an excerpt

           Then it happened. A sudden eruption of noise, shouts, yells and venom-filled screams. The bucket clamored on to the ground and a barrage of dull thuds carried along the wing. What sounded like someone’s head colliding with the steel pipes came ringing through the cells. I dropped my po and put my eye to the peep-hole, hearing a voice scream, “Give them more!” The ruckus continued until I heard ‘A---‘ shout, “That’s enough!” Several screws came tearing down the wing from the opposite direction, their heavy boots squelching and splashing in the pools of reeking urine that lay on the corridor floor.

            “Get a van for the punishment cells,” screamed “D---“ in his hateful, ignorant voice. There were more thuds and banging, then footsteps and evil laughter, followed by the gradual build-up of running feet, bumping and what sounded like the swish of water. Four black uniforms darted past my area of vision dragging a naked body by the feet, his back scraping and scratching the ground and his head bumping off the concrete. It passed so quickly that I was unable to recognize who it was. But there had been blood on his face and body whoever he was.

            For several seconds nothing stirred. A sinister, expectant silence resumed. The pools of urine rippled and waved, then settled into a calm pool just as the same noises built up again; the speedy build-up of feet gaining speed, the thuds, bangs and swish, as another mass of black figures soared past my line of vision dragging another blood-stained body by the feet. The swish died away and the squeaks of the naked body burning as it reached and contacted the dry, shiny surface at the end of the wing, faded. The sinister silence resumed its ugly role. Tension hung like a guillotine. No one dared to breathe aloud, fearing it would fall upon them. It was soul-destroying and seemingly endless. A scream came shrieking and hurtling down the wing.

            “Tiocfaidh ár lá” bounced and rebounded in frightening echoes off the walls, shattering the silence like the impact of a brick crashing through a window, raising hearts, bitterness and hate riveted to every single syllable. 

            “Our day will come!”

--excerpt from the book, "One Day in My Life", by Bobby Sands. This book gives insight into the life and thoughts of an Irish political prisoner in the H-blocks during the late 70's and early 80's, in addition to exposing the sadistic, torturous and inhuman treatment of the IRA prisoners at the hands of the British prison guards. Sands eventually led a hunger strike after Thatcher's continuous refusal to grant IRA prisoners political prisoner status. He was elected to Parliament while on hunger strike, but Thatcher continued to refuse negotiations with him, despite global pressure to do so. Instead, Sands' call for basic human rights was ignored. Bobby Sands (followed by nine other young men) died at age 27 after 66 days on hunger strike.