No Resistance

I said that on Sunday 22nd April a detainee called D
had attempted to escape from the establishment
around late morning to lunchtime. I said that
he had equipped himself with various items
of escape equipment. He had gone to the exercise yard
carrying his bible and left towards the Chapel.
When he was in the passageway leading
to the Chapel and out of sight of Officers
he climbed the window grill onto the roof
of the Laundry. He climbed through danett wire,
although he cut himself severely whilst doing so.
He dropped down the back of the Laundry
close to the inner fence between 'H' Dormitory
and the sportsfield, close to the sportsfield gate,
then scaled the fence into the sportsfield.
However, he was badly cut again by danett wire.
He hung from it, above the sportsfield gate,
and twisted awkwardly, breaking his left elbow.
Beyond him stood the final fence, which
does not have danett wire. Unhappily,
for him, he was too injured to proceed.
He spent an hour or more awaiting staff
coming to apprehend him. I said that
he was not missed until 11.45 am. An Officer
climbed onto the roof to view the grounds.
He reported seeing D at 12.15. Staff
entered the sportsfield, using the sportsfield gate,
and apprehended D, who put up no resistance.

Working with Narratives: Our New Reality as the Main Theme

In the folklore, peasants worked in the fields. Simple folk
in touch with essential things – the circuits of the moon,
the seasons – they were unconscious of complexity
except in how it related to the astrology of seeds.
They built no temples, though they knew of them as 'wonders'.
In amongst the peasants were princes, men with sensibilities,
who had taken the first step into the 'gothic' revival of
late 18th century England. It was a seed, culture
taking root in an idea. It proved a language. It helped us out.
These princes were disguised as shepherds, they loved
simple country girls who they could use, confuse, idealise.
"She had a clear complexion" meant she was virtuous
and thus desirable, free of disease. Her breath was sweet.
In our new revised edition, based on the earliest texts, a Messiah
was concealed beneath the uniform of a prison officer.
At weekends, when his wife was away, he would go out
and pretend to be a fireman. Women like firemen.
From that we can assume women do not like prison officers?
This was not spelled out, but it is still observed today.
Women call them pigs, keeping up the rustic connection.
Even female officers are unlucky in love, or so they believe,
even if they are attractive. It's important to the plot:
characters must suffer and learn in order to construct
a new world from hard won philosophies. Humanity
benighted, the stories and the people no-one wants to know.
In this they are similar to asylum seekers, the immigrants
they despise and lock up; it is an engine of the plot
that prison officers bring it on themselves. Now complete the story.
Bit–part characters, they walk on and off. Our scenery
is cardboard – our hills are painted on a wall. It is
a mural. An officer in disguise has a temporary self;
a Trumpton fireman. Silly arse. He is so much like
the asylum seeker he loathes, the man with a false passport.
One is noble and brave and the other is scum. Guess which is which:
this might be the task of the reader. Who, here, in this field
of pain, is the true bearer of civilisation – the prince
from the city, or the peasant he deceives? The prisoner
or the officer? A novel and disposable art, the narrative;
it is the most common skill, you cannot wake up
without inventing a story. In this world, nothing is real.
There is romance in the pain. Each man is a hero
in that he is alone; his theme is redemption –
not of himself, but of his jailer – and endless work,
the labour involved in the manufacture of meaning.
In folklore peasants worked the fields. They sang.
And the song carried them away as they worked
until song became their work and they were called poets.
They could not be admitted then, for they would change
character, plot – even the outcome and meaning of history –
so they were banished from the republic. So, once more
they arrive at the gate in disguise, as an officer or prisoner.
Something has taken them. They are changed, trapped
by the plot, forced into philosophies. It never ends.

 

Copyright © Andrew Jordan, 2004.