Turnkey laments.

Just don't understand it.

I smile at 'em, jolly 'em along.

I pay attention not to spill their food.

Just don't understand it.

I believe in my educational role.

I even organise outings for some of 'em.

I smile at 'em, jolly 'em along.

I pay attention not to be unfair in my comments.

They just don't pay attention.

They just don't play the game right.

They just don't put their heart and soul in it.

They don't take their work seriously.

They're just looking to score enough points for smokes.

I put my life into the job.

I read those books.

I tried all those motivating tricks and the like.

I even did research like... a while.

The guvnor thought I was crazy.

"This is a bloody prison not a kindergarten," he said.

I thought that was pushing it a bit.

I am more than sympathetic to their plight.

I was in their shoes once.

I don't see difference between black and white, man or woman.

I am open-minded, I'm empathetic even.

I smile at 'em, I jolly 'em along.

Anyone would think that they'd be pleased to see the back of me.

Just don't understand it.

Cellnotes.

“Is it surprising that the cellular prison, with its regular chronologies, forced labour, its authorities of surveillance and registration, its experts in normality, who continue and multiply the functions of the judge, should have become the modern instrument of penality? Is it surprising that prisons resemble factories, schools, barracks, hospitals, which all resemble prisons?”

Michel Foucault.

Footnotes

Inspired by Terry Elliott's reading of a Bertolt Brecht Fable.