Last night I dreamed about prison, it was not the first time, but today I have realised for the first time that this place gets deep down into my soul. Even sleep isn't sacred.
Once again I find myself doing solitary confinement. Doing bird the hard way, as it is generally known in prison parlance. But it isn't hard to get solitary. One can actually do nothing wrong and still wind up down here.
This nick is called Gartree one of seven Dispersal Prisons, that are all maximum security, and all of which I have stayed in at sometime or another, either on this life sentence or when I served a five years sentence. They are, for the record; Albany, Gartree, Hull, Long Lartin, Parkhurst, Wakefield, and Wormwood Scrubs. Eventually, Frankland may well join the ranks once the short-termers run the place in and iron out any wrinkles.
It is now Saturday night, and I have been down here nine days. Thursday before last, I went to work as normal and shortly before cease of labour in the afternoon, my attention was drawn to a hammer-wielding inmate (Paddy Hill of Birmingham 6 fame) who was noisily smashing up some sewing machines. He had put paid to some five or six before the discipline screws were even aware of what he was doing. One of the screws pressed the alarm bell, whilst the other two slowly approached Paddy Hill. I could see that they didn't relish the idea of tackling Paddy, but they knew that their duty required them to do something.
At about this time the "Heavy Mob" charged into the workshop. Paddy Hill had thrown a chair through the office window, and added another six sewing machines to his credit. The situation became tense. I said to a screw who looked as though he might try to be a hero, "Leave him, let him finish". I thought it was good advice at the time, but after my words were twisted around and said to another screw who wasn't even within hearing distance, perhaps I was wrong.
The screws know that they have to tread on broken glass when incidents like this arise, a false move and it can result in a full scale riot. But even so, some screws are pushy and I waited the turn of events, just as willing to wrap a chair over a screw's head or sit upon it.
They waited for leadership and it came in the form of a Chief Officer who spoke to and removed the hammer from Paddy Hill. Whilst Paddy Hill was being escorted from the workshop, I heard an argument between another inmate and a group of screws. He was saying that it was too late to talk to Paddy Hill once the damage was done. "They" should have talked beforehand.
The screws told him to shut his mouth, they couldn't simply have walked out of the workshop and left things to cool down. This other inmate was then led from the workshop under escort.
I heard a white shirt (either a Senior Officer or a Principal Officer) say "Who's next? Who's next?". There followed whisperings in ears, and fingers pointing at me, and a group of screws approached me and one of them said, "C'mon, you as well". I started to protest my innocence but to no avail, I was addressing automatons, "Get Hirst, get Hirst, get Hirst".
Apparently, I was taken from the workshop as a precaution, this unofficial action I could have accepted had I been taken to the Wing instead of the Segregation Unit. But, "They" had over-reacted and would have to justify the action by either placing me on report or putting me on Good Order And Discipline. In the event, they did both. The following morning I received a Notice of Report (F1127) stating that I had used threatening and abusive language, ie, "You cunts leave him alone until he's smashed the fucking shop up". Naturally, I blew my top. It was a stitch up. I threw what came first into my hands (a pile of magazines) at the screws who quickly retreated and slammed the door shut. Next, I tore up the nicking sheet refusing to acknowledge that it had anything to do with me.
Some inmates refuse to go into the adjudication because the Kangaroo Court winds them up. I went in that morning because I wanted to confront the screw who had deliberately lied upon the report sheet. Imagine my shock when not only had I not said what "They" had alleged I had said, but I'd allegedly said it to a screw other than the one I had spoked to. My blood began to boil again. I accused the screw of lying, and not being within hearing distance of what I'd actually said and to whom I'd said it. The governor found me guilty and sentenced me to 7 days Cellular Confinement, plus 3 days Loss of Earnings, plus GOAD when the 7 days was finished.
Rule 43B or GOAD as it is also known, was originally created to give an inmate a 28 day cooling off period in Segregation. But, the powers that be abuse the rule and twist it to suit. The inmate may not even know why he is placed under the rule or for how long. Although the rule book states that an inmate shall do no longer than 28 days, when the period is up a tame magistrate simply renews the order so that an inmate can in fact be in solitary confinement indefinitely. Some inmates have served two years, and one or two others, as much as five years in solitary confinement.
An extension of the Rule 43B is the "lie down", whereby an inmate is sent from his Long-Term prison to a Local Prison like Bristol, Winchester or Armley. The boast of the screws here is that they don't assault inmates in the Seg Unit. To the best of my knowledge this is true. But, on a "lie down" an inmate can get a kicking in and the Gartree screws hands and feet remain clean of violence.
The following morning I received two more report sheets both claiming assault. One of them referred to the magazine throwing episode. Fuck knows about the other because I didn't bother going to the adjudication. Instead, I smashed up the cell. As far as one can smash cardboard furniture and plastic windows. And waited with a turd to throw at the governor should he appear and tell me the result of the adjudication. But, neither he nor any screw would open the door.
It doesn't matter whether you walk into quicksand of your own volition or you are pushed, the result is the same, you sink deeper and deeper. Later, a different governor visited Paddy Hill, who had smashed the sewing machines, who was next door to me in the Seg, and he urged the governor to come in and talk to me before anybody got into the situation where they couldn't back off. At first the screws advised against him seeing me, but unlike their word, I keep mine and assured the governor safe entry and exit from the cell. As he entered he stood on a bed spring which flew up into the air. Quick as a flash, he said, "I know Spring is in the air Hirst, but this is ridiculous!". The humour eased any remaining tension. I had to laugh. The next day this particular governor, Mr Clark(e), was on adjudication (although again I did not appear) and he awarded me a further seven days in solitary but this time the sentence was to run concurrent.
For two nights now we have had relatively little sleep down here, because there is a man in the Strong Box banging his chamber pot on the door for long periods at a time. He has smothered the place in shit, on a "Dirty protest", and throws it at the screws whenever they open the double doors. If he had been in Long Lartin or Albany, or one of the other Dispersal Prisons he would have received the "Liquid Cosh" by now. However, here in 1978, when such an injection was administered to one inmate the jail rioted. Talk says that this place will riot again in the near future. Personally, I hope it's not just talk because for a Long-Term establishment this place leaves a lot to be desired.
(circa. 14.5.1983)
