Pentlands Writers: Mick Armstrong

I am a 50 something senior manager in the Scottish Prison Service, now seconded to the Government as a prison inspector. I graduated with an MBA in 2000. As I worked my way up through the ranks in the English and latterly Scottish prison services I gathered a lot of interesting stories to tell. 

If you are interested in contacting me please email to debanmik@btinternet.com

 Autobiography (Extract No. 9) – Elsewhere (A Poem) -
Home (or away?) (A Poem)

 AUTOBIOGRAPHY (9th extract) 

With just 12 months service and just out of my probation I was asked to take charge of an escort with two prisoners. The hospital officer Colin Watson was to accompany me. Although Colin was senior to me he was a specialist so couldn't really be considered for being in charge.

We were to take two boys to Burton on Trent hospital for outpatient clinics. One boy Ray Smith was a prolific absconder from the care system but P.O. Grassington had decided that we didn't need to use handcuffs. The other boy Peter Osborne had injured his wrist and was heading for accident and emergency.

Luckily Colin was to take charge of Ray at the hospital. Entering the hospital, he took him straight down the corridor leading to the fracture clinic. He looked over his shoulder at me with an extremely worried expression on his face.

I took Peter to book in at reception. This was a doddle. I explained to the nurse who we were and what we were there for. It wasn't long before we were shown into a small examination room.

A doctor came and after a quick examination decided that Peter had only sprained his wrist, it just needed a dressing. Soon we were in a treatment cubicle, an area screened off with a curtain at either end. After five or ten minutes a nurse came to apply a bandage. With the job done Peter and I stood up ready to go and sit in the waiting area for Colin and Ray. The nurse caught my attention, she said:

“Oh before you go, you might like to take some painkillers back for him to use”

Looking down at the paracetamol in her hands I replied:

“That's okay we have some of . . .” but before I could finish my sentence Peter was off.

“He's gone” the nurse shouted, stating the bleeding obvious. I couldn't believe what was happening.

Peter had seen his chance to run. He could've bolted at any time but he just happened to choose the very moment when I had taken my eyes off him for a couple of seconds.

Suddenly my heart was in my throat, competing for space with my stomach. My only thought was “there is no way he is going to get away”.

Adrenaline is a wonderful thing as it kicks in.

“Phone the Police and the prison” I managed to shout in the split second it took me to turn on my heel and head out of the door in hot pursuit.

A thousand thoughts went through my head as I saw Peter 50 yards in front of me heading across the car park. My job, my reputation was at stake here. How dare he challenge me to a race.

Involuntarily I shouted: “STOP”. This didn't seem to make sense although it did attract the attention of a few pensioners who were stood waiting for an ambulance to take them home. I didn't rate their chances of helping me I as sprinted after Peter. I sometimes raced against prisoners for a bit of fun, always winning of course but this was serious. With my short muscular legs and fairly broad shoulders I was probably more of a sprinter than the tall thin gangly Peter but this wasn't much comfort as I saw him making good headway.

“STOP . . . THIEF!” I couldn't think of anything else to shout as I felt my pace reaching it's full potential. I soon cut the gap down to about 40 yards.

“STOP . . . THIEF!” as Peter made the mistake of running round a group of cars instead of cutting through. I had already made another ten yards on him and seeing that his route was taking him to a cul de sac I realised that if I cut through the cars I could probably catch up with him.

“STOP . . . THIEF!” seemed so ridiculous the more I shouted it but I could tell that he was starting to slow down. Within a few seconds the thirty yards reduced to twenty, then to ten before I had the panicky thought 'what do I do if I catch him?' He was a lot taller than me and could probably drop me with one thump. Suddenly he stopped running. I automatically grabbed his sleeve and hung on waiting to be tossed about by a frantic swaying of his arms as he tried to rid himself of his demented pursuer. Still, at least I had given up shouting 'stop thief', even I was getting fed up of that one. I anticipated a quick struggle before I finally let go, beaten and bruised but having put up a good fight. Better to be seriously injured in the call of duty than to return to the prison one prisoner short of my party of one, remarkably unscathed.

I closed my eyes as I waited for the first blow, holding on for dear life. Then I heard it:

'Nee nah, nee nah, nee nah'

'What the?' . . . I thought as I gingerly opened one eye to look around, almost releasing my grip on Peter. An ambulance! Great someone has seen that I was going to get a battering so called an ambulance crew to scrape me up from the car park floor. Slowly it drew up and a window was wound down (no electrics in those days):

“Alright mate? Want a lift back to the hospital” smiled a friendly ambulance man as he jumped out to open the back door. 'Oh, me?' I thought, realising that I still had hold of Peter who had completely given up the fight. I dragged him towards the back of the ambulance with a feeling of great authority, I had caught my prey and I was taking him home.

“Er yes please” I stammered trying not to sound astounded that I had actually managed to recapture my prisoner. Equally I was amazed that I was able to walk into the ambulance, I honestly thought that it would be more likely that I would be carried in on a stretcher.

The entrance to the hospital was crowded with people who had heard my delirious pleas for help. They stood gaping as I alighted from my chariot clutching my prey. I half expected a round of applause but instead there was a 'Moses parting the waves' movement as they made a gap for us to walk through.

Colin was there too, still with his prisoner and a five foot wide grin on his face. The nurse who had offered me paracetamol showed us to a secure room and told us that someone from the prison was on his way. Colin and Ray joined us and we all sat in silence waiting for the cavalry.

I exhausted my head with a million different possibilities. The main one being that I was certain to lose my job. However Jim Edwards our jovial union rep. arrived to pick us up.

Jim did his best to be diplomatic in front of the prisoners but reading between the lines I knew I'd be in trouble. It was a solemn journey back to the prison except for the odd snigger from Jim. I think he was enjoying himself. This wasn't looking good. He was the guy who would be expected to speak up for me if I was investigated. Colin didn't help either, mainly because he was so relieved that it wasn't him who was in my position. He had the self satisfied look of someone who had just won the football pools. (ask your Grandad). . .

Elsewhere

. . . Elsewhere was somewhere that I was doing my homework from the writers group
I usually do it somewhere else but today I am doing it elsewhere
I wouldn’t normally do it elsewhere but there was no where else
Perhaps somewhere will become available but then I will no doubt be elsewhere
Sometimes I like to be somewhere else to do my writing it clears my head somewhat
However I am not keen on being elsewhere to do it, this can be confusing and not helpful to the creative juices
But then again, I don’t like being elsewhere at the best of times, I always like to be somewhere
Maybe my homework would be better if I were to write it somewhere different
But no, I am stuck in a place that is neither here nor there trying to make sense of something
I know something else too, that elsewhere can be somewhere nice to someone
I am not saying it is not nice for me it's just not the place I like to do something like homework
Perhaps if I said something to someone I could go somewhere else to do it
But as somebody would then find out I was doing something I shouldn't I may be sent elsewhere
No, perhaps it is best to keep my secret safe somehow it'll make something of a difference
Knowing that I am elsewhere doing something someone sees as someone else's work gives me a thrill
After all I don't want to be sent from elsewhere to elsewhere that would be stupid
I would much rather go somewhere else but still do something I like for someone like me
Oops, better go here comes someone called the boss, I think he wants me to do something for someone and it looks like I have to go somewhere else to do it.
I don't mind because it will get me out of elsewhere!

 Home (or away)?

Living here, just us two is not always easy
Never sure if we are meant to be here or not
We have traveling minds you see

We are not ones for tying ourselves to one place, it's difficult
Being a traveller at heart
To be away is bliss, no feelings of homesick, loss or yearning

The life we have is fulfilling, departing regularly
We are always learning. Saying cheerio is never a chore
But then reacquainting ourselves is never a bore either

Happy and sad feelings are always about
But that's the same wherever we go
A different bed each night is best . . . why not?

After all there isn't even a garden to rest in here but we do have weeds
But wait a minute, we are in a first floor flat
So even the weeds aren't actually ours.