by Barrie Jones
Chapter IV recounts Henry’s arrival at Dartmoor Prison, Devon, and describes Dartmoor’s systems of hard labour: work gangs and the “crank,”.
The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 19th February 1910, page 9.
Chapter IV
Before beginning this chapter, I should like to say that the two officers at Exeter Prison did not go unpunished, for according to what I afterwards gathered, they were both dismissed from the service. The journey from Exeter to Dartmoor was not a very long one, the distance being only forty-four miles, and it was not long before I arrived at Tavistock, where I got out of the train into a sort of cab, for there were seven miles of road to cover before reaching His Majesty’s Prison. Those who have been to Devonshire know what beautiful scenery there is to be witnessed across the moors. It was not long before I was nearing Princetown, a picturesque village in South Devon, near which the prison is situated. Gangs of convicts could be seen on the roads, some breaking stones, some in charge of horses and carts; while here and there, standing at their posts, were civil guards armed with rifles. At last the prison was reached, and I was hurried into a place called the separate cells, where, in answer to the chief warder, I gave in my register number, sentence, and name. This was also a place of punishment, commonly called by the convicts as “chokee,” and I could hear the hum of the crank machines at work, which told of some poor wretch straining his vital power over this instrument of torture. This crank, or machine, is a kind of clockwork encased in an elevated iron box outside the convict’s cell door, and a needle something similar to the hands of the clock, recording the number of revolutions completed by the convict within, who turn a heavy handle fixed in the wall. Should the man fail to complete 9,000 revolutions a day, he is further awarded a fresh term of bread and water, consisting of a pound of coarse bread per day. I have done twenty-one days in this way, completing 9,000 revolutions a day, with the perspiration pouring from me in the depth of winter.
On my reception, as aforesaid, I was placed in a cell and supplied with another suit of khaki, two pairs of bog boots, one pair of low shoes, a guernsey, and a pair of moleskin leggings. I was taken to the hospital, and examined by the medical officer, who immediately ordered me tea instead of porridge, and white bread instead of brown, because I had a delicate stomach at the time. The doctor was a very nice gentleman, and well liked by the convicts. I was then taken to another part of the Prison known as B4 hall. The cells here a very small, and of corrugated iron, the iron door being raised about a foot from the ground. There is no light from the interior of the cells; the only light afforded is from the exterior of the prison, and that is very little indeed the cells being so dark that candles are allowed to be lit during meal hours. A hammock, extending from one end of the cell to the other, prevents the convict from even turning around without difficulty. Convicts have dwelt for periods of over twenty years in those dungeons. The next morning, after my arrival at Dartmoor, the prison bell rang me up at a quarter past five; we had breakfast at a quarter to six, church at seven, and at half-past seven I was told off to join No. 39 party – a gang of twenty-five men. After going through a short search drill on parade, I was marched with other convicts straight through the front gate to my place of work about four miles away from the prison. I was there employed in trenching the ground, and no easy work it was, either. Before long, the man in charge was felled to the ground by one of the gang. Convicts are really human beings after all, and they should be protected against officers who are sometimes very cruel towards them, for they seldom, if ever, interfere with an officer unless driven to desperation.
To be continued……