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The prisoner

The prisoner is on the move again. But as he moves south, his friend George moves north to be closer to him

By Peter Wayne   November 1998

Perched on the edge of a wooden bench in Blakenhurst Prison laundry, trying to look as busy as the lack of genuine work would allow, I was tapped on the shoulder by the ruddy-cheeked, flaky-skinned instructor.

“Good news for you. Or bad news? I don’t know. You’re on transfer this morning. Due south. Elmley on the Isle of Sheppey in Kent.”

I was glad but I was sad, too. Since George’s happy release, Blakenhurst had grown lonelier. I saw his ghost everywhere, heard his voice ringing along the landing, daydreamed about him constantly and longingly. I had been pressing Allocations…

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