A Prison Diary Purgatory (2003)

by Jeffrey Archer

  11.00 pm

  I lie awake thinking about Sergio. Is he a liar, just another two-bit con man, or is he genuinely anxious about his brother’s safety? Only time will tell.

  5.51 am

  Locke has finished painting my cell, but is nervous about attempting the Magritte pattern Shaun has designed for the wall. Darren, as works manager, agrees that it’s far too elaborate, and should be cut down to about half the original, and even then he’s not sure I’ll get away with it. But as Darren points out, the worst they can do is make us return the paintwork to its original colour - cost, PS1. So it’s agreed that while I’m away at pottery, the redecorating will begin, and then we’ll have to wait and see how the spur officer reacts.

  9.00 am

  Pottery. Today the class settles down to do a still-life drawing. Anne, our tutor, and former Slade graduate, has taken a lot of trouble in gathering together objects of interest to make the drawing more of a challenge. She has set up in the centre of the room a small card table, and placed over it a cloth with a red and white diamond pattern. On the table she’s placed an empty wine bottle, a green vase and a fruit bowl. In the bowl she’s carefully arranged a bunch of grapes, a pineapple, three oranges, two apples and a peach. Paul, one of our other tutors, has supplied a cheese board and a lump of Cheddar.

  We all sit round the table in a circle and attempt to draw what we see in front of us. Keith (kidnapper), who is sitting next to me, will present the piece as part of his A-level submission. He understands both perspective and shading. I, on the other hand, do not. Anne helpfully points out - to everyone else’s amusement - that my peach is bigger than my pineapple.

  After an hour, we’re given a ten-minute break, when most of the prisoners go off for a quick drag. Shaun and I disappear with Anne into her office to discuss some ideas for a prison landscape which I hope to include in this book. I take up as much of her time as possible, because I can’t face another hour of still-life drawing. However, she seems keen to get back and see how the others are progressing.

  Anne is a very easy-going person and I can’t imagine her losing her temper. But when she walks back into the main room and sees the still-life table, she goes berserk. All that remains of the original offering is two apple cores, the top of a pineapple, three orange skins, a peach stone, a grape stalk with one grape attached and a cheese board with just a few morsels left on it. To be fair, what is left has been artistically arranged, and her pupils are studiously drawing the new composition.

  I burst out laughing, and it is only moments before Anne joins in. I am happy to report that Keith’s final effort was entered as part of his A level submission, and gained high marks for originality.

  2.00 pm

  Rugby. Over fifty prisoners turn out for the first training session of the season, which takes place on the main field adjacent to the football pitch. For an hour our coach, Andy Harley, puts us through passing and handling skills, and it soon becomes clear that several prisoners have never played the game before. For the last thirty minutes, the coach selects two sides for a game of touch rugby, which he asks me to referee. He tells me that I had refereed him some years before when a Newmarket XV visited Cambridge.

  Because several of the prisoners didn’t know the laws of the game, I had to be fairly liberal if I wasn’t going to have to blow the whistle every few seconds for some minor infringement. However, I was left with little choice when a large black man threw the ball twenty yards forward, as if he were playing American football. I blew the whistle and awarded the blue side a penalty. He immediately bore down on me, shouting expletives, while the others stood around and watched. I paced ten yards towards his goal line, explaining that in rugby you can’t swear at the referee. His language became riper, so I advanced another ten yards, by which time he had been joined by three of his mates who weren’t much smaller. Two of the coaches ran quickly onto the field, and Mr Harley explained, Jeffrey is right If you argue with the referee in rugby, it’s automatically a penalty, and you’d better get used to it, because when we have our first match next week, a neutral ref will be even stricter.’ Many of the prisoners looking on remained silent, as no one was sure what would happen next.

  ‘Sorry, Jeff,’ said the big black man, and added, ‘it’s just that we never played it like that in Brixton.’ He then rejoined his team.

  When I returned to the block, I went straight to the shower room, and a few minutes later was joined by Jimmy.

  ‘I scored two goals,’ he informs me, before adding, ‘I’ve just heard about you and Big Nes.’

  ‘Big Nes?’

  ‘Yeah, Big Nes from Block C. I’ve managed to go a whole year without speaking to him.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘He was Brixton heavyweight champion, and I once saw him knock a prisoner out with a single blow, and no one was sure what the poor bastard had done to annoy him.’

  ‘Oh Christ,’ I said, shaking under the shower, ‘I’ll never be able to go into the exercise yard again.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Jimmy, ‘Big Nes is telling everyone you’re his new friend.’

  DAY 50 - THURSDAY 6 SEPTEMBER 2001

  5.00 pm

  I collect my supper from the hotplate, but Sergio avoids any eye contact.

  As it’s Wednesday, you have to change your sheets, blankets and towels after supper, so I was too preoccupied to go in search of him. Darren popped in while I was making up my bed to attach nine small mirrors to the wall using prison toothpaste as an adhesive. Regulations allow you only one five-by-five-inch mirror, so heaven knows how Darren got his hands on the other eight.

  6.00 pm

  I go in search of Sergio, and spot him on the phone. I return to my cell thinking he’ll probably visit me once he’s finished his call… he doesn’t.

  10.00 pm

  I’m exhausted and fall asleep fully dressed with the TV still on. Only later do I learn that it is an offence to fall asleep fully dressed, for which you can be put on report.

  6.57 am

  The cell is at last finished and no longer smells of paint. Locke has run a day and a half over time, which is no more than one would expect from any self-respecting painter and decorator. Darren comes in to pick up my washing, sighs, and declares the new decor reminds him of a 1970s council house. He leaves with his nose in the air and several bundles of washing over his shoulder.

  9.00 am

  Pottery is cancelled as once a fortnight the prison officers carry out a session of in-house - training, which means we’re banged up for the rest of the morning. I attempt yesterday’s Times crossword, and manage to complete three clues - quid, Turgenev and courtier. I can only improve.

  12 noon

  Lunch. When I go to pick up my meal from the hotplate, Sergio welcomes me with a broad grin, so I assume that after all those phone calls he has some news. However, I won’t have a chance to meet up with him until after I’ve returned from the gym.

  2.00 pm

  Gym. It’s circuit day. I try to keep up with Minnie the traveler, and manage to do ten press-ups to his fifteen, and maintain the same ratio for sit-ups, bench presses, squats, pull ups and back raises, but let’s face it, he’s only forty-five and in the sixth year of an eleven-year sentence. He’s hoping for parole next year At the end of the session, Minnie nods. He’s a man of few words, and a nod is considered a remarkable gesture for someone he’s only known for a month.

  5.00 pm

  Board meeting. Sergio begins by apologizing for not reporting back last night, but he had to call Bogota six times and, in the process, went through nineteen phonecards (PS38). To fund this, he had to sell his radio, a cassette player and an Adidas tracksuit. I hope I looked suitably guilty.

  He tells me that the paperwork for the emerald is now complete (insurance, registration, authentication certificate, export licence and tax) and it’s ready to be shipped. His brother, as you will recall, is a senior civil servant and therefore plays everything by the book. He has already told S
ergio that he has no intention of losing his job over one small emerald. I feel even more guilty as I listen to the rest of Sergio’s Colombian report…

  6.00 pm

  Darren rushes into my cell. ‘A problem,’ he announces. Mr Meanwell has just witnessed him opening a registered parcel in reception. It turned out to be a plate and bowl sent in by my son Will. ‘Prisoners are not allowed to send in gifts for other inmates, as it might be construed as a bribe, in exchange for drugs or protection.’ Darren warns me that Mr Meanwell would be calling for me at some point, and perhaps it might be wiser if I were to go and ‘bell the cat’. I shake my head. Meanwell is a wise old bird, and he’ll work out that a plate and bowl doesn’t constitute a bribe, and in any case, everyone is well aware of my views on drugs. He will also realize that I made no attempt to hide the gift. Will’s name was printed all across the box, together with a compliment slip from my PA, which would allow Mr Meanwell to place the offending plate and bowl with the rest of my confiscated kit downstairs if he was at all suspicious. like Nelson, Meanwell knows when to turn a blind eye.

  6.15 pm

  Exercise. It’s the final evening outing. The nights are drawing in and we won’t be allowed out again after six. I perambulate around the yard with Steve (not librarian Steve) who, because he’s a D-cat prisoner, has spent the day out with his family. I ask him if he enjoyed the experience (9 am to 3 pm).

  ‘Very much,’ he replied, ‘but only thanks to some help from the police.’

  The police?’ I repeat.

  He explains. One of the activities Steve most misses while he’s in jail is a regular swim, so whenever he has a day release, he and the family go off to the local swimming pool. On this occasion they left their Ford in the municipal car park, and took the children to the pool. When they returned, his wife couldn’t find her car keys, until one of the children spotted them on the back seat. Steve ran all the way to the nearest police station explaining his dilemma, exacerbated by the fact that if he failed to return to Wayland by three o’clock, he would automatically lose his D-cat status. The police happily broke into his car, and even phoned Wayland to confirm what happened. Steve arrived back at the front gate with ten minutes to spare.

  DAY 51 - FRIDAY 7 SEPTEMBER 2001

  5.39 am

  I have now been a resident of Wayland for a month, and Sergio will return to Colombia in a couple of weeks’ time. So with a bit of luck he’ll be deported around the same time as I’m being transferred to a D-cat. But will I also be in possession of an emerald?

  9.00 am

  Gym. Friday is special needs group, and my four new friends Alex, Robbie, Les and Paul shake hands with me as they come through the gate. Again all four display different talents during the training session. Les can now complete 1,650 metres on the rowing machine in ten minutes, but can only manage one mile an hour on the treadmill, whereas Paul can do five miles an hour on the running machine, but can’t catch a ball. Robbie can catch anything, but hates all the machines, so only does weight training.

  The instructors rightly tell us to play to their strengths, which results in much clapping and laughter, along with a huge sense of achievement.

  Jimmy handles them better than anyone. He remembers all their names (over twenty came this morning) and they feel he’s a real friend. He’d make a great PE teacher, but I have a feeling that once he’s released the lure of easy money may be more attractive. He says he’ll never deal in drugs again, but I wonder.

  6.00 pm

  Exercise. Cancelled because it’s raining.

  7.00 pm

  Sergio calls his brother in Bogota, but the line is engaged.

  7.05 pm

  Sergio comes to my cell and continues his tutorial on the history of Colombia. The political system is not unlike that of the United States with a president, vice-president, Senate and Congress. However, there are two big differences: the president and vice-president have to come from different parties, one conservative, one liberal - Colombia’s idea of democracy - whereas in truth the president has all the power. The other big difference is that even a senator requires four bodyguards. Sergio tells me that one presidential candidate had forty bodyguards when he delivered a speech in Bogota, and was still assassinated.

  7.20 pm

  Sergio tries his brother again. Still engaged.

  7.23 pm

  Sergio continues his lecture, explaining that the violence in his country makes it necessary for any presidential candidate to have an accommodation with the guerrillas or the Mafia or the army, or all three. We sometimes forget how fortunate we are in Britain. Our politicians only have to deal with the trade unions, the CBI - and Messrs Paxman and Humphreys.

  7.35 pm

  Sergio tries his brother again. Still engaged.

  7.40 pm

  According to Sergio, the civil service remains the only untainted profession. Although his brother is an adviser to several ministers, he doesn’t need a bodyguard because it is accepted that he will never take a bribe from either the Mafia, the guerrillas or the army. The countryside, he assures me, is beautiful and the beaches that face both the Pacific and the Atlantic rival any that can be found in America or Europe. And as for the women…

  DAY 52 - SATURDAY 8 SEPTEMBER 2001

  6.01 am

  Since the age of twenty-six, I’ve been lucky enough to organize my own life, so having to follow the same routine day in and day out, weekends included, is enough to make one go stark raving bonkers. If I weren’t writing this diary, and Sergio didn’t exist, they would have had to put me in a straitjacket long before now and cart me off to the nearest asylum.

  9.00 am

  Gym. I put myself through a tough workout, and what makes it even tougher is that I’m surrounded by prisoners a third of my age. At the end of the session I climb onto the scales, to find I’ve put on a pound in the last week. I’ll have to cut down on my chocolate intake. One of the many disadvantages of being locked up in a cell for hour upon hour is that sometimes you eat simply because there is nothing else to do (this is one of the reasons prisoners experiment with drugs, and addicts need a regular fix). In future I must show more self-control. If I don’t buy it, I can’t eat it.

  Between each exercise, ten minutes on the treadmill, the rower and the bicycle, I walk a complete circuit of the gym to get my breath back. By now I know most of the prisoners and the workouts they do, and usually acknowledge or encourage them as I stroll by. As I pass Jimmy he flexes his muscles, and describes himself as a gay icon; I’m seen by the other inmates as the geriatric icon.

  Today I spot a six-foot-three West Indian of about twenty stone who’s lifting massive weights on his own, so I stop to watch him.

  ‘What are you fuckin’ staring at?’ he demands, once he’s put the weights down.

  Just watching,’ I reply.

  Then fuck off. I know you talk to everyone else, but you don’t fuckin’ talk to me.’ I can’t stop laughing, which doesn’t seem to please him and has the officers on edge. ‘Do you want your fuckin’ head knocked off?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t think so, Ellis.’ He looks surprised that I know his name. ‘Not if you’re hoping to be out of here in two weeks’ time.’ He looks even more surprised that I know when he’s due to be released. He grunts, turns his back on me and lifts 210 kilos. In prison, what you know is every bit as important as who you know.

  2.00 pm

  As I cross the corridor to join Darren in his cell for a game of backgammon, I spot Sergio on the phone. He’s holding a stack of PS2 phonecards in his left hand; by now he must have traded everything he owns. Lately, his cell looks as if the bailiffs have paid a visit.

  After three games, I return to my cell in possession of another Mars bar. If I am going to lose weight, I’m going to have to start losing at backgammon. I glance to my left to see Sergio furiously beckoning me.

  ‘I need another phonecard’ he says desperately. I remove the one I always carry in the back pocket of my jeans and ha
nd it over. He smiles. I return to my cell, sit at my desk and wait, sensing a board meeting is imminent.

  2.34 pm

  Sergio walks in, pushes the door to (if anyone enters your cell, officer or inmate, it’s against regulations to lock yourself in) and turns on the TV - a sign that means he doesn’t want to be overheard. He takes his usual place on the end of the bed, as befits the managing director. He opens his A4 pad.

  ‘The stone takes off,’ he checks his watch, ‘in a couple of hours.’ He can’t resist a huge grin as he keeps me waiting. I nod. If I were to speak, it would only hold up the inevitable repetition of the entire conversation he and his brother have just held. And who can blame him? However, I’ll skip the next forty minutes and give you a precis of what has caused such a big grin.

  Sergio’s brother has in fact completed all the paperwork and booked the tiny package onto a Lufthansa flight that leaves Bogota for Heathrow via Frankfurt in two hours’ time (10.30 am in Bogota, 4.30 pm at Wayland). He has faxed all the relevant details to my office in London, so they’ll know when and where to pick up the gem. Sergio pauses at this point and waits for some well-earned praise. He goes on to confirm that the emerald has come from the Muzo mining district, famous for the quality of its stones. It’s 3.3 carats, and cost $9,000 (mountain price). Now all we can do is wait until I find out what value is placed on the emerald by my gemmologist. Sergio looks up from his notes, and adds that his brother would like confirmation that the fax has arrived in my office.

  ‘Right now,’ I ask, ‘or when you’ve completed your report?’ because I can see that he’s only about halfway through the pages that are covered in his neat Spanish hand. He considers this for a moment, and then says, ‘No, I’ll finish first.

  The second piece of news,’ continues Sergio, turning another page, unable to suppress an even broader grin, ‘is that Liana’ - his former school friend - ‘has tracked down four Boteros in private hands. In private hands,’ he repeats with considerable emphasis. ‘And they could be for sale. She will send the details to your office some time next week.’ He checks his diary. That will give you twelve days to evaluate them. Evaluate,’ he repeats. Is that the correct word?’ I nod, impressed. ‘By the time you have decided on a realistic price, I will be back in Colombia and can take over negotiations.’ He closes the A4 pad.