Heaven: A Prison Diary Part 14

'They'll all want to be home by four.'

12 noon Linda checks her books and tells me that NSC had a turnover of just over a thousand prisoners during 2001, so after eleven weeks, I'm already something of an old lag.

6.00 pm Mary and I usually invite eight guest to dinner at the Old Vicarage on New Year's Eve.

This year I'll have to settle for a KitKat, a gla.s.s of Ribena and hope that Doug and Clive are able to join me.

DAY 167 - NEW YEAR'S DAY 2002 6.00 am The camp is silent, so I begin to go over volume one of these diaries. Reading through those early days when I was so distressed, I can't believe how much I have made myself forget. And this has become even more p.r.o.nounced since my appointment as hospital orderly, where I have everything except freedom and the daily company of my wife, family and friends; a punishment in itself, but not purgatory and certainly not h.e.l.l.

10.00 am Mr New drops into the hospital to say his farewells. He leaves NSC tonight and will, on 8 January, change his uniform for a suit, when he becomes a governor at Norwich Prison. He's taught me a great deal about good and evil during the past three months.

6.00 pm I miss my wife, I miss my family and I miss my friends. The biggest enemy I have to contend with is boredom, and it's a killer.

For many prisoners, it's the time when they first experiment with drugs. To begin with, drugs are offered by the dealers for nothing, and when they demand more, in exchange for a phonecard and an ounce of tobacco or cash, and finally, when they're hooked, they'll give anything for a fix including their life.

Tonight, the Lincolnshire constabulary informed sister that a former prisoner called Cole, who left NSC six weeks ago, has been found under a hedge in a quiet country lane.

He died from an overdose.

Happy New Year.

DAY 168 - WEDNESDAY 2 JANUARY 2002.

6.00 am I continue to edit A Prison Diary Volume One Belmarsh: h.e.l.l.

10.00 am Mr Berlyn drops in to tell me that he already has plans for my CSV work should my sentence be reduced, and this even before the date of my appeal is known. He wants me to work in an old-age pensioners' home, as it will be out of sight of the press. He also feels I would benefit from the experience. I had hoped to work in the Red Cross shop in Boston, but Mr Berlyn has discounted that option after Maria brought in, without permission, some books for me to sign before Christmas to raise money for their Afghanistan appeal. The Rev Derek Johnson, the prison chaplain, has been to see him to plead their case, explaining that he is in the forgiveness and rehabilitation business. Mr Berlyn's immediate retort was, 'I'm in the punishment and retribution business.' He must have meant of prisoners; I can't believe he wishes to punish a hard-working, decent woman trying to run a Red Cross shop.

4.50 pm Linda looks very tired. She's worked twentyone of the last twenty-four days. She tells me that she's going to apply for a job in Boston.

My only selfish thought is that I hope she doesn't leave before I do.

8.00 pm Doug turns up at the hospital for his nightly bath and to watch television. He's now settled into his job as a driver, which keeps him out of the prison between the hours of 8 am and 7 pm. I wonder if, for prisoners like Doug, it wouldn't be better to rethink the tagging system, so he could give up his bed for a more worthy candidate.

DAY 169 - THURSDAY 3 JANUARY 2002.

7.30 am Morning surgery is packed with inmates who want to sign up for acupuncture. You must report to hospital between 7.30 and 8 am in order to be booked in for an eleven o'clock appointment. Linda and Gail are both fully qualified, and 'on the out' acupuncture could cost up to 40 a session. To an inmate, it's free of charge, as are all prescriptions.

The purpose of acupuncture in prison is twofold: to release stress, and to wean you off smoking. Linda and Gail have had several worthwhile results in the past. One inmate has dropped from sixty cigarettes a day to three after only a month on the course. Other prisoners, who are suffering from stress, rely on it, and any prisoner who turns up for a second session can be described as serious.

However, back to the present. Eight inmates suspiciously arrive in a group, and sign up for the eleven o'clock session. They all by coincidence reside in the south block and work on the farm, which means that they'll miss most of the morning's work and still be fully paid.

At eight o'clock Linda calls Mr Donnelly on the farm to let him know that the morning's acupuncture session is so oversubscribed (two regular applicants, one from education and one unemployed) so she'll take the eight from the farm at four o'clock this afternoon. This means that they'll have to complete their day's work before reporting to the hospital. It will be interesting to see how many of them turn up.

9.00 am Young Ron (both legs broken) hobbles in to see the doctor. He's on the paper chase and has to be cleared as fit and free of any problems before he can be released at 8 am tomorrow. After the hospital, he still has to visit the gym, stores, SMU, education, unit office and reception. How will they go about signing out a man with two broken legs as fit to face the world? Linda comes to the rescue, phones each department and then signs on their behalf. Problem solved.

9.13 am When Dr Walling has finished ministering to his patients, he joins me in the ward. We discuss the drug problem in Boston, sleepy Boston, (population of around 54,000).

Recently Dr Walling's car was broken into.

All the usual things were stolen radio, tapes, briefcase but he was devastated by the loss of a box of photographic slides that he has built up over a period of thirty years.

Because he hadn't duplicated them, they were irreplaceable, and the theft took place only days before he was due to deliver a series of lectures in America. a.s.suming that it was a drug-related theft (cash needed for a quick fix), Dr Walling visited the houses of Boston's three established drug barons. He left a note saying that he needed the slides urgently and would pay a reward of 100 if they were returned.

The slides turned up the following day.

The true significance of this tale is that a leading doctor knows who the town's drug barons are, and yet the police seem powerless to put such men behind bars. Dr Walling explains that it's the old problem of 'Mr Big' never getting his hands dirty. He arranges for the drugs to be smuggled into the country before being sold to a dealer. Mr Big also employs runners to distribute the drugs, free of charge, mainly to children as they leave school unaccompanied, so that long before they reach university or take a job, they're hooked. And that, I repeat, is in Boston, not Chelsea or Brixton.

What will Britain be like in ten years' time, twenty years, thirty, if the police estimate that 40 per cent of all crime today is drug-related?

4.00 pm No one from the farm turns up for acupuncture.

7.37 pm Carl rushes in, breathless, to say a prisoner has collapsed on the south block. Linda went home two hours ago, so I run out of the hospital, to find Mr Belford and Mr Harman a few yards ahead of me.

When we arrive at the prisoner's door, we find the inmate gasping for breath. I recognize him immediately from his visit to Dr Walling this morning. I feel helpless as he lies doubled-up, clutching his stomach, but fortunately an ambulance arrives within minutes. A paramedic places a mask over the inmate's face, and then asks him some routine questions, all of which I am able to answer on his behalf name off doctor, last visit to surgery, nature of complaint and medication given. I'm also able to tell them his blood pressure, 145/78. They rush him to the Pilgrim Hospital, and as he failed his recent risk a.s.sessment, Mr Harman has to travel with him.

As Mr Harman is now off the manifest, we are probably down to five officers on duty tonight, to watch over 211 prisoners.

DAY 170 - FRIDAY 4 JANUARY 2002.

I finish editing Belmarsh, and post it back to my publishers.

8.00 am I leave the hospital to carry out my morning rounds. This has three purposes: first, to let each department head know which inmates are off work, second, in case of a fire, to identify who is where, and third, if someone fails to show up for roll-call, to check if they've absconded.

En route to the farm I b.u.mp into Blossom, who had one of the pigs named after him.

(See photo page 193.) Blossom is a traveller, or a gipsy as we used to describe them before it became politically incorrect. Blossom tells me that he's just dug a lamb out of the ice. It seems it got its hindquarters stuck in some mud which froze overnight, so the poor animal couldn't move.

'You've saved the animal's life,' I tell Blossom.

'No,' he says, 'he's going to be slaughtered today, so he'll soon be on the menu as frozen cutlets.'

12 noon I pick up my post from the south block. Although most of the messages continue along the same theme, one, sent from a Frank and Lurline in Wynnum, Australia is worthy of a mention, if only because of the envelope. It was addressed thus: Lord Jeffrey Archer Jailed for telling a fib Somewhere in England.

It is dated Christmas Day, and has taken only nine days to reach me in deepest Lincolnshire.

2.30 pm The main administration block has been sealed off. Gail tells me that she can't get into the building to carry out any paperwork and she doesn't know why. This is only interesting because it's an area that is off-limits to inmates.

Over the past few months, money and valuables have gone missing. Mr Berlyn is determined to catch the culprit. It turns out to be a fruitless exercise, because, despite a thorough search, the 20 that was stolen from someone's purse doesn't materialize.

Mr Hocking, the security officer in charge of the operation, found the whole exercise distasteful as it involved investigating his colleagues. I have a feeling he knows who the guilty party is, but certainly isn't going to tell me. My deep throat, a prisoner of long standing, tells me the name of the suspect. For those readers with the mind of a detective, she doesn't get a mention in this diary.

DAY 171 - SAt.u.r.dAY 5 JANUARY 2002.

7.30 am A prisoner from the south block checks into surgery with a groin injury. Linda is sufficiently worried about his condition to have him taken to the local hospital without delay.

Meanwhile she dresses his wounds and gives him some painkillers. He never once says please or thank you. This att.i.tude would be true of over half the inmates, and nearer 70 per cent of those under thirty. Although it's a generalization, I have become aware that those without manners are also the work shy amongst the prison population.

2.30 pm Among the thousands of letters I've received since I've been incarcerated, several are from charities that continue to ask for donations, signed books and memorabilia, and occasionally for a doodle, drawing, poem or even a painting. Despite my life-long love of art, the good Lord decided to place a pen in my hand, not a paintbrush. But I found an alternative when I came across Darren, an education orderly. Darren has already designed several imaginative posters and signs for the hospital. The latest charity request is that I should produce a sunflower, in any medium. I came up with an idea which Darren produces. (See overleaf.) DAY 172 - SUNDAY 6 JANUARY 2002.

8.00 am As it's Twelfth Night, I spend a couple of hours taking down my Christmas cards (1,712), and packing them up so I can hand them over to Will when he visits me this afternoon.

10.30 am Linda tells me that a nurse at the Pilgrim Hospital phoned urgently about the prisoner with the groin injury. An officer is dispatched immediately to keep an eye on him until he's safely back in his room at NSC. Not a bad idea to get yourself transferred to the local hospital if you plan to escape, but it's not that bright to ask a nurse where the exits are.

2.00 pm Will visits me, accompanied by my Christmas present. Neither he nor James have heard a word from their mother since she landed in Kenya. Will rea.s.sures me by suggesting she's either having a good time, or she's been eaten by a lion.

8.00 pm Doug arrives at the hospital with the news that five prisoners who were out on a town leave have failed to return. As none of them are murderers, only the local police will be alerted. If a murderer absconds, the Home Office has to brief the national press within twenty-four hours.

DAY 173 - MONDAY 7 JANUARY 2002.

North Sea Camp has been told to increase its bed s.p.a.ce. Now that almost every room has a TV set, the large television rooms can be converted into three dormitories, giving the prison another thirteen beds. I don't think this will go a long way to solving the problem of overcrowding in prisons.

11.00 am When Mr Berlyn drops into the hospital, Linda tells him that she's applying for a job at the coroner's office in Boston. He a.s.sures me later that he doesn't believe she'll ever leave. He seems surprised, and frowns when I tell him that she's already completed an application form.

He then reveals that, of the five prisoners who failed to check back in by seven the previous evening, two turned up late and will be in front of the governor this morning, two were caught drunk in an amus.e.m.e.nt arcade in Skegness and have already been shipped out to Lincoln, where they'll complete their sentence with a further twenty-eight days added, and one is still on the run.

'It can't be worth it,' I declare when discussing the absconders with Jim (antiques only) over lunch.

'It may not be worth it for you, Jeffrey, but we don't know their domestic situation. Has the wife run away with his best mate? Are the children OK? Are they all being turfed out of their home? Are they...'

I agree with Jim. I can't begin to imagine such problems.

DAY 174 - TUESDAY 8 JANUARY 2002.

10.00 am HM PRISON SERVICE.

RACE RELATIONS.

POLICY STATEMENT.

The Prison Service is committed to racial equality. Improper discrimination on the basis of colour, race, nationality, ethnic or national origins or religion, is unacceptable, as is any racially abusive or insulting language or behaviour on the part of any member of staff, prisoner or visitor, and neither will be tolerated.17 This statement is publicly displayed in every prison in England, and I must admit that I have never witnessed an officer showing any racial prejudice at any time. On the contrary, I have witnessed several prisoners play the race card to their advantage.

'You're only saying that because I'm black...'

'You're picking on me because I'm a Muslim...'

Unfortunately, I've not seen a black or Asian officer at either Wayland or North Sea Camp, otherwise I might have tried, 'You're only picking on me because I'm white...'

Can you name one country on earth that has a race relations policy to protect the whites? Certainly not Zimbabwe, which is in the headlines again today. I mention this only because a circular was sent to all departments today, which clearly shows how seriously the Prison Service takes minority rights.

12 noon Mr Belford drops into the hospital and reports a conversation he heard between two elderly ladies standing at a bus stop in Boston: First lady: 'Did you see Jeffrey Archer in the pub last night?'

Second lady: 'No, I thought he was in jail.'

First lady: 'No, he's down at our local almost every night, drinking pint after pint, before he's driven back to the prison by his chauffeur in a Rolls Royce.'

Second lady: 'It's a disgrace.'

The officer pointed out to the ladies that I have never once left the NSC since the day I arrived, and I don't drink.

'That's what you think,' came back the immediate reply.

DAY 175 - WEDNESDAY 9 JANUARY 2002.

5.14 am I wake and consider the future.

Everything rests on the result of my appeal. I currently have a four-year sentence.

In present circ.u.mstances, a.s.suming I remain a model prisoner, I'll serve two, subject to my parole board report being positive, which means I will be released on 19 July 2003.

However, I am appealing against sentence and conviction, and if my conviction is overturned, then I'll be released the same day. If not, all will depend on my sentence being reduced. If the three appeal judges were to lower my sentence from four years to three, I would no longer be subject to the parole board, and would be eligible for automatic release in eighteen months. If my record remains unblemished, I will be released on a tag two months before that, after sixteen months on 17 November 2002. Ten months' time. If the appeal court judges reduce my sentence to two years, I will be released on 17 May, which is only another four months. If my sentence is reduced to the common length for perjury, i.e. eighteen months, I will be released on 17 March in six weeks' time.

Perhaps now you can understand why I am so anxious about my appeal, and wait daily to hear from the courts when I will appear before them.

10.00 am A trainee nurse joins us. Simon will spend three weeks at NSC on secondment from the Pilgrim Hospital. He will quickly discover that prisoners are treated far better than the general public. At seven, you can pick up your paracetamol, aspirins, lozenges, mouthwash and prescribed medication. At nine, you can see the doctor, and you never have to wait for more than twenty minutes. At eleven, if you are stressed or want to give up smoking or come off drugs, you can attend an acupuncture course. At twelve, you can come back and get some more medication.

At two-thirty you can attend a talk on giving up smoking; nicotine patches are handed out when the talk is over. At four-thirty you can come back for more medication. After 5 pm, the orderly can supply aspirin or paracetamol to any prisoner who has a slip from an officer. If you are seriously ill, an ambulance will have you tucked up in the Pilgrim Hospital within the hour.

In any one day, a determined prisoner can spend hundreds of pounds of taxpayers' money, whereas in truth, I doubt if 10 per cent of them would visit a doctor 'on the out' and certainly wouldn't go to a chemist if it meant parting with a penny of their own cash. So what, our new intern will learn is that if you are ill, it's better to be in prison than an infirm old-age pensioner or a sick child.

DAY 176 - THURSDAY 10 JANUARY 2002.

1.15 pm Although the fire alarm is tested every day at one o'clock, today it sounds for a second time at one-fifteen. Security are carrying out a full-scale fire drill.

All staff, prison officers and inmates have to report to the farmyard, where we line up in separate pens. I go to the one marked hospital, and join Linda, Gail and Simon. On my left is north block one, on my right the lifers' unit a score of murderers gathered together.

Everyone from the governor to the most recently arrived inmate is on parade. We wait to be checked off by Mr Hocking, the senior security officer. It's the first time I've seen the whole community in one place, and it highlights how disproportionate the numbers of staff are to prisoners. This is fine in a D-cat where everything is based on trust, but would be impossible in closed conditions. If you had a fire drill in an A- or B-cat, you could only hope to carry it out spur by spur, in a C-cat perhaps block by block, unless you wanted a riot on your hands or a ma.s.s escape.

1.45 pm Two hundred and eleven prisoners, and thirty-eight staff (including clerical) return to work.

8.00 pm I watch Raiders of the Lost Ark. The last time I saw this film was with my two sons Will was then nine and James seven. It was produced by one of my oldest friends, Frank Marshall.18 DAY 177 - FRIDAY 11 JANUARY 2002.

6.03 am I'd like to bring you up to date on a couple of matters you may wish to have resolved.

Six prisoners have absconded in the past ten days, and I have already accounted for five of them. But not McGeekin. McGeekin had a town visit, which allowed him to leave the prison at eight in the morning, as long as he reported back to the gate by seven the same night. He did not return, so the matter was placed in police hands. 'He's already back in custody,' the gate officer was informed by the local desk sergeant. He'd reported to his nearest police station and told them he wanted to be sent back to HMP Wayland in Norfolk, rather than return to North Sea Camp.

It's not uncommon for an inmate to want to return to the more regulated life of a closed prison. Some will even tell you they feel safer with a wall around them. Lifers in particular often find the regime of an open prison impossible to come to terms with.

After fifteen years of being banged up, often for twenty-two hours a day, they just can't handle so much freedom. Within hours of arriving, they will apply to be sent back, but are told to give it a month, and if they then still feel the same way, to put in a transfer application.

Frankly they'd have to drag me back to Wayland and I'd abscond rather than return to Belmarsh.

DAY 178 - SAt.u.r.dAY 12 JANUARY 2002.

10.00 am The hospital bath plug has been stolen which is a bit of a mystery, because it's the only bath in the prison available to inmates, so the plug can't be of much use to anyone else.

However, I have a reserve one, which makes me king, because I am now 'controller of the bath plug'. I will still have to make an application for a new one, which will mean filling in three forms and probably waiting three months.

2.00 pm The camp is playing football against the local league leaders. When our team runs out onto the pitch, I hardly recognize any of them. Mr Masters, gym officer and coach, points out that the rapid turnover of inmates has meant he's put fifty-four players on the pitch since the opening match of the season. That's something even Man United couldn't handle.