Audio Files Batch 1 [Start Transcript] Audio File 1 Date: April 12, 2019, 2:20 PM Audio quality: Poor .hhhhh Ready? This is to show Maxine I meant what I said. Audio File 2 Date: April 12, 2019, 2:24 PM Audio quality: Good That''s better. So. I''m speaking into my son''s old phone and will explain why in a little bit. I''m not used to it, so (.) When he first gave it to me I was convinced I''d never use it for anything other than speaking to Maxine and calling in sick. But that night I sat up till two o''clock [ DecipherIt TM time ref 52781277-0988837 ] I''ve played every record in his iTunes.

His idea. It was only the second time we''d met. He didn''t grow up with me, see. I never knew he existed till an acquaintance mentioned his mum''d had a kid. I put two and two together and made nine months. He would a been ten then. There''s so much to say, but I look at him across that table in Costa, his hair about to turn grey at the edges and tiny lines on his forehead. I think: How could my boy be so grown up? Everything slides clean out me head and we sit there in silence.

Finally, I mention how much I''m looking forward to meeting his wife and kids, seeing his house in Surrey and the posh university where he works. That''s when he gets a panicked look and bursts out he doesn''t want us to meet again. Perhaps the odd phone call. Keep in touch but not (.) So, he goes quiet and says we can FaceTime instead. I says isn''t this FaceTime? He asks to see the phone they gave me on release and when I show him he laughs and says it''s a burner, can''t do much with that. I say yeah, that''s the idea. He thinks for a bit and says have my old one.

He gets it out his car and in a few minutes his old phone was my new phone. Audio File 3 Date: April 12, 2019, 3:04 PM Audio quality: Good If I wanted to carry on as I had, there are lots of people I could have gone to. Even now, after all that went on, with the old crowd dead or inside, if I put the word out, I could be set up somewhere, doing something, in no time. But I won''t. Those days are over. Trouble is, on this side a the fence I don''t know a soul. Only Maxine and (.) only you, Maxine.

A lot changed for me in the last few years. And do you know what triggered it? I learned to read. Two youngsters come in. A boy and a girl. Just in their twenties. Claimed to have a whole new way to teach adults with literacy problems. Not easy. Most in that place had so many problems literacy was the least of ''em.

But these youngsters were so enthusiastic you couldn''t help but get carried along. Even the tough old fellows. And the young fellows who thought they were tough. They took our chairs away. Made us move round the room. Not like being slumped in front of a teacher, staring, trying to listen. They got us to play with big alphabet letters. It was nothing but strange at first.

Big gnarly old fellows playing like kids. Then a change happened. Words appeared. I could link them to sounds, meanings, in a way I never had at school. It was like I''d cracked a secret code. We all made progress thanks to them youngsters. I say progress, Kos of course, ignorance is bliss. Spanners realized one of his oldest tattoos was spelt wrong.

Smelly Bob finally understood the graffiti on his cell nameplate. But for me it opened a door where there''d always been a wall (.) That sounds like I escaped, but (.) suppose I did escape, in my head. Suddenly the library cart weren''t just where I bought me contraband. It were stacked with treasure waiting to be found. I read sentence after sentence. Couldn''t get enough of words.

Well, I had a lot of time to make up for. Before long I read a whole book from start to finish. Lord of the Flies . I was on top of the world. It meant I could read. Finally. I was. I could suddenly (.

) That''s when I started thinking I''d do THIS when I got out. And it got me through the last few years. All them kids running around wild on that island. Took me back, I suppose. Something nagged at me about missiles and what happened all those years ago. I read Animal Farm too, but it was all talking animals. Didn''t get to me like piggy and Ralph. Afterward I still had that feeling.

I''ve got it now. It''s always there. Nagging. Unfinished. Audio File 4 Date: April 12, 2019, 6:44 PM Audio quality: Good It''s a nuisance I don''t know how to listen back to these recordings after I''ve done ''em. Maybe they can help at the library (.) So I can read now much better, but writing is still tricky. When I discovered I can record my voice on my son''s old phone, just like the old dictating machines but no need for little cassettes, I decided I''d dictate this.

What is it? Diary? Project? Investigation? For Maxine. Something for me to do when I finish work at the end of the day. Keep me busy. Out of trouble. I want to make clear that although I couldn''t read, I weren''t as illiterate as some of ''em in there. Some wouldn''t know their own name if it were up in ten-foot flashing lights. Not me. I could recognize important words.

Steven Smith. Toilets. Gents. Men. Tickets. Exit. I''d pick out the shapes of the words rather than individual letters. We learn from the knowledge of others and reading is a big part of that for most people.

So if you can''t do it, there''s an assumption you must be stupid. Now, I may not be well read, but I know about the world. I''ve lived. I''ve had experiences and watched a lot of very interesting documentaries, especially over the last few years. I''d also like to say that I consider myself an articulate person. Verbally that is. I listen to what''s said. Not just hear.

Listen. I''ve heard just as many words as you''ve read, Maxine. And if you''ve heard a word once, you can use it yourself as often as you like from then on. For all those years I didn''t miss what I''d never had. Didn''t feel the need to read sentences. I could wing it. If I got caught out I''d say, oh I''ve lost my glasses, could you read it for me? It has its plus side too. Think about it.

If you need to remember something, you write it down. I couldn''t--and still can''t--but it means I remember things. My memory is much better than yours, I''ll bet. That''s why missiles plays on my mind, because there''s so much of that time I CAN''T remember. Or forgotten. Can''t remember. Forgotten. Or never knew.

Audio File 5 Date: April 13, 2019, 7:09 PM Audio quality: Good Been listening to my son''s playlist called CAR. None of the songs are about cars, so he must put this music on when he''s in his car. I think of him on that journey from Surrey to Uxbridge every day. Back again in the evening. I keep going to record my next bit but stop. I''ll do it now. I''ll start at the beginning but skip some bits you don''t want to (.) So I''ll say I was born in London on the very last day of 1968.

It never felt right to say I was born in sixty-eight because the year was all but over, and sixty-nine would be wrong because it wasn''t begun. I still explain it to this day. Funny. Similar thing. At school when they asked where do you live I said Girton House and they''d assume we lived way up in the sky. I''d have to say no: we live on the ground floor. We lived on the ground floor of a high-rise. See, some answers are (.

) sometimes the truth is misleading. I''m sure at one time there mustard been both my parents, my brother, and I in the flat, but I don''t remember it. When you''re that young, the home is scenery, I suppose, the heart. Everything safe, trusted, and right tricky to recall years later (.) Mum mustard left very early on (.) because she were hardly ever mentioned. Even now it feels funny saying the word out loud. When I said it just then, I got a feeling.

Of being lifted up from under me arms. Like whoever had hold a me would never let me go. Warm. Sweet .hhhhh (.) I''ve had the feeling before. It comes in a flash, most often when I get a whiff of certain old-fashioned perfumes. Talcum powder mixed with something else.

Is that her? Is there a memory of her in me chest after all? Or am I just feeling the (.) emptiness (.) We never had a camera so there were no photos of her. And seeing as my folks never got married, there were no wedding pictures either. Only once did I get me nerve up to ask Dad where Mum was. He said she''d run off with a fella just after I were born. She got a big house now, he said, happy she ain''t got you two on her hands. He meant Colin and me.

Then he smashed a bottle in the sink, slammed his way out the flat, and disappeared for two days. I never mentioned it again. Don''t remember the exact day Dad left for good. He''d come and go at the best a times. But it were after the Silver Jubilee and before the garbage strikes. Temporary barmaid down the local swept him off his feet, Colin shrugged as he told me. Can''t blame him, Steve, you can be a proper little s [EXPLICIT] t sometimes and she''s got a nice, clean flat up north. From then on, Colin looked after me.

I say that. He took washing down to the laundromat and stuck a pot a beans on the stove every now and then, but he didn''t talk much. Eleven years older than me. When I think of him I remember the seventies. And vice versa. Flares. Long hair. The Boomtown Rats on Top of the Pops.

He''d watch TV in the chair by the electric fire. In his nylon shirt and tank top. If we could''ve afforded to switch it up he would''ve gone up like a rocket. Browns, oranges, yellows, greens all clash.