stood at the front and sang to the men, but their heads were down. It seemed to be an ‘us and them’ situation, which didn’t feel right, so we asked if we could sit in a circle on our next visit, and this worked really well. We shared fellowship and chatted, and the atmosphere changed instantly.

Their heads came up, and we got on so well together. It was a joy to hear them sing along with us. We sang in the chapel too. When United Folk disbanded, I went along to a few sessions myself before going on to ministerial training. One prisoner said to me on my final visit,

“Sheila, don’t stay away too long. Come back and see us, won’t you?”

Hence the reason I got involved again once I retired. The prison chaplains I knew over the years were superb. I can’t recall all their names, but among them were Glyn, Eric, Gabby, Matthew, Kevin, and Phil. All so patient and caring. Paul and Darren were volunteers who befriended the men and led intercessions. My role was to deliver a short talk based on the Gospel reading, accompanied by songs on my guitar in the two separate chapels. The large modern chapel with stained glass windows looking onto a garden area was for men from the main prison. The other chapel was more traditional in style and used by the VP’s (vulnerable prisoners).

I made so many friends there, and learned most of their first names. I loved their banter and felt so uplifted by their hearty singing. What a joy and privilege it was to be there.

“There’s some great lads in there!” I would say to Bob. But I suppose I only ever got to see the ones who came to visit chapel and find some peace in their lives. I discovered that some of them wanted to play the guitar themselves. I began to collect guitars for them and quite a few friends donated them. The men began sharing their own poems and songs about their faith with me, giving them to me as gifts, and writing them out ever so neatly. I found many of them really moving. Some had great solo voices.

One lad sang the hymn ‘Amazing Grace’ to me when we had coffee. He was quite nervous, but he sounded really good. I jokingly said to him,

“Come on, brother, give it some soul.”

And boy, did he give it some welly. He promised that the next time I came, he would sing it in front of everyone, and he did. It really went down well because one of their own was taking a role in the service. Then another lad volunteered to sing solo as a result. And yet another young man with long dreadlocks played guitar and sang along with me quite regularly. There was such a lot of talent on the inside. One made a sketch of me from memory and how skilful he was. Another had a real gift in needlepoint — better than any I’ve ever seen.

Christmas was such a special time there. Guests were invited who were in some way connected to prison education and welfare. They were able to see the men participate in creative ways out at the front of the chapel, often with a special choir for such an occasion. Bob came to one of these Christmas services and was greeted very warmly by one of his ex-pupils who was doing time. I never ever considered what crimes had put the men there. It never crossed my mind. I just loved them, just as I believed God loved them and wanted a better life for them when they were released.

As I said earlier, you can’t teach unless you love the child, and it was similar here, too. Many hadn’t had the chances in life that most of us have had. I remember asking one big gentle giant of a young man,

“Come on (name), explain to me how a great lad like you could end up in a place like this?” During our conversation the words of a famous song by Joan Baez, ‘There But For Fortune Go You and I’, came into my mind. How would I cope as a mother, I asked myself, if this was my son who’d got himself into trouble? Trauma can happen to anyone and to any family, and it must be so hard to deal with. Tragically he died some months after that conversation — he was found in his cell one morning, so I assume that he must have died alone, which really grieved me. At his funeral, apart from the priest, two prison officers were there to show their respects: one former prisoner and me. That’s all; no one else. No family, no friends.

What chance have youngsters got when they grow up disadvantaged, or where the crime rate is already high? Or drugs are readily available. Or where generations of parents have been unemployed and unable to get work? One wrong move and that’s all it takes for one’s life to be changed forever. And we must bear in mind that many other lives are ruined in the process, like the ripple effect of a stone thrown into a pond. Some don’t realise how easy it is to get into trouble — through a moment’s foolishness or carelessness. For example, on my way to prison one day, I was very nearly killed through someone’s reckless driving!

I was making my way to the prison one fine Sunday morning, when I decided to turn left onto a country road which took me to another road which ran parallel to the one I usually travelled on. I was wondering if it would get me there quicker than my usual route, which went through the village of Red Row. I sailed along happily. I was on time and was taking my time driving when I saw a rise in the road ahead — a small ‘humpback’ perhaps over old railway lines. I’m not sure. In the other direction, I noticed that around the road to the right, some way off, a car was coming the opposite way. I knew I would have to be careful approaching the rise, so I slowed down. The other driver must have assumed the road was clear so early on a Sunday morning. I remember feeling wary as the car hadn’t appeared, then I heard that voice again in my head and it was very urgent! This made it the third time that inner voice had spoken to me. I heard firm words,

“Get right onto the grass!”

That was what I heard, not,

“Move over!” or “Get to one side!”

Immediately, I drove onto the grass as I approached the rise, and slowed down even more. The oncoming car suddenly appeared and came hurtling over, whizzing past me in the other direction, missing me by a few centimetres. He jammed on his brakes and his car swivelled around. He came screeching to a halt, almost facing my direction. I had jammed my brakes on and, looking back in my rear-view mirror, I saw him look back at me. Then he bent his head slowly forward towards his wheel and looked back again in my direction. He was wearing a uniform. I even wondered at the time whether he had been an officer eager to get home from a night shift? Probably not.

A cyclist then pedalled past me in the opposite direction, not realising what had just happened. So this driver must have overtaken him just before the rise, and nearly claimed both our lives. But what he’ll never know was that that command I heard had saved us both! What was I saying about one wrong move? We both drove on.

There were so many lighter moments during my trips to prison. I clearly remember taking along a song or two that amazingly meant something to someone. One guy once commented about one of my songs called ‘The Wall Song’, which had spoken to his heart. He was due for release the following week and he told me he’d come to realise that he’d built massive walls around himself all his life, and was now going to let others in. He had even let God into his life, and had become a Christian. It’s funny how one song written for someone else that I knew, who was going through a very tough time, could speak directly to someone else and help heal them.

‘The Wall Song,’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wE83j0sSBwc...

Another young lad who had come to chapel for the very first time sat up and took notice, as I sang a Johnny Cash song one Sunday, called ‘Walk the Line’. He explained after the service that he was a massive Johnny Cash fan and the last place he’d expected to hear a song of his sung was the chapel. He realised on hearing the song that God had been there for him in the chapel that morning. Some inmates shared their despair and anxieties.

I think of how the ‘Covid lockdown’ affected us all, when we were isolated in our homes, and allowed only one hour’s exercise outside, I quite understand now the state of a prisoner’s mind at being shut up in a small cell — day in and day out for years, in an unpredictable environment. I suppose it must have been hell for some of them, and much more so, I imagine, when the lockdown situation was introduced there.

The prison system is a means of re-education and restoration, aiming to meet the needs of the prisoners, rather than be a place of retribution or punishment. It is also there to support their families. So purposeful employment and education is on offer and can actually prepare a prisoner to enter and engage with society once a sentence is served? I wondered if creating long-term special wings for those who are ‘truly reformed’ characters, as a reward and a symbol of hope, could be introduced, so prisoners could do time in a humane and friendly environment. Others would want surely to join them? Such a system, I heard, has worked in the USA.

I loved my time there, over the years, especially hearing from colleagues all about the work being done by volunteers for prison fellowship with restorative justice — a system whereby the perpetrator of a crime comes face-to-face with the victim of their crime (under strict supervision) and is helped to see the damage they’ve caused by their crime. It can bring healing to both parties. It has also been a fantastic programme in preventing someone re-offending. But it can only take place if both parties agree to it, and there is constant supervision.

Bob came with me once or twice, driving me up there and dropping me off at the prison. He would attend a church nearby while he was waiting for me — a different one each time. On his way out at the close of the service, when one of the stewards asked about him and whether he had family, he would very mischievously take pleasure in telling them that he was there because his wife was in prison! I don’t think he gave any further explanation either! That’s Bob for you, and his sense of humour.

In time, the two prisons merged together as one. Not long after, the old chapel was decommissioned to make room for new blocks. For a while, only the modern chapel could be used by everyone, but obviously at separate times. However, when worship for VPs was transferred to a warehouse on the far site about half a mile away, I found it tough carrying equipment that distance in a hurry, from one service to the next. Also, I couldn’t breathe very well when I sang there as the place hadn’t been used much throughout the week, it was very stuffy and had no windows. After six years, it was time to move on and let someone fitter and younger take my place. I won’t easily forget my time inside. I loved it.