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