Heaven

DAY 457 FRIDAY 18 OCTOBER 2002

6.00 am

I rise and pack my belongings into an HMP plastic bag as I prepare for my next move, not unlike one does when leaving a no-star motel at the end of a rainy holiday. While I’m gathering my possessions together, I chat to my pad-mate, Stephen (marijuana, seven years), who tells me that he’s been granted his D-cat status, and hopes it will not be long before they transfer him to North Sea Camp.

7.00 am

The cell doors on our wing are unlocked to allow Stephen and his crew to be escorted to the kitchens and begin the day’s work. I try inadequately to thank him for his kindness and help during the past ten days, while wishing him luck for a speedy transfer.

8.07 am

The cell door is thrown open for the last time, to reveal a young officer standing in the doorway. Without a word, he escorts me to reception. It’s a protracted journey, as I have to drag along two large, heavy plastic bags, and however many times I stop, the officer makes no attempt to help me.

When we finally reach reception, I’m placed in the inevitable waiting room. From time to time, I’m called to the counter by Mr Fuller so that I can sign forms and check through the contents of another six plastic bags that have been kept under lock and key. These are filled with gifts – mainly books – sent in by the public during the past three weeks. I sort out those that can be donated to the library (including nine Bibles) and still end up with four full bags, which will have to travel with me to Suffolk.

It’s another thirty minutes before the final form is completed and I am cleared to depart for my next destination. Meanwhile, back to the waiting room.

10.19 am

Two young officers from Group 4 appear in the corridor. They are to accompany me and two other inmates from this hell-hole – not that the devils’ keepers have been unkind. In fact, with one loutish exception, they have been supportive and friendly.

The Group 4 officers help me with my endless plastic bags, before I am locked into a tiny cubicle in another sweat box. I sit cramped up in silence awaiting a ‘movement order’.

11.49 am

The electric gates swing slowly open, and the van eases out onto the main road. I stare from my darkened window to see several photographers snapping away. All they’ll get is a blacked-out window.

I remain hunched up in my little box, despite the fact that as a D-cat prisoner I am entitled to have my wife drive me to Hollesley Bay in the family car. But once again, the Home Office has put a stop to that.

For the next five hours, I am cooped up with two stale sandwiches and a bottle of water as we trundle through four counties on the endless journey to somewhere on the Suffolk coast.

3.19 pm

The van finally arrives at Hollesley Bay, and comes to a halt outside a squat brick building. The three of us step outside, to be escorted into reception. More form filling and more bag checking – decisions to be made about what we can and cannot possess.

While my plastic bags are being checked, the duty officer inadvertently gives it all away with an innocent remark. ‘It’s the first time I’ve checked anyone in from Lincoln.’ And worse, the other two prisoners who came with me have only two weeks and three weeks respectively to serve before they complete their sentences; this despite the fact that their homes are in north Yorkshire. They have been uprooted because the Home Office is prepared to mess around with their lives just to make sure I couldn’t travel by car.

When all the red tape is completed, I am accompanied to the north block by another officer, who dumps me in a single room.

Once again I begin to unpack. Once again, I will have to find my feet. Once again, I will be put through induction. Once again, I will have to suffer the endless jibes and sullen stares, never lowering my guard. Once again, I will have to find a job.

Once again…