Episode 42 - Extreme Days + Dramatic Nights

The local BBC news is outside the prison, and officers are striking outside. It's chaos beyond the door and we're subjected to Christmas ads playing every 12 minutes on TV, on almost every channel.

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

@talesfromthejailspodcast

@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 42 Extreme Days Dramatic Nights We were up early this morning. News was on by 6.35. Little did we know we were part of a small but significant piece of history in the making. The morning began pretty much the same as usual. Leap off top bunk, kettle on, news on, coffee made, news watched, bathroom, then a patient wait for the door to be unlocked. Then off to make the morning love call. After speaking to T, it feels like a shot of adrenaline and easier to face the unpredictable grind. However, by 8.20, my instincts screamed, we're in for a big day. The door was not unlocked and neither were there any officers on the wing. 9 o'clock and still no show. Anything is possible in here. The number one speculation is that pads are being spun because of the drone activity last night. I swear the only thing missing was the Mission Impossible music playing. Firstly, there is the unmistakable sound of the propellers whirring. They fly in, hover for a moment, then move, and then hover again. Even if we cannot see it from the broken window in the en suite, you can visualise its movements and manoeuvres purely by the sound. Last night was more like squadrons of them. The place is flooded with all kinds of drugs, phones and weapons. The lack of staff, especially at night, is leaving prisons across the country vulnerable to increasing drone drop-offs. The package, or parcel as the lads like to call them, just hangs from a line and is easily hooked in from the lads in the cell. It's fascinating entertainment when it's early on, normally between 10 and midnight. But lately they've been as late as 3 and 4 in the morning. Last night it was just gone 10. Macca said they must have been watching I'm a Celebrity. It's presently number one in here. So funny, listening to the lads talk about it, it's like prison Gogglebox. Last night was also another small piece of history. It was a supermoon. Apparently the closest since 1948. Well, that's what it said on the news. Macca is a heavy sleeper. The sound from the drones is almost a lullaby. And once he's gone, he isn't waking for anything. He sleeps through the lights on moments halfway through the night, misses the soundscape that often emanates from the block for hours. Honestly, you would think he was on heavyweight sleeping pills, only that I know he isn't. Me? I toss and turn, have a bad back, frozen shoulder and a lively mind. It's 9.20. Can you believe it, a prison memo posted under our cell door, it's industrial action. We were in lockdown and would remain so until further notice. We put the news back on. The reporter said that the action was historic. We knew there would be no escaping to work today. Macca said, this my friend, is real jail. The 10 o'clock news was live with Rolf, with footage of him outside Pentonville prison. We heard an officer before telling our neighbour through the door that prison on TV had been the final straw. To him and the majority of officers it was sickening to watch the mobile phone footage taken inside the prison, which had gone viral on the web and social media. Rolf has said on the news that his officers aren't safe, and that two officers had been responsible for 120 lads on a wing, and this was unacceptable. I've been writing about this stuff for months. Disappointingly, as a result we are suffering as we're caught up between the politics of the unions and the standoffs with the Government. Apparently prison officers are not allowed to strike, and that's why this is historic. Absolutely no one gives a fuck about inmates, as if things could not get any worse. The irony was that the news told us more than the memo, which I noted said'I', as in the Governor, but wasn't signed by him. The blame thrower was out before five past 10 on the news. In here it's not restless, but chaos and mayhem, now that our fellow inmates know what's going on. Worse though, for the lads with parcels delivered last night, is that the goods are still stuck in the pad, and that's a head fuck inside a pressure cooker for the recipient. Lads are shouting obscenities now, mixed with cries for toilet rolls, which was really just an opportunity to find out what was going on. This is quickly drowned out by the banging, screaming, and madness that erupts. It's ten past 10 in the morning, T will be gutted I haven't made a love call and worried too, even though she's become accustomed to it of late. A real prison widow. Hopefully she's caught some of it on the news or on the way to work, or she's probably tried to call in, although no one's manning the phones at this end. Even though the place has erupted into a frenzy, time still passes slowly. Lunch is normally between 1130 and noon. It's the barometer of all prisons. Food and mealtimes are the obsession of prisoners and prison officers. There are lads behind the door who don't have a kettle. They haven't been able to get out of their cells for some hot water just to make a brew. Noon. Still no food and the place has gone nuclear. It's more aggressive and far more disturbing now. Lads who are not used to getting their own way appear to be the loudest and most violent and wound up, and the no food show is the spark needed for combustion. Lads aren't just angry. They're psychotic. Half the wing, so half the proportionality of half the prison, will not have eaten since five o'clock last night. It was 10 to two when we heard the noise out on the wing. Civvies from somewhere calling door to door, distributing food. We've no idea what it is yet, but a really sweet, polite young woman can be heard asking cell to cell, is anybody a vegetarian? It's madness. Filth and baseness is being hurled at them from the lads behind the doors, and they're just politely handing out the food. It's quite sickening. Whoever these people are, they're feeding us and this is how they're being treated. It's shameful as much as it's disgusting. To our surprise, a female Governor unlocked our door. The chaplain was stood behind her. Macca and I seized the opportunity to ask polite questions as she delivered lunch. A goodie bag containing a sandwich, a packet of fake crisps, a Twix, and an orange that looked like it had been left on the shelf for a week. She knew us from reception, and I get on great with the chaplain. My question was simple. Do you think we'll get out later so I can use the phone? Her face said more than the one word answer. Unlikely. Then she asked us if we were on a visit, because if we were, they've been cancelled, so batten down the hatches for a bumpy ride. With that, she locked us back up. The chaplain didn't even get a chance to ask us if we were all right. That was quite awkward. Visits cancelled, no phones or contact with the outside world. The only meaningful contact we have and BOOM. One of the lads has just found out visits has been cancelled. More surprises. The local BBC news is outside the prison, and officers are striking outside the prison. That's surreal. They'll be gutted when they see this. Not very flattering. And the whole of the city knowing you're a prison officer, where are their heads at? Beyond the door the female Governor is on the receiving end of substantial abuse, a sign the lads have gone way beyond caring about consequences. I think she must be hesitant by now, opening the doors to serve dodgy food and bad news all round. There are significant risks and implications at play. What if an inmate has a stroke or a heart attack? What happens if they go to war with each other in the cell? What happens if there's a fire? The national industrial action could have fatal consequences for an inmate. Also, the court trials have been stopped and no legal visits. They're cancelled. Unprecedented the Governor has called it. The thing I often think is why or how would you let your wife or daughter work in such a wretched place? It's a corrosive career. Lads in Cat D will also be in lockdown. No Nirvana there today. Instead, it's Cat D blues. No visits, no workouts, and no home leaves. That will be a proper head fuck. It's 5.35. Oh my God. The place is rioting. All behind the doors and contained, but on the verge of a full scale meltdown. Our evening meal has not yet arrived. And if it does, I fear for the people delivering it, especially the abuse they're going to receive. This is really intimidating stuff right here and right now. Incredible but true,my pad mate is sleeping like a snoring baby,oblivious to the pandemonium that surrounds us. Thankfully, I've got enough porridge for a couple of days, milk and coffee too. I make the porridge with hot water and my pad mate has kindly given me a bag of raisins and sultanas. They transform the porridge. We're not showered, and a sink wash will be the closest thing to it. Another crazy update. The Governor is saying that the action is unauthorised. It's a dead cert officers will be in the pub after a tough day's action in front of the press. The irony is, we're in lockdown and officers are swilling pints in jubilant spirits. Imagine being banged up in a cell all day. It's chaos beyond the door and you're subject to Christmas ads playing every 12 minutes on TV, on almost every channel. Even the news talks about it. Chaos aside, England plays Spain tonight and it's on TV, as long as the power does not go off,lads trying to charge mobile phones and fucking it up for everyone. At least the match is something to look forward to. It's been a long, slow day in cell 3-17. The uncertainty adds to the anxiety, and we have no idea what's going on, how long we'll be kept like this. It seems strange contemplating that the old routine, no matter how frenetic, somehow seems appealing right now. T will have left work now and probably trying to find out what's going on. Her and thousand of loved ones all over the country will be worried sick. They're aware that in prisons like this, it's a daily powder keg and prolonged lockdowns create violence and mayhem. Not to mention the mental and emotional stress inmates are enduring. The lads on meds are going berserk. No service so far. This is bad, screaming, where's my fucking meds? One actually shouted, if I die, I'm fucking suing you. One lad is butting the door and at least four have smashed the glass in the flap. You can hear the shatter out on the landing. Can you believe it, it's 6.40 and no one has been fed. We're two hours overdue and the BBC have just announced that the action is over for now. An officer has suddenly appeared on the wing and to be fair, he's taking the time to visit each door and speak to the lads. He's getting more grief over the no food show than anything. Much worse than the girls suffered earlier. Oh, the lads are raging. No meds is being raised a lot. We can hear it from our cell. The toilet rolls are an issue too. Imagine, this is happening in prisons everywhere. An 85,000 prison population in chaos. Meltdown, rioting, no meds, no food. Suddenly there's a cheer and I can hear a food trolley rattling onto the wing. Another cell by cell delivery. We're at the far end, so served last. We can hear a couple of officers and civvy staff. The closer they get, the worse the abuse. Honestly, it's a cross between an asylum and a zoo. Maybe officers suddenly feel they should have stayed on strike. Then from nowhere, the waft of green. If I closed my eyes, it could have been an Amsterdam coffee shop. So funny. It must be getting sucked out onto the wing when the officer opens the door. Lads are making comments, shout outs. Imagine if you've run out of burn or tobacco. It's a complete head fuck. Mr. O unlocked the door and the abuse outside flooded into our cell like it was surround sound off each bare wall. For as caustic as it was, he was handling it pretty well and still managed to have a sense of humour. Chicken, cheese, or veggie? Sandwiches that is. No brown bread, I'm afraid G. Mars bars and a banana, courtesy of the Governor. Business as usual tomorrow. Come on England! And banged up again. Oh my God, England have just scored a penalty, Lallana, 10 minutes into the game. Didn't even get a chance to see the replay, and click. The power went off.