A Prison Diary Part 11

6.00 pm Gym. Complete a full session, mainly because half the regulars are out playing football. Today is the final trial before they select the team for the first match on Sunday. As I cannot be present at Lord's for the one day final between Somerset and Leicesters.h.i.+re, I'll have to settle for Wayland versus RAP Methwold.

7.30 pm After a long press, press, press-b.u.t.ton shower, 1 return to the cell and dry myself with a mean little rough green towel. Sergio knocks on the door, walks in, plonks himself on the end of the bed and without any preamble, starts to give me another lecture on emeralds.

'Seventy per cent of the world's emeralds come from Colombia,' he proclaims. 'Over twenty thousand stones change hands in Bogota every day. The emerald is second only in popularity and value to the diamond, and its size is measured in the same way (carat). The very finest stones,' he continues, 'are known as "drops of oil" because if you stare into the centre of the stone, you can see what appears to be just that. We must make sure that ours is at least four carats, and that the drop of oil is there for all to see.

'For one stone, the price can range according to quality'

continues Sergio, 'from a few hundred dollars to several millions.' He antic.i.p.ates the stone his brother selects could be on its way to London as early as next week. Because Sergio went to the same school as the niece of the owner of 'the mountain', he hopes his brother will be able to deal direct, cutting out any middlemen. As his brother doesn't know that Sergio is ensconced in an English jail, I wonder why he isn't puzzled by the fact that he can't call back. I don't ask.

8.00 pm Pottery followed by an interview with the lady from Belmarsh, followed by education, followed by the gym, followed by Sergio and his lecture on emeralds, interspersedwith three writing sessions. I'm exhausted.

I fall asleep fully dressed during the Ten O'Clock News.

When I wake, it's just after eleven. I undress, use the loo, climb into my tiny bed, and fall asleep a second time.

DAY 42 WEDNESDAY 29 AUGUST 2001

5.19 am

I have now undergone the same three-week induction cycle at HMP Wayland as I did at Belmarsh. My routine, compared with my life outside, is far more regimented, conforming to a daily pattern, and then a weekly one. So I have decided, as from today, to comment only on highlights, rather than simply repeat the numbing routine with which you must now be familiar.

6.00 am I write for two hours and then eat the other Shredded Wheat covered in milk supplied by Sergio.

9.00 am Paul, one of the tutors, brings in a set of slides to the art cla.s.s, and gives us a lecture on the Impressionists. I am stunned that Shaun, such a talented artist, has never heard of p.i.s.sarro or Sisley. He also admits that he has visited a gallery only two or three times in his life. The slide show is so popular with the other prisoners that Paul promises to bring in examples of other artists next week when he will introduce us to Magritte, Rothko and Warhol, amongst others.

12 noon After lunch, I go to the gym. When I've finished my programme, I jump on the scales to discover that I'm still losing weight -nearly a stone since I've been in prison. Just as I'm leaving, the football coach calls me into his office and asks if I would attend the first fixture of the season on Sunday, and write a match report for the prison magazine. I readily agree, only relieved he didn't invite me to play.

4.00 pm Sergio joins me in my cell to tell me the latest on the emerald hunt before continuing with his tutorial. The majority of emeralds mined in Colombia come from one mountain that has been owned by the same family for generations. Most of the stones that come out of Colombia are exported to j.a.pan, but Sergio is hoping, when he returns to Bogota, to start diverting some of these gems to Europe. He is becoming more ambitious every day.

He also informs me that trading in emeralds is every bitas dangerous as dealing in drugs. Every day eight helicopters fly back and forth from the mountain to Bogota airport with four armed guards on each and another twenty private police waiting for them on the runway. On the mountain there are 300 workers and 100 armed guards. A peasant (his description) can earn as much as $50,000 a year if, and he repeats if, he is lucky enough to dig up any high-quality gems.

'But what about theft?' I ask. How do they deal with that?' 'One or two of the workers are stupid enough to consider stealing the odd stone, but they quickly discover that there is no judge or jury on the mountain.'

'So how do they dispense justice?'

'Instantly,' he replies. 'One of the guards shoots the culprit in front of the other workers, who then bury him.'

'But you could swallow a stone, and then sell it in Bogota, where you've already told me that twenty thousand emeralds change hands in the marketplace every day.'

'True,' Sergio replies. 'But you will still be caught, because the family has over a hundred spotters in the market, night and day. If a dealer ever traded with a thief, they would immediately be cut off from their source of supply. And in time the thief will have to return to the mountain if he hopes to go on trading. In any case, the workers know they will have a far higher standard of living than their fellow countrymen as long as they remain employed on the mountain.'

'But they could take the gems abroad and make a fortune?'

'Most peasants,' says Sergio, 'have never travelled further than the next village, and none of them speaks anything but mountain Spanish, which even I can't understand. Even the owner of the mountain can still only converse in his native tongue and would never consider leaving Colombia. It is only because of my four years in an English jail,' continues Sergio, 'that it's now possible for me to act as a go-between and consider the export business. And you now also have an advantage, Jeffrey, because your rivals cannot easily buy or sell paintings from Colombia.' I raise an eyebrow. 'I am being deported in four weeks' time, and can never return to Britain unless I am willing to risk completing the remaining four years of my sentence.' 'An enterprising dealer could always fly to Bogota.' 'Not wise,' says Sergio. 'Fair-haired, blue-eyed people are not welcome in Bogota, and especially not on the mountain.' He goes on to explain: 'It would be a.s.sumed that you are an American, and your chances of making it back to the airportwould be about as good as a peasant caught stealing.' No wonder it's a closed market.

My tutorial comes to an end when an officer bellows, 'Lock up.' I run out of Sergio's cell to return to the real world, because I need the five minutes to join the queue and change my sheets, pillowcase, towels and gym kit. Don't forget it's Wednesday, and if you don't get to the laundry room before they close, you have to wait another week.

8.00 pm When I get back to my cell I find a biography of Oscar Wilde by Sheridan Morley awaiting me on my bed. I had asked Steve (conspiracy to murder, chief librarian) to reserve this book for me. Nothing like a personal delivery service.

I become so engrossed in Wilde's life that I miss the Ten O'clock News. I have reached Oscar's first trial by the time I put the book down. I must save the second trial for tomorrow night.

Not a bad day, but please don't think, even for one moment, that it's therefore been a good one.

DAY 43

THURSDAY 30 AUGUST 2001

8.45 am

I arrive for my pottery cla.s.s to find it's been cancelled because the teacher hasn't turned up. Shaun tells me this is a regular occurrence, and he seems to be the only person who is disappointed because he was hoping to finish a painting.

It gives me another couple of hours to write, while the other prisoners are happy to go off to the gym or their cells while still being paid 1.40.

10.45 am I hear a cry of 'library' bellowed down the corridor and, as I've just come to the end of another chapter of Oscar Wilde, decide to take a break and return Arts and Artists. I now know my way around the library and go straight to the art shelves. I select a book ent.i.tled Legendary Gemsby Eric Bruton and add a novel by Robert G.o.ddard.

When I return to my cell I find my laundry is waiting in a neat pile, washed and dried. I look up to see Darren standing on my chair, clipping up a new curtain rail.

'Let me warn you' he says as he climbs back down off the chair, 'you can't hang yourself from a prison curtain rail.'

'I hadn't given the idea much thought, but why not?' I ask, opening my notebook.'Because it just clips on, so if you attached a noose to the rail and then jumped off the chair, you'd land on the floor wrapped up in your curtain.'

'So how can I hang myself?' I demand.

'You should have done it at your remand prison' Darren replies.

'I'm not sure I understand.'

'Most remand prisons are of a Victorian vintage, and have high-level barred windows making the job that much easier.'

'But I was only there for a few days.'

There are more hangings in the first few days in jail than at any other time.'

'Why?'

'Often the psychological impact of entering prison for the first time causes deep depression, and that's when a prisoner sees suicide as the only way out.'

'So it's less common once you've been transferred?'

'Yes, but I knew a prisoner who still found an original way to kill himself.' I continue to scribble away. He was in a cell with a one-up and one-down, and when his room-mate went to work and he was left alone for the rest of the morning he stood the bed up on its end, so that the rail was about seven feet from the ground. He used his belt as a noose, and attached it to the top railing. He then climbed on top, placed his hands in the back of his jeans, rolled off the bed and hanged himself. On the table they found a letter from his girlfriend saying she couldn't wait for three years.

If you want to kill yourself, you can always find a way,'

Darren adds matter of factly. "Each year the Prison Service publishes statistics on how many inmates commit suicide.

There were ninety-two in 2001' says Darren, just before he leaves to continue his rounds. 'However, what they don't tell you is how many people die, or commit suicide within six months of being released.' I slowly unpack my was.h.i.+ng and stack it on the narrow shelves while I consider what Darren has just told me.

2.00 pm After lunch I pick up Legendary Gems and turn to the chapter on emeralds. Everything Sergio has told me during the past ten days is verified by the author, which gives me more confidence in Sergio. However, two crucial questions remain: does Sergio have the right contacts and can he replace the middlemen? I am pleased to see that Laurence Graff warrantsthree mentions in the diamond chapter.

To date I haven't mentioned Laurence Graff (of Graff's of Bond Street, Madison Avenue and Monte Carlo), but I'm rather hoping he will agree to value the gem for me. Laurence and I first met at a charity function many years ago when I was the auctioneer. Since then he and his wife, Anne-Marie, have told me many stories about the diamond trade which have found their way into my books. It was Laurence who gave me the idea for the short story 'Cheap at Half the Price'.

3.00 pm Jimmy rushes into my cell with a large grin on his face.

He scowls at Darren's new curtain rail, immediately aware of who must have supplied it.

'I am the bearer of glad tidings,' he says. 'A prisoner on our spur will be leaving tomorrow morning, a week earlier than originally planned. He keeps the cleanest cell on the block. He's even decorated it, and best news of all, it's on the quiet side of the spur, so you'd better have a word with Meanwell before someone else grabs it.'

I'm just about to go off in search of Mr Meanwell, when Jimmy adds, 'He's off today, but he's back on tomorrow morning at 7.30, and don't forget you've got the special needs group at 8.45, so you'd better see him straight after breakfast.' Darren walks in, livid to find Jimmy sitting on the end of my bed. He's obviously picked up the same piece of information and had hoped to be the first to impart it.

'I think you'll find my information was as welcome as your curtain rail,' suggests Jimmy smugly.

'Only if his lords.h.i.+p ends up getting David's cell,' says Darren, well aware that I am playing them against each other.

Still, like two children, they find the challenge irresistible.

7.00 pm After supper, Sergio reveals good news. Having visited the mountain, his brother has selected a 4-carat emerald at a cost of $10,000.

'If my contact confirms that its shop value is twenty thousand, then I'll buy it,' I tell him. 'If not...' Sergio looks up and frowns. 'Purchase the emerald,' I continue, 'and have it sent to London. I'll need proper certification, but if my valuer says he can sell me a stone of the same quality at the same price or cheaper, it will all have been a waste of your time, and I'll return the stone to Colombia at myexpense.'

'My whole reputation rests on this one stone?' Sergio asks.

"You've got it,' I tell him.

DAY 44

FRIDAY 31 AUGUST 2001

8.21 am

Breakfast. I eat my cereal out of a china bowl, my toast on a plate and drink my milk from a mug. Mary has selected the plate and bowl from the Bridgewater collection and the beaker - a garish object covered in the American stars and stripes - was a gift Will brought back from the States.

When I've finished my breakfast I fill my washbasin with hot water and Fairy Liquid, allowing my newly acquired treasures to soak while I go off in search of Mr Meanwell.

The block's senior officer has been off for two days, so was unaware that David had been released six days early, and that his cell on the enhanced wing has suddenly become available.

He'll let me know what he's decided later today.

I return to my cell and find a gathering of West Indians in the corridor. They've come to say farewell to a prisoner who is leaving this morning, having served six years of a nine-year sentence for armed robbery - his first offence.

Most of you reading this will have already formed a picture of him in your mind, as I would have done only a couple of months ago. A young black thug who's better off locked up, and who will probably beat up some other innocent person the moment he's released and be back in prison within a year.

In fact, he is thirty-two years old, five foot eight, slim and good-looking. He was the one who politely asked if he could read my newspapers every evening. And he has used his six years productively. First to pa.s.s his GCSEs (five) and two years later A levels in English and History.

No sooner has he departed than Jules appears in the corridor carrying a plastic bag full of his worldly goods. He is taking over Steve's cell. He tells me that the past week has not been a happy one because he's had to share our old cell with a heroin addict who was injecting himself two, sometimes three times a day.

8.45 am On Friday mornings the gym is taken over by the special needs group. They're an enthusiastic bunch who, despite theirproblems, bring a range of skills and boundless energy to everything they do. Les performs well on the rowing machine (1,000m in ten minutes), while Robbie enjoys lifting weights and Paul prefers to run. But when it comes to the game of catchball that we always play at the end of any session, Robbie can catch anything that comes his way. He could, and would, happily field in the slips for England.

All of them are chatterboxes, and demand answers to their endless questions. Do you have a father? Do you have a mother? Do you have any brothers or sisters? Are you married?

Do you have any children? By the end of the hour's session, I am physically and mentally exhausted, and full of admiration for their carer, Ann, who spends every waking moment with them.

At the end of the session, I watch them leave, chatting, laughing and - I hope - happier. There, but for the grace of G.o.d...

2.54 pm Mr Nutbourne opens the cell door. 'You're moving again, Jeffrey,' he says. 'You've been allocated David's old cell on the enhanced spur.' He winks.

Thank you,' I reply, and prepare for my ninth move in six weeks. The whole process takes less than an hour, because on this occasion I'm a.s.sisted by a local removal company: Darren, Sergio and Jimmy Ltd.

My new cell is on the ground floor with the enhanced prisoners. Number seventeen is opposite Darren's cell, who has Steve (conspiracy to murder and librarian) on one side, and Jimmy (Ecstasy courier, captain of everything) on the other. The officers describe it as the grown-up spur, and personally select who will be allowed to reside there. To have made it in three weeks is considered quite an achievement, although Darren managed it in four days.