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priority and even Aberdeen had to be bypassed at speed.
    * * *
    Sally felt quite spellbound as they approached Peterhead. She knew that the town itself lay on the north-east coast of Scotland and was in the main a prosperous and busy fishing port, but what she hadn’t expected was that the scenery surrounding the town would be so beautiful and spectacular. However, the panoramic scene changed when they were confronted with the prison itself. To Sally it looked like a soulless place that had been deliberately erected on the edge of the unbridled waters of the North Sea to ensure the inmates were always aware that there was no means of escape.
    A creeping chill overtook Sally as she realised that Peterhead was a tough prison, a very tough one. She knew, because she had made enquiries about the place, that half of the prisoners held there were the most violent and uncontrollable inmates who had been transferred from other Scottish prisons. These unfortunate jailbirds had been judged to be uncontrollable and unredeemable, and they now found themselves housed alongside the other clientele – violent sex convicts and child molestors. Sally gave a derisive snigger when she recalled that the disillusioned inmates at Peterhead had labelled the monstrous institution the ‘Hate Factory’.
    Sally had made contact with the prison authoritites three days before their visit and explained that she and Nancy would like to call to see one of their prisoners – one Joseph Kelly. This request was granted and here they were waiting, along with other visitors, to be allowed into the prison.
    When the doors opened the anxious relatives surged forward but Sally had a desire to turn and run. Somehow she just knew that if she was to be deprived of her liberty it would be too much for her to bear. She knew that Irish had been a sailor who liked nothing better than to be out in the open air with the wind whistling through his hair. How, she wondered, had he coped in here? The day was uncommonly warm but she shivered as the chill of the hopelessness the prison exuded penetrated every bone in her body.
    Sally and Nancy were shown to a small table and seated down at it to await Joe. When he entered the hall Sally wanted to run up to him and grab him into an embrace. The pathetic, stooped and wild-looking creature advancing towards them just couldn’t be the Irish she had known. Sally’s hand flew to her lips when she tried to connect with his wary eyes that were sunken into their sockets. His pallor reminded her of all those who spent time in prison. In Irish’s case it was more emphasised because in the past his complexion was always that of a weather-beaten sailor’s.
    Irish had just reluctantly seated himself down opposite Sally and Nancy when Luke walked forward. ‘Who let this bastard in here?’ Irish hissed and he began to spring at Luke.
    ‘No. No, Irish,’ Sally pleaded, ‘please hear us out. You know me and that I would only ever want to help you.’
    Slumping back down Irish looked defeated. Sally tried to figure out how establishments that were supposed to support and rehabilitate people could breed such awful despair.
    ‘Irish,’ Nancy, who had winced when she first saw Irish, began before Luke or Sally could continue, ‘you know me and ye ken fine I worked with your Marie. Now we are only here today to see if we can do anything for you.’
    ‘Like put in some more stitches?’ Irish shouted as his head twitched.
    ‘No,’ responded Luke, ‘we just need to figure out how you, the pussy cat that you were, got yourself transferred out of Saughton Prison to here?’
    ‘Oh, is that all you want to know? Well it might be because I was convicted of killing my Marie. Sure I was going to leave her because she wouldn’t come off the game, but kill her … ?’ He now stared down at his work-worn hands and his head shook from side to side. ‘No. I could never have used these hands of mine to choke the life out of her.’ Irish’s