The Loose Screw (13 page)

After the tea break that I didn't partake in, we ventured onto the landings to watch the remainder of the wing get fed. The officer on the ground floor informed us that after every mealtime a count was carried out to ensure that all inmates were locked away. He assigned each of us a cell door and told us to go and look through the 'Judas' hole (a small flap for observation in the door) and count the inmates inside.

You may not believe me when I tell you what I saw through the flap in the cell door I had been allocated, but I swear to you that it is the truth. Inside there were three beds, and one inmate was lying quite peacefully on the top bunk bed smoking a roll-up. The bottom bunk bed was empty, but there was another inmate sitting on the single bed with his feet on the floor. I saw a third inmate kneeling in between his legs with his head bobbing up and down. It took a while for the shock to wear off and for me to realize just what I was witnessing. I am sure you have realized by now that here, as bold as brass, was an inmate giving one of his cellmates a blow job. He must have sensed my staring in disbelief because he turned to look straight at me and just grinned before returning to carry on 'doing' his cellmate. I slammed the flap shut and cursed the fact that I had no keys to get in and slap the dirty fucker. I felt physically sick and could not believe what I had just seen. To make matters worse, I thought, the third inmate was just lying there as if nothing unusual was happening. I rushed back to the officer, who had been joined by two of his colleagues, and reported what I had seen. They just laughed and told me that those two were always up to it that is why they were banged up together. I could not believe the reaction I got from these officers. The Prison Service has for years fought against various campaigns for conjugal visits between heterosexual adults, but here was clear evidence that homosexual relationships were not only going on but were also being encouraged by staff to ensure the smooth running of the wing.

I am not discriminating against homosexuals -each to their own as far as I am concerned -but how can the Prison Service deny heterosexuals some form of relationship and allow homosexuals to practise theirs so blatantly?

Our time on G, H and K could not end quickly enough for me and I valued greatly the short walk in the open between there and the main prison, as it gave me a chance to breathe in some fresh air in order to flush out the stench of the place that was suffocating me. We did not have far to go to our next port of call, just through the side gate into the main prison, which led to the prison's centre. I wandered in aimlessly with the rest of my group, still numb from what I had just witnessed, and all I remember next was hearing a voice bellow from nowhere, "Get out of my fucking centre you insignificant little bastards". I assumed someone was shouting at a group of inmates until I spotted a huge principal officer with a face as red as a beetroot charging towards us. He was still screaming obscenities at us when he reached where we were standing and eventually we realized that he was upset because we had just walked straight across the ornate brass star shape that made up the floor of the centre.

For those of you who have not had the pleasure of visiting Wandsworth in any capacity, it is strictly taboo to step on any part of the brass grill. Everyone who walks through the centre must walk around it and only in a clockwise direction. A member of staff who doesn't comply with this could expect to be severely reprimanded and get extra duties, and any prisoner who committed this most terrible crime could expect to get the 'treatment' followed by a few days down 'the block'.

It was this red-faced, potential heart attack victim's job to monitor all movement through the centre as well as dictate the order in which the wings were to be fed and ring the huge brass bell and direct the staff in case of an alarm bell on any one of the wings. It was to the centre that staff would report at the beginning of every shift during the days of central detailing, when you were not allocated a permanent place of work but were sent daily to wherever you were most needed. It was here also that the senior officer would report his wing lock-up roll and not until the centre PO was happy would he give the order for the staff to break off.

Because of this power alone, this man thought he was some kind of God and wasted no time getting us into his office where he proceeded to tell us a number of stories about himself. Just as I was about to fall asleep he even brought his stave (truncheon) crashing down on his table as he told us that he had single-handedly quelled the Wormwood Scrubs riots of 1976 with the use of his little bit of wood. Strangely enough, I was to meet about three or four people over the years that claimed to have done exactly the same thing. I was glad to hear a whistle blast during his egotistical speech, which sent him charging out of his office. Luckily it was only a false alarm, but it enabled us to escape to the safe haven of Nathan's tearoom on C-Wing in the commotion for a welcomed cup of tea and the chance to get more of his help to fill in our notebooks.

Over the next couple of days we had brief tours of the hospital wing, the workshops, the cookhouse, the control room and even the administration building. All were quite boring and uneventful, so I have no interesting memories of any of them. Equally as mind-bending was the tour of the main gate where our friendly gate officer explained his highly technical role of throwing keys to officers down a little chute when they turned up for duty.

It was on the second to last day when we got to visit the darkest hole of the prison -the notorious segregation unit, or 'the block' as it is known in prison. Wandsworth's block, as I mentioned previously, was located on E-Wing; in fact it was actually situated underneath E-Wing. The entrance was via a set of some twelve stairs, which had at the bottom a pair of blacked-out doors in front of the double metal gates. It was claimed that every inmate that was taken to the block got physically thrown down these stairs into the arms of the 'block screws', who usually 'forgot' to open the metal gates until the inmate was in a crumpled heap at the bottom.

All the officers in the block at that time were at least six-foot tall, apart from one known as 'Pitbull'. He stood at about five-foot six, but had been allowed to work there despite not reaching the usual height criterion due to his fearsome reputation as a scrapper. Granted he looked as though he could handle himself with his busted nose, shaved head and large, ugly scar down the left-hand side of his face. But then, with fifteen or so colleagues always at hand and never having to face odds of less three officers to one inmate, he should have been able to handle himself. It was Pitbull that was given the task of showing us round the block, which as usual began in the tearoom.

Pitbull was a lot quieter than most of the other staff we had come across, but he soon filled us in on the grim details of how the block worked. We were told that the real justice was dished out to prisoners that did not conform to the prison rules here in the dim depths of the jail. The block, he explained, was untouched by the prying eyes of visiting officials or clergy unless plenty of warning had been given to allow them time to avoid being caught 'educating' an inmate to the Wandsworth way. He made it clear by this that most of the inmates that were resident here received a daily dose of the treatment at the hands of the staff, and I don't mean medical treatment, although that may have been necessary afterwards. The staff here seemed convinced that this was the only way to deal with difficult prisoners, and not only appeared to have a free hand to carry out this extreme form of discipline but also seemed to have the support of the senior management.

In fact it is a practice that has been going on in almost every prison in the country and has only recently come to light after prisoners at Wormwood Scrubs made several allegations of serious assaults by staff in the segregation unit. Whilst I cannot argue with the fact that prisons need segregation units to ensure the remainder of the prison runs smoothly, I totally disagree with the actions of extreme violence, and in some cases physical and mental torture, that have been carried out on inmates in these places.

It was here that I was first to hear of Charles Bronson, the most notorious prisoner in the system according to the 'brains' behind the Prison Service. We were shown one of the two 'strong boxes', which were cells with tiny, sealed windows and concrete beds and stools. Entry to these cells was via two sets of doors, an outer set of steel double doors and an inner steel cell door. It was in one of these 'boxes' that Charlie had managed to rip the concrete stool out of the ground and use it to batter his way through the first door and almost through the second door before being overpowered by riot teams due to total exhaustion. He had been restrained in a 'body belt' at the time, which is a steel-lined, heavy leather belt with two handcuffs on each side to hold the arms tightly down by the waist, and had succeeded in freeing himself from this Victorian device before tackling the stool and doors.

From here we went out onto the exercise yard, which consisted of a small square piece of tarmac completely fenced in on all sides and, unlike the other yards we had seen, this one also had a metal caged roof. This roof, we were told, was a recent addition as some years previously Charlie had made it onto the roof of the prison by scaling the drainpipe. This feat seemed even more remarkable when we noticed that the drainpipe was cemented to the wall so you couldn't wrap your fingers round it. We were told how Charlie had clung to it despite an officer pulling at his legs and others throwing their staves at him. I began to hope I would never have to have this man under my charge.

Not all segregation units are run in such a way, and I do agree with the need to have such places in prisons. Prisoners sometimes value the time they spend in the 'seg' as it gives them a period of respite from the normal hectic world of the wings. Unfortunately, as I mentioned previously, it was not until the Scrubs affair came to light that moves were taken to monitor staff's actions towards prisoners placed in these units. I will not hide the fact that in life people piss other people off at times and there are occasions when a good old-fashioned slap is the quickest and best way to deal with certain incidents. I will also not try to hide the fact that I have given one or two prisoners and members of staff a dry slap when I felt they deserved it. But with me that was where it would end. I would always do it one on one and I would never then place a prisoner on report and make out he assaulted me. Most prisoners preferred this and would never report you. In the same way, if it ever backfired and I got the slap, which did happen occasionally, I would accept it and take no further action. This was the way I was trained in the army. If you fucked up you were usually given the option of being placed on report or accepting a clout from whomever was dealing with the situation. It was quicker and caused fewer consequences to accept the latter.

Many of you may interpret this method as a form of brutality but, believe me, compared with some methods I have seen it was often the only way. If nothing else, it prevented the inmate from falling into the hands of the bullies who were always on the lookout for an excuse to practise their techniques. As I think I have mentioned before, I hate bullying. The dictionary definition of a bully is a 'hired ruffian' or 'schoolboy tyrant', in other words someone who enjoys picking on people either because they are weaker than them or they have the support of others to outnumber their victim.

Prisons are by their very nature breeding grounds for hatred and violence and occasionally in extreme cases you have to deal with violence by using violence. Prison officers are highly trained to deal with violent inmates in a controlled manner, which is very effective. However, there are sadly a number of officers who abuse this skill and use it to bully and cause the inmate as much unnecessary pain as possible.

The tour of the segregation unit signalled the end of our two weeks at Wandsworth. All that remained were some final documentation and, of course, the final briefing with the training staff for which PO Freeman returned. Surprisingly, those of us that were left received good reports and were all told that we would be welcomed back to work there permanently on completion of the nine-week residential officer training course that we were about to embark on. I had no desire to return and desperately wished I would get my posting to Belmarsh as I hoped there would be less pressure there to behave in such a macho way. We collected our travelling and joining instructions, bade our farewells and left the gates of Wandsworth for the last time, clutching under our arms our blue notebooks, which were to prove of no use in the future.

7

PRISON SERVICE COLLEGE COURSE -NR31 NEWBOLD REVEL

I had once again arranged to travel up with Geoff, Mickey Mc and Mick Regan to the college, which was located near Rugby. The mood on the way up was good and we were all in high spirits, once Geoff had finished moaning about the damage that would occur to his clapped-out Cortina's suspension due to the amount of luggage we had. We had been told that the course we were starting was the best part of the training.

The Prison Service had two main colleges at that time, one at Newbold Revel and the other in Leeds. Due to the volume of recruits that had been taken on in recent months, satellite courses were also being run at various police colleges around the country, which were on loan to the Prison Service to help cope with the additional requirements. We learned from staff at Wandsworth that there was fierce rivalry between the colleges. Members of staff who had trained at Leeds claimed to be the better officers and vice versa. It was certainly true that Leeds would have been the better venue of the two, as it was situated in the town centre and provided easy access to the acclaimed nightlife. Newbold, on the other hand, was located in a very picturesque setting in the grounds of an old stately home. There was, however, only a small bar on site and one public house, The Union Jack, within walking distance about a mile up the road. It was this lack of watering holes that I found preoccupied most of my time during the journey as opposed to what the contents of the course would entail, which seemed to be uppermost in the minds of my companions. I decided to make it my first mission to check out the options on arrival and make the best of the situation.