Chapter 1

The discovery of the letters was completely accidental. My father inherited our beautiful family home in Lawley Crescent from his parents, who in turn had inherited it from my grandfather’s parents. My father had recently passed away and my mother, slowly descending into the gaping maw of dementia, was soon after admitted to a care facility. It therefore fell to me, as their only child, to take care of the house. Within weeks of having moved back into the home where I had grown up, I began the process of clearing out all the unnecessary clutter. My parents rarely threw away anything that “might come in handy later.”

I found the letters in an old, beaten-up suitcase tucked away in a far corner of the attic. They were in a shoebox hidden beneath a heap of neatly folded men’s clothes, which smelt of mothballs and age. The shoebox was heavier than I had anticipated, and when I went to lift it out of the suitcase, it tipped out of my hand, spilling dozens upon dozens of letters across the dusty attic floor. Only after going through a handful of them did I decide to sort them out, then read every single one, from start to finish.

In closing, I feel it necessary to explain the circumstances leading to my uncle’s arrest and conviction, since nowhere in the letters is it discussed in any detail. One possible reason for this is that Julian Mansfield and Gordon Thompson had spent almost twelve months together, sharing a cell, before the letters began. I can only assume the details of their crimes, along with a good deal of other personal information, had been discussed face to face.

The details are as follows. Julian met and fell in love with a railway worker named Bryan Townsend. Within months of meeting each other, they moved into a small flat in the heart of suburbia. One evening, after they’d been drinking, they got into an argument and Bryan assaulted Julian. Julian, usually placid but under the influence of alcohol, retaliated and struck Bryan with a whisky bottle. According to police records, this was not a fatal blow. However, when Bryan fell to the ground, his temple connected with the corner of a table and this injury put him in a coma from which he never awoke.

Julian called the police fifteen minutes later and was taken into custody at some point that night. Six months after, he was charged with voluntary manslaughter and sentenced to six years’ imprisonment, minus the months already served.

It seems unlikely he came into contact with Gordon Thompson during that initial six-month period. Prison records show he was in C Block during this time. It is unknown why he was transferred, upon sentencing, to A Block, but the prison liked to move inmates around occasionally if they felt they had to, usually for reasons of safety and security—not that Julian presented a risk. It was more a case of Julian being slotted in where there was room.

So I hope you enjoy these letters as much as I did. Please read on.

Wayne Mansfield

2016J.

Just seeing if you get this. Let me know. Lanky seemed like the best choice for courier since he does the laundry run.

Gordon

P.S. I told Lanky if he reads one word, I’ll cripple him.20 Feb. 74

G.

Got it. Really good to hear from you. I miss you so much. I knew I would, but it feels like a small part of me has been taken away. I know that sounds like bullshit, but that’s how I feel. I hate feeling like this. I reckon it’s worse knowing you’re just a few gates away. How are things in D Block? Can’t believe those bastards actually separated us. And for no good reason.

J.

P.S. Thought I’d add the date. If we’re going to keep writing, it would be good to keep our letters in order. Just an idea.27 Feb. 74

J.

Missing you too, babe. You have no idea. D Block is like A Block. Big, hairy bastards and Abos [Aborigines] everywhere. Listen, I’m going to try and get back there. I’m thinking about a couple of ways I could fix it. I’ll let you know. One thing’s for sure, that Gregson [prison officer] bastard’s going to get what’s coming. It’s being organised right now.

Have you got anyone in with you yet? They’d better keep their hands to themselves. I’m in with two blokes. Henderson and McDonald. Henderson looks like he’s on steroids. Massive muscles—except the one between his legs. McDonald is only about nineteen, if that, and covered in tatts. Mean-looking bugger who doesn’t say much. Loves playing with his cock. Every night without fail, as soon as lights-out, he’s going for it like a champion. Stupid fuck probably thinks that because we can’t see him, we can’t hear him. I wish that was true. He gives that poor thing a fair bashing.