Professional Documents
Culture Documents
First published in Great Britain in 2012 by English PEN, Free Word, 60 Farringdon Road, London EC1R 3GA 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Collection copyright English PEN, 2012 The moral right of the authors has been asserted. The views expressed in this book are those of the individual authors, and do not necessarily represent the opinions of the editors, publishers or English PEN. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book. A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN 978-0-9564806-5-1 Printed and bound in Great Britain by Aldgate Press, Units 5&6, Gunthorpe Street Workshops, 3 Gunthorpe Street, London E1 7RQ www.aldgatepress.co.uk Designed by Brett Biedscheid, www.statetostate.co.uk
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I Had a Beginning
Stephen Barraclough, HMP Lewes First prize, Lives
Freedom
Carol Clarke, HMP New Hall Runner Up, Lives
Invisible
Ashley Atkinson, HMP YOI Wetherby Commended
Freedom
Darren Jenkins, HMP Shepton Mallet Runner Up, Lives
Liberty
Ian Petrie, HMP Perth Runner Up, Lives
Freedom
Boris Obadiaru, aged 17, HMP YOI Warren Hill Commended
Evidence of Freedom
A de Vos, HMP Bullwood Hall Commended
Freedom
Abdulqadir Deylani, HMP Bullwood Hall Commended
Review of Catch 22
Daniel Archer, HMP Full Sutton Runner Up, Books
Freedom Is Calling
Wayne Pugh, HMP Frankland Commended
Freedom
Claire, HMP Holloway Runner Up, Lives
Judging English PENs Writing Freedom competition was a daunting task but an inspiring one. We had support from so many people working with prisoners, writers in residence, prison librarians, but mostly from the individuals that submitted their work. There were 300 entries from 70 prisons and each submission had something interesting and important to say. Narrowing it down to two winners and ten runners-up wasnt easy and Id like to acknowledge everybody who entered as being an essential part of this project, it simply couldnt have happened otherwise.
The brief was a challenging one, to explore the idea of freedom: either through personal testimony or by writing about a book they admired on this theme. The response was broad and astonishingly diverse, even among those in this collection. Powerfully honest life writing; shrewd literary criticism that draws out the relevance of the written word to personal experience. There are wonderful surprises here too, the discovery of freedom (and even love) in unexpected places; and a great playfulness of language, aptly demonstrated by Ian Petries poem in Scots dialect.
This collection is something of a discourse on the art of reading and writing itself. And it has plenty to say on the importance of freedom of expression a discussion we can all be part of.
English PENs Readers & Writers programme has been sending writers and their books into prisons in the UK for over a decade. Recently, weve taken Louis De Bernires in to a long term prison in Norfolk and Malorie Blackman in to HMP Holloway with her bestselling book. Anthony Horowitz spent a day in a Young Offenders Institute with his Alex Rider books and the poet Choman Hardi shared her poems with foreign national women prisoners. Throughout the year PEN writers take their words into prison communities of young men, old men, women, teenagers and foreign nationals.
Prison is a closed community with people locked up in their cells for long periods, away from family and friends, sometimes with mental health difficulties and at times alone. There is an audience and appetite for literature; we match our writers with the appropriate community and we send the books in advance thanks to the generous support of publishers and our funder, the Monument Trust.
To celebrate PENs 90th anniversary year in 2011, we decided to launch our PEN Writing Freedom competition and promote the learning that can come from a good read and the sense of identity that a reflective piece of writing can provide. This year, we invited men and women prisoners to write about their Lives or review a Book that has been important to them, through the lens of Freedom. We now plan a yearly competition with different themes and we hope even more entries.
Readers & Writers would like to say a big Thank You to every librarian, every teacher, every officer who helped and every prisoner who sat down, picked up a pen and wrote one word after the other for this competition, proving that action and words together can speak very loud indeed.
Eleanor Roosevelt once described reading as a revolutionary act. She claimed that reading could revolutionise both the mind and the spirit. I wholeheartedly agree with her. You see, I was once there at the very brink of the abyss, no longer able to function, feel or even think straight. Then during my darkest hour I discovered a remarkable book that pulled me back from the edge, quite literally saving my life and transforming it in the process. Mans Search for Meaning was written by a Viennese psychiatrist and neurologist called Viktor Emil Frankl. It was first published in 1946 after Frankl had survived more than three years in Nazi concentration camps including Dachau, Theresienstadt and Auschwitz. The book eloquently expounds Frankls theory that psychotherapy should take into account the soul as well as the mind and body. Hence the reason he became known as the psychiatrist who rediscovered the human soul. The concentration camps became a kind of macabre assessment ground for Frankls theories. Time and again he saw that those who were most likely to survive were those who lived with hope and optimism, effectively proving his nascent theory that the why to live was an essential prerequisite to any will to live.
His theory, which came to be called Logotherapy, focuses on helping a person find meaning in their lives even in the midst of pain and suffering. Logotherapy can be summed up in three key principles: The first principle is learning to turn pain and suffering into achievement. The second principle is learning to take responsible action and the third principle is deriving from feelings of guilt the opportunity to change oneself for the better. Frankl believed that living by these principles a person could add meaning to their lives, no matter how dire their current circumstances. He believed these principles helped a person to heal their soul. Ren Descartes likened the reading of a good book to a conversation with its author. That is certainly how it feels reading Mans Search for Meaning. Frankls voice and compassion resonate on every page. Whilst reading it that first time I felt almost as if he was there in the room with me, teaching me, guiding me, rescuing me. He helped me to rediscover a purpose to my life. He taught me that no matter how dire the circumstances, no matter what has happened, I have the power to choose how I let those experiences affect me and how I react to the world around me. He showed me how to take the feelings of guilt and turn them into something positive and life-affirming. He reminded me that I could still make a positive difference to the world, that it was never too late. Mans Search for Meaning was more than just another book. It was the book that saved my life.
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I Had a Beginning
Stephen Barraclough, HMP Lewes First prize, Lives
When I was thirteen, my two nephews and I would buy a Red Rover. This enabled us to unlimited travel for a day on any red bus. Every Saturday morning we would set off and travel all over London. We visited the museums in Kensington, Madame Tussauds, The Planetarium, The London Zoo and many other places. Our favourite destination was the boating lake in Regents Park. We would hire a boat and row up and down the lake for an hour. Looking back at those times, I remember the sense of freedom that accompanied our journeys. Two years later, I left school and worked with my father as an apprentice painter and decorator. My father was an extremely competent decorator and he was an artistic man. We worked mostly in Kensington, Chelsea and Knightsbridge. The year was Nineteen sixty-six. England had just won the World Cup. The counter culture of the hippies was in full stride and the mini skirt was in fashion. The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan and numerous other highly accomplished bands were playing their music. Timothy Leary, a Harvard professor and advocate of experimenting with LSD sent out the message Drop out, turn on, tune in. It was an exciting time for a fifteen year old. The sixties encouraged people to liberate themselves from the norm. On the train going to and from work with my father, I read Ken Keseys, One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest. A book I have read twice since. My father and I worked at the playwright John Osbornes house in Chelsea Square. Osbornes play Look Back in Anger was playing at the theatre next to Sloane Square station. I felt satisfied with my life as it was then. Working for my living gave me a structure from which independence and self-worth developed. That was then. Today I am a life sentence prisoner on recall. I suppose it is easy to be wise after the event. The first mistake I made was leaving my fathers
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employment after eighteen months. I wanted something different but I did not know what it was I wanted. I had made myself unemployed and I started drifting into an aimless existence. I was drinking on a daily basis. One of my nephews, Leon, who used to travel on the Red Rover with me, had begun using heroin. I started hanging around with him and his friend Frank. My drinking was getting worse. Frank and I started breaking into shops at night and within months we were both sentenced to borstal. On the prison bus going to Dover the lyrics of Joni Mitchells song, you dont know what youve got till its gone kept reverberating in my mind. My freedom, which I had taken for granted, had been taken away. The following years developed into a pattern of drinking, offending and imprisonment. I just didnt seem to care. In the nineties, I moved down to a seaside resort in the south of England. I had admitted, but not accepted, I was an alcoholic. If I had ten cans of beer, my only concern was where my eleventh can would come from. I rented a flat near my nephew, Leon. I would go for long walks along the seafront. Sometimes I would sit on a ledge on the lower part of a cliff face. I would sit in isolation looking out at a panoramic view of glittering sea. I had been living on the south coast for two years when, heavily intoxicated, I stabbed a man and he died. The following year I was convicted of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment. I wondered how I would cope with several years incarceration ahead of me. One day I was listening to Terry Waite on the radio. He was telling how he developed strategies to help him cope as a hostage in solitary confinement. He would close his eyes and relive one of the journeys he carried out on his yacht. Mentally, he would go through all necessary manual tasks in relation to sailing. Suddenly, he wasnt a hostage
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but a sailor on a blue ocean. I adopted Terry Waites strategies by mentally going over some of the long walks I had done in the past. It worked. I lay in bed at night and I was walking over the South Downs. There was a certain spiritual element about employing this form of imagination. As the time progressed, I got involved with Alcoholics Anonymous and the Twelve Step programme. The years passed and eventually I was released upon life license. My AA sponsor got me a job painting the exterior of offices at a yacht builder at the local marina. I was living at a hostel. After three months, having saved up some money, I was allowed to leave the hostel and move into my own rented accommodation at a coastal town in East Anglia. We had finished the required work at the yacht builder, so I arrived in my new accommodation unemployed. I had the freedom of a coastline and the sea once again. I did not know anyone in this small town and I became socially isolated. I started drinking again. The consumption of alcohol was forbidden on my license conditions. Eventually, I was recalled back to prison. Have I learnt anything? I have learnt that you cannot change your past but you can help shape your future. I have learnt that the word freedom has many connotations. In its simplest form, it is the freedom to come and go as you please. However, there is the broader role of freedom from addiction, from physical and psychological illness, from bias, from fear; from prejudice, the list is endless. I will be released again on license and I will have the freedom of choice to strive for recovery from addiction. That is my goal. A free mind is certainly as important as physical freedom.
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Freedom
Carol Clarke, HMP New Hall Runner Up, Lives
An Extract Shes such a good baby, sighed my mum. But I screamed every night after this. I love you so much, cooed my dad. So I started getting anxious in case I did something that would make him stop loving me. Weve always been a strong, capable family, my mum informed me. So I hid my weaknesses and fears, in case I let the side down. Shes so kind and considerate towards the other children, extolled my nursery school carers. So I decided my role in life was to serve everybody else, even if that meant being trodden on. Shes very bright, commented my first teacher. So I set myself high standards and lived in fear of failure. Were not an argumentative family, declared my dad. So I appointed myself peace-maker and bottled up my own anger. Dont talk to strangers they might try to hurt you, warned the policeman who visited our classroom. So I made a mental note never to trust anybody.
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So I tried to live up to the description and never dared to relax or have fun, to have a giggle and misbehave with the other kids. Shes never selfish or demanding no trouble at all, beamed my dad. So I pretended to be content with whatever came my way, and hid my real needs and desires. III shield you from anything upsetting or frightening, promised my mum. So I expected the world to be rosy, and developed no resilience to withstand lifes struggles. III never hurt you, vowed my dad. But I thought I deserved to suffer, so I harmed myself instead. It upsets me when I see you sad, cried my mum. So I never let my pain show. Your family is well-respected, the neighbours told me. So I kept up appearances and believed we were the perfect family. Youre so well-behaved you never get told off, complained my sister. So I made sure I never did anything deserving criticism, and the mildest rebuke would threaten my whole sense of security.
Were such a close family, we dont need friends, announced my mum. So I stayed loyal to my roots and kept outsiders at a safe distance.
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Youre lucky to have had a good Christian upbringing, said my priest. So I pretended I was pure and holy, and felt guilty for having bad thoughts. Im so proud of you, rejoiced my mum when I went off to university. So I determined to fulfil all her dreams, even if it meant suppressing my own. Youre always so sociable, commented my fellow students. So I perfected the small talk, for I felt I had nothing of importance to say, and saved my tears for when I was alone. Shes well-organised and plans carefully, read my first work reference. So I never learnt to appreciate flexibility, spontaneity or risk-taking. Youre a valued and trusted member of staff, reported my boss. So I left my job before she could discover I wasnt perfect after all. Youve had so many opportunities and such a positive upbringing, you shouldnt have any hang-ups, declared my psychiatrist. So I concluded my depression was untreatable and tried to commit suicide. We all love you, chorused everyone I knew, when I regained consciousness five days later. But I hated myself and hated life. Youre from a good background I dont understand what went wrong, declared the judge, as he handed me the indeterminate sentence. I have no option but to take your freedom.
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Invisible
Ashley Atkinson, HMP YOI Wetherby Commended
I take drugs to make me thin, I dye my hair and cut my skin, Always trying to make them see, I aint happy being me! Deep inside, my quiet hell, You cannot hear my cries for help, I try everything to make them see, Its awful to feel like me, Every day I try to look my best, Even though deep inside Im such a mess, I just feel invisible, No-one sees life inside of me, Even when I walk on wire, Even when I set myself on fire, No-one understands that its hard to be me, Why do I feel invisible? When I should feel invincible, Its just really tough to be like me, Whose gonna be the one to save me?
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It was April 2002. I had only been out of prison for days; I was hanging around with a lad called Jimmy (we call him Fingers due to his fingers having been struck to his ear when he was born). We had known each other for years, we were both heroin users. I dont know what happened but we had got into a downward spiral. We couldnt get the hit we were looking for and were constantly out grafting (stealing whatever we could), to get what we needed to feed our habit. The day I wanted to get round to was a Thursday. As normal, we were out grafting (we couldnt seem to get anything as it was one of them days where nothing was going right for us). Then our luck changed and Jimmy came to me saying he had just seen someone go out. We walked over to the house and I popped one of the windows then we both climbed and took everything of value we could find. We went and sold everything for over 800. Finally life was looking up for us. We went and got some gear, it took us 10 minutes to get there, I phoned a lad I knew who would sort us with the gear we wanted.
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We met up in a car park where we done the deal then got back in the car. I passed Jimmy the gear and we headed for the garage on the motorway. By the time we got there, Jimmy had already got the gear ready to sort ourselves out. When we got back to Washington it was dark. I parked the car and we went to the flats. We were heading to my friends place but as we crossed the car park I heard shouting coming from a flat. I recognised the voice; it was another good mate I went to school with called Kenny. I told Jimmy to knock and ask if we could sort ourselves out in there. Kenny answered the door and asked what we wanted. I stepped out from round the corner and Kenny said Hello Lee, what you doing here? I told him that we needed somewhere to sort ourselves out as we didnt want to do that out in the open. He said Come in, come in. I hope you sort me out as well. I knew he had been on the gear but I didnt know he still took it. We all went into the sitting room. I got the gear and passed some to Kenny. He put it on his spoon; me and Jimmy sorted ourselves out. I had just had my hit. It was the strongest Ive taken in a long time. I looked at Jimmy, he was sitting back enjoying the gear. I then looked over to Kenny and he was just having his hit, I told him to watch as it was strong gear. After only a few seconds I heard Kenny say God, this is good stuff. I looked over to see him stand up, but then he crashed back down. I shit myself. Jimmy and I looked at each other and said Overdose! As we said it, Kennys friend Danny came in and looked at Kenny on the floor. He asked what happened and we told him. He said Kenny had been taking all sorts of drugs with drink. I shouted Phone the ambulance, quick!
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I turned Kenny over and checked to see he was breathing. He wasnt, so I checked his pulse. There is one, but faint. I grab the phone and tell the woman on the phone that my friend has taken an overdose. I am scared; she asked if I knew what he had taken, I said I didnt know. I wasnt lying as I didnt know what he had taken; not everything anyway. She said to give him mouth to mouth, but there was sick on his lips so I told Danny to do it. It didnt seem to be doing anything then the woman said the ambulance would be there soon and to keep doing it. She told me loads of other stuff but I couldnt make out what she was saying, it was like I wasnt there. I kept looking over the balcony for the ambulance. I saw it come round the corner after waiting for what felt like hours but in reality was only 6 or 7 minutes. The medics came running to the flat and ask what happened, I told them hed taken heroin. Just as they started to do something to Kenny, Jimmy shouted that the police were there. I panicked and ran out of the room, leaving my friend to the medics; Jimmy followed me. All we wanted to do was get away and block out what had happened. We needed to score, needed to get rid of the images that were rushing about my head. After scoring again, Jimmy and I split up, saying we would meet up later when things had died down; but we never did as Jimmy got locked up. A few days after Kenny died the police were still searching for me.
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Everywhere I went police had been before me and no-one would give me a place to stay. I had no friends, no-one wanted to know me or help me; even my family turned me away at the door. With nowhere to go, it was only a matter of time before I was picked up, and that is how I got to this point in my life. Ten years in prison, 15 years of drug addiction and one friend dead later. I used to think that I had been hard done by because I saw a friend die on the drugs I enjoyed; but now I think about his family and friends, how they feel, the pain they are going through and his little girl growing up without a Dad
I WISH, LIKE THIS COMPUTER I TYPE MY THOUGHTS ON, I HAD A WORD CHECK IN MY LIFE. I HAVE USED THE PHRASE, YOU NEVER REALISE WHAT YOUVE GOT UNTIL ITS GONE ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS. I WOULD LIKE TO BE ABLE TO SEE HOW MANY TIMES I HAVE SAID IT WITHOUT ONCE REALLY THINKING ABOUT THE ENORMITY OF THESE WORDS.
Kate Walker, HMP Drake Hall
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Freedom
Darren Jenkins, HMP Shepton Mallet Runner Up, Lives
I was behind bars for most of my teenage years and the majority of my adult life so far. Ironically, I found my freedom when I came to prison. At 16 years of age I had watched as my best friend came out to his family. He was disowned by all of them and ended up in Local Authority care. I was devastated, not only for him, but for me as well because from a very young age I knew that I was like him; that I was different. I didnt like the things that other boys liked; I wasnt the slightest bit interested in football, not really bothered by fast cars, and computer games were only just emerging and hadnt yet gripped the teenage mind (though in later years I discovered I wasnt really interested in those either!). Watching him ostracised by his family and friends left an immediate and lasting fear with me and I knew I couldnt put myself through what he did. Instead, I buried my sexuality deep down and began to live a lie. This became my mental prison, and it ultimately contributed to my offending behaviour, which led me to become ensconced in a real prison. You might think that prison, with its macho, aggressive and testosterone-fuelled landings is a strange place to come to terms with your sexuality yet that is exactly what I did.
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The landings of a B Cat Local prison arent really conducive to coming to terms with the fact that one prefers men instead of women. Everywhere I looked there was homophobia, mainly it was in the form of verbal abuse or taunting even if the person at the receiving end was not gay. This behaviour reminded me of the school playground, but this time I was not to be put off. Enough was enough. I couldnt have physical freedom for a number of years, and readily accepted this, but I could have mental freedom at last and I wanted it. Slowly, I gained more confidence in telling people I met that I was gay. Even more slowly I built up confidence in challenging those who would use this against me. The most common complaint usually came from the hyper-macho gym type muscle men who were concerned that I would look at them in the shower. I usually broke the ice by saying that without my glasses I am too short-sighted to see mine, let alone theirs! Gradually, the most amazing thing started to happen. People started accepting me for who I am sexuality and all. I always feared that I would be rejected by people if I came out but here, in prison, the opposite was true. The officers noticed the change in me, my new confidence and they asked if I would build upon this by helping others, and suggested that I start a support group. I jumped at the chance and, while new to the role and certainly making mistakes along the way, I got a group off the ground something which I have done in every prison I have been in during my sentence since (3 in all, two of them with great success).
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One of the more positive things about all this is that I finally found love. Yes, it can be found in the strangest and harshest of places. The interesting thing about this for me was the level of acceptance of our relationship. Even though prison staff cannot condone relationships between prisoners, they certainly did nothing to hinder ours, even making sure that I was emotionally supported when my partner transferred to another location. And my fellow inmates were all the more supportive. During the whole of the time my partner and I were in the same prison I cannot remember a single homophobic comment or remark coming from anyone. Those who did not agree with homosexuality were able to keep their opinions to themselves while still recognising our value as individual human beings. Some two and a half years of distance has quelled our relationship, but I feel we are still being supported by fellow prisoners and prison staff (the latter offer their support by simply not making things like letter writing between us difficult). I have now faced my family with my sexuality, thanks largely to the confidence I built up on the landings and I am happy to report that there were no negative repercussions, though they struggled to understand why I felt that I couldnt have told them sooner. It is a huge testament to the staff and the prisoners that I have met along my journey that I was able to finally find some self-acceptance and to begin to live the life that I have wanted so many years I have finally found my freedom. With the level of homophobic hate crime on the rise in society, it would be interesting to collect some figures from the prison service about the levels of hate crime in our small individual prison communities. Im willing
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to bet that they will be smaller in comparison, which is no small feat given the way that different personalities and characters and forced to share such close quarters in prison. Perhaps if society as a whole were encouraged to be as aware of the diversity of their communities as prisoners are, the levels of crime in general may fall? Freedom, for me, came in the form of releasing myself from my self-imposed mental chains. The next step is physical freedom and I am now looking forward to being released and not just experiencing a whole new life, but doing so with acceptance that I would have had all along if Id opened up in the first place.
WHAT IS FREEDOM? HAVE I EVER BEEN FREE? THE ANSWERS TO THESE TWO SIMPLE QUESTIONS ARE OBVIOUS, RIGHT?
Ian H., HMP Wakefield
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Liberty
Ian Petrie, HMP Perth Runner Up, Lives
Noo gaither roon abody, Ill tell ye a tale, Fit am gaun tae dae, aince am oot o the gaol, Am sailin awa, far fae my island hame, An nivver nae mair, will I see it again. Ive bent on ma foresail and heistt ma main, Am heidit due East, tho ma hairts ful o pain, But freedom Ill hae tho, an nane can hurt me, As lang as my boatie an mes ay at sea. Am nae relly fashed gin we dinna mak speed, For peace an quaet is aa that I need, Maybes Ill turn Sooth and jist heid for Skye, An sail intae Snizort at anchor tae lie. Noo hunger an wint, weel theyll nae bother me, Gin aathing I aetll hae come fae the sea, The difference yell find aats atween you an me, Is youre stuck wi your lot, an Ill be set free, Aye, youre stuck wi your lot, an Ill be set free.
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Many of us would agree that in extreme times of crisis, we rationalise and try to work out things for our own good. We labour endlessly to determine why God would allow such things to happen to us if indeed he is real? The dread of imminent death; the unknown; doubt and anxiety of not fully understanding the pain of our situation, serving only to torment us. Often through life we become acquainted with suffering that either brings about a mans demise or aims to strengthen him. I see this in Donnes life. I see a man who, despite all the odds, discovers something special; extraordinary! His Godly tenacity moves me to a place of seriousness; contemplation. It concedes me to detect my own apathy and limitations even to the point of wanting to deny myself of every hindrance just to know a glimpse of my own future. A future where everything will one day be tolerable, new, fresh and wholesome. Through his grief and suffering at the mercy of this dreadful disease Donne attacks God, mocks him, then grovels and pleads for forgiveness. In his despair, Donnes attitude changes. Interestingly, he begins to re-examine his life. When looking back on all the events that had taken place in his life he gains insight and understanding. He discovers that in times of loss and affliction that he had resented, they were the very things that had brought about spiritual growth. Hardships had actually purged him of sin. His very character had been refined through the fairness of God. Poverty had taught him true dependence upon God and cleansed him from greed. Failure, imprisonment and public disgrace had rescued him from prideful ways and selfishness. Was it then, that Gods own hand had blocked Donnes career? Would God, then, in his mercy, reinstate Donne and spare his life?
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Freedom
Boris Obadiaru, aged 17, HMP YOI Warren Hill Commended
An Extract What is freedom? Before anyone can answer this almost clich of a question, they must ask: how much does a man desire it? For everyone is free, it just depends on how free you want to be. Ive spent the last 17 months incarcerated. Ive only ever left prison to go to court and back. And once to get my teeth braces, which Id had for three and a half years, removed. Now that made me feel free! These 17 months have been spent in two different youth offending institutes. Two institutes both miles away from the postcode I trapped myself in in fear of venturing out and getting in to serious trouble. Was I free then? I was so concerned with the prestige of being respected by some and feared by many that I allowed my heath and future to suffer. I was so regularly under the influence to pass the time and escape the shackles of the government that even when sober I was so apathetically lethargic. My face was always so glum that I was named Dom Unjolly. My school grades dropped, my behaviour diminished and my stamina was almost nil. But it didnt matter; after all, I wasnt in jail like some of my friends. I could go and see a girl or buy a packet of crisps from an off licence, as long as it was within my postcode. That made me free, right? Didnt it?
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Evidence of Freedom
A de Vos, HMP Bullwood Hall Commended
Trying hard to survive in this Black rain Black on black crime, thats Black shame Pictures of lost ones in a Black frame Respect to Malcolm he got a Black aim Thats what I really called a Black brain Cause when he got shot He left a black stain. Red, gold and green on a Black chain Walking around, free the Black name. Remember when we got whip With a black cane? Hanging upside down in black Black shame Now they got a President With a black dame So called evidence of a Black brain
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to questioning mans integrity and more so an insight into a world that we as humans may be leading ourselves. If we look at the monster, Shelley created him with all the feelings that we as humans strive for and very few are able to retain. Sensitivity, intelligence, compassion, love his beauty came from within but we as the superior being discount this and make our judgement regardless. Every ism known to man and woman is brought into the frame by Shelley in the most beautiful and heartfelt way. The wonderful thing about this story is that it doesnt take an intellectual to decipher the hundreds of issues it raises and, to me, more enjoyable is that once read the self-questioning begins and the answers are eternal, changing, evolving as the individual reader observes him/herself and the world around them. Frankenstein is a beautifully crafted story that has at times been abused and misinterpreted by unsympathetic storytellers and filmmakers, which has led many seeing only a simplistic horror story at best. The only nuts and bolts within Shelleys book are those that hold together the fabric of mankind, and not those that Hollywood uses to portray the nave image of evils head. Frankenstein is more than a story, it is a door opening into a world within which we all live but fear. I have read this book many times now and will read it many more times to come.
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Freedom
Abdulqadir Deylani, HMP Bullwood Hall Commended
An Extract Now, how is it possible to feel free, when you know that people are suffering? Can you obtain the peace and freedom which surrounds you? The truth is you cant. Thats why there is a system that keeps you busy, every single day in your little world, so you dont have the chance to think, or react to the thoughts, concerning the lives that suffer, the lives that starve and the lives that die every day. Thats why there are drugs, money corruptions and careers for everyone to chase, the one that suits one best. Thats the reality we live in, the illusion of this world. We call it freedom.
WHEN I LOOK OUT OF THE WINDOW I CAN SEE THE SEA. THE BIG OPEN SEA. AND I CAN SEE THE BARBED WIRE AND THE FENCING. THROUGH A BARRED WINDOW. PICTURES OF MY FAMILY ARE STUCK ONTO THE WALL. AND IM STUCK IN HERE.
Natha Adwarkwa, HMP YOI Warren Hill
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Review of Catch 22
Daniel Archer, HMP Full Sutton Runner Up, Books
Joseph Hellers hilarious account of the brutality of conflict is bittersweet. His characterization of the protagonists in turmoil is brilliant. The anti-war novel now represents an unwinnable situation. Catch 22 is a riddle wrapped up in a conundrum. The book exposes the lives of American pilots stationed in Italy during World War II. The hero Yossarian discovers much to his horror that no matter how many bombing raids he completes, the number is increased. When he reaches the required flights, to qualify for a return to the USA, the count is extended. The process continues and continues. Catch 22 is a blockbuster novel that is as pertinent today as it was when it was released in 1961. Perhaps the beginning of the hippy movement, its powerful message is immortalized in the Collins English Dictionary: A situation in which a person is frustrated by a paradoxical rule or set of circumstances that preclude any attempt to escape from them. Yossarian is surrounded by madness. He has to deal with a Major who will only see his men when he is out. He lives with an airman who believes his cat is trying to kill him. Fearing insanity or death he fakes illness and constantly hides in the hospital. Yossarians adventures while feigning sickness supply numerous amusing situations. He is asked to be a dead airman because his parents have arrived to visit
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him. They know he is not their son but play along with the deception. A ridiculous predicament which is extremely funny. Our hero constantly complains about the patient in the bed next to his. The man is covered from head to toe in white bandages. Yossarian objects because he is dead. No one believes his prognosis, so the corpse remains. Catch 22 has a rich array of characters. The generals are portrayed as homicidal maniacs: the colonels are sycophantic morons; the majors as dithering idiots, and the pilots as crazed stooges. Milo, the supplies manager, sells the units provisions to the Germans and pays the enemy to bomb the barracks for profit. He also tries to serve cotton as food because he is lumbered with a huge amount of the commodity. The madness of war corrupts everyone. One by one, Yossarians buddies are killed. If the Germans dont shoot them down, stupidity accounts for them. The meaning of Catch 22 reminds me of my present predicament. Being a longterm prisoner in a no-win situation is no different to the meaning of the book. Many prisoners, way past their tariff, are kept in gaols because they are deemed a risk to the public. The risk cant be proven or disproven, it only has to be implied. The example is one of many the qualifies for the Catch 22. A situation in which a person is frustrated by a paradoxical rule Catch 22 portrays a war. It is also pertinent to all walks of life.
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for each of us to look inward to find a place within us which feels at peace with who we are, at peace with guesses we make as we move through life. We all would at some point love to stop lying to ourselves, screwing things up and feeling vaguely incomplete. Reading this book helps things fall into place beyond words and pictures, advocating for faith, patience and sense of humour as steps to finding life rather than just existing. The journey through the pages concerns the lives of people in many prisons; some critics have pointed out that nothing much has been said about prison reform. The writer is objective and factual on the prison systems throughout the world and he believes they are ugly, barbaric, counter-productive and insane. He also goes into detail on how someday our descendants will look back on our time with shock that such otherwise sophisticated people couldve treated prisoners the way they do now. This excellent read is aimed at changing our vision and the writer goes on to say that change begins with looking at two worlds we live in at the same time: the outer world of appearance and the world of spirit. In the initial world, life looks different from one minute to the next, one person to the next, one age of the world to the next, but from the Big View, the world of spirit, theres only one process going on: were born, we have good times and bad times, we go through a range of emotions, we face multiple problems and challenges that make us feel good or bad about ourselves, we learn things and forever wonder about other things and then move on into the unknown. To my understanding, according to the writer, if you seek to understand the whole universe, you will understand nothing at all. If you seek only to understand yourself, you will understand the whole universe.
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Freedom Is Calling
Wayne Pugh, HMP Frankland Commended
Freedom is calling So answer the call Shake off the shackles The chain and the ball Taste it, embrace it Let your senses run free Put it all into words And send them to me Let me look through your eyes See what you see Please do this for me So hold on with both hands To this precious possession That makes no demands Youre stronger, much wiser And loved by us all Yes freedom is calling So answer the call.
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prevalent. Whether it was how to pick a lock, or how to creep and hurt with pool balls and sock, there were lessons to be learned. Jack learned how to live with endless time, locked together in struggle. The hours enclosed by four walls could have dominated his mind, leaving an opening for depression and madness. Instead the will to persevere, to better himself, to pierce destiny, helped him stay optimistic about his life. Jack clutched every opportunity to learn. Being released taught Jack many lessons too. How to live with no money and routine, because it had been taken away and none freely given back. How not to return to the easy but dangerous ways of getting back. How to pay council tax, water rates, TV licence, laundry, heating and buy food, without feeling despair slowly creeping behind and finally succumbing to the care of an institution most hated. Jack learnt prison is an ever present presence hungry to recall. Living free had turned against him. The society in which he had never felt belonging pushed him ever backward towards prison. He was not welcome. In prison again, Jack continued to learn. He had time and motivation to learn how to be accepted into society. The resources were in place for reorientation and education. Jack immersed himself into a pool of knowledge and absorbed like a sponge. He strived to meet the specifications of finding a place in society to fit in. On release dates, Jack was never free. Probation would not let go. Probation, that first defence against released criminals, placed him into a living hell where all the negatives were condensed. A hostel. A prison outside of prison, a prison embassy where rules become law and once broken, absorbed back into the faceless multitude of numbered stock. Prison provided Jack with an education. Every lesson had been re-trodden until a bold walk finally became a trudge, and still the society in which he needed to belong
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turned the sign to no vacancy. His past would never be forgotten. Over-qualified and denied work. Delivering CV after CV and attending interview after interview could have drained his spirit, but Jacks cup remained half full and ready for more. All the years Jack spent paying for crimes, most of what hed had before faded away. The laughs and support from family became ghostly, in limbo. Just like waiting for booked visits, he watched others pretending to be happy, until officers took him away. Jacks close ones had given up on the family ghost. Lacking love early in life, Jack had a heart that opened readily for a partner expressing love. After all the letdown expectations and betrayals he should have been cold and cautious, but for him it was true that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have experienced love at all. Prison time had taken his hearts desire and crushed it underfoot like a cigarette butt, more than once. The lack of contact on visits, expensive phone calls, being apart, all caused the end of relationships. Each time Jack experienced a death inside, but he had learnt, hope is everywhere for those who have the eyes to see. Jack learnt through trial and error and fifteen years experience of the prison system. Trapped in the cycle of prison, he ponders whether his efforts to fit in society will ever pay off. Throughout prison he bettered himself, to succeed. Now in middle age he understands clearly. To lock away criminals, prison works. To educate, prison can work. Prison as punishment, never fails; people can try, Jack reflects; but as society does not give ex-prisoners a chance, it is society who fails those released. Jack sighs and turns on the TV. He listens to a quote from the leader of the society in which he strived to belong, then his ever optimistic self turns pessimistic. He repeats the quote, The thought of prisoners voting makes me physically sick. Jack feels despair creep behind and speaks aloud, So what, when having paid for their crimes and set free, do those same prisoners make you sick too? Jack wondered if he would ever be truly free.
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WHO SAY YE A WONDROUS LIFE. HAPPINESS; SUNSHINE; ROSES; HEAVEN AND EARTH. BUT MY ROSES DID NOT BLOOM; MY WONDROUS LIFE WAS SADNESS; RAIN; BLACK ROSES HELL ON EARTH AND DOOM.
Cheryl Robinson, HMP Downview
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Freedom
Claire, HMP Holloway Runner Up, Lives
I heard a lot of people talking about travelling to these different festivals, but I was only 15. My sisters would pack and go to Glastonbury every year, so when they offered to take us, we jumped at the chance. I had a good laugh whilst I was there, listening to all the different bands and DJs. Things were quite trippy. I ended up getting lost for a day or two the first time, but after that, I went every year. Even to different festivals, using different drugs and meeting different people. When I was 16, I wanted to be like my sisters, going out, getting dressed up and meeting other people. So this is where I started, firstly wanting the best clothes and shoes. Having money in my pocket to do what I wanted seemed important to me. Having the best, even though I didnt have the money. I worked full time at a cereal factory, not bad pay, but not enough for what I wanted. I started shoplifting; Topshop; Debenhams; Warehouse. Any shop I could steal from. Id steal to keep and steal to sell. More money, more shoes, perfumes, bags and nights out. The first time I came to prison I was 21. I knew I was coming to prison, so it didnt shock me. I was prepared, with all my stuff packed. Me and my mum travelled to court. When the judge said 3 months my mum started crying. I assured her everything was going to be OK.
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My first days were OK, until I got into a couple of fights. I was sent down the block, GOADed. Governors orders. First time in prison and had to spend my sentence in the block. Over the Christmas period I was there, only one book I had to read. First book and best book I probably ever read. I couldnt wait to get out and taste my mums food again, and smell the fresh laundry. I also was dying for a beer and missed hugging my boyfriend.
IM YOUNG, IM CLEAN, IM ALIVE AND IM PUTTING MY LIFE BACK TOGETHER STEP BY STEP. PUTTING MY PAST BEHIND ME AND MAKING RIGHT THE WRONGS. IM HAPPY. AND THAT IS FREEDOM TO ME. THE BEST FEELING IN THE WORLD.
Sandra Hope, HMP Eastwood Park
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NOW THAT IM IN PRISON I REALISE JUST HOW MUCH OF MY FREEDOM HAS BEEN TAKEN AWAY FROM ME.
Tina Syson, HMP Drake Hall
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The Book That Saved My Life From Readers & Writers the literature education programme of English PEN Edited by Irene Garrow and Philip Cowell English PEN is one of the UKs leading literature and free speech charities, based at the innovative Free Word centre in Farringdon, London. We promote the freedom to write and the freedom to read. The founding centre of a worldwide writers association, established in 1921, we are supported by our active membership of leading writers and literary professionals with an elected Board led by the distinguished author Gillian Slovo. Our education programme develops the writing of prisoners, detainees, refugees, asylum-seekers and other socially-excluded groups. We also run a full programme of public events, and award prizes to outstanding British and international writers. Special thanks to Jake Arnott, Ella Simpson (HMP Holloway) and Inside Time, and to our funders The Monument Trust, A B Charitable Trust, Scotshill Trust, the Allan and Nesta Ferguson Charitable Trust, the Pack Foundation, the Morel Trust and the Limborne Trust. Support the work of English PEN find out more at www.englishpen.org.
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