Book Review: An Irish prison officer considers his career

Retired prison officer David McDonald’s book tells a compelling story in a measured and matter of fact way. Picture: Dylan Vaughan

• Unlocked: An Irish Prison Officer’s Story
• David McDonald with Mick Clifford
• Sandycove, €13.99

The most surprising thing about this harrowing and intriguing workplace memoir is how measured and matter of fact a lot of it is. Though not as lively as Paul Howard’s The Joy or as intense as John Lonergan’s The Governor, it is a slowburner that ultimately satisfies. McDonald remains composed and even a little dispassionate for much of the narrative. He describes grim situations in an understated way. His shrewdness quickly becomes apparent, and we soon realise that this is the story of a highly competent prison officer. He emerges as calm, logical, pragmatic and intuitive. He is decisive and dynamic.

He and his co writer Mick Clifford never resort to purple prose. There are no histrionics and I suspect no embellishment. This book is contemplative but still very revealing. Eventually it becomes more personal, and it then acquires real anger and intensity.

Unlocked is a meditation on the necessity of adjusting to the realities of your environment. There’s a toughness everywhere here, a robust pragmatism. There is stubbornness when required, even intransigence. He recounts in detail a seemingly endless war of attrition with prisoners. In some ways this is an elaborate game with some morale boosting victories but also some embarrassing setbacks. The aim above all is to maintain the status quo. McDonald argues that the problems posed often necessitate a cold, hard response. In his considered way he takes us through some fraught situations. There is not a shred of sentimentality shown, but he is clearly extremely invested.

His competence doesn’t go unnoticed and his career quickly progresses. Initially at Mountjoy, he learns to cope with the notoriously febrile atmosphere there. After working with AIDS victims, he comes to the rueful realisation that “some things can’t be left at the prison gate”. This could easily serve as the epigraph to this memoir.

He eventually moves to Portlaoise and then The Midlands Prison but the highlight of his career is clearly working for the Operational Support Group (OGS). Security now became even more central, the adage “In God we trust, everyone else we search” applying. Cell searches were increased, and became more thorough. The breaking up of the prison gangs gaining a foothold became a priority. Punishment and control rather than rehabilitation clearly the focus here.

McDonald is not slow to express his views on the Irish prison service. He also delivers plenty of surprising anecdotes on infamous Irish criminals. His encounters with John Gilligan, Christy Kinihan, Dutchy Holland, and Dessie O’Hare are described with an appealing candour. His chapter on the bizarre incident when Portlaoise prisoner John Daly rang Joe Duffy’s radio programme Liveline is amusing, but also insightful on the repercussions for the prison service. The transcript of the phone call included here reminds what a surreal and peculiarly Irish encounter that was.

The story of the breakdown in the relationship between McDonald and prison management gives the book a different focus. His writing becomes more forceful, more emphatic. By the time he is transferred back to Portlaoise in 2016, disillusionment has set in. The continued “resistance to change” infuriates him. When he is transferred yet again — back to The Midlands — he is adamant that it is a punishment posting. When he describes his inevitable exit, the tone is understandably sombre. His disaffection notwithstanding, he gives us a lot to ponder here.