Liverpool FC Fan Michael Shields: Bulgaria Jail Cell Ordeal for Teen

A file picture shows Liverpool soccer team supporter Michael Shields speaking with journalists at Varna prison. It was announced on 09 September 2009 that Shields had been pardoned by British Justice Secretary Jack Straw. Photo by EPA/BGNES

From The Liverpool Echo (liverpoolecho.co.uk)

By Greg O'Keeffe

In my cell, I started to look through what was in the bag dad handed me. There was a Game Boy and he'd put an A4 pad in, too. I wrote a few letters to my mum and the girls to fill time, and then played on the Game Boy until the batteries began to fade.

I still wasn't feeling hungry and knew I'd lost weight. I tried to distract myself any way possible during the day. The radio was on constantly, but I didn't understand a word the DJ said. Now and then I'd recognise the odd song, but otherwise it was just background noise.

At night we were allowed to watch a TV which was marginally bigger than the palm of my hand. I gave up watching after a while and started to write down what had happened to me. I wanted to get as much of my experience as possible down on paper. I'd never kept a diary before but it felt good to get my thoughts down on paper.

...I found out from Anthony [Wilson, a Liverpool fan arrested at the same time as me] that he'd seen a newspaper which had a story about us on the front page, with a big photograph of us going into court.

That night another new person came into the cell. He recognised me immediately and could speak English. I was made up - it was someone to talk to. He asked me if I was guilty and I explained to him what had happened.

"Why are you in here?" I asked, pleased that he seemed to believe me.

He said he had been mistaken for someone who had been taking money from banks using fake ID. We got talking about the differences between Bulgaria and England. The prices of things like cars and houses.

"Money rules in Bulgaria," he said. "Money is number one. If you pay the person who gets hurt, then you go home."

It made me think. But why should I pay someone who I've done nothing to? I want to prove to people here that I haven't done anything wrong. He started to tell me he could get in touch with the waiter who was hurt if I wanted, but I told him that I'd be free as soon as the truth got out.One night particularly sticks in my mind from that time. I was just dozing off and I heard this horrible screaming from what sounded like a woman.

I tried to wake my cellmate up, but he just waved me off and turned back over saying it was a drunk gypsy woman they'd brought in. I couldn't get the sound of her screaming out of my head. She was getting beaten up badly and it took what seemed like ages. I wanted to do something but I couldn't. I didn't sleep much that night.

It amazed me how I slept at all in that place but I suppose your body just adjusts. I certainly had to adjust to some pretty grim things. Another night not long after I got to the detention centre I was starting to drift off. It was just after lights out and the cell was quiet except for the other prisoners' snoring.

Suddenly I felt things start to fall onto me from the ceiling. I hunched down into my thin blanket and tried to cover myself thinking it was a heavy drip, but it got heavier and heavier. I sunk lower and lower into the sheet until only the top of my head was sticking out, but felt more things fall on me. Then they started to move.

I reached for a book and started to whack at them wildly, panic building up inside. Then it stopped. After half an hour of laying there wide awake, nothing more fell on me. Somehow I fell asleep. It wasn't as if I could flick a light on to check what it was.

I awoke the next morning to find my sheets splattered with the blood of several huge cockroaches. The remains of the ugly black creatures, one of them the size of my hand, were all over my bed. I gagged. The other lads in the cell said they had often felt them crawling over them.

‘That's it. I'll never sleep again,' I thought. But I did. Even though the cockroaches came back from time to time, I managed to sleep.

My dreams of home were getting more and more realistic. Each time I'd wake up feeling more sad and lonely.

Sometimes I could barely believe I was in a cell when I woke up, the dreams were that vivid.

 

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