Peterhead by Robert Jeffrey Read Free Book Online Page A

of breach of the peace charges, which were brought after his well-attended anti-war meetings in the city of Glasgow. Now the more powerful Defence of the Realm Act was sending him to jail. At one stage the firebrand found himself held in Edinburgh Castle as a “prisoner of war” and given the choice of a court martial or appearing in the civil High Court. On this occasion he opted for his day in court but was rewarded with a three-year jail sentence. It is interesting that his fellow citizens of Glasgow, despite their general patriotism and support of the boys dying in the trenches, could muster a huge rally of 100,000 in Glasgow Green to demand his release. The good folk of the city recognised his socialist sincerity and passionately-held beliefs. Even if they disagreed with him. He was a truly remarkable man, but in Peterhead he found himself surrounded by common criminals rather than political agitators and intellectuals. Hunger strikes were a regular weapon for such caged dissidents as himself and he damaged his health in prison and endured the disgusting procedure of force-feeding.
    Maclean is still, long after his death in 1923, a revered figure in British left-wing politics. His legacy spawned many books, poems and songs. Hugh MacDiarmid wrote: “Of all Maclean’s foes not one was his peer.” And in another poem he described him as “both beautiful and red.” No wonder Maclean is still being written about in the age of the World Wide Web and socialists in many countries still delve into his story. In a Scottish Republican Socialist Movement document there is a remarkable picture of life in Peterhead which first appeared in the publication The Red Dawn in March 1919. This account of his time in the North-East was rediscovered by Jim Clayton, the author of John MacLean and the Conspiracies .
    Maclean’s own story of his experiences “up north,” as the Glasgow cons say, is fascinating. He contrasted life in what he called a Glasgow “local” prison, Duke Street, with the daily “scientific torture” of what he rather oddly described in a piece of tautology “a convict prison.” He told his readers how your hair is cropped short and cut once a fortnight to keep it that way. However, a thick knitted cap was provided and it “kept the head quite warm.” Hygiene was rather different in those far-off days and it will come as a surprise to today’s readers that underclothing was kept “clean and sanitary” by being washed once a fortnight! The political prisoner felt that the inadequate clothing supplied to those working outside the prison in quarries or at the harbour was an official ploy to damage their health by causing colds, flu and other illnesses. His cell was of the regular dimensions of the time – about four-feet broad, eight-feet long and seven-feet high. But in 1918 two cells were knocked together for English prisoners brought north, though why they should get special privileges is not clear. The authorities were obviously still keen on the idea of prisoners using their time to good effect and the English cons were there to construct a little aerodrome near Peterhead harbour.
    Maclean described how the glass in his cell was twisted so badly that little light entered the tiny space and you could not see out at all. The idea he wrote, perhaps with a touch of paranoia, was to make prisoners brood and fret, and he highlighted the Sunday misery of fellow prisoners who could not even read to help pass the time on the day of rest. The heating system was primitive and inadequate and furthermore the prisoners were not allowed, by decree of the governor, to wrap their blankets round themselves when not in bed. Strange that even that little kindness was denied to those serving time in such a miserable place.
    The daily routine was horrendous. A bell was rung at 5am and prisoners had to get up and wash and make their beds until about 5.30, when orderlies served porridge and skimmed milk. At 7 the cell