Back to The Beginning

An Audio File of this Blog Can be Found Here

When most people look at the picture above the voice of Ronnie Barker resonates through “Norman Stanley Fletcher, you are a habitual criminal…. etc.,”

Not for me, when I look at the picture my heart beats faster, my sense of smell (for all that it is, nowadays) increases, my throat constricts and I am transported back to an evening many years ago when I was in a “sweat-box” (Prisoner Transport Vehicle) waiting to be processed as a new prisoner.

You see, that’s where my story really begins. It was the first jail I had ever gone to. The cold, dank stench of despair that was Her Majesty’s Prison Wormwood Scrubs. It is where I spent my first night in prison. I had been remanded by the court to appear at a later date and therefore off to “scrubs” I was bound.

We were sat on the "bus" waiting for the staff to finish their coffee and allow the us to pass through “Porridge’s” famous gates. The “passengers” with me were getting a tad bored so they rocked the bus, they screamed, and they laughed. All the while I was thinking “Oh my God I am going to prison, what will happen to me?”

We got off the bus, we went into the first waiting room. The smell, Oh God the smell! I was petrified! As the TV blared in the background, I tried to focus on it to calm me down. The news was on, “that’s fine I thought, I will lose myself for a minute” Then my photograph comes up on the screen and my name. Brilliant! Eyes dart towards me. I panicked but it was fine, they just smiled and asked, “is that you, mate?” Well, lying is what got me into jail in the first place, so I answered “Yes.” And that was it.

That’s it I am afraid, that’s the most that anyone or anything that has ever happened where I felt intimidated by my fellow prisoners. I was never bullied, never in a fight. Never; not once. But then again it was fairly long ago.

BUT

On my second or third day Matthew arrived. Matthew was 24 years young. He had been remanded on a charge of driving under the influence. He was the sole carer for his mum. He came upstairs and asked to call her. “Later, mate, Later.” Later came and went and he went back to the office from the induction room and asked for that call “For expletive sakes man, I said later” was the reply. “But she doesn’t know where I am” Matthew replied. He was locked in a cell for his cheek. He told the officer "I don’t feel right" to the sound of the flap being closed.

The next morning, he was opened with the following words “So! You’ve not killed yourself” and his door was left open. Matthew went out onto the corridor and did just that. He took a razor blade and slit the inside of his arms from his elbow to his wrist. The staff were running around shouting and screaming but no one held Matthew. I did, I didn’t care about the blood I needed this young soul to know that he wasn’t alone. Matthew bled out and passed away in my arms.

Welcome to "Scrubs!"

Fast forward to last Friday. I went back.

I arrived this time in an Addison Lee car not a sweat box! I asked the driver to drive past the prison gates and not go through them. I wanted to walk up. I got out of the car on DuCane road I entered the prison through a door not a gate. I was met by an officer behind the glass who said, “Morning Sir, how can I help you?” “My God" I thought, if they only knew “I am here to see Governor…….” I stuttered (my condition means I stammer when I am nervous). I wondered if they knew me when they asked, “Have you been here before, sir?” What do I say? I said, "excuse me?". He replied, “Have you visited here before?” PHEW - I exhaled a puff of release.

Then this wonderful woman met me at the gate. She just oozes compassion and empathy. “Hello TC” she says, “want to go for a coffee in our new shop?” We wandered off to the new coffee shop run by the prisoners that gives them the training they need to be a qualified Barista. Now I don’t know, if she knew that I am always at home when amongst my fellow prisoners- you see they put me at ease even though they don’t know me- but I smiled, I relaxed and I talked to some prisoners and probably ranted on and on but she didn’t object, she just listened to me.

Then we were off. "Oh God! I recognise all of this", I think. Then she just puts her arm out as if to steady me, but she says “Now, I know this could be difficult for you, do you still want to go ahead? Remember I am here” “Yes, I need to” was my reply.

You see, I work in over a dozen jails today and I am at home in them, I do my work for my fellow prisoners and I leave. But I have never stepped foot inside a prison where I was resident and in particular; this one. This one where it all started.

We go to her office first, but we pass the library, the place where my closest friend in the world introduced me to my love of “The Ballad of Reading Gaol”, I smile. We pass the kitchen; the faces of the men guarding the food trolleys morph into the faces of the people I knew from before. It’s all so familiar. Along the way she stops to talk to prisoners, the troubled ones who smile as she approaches. I see first-hand the way this person interacts with prisoners. How, whilst I am sure she is a formidable person if you cross her, she smiles at every prisoner she interacts with. How one man, who was frustrated and upset because he couldn’t adjust, smiled and thanked her for giving him a paintbrush and telling him to “get on with it.” She shows me her ideas for Wormwood Scrubs. "Not Scrubs" she’s says, that’s the old jail; its “Wormwood Scrubs” I tell her I agree that the name can give off the wrong culture. It’s time to go she says, and my heart skips a beat. My tremors get worse as I know where we are going.

We start off in reception, and I see it. The waiting room; the same waiting room. I go in and the smell! The smell is exactly the same it was all those years ago. She doesn’t realise it, but I freeze. I can’t move. I listen to the voice in my head, she says, “Come on, it's not the same” and I come out of the freeze and move forward. We then do the same walk as I did all those years ago. We end up at the first night centre (that name will change if I have anything to do with it!) and it’s the same, nothing has changed. I see the telephone and I remember my PIN. Now this, this right here is where she shows her true genius. she keeps talking to me as she knows how I am feeling. But it’s fine, I am not that bad.

BUT

We walk down the corridor and we turn left and there it is “THE CELL” I am trembling inside my eyes well up as they do now as I write this. I smile, can you believe it? I smile. The voice comes back into my head “it was never YOUR cell” she says, “it was a place you put your head down” “Who would have thought in those days that you would be back here like this, offering your help?” She says. And as always, she is right.

BUT

We go back up the corridor. I see it, Matthew’s cell. I am hit in the face with a plank off wood and then a ghost hits me in the stomach with a strong right hand. She’s done it again this governor, she just left me alone as she knew what was happening. I can see Matthew as clear as day. Who’s that with him? Hell, it’s me and I am sitting next to him and my shirt is covered in blood. The staff are watching over me. I am screaming at them to leave him alone. His voice was is in my head, I can’t make out what he is saying. I nod my head in quiet prayer and I prayed for his soul. I told him that I go back into the very places that I tried to get out of because of him, in HIS memory. (This all takes what I think is about an hour, but looking at my watch only 5 minutes have passed)

AND

Then I am back; I tell her that I am looking at the cell where it all began, and very quietly she asks if I want to go into it. I’m fine thanks and I think I am, now.

We then go and talk to some staff in reception and I am bowled over by their kindness, their empathy toward each other and then I think.

This isn’t “Scrubs” anymore, its “HMP Wormwood Scrubs” and I wished it all the best.

Thank you for listening to me, reading my little blog. To those of you who wished me luck in what I was about to do; to those that followed up with me yesterday, after I had done it; thank you. To the big galoot with whom I argue frequently but have a respect for him that he perhaps can’t fathom; thank you.   To the voice in my head; who takes my metaphorical hand during these dark times, may you be blessed beyond your wildest dreams.  To the person who hugged me outside Oakwood all those months ago (just before they told me didn't want me anymore) and said “We need you”; you've got my heart you wonderful caring woman! To the person that walked with me throughout my visit; you have my respect, my admiration and my hand of friendship. Above all to those who work in HMP Wormwood Scrubs I thank you; I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And now I must go; I am tired.

PS: I have since offered to help Wormwood Scrubs turn around their Early Days in Custody process to try and ensure that there are no “Matthews” again. So as my prison life started at this prison so will it end.