A Prison Diary Purgatory (2003)

by Jeffrey Archer

  The opposition side are met at the gates by sniffer dogs before being searched. The players are then escorted to the changing rooms, accompanied by the boos of prisoners from all four blocks. And if that isn’t enough to contend with, they then have to deal with our captain, Jimmy.

  Now Jimmy is all charm and bonhomie as he accompanies the opposition side from the changing room onto the pitch. But he does consider it nothing less than his duty to inform the visitors that they should keep a wary eye on Preston, Wayland’s main striker.

  ‘Why?’ asks the opposing team captain innocently.

  ‘He’s in for a double murder - chopped his parents’ heads off while they were asleep.’ Jimmy pauses. ‘Even we don’t like him. He’s already got a twenty-five-year sentence, and as he’s only done three, the occasional broken leg doesn’t seem to worry him too much, especially as he’s only likely to get a yellow card.’

  The truth is that our main striker is in for breaking and entering (rather appropriate) but by the time Jimmy has reached the pitch, the Methwold team is convinced that if Hannibal Lecter were at Wayland he would be relegated to the subs bench.

  The first half is a shambles; the ball goes up and down the pitch with little speed and even less purpose. Wayland are trying to get to know each other, while Methwold still aren’t sure if they dare risk the occasional tackle. It’s 0-0 when the whistle blows for half-time, and frankly no one deserved to score.

  The second half is a complete contrast as I’m made aware of the other advantage Wayland has: fitness. All of our team spend at least an hour every day in the gym, rather than at the local pub, and it begins to show. The first goal is headed in by Carl (GBH), after an excellent cross by our ‘double-murderer1. The second is scored by Dan (armed robbery), another of our strikers, and the third is added by Hitch (arson). We end up winning 3-0, which augurs well for the rest of the season. Perhaps we could even win the league cup this year. But it’s back to disadvantages, because three of the team, including Jimmy, are due to be released before Christmas, and the side we will field at the end of the season will bear no resemblance to the one that lined up for the opening encounter.

  Despite the team’s glorious victory, some of the officers are irritated by the fact that they’ve been made to hang around until we return for a late lunch. With the exception of Mr Nutbourne, who makes sure that the team is fed, they can’t wait to get us banged up and go off duty.

  The relationship between officers and prisoners is always conducted on a tightrope which both sides walk every day. The officers on duty that Sunday morning unwisely miss an opportunity to make their own lives easier. A few words of praise and allowing an extra minute or two in the shower would have paid huge dividends in the long run. Instead, the victors return to their cells with shrivelled-up pieces of meat covered in cold gravy, unable to shower until we are unlocked again in two hours’ time. Of course I understand that the prison is not run for the convenience of the prisoners, but here was an opportunity for the officers to make their own life easier in the long term. They botched it, with the exception of Mr Nutbourne, who will get far more cooperation and respect from the inmates in the future.

  2.00 pm

  Board meeting. Sergio has talked to his brother in Bogota. The four emeralds that his brother initially selected have been shortlisted to two and, along with a member of the family who owns the mountain, Sergio’s brother will make the final selection tomorrow. He has also assured him that, whichever one they choose, the gem would retail at three times the price in a London shop. As for paintings, Sergio’s school friend has told him that, through Sergio’s mother, she has made an appointment with Botero’s mother, and will report back by the end of the week. My heart leaps at the thought of finally owning a Botero.

  4.00 pm

  While I do a circuit with Jimmy, Shaun continues to draw Darren, who surprisingly now proves, unlike Dale, to be a still and patient model. I’m delighted with the preliminary sketches and, more importantly, so is Darren. While Shaun is sketching, I ask Darren about the rabbits. The rabbits, it seems, are no fools. They know when the prisoners are fed, and burrow under the fence to gather up the food thrown out of the windows by the inmates after lockup. They are occasionally joined by a family of ducks. But, and there is always a but in prison, there is also a fox lurking around, who is even more cunning. He also enters under the fence after lock up, and catches the rabbits while they nibble the food dropped from the prisoners’ table. The fox has also worked out that there is no such thing as ‘The Wayland Hunt’.

  I tell Shaun that I’ve spoken to Chris Beetles and hope that it will result in his being in receipt (I select the words carefully) of the highest quality drawing paper, chalks, watercolours and pencils, so that his final effort can’t be blamed on his tools. He’s delighted.

  6.00 pm

  Early lock up because of staff shortages. I will have to remain in my five paces by three cell for the next fourteen hours.

  I start reading Jeeves. What a different world Bertie Wooster lived in. How would Bertie have coped with Wayland? I suppose Jeeves would have volunteered to take his place.

  DAY 47 - MONDAY 3 SEPTEMBER 2001

  5.43 am

  I wake to the smell of fresh paint, so I feel I should bring you up to date on my redecoration programme. The white undercoat was finished yesterday, and while I was at pottery Locke (GBH, spur painter) added a coat of magnolia to the walls and beige to the door, window ledge and skirting board.

  I have always liked brick as a medium, but I find the solid block of white a little unimaginative, so during pottery class this morning I’m going to suggest to Shaun that he might design a pattern for the walls, and then find out if Locke is willing to add ‘interior decorator’ to his portfolio. It may well cost me another couple of pounds, but I could then enter my cell for the Turner Prize.

  9.00 am

  During pottery class, Shaun begins to knock out a few ideas for a pattern on my walls, and very imaginative they are.

  He then produces his sketch pad and shows me his latest ideas for the book cover. The first one is a cell door with eyes peeping through the little flap, while the second is a prisoner’s card as displayed outside every cell. I wonder if he could somehow combine the two.

  12 noon

  After lunch I make notes in preparation for a visit from William, James and David, my driver of fifteen years. Once I’ve done this I have to learn each of the headings by heart, as I’m not allowed to take anything into the visitors’ room. I count how many topics need to be covered - William eight, James nine, David five. After that I’ll have to rely on my memory.

  1.30 pm

  I shower and shave before putting on a new pair of jeans and a freshly ironed, blue-striped shirt. I have never been vain, but I am far too proud to allow the boys to see me looking unkempt - and wondering if prison has got the better of me.

  2.00 pm

  As I leave the cell to join my children, Locke strolls in. I haven’t yet summoned up the courage to tell him about my idea for further redecoration, and I suspect I’ll end up leaving the negotiations to my works manager, Darren.

  When I arrive in the visitors’ area, I am searched for the first time in over a week, but compared to Belmarsh this exercise is fairly cursory. I don’t know if suspected drug addicts and dealers receive different treatment. I’m once again allocated table fourteen, where I take my place in the red chair, leaving the three blue chairs vacant. I look around the room that holds about seventy tables, but only five are occupied by prisoners. This is because of the breakdown of the prison computer, which has thrown the visiting schedule into chaos.

  James is the first through the door, surprise, surprise, followed by William, then David. Once we have completed the hugs and greetings I explain that I wish to allocate the two hours judiciously. The first half hour I’ll spend with William, the second with James and the third with David, before having the final half hour with all three of them.

  W
hile the other two disappear. Will updates me on the KPMG report and my D-cat reinstatement. Mary has been in touch with Gillian Shephard, currently my local MP, who has promised to contact the governor of Wayland and make it clear that once the police have dropped their enquiry, I ought to be moved on to an open prison as quickly as possible. Mind you, the Prison Service’s idea of as quickly as possible…

  Will also reports that he hopes to return to America in about three weeks as he has been offered several new commissions for documentaries. To his surprise, he’s also been approached about some work in London.

  While I try to recall my eight points, Will briefs me about his mother. Mary is holding up well in the circumstances, but he feels that she has probably been most affected by the whole experience.

  I then ask if Will could do three things for me. First, give Chris Beetles PS200 in order that Shaun will be in receipt of the art materials he needs. Second, select a bowl and plate from the Bridgewater collection and send them to Darren at Wayland, a man whose kindness I will never be able to repay properly. Finally, I ask if he will somehow get hold of my special Staedtler liquid pens, because— Will points to the tray in front of me, where I see he has slipped two behind a can of Diet Coke. I smile, but wonder if I can get the treasure back to my cell without it being confiscated.

  Once I’ve completed my list, he brings me up to date on his social life. Ten minutes later he leaves me and James takes his place.

  I spend some considerable time briefing James on Sergio’s background, and explain how three weeks in prison, in such intense circumstances, is the equivalent of about three months on the outside. He nods, as he’s well aware that this is only background before I broach the real subject. Having established Sergio’s credentials, about which I tell him I have only my instinct to go on, we then discuss the subject of emeralds in great detail. I explain for an investment of $10,000, subject to valuation, we will acquire one emerald which will arrive in London later this week If Sergio turns out to have been honest about the emerald, it might then be worth getting him to search for a Botero.

  ‘If he doesn’t manage to find any paintings,’ I add, ‘then the worse case scenario is that Mary will end up with a rather special Christmas present’

  Because James has inherited his mother’s brains and my barrow-boy instincts, there’s no need to repeat anything. We agree to speak again by phone towards the end of the week. I smile across at David and he joins us.

  After a few preliminaries about his wife, Sue, and whether they had a good holiday, I can see he’s nervous, which has always been David’s way of telling me something is worrying him. I try to make it as easy as possible for both of us.

  ‘Are you still thinking of emigrating to Australia?’ I ask.

  ‘No’ he replies, ‘much as I’d like to, it’s near impossible to get on the quota, unless you have a job to go to, or relatives already living there.’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have a better chance now I’ve been to prison,’ I suggest, before adding, ‘So what are you planning to do?’

  ‘Sue and I are thinking of settling in Turkey. We’ve spent our last few holidays there, and we like the people, the climate and most of all the cost of living.’

  ‘So when would you want to leave?’

  In a couple of months, if that’s all right with you, boss?’

  I smile and tell him that’s just fine. We shake hands like old friends, because that’s exactly what we are.

  The four of us spend the last thirty minutes together swapping stories as if I wasn’t in jail. I think I’ve made this observation before, but if your friends could be in prison with you, it would be almost bearable.

  I place the pens Will smuggled in into my shirt pocket and just hope. I’m sorry to see the boys leave, and it’s only their absence that reminds me just how much I love them. The officer who carries out the search checks my mouth, under my tongue, makes me take off my shoes, and then finishes with a Heathrow check. I escape - which means for the next week I’ll be able to write with the implement of my choice.

  5.00 pm

  After supper I convene a board meeting in Sergio’s cell. ‘The ball is now in your court,’ I tell him. ‘You’ve selected the emerald, so we’re about to discover if you’re a serious player or a mountebank.’ He has asked me to use one expression and one word every day that he won’t have heard before. He immediately looks up mountebank in his Spanish/English dictionary.

  He then stands and formally shakes my hand. The ball is now in my court,’ he repeats, ‘and you’re about to find out that despite the circumstances in which we’ve met, I am not a mountebank.’ I want to believe him.

  DAY 48 - TUESDAY 4 SEPTEMBER 2001

  6.11 am

  One of the interesting aspects of writing this diary during the day, and correcting the script of volume one in the evening, is being reminded just how horrendous an experience Belmarsh was.

  9.00 am

  Pottery. Paul gives us a lecture with slides on Rothko, Man Ray, Magritte and Andy Warhol. Several of the prisoners voice an opinion often heard about modern artists, only they put it more bluntly.

  That’s fuckin’ crap, why would anyone pay good money for that shit? My seven-year-old daughter could knock you up one of those.’

  Neither of our tutors, Paul nor Anne, comments; both are professional artists and know only too well that if they could ‘knock up one of those’, they wouldn’t be teaching in prison.

  After the lecture Shaun presents me with a pattern for my cell wall - unquestionably influenced by Magritte. It’s fun, but I wonder if Locke is capable of reproducing it. I’ll have to discuss the problem with my chef de chantier, Darren. Will I really be allowed a sun and moon in my room?

  2.00 pm

  Education, Tuesday afternoon is a bit of a farce. I have to attend an education class to make up the statutory number of lessons required by a part-time worker - PS6.50 a week - so end up sitting at the back of the classroom working on this script.

  I’ve asked Wendy Sergeant (Head of the Education Department) if I can teach one lesson a week of creative writing, as I did at Belmarsh. Her latest comment on the subject is that the prisoners don’t want another inmate teaching them. I find this unlikely because at least one inmate a day asks me to read and comment on something they’ve written, so I wonder what the truth really is. I won’t bother Wendy again as it’s obvious that someone else has made the decision, and she is simply carrying out instructions. In future I’ll just sit at the back of the classroom and continue working for myself.

  5.00 pm

  Board meeting. Sergio reports that he’s spoken to his brother again, and all the arrangements are in place. But he has an anxious look on his face.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m worried about my brother,’ he explains. ‘He’s a civil servant, an academic, not used to the way business is carried out in Colombia. It must have taken a great deal of courage for him to travel to the mountain where no one would give a second thought to killing you for a thousand dollars. Now we want him to hand over ten thousand in cash and then transport the emerald to the airport without any protection.’ Sergio pauses. ‘I fear for his life.’

  My first thought is that Sergio is trying to get off the hook now that he’s leaving these shores in a few weeks’ time.

  What are you suggesting?’ I venture.

  ‘Perhaps it would be wiser to wait until I return to Bogota, then I can handle the problem personally. I fear for my brother’s life,’ he repeats.

  Once Sergio is back in Bogota I will have lost all contact with him, not to mention my PS200. He has claimed many times during the past three weeks that several prisoners have offered to transfer money to his account in Bogota in exchange for a regular supply of drugs, but he has always turned them down. Has he in fact accepted every payment? Is that account now in surplus thus guaranteeing him an easy life once he’s back in Colombia? However, I feel I am left with no choice but to tak
e the high road.

  ‘If you’re in any doubt about your brother’s safety,’ I tell him, let’s postpone the sending of the emerald until you return to Bogota.’

  Sergio looks relieved. ‘I’ll call him tomorrow,’ he says, ‘and then I’ll let you know our decision.’

  I close the board meeting because, given the circumstances, there’s not a lot more to discuss.

  6.00 pm

  Exercise. Shaun has finished his preliminary sketch of Darren, and is now making a further attempt at Dale.

  As Jimmy and I proceed on our usual circuit (there isn’t a lot of choice) we pass a group of three officers who are posted to keep an eye on us. One of them is a young, not unattractive, woman. Jimmy tells me that she has a ‘bit of a thing’ about Malcolm (ABH, punched a publican) who she will miss when he’s transferred to his D-cat prison on Monday.

  ‘The stories I could tell you about Malcolm’ says Jimmy.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I say, my ears pricking up.

  ‘No, no,’ says Jimmy. ‘I’m not saying a word about that man until I’m sure he’s safely ensconced at Latchmere House. He flattened that publican with one punch.’ He pauses. ‘But ask me again next week.’

  DAY 49 - WEDNESDAY 5 SEPTEMBER 2001

  9.00 pm

  I watch Ian Richardson on BBC 1 playing Dr Bell in a Conan Doyle drama described in The Times as the forerunner to Sherlock Holmes. I will never forget his portrayal of the chief whip in Michael Dobbs’ excellent House of Cards. I’ve known seven chief whips in my time - Willie Whitelaw, Francis Pym, Humphrey Atkins, John Wakeham, Tim Renton, Peter Brooke, and Richard Ryder - but even their combined talents lacked the Machiavellian skills of Francis Urquhart, under whose gaze I certainly wouldn’t have dared to miss a vote.