Why I... volunteer in prisons
"You can’t understand what it’s like walking onto a prison wing unless you’ve done it. There are hundreds of cell doors and a whole human life behind each one."
I joined a prison mentoring scheme at Wormwood Scrubs three years ago, meeting prisoners who were being released and helping them through the transition.
You’d take them to their probation appointment, or to the housing office if they were homeless, or to their drug worker – but nine times out of ten, it was difficult to stay in touch.
The chaplain of the prison asked me to become a voluntary support worker with his department, visiting prisoners who were at risk of suicide and self-harm.
You can’t understand what it’s like walking onto a prison wing unless you’ve done it. The first thing that strikes you is that there are hundreds of cell doors and a whole human life behind each one.
You’re struck by the smell – it’s like a boy’s gym. Then you notice lots of people staring at you out of the flaps in their doors. It can be overwhelming.
If they’re locked up, I have to talk to the prisoners through the flap, which is hard for them. You’re trained to be careful because they are often suicidal but you do have some fairly full-on conversations. I don’t tiptoe around the subject, especially if they have the physical marks of self-harm.
If there’s bad news to give them, like the death of a relative, I’ll generally do that with the chaplain. It’s not a nice thing to have to do. Sometimes they want to ring home but they’re not always allowed at that moment. The human side of you feels harsh and mean but there are still rules.
Some people think prison is easy – all playstations and TVs – but the point is having your liberty taken is psychologically very hard.
Volunteering in a prison makes you judge people less. You can’t tell what they’re like just by the way they look. I’ve met people from all walks of life who’ve committed crimes you wouldn’t even believe them capable of. One of the nicest friendliest prisoners I ever met – someone I felt really sorry for – turned out to be really high risk and was in prison for raping his siblings and had been known for grabbing and attacking female prison staff.
Ninety-nine per cent of the time what I do makes little difference but it’s the one percent that means something. When you open that flap you don’t know what that person was thinking about doing in that moment and a 10 minute conversation might keep them going for an extra day. Having that conversation can be the highlight of their day.
Somebody was murdered in the time that I’ve been volunteering at Wormwood Scrubs. It happened on a day when I wasn’t there. But I went in the next day and there was a lot do in terms of supporting the friends of the prisoner. The atmosphere was very tense.
When you talk to someone and you slowly realise they are not well, that their mental health is really bad, it tests you, especially if they are really young. You question whether they should be there.
I’ve always wanted to do a class for the inmates on their finances. But it’s hard because they often don’t have any money; they have nothing.
Whenever I leave Wormwood Scrubs, I just feel so grateful for everything – for my business, for everything that I have and I think “there but for the grace of God go I”. You see people who’ve lost everything and it helps you focus on everything that’s important.