Yesterday I had a phone call from someone special that I once worked with at HMP Low Newton. Hearing his voice instantly took me back to my cramped, rather cold, office at the back of the library, where I would sometimes sink into my incarceration and forget that there was a world waiting outside.
I worked at Low Newton for twenty five years, starting as a teacher, becoming an Education Manager and finally a Senior Manager within the prison, in charge of Learning and Skills development. I never meant to stay that long – somehow the place just grew on me. Or perhaps more accurately it was the women who grew on me.
Prison is full of women who shouldn’t be there, women in need of therapeutic care, women who would be best helped in their own community. There are of course dangerous women from whom the public needs protection but they are far from the majority. By and large the women I met in prison were great survivors. They were often vicitms of crime themselves, particularly sexual abuse and domestic violence. Many were heroin addicts.
They didn’t make excuses for what they’d done, or feel sorry for themselves, or blame other people. They relished the educational opportunities on offer, having missed out on most of their secondary school days – they were often carers from a young age too. Perhaps the most surprising thing about them was how much they laughed and made you laugh with them, and also how much they concerned themselves with your welfare and how kind they could be.
There are a lot of things about working in a prison I don’t miss. I don’t miss the gates, keys, bars, funny windows, or the time it took to just get in and out of the place. I definitely don’t miss the way you never really knew what kind of a day it was until you got out through the gate in the evening; where the air always tasted different. I recently had a day out with my lovely friend Carole, who like me worked at Low Newton for many years. More than anything that day we were imbued with a sense of freedom, like kids playing hooky: we had escaped and the sun was shining and we were certain that we appreciated being out in the open far more than anyone else could. After all hadn’t we spent what felt like a lifetime behind bars?
Sometimes when women came back into prison for the third or fourth time (in some cases woman were back in and out many times) they would see me and say, ‘Are you still here Mrs Joy? You’re doing a longer sentence than any of us. ‘ Once, before I left, when a woman asked how long I’d been at Low Newton and I said twenty five years, she looked at me with genuine pity and said, ‘God bless you miss – you poor thing!’
Of course it wasn’t like that. If it had been I couldn’t have stayed. There was much laughter, caring, hope and comradeship at Low Newton and during my time there Iworked with many wonderful colleagues and some very enlightened Governors. But I wont deny there were times when working in prison was tough. It took it out of you and there was a deal of heartache and pain. From time to time, no matter how you used to it you became, the pain seeped through, under your skin, and inhabited you.
There is no doubt, Avril, that you touched many people and helped to change people in your years inside – prisoners and staff alike. Your compassion for, and ironic appreciation of, these women was a template for how one should behave in this situation, I learned so much from you on my two stints as writer in residence: about the peculiar nature of prison, about the population of women I met there, and about myself. I am pleased you mentioned the lack of self pity on the part of the women. And I am pleased you mentioned the laughter here. That was the surprise. The laughter. They say that if you work in an institution a long time you become institutionalised. With you this was not the case and therein lay your strength.
They were lucky to have you, and perhaps unlucky to have lost you. But all the insights you gained there are now a teasure trove of wisdom to enrich your present career as writer.
wx
Thank you Wendy – very much A x
Yes, Avril, we had a wonderful day. What is that old cliché? Ah yes, “Youth is wasted on the young.” You could say freedom is wasted on the free, too, I suppose. Like you, everyday I appreciate big windows and looking out at the sky, whatever the weather (my colleagues remember the time you called into my new office, went over to gaze out the window and said “Just like where we used to work, really!” …. before we burst out laughing and hugged each other…..I explained, but they’ll never know!)
Keep enjoying the world around you, your writing and your time in France. We’ll play hooky again very soon!
Lots of love
Carole xx