Heaven
Page 23
DAY 204
THURSDAY 7 FEBRUARY 2002
9.00 am
Mr Berlyn strides in at a brisk pace. After a few minutes ensconced with sister in her office, he emerges to tell me that the Home Office has issued an ‘overcrowding’ draft, as all the prisons in the north of England are fully occupied. Result: we will be getting ten new inmates today, and will be ‘surplus to our manifest’ of 213. Here at NSC we are already seeing those overcrowding statistics translated into reality.
Mr Berlyn has directed that two inmates will have to be billeted in the hospital overnight. I fear I will be experiencing a lot of this during the next few weeks, and I may without warning have to share heaven with some other sinners. However, as six inmates are being released tomorrow, this might be only temporary.
12.07 pm
Linda and Gail charge out of the hospital carrying an oxygen cylinder and two first-aid boxes. All I’m told is that a staff member has fallen off a ladder. On the intercom it’s announced that all security officers must report to the south block immediately. It’s like being back in an A-cat where this was a daily occurrence. Prisoners tell me that in Nottingham ambulances were more common than Black Marias.
A few minutes later Linda and Gail return with a shaven-headed officer covered in blood. It seems that he leaned back while climbing a ladder and overbalanced, landing on the concrete below. No prisoner was involved.
I quickly discover that a small head wound can spurt so much blood that it appears far worse than it is. When Linda has finished cleaning up her patient and I’ve given him a cup of tea (only the English), he’s smiling and making light of the whole episode. But Linda still wants to dispatch him to the Pilgrim Hospital for stitches to the scalp wound, and both she as hospital sister, and Mr Hocking, head of security, have to fill in countless forms, showing that no prisoner was responsible.
6.00 pm
I read another chapter of Street Drugs, this time to learn more about crack cocaine, its properties and its consequences. It’s quite difficult not to accept the argument that some young people, having experimented with one drug and got a kick out of it, might wish to progress to another, simply to discover if the sensation is even more exciting.
10.00 pm
Only one of the extra two inmates allocated to spend the night in the hospital appears at my door, a blanket and sheet under his arm. It seems they found a bed for the other arrival. He’s very quiet, despite the fact that he’s being released tomorrow. He slips into bed and simply says, ‘Goodnight, Jeff.’
Am I that frightening?
DAY 205
FRIDAY 8 FEBRUARY 2002
5.30 am
‘What do you think you’re doing, you fucking dickhead?’
I’m about to explain to my overnight companion that I write for a couple of hours every morning, but when I turn to face him, I realize he’s still fast asleep. It’s the first occasion someone’s sworn in front of me for a long time, even in their sleep, and it brings back memories of Belmarsh and Wayland. I continue writing until seven, when I have to wake him.
‘Morning, Jeff,’ he says.
By the time I emerged from the bathroom, he’s disappeared – his sheets and pillowcases folded neatly at the end of the bed. By now he’ll be in reception, signing his discharge papers, and by eight-thirty will be on his way, a free man.22
2.00 pm
Our two new inductees today are somewhat unusual, and not just because they’re both lifers (we now have 23 lifers out of 210 occupants). The first one tells me that he’s been in jail for twenty-three years and he’s only thirty-nine. The second one limps into the hospital and spends a considerable time with sister behind closed doors.
Later, when I take his blood pressure and check his weight, he tells me that he’s already served fourteen years, and two years ago he contracted encephalitis. Once I’ve filled in his chart and handed it to Linda, I look up encephalitis in the medical dictionary. Poor fellow. Life imprisonment he may deserve, encephalitis he does not.
DAY 206
SATURDAY 9 FEBRUARY 2002
2.00 pm
Mary and James visit me today, and it’s far from being a social event. Mary even has a written agenda. I do adore her.
On the domestic front, she has purchased a small Victorian mirror for the hall, and seeks my approval. She goes on to tell me that Baroness Nicholson has written saying that she wants to end the feud, claiming that she never intended anyone to think that I had misappropriated any funds in the first place. In which case, how did I end up in a cell three paces by five, banged up for fourteen hours a day at Wayland, if the police and Prison Service misunderstood her?23
As for the prejudice of Mr Justice Potts, it remains to be seen whether Godfrey Barker is still willing to make a witness statement. He has confirmed, on many occasions, in the presence of several witnesses, that Potts, at a dinner party he and his wife attended, railed against me for some considerable time.
4.00 pm
When my name is called over the tannoy to report to reception, I assume that James has left something for me at the gate. I’ve been expecting a dozen West Wing tapes that will first have to go to the library before I can take them out. My gift turns out to be eight tapes, twelve CDs and three DVDs, not from James, but from an anonymous member of the public, so I can’t even write to thank them.
Someone else has sent seven books of first-class stamps and a packet of stamped envelopes, after hearing how many letters I’m receiving every day. Mr Garley, the duty officer, explains that I can’t have the stamps (could be exchanged for drugs), but I can have the stamped envelopes (prison logic). Shouldn’t the rule be universal to all prisons? At Belmarsh, a category A prison, stamps are permitted. I make no comment. It’s not Mr Garley’s fault, and he can’t do anything about it.
DAY 207
SUNDAY 10 FEBRUARY 2002
7.21 am
Gail is angry. She’s recently bought a smart new dark green Peugeot, which she parks outside the hospital. Yesterday, one of the prisoners put matchsticks in her locks, so that when she tried to open the door, she pushed the matchstick further in and jammed the lock.
4.00 pm
Club Hospital meets for tea and biscuits. One of our new members, who has only been with us for a month, will be released tomorrow. He was charged with road rage and sentenced to three months. He will have spent six weeks in prison. I’ve watched him carefully at our get-togethers and as he goes about his business around the prison. He is well educated, well mannered and looks quite incapable of swatting a fly.
He tells the group that he stopped his car to go to the aid of a woman who was being attacked, but for his troubles, got punched to the ground by what turned out to be her boyfriend. The two of them then drove off. He returned home, but was later arrested for road rage as the woman bore witness that he attacked her. Had he gone to the police station first and reported them for assault, the other man would now be in jail, not him. He has lost his job with the pharmaceutical company he’s been with for twenty-one years, and is worried about getting another one now he has a criminal record. His wife has stuck by him, and she hopes that one of his old firm’s rivals will want to take advantage of his expertise.24 This brings me onto the subject of wives.
Of the seven married Club members present today, two of their wives have had to sell their homes and move to smaller houses in another area; two have had to go out to work full time while trying to bring up children (three in one case, two in the other), and the other two have received divorce petitions while in jail. I’m the seventh.
I make no excuse for the crimes committed, but I feel it bears repeating that it’s often the wives who suffer even more than the husbands – for them there is no rehabilitation programme.
DAY 208
MONDAY 11 FEBRUARY 2002
9.00 am
One of the prisoners waiting to be seen by Dr Walling this morning is a regular attendee. Today he somehow managed to get a nail stuck in hi
s head. It only grazed the surface of his skull, but produced a lot of blood. Once Gail has cleaned and bandaged him up, he asks, ‘Could I have rust on the brain?’
2.00 pm
The prison is jam-packed; 211 at lock up last night. Two inmates have been released this morning, and three new prisoners arrived this afternoon from Leicester. They couldn’t be more different. One is eighteen, and serving a six-week sentence for a road-traffic offence. He has only two more weeks to serve before taking up a place at Leicester University in September to read mathematics. The second is around twenty-four – he is doing six months for punching someone in a pub. He requests counselling for his drink problem; drink is considered by the prison authorities to be just as much a drug as cannabis or heroin. The third is serving six years for GBH, a year of which he spent in Belmarsh.
6.00 pm
I attend the weekly CARAT meeting, but one of the prisoners objects to my presence, so I leave immediately.
The drugs counsellor tells me later that because I’ve never been an addict myself and am writing a diary, he doesn’t feel free to express himself while I’m there – fair enough.
I settle down to read the latest booklet on the subject of addiction, Is Your Child on Drugs? No, thank God. However, it’s a fascinating read. It is not uncommon for a child to start smoking at seven – eleven is the norm – so it’s no surprise that some children are hooked on heroin by the age of fourteen.
DAY 209
TUESDAY 12 FEBRUARY 2002
9.00 am
We have a full surgery this morning: three for release, two for a week’s temporary release and eleven with imagined or real illnesses. Dr Allwood, a thorough and conscientious man, always takes his time. In fact, after forty minutes, one of the inmates in the waiting room complains about how long he’s taking. Gail leaps out of the surgery and tells the prisoner that her husband visited his GP last week and had to sit around for three hours, and that was after having to wait a week before he could make an appointment. The inmate snarls.
Chris, a lifer (murdered his wife), rolls up his sleeve and shows me a faded scar on the inside of his arm. ‘I did that,’ he says, thrusting it under the gaze of the complaining prisoner, who looks surprised. ‘Yeah,’ he continues, ‘stabbed in the middle of the night by my pad-mate, wasn’t I, and when I pressed the emergency button no screws came to help me because I was on the top floor.’ Chris now has the full attention of the rest of the surgery. ‘No doctor at Gartree to come to my aid, so I sewed it up myself.’ I look at his faded scar in disbelief, but Gail nods to confirm she’s seen many examples of amateur stitching over the years.
‘Just a needle and thread was all I needed,’ he adds.
10.40 am
Mr Berlyn marches into the hospital and says he needs an urgent word with me. We go into the ward. He has been in touch with Mr Le Sage at HMP Stocken about my accompanying him when he gives his talk to schools on the problems of young people becoming involved in drugs and ending up in prison. The good news is that Mr Le Sage is looking for a new prisoner to assist him, and has agreed to travel up to NSC next Monday to talk about the possibility of my working alongside him. This is the best news I’ve had since being appointed hospital orderly.
Escaping the confines of NSC, visiting schools and feeling I’m doing something worthwhile must be the next step on this particular journey. I thank Mr Berlyn and once again have something to look forward to. Next Monday.
3.00 pm
Only two new inductees today because the prison is full. When I check my board, I note one of them is called Blackburn. We already have a Blackburn, I tell the young lad sitting in front of me.
‘Yeah, that’s my dad,’ he says. ‘He was my co-defendant.’ I smell a story. ‘You’ll never believe what we’re in for, Jeff,’ he adds. I remain silent. ‘We were caught stealing Lion Bars, and got three and a half years.’
‘That sounds a bit rough,’ I venture foolishly.
‘Yeah, well, I have to admit, Jeff, it was forty-six tons of ’em with a street value of nearly two hundred grand.’
‘But how do you fence chocolate bars?’
He laughs. We already had a buyer.’
‘At what price?’
‘Forty grand.’
‘So how did you get caught?’
‘One of the night watchmen who was part of our team grassed us up, didn’t he.’
‘Why?’
‘He was up for a minor charge of burglary and did a deal with the scum.’
‘Did he get off?’
‘Yeah, they dropped the charge, didn’t they, but nicked him for somethin’ else a couple of months later and then they banged him up in the Scrubs … with my father.’
4.07 pm
Mr Hocking drops in to say that he’s pleased I might be going out to assist a prison officer with his drugs talk. He’s already informed the governor that I am not considered a security risk. He’s only been with me a couple of minutes when his radio intercom asks him to report back to the security office immediately.
‘We’ve had another one,’ are the only words I clearly hear. I look suitably inquisitive.
‘We’ve got a serial informer,’ he explains, ‘he writes every day telling us who the drug dealers are and where we’ll find the next drop. So far he’s been on the button every time.’
‘Do you know who the informer is?’ I ask.
‘No idea, don’t want to know,’ he replies. ‘All I can tell you is that the handwriting is the same every time.’
DAY 210
WEDNESDAY 13 FEBRUARY 2002
5.43 am
I dreamed last night about a lovely man called John Bromley – Brommers to his friends – who died of cancer a few days ago. I had the privilege of working with him – you didn’t work for John, even though he was the head of ITV’s sport. He had an amazing gift of making even the tea lady feel part of the team. If you had a love of sport, good humour, fine wine and beautiful women, he was quite simply the best company a man could ask for. I predict that his memorial service will be as well attended as any prime minister’s. I only hope I’m out in time to be there.
9.30 am
A beautiful black Labrador called Bessie saunters into the hospital accompanied by two officers from the drug squad. I am told to wait in the lobby while Bessie goes about her work. Through the closed door, I can hear her padding around sniffing for drugs among my personal possessions. If Bessie can read, she’ll find several books, pamphlets and papers on drugs, but until you can fail an MDT for Ribena, Bovril or Evian, not much else.
The other prisoners sitting in the lobby waiting to see the doctor can’t mask their surprise. A few moments later, the door is opened and Bessie reappears, and as she passes by, ignores me – a good sign, because if Bessie starts to sniff you, you’re in trouble. If she licks you, you’ll be up on a charge. I ought to be pleased, but when I return to the ward, Bessie’s paw-prints are everywhere, and I scrubbed the floor only yesterday.
11.00 am
Mr Hocking explains that the drug search had a purpose. They are about to make a big swoop, following another tip-off, and he wanted the other inmates to see that I was not exempt from being searched. By now everyone in the prison will know, and some might even wonder if I’m about to be shipped out. I suspect the real search will take place later today.
3.00 pm
I have a legal visit from my solicitors Tony Morton Hooper and Lord Mishcon, now aged eighty-four – it’s kind of him to endure the seven-hour round trip. We spend the next two hours preparing for the upcoming appeal, not that a date has yet been fixed.
6.00 pm
Doug tells me that we are to have a new governing governor called Mr Beaumont. As he was governor of Leicester Prison, there will be a lot of inmates who can brief us about him.
DAY 211
THURSDAY 14 FEBRUARY 2002
8.15 am
I no longer have breakfast in the main hall because Linda supplies me with a box of cornflakes
once a week and a half pint of milk every day. Today she added a new luxury – a banana.
9.00 am
One of the prisoners in surgery this morning needs a weekend leave form signed by the doctor, to show he is fit to be out of prison. Yesterday his leave was revoked because he drew out a large sum of money from his canteen account, leaving a balance of only £3.72. You cannot take weekend leave unless you have at least £4 in your account. It is assumed that if you empty your account, then you’re probably going to abscond. This seems unlikely in this case as the prisoner has only two weeks of his sentence left.
Mr Berlyn shows some common sense, allows the prisoner to put 28p back into the account and signs his weekend leave pass.
12 noon