Guest Blog 72

When the lights went off in Long Marsh

It’s day but like night, night in Long Marsh,
where once we did sing and chortle and flirt
there’s hardly a soul, not even young Bert
who’d have us in stitches wearing a skirt,
now it’s hush in the shade of the gloom in the rooms,
not even a squeak from the office chair castors
relieved of the weight of probation staff arses
no tales to be telling of ghastly disasters
from Yeovil or Taunton or Somerset pastures
no rustles of papers or clicking of staplers
no hum of a hard drive no creak of a door.

It was long hours we worked, lunch breaks were shirked
while we did what we could to help them -
out of work, or a marriage
or just out of drugs or just out of prison
or out of ideas and about to give up - they needed a lot
so we tried to explain you’ll have a much better time
when you stop doing crime and they’d listen

Oh that was back then, in twenty and ten, and out of the blue
came Grayling the Failing, with orders to ruin it.
Ruin it, shit on it, cut it to bits
(good training for later, when you get transport)
then we can sell it and stop spending money
on dubious characters who’ve broken the law
Send them to prison, take all their books,
I’d give them the birch, but that bloody EU,
Punish them properly, punish them hard, that’s how they’ll learn -
Who cares if they hates us? They’ll never vote Tory
and nor will probation - all gluten free lefties
with Guardian and teapots and wellingtons too

Back then! now just the ghost of solicitors’ visitors
and hark, is that Byron? no the wail of a siren
not likely you’d hear much poetry now
not here in the gloom of a fadeaway day,
no, here in Long Marsh there’s nothing to hear
not the berping of clients who’ve drunk too much beer
not the clinking of saucers with cups full of tea
just a feeling that everything’s lost and at sea
there’s nothing to hear and nothing to see
nothing to do and no one to be
all dust and ashes, just gone, vamoose
like a story once told, an old hoot from an owl
just a quick twit not even a twoo
just a hint of a whimper, but less than a whisper

O bring back young Bert and bring back his skirt
(the cross dressing flirt) bring back the cross lady
who shagged on the copier and got even stroppier
bring back the other one, the big one, the boss
whose absence now feels like a loss!
We used to do listening and hold people’s hands
and encourage them variously not to fuck up
but all that is gone, we cost too much money,
there was something wrong anyway,
you cannot have laughter, no not in the office,
so the monitoring now is all done remotely.

The thing with a tag is it’s 24/7 and fairly low cost
(depend on us always, G4S told us)
to fiddle the stats and would you believe it,
crime figures are dropping, and dropping some more
so thumbs up for prisons, gigantic if poss
we've been through the issues, all nicely debated,
get the scroats onto methadone, nicely sedated
and see how the crime has swiftly abated.
Now make sure the lights are all off if you please.


Thirteen years ago I was taken on as a counsellor to work with
Probation clients. I found myself with warm-hearted, expert and
dedicated colleagues. In various ways they sought to bring out the very
best in their clients and help them say goodbye to transgressive
lifestyles. They did a really good job - I should say we because I was
made to feel part of something important.

I detest the cheap and greedy vandals who messed it all up, woe unto
them, may cockroaches infest their kitchens and moths invade their
wardrobes and crabs .... I'd better stop there 

bestcallpaul@gmail.com