Page:Hubert W. Peet - 112 Days' Hard Labour, Being Some Reflections On the First of My Sentences as a Conscientious Objector - 1917.pdf/11

 Prison’s Worst Torture

It was, however, in connection with my prison reading and the consequent chance of study which the rush of life outside deprives us of that I experienced especially the deprivation of any opportunity of writing, except for ephemeral purposes on the cell slate. There is in prison no method of recording permanently thoughts that occur to one during reading or meditation, of noting for future reference passages that may be found helpful or striking, or of making notes for plans on return to ordinary life. Perhaps such a lack is felt particularly by a journalist, whose memory becomes accustomed to the stimulus of notes, and personally the one single alteration which would go to make gaol life more tolerable than anything else would be the provision of pencil and paper, and the permission to retain the latter on release. So nervous are the prison officers, however, that unauthorised writing shall be indulged in that when a man is writing the three quarter page letter allowed at the end of two months (and thereafter in six weeks and then at monthly intervals) he has to put outside his cell all his books and all the official rules, diet, and “Prisoners’ Aid Society” cards that hang on the walls.

No Self-Expression

Yet this is only another aspect of the absence of opportunity for self-expression which weighs so heavily on the prisoner. He has a registered number which is permanent, but is usually referred to by his officer by his cell number. This alters, of course, with any change of location.

Any trivial incident which reminds you of this fact is most welcome. The visit of the chaplain and the chance of a little talk, the answer to such an inquiry on the part of a warder as “What was you before you was a soldier?” and the explanation amongst other things that you were not a soldier, or, more exceptionally, the striking suggestion made me by a lively young officer who, bringing me back to my cell after an official visit which had detained me until supper was being served, offered to race me down the path to a certain gate—all such things have an extraordinarily exhilarating effect because of their scarcity.

In a similar manner the C.O. prisoner feels the utter lack of trust imposed in the individual. Prisoners are accompanied everywhere by a warder, and are always under supervision. Surprise searches of cells take place at intervals to detect the presence of contraband of any sort; while the individual is searched. Each time I came in from the laundry while working there I and my fellows had to line up on returning to their hall, hold our handkerchiefs and caps above our heads, while a warder searched one’s single pocket in the outside jacket and ran his hands over one’s person on the chance of finding—I don’t know what, unless we might be tempted to secrete extra clothing or soap about us.