INSIDE STORY OF LIFE IN BRITAIN’S JAILS... I place my mobile in a security locker. No one is allowed a phone inside. I smile to myself. Prisons are awash with them. We find dozens a month, in cells, even secreted in bodies
grounds. The cannabis-style substitute – made illegal last week – has sparked a surge in violence.
I have seen well-behaved prisoners turned into monsters frothing at the mouth.
Over one week, six ambulances were called to take inmates high on the drug to hospital.
We have dogs that patrol the high fences that surround the perimeter, but it is a lost cause.
The inmates know how to bypass them and use their mobiles to order contraband.
It’s got so bad after the weekend that we nickname it ‘Throw over Monday.’
I reckon we find one in five packages, which contain a mixture of drugs, mobiles, steroids and booze.
Inside, it’s estimated a package costing £400 is worth £20,000.
Some inmates come out richer than when they go in. If everything goes well, the prisoners get breakfast from the hot server and go back to their cell.
I may get a chance for a cuppa, but I will most likely be running around as we have so few staff.
Next, we escort inmates to various areas in the prison, such as workshops, education or exercise.
Again, this is accompanied by noise. Orders, shouts, swearing and sometimes threats.
Mess
The movement of prisoners is when scores are settled and rival gangs clash. I was in the middle of two London gangs when violence erupted. They had homemade weapons called shanks – razor blades melted into a toothbrush. A number were slashed and six prison officers were hurt, with two going to hospital. I have lost count of the number of colleagues who have left because of injuries. Nowadays, officers are likely to be loaned to wings who do not have enough staff. I could do a half dozen escorts – all a potential punch up. It is emotionally draining. After escorting the inmates back to the wing for lunch, we lock up.
Theoretically, this is when we eat in our stuffy, windowless mess area.
Today, the prisoners are enjoying sausages and mash, apple pie and custard. I have a stale sandwich.
There is not much small talk as morale is low. We complain, but who’s listening?
The Government has been told that prisons are in a mess and a riot waiting to happen.
But instead of properly financing public jails, it wants to change the system yet again.
Secretary of State Michael Gove’s reforms, such as giving governors autonomy, are interesting.
But, without enough money they are just hot air.
Back on the landing it’s mayhem again as we repeat the morning’s movements.
I have to console a prisoner who has just received a Dear John letter from his missus. He cries and asks me why she will not wait for him. He loves her.
I resist the urge to tell him he might have thought of that before getting 12 years for armed robbery. I write a report in the log book to make sure he is given extra care and checked every 15 minutes. I manage half a cup of tea before dinner time and then association. This is the only time when all the inmates are out of their cell together and it is the most dangerous time of the day.
I was working in another jail when a nearriot erupted and we lost the wing for a day. I was pelted with pool balls by a mob of 30 inmates.
We had to call in help from three nearby establishments.
In the end, officers trained in riot procedure stormed the wing.
Only two prisoners were charged. The rest were effectively told not to do it again. Hardly punishment.
Since I started, the culture of violence has shifted and female officers are seen as fair game. Recently I witnessed a new officer, who is a single mum on £23,500 a year, being punched in the face.
Ask yourself, would you want your daughter to walk into that environment every day?
Lock up is about 7.30pm, but inmates can watch their Freeview TV until whatever time they want.
Some tell me they come in for a rest from the real world.
Theoretically I finish at 8pm, but in reality I am often on the wing at 9pm and seldom get home before 10pm.
I finish my briefing for the night shift and make sure they know about the Dear John victim.
I repeat all the security checks and pick up my mobile.
The wife wants me to stop off at Tesco and pick up a joint of lamb for Sunday.
All I can think of is sleep – and the fact I will have to do this all again tomorrow.