The reason I am writing this story is because the other night another blogger put up three statements about herself, one of which was a lie, in order to attract enough bloggers and enough interest to keep her awake during her night shift.

You can check her out at:

http://misslouella.wordpress.com/2013/12/07/help-wake-me-up/

As I mis-read the instructions, as is my want, I wrote two lies and one truth. The one truth is the basis for this story as Miss Lou suggested I should post this story so here goes.

One of the stories I tell my students is that I have been in gaol three times.

This is true and thankfully I was only visiting at he time, and didn’t get to stay over at night.

The first time was when I was about nineteen. It was the practice back then that the local St Vincent de Paul men would go to the gaol each Sunday as part of their fellowship mission to visit the men in gaol and play tennis with them.

This particular Sunday they were a player short and knowing I could hit a tennis ball invited me to go along with them.

So I went and I should point out that at nineteen I was very naive and un worldly to say the least. The gaol was part of my neighbourhood, I grew up living just below it and as the gaol in those days had its own garden where they grew a lot of their own crops it was common practice for me to be going to school just as the guys from the gaol were coming down to work in the garden. We’d always say hello and off they’d go and I would go.

This particular Sunday was a warm and sunny one and I was looking forward to having a game, as I liked tennis despite my great lack of ability.

You had to sign in to get in the gaol and leave anything you had in your pockets at the gate. The walls of the gaol are very high, probably close to twenty feet high. There were barred gates to go through and at the last gate that led into this huge exercise yard was a guard that I thought at the time would have fitted very neatly into any World war two Gestapo role.

‘Get in there son, you’ll be right,’ he said to me as he slammed the gate behind me. One of the disturbing things I discovered about the gaol in the few visits I made was that the guards loved to slam door and gates behind you, probably as a sign to you that this was the final stop, there was no getting out. Anyway I found it disturbing every time I heard a door slam.

The main exercise yard in the gaol was a big as a football field. It was packed with men, all dressed in green. In one corner of the yard was the tennis court, the lines painted on the concrete.

I should point out that concrete was everywhere.

One of the first things that struck me was the uniformity of colour. Men in green, against the grey concrete, blue sky above, they were the only colours.

The tennis was played fiercely. The guys from the gaol were very competitive and as I was not the best player around I did what I came to do, make up the numbers and hit as many balls as I could back over the net.

Between games you stood around, me plainly terrified by where I had found myself, and the guys were only too happy to talk to you.

And the tales they told were sad I thought afterwards. One guy I remember told me how on the outside he could get himself into jobs where he became the manager of various places, like in one case a motel. He would work there doing a good job and earning the trust of the owners until he thought it was safe to take the money from the till and go off to have a good time with it, only to find the police after him, arrest him and back into gaol he would go. He lived a vicious circle, but seemed resolved that this was his place in the world.

Thankfully the morning went by quickly and it was time to leave. I didn’t mind going home that day. Behind the tennis courts was a vast area where men in twos paced back and forwards in earnest conversation, other guys just sat about, some men were working out on weights and some I’m sure were eyeing me off as a young and vulnerable young man. I never found out, and it never occurred to me that might be the case until much later.

Again the huge iron gates were opened and we departed. We collected our things from the gatehouse and left the gaol. At the entrance to the gaol, beside the main gate a single tree grew. It was the first thing you saw when you left the gaol, your first glimpse of nature. I have never forgotten that image and how grateful I felt to see that tree. I have always felt after that day an affinity with trees.

That day I decided that being in gaol for one day would be one day too many. It is a gloomy place, filled with monotony, boredom and depression. Though sadly for some men it is the only home they know.