‘Yes, I have an essay written by Tony Croft, and a poem by Billy Little.’ I rummage around in a drawer, and hand them over. They look quickly through them before passing them back. ‘I am also in possession of a library book,’ I say, trying not to smirk. They try hard not to rise, but they still turn the pages and shake the book about. (Drugs or money this time.)
‘I see it’s due back today, Archer, so make sure you return it by lock-up, because we wouldn’t want you to be fined, would we.’ Mr Weedon scores a point.
‘How kind of you to forewarn me,’ I say.
‘Before we can begin a thorough search of your cell,’ continues Mr Abbott, ‘I have to ask, are you in possession of any legal papers that you do not wish us to read?’
‘No,’ I reply.
‘Thank you,’ says Mr Weedon. ‘That completes this part of the exercise. Your cell will now be searched by two other officers.’
I was told later that this is done simply for their self-protection, so that should they come across anything illegal, with four officers involved, two sets of two, it becomes a lot more difficult for a prisoner to claim ‘it’s a set-up, guv’ and that whatever was found had been planted.
‘Burglars!’ I hear shouted by someone at the top of their voice, sounding as if it had come from a nearby cell. I look a little surprised that the officers don’t all disappear at speed.
Mr Weedon smiles. ‘That’s us,’ he says. ‘We’ve been spotted, and it’s just another prisoner warning his mates that we’re out on one of our searching expeditions, so they’ll have enough time to dispose of anything incriminating. You’ll hear several toilets being flushed during the next few minutes and see a few packages being thrown out of the window.’
Mr Abbott and Mr Cook leave me to be replaced by Ms Taylor and Ms Lynn, who begin to search my cell.
Mr Weedon escorts me to the waiting room on the other side of the spur and locks me in. Bored, I stroll over to the window on the far side of the room, and look down on a well-kept garden. A dozen or so prisoners are planting, cutting, and weeding for a pound an hour. The inmates are all wearing yellow Day-Glo jackets, while the one supervisor is dressed casually in blue jeans and an open-necked shirt. It’s a neat, well-kept garden, but then so would anyone’s be, if they had a dozen gardeners at a pound an hour.
I am amused to see that one of the prisoners is clipping a hedge with a large pair of shears, quite the most lethal weapon I’ve seen since arriving at Belmarsh. I do hope they search his cell regularly.
Twenty minutes later I’m let out, and escorted back to Cell 30. All my clothes are in neat piles, my waste-paper bin emptied, and I have never seen my cell looking so tidy. However, the officers have removed my second pillow and the lavatory bleach that Del Boy had so thoughtfully supplied on my first day on Block One.*
6.00 pm
Supper. I take down my second tin of ham (49p) to be opened by a helper on the hotplate. Tony adds two potatoes and a spoonful of peas, not all of them stuck together. After I’ve eaten dinner, I wash my plastic dishes before returning downstairs to join my fellow inmates for Association. I decide to tell only Fletch, Tony and Billy that I’ll be leaving in the morning. Fletch said that he was aware of my imminent departure, but didn’t realize it was that imminent.
Sitting in his cell along with the others feels not unlike the last day of term at school, when, having packed your trunk, you hang around in the dorm, wondering how many of your contemporaries you will keep in touch with.
Fletch tells us that he’s just spent an hour with Ms Roberts, and has decided to appeal against both his sentence and verdict. I am delighted, but can’t help wondering if it will affect his decision to allow the contents of the little green book to be published.
‘On the contrary,’ he says. ‘I want the whole world to know who these evil people are and what they’ve done.’
‘But what if they ask you to name the judges, the schoolmasters, the policemen and the politician?’
‘Then I shall name them,’ he says.
‘And what about the other ten children who were put through the same trauma? How do you expect them to react?’ Tony asks. ‘After all, they must now all be in their late thirties.’
Fletch pulls out a file from his shelf and removes a sheet of paper with ten names typed in a single column. ‘During the next few weeks I intend to write to everyone named on this list and ask if they are willing to be interviewed by my solicitor. A couple are married and may not even have told their wives or family, one or two will not be that easy to track down, but I’m confident that several of them will back me up, and want the truth to be known.’
‘What about ***, **** and *****?’
‘I shall name them in court,’ Fletch says firmly. ‘*** of course is dead, but **** and ***** are very much alive.’
Tony starts to applaud while Billy, not given to showing much outward sign of emotion, nods vigorously.
‘Lock-up,’ hollers someone from the front desk. I shake hands with three men who I had no idea I would meet a month ago, and wonder if I will ever see again.* I return to my cell.
When I reach the top floor, I find Mr Weedon standing by my door.
‘When you get out of here,’ he says, ‘be sure you write it as it is. Tell them about the problems both sides are facing, the inmates and the officers, and don’t pull your punches.’ I’m surprised by the passion in his voice. ‘But let me tell you something you can’t have picked up in the three weeks you’ve spent with us. The turnover of prison staff is now the service’s biggest problem, and it’s not just because of property prices in London. Last week I lost a first-class officer who left to take up a job as a tube driver. Same pay but far less hassle, was the reason he gave. Good luck, sir,’ he says, and locks me in.
9.00 pm
I begin to prepare for my imminent departure. Fletch has already warned me that there will be no official warning, just a knock on my cell door around six-thirty and a ‘You’re on the move, Archer, so have your things ready.’ ‘There’s only one thing I can guarantee,’ he adds. ‘Once you’ve been down to the reception area you will be kept hanging around for at least another hour while an officer completes the paperwork.’
9.30 pm
I read through the latest pile of letters, including ones from Mary, Will, and another from Geordie Greig, the editor of Tatler, who ends with the words, There’s a table booked for lunch at Le Caprice just as soon as you’re out. No fair-weather friend he.
I then check over the day’s script and decide on an early night.
10.14 pm
I turn out the light on Belmarsh for the last time.
Day 22
Thursday 9 August 2001
4.40 am
I wake from a restless sleep, aware that I could be called at any time. I decide to get up and write for a couple of hours.
6.43 am
I check my watch. It’s six forty-three, and there’s still no sign of life out there in the silent dark corridors, so I make myself some breakfast. Sugar Puffs, the last selection in my Variety pack, long-life milk and an orange.
6.51 am
I shave, wash and get dressed. After some pacing around my five-by-three cell, I begin to pack. When I say pack, I must qualify that, because you are not allowed a suitcase or a holdall; everything has to be deposited into one of HM Prisons’ plastic bags.
7.14 am
I’ve finished packing but there is still no sign of anyone stirring. Has my transfer been postponed, cancelled even? Am I to remain at Belmarsh for the rest of my life? I count every minute as I pace up and down, waiting to make my official escape. What must it be like waiting to be hanged?
7.40 am
I empty the last drop of my UHT milk into a plastic mug, eat a McVitie’s biscuit, and begin to wonder if there is anyone out there. I reread Mary’s and Will’s letters. They cheer me up.
8.15 am
My cell door is at last opened by a Mr Knowles.
‘Good m
orning,’ he says cheerfully. ‘We’ll be moving you just as soon as we’ve got all the remand prisoners off to the Bailey.’ He checks his watch. ‘So I’ll be back around 9.30. If you’d like to take a shower, or if there’s anything else you need to do, I’ll leave your door open.’
Forgive the cliché, but I breathe a sigh of relief to have it confirmed that I really am leaving. I take a shower – I’ve now mastered the palm, press, soap, palm, press method.
During the next hour several prisoners drop by to say farewell as the news spreads around the spur that I’m departing. Del Boy relieves me of my last bottle of water, saying he could get used to it. Once he’s left, I suggest to an officer that I would like to give my radio to one of the prisoners who never gets a visit. The officer tells me that it’s against the regulations.
‘To give something to someone in need is against the regulations?’ I query.
‘Yes,’ he replies. ‘You may be trying to bribe him, or repay him for a supply of drugs. If you were seen giving a radio to another prisoner, you would immediately be put on report and your sentence might even be lengthened by twenty-eight days.’
My problem is that I just don’t think like a criminal.
I wait until the officer is out of sight, then nip downstairs and leave the radio and a few other goodies on Fletch’s bed. He’ll know whose needs are the greatest.
9.36 am
Mr Knowles returns to escort me to the reception area where I first appeared just three long weeks ago. I am placed in a cubicle and strip-searched, just as I was on the day I arrived. Once I’ve put my clothes back on, they handcuff me – only for the second time – and then lead me out of the building and into what I would describe as a Transit van. Down the left-hand side are four single seats, one behind each other. On the right-hand side is a cubicle in which the prisoner is placed like some untamed lion. Once I’m locked in, I stare out of the little window for some time, until, without any warning, the vast electric barred gates slide slowly open.
As the black Transit van trundles out of Belmarsh, I have mixed feelings. Although I am delighted and relieved to be leaving, I’m also anxious and nervous about being cast into another world, having to start anew and form fresh relationships all over again.
It has taken me three weeks to pass through Hell. Am I about to arrive in Purgatory?
A PRISON DIARY. Copyright © 2002 by Jeffrey Archer. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010. Not all images included in the print edition of this title are available in this ebook edition.
www.stmartins.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Archer, Jeffrey, 1940-
A prison diary / Jeffrey Archer.
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-0-312-32186-4
1. Archer, Jeffrey, 1940—Diaries. 2. Archer, Jeffrey, 1940—Imprisonment. 3. Novelists, English—20th century—Diaries. 4. Prisoners—Great Britain—Diaries. 5. HMP Belmarsh. I. Title.
PR6051.R285Z474 2003
828'.91403—dc21
[B]
2003046688
* 73 people committed suicide in British prisons in 2001, 22 of them were first-time offenders Over 1,500 prisoners attempted hanging, strangulation or suffocation in 2000, a rise of 50 per cent over the 1999 figures
* There are no wooden items in the cell, as first-night prisoners often smash up everything.
† Nick Purnell QC asked Mr Justice Potts if I could be excused from the court to be with my mother. He refused our request. A second request was made at the beginning of the afternoon session, which he reluctantly agreed to. I reached my mother’s bedside an hour before she died.
* They also emphasize in the same booklet that Belmarsh will not tolerate any form of bullying and they have a firm policy of no racial, ethnic or religious discrimination.
* It is not uncommon for a lifer to be moved from prison to prison, so that they can never settle or gain the upper hand.
* On 2 July 2002, Barry George lost his appeal
* There are four categories of prisoner, A, B, C, D. A-cat are violent and dangerous prisoners, with the possible resources, i.e. money, to escape; B are violent and dangerous, but not always murderers (i.e. GBH, ABH, manslaughter or rape), C, the vast majority, are repeat offenders or convicted of a serious, non-violent crime, e.g. drug-dealers; D are usually first offence, no history of violence, often with short sentences, and likely to conform to the system, as they wish to return to society as quickly as possible
* Selected prisoners are invited to become Listeners. They are then trained by the Samaritans so that they can assist fellow inmates who are finding prison hard to come to terms with, especially those contemplating suicide.
* I will only use foul language when it’s reported in speech, which for most inmates is every sentence. Fuckin’ is the only adjective they ever bother with.
* This is a common experience in most jails, and can go on all night. They are known as ‘window warriors’.
* You’re allowed one Bic razor a day, and not until you hand in your old one will they supply you with a new one. It was several days before I discovered why.
* Lyndon Baines Johnson, the thirty-sixth President of the United States.
* I discovered later that you can buy a plug from the canteen for 25p, but if you leave your cell door open for more than a minute, it disappears.
* White cards denote Church of England, red cards Roman Catholic, yellow, Muslim, and green, Jewish. This is to show any dietary needs, and if you are attending a service when you should he locked up.
* Kevin Meredith was tried and convicted at the Old Bailey on 18 February 2002 for conspiracy to steal, and sentenced to five years’ imprisonment.
* In prison, the morning meal, breakfast, is usually taken between 7 30 and 8.00, the midday meal is called dinner, and the evening meal tea. In Belmarsh, the following day’s breakfast is given to you in a plastic bag when you go down to the hotplate for tea the night before.
* The reason Mark feels so strongly is because tea-boys, Listeners and hotplate workers spend far longer out of their cells than the rest of us, so it’s a real privilege.
* One pip is a senior officer, two pips a principal officer.
* Actual Bodily Harm and Grievous Bodily Harm.
* For example, if my sentence was reduced by one year, from four to three, I would end up only serving sixteen months and be released on 19 November 2002; whereas with a four-year sentence, the earliest I could hope to be released would be 19 July 2003
* In-cell electricity for television
* The Director General of Prisons, Martin Narey, has since issued a directive that officers should not smoke when on duty.
* Inmates are given £90 when leaving prison if they are of NFA (no fixed abode), £45 if they have somewhere to live. They can go back on social security after a fortnight.
* Beatings up (hammerings) usually take place in the shower room, which is why some prisoners don’t wash from one year to the next The reason the shower room is the preferred place for retribution is because it’s on the top floor at the end of a long corridor, more than four prisoners are allowed to congregate at any one time, and any excess noise is usually ignored as exuberance
* On 30 June 1990, there were 1,725 inmates serving life sentences. On 30 June 2000 this figure had risen by 163 per cent to 4,540, 97 per cent of them male, of whom 3,405 were convicted murderers It’s important to remember that murderers are different to other criminals. For over 50 per cent it’s a first offence, and when they are released, they never commit another crime It’s equally true to say that the other 50 per cent are professional criminals, who do not deserve a moment of your sympathy
* I am an admirer of the eminent heart surgeon, Sir Magdi Yacoub, and any donation yo
u give will assist his current research
* This picture of my cell was drawn by Derek Jones I was not allowed to take a photograph of it.
* Drugs are often packed into a condom and then pushed up the rectum. Transferring them in the back pew of the chapel can’t be a pleasant experience.
* Convicted prisoners, Members of the House of Lords, and certified lunatics are ineligible to vote. I now qualify in two of the three categories
* I checked later It is in the prison regulations, under ‘Locks, Bolts and Bars’.
* This sentence was added two weeks after I had written the original script
A Prison Diary Page 22
