It felt surreal.
As I travelled up Oxford Street and turned into Flinders Street (Sydney), my eyes surveyed places I knew and searched for people I might recognise.
No one would see me nor know I was behind the metal bars on the padlocked back door. They would perhaps notice a police van passing and pay no further attention. Long Bay express.
I was travelling from Regent Street police station. Frightened and exhilarated simultaneously. The previous day I had walked from the Sydney University campus, accompanied by friends and supporters, to the police station from where a warrant for my arrest had originated. That night I did not sleep comfortably.
The ‘paddy wagon’ arrived at the Central Industrial Prison through the iron gates and into the main staging area. In handcuffs I was lead into the reception area and began the processing. I was provided with trousers, shirt and shoes and socks. And a number! My new identity was 1058. I was then placed in a holding cell with a number of other prisoners. My anxiety level rose.
My number was called. and I was to be transferred to the Metropolitan Remand Prison. The bulk of the prisoners in the MRP were either on remand until they appeared before the court or were awaiting sentencing.
I was then again processed and taken to my single cell. There was a bed, a small table and chair and a toilet. There was a high small window utilized only to allow light into the room. The door slammed shut. I froze in fear but was soon overwhelmed by a peace that was beyond immediate understanding.
At 5, it was meal time. My cell was opened and I was directed to a tea room at the end of the corridor. Here the evening meal was served.
Gathered were a group of convicted prisoners who provided services to the remand prison. As we were convicted, we could be usefully employed. These were ‘trusted’ prisoners either serving long sentences or recidivists. (And ‘political prisoners’).
Next morning, after a breakfast comprising crushed wheat and milk, toast, jam and tea, I was introduced to my daily job. I was classified as a ‘sweeper’. My job was more accurately described as a floor polisher, sweeping across large expanses of flooring with an industrial polisher that required skills of strength and delicacy.
Kevin Gilbert, nearing the end of his 14 year life sentence, was the prison librarian. He still is the most interesting person I have ever met. Kevin educated himself in prison where he also developed his artistic talents. The library was an offshoot of my workplace and we were able to communicate often and in depth both while working, meal times and on weekends.
Wikipedia describes Kevin as an author, activist and poet. He was Australia’s first indigenous playwright and printmaker. He was an active human rights defender and was involved in the establishment of the Aboriginal Tent Embassy in 1972.
It was my privilege to be called his friend and I was a public advocate for his release.
As I travelled up Oxford Street and turned into Flinders Street (Sydney), my eyes surveyed places I knew and searched for people I might recognise.
No one would see me nor know I was behind the metal bars on the padlocked back door. They would perhaps notice a police van passing and pay no further attention. Long Bay express.
I was travelling from Regent Street police station. Frightened and exhilarated simultaneously. The previous day I had walked from the Sydney University campus, accompanied by friends and supporters, to the police station from where a warrant for my arrest had originated. That night I did not sleep comfortably.
The ‘paddy wagon’ arrived at the Central Industrial Prison through the iron gates and into the main staging area. In handcuffs I was lead into the reception area and began the processing. I was provided with trousers, shirt and shoes and socks. And a number! My new identity was 1058. I was then placed in a holding cell with a number of other prisoners. My anxiety level rose.
My number was called. and I was to be transferred to the Metropolitan Remand Prison. The bulk of the prisoners in the MRP were either on remand until they appeared before the court or were awaiting sentencing.
I was then again processed and taken to my single cell. There was a bed, a small table and chair and a toilet. There was a high small window utilized only to allow light into the room. The door slammed shut. I froze in fear but was soon overwhelmed by a peace that was beyond immediate understanding.
At 5, it was meal time. My cell was opened and I was directed to a tea room at the end of the corridor. Here the evening meal was served.
Gathered were a group of convicted prisoners who provided services to the remand prison. As we were convicted, we could be usefully employed. These were ‘trusted’ prisoners either serving long sentences or recidivists. (And ‘political prisoners’).
Next morning, after a breakfast comprising crushed wheat and milk, toast, jam and tea, I was introduced to my daily job. I was classified as a ‘sweeper’. My job was more accurately described as a floor polisher, sweeping across large expanses of flooring with an industrial polisher that required skills of strength and delicacy.
Kevin Gilbert, nearing the end of his 14 year life sentence, was the prison librarian. He still is the most interesting person I have ever met. Kevin educated himself in prison where he also developed his artistic talents. The library was an offshoot of my workplace and we were able to communicate often and in depth both while working, meal times and on weekends.
Wikipedia describes Kevin as an author, activist and poet. He was Australia’s first indigenous playwright and printmaker. He was an active human rights defender and was involved in the establishment of the Aboriginal Tent Embassy in 1972.
It was my privilege to be called his friend and I was a public advocate for his release.
I would never be the same after meeting Kevin.
Graham Jensen
February 2024
Graham Jensen
February 2024