Chapter 3

A concert extempore was drawing to an end in
the basement of Mountjoy Prison. It was odd
to hear music and song there because the men
locked away down there were deprived of
everything possible except the bare
necessities of jail. They had no mail, no
visits, no association, no recreation, no
smokes, no sweeties, no radio, no television
and no musical instruments. Such was the
nature of the punishment that the prisoners
in the Base were forbidden to go into the
wood yard and saw up huge trees, by hand,
into lumber for firewood. It was better to
keep a man isolated than have him sweat in
the company of his peers according to the
powers who determine such grave matters.
Morale in the Base was high and time passed
just the same as it did in the prison above.

A raspy Dubliner's voice, of great
character and determination, floated out
from a cell door peephole and filled the

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dusty Base. The voice was helped along its
way by a toilet roll inner which was stuck
through the peephole and was being used as a
crude megaphone. It was surprisingly
effective and all the other men on
punishment could hear Bonkie very clearly.
Bonkie was addressing his audience in a
number of different voices. He was a natural
at picking up accents and used his talent to
slag the screws and porkers mercilessly. He
adopted an American accent of the deep
south.
"And now all you folk the time has come
for the star of our show here in Memphis.
It's the one and only. It's the King."
Bonkie played a couple of the King's
well-known hits on his comb using a bit of
paper. He broke into a very good imitation
of the King's voice, husky and emotional. In
the cell Bonkie was twisting and wriggling
his leg, gyrating his hips, getting into
full swing. He sang his own words, as he had

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