by Paris Lees
Here’s worram sendin’ back:
When writing to Members of Parliament please give your previous home address in order to avoid delay in your case being taken up by the M.P.
In replying to this letter, please
write on the envelope:
Number: MA4221
Name: LEES
Wing: 5
Dear Mother,
Don’t worry about missing my phone calls, I can only use the phone here at certain times. I have run out of credit now so I won’t be able to phone you for about a week, but I will leave you a message as requested if you don’t answer. It’s no good trying to ring me, so don’t waste your time.
I was very pleased to receive your letter, it is comforting to know you are thinking about me. I understand that you must be quite worried about me, but as dear Mammar Joe has probably told you, I am doing fine. I have been put on to Unit 5 and you will need to put this with the address, along with my number which is MA4221. This will ensure your letter gets to me as soon as possible. This unit is for vulnerable prisoners and there are some nice lads here. I have only been here for about a week.
It hasn’t been as bad as what I thought it would be actually, and no one in here really seems to mind that much that I am gay, and some people even like me. I am gobsmacked as I didn’t think anyone would even want to talk to me, but they do and I’ve had a right laugh some days!
I will be starting education soon which means I can get my A-levels completed and the certificates don’t say anything about the course being in prison. It will also make the days go a bit faster. At the moment I am just watching TV and reading books all day. I have read Pride and Prejudice and From Russia with Love since I have been here. I am sure I will get excellent results in here as I am more than able, the only reason I didn’t do well at college was due to the distractions of my lifestyle.
I hear what you are saying about wishing we had sorted things out before all this, but it is something we should have done anyway. I do feel that you do not put the same amount of effort into our relationship as you do with other areas of your life, and this is a consistent fault with our past relationship. Even so I would be happy to see you, so I have enclosed a Visiting Order that will allow only you, Mammar Joe and Aunty Ray to come. You can tell Gaz that just because I have been sent down don’t make us best mates all of a sudden. If he wants to start making things better he can begin by sending a letter apologizing for the many years of negative comments and hurt he has caused.
As for you, all I ask is for you to fully accept me. I don’t ram this down your throat but if you do want a relationship with me then the subject presents itself. I suggest you ask Mammar Joe to show you all my photos at the flat. If you don’t like it then don’t bother writing to me, but just remember that I am the product of your and Gary’s efforts.
I appreciate the offer of sending me cigarettes etc. but it is not allowed. What you can do however is send me envelopes so long as they have an address and stamp on them. It would be helpful if everyone could do that, it would be one less thing that I have to pay for. I would be grateful for some pants and socks as well. Just a couple of each. You may need to ring and check how you go about this. If you are feeling particularly generous and sorry for me then would you give my friend Samantha some money to buy me some new trainers to bring me? Perhaps you could arrange to meet her in town. Her home number is 9520604. It’s just that I am wearing regulation horrible shoes, but my old ones aren’t worth sending in as they are battered.
I’m pleased to hear about the new car and your evening at the Ice Stadium. Sounds like you were the lady of the evening. I’m also extremely pleased that you approve of Max, even though it is rather too late now. Anyway I’ve run out of space to go on about that, so all I can do is ask you to pass my love on to Aunty Ray and Mammar Joe and not to worry about me. Hope to hear from you soon and thank you for your letter.
Then I signed off. The thing about me mam is, she lets me down but she’s not ’orrible like Gaz. She’s just not a very good mam. But I do at least feel like she loves me. An’ I love ’er too. I’ve got ’er, Mammar Joe an’ Aunty Ray, so I count mysen lucky really. Some people don’t have anyone.
Silence
Mam lives wi’ Bobby now. She told me on the phone. An’ she’s fallen out with ’er best mate Denise, coz she tried it on with ’im! That’s bad, innit? Apparently it’s not the first time either, coz she flirted wi’ Gaz outside the Station Hotel when they were younger. She were wearin’ shorts an’ put a fiver between ’er legs an’ sez, “Come an’ gerrit, then.” While Mam were goin’ out wi’ ’im! She’s gone absolutely mental this time coz she sez they’re not kids any more an’ Denise should know better. Mam’s not jealous usually, but woe betide anyone who tries owt on with ’er man. Apparently she confronted Denise in the Wine Bar an’ went, “But the best bit is, they both turned ya down – an’ told me! They din’t even want ya! But I guess ya weren’t satisfied wi’ bein’ humiliated once.” She sez she’s never gonna speak to ’er again.
She told me ma great-grandad’s died too.
Grandad George. I used to go an’ see ’im after school. He’d go, “What ya brought for me?” At first I’d say summat like, “Just mysen, Grandad”, but then I started takin’ ’im packets of Jammy Dodgers, so I could say, “Will that do ya?” It always smelled o’ cat food. He weren’t like Gaz, I never heard ’im say a harsh word about anyone. He used to work down the pit, back when they’d come home covered in soot – God knows how they kept their houses clean. Apparently it were dead dangerous, a lot of ’em used to die down there. They got problems wi’ their lungs too, but Grandad had a good innin’s. He were eighty-one. He were born in the nineteen-twennies. That’s like, Olden Times, innit? That’s when Lady Chatterley’s Lover is set. We did it at college. That’s when ’er baby would’ve bin born.
No one on ma dad’s side o’ the family has contacted me. Mam told me she saw Mammar Rita on ’ucknall High Street an’ she sez she wants to write to me, but she don’t wanna upset me. Worra loada crap. I know exactly why they an’t told me. They don’t want me turnin’ up an’ ruinin’ the funeral. Coz they’d let me out for a funeral. I’d have to have two screws wi’ me though, an’ wear handcuffs. Ya can’t even take ’em off for the service. But I could go. I could physically be there. Can’t say I blame ’em, to be honest, coz it is summat to be ashamed of, bein’ in here. But it don’t make no difference anyway. They’ve bin ashamed of me from the moment I could talk.
Cherry Lips
Mammar Joe’s written back to me:
16A Sherwood Close
Hucknall
Notts
NG15 6BR
Dear Boo Boo!
Thank you for your letter, it was really nice to hear from you.
I am trying not to worry too much. Having the job helps immensely. I miss you and hope you are feeling alright. I am sure this time in your life will be positive, beneficial, and you will emerge with a sense of direction, as well as qualifications.
I know when I have done things I didn’t particularly want to do or gone on a course I wasn’t sure about I have always learned something from it.
I want you to be positive and keep in good spirits. Please hurry up and send me a visitors pass, and let me know if you need anything bringing, and phone me!
I love you and miss you.
Mama (a.k.a. Old Mother Hubbard!) xx
P.S. Guess who I saw on television this morning!
Anybody would think I were on an IT course. It’s funny that she saw me on telly, though. Me an’ Lady Die saw a sign in the newsagents askin’ for people to come an’ be in the audience for Trisha, so we signed up. They send a coach for everyone who’s put their names down, so we had to meet at the Cash Shop just off Market Square. It’s filmed in Norwich. I wore ma black an’ green dress from H&M an’ ma red wig. The one I nicked. I love that wig. An’ I spoke! I made a comment an’ gorra round of applause from the audience.
I nicked some coloured chalk from art class yesterday an’ crushed it into little piles of dust. Then I plucked ma eyebrows wi’ ma nails. It took me ages, but it’s not like I’ve got owt better to do, is it? When they turned the lights off, I used the chalk as makeup. We wun’t be allowed a proper mirror in here coz it’s glass an’ yer not allowed owt that could be used as a weapon. But there’s a piece of metal in the toilet that ya can use to see yersen in. I probably looked like shit, but in the dark, by the light o’ the telly, I almost looked like me.
Lola’s Theme
Had a bad night last night. I spoke to mam on the phone an’ she told me Gaz is only two birthdays away from bein’ forty, an’ it just floored me coz I always forget how old people are. After I got into bed it got me thinkin’ about Grandad, an’ how time moves on. How me mam’s gonna die. An’ Aunty Ray. An’ everyone I know. An’ I just felt so small. It was like I were lookin’ into this darkness that just went on an’ on, for ever. Ma heart started racin’ an’ I cun’ breath. I had to gerrout of bed in the end an’ I just lay there, on the floor, an’ held mysen. I cun’ stop shakin’. I wanted to call for help, but what would I have told ’em? There was nowt wrong wi’ me, although I kept thinkin’, What if I die in here? What if I just drop dead? I felt so trapped. It was ’orrible.
I’ve bin thinkin’ about Mammar Joe’s letter an’ she’s gorra point. In fact, I’ve bin doin’ a lotta thinkin’ in here, an’ I’ve gorra get ma act together. Coz this can’t be ma story, can it? Mr Gallagher sez two-thirds of first-time offenders end up behind bars again within two years of bein’ released. Mr Gallagher’s ma favourite screw. He’s from Glasgow an’ he’s the only one who talks to ya like yer not a piece o’ shit. But that means most of us will be back here very soon. An’ I do not like those odds. I don’t like ’em one little bit. I’ve gorra get HDC an’ make sure I’m part o’ that thirty-three point three three three per cent recurrin’ or whatever it is that don’t fuck up again.
Ya can buy Gay Times in here. I were dead happy when I saw they were selling that, coz I thought they’d just have Loaded an’ that. An’ I’ve bin thinkin’ about how I wanna do good stuff when I’m back on the road, ya know, live like all them people ya read about in magazines. Coz assumin’ I don’t actually drop down dead, I’ve got ma whole life ahead of me. So I may as well make the most of it, eh? I shun’t even be in here. I should be at college. I could be the first person in ma family to go to university. I’ve actually got the brains to do it, but I’m here, followin’ in Gaz’s footsteps. Lads like ’im can survive in places like this, they just go gym an’ take the piss out of each other. But I’m not like ’im, no matter how much ma current situation suggests we’re more similar than I’d care to admit.
All I’ve ever wanted is to grow up so I can do whatever I want, but look where it’s landed me! I can’t do fuck all. An’ even when I can again, what good is it if I don’t like who I’ve become? I can’t even stop smokin’. I don’t wanna be like Mammar Joe an’ have bin on the fags for thirty-odd years by the time I’m fifty. I don’t wanna hang around wi’ the people I’ve bin hangin’ round with. I’ve got some good people in ma life, but I’ve also got some really bad ones. It’s an opportunity to start fresh when I come out. I wanna go back to college an’ finish ma A-levels. I’ve gorra get a good job an’ build a better life for mysen, coz I can’t have sex for money for ever, canna?
An’ I wanna be a girl. I can kid mysen on the outside, but the truth is I’m just not like the other lads in here. They know it, an’ I know it. An’ it’s not about bein’ “gay” either. There’s a lad in education who’s come out as bisexual now. Sez he’s inspired by me. So that’s nice. But it’s not the same thing, I realize that now. Coz it’s killin’ me bein’ in here an’ not bein’ able to express that side of mysen. I thought it were just a bit of fun. But it’s not. It’s deeper than that. It’s about who I am.
I know there’s no point feelin’ sorry for mysen, but I’ve got so much time to think in here that I can’t help it. But I just feel like everythin’ would’ve bin different if I’d had a nice middle-class family, that talked how Peter an’ people on TV do. I know I could hold ma own wi’ people like that, I know I’m clever enough. Some o’ the lads here don’t have any options when they come out.
I kept hearin’ this noise the other day. Knockin’, followed by a whoosh, like a letter had bin slipped under ma door. But there were no screws about. I looked down an’ it worra comb, with a bit o’ string tied to it. Then this lad in the cell opposite shouts, “Ya got it?” He’d skimmed it across the corridor. I sez, “Why has it got string on it?”He guz, “So I can pull it back wi’ the burn yer gonna lend me.” I thought, Ya cheeky bastard, but I wanna make mates so I folded some up an’ attached it. ’Is name’s Jason. Brummie. Sez he’s on tablets for depression. He don’t have any family to go back to, just a bad crowd waitin’ for ’im, by the sounds of it. Sez he was abused as a kid. Sez he knows he’ll just start takin’ smack again as soon as they let ’im out, an’ that he’ll end up back in here. Sez he prefers it to outside.
I know what he means. I spend all day thinkin’ about how to get out of here. I come up with all these elaborate schemes, like goin’ to the library an’ pretendin’ I’m someone else. Or tunnelling. Or knockin’ out a screw an’ stealin’ their uniform. But when they turn the lights off, an’ it gets quiet, ya can feel the radiators rattlin’, an’ it’s relaxin’. Like when Gaz takes me for a drive. Coz ya don’t have any control in here. Ya just have to accept that they’re lookin’ after ya. An’ it’s nice.
But it has to be ma last time. I can’t be like Jason. I can’t do this again. Coz I’m better than this, I know I am. I’ve got the potential to do well. An’ options, when I’m back on the road. I wish I could help Jason, but I don’t even know how to help mysen. It feels insurmountable. I found that word in a book the other day, an’ it’s exactly how I feel. Like I’ve got this great big mountain to climb. I’ve got this vision of who I could be, an’ what ma life could be like. I keep thinkin’ about this textbook we had in French. It had a picture on the cover of a group of teenagers. Three lads an’ three girls, all tanned an’ good-lookin’. They’re on bikes, at a train station, but they’ve stopped to talk. It’s summer an’ they’re all smilin’. All look dead relaxed. An’ I must’ve sat an’ stared at that picture for hours, wishin’ I could be part o’ their world. Coz I’d give owt to be like them. But I don’t know how. I din’t have a clue in school, an’ I’ve got even less of one now.
I guess one o’ the good things about bein’ locked up is that I’ve got plenty o’ time to try an’ work it all out. Coz I may be at the bottom, but I’ve gorra start somewhere. Mr Gallagher sez ’is favourite song’s that one that guz, “The only way is up”, an’ I reckon he might on to summat.
Ho Ho for the robbers
The cops an’ the robbers Ho Ho!
Point of View
Old Mother ’ubbard’s written again. She is daft:
Dearest Paris,
I hope you are feeling O.K. Thank you for your letter, I feel a lot happier when I hear from you. I am working on a visit but I think it would be easier to arrange an audience with the Queen herself. I hope you are keeping busy. I know I am.
I keep going to work and I went out with the girls last Saturday. We went to “Jumpin Jaks”. I was quite pleased because, although I was the oldest, I was ask
ed to dance about four times and one man escorted me to the bar and bought me a drink and he didn’t look half bad. It made a change from bingo and the geriatrics I usually encounter on my evening excursions. Last Sunday felt like spring but the weather has gone freezing cold again, I can’t wait to get in and put the kettle on, put the heating on and just relax in my dressing gown ready for the next day at work. I keep trying to do crosswords at night to activate my brain because stacking slippers all day isn’t very taxing really.
I can’t wait to see you. I expect you’ve read a lot more books now. Tell me more about your studies. I think we have to be subjected to a sniffer dog looking for substances and have our photos taken. You know what I’m like about dogs but I’m sure you’re worth it.
Tell the officers you are expecting some trainers, your mam is getting some.
Please write back soon,
I love you and miss you.
God bless
Mammar Joe (OMH!)
xxxx
So it’s official. Everyone in Notts is havin’ a better time than me, even ma friggin’ Mammar! I’m pleased she had a good night, although I’m slightly amazed, to be honest. Asked to dance? Escorted to the bar? Not sure where she’s findin’ these men, but they’re clearly not the blokes I bump into on nights out. I don’t like the thought of Old Mother ’ubbard dancin’ wi’ strangers. I know what men can be like. Maybe they’re more respectful though coz she’s older. An’ coz she’s a real woman.
