INSIDE (One Man's Experience of Prison) A True Story

by John Hoskison

  * * *

  So, to work. I'm sitting at my small desk with a stack of paper and little else. I've packed nearly all my possessions. On the desk, however, next to the paper, is a small alarm clock that Ahmed gave me when he was released. The way time has slowed down over the last few weeks, it will take a long time for the hands to move to eight.

  Above it, stuck to the wall, are my two most treasured possessions. Pictures of Bronya and Ben—the ones I showed to Guido so very long ago when I first arrived in Wandsworth. There was not a mark on them then. Now, after holding them close for comfort thousands of times, they are creased and worn. Every night they've watched over me. Throughout this long night they will keep me company one more time.

  Mike Hart has my other valuables. I have asked him to give my radio to any new inmate on "C" wing who is lonely and needs company. I also gave him five phonecards, which I bought at my last canteen. I'm so sick of seeing young inmates beaten up for being in debt that, as a last resort, Mike will use them to bail one out. It's the least I can do. He's done it enough times himself.

  One of the few positive aspects of my life inside has been the Youth Project. Over the last few months I've become much more involved in it. Apart from my own testimony, I give one of the welcome speeches to the youngsters when they first enter the prison which helps set the scene, and I'm a mean backing vocal on the songs.

  Inviting sixty children into the prison each month is logistically difficult. Twice this year the project has been cancelled at the last moment, because of staff shortages, yet the demand to send youngsters into the prison is growing by the day.

  Several times over the last few months, when requested by the police, Mike has obtained permission for me to go out to schools and talk to some of the worst cases. I'm particularly pleased to hear that a fourteen-year-old I spoke to recently, who was already on the "heroin-theft roundabout", is responding to rehab. I like to think I was of some influence.

  Whatever direction my life will take I'm determined to carry on helping vulnerable kids. I can certainly warn them about drugs and prison. Perhaps it will help some of them to say "no". It's a good feeling when you can help. That's why I'm so disappointed for Mike. He's done so much to warn youngsters about the dangers of drugs and crime but they still won't let him extend the project. What a waste. I'm determined to keep in touch with him. God knows how he keeps sane with the frustration. God knows how anybody keeps sane in here.

  * * *

  I've just had to take a break from writing, my hand is painful from a knock it took this afternoon during my final game of badminton against Chris the "lifer". It took a while for me to persuade him to play against me again after our first, disastrous match, but since then we've had some amazing battles. The last one this afternoon ended with me crashing into the benches at the far end of the court in a near-suicide bid to return his cruel, mocking lob.

  I've tried not to become too close to anyone these past few months but I've gravitated naturally towards Chris. He shows some of the same qualities I've seen in many champion sportsmen: talent, determination and a born competitiveness that drives him to make that all-out effort. I have often laughed at his fanaticism. Pete the gym instructor, however, said we are as bad as each other.

  Over the last few months Chris and I have pushed each other to the limit training in the gym and, as I came to know him better, I found out why he was in prison. Chris grew up in south London and attended a school with few sporting facilities, but worse, for a young man like Chris, a school with a complete aversion to any form of competition. He therefore honed his battle instincts as a member of a local gang who vied for supremacy in his area. One day there was a fight with another gang and although Chris didn't deliver the fatal blow, someone was stabbed. Instead of a future picking up championship trophies, he received a life sentence inside prison. Had I not been blessed with my background and been sent to a school where all my excess energies were channelled into competitive sport, I could well have drifted down the same road.

  There are a lot of fundamentally sound young people in the community with an abundance of energy who are only just managing to keep themselves out of trouble. That's where I'm determined my background in sport will help. Not just golf—sport in general. I hope I can show wayward youngsters a way to help pass the time more constructively and distract them from temptation. With little sport available at school nowadays, what else is there to do except hang around in gangs outside McDonalds?

  * * *

  Talking of schools, I shall always be indebted to the teachers of the education department. When they realised what I was doing, after weeks of scrounging paper, they came up with a way that I could get access to the computer room and use one as a word processor. Early in the mornings I've been meeting them at eight o'clock and they've been letting me in to type. I owe them a debt of gratitude. They've been really kind to me and will no doubt continue to try and influence as many as they can in a world that seemingly does little to reward the conscientious.

  There are other people whom I'll miss. Every week on Wednesday afternoons I've continued to see the "Mencap" group. I was thrilled to hear last month that Linda and Brian have just been employed by Sainsbury's. The "gang" helped me a lot when I was very low, and I shall miss them. Perhaps one day I'll pop into the supermarket to see them. They always liked surprises.

  True to form, the authorities didn't spring one on me. I have received not one word of advice regarding my release. The only thing I'll be taking from here is my £46 discharge grant, which won't go far. I've got to start to earn an income quickly, no doubt the bills will start mounting, but in the present climate anyone with a criminal record is unlikely to get a job. I cling desperately to the hope that I can get back into the PGA. Fortunately everyone I know wants to see me back. They say I've served my punishment, but I'll have to wait and see. Coupled to a five-year driving ban it'll be hard, no matter what. I'm not even sure where I'll live. When I lost my job, I lost my flat. Fortunately, I have some good friends around who will protect me. I myself would never consider using my diploma from the university of crime. But I now know many who would.

  * * *

  The one hope I had of immediate employment was shattered the other day. An old friend of mine wrote from abroad offering me a job in the world of sport. I was thrilled. Even though I didn't want to leave England, I had never been unemployed and I didn't want to start now. At least, temporarily, it would keep me from the dole queue. When I contacted my probation officer to let her know the good news I received a letter back stating that no matter what the reason I would definitely not be allowed abroad for nine months. I was staggered. I went to see the governor and chaplain to explain my problem and see if there was any way that an exception could be made, but they said the matter was completely out of their hands and they could only confirm the probation officer's words.

  For the next nine months I have to report to the probation offices every two weeks to show that I'm not causing trouble and under no circumstances am I to go abroad. Apparently it looks bad in the press if an ex-prisoner is seen travelling.

  The guys in here though say probation appointments are a good thing—it's the easiest place on the outside to get hold of drugs and "dodgy" work. It seems a criminal influence will continue for a while. How ironic.

  It's been a real eye-opener, prison. Perhaps it's now time I made some sort of comment. One thing's for certain—prison is essential. There are some dangerous people in here; the public (of which I'll shortly be one) has a right to be protected. But it's no good putting everyone in the same boat. There are good prisoners around and they need protecting. They're the ones who (if serving under four years) should be let out after half their sentence if they earn the privilege. If an inmate shows no intention of turning over a new leaf he should not get a day off. In the present system both walk out on the same day. That's wrong.

  And someone has got to do something about the problem of drugs. There are only three w
ays that drugs can get into prison: when a visitor smuggles them in at visiting time; when prison officers (responsible for twelve per cent of all drugs inside jail) bring them in during the course of work; and (the main source), when inmates leave the jail, swallow a parcel, then bring it back in. They're the crucial ones to stop. If an inmate wants to go out to see his family and has earned the privilege, he should be allowed to do so, but there's got to be somewhere where inmates are held while their digestive system eventually gets rid of the drugs. It may be a pain in the arse (excuse the pun) for the prison to organise such a thing, but they should do something about it now.

  Speaking as a prospective member of the public—I'm frightened of what the future holds. The streets are being swept clean, the prison population is exploding and currently society is enjoying a (relatively) crime-free period. Unfortunately an ever-increasing proportion of the 60,000 angry men in prison will be getting out hooked on heroin and looking for revenge. Recently I heard the expression "tie ups" used for the first time. Apparently traditional housebreaking is now too dangerous with all the alarms. The simple solution is to go in during the day, tie up the occupants, beat them until they divulge the whereabouts of their wealth, then beat them senseless and do the burglary. You don't stop heroin addicts just with more security. They will keep coming... and coming... and if you simply lock them up without trying to cure them, they will go back into prison, learn new techniques in the most active think-tank in Britain and come out yet more devious.

  Come on, let's have some action! I've lived with the authority's attitude towards heroin for eighteen months and I'm fed up with the apathy.

  Only four days ago, knowing the results wouldn't be here until after my departure, I was drug-tested. They know I'm clean so it was a good chance to cook the books. If a drug addict can admit he's got a problem, so the prison service should admit theirs. I've kept my temper pretty well in check these past eighteen months, but sometimes my blood really boils when I see the general lack of effort....

  * * *

  Being able to write has really saved me, these last few months. Many things have happened, of course, but only the usual ones: a few stabbings, nothing much out of the ordinary. It's true what everyone says in here—once the initial shock of prison is overcome, it really is just a question of helping time pass as quickly as possible. The concept of "too much of a good thing" can work in reverse. "Too much of a bad thing" leads to indifference. And there's plenty of that in here.

  Fortunately I'm surrounded by some pretty decent men who have now had enough of prison and want to lead normal lives. My custom has been to spend as much time as possible in the chapel area, but now, needing to write has meant a premature return to my cell each evening, and I have come to know the guys on the landing a bit better. I constantly remind myself that they are hardened criminals, and that I shouldn't find anything they do amusing, but there are some genuine characters in here. Take away the violence, albeit mainly directed towards the drug addicts, and there are some honest guys on my spur. Some of them, not many, but some of them I'll miss.

  * * *

  Well, the minutes are ticking by, and there's not much longer for me to go now till I take those final steps from here. I am pretty apprehensive about being released. I've tried to do everything I can to prepare myself, but I still have nagging doubts about some things.

  Certainly giving my testimony at the New Bridge Conference really helped me. It took a long time after I returned from London to be able to think deeply about the night of the accident and the terrible suffering it caused, but I can think about the consequences now without breaking down. If I hadn't spoken out and learned to face up to my feelings, my release would be the start of a nightmare.

  I know that I'm not fully recovered, I never will be; but, worryingly, I still feel my reaction will be to move impassively amongst society. Since returning successfully from my first "home leave", I've been allowed out every eight weeks for the same privilege and every other week I've been allowed a day release on Sundays. Each time I've come up against the same problem. I don't know how long it will take for me to smile again in company, but life won't be worth living if I don't learn how to. Smiling, of course, is just a beginning. I worry that any positive gesture on my part will be misinterpreted. I'm not sure if there's an answer: perhaps it just requires discipline. Certainly I have always been too concerned with what people think of me, it's an intrinsic part of my character that even prison hasn't been able to change. I must endeavour to keep my chin up and look the world in the eye.

  * * *

  In my spare time recently, I've done a lot of thinking. When I was a little boy I used to think it would be great to live for a thousand years. As a young man my philosophy changed (I think it coincided with starting to smoke) and I came to the conclusion that in the same way literature contains only a certain number of plots, life contains only a certain number of emotions. It therefore seemed to me that the success of your life was not how long you lived, but how much of the emotional spectrum you could experience. Now, my attitude has changed again. The emotional journey I've been on this last two and a half years is one I would not wish on any man.

  I can't say I'm sorry that my prison experience is nearly over, but it's an experience I had to go through. There's no way I could have continued my life in the outside world without being seen to be punished. The irony is, prison is no punishment at all compared to the pain I've felt inside. A pain, I know, that will never go away but I'm learning to live with it. I now owe it to those closest to me to try to find a way forward and get on with my life.

  * * *

  Well, zero hour approaches. I don't know what I'm going to do with all this writing. Part of me says that I should give it to somebody who could help publish it—maybe it could do some good. There does seem to be a discrepancy between the realities of prison and the general perception of it. Maybe my account could scare a youngster into changing his ways. Perhaps if Thompson had read it, he wouldn't have ended up in here trying to commit suicide. On the other hand, will I want this around my neck in the future? The decision will have to wait. This has to be my last sentence.

  Outside a new day is dawning. The future now beckons and I want to be first in the queue.

  Epilogue

  In my golfing days, sometimes I would be called to the first tee knowing that my swing wasn't quite right. Yet, I would have no option but to look positive and get on with the job. In a similar way I emerged from prison knowing that emotionally I wasn't completely healed.

  Over the following weeks, when I met people I used to know, I struggled to relax in their company. Often I would find myself walking down the street, looking at the pavement. Never did I smile in public. I tried to tell myself that things would get better, but the future looked bleak.

  One day I received a letter. It had been sent from the wife of the man who had been killed in the accident. In the kindest words she suggested that it might be a good idea to meet up—for both our sakes.

  Not long ago, on a sunny summer day, we met in the beautiful surrounds of Wisley Gardens, near Guildford. At first we walked among the blossoming flowers but eventually we found a deserted wooden bench and sat down. It was so peaceful.

  I had already witnessed her compassion when she pleaded for leniency at my trial. But that afternoon she went a step further. In a voice that was so calm it took me aback, she explained that she and her family were now coping well. She said it was time to look to the future. Turning towards me, with a look of absolute sincerity, she asked me to do the same. The warm and reassuring smile she bathed me with became the gateway to my future.

  For all the effort I had put in, over the long months, to get better, in the blink of an eye my life was given back to me. I was, and am, truly humbled.

  I write these words as a free man.

  Afterword

  After ten years speaking at schools and universities about his experiences in prison, John competed in the qualifying
school to gain a place on the European PGA Seniors Tour. He was successful and out of an original field of 300 he finished second. In May 2008 he played in his first event in Poland.

  Currently John spends time competing at golf, writing articles for an international sports magazine and speaking at schools about facing adversity and the importance of being able to say 'no'. He has now spoken at over 300 schools to over 40,000 pupils.

  If you wish to contact John directly, please email Hoskison51@hotmail.com. Or you may contact John through his publisher at jHoskison@epublishingworks.com

  John Hoskison was educated at St John's Leatherhead. After a short time working in a bank, he became a professional golfer and played the European PGA tour until 1985.

  He was elected Surrey Professional Golf Association Captain and has twice represented Europe in PGA Cup matches against America. He has also led England in the European Team Championships.

  In 1992, he won the Club Professionals Grand Slam including the national title. He regularly contributes to golf magazines.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Praise for INSIDE: One Man's Experience of Prison

  A Note from the Author

  Prologue