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‘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.
