A Prison Diary Purgatory (2003) Read online

  DAY 86 - FRIDAY 12 OCTOBER 2001

  9.00 am

  I turn up at the gym and wait for my little special needs group to arrive. It will be the last time I’ll work with them. Without warning, two drug officers appear by the side of the running machine and tell me that my name has come up on the computer for an MDT (Mandatory Drugs Test). Five names come up every day so I can’t complain if, after nine weeks, it’s my turn. I’m taken to the medical centre to join four other prisoners in a waiting room. Two look distinctly furtive, while the other two appear quite relaxed. When the officer puts his head round the door he asks if anyone is ready. Like a greyhound in the slips, I am through that gap before anyone else can reply.

  Mr Kelvin Cross introduces himself and then proceeds to read out my rights before asking me to sign a green form (see overleaf). I ask - for research purposes - what would happen if I refused to give a urine sample or sign the form.

  Twenty-eight days would automatically be added to your sentence.’

  I sign the form.

  I disappear into the lavatory while one of the officers watches me through a glass pane. After I have handed over my sample, I comment that there is no soap in the wash basin. Mr Cross explains that soap added to the urine sample would cloud it, and as a further test is not permitted again for another twenty-eight days, any drugs could have cleared themselves through your system. Can’t argue with that either. By the time they’ve finished with me it’s nearly eleven. I return to my cell and make notes on the MDT experience, only disappointed not to have been able to say goodbye to Alex, Robbie, Les and Paul.

  1.00 pm

  The news is full of riots in Pakistan, anthrax in New York and food parcels being dropped on the wrong villages in Afghanistan. I check my canteen list before spending the afternoon writing.

  DAY 87 - SATURDAY 13 OCTOBER 2001

  2.00 pm

  Visit. My son James and our mutual Kurdish friends Broosk and Nadhim have driven up from London to see me. The talk is mostly political, and they describe how it feels to live in London during the present crisis. Nadhim adds that he attended the Conservative Party conference in Blackpool (he’s a councillor for Wandsworth) and he couldn’t help comparing the gathering with his first conference in Brighton twenty years ago when Margaret Thatcher was the prime minister.

  ‘Same people,’ he tells me, ‘they’re just twenty years older.’ ‘You included,’ I remind him.

  Nadhim’s a great fan of IDS, but admits his conference speech wasn’t inspiring.

  James is still enjoying his new job in the City and takes me through a typical day. We then discuss my appeal which doesn’t now look as if it will be scheduled before the new year. The law grinds slowly…

  Broosk is full of news, having just landed two big contracts to decorate large homes in London and Nice. I first met these two young Kurds twelve years ago - ‘Bean Kurd’ and ‘Lemon Kurd’ - when they helped me organize the Simple Truth campaign, and they have remained friends ever since.

  8.00 pm

  After a few games of backgammon with Darren and Jimmy I return to my cell to be banged up for another fourteen hours. I’ve become hooked on Who Wants to be a Millionaire?. I would have failed to make more than PS2,000 this week because I didn’t know the name of the actor who plays the barman in EastEnders. However, I was able to answer the PS4,000 question, ‘Who is the current leader of the Conservative Party? a) Michael Howard, b) David Davis, c) Iain Duncan Smith, d) Kenneth Clarke.’ The father and son contestants picked David Davis. Hmm, I wonder if this is an omen or a prophecy?

  DAY 88 - SUNDAY 14 OCTOBER 2001

  11.00 am

  I’m called to the hospital wing to fill in some forms to confirm I’m fit to travel. When I return to the spur, Darren tells me it shows that I’m being transferred tomorrow. I find this hard to believe; surely Mr Carlton-Boyce would have warned me. I ask several officers, but as no one has informed them either, I assume Darren must be wrong.

  2.30 pm

  Exercise. I visit Shaun at his cell window, and talk through what work will be required for this diary just in case I am shipped out tomorrow: one watercolour of the prison, one pastel of a cell, plus drawings of Dale, Jimmy, Darren, Jules, Steve and Nigel. If I suddenly disappear, Shaun promises to deliver them to my agent just as soon as he’s released.

  DAY 89 - MONDAY 15 OCTOBER 2001

  8.15 am

  Mr Newson arrives outside my cell door to tell me that the Group 4 van has arrived and is waiting for me in the yard, they are ready to transfer me to North Sea Camp. He seemed surprised that I haven’t been warned, I dash upstairs to see Mr Tinkler in his office, who confirms the news, and adds that I must start packing immediately.

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘You’ll be put on report and may have to stay here indefinitely, and not necessarily on the enhanced wing.’

  So much for my so-called ‘special treatment’, as regularly reported in the press.

  I try to say goodbye to as many inmates as possible - Darren, Jimmy, Dale, Nigel, Jason, Jules, Monster and Steve. Darren helps me pack my large plastic bag and then carries it down to the reception area for me. There are three other plastic bags awaiting me in reception. They are full of presents from the public - everything from Bibles to tea towels.

  I thank Darren for his kindness and help over the past nine weeks. He smiles, and offers one last piece of advice.

  ‘Once you’ve settled in North Sea Camp, contact Doug. He’s the hospital orderly, and can fix anything for you.’ I try to thank Darren - inadequately.

  The Group 4 guard who will accompany me to Lincolnshire introduces himself as Andrew and kindly carries two of the plastic bags out to the van, so I don’t have to make several journeys. To my surprise, I’m to travel to my D-cat in a sweatbox, as if I were a rapist or a murderer. Andrew explains that he has to drop off another prisoner on the way, who is being transferred to a C-cat near Stamford.

  ‘Why are you taking someone from one C-cat to another?’ I enquire.

  ‘We’re having to move this particular prisoner every few days,’ Andrew explains. ‘He keeps telling everyone that he’s a supporter of Osama bin Laden, and it seems that not every other prisoner is in favour of freedom of speech. However, it still remains our responsibility to keep him alive.’

  On the journey to Stamford, the bin Laden supporter demands that the radio be turned up. Andrew tells him that it’s quite loud enough already, for which I am grateful, as it’s a long, slow trek across Norfolk and on to the plains of Lincolnshire.

  I enjoy seeing tall trees and acres of green English countryside, even though it’s through a glass darkly. We arrive at the ‘bin Laden’ prison, where my cohabitant departs. He’s handcuffed and led away. I can just glimpse him through my little window. A round, colourful hat covers his head, and a black beard obscures most of his face.

  We move off again, but it’s another hour before I see a signpost: North Sea Camp, one mile. I begin to think about starting all over again. I’m somewhat fearful. Belmarsh was hell, Wayland purgatory. Have I finally arrived in heaven?

  When the van comes to a halt outside the prison, the first thing I notice is that there are no perimeter walls, no razor wire, no barred gates, no arc lights, no dogs, not even any sign of a prison officer. But when I step out of the van, I still feel the terror that gripped me on the first day at Belmarsh, and then again on my arrival at Wayland.

  I walk into reception to be greeted by Regimental Sergeant Major Daff, Royal Marines (Rtd).

  ‘We’ve been waiting for you for fuckin’ months, Archer. What fuckin’ took you so long?’

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