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Mr Hocking (security officer) appears in the kitchen to let me know that a Daily Mail photographer (whose hair is longer than that of any of the inmates), has entrenched himself on a local farmer’s land. He’ll be able to take a picture whenever I return to the north block. Mr Hocking is going to seek the farmer’s permission to eject him.
10.30 am
Mr Clarke has done a superb job; not only is the office spotless, but tomorrow he plans to get a grip on the waiting room — which presently resembles a 1947 GWR tea room.
12 noon
I have lunch with Malcolm (fraud and librarian orderly). He’s quiet, well spoken and intelligent, and even in prison garb has the air of a professional man. What could he have done to end up here?
1.00 pm
Mr New appears, then disappears upstairs to join Mr Simpson, the probation officer. This afternoon they’ll conduct interviews with three prisoners to discuss their sentence plans. That usually means that the inmate concerned only has a few months left to serve, so judgments have to be made on whether he is ready to take up work outside the prison, and if he is suitable for tagging.
The main factors in any decision are:
a. Is the prisoner likely to reoffend based on his past record?
b. Has he any record of violence?
c. Is he, or has he been, on drugs?
d. Has he completed all his town visits, and his week’s leave, without incident?
Ticks in all those boxes means he can hope for early release, i.e. a two-year sentence becomes one year with an extra two months off for tagging. All three of today’s applicants leave SMU with smiles on their faces.
2.20 pm
Mr Hocking returns, accompanied by a police officer. He tells me another camera has been found in an inmate’s room. Once again, the prisoner concerned has been shipped off to a C-cat prison. The third in less than a week. No doubt whichever newspaper was responsible will try again. A few weeks of this, and I’ll be the only prisoner still in residence.
4.30 pm
Mr Lewis the governing governor calls in to discuss the problem of lurking photographers. He asks me if I wish to return to Wayland.
‘You must be joking,’ are my exact words.
Mr New later explains that he only asked to protect the Prison Service, so that when a picture eventually appears in the press, I won’t be able to suggest that I wasn’t given the opportunity to return to closed conditions.
5.00 pm
Supper with Malcolm (fraud), Roger (murdered his wife), Martin (possession of a firearm which went off) and Matthew (breach of trust). All the talk is about an absconder who missed his girlfriend so much that he decided to leave us. He only had another nine weeks to go before his release date.
DAY 100
FRIDAY 26 OCTOBER 2001
A century of days in prison.
8.07 am
Breakfast. As it’s Friday, we’re offered weekend provisions: a plastic bag containing half a dozen tea bags, four sachets of sugar, some salt and pepper and a couple of pats of butter. Those of you who have read the previous two volumes of these diaries will recall my days in Belmarsh when I was on a chain gang, along with five other prisoners, putting tea bags into a plastic bag. Well, they’ve finally turned up at North Sea Camp. Prisoners do make useful contributions that can then be taken advantage of in other prisons, thus saving the taxpayer money, and giving inmates an occupation as well as a small weekly wage. For example, the tea towels in the kitchen were made in Dartmoor, the green bath towels in Liverpool, the brown sheets and pillowcases at Holloway and my blankets at Durham.
Now don’t forget the tea bags, because Doug has just told me over his eggs and bacon that a lifer has been shipped out to Lincoln Prison for being caught in possession of drugs. And where were they discovered? In his tea bags. Security staff raided his room this morning and found sixty tea bags containing cannabis, along with £40 in cash, which they consider proof that he was a dealer. But now for the ridiculous, sad, stupid, lunatic (choose your own word) aspect of this story — the prisoner in question was due for parole in eleven weeks’ time. He will now spend the next eighteen months in a B-cat, before going on to a C-cat, probably for a couple of years, before being allowed to return to a D-cat in around four years’ time. Doug adds that the security
staff didn’t know what he was up to, until another prisoner grassed on him.
‘Why would anyone do that?’ I ask.
‘Probably to save their own skin,’ Doug replies. ‘Perhaps he was about to be shipped out for a lesser offence, so he offered them a bigger fish in exchange for a reprieve. It happens all the time.’
