HILARY has been writing to her penpal for some years. He is 20 years younger than her "quiet, shy and very nice", she says, and they enjoy something akin to a mother son relationship. But Hilary's friend is no ordinary penpal - he is on death row in Ohio, awaiting execution by the state.

Hilary Hughes is one of more than 100 Irish people who write to prisoners on death row. They make contact through a group called Lifelines Ireland, a branch of an international network which describes itself as "a voluntary, apolitical organisation, whose members offer friendship to women and men on death row in the US and the Caribbean".

Hilary's correspondence began when she found herself with three grown up children at a hiatus in her life. "I found myself particularly thinking of people who had done things that they regretted but couldn't go back on when I saw a letter in the newspaper from Lifelines asking for volunteers. As a Christian I had always opposed the death penalty, believing it wrong to kill under any circumstances. Lifelines struck a chord and I made contact."

Members of Lifelines must be over 8 years, says Audrey Kaufman, chairwoman of Lifelines, but aside from that there are no restrictions. Two thirds of the Irish members are women ("Well, who does the letter writing in your household?" she asks).

The contact means an enormous amount to a death row prisoner. "A lot of them don't have anybody once they go in. Family and friends disappear; nobody wants to know them. Somebody who cares enough to write regularly can make an enormous difference to their lives."

What is perhaps more surprising is that correspondents usually find their lives are greatly enriched too. Louise McElduff has been writing to four different prisoners for the past two years. "I have gained an enormous amount, just as I have from other friendships in my life," she says. Hilary Hughes agrees. "It has led to all sorts of new experiences - travelling to the US, meeting new people, speaking in front of an audience, even doing a newspaper interview like this. But most of all there's his friendship - a unique relationship in my life."

Audrey Kaulnan points to how it has made her appreciate her own freedoms. "Today I was down at the sea and I thought of my friends I could see the waves, smell the salt and felt so grateful that I'm not in a box waiting to die.

So what sort of things do they write to these strangers whose background, culture and life experience is so different from their own? "That's the question that you're always asking yourself at the beginning," Audrey says. "What does he or she want to hear, what will I write about? They just want to know how life goes on outside prison, that you get wet, go shopping, go to parties. They might be interested in Ireland and what goes on here. It's like when you're in hospital - you love to have visitors who tell you what's going on in the outside world."

The level of commitment varies among members. Audrey spends at least an hour a night writing letters, as well as many more hours on a Saturday, not to mention her work as the organisation's chairwoman and as editor of the newsletter. Hilary writes a little day by day on her computer and prints it off at the end of the week. Audrey and Louise write to four different prisoners each, Hilary to one. Louise is shortly to do a parachute jump to raise funds for the organisation.

At any level, it is a commitment which cannot be taken lightly, Louise says. You can't start screwing up people's lives by taking on something like this flippantly and not following through. If a person can't continue writing for whatever reason it's important to tell Lifelines, who will arrange another correspondent to pick up where they left off."

Some relationships are deeper than others. Louise writes to four prisoners but is particularly close to one - a young man of Irish descent - and she met his grandparents recently when they visited Dublin. Hilary has travelled to the US to visit her friend.

"I thought I would be nervous but I wasn't," she says. "He looked just like his picture and we talked for hours. That first visit was just for a day, but the last time I went over we spent five whole days talking nonstop, from 8 a.m. to, 3 p.m. every day."

Her friend has recently been given his execution date. "If you're writing to somebody on death row that's always there at the back of your mind," she says. "Now that it's happened, I'm Just taking it day by day. I know I'll be devastated afterwards just as I would if any other friend died but for now I'll be as protective and as useful as I can.

LIFELINES offers friendship only, not political protest. And definitely not romance, Louise says. "Lifelines is not for voyeurs or romantics," she insists. "When a guy is locked away in a cell and he has this woman writing to him, he could well start fantasising. It's important to be careful when writing, to be sensitive.

And important not to have rose tinted glasses, says Hilary. "Our penpals are on death row because they have been convicted of capital crime. Some may be innocent, others are not. You don't ignore that but you try to get past it, to be somebody they can trust.

"Big issues which grab other people like abuse or starvation feel too big for me, she says. "I would feel my effort was lost in such a big struggle. But this is one on one and I can see for myself what a difference it has made."

Lifelines Ireland can be contacted at 23, Raglan Road, Ballsbridge, Dublin 4, tel: 01-6689903.