Margaret Murphy

Immediately before our prison visit and reception, which I described yesterday, Margaret Murphy was voted in by the members of the Crime Writers’ Association as the CWA chair for the next twelve months. Margaret and her husband Murf weren’t able to attend the whole conference, because of other commitments, but it was great to catch up with them at Lincoln Castle.

The CWA couldn’t have made a better choice than Margaret. She is a very good writer, and (unlike many writers, including me) she is conspicuously, and consistently, efficient. I’ve known her for around 15 years – we first met through the CWA’s northern chapter meetings – and, helped by the fact that her home in Heswall is not too far away from my patch, I’ve had the good fortune to spend a lot of time with her in the intervening years. For a long time, Murf, Margaret and I regularly attended dinners together organised by another crime writing mate, Jim Parkinson, and these were always very enjoyable occasions.

Margaret founded Murder Squad, a ‘virtual collective’ of Northern crime writers, back in 2000, and she invited me to join, along with Ann Cleeves, Cath Staincliffe, John Baker, Chaz Brenchley and Stuart Pawson. The Squad experience has been great for all of us, and we’re meeting up again shortly, after too long a gap. Without Margaret, it would never have existed.

In these difficult economic times, an organisation like the CWA, as well as its members, is bound to come under financial pressure. But I’m sure Margaret will take it in the right direction. I only hope it doesn’t get in the way of the production of more of those splendid novels of hers.

In Prison

At the CWA annual conference in Lincoln, we had a reception on the Saturday evening, before dinner, at the Victorian prison in Lincoln Castle. This was a fascinating place, and we had a chance to look around the condemned cell and elsewhere, nerves appropriately steadied by a glass of wine paid for by the admirable Flambard Press.

Here are a few photos, but I’d like to draw your attention in particular to the prison chapel. This is the only surviving example in Britain of a chapel where the ‘separate system’ was operated. In the mid 19th century, there was a vogue for keeping prisoners completely isolated. They were denied all contact with each other, using solitary cells, a rule of silence – and hoods.

The pews in the chapel were specially designed so that the prisoners could only see the chaplain in his pulpit. Each prisoner stood, or sat, in a wooden compartment which was locked before another prisoner was admitted. Condemned criminals sat at the back, women at the front and debtors to the side. Sitting was actually not easy, since the ‘seats’ were slanted rather than straight – anything to deny comfort, I suppose (and anyone unwise enough to fall asleep mid-sermon would slide on to the stony floor...)

Even in those days, it was recognised before long that this was an utterly inhumane way of dealing with people, and the ‘separate system’ was abandoned. But seeing it was a reminder that being ‘tough on crime’ means very different things to different people at different times.