way, nobly, everyone acknowledging the outlawâs natural nobility, everyone sad at his passing.
I hadnât felt so unhappy since the day Iâd finished Wuthering Heights .
âHere, Billy,â Ray Crompton said to me. âHeard the latest?â
I was squatting by my pit doing my stomach exercises.
âNo,â I said, not moving. âWhatâs that, Ray?â
âAbout the gear.â
âWhat gear?â
âOur gear. Listen. Prison shoes, shirts and trousers to be worn at all times. Overalls only to be worn to work.â
I stood up.
âOh, Christ,â I said. âWhat for? What the fuckâs that to do with security?â
âMaybe Moffatt thinks he wonât hear us if we get on the roof in our baseball boots.â
âAnd what about Creasey? Whatâs his answer?â
Ray shrugged.
âHas anybody put it to him?â
âI donât know.â
I swore. It wasnât just the fact that the prison stuff was less comfortable than our own gear. It was the idea behind it; just one more method of reminding us of where we were and what we were. This was nothing to do with security. It was an attack on our identities.
I walked to my door and looked out. Creasey was making his rounds, flanked by a couple of screws. I strolled out of my cell and stood in their path.
âBack inside, Cracken,â said Bastin, the senior screw.
âPermission to speak to Mr. Creasey,â I said, taking my fags from my overall pocket.
âNo smoking when you address the assistant governor,â said the other screw. I lit up. The screws looked at Creasey but he ignored them and said:
âWhat is it, Cracken?â
âAbout these regulations, sir.â
âWhich regulations are those?â
âThe regulations relating to dress, sir.â
âYes?â
âWell, I mean, do they stand?â
âRegulations are usually meant to stand, yes. That is, in my experience.â
I looked Creasey up and down. Considering what he was, he was quite a reasonable fellow. I didnât dislike him, any more than I could dislike a brick in the prison wall. The fact that from time to time he allowed a certain dry humour into his conversations with the cons meant that at least he didnât regard us as being entirely without any kind of humanity. But he was what he was, and that being so, he wasnât going to get out of this one so easily.
âWhat exactly is the purpose of the new rules, sir?â
Creasey looked at me for a moment before answering. I knew what he was thinking; being reasonable, he knew that there was no purpose to the new regulations. They were just regulations. But that was something he could never admit to me. At the same time he knew that any of the dozen or so answers he could let me have wouldnât go down at all well, either. So to avoid getting into a losing battle he attacked:
âIs there something in the new dress regulations you disapprove of, Cracken?â
âOnly that everybodyâs happy enough with things as they stand at the moment, sir.â
Of course, I shouldnât have said that. That really let him in.
âPerhaps thatâs why theyâre to be enforced. As a reminder to everyone that happiness is not the main aim of this establishment.â
He began to walk by me. The two screws were grinning all over their faces. And that kind of thing I can do without.
âSir,â I said.
Creasey carried on walking away.
âSir,â I said. This time my voice rang round the gallery.
Creasey stopped and half-turned. I put on my innocent face.
âHope Mr. Moffatt knows what heâs doing.â
Creaseyâs face went black. He strode back to where I was standing.
âWhat did you say?â
âI said I hope Mr. Moffatt knows what heâs about. I mean, happiness isnât the main purpose of this establishment is it? On either side.â
âMeaning precisely
Major Dick Winters, Colonel Cole C. Kingseed