Episode 20 - Listeners, Suicide + Persistence

What an almost comical scenario, four or five Samaritans in a chapel in a prison, with hardened criminals who are auditioning to be Listeners. And the main topic is suicide.

During the three and a half years I was in prison I wrote over a million words by hand. Tales From The Jails is a contemporaneous account of my life, and attempts to thrive rather than merely survive, whilst incarcerated.

Most names have been changed. The events have not.

This is a Jekyll & Pride production.

Producer: Trevessa Newton

Title Music taken from The Confession, on the album Crimes Against Poetry (written and performed by The Shadow Poet, produced by Lance Thomas)

Copyright Jekyll & Pride Ltd 2025

@jekyllandpride2023
@theshadowpoettsp

Transcript

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During the three and a half years I was in prison, I wrote over a million words by hand. Tales from the Jails is a contemporaneous account of my life, and attempts to thrive rather than merely survive whilst incarcerated. Most names have been changed, but the events have not. Episode 20. Listeners, Suicide Persistence. My funniest time in HMP has been in the most surprising, if not unexpected, of places. I'm on the Listeners course, which is run by the Samaritans. It is designed for the aid of prisoners who may be struggling and is a confidential service for inmates. They can request the time of a Listener. Apparently, a Listener is not beholding to relaying the content of the conversation to an officer. It's quite a contentious point. I'm hoping it never becomes an issue. We are encouraged to listen and sensitively highlight the options a person may wish to consider. Often, an inmate under extremely stressful, isolated or dangerous situations requests someone to talk to. A sounding board, you could say, but one that doesn't advise or promise. In fact, our primary aim, other than to facilitate a caller unloading their pressures and stresses, is to ask a more direct question. Are you suicidal? Are you thinking about taking your own life? Do you feel like ending it all? You may be shocked more than surprised by the direct intervention. It takes some getting used to. As the weeks progress, it is becoming clearer that in most cases, it is the obvious question. And as such, only a matter of time before you ask it. It's sad to see so many men in here displaying the signs of severe mental and emotional stress. Self harming is a real problem. But worse, people, men, just appear lost, alone and full of fear. Drugs is an issue, but lads on meds is a crisis of its own. When an inmate's meds are stopped without warning or reason, there is always a drama and dramatic consequence. We've discussed many topics during roleplay scenarios, from being bullied, to the family breaking up, potentially a wife or partner trouble, to not coping well, to deaths in prison or being terminally ill. The fear of getting out, to the fear of stepping out of your own cell, because you just can't cope with the concept of being in such an awful alien environment. Men worry and obsess about their partners with insane jealousy, to others genuinely concerned about their families. The lads, who have put themselves forward to be listeners, are an eclectic bunch, not unlike the dirty dozen. On the outside tough, raw and seemingly lacking in compassion, and yet here. If you don't engage, then you are dropped. What an almost comical scenario, four or five Samaritans in a chapel in a prison, with hardened criminals who are auditioning to be Listeners. And the main topic is suicide. Listeners are not paid for their role, but they do receive an extra visit per month and that makes a big difference, especially when most lads are permitted only two. Although we are all just trying to survive in this cesspit, moments of heartwarming compassion and concerns appear from nowhere. I sit amongst men who are hardened by time, but unconsciously they try to reconnect with the best of intentions and authenticity. It's beautiful to be there when genuine moments happen. The guys have evolved from one liners that make you take a sharp intake of breath, as too inappropriate, to laughing with tears trickling down my cheeks. The Samaritans engage in role play of scenarios we may encounter and experience. They carry a charm and sense of humour that maybe the rest of the world doesn't see often. They're older, mature, and liberal. They remind me of the time of the famous scene in Coronation Street, when the older ones mistakenly eat cannabis. On the outside, none of this would work. But in here, it's the desperate leading the blind. But we have to work with what we've got, and inmates' lives are at risk. A Listener is often the last chance saloon between survival and suicide. What an irony. And what a responsibility. I've been giggling for days about Paul Daniels. He's a dead ringer for the little magician. The lads labelled him, and what a character he is. He will do anything to swerve roleplay. Coughing, spluttering, turning up late and moving the chairs or hiding in the toilet. When we finally got him to take part, it was hilarious. In the most sensitive of moments, with Paul Daniels being completely true to himself, he said to the 78 year old Samaritan during roleplay, now, you're not thinking about doing anything daft or stupid, are ya? Referring to suicide. It was like the real Paul Daniels, sat in prison clothes, having learnt nothing from the course. Honestly, if he could do a trick or two of magic, he would earn a decent income when he's released. He's caught up in a drugs conspiracy. You would never guess it. But Walton is full of guys on remand or doing time. Big sentences are a regular thing, and I haven't seen or heard of one guy walking. You either plead guilty early on, or you're hammered if you're found guilty. Imagine this. Fifteen, maybe twenty lads held in prisons around the country, all caught up in the same conspiracy. Worse situations are when a bunch are held together in the same prison. The prosecution only needs two people out of the whole bunch to plead guilty, and then, they're in the driving seat. They put everyone into a pressure cooker for months. And those who were bit part players, small fry, maybe a taxi driver by day and an odd courier job here and there. Well, these guys, often older, with families etc, they're not used to this side of life. And the violence and intimidation that comes with it. Worse. They're separated from their loved ones and usually have teenage kids. These guys feel the pressure. They're fucked. If they plead guilty to gain a discount on sentence and escape this horror show by doing so, they light a fuse that affects everybody else up the chain. Other guys, the significant ones, are pleading not guilty and fighting all the way. The intimidation is palpable. Twice a week, we spend an hour here, and I suspect, if it wasn't for the extra visit and the chocolate biscuits in the break, then the numbers on the course would be down to a handful. The big talk today had nothing to do with the course or listening, but the buffet that we receive when the course is over. Seriously. The lads are more excited by this than anything else. When we bump into each other in the gym, they always bring up the same topic. The buffet. As I sit in my cell, You'll Never Walk Alone chants through the wing. We are sat here without any electricity again. The power is blown. There is an eerie silence except for Gerry and the Pacemakers and the song playing from someone's cell. They must have batteries in the radio, I thought. I wonder, do the words resonate something meaningful to the scores of lads struggling behind the door? Hope is drained from most in here, and that includes the officers. Tony M. always says the biggest problems we have are luxury problems. Well this morning, my luxury would be the kettle working for my first couple of coffees. It is a Saturday morning, and I write as I wait to be unlocked. Yesterday, I watched another couple of the lads leave. Steve, who lives not far from my parents, he struggled with his time. Very moody, and even lazier. He lost his cool too many times, and the common consensus is, he'll be back on licence recall quickly. He likes a line the length of a tug of war rope. Joe, the gym, he went too. He was a nice lad, who would have made a really good Listener. And, my own next door neighbor, cell 19, Jay. He came and thanked me for looking after him, and he meant it. I hadn't done much, but in his eyes and his words, he said it was more than he was used to by anyone else. There are plenty of confused, screwed up, broken men in here from the truly evil, to the true rays of hope. This time next week, I should be a Listener, and a new chapter in my HMP life begins. George the careers guy was down yesterday. I've got to amend my application for Open University, but he says it will strengthen it. He's a great guy, dead ringer for George Formby. But unfortunately, we're all on a sinking ship here in prison, and there is no appetite to fund the course fee. Walton knows, and would prefer my next prison to pick up the tab and the hassle. That aside, and undeterred, I've persisted in my pursuit to put a life changing moment to good use. Jeremy, my solicitor, told me before I was sentenced that we will win the appeal without doubt, but it will take 18 months. Those words give me a strength and a drive to soak this up and make something meaningful from it. Hence, the Open University. The seed had been planted back in the early weeks. Jay, the number one Listener, was relaying how his day had been over a game of cards. He mentioned nothing more than a few words, filling in the gaps of a bigger statement. It was about university being mentioned at a governor's meeting, and apparently it's the future and should be encouraged, or at least an option. Lads will be able to go to university from prison. Ironically, the mood music was, it will never happen, from the powers that be. I discussed it with T, and for the past couple of months, I've been trying to enrol for Open Uni. Other than George in my corner, which is limited, I've been deterred, disrupted and derailed, and left with disappointments. The lads thought I was a numpty speaking to the prison careers guy. Just box ticking and nothing happening, and to be fair, they're right. But I see it as a lifeline to progress, and so I've persisted. I'm going nowhere for the foreseeable future. My parents have chronic, if not deathly, illnesses and are limited to travelling. I may feel like an outsider in my own city, but better the devil you know. This is bad, but moving may promise to be better, but end up being worse. Wherever you land next, you're starting from the beginning again. Lots of careers are now over for me, regardless if I win the appeal or not. I have to plan a course that helps me to transition to a new life beyond this mess. But it's been worthwhile as a result of the experience. Open University. is the first step if I'm going to make it to university and a brand new start. I couldn't think of a better use of my time while I'm away. It all makes sense now, like the stars have lined up. Stage one is the access course. Entry level for those without any real qualifications. George, as wonderful as he is, I had a sense, was avoiding me. I hadn't seen anything of him and put it down to no progress with what was happening. In prison, things just don't happen slowly, they just don't happen. To pump life into a flat tyre, I first needed George to reappear. I achieved that by letting the lads down here know, George is amazing. There's all kinds of perks and tricks that can be applied for, and stuff that brings the female staff down. The lads, bit like sharks being fed baby seals. Seven of them from reception signed up for careers. George is thrilled with the figures and the lads' sudden enthusiasm, and I get to see him more regularly without being a pain. These lads are like dogs with a bone and won't let go. I banked on he'll be relieved to chat to me after seeing them. I'm expecting progress, or a ship out. I told him I'm putting an application in to see the governor. One, to affirm my commitment, and two, imagine if a prisoner from Walton went all of the way. I've chosen arts and humanities as my topic.