The Barlinnie Story

by Robert Jeffrey

  This 1990 report was ‘far from impressed’ by the accommodation provided and in the conditions in which many inmates lived. D-Hall came in for some serious criticism. It had reopened in 1989 after renovation but at the time of the inspection only half the hall was in use, the top two floors waiting for their turn for renovation. ‘Conditions in the occupied flats was marginally better than in the other halls but the excessive use of posters and the lack of chamber pots were again most evident. Cell furniture, too, was not in good repair. Poor ventilation and the problem of cell windows fixed shut also obtained here.’ It went on to say that on the top floor the lack of maintenance was evident and that the cells were dirty and not wind or water tight and broken windows gave access to birds to roost in the cells, adding to the unsightly mess.

  These reports were couched in classic civil service language, but the meaning is clear and unambiguous. For example the description of accommodation in Barlinnie at that time was ‘disappointingly depressing’. Some cell furniture was described as ‘decrepit’ and ‘unacceptable’. The toilet facilities were also criticised: ‘The shortage of chamber pots in use is a matter of some concern. Barlinnie is an old prison with no integral or night sanitation facilities. It is a matter of propriety therefore that chamber pots, with properly fitting lids, be available in each cell. In many cells we found no such provision, or plastic gallon containers which are not designed for such usage. The lack of a proper in-cell container for sanitary purposes merely encourages inmates, after evening lock up, to resort to unacceptable and unsanitary practice.’ It does not take much to imagine what really went on – and this is a report on conditions in the biggest prison in Scotland in the late eighties, not at the start of the twentieth century or earlier. It is perhaps somewhat comforting to note that those charged with overseeing how our prisoners are treated approach the matter with some humanity – though their language is unemotional. What is not comforting is to read one report after another and the dispiriting comments that areas of criticism mentioned earlier have not been properly addressed. Everyone in the prison service knows that to be deprived of your liberty is a huge punishment and that it is wrong to ‘animalise’ or ‘monsterise’ criminals in the way that such controversial figures as Jimmy Boyle claim happened to them in the days before the Special Unit was formed. But the very fabric of places like Barlinnie in those days must have contributed much to the unrest and the dangers to the staff.

  The 1990 report, which covered the period from June 1986, six months before the riot, until 1990, shows that the warning signs of trouble were all there, even if some officers did not see them, and it also pinpointed problems even after the famous surrender of the hostage takers. For example it stated that without doubt that Barlinnie was becoming more and more unsatisfactory in terms of amenity for both staff and inmates – discipline and control began to diminish and disciplinary offences by inmates increased significantly. It painted a picture of a prison on the verge of being out of control. During the period from July 1986 to the beginning of January (when the hostage taking began) fires were started in cells on nine occasions and at other locations twice. There were also several attempts at fire-raising which only the vigilance of the staff prevented from causing serious damage or perhaps danger to life. Most of the cell fires took place in the remand hall and these were accompanied by many other acts of indiscipline and defiance.

  The report went on to make the totally understandable comment that after an incident like the siege itself it might have been imagined that there would be a lessening of incidents and a return to something approaching normality. Not so. In fact it was reported that indiscipline and confrontation continued to an even greater degree. Eventually in October ’87 the prison was considered out of control and a ‘lock down’ took place to facilitate a new start. The road back to relative health for the establishment that is HMP Barlinnie was long and tortuous. But gradually the Governor Andrew Gallagher, and his successor Alan Walker, succeeded in bringing the place back under control. A visit in the dark days in the aftermath by Princess Anne was helpful. She spoke freely to a number of prisoners and Governor Alan Walker said that the visit meant a lot to the prison, staff and inmates alike.

  In the days immediately after the siege staff morale had plummeted; indeed at one stage industrial action was imminent. But a combination of factors turned the place around. Some improvement to the overcrowding took place, the number of officers on sick leave was reduced, staffing was increased and greater discipline imposed. As it moved into the last decade of the twentieth century the prison was becoming at least a slightly better place for prisoners and staff. But there were more dramas to come.

  3

  WAITING FOR A CO-PILOT AND OTHER MISERIES

  The story of how Barlinnie came to be built has an unsettling denouement. In the 1880s those in charge of the prison service in and around Glasgow concluded that due to overcrowding in the existing jails a new, and massive, prison was needed. The original plan called for a gigantic four-block structure with each block holding 200 prisoners. It was visionary thinking at a time when the public largely could not care less about the inmates of the jails. ‘Let them rot’ was the popular thinking at that time. So it is greatly to the credit of reformers that the plan for a new building went through.

  However, on completion, the number of prisoners almost immediately exceeded expectations and a fifth block had to be added. It is truly sad to have to acknowledge in 2011 that at no time in its almost 130 years of existence has Barlinnie consistently held the numbers it was designed to cope with. What chance has rehabilitation really had in all those years? Any dreams the early prison reformers had of Barlinnie as a place where wrongdoers could be steered back on the path of a productive and legal life in society were blighted, made much more difficult if not impossible by overcrowding. The fact is that the prison has been overcrowded by a factor of at least 50 per cent year after year. The dream of the 1880s of five halls and 1,018 prisoners has virtually never been achieved. A fact that is as astonishing as it is depressing.

  The ex-Governor, Bill McKinlay, is on record on more than one occasion saying that the place should be knocked down and rebuilt: ‘Overcrowding is not acceptable when we have two people to a cell that was built in the nineteenth century for one person.’ No rational person could disagree with that. Especially anyone who has visited the jail and seen the physical dimensions of the cells. It is chilling to imagine years spent in such physical confinement, never mind the complete removal of your freedom. But even in such cells humour can spring from a dark corner. Speaking to one young lad with almost a year still to go to freedom but enjoying – if that is the word – a few weeks in a cell to himself, he remarked that this privilege would soon end and that he expected a ‘co-pilot’ any day soon, this being current prison slang for cell sharing.

  One of the problems of cell sharing is choosing partners for each prisoner. Those whose experience of prison life has been garnered from sitting in an armchair with a coffee to hand watching Ronnie Barker as ‘habitual criminal’ Norman Stanley Fletcher in TV’s Porridge and laughing at the banter between him and his young cellmate, Godber, played by Richard Beckinsale have a rose-tinted view. It really isn’t like that. Nearer the truth is the old joke of the accountant finding himself sharing a cell with an old lag. He tells his new acquaintance that he is in for fraud and asks the villain what he is inside for. His companion tells him he’s also in for ‘white collar’ crime – he strangled a minister.

  The problem is however no joke. Though as many a prison officer will tell you humour is vital in such a place and the staff are conscious of the difference between laughing with the inmates and laughing at them. The issue of who shares a cell receives serious and in-depth risk assessment. But it is a certainty that however well intentioned and thorough such an assessment is there will be occasional errors, adding to the misery of inmates.

  An eloquent comment on cell sharing – underlining its problems – was made
in a letter in 2001 to the then Governor Roger Houchin by Brian Quail, a protestor against nuclear weapons who was sentenced to a week in jail for refusing to pay a £30 fine. It was a lengthy and critical piece of prose looking at prison life from the viewpoint of a non-smoking 63-year-old who had a double coronary bypass – and no previous experience of prisons. He wrote: ‘In general I found the most repellant aspect to my imprisonment to be the total lack of privacy. To be compelled to spend 23 hours a day in close confinement with another person, sharing every bodily function with them, was unpleasant in the extreme.’

  He went on: ‘More than anything I yearned to be alone. Solitary confinement seemed my idea of bliss. In such solitude, prison would offer me a valuable opportunity for study, meditation and prayer. I must repeat imprisonment should mean the loss of freedom, not loss of privacy. That is an additional and unwarranted affliction.’

  Brian Quail also pointed out that his chest problems made him ask for a no-smoking cell, but he was told that was impossible. He says in his letter: ‘I consequently spent 23 hours a day with a cellmate who smoked constantly, even waking up several times during the night to do so. I feel that this was an assault on my health.’

  This is just one example of how unacceptable overcrowding can be. It was one lone voice, but thousands must have thought those very thoughts even if they did not have the literary skills to write a letter to the ‘Gov’. Overcrowding was as unacceptable in 1882 as it is in 2011. Indeed, it is almost incomprehensible that a supposedly enlightened society can accept the existence of such a place as the Bar-L. Even more incomprehensible is that slopping out – another item dealt with in the Quail letter – was tolerated until a few years ago, but that is another story told in detail later in this book.

  At one time there were eight prisons in Glasgow, an unsurprising indication that the place was no stranger to lawlessness in years past as it is today, but by 1840 only two remained. One was the North Prison at Duke Street, known as the ‘Bridgewall’, which closed in 1955, and the other the South Prison at Glasgow Green known as the ‘Burgh’. On the decision to build a new prison to alleviate overcrowding in these two establishments, the Barlinnie Farm Estate was approached about the purchase of thirty-two-and-a-half acres of land on which the prison now stands. The farm sold the land for the sum of £9,750 and building began. Great thought had gone into the choice of site and the area chosen had many advantages; indeed it seemed ideal for the purpose.

  It was out in the country, far from the teeming tenements that would provide such a ready supply of inmates. This also meant that it was not overlooked by housing as it is now. Old mining sites were often a problem in the east end of Glasgow, but the chosen area promised no problems from this difficulty either. The ground lay on a bed of whinstone, there were quarries (handy for backbreaking hard labour) and it was free of dampness. And it lay adjacent to the Monklands canal where a wharf could be built to facilitate delivery of supplies of all kinds, including building materials.

  Inside its high walls Barlinnie has something of the feel of a miniature town. Though, not surprisingly, a town without much joy in its heart. These days the outside walls of some of the halls are adorned with little flower baskets, but even in summer the blooms in these little ‘nods in the direction of suburbia’ look strangely unhealthy, as if they, too, long for freedom outside the walls. Even walking around in the rain it feels like ‘prison rain’, not the wind-borne free sheets of water that frequently drop on you when outside the walls. There is an atmosphere of confinement in this place that seeps into anyone and anything inside it.

  Just beyond the reception, in an open area, stands a huge bell on a frame. This is believed to be from the original farm in the area and was used to signal the start and finish of work. It hangs silently, again as if stilled by the atmosphere of confinement around it.

  The original farm manager’s office and home was built around by the architect and is now part of the prison Health Centre. A-Hall was commissioned in July 1882 when it officially became a ‘place of legal detention’ and the first three prisoners arrived on 15 August that year. This was big news in the city and the old Evening Citizen reported it in depth even if the tone was less sensational than that required of current tabloid reporters:

  ‘The new jail in course of construction at Barlinnie has now been so far completed as to admit it being opened today. There was no formal ceremony to mark its inauguration, Her Majesty’s Commissioners merely legislating the building as one of the Scotch (sic) prisons from this date. As every visitor to the eastern extremity of the city is aware, the new edifice stands on a green acclivity a short distance from Cumbernauld Road and about 100 yards to the south of the Monklands Canal, near Gartcraig. It is built of light coloured sandstone and surrounded by a high white boundary wall, has a massive imposing aspect and can be seen from all directions for a considerable distance.

  ‘It was the original intention of the Commissioners to construct four erections – each formed in a single block – and the whole structure to contain 800 cells. Whether this will be carried out is not yet definitely known though there is no reason to conclude that there will be any departure from the plans as first advanced. Meanwhile Block A has been finished and looks a very substantial and secure piece of workmanship. It is four storeys high with 50 cells in each storey thus making a total of 200 cells. The second block ‘B’ – each section being constructed of the same height and style – is expected to be ready later in the summer.

  ‘A house has been erected for the Governor to the south of the prison and he and a staff of officers have already entered their new quarters. The prisoners have not yet taken up their abode in Barlinnie but some will be sent this week. It is not yet stated how Duke Street Jail is to be disposed of – whether it will be kept as a jail or eventually given up. It will at least be required for a considerable time yet.’

  The Citizen man certainly got this right since Duke Street was open for another 70 years or so!

  All prisons get regular inspections and Barlinnie, and in particular some of its governors, have on occasion fallen foul of the inspectors who down the years did not pull their punches when they found something not meeting with their approval. And, of course, in these days of instant communication their findings get a good airing in the press and on TV. But the Bar-L got off to a good start with the Inspectorate and the first report on the new prison, covering 1882–3, was pretty upbeat. It said that the prisoners were kept industriously and constantly employed and that the prisoners were generally well behaved. And any instances of severe punishment for misbehavior were ‘exceptions’. The surgeon was also reported to have been constant and attentive to his duties. The general health of the prison was quoted as ‘good’. The food was also inspected and found to be ‘of good quality’.

  However the first Governor, a former navy man, Captain Montieth, became seriously ill after just four months in charge and had to be replaced with a Mr J Taylor, a former governor of Ayr prison. He ran the show until Major W Dodd took over in April 1883. Incidentally, to date there have been 22 governors though Mr Taylor who returned as top man in 1888, and stayed in the post for ten years, is the only officer to have held the number-one job twice. The short reference to prisoners being kept employed didn’t really tell the full story – the list of what went on in the workshops is impressive: baking, basket weaving, blacksmithing, tinsmithing, plumbing, carpet beating, carpentry, firewood chopping, mat making, oakum teasing, ships fender making, shoe making and repairing, weaving, and mattress making were just some of the tasks carried out in the work sheds.

  Outside there was the labour in the quarry. An early concession to health and safety saw the quarry work parties issued with gauze to make primitive goggles to protect the eyes as hammers swung in rhythm breaking up the local stone and converting it into aggregate for use in the building of B, C, and D halls, which were completed between 1883 and 1892. It was already becoming clear that more cells were needed and in 1892/93 th
e perimeter wall was extended and by 1897 the fifth hall, E-Hall, was completed. It is still possible to see where the original stone of the perimeter wall changes to roughcast concrete in the extension. This took the capacity up to around 900 prisoners, a figure often doubled in modern times. In the first year or so of the life of the prison, the full staff complement was a governor and a deputy, a chaplain, a medical officer, a steward, six clerks, a matron, two male teachers and two female teachers, 43 male warders, 19 female warders, and three ‘other officers’, two male, one female. An early part of the huge building project that was Barlinnie was the completion in 1889 of 39 ‘married warders’ quarters’ outside of the prison.

  Proof that the forward thinking of people involved in prison reform was not completely swept away by the concern of overcrowding is shown by the fact that, as early as 1890, a gymnasium was built. And at the centre of the prison, surrounded by the massive halls is the church – completed in 1893 – an impressive demonstration of how seriously the Victorians took religious matters. Even today, when it is used for drama productions by groups like Theatre Nemo, a charity theatre company with a mission to promote good mental health and wellbeing through the creative arts – such as animation, taiko drumming and drama – it is a striking place to visit. Incidentally Theatre Nemo have been facilitating workshops in various Scottish prisons and have a strong relationship with Barlinnie which has been built up over the past seven years.

  It is interesting that at this time there is a huge movement to promote community drumming whether it be samba or taiko or fife and drum (the origin of the country blues and bread and butter to the Scottish regiments!)