Caroling in Prison, 2012

On 22nd December, eight of us set off for Stanley Prison. Spare us the jokes re: "murdering high notes"; we were off to spread X'mas cheer to convicts in this maximum-security facility.

Armed with nothing but a carol book and my HK ID card, I was initially a little apprehensive. A few weeks ago, I'd had the confused idea that carols would mean a jolly spot of entertainment for men who'd been in prison for over two decades but, as we piled out of the van to be greeted (very warmly indeed) by Rev. Will Newman, I realised that my brain had very severely underestimated the issue.

Thirteen gates opened and closed behind us before we reached the first performance area, in Cellblock A. 

They sat, backs very straight, in their sombre brown uniform and sandals. Many of them had the gaunt, spiritual faces of ascetics. They had a quiet dignity about their bearing. A few looked tired, defeated even.

Yet the opening strains of O Come, All Ye Faithful and Silent Night (especially Silent Night) were met with enthusiasm; some swayed to the beat and yet others mouthed the words. Once in Royal David's City got a colder reception, being a more obscure piece, yet the haunting beauty of In the Bleak Mid-winter was enough to reach the audience.

It would be asinine to talk about the acoustics in a prison mess-hall. You could hear the song of sparrows here and there. Red plastic covered the unused electric fans, a detail that struck me as at once bizarrely festive and not a little sad.

There was an intermission, in which everyone got to mingle and chat . Being a social moron and therefore mortally afraid of saying the wrong thing ("So...how'd a nice guy like you end up in a place like this?"), I was relieved to find that they often took the initiative to strike up a conversation. Most of them were able to recognize choir members from awhile back: Shirley, for instance, had been heavily pregnant on her last visit. She is now a mother of an eleven-year-old. 

The stories these men told were many and varied. One was adamant he'd been framed. Another's tale charted the progress of one who'd been at the top and now lay crushed under Fortune's wheel. Others simply avoided painful history and stuck to happier subjects, such as their plans for the future. Violence was no longer a solution, said one prisoner. Having gained a Masters in Theology in prison, he intends to pursue Ministry work. 

A modern-day Jean Valjean, I thought. 

Said I, "That's lovely." It was.

We had a couple more songs up our sleeves when intermission was over. "We wish you a merry Christmas," we sang. More dubiously, "We all want figgy pudding...we won't go until we get some." Scanning their lined, tranquil faces and seeing a sincere joy in their eyes, it was hard for me to imagine that any of them had done anything more serious than pull a cat's tail. But they had. Or perhaps they hadn't. 

A card created by the inhabitants of Cellblock A.

Another beautiful X'mas card by some inmates. You can't see it, but the snowflakes are raised.

And it occurred to me, then, that it didn't matter. It was X'mas Eve (or very nearly it). 

Perhaps the angels said it best, after all:
"Glory to the new-born King. 

Peace on earth and mercy mild.

God and sinners reconciled!"

Merry X'mas everyone.

-Jessica Ng