A Prison Diary Purgatory (2003) Read online

  ‘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 balls 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-class equipment, but I quickly discover that it does little for our standard of cricket. Our number four lasts for three balls 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 anticipation. Hell, 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 balls 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 balls 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 fucking public school cunt.’ 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).

  9.00 pm

  Jules watches The Bill, while I continue to read Graham Greene’s The Man Within. I fall asleep wondering if this is to be my last night in a double cell.

  DAY 35 - WEDNESDAY 22 AUGUST 2001

  6.04 am

  Wake. Fantasize about the possibility of a single cell. Write for two hours.

  8.15 am

  Breakfast Cornflakes and one slice of toast. Dale is missing from behind the hotplate.

  10.00 am

  I spot Dale in the corridor. He tells me he’s resigned from his job at the hotplate. He’s sick of getting up thirty minutes before the rest of us just to be abused by inmates who never feel their serve of chips is large enough.

  I see my name is chalked up on the blackboard outside the office to report to the SO, Mr Meanwell. I go straight to the e. He has a registered letter for me, and slits it open. He a two-sided typed missive which he hands over, but ; no interest in reading. While he checks inside the envel-I for drugs, money, even stamps, I begin to read the letter, and after only a paragraph, pass it back to Mr Meanwell. When he peruses it, a look of disbelief comes over his face. The writer wants to borrow PS10,000 to invest in ‘an impossible to lose deal’ and he’s willing to split the profits fifty-fifty.

  ‘How often do you get one of these?’ he asks.

  Two or three times a week,’ I confess, ‘asking for sums for as little as fifty pounds right up to a million for yet another ‘impossible to lose deal’.’

  ‘By the way,’ he says as he hands me the empty envelope, ‘you may be moving today.’ By the way, by the way, by the way - so casual for him, so important to me. ‘One of the chaps on the enhanced spur is being transferred to a prison nearer his home and we’re allocating his cell to an inmate who will take over his responsibilities as cleaner. Once that’s been sorted out, - Mr Meanwell is old enough still to include the word ‘out’ - ‘we’ll move you into his cell. I did think of sending you straight to the enhanced spur,’ he admits, ‘but there were two reasons not to. First, the spur needs a cleaner and you wouldn’t be my first choice for that particular job, and second, I want you on the quieter side where it’s not possible for other prisoners to peer through your window during exercise.’

  Once I leave Mr Meanwell, I go in search of David (whisky bootlegger and spur cleaner). I find him attached to the industrial cleaner whirring around the floor of the induction corridor. He invites me along to his present cell on the first floor which, compared to my one up, one down on the induction wing, is the difference between Fawlty Towers and the Ritz.

  11.00 am

  Exercise. During the first circuit I’m asked by Chris (burglary) if I’ll sponsor him for a half marathon in aid of the NSPCC. I agree to PS1 a mile, as long as it comes out of my private finances and not my canteen account. Otherwise I’ll be without food and bottled water for several weeks. He assures me that the authorities will allow that, so I sign up. He sticks with us for half a circuit, by which time I’ve learnt that he’s the type of burglar our probation officer, Lisa Dada, so despises. He’s twenty-seven years old and has spent eight of the last ten years in jail. He simply considers burglary a way of life. In fact, his parting words are, ‘I’m out in six weeks’ time, Jeff, but don’t worry, your house is safe.’ I realize those of you who have never been to jail may find this strange, but I now feel more sympathy for some of the murderers in Belmarsh than I do for professional burglars.

  It was sometime later that I began to ponder on how he could run thirteen miles without occupying half the local constabulary to make sure he didn’t escape. I’ll ask him tomorrow.

  Jason (conspiracy to blackmail) joins us on the second circuit and congratulates me on being moved to a single cell.

  ‘It hasn’t happened yet,’ I remind him.

  ‘No, but it will this afternoon.’

  Prison has many similarities to the