SORROW ALWAYS THERE

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 4046, 26 April 1932, Page 7

SORROW ALWAYS THERE

DARTMOOR—CATHEDRAL OF FAILURE WHEN THE KING VISITED “ IMKCKIIH SI’IUKCTIS I'ITV THE VANQUISHED! These words, carved over the portals of Dartmoor Prison, may move the sentimentalist, but to the convicted man who passes inside they mean, “ Abandon hope all ye who enter here!” Dartmoor has been given many descriptions—The Most Terrible Prison in the World —A Cesspool of Humanity—The Living Tomb. Certainly it is a place where the spirit of sadness is ever present. Vet, as “ Gray Quill ” tells in the 1 Liverpool Weekly Post,’ comedy sometimes makes a fleeting call. The King —when Prince of Wales—once made an unexpected visit to the grim prison on the moor. Anxious officials hurried him through the danger zones, but the next day an old lag complained to the governor about it, stating, “ The King ain’t got any more loyal body of men than his convicts. ’ There is one man in the British Empire who read the story ot the Dartmoor mutiny with greater interest than most. The King must have vivid memories of the time when, despite the prayers and fears of officials, he paid a sudden and unexpected visit to the huge prison on the moor. A squad of warders with carbines and ball cartridge was hastily mobolised, others were flung out as Scouts, and the Royal visitor—die was Prince of Wales then—was hurried through the danger zones, for he was rightfully assured that within the walls of the prison were men who had lost everything which makes life sacred, and that they would gladly seize the opportunity of venting their vicious venom on an illustrious personage who stood so near and dear to the head of the State. But the King is not only a brave man, but a «very wise one, too. He insisted on having his way, and it led to a sequel which has a sad echo to its rib-shaking humour. I hope the story was told him. If not, he ought to know. The next morning, when the full total of. able-bodied convicts was regimented in the great square outside the prison building, but within the walls, and the governor called out for any complaints before they were marched off to their respective tasks, an old “ lag’ cried out that he had a complaint, and he was marched off to the governor’s office whilst that official made his morning tour of the prison. When he returned he heard this amazing statement from a nan who had spent more than twenty-five years as a convict in the various prisons of the country:— “ A LOYAL BODY.” “ We all feels very indignant, sir, the w’y yer rushed the Prince of Wiles through the place yesterday. We wants yer to know, sir, and the Prince of Wiles to know, that the King ain’t got any more loyal body of men than his convicts!” Tho complaint was held to be reasonable, and the men were given a halfday’s holiday and a Sunday dinner in the midst of the week as a kind of celebration, or atonement. The Genius of Comedy had had a sportive hour tho day before. It is not generally known that the Home Office has a staff of travelling inspectors who swoop unexpectedly on prisons and rigorously inspect them from top to toe. Sometimes tho news leaks out that they are about, and everything is prepared for the inspection. On this occasion the keys of tho safe in which the prison books and accounts are kept were mislaid. The governor was one of the type of whom a proverb was coined —“ It takes an old dog for a hard road.” He asked the chief warder, his second in command, “ Have we a man here who can open a safe?” “ A dozen, sir,” said the chief warder. “ Send the best of the bunch along." AX ORDERED “ JOB.” They brought along a man who would have looked at Bill Sykes and Toby Crackit as more bunglers, not even in the primei class, and explained what was wanted. He asked for a piece of steel wire and a tallow candle, and in a quarter of an hour be opened the safe of one of the best known manufacturers in—no, I will not give the name. It would be a poor advertisement. And so was “ burglary ” committed in Dartmoor by the command of a Government official. But, if the Comic Spirit has an occasional ling within the prison, the spirit of sadness and irredeemable sorrow is ever there, and the green earth is never more kindly in any part of her wonder and glory' than in that quiet little acre where convicts sleep the eternal sleep, untroubled of laws and prison rules. There were tears in y heart when I saw it, and its memory is over with me. At one time the convict prisons of England were an improvement on the tortures of hell. There is a terrible novel entitled ‘ For the Term ot His Natural Life,’ which gives a picture of a convict transport am! a convict prison in Australia ,in the bravo days when Victoria was Queen. It is by an Australian named Marcus Clarke; ami what he wrote of Australia was no worse than what could have been written of England. Charles Reade did not exaggerate when lie wrote ‘ It is Never Too Late To Mend.’ But about thirty Tears ago a new spirit came into the Home Office, when Evelyn RugglesIJrico became the chairman of the Prisons (Vuumissiouers. A GRIM VIGNETTE. The wave of humanity which (lowed from Whitehall into the prisons of England must ' e lightened the heart of many a poor, afflicted law-breaker. But it is all very well for the colonel to make rules. It rests with the sergeantmajor to carry them out. Hen 1 is a grim vignette given me by an old excriminal : “ I was j >ut into a square rabbit butch, called a cell, with a hole in the wall for warders to peep in at me as it I wore a wild beast : there was a plank bed in the corner, and a dark window near the roiling to prevent God from ■-ooing i lirough. . . . Prison life soon stamps the manhood out ol a man. This applies not only to the prisoners, hnl to their gaolers. . . . The warders are, as a rule, ox-policemen or

old soldiers men in whom the idea of inferiority has been driven by constant discipline-—ami they easily fall into the tyranny of prison rules, until they drive

every atom of humanity out of their hearts. J was always under the eyes of a man machine who rewarded even the slightest infraction of the rules with bread and water and the dark coll.” ST If UN DISCIPLINE. That spirit of stern discipline still prevails at present among many men docked with a little brief authority. Although a new class of men with education and humane ideas are selected as warders, J know that theirs is no task for weaklings. If hell was to he run on humane lines it would need a staff of archangels to do it, and the Almighty has only made seven of them. It is all very well for the officials to feign wonder at the simultaneity of tluT ninth.,' and to he astonished how the men managed to communicate with one another. One of the first things in which a convict gets unofficial tuition in prison is the Morse code, and many an “ animated ” conversation takes place between cell and cell when the prisoners are closed in for the night. Very often preliminary conversations are held on a crime yet to be committed. Some of the warders are familial' with the wiles of prisoners; many are not. The official mind is notoriously obtuse. One thing is certain over this Dartmoor mutiny. The matter must he fully investigated and debated in Parliament. And the evidence of convicts must be taken without the stern, overseeing eye of,either governor or warder. Otherwise we shall never know the full truth of the matter. DARTMOOR DIET. I know that men who have once been seated in high places have over a tender corner in their hearts for those who carry on their old work. Mr J. IE dynes, whilst agreeing that the convicts must have full protection in giving their evidence, states that the food is all right at Dartmoor. I wonder how he had his meals during his day at Dartmoor. Did he share the governor’s or the convicts’ rations? Personally 1 feel that 1 would have to be near starvation ere 1 ate the food I saw the convicts eat at Dartmoor. Hut then I am somewhat of a gourmet. That it is good food is attested by the healthy appearance of the men who are serving short sentences. The iiku who have spent some years in the place look pallid and unhealthy, and physiological reasons will explain the cause. One thing stands out clear — it was a universal and not a single grievance that was responsible for the mutiny. J have seen it stated that bad food was the cause of the outbreak. But then it may be a case of the Lord sending the meat and the devil sending the cooks. 1 hope that the public mind will not go astray on tliis matter. There is no need to clamour for stern repression. The Home Office must he fair as well as firm, and remember that Justice is ever at its best when it is tempered with merev and wisdom.