February 9, 2025 • 15 mins
What an almost comical scenario, four or five Samaritans in a chapel in a prison, with hardened criminals who are auditioning to be Listeners. And the main topic is suicide.
During the three and a half years I was in prison I wrote over a million words by hand. Tales From The Jails is a contemporaneous account of my life, and attempts to thrive rather than merely survive, whilst incarcerated.
Most names have been changed. The events have not.
This is a Jekyll & Pride production.
Producer: Trevessa Newton
Title Music taken from The Confession, on the album Crimes Against Poetry (written and performed by The Shadow Poet, produced by Lance Thomas)
Copyright Jekyll & Pride Ltd 2025
@jekyllandpride2023
@theshadowpoettsp
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
During the three and a halfyears I was in prison, I wrote
(00:03):
over a million words by hand.
Tales from the Jails is acontemporaneous account of my
life, and attempts to thriverather than merely survive
whilst incarcerated.
Most names have been changed,but the events have not.
Episode 20.
(00:24):
Listeners, Suicide Persistence.
My funniest time in HMP has beenin the most surprising, if not
(00:44):
unexpected, of places.
I'm on the Listeners course,which is run by the Samaritans.
It is designed for the aid ofprisoners who may be struggling
and is a confidential servicefor inmates.
They can request the time of aListener.
Apparently, a Listener is notbeholding to relaying the
(01:08):
content of the conversation toan officer.
It's quite a contentious point.
I'm hoping it never becomes anissue.
We are encouraged to listen andsensitively highlight the
options a person may wish toconsider.
Often, an inmate under extremelystressful, isolated or dangerous
(01:30):
situations requests someone totalk to.
A sounding board, you could say,but one that doesn't advise or
promise.
In fact, our primary aim, otherthan to facilitate a caller
unloading their pressures andstresses, is to ask a more
direct question.
(01:51):
Are you suicidal?
Are you thinking about takingyour own life?
Do you feel like ending it all?
You may be shocked more thansurprised by the direct
intervention.
It takes some getting used to.
As the weeks progress, it isbecoming clearer that in most
cases, it is the obviousquestion.
(02:13):
And as such, only a matter oftime before you ask it.
It's sad to see so many men inhere displaying the signs of
severe mental and emotionalstress.
Self harming is a real problem.
But worse, people, men, justappear lost, alone and full of
(02:35):
fear.
Drugs is an issue, but lads onmeds is a crisis of its own.
When an inmate's meds arestopped without warning or
reason, there is always a dramaand dramatic consequence.
We've discussed many topicsduring roleplay scenarios, from
(02:55):
being bullied, to the familybreaking up, potentially a wife
or partner trouble, to notcoping well, to deaths in prison
or being terminally ill.
The fear of getting out, to thefear of stepping out of your own
cell, because you just can'tcope with the concept of being
in such an awful alienenvironment.
(03:19):
Men worry and obsess about theirpartners with insane jealousy,
to others genuinely concernedabout their families.
The lads, who have putthemselves forward to be
listeners, are an eclecticbunch, not unlike the dirty
dozen.
On the outside tough, raw andseemingly lacking in compassion,
(03:41):
and yet here.
If you don't engage, then youare dropped.
What an almost comical scenario,four or five Samaritans in a
chapel in a prison, withhardened criminals who are
auditioning to be Listeners.
And the main topic is suicide.
(04:02):
Listeners are not paid for theirrole, but they do receive an
extra visit per month and thatmakes a big difference,
especially when most lads arepermitted only two.
Although we are all just tryingto survive in this cesspit,
moments of heartwarmingcompassion and concerns appear
from nowhere.
(04:25):
I sit amongst men who arehardened by time, but
unconsciously they try toreconnect with the best of
intentions and authenticity.
It's beautiful to be there whengenuine moments happen.
The guys have evolved from oneliners that make you take a
sharp intake of breath, as tooinappropriate, to laughing with
(04:50):
tears trickling down my cheeks.
The Samaritans engage in roleplay of scenarios we may
encounter and experience.
They carry a charm and sense ofhumour that maybe the rest of
the world doesn't see often.
They're older, mature, andliberal.
(05:11):
They remind me of the time ofthe famous scene in Coronation
Street, when the older onesmistakenly eat cannabis.
On the outside, none of thiswould work.
But in here, it's the desperateleading the blind.
But we have to work with whatwe've got, and inmates' lives
are at risk.
(05:31):
A Listener is often the lastchance saloon between survival
and suicide.
What an irony.
And what a responsibility.
I've been giggling for daysabout Paul Daniels.
He's a dead ringer for thelittle magician.
The lads labelled him, and whata character he is.
(05:53):
He will do anything to swerveroleplay.
Coughing, spluttering, turningup late and moving the chairs or
hiding in the toilet.
When we finally got him to takepart, it was hilarious.
In the most sensitive ofmoments, with Paul Daniels being
completely true to himself, hesaid to the 78 year old
(06:15):
Samaritan during roleplay, now,you're not thinking about doing
anything daft or stupid, are ya?
Referring to suicide.
It was like the real PaulDaniels, sat in prison clothes,
having learnt nothing from thecourse.
Honestly, if he could do a trickor two of magic, he would earn a
(06:36):
decent income when he'sreleased.
He's caught up in a drugsconspiracy.
You would never guess it.
But Walton is full of guys onremand or doing time.
Big sentences are a regularthing, and I haven't seen or
heard of one guy walking.
You either plead guilty earlyon, or you're hammered if you're
(06:57):
found guilty.
Imagine this.
Fifteen, maybe twenty lads heldin prisons around the country,
all caught up in the sameconspiracy.
Worse situations are when abunch are held together in the
same prison.
The prosecution only needs twopeople out of the whole bunch to
plead guilty, and then, they'rein the driving seat.
(07:24):
They put everyone into apressure cooker for months.
And those who were bit partplayers, small fry, maybe a taxi
driver by day and an odd courierjob here and there.
Well, these guys, often older,with families etc, they're not
used to this side of life.
And the violence andintimidation that comes with it.
(07:46):
Worse.
They're separated from theirloved ones and usually have
teenage kids.
These guys feel the pressure.
They're fucked.
If they plead guilty to gain adiscount on sentence and escape
this horror show by doing so,they light a fuse that affects
everybody else up the chain.
(08:08):
Other guys, the significantones, are pleading not guilty
and fighting all the way.
The intimidation is palpable.
Twice a week, we spend an hourhere, and I suspect, if it
wasn't for the extra visit andthe chocolate biscuits in the
break, then the numbers on thecourse would be down to a
(08:30):
handful.
The big talk today had nothingto do with the course or
listening, but the buffet thatwe receive when the course is
over.
Seriously.
The lads are more excited bythis than anything else.
When we bump into each other inthe gym, they always bring up
the same topic.
(08:51):
The buffet.
As I sit in my cell, You'llNever Walk Alone chants through
the wing.
We are sat here without anyelectricity again.
The power is blown.
There is an eerie silence exceptfor Gerry and the Pacemakers and
the song playing from someone'scell.
(09:12):
They must have batteries in theradio, I thought.
I wonder, do the words resonatesomething meaningful to the
scores of lads struggling behindthe door?
Hope is drained from most inhere, and that includes the
officers.
Tony M.
always says the biggest problemswe have are luxury problems.
(09:35):
Well this morning, my luxurywould be the kettle working for
my first couple of coffees.
It is a Saturday morning, and Iwrite as I wait to be unlocked.
Yesterday, I watched anothercouple of the lads leave.
Steve, who lives not far from myparents, he struggled with his
(09:58):
time.
Very moody, and even lazier.
He lost his cool too many times,and the common consensus is,
he'll be back on licence recallquickly.
He likes a line the length of atug of war rope.
Joe, the gym, he went too.
He was a nice lad, who wouldhave made a really good
(10:20):
Listener.
And, my own next door neighbor,cell 19, Jay.
He came and thanked me forlooking after him, and he meant
it.
I hadn't done much, but in hiseyes and his words, he said it
was more than he was used to byanyone else.
(10:43):
There are plenty of confused,screwed up, broken men in here
from the truly evil, to the truerays of hope.
This time next week, I should bea Listener, and a new chapter in
my HMP life begins.
George the careers guy was downyesterday.
(11:04):
I've got to amend my applicationfor Open University, but he says
it will strengthen it.
He's a great guy, dead ringerfor George Formby.
But unfortunately, we're all ona sinking ship here in prison,
and there is no appetite to fundthe course fee.
Walton knows, and would prefermy next prison to pick up the
(11:26):
tab and the hassle.
That aside, and undeterred, I'vepersisted in my pursuit to put a
life changing moment to gooduse.
Jeremy, my solicitor, told mebefore I was sentenced that we
will win the appeal withoutdoubt, but it will take 18
months.
Those words give me a strengthand a drive to soak this up and
(11:49):
make something meaningful fromit.
Hence, the Open University.
The seed had been planted backin the early weeks.
Jay, the number one Listener,was relaying how his day had
been over a game of cards.
He mentioned nothing more than afew words, filling in the gaps
(12:11):
of a bigger statement.
It was about university beingmentioned at a governor's
meeting, and apparently it's thefuture and should be encouraged,
or at least an option.
Lads will be able to go touniversity from prison.
Ironically, the mood music was,it will never happen, from the
(12:31):
powers that be.
I discussed it with T, and forthe past couple of months, I've
been trying to enrol for OpenUni.
Other than George in my corner,which is limited, I've been
deterred, disrupted andderailed, and left with
disappointments.
The lads thought I was a numptyspeaking to the prison careers
(12:55):
guy.
Just box ticking and nothinghappening, and to be fair,
they're right.
But I see it as a lifeline toprogress, and so I've persisted.
I'm going nowhere for theforeseeable future.
My parents have chronic, if notdeathly, illnesses and are
limited to travelling.
(13:19):
I may feel like an outsider inmy own city, but better the
devil you know.
This is bad, but moving maypromise to be better, but end up
being worse.
Wherever you land next, you'restarting from the beginning
again.
Lots of careers are now over forme, regardless if I win the
(13:40):
appeal or not.
I have to plan a course thathelps me to transition to a new
life beyond this mess.
But it's been worthwhile as aresult of the experience.
Open University.
is the first step if I'm goingto make it to university and a
(14:00):
brand new start.
I couldn't think of a better useof my time while I'm away.
It all makes sense now, like thestars have lined up.
Stage one is the access course.
Entry level for those withoutany real qualifications.
George, as wonderful as he is, Ihad a sense, was avoiding me.
(14:23):
I hadn't seen anything of himand put it down to no progress
with what was happening.
In prison, things just don'thappen slowly, they just don't
happen.
To pump life into a flat tyre, Ifirst needed George to reappear.
I achieved that by letting thelads down here know, George is
(14:43):
amazing.
There's all kinds of perks andtricks that can be applied for,
and stuff that brings the femalestaff down.
The lads, bit like sharks beingfed baby seals.
Seven of them from receptionsigned up for careers.
George is thrilled with thefigures and the lads' sudden
enthusiasm, and I get to see himmore regularly without being a
(15:07):
pain.
These lads are like dogs with abone and won't let go.
I banked on he'll be relieved tochat to me after seeing them.
I'm expecting progress, or aship out.
I told him I'm putting anapplication in to see the
governor.
(15:28):
One, to affirm my commitment,and two, imagine if a prisoner
from Walton went all of the way.
I've chosen arts and humanitiesas my topic.
During the three and a halfyears I was in prison, I wrote
(00:03):
over a million words by hand.
Tales from the Jails is acontemporaneous account of my
life, and attempts to thriverather than merely survive
whilst incarcerated.
Most names have been changed,but the events have not.
Episode 20.
(00:24):
Listeners, Suicide Persistence.
My funniest time in HMP has beenin the most surprising, if not
(00:44):
unexpected, of places.
I'm on the Listeners course,which is run by the Samaritans.
It is designed for the aid ofprisoners who may be struggling
and is a confidential servicefor inmates.
They can request the time of aListener.
Apparently, a Listener is notbeholding to relaying the
(01:08):
content of the conversation toan officer.
It's quite a contentious point.
I'm hoping it never becomes anissue.
We are encouraged to listen andsensitively highlight the
options a person may wish toconsider.
Often, an inmate under extremelystressful, isolated or dangerous
(01:30):
situations requests someone totalk to.
A sounding board, you could say,but one that doesn't advise or
promise.
In fact, our primary aim, otherthan to facilitate a caller
unloading their pressures andstresses, is to ask a more
direct question.
(01:51):
Are you suicidal?
Are you thinking about takingyour own life?
Do you feel like ending it all?
You may be shocked more thansurprised by the direct
intervention.
It takes some getting used to.
As the weeks progress, it isbecoming clearer that in most
cases, it is the obviousquestion.
(02:13):
And as such, only a matter oftime before you ask it.
It's sad to see so many men inhere displaying the signs of
severe mental and emotionalstress.
Self harming is a real problem.
But worse, people, men, justappear lost, alone and full of
(02:35):
fear.
Drugs is an issue, but lads onmeds is a crisis of its own.
When an inmate's meds arestopped without warning or
reason, there is always a dramaand dramatic consequence.
We've discussed many topicsduring roleplay scenarios, from
(02:55):
being bullied, to the familybreaking up, potentially a wife
or partner trouble, to notcoping well, to deaths in prison
or being terminally ill.
The fear of getting out, to thefear of stepping out of your own
cell, because you just can'tcope with the concept of being
in such an awful alienenvironment.
(03:19):
Men worry and obsess about theirpartners with insane jealousy,
to others genuinely concernedabout their families.
The lads, who have putthemselves forward to be
listeners, are an eclecticbunch, not unlike the dirty
dozen.
On the outside tough, raw andseemingly lacking in compassion,
(03:41):
and yet here.
If you don't engage, then youare dropped.
What an almost comical scenario,four or five Samaritans in a
chapel in a prison, withhardened criminals who are
auditioning to be Listeners.
And the main topic is suicide.
(04:02):
Listeners are not paid for theirrole, but they do receive an
extra visit per month and thatmakes a big difference,
especially when most lads arepermitted only two.
Although we are all just tryingto survive in this cesspit,
moments of heartwarmingcompassion and concerns appear
from nowhere.
(04:25):
I sit amongst men who arehardened by time, but
unconsciously they try toreconnect with the best of
intentions and authenticity.
It's beautiful to be there whengenuine moments happen.
The guys have evolved from oneliners that make you take a
sharp intake of breath, as tooinappropriate, to laughing with
(04:50):
tears trickling down my cheeks.
The Samaritans engage in roleplay of scenarios we may
encounter and experience.
They carry a charm and sense ofhumour that maybe the rest of
the world doesn't see often.
They're older, mature, andliberal.
(05:11):
They remind me of the time ofthe famous scene in Coronation
Street, when the older onesmistakenly eat cannabis.
On the outside, none of thiswould work.
But in here, it's the desperateleading the blind.
But we have to work with whatwe've got, and inmates' lives
are at risk.
(05:31):
A Listener is often the lastchance saloon between survival
and suicide.
What an irony.
And what a responsibility.
I've been giggling for daysabout Paul Daniels.
He's a dead ringer for thelittle magician.
The lads labelled him, and whata character he is.
(05:53):
He will do anything to swerveroleplay.
Coughing, spluttering, turningup late and moving the chairs or
hiding in the toilet.
When we finally got him to takepart, it was hilarious.
In the most sensitive ofmoments, with Paul Daniels being
completely true to himself, hesaid to the 78 year old
(06:15):
Samaritan during roleplay, now,you're not thinking about doing
anything daft or stupid, are ya?
Referring to suicide.
It was like the real PaulDaniels, sat in prison clothes,
having learnt nothing from thecourse.
Honestly, if he could do a trickor two of magic, he would earn a
(06:36):
decent income when he'sreleased.
He's caught up in a drugsconspiracy.
You would never guess it.
But Walton is full of guys onremand or doing time.
Big sentences are a regularthing, and I haven't seen or
heard of one guy walking.
You either plead guilty earlyon, or you're hammered if you're
(06:57):
found guilty.
Imagine this.
Fifteen, maybe twenty lads heldin prisons around the country,
all caught up in the sameconspiracy.
Worse situations are when abunch are held together in the
same prison.
The prosecution only needs twopeople out of the whole bunch to
plead guilty, and then, they'rein the driving seat.
(07:24):
They put everyone into apressure cooker for months.
And those who were bit partplayers, small fry, maybe a taxi
driver by day and an odd courierjob here and there.
Well, these guys, often older,with families etc, they're not
used to this side of life.
And the violence andintimidation that comes with it.
(07:46):
Worse.
They're separated from theirloved ones and usually have
teenage kids.
These guys feel the pressure.
They're fucked.
If they plead guilty to gain adiscount on sentence and escape
this horror show by doing so,they light a fuse that affects
everybody else up the chain.
(08:08):
Other guys, the significantones, are pleading not guilty
and fighting all the way.
The intimidation is palpable.
Twice a week, we spend an hourhere, and I suspect, if it
wasn't for the extra visit andthe chocolate biscuits in the
break, then the numbers on thecourse would be down to a
(08:30):
handful.
The big talk today had nothingto do with the course or
listening, but the buffet thatwe receive when the course is
over.
Seriously.
The lads are more excited bythis than anything else.
When we bump into each other inthe gym, they always bring up
the same topic.
(08:51):
The buffet.
As I sit in my cell, You'llNever Walk Alone chants through
the wing.
We are sat here without anyelectricity again.
The power is blown.
There is an eerie silence exceptfor Gerry and the Pacemakers and
the song playing from someone'scell.
(09:12):
They must have batteries in theradio, I thought.
I wonder, do the words resonatesomething meaningful to the
scores of lads struggling behindthe door?
Hope is drained from most inhere, and that includes the
officers.
Tony M.
always says the biggest problemswe have are luxury problems.
(09:35):
Well this morning, my luxurywould be the kettle working for
my first couple of coffees.
It is a Saturday morning, and Iwrite as I wait to be unlocked.
Yesterday, I watched anothercouple of the lads leave.
Steve, who lives not far from myparents, he struggled with his
(09:58):
time.
Very moody, and even lazier.
He lost his cool too many times,and the common consensus is,
he'll be back on licence recallquickly.
He likes a line the length of atug of war rope.
Joe, the gym, he went too.
He was a nice lad, who wouldhave made a really good
(10:20):
Listener.
And, my own next door neighbor,cell 19, Jay.
He came and thanked me forlooking after him, and he meant
it.
I hadn't done much, but in hiseyes and his words, he said it
was more than he was used to byanyone else.
(10:43):
There are plenty of confused,screwed up, broken men in here
from the truly evil, to the truerays of hope.
This time next week, I should bea Listener, and a new chapter in
my HMP life begins.
George the careers guy was downyesterday.
(11:04):
I've got to amend my applicationfor Open University, but he says
it will strengthen it.
He's a great guy, dead ringerfor George Formby.
But unfortunately, we're all ona sinking ship here in prison,
and there is no appetite to fundthe course fee.
Walton knows, and would prefermy next prison to pick up the
(11:26):
tab and the hassle.
That aside, and undeterred, I'vepersisted in my pursuit to put a
life changing moment to gooduse.
Jeremy, my solicitor, told mebefore I was sentenced that we
will win the appeal withoutdoubt, but it will take 18
months.
Those words give me a strengthand a drive to soak this up and
(11:49):
make something meaningful fromit.
Hence, the Open University.
The seed had been planted backin the early weeks.
Jay, the number one Listener,was relaying how his day had
been over a game of cards.
He mentioned nothing more than afew words, filling in the gaps
(12:11):
of a bigger statement.
It was about university beingmentioned at a governor's
meeting, and apparently it's thefuture and should be encouraged,
or at least an option.
Lads will be able to go touniversity from prison.
Ironically, the mood music was,it will never happen, from the
(12:31):
powers that be.
I discussed it with T, and forthe past couple of months, I've
been trying to enrol for OpenUni.
Other than George in my corner,which is limited, I've been
deterred, disrupted andderailed, and left with
disappointments.
The lads thought I was a numptyspeaking to the prison careers
(12:55):
guy.
Just box ticking and nothinghappening, and to be fair,
they're right.
But I see it as a lifeline toprogress, and so I've persisted.
I'm going nowhere for theforeseeable future.
My parents have chronic, if notdeathly, illnesses and are
limited to travelling.
(13:19):
I may feel like an outsider inmy own city, but better the
devil you know.
This is bad, but moving maypromise to be better, but end up
being worse.
Wherever you land next, you'restarting from the beginning
again.
Lots of careers are now over forme, regardless if I win the
(13:40):
appeal or not.
I have to plan a course thathelps me to transition to a new
life beyond this mess.
But it's been worthwhile as aresult of the experience.
Open University.
is the first step if I'm goingto make it to university and a
(14:00):
brand new start.
I couldn't think of a better useof my time while I'm away.
It all makes sense now, like thestars have lined up.
Stage one is the access course.
Entry level for those withoutany real qualifications.
George, as wonderful as he is, Ihad a sense, was avoiding me.
(14:23):
I hadn't seen anything of himand put it down to no progress
with what was happening.
In prison, things just don'thappen slowly, they just don't
happen.
To pump life into a flat tyre, Ifirst needed George to reappear.
I achieved that by letting thelads down here know, George is
(14:43):
amazing.
There's all kinds of perks andtricks that can be applied for,
and stuff that brings the femalestaff down.
The lads, bit like sharks beingfed baby seals.
Seven of them from receptionsigned up for careers.
George is thrilled with thefigures and the lads' sudden
enthusiasm, and I get to see himmore regularly without being a
(15:07):
pain.
These lads are like dogs with abone and won't let go.
I banked on he'll be relieved tochat to me after seeing them.
I'm expecting progress, or aship out.
I told him I'm putting anapplication in to see the
governor.
(15:28):
One, to affirm my commitment,and two, imagine if a prisoner
from Walton went all of the way.
I've chosen arts and humanitiesas my topic.
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