by Ian Todd
“Ah need a few mair days tae sort ma heid oot. Ah’ll gie youse a shout when Ah’m ready.”
That hid been during the week and two weeks since they’d aw been huckled by Fitz The Bushwhacker and that wee boy ae his. Fur wance, in aw the time Sharon hid known them, nowan resisted, bit hid aw jist trooped oot in single file, shutting the landing door behind them. It wis evident, even tae somewan like Issie, that they wur goosed. The business hid flat-lined. Their seventeen bookings hid been cancelled by concerned couples who didnae want the hassle ae turning up efter their vows, no tae find their wedding food sitting waiting fur them or worse, aw their guests poisoned. That Inspector Dougan, fae across in Possil, wis sticking tae his guns. He wis adamant that it wisnae him that hid ordered up the pies that hid poisoned aw his family and guests. Mr Silas, the brief she’d been gied by the court tae represent her, hid telt her that basically, it wis her word against his. The fact that she wis a convicted jailbird and he wis a polis inspector, commended fur bravery oan numerous occasions, hidnae been lost oan her or the brief either. Oan the way alang tae Hope Street, tae catch the bus up the road wae the lassies, efter being discharged fae the dock, they’d practically walked o’er the tap ae Mrs Purple hersel, Barbara Allan, who’d been rushing in the direction ae The Corporation building oan George Square.
“Oh, er, Barbara,” Sharon hid blustered, failing in her pathetic attempt tae explain her innocence.
“You! Of all people, Sharon Campbell,” Mrs Purple hid snarled, body-swerving everywan in her haste tae put a bit ae mileage between her and the Springburn Larder crew, her wee suede, expensive purple boots, gaun like the clappers alang St Vincent Place towards The Corporation HQ behind them.
The sound ae the tractor’s engine, growling back in tae life, reached her through the windae pane and above the noise ae a 32 whizzing past the closemooth doon oan Keppochhill Road. She watched Alex heid up towards Nan’s grave, further up the hill, as the black, oily smoke belched skywards oot ae the tap ae the exhaust pipe that wis sticking up above the front ae his engine, every time he pressed his fit oan the accelerator. Fur the first week efter their arrest, she’d been torturing hersel, taking the blame fur accepting the booking. The fact that it hid been a bizzy that hid booked them tae dae the catering, wid’ve been justification fur Sharon tae knock the basturt back in the first place, if she’d known where he worked. Noo, she couldnae believe how calm she felt under the circumstances. She knew fine well that she wis waiting fur something…anything…tae turn up. Bit whit? She hid absolutely nae idea. It wis jist a feeling. It hid been wae her since she’d slipped oot ae bed at ten-past-six that morning. It wis a kind ae butterfly feeling in the pit ae her stomach, withoot feeling the flapping ae the wings. No unpleasant, bit a wee bit irritating at the same time. It wis still there efter she’d used up her last egg. She wondered if it wis Helen’s daeing.
“Don’t youse worry, girls. Ye’ll soon know if there’s a heaven or no, if Ah ever go before youse. Wance Ah’m up there, looking doon, jist mind and thank me when yer life gets better and youse ur aw oan yer way,” Helen hid often quipped tae them when the going hid goat tough.
Efter being un-cuffed, stripped naked and herded through in a motley group ae aw shapes and sizes tae the bath tubs, her and the other untried wummin hid gone through the humiliating process ae being processed in tae the Gateside Wummin’s Prison properly. Efter getting intae a tub wae four inches ae barely tepid water waiting fur them in the bottom ae it, which they wur expected tae wash themsels fae heid tae toe in, everywan’s hair hid been soaked wae jungle juice, tae keep the lice doon. In full view ae everywan, a pregnancy test wis offered, so long as the wummin accepting the offer, agreed tae pish in a wee jar, wae an even smaller lidded opening, that guaranteed pishy fingers tae whoever wis stupid enough tae accept it. Thankfully, the young first offenders in Sharon’s Paddy Wagon hid taken the auld hauns’ advice tae avoid the test. They could request wan later, wance they’d settled intae the untried hall where they could pish intae their chanty piss-pots first, before scooping the pish up in tae the wee narrow jars. Her and the auld hauns hid held back, no consciously in a collective manner, bit instinctively, watching the first offender’s reaction as they wur shunted intae the untried hall. It wis the deafening noise that destroyed any semblance ae humanity left in an untried prisoner’s soul at this stage ae the journey. Before reaching the hall, the noise wid grow louder and louder as the human, shackled train snaked alang corridor efter endless corridor ae dirty green-painted, flaked brick walls, passing through clattering steel, cream-painted chipped gates, manned by hard-faced female screws every fifty yards or so. It wis only wance ye reached the hall where ye wur tae spend the time until ye wur called back up tae court tae face yer accusers, that the sound and the fury ae the dregs ae society welcomed ye intae its ghastly bosom. Sharon wis an auld haun. She’d been in the untried hall six times in the past, although she’d never goat used tae that initial introduction ae wummin wailing fur their weans, pleading wae God tae come and help them, crying oot fur mercy, promising tae be good tae their men if they could only be allowed hame. The lassie hauncuffed in front ae Sharon…a weeping, shell-shocked first-offender hid suddenly doubled up and thrown up aw o’er the black slate-covered flair, taking Sharon’s haun wae her up tae her gub, as everywan, who wur aw joined thegither at the wrists wae the hauncuffs, aw danced up oan their toes, trying tae avoid getting splashed vomit oan tae their auld, worn, prison-issue, shackled shoes. The last time that her and Soiled Sally hid been oot in Cornton Vale, she’d heard that the untried hall at Gateside wis tae be used fur convicted local male prisoners and that aw the wummin wid be using Cornton Vale fae there oan in. Her heart hid sank when she’d heard the sheriff remanding her tae Gateside. Efter queuing up tae be allocated a cell and before following the screw up oan tae the landings, tae be converted fae a human being intae a number, she’d heard her name being called oot fae behind her.
“Sharon, is that you, hen?” Helen’s auld nemesis, Martha Sideburns, wan ae the senior prison officers hid shouted, heiding in her direction.
“Aye, Ah’m afraid so,” she’d replied, ignoring the shock oan the faces ae the first offenders at the familiarity oan display oan the ground flair ae the madhoose.
“Hiv ye been allocated a cell yet?” she’d asked Sharon, who’d nodded, haudin up her cell card. “Okay, Mrs Apples, Ah’ll take care ae Campbell here,” Martha hid informed Bootsy, the basic grade screw…the wan wearing the surgical boot oan her right fit, who’d been in the process ae unshackling Sharon’s red-raw wrists.
Efter trooping efter Martha alang tae the empty hotplate area, which consisted ae two cells knocked in tae wan and which wis used tae serve up the prisoner’s grub, Sharon hid been grateful tae be sitting, sipping hot milky sweet tea, oot ae an auld plastic, prison issue pint mug.
“So, whit hiv ye been up tae noo?” Martha hid chided her kindly, wan eyebrow lifted.
Sharon hid explained whit hid happened tae her and the lasses, soaking in Martha’s outraged huffing and puffing, as she relayed their tale ae woe.
“Is that no bloody awful? And him an inspector in Glesga’s finest as well,” Martha hid tut-tutted.
She wis a queer auld bird in mair than wan sense, wis Martha Sideburns, Sharon thought tae hersel, smiling. Martha and Helen hid hated each other wae a vengeance when Helen first darkened the doors ae Gateside ten years earlier, back in 1965, efter the John Street warrant sale riot, doon in the Toonheid. Helen hid called her Martha Hairy Chops back then, bit by the time Sharon and the others hid caught up wae her, she’d become known as Martha Sideburns. Wan time that Sharon and a few ae the other lassies wur remanded fur fighting wae that Stalker wan and the Sheriff officers, Martha goat Sharon and Issie cushy wee jobs working doon in the hot plate serving area oan the ground flair. It wis only fur aboot a hauf an hour before and efter meal times, where they served up the grub and washed the metal trays efter people hid eaten, bit it hid allowed them a wee respite fa
e the monotonous torture ae spending twenty-four hours a day, apart fae a hauf an hour break in the morning and efternoon doon in the yard, weather permitting, oot ae their cells. It hid also allowed them tae get tae know Martha better. It hid become clear that, despite her being a right basturt tae the prisoners, Martha wis a troubled soul. Wan day, oot ae the blue, Martha hid suddenly broken doon in tears. Efter the initial shock and embarrassment oan her and Issie’s part, Sharon hid led her by the erm and sat her doon in front ae the hotplate. It hidnae taken Martha long tae confess that she wis a lesbian. At first, her and Issie hidnae hid a bloody clue whit the hell a lesbian wis. They hidnae made the connection between the word lezzy and lesbian. Wance the penny hid drapped and they’d caught oan tae whit wis being blurted oot, confessional-style, through floods ae sobbing tears, Issie hid leaned across and taken Martha’s big shovel hauns in hers. Poor Martha hid also been taken aback at Issie’s initial response.
“Aye, Ah know,” Issie hid replied, smiling, wance she’d sussed oot where The SO wis coming fae.
“Eh?”
“Ye heard me.”
“Bit…”
“Martha, the whole world knows that, fur Christ’s sake.”
“Whit?”
“Ye heard me,” she’d repeated.
“Bit…bit how?” The SO hid asked, clearly bewildered, wiping away her tears wae the dishtowel that Sharon hid handed her.
“Well, don’t get mad at me fur saying this, bit Helen used tae curse aw the time aboot this SO wae the man’s voice, who used tae strut aboot wae a pair ae sideburns hauf way doon her face, upsetting everywan fur nae reason, jist because she hated hersel,” Issie’d replied, as poor Martha’s hauns automatically rose up and tried tae smother they Engelbert specials ae hers.
Silence.
“Helen said that?”
“That wis her exact words. Is that no right, Sharon, hen?” Issie hid assured her, smiling.
“It’s no funny, Issie,” Martha hid mumbled, looking across at Sharon, clearly embarrassed.
“Aye, it is,” Issie hid interjected quickly, as they hard eyes ae hers softened.
“Ah’ve hid tae live wae this ma whole life, so Ah hiv,” Martha hid mumbled, twisting they chewed fingertips in that lap ae hers. “Aye, and there’s mair than jist me in here in a uniform as well…no that we’ve admitted it tae each other, mind you. If it goat oot, we’d be flung oot ae that front gate oan tae they arses ae oors, so we wid.”
“Ah’m mair ae a man’s wummin masel, so Ah am, even though Ah cannae staun the basturts maist ae the time,” Issie hid mused, eliciting a smile through they tears sitting opposite her. “Dae ye know whit else Helen come oot wae?” Issie hid continued, deciding that she’d be as well as tae get hung fur a sheep as fur a lamb.
Sharon hid sat there, haudin her breath, wondering whit the hell wis coming next.
“Will it upset me?”
“Well, seeing as it came fae Helen, probably, bit then again, the truth always hurts, Ah suppose.”
“Carry oan.”
“Ur ye sure?”
Silence.
“Okay, here ye go, ready or no. Helen said that the problem wae you wis that ye took yer anger oot oan people that ye secretly fancied, rather than focussing that precious time ae yers oan coming tae terms wae who ye really wur.”
“Ah never fancied Helen Taylor!” The SO hid cried oot in denial, before asking in a bewildered wee voice, “How the hell did she know that?”
“Helen said that it wis written aw o’er yer face. She said that she could read ye like a book. Ye wur always hard oan the wans that ye fancied. She never claimed, at least no tae me, that she thought ye fancied her. She said it used tae make her so angry, watching ye, strutting aboot, waiting tae pounce. She telt us that the majority ae the poor basturts ye gied a hard time tae wur some ae the maist vulnerable in this shithole.”
Silence.
“Ah’d hardly call Helen Taylor vulnerable,” The SO hid mumbled defensively, avoiding eye contact.
“Oh, Helen could be jist as vulnerable as the rest ae us, Martha, bit she wis an expert when it came tae self-protection and survival…like the rest ae us wummin in here and oot there,” Sharon remembered butting in wae, wae a wave ae her haun up at the gallery landings.
“So, whit dae Ah dae noo?” The SO hid asked them, looking fae wan tae the other.
“Ah don’t know. Ah’m nae Helen Taylor, bit if ye accept that she might’ve hid a point, then that’s maybe a good place tae start wae,” Issie hid replied, leaning o’er and squeezing Martha’s haun.
Sharon couldnae, in aw honesty, say that it hid been a ‘Road tae Damascus’ moment fur Martha, bit when her and a few ae the lassies hid returned tae Gateside, wance again, efter Issie’d scudded a big lanky Sheriff officer in the eye wae her knuckles efter being oan the receiving end ae mair lip than whit wid’ve been deemed acceptable in the cut-and-thrust ae the closemooth confrontations, Martha’d seemed a changed wummin. Oh, she could still be a bit ae a basturt, bit gone wis the snarling, Rottweiler attitude and the haranguing ae the maist vulnerable wummin, alang wae they bushy, long sideburns ae hers. Christ, she’d even turned up wae a bit ae blue eye shadow under they bulging eyes ae hers. Martha hid burst intae tears the day Issie and Sharon hid left Gateside tae return tae The Sheriff Court back in the toon. Martha worshipped the ground that Issie McManus walked oan efter that confessional session in the hot plate area.
“So, whit’s the latest wae Maggie Tin Knickers then?” Sharon hid asked, dreading coming face-tae-fae wae the governor…another wan ae Helen’s fans.
“Whit, hiv ye no heard? She’s in line tae be appointed tae run a man’s nick, so she is. The first wummin in the history ae the Scottish penal system tae be put in charge ae men. It’s between three ae them. It’s been in aw the papers, so it his.”
“Where Ah come fae, we hivnae time tae scratch oor arses, never mind read the bloody papers, Martha.”
“Ach, well, there ye go. We hardly see her these days. She’s always away, flashing that snake smile ae hers tae the unsuspected readers ae The Glesga Echo.”
“So, whit nick is it?”
“Ah’m no sure. Ah think it’s wan ae they open wans.”
“Bit, it’s still a promotion?”
“Oh, aye. Seemingly it’s because ae her sterling work ae setting up self-help, prisoners’ reading and writing classes, fur the dafties who couldnae be arsed learning when they hid the chance at school. She telt that John Turney wan, the newsreader, that it wis her mission in life tae keep families thegither, despite the wummin in here choosing a different path fae the rest ae wummin in society. Made me want tae puke up ma good sausage, beans and chips, so it did.”
“Ye’re bloody-well pulling ma leg, Martha?” Sharon hid exclaimed in horror. “It wis oor bloody Helen and Big Pat, the tattooed lady, that set that up, the fucking hissing snake!”
“Aye, Ah thought ye’d say that. The Department in Edinburgh wants tae turn aw the B category prisons intae whit they call ‘training institutions’ and Maggie’s work here in Gateside wis seen as exemplifying whit that wis aw aboot. Oh, and it gets better. She’s getting some sort ae a gong as well, so she is.”
“A gong?”
“A CBE or a BEM…”
“Mair like a BFN if ye ask me,” Sharon hid hit her wae, interrupting her in mid flow.
“A BFN? Whit’s a BFN?
“A Brass Fucking Neck,” Sharon hid retorted and they’d baith burst oot cackling.
Helen and wan ae the other prisoners, Big Pat, a prostitute fae Partick, hid set up a wee support network, fur prisoners who couldnae read or write tae get help fae other wummin who could. It wis so simple, that it wis brilliant. Basically, the wans who could write, sat wae the wans who couldnae during the hauf hour break, and wrote their letters fur them. The same principle applied if a wummin received a letter. Wan ae the other wummin wid read it oot tae them. Martha hid telt them that it hid taken the screws o’er two years efter Hele
n, Big Pat and the rest ae that first crowd hid left, tae stamp oot the support network. It hid only been in the past year or so that the governor, Maggie Tin Knickers, hid officially revived the support efter she’d picked up oan the grapevine that a wummin governor wis being considered being appointed tae manage a man’s nick. And anyway, as Martha pointed oot, the support network hid never really gone away, bit hid carried oan unbeknown tae those in charge. The difference hid been that Martha and the other SOs hid stoapped getting the basic grade uniforms tae pursue and disrupt the wee unofficial letter-reading and writing groupings scattered across the exercise yard.
Oan Sharon’s ain learning front, a wee taste ae whit wis tae come, should she get bail, hid reared its ugly heid. Martha hid telt her that her auld job ae working oan the hotplate counter wid be waiting fur her the very next morning. When she hidnae been called doon before the other prisoners wur opened up fur breakfast, she’d smelled a rat. Later oan in the morning, doon in the yard, she’d confronted Martha, demanding tae know whit wis gaun oan.
“Ach, Ah’m right sorry, Sharon, hen. Management widnae entertain a food poisoner working oan the hotplate, so they widnae.”
“Eh?”
“Aye, it’s oot ae ma hauns noo, so it is. Ah wis gonnae come and speak tae ye when Ah goat a minute, so Ah wis.”
The insistent chapping oan her front door brought her back tae reality. Efter remembering where she wis, she decided tae ignore it. She still wisnae ready tae be in the company ae the lassies. Despite wracking that tormented brain ae hers, she couldnae fathom oot how she could survive this wan withoot being sent tae jail fur a long time. No wae a bloody hero ae a polis inspector lying through they smarmy teeth ae his.
“Ah’m coming,” she shouted, taking aff her dressing gown and slinging it oan tae the bed oan her way alang the hall, as the clattering ae the letterbox joined in wae the knuckles rattling away oan her landing door.
