Prison visiting

La Prison de Saint-Gilles

Perhaps we gained some heavenly brownie points yesterday. We did some prison visiting. La Prison de Saint-Gilles is imposing, dominating the streets of the neighbourhood. It is old and outdated. It is condemned. In 3 years it will close. Edith Cavell was here before she was taken to the firing line. It was almost as difficult to enter as for an inmate to get out.

It seemed strange ringing the doorbell of a prison almost like Gandalf finding the right word to open the great dwarf Doors of Durin. A little door in a big gate leading to another.Another bell to be pressed, another door opening remotely from the interior. Thus we started the process of getting into the prison.
A man behind a glass screen, no friendly greeting. We handed in our identity cards. Nothing untoward in this. For David and I it was a slight problem as the glass screen only barked in french, well maybe flemish too but we did not test that. Returned was a photocopy and a number. It was the number of a locker, the receptacle for everything electronic and metallic. We survived.

It is general practice in Belgium for women to be known by their maiden name on official documents throughout their life. Since I was so old when we arrived in the country and all my other legal documents were in my married name we managed to be allowed an exception. However one of our party, much younger, I must add followed the local customs for official dealings and english customs for all other matters such as introducing herself to friends and church. Church had the wrong surname on the prospective list of carol singers. That was a problem for the glass screen. Sally is a very friendly person with a big smile, a big heart and fluent french. But Sally is not Sally she is Sarah. Not only is her ID card in her maiden name it has also the official name of Sarah. Two wrong names for one person and one card. Definitely suspicious. Higher authorities had to be appealed to. Fortunately the one ID number for the two people was sufficient for the nod from The Director.

Across the gateway to the metal detector. Here we caught up with Lynda who was in a state of undressing. Coat off, jacket off, shoes off. Maybe the little earrings. Every time she took off a layer the alarm rang. The next layer would render her indecent not that there was metal in those items of clothing. The worst thing was that the prison officers seemed to be treating us with suspicion rather than as an assorted group of churchgoers about to sing to those in captivity.
It was the pin in the wrist causing the problem. A necessity after a bicycle fall in the summer.

Eventually we were all in. We sang. They listened. They clapped. They sang with us. They clapped as we sang. They smiled as we sang. We chatted. We went our separate ways. Them behind the locked doors, us onto the snowy streets. I remember their smiles. I hope they remember the love of Jesus whihc took us there on the winters night.


Coincidence?
I was thinking that I would like to write about this incident. We read the Lectionary for today which is my usual source for a verse. It was there waiting for me.

Photograph http://www.brusselspictures.com/2009/06/16/prison-de-saint-gilles/