If symptoms

persist. . .

THE RECESSION has not yet affected the prisons, at least as far as turnover is concerned. Last Saturday, I was on duty for receptions, that is to say for the med- ical examination within 24 hours of arrival of all the newly remanded, con- victed or transferred prisoners, as is required by law. Numbers were well up to the seasonal average.

I was assisted in my labours by a warder who stood to the left of my desk and murmured advice in my ear such as, 'Be careful with this one, sir, he's a noto- rious liar.' And as the prisoners gathered up their shirts and vests to leave my room, he would whisper their crimes in my ear, such as indecent assault, grievous bodily harm or aggravated bur- glary.

The first prisoner began to take down his trousers.

'That won't be necessary,' said the warder.

The prisoner was surprised.

'Isn't it?' he said. 'The last time I was 'ere, it was drop and cough.'

An important part of the medical examination is to assign prisoners to a work category. The next prisoner was addicted to opiates, and presented evi- dence that he was on a regular prescrip- tion of methadone. `Meffadone means I can't work, doc- tor,' he said.

'It didn't stop you trying to smuggle marijuana from Morocco into this coun- try,' I said. 'That was quite strenuous work, I imagine.'

A palpable hit, I thought, as I fitted him Labour I (in prison jargon). I hope I never meet him on the out.

Then came a man with a black eye. He said he slipped on the ice.

'Attempted murder,' whispered the warder.

Next was a man with a broken wrist. He said it was the handcuffs in the police cell that did it. 'Robbery,' whispered the warder.

An evil-looking man was next. His eyes were cold and dead. On his right forearm was an elaborate tattoo of a policeman hanging from a lamp-post.

'I shouldn't have thought that stood you in much stead after an arrest,' I remarked.

'I 'ad it done when I was 12,' he replied. 'Illegal possession of a firearm, kid- napping and arson,' muttered the warder.

It was a relief to see a mild-mannered, meek little man enter afterwards. He called me sir, and I think he would have cried if I had shouted at him.

'Uttering a threat to kill,' whispered the warder.

'Contrary to the Crimes Against the Person Act, 1863,' I said.

'Precisely, sir.'

In came a rapist, who claimed to be sd breathless from chronic bronchitis and emphysema that he could not climb even two stairs at a time. Only the exertion of superhuman will-power on my part pre- vented me from asking the obvious ques- tion. I fitted him Labour III (that is to say, unfit for any work). The last of the day's forensic harvest had a festering burn on his left hand. I asked him how he got it. 'I was trying to set fire to a car,' he said.

'Why?' I asked.

'To get rid of the evidence.'

'Well, it looks as if the evidence veil nearly got rid of you,' I said, and left the prison Pooterishly pleased with my little joke.

Theodore Dalrymple