A Death-bed Incident
A woman lay dying in a near-by cell. Of the sixty years of her life she had spent forty within prison walls. What that life had been I will not say, but when she was in the agony of death she called to me: “I don’t know anything about your God, but if he has made you tender and loving to a bad lot like me, I know he will not be hard on a poor soul who never had a chance. Give me a kiss, dear lass, before I go. No one has kissed me since my mother died.”
CHAPTER NINE
My Last Years in Prison
I am Set to Work in the Library
When I recovered from my nervous breakdown, by medical order I was given lighter employment, and went into the library. I was now the only prisoner in the building who had suffered under the hardships of the old system at Woking Prison, all the rest of those who came with me having in the interim returned to the world. In fact, I was the only one who had served over ten years.
My task in the library was to assist the schoolmistress and to change the library books twice a week. They were carried from cell to cell, and this represented the handling of over two hundred and fifty books. In addition to this, I had to be “literary nurse,” whose duties were to attend to worn-out books, binding up their wounds and prolonging their days of usefulness; doing cataloguing and entry work; to print the name of each prisoner on a card placed over her cell door; to copy hymns, and to make scrap-books for the illiterate prisoners, besides other miscellaneous duties.
The library was a very good one and contained not only the latest novels, but philosophical works and books for study; also a limited number in French and German. To these were added religious works, especially poetry, and sermons for Sunday reading. I found a choice collection to help me support the Sabbath day, for the suspended animation makes a day of misery of the “day of rest.” One could not read all day without tiring, and the absence of week-day work usually made it a day of heavy, creeping depression. There are two periods of exercise, and chapel morning and afternoon. The remainder of the time the prisoners are locked in their cells. Reading was my only solace; from first to last I read every moment that I could call my own. The best index of the quality of the books was that every volume was read or examined by the chaplain and his staff before it was admitted to the library. If it contained any articles on prison life or matters relating to prisoners, these were always carefully cut out.
From my observations I consider that prison schoolmasters and schoolmistresses are overburdened with miscellaneous and incompatible duties. No one needs to be told that the average prisoner is a slow learner, and that even a dull boy or girl is a better pupil than a grown man or woman plodding along in the first steps of knowledge, and who is taught, not in a class, but in a cell. Yet the schoolmaster or schoolmistress has to devote hours daily to teaching, to help in letter-writing, in the office work, in the distribution of library books, in the library work; and now that their number is likewise reduced on the ground of expense, the pressure of their work is out of all proportion to the hours within which it can be reasonably performed.
I have always been fond of reading, and during my leisure hours I got through a large number of books. This was between noon and half-past one, and seven and eight in the evening, when my light had to be put out.