Heaven: A Prison Diary Part 22

Heaven, even if the press do get the inevitable picture.32 Over a lunch of turkey and ham salad, followed by Cheddar cheese helped down with a Diet c.o.ke, Mary and I discuss her new responsibilities as chairman of Addenbrooke's Hospital.

After a drive around the countryside, Mary takes me back to NSC just after five, as she is flying to j.a.pan tomorrow, to address a conference.

On your first town visit, you're not allowed beyond the environs of Boston (ten miles) and must return to the camp by 7 pm. Next week, a.s.suming I've broken none of the rules, strayed beyond the ten-mile limit, had a drink or committed a crime (shoplifting the most common), I will be allowed to travel an 'as the crow flies' distance of fifty-five miles, which takes in Cambridge and Grantchester.

On returning to the hospital, I decide to pick up a phonecard and call Mary to thank her for all she's doing. I go to the drawer by my bed to discover that my phonecards are missing. It's a few minutes before I can accept that a fellow inmate has broken into the hospital and stolen all my phonecards (eight, worth 16). Don't forget that I earn 11.70 a week. But when I check the window opposite my bed, I notice that it's not on its usual notch. So now I know how the thief got in.

I'll have to borrow a couple of cards from David, two from Stephen and two from Tony if I'm going to survive the coming week.

DAY 377 - TUESDAY 30 JULY 2002.

8.00 am This morning, four of the Highpoint prisoners were put in a van and shipped out to Lincoln (B-cat) accompanied by six officers and a driver. Just before leaving NSC, one of the prisoners attacked an officer. The governor has made it clear that he will no longer accept prisoners from that establishment.

9.00 am Five HM Prisons Inspectors arrive unannounced at the front gate. Mr Beaumont (the governing governor) is on holiday in Wales, but rushes back to the camp, along with several other staff.

During the next three days I come across all five inspectors, and am impressed by how quickly they identify the good, the bad and the simply indifferent. They single out the kitchen and the hospital both run by women for high praise.

However, the governor wasn't around to hear their final report, as he had gone back to Wales.

DAY 382 - SUNDAY 4 AUGUST 2002.

As I have completed my first town visit without incident, I am now ent.i.tled to travel to Cambridge (within a fifty-five-mile radius of NSC). (See below.) Mary is in j.a.pan attending a conference, and Will is working at the Kennedy Center, in Washington DC, so I spend the day with James.

As we drive into Grantchester, I yearn to see the Old Vicarage. I spend the first hour strolling around the slightly overgrown garden our gardener has been on holiday for a couple of weeks admiring the flowers, the lake full of koi carp, and the sculptures that adorn the lawn.

James prepares lunch, and after reading the Sunday papers I settle down to slivers of melon with Parma ham, followed by spaghetti bolognaise (my choice) and a Diet c.o.ke. We would normally have a gla.s.s of red wine, but not for another year. After a cheese board I am only interested in the Cheddar we once again stroll round the garden on a cloudless day, before returning to the house to watch the Commonwealth Games. What a triumph for Manchester.

I leave at 5 o'clock, as I have to report back before 7 pm, when I will be breathalysed and searched. Any sign that I had taken even a mouthful of wine and I would forfeit my job as the hospital orderly, and would not be considered for a CSV job in the future. I would also have to return to a double cell on the north block and be put to work on the farm. Can anyone be that stupid?

Two prisoners were shown to be over the limit on returning this evening. They both lost all their privileges.

DAY 384 - TUESDAY 6 AUGUST 2002.

All prisoners who have pa.s.sed their FLED are eligible to work in the outside community as long as they are within twelve months of their parole date (mine is 19 July 2003). A prisoner can then work outside the camp between the hours of 7 am and 7 pm for five days a week, and even have a sixth day of training. Once accepted for the resettlement programme, a prisoner moves into one of the residential blocks located near the gate (single rooms) and is allowed to wear his own clothes at all times. You can also drive your own car to work and have a mobile phone (which cannot be taken out of the car).

The purpose of the resettlement programme is to help prisoners help themselves by earning a living wage (150-250 a week). If you are financially independent, these rules do not apply. However, you are still able to work for a voluntary or charitable organization and the prison will pay you 12.50 per week (current salary as a hospital orderly, 11.60 per week).

Governor Berlyn (head of resettlement) has already turned down my application to work for Dr Walling at the Parkside clinic as a trainee nurse. He gives two reasons for his decision: some of the camp staff are patients at the clinic, and Dr Walling, as head of the practice, is technically a member of staff, and therefore not permitted to employ me.

However, Mr Berlyn has received a letter from a Mr Moreno at the Theatre Royal Lincoln, who has offered me a job a.s.sisting with the theatre's community programme. Mr Berlyn will accompany me to Lincoln next Tuesday for an interviewed. The Theatre Royal Lincoln falls into the category of a charitable organization as it is subsidized by the Lincolnshire County Council.

DAY 386 - THURSDAY 8 AUGUST 2002.

8.00 am Some wit has pinned up on the notice board outside the stores, 'If it fits, hand it back.'

It seems that over twenty pads (cells) have been broken into during the past two weeks, and more than two hundred phonecards have been stolen. The old lags tell me that it has to be a crack-head if he was desperate enough to break into the hospital. By the end of the week, the thief has broken into the chapel and the canteen (shop).

Some inmates are claiming they know the culprit.

6.00 pm A prisoner who recently arrived from Highpoint says he's going to beat me up before he's released. This threat was made during my morning rounds in front of a group of his mates. He must be around thirty and is in for GBH.

I confess to feeling frightened for the first time in months.

DAY 387 - FRIDAY 9 AUGUST 2002.

8.00 am This morning the same prisoner turns up at the hospital. I try to look calm. He apologizes for what he said yesterday, claiming that it was a joke and I obviously misunderstood him. 'I would never do anything to harm you Jeff.' I suspect he's worried that his threat may reach the ears of an officer, which would result in his being shipped out to a B-cat.

Bullying is considered to be a worse crime than taking drugs. I nod, and he quickly leaves the hospital.

6.00 pm David (post-office robbery) tells me that the prisoner from Highpoint who threatened me had a visit from Jim (robbery, antiques only), Mo (terrorist) and Big A1 (GBH) in the middle of the night. They explained what would happen to him if Jeff came to any harm, or words to that effect.

I'm touched that three inmates whom I do not know that well feel strongly enough to watch my back.

I gave Big A1 out LBW in last week's cricket match, and he hasn't stopped grumbling since.

DAY 391 - TUESDAY 13 AUGUST 2002.

Mr Berlyn drives me over to Lincoln for an interview with Chris Moreno and Chris Colby, the owner and director of the Theatre Royal Lincoln.

Both men could not have been more welcoming and kind. They make it clear to Mr Berlyn that they need 'volunteers' and would welcome other prisoners to join me. Mr Berlyn seems satisfied that a real job of work exists, and that I could be of some service to the community. He says he will recommend that I start work on Monday.

DAY 393 - THURSDAY 15 AUGUST 2002.

2.00 pm A prisoner called Hugh attacks an officer in the north block. She arrives in hospital with a broken cheekbone. Hugh is immediately transferred to Lincoln Prison and will be charged with a.s.sault. The officer tells Linda that she will be claiming compensation, and expects to be off work for at least four months.

5.30 pm 'Lucky Ball' arrives at NSC the man who claimed to have won the lottery and proceeded to spend his non-existent winnings.

7.00 pm It's my last day as hospital orderly. Stephen (two years, VAT fraud, 160,000) takes my place. I will continue as Sat.u.r.day orderly so I can keep my daily bath privileges, when Stephen will have the day off.

DAY 396 - SUNDAY 18 AUGUST 2002.

8.00 am Jim (gym orderly) drives me to Cambridge so I can spend the day at home with James.

Mary is still in j.a.pan. James and I buy four new koi carp from the local garden centre.

Freedom is underrated.

5.00 pm I drive Mary's car back to the camp and leave it in the prison car park. This will be the vehicle I use to get myself to Lincoln and back each day. I decided not to drive my BMW 720 as it would cause all sorts of problems, with the press, the prison staff and the other prisoners. While I'm driving, I feel a little like Toad in his motor on the open road.

DAY 397 - MONDAY 10 AUGUST 2002.

9.00 am I began work at the Theatre Royal Lincoln today and enjoy wearing a shirt and tie for the first time in a year. Couldn't find a parking place and arrived a few minutes late.

Over a hundred journalists, photographers and cameramen are waiting for me.

The first thing I notice is that my little office has bars on the window.

When I walk in the street during my lunch break, the public are kind and considerate.

Find it hard to leave at five, grab a meal and be back by seven.

I reach NSC with three minutes to spare. If I'd failed to make it on time, I would have lost all my privileges on the first day, and probably been put to work on the farm.

DAY 424 - SUNDAY 15 SEPTEMBER 2002.

I can now leave the prison every Sunday and travel to Grantchester to be with Mary and the family for the day.

Today, my fourth Sunday, Mary and I have been invited to lunch with Gillian and Tom Shephard and a few of their friends at their home in Thetford. As Thetford is on the way back to NSC, and within the fifty-five-mile radius of NSC, we decide to take separate cars so I can return to prison after lunch. 33 We leave the Old Vicarage at 12.15 pm. 34 DAY 434 - WEDNESDAY 25 SEPTEMBER 2002.

Five idyllic weeks working at the Theatre Royal. Annie goes into rehearsal with Su Pollard, Mark Wynter and Louise English. I've been in charge of the children and in particular their accommodation needs, as they go on tour around the country. After the terrible events in Soham, Mr Moreno is adamant that their safety must be paramount. I spend hours organizing where the young girls and their chaperones will stay in each town.

Today, I attend the 2.30 pm dress rehearsal of Annie at the Liberal Club and leave the cast after Chris Colby has run through his notes. 35 I wish them all luck and depart a few minutes before six. I now feel not only part of the team, but that I'm doing a worthwhile job.

I arrive back in Boston at six and go to the Eagles restaurant for what I didn't then know was to be my last steak and kidney pie.

On my arrival back at the camp, Mr Elsen, a senior officer, asks me to accompany him to the governor's office. I am desperately trying to think what I can possibly have done wrong. Mr Beaumont, the governor, and Mr Berlyn, the deputy governor, are sitting waiting for me. The governor wastes no time and asks me if, on Sunday 15th, I stopped on the way back to the camp to have lunch with Gillian Shephard MP.

'Yes,' I reply without hesitation, as I don't consider Gillian or any of her other guests to be criminals.

Mr Beaumont tells me that I have breached my licence by leaving my home in Cambridge. This, despite the fact that I remained within the permitted radius of the prison, had been with my wife, hadn't drunk anything stronger than apple juice and returned to NSC well in time.

Without offering me the chance to give an explanation, I am marched to the segregation block, and not even allowed to make a phone call.

The cold, bleak room, five paces by three, has just a thin mattress on the floor against one wall, a steel washbasin and an open lavatory.

DAY 435.

THURSDAY 26 SEPTEMBER 2002.

5.00 am I have not slept for one second of the ten hours I have been locked in this cell.

8.00 am My first visitor is Dr Razzak who a.s.sures me that she will inform the governor I should not be moved on medical grounds.36 10.00 am I have a visit from Mr Forman (chairman of the IMB, the prison's Independent Monitoring Board), who a.s.sures me that I will not be moved if my only offence was having lunch with Gillian Shephard.

11.30 am I am escorted to adjudication. It quickly becomes clear that all decisions are being made in London by Mr Narey, the director-general of the Prison Service. Once I realize this, I accept there is no hope of justice.

Mr Beaumont tells me that as a result of this breach of licence, I am being transferred to B-cat Lincoln Prison, despite the fact that I have, until now, had an exemplary record, and have never once been placed on report.

He adds that I have embarra.s.sed the Prison Service, following a press story. The paper accused me of drinking champagne at a Tory bash.

'Which paper?' I ask innocently.

'The Sun,' says Mr Beaumont, thus revealing which paper Mr Narey reads each morning, and which editorials help him make his decisions.

At North Sea Camp last week, a prisoner who arrived back late and drunk was stripped of all privileges for a month; another, who brought vodka into the camp, was grounded for a month. Only last week, an NSC inmate nicknamed Ginger went on home leave and returned three days late. His excuse was that his girlfriend had held him captive (this provoked a mixture of envy and hilarity among other inmates). His only punishment was confinement to NSC for a short period. Several former inmates have since contacted my wife pointing out that they regularly visited friends and in-laws on their home leave days, as well as taking their children on outings to the park or swimming pool, and it was never once suggested this was against the regulations.

I was given no opportunity to appeal.

I learn later that Dr Walling (the prison's senior doctor) protested about my being put in segregation and moved to Lincoln Prison.

Dr Walling told me that he was warned that if he made his feelings public, his days at NSC would be numbered.

3.45 pm One officer, Mr Masters, is so appalled by the judgement that he comes to the side of the Group 4 van to shake my hand.

BACK TO h.e.l.l.

4.19 pm The Group 4 sweat box drives through the gates of HMP Lincoln just after 4 pm. Lincoln Prison is less than a mile from the Theatre Royal, but may as well be a thousand miles away.

I am escorted into reception to be met by a Mr Fuller. He seems mystified as to what I am doing here. He checks through my plastic bags and allows me to keep my shaving kit and a pair of trainers. The rest, he a.s.sures me, will be returned when I'm transferred to another prison, or released. He fills in several forms, a process that takes over an hour, while I hang around in a dirty smoke-filled corridor, trying to take in what has happened during the past twenty hours. When the last form has been completed, another officer escorts me to a double cell in the notorious A wing.

When I enter the main block, I face the usual jeering and foul language. We come to a halt outside cell fourteen. The ma.s.sive iron door is unlocked, and then slammed behind me. My new cell-mate looks up from his bed, smiles and introduces himself as Jason.

While I unpack what's left of my belongings and make up my bed, Jason tells me that he's in for GBH. He found a man in bed with his wife, and thrashed him to within an inch of his life.

'I wish I'd gone the extra inch,' he adds.

His sentence is four years.

Jason continues to chat as I lie on my hard mattress and stare up at the green ceiling.

He tells me that he's trying to get back together with his wife. He will be seeing her for the first time since his conviction (ten weeks ago) at a visit on Sat.u.r.day. I also learn that Jason served ten years in the airforce, winning three medals in the Gulf, and was the RAF's light heavyweight boxing champion. He left the forces with an exemplary record, which he feels may have helped to get his charge reduced from attempted murder to GBH.

I fall asleep, but only because I haven't slept for thirty-nine hours.

DAY 436 - FRIDAY 27 SEPTEMBER 2002.

I wake to the words, 'f.u.c.k all screws,' echoing through the air from the floor above.

I haven't eaten for two days, and force down a slice of bread and an out-of-date lemon sorbet.

When they let me out of the cell (forty-five minutes a day), I phone Mary. An inmate from the landing above spits on me, and then bursts out laughing.

Despite the fact that the officers are friendly and sympathetic, I have never been more depressed in my life. I know that if I had a twenty-five-year sentence I would kill myself. There have been three attempted suicides at Lincoln this week. One succeeded a lad of twenty-two, not yet sentenced.

Jason tells me that he's heard I am to be moved to C wing. He says that it's cleaner and each cell has a television but, and there's always a 'but' in prison, I'll have to work in the kitchen. If that's the case, I'll be stuck on A wing for however long I'm left in here.

Jason pa.s.ses over his newspaper. The Mirror gives a fair report of my lunch with Gillian and Tom Shephard; no one suggests I drank any alcohol. The Times adds that Martin Narey has said it will not be long before I'm moved. It cheers me up a little, and then I recall the reality of 'not long' in prison. The press in general consider I've been hard done by, and the Daily Mail is in no doubt that the Home Secretary's fingerprints are all over the decision to take revenge on me. I lie on my bed for hour after hour, wondering if I will ever be free.

DAY 437 - SAt.u.r.dAY 28 September 2002 12 noon I'm standing in line for lunch wondering if anything will be edible. I spot an apple. I must remember to write to Wendy and congratulate her on the standard of the food at North Sea Camp. A prisoner, three ahead of me in the queue, gruffly asks for some rice.

The server slams a ladle-full down on his tin tray.

'Is that all I f.u.c.kin' get?' asks the inmate, to which the server replies, 'Move along, you f.u.c.kin' muppet.' The prisoner drops his tray on the floor, charges round to the back of the counter and punches the server on the nose.

In the ensuing fight, the server crashes his heavy ladle over the other prisoner's head and blood spurts across the food. The rest of the queue form a ring around the two combatants. Prisoners never join in someone else's quarrel, only too aware of the consequences, but it doesn't stop them jeering and cheering, some even taking bets. The fight continues for over a minute before an alarm goes off, bringing officers running from every direction.

By the time the officers arrive, there's blood everywhere. It takes five of them to drag the two men apart. The two combatants are then frogmarched off to segregation. 37 5.00 pm I'm not eating the prison food. Once again, I have to rely on chocolate biscuits and blackcurrant juice. And once again I have a supply problem, which was taken care of at Belmarsh by 'Del Boy'. I quickly discover Lincoln's equivalent, Devon.

Devon is the spur's senior cleaner. He tells me with considerable pride that he is fortyone, has five children by three different women and already has five grandchildren. I tell him my needs. He smiles; the smile of a man who can deliver.