SHARING A CELL AND SOMETHING MORE

My prospective cell mates don't look pleased to see me as I’m led into their cell. That makes three of us in a cell designed for one. There's a bunk and a single bed. The top bunk is mine they tell me. It's a tight squeeze, three beds, three people, a small wooden cupboard, a desk and two chairs. A bucket, with a lid, to piss in at night if you have to. The cell is probably about 9 feet wide and 15 feet long. The single bed fits across the door end, the bunk down the long side.

After the screw has gone they lighten up. It's not my fault they have to accommodate me, deal with the disruption to their pattern of sharing space. And time. In 1982 prison overcrowding is another symptom of a system in crisis. With capacity for approximately 24,000 people in 1982, there are over 40,000 people in the prison system and I am one of them. ‘Two's company, three's a crowd’ never felt more true. Dave and Steve are a few years older than me but still young. They are from the northwest but ended up here in HMP Norwich after going on the run from a trial they couldn't face. They robbed a few places, they tell me, and take a few drugs now and then. They tried to rob a petrol station and got caught, knowing they would eventually, but not really caring. They are relaxed and easy going. They are settled into their sentence, a couple of years. Not their first, but the worst yet. Perhaps their last as they seem to want leave the wildness behind them, and settle down, but aren't sure how. We get on ok. They are amused because I get books and a newspaper sent in. One of my sisters has organised for the Guardian to be delivered. The other sends me a book she picked up in America with a title that makes them laugh: I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings. ‘Is she taking the piss?’ they ask of my sister's gift. Dave doesn't read it but he does offer to bind it for me in hardback covers.