SOLITARY CONFINEMENT

                                             A Scary Room

 Port Arthur, Tasmania, Australia, operated 47-years (1830-1877) as a prison and never was a town. On the way to Port Arthur we rode through rolling hills and farmland passing by Barilla Bay, famous for its oysters. Stopping at the Tasmania Devil Park I saw and learned all about the small, black, rather ugly Tasmanian Devil.

     Port Arthur, located on the isolated Tasman Peninsula, was just as much a natural prison as Alcatraz was in this country. Surrounded by hungry sharks, the peninsula is connected to the mainland only by  100-yard wide Eagleneck Neck. Guarded by chained angry dogs it made escape nearly impossible. All deliveries to the prison were made by boat as the road overland from Hobart, the capitol, was not built until 1893.

     Of the 73,000 English convicts sent to Australia, 12,500 of the worst offenders were sent to Port Arthur. Originally established as a timber settlement there were no permanent buildings for three years. Although the conditions at Port Arthur were brutal, the prison was progressive. All convicts were gainfully employed in one of 47 trades.  Young boys were required to attend school at a time before education was mandatory.

     Whipping punishment in front of the entire prison complement was replaced with solitary confinement.  The small windowless concrete walled room was  totally dark. The approximate  

6 X 6 –foot room left little space even for exercise. Claustrophobic me took my turn entering the room. It wasn’t ten seconds after the door was shut that I was yelling, “Open the door NOW and let me out.”  It wouldn’t take long to go mad, and so many prisoners actually did that a psychiatric building had to be built.

    Today the whole area is peaceful.  The visit was very interesting, but the solitary confinement was dark and scary indeed.  What would those walls say if they could talk?

AIRPORT ENVCOUNTER

    A  HUGE  EMBARRASSMENT

            On my first trip to Europe years ago, long before I was smart enough to travel light, I did a fair amount of shopping. The night before we were coming home I’d carefully repacked putting all my breakables into my carry-on duffel bag along with all my dirty laundry.

            At that time I did not know leaded glass showed up as a blob in the scanner. We were leaving through London’s Heathrow Airport . Since I’d checked my major bag, I expected no problem getting through the scanner.

            HOWEVER. A very sweet middle aged man asked if the duffel was mine. When I confirmed it was he asked permission to check its contents. Without thinking I said, “Sure.” Like there could be any other response but an affirmative one.

            As he unzipped the bag I was horrified to  remember the bag’s contents.

As he pulled out one piece of clothing after another I sheepishly told him, “I’m so sorry. All my dirty laundry is in there. I’m so sorry.”

            This was in the days before gloves when I probably would have picked stuff up by the corner with two fingers and made a face each time. He was most pleasant—and professional—saying it was no problem.

            When he found the crystal bowls I’d bought for my sister he remarked, “Ah, here it is.” Then he explained to me how the lead shows as a blob, and there is no way to know what it is. Not that I looked like a bomber, but they needed to be careful.

            I’ve never forgotten that embarrassing experience, but it has not stopped me from buying something if I want it. Now if I’m stopped I just ask what they’re looking for and if I knowingly have such items I’ll give directions as to where in the carry-on it is located and what it is. This speeds things along and I’m shortly on my way.