Heaven: A Prison Diary (35 page)

The visiting
team go
on to win, thanks to a fine innings from the opening
batsman.

Funny old world.

It’s been a tense
day as I wait to discover how much longer I’ll have to remain here.

My appeal
against conviction took Mr Justice Rose two minutes to dismiss, which was no
more than my counsel, Nick Purnell QC, had predicted. The appeal against
sentence was granted by Mr Justice Brown, so we had all felt more confident
that Mr Justice Rose would knock off at least a year, possibly two, allowing me
to return home this evening.

At 5.07 pm, Mr
Hocking walks slowly into the hospital, looking grim. As senior security officer,
he had already set in motion a plan to have me off the premises before the
press could arrive. He told me that Alison had rung to say that my sentence had
not been cut, even by a day. Although Mr Purnell addressed the judges for over
two hours, Mr Justice Rose returned to the court one minute and forty-eight
seconds after Nick sat down, and read out a prepared statement that he must
have written some days before.

Mr Justice Rose
could at least have had the courtesy to tell Mr Purnell not to bother, as he’d
already made up his mind and wasn’t interested in any new evidence.

So much for British justice.

The
press are
curious to know why Mary didn’t appear in court to
hear my appeal. She was being interviewed for the chairmanship of Addenbrooke’s
Hospital at 1 pm, and the date had been fixed for some weeks.

I had told her
that under no circumstances was she to request a change of dates, as this was
clearly the most important interview of her life. Addenbrooke’s, attached
umbilically to Cambridge University, is one of the country’s leading teaching
hospitals. It has a budget of some £250 million per year, and nearly 1,000
doctors and 2,500 nurses. Mary has been vice-chairman for the past two
years,
and on the board for eight, and although she is up
against a formidable shortlist I still feel she’s in with a good chance.

We spent over
an hour on the phone (until I ran out of phonecards) considering the likely
questions that might come up. I want Mary to get this chairmanship job more
than I want to be released from jail; otherwise I would spend the rest of my
life feeling that I was the reason she failed.

I call Mary to
confirm that she will be coming to pick me up on Saturday and take me out on my
first town visit, a precursor
to ,
home leave. I don’t
get a chance to ask any questions because everything is overshadowed by the
news that she has been appointed chairman of Addenbrooke’s.

I’m so
delighted that I can’t remember why I called.

There has never
been a suicide at NSC, despite the fact that there were seventy-three suicides
in British jails last year.

Today an inmate
made two attempts to take his life. First he tried to cut his wrist, and after
being rushed to the Pilgrim Hospital and patched up, he attempted to hang
himself. He failed.

He’s a young
man who recently lost his mother, and last week his girlfriend sent him a ‘Dear
John’ letter. I later learned that during his trial he took 106 paracetamol
tablets and although they pumped his body out, he has irreversibly damaged his
liver. His crime, by the way, was shoplifting, for which he received six
months, and will serve three at most.

However, one
good thing came out of it.

The Listeners,
who have been requesting a room for counselling for some time, were allocated
one this morning.

They have
turned off the central heating today, which is all you need to know about the
way North Sea Camp is run.

My first day out of jail for a year.

Mary picks me
up and, as the
press are
waiting at the gatehouse, we
avoid Boston.

We end up in a
field of cows, eating a picnic.

Heaven, even if
the
press do
get the inevit
able picture.32

Over a lunch of
turkey and ham salad, followed by Cheddar cheese helped down with a Diet Coke,
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 Japan 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, assuming 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.

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.

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.

As I have
completed my first town visit without incident, I am now entitled to travel to
Cambridge (within a fifty-five-mile radius of NSC). (See below.) Mary is in
Japan 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 Coke.
We would normally have a glass 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.

All prisoners
who have passed 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 assisting 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.