A Prison Diary Part 20

DAY 83

TUESDAY 9 OCTOBER 2001

DAY 84 WEDNESDAY 10 OCTOBER 2001

8.45 am

Mr King tells me as I collect my breakfast that I will not be going to Latchmere House, so they are now trying Spring Hill. As Mr Carlton-Boyce has not briefed me himself but left it to the duty officer, I fear this does not bode well.

11.00 am Exercise. Darren and I are joined by a prisoner from Singapore, who wishes to remain anonymous. He tells us that he's inside for selling 'duff heroin to a young girl, who later died in hospital. He was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to four years. He just thought I ought to know.

5.00 pm Jimmy has just come back from work and tells me that he saw a lifer being released this morning who had served over twenty years. He was accompanied by nine plastic bags and a double bed that he'd made in the workshop. But he has a problem. No one turned up to collect him, so they had to put him back in his cell overnight. Heaven knows what they did with the double bed.

9.00 am Pottery. Say farewell to Anne, as I'm fairly sure I won't be at Wayland this time next week. She promises to put my pot in the kiln, and then deliver it to Chris Beetles so that I can give it to Mary for Christmas.

2.00 pm Rugby. I referee a match against an army team from Ba.s.sing-bourne, which turns ugly in the last few minutes of the game. Shane (GBH and gym orderly) runs halfway down the pitch and thumps one of the visiting players. I realize I have no choice but to send him off. I blow my whistle and chase after him, but two officers run onto the field and drag him away before I can reach him. He's immediately banned from partic.i.p.ating in any sport for two weeks. The army team beat us by 25-10, which wasn't too bad remembering that we played the second half with only fourteen players on the field. But then I was the referee.

6.00 pm I start reading Twelfth Night. I would happily exchange my present abode for a willow cabin.

DAY 85

THURSDAY 11 OCTOBER 2001

8.45 am

Governor Carlton-Boyce tells me that there is no room for me at Spring Hill, so they are now considering North Sea Campnear Boston, in Lincolns.h.i.+re. I point out that it would be a round trip from London of 240 miles, and I'd never be able to see my family. Carlton-Boyce doesn't seem that interested and simply says, 'I'm just doing my job, and that's what I'm paid for.'

9.15 am Mrs Wendy Sergeant (head of education) has heard that I'll be leaving imminently and asks to interview me for her PhD thesis on 'prison reform through education'. As I've only been in residence nine weeks, and she's served the Prison Service for eleven years, I'm not sure I have a great deal to offer her, other than to confirm her worst fears.

I tell her that I believe every prisoner should leave being able to read and write, and that the weekly pay for education ought to be at the same level as any job in the prison. In fact, I would go further and suggest that it would benefit society more if prisoners received a higher income for agreeing to partic.i.p.ate in education, rather than cleaning their spur, or serving chips.

Wendy tells me that she considers many people are unsuitable for prison and should not be mixing with hardened criminals. She will be suggesting in her thesis the use of halfway houses, especially as the prisons are equipped to handle only 62,500 inmates, with over 67,000 presently convicted.

2.00 pm I call Mary to warn her that I'm probably being transferred to a prison over a hundred miles away from London. She tells me that Ramona, my solicitor, has tried to phone Wayland, but the governor is refusing to take her calls, which seems in line with her apparent policy of remaining anonymous.

DAY 86

FRIDAY 12 OCTOBER 2001

9.00 am

I turn up at the gym and wait for my little special needs group to arrive. It will be the last time 111 work with them.

Without warning, two drug officers appear by the side of the running machine and tell me that my name has come up on the computer for an MDT (Mandatory Drugs Test). Five names come up every day so I can't complain if, after nine weeks, it's my turn. I'm taken to the medical centre to join four otherprisoners in a waiting room. Two look distinctly furtive, while the other two appear quite relaxed. When the officer puts his head round the door he asks if anyone is ready. Like a greyhound in the slips, I am through that gap before anyone else can reply.

Mr Kelvin Cross introduces himself and then proceeds to read out my rights before asking me to sign a green form (see overleaf). I ask - for research purposes - what would happen if I refused to give a urine sample or sign the form.

Twenty-eight days would automatically be added to your sentence.'

I sign the form.

I disappear into the lavatory while one of the officers watches me through a gla.s.s pane. After I have handed over my sample, I comment that there is no soap in the wash basin.

Mr Cross explains that soap added to the urine sample would cloud it, and as a further test is not permitted again for another twenty-eight days, any drugs could have cleared themselves through your system. Can't argue with that either.

By the time they've finished with me it's nearly eleven. I return to my cell and make notes on the MDT experience, only disappointed not to have been able to say goodbye to Alex, Robbie, Les and Paul.

1.00 pm The news is full of riots in Pakistan, anthrax in New York and food parcels being dropped on the wrong villages in Afghanistan. I check my canteen list before spending the afternoon writing.

DAY 87 SAt.u.r.dAY 13 OCTOBER 2001

2.00 pm

Visit. My son James and our mutual Kurdish friends Broosk and Nadhim have driven up from London to see me. The talk is mostly political, and they describe how it feels to live in London during the present crisis. Nadhim adds that he attended the Conservative Party conference in Blackpool (he's a councillor for Wandsworth) and he couldn't help comparing the gathering with his first conference in Brighton twenty years ago when Margaret Thatcher was the prime minister.

'Same people,' he tells me, 'they're just twenty years older.' "You included,' I remind him.

Nadhim's a great fan of IDS, but admits his conference speech wasn't inspiring.

James is still enjoying his new job in the City and takesme through a typical day. We then discuss my appeal which doesn't now look as if it will be scheduled before the new year. The law grinds slowly...

Broosk is full of news, having just landed two big contracts to decorate large homes in London and Nice. I first met these two young Kurds twelve years ago - 'Bean Kurd' and 'Lemon Kurd' - when they helped me organize the Simple Truth campaign, and they have remained friends ever since.

8.00 pm After a few games of backgammon with Darren and Jimmy I return to my cell to be banged up for another fourteen hours.

I've become hooked on Who Wants to be a Millionaire?. I would have failed to make more than 2,000 this week because I didn't know the name of the actor who plays the barman in EastEnders. However, I was able to answer the 4,000 question, "Who is the current leader of the Conservative Party? a) Michael Howard, b) David Davis, c) Iain Duncan Smith, d) Kenneth Clarke.' The father and son contestants picked David Davis. Hmm, I wonder if this is an omen or a prophecy?

DAY 88

SUNDAY 14 OCTOBER 2001

11.00 am

I'm called to the hospital wing to fill in some forms to confirm I'm fit to travel. When I return to the spur, Darren tells me it shows that I'm being transferred tomorrow. I find this hard to believe; surely Mr Carlton-Boyce would have warned me. I ask several officers, but as no one has informed them either, I a.s.sume Darren must be wrong.

230 pm Exercise. I visit Shaun at his cell window, and talk through what work will be required for this diary just in case I am s.h.i.+pped out tomorrow: one watercolour of the prison, one pastel of a cell, plus drawings of Dale, Jimmy, Darren, Jules, Steve and Nigel. If I suddenly disappear, Shaun promises to deliver them to my agent just as soon as he's released.

DAY 89

MONDAY 15 OCTOBER 2001

8.15 am

Mr Newson arrives outside my cell door to tell me that the Group 4 van has arrived and is waiting for me in the yard,they are ready to transfer me to North Sea Camp. He seemed surprised that I haven't been warned, I dash upstairs to see Mr Tinkler in his office, who confirms the news, and adds that I must start packing immediately.

'And if I don't?'

'You'll be put on report and may have to stay here indefinitely, and not necessarily on the enhanced wing.'

So much for my so-called 'special treatment', as regularly reported in the press.

I try to say goodbye to as many inmates as possible - Darren, Jimmy, Dale, Nigel, Jason, Jules, Monster and Steve.

Darren helps me pack my large plastic bag and then carries it down to the reception area for me. There are three other plastic bags awaiting me in reception. They are full of presents from the public -everything from Bibles to tea towels.

I thank Darren for his kindness and help over the past nine weeks. He smiles, and offers one last piece of advice.

'Once you've settled in North Sea Camp, contact Doug. He's the hospital orderly, and can fix anything for you.' I try to thank Darren - inadequately.

The Group 4 guard who will accompany me to Lincolns.h.i.+re introduces himself as Andrew and kindly carries two of the plastic bags out to the van, so I don't have to make several journeys. To my surprise, I'm to travel to my D-cat in a sweatbox, as if I were a rapist or a murderer. Andrew explains that he has to drop off another prisoner on the way, who is being transferred to a C-cat near Stamford.

'Why are you taking someone from one C-cat to another?' I enquire.

"We're having to move this particular prisoner every few days,' Andrew explains. 'He keeps telling everyone that he's a supporter of Osama bin Laden, and it seems that not every other prisoner is in favour of freedom of speech. However, it still remains our responsibility to keep him alive.'

On the journey to Stamford, the bin Laden supporter demands that the radio be turned up. Andrew tells him that it's quite loud enough already, for which I am grateful, as it's a long, slow trek across Norfolk and on to the plains of Lincolns.h.i.+re.

I enjoy seeing tall trees and acres of green English countryside, even though it's through a gla.s.s darkly. We arrive at the 'bin Laden' prison, where my cohabitant departs. He's handcuffed and led away. I can just glimpse himthrough my little window. A round, colourful hat covers his head, and a black beard obscures most of his face.

We move off again, but it's another hour before I see a signpost: North Sea Camp, one mile. I begin to think about starting all over again. I'm somewhat fearful. Belmarsh was h.e.l.l, Wayland purgatory. Have I finally arrived in heaven?