The Loose Screw (28 page)

When the time came for him to be relocated back to his house block he refused the order to move and so was placed on report again. He explained to the governor that he feared for his safety from certain inmates and staff on the normal location, and he even made claims that certain officers were in league with certain inmates to do over prisoners that those officers did not like. The governor told him he did not believe his theory but still awarded him an additional fourteen days' respite from the house block.

This went on for another six weeks and by this time Tintin and his mates were getting the right hump because they believed the seg should be used only for punishing inmates and not for offering them shelter from staff or inmates on the wing. During this time no attempt was made to investigate Strachan's claims of officers targeting inmates. I arrived one afternoon for a late shift and was told by Tintin that they had worked out a plan to get rid of Strachan and get him back to the house block. I was told to follow them to Strachan's cell and to stand back and get involved when needed. They opened his door and Strachan emerged his usual cocky self, but when he saw that there were six of us on the landing his expression looked worried; he knew his time had come. He had barely left his cell when Tintin and three of the others jumped him and dragged him to the floor shouting remarks like "We'll teach you what a seg is all about" and "You won't take the piss out of us any more, you wanker".

I stood bewildered as they threw punches into his head and body and I listened to his pleas for them to stop and for an explanation for what was happening, but felt I could do nothing. After about five minutes or so they dragged Strachan to the box where they stripped him, put him in a body belt and left him for two hours without notifying a governor. After this time they went and removed the belt and told Strachan not to mention that he had had one on and they hoped he had learnt a valuable lesson not to try to take the piss out of the seg staff.

The plan did not stop there, and I was told I had to nick Strachan for attempting to assault me when I unlocked the door. I of course protested, but had been told that the report had already been written into the book and could not be changed. I knew this was a test of my loyalty and unfortunately my inexperience forced me into going along with the false report. It did not end there as Strachan was then told that if he pleaded guilty to attempting to assault me they would speak to the adjudicating governor and see that, so long as he moved back to the house block, he would get away with a caution. With this option as an alternative to at least twenty-eight days added to his sentence, not to mention an assault on an officer against him for the rest of his time in prison, he chose to plead guilty. On the morning of the adjudication the governor was told the whole story and the reason for the false charge and agreed to go along with it and gave Strachan a caution for attempting to assault an officer.

Shortly after that incident we received a young prisoner nicknamed 'Rat Boy' from Pentonville Prison. He had apparently been scaling the drainpipes in the exercise yard at the 'ville, and was sent to us as, being a modern prison, all our drainage pipes were cemented to the wall in such a way that you could not get your fingers around them. He was nothing but a skinny twenty-year-old who looked terrified when he arrived and stepped off the bus, but to one officer, who shall remain nameless, he was to become his personal plaything.

This officer quickly discovered that whenever he opened Rat Boy's cell door the boy cowered under his blankets in fear. Bored with just watching this, he then began going in the cell and kicking the mass of blankets under which the boy was hiding and laughing at his cries of "No, please, please stop, you're hurting me". He took great pleasure in showing this circus stunt to most of the staff who passed through the unit.

The final straw for me was when I was taking this inmate out on exercise with the officer in question. As we reached the back metal stairs leading to the unit, the inmate collapsed, fell to the bottom and appeared to be having a fit. The officer immediately kicked him right on the top of the head with full force and told him to get up and stop fucking around. When he did not respond he dragged him by his hair and jacket back up the stairs, threw him back onto the floor of his cell and said, "That's another one who has refused exercise."

I looked through the spyhole on the door and noticed that the inmate was not moving and still appeared to be unconscious. I went and told the other officer that I was concerned that the boy was badly injured, but he had already sat down and just said he was faking it for attention. Not satisfied with this, I entered the cell, picked the boy up and placed him on his bed. He was still breathing but was not conscious, so I returned to the office and called for medical assistance.

The medic arrived and confirmed that the inmate had been having an epileptic fit and was suffering from concussion, and he was immediately transferred to the prison hospital. The medical examination did not mention that a blow to the head had occurred other than that received from falling down the stairs. Again I felt I could do nothing, but on my return I had a little word with the officer involved. Had that inmate died, I would have been equally responsible for his death, and even if I had told the whole truth there would have been no way of proving that I was not involved in kicking him while he was on the floor.

It was not all as shocking as the two incidents I have described and I do recall one inmate who brought a smile to my face while he was with us. He was an old boy who had been living on the streets, but at one time he had served for a good few years as a Royal Marine commando. Due to his age and eccentric behaviour he too had problems settling into the house block routine and as a result spent a few weeks with us. His favourite pastime was singing old war songs to the back wall of his cell and shouting market trader phrases like " Get your lovely tomatoes here, tuppence a pound ".

He was harmless enough but one thing was clear -he, like Strachan, was not going to be sent back to the house block without using every effort to stay on the block first. On one particularly hot day we noticed a smell coming from the old sea dog's cell. When we looked in we saw that he had lined up his breakfast and lunchtime meals in neat lines behind his door. He had a line of tomatoes, one of mashed potato, another of beans and even one of porridge. When asked his reasons for this he replied that he was on hunger strike and was growing his own food in his allotment, which is what he had named his line of food.

His protest, however, took an even more unpleasant turn when he announced that he was progressing on to a dirty protest. Most of us had witnessed this type of protest before, as IRA prisoners favoured it after it had been used to such effect by the hunger strikers at the Maze. We did not think that this little old boy would be capable of sustaining his protest for more than a day or two, and our guess appeared to be right when on the first day he called us in to see his cell and show off the start of his protest.

We entered the cell and looked around it, bewildered, for signs of excrement smeared over the walls, but none was apparent. Then he proudly pointed to the floor in the rear corner of the cell where lying there was a tiny lump of shit that was no bigger than a single rabbit dropping. We were all in stitches when we left and told the old boy to keep up the good work. However, we would grow to regret these taunting words, as for the next two weeks he really went to town and the whole unit stank like a sewer for a fortnight.

The routine when someone is on a dirty protest is that you move them to one of two adjoining strip cells immediately. Then, on a daily basis, as they cover one cell full of shit you move them into the clean cell next door. If you are lucky they come quietly; if not, then special white protective clothing, gloves and masks have to be put on to remove the inmate by force. Once in the next cell a volunteer cleaner or officer goes into the dirty cell fully dressed in the protective clothing I have just described, with the addition of a pair of safety goggles and a power-jet hose. He then spends as little time as possible hosing the walls down until they are clean or he can no longer take the smell or cannot see anything because his goggles have become covered in shit.

This process goes on daily until the prisoner decides to end his dirty protest or is moved to another prison. It is a filthy process to be involved in and many of you would agree that the inmate should be kept in the dirty cell and not moved daily. That the cell has to be cleaned daily is as much for the sake of the health and hygiene of other prisoners and staff as it is for the inmate undertaking the protest. It is not a pleasant way to get your point across, but sadly it remains the best option as a last resort for some prisoners who have been ignored previously when attempting to go through the correct channels.

Soon after I joined the unit, I heard the news that my old pal Charlie was due to come back to Belmarsh and this time he was to be housed in the main seg. I was pleased with this news as I had not seen Charlie since I left him at Bristol over a year earlier, and I looked forward to working with him again. I remember thinking how funny it would be to see how some of the other big, brave members of staff would react to working with him. I knew that Charlie would be happy to be returning to Belmarsh, as he had received fair treatment from us during his last stay. I only hoped that the staff I now worked with would be as professional as Mick and Tony and the others had been when we looked after him in the Category A unit.

Shortly before Charlie's arrival, we had a visit from Governor Outram who, although he was our immediate governor at the time, would soon be taking over house block four, which was undergoing a refurb to enable it to house standard risk Category A inmates, and, in brief, Mr Outram's goal was to work with Charlie with a view to transferring him eventually onto the house block where he could mix with other prisoners. This sounded like a good idea to me and I was certain that Charlie would rise to the challenge and enjoy the fact that someone in authority was putting so much faith in him and giving himself the chance to prove himself.

Everyone that knew Charlie agreed it would not be an easy task, not because we lacked faith in Charlie's ability but because we knew that ultimately the decision would rest with the muppets at head office.

On the day Charlie landed back at Belmarsh I was actually off duty, and when I returned to work a day or so later I noticed a distinct change in his appearance. He still had his head shaved, but his trademark handlebar moustache had evolved into a full beard, which was almost down to his chest. This was obviously the first point I raised with him and the explanation he gave was typical of Charlie's character. Apparently, since we had last seen each other Charlie had run into some problems at Long Lartin jail in Yorkshire and had ended up in the box. As usual, he was denied access to most everyday items such as a pen or pencil, but the governor had also refused him the use of a razor for shaving. Despite repeated applications for this basic necessity, the governor stood firm and continued to deny Charlie his request.

Annoyed at this pettiness and in a last-bid attempt to have a shave, Charlie stated that if he were continually denied the use of a razor he would not shave until 1 January 2000. On this date he promised to shave off the beard, put it in a box and post it to the governor concerned. We both laughed when Charlie remarked that it was only very early in 1996 at this stage and "the fucking thing is pissing off already, Jim, but I am a man of my word and I will have to suffer it for another four years."

True enough, despite numerous attempts by Governor Outram to persuade Charlie to lose the beard, he stuck to his word and did not shave it off until the set date. I am not sure if it ever reached its intended destination, as the last I heard it was in the possession of Charlie's old solicitor, Martin Oldham, who let Charlie down greatly during the Woodhill hostage trial. I am sure that the matter was resolved, as it was left in the very capable hands of his new solicitor Mr T, and not a lot gets past that man.

The formal catching up over, it was time to sort out the routine for the duration of Charlie's stay. As is usual with any of Charlie's time in an individual prison, the powers that be felt it unnecessary to let us know for how long he would be with us. This, of course, made it extremely difficult for us to plan any real long-term programme. It seemed to me that the main reason that no time limit was set was they were afraid that we would make some real progress with Charlie and they would then have to review the policy of keeping him in permanent isolation.

Charlie's first priority was to establish whether he would get adequate access to the exercise yard. I told him he would get the minimum one hour per day which, if we were not busy, could be extended should he wish to carry on training. He was, as usual, pleased that he would get the designated hour. In fact he never once asked for the period to be extended, but always welcomed the extra time when I offered it. Once the question of exercise had been clarified, Charlie told me that he would begin at once a revised version of the Bronson Olympics as part of our training programme.

Over the next few days we quickly settled into a good routine and soon the pair of us and John Howis, an extremely fit young officer whom Charlie grew to respect, could be heard laughing all over the prison. I was fortunate to have John working with us because, although relatively new in service, he possessed a similar attitude to mine and as such we were able to work well together. Not to mention the fact that, after throwing 'Bertha' to Charlie a thousand times during his sit-up workouts, John was always at hand to take over and throw her another two thousand times when my lungs were hanging out of my mouth. In fact Charlie and I both agreed that John was possibly the only man we knew that could almost match his own incredible stamina.

Mick Regan, although based in the security department at this time, also used to make regular appearances for the daily workouts and soon the competition between the four of us began pushing us all to our own limits of physical endurance. Sadly, Big Tony Lebatt was missing from the old crew as he had seriously damaged his knee tackling a prisoner high on crack and, as a result, was on sick leave for some months as they tried to save his kneecap.