Episode 35 - Self-Inflicted Death

Self-harming is as common as the cockroaches that appear each evening. The place is infested with self-harming severe mental health issues and men attempting suicide daily, to the entertainment of far too many lads on the wing.

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 35 Self-Inflicted Death. It's the 18th of September, 2016. The topic of conversation is once again the Bentley, the photo, and the damning headlines. As new prisoners enter reception, replacing those either sacked or moving onto the Cat D nirvana, which lads talk about constantly, from the positive stories to dreams of progress on the way to release or horror stories, what's really going on In some places. There's always bullying, although less violence. Working out is always a topic from the sublime to the ridiculous. And home leaves. Some make it sound amazing and straightforward. And those who have previous experience or pals who are there now. Ringing in here on mobile phones and relaying it directly. On the topic of phones, the prison is full of them. Less are coming in through the normal route i.e. plugged. Instead, it's drones delivering them like Amazon parcels. The prison and the prisons plural are in crisis mode throughout the UK. Staff shortages, low morale, and many prisons out of control. This place has over 1200 prisoners, but it's built for half of that. Resources are cut, but the wastage is eye watering. There aren't enough officers to deal with the crisis, and it's worse than firefighting every day and more the case of processing at capacity daily whilst clinging onto a life support machine. New lads in work, the new faces that land on the wing, over in the gym or during haircuts, well, the Bentley in the headlines prompts a flow of questions. I'm dancing this tango on a regular basis. However much fun and laughs I roll with, there is always a sense that someone is lurking with ulterior motives. It feels, once again, that there is a target on my back. It has certainly drawn plenty of unwanted attention. I'm not in the spotlight. I'm under a microscope. Today the Bentley and the headlines were brought up in work countless times. Also in the gym, three times in the gym. I went to the stores and there was a crowd of lads waiting for gear to take back to the wings. The two civvies who were very funny and great to get on with love it when I land. I'm always prime entertainment value for them. They're like Ant and Dec, very cheeky and mischievous, and to be honest, it's refreshing. In the space of 15 minutes, the questions range from, is it yours? Did you own it? What was it like? And why am I sat on the bonnet like a... Well, there were varying comments to that, including a right twat, and where was my head at? The best response I can provide often begins with, guys, guys, you know you shouldn't believe what you read in the press. But yes, I did own it, but that is not it in the photo. With reference to the bloke looking like a twat on it, well, that genuine bloke was actually sat on a desk in real life with other people and in a completely different context. Basically, guys, it was photoshopped by the art department in the office as a laugh. They were always doing stuff like that in the old days. Looky likeys was their number one. The whole office was forever doing them. I used to go berserk, although it could be funny. I felt it could have the potential for being inappropriate or offend, but it was difficult. They all loved them, even though some of them were brutal, of which I had my fair share of brutal. I could be sat in a really important meeting and one would slide under the door, not of me, but of another employee. Magical times when I look back. So, when the police during the investigation found on the Art Department computer and I was later slammed with the seven years, well, it was the perfect opportunity to make me look like a proper twat, and they've taken me down. Smiling Fran, the stores' civvie couldn't resist. Who were your looky likeys G, was the one question that appeared from nowhere, but forced me to pause. It had the effect of pausing the group too. Let's just say some were flattering and some not. Fran could have across me before I could ramble out of it. I'm not arsed about the Clooney ones G. What about the squirmers? Come on, own them. What do you do? What do you say? It's like a cliffhanger with a drum roll. It's all in good fun and this was going to hurt, but better to play it down than talk it up big. Eamonn Holmes. I just remember the key words that punch through and plenty of the lads had something to say from, Brutal. Ouch. I can't see it... to, who's Eamonn Holmes? That received an even worse response from Jerry, aka Dec. He's some fat Irish fella on the TV of a morning. Looks nothing like G, but as such, insulting. So funny, but so true. For a moment if I closed my eyes, I could have been back in the office. It's Tuesday the 20th of September. This morning there was a gathering, sort of celebration, 25 years of the Listeners programme in prison run by the Samaritans. I could write endlessly about the depths of despair prisoners are enduring daily in here. They're lost, alone, and abandoned by the prison system. Self-harming is as common as cockroaches that appear each evening. The place is infested with self-harming severe mental health issues and men attempting suicide daily, mainly to the entertainment of far too many lads on the wing. You might as well put a sign on the Governor's door saying, Do Not Disturb. For me, it leaves a bitter taste in the mouth when the number one Governor has the gall to stand on his feet and say to everyone in the chapel, when someone commits suicide, they call it self-inflicted death. It is I who visits the family. It's not an easy job, let me tell you, but I can visit those families and tell them with confidence that everything that could have been done, was done. He repeated this as part of the Listeners' speech. As I looked out of the chapel window, the view resembled a fly tipping site. It's a publicly run organization and we live like gutter rats in fear of our lives, and the Governor is without doubt responsible for it. I'm the first in line to support the Listeners and Samaritans and there are some officers who J says helped save him during the early couple of years, but it's delusional and blinkers on when the number one Governor is walking around the place. It's like a war zone burning all around us. You might as well say, can anyone smell the roses, when the reality is that everything is diseased and rotting. How I did not stand up in front of everyone and call him out I do not know. I feel very strongly on this. Last night in the paper, HMP was criticized for two deaths by suicide, and a day later he has the gall to jump on the bandwagon and grab some positive photos and headlines. The Listeners service is fine in principle, but it's impossible to implement. And the Llisteners I experience are all helping of their own volition rather than being helped or assisted or encouraged by HMP. I suppose that's what makes me feel sick to the core. The Governor is the problem, a hypocrite and not fit for purpose, but worse, there is a lad dead. I was there. No officer helped, no one. The kid died a desperate, lonely death after warning staff he was suicidal. The Governor had the audacity to let the kid's parents visit inside here so they could see how he was looked after whilst here. They were stood in front of me. I had to listen to, we did everything we could. It was a sham, a coverup, and to be honest, I feel ashamed that I didn't have the courage to speak out. It was wrong on every level. Death, self-harming, violence, brutal attacks, and a mental health epidemic all being covered up. And the Governor has the gall to say everything possible was done. A week ago I was being sent to Haverigg because I am a good prisoner, no hassle, and over 35 and because it will help give a better image to the place, stats wise in particular. The rumor today is that it's about to close with immediate effect. Apparently it's out of control and unable to be run safely or securely. This is not jail gossip. No. It's officers telling me candidly. Some of the stories leaked out are next level of depravity stuff. There's raping, men on men, drugs parties, weird shit all filmed on mobile phones. I'd heard months ago about the stabbings and turf wars, but today's news is primeval stuff. This is the second prison in weeks announcing it's closing. Kennet was the other. Ask yourself this, w hy aren't the police involved? Where are the politicians on the topic and why is it not on the mainstream news? HMP is being protected like many public sector departments. When rape is now as regular as suicide than what should be done? What is being done? Apparently the footage is already out on the web. Violent attacks happen every day here. To be fair to officers, there just aren't enough of them, especially the experienced kind, sometimes only one or two in charge on a wing. It's madness as well as extremely dangerous. The only solution is banging prisoners up for longer. Containment. Ironically, it is the abuse of containment that accelerates many of the other problems and issues. Treat people like vermin, cage them like wild animals, and what do you receive back as a result? For all of the horrors that surround me, I care and I cannot turn my back on people, even those who wrong me. The Glumster is being a real pain presently, and he needs to move up to Cat D dream sooner rather than later. It is hard to describe in words how a grown up man can act like an out of control moody teenager. But the content is incredible. I returned tonight from work to two surprises shoved under the door. The first was hilarious, a printed photo of Eamonn Holmes. It had to have come from either Ant or Dec or Smurf somehow made it happen, although he hasn't owned up to it, but he hasn't stopped laughing and I never told him the story. The second surprise was from my daughter. She'd sent me an email from her holiday via email@prisoner.com. It made me swell with emotion upon top bunk as I read it. T's cards and letters often have the same effect. You may be surprised to hear, but strangely, I have one thing to be grateful for from the judge. By providing us with this awful, horrendous, debilitating experience it's allowed us to feel the power of what true love really means, is. Anger and bitterness have no place in mine or T's life. No. It's corrosive. In my darkest hour I feel only love and know that I am loved.