Rona Epstein
November 2024
November 2024
Rona Epstein
Honorary Research Fellow, Coventry Law School, Coventry University
Honorary Visiting Research Fellow, York Law School, University of York
Editing and design by Rebecca Grant
Thanks to the Oakdale Trust for funding this project. https://www.oakdaletrust.org.uk/
Richard Garside, Director, Centre for Crime and Justice Studies
A few years ago, I found myself in a high security prison, in a room with some 30 male prisoners, of varying ages, along with a couple of prison officers and the prison governor, talking about prisons.
We discussed the purpose of prison; who should, and should not, be in prison; whether a reduction in the high prison population was possible; whether, indeed, the abolition of prisons was a realistic, long-term goal. The conversation ebbed and flowed. Some of the prisoners had a lot to say, much of it grounded and insightful. Others said little, happy to sit and listen; a change of scene and break from the otherwise grinding monotony of the prison day.
At the end of session, I got talking to some of the prisoners, including one young man, in his early twenties, a few years into a 30-year prison sentence. A victim of repeated targeting by a racist gang, he had taken to carrying a knife. Attacked again one night by the same gang, the knife came out, one of the gang members ended up dead, and he ended up with a murder conviction and a long stretch in prison.
His regret over the death was clear; his sense of the injustice at the situation he was in, palpable. He talked, I listened, and wished him the best in fighting his conviction, or at least in getting his sentence reduced. Sometimes, listening to the pain of others, hearing and witnessing in turn, is all one can do. It often does not feel enough. It is also not nothing.
The testimonies collected in this volume cover the everyday problems of prison system in crisis. Jodie and Ann, mothers of two young men living in squalor in Wandsworth prison. Peter, a former Wandsworth prisoner, who waded through rubbish ankle-deep on his way to the exercise yard. Mary, whose son’s duvet was stolen on arrival in prison. Joey, who went three weeks without a shower, in the winter, because there was no hot water. Ben, whose friend ended up with rice and rice, rather than rice and chicken.
‘Some of the guards talk to you like a piece of shit’, says Ben. Daisy speaks of her partner with multiple health problems, who misses hospital appointments because there are no staff available to take him. Parmjeet speaks of her son, suffering from Vitamin D deficiency and a weak immune system. Hannah, who sometimes gets too much medication, sometimes too little, for her complex health needs.
These everyday problems in a failing system are anything but mundane. To recount them is to condemn a prison system so dysfunctional that it cannot even get the basics right. No exaggeration is needed.
Prisoners and prison staff do not want to live and work in such conditions. Most members of the public, I suspect, would also be shocked to read the testimonies contained in this report.
With Ministers talking up ambitious plans to build more and more prisons, they would do well to read these testimonies, and to reflect on whether they currently have their priorities in the right place.
Gillian Ashmore, convenor of the Wandsworth Prison Improvement Campaign
On December 5, 2023, an audience gathered for a Quaker outreach event at Wandsworth meeting house. We were to hear from the then Quaker prison chaplain, Liz Bridge, about her work in the prison.
No one was prepared for what happened that night. What Liz told us was electrifying, not quite believable. How could it be that the shocking conditions and misery Liz was describing were happening right on our doorstep? Why were others, who must surely have known what was going on, not speaking out? Surely, the doctors and lawyers must know? What about the families of serving prisoners?
At that moment, two hands were raised – two mothers of young prisoners, despairing of ever getting anyone to listen to their stories.
Then and there a small group decided to form to campaign for change. We didn’t know at that point what we would do or how. We didn’t know whether the passion in the room that night would last and would become a real commitment to stay for as long as it would take to turn Wandsworth round. What we all knew was that the voices of the prisoners themselves and of their families would have to be at the heart of what we did.
Our group, the Wandsworth Prison Improvement Campaign,* has engaged local people (250 came to our public meeting), knocked on every door from Ministers and local MPs to the Prison Governors’ Association, to the Howard League and the Prison Reform Trust and many others. We have seen the Governor resign, the Chief Inspector and the Independent Monitoring Board put out damning reports and seen the current Secretary of State for Justice commit herself to bringing about change.
*https://www.wandsworthprisoncampaign.co.uk/
Rona Epstein
As Gillian Ashmore has recounted, Liz Bridge’s talk at a public meeting in December 2023 left a large audience shocked and horrified.
Two weeks later, my friend Martine Lignon (a trustee of the Prisoners’ Advice Service) and I met the two mothers of young men held on remand in Wandsworth Prison. We asked them, ‘What do you want to tell us?’ and we recorded what they said. During the interview, their sons telephoned from the prison. We recorded everything they said. We heard shouting and swearing from officers in the background Later, I transcribed the interviews. That became the starting point of this project.
We salute the courage of these two mothers in speaking out and admire their strength and their love and support for their sons. In this report, we have called them Ann, Jodie, Ben and Joey.
I then set out to collect, by telephone, email or letter, direct personal evidence of life inside, as it is experienced today, from current and former prisoners and from friends and relatives of those in prison. These testimonies are published as they were heard.
The project started with Wandsworth Prison. Of course, the problems in our prisons are both longstanding and widespread, and a project such as this cannot be limited to one (male) prison.
At the same time as the media covered the dreadful conditions at Wandsworth, there was a troubling inspectorate report on a women’s prison, HMP Eastwood Park. It was shocking to read of mentally ill prisoners held in prison cells with blood spattered walls - the blood being left uncleaned after self-harm incidents.
HM Chief Inspector of prisons, Charlie Taylor, reported: ’Some of the most vulnerable women across the prison estate were held in an environment wholly unsuitable for their therapeutic needs… The levels of distress we observed were appalling. No prisoner should be held in such terrible conditions.’
We sought first-hand reports and comments concerning all our prisons in England and Wales, collecting the views and experiences of former and current prisoners and from friends and relatives of prisoners from a number of different establishments, including Eastwood Park.
There is, of course, much disturbing, troubling and indeed shocking testimony in this report. We note the litany of complaints of poor quality and insufficient food (the amount allotted to be spent per prisoner is £2.70 per day) Also striking are the reports of lack of respect, care, and kindness towards prisoners, which would be, of course, a pre-condition for any rehabilitation work.
This is the report of what we learned. It is published here so that the voices of prisoners and of friends and relatives of prisoners may be heard and noted. What they have to tell us is important. We must demand and must get change.
In most cases, pseudonyms have been used.
AF Prisoner at HMP Lindholme
AH Held in HMP Bronzefield
Ben Held at HMP Wandsworth
Cheryl Mother of Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
Daisy Partner of man held at HMP Wandsworth
DW Former prisoner at HMP Eastwood Park
Emily Sister of man held at HMP Wandsworth
Hannah Recently in prison at HMP Foston Hall
Jodie and Ann Mothers of Ben and Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth on remand awaiting sentence
Joey Held at HMP Wandsworth
Jon Held at HMP Wandsworth
Liz Bridge Former Quaker chaplain
Mary Mother of man held at HMP Wandsworth
Parmjeet Mother of man held at HMP Wandsworth
Patricia Mother of man held at HMP Wandsworth
Peter Former prisoner at HMP Wandsworth
SB Recently released from HMP Foston Hall
Zack Griffiths Former prisoner at HMP Parc
The living conditions are appalling You wouldn’t keep caged animals locked up like this. Broken tiles on the floor, there’s broken panes on the window. Dirty, the sink’s broke, the toilet overflows, it doesn’t flush properly. They had woodlice in the board at the back of the sink, so they put a new board over the woodlice, with woodlice between the two boards. So they’ve not took away the problem, they’ve not unscrewed the board, they’ve just stuck another bit on top so there’s still woodlice in the rotted wood. So where’s the logic in that? So now that new bit is just going to get infected, you know? They’ve got to walk on broken tiles, it’s dangerous. But then upstairs in the office, they’ve got new flooring.
The place is running alive with rats inside and outside. The rats are running wild, there’s more rats than there are inmates. The rats are everywhere, they are as big as cats, it’s awful, I can’t get my head around it, it’s barbaric, the way they’re living. And you know yourself you get Weil’s disease from rats. The rats –they’re supposed to get a dog in to kill the rats. The only time they got a dog in was when Princess Anne was going to visit. She was shown the good parts. The good part was all painted. That’s the thing that annoys me. When you walk in it’s all lovely, with pretty flowers. The garden looks lovely, the lawns are beautiful. And inside it’s a shithole, an absolute squalor pit.
In the summer for about three weeks the toilets were blocked up. The toilets are overflowing with faeces, into their living area, where they eat. Where they eat is a foot or two away from the toilet. They can ring the buzzer, and wait for over an hour. You try to hold it in, for over an hour. What happens is when you can’t hold it no more, you’re forced to go to the toilet on top of toilet and live like animals. We know they’ve committed a crime but it’s not liveable. It’s inhumane. Who lives like that in 2023? It's disgusting. The toilets not working the best part of three weeks in the summer. It attracts cockroaches. It’s not good enough.
They don’t go out to showers because there’s four showers for so many men and, more often than not, they’re running cold water. They wash in the sink, which is infested with woodlice. They do use the showers, they go at certain times. If they do maths and English, they miss their showers, they’re not allowed to go.
Jodie and Ann, mothers of Ben and Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth on remand awaiting sentence
I spent four months in HMP Wandsworth in 2022 I can certainly testify to the dreadful conditions that exist there. The conditions in Wandsworth resemble a scene from a classic 19th century Victorian slum. It is infested with rats and cockroaches and you wade through ankle high rubbish in the so-called exercise yard. It is also the only place I know of where you exit the showers dirtier than when you entered.
Peter, former prisoner at HMP Wandsworth
My son, who is in custody at Wandsworth Prison, had his duvet stolen on arrival. It was his first order that he made since then he has handed in his receipt for refund.
This was ten days ago and nothing has been credited to his account. The reason I have brought this up now is because he has a severe flu; he needs his duvet to keep warm.
Mary, mother of man held at HMP Wandsworth
It’s running alive with rats, firstly. Rats shit on the landing, everywhere. You’re touching all the railings where rats have been. I’ve got no hot water in my cell. The showers, you have six showers, there’s always rubbish, you have rat shit there, rats’ shit everywhere
The toilet – I’ve got raw sewage coming out the back of the toilet so it floods the floor. I’ve got no hot water in my cell. The hot water don’t work.
Ben, held at HMP Wandsworth
You know, in the middle of winter we went three weeks without a hot shower and no hot water in our cell. So you’re using you know, minus water, no wonder you get ill.
Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth
The cell is dirty with no means of cleaning - no brush or anything for sweeping up. Made to share a cell with a smoker. No shower from first day after court (Saturday until the Thursday).
Five showers on the block for around 150 people. Only being allowed 45 minutes out of the cellsnot even outside. No pillow for over a week.
Emily, sister of man held at HMP Wandsworth
Prison smells and it’s dirty and it doesn’t help when your cellmate is unhygienic.
The women I was sharing with were difficult to live with. The first woman I lived with was unhygienic and loud, the second woman asked if she could smoke crack in our cell and because I refused, she started screaming at me.
SB, recently released from HMP Foston Hall
I write to let you know about life here on J-wing. I have been here for nearly five months. The washing machine broke in early December, the dryer at the end of December. It’s now 2024 and I’m still waiting for repairs. The wash lad has to take six bags to other side of the jail every day to wash clothes.
There are 60 prisoners on our wing. Our meals are served on food trolleys, and have been since rats ate through the wires to the hot plate in the servery. We know it was rats as their brains were blown all over the servery in January when they chewed through the wires. The only cleaning products are washing up liquid and disinfectant. And the toilets are a real disgrace. I had to use a sardine tin lid to remove dirt and scale from the toilet when I arrived.
AF, prisoner at HMP Lindholme
• Condition of cells
• Lack of maintenance (broken windows, other issues not resolved)
• Lack access to cleaning supplies
• Infrequency of washing bedding
• Lack of separation of toilet from rest of the cell
• Lack of daylight/ability to see the sky/weather
• Heating- too hot from the water pipes
• Poor ventilation
Parmjeet, mother of man held at HMP Wandsworth
They used to cook in prisons, now food is brought in frozen, and they shove it in the oven to heat up. They allow £3 per person.* You couldn’t feed a child on that. We’ve definitely noticed the effect on our sons, lacking essential nutrients and lacking vitamins I noticed my son’s hair starting to recede, to fall out, when it wasn’t before. He’s only 28, he was 27 at the time. His skin has a sort of grey tinge and sometimes there’s a skin breakout.
I said to my son ‘What have you eaten?’ and he says ‘Well it was a bit of chicken’ . And I say ‘And what?’ and he says ‘and peas’ , and I think, chicken and peas! How is that a meal? How is chicken and peas a meal? Where is your carb and where is a piece of broccoli or some green beans? I’m not asking for five-star grub but part cooked baguettes they shove in the oven and then when you ask for egg mayonnaise, they give you an egg in a pot and a sachet of mayonnaise that’s to put in a baguette
The canteen, it’s quite expensive. It’s double what it would be at a shop. They do a tin of steak, so it’s in a gravy. If you buy it in a shop it’s £2.55 they charge £5.50 in the prison.
Jodie and Ann, mothers of Ben and Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth on remand awaiting sentence
* The actual amount allowed is £2.70 per day https://www.publicsectorcatering.co.uk/news/pri son-food-budget-increases-25-202324
The food was horrendous. When they say you’re getting burger and chips, you’d get a burger with no bun, no cheese, just the plain burger like a patty, no chips, just a burnt potato. So, your meal consists of next to nothing. People were swapping food and trying to buy food – your mother can’t send food in. You can’t get anything sent in.
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
* The current figure stands at £2.70 per day – see https://www.publicsectorcatering.co.uk/news/prison-foodbudget-increases=25=202324
I don’t eat the potatoes or the rice no more because I’m told it’s cooked the day before and the rats are all over it, they run all over it. Yeah, one of my friends he works in the kitchen, and he hasn’t actually eaten prison food in eleven months since he’s been here, and he says he won’t touch prison food because the rats are all over it.
Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth
The food we are served – bread, baps, baguettes, cakes, donuts – are all frozen. That’s correct, they serve us frozen food. I’ve even had a frozen corned beef sandwich. This is almost every day. I’ve written to the kitchen, and their reply was that it’s OK. But try making a sandwich at mealtimes with frozen bread.
AF, prisoner at HMP Lindholme
- The food is very poor both in quality and quantity
- The timings of the food are mentioned in many other reports, as a 4 pm dinner is far too early. Currently the hot meal is being served at 11 am
- The nutritional composition of meals is strange. My son who is a vegetarian often gets many carbs together e.g. rice and potatoes
- He is always hungry and is reluctant to order sugary products to fill himself up with
- There is no protein in his diet at all
- The milk portion is very small, considering it is used for breakfast and all hot drinks
- As a vegetarian, my son has limited options in what he can purchase as he doesn’t eat fish
- The food, which visitors can purchase, is crisps or sweets and a sandwich or other option would be better.
Parmjeet, mother of a man held at HMP Wandsworth
I suffered from malnutrition during the six weeks I spent in prison, which continues to have ill effects on my health. I had previously realised that deficiencies in the prison diet adversely affected health. During my first weeks in prison, back in 2020, I had felt permanently hungry. I would eat two packets of biscuits and feel as hungry as before I had eaten them. I realised that what I was craving was not food in general, but protein and vitamins. I stopped eating the extra carbohydrate and was able to stop putting on weight. Other prisoners would not have had my knowledge, which explains why the women around me gained considerable weight which I knew they might never take off.
During my first stay at Eastwood Park, I was able to eat more healthily by buying nuts, peanut butter, marmite, fruit and salad, from the weekly ‘canteen’. I knew that most women had less money than me, needed first and foremost to buy vapes, and could not afford to buy the healthier foods or did not realise how important it was. At Eastwood Park in 2020 you could purchase good quality high protein foods such as large packets of nuts, which I recall were not available from the canteen in 2022 or from other prisons.
I was expecting Eastwood Park to be easier than the other prisons, from previous experience in 2020. Food had been better, and the guards in general more caring. However, it was the worst.
Food on the induction wing particularly in 2020 was relatively nutritious. It was prepared by other prisoners, was better resourced, if I remember rightly, by local donation and a source of pride on the part of part of prison management - at least one person in management asked me if I did appreciate it. However, this was not the case in 2022 - food was barely or not edible, carbohydrate only (at least, the vegetarian diet was) except for the breakfast milk and possibly something labelled as yoghurt. I recall the eggs particularly, for Sunday breakfast, being completely inedible (maybe I would have endured them if I had been imprisoned in a Russian gulag, or if I didn't know that my sentence was at last coming to an end).
DW, former prisoner at HMP Eastwood Park
The capacity of the holding cell should have been about ten and there was about 35 of us inside that cell. And everyone was struggling to be able to go to the toilet, to breathe, taking their Tshirts off, throwing water on their faces, it was so hot. We were asking for water and the people they didn’t think deserved water they didn’t give water to. So, basically, for the first day, you starve. The first night, they said: ‘Get your head down and we’ll see you in the morning’ and they didn’t come to get us for food until five o’clock of the next afternoon. So we didn’t eat for a good 36 hours. I didn’t eat for a good 72 hours because I was at the station, so I was absolutely starving.
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
My son often expresses his dissatisfaction with the food provided in the facility. Most of the time, he is served only rice and pasta twice a day Additionally, he is required to drink water from the bathroom sink.
Patricia, mother of man held at HMP Wandsworth
The food is disgusting; it just looks like slop. One of my pals got rice and rice, instead of rice and chicken, he got two lots of rice.
Ben, held at HMP Wandsworth
x
They give us some clothes to go in with and that was the clothes that I wore for about three weeks. By the time they put me on a wing, they said, you missed it, kit change I said OK and the next week they said they’re not doing kit change and I noticed people were nicking buckets to wash their own clothes in, most of them underwear, because it’s hard to wear underwear that you’ve been wearing for three weeks. It’s inhumane.
Some of my clothes were stolen and I actually went through the kiosk and they said ‘No, you can’t do it, you’ve had your maximum allowance of clothes sent in’. It’s about four t-shirts, two jumpers, two pairs of trousers and a couple of pairs of socks and you can only ask once, once every year. Mine got stolen. So you wash your clothes yourself – you never wash it properly by hand. You don’t get hot water, so it was hard work. Because you don’t get a lot of kit change, what prisoners would do would be to keep the stuff that had no holes, no stains and actually fitted. So if you got one of those, you would keep it and then you’d wash it yourself; you would never let it out of your sight, because you don’t know when the next one’s coming from or if it would be clean or have holes in it.
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
Clothes have gone missing. They go to be washed. We’ve sent in new clothes for our sons and it’s come back, it’s missing from the washing. So where does it go then?
Jodie and Ann, mothers of Ben and Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth on remand awaiting sentence
They’re quite rude, the staff. They don’t have people skills. Manners cost nothing. The way you’re spoke to is appalling.
Ben has been bullied and ridiculed during strip searches four times, and now doesn’t want to attend visits. They can’t be strip-searched for no reason. We visitors have been searched. You can’t get away with chewing gum, nothing. So why do they need to strip search our boys? They’re searched before they come into the visit and that’s fine and then they go out and there’s all that rigmarole again, and four times Ben’s been strip-searched – that’s disgusting. And then he’s ridiculed. And he’s not there for drugrelated. It’s almost like victimisation. So that goes against prison rules. But who do you speak to? You can’t get a reply. You’d get more sense talking to that wall. There’s no one listens to you. Joey said abusive language is used. You can hear the prison officers addressing prisoners using abusive and racist language to Travellers, and to Blacks also… They speak to you like something you’d trod in.
Jodie and Ann, mothers of Ben and Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth on remand awaiting sentence
I’ve tried to engage in a lot of courses and things yeah but sometimes you just don’t want to come out of the cell because the officers some of them they’ve got such an attitude. It’s shocking, you know. I was brought up, I’m a very strong believer of speak to people how you want to be spoken to, I’m never rude. The things they say and the way they talk to people is just, yeah, it’s not a good place to be. I understand I’ve done wrong and that and it’s not meant to be a nice place to be, but there should be some kind of laws that this can’t go on. It’s got to be liveable.
Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth
We’re from the Traveller community: they’re so racist. I thought racist was mostly against Black people but in this place if you’re a Traveller or a gypsy, you might as well say you’re finished.
Now there’s six shower heads in the shower but only four of them work, so only four people can shower at once, and the other day it was me and Ben and another Traveller guy and we were let into the shower last. So obviously you can’t just push in in front of people, you have to wait your turn in this environment. What happened was we got left in the shower, and they turned the lights on and we all got a negative, because they said we was the last people in the shower. They put a negative on the system, and if you get three negatives in one month, you get put on basic. They said we were taking too long, but as I said, you can’t push in, so you have to wait, so we was the last ones to get in the shower.
Really something needs doing about this place … the rest of my life, I won’t never live the same again.
Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth
It didn’t take long for it to kick in. As soon as you go through the gates, it’s just horrendous. The way you’re treated, what you can’t have, the way you’re stripped of your human rights. You’re just thrown into a cell, forgotten about. You see the rats more than you see the screws. So, it’s absolutely terrible.
Sometimes the sink didn’t work; they turned the water off on purpose. Sometimes they’d flick the light on and off just for fun.
The prison officers get no training. One of my friends asked one for something and he said to me: ‘I don’t know where they are. This is my first day. I’ve just come from working at McDonalds’. That’s exactly what he said, he’s come from McDonalds to work in controlling prisoners. Where’s the training? There is no training.
When I first went in there, obviously, you get all your possessions taken away. You’re nobody. So they’re swearing at you; they leave you in a holding cell for six hours.
My first cellmate, he was in for murder on a recall and we should never have been mixing. They play silly games like that. They throw people together that they know won’t get along, just to make the job more interesting and exciting, I don’t know.
He couldn’t handle having a cellmate. If I was to go toilet in the middle of the night, he would have a go at me. If I was to flush the toilet, he would have a go at me. He would actually say to me ‘That’s six pisses you’ve had today’. Everything had to be the way he wanted it to be. So I was just a sitting duck sitting there, feeling like I couldn’t move. He was a lot bigger than me, a lot older than me. I didn’t know what he was capable of. So I was just treading on eggshells, all the time.
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
Prison is a very hostile place. If you’ve got issues with people, they don’t care; they still put you on that same wing and wait for something to happen and then they punish you. That’s their system, not to prevent it. That’s the system and that needs to change. Another thing is the SOs [senior officers]. She takes care of the wing, it’s her wing. She tries to get information from the girls; she punishes different girls and plays girls against each other. If she doesn’t like you, she’ll make up stuff about you and send it straight through to the governor with no proof and then you’ll get punished and then, if you’ve caught the SO out in a lie, it’s too late then, they will say sorry, but you’ll be punished for it already. Sometimes, they punish you just because an SO doesn’t like you. She does a lot of underhand things. It’s disgusting. She got away with it, she got away with most of it; she really did. Sent down the block for no reason. Disgusting.
Hannah, recently held at HMP Foston Hall
The system of positives and negatives is not explained: some prisoners get the opportunity to earn positives. Negatives are used as a threat to already anxious men.
There are many examples where a particular guard will misuse power and threaten with negatives or to go back to Basic. My son told me of an incident where, after days of lockdown, he was allowed out to collect food. On his way to the servery, he made small talk with other prisoners. A guard shouted at him and told him to go back to his cell without food. When my son tried to reason with him, the guard blew his whistle, and other guards rushed to the scene. As my son is known as a calm individual who is compliant and polite, the guards who had been summoned actually ran past my son and the guard with whom he had a disagreement. The other guards were surprised that my son had had the whistle blown on him and apologised to him as they led him back to his cell.
Parmjeet, mother of a man held at HMP Wandsworth
Can you hear that? That was an officer; he said ‘Everyone, including you, you fucking cunt’. That is what he just said to a prisoner. I mean I understand they’re short staffed and everything but you can’t keep blaming that on the way they speak to you and treat you. It’s an excuse, you know. Yeah, it’s crazy, it’s crazy.
Joey, on the phone from HMP Wandsworth
Some of the guards talk to you like a piece of shit.
Ben, held at HMP Wandsworth
In Eastwood Park in 2020, I had had a couple of exchanges with one guard in particular, who was really motivated to improve the life of prisoners. He was still there in 2022, but looked grim. I saw that he was hanging in there by a thread, but could not help anyone as there were no opportunities to do anything except for coping with the demands of prisoners’ basic existence. Apart from him and one or two others who hadn't left yet, those remaining appeared to me to take pleasure in the misfortune and discomfort of the prisoners.
DW, former prisoner at HMP Eastwood Park
You’ve got your young prisoners, just past the age of a Young Offender. A lot of people in prison shouldn’t be in prison, they should be in a mental institution. There’s this girl, Tamara, she’s 21 or 19, I don’t know what age, really young. She’s got severe mental health. She’ll put the window through, she doesn’t like to get locked in, and she struggles and sometimes it might take about eight weeks to get on your medication. I heard of cases of it taking three months to get your medication. It takes three months to get to see the psychiatrist so all that time whatever you do it has to be deemed as bad behaviour even if you’ve got mental health.
Tamara, she’s ever so young I had to go in, wash her clothes, do all the stuff that she wasn’t able to do because she just could not cope. But the officers, they don’t understand her mental health because they’re not trained, and they bully her. I’ve seen over and over again, you know. The things we can do she can’t do, people with mental health can’t do. These girls get punished, they get sent down the block.
They’ve sent her to a mental institution now, but I put in complaints about the staff bullying her, arguing with her, taunting her, throwing her food at her, stuff like that. It went nowhere. They said that my cell was too far away from her cell for me to hear anything that was going on. Well, I heard everything. There’s no TV, just four walls, so everybody can hear everything, and I listen to what’s going on around me. I hear everything, the name calling, everything, and they do a good job of saying ‘Complaint dismissed’. This girl got in trouble for different things. Her mental health was playing up. She got put down the block, she took off all her clothes, she’s there standing naked. She’s only young. Who’s there for Tamara. Who’s going to help Tamara? Got put in a mental institution she did.
Hannah, recently held at HMP Foston Hall
Liz Bridge, former Quaker chaplain at HMP Wandsworth
Wandsworth Prison is a nasty place. People are very sad, very frightened, and very lonely. It breaks their mental health. It’s a place where you see horror and it’s a place of misery. It simply isn’t coping. I go out to talk to people to lift spirits, to listen to people's problems and to be a sane and friendly presence. For eight years, I was Quaker Chaplain at Wandsworth prison - a voluntary role. Over that time, I have watched more and more prisoners squeezed into an increasingly dilapidated Victorian building where conditions were getting worse and worse.
I was given two rooms to work in at the bottom of the G wing. G wing is, I think, the nastiest corner of the prison and the basement runs with rats, the sewage water comes up when the drains block. I would arrive in my room, open the door, and bang to watch rats leaving.
It wasn't my own situation that troubled me most but the prisoners living around me, often without the most basic necessities. I knew men who were in the same clothes they had arrived in and they had been in the prison for two, three weeks. and they couldn't get a kit change.
I felt horrified, absolutely horrified about that. I found I was observing which wings had pants and I was stealing a roll of pants from reception and delivering them to a wing. The toll it takes on the men is grimly obvious. Men are locked up for 23 hours a day, sometimes. People who are not mentally ill are often locked in a cell for 23 hours a day with people who are mentally ill and that’s not a way to improve anybody’s health.
Of course there aren’t many Quakers in the prison, so I spent my working time visiting people who were suicidal or self-harming and were on an ACCT [the system of making timed checks on a prisoner who may be suicidal].
I did that for about two or three years, and during the course of it, it became apparent to me that people were sitting in cells that they had destroyed, wearing only their pants, and that they had nothing to do. I never thought that giving anybody a copy of the Bible would lift their spirits enough for the conditions I saw. It was more important to get them things like colouring, packs of cards, something to do, something where if they went in to share a cell, they could play cards, they could play snakes and ladders, and
‘I never thought that giving anybody a copy of the Bible would lift their spirits enough for the conditions I saw’ ‘After Covid finished, the prison never really went back to its old open regime’
they had the beginnings of a social friendship. With a notebook and pen, a man could keep a diary, keep the score, write down what television programme they wanted to watch - keep sane.
Many just fail within the prison system and are punished by it; the general punishment is to not take a man to exercise and to take his telly away. That leaves a prisoner even more vulnerable to mental illness, selfharming, loss of self, loss of self-esteem, loss of self-control. So I began a charity which bought wholesale amounts of colouring, felt-tip pens, packs of cards. At that point we went into Covid and the governor gave me some money. I started to make packs for every cell in the prison so that everybody who was going to be on a 23-hour lockdown, which was unusual at the time, would have something to do.
After Covid finished, the prison never really went back to its old open regime and so I went on bringing in second-hand jigsaws, colouring, chess sets, backgammon, anything that you could give to somebody so that they had something to do, something that they could be a little bit proud of. The number of men who’ve said ‘Come and see my colouring, I had done a lion, I’d like a wolf’. These are adults but everyone gets very desperate in a prison.
The other thing that was incredibly popular was jigsaws. I introduced them thinking that it would be a sort of library scheme, but actually for some people, it’s the first time they have ever achieved anything and they don’t want to break it up, and so they stick it on the walls. In Wandsworth, our cells are gloomy and damp and horrible, so covering the wall with jigsaws is cheerful. They may be funny pictures on jigsaws but they’re jolly, it’s colour in a world that has no colour in it. So I ended up with men whose cells looked rather like the Sistine Chapel with jigsaws up the walls and over the ceiling - but it’s healthier than grey damp walls.
‘There was almost nothing by way of education going on in the prison’
The men have no access to education or rehabilitation, and the library in Wandsworth is pretty inaccessible. So I had about 16 book trolleys. I had a trolley on every wing full of second-hand books because getting to the library is nigh impossible. You have to have officers to take you and even now it’s rare to go to the library. The librarian only lent 94 books a week, and some of them went through a kiosk application. In order to put an application on the kiosk to borrow a book, you have to be able to type and spell, you have to know what you want, or have the wit to say that you are interested in detective stories or true crime. Of course, a lot of people can’t write that sort of simple sentence.
Reading and writing for many of the prisoners was very difficult, and there was almost nothing by way of education going on in the prison; there was English as a Foreign Language and there was some beginners’ reading done with volunteers in the library, but nothing systematic, nothing organised. One of the teachers said to me once that she could have 14 men on a list for a lesson but only two would come, because officers hadn’t released them to come and brought them. There’s a shortage of officers to bring prisoners to what lessons there are. The trolleys I brought were not as good as a proper library could offer, but you could use those books to improve your reading skills and to get used to holding the weight of a book and turning the pages. If you’re not a reader there are skills to reading that involve the weight of the book.
The other thing that’s noticeable in the prison is the number of people who need reading glasses. There are six types of Poundland reading glasses and I would buy them 72 reading glasses at a time, because, of course, very few men in the prison had ever been to an optician. They aren’t readers at home, and they
don’t know they need reading specs until they get into the prison and then they can’t get to the optician. And it’s very difficult to entertain yourself in prison if you can’t read a book or see to use the kiosk
‘By the time you get your fruit and vegetables, they’re rotten’
The kiosk itself is a computer; you go in, you put your finger on it, it takes your name, and it takes your fingerprint and your prison number and then shows you your prison account. You don’t always get the dinners you ordered, but you can order your dinners, you can see how much money you have got in the prison system, you can order your shopping. There are people in there that cook, they order fruit and vegetables. The great moan is that, by the time you get your fruit and vegetables, they’re a bit rotten. Men cook by acquiring a second kettle, which is done in the black market, so you have one kettle for water and one kettle for cooking. Generally, the wealthier men will order from the kiosk spices, onions, peppers. You put your prison dinner into the kettle with a pot noodle, a tin of tuna, spices, and you make a curry, you tart up your prison dinner, or you used tinned tuna and couscous and you cook a dinner in the second kettle. There are men who are very skilled at it, but you have to have been an experienced cook before you went in to have those skills. It’s one of the important skills, how to feed yourself.
I was working with the very poorest men, who would sometimes take the drug spice, just to escape the monotony. It was presumably being sold to them by others. I never knew who the dealers were, but you could have suspicions. There were always very poor men who would run about the wings, giving messages, pushing things under people’s doors. I thought they were runners for other people, but who they were runners for, I was never told.
‘If you saw a man on spice he had turned into a zombie. I saw that. They were like creatures from outer space ’
Equally, there were cells where when you looked inside, it was like looking into a little shop, there were twelve tins of tuna, twelve bottles of tomato ketchup, twelve jars of coffee, lots of vapes, which are all the sort of currency used in the prison to pay runners who do the deliveries of drugs. I never knew whether the people with the shops were middlemen; when you’re an outsider, nobody tells you how it works. I’m sure that the prison officers often had suspicions. Had we had working CCTV cameras, you could have watched. I could have told you the runners, anybody could have told you, you knew the boys who had nothing at all and could smoke drugs, so they were working for their drugs. You could have watched where they went. Everybody says that drugs come into the prison with drones. You could put somebody in the yards with night sights on binoculars and watch where the drones went. Officers could go inside the prison, seal those cells. I don’t think that ever happened. Maybe drones are an excuse, I don’t know. But drug taking was rife.
The Chief Inspector said recently that, wherever he walked in a prison, he could smell cannabis. On a Friday, you could often smell cannabis. I think officers thought cannabis was going to produce a sleepy amiable prisoner, who wasn’t going to go nuts; it wasn’t going to boil his brain. I think officers probably thought it was like employing a babysitter. The problem with cannabis is the debts that people run up and I think that probably the dealers that supply the cannabis supply other stuff – spice, and possibly crack cocaine. The violence that runs with debt that frightens me.
If you saw a man on spice he had turned into a zombie. I saw that. Men would collapse, men would run around naked, and they were not in control of themselves in any shape or form. They weren’t like kids on cannabis, grinning wildly at you. They were like creatures from outer space who didn’t know who they were
or who other people were, they didn’t know where they were. Prison officers would try and lock them up, get them off the wings, call the nurses, but nobody really wanted to take them to the nurses. They were monitored for vital signs and then pushed back in their cell. I can remember taking my book trolley onto a wing and there was a man on the netting, fast asleep, unconscious. And the other volunteer and I laughed and looked up at him and I looked to see if he was breathing and we went to see an officer, and the officer said ‘Leave him, don’t stand underneath him, he may piss on you ’. I thought, how are we doing this, a man left unconscious on the netting? That was spice.
It’s very dangerous and it can fry the brain and certainly, when I was working with people, I was constantly saying ‘Don’t take it. It’s an escape for an afternoon, but it will do permanent damage to you. It’s not like alcohol, it’s not like cannabis; you don’t recover from it. Be careful’. Did anyone listen? Who knows? I’m the age of a granny to them. Do you listen to your granny? Occasionally you might, something might click into place. What’s the purpose of the message? Granny loves you. It might not be a message that you listen to but it might give you some hope that there is somebody in the prison that is actually looking at you and likes you as a person, wishes you well. But you might not do as she says.
‘I’m the age of a granny to them. Do you listen to your granny? Occasionally you might, something might click into place. What’s the purpose of the message? Granny loves you. ’
Now I’ve left there is another Quaker chaplain who’s going in one day a week. But the charity is blocked so there isn’t colouring, and radios, and jigsaws aren’t going in at the moment, I don’t think.
I’ve had beautiful messages from the men I worked with, delightful messages. One of the men that came to last Saturday’s meeting came and said, ‘You don’t remember me, you gave me colouring’. I laughed because he was beautifully dressed, he had a beard that was beautifully trimmed, well presented. When you only meet someone who’s wearing a prison track suit that’s been washed 9,999 times, and they haven’t been able to trim their beard nor their hair, nor wash very frequently, they are unrecognizable in a sports jacket, and clean and washed. I was thinking, I can’t remember you, but he knew me and said that his co-defendant wished to be remembered to me. And he was laughing about the fact that, as an adult male, he had been doing colouring, and how much relief it had given him and we were laughing.
‘A prison which is holding adult men should be providing proper activities, proper education, proper time out of the cell. Its occupants shouldn’t be so desperate that a jolly old lady is a very welcome sight.’
But whether or not I’ve had lovely thanks, at the end of the day, a prison which is holding adult men shouldn’t be reliant on a charitable old lady. It should be providing proper activities, proper education, proper time out of the cell and its occupants shouldn’t be so desperate that a jolly old lady is a very welcome sight. That is a condemnation of itself. Where is the rehabilitation and where is the planning for release? There should be conversations about ‘what meds you are on, we’ll give you a list of your meds so you can put them to a pharmacist when you come out, where you are you going to live.
In Wandsworth, we’re releasing men, more than 40% are going out homeless. I am extremely well educated, quite resilient and resourceful – I couldn’t live on the streets of London without shoplifting or jumping the barriers of the tube-and begging, and probably taking drugs and alcohol to blot out the misery of the life I was living.
I can remember a man in a wheelchair. He was rather a difficult man, a dangerous person. He had one leg and he had bitten off one of his fingers. He had no teeth, but he had very sharp gums. He was brought inhe was a repeat customer - for indecent exposure because he had been defecating in public. He was in a wheelchair and he was saying quite reasonably, if you’re in a wheelchair and you’re homeless, where are you expected to go to the lavatory? He was very difficult to home, he took a lot of drugs. He was wild and he was probably mentally ill, but he badly needed a home, he needed a meal every day, he needed supported living, which would have cost less than a prison.
‘It’s sad to me that the public don’t see the dirt and squalor and ignorance that’s within our prison system’
At one point, he had a friendly vicar who allowed him to live in the churchyard. Goodness knows what that man’s parishioners thought A vicar had tried to at least to give him a stable place. When you’re working in a prison, you end up discussing whether living in a churchyard is a stable address. It’s comic, and it’s tragic.
So, am I pleased to be out? I grew very, very tired, and it was terrible to leave. Would I like to run the charity to provide stuff again? I’m not sure that I could ever go back. The charity is independent; other people could volunteer and could run it, because it has money in it and it can always raise money. So, a prison that has no money for lots of things could be supplied from outside. I’m sure we could find other volunteers to order and supply.
It still hurts me that the prison think that I’m so corrupt that I couldn’t even buy radios and have them delivered to the prison. I think it’s probably not that they think I’m corrupt; it is probably that I have spoken in public about conditions and that, sadly, they view this kind of conversation as a betrayal.
It’s sad to me that the public don’t see the dirt and squalor and ignorance that’s within our prison system because I’m sure that, if many people did see, they wouldn’t be quite so quick to say rubbish like ‘it’s a holiday camp,’ or ‘don’t do the crime, if you can’t do the time’. Because prisons are very squalid, sad institutions of poor people who are probably not going to live very long.
That was one of the things that used to frighten me. I would look at prisoners that were much, much younger than me and think, poor old thing, you’ve got no glasses, no teeth, you’re on a Zimmer frame or walking with a limp, you’ve been in so many fights you’re covered in scars, you won’t live to be old bones. There were men that I knew and got fond of and they left and would come back, and they would leave and I never saw them again. And I was frightened not that they’d gone straight, but that they were dead. There’s never a way to find out. I used to joke with friends that you could see the prison as a sort of hedgehog hospital where you looked after three-legged hedgehogs and then you set them out into the wild, hoping to hell that they would find a way of surviving. When one didn’t come back, you hope he was managing, but feared for the worst.
My partner, prior to coming into prison last May, was due to have spinal fusion surgery on his lower back. He has been in a wheelchair for the past three weeks because his chronic pain is so unbearable. There seems to be a lack of empathy and certainly of appropriate equipment such as an appropriate bed or chair, not a plastic seat, for people with severe spinal problems or any other physical condition. I personally feel he hasn’t been properly assessed nor can I imagine anyone there has been
He also was diagnosed with having a mini stroke in April 2023 during the court case and as yet, although I’ve chased Wandsworth prison for them to contact the hospital for follow-up appointment, unfortunately nothing has been confirmed that have made these requests even!
He sadly has now just been diagnosed with prostate cancer and I question the delay he might encounter there!
Sadly my partner lost his only sister last February and hasn’t even been able to grieve… he is really struggling in such an oppressive environment with rats everywhere and the food is inedible, half the time he doesn’t eat and lives on cheap biscuits.
I have Type 2 diabetes and had not had enough fluid or food by far. I had not been offered anything to eat or drink, although I had asked. We got to Bronzefield around 7 or 8 pm, but weren't processed until later. During my processing, the nurse checked me over, and said my blood pressure was too high. I said usually I had low blood pressure, but the journey in the transport had been really difficult, very uncomfortable, and I hadn't eaten or drank all day. I spent six weeks in prison having my blood pressure monitored at least once a day, and it didn't go down. It has remained too high since I was released in 2022, so it's been under investigation including self-monitoring twice a day ever since. I have just started taking medication for it.
AH, held in HMP Bronzefield
The lack of care, it’s sickening and it breaks your heart. People are getting punished for mental health. I got over-prescribed medication as well. I was on drugs so at the police station I’d be rattling.
I’d be in acute withdrawal, they put me on 10 ml methadone for the night and diazepam I suffered in the most horrific way and they’d just give you paracetamol. And they over-prescribe. I go to the hatch for my medication and they sometimes forget to mark it down on the system and so they call you again You know you’ve had them but you can’t argue with them You complain but it takes forever and so you take your medication, even though you’ve had it, and then they give you sleeping tablets down the block in the afternoon.
Hannah, recently in prison at HMP Foston Hall
My partner has great concern for one individual called S who has previously had a stroke and had a second stroke about a month ago. He wasn’t taken to hospital and there was a delay in taking him to hospital in this instance. He had a stroke on the Saturday, but he didn’t attend a hospital until Monday of the following week.
Unfortunately, for S they haven’t even managed to get him a wheelchair or any other adaptable aids.
Hospital appointments are another bugbear where sometimes appointments are missed due to the lack of staff. He tells me the staff are inappropriately trained and cannot deal with people with mental health issues or any other kind of disabilities There seems to be a lack of empathy, not just from the prison officers, but any of the other health professional members such as the doctors at the prison.
Daisy
My son has very low vitamin D levels, which make him dizzy and very tired The GP provided a detailed prescription. The response from the prison nurses was that my son’s levels were at normal and they would not provide the medication. My son has bought vitamin D from the kiosk but it’s not the one the GP wanted him to have to boost his levels. Lack of nutritious food will cause many illnesses and impact the immune system.
Parmjeet, mother of a man held at HMP Wandsworth
I got Covid within the first four months. I was really ill. And all they give me for it, they wouldn’t give me no medicine, all they give me was a Corona mask. That was it I had a really high temperature. They diagnosed me with Coronathey come and did the test. I said ‘Do I get some paracetamol or something?’ and all they give me was a Corona mask.
Joey
I was talking to a lady last week, her partner’s in there, and he has a bad heart. He’s had a stroke. He has to have pills, aspirin and so on. It took over a week to get his medication. Well, he could have another stroke. The health care is horrendous. My son caught Covid in there. Ben rang up and said, ‘Joey’s really ill’. He’s never had it out here, he’s gone into prison, and he’s caught Covid in there Ben’s ringing the buzzer in the night, Joey’s burning up, he’s got a temperature, and they had to send a nurse out, but there’s no one there. God forbid, someone should need someone in an emergency – you’ve got no chance.
Jodie and Ann
But, from my mental health point of view: I'm Aspergers, Borderline Personality Disorder, have mild PTSD. This is all handleable using medication. I won't share cells, due to my conditions. So when I came back from work one day to find that a woman was being put into my cell, I refused to comply with that. The same woman had vilely verbally abused us the same morning in our workplace. Other people tried to cajole me into trying to share, but I refused. I said I'd sleep on the pool table. I was moved into a single cell on another spur. So this had caused me to have an extraordinarily bad panic attack, which lasted for the last week I was in prison. I knew this would happen, the attack, as it did before when I refused to share a cell under different circumstances But whereas before it was very intense but passed quite quickly with a warning from the governor and no change of cell, the second time broke my mental health protection boundaries.
I can't explain it very well, but I've spent years learning how to deal with anxiety, clinical depression, suicidal thoughts etc. I physically felt like all my defences were gone. I ended up sitting in the middle of the new spur, cross- legged with my head in my hands for about 18 hours, with both staff and inmates trying to coax me into my cell. Once there, I barricaded myself in for two days, fearing I’d be moved again. Autistic people can't handle abrupt changes, and the systems run on abrupt changes. People are moved around incessantly, it's part of the psychological torture, like the spacing of the bars on the windows.
AH, held in HMP Bronzefield
The staff appreciated me explaining the basic needs of autism, which they do recognise, but that's about it. The inmates appreciated me explaining to them that they were schizophrenic and other conditions, which the staff knew nothing of. I was sent to the governor as a punishment, but he ended up asking if I’d stay and help him out with mental health education.
AH, held in HMP Bronzefield
Battersea Dogs’ Home is more maintained than this place. You know the dogs live better than us and that’s a true saying. It’s shocking, it really is, and it really gets to your mental health, it does. And when you get mental health in this place, the people in this place, they don’t care. They left my friend Ben, Ann’s son, four days with no medication – you can’t do things like that. I’ve seen the way he’s deteriorating I don’t know if you can hear that now, it’s ‘Everyone away, get behind your doors, go back to your cell’. That’s what they’re shouting, now this minute.
Joey, on the phone from HMP Wandsworth
I started my sentence initially in 2016 but now coming back to HMP Parc what I actually noticed was a significant deterioration in the prison, the violence, the self-harm, bullying, it’s a daily occurrence. Obviously in prison there’s a lot of vulnerable people, there’s a lot of people who have special educational needs, with mental health issues – these people are having the worst time of their life in the worst situation possible. There are no winners in this game.
Zack Griffiths, former prisoner at HMP Parc
I’m a person who’s got memory loss and severe mental health problems, a person with disabilities that restrict me, restrict my movement, sometimes. When you come to prison, even though you’re exempt from work through medical conditions, they don’t cater for your needs in jail in that respect.
I had lost my mum and she died in my arms and that was so traumatic I’ve had no counselling and stuff like that.
I told them that I wasn’t able to go into a cell with another inmate because of my situation, I said that it wouldn’t be fair. They disregarded my needs and said that they weren’t able to facilitate me in to having my own cell.
Me and the cell mate had problems. They then turned round and they said ‘Hannah, you’re not allowed to go back in that cell again because you’re high-risk’, where I was trying to tell them that in the first place, but they waited until an incident happened before they act on it. They don’t actually listen to me as a prisoner and that could have avoided a lot of conflict and then you get punished for arguing or any altercations or anything like that
I had expected there would be drugs in prison but I was shocked by the majority of women that relied on substances. Women were so reliant on using every day, it was a surreal environment and not very pleasant to see women intoxicated. Surprisingly I didn’t come across a lot of violence, just name-calling and stealing.
I don’t think prison is a place where women can rehabilitate because there is too much drugs and often this is the only focus. It is shocking that you do not get seen by the mental health team in under four weeks and also the onsite doctor. This is difficult for women that require a medication review. The waiting lists are shocking because women deteriorate very much without support.
SB, recently released from HMP Foston Hall
So I wrote a lot of poetry (I try not to talk on phones) and said to myself on the fifth day ‘You might as well just kill yourself’ . It was strong and I was shocked because I hadn't thought about suicide for a decade or more, and certainly not in such a vital feeling way. I knew that, after all the work I'd done on myself, I was now right back to the beginning... again. Somehow, I also knew that my mind could no longer deal effectively with my conditions, as it had found a way to up until now, and that my physical health conditions would all fall out, which they have done and continue to do. So more pills.
AH, held in HMP Bronzefield
Jon was a ‘listener’ on a scheme run by the Samaritans.
I became a listener. I love to help people. I’m a really good listener, everyone says that I’m a pretty good listener I put my skills to work cos a couple of people on the outside came in and they came to me talking to me. So I thought to myself, let me see if I could actually help people, so I went through all the training
They’re meant to let listeners out, but we was never let out, even at the times that we was needed. We’ve actually had people come up to us and say, ‘Why did you say that you wouldn’t come and see me last night?’ . And I would say, ‘What are you talking about?’ . And they said the officer who they asked to come and get me said I was asleep or I refused. Now I’ve never refused to listen, so they were basically blaming us because they couldn’t be bothered to let us out because they didn’t wanna help anybody. They just could not be bothered.
I had a friend who was also a listener. If he was out having a listen, he would have to come downstairs and get an officer to let him out. And they would say no, they would never let us out. And it got to the stage that I was telling people that they’re probably not going to let you out at night time, so just come and talk to me during S and Ds [socialising and domestic time] if you can. So, during the 45 minutes in the day that’s allowed. It was difficult but it actually helped me. Listening to other people’s problems it actually helped me; my problems didn’t seem so bad.
Everyone’s got their flaws, yeah, it was hard. Some of the stories that people told me during listening I can’t get out of my head and I wish I could. Stories about what they were in there for and what they wished they’d have done differently. Hearing that was difficult. To ask for a listener inside, you’ve got to admit defeat. It means you can’t talk to anyone else. If they can’t talk to anyone else, you know it’s going to be terrible. But we had other listeners to talk to.
The Samaritans forced it upon the prison. They didn’t want listeners in there. A few of the officers said, we don’t see the point in having listeners, we don’t see the point of listeners. It was down to the Samaritans. They were a godsend in that place. On Wednesdays and Saturdays, they would come into the prison. They were not allowed to, really, but they would walk along past every single cell just so people could see them with their badges on and could go and talk to them. They’re not allowed to do that, but they did, and it was fair play to them.
I was kind of lucky in the sense that I got little conversations and little man-cuddles and all of that, and sometimes, telling me about a phone call he got from his girlfriend or me telling him about a phone call from my girlfriend or from my mum, it was nice to have that. The thing that got me through that was someone I met there. As soon as we met each other, we just clicked – he’s a very decent person. He’s still in Wandsworth awaiting sentencing. I am in contact with his girlfriend so, now and again, I check on him to see if he’s OK. I’m not allowed to be in contact with prisoners, but I make sure that I see her and tell her to send him my love and to keep his chin up and things like that.
To be honest with you, it doesn’t matter what crime you do. In a place like that, you shouldn’t be treated that bad. It’s so inhumane – you feel worthless, you start convincing yourself that you deserve what is happening and it’s not right.
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
Our boys are manual labourers they’re not office workers so to find themselves confined to a small cell for 23 hours a day. They do get out to go to maths and English classes. But not on Friday. The gym is overpacked and it’s got the favourites, you can’t get on the list for that. So it’s quite hard.
After that guy escaped, on the TV there was a whistle blower from Wandsworth, a prison officer. He went and said the prison is corrupt with prison officers bringing in mobile phones and drugs. Our boys had a shower on the Sunday, they locked down on Monday. They searched our boys’ cell on the Monday and they broke the sink, the sink is broke, they’re locked down for four more days with not even a mouthwash, can’t brush their teeth because the sink’s broke. They locked them down, they broke the electric, they were in the dark, they took away the telly, they had nothing.
We can’t bring anything in, it’s not allowed. I took two packs of playing cards. It’s a brilliant idea. No. You’re not allowed to take card games and you’re not allowed to take board games.
Jodie and Ann, mothers of Ben and Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth on remand awaiting sentence
I was in 23-hour lock up. There was actually a mini riot that kicked off because they kept us a locked up for four days straight. Your own company or a cellmate. That was it. People was smashing out their windows, doing dirty protests, throwing faeces under the door. Even we were let out, it was never an hour of socialising and an hour of exercise. It was never both; it was either one or the other. On an average day, you’re probably looking at about 45 minutes out of cell and 23 hours 15 minutes or so locked up
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
Each time a prisoner is moved to another prison, there is a new induction period of various lengths. During the induction period, a prisoner spends 23 hours in the cell, going outside only for exercise, and in some prisons may have other time out to use shared showers and a shared computer terminal.
Frequent moves meant that I was able to attend the gym at only one of the four prisons.
Eastwood Park in Spring 2022 was already understaffed and barely coping. Eastwood Park in 2022 was noticeably more understaffed than the three other prisons I had been held in.
I participated in my induction week where I was offered some jobs but I refused to work for £1.58 a day. I was offered a job in the kitchens and I refused to go so I had to spend a lot of time locked up and on basic.
SB, recently released from HMP Foston Hall
If anything untoward happened in any prison, or there was more severe understaffing, we would be stuck in our cells and exercise cancelled. This happened more frequently at Eastwood Park.
DW, former prisoner at HMP Eastwood Park
- Lockdown is used so often
- There is no separation of exercise time and social time
- In 30 minutes (sometimes less) the men are expected to queue for the showers, access the kiosk (many not working); the kiosk is also the only way to select the following week’s menus. Any time left is for socialising
- There is nothing to look forward to, as the guards are giving exercise/social at 8 am
- The list of learning packages and activities listed on the website are not on general offer
- My son has been on remand since January 2024 and has attended one book club session, one basketball session and one yoga session.
- The lack of room to move about in the cells and lack of daily showers is inhumane
- The men are bored and get frustrated with nothing to do
- This has a huge impact on their already frail hope and mental wellbeing
- During lockdowns, there is no access to the kiosk, so, on many occasions, my son has had no phone credit as he’s been unable to top it up and I have been so anxious about his wellbeing
Parmjeet, mother of a man held at HMP Wandsworth
It is very difficult to actually describe what it is like being incarcerated there but I have always likened it as cross between an old fashioned mental asylum and a zoo, except the animals in zoos get treated much better. When I was there, we were locked up 23 hours per day, mostly two to a cell that was designed for one person, and this during the hottest summer in recorded history! All I can say is that even though the next prison I was transferred to was no holiday camp, I really felt for the guys that I left behind in those squalid conditions.
Peter, former prisoner at HMP Wandsworth
You feel like you’re getting tortured in here. Homeless people in the streets live better than what we do. You feel like you’re going mad. You get an hour and a half a day to get out, that’s it. That’s all your social exercise. They want you to go out in the freezing cold. Some days you don’t even get out of your cell for exercise at all. Fridays you don’t get out until about 10 o’clock in the morning. You get out for an hour max, you’re locked up for the rest of the day, that’s it. The weekends it’s just mental torture. It’s the same as the Friday, you get out for an hour or an hour and a half max. You’re locked up for the rest of the day. That’s it. They can’t wait to get you in the cell.
We are facing numerous challenges, and it is quite difficult for an 18-year-old to be confined in his cell 24/7.
This young son of mine mentioned that they attempt to request access to the gym or social activities by attaching a paper to their door every day. However, it seems that they are not always granted these rights, with the excuse that they will be taken out later because of shortage of staff, which never happens. Not to mention the emergency call bell. Staff are not willing to see what is happening in the cell or, if they do, just switch it off and walk off ignoring him
Patricia, mother of a man held at HMP Wandsworth
I’d never been arrested before in my life. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to prison. I came to prison eight months ago now, and before I come in I felt normal. And now I just don’t feel normal. Since I’ve been here I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD and ADHD. I don’t think I’ll ever live normal again. The slightest little jingle of the keys – I can’t, it just scares me. They do checks in the night-time and it’s not really fair – they bang on your door at four in the morning and wake you up to make sure you’re asleep. We’re in a cell, we can’t go nowhere.
Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth
Being at the mercy of those who appeared to take pleasure in my discomfort rather than wanting to ease it, was difficult and undermined my strategies for self-care. I was overwhelmed by grief that stayed with me for five months after release, while the effects on my physical health took perhaps another year to overcome.
I have seen blood on the walls of police cells. If there was blood on the walls at Eastwood Park I would have tried my best not to notice, or to forget.
DW, former prisoner at HMP Eastwood Park
When Jon eventually did contact me, it was heartbreaking because I could hear in his voice he was scared, he wasn’t coping. And then when we got to visit Jon, it made me feel a lot better because he looked a lot better than what I thought he would have done, but he wasn’t my son. Before he went in there, he was happy, he was outgoing, he would help anybody and now it’s completely changed him, he’s completely different. He’s not as happy, he’s not as outgoing. He would still help anybody but it’s completely changed his character. He’s withdrawn, he gets depressed a lot, he’s scared, he can’t sleep. It’s just terrible being a mother in that situation
He won’t go anywhere on his own because he’s so worried. He says, ‘What if they see me, and they try to pin something else on me?’ . So, I am with him all the time, wherever he goes, I go. If I’m not there, then his partner’s with him, basically. There’s somebody with him all the time. He didn’t have any mental health problems before going to prison, none at all.
He said people go in there normal, but they’re not allowed to talk to anyone and you end up going mental. He said you’re going to need medication but they won’t give you any medication because there’s nothing wrong with you, so they say. He says many prisoners have gone insane. As a parent it’s hard, you try everything possible but nothing.
Cheryl, mother of Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
There’s a lot to get over, a helluva lot. I am getting professional help, I’m on anti-depressants at the minute and I’m starting mental health therapy. There’s obviously stuff that I want to talk about. I didn’t really want to talk about it in front of my family. I don’t want them to worry that much. I’ve said most of the stuff but there’s stuff I still want to get off my chest. Mum knows the basics but not the detail of how it happened, there’s little things. I’m a very strong sort of person but it broke me, it broke me. It didn’t take long, it did not take long.
The people that got treated better were the people who were absolute nightmares because they want to keep them quiet. The quiet ones, you would get nothing, absolutely nothing I’m not the type of person to kick up a stink because I hate confrontation. I’m not going to get aggressive just to get what I want.
Prison was a traumatic experience. I’ve got friends who’ve been inside before. They have never ever told me it was anything like that. I didn’t know what to expect but I did not expect that. It was just one thing after another. I thought it can’t get any worse, and then it got worse and worse. The basics that you take for granted in life you ain’t going to get.
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
There were two suicides of inmates by hanging while I was at Eastwood Park. The first was of a woman who had a behavioural condition which made her considerably vulnerable and unable to cope. It may have been that she was on the autistic spectrum, but I can't remember. The wing was almost entirely serviced by prisoner volunteers, and they had been giving her a lot of support. She just about managed with their help. They knew she could not function on an ordinary wing, where there would be no such help. She had a very short sentence and they begged staff to keep her on the induction wing. She was moved and died two or at most three days later. A second person died by suicide two or three days after that, a long serving much loved person. I had an awful suspicion this had happened; the alarm bells went and all prisoners spent the rest of the day locked up, guards all ran in one direction as they had the previous time.
DW, former prisoner at HMP Eastwood Park
One time, this really messed me up a bit. We heard screaming in the night. It wasn’t coming from a prisoner, it was coming from an officer, because it was a female voice. So I was thinking, what the hell’s up?. First we wondered, is she being attacked? But it was lockdown.
The next day we found out she looked through one of the flaps on the door and she seen a guy hang himself. And there was another guy in the cell sleeping. And her scream woke the guy up and now there’s a guy screaming at what he’s seeing. And they left that prisoner in there with that dead body for about an hour before they went in there and thereafter, they got the guy out
The guy asked for a listener, which wasn’t allowed. The guy wasn’t allowed a listener because he was a witness to a crime, apparently. They left the body in that cell for about two days. They just put his own bedsheet over him and left him alone there for two days and people were looking underneath the door. It was like a museum for sickos. You could smell, when you walked past the cell, you could smell the decay of the body. It was absolutely horrendous. I don’t know if it was defecation or what it was it was just horrendous. Every prisoner knew about it.
There was another friend of mine I don’t know what he was in for. I take people at face value. He asked for a listener and we became really good friends. Obviously, he took to me because I was trying to help him out. And he was happy as Larry. Every day, he was the life and soul. He used to stand on the wings, singing songs and that, entertainment for prisoners.
And then, one day, I think he got a phone call to say that he was going to get 10 to 15 years He walked in, went upstairs, wrapped a rope around his waist and he walked up, this was all on camera, I didn’t see this But then we see him down on the long end of the fours, ‘cos on the fours, there’s no netting. So we see him and he’s doing something to the railings and I said to my friend, ‘I wonder what he’s doing?’. And then we looked over, and my friend said ‘Oh fuck! Quick!’ and, as he said that, he wrapped a rope around his neck and he just jumped.
He survived, he did survive but there was a massive snap He knocked himself out, unconscious, he was just lying there and when the officers went down to get him, they grabbed an arm each, they pulled him over the railings and just laid him there until someone else come to deal with it. I did actually see him afterwards because I went to a listeners’ meeting. There’s a glass cell, fibreglass, and he was being watched 24/7 so I seen him there. I walked over and had a chat with him and he had bruises all round his neck and a black eye. He did live, luckily enough.
There should have been someone on the fours, patrolling the fours, on every landing, there should be officers, this is what our argument was. How did it come to the fact that he got away with doing something like that? There should have been someone there. There was nobody there to stop him. We tried to, but we were too far away to get to him. By the time we was running towards him, he had jumped.
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
When you go to visit and we had to wait 40 to 45 minutes, and they come up and they’re there for half an hour. That’s their visit done. It’s not the hour. I complained to the officer in there and she spoke to me as if I was something she’s trodden on, like a piece of dirt. I said, ‘My visit is from nine to ten’ , so when I’m there by son should be at nine when I’m there. And she said, basically, ‘It’s tough’. There’s no respect for the visitors
When you go for a visit, they should have the food there, so you can buy your son a biscuit or whatever. It should be there every week. You buy your token A, B, C, or D. Very rarely can you go in there and get A or B. Sometimes you can only buy a drink. They never order if things are running low, they don’t think, let’s do a stock take, let’s order. There’s no brains, it’s backwards. Let it all run out, what does it matter. Well, a can of fizzy drink means a lot if you are not drinking nothing.
Jodie and Ann, mothers of Ben and Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth on remand awaiting sentence
Every time I’m going for a visit now I’m getting strip-searched and it is degrading. I feel like I shouldn’t go on visits any more cos I feel like I’m getting victimised.
Ben, held at HMP Wandsworth
The hardest part was when my mum or my girlfriend came to visit me. You have to put on a front, tell them not to worry. But as soon as they left, it came back to reality. It was horrible.
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
‘Email a prisoner’ taking up to six days to be delivered. Responses taking a week to be returned
Emily, sister of a man held at HMP Wandsworth
When I first went in, it was about two weeks. I couldn’t write a letter. Nothing. My family didn’t know where I was, what prison I was in or anything like that for two weeks. It took them six or seven days to give me my PIN for my phone and then I kept trying, every day, every day and it was not going through. And then one day it went through and then when I spoke to my mum I just cried. I just broke down. It felt like all my Christmases coming at once. About three times a day, I was just asking ‘Could someone please tell my mum where I am.’
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
There are inconsistencies at many levels I see this as a visitor, as my own experience varies depending on who is on duty (told that I am not allowed to wear my breast prosthesis)
The induction process did not provide my son with useful information as I learnt more from my own research and visiting the visitor centre. I wasn’t clear how to book the initial visit, which upset my son and myself as it was weeks before I was able to visit, as I was told the first visit had to be booked via the phone system.
Parmjeet, mother of a man held at HMP Wandsworth
People are not being given their emails that their family or friends may have sent to them. This leaves the inmates feeling neglected and no wonder they end up with mental health issues.
Sometimes visits run terribly late and when you get to visit your loved one, your time is cut short.
Daisy, partner of a man held at HMP Wandsworth
I’d had only coffee for breakfast because I was too anxious to eat. So we were taken down to a court cell, which had blood & faeces on the wall, and waited for the prison transport. No food or drink was offered. The transport arrived at about 17:00 and we were loaded The van was driven by a lady, and she was accompanied by a male guard also.
The journey to Bronzefield is 9.4 miles, and is estimated to take 23 minutes by car. This shocked me when I just looked it up, because I think it took about two hours to get there on this occasion.
I am retired now, but I used to drive public service vehicles, and have untold driving experience in all sorts of vehicles. This journey was the second worst I've experienced. Constant jerking on brakes, obviously bad timing, and not reading the road properly, endless turning around as if lost
The male guard got quite frustrated with the driver and verbally expressed this several times, but the main problem was it was very hot, and the length of the journey seemed excessive.
AH, held in HMP Bronzefield
When I went to court, I was supposed to have a video link but they come and got me at half past six in the morning and they took me down to the holding cells to exit the prison in a Serco van. And I told them on the way down, ‘I’m not meant to be going to court, I’m doing it by video-link’ and they just told me to shut up
So I shut up, went inside the holding cell, waited for two to three hours and then they come to get me and said: ‘Why didn’t you fucking tell us you was meant to do a video link’. I said: ‘I did’
Then they took me back up to my cell and said they would come and get me to do a video link, and they never did. So I missed my video link. The court asked where I was, I was in my cell, I was waiting for someone to come and collect me to go to my video link.
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
I spent many hours in Serco vans which involved six separate and lengthy journeys. These in themselves were traumatic. During the first journey, from Highbury Corner MC to HMP Bronzefield during rush hour, we were continuously thrown from side to side of the locked compartment by the erratic driving. Another day, I was forced to spend several more hours journeying than was legally allowed. A volunteer prison inspector told me that they were trying to change conditions so that transfers did follow the law. The problem of the long hours women frequently spent in vans was due to drivers collecting male prisoners last and taking them to their destinations first, as female prisoners were quiet and did not cause trouble in the way the male prisoners did. The outcome was that female prisoners are often taken on long detours. My health was affected by the frequent transfers between prisons
DW, former prisoner at HMP Eastwood Park
Money goes astray. I sometimes send £60. It’s missing. More than half of it is missing. It’s happened more than twice to our boys.
I ordered him a quilt when he went in there. I ordered from Prison Direct. I paid £100 for a quilt, that’s floating round the prison – no one knows where it is. He’s asked three times now to have it sent out. But no. I spent £100 and no one knows where the quilt is. It all gets swept under the carpet. It’s like it’s allowed to happen.
They’ll order Super Noodles and crisps and maybe a bar of chocolate and toothpaste, soap, shower gel, whatever they need. We have to send that money in so they can spend it and they’ve ordered it, and come the following Friday it’s not turned up. None of it. The whole order has gone missing, and that’s more than twice. It’s gone missing, it’s just gone. You don’t get your money back, it’s just gone.
Jodie and Ann, mothers of Ben and Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth on remand awaiting sentence
Staff don’t seem to realise the impact of their actions or inactions.
My son was given a slip of paper saying he had a court appearance via video link on a given date and time and if he didn’t appear, it would be deemed contempt of court. On the day of the hearing, my son was given ‘social’ time and he went to shower and returned to his cell. Within minutes of my son returning to his cell, a guard came to collect him for his hearing. My son tried to explain that he had a slip saying it was at 2.30 pm but the guard was adamant that it was sooner. When my son was taken into the video link room, the court was in session and my son had missed the pre-hearing time with his barrister. This led to lots of frustration. Later that same day, my son was again collected from his cell for a 2.30 hearing. My son attempted to explain that he had already attended court in the morning. He was ignored and taken down to the room again. It became clear that this was an error and another prisoner was expected, not my son. These mix-ups could have very serious consequences for the men.
Parmjeet, mother of man held at HMP Wandsworth
If you put in a complaint, you’re victimised. So we’re speaking. We can’t sit back, as parents, anymore.
You can’t complain. How many times has their electric tripped? When that happens they are sitting there in the dark, no television, can’t read because there’s no light. They were left in the dark for four hours. I have complained to the IMB [Independent Monitoring Board] about a dozen times If you put in a complaint you’re victimised, but we can’t keep silent no more.
They pass the buck, they come back with, ‘Sorry, we don’t’ know’ How do you get to the top? I wrote to Rishi Sunak and to a charity Princess Anne is a patron of, this charity at Wandsworth, and I had no reply. Who’s going to listen? It’s about time the little person was listened to. It’s about those who have no voice.
Ben’s tried to commit suicide several times. He’s asked for his medical records. No one could give them to him. The solicitor needs them. How is she supposed to get them? You get passed from pillar to post. I want to complain about the officer who laughed at Ben when he was stripsearched. Now he doesn’t want visits. That shouldn’t be allowed, but there’s no one to complain to.
I’ve complained to the IMB and they just say ‘We’ll pass it on’ and that’s the end of it. There’s a phone in the cell, but it’s not working. They can’t contact the IMB.
Our boys feel it’s not worth complaining. If they kept animals like that in a zoo, someone would be held accountable. But these conditions our sons live in, who do you hold accountable?
Jodie and Ann, mothers of Ben and Joey, held at HMP Wandsworth on remand awaiting sentence
Being the mother of somebody in Wandsworth is absolutely awful. I didn’t realise how terrified my son was when he was in there. In the beginning, it took two weeks to try to get in touch with somebody to see if he was OK, if he needed anything. He had no clothes, he had nothing. It was just awful, thinking, did he know that we’re trying to help him, he didn’t know that we’re here for him. We just didn’t know anything because no one was telling us anything. Nobody wants to help. It’s just passing the buck all the time.
I didn’t know where he was and no one would tell me. I was told ‘He’s an adult’. But I just wanted to know if he’s OK, he’s my son at the end of the day and I just want to know if he’s OK and if there’s anything he needs.
Cheryl, the mother of Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
I was scared to make a complaint in there, because I know how the complaint forms work. The officers read them, and I’ve heard them laughing about them and if they find out that you put your name to something like that, they’re going to treat you even worse than you are treated already. So, I was more scared to do that. People were saying to me, ‘Don’t do it, no way’
Jon, held at HMP Wandsworth
I’ve noticed when you put in a complaint it goes to the wing staff, the senior officer and the governor. Because some of the staff would read the complaints, they would say if there’s a complaint, ‘just leave it with me and it will go faster, just leave it on the table’. But, on the table, the governor would read it and then know that you’ve complained and that I’ve made a complaint and other girls as well.
Hannah, recently in prison at HMP Foston Hall
I’m nearly 70, and I am a vegan bird lover, and feeder of the less-liked birds such as pigeons and seagulls. I’ve had several CPNs (Community Penalty Notices) and now a Criminal Behaviour Order, just for feeding the birds.
I started feeding birds with my mum in the 60s. In recent years, feeding the birds has helped with my grief, depression, and ongoing sobriety. I owe them. I lost my partner, mother, brother, and best friend in the space of a few years. I haven’t drunk since 1990.
My first CPN for feeding the birds was in 2016; then a civil injunction was issued. In 2017 there was another CPN and in 2019 another injunction was issued.
In 2020, I was arrested for breaches and held for one day. At my breach trial, the council had four members present, all saying things that were exaggerated, including lies from the next-door neighbour who hated birds (and poured disinfectant on my balcony). The judge was horrible. I tried to tell him about how feeding the birds saved me from drinking again, and helped my grief. I had a solicitor, who said that it was a mental health issue, but the judge disagreed. He offered no compassion for my severe grief and very fragile mental state, and told me that I was sentenced to 15 months prison for several breaches.
I was taken away in a prison van, in solitary because of Covid, and held with nothing in a cell for ten days. In prison I nearly died – I had a doctor and nurse check my blood pressure every day because they said it was the highest they had ever seen and it was critical they bring it down. In reality, the sentence was only 15 weeks – I received a letter saying it was 15 weeks – and I was released after eleven weeks. I was very ill, and I didn’t return to the flat because I had lost that, so I stayed with a friend.
In 2021 a CPN was issued for feeding in three places, including the woods. In 2022, I had a fine of £100 (a fixed penalty notice) from the council. In 2022, I was given a Magistrates’ Court date for breaking the CPN. In 2023, I was fined £590 for continued feeding, with statements from around ten local people, included with photos of me and a lot of made-up stories. I paid this fine from my pension I had to not eat much.
I phoned the police several times for harassment and abuse from these people, who were shouting at me from across the street, calling me a rat feeder. One person with his dog followed me in the woods and began filming me. I confronted him, he hit me on the chin and ran off, but the police said there was no proof.
In 2024, the council took me to the Magistrates’ Court for another breach hearing. I didn’t have a lawyer and I didn’t go to the hearing I couldn’t handle the attention with my PTSD and anxiety I couldn’t cope with that since jail in 2020. I was given another £600 fine and a Criminal Behaviour Order, which bans me from ‘depositing loose seed’ in various locations.
I’m behind paying this latest fine. I’m a wreck because of the council, quite ill. I was punished for nothing really.
Dr Steve Foster, Associate Professor in Law at Coventry University
What rights have prisoners got in the UK legal system? Before the European Convention on Human Rights began to tale full force in the 1970’s, very little. Prisoners could sue in private law if they were assaulted by prison staff or fellow prisoners; although success in this area is limited because of the inherent dangerousness of the prison environment. However, case law from the European Court of Human Rights, and the ‘incorporation’ of the European Convention into our domestic law in 2000, changed that. Prisoners could rely on fundamental human rights, including access to justice and freedom from inhumane and degrading treatment in prisons. Prisoners all over Europe then brought actions in the domestic courts and the European Court of Human Rights to remedy poor prison conditions and intentional ill-treatment by prison authorities. Indeed we have seen great success in terms of the right to life, access to the courts and lawyers, visiting and correspondence rights, the right to marry, as well as free speech and access to the media. All restrictions on prisoners’ rights have to be clearly regulated by formal law and must be proportionate in achieving various penal goals. This contrasted with the earlier period where prison authorities were given almost unlimited power to control prisons and bestow prisoners’ ‘rights’ at their discretion.
At the heart of prisoners’ rights – and the situation at Wandsworth - is the right to be treated as a human being, despite incarceration. Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights 1950 (now part of domestic law through the Human Rights Act 1998) outlaws torture and inhumane and degrading treatment and punishment. This right applies to prisoners, despite incarceration, and safeguards the prisoners’ physical well-being and all aspects of their dignity. The terms used in the article are relative: torture being an intense and intentional form of inhumane treatment; inhumane meaning sufficiently serious physical or mental mistreatment; and degrading giving rise to sufficiently serious debasement or humiliation. It is not easy to prove a case under Article 3, but it protects against the type of treatment that we have witnessed at Wandsworth in recent times. Specifically, Article 3 was used to formally outlaw the general practice of ‘slopping out’ in prisons more than 20 years ago, although the practice still persists for certain prisoners, and where the provision of proper facilities is not practical.
The appalling situation at HMP Wandsworth (and other prisons) in recent years (and much further back) illustrates perfectly the difference between law and legal theory and the reality of prisons and prisoners’ rights. Lack of access to decent sanitary facilities, overcrowding and the infestation of the prison with vermin are certainly in breach of the state’s obligations in national and international law: to ensure that prisoners are not subject to torture or inhumane and degrading treatment and punishment. Those obligations are relative to the fact of imprisonment – the law accepts that prisoners must expect harsh conditions during imprisonment – but the state’s obligations remain despite financial constraints, or social pressure to punish the prisoner. Thus, prisoners have an absolute human right to minimum standards of decency and safety in prison.
Yet in practice, as the situation in Wandsworth has shown us, the enjoyment of prisoners’ rights is very much dependent on the desire of government (and the public) to allocate resources and support to the protection of basic prisoners’ rights. The situation in Wandsworth has been allowed to continue, and worsen, because public money has not been allocated to improve this deplorable (and illegal) state of affairs. This has happened despite the threat of legal action, and the possibility of the state being held legally accountable. Successful legal actions can, of course, improve prison conditions and force changes in the law,
but successful actions do not create limitless resources, or indeed a political or public desire to improve conditions in prison. Popular public opinion is that prisoners do not possess those fundamental rights enjoyed on the outside, that such rights are lost on incarceration and that valuable public resources are wasted on improvising prisons and prison conditions. Hence, despite publicity of the situation in Wandsworth, conditions have remained essentially the same.
So, how can this chasm between legal theory and practical reality be bridged? Successful legal actions certainly have an impact on improving prison conditions – most governments do not relish the adverse publicity from such legal defeats, or paying compensation for successful claims. However, legal actions are often lengthy and difficult to finance, and their impact short-lived. A case in the domestic courts might take several years, extended by an action before the European Court; and public authorities often wait until the next legal action rather than remedying the situation. The answer lies in both the proper enforcement of the law and more direct duties placed on prison authorities – a formal prisoners’ charter was advocated by the Prison Reform Trust 30 years ago. This would contain directly enforceable duties on prison authorities, which would supplement legal claims and provide a culture of enforceable prisoners’ rights comparable with those of consumers and other protected groups. It is to be hoped that the new government will drive a new system of prison policy and prisoners’ rights that will take care of the needs of prisoners and their families. Such a move will require a fundamental change to prison policy adopted over the last 20 years, but will reintroduce humanity into that system.
Rona Epstein
Every four days someone takes their own life in a UK prison.
In this Report we have included the evidence of Zack Griffiths who was interviewed by a BBC radio journalist while taking part in a protest outside HMP Parc. This prison was then in the news because nine of its prisoners had died during the ten weeks between February and May 2024.
On 27 May 2024 a BBC report included this:
Naomi Lewis' brother, Justin, from Newport, was found dead in his cell at HMP Parc in March.1 Ms Lewis said her brother had a history of ‘seriously self-harming’.
‘Justin didn't get checked on all day,’ said Ms Lewis. ‘He was self-harming. There should have been a duty of care. He's been failed in my eyes.’
Those detained are not supposed to die in prison due to neglect. In fact, health care provision in secure environments is supposed to be of an ‘equivalent’ standard to that provided in the wider community.2
The Coroner’s Report on Brandon Johnson, who died in Wandsworth Prison on 12 September 2019 aged 40, was published on 2 October 2024.3
The Report states
Medical Cause of Death
1 (a) Cardio-Respiratory Failure
1(b) Ischaemic Heart Disease
1(c) Coronary artery atheroma and left ventricular hypertrophy
1(d) Chronic cocaine misuse
2 Schizophrenia, chronic substance misuse
Below the heading MATTERS OF CONCERN the Coroner writes: ‘I am concerned about the robustness of the procedures and processes for checking that prisoners are alive within their cells.’
There is no mention of the care required by Mr Johnson nor the care actually provided to Mr Johnson for any of these serious health issues. The Report does not contain one word about what care (or lack of care) Mr Johnson received in prison. It deals only with the checks which should have been made to ascertain if he was alive.
1 https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cl77d1e20kgo
2 https://www.rcgp.org.uk/representing-you/policy-areas/care-in-secure-environments
3 https://www.judiciary.uk/prevention-of-future-death-reports/brandon-johnson-prevention-of-future-deaths-report/
In a long list of cases of deaths in prison I have found that the Coroners’ Reports comment on the checking up system and are entirely silent on the care that should have been provided to those detained by the state and in need of medical care.
The lack of care for those in prison is often shocking. I have written before about the imprisonment and death of Floyd Carruthers,4 whose death after neglect in prison should have led to headlines, television coverage and questions in parliament: in fact there was silence. He had been diagnosed with schizophrenia in 2003. In April 2021 he breached an Anti-Social Behaviour Injunction by banging twice on his neighbour’s door, first at 17.30 and again at 19.30. He was sent to prison for 66 days, although the judge stated ‘there is no evidence of any criminality’. Mr Carruthers had an infected heart valve; he did not eat in the prison for four days. No medical personnel were called. When prison officers entered his cell they found he had collapsed. He died in hospital on 14 June 2021.
Matthew Braben was 30 when he took his own life at HMP Wormwood Scrubs.5 The Coroner’s report states:
Matthew’s death was probably the result of systemic failures across multiple agencies including the Prison services. … [There was a] a failure to identify his deteriorating mental health and increasing suicide risk. … Despite concerns raised by a highly engaged, caring and supportive family, it is probable insufficient weight was given to their attempts to raise the alarm.
Yasmin Adams was 25 years old when she took her own life at HMP Foston Hall.6
The Coroner stated:
During Yasmin’s second prison term the majority of prison staff were not aware of her mental health and learning disability diagnoses but should have been informed of these by prison healthcare. There should have been consideration for Yasmin’s care to be managed as an enhanced or complex case under the ACCT arrangements.
The duty governor should have considered whether to terminate cellular confinement having been updated about Yasmin on 12 November 2016 Healthcare should have been informed of and attended all post selfharm incidents… There should have been documented consideration for involvement of Yasmin’s family in the ACCT process.
All prison staff should have been provided with basic mental health awareness training. Basic first aid training to prison staff should have included instruction in CPR (Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation). Assessment of risk for prisoners who self-harmed should have included a clear documented environmental risk assessment of cells.
Connor Hoult was 24 years old when he entered HMP Wakefield. During the night of 10 June 2019 he took his own life in his prison cell. Prison officers were supposed to conduct ‘welfare checks’ on him during the night and in the morning.
4 https://www.thejusticegap.com/anti-social-behaviour-law-punishing-the-poor-and-vulnerable
5 https://www.judiciary.uk/prevention-of-future-death-reports/matthew-braben-prevention-of-future-deaths-report/
6 https://www.judiciary.uk/prevention-of-future-death-reports/yasmin-adams-prevention-of-future-deaths-report/
The Coroner’s Report states:7
No response is required… from prisoners who appear to be asleep in bed.
At 9.50 am an officer entered the cell to ‘seize some unauthorised footwear’ and found that Connor had been dead for some hours.
The Coroner’s Report makes no mention of what support or therapy is or should be available in the prison for men, such as this young man, at risk of suicide.
Alan Davies died in HMP Cardiff having been refusing food.8 On 25 March 2024, the Coroner’s Report stated that he was transferred to HMP Cardiff from Caswell Clinic on 2 September 2021. Caswell Clinic is a medium secure, forensic mental health unit for men and women; the prison knew it was receiving an ill man.
Ten days later he was found collapsed in his cell. He died in hospital. He had been refusing food but had not intended to end his life.
The Coroner’s Report states:
There were missed opportunities regarding the transfer of Mr Davies to hospital. The management, coordination and planning of Mr D’s care … was unsatisfactory.
On camera call on the Healthcare wing, Mr Davies’ calls for ‘help’ while lying on the floor of his cell were not recognised or heeded from 00.19 on 12th September 2021 until it was identified that he was in a collapsed state at about 02.54.
Insufficient consideration was given to whether Mr Davies’ needs were too complex to be met by HMP Cardiff.
No clear plan to promote Mr Davies’ engagement with prison medical services, or the assessment of his mental or physical condition was devised or implemented at HMP Cardiff.
The Health Care assistant caring for Mr Davies overnight overheard more senior prison staff saying that they would not return to assist Mr Davies in healthcare, and but the Health Care assistant felt unable to challenge this
Mr Davies died from an equal combination of misadventure, self-neglect and neglect.
Martin Willis took his own life at HMP Stoke Heath.9 The Coroner’s report was published on 1 April 2024. Once again, the Coroner reports a suicide in prison where there were no observations and no care. The conclusion of the inquest was that Mr Willis died from hanging while a prisoner at HMP Stoke Heath. The narrative conclusion was that:
7 https://www.judiciary.uk/prevention-of-future-death-reports/connor-hoult-prevention-of-future-deaths-report/
8 https://www.judiciary.uk/prevention-of-future-death-reports/alan-davies-prevention-of-future-deaths-report/
9 https://www.judiciary.uk/prevention-of-future-death-reports/martin-willis-prevention-of-future-deaths-report/
Mr Martin Willis took his own life, in part because the risk of him doing so was not reported, communicated and the precautions in place were insufficient to prevent him doing so whilst the balance of his mind was disturbed. The ACCT procedure was not properly implemented, complied with or supervised. A scheduled observation at 8 am did not take place and a false entry was entered at 7:30 am and later deleted. The last correct entry was at 7 am with earlier omissions.
On 26 October 2023 the Ministry of Justice released the latest quarterly statistics on deaths and self-harm in prison in England and Wales.10 They show the number of self-inflicted deaths in prisons rose by 24% in the 12 months to from September 2022 to September 2023.
There were a total of 304 deaths of people in prison during this period, 92 of which were self-inflicted. Every four days someone takes their own life in a UK prison. The statistics also show that self-harm is once again rising across prisons, with the starkest rise of 63% in the women’s estate.11
Rosanna Ellul, Policy and Parliamentary Manager at INQUEST, said:
These appalling statistics are yet another indictment of our unsafe prison system. Yet while these figures should be a sobering reminder of the inherent harms of prison, the government are determined to expand the prison estate by 20,000 places. As the prison population grows, we know the number of preventable deaths in prison will too. Successive governments have failed to properly consider measures to reduce reliance on prisons and, in the process, save lives. In the short-term, urgent action is needed to ensure people in prison have access to healthcare and adequate support. In the long term, we need a dramatic reduction of the prison population and more investment in alternatives which prevent harms in our society, rather than cause more harm.
As Rosanna Ellul points out, we need a reformed criminal justice system, with a dramatic reduction in the numbers sent to prison.
At the recent Labour Party conference, the Prisons Minister, Lord Timpson, said that the government is moving quickly to review how courts sentence offenders. He suggested that community sentences should be ‘trusted more by the courts.’ This will require investment in all the community support services that are needed to provide convincing and effective alternatives to imprisonment. This investment will most probably be considerably lower than the anticipated cost of building a number of new prisons and the £50,000 per prisoner per year ‘maintenance’ cost of imprisonment acknowledged by Alex Chalk, former Conservative Prisons Minister.
We can only hope that money will speak, if ethics and principles do not, and that James Timpson’s words will be matched by action. Delays will cost lives.
This article was first published in The Justice Gap https://www.thejusticegap.com/
10 https://www.gov.uk/government/statistics/safety-in-custody-quarterly-update-to-june-2023
11 https://www.crimeandjustice.org.uk/resources/four-lives-four-deaths-neglect-our-prisons
Professor Loraine Gelsthorpe, former Director, Institute of Criminology, University of Cambridge
Voices from the Inside makes for compelling and disturbing reading. The vivid accounts of life in prison from prisoners, their families, and others provide important insights and emphasise the ongoing need for constructive change in this area of penal policy and practice. Far from needing more prisons, there needs to be a searching review of the purpose of imprisonment. We send way too many people to prison for nonviolent offences Few, if any, would deny the need for the public to be protected from serious harm, but why do we use imprisonment so freely? There is a mistaken belief in ‘deterrence’, with little, if any, evidence to support the claim that ‘prison works’ in terms of deterrence. Certainly, the degrading conditions and treatment of people in prisons do not help offenders and, thus, victims.
As indicated at the beginning of this book, at the heart of prisoners’ needs and rights is the right to be treated as a human being, despite incarceration. Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights 1950 (now part of domestic law through the Human Rights Act 1998) outlaws torture and inhumane and degrading treatment and punishment. This is meant to safeguard prisoners’ physical treatment and conditions, their well-being and all aspects of their dignity. His Majesty’s Prison and Probation Service prison mission is commonly described as being to keep the public safe by holding prisoners securely, to provide support and education to prisoners to prepare them for a life without offending, and to help prisoners lead law-abiding and useful lives in custody and after release. How can the appalling prison conditions described within this booklet facilitate rehabilitation? How can we justify the neglect of so many people in prison in terms of their physical health and psychological well-being? Where is the promised support (including mental health support)? There is a moral vacuum where there should be decent conditions, purposeful activity and a rehabilitative focus. All of this is a matter of political will, as well as it being a matter of resources. There are some brilliant prison and probation staff in HMPPS, they need resources of course, but they also need to know that there is political backing to do the right thing. Some people do some terrible things, but let the criminal justice system and HMPPS in particular be judged by values which reflect the evidence that decent, humane and rehabilitative treatment can reduce reoffending and thus better protect the public and potential victims in the long run.
This booklet tells it ‘how it is’. It brings to the fore voices and experiences of some of those within the criminal justice system. It deserves to be read widely