A Carol Service at HMP Huntercombe

This evening I attended a carol service at HMP Huntercombe that I suspect will stay with me for a very long time.

The hall was full – staff, prisoners and visiting volunteers – including Mark, Anne and me – gathered together in a way that felt both ordinary and quietly extraordinary. From the first moment there was a sense of shared attention and mutual respect that is hard to put into words.

HMP Huntercombe is a long-term training prison for adult men, and one of the most culturally and linguistically diverse establishments in the secure estate. That diversity was not incidental to this evening – it was its beating heart. In a place designed for custody and rehabilitation, voices so often unheard were given space, dignity and attention, reminding all of us that hope, faith and humanity do not disappear behind locked doors.

The lessons were read in the first languages of those reading them, so the story of the birth of Christ was heard afresh in Fijian, Romanian, Spanish, Pidgin and English. Each voice carried the same ancient message, shaped by different rhythms, sounds and histories, and made newly resonant by the context in which it was shared.

Traditional British carols were woven through the service alongside music from Romania, the Caribbean and Poland. One moment in particular will stay with me: a heartfelt rendition of Przybiezeli do Betlejem by a choir of Polish inmates. It was unshowy, sincere and deeply moving – the kind of singing that comes from somewhere well beyond performance.

At the heart of the service came an extraordinary moment of unity. The Lord’s Prayer was spoken aloud in unison, with everyone using their own language. The words overlapped and intermingled, creating a sound that was messy, beautiful and profoundly human – a living expression of community in all its complexity.

The Managing Chaplain, Revd Tina Molyneux, offered a message rooted in hope and in a deep belief in God’s love – a love that does not give up, does not write people off, and does not depend on circumstance or status. It was exactly the message the evening needed.

Music was also led by visiting women from the Christian Life Centre, whose joyful singing of “We’ve Come to Celebrate You, Lord” lifted the room. Afterwards, mince pies were shared by all present, generously provided by The Clink, the prison’s training restaurant – a small act of hospitality that felt quietly significant.

I will probably never have the opportunity to witness a carol service quite like this again. In a place defined by walls and routines, this was an extraordinary affirmation of faith, hope and shared humanity – and a reminder that even in the most secure of settings, light still finds a way in.