The Hangman Cometh

by Peter Jarvis

The cell door slammed shut like a deathly knell

How long to live: only time will tell

The condemned man now sits silently alone

Stares at the four grey walls that's now his home

Beside him, in the adjoining space,

Two prison officers stand with a solemn grace.
Specially selected for this unique part
To bridge the chasm, heart to heart.

With each shift, they weave a thread,
Through whispered words and things unsaid.
Do they confront the looming fate,
Or let the elephant in the cell silently wait?

A final visit brings a rapid tear
A last embrace, a hidden fear
A priest arrives, final rites to give,
For in this moment, he prays to live.

The hangman, with his measured gaze,
Calculates the drop, the final phase.
Yet in this dance of life and death,
The staff sees more than a final breath.

Do they see the man, the soul within,
The story etched upon his skin?
A murderer, yes, but human still,
A heart that beats, a mind with will.

As the days pass, bonds are formed,
In shared silence, a friendship warmed.
Two friendly staff faces, always bearing a smile
Never judgmental not a hint of bile.

How does one live with borrowed time

When soon he will see his last daytime

The prisoner torn by guilt and remorse

Must allow the hangman to complete the course

Then, like a thunderbolt, news arrives,
The sentence suspended a life survives.
The Home Secretary’s reprieve descends,
A twist of fate, a chance begins.

For in the near death’s chilling embrace,
The ravages of time now visible on his face
The staff, with hearts both light and torn,
Will eventually witness the final deathly dawn

In the fragility of life, they also see

One wrong step and this could be me
They feel the burden of their eventual mortality,
A sense of hope for all humanity

Redemption, a path to tread,
In seeking peace for a life once led.
For in the shadow of death’s decree,
A soul finds hope, a chance to be.

And so, in this fragile dance of fate,
A story unfolds, intricate and great.
For in the knowing of life’s end,
A chance to heal, to mend, to transcend.

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The substance of this poem is entirely true. I joined the British Prison Service in 1974 and there I encountered a prisoner who received the death penalty in the early sixties. He spent about two weeks in the death cell before the then Home Secretary commuted his sentence to life. one day I engaged him in a conversation about his time in the death cell. Although 50 years have now elapsed the above accurately reflects our conversation. After all these years I still remember his words.

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The condemned prisoner waits and waits

The Hangman Cometh

by Peter Jarvis

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