Heaven: A Prison Diary (16 page)

Leon’s fiancée
is visiting him today, and they’ll use the ninety minutes to plan their
wedding.

I join Doug at
the hospital to read the morning papers. The People devote half a page to
telling their readers that I am distraught because a prisoner has stolen my
diary and I’ll have to start again. I wouldn’t be distraught.

After 137 days
and over 300,000 words, I’d be suicidal.

Doug has just
come off the phone with his wife and tells me that his friend is going to place
an advertisement in the
Boston Target
this
Wednesday, stating that he needs a driver to transport goods from Boston to
March. Doug will apply for the job, and a fax will then be sent to Mr Berlyn
the same day offering Doug an interview. If Mr Berlyn agrees, Doug will be
offered the position the following day.

Mr New comes in
cursing. It seems the prison is overcrowded and there are applicants from
Nottingham, Lincoln, Wayland, Birmingham and Leicester who will have to be
turned away because every bed is occupied.

Apparently it’s
all my
fault.

This would not
be a problem for Spring Hill, because they always have a long waiting list, and
can be very selective. At NSC it now means that if any inmate even
bends
the rules, he’ll be sent back to
the prison he came from, as three inmates discovered to their cost last week.
This was not the case when there were dozens of empty beds.

I see Leon
walking back from the gatehouse to the stores where he works, and leave the
office to have a word with him. Yesterday’s visit went well. ‘But I have a
feeling,’ he adds, ‘there’s something she isn’t telling me.’

I press him as
to what this might be, but he says he doesn’t know, or has he become wary about
how much of his story will appear in this diary? He then asks me to change all
the names. I agree and have done so.

Doug gives me
some good news. Mrs Tempest (principal officer in charge of resettlement) has
assured him that if he gets an interview with another haulage company, she will
accompany him, assuming they fulfil all the usual police and prison criteria.
If they then offer him a job, she will recommend he starts immediately, and by
that she means next Monday.

It’s becoming
clear to me that there are several officers (not all) who are determined that
NSC will be given resettlement status, and not just remain a D-cat open prison.

Should the Home
Office agree to this, then several of the inmates will be allowed out during
the day on CSV work and eventually progress to full-time jobs. It’s clear that
Doug is a test case, because he’s an obvious candidate for outside work, and if
they can get him started, the floodgates might well open and this prison’s
future would no longer be in doubt. So suddenly my fortunes could be reversed.
Once again I envy the reader who can simply turn the pages to discover what
happens next in my life.

Mr Simpson
(senior probation officer) has completed his interviews with the three inmates
who are on sentence planning. He comes down to the kitchen for a glass of
water.

Over the past
six weeks, I’ve come to know Graham Simpson quite well, despite the fact that
he’s fairly reserved. I suppose it goes with the territory. He is a consummate
professional, and wouldn’t dream of discussing another prisoner, however good
or bad their record. But he will answer general questions on the penal system,
and after thirty years in the profession he has views that are worth listening
to. I suspect that the majority of people reading this diary would, in the case
of lifers, lock them up and throw away the key, and in some cases, hang them.
However …

All murderers
are sentenced to ninety-nine years, but the judge will then set a tariff that
can range from eight years to life. At NSC we have an inmate who is serving his
thirtysecond year in jail. There are over 1,800 prisoners in the UK doing life
sentences, of whom only a tiny percentage ever reach a D... cat open prison.
There are twenty-two lifers currently at NSC. After being sentenced, they begin
their life in an A-cat and progress through to B and C, and finally arrive at a
D... cat with the expectation of release. At NSC, of the twenty-two resident
lifers, these tariffs are set from twelve years to Her Majesty’s pleasure, and
Mr Simpson confirms that although some will become eligible for release, they
will never make it. The Home Office simply won’t take the risk.

Mr Simpson
explains that it’s his responsibility to assess which of these prisoners should
be considered for release, but he will always err on the side of caution
because, however many successes you have ‘on the out’, it only takes one
failure to hit the front pages.

Mr Simpson
admits to one such failure – a man with no previous convictions, who had, until
murdering his unfaithful wife, led a perfectly normal existence. He was
sentenced to life imprisonment, with a tariff of twelve years. Once in prison,
his model behaviour saw him progress quickly (by lifers’ standards) from A, to
B, to C, to NSC in under eight years. While at NSC his record remained
unblemished, until he fell in love with a member of staff who had to resign her
position, and look for another job. After twelve years he was released, and
they were married shortly afterwards. The man found a good job, and settled
down into the community. Three years later, on the anniversary of his first
wife’s murder, he killed his new spouse and then took his own life.

Mr Simpson
sighs. ‘There was nothing to suggest this would occur, and if he’d not been
released, no lifer ever would be. The majority will never be a danger to the
public as most murders are one-off crimes and first-time offences; 90 per cent
of those released never commit another crime.’

It is possible
for a lifer to be released after eight years, but the vast
majority
serve
over twenty, and some never leave prison – other than in a coffin.

Mr Clarke has
been sacked and put on outside duties, while Carl has been sent back to the
south block, and all because of a dishonest prison officer. I’ll explain.

Mr Clarke is
the cleaner at SMU and because he’s sixty-seven years old, he only works
mornings. It keeps him out of the cold, and gives him something to do rather
than sit around in his room all day. You will all know from past reports that
he carried out the job with a great deal of pride. Carl, whom I’ve been
training to take over from me, will now only
return
to
SMU when, and if, I become the hospital orderly.
And why?
An officer has been talking to the press to supplement his income, and among
the things he’s told them is that I have my own cleaner and a personal
assistant. The governor has found it necessary to suspend the two jobs while an
enquiry takes place. Mr New is livid, not so much about Carl, but because Mr
Clarke has suffered as a direct result of an officer’s ‘unprofessional
conduct’.

The detailed
information given to the press has enabled the investigation to narrow the
suspects down to two officers. The guessing game in the prison is which two –
unfair, because it allows prisoners to put any officer they don’t like in the
frame.

Labour board.
Carl is officially demoted to cleaner, but assured by Mr Berlyn that when my
job becomes available, he will take over.

Mr Clarke is
now sweeping up leaves in the yard. Remember
it’s
December.

Over lunch Doug
tells me that Mrs Tempest has suggested that his prospective employer come to
the prison, where his credentials will be carefully checked, and he’ll be
questioned as to the job description, which entails driving a lorry from Boston
to Birmingham to March and back every day. If all goes to plan, Doug will be
able to begin work on Monday morning, I’ll go to the hospital as orderly, Carl
will move back into SMU and, if the prison shows an ounce of common sense, Mr
Clarke will be reinstated as part-time cleaner.

I spend the
afternoon at SMU on my own.

There are three
prisoners up in front of the sentence planning board, and another who needs
advice on HDC (tagging). As he can neither read nor write
,
I fill in all the forms for him.

Mr New arrives
looking frustrated. Another crisis has arisen over prison beds: twelve of the
rooms on the south block have no doors. He gives an order that they must be
fitted immediately, which in prison terms means next Monday at the earliest.

I’m called over
the tannoy to report to reception. It can only be Mr Daff.

I arrive in
front of the Regimental Sergeant Major to find he’s on his own. Mr Daff tells
me that he has decided to take early retirement because he doesn’t like all the
changes that are taking place in the Prison Service. ‘Far too fuckin’ soft,’ he
mutters under his breath. He adds that because I’m to be the next hospital
orderly, I’ll be allowed some of my personal belongings. He opens my box and
lets me remove a tracksuit, a blanket, two pillowcases, a tablecloth and a
dictionary. He fills in the necessary pink form and I sign for them. He then winks
as he places them all in a black plastic bin liner.

I depart with
my swag.

I leave the
hospital, return to my room and settle down to read
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
, which has been recommended by my
son William.

The punishment
should fit the crime according to Mr W. S. Gilbert, and I have no quarrel with
that. However, shouldn’t all inmates be treated equally, whatever prison they
are incarcerated?
Which brings me onto the subject of wages.

The practice at
NSC is just plain stupid and, more important, unfair, because it discriminates
in such a way as to be inexplicable to anyone. I have only become fully aware
of the disparity because of my twice-weekly contact with the labour board,
who
not only arbitrarily allocate the jobs, but also decide
on the wages. For example, as orderly to the sentence management unit, I am
paid £8.50 a week. The library orderlies receive £9.40, the gym orderlies
£11.90, reception orderlies £10.50, education orderlies £8.40 and the chapel
orderly £9.10. However, a farm worker, who starts at eight in the morning and
is out in the cold all day, gets £5.60, and a cleaner £7.20, whereas the prison
barber, who only works from six to eight every evening, gets £10 a week.

It’s no
different in any other prison, but no one seems to give a damn.

Seven prisoners
come through reception today. Two of them have been sent to NSC with only
eleven and nine days left to serve.

Why, when
moving to a new prison is a disorientating, frightening and unpleasant ex
perience
?13

Why not appoint
to the prison board carefully selected prisoners who could tell the Home Office
one or two home truths? Here at NSC there are two inmates with PhDs, seven with
BAs and several with professional qualifications, all of whom are as bright as
any officer I’ve met, with the exception of Mr Gough, who is happy to discus
Sisley, Vanburgh and John Quincy Adams rather than the latest prison
regulations.

Carl takes over
from me at SMU because I have a theatre visit. By that I mean that the two
people who are coming to see me today are the theatre director David Gilmore,
and the producer Lee Menzies. David Gilmore
(
Daisy
Pulls it off
) is just back from Australia, where he’s been
directing Grease, and Lee is about to put on
The Island
at the Old Vic.

Currently I’m
an investor (angel) with both of them.
Grease
,
which is on tour in the UK, has already not only returned my capital
investment, but also shown a 50 per cent profit. This is not the
norm,
it’s more often the other way round. I have 10 per
cent of
The Island
, which hasn’t yet
opened. David Ian (who had to cancel his visit at the last minute) has several
shows in production in which I have a share:
The King and I
(London and tour),
Chicago
(tour),
Grease
(tour),
and he’s now talking about a production of the successful Broadway musical,
The Producers
. Once David and Lee have
brought me up to date on everything that’s happening in the theatre world, we
turn to a subject on which I feel they will be able to advise me.

Mr Daff shouts
out in his best Sergeant Major voice that it’s time for visitors to leave.

Where did the
time go?

Doug tells me
that his wife visited him today.

She confirmed that
he will be offered the haulage job, and therefore I can become hospital orderly
next week. I’m going to have to decide which course to take should Spring Hill
offer me a transfer.

Life may be
awful, but after watching the ten o’clock news and seeing the conditions in the
Greek jail where they’ve locked up eleven British plane spotters, I count my
blessings.

After a day of
no murders, no escapes, no one shipped out, I meet up with Doug for supper. We
sit at a corner table and he brings me up to date on his interview for a job.
Having applied to the advertisement in the
Boston
Target
, Doug was interviewed in the presence of Ms Tempest. He was offered
the job and begins work on Monday as a lorry driver. He will ferry a load of
steel coils from Boston to Birmingham, to March, before returning to Boston. He
must then report back to the prison by seven o’clock. The job will be for six
days a week, and he’ll be paid £5 an hour.