Purgatory (A Prison Diary 2)

‘Once you’ve settled in North Sea Camp, contact Doug. He’s the hospital orderly, and can fix anything for you.’ I try to thank Darren - inadequately.

The Group 4 guard who will accompany me to Lincolnshire introduces himself as Andrew and kindly carries two of the plastic bags out to the van, so I don’t have to make several journeys. To my surprise, I’m to travel to my D-cat in a sweatbox, as if I were a rapist or a murderer. Andrew explains that he has to drop off another prisoner on the way, who is being transferred to a C-cat near Stamford.

‘Why are you taking someone from one C-cat to another?’ I enquire.

‘We’re having to move this particular prisoner every few days,’ Andrew explains. ‘He keeps telling everyone that he’s a supporter of Osama bin Laden, and it seems that not every other prisoner is in favour of freedom of speech. However, it still remains our responsibility to keep him alive.’

On the journey to Stamford, the bin Laden supporter demands that the radio be turned up. Andrew tells him that it’s quite loud enough already, for which I am grateful, as it’s a long, slow trek across Norfolk and on to the plains of Lincolnshire.

I enjoy seeing tall trees and acres of green English countryside, even though it’s through a glass darkly. We arrive at the ‘bin Laden’ prison, where my cohabitant departs. He’s handcuffed and led away. I can just glimpse him through my little window. A round, colourful hat covers his head, and a black beard obscures most of his face.

We move off again, but it’s another hour before I see a signpost: North Sea Camp, one mile. I begin to think about starting all over again. I’m somewhat fearful. Belmarsh was hell, Wayland purgatory. Have I finally arrived in heaven?

When the van comes to a halt outside the prison, the first thing I notice is that there are no perimeter walls, no razor wire, no barred gates, no arc lights, no dogs, not even any sign of a prison officer. But when I step out of the van, I still feel the terror that gripped me on the first day at Belmarsh, and then again on my arrival at Wayland.

I walk into reception to be greeted by Regimental Sergeant Major Daff, Royal Marines (Rtd).

‘We’ve been waiting for you for fuckin’ months, Archer. What fuckin’ took you so long?’