I send you this song…

One enlightened prison governor says he tries to imagine what it would be like if his son or daughter was an inmate of his prison. What would he want for them?

Food, warmth, a clean cell. The basic comforts in life to allow them to continue to grow. Could they also be allowed, in the midst of all the misery that prison certainly affords, a few moments of joy? The opportunity to be part of something which could change their behaviours far more than being locked into a cell 23 hours out of 24?

This is the gist (less eloquently expressed) that Peter Dawson, the governor of HMP Highdown at Sutton in Surrey, (and MVMF Patron), gave in his introduction to one of the most extraordinary concerts I have had the privilege to experience.

The concert was the culmination of a week long workshop, which itself was the culmination of 18 months preparation, showcasing the moment of joy that is possible when seven inmates of Highdown and five disabled students from the awesome Orpheus Centre founded by musician and songwriter, Richard Stilgoe, spent a week together in prison.

Why the pairing? Because the two groups have more in common than you would at first glance imagine. (Which was the first reminder to me of many during the concert that we should always take a second glance). All 12 men in what they disarmingly called the ‘company’ loved music. Style varied from vibretto to rap to recitative. All wanted to experience something different. All have had constraints placed upon them – the inmates by Her Majesty; the students by the various disabilities with which they live on a daily basis. All are ‘locked in’ in one way or another.

The company had spent a week together at the prison in a collaboration ‘Birdsongs2’ funded by the MVMF – which could equally have been titled ‘We send you this song’. The aim of the week was for the team to write, perform and record a series of songs written by those they loved but, in the case of the prisoners, were no longer with.

So came a ballad for a three year old daughter called ‘It’s about survival’; a love poem to a fiancée called ‘We’ll be together’; a rap to a best friend ‘This is what your friendship means to me’. The list went on. Songs about shared experiences (all have to share rooms and so came the song ‘Snoring’!), and about the workshop experience itself (‘It’s not what I expected’, ‘Smiles and frowns’, and ‘Brand new eyes’). The anthems of the day were ‘I send you this song’ and ‘Invisible Lives’, the latter of which had the audience (comprised of an eclectic mix of Surrey great & good, inmates, their parents, prison staff and potential funders) whooping, clapping and cheering in a standing ovation.

But for me, the magic happened around the stage. Because sadly so many people who helped make this event possible couldn’t be there, here’s a taster of what I saw:

The cellmate of one of the performers sitting behind me, singing under his breath along with his mate on stage – as if a proud parent at a nativity willing their child on.

The camaraderie when someone had done their ‘bit’: high fives, claps on the back, grins of support whether to someone in a wheelchair or prison garb.

The tale I had been told the night before, after the dress rehearsal, when the inmates had expressed their nerves and the Orpheus students reassured them (“we’ve played at the Royal Albert Hall – this will be a synch!”).

The students going home that night in their minibus worrying about leaving their new friends alone in their cells with their nervous anticipation of the day ahead.

The prison officer who had helped to arrange the week, who took part in the group songs and even did a solo ‘rap’ to the delight of those in her charge.

The mother of the lad in Highdown awaiting trial (with the three year old at home), who confessed to me how nervous she had been attending, not knowing whether the mother of ‘one of them’ would be accepted. What a joy for me to be able to genuinely be able to say to her “You must be so proud”.

All of this and the music which I am still humming now, two days later, that you would pay to hear again and again. Of course! Richard Stilgoe, after all, was the brains behind the programme and in his inimitable way very much hands on, leading the sessions through the week and the final concert.  And at the end, awards for all in the form of CDs and certificates, clutched proudly by all as they left the room, each to their respective ‘home’.

Overall, it was one of the most powerful things I have ever witnessed. I wanted to take every prison minister, home office advisor, fundraiser, fund giver, every doubter that positivity and support can and does change lives more effectively than stringent punishment, and sit them there for that hour.

For now, I am left scheming how to make sure this isn’t the last group of young offenders in prison who get an opportunity to share in the unique, life-changing brand of magic that only Orpheus students can provide.

If you think you can help us do this, get in touch. And to those who came to the Carols by Candlelight in December last year, know that this is what you’ve paid for.  And that you did good.  I was thanked profusely by the inmates so many times after the event, so now I pass this onto you who made it happen. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Kate Varah, MVMF Co-Founder and Trustee

 

Koestler Exhibition Family Day

“There is so much good in the worst of us,

And so much bad in the best of us,

That it hardly behooves any of us

To talk about the rest of us.”

Anonymous

 

As I came to the end of my tour of the Koestler Exhibition with a group of prisoners’ family members, this quote greeted me and stayed with me.

It is so easy for us to pass judgement on those of society who are imprisoned, whether that judgement be about the crimes for which they have been convicted or our perceptions of their possible character and personality. The artwork on display at the Koestler Exhibition told many stories; some reflected the artist’s surroundings and current reality, others tried to give a glimpse of some of the confusion and pain going on inside the artist’s mind and still others had a playful, carefree element to them.

This was a special day as it was the only day where the families of those, whose work was displayed, could visit the exhibition and see their loved ones’ artwork. Where they could experience a place where there was no judgement of their brother’s, sister’s, aunt’s, uncle’s, mum’s or dad’s negative situations but a place where there could be intelligent, interesting conversation and genuine appreciation of the creativity and messages portrayed.

“It is his gift to us”, said one sister who was visibly moved when she stood in front of her brother’s piece of work. Other family members laughed and joked and fought back tears when they could proudly show off their loved one’s work.

Many of them had travelled from all over the UK to visit the exhibition. Michael Varah Memorial Fund supported the Family Day which enables many family members, who otherwise would not be able to afford it, to visit London and the South Bank and have a day specially for them.

During our tour we attracted a few people who were not part of the family day but were intrigued to hear the interpretations of the work and to know more about the exhibition.

It was a privilege to be part of the Family Day, to have conversations with family members and have a better understanding of things from their perspective. They are often forgotten and we must remember that, for many family members, the love they feel for their relative is still strong and real and that they often suffer because of the stigma attached to someone in the family being in prison.

The quote above that resonated with me was etched onto an engraving by a prisoner. I thought about the time it must have taken for him or her to make that engraving and what they might have been thinking about as they etched.

by Emma-Sue Prince, MVMF Board Adviser

Review: “His Teeth” performed by Only Connect

“His Teeth”, a new play by Ben Musgrave, performed by Only Connect, the arts company for prisoners, ex-offenders and young people at risk of crime, is a direct and harrowing introduction to the challenges faced by illegal immigrants trying to negotiate the dark edges of life in Britain. It emerged from workshops based on the life and stories of OC member Ralph Ojutu, and tells the story of Eric, an ambitious Nigerian arriving in London.

The staging, direction and performances combine to create a moving story which engages both brain and heart.  The actors are well cast and professional; in fact in some cases it is impossible to tell which are professional actors and which OC members.  Their energy and physicality is outstanding. The knowledge that some have a very real understanding of the material and lives on which the play is based adds to the play’s impact. Junior ‘Milla’ Miller, as corrupt, menacing Derek, brought a real sense of danger to the stage.

The play is set in the round; the action taking place within a screened box which provides distance between audience and action.  This works well in the small auditoria, enabling the audience to observe without feeling encroached upon. The use of projection onto the screened walls, allowing all sides of the audience to see the actors close-up in monologues, gives a televisual effect, which is in keeping with the contemporary nature of the subject matter.

The workshop roots of the piece are evident.  Despite regular projections of the date onto the stage, it is difficult to grasp a sense of the time lapses between scenes.  As a result, events occur at a such a pace that the trajectory feels slightly unreal. Given the enormity of the issues addressed, I didn’t feel that it needed the very slight subplot of the police officer, and his attraction to Sarah. 

In many ways His Teeth would make a great television drama – the time lapses, the use of detective story and  CCTV, the multitude of stories and voices.  It is certainly a story that needs to be heard and understood by a wider audience. I left with my eyes opened to situations, probably happening right now, nearby, to which I am usually blind.

by Emily Standring, MVMF Events Committee

Orpheus at High Down Prison

In April 2011, the MVMF part funded a week-long visit from The Orpheus Centre to High Down Prison. Orpheus provides opportunities for young disabled adults to promote personal development through performing arts, so they gain the skills to live independently in the community and to make informed choices about their futures.

The disabled young adults who went to High Down each day worked with some of the prisoners, under the guidance of Richard Stilgoe (who founded Orpheus) and a couple of his brilliant musical assistants, to write songs.  These were recorded and each of the prisoners got a CD to send to their family.  They also sang them all at a concert on the last day of the visit. It was very enjoyable and moving, with a lot of singing and playing skills from all the performers.  Many of the songs were very personal, about much missed children, partners, friends and even a dog. One song about what they were not going to miss about life in prison got a lot of laughs from the inmates, who formed the majority of the audience.

A quote from the day I particularly remember. One of the Orpheus staff said that it only took a couple of days for one of the prisoners to articulate the thought that he would be able to walk out of High Down next year, but the guy he’d worked with from Orpheus, in a wheelchair, had a life sentence.

Desmond McCann, MVMF supporter

Clink lunch and Geese Theatre

Behind the mask

We were fortunate to visit The Clink Restaurant at High Down Prison recently, and to say we were pleasantly surprised is an under-statement. After undergoing security checks, we were led to a stylishly decorated and very comfortable dining area.  The three course meal we enjoyed was on a par with any top London establishment, and the waiting staff – all prisoners – were well trained, efficient and attentive as well as being very forthcoming with their stories as to how they aspired to working in The Clink, hopefully preparing for a profession they hoped to pursue on their release. The Prison Governor, Peter Dawson, introduced Head Chef, Al Crisci,the inspiration behind the original scheme who undoubtedly has given back self esteem and belief to those prisoners working with him.

The MVMF had funded a resettlement programme with The Geese Theatre Group at High Down and after lunch Geese demonstrated a role play from that workshop. It was simple in its execution but very powerful.  An actor played the part a prisoner would normally take.  He had a mask which he wore while the rest of the group (in this case the diners) posed questions to establish some background about his life in and out of prison.  He then briefly mimed coming out of prison and waiting for his partner to pick him up.  He was  asked about his feelings, which he answered with some bravado from behind his mask. He was confident about his girlfriend coming, meeting his mates in the pub, the welcome he would get from his children.

He then raised the mask and answered the question with his true inner feelings. Would his partner come?  They had quarrelled at her last visit.  Could he get home on the bus? How could he find a job?  The questions went on, each being answered with the mask down, then raised.  It was a very moving insight. One of the prisoners who had taken part in the Geese sessions spoke of how he had benefited from the MVMF funding of this resettlement programme.

Wendy Mundie, MVMF supporter

Sisters in Art at HMP Send

As supporters of the project, we were offered a couple of tickets to go to the exhibition of art by the women offenders at Send Prison who are working with the Artist in Residence from the Watts Gallery sponsored by the MVMF.

We had the chance to meet the group, including the artists who had painted the MVMF Christmas Cards.  They had come from disparate backgrounds but had bonded into a very supportive group, calling themselves ‘Sisters in Art’.  Through their work they said how much they had learned about giving support and encouragement to each other.  And individually they felt the opportunity to express themselves on canvas was a very fulfilling experience.

We were encouraged to buy a painting but, while much of the work was very interesting, I have to admit there was an element of the artist working out their own angst in a lot of the work.  We did not feel that we wanted to live with most of the pictures on a daily basis but independently we both chose a pastoral scene in yellows, browns and golds of what could be slightly abstract birds over a ripening field of corn. We were somewhat surprised when the artist, Claire, told us its title was ‘Before The Bomb 1′. Nevertheless, it hangs in our kitchen and we like it very much.

Clare McCann, MVMF supporter