He soon grew used to his cramped accommodation and decided that Portland was a better place than Lewes. There was less red tape, and no idiotic regulation about being shaved and barbered in the open air. Also, the rules governing conversation between prisoners were more relaxed. The food was better too. He was able to inform his parents that there was a different dinner every day, and two kinds of soup. The bread was wholemeal – 'Better than baker's bread,' he wrote, not as an attempt to evade censorship or ingratiate himself, but as a true expression of opinion. There were also green vegetables and lettuce. The cocoa was excellent, though the tea was poor stuff. Still, if you did not want tea, you might have porridge or gruel, and it surprised George that many insisted on having inferior tea rather than something more nutritious.
He was able to tell his parents that he had plenty of warm underclothing; also jerseys, leggings and gloves. The library was even better than at Lewes, and the terms of borrowing more generous: he could take out two 'library' books, plus four of an educational nature, every week. All the leading magazines were available in volume form, though both books and journals had been purged of undesirable matter by the prison authorities. George borrowed a history of recent British art, only to discover that all the illustrations of work by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema had been neatly removed by the official razor. At the front of the volume was the warning written in every book borrowed from the library: 'No turning down of pages.' Underneath it a prison wag had written, 'And no tearing out of pages.'
Hygiene was no better, though no worse, than at Lewes. If you wanted a toothbrush you had to apply to the Governor, who seemed to answer Yes or No according to some private, whimsical system.
One morning, in need of metal polish, George asked a warder if there was any chance of obtaining some Bath-brick.
'Bath-brick, D462!' replied the officer, his eyebrows leaping towards his cap. 'Bath-brick! You'll ruin the firm – you'll be asking for Bath-buns next.'
And that was the end of that.
George picked coir and hair each day; he took exercise as instructed, though with no great zeal; he borrowed his full allowance of books from the library. At Lewes he had become accustomed to eating with only a tin knife and a wooden spoon, and to the fact that the knife was often insufficient against prison beef and mutton. He no longer missed using a fork, any more than he missed newspapers. Indeed, he saw the absence of a daily paper as an advantage: lacking this daily prod from the outside world, he adapted more easily to the passage of time. Such events as occurred in his life now occurred within the prison walls. One morning, an inmate – C183, serving eight years for robbery – managed to climb on to the roof, whence he declared to the world that he was the Son of God. The Chaplain offered to go up a ladder and discuss the theological implications, but the Governor decided it was just another attempt to gain a transfer to Parkhurst. Eventually they starved him down and packed him off to chokey. C183 admitted in the end that he was the son of a potman and not of a carpenter.
After George had been in Portland a few months, there was an escape attempt. Two men – C202 and B178 – managed to hide a crowbar in their cell; they broke through the ceiling, gained the yard with the aid of a rope, and scaled a wall. The next time 'Caps under!' was called, there was hubbub: they were two caps short. There was another cap-count, followed by a count of bodies. The black flag was raised, the cannon fired, and the prisoners locked in for the interim. George did not mind this, even if he failed to share the general excitement, or join in the bet-laying over the outcome.
The two men had a couple of hours' start, but in the judgement of the ordinaries they would be lying low until nightfall, and only then attempt to get off the Bill. But when the dogs were loosed into the prison grounds, B178 was swiftly discovered, sheltering in a workshed and cursing an ankle broken when jumping from a roof. C202 took longer to find. Sentries were posted on all the heights of Chesil Beach; boats were launched in case the escapee had decided to swim for it; soldiers sealed the Weymouth Road. Quarries were scrutinized, and searches conducted of outlying properties. But the soldiers and prison guards did not find C202; he was brought in roped and bound by an innkeeper who had come upon him in his cellar and subdued him with the help of a drayman. The publican insisted on handing him over to the receiving officer at the gaol, and obtaining a promissory note in the sum of £5 for the capture.
The hubbub among the prisoners turned to disappointment, and the searching of cells became more frequent for a while. This was one aspect of life George found more disruptive than at Lewes; not least because the searches were in his case entirely pointless. First would come the order to 'unbutton'; then the officers would 'rub down' the prisoner to make sure nothing was concealed in his clothing. They would feel him all over, and examine his pocket, and even unfold his handkerchief. This was embarrassing for the prisoner, and George thought it must be hateful to the officers, since the clothes of many inmates were dirty and greasy from their work. Some officers were very careful in their searches, while others would not notice if a prisoner had a hammer and chisel concealed about his person.
Then there was 'turn over', which seemed to consist of the systematic wrecking of a cell, the sweeping of books from surfaces, the unmaking of the bed, and the scouring of potential places of concealment which George would never have guessed at. Worst by far, however, was the 'dry bath' search. You were taken to the bathhouse and made to stand on the wooden slats. You removed every stitch of clothing except your shirt. The officers minutely inspected each item. Then you were obliged to undergo humiliations – raising your legs, bending over, opening your mouth, putting out your tongue. Dry searches were sometimes ordered systematically, sometimes on a random basis. George estimated that he suffered this indignity at least as often as other prisoners. Perhaps, when he had expressed his disinclination to escape, they had taken it for a bluff.
And so the months went by, and then the first year, and then much of the second. Every six months his parents made the long journey from Staffordshire, and were allowed to spend an hour with him under the eyes of a guard. These visits were excruciating to George: not because he did not love his parents, but because he hated to see their suffering. His father seemed shrunken nowadays, and his mother could not bring herself to look around at the place where her son was incarcerated. George found it hard to strike the proper tone with them: if he was cheerful, they would think he was putting it on; if gloomy, he would make them gloomier themselves. Instead, he found himself adopting a neutral manner, helpful but inexpressive, like that of a booking office clerk.
Maud was initially judged too sensitive for such visits; but one year she arrived in the place of her mother. She had little chance to say anything, but whenever George glanced across at her, he encountered that steady, intense gaze he remembered from the courtroom at Stafford. It was as if she was trying to give him strength, to convey something from her mind to his mind without the medium of word or gesture. Later, he found himself wondering if he – they – had been wrong about Maud and her supposed frailty.
The Vicar did not notice. He was too busy telling George how, in the light of the change of government – a matter of which George was scarcely aware – the indefatigable Mr Yelverton was renewing his campaign. A fresh series of articles was planned by Mr Voules in Truth; while the Vicar intended issuing a pamphlet of his own about the case. George made a show of being heartened, but privately judged his father's enthusiasm to be foolish. More signatures might be acquired, but the essence of his case would not have changed, so why should officialdom's response change? He, as a lawyer, could see that.