A Prison Diary Part 7

MONDAY 20 AUGUST 2001

5.54 am

Wake and wonder how long it will take the police to close their file on the Kurds and allow me to be transferred to an open prison. I heard a story yesterday about a prisoner who wanted to do it the other way round. He put in an application to be transferred from a D-cat open prison to a C-cat - a more secure environment with a tougher regime. His reasons seem strange but, I'm told, are not uncommon.

He was serving a twenty-two-year sentence for murder.

After five years, they moved him from an A-cat to a B-cat, which is a little more relaxed. After a further twelve years they transferred him to Wayland. At Wayland he became an enhanced prisoner with all the privileges that affords. He was also chief gardener, which allowed him to be out of his cell for most of the day and gave him an income of more than 30 a week. In his own world he wanted for nothing, and the governor considered him to be a model prisoner.

After twenty years he was granted D-cat status as part ofhis preparation for returning to the outside world. He was transferred to Ford Open Prison in Suss.e.x to begin his rehabilitation.

He lasted at Ford for less than a month. One Sat.u.r.day afternoon he absconded and turned himself in at the local police station a few hours later. He was arrested, charged with attempting to abscond and sent back to Wayland, where he remained until he had completed his sentence.

The governor at the time couldn't resist asking him why he'd absconded. He replied that he couldn't handle the responsibility of making his own decisions. He also missed not having a proper job and the ordered discipline of the Wayland regime. But most of all he missed the high walls that surrounded the prison because they made him feel safe from all those people on the outside.

With less than six months to go before the end of his sentence, he was found in his cell with a piece of silver paper from a KitKat wrapper, a few grams of heroin and a lighted match. He had even pressed the emergency b.u.t.ton inside his cell to make certain that he was caught. The governor wasn't sure what to do, because he knew only too well that the prisoner had never taken heroin in twenty years. Only six weeks were added to his sentence and he was released a few months later. Within a month of leaving prison, he committed suicide.

8.15 am Breakfast. I have a Shredded Wheat and think of Ian Botham. This is doubly appropriate because it's twenty years ago this week that he scored 149 at Headingley and, with the a.s.sistance of Willis and Dilly, defeated Australia, despite England having to follow on. In today's match, Australia lead by 314, and I a.s.sume Adam Gilchrist will soon declare, as they've already won the series and England have only scored more than 300 in a final innings against Australia once in the last hundred years.

9.11 am One of the prison chaplains visits me. She bears a message from Michael Adie, who until recently was the Bishop of Guild-ford. Michael and I first met in 1969 when he was Vicar of Louth and I was the Member of Parliament for that beautiful const.i.tuency. He was a more natural friend for Mary, having gained a first-cla.s.s honours degree in mathematics at Cambridge. Michael wants to visit me and hasdiscovered that a bishop can see a prisoner without it affecting his quota of fortnightly visits.

I suggest to Margaret, the prison chaplain, that for Michael to make the long journey to Norfolk is typical of his generous spirit, but it might be wiser to wait and find out which D-cat prison they are going to transfer me to. I feel sure it will be nearer London and he could then visit me there. She kindly agrees to relay that message back to him.

12 noon Lunch. When I reach the hotplate, Dale looks anxious and whispers that he has to see me urgently.

I return to my cell, flick on the television to find that England are 12 for 2 and an Australian victory now looks certain. All we can hope for now is a draw. The untutored Jules thinks England can still win. Bless him. After all, he has only taken to watching cricket because he's stuck in the same cell as me.

2.00 pm Gym. I complete my usual programme and feel I'm just about back to the level of fitness I was before being sentenced. I leave the exercise room to check up on what's happening in the main hall, where I find a volleyball match in progress.

So many prisoners want to join in that they are playing one team on and one team off. By the end of the game, I accept the fart that I can no longer hope to play at this level, and appoint myself referee. Within a minute, I've given a penalty point because a prisoner swears following one of my decisions. A near riot breaks out and it's several minutes before I can get the game started again. What then follows is a close, well-fought match without another swear word uttered. When I blow the final whistle, the players on both sides all turn to face me, and swear as one.

3-20 pm After a shower, I sit in my tiny cell and watch England fight their way back to 107 for 2. Jules is still convinced England can win. Dale visits me in my cell soon after Jules has disappeared off to education. Dale warns me that he's been interviewed by a security officer. Although they have no proof, they are fairly sure that the five 20 postal orders he received last week came from me, and they've warned him that if any further monies materialize that cannot be accounted for, they'll set up a full enquiry. We both agree that payments will have to cease, and with it my weekly supplies. Help!3.50 pm The same officer interviews me thirty minutes later, saying he has reason to believe I have been sending money in to another prisoner. The officer could not have been more reasonable, and adds that if it occurs again, it could greatly harm my chances of regaining D-cat status. It is then that he asks me if I am being bullied and paying someone to protect me. I burst out laughing. The officer obviously feels that Dale, at six foot three and twenty-seven stone, is my paid minder.

I make it clear that no one is bullying me, and I don't require any protection, but if I do he will be the first person to hear about it. The last thing I need is to jeopardize my D-cat, or be beaten up.

I return to my cell to find England are 207 for 3 at tea and Butcher is playing out of his skin. Even McGrath is being regularly dispatched to all parts of the ground. Could Jules be right?

4.30 pm Exercise. I go out into the yard every day now, not just because I need the exercise but to pick up stories from the prisoners on different wings. Many of them are professional criminals, while others are just stupid or lazy. The most dangerous and frighten- ing are a combination of all three. However, a minority are bright; but for the circ.u.mstances of their upbringing many of them might well have held down responsible positions.

Darren agrees with me, but pointing to an inmate a few paces ahead of us, adds, 'But not in his case.'

"Why?" I ask. "Who's he?'

That's Dumbo,' he says, but offers no further explanation until we have pa.s.sed him and he is well out of earshot.

'In December last year,' Darren continues, 'Dumbo was unemployed and facing the prospect of a distinctly un-merry Christmas. His wife said she'd had enough, and told him to go out and get some money and she didn't care how. Dumbo disappeared off to the town's largest toy store, where he shoplifted a replica gun. He then walked across the road, held up the local chemist and departed with fourteen hundred pounds in cash. He returned home, handed over the money to his wife, confident that she would feel he'd done a good day's work. But after counting the notes, she told him that it wasn't enough and to go and get some more. Hold yourbreath,' said Darren, "Dumbo once again leaves his home, returns to the high street, walks back into the same chemist shop with the intention of repeating the hold-up, only to find two police officers inter-viewing the proprietor. Dumbo was arrested on the spot, accom-panied to the nearest police station, charged and later sentenced to eight years for robbery while in the possession of a firearm.'

No novelist would dare to consider such a plot.

5.15 pm When I return to my cell, Jules is glued to the television. Butcher is still at the crease. We both watch as Jules's prediction comes true and England sweep to a famous victory - Butcher, having scored the winning run, is 173 not out. This is an innings he will not be the only person to remember for the rest of his life.

I feel I should point out that Jules is every bit as excited as I am. A convert. A week ago he couldn't understand a draw, let alone what a follow on was, now he can't wait for next Thursday to watch the fifth and final test. I do hope he doesn't expect them all to end like this.

5.45 pm Supper. I'm tucking into my beans and chips when Mr Meanwell unlocks the cell door and asks to have a private word with me. He doesn't speak again until we are in his office and the door is closed.

'You were lucky to have got away with it this time, but don't do it again,' he warns me. 'If you do, it could hold up your D-cat for months. And if you're thinking of doing anything with Sergio, wait until he's completed his sentence.' I'm impressed by how well-informed Mr Meanwell is.

DAY 34

TUESDAY 21 AUGUST 2001

6.11am

Slept well, write for two hours.

8.15am

Breakfast. It's Rice Crispies again. It's taken me until the middle of the second week to work out that it's Shredded Wheat on Monday, Rice Crispies on Tuesday, cornflakes on Wednesday. Nothing changes. Everything is by rote.

10.00 am My induction seems to have run its course. However, I remain on the induction wing as I wait for a single cell tobecome vacant I am made aware of this because the cycle has begun again: a new group of prisoners is being seen by a member of the Board of Visitors. I peer through the little mesh window in the door; it's not Mr Flintcroft this time, but a lookalike.

10.15 am Education. I pull on my newly supplied prison regulation heavy brown boots as I prepare for my first pottery lesson.

Once I've left the spur I have to ask several officers and inmates the way to the Art Centre, which turns out to be on the other side of the prison.

When I finally locate it, the first person I see on entering the room is Shaun, who sits in the corner of the large square workshop working on an abstract pastel. He greets me with a smile. The next person I spot is a lady who I a.s.sume must be our tutor. She's around five foot six, dark-haired and dark-eyed with a warm smile. She introduces herself as Anne.

The first task Anne sets me is to read a pottery book and see if I come across any object I'd like to recreate. I try to tell her about my lack of talent in this area, but she just smiles. I begin to read the book as she moves on to Roger, a jolly West Indian (bank robber), who is doing a sculpture of the Virgin Mary. She then goes across to Terry (burglar), who is moulding his piece of clay into a lion. I am engrossed in my book when Anne returns, accompanied by a large lump of clay. She also has a thin wooden stick that looks like a knife without a handle, which is numbered four.

She glances down at the page I've reached to see a head and shoulders figure of a man. With the help of the wooden knife, she carves chunks off the square putty to start forming the shoulders, and then leaves me to begin my first attempt at figurative sculpture.

As I turn my attention to the head and neck, I get into conversation with Shaun who is rubbing his fingers into the pastel to try and give his picture a blurred 'Turneresque'

look. While he chats away about which artists influence him, I subtly try to steer the conversation off art and find out why he is in prison, quite expecting him to claim that he's another victim of drugs.

"No, no, no,' he says. 'Forgery.' My ears p.r.i.c.k up.

"Paintings?' I ask.'No,' he replies. 'Much as I'd like to be a Keating or Elmyr Hory, it's more mundane than that - John Lewis gift vouchers.' I laugh. 'So how were you caught?'

'I was gra.s.sed up by my mate who got nervous and turned Queen's evidence. He got off while I ended up with thirteen months in prison.'

Thirteen months? That's a strange sentence.' 'I was given twelve months for the forgery and an extra month for not turning up to the first hearing.'

'How much did you get away with?' I ask casually. 'Can't tell you that,' he responds. "But I admitted to a couple of grand.'

'And you'll be out in three weeks, so how long have you served?'

'Just over four months.'

"So you haven't that long to carry out my commission.' He turns back to his sketch pad and flicks over a few pages. Be reveals half a dozen sketches of five figures in different poses and asks which one I would prefer. "Which one do you prefer?'

"Number three,' he says, placing his thumb on the sketch.

I nod my agreement as Anne reappears by my side.

1 see what you mean by lack of talent,' she says, and bursts laughing at my feeble effort of a head and shoulders, which MDks like a cross between ET and a Botero. Roger (bank robber) md Terry (burglar) come across to find out what's causing such "You should have started with a pot, man,' says Roger, 'and not tried to advance so quickly.' He's already identified my biggest failing.

Without warning, two officers march in and begin to carry out a search. I a.s.sume it must be to check on the number of wooden knives and wire used for slicing the putty. But no, I'm told later it was for drugs. The workshops are evidently a common place for dealers to conduct their business.

On the way back to my cell I get lost again, but Shaun accompanies me to A wing and tells me that he has come up with a concept for the cover of Wayland (see plate section).

I had always a.s.sumed that a graphic designer would do the cover of the book, but the idea of a fellow prisoner carrying out the commission is very appealing. I also admire Shaun'senterprise in spotting the opportunity. As we part at the T-junction between our two blocks, we agree to meet up during afternoon exercise to continue the discussion.

12 noon Lunch. Dale's mushroom soup plus a vegetable fritter.

2.14 pm I call my solicitor to try to find out the latest on the Simple Truth investigation. The police have been supplied with all our doc.u.ments plus a detailed report from the Red Cross. Detective Chief Superintendent Perry, who's in charge of the case, is sympathetic, but says he must follow up all Baroness Nicholson's accusations. To DCS Perry a day is nothing; to me it's another fourteen hours locked in a cell.

5.00 pm Supper: Chinese stir-fry and vegetables. An original recipe served up in one blob, and certainly not cooked by anyone who originated from the Orient.

6.00 pm No evening gym because there is a cricket match between A and D blocks (the drug-free wing known as junkies' paradise).

I am going over my script for the day when Jimmy appears outside my cell door.

Tou're batting at number five, my lord,' he says, looking down at his team sheet.

"What?' I say. "The last game I played was for David Frost's eleven against the Lords Taverners and on that occasion I was dean bowled first ball.'

'Who was the bowler?' he asks.

'Imran Khan,' I reply.

The Pakistani fast bowler?' he asks in disbelief.

'Yes, but he was bowling slow leg breaks at the time.'

'You're still batting number five. Report to the top corridor in five minutes.'

I change into a tracksuit, place a bottle top in the gap in my door and run to the gate to find Darren waiting for me.

'Like the new Swatch,' he says. "What happened to the Longines?'

I tell him of my illicit transfer of the watch to Will during the last family visit.

The screws will have spotted it,' Darren a.s.sures me, 'and they would have been only too happy to see that particular watch leave the prison. Think of the trouble it would have caused them if someone had stolen it. Be warned, they don't miss much.''By the way,' adds Darren, 'one of the guys on our wing is being transferred tomorrow, so this may be your chance to get off the induction spur.'

My heart leaps at the news. I try to find out more details as we continue our stroll through a gate and out onto a large open field that is surrounded by a high fence topped with razor wire.

Jimmy wins the toss and elects to bat. Now, for those of you who understand the game of cricket, HM prisons keep to a set of laws that even the MCC have no jurisdiction over. They may or may not give you a better insight into prison thinking: (a) Both sides have ten overs each.

(b) Each over is nine b.a.l.l.s and you never change ends.

(c) Each side must play five bowlers who can bowl two overs each, but not consecutively.

(d) There are no boundaries and you have to run every run.

(e) The side with the highest score is the winner.

(f) The umpire's decision is final.

While the other side takes to the field, Dale and Carl pad up for A block. I look in the equipment trolley, hoping I will find a box and a helmet. At the age of sixty-one I don't fancy facing a twenty-two-year-old West Indian bowler from Brixton who thinks it would be fun to put me in hospital with no fear of being arrested for it. I can't believe my eyes: bats, pads, helmets, guards, boxes and gloves that are far superior to anything I've ever seen at any club game.

Our openers are both back in the pavilion by the end of the first over with the score at 6 for 2. We may well have first-cla.s.s equipment, but I quickly discover that it does little for our standard of cricket. Our number four lasts for three b.a.l.l.s so in the middle of the third over I find myself walking out to join Jimmy.

D Block boo me all the way to the crease, bringing a new meaning to the word 'sledging'. However, there is worse to come because the West Indian I referred to earlier is licking his lips in antic.i.p.ation. h.e.l.l, he's fast, but he's so determined to kill me that accuracy is sacrificed and his nine-ball over is extended to thirteen, with four wides.

After another couple of overs (don't forget, nine b.a.l.l.s each), Jimmy and I advance happily on to 35 for 4. That is when my captain decides to try and launch the ball over the prison fence and ends up having his middle stump removed.I fear neither Neville Cardus nor E. W. Swanton could have done justice to our progress from 35 for 4 to 39 all out. All you need to know is that the West Indian is back on for his second over, and during the next nine b.a.l.l.s he takes five wickets at a cost of four runs. I leave the pitch 11 not out, having not faced a ball since my captain returned to the pavilion (bowlers don't change ends). But all is not lost because when A block takes to the field - thanks to our demon quickie Vincent (manslaughter) - three of our opponents are back in the pavilion by the end of the first over, for a total of only five runs.

The second bowler is our West Indian. He is robbed with two dropped catches and a plump LBW, or I felt so from cover point. When he comes off, D block have only reached 9 for 2, but then prison rules demand that we render up our third bowler. On his arrival, the game is quickly terminated as the ball is peppered ruthlessly around the pitch. D block reach the required total with no further loss of wickets and five overs to spare.

On the way back to our cells, the D block captain says, 'Not bad, Jeff, even though you played like a f.u.c.king public school c.u.n.t.' In prison you have to prove yourself every day.

Once we're back inside the block, I tell Jimmy that I may be joining him on the enhanced spur.

'I don't think so, Jeff,' he replies. The man who's leaving us is our wing cleaner, and I think they've offered his cell to David (whisky bootlegger), the cleaner on your wing.' My heart sinks. 'Your best bet is to move into David's cell, and stay there until another one comes free.'

8.00 pm I return to my cell, but unfortunately there's no time for a shower before we're all banged up. I'm tired, sweaty, and even aching a little, having used muscles I don't normally press into action in the gym. I'm also hungry, so I open a tin of Princes ham (49p) and a packet of crisps (27p).