Jeffrey Archer: Heaven

Eventually, all seven new inductees turn up. Mr Gough welcomes us, and begins by saying that as most prisoners spend less than three months at NSC, the officers aim to make our time as civilized as possible while they prepare us for returning to the outside world. Mr Gough explains that at NSC anyone can abscond. It’s all too easy as there are no walls to keep you in. ‘But if you do decide to leave us, please remember to leave your room key on your pillow.’ He’s not joking.

He then tells us about a young man, who absconded sixteen hours before he was due to be released. He was picked up in Boston the following morning and transferred to a C-cat, where he spent a further six weeks. Point taken.

Mr Gough takes us through the jobs that are available for all prisoners under the age of sixty, pointing out that over half the inmates work on the farm. The other half can enrol for education, or take on the usual jobs in the kitchen, or painting, gardening or as a cleaner.

Mr Gough ends by telling us that we all have to abide by a ‘no drugs policy’. Refusing to sign the three documents stating you are not on drugs and will agree at any time to a voluntary drugs test will rule you out of becoming ‘enhanced’ in eight weeks’ time. Enhancement allows you a further £5 a week to spend in the canteen, along with several other privileges. To a question, Mr Gough replies, ‘Wearing your own clothes is not permitted in an open prison as it would make absconding that much easier.’ However, I did notice that Doug (tax evasion) was wearing a green T-shirt and brown slacks held up by the most outrageous Walt Disney braces. There’s always someone who finds a way round the system.

I happily sign all of Mr Gough’s drug forms and am then sent upstairs to be interviewed by another officer. Mr Donnelly not only looks like a farmer, but is also dressed in green overalls and wearing Wellington boots. No wonder the place is so dirty. He appears keen for me to join him on the farm, but I explain (on Doug’s advice) that I would like to be considered for Matthew’s job as SMU orderly. He makes a note, and frowns.

12 noon

After ten weeks locked up in Wayland and always being handed a plate of food, I can’t get used to helping myself. One of the kitchen staff laughs when I pass over my plate and expect to be served. ‘A clear sign you’ve just arrived from a closed prison,’ he remarks. ‘Welcome to the real world, Jeff.’

After lunch, Dean takes me across to view the more secluded, quieter south block, which is at the far end of the prison and houses the older inmates. [1]Here, there is a totally different atmosphere.

Dean shows me an empty room, large by normal standards, about twenty by eight feet, with a window that looks out over the bleak North Sea. He explains that the whole spur is in the process of redecoration and is scheduled to reopen on Monday. In-cell electricity (ICE) will be added, and all rooms will eventually have a television. On our way back to the north block, an officer informs me that the principal officer, Mr New, wants to see me immediately. I’m nervous. What have I done wrong? Is he going to send me back to Wayland?

PO New is in his late forties, around five feet eleven, with a shock of thick white hair. He greets me with a warm smile. ‘I hear you want to work at SMU?’ he says, and before I can reply adds, ‘You’ve got the job. As Matthew is leaving in four weeks’ time, you’d better start straight away so there can be a smooth takeover.’ I’ve hardly got the words thank you out before he continues, ‘I hear you want to move to the south block, which I’m sure will be possible, and I’m also told you want to be transferred to Spring Hill, which,’ he adds, ‘will not be quite as easy, because they don’t want you and the attendant publicity that goes with you.’ My heart sinks. ‘However,’ he says, again before I can respond, ‘if that’s what you want, I’ll have a word with my opposite number at Spring Hill and see if she can help.’

Once Mr New has completed his discourse, we go downstairs to meet Matthew, the current orderly. Matthew is a shy young man, who has a lost, academic air about him. I can’t imagine what he’s doing in prison. Despite Mr New talking most of the time, Matthew manages to tell me what his responsibilities are, from making tea and coffee for the eleven occupants of the building, through to preparing induction files for every prisoner. He’s out on a town leave tomorrow, so I will be thrown in at the deep end.

4.45 pm

Dean grabs my laundry bag and then accompanies me to supper, explaining that orderlies have the privilege of eating on their own thirty minutes ahead of all the other inmates.

‘You get first choice of the food,’ he adds, ‘and as there are about a dozen of us,’ (hospital, stores, reception, library, gym, education, chapel and gardens; it’s quite a privilege). All this within twenty-four hours isn’t going to make me popular.

5.30 am

I wake a few minutes after five and go for a pee in the latrine at the end of the corridor. Have you noticed that when you’re disoriented, or fearful, you don’t go to the lavatory for some time? There must be a simple medical explanation for this. I didn’t ‘open my bowels’ – to use the doctor’s expression – for the first five days at Belmarsh, the first three days at Wayland and so far ‘no-go’ at NSC.

8.00 am

Dean turns up to take me to breakfast. I may not bother in future, as I don’t eat porridge, and it’s hardly worth the journey for a couple of slices of burnt toast. Dean warns me that the press are swarming all over the place, and large sums are being offered for a photo of me in prison uniform. Should they get a snap, they will be disappointed to find me strolling around in a T-shirt and jeans. No arrows, no number, no ball and chain.

8.45 am

At reception, I ask Mr Daff if it would be possible to have a clean T-shirt, as my wife is visiting me this afternoon.

‘Where do you think you fuckin’ are, Archer, fuckin’ Harrods?’

9.00 am

As a new prisoner, I continue my induction course. My first meeting this morning is in the gym. We all assemble in a small Portacabin and watch a ten minute black-and-white video on safety at work. The instructor concentrates on lifting, as there are several jobs at NSC that require you to pick up heavy loads, not to mention numerous prisoners who will be pumping weights in the gym. Mr Masters, the senior gym officer, who has been at NSC for nineteen years, then gives us a guided tour of the gym and its facilities. It is not as large or well equipped as Wayland, but it does have three pieces of cardiovascular kit that will allow me to remain fit – a rowing machine, a step machine and a bicycle. The gym itself is just large enough to play basketball, whereas the weights room is about half the size of the one at Wayland. The gym is open every evening except Monday from 5.30 pm to 7.30 pm, so you don’t have (grunt, grunt – the pigs are having breakfast) to complete the programme in a given hour. I hope to start this weekend, by which time I should have found my way around (grunt, grunt). Badminton is the most popular sport, and although NSC has a football team, the recent foot-and-mouth problems have played havoc when it comes to being allowed out onto the pitch (grunt, grunt).

9.30 am

Education. We all meet in the chapel. The education officer takes us through the various alternatives on offer. Most of the new inmates sit sulkily in their chairs, staring blankly at her. As I have already been allocated a job as the SMU orderly, I listen in respectful silence, and once she’s finished her talk, report back to my new job.