Heaven: A Prison Diary Part 21

By Sunday evening, he's sitting in first cla.s.s on a plane to Vienna (one card gone) where he books into a five-star hotel (second card).

He then hires a car, not with a credit card, but with cash, because he needs to travel across Europe without being apprehended.

He will then drive from Vienna to Rome, spending all the way, before returning to England in a car loaded with goods. He and his partner then take a short rest, before repeating the whole exercise.

Morris has several pseudonyms, and tells me that he can pick up a false pa.s.sport for as little as a thousand pounds. He intends to spend another ten years rising to the top of his profession before he retires to warmer climes.

'It's a beautiful way of life,' he says. 'I can tell you more, Jeffrey.'

But I don't want to hear any more.

11.45 am A prisoner comes in asking to see the doctor urgently. I explain that he left about an hour ago, and sister is over at the administration block, but he could see the doctor tomorrow.

He looks anxious, so I ask if I can help.

'I've just come back from home leave,' he explains, 'and while I was out, I had unprotected s.e.x, and I'd like to check that I haven't caught anything.'

'Did you know the girl?' I ask.

'I didn't know any of them,' he replies.

'Any of them?'

'Yes, there were seven.'

When I later tell sister, she doesn't bat an eyelid, just makes an appointment for him to see the doctor.

12 noon Among the new receptions today is a prisoner called Mitch.e.l.l (drink driving, three months). While I'm checking his blood pressure, he tells me he hasn't been back to NSC since 1968, when it was a detention centre.

'It's changed a bit since then,' he adds.

'Mind you, the hospital was still here. But before you saw the doctor, they hosed you down and shaved your head with a blunt razor, to make sure you didn't have fleas.'

'How about the food?' I ask.

'Bread and water for the first fortnight, and if you spoke during meals an officer called Raybold banged your head against the wall.'

I had to smile because I know one or two officers who'd still like to.

2.30 pm The director-general, Martin Narey, has issued a directive requiring all prison officers to address inmates with the prefix Mr. When an officer bellows across the car park, 'Get your f.u.c.kin' a.r.s.e over here, Archer,' I courteously point out to her that she must have missed the director-general's missive.

'I don't give a f.u.c.k about the director-general,' she replies, 'I'll f.u.c.kin' well call you what I like.'

One prisoner found an unusual way around this problem a few years ago. He changed his name by deed poll to Mister Rogers, but then he did have a twenty-year sentence.

3.00 pm If you work outside the prison, you can earn up to 300 a week, which allows you to send money back to your wife, partner and family, which you certainly can't do on the amount you are paid working inside. An added bonus is that some companies offer full-time work on release to any prisoner who has proved himself while in their employ.

Once you're qualified to work outside, you must first complete a month of CSV (Community Service Volunteer) work, partly as retribution, and also to prove you are both fit and safe to work in the community. Once this has been completed, you can then spend the rest of your sentence working outside, so that when you're released, in the best scenario, it's a seamless progression. In the worst ...

Mike was only a few weeks away from that seamless progression when two prison officers turned up at his place of work, and accompanied him back to NSC. It seems that a young lady who worked at the same factory could do nothing to deter his unrequited advances. Her mother also worked there, and reported him to the management. The management, quite rightly, were not willing to condemn the prisoner simply on the mother's word, and carried out their own investigation. A few days later they sent a full report to the prison governor.

Mike has subsequently been shipped out of NSC back to Lincoln Prison, a tough B-cat.

He was only a few weeks away from parole, and the factory had already offered him a full-time job on release. He has now lost his D-cat status, lost his job, lost his income and possibly lost any chance of parole.

I am reminded of Robin Williams's cla.s.sic remark: 'G.o.d gave man a p.e.n.i.s and a brain, but not enough blood to work both at the same time.'

DAY 314 - TUESDAY 28 MAY 2002.

Few prisoners turn down the opportunity to have weekly visits, or the chance to be tagged and released two months early. Gary is the rare exception.

Gary was sentenced to two years for theft of a motor vehicle (BMW), and because of good behaviour will only serve twelve months. But why does no one visit him, and why won't he take up his two-month tagging option and serve only ten months?

None of Gary's family or friends knows that he is in prison. His mother believes that he is working with his friend Dave on a oneyear contract on an oil rig in Mexican waters.

When he arrived in Mexico, Dave sent Gary a large selection of Mexican scenic postcards.

Gary pens a weekly card to his mother, sends it back to his friend Dave in Mexico, who then stamps it and forwards the missive to England.

Gary will be released next week, and seems to have got away with his little subterfuge, because Dave will fly back from Mexico on the same day, when they will meet up at Heathrow and return to Wolverhampton together. During the journey, Dave will brief Gary on what it's like to work and live on a Mexican oil rig.

Now that's what I call a friend.

DAY 316 - THURSDAY 29 MAY 2002.

North Sea Camp has five doctors who work a rota, and one of them, Dr Harris, is also responsible for the misuse of substances unit in Boston. Dr Harris arrives at the hospital today, accompanied by a male nurse. Nigel, who is in his early thirties and is dressed in a black T-shirt, blue jeans, with a ring in his ear, has come to visit me because he is currently working with young people aged twelve to nineteen who have a heroin problem. I can see why they would feel at ease with him.

Nigel explains that he can only work with youngsters who want to work with him. He listens to their questions, offers answers, but never judges. They've had enough of their parents telling them to grow up, behave themselves and find a job. He outlines the bare statistics they are terrifying.

There are currently 220,000 heroin addicts in Britain, of which only 3,000 (11 per cent) are involved in some form of detox programme. One of the problems, Nigel explains, is that if you apply to your local GP for a place on one of these programmes, the wait can be anything up to six weeks, by which time 'the client' has often given up trying to come off the drug. The irony is that if you end up in prison, you will be put on a detox programme the following day. Nigel knows of several addicts who commit a crime hoping to be sent to jail so that they can wean themselves off drugs. Nigel works directly with a small group of seven addicts, although he reminds me, 'You can't save anyone; you can only help those who want to help themselves.'

He then guides me through the problems the young are facing today. They start experimenting with cannabis or sniffing solvents, then progress to ecstasy and cocaine, followed by crack cocaine, ending up on heroin.

He knows several seventeen year olds who have experienced the full gamut. He adds ruefully that if the letter of the law were adhered to, seven million Britons would be in jail for smoking cannabis, as possession currently has a two-year tariff. A gramme of an A-cla.s.s drug costs about 40. This explains the ma.s.sive rise in street crime over the past decade, especially among the young.

The danger is not just the drugs, but also the needles. Often, drug users live in communes and share the same needles. This is the group that ends up with HIV and hepat.i.tis B and C.

Today, for example, Nigel has appointments with two girls addicted to heroin, one aged nineteen and the other seventeen, who both want to begin a detox programme. His biggest problem is their boyfriends, who are not only responsible for them being on drugs in the first place, but are also their suppliers, so the last thing they want is for their girlfriends to be cured of the craving. Nigel tells me that there is only a 50-50 chance they will even turn up for the appointment. And if they do, addicts on average make seven attempts to come off heroin before they succeed.

Nigel's responsibility is to refer his cases to a specialist GP so that they can be registered for a detox programme. He fears that too many addicts go directly to their own GP, who often prescribes the wrong remedy to cure them.

Nigel displays no cynicism as he takes me through a typical day in his life, and reminds me that he's not officially funded, something he hopes the NHS will sort out in the near future. He suddenly brings the problem down to a local level, highlighting the national malaise. Nigel has seven heroin addicts on his books, in a county that has 10,000 on the drug. It's not a chip, not a dent, not even a scratch, on the overall surface.

Nigel leaves me to keep his appointment with a seventeen-year-old boy who has, for the past four years, been visiting caravan sites so that he can feed his addiction; he cuts the rubber hose and sniffs calor gas.

He's not even breaking the law, other than by damaging property.

2.00 pm Gail is searching for a bed-board for a new inmate with a back problem. There are twelve boards out there somewhere. The problem is that once you've allocated them, you never get them back, because when an inmate is released, the last thing on his mind is returning a bed-board.

Gail calls the south block unit, only to discover that a replacement officer from Lincoln is holding the fort. She throws her hands in the air in despair, but nevertheless tells him about her problem. By cross-referencing with the prisoners' files, she can check those who are in genuine need, and those who have just come into possession of a bedboard by default. To her surprise, the officer returns an hour later accompanied by seven of the offending bed-boards.

I offer him a cup of coffee and quickly discover that his whole life is equally well organized. He tells me about work at Lincoln, and one sentence stops me in my tracks.

'I've developed a system that ensures I only have to work five months a year.'

The officer has been in the Prison Service for just over seven years, and has, along with five other colleagues, developed an on-off work schedule so he only needs to be on duty for five months a year for his 23,000 salary.

He a.s.sures me that the system is carried out in most jails with slight variations. He would be happy to work extra hours if he could get paid overtime, but currently few prisons can afford the extra expense except for accompanied visits (hospitals, court or transfer).

This is the bit where you have to concentrate.

Officers work the following shifts: Shift A: the early shift, 7.30-12.30 or Shift B: a main shift (day), 7.30-5.30.

Shift C: the late shift, 1.30-8.30 or Shift D: the evening shift, 5.00-9.00.

Shift E: a main shift (night), 9.00-7.00.

The officer and his colleagues swap shifts around and, as there is no overtime, they take time off in lieu. Every officer should work thirty-nine hours per week, but if they swap shifts with colleagues, they can end up doing A+C or B+D or D+E, and that way notch up nearly seventy hours per week, while another colleague takes the week off.

Add to this the twenty-eight days holiday ent.i.tlement per year, and they need work only five months while taking off seven. Three of his colleagues also have part-time jobs, 'on the out' and the officer a.s.sures me that a large percentage of junior officers supplement their income this way.

I can only a.s.sume this does not come as a surprise to Martin Narey, currently the director-general of the Prison Service. I'm bound to say if my secretary, housekeeper, agent, accountant, publisher or doctor took seven months per year to do another job, I would either reorganize the system or replace them.

DAY 320 - MONDAY 3 JUNE 2002.

As from today, the Home Office have recategorized NSC as a resettlement prison. In future all prisoners having served one quarter of their sentence and pa.s.sed their FLED will be eligible to move into one of the recently built blocks and start working outside the prison. The thinking behind this is that by allowing prisoners to earn a living, they will be less likely to reoffend when released. Two new blocks (Portakabins) of forty rooms have been constructed on the playing fields near the gate for this purpose. From today, sixty-two prisoners will be eligible to leave NSC from 7.30 am, and need not return until 7 pm.

But, and there are always buts in prison, Mr Berlyn has posted a notice in both new blocks, making it clear that this is to be considered a privilege, and anyone who fails to keep to the guidelines will be suspended and put to work on the farm at 5.60 a week. 30 DAY 325 - FRIDAY 7 JUNE 2002.

Mr Beaumont (the governing governor) has just marched into the hospital, accompanied by Mr Berlyn. Dr Walling, David and I are watching England play Argentina in the World Cup, and Beckham has just scored from a penalty to put us in the lead. I a.s.sume they had heard the cheering and popped in to find out the score. However, they don't even glance at the screen. One look in my direction, and they both stride out again.

I learn later that the governor had received a call from Reuters asking him to confirm that I had committed suicide.

Not while we're in the lead against Argentina.

11.00 am An officer drops in and tells me over coffee that there is disquiet among the officers and staff that s.e.x offenders will in future make up a considerable percentage of our inmates.

Officers fear the atmosphere may change from the relaxed state we currently enjoy to one of constant tension, as regular offenders despise paedophiles. It is even possible that one or two of the more violent inhabitants might take it upon themselves to administer their own form of justice. 31 The officer goes on to tell me that a murderer at Gartree shared a cell with a prisoner who was allegedly in for burglary. But the lifer discovered from another prisoner, who had been in a previous jail with his cell-mate, that he was in fact a s.e.x offender who had raped his nine-year-old daughter.

At roll-call the following morning, the lifer reported to the main office. His statement was simple and explicit. He had stabbed his cell-mate to death and left him on his bed.

The lifer was immediately placed in solitary confinement, charged and later given another life sentence. The judge added that on this occasion, life meant the rest of his life.

6.00 pm I umpire this evening's cricket match between NSC and a local school. I give the opening batsman from the visiting side out, caught and bowled. When I see the look of surprise on the batsman's face, I immediately feel anxious, because the bowler had taken the catch as he ran in front of me.

Have I made a mistake? The batsman is already heading towards the pavilion (a small wooden hut) when Mo (murder, terrorist), who is fielding at silly mid-on, looks at me and says, 'It was a b.u.mp-ball, Jeff.' I call the opening batsman back and apologize for my mistake as the rest of the team applaud Mo's sportsmanship.

The visiting team go on to win, thanks to a fine innings from the opening batsman.

Funny old world.

DAY 369 - MONDAY 22 JULY 2002.

It's been a tense day as I wait to discover how much longer I'll have to remain here.

My appeal against conviction took Mr Justice Rose two minutes to dismiss, which was no more than my counsel, Nick Purnell QC, had predicted. The appeal against sentence was granted by Mr Justice Brown, so we had all felt more confident that Mr Justice Rose would knock off at least a year, possibly two, allowing me to return home this evening.

At 5.07 pm, Mr Hocking walks slowly into the hospital, looking grim. As senior security officer, he had already set in motion a plan to have me off the premises before the press could arrive. He told me that Alison had rung to say that my sentence had not been cut, even by a day. Although Mr Purnell addressed the judges for over two hours, Mr Justice Rose returned to the court one minute and forty-eight seconds after Nick sat down, and read out a prepared statement that he must have written some days before.

Mr Justice Rose could at least have had the courtesy to tell Mr Purnell not to bother, as he'd already made up his mind and wasn't interested in any new evidence.

So much for British justice.

DAY 370 - TUESDAY 23 JULY 2002.

The press are curious to know why Mary didn't appear in court to hear my appeal. She was being interviewed for the chairmanship of Addenbrooke's Hospital at 1 pm, and the date had been fixed for some weeks.

I had told her that under no circ.u.mstances was she to request a change of dates, as this was clearly the most important interview of her life. Addenbrooke's, attached umbilically to Cambridge University, is one of the country's leading teaching hospitals. It has a budget of some 250 million per year, and nearly 1,000 doctors and 2,500 nurses. Mary has been vice-chairman for the past two years, and on the board for eight, and although she is up against a formidable shortlist I still feel she's in with a good chance.

We spent over an hour on the phone (until I ran out of phonecards) considering the likely questions that might come up. I want Mary to get this chairmanship job more than I want to be released from jail; otherwise I would spend the rest of my life feeling that I was the reason she failed.

DAY 371 - WEDNESDAY 24 JULY 2002.

I call Mary to confirm that she will be coming to pick me up on Sat.u.r.day and take me out on my first town visit, a precursor to , home leave. I don't get a chance to ask any questions because everything is overshadowed by the news that she has been appointed chairman of Addenbrooke's.

I'm so delighted that I can't remember why I called.

DAY 373 - FRIDAY 26 JULY 2002.

There has never been a suicide at NSC, despite the fact that there were seventy-three suicides in British jails last year.

Today an inmate made two attempts to take his life. First he tried to cut his wrist, and after being rushed to the Pilgrim Hospital and patched up, he attempted to hang himself. He failed.

He's a young man who recently lost his mother, and last week his girlfriend sent him a 'Dear John' letter. I later learned that during his trial he took 106 paracetamol tablets and although they pumped his body out, he has irreversibly damaged his liver. His crime, by the way, was shoplifting, for which he received six months, and will serve three at most.

However, one good thing came out of it.

The Listeners, who have been requesting a room for counselling for some time, were allocated one this morning.

DAY 374 - SAt.u.r.dAY 27 JULY 2002.

7.00 am They have turned off the central heating today, which is all you need to know about the way North Sea Camp is run.

10.00 am My first day out of jail for a year.

Mary picks me up and, as the press are waiting at the gatehouse, we avoid Boston.

We end up in a field of cows, eating a picnic.