INSIDE - One Man's Experience of Prison by John Hoskison

Author:John Hoskison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2012-11-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

A Trip to the Downs

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A week after being moved to a quieter landing I received a set of earplugs through the post. Bronya's inspirational gift turned out to be invaluable. Whilst not cutting out all the noise, they blunted the attack; and every night since, my ears have been stuffed with foam. If anyone who reads this is unfortunate enough to be packing an overnight bag to take to court, make sure you take a set—you'll need them.

Being able to sleep at night proved half the battle. Instead of emerging like the living dead, I now leapt downstairs to make my calls home and was washed, shaved and nourished before the wing had come to life. With energy levels restored, life was looking up. But the improvement was more wide-ranging.

The adverse report on the prison had galvanised the authorities into literally cleaning up their act. The litter and waste thrown from the cell windows, which lay on the ground surrounding the wings like a covering of snow, was cleared. Officers roamed the landings more frequently, making sure that cleaners cleaned.

There was also a change at work. After a severe reprimand, Tom made an attempt to discipline the workforce. The "Bronx" was dismantled, Bill's distillery plant closed and, just before Christmas, a fortnight after I had been on the verge of mental breakdown, I began to get to grips with my role as inspector. I was not solely responsible for the increase in wages to £10.50, but the proportion of scrapped work decreased.

I was expecting to move off the induction wing by January, to another, with less "bang up" and more freedom. Life would still be far from pleasant—but it was nonetheless better. I was thrown into turmoil, however, when on 18 December I was offered a transfer to another prison in early January—HMP Downview near Banstead in Surrey, a supposedly drug-free establishment. Normally I would have sought advice from the probation officers stationed within the prison, who were there to answer questions on life inside and out—how to prepare for release, how to avoid reoffending—but they had been the first victims of the budget cuts and had been shown the door. Each inmate had therefore to rely on outside probation officers, who visited only rarely. The only alternative was communication by post. I was lucky: I could write letters, and the probation officer allocated to me was conscientious; but many weren't so fortunate.

It was Sod's Law that the first time I needed advice in Coldingley my probation officer was away and would not return until it was too late. There were three questions about Downview that I needed answers to. Could I phone home regularly? Could I learn a new trade? Was there a gym? I asked the officers on my wing but all they could offer was, "It's supposed to be drug-free". Rather ominously, I once heard it referred to as "Brownview" (brown being a nickname for heroin).

Janet, head of the minuscule education department, doubted that anywhere would now have much education, but couldn't help with the other questions.

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