Some news - lots of thoughts

This week we have news! And the news is on a par with the arrival of Halley's Comet, an eclipse of the sun and Ian Paisley speaking civilly to a Republican. In fact, it would be safe to say that this sort of news is as rare as rocking-horse dung.

The news is about the appeal! I had a letter yesterday (Friday 24th July) from Mr Campbell Malone in which he tells me that the C.C.R.C. have written to both himself and myself to inform us that we have now been allocated a Case Review Manager and, according to Mister Malone, the manager in question is a worthy, capable and thorough fellow - which I am delighted to hear. As yet I have not received my letter from the C.C.R.C., so perhaps it has been sent to my previous establishment of H.M.P. Whitemoor. Whether they send it on to me is another matter.

Mr Malone asks me if I have asked the C.C.R.C. to consider any matters other than those listed in the original application. I don't know - I haven't had the letter to check yet. I wonder if I have asked the C.C.R.C. to consider anything which I haven't yet told Mr Malone about. I don't know. I think I asked the C.C.R.C. to examine my website, because there is an awful lot of stuff on there they may find interesting in connection with the appeal. However, never having seen the website myself, I can't actually direct them to anything in particular, just to the site in general. Will this Case Review Manager be diligent and examine it all? I don't know. I hope so.

All of that notwithstanding, the news is that we have progress on the appeal front and that simply HAS to be good news.

Secondly, I had a letter from Mike Pemberton who deals with all of the internal prison stuff - Category Reviews, Sentence Planning, Parole Board hearings and so on. He is setting about the task of having me transferred to a Category B prison - at least he will ask the Powers-That-Be, which is not the same as having any success. It took me twenty-three years to get off the Category A, so to get a sensible move may take just as long - the Ministry of Justice may not be too kindly disposed towards an upstart who has had the temerity to challenge them in the High Court. I may have to pay for that with more years of stonewalling - but we shall see.

So I sit here and ponder, something which I have grown quite accustomed to doing over the years. It is supposed to be good for the mind and soul apparently - they even have courses to teach prisoners how to ponder. As William Henry Davies put it:

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

The point is that we have got some movement with the C.C.R.C. and that has to be welcome news.

Finally, I am sitting here before this decrepit old typewriter and searching in the midden of my mind for a pithy quote to end with, and nothing is coming - the mind produceth zilch! So I thought I would just throw in one from Herbert Spencer apropos nothing at all:

How often misused words generate misleading thoughts.

The Voice In The Wilderness

Numbnuts the Dragon Chaser

There is no further news this week - about anything at all really! In fact the only thing I have had from anyone or anywhere this week is the official notification of my downgrading - and THAT came via my solicitor and not from any official source. To be fair - and we all know that I am fair if nothing else - to be fair, they have promised that full reasons for my downgrading will be issued later in the month.

I shall look forward to that.

So, absolutely zilch to report - nada, zero, nuffink, nowt, as they say in Yorkshire.

However, I have an interesting tale to tell which is connected. Earlier in the past week I was sitting here, in my little bedsit (government designed of course) and banging away at my typewriter, as I do every day. Well, it keeps me off the streets.

Someone tapped on my cell door, shoved their head inside and said, "Frank, can I have a word with you?"

I turned to see who dared enter the bailliwick of this brand new category B prisoner. I saw a fellow - and at this stage I have to say that I cannot use his name. It is verboten, forbidden, not allowed, proscribed. Well, we have to consider the privacy laws - much as the police do when they kick someone's front door in with their size twelves at the crack of dawn. But let's not be vindictive here.

No, I cannot use this fellow's name so I have to think of a nickname which suits him. I shall call him either The Great Pretender or Numbnuts the Dragon Chaser. I think we will use the latter, it fits him nicely.

So, I regard his ravaged countenance and say, "'What can I do for you, Numbnuts the Dragon Chaser?"

He comes in and parks himself on my bed. "Frank," says he, just to help me out a bit in case I have forgotten my name, after all, I'm getting on a bit now. "Frank," says he, "you know this case you have just won, can it help me at all?"

"Who knows?" said I.

He doesn't listen - the dragon-hunting fraternity never do. He says, "I've been in jail nearly as long as you and I'm still Cat. A. My case is just the same as yours."

"Ah!" said I, " Not quite."

"It is," he argues. "I'm denying everything so they can't ask me to do any courses and... "

"Numbnuts," said I, stopping his flow, "there's a big difference between avoiding courses and actually being innocent. Besides, I've done courses. I've done full Offending Behaviour Group courses, and that's not counting the education I've done and all the rest of it."

"Yeah," said he, not listening still, "but I've been a Cat. A for..."

I stopped him. Had enouqh of him to be honest. "Look," said I and wagged a finger, "I'm going to tell you the facts of life here, Numbnuts, and it's up to you whether you listen or not. I don't give a shit personally. You are bang at it on the smack, everybody knows - you have been for years. I've lost count of the times you have been moved from prison to prison, under very controversial circumstances to say the least. You need to face reality, mate. Until you stop taking that shit, you are going nowhere. And I'm not talking about stopping for five minutes, you'll need between five and ten years clear, no trouble. But you won't see that, will you? I don't give a toss what you do, none of my affair, but if you want to go home, you need to take notice of what I am saying."

"I've got a parole hearing soon," said he. "I think I'll get it."

Ah! The logic of a dragon-chaser. They can convince themselves of anything - apart from reality and the facts. Oh well, he is over twenty-one, he can make his own mind up and go to buggery in any way he sees fit I suppose, but I'm not about to waste time or effort to help him.

I said, "I haven't got the wording of any judgements. All I've got is the court order, and as far as I know that's only on my website, I don't have a copy here."

"Have you got a website?" he asked. "I never knew that. I'm going to get one."

Oh dear, no matter what anyone says to a Fellow of the Dragon Quest, he will instantly adopt it.

Well he went off about his business - maybe he heard a lonely dragon crying somewhere in the distance - and I sat and thought about it. Nobody is doing a thing about this problem - the men with the monkey on their back. Oh they pay lip service but they are actually doing sweet bugger-all. If it took me all of these years to get a bit of progress, what chance have fellows like Numbnuts the Dragon Chaser got?

The Voice In The Wilderness

I'm going to feed Machiavelli's ducks!

By now it will be known, by those who are interested, that I am no longer a Category 'A' prisoner but have been downgraded to a Category 'B'.

This time last week, the Secretary of State considered me far too dangerous to be allowed to sleep right through the night without Florence Nightingale waking me every five minutes just to make sure I hadn't departed my cell via the window, or some other self-made aperture. I could not prove that my levels of dangerousness had reduced to where I no longer had to have my cell searched every 28 days to make sure that I was not creating some device for tunnelling to Australia.

But now, I am no longer considered to be a danger to the public, the police or national security should I escape. Everyone can now sleep soundly in their beds, the police can go about their affairs without worrying about me turning up in some dark alley to ambush them and, of course, Special Branch can take me off their Christmas card list.

So what has happened in the meantime to reduce my levels of danger? The answer is quite simple - absolutely bugger-all.

The only reason I have been removed from the 'A' list is the precise same reason I was on it in the first place - convenience. It will be remembered that my solicitor challenged the Prison Service in the Queen's Bench Division on their decision not to hold an oral hearing into my category. That was in March of this year, and the Secretary of State lost the case - he had to hold an oral hearing into my category. Of course he appealed, on the rather odd grounds (amongst others) that to grant me an oral hearing - as laid down by law - could create a constitutional crisis. Well, I've said all I intend to say about constitutions.

The Secretary of State appealed the decision by HHJ Jarman and the appeal went before The Master of the Rolls, Lord Justice Scott Baker, and Lady Justice Smith on Wednesday 24th June 2009. The matter was between The Queen on the Application of Wilkinson - the Respondent/Claimant - and the Secretary of State for Justice - the Appellant/Defendant. It was held in Court 71, appeal number C1/2009/0816, and it took a mere fifty minutes for the court to decide:

The Appellant's application to proceed with the appeal is refused.

That's that then. The court ruled in my favour and THAT is why I have been deemed as no longer dangerous - because the Secretary of State doesn't want others asking for oral hearings; not because of any constitutional cobblers, but because holding oral hearings would be inconvenient and too much trouble for those who deal with these things. It's as simple as that really. Actually, I really did want a judgement so that others COULD use it as grounds for their own cases, but that has heen neatly sidestepped of course.

Well, their reasoning is quite simple and at the same time Machiavellian:

If we take him off the cat 'A' then the problem simply goes away!

And that is what they have done. Dangerousness or otherwise has nothing at all to do with it - never has had.

So, now I have to think about what happens next because being out of the Category 'A' system I no longer come under the Secretary of State or his minions in the matter of where I go to, what prison. Put it this way - I can now make progress.

So where do I go to? Being retired and medically unfit for any sort of work, I cannot go to a Category 'B' Training prison, that would make no sense at all. I have to go to a retirement prison and, as far as I know, there is only one in the country - Kingston in Portsmouth. So, that's the next step I suppose, to ask to go to Kingston. I understand they've got a duck pond there - I'd better start to save up my crusts.

The Voice In The Wilderness

Progress!

Today (Wednesday July 1st 2009) at about four-fifteen in the afternoon, I was sitting in my cell at my typewriter, banging away at 'An Abuse of Justice' as I slowly melted in the heat, when a little voice behind me said, "Frank!"

I turned to see my personal officer, a very nice young woman, who is invariably nice to all she speaks to and who seems to smile easily, an asset in this world of gloom and depression. I like her. She has that rare affliction found in very few - a sense of humour.

"What?" said I in my best James Cagney voice.

"I've been told to tell you that you have been downgraded," said she, smiling.

Why smile? I presumed I had been downgraded from an Enhanced status to a Standard prisoner [i.e. on the Incentives and Earned Privileges Scheme]. There was no reason I could see for such a downgrading, but everything can be expected when we deal with the prison service - the more unnecessary a thing is, the more likely it is too.

However, before I could say anything, she went on, "You have been downgraded to a Cat 'B' so you are off the Cat 'A'."

"What?" said I, great conversationalist that I am.

"I've just been told," said she. "I'll go and get you a new cell card."

Well, there's a turn up for the books. And of course it has immense ramifications in a lot of areas. Now I can have visits from anyone I like without them being security cleared, if I had that desire. I will no longer be woken every five minutes by the night fellow checking to see if I have escaped since the last time he looked. There will be less security directed at me. I could apply for a job of trust in the library, if I weren't retired.

Most important, I can now ask to go to a Cat 'B' prison. Of course, being retired, no Cat 'B' training prison will want me because they are all working jails. No, I only have the one option - Kingston in Portsmouth. A place for geriatric old duffers like me. A place where they feed the ducks and call it sport.

All of the arguments, in the High Court and elsewhere, are all academic now - redundant, finito, over. I have no idea why they should choose this particular time to downgrade me, and I'm not going to look any gift horses in the mouth, but I will wonder about it.

Whatever the reason, and some would say it should have happened fifteen years ago, I am now a Category 'B' prisoner, one of the lesser creatures in the pond, and, as such, I am now allowed to make some sort of progress.

I just thought you'd like to know.

The Voice In The Wilderness

An expert assessment

'Risk Assessment' - a wonderful activity being carried out these days in all sorts of areas and for all manner of purposes. The general practice seems to be that experts in whatever field (and, let's face it, some of them belong in fields) gather together the facts on a particular subject, consider, and then produce an assessment before which the rest of us plebs fall on our knees to worship at the shrine of their wisdom and perspicacity.

Mind, they have to be sure they get their facts right or their finished assessment is about as much good as a chocolate fireguard.

Prison is no exception. But, while they have the general idea, they have decided to cut corners drastically so don't bother with using experts. They use trainee experts instead, who are supposed to be scrutinised by experts as they carry out their alchemy, but of course never are. Nor are there any checks to ensure that the facts are right to begin with - and one small error at the start of any assessment can have catastrophic consequences at the end. However, undaunted by this, they go ahead merrily on their assessments, ticking boxes like lunatics and telling the public what a wonderful job of rehabilitating prisoners they are doing.

This approach might help explain why they seem to be getting it wrong all the time! Not only are the reoffending levels rising, but for those who have completed such courses identified as necessary by the risk assessments, they are higher than for those who haven't.

Recently, I had a conversation with a youngish fellow who told me that he had done all of the courses and, because of that, he expected to be moved to a Category 'C' prison very soon. Once there, he would quickly get himself released, and he had his future all planned out: he would buy a bit of 'gear' (drugs) from some friends of a fellow he had met in jail, and within six months would be a millionaire.

I asked him if he had told the authorities of this plan during his assessments.

"No man! I ain't no fool! I tell them me is going to get a job and settle down with my baby mudder!"

What can I add to that?

So now we come to my own assessment. For years and years they were insisting that I needed to take part in a basic education course. I have three degrees, but it took about four years to get the assessors to actually check with education about that.

Okay, they decided to stop asking me to learn how to read and write.

Then, "We require you to take an Enhanced Thinking Skills course."

I produced certificates and essays, tracts and various writings which caused them to admit, after a few more years, that I did not require an E.T.S. course.

"We need to teach you about Victim Awareness!"

"Done it."

"Consequences!"

"Done it."

"Patterns of Offending!"

"Done it."

"Attitudes to Crime!"

"Done it."

"Excuses, Risks, etcetera etcetera."

"Done em."

"Controlling Anger and Learning to Manage it!"

Right, let us consider the last twenty-three years of simply banging my head against a brick wall with none of them listening to a word I say and yet, I have not become angry or lost the plot. Everyone says I am a calm fellow who is a calming influence on the more volatile.

I could go on, but I think my general drift is clear, or at least should be to those with more than one working brain cell. It is not apparently clear to the experts who are running the prison service. They deal with real things, like tick-boxes. Well, you know where you are with a tick in a box - you can see it, it's there, it is evidence!

Evidence of what? Evidence that there is a tick in a box, that's all. It says nothing at all about the prisoner. What can give a proper picture of a prisoner is to speak to those who know him, those who deal with him on a daily basis and who observe his behaviour. THAT'S where the real evidence comes from. However, those people are ignored and, instead, faceless individuals sit in their ivory towers, checking to see what boxes have been given a tick and, of course, making assessments.

Just think, if I could create a crystal ball, I would be invited to join them in their ivory towers and then I too could rip the arse out of the public by telling them that I could predict the future - and get a huge salary for doing so. No, wait a minute, if I could predict the future I would buy a lottery ticket! I wonder how many of the experts and assessors buy lottery tickets - and, more to the point, how many of them have actually won anything...

Oh yes, and apparently I am incapable of abstract thought. That's nice to know.

The Voice In The Wilderness

Playing with themselves

I had a Risk Assessment Management Board (RAM Board) scheduled for 2:30 pm on Tuesday 9th June - mind, when I got there it had miraculously been transformed into a Sentence Planning Board, but perhaps the two are interchanqeable. Whatever it Was, I had it on Tuesday afternoon, although it started at almost three in the afternoon, lasted ten minutes and I got thrown out at the end. Not that it matters - I've been thrown out of better places than that SOBER!

When I went in, I found myself in front of a typical prison board. They DO like their intimidatory tactics of the long table, the array of forces with their piles of folders stacked against the poor con - all that kind of gammon.

There was a young female officer who introduced herself as the Chairman of the Board - an S.O. with neither experience nor qualifications, but who am I to carp? Next to her, another young girl who introduced herself as the person taking the minutes! She had a trainee sitting next to her and I can only presume that the trainee was there to make the numbers up. Next to her sat an officer from my wing, not my personal officer of course, that would be silly because it would make sense and the prison service don't do sense. My personal officer had been sent off to one of the workshops. Going around the table the other way, starting at the Chairman, there sat another woman who introduced herself as the representative of the education department. Finally, there was a governor who introduced himself as the Head of Offender Management, Mr Sidney. My first question has to be - if there is a governor available, why isn't he chairing the fiasco?

So, I got sat down and the chairman/woman/girl asked me what my plan was for the next year? It irritates me when people speak to me as though I am a new boy or a tourist or something - patronising isn't the word.

I said, "I don't understand the question."

She said, "Well, we are here to decide on the next year..."

"I thought you were."

She ignored that. "...for your sentence plan!"

"I've got a sentence plan," said I. "I've had it for twenty-three years."

"What's that?"

"To go home," I answered. "What's your plan?"

At this point, the governor decided that more authority was needed because clearly I did not have my hat in my hands and my lips were not pursed in readiness to kiss any arses. I wasn't conforming to the norm for prisoners. Well, the governor and I started to argue ahout how I am clearly not a person who will accept things at face value and when I said, "I've been in jail twenty-three years mate, I'm not impressed", he said, "I've been in the job thirty-three years!" I came back with, "Yes, but you went home every single night. I haven't been home in twenty-three years. There's a difference."

Anyway, they threw me out and the governor threatened to come and see me the next day, Wednesday. It is Saturday now and I am still waiting. What will he have to say? Not much as far as I can see, and he has clearly realised that himself - that's why he hasn't turned up. They haven't even bothered to threaten me over the incident, not a word said.

Could it be that they are finally getting the message that I am sick to the back teeth of their games and I'm not playing any more? From now on, they will have to play their tick-box games on their own, without me. They will have to play the game with themselves - and, as every schoolboy knows, there is a name for people who play with themselves.

The Voice in the Wilderness

Thinking - that's what ticks my box

This week there is news, of a sort. I have been given a document from the Public Protection Unit of the National Offender Management Service which informs me, among other things, that I have yet another parole hearing in June of next year, 2010. I am told that the timing will enable me to:

• Be assessed for CALM (Controlling Anger and Learning to Manage it)
• Be assessed by a psychologist

Ah - therein lies the rub! Considering that I have now been here two months, after a very unseemly transfer from Whitemoor, it seems a bit curious to me that the psychology people here at Long Lartin are conspicuous by their absence. There is a long queue of fellows waiting to be assessed by these bright school leavers - sorry, trainee psychologists.

If (that wonderful word so revered by Rudyard Kipling and a big favourite of children building castles in the air), if they assess me and find me unsuitable, what happens then?

I fully intend to discuss these assessment tools with those administering them, if / when I see them. The various tools would appear to be not exactly devised for what they are being used for, but that is by the way. I intend to qualify, in discussion, exactly what they are assessing me for and quite what tools they are using and the validity of those tools.

Of course, that in itself will mark me as some kind of troublemaker - prisoners are forced to partake in an Enhanced Thinking Skills course, but God help them if they actually try to think. No, they are not teaching prisoners how to think, but WHAT to think. Let's not bother ourselves with that aspect however, let's just stick to the point.

Bugger it, let us mention 'thinking' after all - it is quite an important subject, according to the prison service.

Thinking, an abstract exercise of the mind.

We all think, some of us less coherently than others, and some of us downright insanely, but we all think. That's the problem really - we all think. The difficulty comes because most people miss the fact that we are all individuals and none of us think alike, yet we all make the mistake of thinking that we do. This is why a poor thinker gets upset when he has an idea that, to his way of thinking, is perfectly operational, and then a far superior thinker spots the flaws and shoots the idea down in flames. At the other end of the spectrum we have the good thinker who is explaining what is, to him, a perfectly simple concept and who gets annoyed when a nitwit can't grasp it.

What we should be doing is facing the fact that we all think differently. We shouldn't condemn people just because they don't think like us, or don't think the same things.

This is where the prison pervice and their trainee psychologists fall down. They think they know best - and perhaps they do, but that has to be tested. I suspect it may not be quite as they think and that they do not have any answers, certainly not in the tick-box culture. The tick-box culture and thinking are diametrically opposed really - one does not encourage the other.

Anyway, I have a provisional parole hearing in June of next year - I just thought you would like to know that.

The Voice In The Wilderness

Friendly lions or mad dogs?

This week has brought one snippet of interesting intelligence: according to Mike Pemberton, my legal superstar, the hearing of the Ministry of Justice's appeal against the recent Judicial Review is pencilled in for June 24th 2009 in the High Court. At that time, the Secretary of State's minion will attempt to put up a case that treating prisoners in a decent and acceptable manner is constitutionally unsafe and unsound. Good luck to him.

Here at the prison, meanwhile, we have a great deal of upheaval because they have built a new wing, at great expense, which was finally opened on Monday May 18th. Most of the prison was uprooted and disturbed, for no good reason really. I was quite fortunate in that it did not involve me, although I did move to a different cell on my own wing, a much better and more comfortable cell than the one I had occupied previously.

However, all of this moving about and general upheaval does not contribute to the quality of life or encourage prisoners to settle down and get on with their unfortunate existences. What the Powers-That-Be fail to understand is that most prisoners quite simply don't care whether they live in a dustbin or a palace - all they really want is to be left in peace to get on with things. It's quite unsettling not knowing where you will be from one day to the next, always expecting to hear the size twelve issue boots stamping outside the door and being told to 'Move or else!' Oh yes, they are very nice about it. Speaking for myself, they could put me in a tent in the middle of a field, I'd be all right. All I need from the system is for it to bugger off and leave me alone!

I wonder if there is a deliberate policy to keep cons on a knife edge. It is the sort of insanity that they WOULD think is a good idea - let's face it, Einstein has nothing to fear in the thinking stakes from some of those who run our prisons.

They run an Enhanced Thinking Skills course in prisons - it is laughable. What they do is supply the con with a dozen scenarios and at the same time supply the answers or solutions to the problems posed. The prisoner then goes away and learns the answers by rote and when he has done that he gets a tick in a box and a certificate. He is now deemed to possess enhanced thinking skills! What cobblers!

However, be that as it may, what I want to know is why there can't be a course to teach enhanced humanity skills to the people in charge of the prisons? Forget enhanced thinking, that is out of the question, that advanced stuff. No, they will simply carry on coming up with ridiculous schemes and ideas which serve no other purpose than to agitate and irritate. Then they wonder why the prisons do not operate smoothly!

There is an old saying, which I can attribute to nobody - it is certainly not mine, although I have used it several times over the years. The prison service could do a lot worse than pay heed to it:

It is easier dealing with a friendly lion than with a mad dog!

The Voice In The Wilderness

Doing the right thing

This week saw the arrival into my grubby little hands, direct from my solicitor, of the document which the Treasury Solicitor has submitted to the Appeal Court on behalf of the Home Secretary and which gives the reasons why the Home Secretary should be allowed to appeal against HHJ Jarman's recent Judicial Review. The main reason advanced seems to be that to grant me a victory would create a constitutional crisis and encourage others to ask the court to do the right thing!

I've got a couple of things to say about that.

Firstly, this country has no constitution, never has had. The nearest we have ever been to one is Magna Carta, signed by King John in 1215 in Runnymeade Meadow. However, even that was not a constitution. It was merely the Barons (and those who commanded large gangs of cutthroats) wanting to keep their pillaged loot and not be put on trial for stealing it in the first place - much like our present bunch of bandits, generally referred to as the House of Commons.

So, we have never had a constitution and for those who keep referring to things as though we do have one, well, that is sheer humbug and gammon to confuse the ordinary man into thinking he has rights. He doesn't.

If he did, then so many of the poor things which go on in this wonderful sceptred isle would not be tolerated - and aren't in countries where they do have a constitution.

Secondly, how can the Treasury Solicitor object to the fact that my victory over the Hosts of Error would bring about the practical downfall of the system? If that's the case, then it is a reflection on the inhumane system, not on me!

It merely demonstrates the fact that the system being operated is unfair and unjust and that it is imperative that it be corrected as soon as possible.

William Garrison said:

I am in earnest - I will not equivocate - I will not excuse - I will not retreat a single inch - and I will be heard!

Lord Hewart (1870 - 1943) said in a judgement in Rex v Sussex Justices, 9th November 1923 (Kings Bench Reports, 1924, Vol. i, p. 259):

It is not merely of some importance but it is of fundamental importance that justice should not only be done, but should manifestly and undoubtedly be seen to be done.

Then of course we have Magna Carta itself:

To no man will we sell, or deny, or delay, right to justice.

Then let us not forget Lord Milner, that staunch devotee of justice, as fine a man who ever donned a black cap. He said:

If we believe a thing to be bad, and if we have a right to prevent it, it is our duty to prevent it and damn the consequences.

Now, I could go on all day quoting these eminent figures from the past, who all said the same thing really:

Do the right thing! As long as a man goes about doing what he knows in his very soul is the right thing, then he will not go far wrong.

That last one is my own of course. But if a man should do what he absolutely knows is the wrong thing, for the sake of expediency or some other reason, then he must learn to live with himself and hope that one day he will be forgiven. Unfortunately, that won't help the people whose lives have been ruined by his acts.

Perhaps the Treasury Solicitor should consider Parliament? He'd fit in there all right.

The Voice in the Wilderness

Creating a pen and ink

There is a shortage of news this week, and nobody to blame but the Mills of Justice - they grind exceeding slow, as the Bible would put it. Consequently I have to think of something else to write about. It's very odd, but I seem able to sit down at my sophisticated machine, invented in the 19th century by someone who couldn't write very clearly, and simply produce a lot of waffle at the drop of an aitch. Perhaps it is the Irish in me, the gift of the gab, so to speak.

This leads me quite conveniently to something which I feel needs commenting on - writing. I use a fountain pen as my preferred weapon of mass production and the preference stems from my callow youth when, as a schoolboy, I had a gift of a fountain pen from an aunt who thought it might encourage me to write her a letter every Christmas. I don't recall if I did but I think it improved my handwriting because, for some reason, the use of a fountain pen has that effect - it encourages care.

So, I use a fountain pen, and of course this means that I have to keep it filled with writing ink - bottled or cartridge, either will suffice. Have you ever tried buying writing ink? It's not as easy as it would seem, not in Long Lartin anyway. We are allowed to buy it, no doubt about that, it is listed on the document of items prisoners can purchase and have. There it is, bold as brass - ink for fountain pens.

Try to buy some.

I applied weeks ago to buy ink and the answer I got back was that they would need the name of the pen and any other information I had to enable them to get the right ink. I duly informed them that the pen is a Messenger and either cartridges or bottled ink would be fine - blue or black, either would do.

They wrote back that they did not have a supplier and had I tried the prison shop/canteen.

Of course I had! They said that they do not sell ink.

The answer to that was, did I have the name and address of a supplier?

Of course I have - CPL Computer and Office Supplies of Blandford in Dorset.

The answer came back - sorry, you can't order from there, they are not an approved supplier. Why don't you ask the governor if you can have it sent in from outside?

So, that is the position at the minute - I can have ink but I am most definitely NOT ALLOWED to have it. I can order it but not from anyone they deal with and certainly not from a perfectly legitimate supplier - because they are not approved!

What do I do next?

This is the sort of obstacle put before prisoners all the time. I don't want to seem unkind, but I don't see how anyone can consider my problem as anything but the most simple and easy to resolve, yet the difficulty created is astounding.

If they cannot sort out a small problem like ink for a pen, what chance is there of them getting something complex and difficult right? Not much.

Lord Salisbury said:

No lesson seems to be so deeply inculcated by the experience of life as that you should never trust experts. If you believe the doctors, nothing is wholesome; if you believe the theologians, nothing is innocent; if you believe the soldiers, nothing is safe.

and I would like to add:

If you believe the prison service, you need counselling.

The Voice in the Wilderness

The more I see of men...

The actual news this week is minimal, hardly worth the mention really. The only thing of any note is the fact that I had an actual reply from the Big Boss here to the letter I sent him a couple or three weeks ago - the letter about my move here and how it seemed to be contrary to the spirit and purpose of the recent Judicial Review decision. The reply seemed a little ignorant, slightly patronising and a good deal threatening. Clearly he took the fact that I had been successful in the High Court as some form of personal attack on him. Well, I can only apologise to the ether if that is the case - I do not intend to do so to him. He needs to learn what abstract thinking is. But at least his strange letter gave me something to grin at.

Nothing else happened this week apart from recording the fact that already I am being asked for advice by one or two residents on various subjects from 'Nobody loves me' to 'How do I go about a Judicial Review?'

Well, the simple answer is, I don't have the answers. If I had the answers to life, the universe and everything I would not have heen sitting in durance vile for the last twenty-three years plus. I know nuffink!

One question came up, however, which I will mention - let's face it, there's nothing else to write about this week - and it is a question that has cropped up many times in recent years. The other morning when we were all unlocked for breakfast I went out to get hot water for tea. I had been listening to music prior to being unlocked and had a tune in my head which I was humming under my breath. At the tea urn another fellow, as miserable a specimen as ever graced a Crown Court Dock, mumbled something about he had no idea how I could be so cheerful all the time.

What makes him think I should be miserable? I don't like my current position in life but I make the best of it. I take whatever small simple pleasures I can from each day and I find it easier to grin than to cry. I've tried miserable and I've tried cheerful - cheerful is better.

However - and with me there is always an "However" - however, there is something I would like to say about my time and how I view prison life, namely that I find it quite a chore at times to come out of my kennel and be cheerful and hail-fellow-well-met because, to be blunt, I am sick of the sight of men, I'm sick of the sound of men and I am sick of the smells. Oh to live in a world completely populated by the female of the species! Let's face it, it's not as if the male is actually necessary anymore, what with artificial insemination and everything else. In fact, the only reason women need men is because they don't have to change the batteries and to buy them free drinks.

I think it was Madame Roland who said:

The more I see of men, the better I like dogs.

The Voice In The Wilderness

The Oracles of Whitemoor

We waited patiently for the answer from the parole board to my application to be either released or sent to open prison. Well, it finally arrived on Thursday 26th March and at first glance hardly seemed to be worth the wait because there is nothing there for me. After all of these years, all I have been through and done - nothing! The obsession seems to be with acquiring the right ticks in the right boxes to allow those who oversee such things to say, "See! He is rehabilitated! He has got the ticks which say so!"

Ticks in boxes mean nothing and could in fact give a completely false picture. All they prove is that the subject / prisoner has learned by rote all the correct responses to give, much like Pavlov's dog really. Actually understanding is another matter. I mantain that I did myself far more good with just one of my degrees than a thousand courses could ever hope to do.

I had to study hard, reconfigure my whole thinking processes and my values and came out of it all at graduation a better person. (In fact I did three degrees - and, thank you, I've heard all the jokes about the old girl band, The Three Degrees, but if you can't resist the urge to crack another one, feel free.) There are one or two areas where it seems that my words were either misunderstood or, more probably, misheard. But I see no percentage in trying to set the record straight in every particular - that would take on the aspect of nit-picking.

However, there seems to be a very subtle attempt to actually accord me a certain amount of help in another direction. I think that they deliberately delayed the answer to the application not out of any form of discourtesy but because they wished to ensure that their report could not be used against me in an entirely separate matter - namely the Judicial Review, which was heard on the day the parole response was issued.

Someone said to me yesterday (Friday 27th March) that all of the years of study, (I'm still studying in fact) were really a complete waste of time and that I would have been better to have continued in my disruptive campaign because then they would have taken me off the Category 'A' and moved me on just to get rid of me and I would be free now. It is a point of view, of course, and I can see how the perception can be just that. However, I don't agree. I didn't do what I did because I thought that it would impress anyone, or that the Parole Board would be influenced or so that I could demand to be called 'Doctor'. No, I did it all for the simple reason that I needed to change and I wanted to change.

I did it all for myself, selfish fellow that I am. And I am still doing it for myself. The more I read, the more I learn and the more I realise that I have a lot to learn in the future. Having said that, I'll learn nothing from a simplistic course being administered by some youngster who, to me, hardly seems old enough to be out of school. But we mustn't allow rancour or malice to creep in, that would never do - and would make a mess of the tick boxes.

So, the Parole Report/Response is back and it is there for all to read. Feel free to complain - their address is on top of it.

Finally, let me just say that the very fact of my (relatively!) balanced and unemotional acceptance of the refusal is perfect proof of my new non-confrontational attitude to life. I haven't even told anyone else about it yet, let alone created any sort of fuss.

Mind, even that could be misinterpreted by the youngsters who are training to he psychologists - the Oracles of Whitemoor.

The Voice In The Wilderness

My complicated life

On Tuesday of last week (24th March in fact), I sent out my normal weekly package of documents to Andrew for him to sift through and either use or file, whatever he decides is best. As usual I sent, as part of this package, pages from my document, 'An Abuse of Justice', which I have been sending out a chapter or section at a time for quite some time. How long can best be seen by pointing out that I have already sent out over 800 pages exactly like this one, typed and spaced the same. Let us say that there are roughly, on average, 500 words per page, that is a total in excess of 400,000 words. That's a lot of words - I didn't know that I knew that many. So, I put the package in the post and asked that it be sent by Recorded Delivery as I do every week.

It came back on Thursday 26th March with a bit of paper telling me that my mail had been stopped. This paper is neither signed nor dated but purports to come from a Governor Juden, though I don't think he knows anything at all about it. He can't, otherwise he would know that Legal Mail cannot be meddled with whether the censor likes the contents or not.

I think I'd better. at this juncture, say a few words about 'An Abuse of Justice'. Of course it is the title of my campaign, that's the first thing. Secondly, I am fed up with the prison service saying that there is no evidence of change in me as a person despite twenty-three years in prison and everything else that has happened. So, to counter this, and after discussing it with a very dear friend whose advice I cherished, I set about to write the full story of my arrest, trial, early struggle in jail, my change to education and the further changes in recent years - which have seen me become almost a Saint!

The plan was to get it all done (all taken, incidentally, from diaries which I have kept every day of that twenty-three years plus), have it edited, to remove any pointless waffle and other matter which is of little value to the object, and then to present it as the best proof of change imaginable. As I say, I have now reached almost 900 pages and all of the story concerning the bad stuff is done and sent out of the prison. The whole thing has become so long that I have found it necessary to split it into separate parts of 400 pages each. The story and evidence of all the bad things is done and gone. I am now writing about my educational period in what has become Part III of 'An Abuse of Justice'.

This aim makes it, in my view, a legal document - it is intended to provide the evidence of the changes in me that the Prison Service says it needs in order to progress me. I have to say that I do not blame the governor, who is named but who hasn't put his pen to the note - in fact nobody has put a pen to it or even bothered to date it. I'm sure that really it is all a bit of a misunderstanding and that it will sort itself out. Perhaps the fellow who did it has misunderstood the rule or whatever it may be that he sees as a reason for his action.

Why is my life so complicated all the time? I think it was Henry Thoreau who said:

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.

The Voice In The Wilderness

The language of duty

On Thursday 12th March I appeared before the Parole Board here in the chapel of Whitemoor prison. The report of the actual proceedings is in the previous blog entry - here are my own impressions and observations.

Various people attended and gave evidence on behalf of various departments within the jail. I don't think I need to say much about any of them because not a great deal was said that I could take exception to by anyone other than the representative of the Secretary of State, who seemed very reluctant to concede anything in my favour, a fact noted on several occasions by the Chair of the panel. Even then he had to admit things which were to my credit.

One particular matter that arose, and the one I wish to address here, came about in connection with courses run within the prison. I have been assessed (after a long time) as being 'unsuitable' for the Enhanced Thinking Skills course (E.T.S.). I spoke up at that point and said that the prison seemed to be intent on using negatives rather than positives. The phrase 'found to be unsuitable' gives the impression that there is something wrong with me when the fact is that I have been found not to need any E.T.S. - in which case the phrase used should be, 'Does not require Enhanced Thinking Skills courses', rather than 'found to be unsuitable'.

This is not me simply splitting hairs, even if Shakespeare DID say that a rose by any other name is still a rose. That is not the point here. The point is that deliberately misleading words are used to give a negative effect - ‘argumentative’ rather than ‘questioning', ‘aggressive’ rather than ‘forceful’, ‘pushy' rather than ‘self-assured’, ‘arrogant’ rather than ‘confident’ and so on. My point is that reports can say exactly the same thing without the emotive language and the stress on the negative.

I did like the opinion given by Joanne Wallace, who said she could see no reason why I could not be in open conditions if not actually released. She said any course I may need could be just as easily managed in the community and that my actual risk levels, the levels used to decide any level of supervision I would need, were the lowest possible. In effect, and not wishing to put words into her mouth, she seemed to want me released.

Finally, I would like to thank both her and everyone involved, particularly my barrister Abigail Smith, because as far as I could tell the whole thing was favourable. The Chair seemed a very fair and astute person and everyone seemed to want to give me a fair hearing, apart from the representative of the Secretary of State of course.

On reflection, I suppose he would say that it was his job, he was simply doing his duty. On several occasions he could not answer the questions being put to him, but he did what he could
to give me a bad name, bless him. All he did was his duty, but I could see that even he had difficulty with some of the things he had to say. Which, as we all know by now, automatically brings me to my normal end-quote. In fact, we will have two this week, the first from John Locke who said:

It is one thing to show a man that he is in error, and another to put him in possession of truth.

Finally, and may the representative of the Secretary of State take this in the spirit it is offered, a quote from George Bernard Shaw seems appropriate. He said:

When a man is doing something he is ashamed of, he always declares that it is his duty.

The Voice in the Wilderness

Report on the Third Mandatory Lifer Panel oral hearing, Thursday March 12th 2009

Present in addition to the Panel (which included Chairwoman, Psychologist and Independent member) were the following:
Franklyn Wilkinson
Abigail Smith LIP, representing Franklyn Wilkinson
Officer Steve Wright, representing the Secretary of State
Joanne Wallace, Northumbria Probation Service
Jamie Calico, Whitemoor Psychology Department
Paul Marson, Personal Officer of Franklyn Wilkinson

The hearing began with introductions and a discussion between the Chair and Ms Smith of a procedural nature.

Ms Smith began the proceedings generally by pointing out to the panel that Wilkinson had not been involved in any acts of violence since 1993 and had never used a weapon, nor had he been on any discipline report since 2001.

The Chair then called Officer Steve Wright and questioned him on several aspects of the matter in hand. He reported that the official stance was that Wilkinson should remain as Category A. He could give no reason for this and the Chair was fully aware of the Judicial Review on the subject scheduled for March 24th in the High Court. Officer Wright conceded that the adjudication record was excellent and had nothing bad to say regarding Wilkinson. When asked about assessments for courses, Officer Wright admitted that none had been carried out. He explained that the CSCP course, which it has been recommended that Wilkinson be assessed for, runs in Long Lartin, Swaleside and Gartree but that there were long waiting lists and limited places. He finally conceded that Wilkinson might be unsuitable anyway.

Wilkinson pointed out that 'unsuitable' was the wrong word to use here in that it gave the impression that there was something wrong with him that made him unsuitable when a more accurate phrase would be that the courses are unnecessary. The Panel agreed that negative language was used by the prison service when the same thing could be expressed positively.

Officer Wright agreed that courses and assessments could just as easily be done in lower category conditions. When asked if he agreed with the assessments of others who judged that Wilkinson's risk levels had gone down, Officer Wright could not answer but agreed that there had been no increase in risk levels. It was suggested that the last two years could mean a further reduction in risk levels because of the adjudication-free period and other aspects of Wilkinson's behaviour but Wright simply refused to agree although he could give no justification for his disagreement.

Paul Marson stated that Wilkinson got along with everybody and anybody. The Chair seemed fully aware of the website and asked Paul Marson ahout Wilkinson's access to the internet. Marson informed the Chair that the website was conducted by someone in the community and that Wilkinson had no access at all. Marson said that Wilkinson showed advanced thinking and was a calming influence on other, younger prisoners and often calmed situations down, the latest incident being the previous week when a younger inmate had become excited and aggressive. Wilkinson had come out of his cell, spoken to the inmate for a few minutes and the inmate had calmed down and returned to his cell. Marson said that Wilkinson gave advice to the younger prisoners. He seemed to be of the opinion that Wilkinson should be downgraded and sent to a much less secure establishment.

Joanne Wallace discussed various aspects, the most telling being that she considered that Wilkinson's risk levels could be managed in the community and would be happy to see Wilkinson moved to open conditions or released. Wilkinson's management requirement level would be the lowest, in her opinion. When asked if Wilkinson might run off if put into open conditions, Wallace said, 'No', explaining that there was no evidence of impulsive behaviour, drunkenness or substance misuse of any sort and that Wilkinson had done enough courses. Wallace stated that Wilkinson could be released and then take part in courses in the community and that risk levels must have been reduced, as demonstrated clearly by Wilkinson's behaviour. Finally, Wallace stated that it was very unlikely that Wilkinson would return to any form of criminal life-style.
Officer Wright asked Wallace about offending behaviour courses and Wallace was adamant in stating that Wilkinson had done suffic­ient but could always be assessed for further work.

Jamie Calico offered very little of any value. She admitted that she had never met Wilkinson nor spoken to him and knew nothing other than what was in the reports she had read. She insisted that Wilkinson had been offered assessments in 2007 but admitted that she had no proof of that fact and that the Psychology Department had made no attempt to engage Wilkinson since that time. When pressed on the matter, she admitted that the department had been busy and explained that there were other, more important things to do. She then stated that the courses already completed by Wilkinson were sufficient but said that she had concerns about him. Calico then admitted that Wilkinson had been offered nothing for over two years.

The Chair then discussed with Abigail Smith the forthcoming Judicial Review and the application before the CCRC. It was not made clear how the panel were aware of these matters.

The panel then took turns to question Wilkinson on various topics including courses, criminal associates and lifestyle, future prospects, education and aspirations. Wilkinson gave a good account of himself and the hearing drew to an end.

Afterwards Abigail Smith was satisfied that Wilkinson had done extremely well and had come across as entirely honest to the panel.

The panel will issue its report within the coming week or so.

March winds

Today it is March 1st, although that won't be the case by the time anyone reads this, so let's just say instead that it is March. March, when, according to legend, the winds blow strongly and, if you are silly enough to listen to the weather forecasters, we are due to have a mild one after our severe ten day winter.

March is turning into a month of significance in my life. On 9th March I will have been in durance vile for exactly 23 years, and that's a long time. I know I say that a good deal, but that doesn't alter the fact - it IS a long time.

Then, on 12th March, I have the Parole Board hearing here in the prison. No doubt I will be subject to a lot of questions and this is despite the fact that there is ahsolutely NO chance that they will even consider allowing me any sort of progression. That simply is not going to happen. They know it, I know it and even the pigeons in Trafalgar Square know it - or they would if they cared at all (and they don't).

I will appear before the Board with my barrister doing his very best to fight a losing battle, and at the end of it he will be reduced to serving me with a few platitudes to try to keep HIS spirits up - mine joined the submarine service years ago. I will have spent a considerable time answering questions, a lot of which will be quite unanswerable really. They will harp on about the past, not the future. Of course I will jerrymander and they will see it as a sign that I am being secretive.

Of course I'm being secretive, I have no choice in the matter. Although I am fully entitled to discuss myself and my own deeds, I have no right whatsoever to discuss the deeds of others, and that effectively means that I have to seem to be shifty, or worse. It is not so much a case of being unable to answer through lack of ability, more a case of protecting the guilty, because this country, in its wisdom, has no statute of limitations and never forgives anyone anything. Like Shylock, they WILL have their pound of flesh.

I think it was Charles Colton who said:

Examinations are formidable even to the best prepared, for the greatest fool may ask more than the wisest man can answer.

The Board will harp on about the past and nothing can he done about that. It is done, over. All we can do is regret it, we cannot change it. Not even God can change the past. All we humans can do is work for the future and ensure that we do not repeat the mistakes of tne past.

Then, when the ordeal is over and they, the panel members, go off to their ivory towers, I shall return to my humble abode, courtesy of Lizzie Windsor, and contemplate the matter.

Does it end there? Not likely, because twelve days later I have my Judicial Review in the High Court.

So, March is turning into a milestone month for me, one way or another.

In all of this I will be condemned for the indiscretions and poor choices I made as a callow youth, in "My salad days, when I was green in judgement."

This brings me to another snippet of borrowed wisdom. This time I take it from George Bernard Shaw who died in 1950. He said:

Youth, which is forgiven everything, forgives itself nothing: age, which forgives itself anything, is forgiven nothing.

"Besides," he added, "every man over forty is a scoundrel."

The Voice In The Wilderness

A tick in a box

There is no news this week. Nothing appears to have taken place that is worth remarking on. To put it in the jargon of the technological, robotic age, I have had very little "input" this week. (I've seen "Short Circuit" too!) But that is only as far as I know personally: who knows what is going on elsewhere to which I am not privvy! Consequently, I am back to my homespun philosophy and my personal observations, most of which seem to me fairly self-evident at best, and downright boring generally.

I woke up very early this morning and got up right away. I have discovered over the years that if I lie in bed, awake and thinking, sooner or later I may get to brooding. I used to do a great deal of that in the old days. Brooding on the ills done to me, either real or perceived, the end results were always the same - I grew resentful. I should think that every prisoner indulges in this from time to time. I don't do it these days. If I wake early I get up and get on with something, reading or writing or simply listening to or watching the news. There is always something better to do than brooding. Having said that, I have to point out that brooding and thinking about things are two different horses.

Anyway,this morning I was thinking (not brooding) about the insistence - dogged, unreasoned insistence in fact - that prisoners should, right across the board and regardless of the individual, partake in courses which, to be quite frank, are fairly puerile. For a long time, and despite the fact that I was involved in the creation of the Enhanced Thinking Skills course, the prison system was insistent that I needed to complete such a course. It took a long time before it was finally admitted that I had no need of it, and even then it is not straightforwardly admitted in such terms. Instead, I am considered "unsuitable", which could give the uninitiated the impression that there is something so seriously wrong with my thinking that the course would be useless to me. They can't just say, "This man's thinking is far superior to anything we are attempting to impart." That would be fair, and the idiots who tick the boxes don't do fair!

It's the same with their choice of words in all things. When a con is asked to take part in something that is entirely voluntary and the con says, 'No thank you', that con is marked down as having refused, thus giving the wrong impression. The word that should be used is, declined.

The latest attempt to drag my personal progress backwards is the strange desire to get me to take part in a CALM course - Controlling Anger and Learning to Manage it. The fact that I am routinely reported as being one of the calmest characters around the place is ignored. Let's face it, they need the tick in the box. But if I get any calmer then they will be able to nail down the coffin lid because I'll be shuffling off this mortal coil, I will be handing in my dinner pail, no longer needing the bib and tucker, the membership in the life club will be cancelled - I will be dead!

Of course the prison service and the idea-less people in charge say that courses are for the good of the prisoner, but unfortunately they cannot seem to understand that one size does not fit all.

"It's for your own good!" they cry.

Really?

It brings to mind the words of Leo Tolstoy:

I sit on a man's back, choking him and making him carry me, and yet assure myself and others that I am very sorry for him and wish to ease his lot by all possible means - except by getting off his back.

The Voice In The Wilderness

Who says culture is dead?

Last year I was given two books by Felix Dennis, a modern poet with a quite wicked sense of humour. One is called 'A Glass Half Full' and is a collection of verse written by Mister Dennis in a style somewhere near that of Waugh with a touch of Lear to give it that unexpected quality. It makes me smile.

The other is called 'When Jack Sued Jill (Nursery Rhymes for Modern Times)' and it is basically old favourite Nursery Rhymes where Mister Dennis has changed the words to bring them into the present day. Inside each book there's a CD of Felix Dennis reading his own poems or groups of children doing so, either singing or performing in one way or another. An excellent idea in my opinion.

Okay, that's the reviews over.

Last weekend, the 7th and 8th February 2009, during the course of a fairly slow time, I was listening to the Jack and Jill CD and silently sniggering to myself in all the appropriate places when in walked one of my fellow social outcasts. I won't name him - his mother thinks he is working on an oil rig.

So, in he came, this hairy-arsed gangster and sat on my bed to have a fag. He saw that I was actually busy doing not very much so he listened to the children singing on my stereo.

After a minute or two he asked, "What's this crap you've got on?"

"Ah," said I. "It's not for you, too sophisticated. You wouldn't like it a bit. You can hear the words for a start, and there is no boom-boom beat to turn your grey matter into gruel."

He regarded me for a second or two. "Are you taking the piss?"

"As if I would do such an anti-social thing!" I grinned.

He mumbled, "You are always taking the piss."

"Stop giving me the opportunity then," I told him.

So he sort of listened to the stereo and we heard 'White Van Man' to the tune of 'Old King Cole'.

"Them's not the proper words!" pointed out Einstein, sitting on my bed blowing clouds of smoke into the air and polluting the planet. "I know that one and them's not the words."

"You clever little bank robber," said I. "Keep up that sort of observation and you'll soon be able to tie your own shoes."

"Stop taking the piss!"

"Stop spoiling the poetry then," I countered.

He was quiet for a while and then sniggered at something he heard.

"Here! That's funny."

"From the mouths of babes, sucklings, bandits and morons, the truth falls like stars from the firmament."

"What you rabbitting about now?" he asked but didn't want the answer. He carried on, "Is this all like this?" indicating the stereo.

"Oh yes," I told him. "Not only that but I even have a book that goes with the CD so that you can follow the words and, should you feel the need, learn them too!"

"Gies a look!"

Ten minutes later he wandered off, his hot, clammy little hands clutching my two Felix Dennis books and the CDs.

That was last Sunday, a week ago.

I heard him wandering along the landing on Monday singing 'Polly Put The Kettle On,' to himself and I don't think he even knew he was doing it.

I asked him where my books and CDs were on Wednesday (I think), and he said his mate had them but he was taking good care. He had told his mate that if there was any damage, etc.etc.

So here we are, Sunday morning again. The snow has gone outside and it seems quite pleasant weather-wise, but I still haven't got my books and CDs back. Apparently they are now doing the rounds.

Given the above, I'm presuming that from now on I can expect to see and hear bushels of thugs, muggers, buggers, killers, robbers, arsonists and downright nasty customers listening to modern-style nursery rhymes and, who knows, learning the words!

Who says culture is dead?

The Voice In The Wilderness

The hosts of error

There isn't a lot to say about the last week beyond the fact that there has been a little bit of snow which brought the country to a standstill and improved family relationships because parents got to stay off work and build snowmen with the children. As far as the case is concerned, there is no news beyond the fact that my solicitor informs me that I will be represented at the parole hearing on March 12th by Chris Williams, Barrister at Law of Tooks Chambers.

Having nothing to report gets me to thinking about the past week and the fact that here in Whitemoor we seem to have spent a good deal of the time in idleness because of the snow. Well, it seems that on some days only half of the staff could find their way to work - it can't he easy navigating the flatlands around this place.

One day during the week, (Thursday 5th I think) I was sitting here in my comfy little kennel doing not very much when one of the fellows arrived to have a chat. (They do it quite a bit and I put up with it because they often need a bit of advice and advice costs nothing.) So, this fellow arrived, a youngster in his twenties with the modern outlook of "I love me, who do you love?" They all seem to be extraordinarily self-centered for some reason. They go to the gym and spend most of their time just posing in front of the mirrors and kissing themselves. Surely I wasn't that silly when I was that age! But I probably was.

Anyway, this fellow came in and, after the usual sort of greetings about this and that, he got himself settled down to ask the question that had really brought him to the oracle in the first place, ­ the question I get asked several times each week by youngsters: "Will my sentence go quick?"

I would love to be able to wave a magic wand for them but the fact is that Gandalf, Merlin and Harry Potter are all fictional - there are no magic wands. So, I gave him the usual platitudes that I trot out most of the time and off he went to kiss himself in the mirror in the gymnasium - and I was left to do a bit of thinking and soul-searching, as usual.

I have to say that for the early part of my sentence, eight or nine years or so in fact, I fought the system tooth and nail, because I didn't have the sense God gave a duck. I thought I was fighting my case, but there is a world of difference hetween fighting a case and fighting the system. It took me a long time to realise that, (not to mention years of study and the application of rational thought rather than the 'Mad-Bull-In-A-China-Shop' approach).

Sitting thinking about it caused me to become quite sanguine about it all and I found myself wondering and asking myself just how DID I do it? And am still doing it in fact, although these days I have my priorities in order and know where the fight has to be aimed - and it's not at prison staff who have nothing to do with the case.

I asked myself, "How come I am so determined to obtain the justice that is mine by right of Magna Carta, Law and Human Rights Legislation? How have I done it?" Then I remembered
the American politician William Jennings Bryan, who died in 1925 - but not before he had said:

The humblest citizen of all the land, when clad in the armour of a righteous cause, is stronger than all the Hosts of Error.

Ah! That's how.

The Voice In The Wilderness

The credit crunch

For months now we have been hearing about 'The Credit Crunch', 'The Slump', 'The Economic Slow-down' - and, recently, 'Depression'. Listening to some of the so-called experts is enough to give anyone depression, but never mind. Businesses are being closed all over the place and, where they are not actually closing down, they are going on short-time working and making lay-offs.

Just take a look at the sort of places which are closing down. These are more than businesses, they are institutions! Take Woolworths, for instance. Who didn't go into Woolworths as a child to spend a few shillings here and there? It's gone!

The government has coughed up billions to, so we are reliably informed, 'Bail out the banks'. Thousands of people have suffered, lost jobs and money, and find themselves struggling to make ends meet.

I know all of the above - I read about it and see it every time I turn on the telly, the news is full of it. BUT! (Oh yes, I love a good BUT.) But! Something about all of this strikes me as most definitely odd and that is the fact that nobody seems to be to blame for any of it. The captains of industry wax fat and the senior executives and speculators still rake in massive bonuses.

This has all got me to thinking about the man and woman in the street, the ones who are doing the actual belt-tightening and the financial suffering - Mr Everyman, Mrs Average, Master Ordinary and Miss Normal.

So, I offer the following;

An Ordinary Man

I'm an ordinary man,
Nothing special, nothing grand,
I've had to work for everything I own.
I never asked for a lot,
I was happy with what I got -
Enough to keep my family and my home.

Now they say that 'Times are Hard',
So they're handing me my cards.
They say, 'There's not the work to go around.'
When the whistle blows,
The gates will finally close.
Tonight, they're going to close this factory down.

I never missed a day
Or went on strike for better pay.
For twenty years I served the best I could,
But, with a handshake and a cheque,
It's so easy to forget
I served them through the bad times and the good.

The boss says that he's sad
To see that things have got so bad,
But the Captains of Industry won't let HIM lose.
He still drives his car
AND smokes a big cigar,
Then takes his pampered family on a cruise.

So condemned I stand,
Just an Ordinary Man,
Like thousands beside me in the queue.
I watch my struggling wife
Trying to make the best of life.
God knows what the kids are going to do.

Every day I've tried
To salvage something of my pride,
To find some work so that I might pay my way.
But everywhere I go,
The answer is always, "No!
No work for anyone here today."

For as long as I live,
I never will forgive
How they stripped me of my dignity and pride.

As must be clearly obvious to all by now, there is no news this week about the case or anything else. It's been one of those weeks really. In fact, I've hardly had any mail at all.

The Voice In The Wilderness

Painful inches

Sitting alone, as I do most of the time, I often ponder on the words of Nicholas Sarkozy who said, amongst other things:

“Life is the same for everyone when you are alone at night in an empty room."

As often as not, if we allow it, the imagination gets the better of us and we go off into flights of fancy, build castles in the air, climb a mountain - or sometimes just go fishing. Unfortunately there are those amongst us who do not think in such positive ways but dwell on the ills done to us, as often as not imagined rather than real. This sort of thought process can lead to depression.

I don't do that.

In December of last year I was scheduled for a Parole Board hearing but it was put back, deferred, delayed, postponed and rescheduled. The reasons were never given or explained, they never are when dealing with the faceless and nameless Gnomes who are in charge of these things. I think that there are probably good reasons in many cases and if they took the trouble to actually explain then most folk would accept it with a shrug and a certain amount of understanding.

They don't do that.

My Parole Hearing was in December, then January and then it was scheduled for February 20th of this year. Wonderful - a date at last! Not that easy I'm afraid. The other day I had a letter from the Parole Board saying that it has now been rescheduled for March 12th, no explanation given but I am fu1ly prepared to accept the fact that they have a good reason.

Of course, being me, it got me to thinking. Here in the prison absolutely nothing is being said to me about anything at all, and hasn't been for years now. However, I know that out there in the big wide world of real human beans (as a young niece of mine once wrote) there are people asking questions. I know for instance that Mr Chris Mullin, MP for Sunderland South, has discussed me with the C.C.R.C. and then with Christine Glenn, the Chief Executive of the Parole Board. He then asked for a meeting with a Michael Spurr who is the Chief Operations Officer of NOMS. Now, of course, I have no idea what has been said and it is quite unlikely that I ever will, but that’s not the point. What counts is the fact that ‘something’ is being said, whatever that may be.

Now normally when people in such positions - civil servants - are asked questions about individuals they can hide behind the trite but ubiquitous phrase:

“I am not allowed to discuss individual cases.”

And of course they get away with it. Not with Mr Chris Mullin MP. He obtained a written permission from me to discuss my case with anyone he cares to and to obtain and see any document concerning me. A wise move on the part of Mr Mullin - but he understands the ways of officialdom.

So, questions are being asked - and this brings me to what I was really going to say in the first place. When I am sitting alone in my cell at night there is the temptation to think that this nightmare will never end and then I glance up at the wall. Just a few feet from my face as I sit at my table, held there by sellotape, is a piece of paper sent to me by Mrs Hilary Hinchliffe MBE a long time ago. The bit of paper is old and yellowed now, but that does not detract from the message thereon. In the words of Arthur Clough as sent to me by Hilary:

“For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the Main.”

The Voice In The Wilderness

Welcome to my world

On March 24th of this year I have a Judicial Review in the High Court in the Strand concerning the decision of the Category A Section of the Ministry of Justice to keep me a Category A prisoner after almost a quarter of a century in prison. The fact that everyone else (including the local Cat A panel) wanted me downgraded to a Cat B cut no ice with the nameless and faceless gnomes in their ivory towers in Whitehall. In their wisdom they decided that I had to remain a Cat A prisoner because I have not proved that I am no longer a bad person. How do you prove a negative?

I've been in jail almost twenty three years now. The other day a youngster of perhaps twenty three years of age came to see me. He said that he had been refused a downgrading. He had been a Cat A now for nearly two years. What could he do? I told him that if I had the answer to that I would do it myself. Then he wanted to know if it had been easy getting through all of the years I have been locked away. What he was looking for of course was a bit of reassurance that he would survive the thirty years he has to serve, or whatever it is.

I think the youngsters around here see me as some kind of wise man, a village elder so to speak. I wish I were. They come to me with all manner of little problems and ask me what they should do. Some of them could try reading a book and actually learning something instead of battering their brains to mush with the mindless throbbing beat they call music. In fact, it would do no harm if they actually learned to read at all!

One fellow, about twenty seven, so not so young, came a week or two back and asked me for advice. He said that his gir1friend wrote to him three times a week and that she sent him money and wrote nice long letters. He couldn't write back because he had no idea what to say to her, he couldn't write long letters.

"What should I do?" he cried, moronity in action.
"Look," said I, the wise man, "The problem is easily solved."
"How?"
"Simple," said I smugly. "Go to the canteen and buy her a couple of nice cards every week, they only cost 80 pence. Surely you can manage to fill a card in! Besides, it's not what you write that counts, it's the fact that you have thought about her and taken the trouble to write, THAT'S what counts."
"That's brilliant!" said he. "I'll do that. See! Frankie, that's why everybody knows that you are clever!"

Off he went, a happy punter. I should charge for this advice.

So now I come back to the fellow who complained about the fact that they had refused to take him off the Category A list. I had no words of advice. Maybe I was having an off day. All I did was sigh and say, "Welcome to my world."

The Voice In The Wilderness

An epiphany

There is news!

It is not very often that I can say that - but this week there is news. I had a letter from Mr Chris Mullin MP to inform me that he is meeting with the Chief Executive of the Parole Board on Tuesday 13th January (four days' time as I write) and that he will discuss my situation with her. I am not clear if the purpose of the meeting is to discuss my situation specifically or if I will be brought up during the general discussion. Either way I am thankful for the intervention of Mr Mullin.

Secondly, and in fact a sort of continuation of the above, I had a letter from my solicitors' office to inform me that the actual Parole hearing has been tentatively (I think) set for Friday 20th February - another bit of good news. It was originally supposed to be in December, but we must be thankful for small mercies.

And so the wheels of 2009 begin to grind exceeding slow, as the bible would have said if it hadn't said the bit about the mills and the grist. However, welcome as the above news may be, the real point of this particular cry in the wilderness is to point out that I have had an epiphany, my very own road to Damascus.

There I was the other day, sitting here in my little kennel and minding my own business, when it occurred to me out of the blue (and in conjunction with a recent missive) that, while I am not a whinger as such, I may come perilously close to it.

There was a difference of opinion and during the course of it I had cause to take issue with a prison warder, guard, kangaroo - call him what you will. The details don't actually matter, they very rarely do in fact. What matters is that the following exchange took place.

Me: What did you do THAT for?
Him: I've got no choice, it's my job.
Me: That's just bollocks! It's not your job to make people bloody miserable.
Him: I've got to do as I'm told just like you.
Me: Right. You do what you are told, do you?
Him: I have to, it's my job.
Me: So if they told you to put your head on a railway line for a train to run over, would you do it?
Him: Don't be silly, of course I wouldn't.
Me: No, of course you wouldn't. But you'd put MINE on it, wouldn't you?

That was it really. He said there was no point talking to me if I was going to be like that and off he went.

And now I have managed to work it out - I'm not a whinger, I'm a grumpy old man who is sick in the head and I probably need some sort of intense counselling.

The Voice In The Wilderness

Resolutions

Well, it is the New Year at last. It comes every year of course - at the same time too! But we always act surprised and delighted. I suppose it is the fact of getting rid of the old and the bad year that has passed and opening the way to hope for the new. Something like that. We are all basically optimists, although it is trendy these days to be quite the opposite. So what we all try to pretend to be is a sort of hybrid - and a contradiction in terms. We all become pessimistic optimists - we expect the worst but hope for the best.

So, it is now 2009, two thousand and nine years since the birth of Christ according to the Gregorian calendar. The Jews don't agree and neither do the Muslims, but they never agree with anything the other says anyway. Whichever way we look at it, the new year is here and it is the time when we all look forward to a bit of luck, a change in our fortunes, an improvement in our health or, in some cases, just for Spring to get here and warm the place up.

Me? Well, shall I say, I have prospects.

I've got the parole hearing either this month or next. Then I've got a Judicial Review in March. There are discussions going on about pub1ishing - and my cholesterol seems to be coming down, gradua1Iy. Things like that - I count my blessings.

It has just occurred to me that also this March,(March 9th in fact) will see the start of my twenty-fourth year in durance vile, and that is only one year short of a quarter of a century. That's a long time, no matter how quickly you say it.

However, none of the above is the point really. The point I was headed for before I sidetracked myself (as is my wont) was the point that it is at this time of year that people feel this urge for a new start to go with the new year. To this end they make what we term New Year Resolutions.

I'm no different, I do it too.

Every year I resolve to be nicer to those around me, but it has never lasted as long as noon on New Year's day. This year was no different. I resolved 1ast night (as I got into my pile of straw in the corner of my dungeon) to get up in the morning and be nice, friendly and cheerful to everyone.

It didn't last long.

The mechanics are matterless. Someone said something silly and I was quite rude in response, which is normal for me. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't offensive, but I was rudely short.

This brought to mind the words of Stephen Grellet who said:

"I expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any fellow creatures, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again."

I would love to live by that, but never mind. I'll have another go at it next year.

The Voice In The Wilderness

A Christmas Story

Well, that's it then, the Christmas holiday is over for another year and just the New Year celebrations to come now. Mind, by the time this gets through the post it will be getting on for Easter, and they want to charge us even MORE for postage stamps. Only this country could charge more for a lesser service. But I am wandering again. Have to watch that.

It's over! Not that it matters a great deal in these places of course, people do their best but in reality there isn't a great deal of cheer in durance vile. Normally I seem to manage to ignore the whole thing and let it drift past in a sort of distant haze. I know it is going on - I see it on the telly! - but it has very little to do with the denizens of Lizzie Windsor's hotel for society's rejects.

Speaking of society's rejects, there was an interesting discussion the other day, Christmas Day in fact. There I was, sitting in my kennel and playing with a Game Cube, when the door opened and in came one of my contemporaries, a nice enough fellow who seems to be of the opinion that I am wise and therefore worth listening to. Ha! If only he knew that I am a bungling fool who staggers from drama to crisis daily, unsure of anything and merely hoping for the best. Like Mr Micawber, I am sure something will turn up. It hasn't so far but who knows what the future holds?

So, in he came, my erstwhile visitor from upstairs, and he sort of had his proverbial cap in hand.
"Good morning!" said I, "and a merry seasonal greeting to you!"

It turned out that this fellow had been given the opportunity to purchase something from another party and wanted advice on the subject - should he buy or should he not?

I said, "Well, to begin with, it has nothing to do with me, and to be quite frank about it, I don't want anything to do with it. But that's not the point, is it?"

"What do you mean?" asked he.

"Look," said I, "It is perfectly clear to me that you don't need my advice, you have already made your mind up anyway."

"No! No!" protested the fellow.

"Silence peasant!" said I and he grinned. "Uncle Frank is talking. Thank you. Now, you have no desire for my advice, as I say, you made your mind up long before you came in here. No, what you really want is for me to tell you it is a good idea and to go ahead. Then, if, or when, it all goes to buggery, you can blame me! You can say tnat I told you to do it. I'm not that stupid really. You are over twenty-one, so you say, so make your own decisions. How's that for
a bit of Christmas advice?"

He grinned at me. "You're not daft, are you?"

Said I, "A lot of people would argue with you on that. Now, is there anything else I can refuse to help you with? Off you go, feel free to visit me at any time when you need to be abused. Come back when you've got less time to spare."

"That's it!" cried he, pointing a finger like an Exocet missile at my face. "That's who you remind me of, Blackadder!"

"Thank you, goodbye!"

"I'll be back later on," said he and with that threat ringing in my poor, battered ears he went off.

And that, as they say, was that - my Christmas story. Okay, Charles Dickens has nothing to worry about, but it's the only tale I've got.

I hope that the New Year of 2009 brings everyone the good luck and fortune which they desire for themselves.

The Voice In The Wilderness

God is busy

When I came to prison it was early March 1986, which will make it twenty-three years in March 2009. That's a long time in anyone's book. I've seen a lot of changes in that time, as might be expected, both inside and outside of the walls. Not all have been for the better either. In recent times I have noticed that a lot of younger men are coming to prison for longer and longer sentences - and I'm not going to comment on the rights or otherwise of that. These youngsters (and they really are youngsters looked at from my almost sixty-two years), often in their early twenties, are coming to prison for longer and longer - often for longer than they have actually been on the planet!

How do you explain thirty years to a twenty-two year old? Oh certainly we can explain it, but we will never get them to fully understand the meaning because they have no point of reference. They have not been alive for thirty years! How can they even begin to understand how long that is? They cannot grasp the concept at all. They will say they can but of course that is sheer humbug. It is much like expecting a person who has never had more than fifty quid in his pocket to understand the ramifications of having a million at his disposal. It's a nice dream, but they wouldn't really understand it. A young man cannot visualize a time that is longer than his whole life has spanned so far.

Hardly a day goes past without some young fellow coming to see me on some fairly mundane matter - to ask for a bit of sugar, some tea-bags, a roll-up, lots of things - but really they have questions they want to ask. They are finally getting a reality check and want to know about my own experiences, and they all ask more or less the same questions: Was it hard? Did the time go quickly? How did I do it and stay sane? And so on.

Ha! Who says that I stayed sane? I think that I went right through madness and came out the other side a stronger and maybe even a wiser man. Not everyone would agree with that, but that's not the point really. What is the point is that when the youngsters ask me these questions in their various forms, it is quite difficult to know how to answer them. I used to do my best of course, and maybe I have handed out the odd snippet that has helped one or two, but I have realised that there is an even deeper purpose behind these young men speaking to me. They are sorry and don't want to be in prison. However, what they are really seeking is a father-figure to advise, a wise old head to comfort them and a person with a certain amount of gravitas to tell them that it will all turn out all right in the end. Some of them may even be seeking some form of forgiveness perhaps.

Well, I don't have a magic wand to wave for them - if I did, then I would wave it for myself. I look back at my own twenty-three years and feel a certain amount of sympathy for them. I empathize with them, but I can't forgive them. It's not my place. Forgiveness can only come from certain sources such as their victims - who, often as not, are dead - or perhaps God.

Well, the dead cannot forgive. And as far as I can see, God is busy.

The Voice In The Wilderness

No snowflake in an avalanche

The other day I was sitting in my government supplied kennel, minding my own business and wondering what I could do about my current problem of getting the Home Office to see reason and to act in a decent manner, not just toward myself but to the many, many prisoners who, for whatever reason, find themselves unable to gain any form of progress.

At that point I was visited by a fellow prisoner, con, inmate - a rose by any other name is still a rose. In he came, and he carried a letter in his grubby fist.

"Ere, Frank, will yer read this for me?"

I took the letter and discovered that it was from the fellow's solicitor. Apparently the solicitor in question had represented the fellow through his court appearance and appeal process and the case was now finished. The solicitor had written to simply point these facts out and to inform the fellow that the legal process had now been completed and the solicitor no longer represented the fellow. The case was done, defunct, kaput, over, finito finished; it was in fact a dead parrot.

"Yes," said I, handing back the letter, "Your solicitor is just telling you that the case is over, he no longer represents you."

"What does that mean?" asked the fellow.

"Well," said I, “It means that he has done all he can, but will store the papers in case you should ever want them. But as far as he is concerned the case is done."

"What does he mean by that?" I was asked.

That was when it occurred to me that the fellow could neither read nor write and when he had gone on his way after I had explained the situation to him, it set me to thinking. I am supposed to be a fairly intelligent cove, quite capable of expressing myself and understanding what is said to me. Yet, for over twenty-two years now I have been banging my head against a brick wall trying to get the faceless Powers That Be to see reason, and I am getting nowhere. What chance has the man who can neither read nor write? Who looks after that person's interests and well-being?

People are condemned because of ignorance and no other individual feels responsible. In the words of Stanislaw Jerzy Lec:

'No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible.'

The Voice In The Wilderness

Yesterday

So the top judge in England and Wales has said that life-sentence prisoners are being kept in jail for twice as long as is necessary and that the prisons are being gummed up with these geriatric lifers for no good reason whatsoever. Where do I come in that?

When you think about it, I get two mentions there:
been in jail far too long (even if I was guilty!)
and I'm geriatric, or not far off it.

Well in that case, I'd better pack my bags and get ready to leave I suppose. I wonder what will come of it all?

Someone came to see me yesterday to ask about doing a CALM course - Anger Management - so I told him that if I get any calmer they will have to put me on a monitor to see if I have a heartbeat. He said he agreed. So I told him, again, that I did the anger management thing three times as part of my offending behaviour courses - in fact, I pioneered the bloody thing. So he said that he agreed with that too and that he would go and put me down as "Done it"! It just goes to show that it can be done if they want to. All it needs is a tick in a box - job done. I wonder if that is the new policy?

That was yesterday.

The Voice In The Wilderness