From the first Sunday, I had been asked what religion I was and Pinnington, the friend sent to Haslar with me, used to like to stay by my side whenever possible so, when I remembered my mother had been a Catholic, I just related that fact and was told I’d be sent to the Catholic chapel located in the highest part of the facility in a stone watchtower sat in one of the older parts of the former naval establishment.
Wide eyed and panicking, John then said he was a Catholic also, just so that he could join me and thats how we ended up, one of just a handful of inmates worshipping in that calm, peaceful chapel each Sunday instead of roughing it with with the hundreds of Church of England rabble singing “All things bright and beautiful” every week.
Pleasingly, the Chapel itself included a window where the Gosport ferry could be spied and, until I later earned special privileges that saw me occasionally leaving the facility to work in a nearby care home or community centre, that view represented the only view of the outside world I would experience.
That said, as time was progressing, performing my roles as a trusted individual with agency and a great deal of freedom, rather than being monitored within a working party of a dozen or more managed inmates always enduring constant scrutiny, tension and drama, I was quite a happy soul enjoying a significantly more rewarding contained Haslar experience.
Being a Catholic involved chanting things, something John had never experienced although he did quite well until he was expected to drink the blood of Christ, ( a sip of red wine), and repeat certain solemn or alien-like vows so, after a couple of weeks, John decided he could not stand the pretence and stress of the situation any longer.
Thus, one Sunday, to my utter surprise, he got up mid chant and walked to the back of the chapel and said something quietly to feral prison officer inmates had labelled ‘Benny Hill’, the officer on duty that day.
The next second, a shrill voice broke the tranquillity and made some of us jump in our seats.
“What was that, Pinnington? YOU DON’T WANT TO BE A CATHOLIC ANYMORE???”
I then froze, kept staring ahead and firmly locked my jaw with my clenched teeth while awaiting hell to open up beneath the chapel pews, imagining the situation was about to turn into a typical Benny Hill shaped violent fracas but, to my shock and surprise, (perhaps because of some spiritual ambiance or intervention), the normally physically animated Haslar prison officer just marched Pinnington away and threw him back into the 200 strong shoal of Church of England fish several floors below in the main hall.
Join in now … “All things bright and beautiful”.
About the Author
