Purgatory (A Prison Diary 2)

‘Why would anyone do that?’ I ask.

‘Because, for some of them, this is the only place that guarantees three meals a day, a bed and someone to talk to. You’ve got a good example on your wing. Out last month, back inside this month. Robbed an old lady of her bag and then immediately handed it back to her. He even hung around until the police arrived to make sure he was arrested.’

I think I know the prisoner she’s referring to, and make a mental note to have a word with him. Our hour is drawing to a close, so I ask if she will stick with it.

‘Yes. I’ve been in the service for ten years and, despite everything, it has its rewards. Mind you, it’s changed a lot during the last decade. When I first joined, the motto emblazoned on our notepaper used to read, Advise, Assist and Befriend. Now it’s Enforcement, Rehabilitation and Public Protection; the result of a massive change in society, its new-found freedom and the citizen’s demands for safety. The public doesn’t begin to understand that at least thirty per cent of people in prison shouldn’t be locked up at all, while seventy per cent, the professional criminals, will be in and out for the rest of their lives.’

There’s a knock on the door. My hour’s up, and we haven’t even touched on the problem of drugs. Mr Chapman enters carrying two bundles of letters. Lisa looks surprised.

‘That’s only the first post’ Mr Chapman tells her.

‘I can quite believe it,’ she says. ‘My parents send their best wishes. My father wanted you to sign one of his books, but I told him it would be most unprofessional.’ I rise from my place. ‘Good luck with your appeal,’ she adds, as we shake hands. I thank her and return to my cell.

12 noon

Lunch: macaroni cheese and diet lemonade. I hate lemonade, so I spend some considerable time shaking the bottle in an effort to remove the bubbles. I have a considerable amount of time.

1.45 pm

Mr Chapman warns me that I will not be able to go to the gym this afternoon as I have to attend a CARAT (Counselling, Assessment, Referral, Advice and Through-care) meeting on drugs. This is another part of my induction. Despite the fact I’ve never touched a drug in my life, I can’t afford to miss it. Otherwise I will never be moved from this filthy, dank, noisy wing. Naturally I comply.

2.00 pm

I try to pick up my books and notepads from reception only to be told by Mr Meanwell (a man who regularly reminds me ‘Meanwell is my name, and mean well is my nature’) that I can’t have them because it’s against prison regulations. All notepads and pens have to be purchased from the canteen and all books ordered through the library, who buy them direct from Waterstone’s.

‘But in Belmarsh they allowed me to have two notepads, two packets of pens and any number of books I required sent in, and they’re a maximum-security prison.’

‘I know,’ says Meanwell with a smile. ‘It’s a damn silly rule, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’

I thank him. Many of the senior officers know only too well what’s sensible and what isn’t, but are worried that if I receive what could be construed as special treatment it will be all over the tabloids the following morning. The rule is enforced because books, pads and pens are simply another way to smuggle in drugs. However, if I’m to go on writing, I’ll have to purchase these items from the canteen, which means I’ll need to cut down on Spam and Weetabix.

2.40 pm

I’ve been writing for about an hour when I am called to the CARAT meeting. Once again, eleven of us assemble in the room with the comfortable chairs. The CARAT representative is a young lady called Leah, who tells us that if we have any drug-related problems, she is there to advise and help. Leah reminds me of Mr Flintcroft, although she’s pushing an even larger boulder up an even steeper hill.

I glance around the room at the other prisoners. Their faces are blank and resigned. I’m probably the only person present who has never taken a drug. The one comment Leah makes that catches the prisoners’ attention is that if they were to have a period on D wing, the drug-free wing, it might even help with their parole. But before Leah can finish her sentence a ripple of laughter breaks out, and she admits that it’s possible there are even more drugs on D wing than on A, B or C. Drug-free wings in most prisons have that reputation.

When Leah comes to the end of her eight-minute discourse and invites questions, she is greeted with silence, the same silence Mr Flintcroft experienced.

I leave, feeling a little more cynical. Drugs are the biggest problem the Prison Service is currently facing, and not one prisoner has a question for the CARAT representative, let alone attempts to engage her in serious debate. However, I am relieved to observe that two inmates remain behind to have a private conversation with Leah.

6.00 pm

Kit change. Once a week you report to the laundry room for a change of sheets, pillowcases, towels and gym kit. I now have six towels and include four of them in my weekly change. They are all replaced, despite each prisoner only being allowed two. However, they won’t replace my second pillowcase because you’re allowed only one. I can’t understand the logic of that.

You’re meant to wash your own personal belongings, but I have already handed over that responsibility to Darren, who is the enhanced wing’s laundry orderly. He picks up my bag of washing every Thursday, and returns it later that evening. He asks for no recompense. I must confess that the idea of washing my underpants in a sink shared with someone else’s dirty cutlery isn’t appealing.

6.30 pm

Supper. Unworthy of mention.

7.00 pm

Exercise. I walk round the perimeter of the yard with Darren and another inmate called Steve. Steve was convicted of conspiracy to murder. He is an accountant by profession, well spoken, intelligent and interesting company. His story turns out to be a fascinating one. He was a senior partner in a small successful firm of accountants. He fell in love with one of the other partners, who was already married to a colleague. One night, on his way home from work, Steve stopped at a pub he regularly frequented. He knew the barman well and told him that given half a chance he’d kill the bastard (meaning his girlfriend’s husband). Steve thought nothing more of it until he received a phone call from the barman saying that for the right price it could be arranged. The phone call was being taped by the police, as were several others that followed. It was later revealed in court that the barman was already in trouble with the police and reported Steve in the hope that it would help have the charges against him dropped. It seems the key sentence that mattered was, ‘Are you certain you want to go ahead with it?’ which was repeated by the barman several times. ‘Yes,’ Steve always replied.

Steve and his girlfriend were arrested, pleaded guilty and were sentenced to seven years. She currently resides at High-point, while he has gone from A- to B- to C-cat status in a couple of years (record time), and is now living on the enhanced wing at Wayland with D-cat status. He doesn’t want to move to an open prison because Wayland is near his home. He is also the prison’s chief librarian. I have a feeling that you’ll be hearing more about Steve in the future.

On the circuit round the perimeter we are joined by the prisoner I shared a cell with on my first night, Chris (stabbing with a Stanley knife). He tells me that the News of the World have been in touch with his mother and will be printing a story on Sunday. He tries to assure me that he has had no contact with them and his mother has said nothing.