Episode 22 - A Prisoner is Dying Every Four Days

One learns in prison to be grateful for very small things, most of which we take for granted in the real world.

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

Episode Transcript

(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.

(00:23):
Episode 22 A Prisoner is DyingEvery Four Days.
I'm sat here in my little oasisin the hub of HMP, listening to

(00:46):
some opera on Funeral FM.
I don't know the piece, nor aword of the Italian, beautifully
performed by a woman I know notof.
And yet, it does not matter.
I feel full of emotion.

(01:07):
In one breath, I feelinvigorated, and yet a
melancholy sadness wraps aroundme, and my nerve endings feel
exposed.
My mind is as turbulent as thedramatic opera.
It's hard to describe how theatmosphere beyond my oasis hangs

(01:28):
like an early morning mist,lingering.
It can be draining in thispredatory enclosure.
And you're always alive to, oneis prey at any one time.
The apex radar is never switchedoff.
I find pockets, moments ofcomplete peace and clarity, when

(01:53):
it feels as though I'm outsideof all of this.
Looking in.
The place is on edge afteryesterday, and the aftershocks
are still being felt throughoutthe prison.
We've just been told there is nogym again, another blow to the
mind and spirit.

(02:13):
However, committed to the cause,I've done a bedding stores
workout that included 200squats, 200 press ups, hundreds
of crunches, and a yogastretching workout.
Only stopping in between to windup the radio.
Days like this drag out.
The gym breaks up the monotonousroutine.

(02:36):
A different environment.
The 60 seconds walk to itaffords me fresh air and natural
daylight, regardless of theweather.
A trip to the kitchens with thetrolley is like a day out when
you're penned in small,intimidating spaces.
And hanging about outside forfive minutes waiting for the
kitchens to let us in is betterthan any time on the wing.

(03:02):
One learns in prison to begrateful for very small things,
most of which we take forgranted in the real world.
The radio fades again, in themiddle of Gone with the Wind.
Just as the violin strings sweepme off to halcyon days with T.
I suppose this morning is justone of those times when mood has

(03:27):
too much time to brood.
I ponder on the thought, can onetruly know or feel love if they
cannot compare it to pain orloss?
Yesterday has rippled over usall but shook some individuals
to the core.

(03:49):
I hadn't left my pad for workthis morning and I was already
on duty as a Listener'slistener.
Once again, the radio fades.
This time it's Barber's AdagioFor Strings that is at the mercy
of the wind up radio.
Beauty and madness sharing thesame brief moment.

(04:12):
Somehow, the strings overpowerthe sound of the whirring wind
up as they climb higher andhigher to fever pitch.
If I close my eyes, I canimagine being anywhere else but
here, such is my connection tothis piece of music.

(04:32):
In the background, butdistinctive, is another code red
alarm.
I was told the other day thatthere were only 14 officers on
duty in the whole of the prisonat one time.
How is this possible?
How is it allowed to reach sucha critical point for us all?

(04:53):
Officers and inmates?
There's over 1, 200 prisonersand it's a Cat.
B high security prison, full ofviolent men and lunatics.
There are hundreds of prisoners,young scallies terrorizing and
attacking lads for tobacco.
Or anything you have.

(05:14):
They'll take your toasterbecause they can.
Because the violent consequencesaren't worth the resistance.
However, the morale betweenofficers is low.
And they're refusing to workbecause they feel unsafe.
The cutbacks in the prisonservice only compounds the

(05:35):
issues I write of on a regularbasis.
Officers murmur that there is nocareer opportunities and they
say it feels like it is a bluntinevitability looming whereby
cutbacks have cut into theirthought about staying in the
job.
Job satisfaction is non existentand officers feel HMP is a

(05:57):
sinking ship and something toescape from as a career rather
than to commit to.
The irony is, I suppose, thatthe only difference between
officers and us is that they gohome at the end of the day.
We've only had gym for twosessions this week and it fuels

(06:17):
the tensions.
Even down here in the workspace.
All of us working in closeproximity.
The lads are bored, moody, andthen become more juvenile.
Normally, the first arrivalsfrom court, those put on remand
or the guilty verdicts, or thosesentenced, they can start

(06:39):
arriving about one o'clock.
Then they're processed,showered, fed, and given a bed
pack by me.
I'm in the bed stores.
It's the last workstation beforenew inmates are escorted up to
the wings.
Each pack, or bundle, is ablanket, a sheet, and a pillow
slip.

(07:00):
Inside the pillow slip is abowl, a plate, a cup, a knife, a
fork, and a spoon.
All of these are plastic and insome depressing blue colour.
We also have to supply newinmates with a breakfast pack,
which has a packet of cereal,and a carton of milk the size of
a packet of cigarettes.

(07:20):
There is also a couple ofsugars, a couple of sachets of
powdered milk, and finally, acouple of prison teabags.
They colour the water, butprovide no taste.
Sometimes, it's a trickle ofarrivals.
Then at other times, a group often to fifteen, and it's chaotic
at the counter.

(07:42):
if Mr.
P is on, he watches every stageof the way.
He's horrible, on a par with thewretched creature, but in
uniform.
When he's on, everyone gets thebare minimum.
No extra chips or rice, oranything to the lads who arrive.
Give anyone an extra blanket ora milk, and I'd be sacked and

(08:06):
humiliated in front of them all.
He plays with us like a catterrorising defenceless mice.
He revels in reminding us,always in earshot, of how he
detests prisoners.
And if you're struggling,vulnerable, or suicidal, well

(08:27):
he's a gloater.
You can't say to an inmate, Ican't give you another blanket
because Mr.
P won't allow it.
And as such, we get grief offthe lads in front of him.
He loves that.
Lads who have done time get it.
But scallies rattle off insults.

(08:50):
These new arrivals have no ideawhat they're facing when they go
through the door next to myworkstation.
A wing, maybe the inductionwing, acclimatizing us before we
are dispersed to a main wing.
But it's still daunting,stepping onto any wing.

(09:10):
They're big steel and concreteboxes, intimidating any time of
the day.
When they're empty, when thelads are all banged up and it's
eerie, then, the sound bouncesoff the steel into the empty
space where it's amplified.
Then, you're dumped into a cellwith a stranger.

(09:32):
Ironically, there are plenty oflads here, whereby it's a step
up from what they're used to.
And that's sad.
Maybe stories leaking out in theBBC at Wandsworth will start to
have an impact.
One prisoner every four days isdying in prison.

(09:55):
The majority are suicides.
The knife attacks are worse.
They're into double figuresdaily.
Nothing seems to get reported ordone about it.
It's like the system and theworkforce is completely broken.
But as a result, we receive theworst of it.

(10:16):
People may have sympathy forofficers, but other than loved
ones, I'm afraid society doesnot weep or care for our plight.
When you see prisoners actinglike wild animals on the media
footage, you have to askyourself, how is this helping
the problem?

(10:38):
I can't sign off withoutmentioning the drones.
Walton has become an airport forthem, such are their regularity,
especially at night.
It's the unmistakable sound theymake that catches your attention
first.
They're like a swarm or squadronof hummingbirds.
They swoop in and then hoveroutside cell windows.

(10:58):
Smashed ones, of course.
They're so accurate.
The guidance in the tech.
They can deliver a one kiloparcel to a cell window.
At least a handful per night aredoing successful drop offs,
flooding the place with phones,drugs and weapons.
Honestly, it's like a war zone.
With staff at the bare minimum,the prison is fighting a losing

(11:21):
battle.
Lads only have to put a hook onthe end of a rod to pull in the
parcel hanging outside.
I can see a day when the courierdeliveries will be drones and
not people, such is theiraccuracy.
To make matters worse, the foodhas deteriorated, and that

(11:46):
really fuels anger amongst thelads.
If they're not starving, thenthe food they receive is not fit
for consumption.
It's either overcooked orundercooked, and when it arrives
on the wings, almost certainlyit's cold.
Then the lads who work on theservery, where no hygiene

(12:07):
clothing and health and safetyis non existent.
Basically your food or meal isdumped on your plastic plate
like it's mortar on a board.
If you're stuck on the wing thenit's back to your cell and
banged up.
An officer said to me it's saferfor the lads to be banged up at
the moment because of the bladesepidemic and the flooding of

(12:29):
drugs into the prison.
I'm lucky.
If it didn't work in Reception,my prison would be far worse.
And maybe I wouldn't be writingabout love so much.