Mary is off to Kenya with her sister Janet on Monday, a journey she has wanted to make for some years because of her love of cats, whatever their size.
What happened to our ninety minutes together?
6.00 pm
I’m in my final writing session for the day when there’s a knock on the door. This usually means that a prisoner has a headache and needs some paracetamol, which I am allowed to dispense as long as the inmate has a note from the duty officer. If it’s something more serious, then his unit officer has to be consulted. I open my door and smile up at an inmate, who looks pretty healthy to me.
‘Have you got any condoms, Jeff?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I tell him, aware that Linda keeps a supply for prisoners going on weekend leave, or just about to be released, but even then she only gives them out very sparingly. ‘If you report to surgery at seven-thirty tomorrow morning, Linda will …’
‘It’ll be too late by then,’ he says. I look surprised. ‘It’s just that my sister visited me this afternoon and she hasn’t got enough money to get home. A few of the lads are willing to pay her ten quid for a blow job, which usually ends up with them going the whole way and ending up paying twenty.’
All of which begs several questions when possession of money in a prison is illegal. Is this an indoor or outdoor activity (it’s minus two degrees outside) and is she really his sister?
‘Sorry, I can’t help,’ is my only response, and after he has disappeared into the night. I try hard to concentrate on my writing.
DAY 165
SUNDAY 30 DECEMBER 2001
7.30 am
The security officer on duty today enjoys his job, but never feels fulfilled until he’s put someone on a charge. Mr Vessey rushes into surgery to see sister. During the night he’s found fourteen empty bottles of vodka at the bottom of the skip by the entrance to the prison. A whispered conversation ensues, not that it takes a lot of imagination to realize that he’s asking if any inmates checked into surgery this morning ‘a little worse for wear’. Moments later, he rushes off to the south block.
In fact, very few inmates were on sick parade this morning as most of them are sleeping in, or sleeping it off, and the ones that appeared were genuinely ill. He will be disappointed.
10.00 am
During the morning we have visits from Mr Lewis and Mr Berlyn, the new deputy governor, who join Linda for coffee. Mr Hocking is the next to arrive, with the news that five inmates have failed the breathalyser test. Two of them are CSV workers, who could lose all their privileges. For example, they could be put back to work on the farm for the rest of their sentence.16 Mr Hocking tells me he doubts if the punishment will be that draconian, but the warning will be clear for the future.
Why would anyone risk losing so much for a couple of vodkas?
12 noon
Linda leaves at midday so I spend four of the next six hours editing Belmarsh, volume one of these diaries.
7.00 pm
During the evening I read Here is New York by E. B. White, which Will gave me for Christmas. One paragraph towards the end of the essay is eerily prophetic.
The subtlest change in New York is something people don’t speak much about, but that is in everyone’s mind. The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes, no bigger than a wedge of geese, can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions. The intimation of mortality is part of New York now; in the sound of jets overhead, in the black headlines of the latest edition.
This was written in 1949, and the author died in 1985.
DAY 166
NEW YEAR’S EYE 2001
11.00 am
Four new prisoners arrive at the hospital from Nottingham, looking lost and a little disorientated. I’m surprised that Group 4 has deposited them before lunch as they don’t usually arrive until around four in the afternoon.
‘It’s New Year’s Eve,’ explains Linda. ‘They’ll all want to be home by four.’
12 noon
Linda checks her books and tells me that NSC had a turnover of just over a thousand prisoners during 2001, so after eleven weeks, I’m already something of an old lag.
6.00 pm
Mary and I usually invite eight guest to dinner at the Old Vicarage on New Year’s Eve. This year I’ll have to settle for a KitKat, a glass of Ribena and hope that Doug and Clive are able to join me.
DAY 167
NEW YEAR’S DAY 2002
6.00 am
The camp is silent, so I begin to go over volume one of these diaries. Reading through those early days when I was so distressed, I can’t believe how much I have made myself forget. And this has become even more pronounced since my appointment as hospital orderly, where I have everything except freedom and the daily company of my wife, family and friends; a punishment in itself, but not purgatory and certainly not hell.
10.00 am
Mr New drops into the hospital to say his farewells. He leaves NSC tonight and will, on 8 January, change his uniform for a suit, when he becomes a governor at Norwich Prison. He’s taught me a great deal about good and evil during the past three months.
6.00 pm
I miss my wife, I miss my family and I miss my friends. The biggest enemy I have to contend with is boredom, and it’s a killer.
For many prisoners, it’s the time when they first experiment with drugs. To begin with, drugs are offered by the dealers for nothing, and when they demand more, in exchange for a phonecard and an ounce of tobacco or cash, and finally, when they’re hooked, they’ll give anything for a fix – including their life.
Tonight, the Lincolnshire constabulary informed sister that a former prisoner called Cole, who left NSC six weeks ago, has been found under a hedge in a quiet country lane.
He died from an overdose.
Happy New Year.
DAY 168
WEDNESDAY 2 JANUARY 2002
6.00 am
I continue to edit A Prison Diary Volume One – Belmarsh: Hell.
10.00 am
Mr Berlyn drops in to tell me that he already has plans for my CSV work should my sentence be reduced, and this even before the date of my appeal is known. He wants me to work in an old-age pensioners’ home, as it will be out of sight of the press. He also feels I would benefit from the experience. I had hoped to work in the Red Cross shop in Boston, but Mr Berlyn has discounted that option after Maria brought in, without permission, some books for me to sign before Christmas to raise money for their Afghanistan appeal. The Rev Derek Johnson, the prison chaplain, has been to see him to plead their case, explaining that he is in the forgiveness and rehabilitation business. Mr Berlyn’s immediate retort was, ‘I’m in the punishment and retribution business.’ He must have meant of prisoners; I can’t believe he wishes to punish a hard-working, decent woman trying to run a Red Cross shop.
4.50 pm
Linda looks very tired. She’s worked twenty-one of the last twenty-four days. She tells me that she’s going to apply for a job in Boston. My only selfish thought is that I hope she doesn’t leave before I do.
8.00 pm
Doug turns up at the hospital for his nightly bath and to watch television. He’s now settled into his job as a driver, which keeps him out of the prison between the hours of 8 am and 7 pm. I wonder if, for prisoners like Doug, it wouldn’t be better to rethink the tagging system, so he could give up his bed for a more worthy candidate.
DAY 169
THURSDAY 3 JANUARY 2002
7.30 am
Morning surgery is packed with inmates who want to sign up for acupuncture. You must report to hospital between 7.30 and 8 am in order to be booked in for an eleven o’clock appointment. Linda and Gail are both fully qualified, and ‘on the out’ acupuncture could cost up to £40 a session. To an inmate, it’s free of charge, as are all prescriptions.
The purpose of acupuncture in prison is twof
old: to release stress, and to wean you off smoking. Linda and Gail have had several worthwhile results in the past. One inmate has dropped from sixty cigarettes a day to three after only a month on the course. Other prisoners, who are suffering from stress, rely on it, and any prisoner who turns up for a second session can be described as serious.
However, back to the present. Eight inmates suspiciously arrive in a group, and sign up for the eleven o’clock session. They all by coincidence reside in the south block and work on the farm, which means that they’ll miss most of the morning’s work and still be fully paid.
At eight o‘clock Linda calls Mr Donnelly on the farm to let him know that the morning’s acupuncture session is so oversubscribed (two regular applicants, one from education and one unemployed) so she’ll take the eight from the farm at four o’clock this afternoon. This means that they’ll have to complete their day’s work before reporting to the hospital. It will be interesting to see how many of them turn up.
9.00 am
Young Ron (both legs broken) hobbles in to see the doctor. He’s on the paper chase and has to be cleared as fit and free of any problems before he can be released at 8 am tomorrow. After the hospital, he still has to visit the gym, stores, SMU, education, unit office and reception. How will they go about signing out a man with two broken legs as fit to face the world? Linda comes to the rescue, phones each department and then signs on their behalf. Problem solved.
9.13 am
When Dr Walling has finished ministering to his patients, he joins me in the ward. We discuss the drug problem in Boston, sleepy Boston, (population of around 54,000).
Recently Dr Walling’s car was broken into. All the usual things were stolen – radio, tapes, briefcase – but he was devastated by the loss of a box of photographic slides that he has built up over a period of thirty years. Because he hadn’t duplicated them, they were irreplaceable, and the theft took place only days before he was due to deliver a series of lectures in America. Assuming that it was a drug-related theft (cash needed for a quick fix), Dr Walling visited the houses of Boston’s three established drug barons. He left a note saying that he needed the slides urgently and would pay a reward of £100 if they were returned.
The slides turned up the following day.
The true significance of this tale is that a leading doctor knows who the town’s drug barons are, and yet the police seem powerless to put such men behind bars. Dr Walling explains that it’s the old problem of ‘Mr Big’ never getting his hands dirty. He arranges for the drugs to be smuggled into the country before being sold to a dealer. Mr Big also employs runners to distribute the drugs, free of charge, mainly to children as they leave school unaccompanied, so that long before they reach university or take a job, they’re hooked. And that, I repeat, is in Boston, not Chelsea or Brixton.
What will Britain be like in ten years’ time, twenty years, thirty, if the police estimate that 40 per cent of all crime today is drug-related?
4.00 pm
No one from the farm turns up for acupuncture.
7.37 pm
Carl rushes in, breathless, to say a prisoner has collapsed on the south block. Linda went home two hours ago, so I run out of the hospital, to find Mr Belford and Mr Harman a few yards ahead of me.
When we arrive at the prisoner’s door, we find the inmate gasping for breath. I recognize him immediately from his visit to Dr Walling this morning. I feel helpless as he lies doubled-up, clutching his stomach, but fortunately an ambulance arrives within minutes. A paramedic places a mask over the inmate’s face, and then asks him some routine questions, all of which I am able to answer on his behalf – name off doctor, last visit to surgery, nature of complaint and medication given. I’m also able to tell them his blood pressure, 145/78. They rush him to the Pilgrim Hospital, and as he failed his recent risk assessment, Mr Harman has to travel with him.
As Mr Harman is now off the manifest, we are probably down to five officers on duty tonight, to watch over 211 prisoners.
DAY 170
FRIDAY 4 JANUARY 2002
I finish editing Belmarsh, and post it back to my publishers.
8.00 am
I leave the hospital to carry out my morning rounds. This has three purposes: first, to let each department head know which inmates are off work, second, in case of a fire, to identify who is where, and third, if someone fails to show up for roll-call, to check if they’ve absconded.
En route to the farm I bump into Blossom, who had one of the pigs named after him. (See photo page 193.) Blossom is a traveller, or a gipsy as we used to describe them before it became politically incorrect. Blossom tells me that he’s just dug a lamb out of the ice. It seems it got its hindquarters stuck in some mud which froze overnight, so the poor animal couldn’t move.
‘You’ve saved the animal’s life,’ I tell Blossom.
‘No,’ he says, ‘he’s going to be slaughtered today, so he’ll soon be on the menu as frozen cutlets.’
12 noon
I pick up my post from the south block. Although most of the messages continue along the same theme, one, sent from a Frank and Lurline in Wynnum, Australia is worthy of a mention, if only because of the envelope. It was addressed thus:
Lord Jeffrey Archer
Jailed for telling a fib
Somewhere in England.
It is dated Christmas Day, and has taken only nine days to reach me in deepest Lincolnshire.
2.30 pm
The main administration block has been sealed off. Gail tells me that she can’t get into the building to carry out any paperwork and she doesn’t know why. This is only interesting because it’s an area that is off-limits to inmates.
Over the past few months, money and valuables have gone missing. Mr Berlyn is determined to catch the culprit. It turns out to be a fruitless exercise, because, despite a thorough search, the £20 that was stolen from someone’s purse doesn’t materialize. Mr Hocking, the security officer in charge of the operation, found the whole exercise distasteful as it involved investigating his colleagues. I have a feeling he knows who the guilty party is, but certainly isn’t going to tell me. My deep throat, a prisoner of long standing, tells me the name of the suspect. For those readers with the mind of a detective, she doesn’t get a mention in this diary.
DAY 171
SATURDAY 5 JANUARY 2002
7.30 am
A prisoner from the south block checks into surgery with a groin injury. Linda is sufficiently worried about his condition to have him taken to the local hospital without delay. Meanwhile she dresses his wounds and gives him some painkillers. He never once says please or thank you. This attitude would be true of over half the inmates, and nearer 70 per cent of those under thirty. Although it’s a generalization, I have become aware that those without manners are also the work shy amongst the prison population.
2.30 pm
Among the thousands of letters I’ve received since I’ve been incarcerated, several are from charities that continue to ask for donations, signed books and memorabilia, and occasionally for a doodle, drawing, poem or even a painting. Despite my life-long love of art, the good Lord decided to place a pen in my hand, not a paintbrush. But I found an alternative when I came across Darren, an education orderly. Darren has already designed several imaginative posters and signs for the hospital. The latest charity request is that I should produce a sunflower, in any medium. I came up with an idea which Darren produces. (See overleaf.)
DAY 172
SUNDAY 6 JANUARY 2002
8.00 am
As it’s Twelfth Night, I spend a couple of hours taking down my Christmas cards (1,712), and packing them up so I can hand them over to Will when he visits me this afternoon.
10.30 am
Linda tells me that a nurse at the Pilgrim Hospital phoned urgently about the prisoner with the groin injury. An officer is dispatched immediately to keep an eye on him until he’s safely back in his room at NSC. Not a bad idea to get yourself transferred to the loc
al hospital if you plan to escape, but it’s not that bright to ask a nurse where the exits are.
2.00 pm
Will visits me, accompanied by my Christmas present. Neither he nor James have heard a word from their mother since she landed in Kenya. Will reassures me by suggesting she’s either having a good time, or she’s been eaten by a lion.
8.00 pm
Doug arrives at the hospital with the news that five prisoners who were out on a town leave have failed to return. As none of them are murderers, only the local police will be alerted. If a murderer absconds, the Home Office has to brief the national press within twenty-four hours.
DAY 173
MONDAY 7 JANUARY 2002
North Sea Camp has been told to increase its bed space. Now that almost every room has a TV set, the large television rooms can be converted into three dormitories, giving the prison another thirteen beds. I don’t think this will go a long way to solving the problem of overcrowding in prisons.