[Derry to Long Kesh. I wouldn't want to…]

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Derry to Long Kesh. I wouldn't want to have to do it regularly, especially in a bus like most of the relatives.

There are no signposts to the prison, and we relied on the people with us to show us the way. We turned down a side road and someone said, "we're nearly there" • By slightly bizarre coincidence, a blue road sign with a large 'H' on it flashed by. It meant there was a hospital nearby.

We approached the prison and drove past the gun turrets into the car park.

Before we were allowed into the waiting room, we had to show our passes and passports. Given what the war in the North is about, the fact that we needed passports seemed more than a little ironic. I thought of pointing this out to the guard, but he didn't look as though he would see the joke.

Inside we sat until called up the corridor to a cubicle for a body search by two wardens. I was treated very civilly (perhaps because I was a 'Brit').

During this search they remove the contents of your pockets, though for some reason they give you your money back in a sealed envelope which is checked again on the way out when the rest of your possessions are returned.

After the search we walked on to the next waiting room. Occasionally a screw approached and called the names and numbers of a few more prisoners.

I was waiting, along with two of his friends from Derry, to meet Geno McCormick in H3. Eventually his name was called and we walked though the door to a waiting van.

We were crammed inside the blacked-out interior and the doors were locked. For a remarkably long time we were driven across the camp. You could peer through a scratched-out section of the blackout, but see frustratingly little.

The van stopped and a screw opened the door. He counted us and closed it again. We drove on. When we stopped again we were led, into another waiting room. This wait is the longest.

Eventually we were called. We went through to the visiting room in H3. Wooden partitions lined each side of the room. Screws marched up and down.

We walked over to Geno's cubicle. The first thing you notice is that the prisoners look well. They have recovered, physically at least, from the horrors of the years of blanket protest and the dirty protest.

Geno invited us to sit down at the table. He indicated three packets of crisps he had bought for us. It seemed strange taking crisps from a man who earns only f2 a week in prison wages.

You could not fail to be impressed by Geno's spirit. He smiled and joked throughout the visit. He told me that the situation in the prison has undoubtedly improved since the hunger strike.

Although they obviously nity', ', they believe that the prisoners should not be the focus they were.

Certainly significant concessions have been won. For example, the prisoners were all wearing their own clothes.

As Geno pointed out, one thing the prisoners do have plenty of is time, and they are using this for an education and propaganda drive.

None of this means that they are conforming. For example, while we were there they were planning an Easter march in the compound, to be followed by a cultural and educational evening of song and discussion. This would of course be punished by at least seven days loss of 'privilege and could also endanger their remission.

The half-hour visiting period seemed very short. It was no time before the visit was over.

Geno disappeared down a corridor on the other side of the room. We started off on the complicated business of getting out of the prison.

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seemea IT'S a long car drive from

don't want to be there, as long as they are treated with dig-