Getting down to the broken roots of the problem

With all the preparation and expectation of my fruitless sentence planning board, I've overlooked mentioning my experience of the Prison Service's own version of waterboarding. The dentist.

I mentioned in these columns that fear had kept me from the hands of this white-clad torturer, but then sheer pain forced me to swallow humble pie - certainly not to chew it - and to go along to his clinic and sit in that ghastly chair.

You never know whether your dentist is actually your friend or not. They might call you Mr So-and-so which is polite but not wildly friendly. It doesn't give anything away about where they stand. However, friend or foe, nerves made me tell him straight. 'Sorry, but I am dead scared of dentists.'

'It's usually our bills that worry patients,' the nice man said, and reminded me that the NHS would be taking care of mine.

'I haven't been to a dentist for so long and that's just through fear. Frankly, I'd be happy to pay not to go.'

'Now that's an idea,' he said. 'Would you mind if I suggested it to our national council? It's sad to say after all our training, but a few of us still earn less than a GP or a banker. Charging for people who don't attend could change everything. Thank you.'

'My pleasure, sir.'

'You're a genius, Mr Gordon.'

'But worried. The likely pain?'

'No worry, not a problem. You won't feel anything. Well, not much, at least very little. We've come a long way since the days of your last visit, even if the salaries haven't.'

When the tools and hands and other things were removed from my mouth, he said, 'One filling, that's what we will need to do.'

One solitary filling. I could hardly believe my good fortune.

'Mind you, we will need to do something with the teeth that are broken off and crumbled.'

He invited his playmate in white to have a good luck inside. 'Oh, dear,' she said. 'Well, well ... I see what you mean. Root treatment?'

'Root treatment indeed,' he said.

'Root treatment?' I repeated when my mouth was uncluttered again. It sounded vaguely like an Australian term for a routine that's quite different.

The dentist seemed to be choosing words with care. 'It's a ... well, it's a surgical treatment.'

The nurse confirmed, 'Yes, a surgical treatment.'

'It won't hurt, not really, but it will be, might be, could be, well, uncomfortable.'

'Yes, uncomfortable,' the dental nightingale echoed.

'But it doesn't take long.'

However, the session was postponed. I will be told when they can perform their surgery, when it won't take long. But I suspect the waiting is going to feel like a very long time indeed. All about Roger's injustice is told on his website, here.

A definite maybe

It's that time of the year again. No, I'm not thinking of Christmas or Halloween but the time for my sentence planning board, where all interested parties decide on targets for me to achieve in a time frame.

Three days before the review I spoke with my probation officer for 20 mins. Progress and circumstances were on the menu. She confirmed again that due to financial cut-backs she won't be attending the vital meeting.

But she promised that she will send her recommendations to the lifer clerk.

However, at the meeting, heads were shaken when I asked about the lady's suggestions. Nothing seen, nothing received. 'She's on leave, so we can't get in touch,' one of the uniforms declared.

Not too encouraging. 'So the meeting won't be held after all,' I wanted to know - politely, of course.

'Oh, sure, we'll just proceed without her comments.'

The first stumble by the committee was over anger management. It was enough to make a Job go red in the face, but fortunately, I don't have a temper.

And I have proof, too. The Anger Management facilitator said recently, 'We won't need you to do the course, Roger. It's not a problem with you. In fact, you could probably teach us a thing or two about patience, about keeping calm.'

The sentence planning board saw it differently. 'Of course you have to be an anger management course. Look, Gordon, it's written here on last year's sentence plan.'

'Sorry,' I said. 'Perhaps you could bring pressure onto the course facilitator so that I can do the course, even though she says I don't need it.'

Well, the committee of six weren't too chuffed about that. 'What about triggers to anger issues?'

So I said again what I've said in the past. 'I don't any such issues. Naturally, occasional things make me feel bothered, but I deal with with it with passive behaviour, retraction or debate.

'My record of non-violence - pre-sentence and post-sentence bears this out, gentlemen.'

'Oh, sure,' a board member snapped. 'And what about Anita's murder?'

I thought, 'Why don't you get the police to ask Anita's killer about that?' However, doesn't pay to be too logical with some people in authority.

'May I repeat, please? I didn't do it.'


They had the decency to admit that they approved of my significant resettlement plans, were well pleased with my exemplary behaviour and attitude inside. 'What are we to recommend then?' another one asked.

'Look, Gordon, do the anger management course. That would be a good thing to do.'

Another said, 'And do a course in IT. Get yourself up-to-date.'

Before your scribe was shunted out of the room, they said it was possible I might go straight home from The Mount at the end of the tariff, bypassing a mandatory time in Open Prison.

That did sound good ... but I have heard it before. A Swaleside governor suggested the same thing, but then I was sent off to this residence.

Optimism is in the air here - and nationally, I gather - that at last the nonsense of holding people beyond their tariffs is definitely going to end.

Definitely is less definite in my world, but at least it sounds encouraging.

All about Roger's injustice is told on his website, here.

The happy turn up of a boisterous turnover

How busy this prison is becoming. Of course, it might be nationwide. We never know what's going on in other clinks.

I get to see the change better than most because I'm in charge of the library induction presentation for all people who arrive, you know, telling them what's on offer in the library, and the opening times, and the dire consequences of not returning the books on time.

So I can reveal that we have had 130 new inmates in the last six weeks!

The telling thing about this figure is that, as well as we can tell, nearly all prisons are full to the brim. So, with a little simple maths, if 130 have arrived then 130 must have left, unless captives are expected by the new coilition to sleep on top of one another.

So it seems, there may well be movement at the gate that leads to home.

Perhaps not all are going home. I've heard that a lot are moving to open prisons.

How is this movement being interpreted inside? People are saying that common sense seems to be prevailing. Common sense is getting a look in, at last, after all the draconian management of sentence planning we've all had to endure.

I know I still have some way to go - they're not interested that I didn't do it. However, the buzz of optimism gives me hope of actually being released on time, an event that up to the present has been about as rare as feathers on a lamb.

Neighbour Fred has been waiting six weeks to learn if the Home Office is going to fulfil the promise that he can now go to open prison. He was told it might even be parole.

When the chance comes along of being a human and a man again, six weeks can be a very long time indeed.

He seems to be handling the stress well. At least, he does when we chat outside his cell. But behind the cell door, waiting, waiting, waiting can be incredibly punishing.

I really hope he gets his chance to live again. He is a good fellow and society will be better off with him out there.

He'll be missed in here. He's been a really supportive mate, especially in the early days here of settling into this very weird environment. Roger's story is on his website, here.

My 30-year visit to the dentist

What a pleasure to be visited by sister Helen and James and Lyn. If there's anything to be gained from this madness of prison, it's appreciation of family.

The noise - the uproar - of the visiting hall makes hard work of talking. It was a big change from when I last saw them, Family Day, when we could walk about and talk with ease.

Hard on the ears and tough on the voice, but I wouldn't have missed it for anything.

When something realy pleasant happens in here, you know you are going to have to pay for it. Fate is extra tough on captives.

Three days later and I was facing the doctor, pointing to an enormous pain in my head. I wondered if it might have come from the shouted conversation with family.

'It's your teeth,' he said. I felt the blood drain from around the area of pain, revealing my greatest.

'Oh, no,' I murmured. 'Give me the plague, pig flu, anything, but don't send me to the dentist.'

'Fate's on your side then,' he said. 'The waiting time's about 16 weeks.'

Your correspondent did feel relieved at that, even if the pain remained. But somehow I knew Fate wouldn't stay so kind. An appointment card was slipped under the cell door. I was being honoured with special treatment. I could see the dentist in three days.

People here say he is very good. I hope they are right. I've managed to avoid the dentist for 30 years. But in here, there's no avoiding anything unpleasant, so I will be there in the chair in three days, but probably not very bravely.
Roger's story is on his website, here.

Ever visited anyone in prison?

On Saturday my brother James his partner Lyn and I entered the reception building of the prison. We had our papers checked by two friendly officers, who marked the back of our hands with a ultra violet stamp. Then we were then issued with a numbered card.

We packed our belongings into a locker because you are not permitted to take anything into the main prison.

We were ready for some refreshments after the long drive. There was a small café, well stocked and with reasonable prices.

I was quite surprised to see garden produce for sale on a table nearby. There were large marrows and a variety of chillies among other fresh greens. How odd and I was about to ask about it when our number was called and we were escorted to the main prison building. Our papers were checked again. We had to walk through a scanner as if we were in an airport, but like the residents here, we were going nowhere.

The visiting is held in a large hall. A well equipped crèche and a small café were close by.

The rest of the hall was furnished with sets of four chairs round small circular coffee tables, joined together and so permantly bolted to the floor that I presumed the designers were determined not to make a thieves' kitchen of the place.

A door at the far end opened, and there was Roger in blue jeans, a fresh blue and white pin striped shirt, looking relaxed despite all he has been through. His beard was smartly trimmed. He looked thinner than he used to be, but pretty well considering his long, long struggle to get the injustice recognised.

We were ready for a good chat, but the hall filled rapidly with prisoners and visitors until it was packed. The result was an enormous hubbub. In fact, the noise was deafening, so it was more a good shout we had than the desited talk.

There we were crowded round that odd table, very close together as if we were plotters whispering secret plans. However, the heads might have been about as close as you could get, but we had to holler to be heard.

Somehow, despite the uproar, we managed to pass on the family news. Roger wanted to know, of course, about our disabled brother and sister.

I was thinking of the church bazaar table at Reception. Was it to raise funds for a struggling jail, or perhaps to line the pockets of a gardening prison governor?

It turned out to be much more innocent, if I heard Roger's shout correctly.

Some of the prisoners are passionate about gardening and the produce came from their hard work in the grounds.

James asked Roger if he was one of the green-fingered people, because he wasn't famous for such domestic pursuits before his ill-luck.

'We've got some great gardeners here,' Roger shouted, and shook his head. 'But it's not for me. I leave the botanics to Nature.'

I'm a vegetarian so I was interested to know if a meat-free diet was possible here. I supposed the meals weren't far removed from gruel, whatever gruel is. When I've read prison scenes in Dickens, I somehow imagined it might have been made from things like the ingredients for glue - hooves and melted horns, spiced perhaps with intestinal bits.

But Roger said it's all a stage better than that, and if a man is a vegetarian, he can have meatless meals. Even vegans are catered for, as long as they belong to a vegan society.

I wanted to ask my brother if he had seen the light and chose vegetables only. However, from the way he spoke - shouted - about meals without meat, I gathered he still loves his roast beef, or whatever passes for it here.

James said, 'What's new, Roge?'

'I've got one of the new digital radios. It's a marvel. My old one broke ages ago, and I am a radio man. It's really good to be connected to the Beeb radio stations again ... and in hissless digital.'

I won't say it's easy to get used to a shouted conversation, but all too soon a uniform managed to get his voice over the top of all the talk. It was the end.

Back in reception, a small crowd surrounded the gardening stall and we took a marrow home. It was a quiet drive. My head swam with echoes of the row in the hall, but we were mostly silent because it was so sad to leave Roger and the appalling miscarriage of justice that keeps an innocent man locked away in prison. Roger's story is here.
- Helen Whiteman

Roger gets a visit

Three of us visited Roger on a cold damp day - Roger's sister, Helen, his brother James, and me. I'm James's partner.

This was my first visit to a prison. It's not something you ever get used especially when you know they have been wrongly convicted.

We began at a reception room, quite small, noisy, and strangely enough considering the way these place break up families, there were a few toys on display, and high chairs and baby bouncers.

To get the full two hour visit, you need to get booked in approximately an hour before the visiting time, so we were there early, of course. Two prison officers who booked us, pleasant and helpful, gave us a number as if we were at Argos, and like waiting for your purchases there, we have to wait for the number to be called.

Then we went into the prison and through some security checks as if we were taking part in some jail movie.

We were led into a big bright room than didn't look very much like a clink, except for a plentiful number of watchful cameras and uniforms. It seemed strange to see a big children's play area to one side.

I suppose there must have been at least 40 tables tables like breakfast nooks, with four seats attached. Each table had a bright orange as if they might have come from some sea rescue. The day-glow seat was for Roger.

There might have been more than 150 people visiting. The noise made it seem that there were twice as many. As you might expect, it was really hard to hear what Roger was saying, even to hear ourselves.

At times, the tumult was overpowering, in fact so much so that we had to keep leaning forward, straining to keep up with what each said.

I'm glad to say that although he had every reason to be the opposite, he seemed quite up beat. But he is a thoughtful fellow, so he might have been wearing a brave face for our benefit.

We left the room looking forward to seeing Roger again.

At the end, dealing with the crowd and the formalities and getting back to Reception, where all our things were kept, was quite a struggle - but nothing like the difficulties there has been to get our innocent prisoner out.

We walked away with lots mixed feelings, but very happy we had our freedom. Hopefully, it won't be that very much longer before Roger gets his. Correcting the mistake of a misled jury is long overdue. Roger's story is on his website, here. - Lyn Bear

Silver lining for an innocent enemy of society

Our families and most of the UK worry what economic horrors the government will unleash on us on 20th October.

The government seems determined to slash billions from the cost of running the country, and what with that promised VAT increase, the future looks very grim indeed.

And yet there's one side of life that just might find itself better off. It seems - fingers crossed - the vast numbers in prison are to be radically reduced.

So while the media portrays us inside - whether, like me, the prisoners are not guilty, or if they are one-mistakers, or rated as recidivists - as enemies of society, we are the one sector likely to be better off.

While people out there worry gloomily about October, giving the name itself the bleakest sound, our residents see word October as a sort of password to joy.

'October, October, October!' they cry with smiles that we aren't used to exercising.

Not only do we believe that the government is going to slash prison numbers, everyone inside seems to accept that the government will be forced to implement recent changes in European Law. This means that people cannot be held in captivity at the whim of a bureaucrat.

The EU says we must do our tariff - and not a day more.

Nowadays, lifers do their tariff as a basic stretch, and then wait and wait for a bureaucrat to decide if they are 'ready' for society. It's as if the bureaucrats think they are cleverer than judges.

Well, perhaps, no more. If the powers that be do obey legislation and accept the law of Europe, many prisoners believe a miracle will happen.

The gates of misery will fling open. All those over their tariff will go home.

'Blimey,' said Frank, a couple of cells along from me, full of smiles and tears, 'we're going 'ome, Roge. We're goin' 'ome. At last.'

Frank doesn't have many bags, but they are packed ready. And all around it's Chinese whispers and gleeful excitement. Happy expectation shows in the chat and winks and nods on the wings.

However, when the next bang-up comes around and they return to the cells that have been their home for years, faces fall.

The right wing redtops they read and like continue to show that the affection is certainly not returned, and there's no hint in those biased columns about true justice - nor any desire for it.

I've been inside for eight years, and so many have been in for very much longer. Like me, many of these people are not guilty of the crimes that the quirky envy of the world sent them down for, and threw away the keys.

I believed in British justice before it all happened, and now I have a different feeling. Now I will wait to see the official letter addressed to Yours Truly before I believe anything.

As for the others, well, experience tells me that if the government does comply with the EU ruling, only a few will be allowed out. They'll find a way to hold to the status quo for a good time to come. They always do.

I don't say it to Frank, but I fear he and so many of his kind will be left very disappointed and bitter.

However, your patient correspondent does have what looks like good news. The solicitor has - at last - got through to the parole board. He's told them straight. List me for an oral hearing, or we'll go straight for a judicial review.

Who knows what twists and turns will be thrown as obstacles into my path. But it does feel like a sort of progress - something you learn never to expect in English prisons. Why, it's not impossible now that I could be on my way to open prison next year - a year ahead of what seems at present to be the likelihood.

Strange isn't it. Here's me recording that my very best hope is that I might go to a less restrictive prison next year. Remember, this is a fellow who came home from work one night to find his wife murdered.

The boys in blue couldn't pin it on the killer for reasons you'll find in my website. So they prosecuted me instead. They didn't prove my guilt because they couldn't for the simple reason they know I didn't do it.

But they have their professionals. They sold the idea to the jury. And the best I can hope for from British justice - envy of the world - is that I might go to an easier prison.

- Roger Gordon

Anyway got the time? Yes, me ...

Volunteering is a way of doing good for others and making you feel good knowing that you are doing good, and at the same time doing good for your own personal CV.

It seems a positive way to pass the time for me. I am inside for murder, which I know I didn't do, and others know I didn't do.

But in the Criminal Justice System - envy of the world, they used to say - they like to keep their intrays manageable. Better to know secretly that the wrong man is in prison than it is to tell your political masters that you can't pin a crime on the killer himself.

(The irony is that I am pretty sure I know who killed my wife and I am ninety-point-nine sure that the CJS knows, too. However, for reasons that might well be clear to you on my website, the State can't get him.)

So I am always on the lookout for places where I can help in a positive way. After all, I am a motor mechanic, I used to drive taxis, I am pretty quick when it comes to crossword puzzles, and I feel I could teach people who can't to read.

About six weeks ago, I saw an opportunity that looked just made for your scribe. NACRO works in the residence here and was looking for a fellow to clean and tidy-up. As I say, I could be teaching real skills, but NACRO wasn't advertising that sort of work.

Never mind, I thought, I'll be an orderly, as they call a general dogsbody.

I thought that when they look at my details, they'll see I have plenty to offer. I was summoned for an interview.

It was a surprise when I didn't get a reply straight away. (Straight away in this hidden part of the world is about a fortnight.)

Then three weeks came, four weeks. I was really surprised, and naturally not a little disappointed. Five weeks passed, then six. And at last came a reply with praise for the way I conducted myself in the interview.

I was calm and confident, they said. But, 'No, not successful.'

That was a disappointment. Like the injustice of serving a life sentence, there is no real appeal. So there I was for a day or two feeling very dejected and wondering. Gerrymandering? I thought. Ageism? There's no doubt that prison is making an old man of me.

And then the mood passed. Thanks to the CJS and our politicians, I've certainly got the time to wait for another opening in NACRO when I can volunteer again. Dear God, if there's one thing I do have, it's time.

- Roger Gordon

A prison health warning: Don't get sick!

Ouch! After the pleasure of the family day visit, I came down to earth with an unpleasant bump.

My old friend neuralgia came visiting. It brings an excruciating pain to the side of my face and scalp.

I used to answer it with Dextropropoxyphene which helped with the pain. But here in prison the only medication permitted is paracetamol.

It's comparable with building sand castles to stop a tsunami. Mother would have approved, I acted like a brave soldier over the weekend and suffered in silence.

I did deprive me of sleep for 48 hours, but I rode out the storm.

Perhaps if the suffering had not abated, I might have been allowed something stronger. However, the unbending rules here might have required more than me beating the cell door with my head to get the message across that poor old Roger was really in pain.

Woe betide anyone in here with serious health issues.
- Roger Gordon

Links:
Distalgesic-co-proxamol

Nod and a wink

When prison existence gets a bit too much and I ask those in authority why I'm not so much closer to being released, I often hear the same answer: 'Tell a little white lie, say you did kill your wife and you're sorry for it, and then you can progress normally.'

So often it does seem the only way out. The nod and a wink shows, presumably, that no-one in charge dares admit that the system can make a mistake.

However, had they been present at the trial, had they compared the force of the Prosecution's case with the timidity of the answers by the so-called Defence, then they would understand how easy it is for juries to get it wrong.

The fact of the matter is that I didn't kill Anita, and my innocence is the reason why I am being treated worse than if I had done it.

The reality seems to be that if I don't say that I am her murderer, I might be here forever.

As a senior prison officer told me,'Look, Roger, go guilty and you will be rendered eligible to participate in the accredited courses designed for guilty offenders.

'And having completed these courses the parole board can feel comfortable about recommending release.

'You see, they'll have a safety net of saying that you looked eligible on paper, and by then you will have completed the recognised programmes.'

So I said to the man in the smart uniform, 'What if you are innocent and don't need rehabilitating?'

'Roger, please, everyone needs rehabilitating. If you complete our programmes, we can say that this man is rehabilitated and is safe in society.'

'But I was safe in society for 53 years. Why because a jury is misled am I considered not to be?'

'Are you listening, Roger? It is not what you are not considered to be but what you are considered to be. Pass the programmes and you are considered to be fit for society.'

I said, 'You're admitting, guv', that the system is certainly flawed for people who are innocent of the crime they have been imprisoned for.'

'You can have a car in perfect condition, but you still need that little bit of paper to prove it is perfect. Do you remember what people call this little bit of paper?'

'MOT.'

'You're exactly right, Gordon. And when you have said "I put my hands up to it", then you'll be on the programme and you'll get your MOT and be in the queue for returning to society.'

Roger Gordon

One step ahead ... and two back

I'm a crossword addict and I suppose most of us with this affliction store the strangest words and terms in a special compartment in our minds. Here are two that have surfaced in recent time, two that I thought might sometime earn their keep by fitting neatly into blank squares in a Times or Telegraph puzzle.

Double Jeopardy. Conspiracy Theories.

I'm not cynical by nature, but the words keep mocking me when I see the chance of of righting my wrong conviction slipping away.

You might think that a good justice system would welcome the truth. Embarrassing, I expect, for them to have to admit that the system has let me down and that an innocent man bears the label of lifer and languishes in jail.

Yet it seems to me that while authority knows I am wrongly convicted, reparation is not in the offing. Rather - and I am loathe to think this, but I can't see any other explanation - the opposite.

The shadowy figures who control the English Justice System must be conspiring to keep me inside.

After seven years in prison and after three appeal applications refused, I find my parole possibilities are being diluted.


For seven years, both the Probation Service and the Prison Service have considered me to be Low Risk. Admittedly that's one up on a judge during the trial time who considered me not to be any sort of risk at all.

But now, after serving seven years stolen from my life, I am reassessed as being Medium Risk. It might be laughable, except that the classification is very closely connected to parole likelihood.

So before I came to prison, I was no risk to anyone. But after seven years out of society, seven years of behaving and working all the time, being almost the model prisoner, mysteriously I am now considered to be a riskier fellow.

I asked my probation officer about it, because this is the person who earlier considered that of the 85,111 people in prison in England and Wales, I was among those who posed the very least risk.

'I don't understand what could have changed,' I said.

'The answer is very simple, Roger,' the officer said. 'You see, before you were a B category prisoner. As a B category prisoner you were considered to be of the lowest risk.'

'But nothing has changed for the riskier. Here I am institutionalised, or virtually institutionalised, by the years locked away. Compliant, is a term they use. There've been no recorded negative reports of behaviour or attitudes. So surely I should be rated as Low Minus.'

'Roger, please try to concentrate. Now, you were Low because you were B Category. Right?'

'I accept that's how it was.'

'Well, now there's a change, like you are now Category C. Do you see?'

'The Category has changed, that's all.'

'Oh, Roger, please. Your Category has changed. It's a big change, isn't it? You'll, like, admit that won't you?'

'It's a big change and I am grateful for it, but ...'

'No buts, Roger. It's a big change and that means everything has changed. You are a different category and that means you must have a different category for your Risk. And so you have.'

'But if you change my risk category, parole goes farther away.'

'You know, Roger, that like I can't speak to you about parole. A decision in that area belongs to a parole hearing, not to your probation officer.'

Getting answers is sometimes easier from the prison manuals, I've been told, so I went looking.

Of course, there's nothing to be found about innocent people who are convicted. But word inside is very loud on the subject. The door only opens for those who say they are guilty. And so most people within will tell you to own up to it whether you did it or not, and you get home much quicker.

'Course, it's different for you,' a neighbour explained. 'Lifers is different. We normal geezas don't ever go into denial. Not if we want to go home. But you, Roge, I fink you need a miracle.'

I didn't kill Anita - I loved her.

And those crossword terms surface again and again. Double Jeopardy. Conspiracy Theories. Isn't it double standards to treat people so differently, to let people go home because they say what authority wants to hear?

And isn't it a sort of conspiracy to keep a man captive because he insists on the truth. The truth is that I did not kill my wife.

My story is here. I would like you to know about me and this mistake by the British criminal justice system.

Two days bad news

Sitting in my cell on Wednesday awaiting the call from the call for lunch, the natural light at the cell door darkened. I looked up and there stood the prison chaplain.

The words that swamped me were, 'Here's bad news.' And before he could speak, I was trying to guess what awful lot had fallen the family.

I was filled with dread because a recent appearance of a chaplain, back at Swaleside, brought the devastating news of my father's death.

You learn to cope with your own bad news, but it comes as a real shock that others in life, others really important to you, are battling with Fate, too.

The chaplain grabbed me to stop me falling. 'It's okay, Roger, it's not seriously serious, it's not about someone dying.'

But, of course, it was serious. The chaplain said the news was about my handicapped brother. Andrew had suffered a stroke. 'He's being treated in hospital. It's the best place for him.'

The chaplain had phoned the hospital to get the latest news. 'They told me he's comfortable. He is showing positive signs of recovery.'

Later I phoned the family. They said Andrew is making good progress. That was good to hear.
But it was disturbing to learn that it took two days for the news to reach me. It emphasisied how cut off you are when they send you to prison. At times like this, you feel especially isolated and helpless and in another world.

I'm the one sent down for a crime I did not commit, yet over the seven years of injustice, three members of my family have died. Our Dad died in 2005, my sister Helen's husband died in 2006, and a favourite aunt died in 2007.

My story is here. I would like you to know about me and this mistake by the British criminal justice system.

Women can visit my cell ... minus me, of course!

The Mount has quite a bit of grass and several well stocked flower beds in the wing's exercise yard. They are well maintained at the moment ... but then prison has three lifer family days coming up.

The suggestion is that some of what the management terms inappropriate behaviour has occurred on family days gone by. What suspicious minds our minders have.

I have been allocated a place for the August lifer day. I've asked brother Alec and his family to come.

We get the option of cooking a meal for ourselves and family, or eating from a buffet supplied by the prison. I'm opting for the buffet for two reasons. If I cook, it will take up about an hour and a half of hours of the visit time.

The buffet supplied on the first family day was plentiful and tasty. Of course, the prison asks for a donation of £10, which considering the quality and amount is not too bad.

However, it is nearly a week's wages but heigh-ho ...

Visitors will also be allowed to look into the cells. The only condition is that prisoners are not allowed to be in the cell at the same time.

The suggestion is that some of what the management terms inappropriate behaviour has occurred on family days gone by. What suspicious minds our minders have.

A couple of cigars

Anyway, none of that for me. I've ordered a couple of cigars from the canteen to enjoy with Alec instead.

Not long after my parole knock-back, I was able to enjoy an internal probation interview for another OAS. When I asked lovely lady why outside probation changed my risk level to medium from low, I receieved soething of a slap in the face.

Because, she said, I should never have been considered low in the first place! Obviously someone around here doesn't read the judge's report.

She said she kept her risk assessment at Medium.

She had more news for me. I must complete 2 two courses that they run here - justice awareness and anger management.

You'll remember that there is a problem in here if you have the cheek to deny a crime you have always denied. And I, reckless fellow, have always denied killing my wife, and I deny it for a pretty good reason. I didn't do it.

Fortunately, these courses don't require me to discuss the crime I didn't do, so that has made me eligible.

Something in me makes me smile at the titles of the courses. After all these years of imprisonment for a crime I didn't do, if I am not aware of 'justice', then I am aware of nothing.

And if I have tolerated this appalling injustice withouth being continually on the boil, then it might well appear that few are better at managing anger that your correspondent.

They know best

And my behavioural record should show my guardians that to include me in it is a waste of money but - fortunately- I have learned that they know best. They are the professionals, after all.

Oh, there is a positive side to having my risk assessment changed. If it had stayed at low, I coul dnever show any improvement. Now it is up a bit, my normal behaviour means it must be lowered and that will seem like an improvement.

Of work, the library job remains very dull. However, the head librarian has started to give me some jobs with more responsibility - a hint of resonsibility - and that does break the monotony.

Twice a week now, I give new prisoners a presentation about the function of the library and what it offers, and that brings some satisfaction.

The group NACRO has taken over resettlement. Eighty new prisoners arrived last month so that means 80 left. So you can seee that resettlement is an important thing.

I have asked to be join them so that I get involved with resettlement programme. I've made it clear that I don't want to be just the tea boy but want to be hands-on with the process. I feel this is somewhere that I could be good for the system.

I suspect my involvement will depend on how much they trust me. I have a faultless record here with trust, so I have my fingers crossed that I will be allowed to get involved in this challenging work.

My knock-back stress

I had to return to Metaformin tablets when my blood sugar level crept up too high again. The medics think it could be caused by stress through the knock back over parole.

At least my weight is not too bad now. I am below 13 stone now and that brings a joy. When people ask my weight, I can say, 'Oh, 12 stones something.' That sound so much better - even substantially lighter - than having to admit that it's 'Over 13 stone.'

PS: Have you noted my new prison number? It was HP8675, but now it's A2901AL. Sounds very IT and modern now.
Read my story ....

A foot over the fence ... almost

My move to the Mount has been a positive one. I am enjoying my new job in the library here and the food is definitely of a higher standard. I am optimistic that I will get help here to move to a lower tariff prison, all of which has helped me to feel more upbeat.

My parole hearing went ahead last Wednesday. I was not allowed to attend and as yet am not aware of any decisions made in my absence. Although I hold little hope of being released, I have allowed myself to imagine what outside life would be like.

The freedom to see my family and friends, eat whatever food takes my fancy and walk freely on the streets. To be free from the hell I have suffered for so long now.

I am well aware that only new evidence could clear me now, despite the uselessness of my legal team! Even when I am released it is unlikely that my name will ever be cleared.

While listening to Jeremy Vine on Radio 2 the other day I was intrigued by a case that sounded very similar to my own. Susan May was wrongly convicted of the murder of her Aunt. She served 12 years and although she is now free from prison is still faced with the task of clearing her name.

As Susan says in her interview, 'I am out of prison, but not free.'

I have written to Jeremy Vine and sent the letters off to the BBC explaining the similarities in our cases. Fingers crossed that I get a reply.

Links:
Roger Gordon's website
Susan May's story and video

A good move from out of the blue

Settling well into the new address even though the move came out of the blue.

I had applied for a transfer here 18 months ago when I first got my C cat. I was informed that due to my parole review, all transfer requests had been cancelled.

I am still awaiting that review but at least I am in the right place to get a progressive move to a D cat.

I know about a dozen people in here from Swaleside and that has helped in my settling in.

I will not go into the grim details of the move and my induction, but I am now on the lifer wing and very comfy. I even have my own ensuite equipped with a shower unit ... and my own cell key.

The word is that this prison is very pro-active in helping you through your sentence plan.

There is a lifer clerk stationed on the wing, who you can talk to face to face. After only one day she has been able to tell me that my review will probably be heard in March.

It's not the news I wanted but at least I have been told something, unlike the wall of silence I faced at Swaleside.

Helen has been in contact with two national newspaper reporters, who are interested in my case, both have a good track record of discrediting Essex police.

I have a lot to do now. I need to copy and edit 110 pages of witness statements which will keep me busy.
I now have a solicitor who is dealing with my parole matters, which will leave me some freedom to concentrate on the appeal work.

I am also waiting for a decision from the law students at Leeds University. I keep my fingers crossed that they support my claims.

I have applied for a job as library orderly. Armed with a blinding reference from the library at Swaleside, I introduced myself to the librarian who was very keen to have me join the team. But he warns that security may want to assess me themselves, rather than rely on my good reports from Swaleside and that could take 2-3 months.

I will not be eligible for town visits as the rules now say that in C category you have to have been away for 10 years. The should give the parole board good reason to recommend the D as that is the only place that I will be entitled to town visits within my tariff.

Let's hope they see sense - though commonsense and the prison system don't normally run on the same track.

I am sparked into believing that this move is the best one I have made and feel really positive about being established in open conditions this time next year.

The family are all fine. Gaye's dementia has got no worse and Alec continues to care for her and Andrew. James is still relying on Agency work, sometimes getting 2 or 3 days work, sometimes nothing at all.

Helen still keeps herself busy with the voluntary work and church, but she was able to visit me before Christmas with brother Paul. It was very good to see them both as I hadn't seen them since Dad's funeral.

Here's my new address -
Roger Gordon HP8675
HMP The Mount
Molyneaux Avenue
Bovingdon
Hemel Hempstead
Herts HP3 0NZ

Roger Gordon

Roger gets a surprise move

Good news! Roger Gordon was moved on Friday to The Mount, at Hemel Hempstead, in Hertfordshire.

Well, we assume it is good news because it seems The Mount is a Category C training prison, so it should mean that Roger is officially getting a lower category.

The improvement is something Roger has been working towards for some years.

His sister, Helen, said today, 'It was a complete surprise to me when I heard he was moving.'

Read all about on Roger's website, Call-this-Justice.com