DARTMOOR

Evening Star, Issue 22145, 27 September 1935, Page 13

DARTMOOR

FAMOUS PRISON VISITED “ Dartmoor,” England’s grim famous prison, stands on one of the bleakest moors in the country. It has a sinister history of crime and punishment and strange legends are still related by the people who live 1 near it (writes a South African psychiatrist in the Johannesburg ‘Star’). They will tell you queer tales of spirits that walk by night and haunt and moan around the Tors. (Tor is Celtic for Twd, meaning tower.) , Dartmoor belongs to the Prince or Wales, as it is part of the Duchy ot Cornwall. About 1240 the castle of Lydford and Dartmoor forest were granted by Henry 111. to his brother, Richard, Earl of Cornwall, and after the death of Richard the estate reverted to the Crown, and Edward 111. gave it to the Prince of Wales—Edward, the Black Prince, with the title of Duke of Cornwall. • The prison itself is reached alter a delightful drive over the moors and through a thicket of firs. All around are clusters of little Dartmoor sheep hardly distinguishable from the granite colour of the moor. The prison buildings are as bleak as the surroundings. While the surroundings have a rugged beauty, the prison is forlorn and lonely. The huge massive granite arch bear» the inscription, “ Parcene subjectis (pity the fallen). It belongs to the original building, which was established to hold French and American prisoners of war. The foundation stone was laid in 1806. There is a little cemetery there where the prisoners were buried. At this cemetery is tne inscription, “ Dolce et decor'um est pro patna mori” (It is sweet and glorious to die for one’s country). . The prison has two portions, the oJu and the new. The old part was built by French and American prisoners ot war who were mostly taken from frigates in battles at sea, whereas the neiv portion was built by convict labour. The buildings are made of solid, bleak Dartmoor granite. Quarries abound on the moors in use or disuselandmarks of convict toil. The hospital section is well equipped, airy and roomy with iron gates outside each wooden door. Inside everything is glossy and tidy. Still, one cannot eliminate the atmosphere of antiquity. The prison cells are large and airy, with a covered light at each door. Each cell has several library books on a shelf—love stories are still the most popular. The cell wails are decorated with pictures of the prisoner’s family or some curly-headed little brother or son. Tho bedsteads vary. A thirdstage prisoner who has earned good conduct marks has a spring bed. Others sleep on boards. There is a_ rough wooden table and other necessities in each cell. Compare this with the two cells, still remaining as curios, of the American prisoner days. They are made of corrugated iron, four and ahalf feet by seven feet. They are dismal, dull, cramped, and punitive m every respect. From the cells I was taken over the Roman Catholic chapel—a beautiful sanctuary of peace which seemed worlds apart from tho traditional animosity towards the misdoer. The walls and ceiling of the Church ot England chapel are beautifully decorated. On the walls are several lifesized oil paintings of Christ as a man, and his birth, the work of convict painters. These paintings are of great psychological significance. The i' e; d man—his spiritual self—has come to the surface in their execution in spite of the hardship of penal servitude or even being a “lifer.” One picture especially stands out in my memory—a large oil painting

of Christ coming to a. cottage door at night, with a lantern m his hand, emitting the most natural golden hgJit. That light effect alone stamps this picture as a masterpiece. The prison ofhcers stand fascinated by it every time tney pass. It is the work of a man serving- a life sentence. What a different life this man would have led had he turned his talents to painting pictures instead of banknotes. Perhaps he had to go all through that to discover his true self. But if there was a juvenile court and a psychiatric service in his day he might have been spared this painful excursion through life, ... ,• It is in these chapels that one realises the humane side of tho English prison administration. The changed, softening atmosphere of selected places of restful worship must be balm to many harassed souls. Compare them with the American prison chapel, with its revolting pulpit covering a multitude ot denominations and which is cinema and concert hall combined. In spite of man s wrong attitude towards the whole problem of social disease, especially criminality, one finds in Dartmoor isinceie appreciation of some of the factois that count in life and in remaking a hte. Nowhere does one see a gun in fact, the warders carry none, only keys, endless keys. In the_ kitchen they were busy preparing dinner. There is no stinting of food. This day there was roast beef, roast potatoes, green cabbage, soup, and pudding for dinner. The men look healthy and robust. All the prisoners are penal servitude men; some look decidedly tough. They are old birds who come back from time to time to roost. They tell me the type of prisoner has changed in the last 30 years. Then they were mostly lone wolves, ready to fight if caught, and sometimes they were brutal killers. They preserved this sullen morose attitude in prison, too. It is easy to believe this when one realises that before 1913 mental defectives, feeble-minded, epileptics, abnormal, and mentally deficient men were sent to Dartmoor as penal servitude prisoners. They naturally deteriorated even more in prison. In those days, more frequently than now, perhaps, judgment was passed on the act com-mitted-justice forgot the individual who committed the act. This view of mine was further supported by a visit to the chain room. There were stored all sorts of chain handcuffs and chains, reminiscent ot the chain gangs of Georgia, U.S.A. Some ankle chains seemed to weigh tons. None of these is used to-day except occasional handcuffs. The old section still has its rough flooring made of the timber of captured frigates. The prisoners have two hours every evening for recreation, walking in pairs, chess, and smoking, ( There are no turrets, no machine gun' posts as in Sing-Sing. There is only a granite tower, where a man stands with telescope instead of an American gun. Here is an example of the Englishman’s belief and confidence j in the humane attitude and its works. 1 passed through the usual workshop, where everyone was actively engaged, and then left the prison and went back : over the moors. 1. passed isolated cottages decorated with frills of new hunting—because it was Jubilee Day. Those little flags and frills of bunting seemed embarrassed on the rough granite walls and crawled away into its'nooks and crevices, i The homely country folk touched their caps. “ Good morning, sir. Nice morning, sir!” There was joy in the air—church bells from Tavistock were peeling over the moors. Down there in the town gay lassies and lads were dancing folk dances through the streets garlanded with llowers. My thoughts turned away across the moors —to the men in grey, facing grim reality. I felt round me the dead yesterdays merging into the happiness of to-day. 1 thought of the dead still Jiving in that grey legion of lost opportunities. ,