A (voluntary) visit to an old prison...

As the world and it's mother knows, the jazz festival was on in Cork this past weekend. I did go into town and saw a few acts, but I'm not a big fan of huge crowds standing in small spaces, so on Saturday, I went out of the city centre and headed to the old city gaol in Sunday's Well. It's not the first time I went there: when UCC hosted the World University Debating Championships during Christmas break 2008-9, I was a judge from Galway (though actually representing Manchester, a story for another day), and went to the old gaol on a morning off because it also hosts a radio museum, and I thought it might a nice, relaxing way to ease myself into the day and out of another monster hangover I had "earned" over the course of the week. To be honest, I wasn't at all interested in the gaol at the time, I wanted to see the radio exhibit. On my second visit, though, I decided to actually experience the gaol tour. I'll write about the radio museum in my next post.

The first sight you get of the old prison is the sheer height of the outside walls. Naturally enough, when you design a prison, you want to make the place secure and difficult to break out of, and you can certainly appreciate that no criminal was going to be able to vault over ten metre-high walls and survive the landing. As prisons are supposed to do, the old city gaol does imprint itself on you, emphasising what laid in store for people who broke the law while it functioned between 1824 and 1923. Entering the prison ground via a small stairwell, you reach a second, longer staircase to enter the main area of the prison (I suppose prison-building regulations of the nineteenth century didn't take disabled access into account). Climbing this staircase takes you to the main prison, where you start the tour, which is set in 1865, courtesy of a Sony Walkman (a feature which forced one of the workers at the gaol to explain to a bemused child how this was "like an iPod, but not as good") with a pair of professional actors directing you around the gaol, starting with a wax figure depicting of a frequent female "guest" of Queen Victoria being assisted by a prison matron.

The first room visited shown is that of the Governor, featuring a faded portrait of Victoria above the fireplace. The Governor portrayed is John Barry Murphy, the first Catholic to hold the office, as part of a British approach to Ireland which saw Catholics promoted to prominent, though not top, positions. This extension of important jobs to the burgeoning Catholic middle class was part of a general policy of pacifying Ireland and integrating the troubling nation into the United Kingdom. Murphy would soon experience the political difficulties of his position, as the Fenian uprising of 1867 kicked the view that Ireland was becoming placated into touch.

Going through the west wing of the prison, you get an idea as to conditions of the prison during its century of operation. The thick walls, the narrow corridors and the small windows some 180cm off the ground give an indication of the confinement and isolation felt by the prisoners. The then-common belief that criminality was a contagious disease saw the authorities eager to isolate prisoners where possible, with solitary confinement and strict silence the order of the day.

The cells themselves are Spartan, with a small pot serving as bathroom facilities, and a thin canvas mattress resting on beds barely five centimetres off the ground (and this was an improvement on the old prison which utilised old straw for bedding. Despite what we might call poor conditions, these were probably quite comfortable for many of the inmates, as stories are told by the taped tour guides of petty thieves forced into lives of crime because of abject poverty and hunger. It would appear that poverty was the real crime committed by many of the prisoners, unaccustomed to the decent standard of living enjoyed by the elites of Irish society.

The tour quickly moves on, via assorted waxwork figures of prisoners, wardens, and various members of staff, to the gaol's final years, as a prison for political activists during the War of Independence and, following the transfer of the gaol from British to Irish control, anti-Treaty activists during the Civil War, before the prison closed in 1924, with displays of defiant graffiti from prominent political activists eager to show that hope had not been lost, even as the prison itself deteriorated into a vermin-ridden nightmare, with massive overcrowding forcing up to four prisoners into cells designed to hold no more than one or two people, as the Civil War raged across the city and the country.

The tour gives an insight into the dietary habits of the inmates, with brown bread, milk, Indian meal and porridge being the extent of the nourishment given. A typical timetable is displayed, together with a list of typical jobs given to various prisoners based on sex and severity of the crime which landed the convicts in the gaol in the first place.

Finally, the tour illustrates the development and updating of the prison, from its designing by prominent architect Sir Thomas Deane (who had also designed UCC), the introduction of a water supply from 1858 and of gas lighting in 1865.

To me, it seems odd to discuss the designing and establishment of the gaol at the end of a tour about the prison, but I can understand why this is so: the tour wishes to emphasis the social historical aspect of the institution, placing the histories of the inmates over the mere facts of how the building was constructed. In all, though, it's a tour worth going on, because it's a part of Cork that isn't immediately visible when you get into the city, but is very much a part of Cork's history, and at €7 (€6 for students), is a reasonably priced way to spend an afternoon. Just don't try to sneak through without paying, though...

Next post: the radio museum, which is also in the old gaol!