I was deeply shocked by Wandsworth Prison

I have visited and performed in many prisons since the 1980s, when I went to HMP Long Lartin, one of the harshest prisons in the country, to do a poetry reading with a team of actors from the Royal Shakespeare Company. I confess to not being convinced that an audience composed mainly of lifers would appreciate our choices, in particular that of a poem by TS Eliot which I did not understand myself. But they did it and were fascinated.

I have on my wall a painting of one of these men with whom I had a long correspondence. After he died, someone sent me a watercolor that he wanted me to receive, depicting a large murderer apparently struggling against a strong wind, with a small blonde figure holding his arm, fighting alongside him. Since then, I have campaigned weakly for reform of our prisons. There is a bit of “there but for the grace of God” in my interest.

When I was eight years old, when I was evacuated during the war, I was a member of a gang of older kids called the Vaccies. We fought with the locals. When I was pinned down, I was a vicious fighter, and if knives had been the modus operandi then – along with my childish rage at the scary wartime world – I can’t swear I wouldn’t have carried one . I was also a prolific shoplifter. I was fortunate to have teachers and parents who ultimately led me down a better path. My husband, John Thaw, also said that if he had not been rescued by two insightful teachers, he would definitely have been a criminal.

Well-known lover of humanity, Priti Patel, said her goal when dealing with criminals was to make them “literally feel terror about committing crimes.” It’s strange that our prisons are full of poor, scared people, while those who kill with questionable construction methods or falsely convict postal workers get away scot-free.

The government advocates a firmer approach to social problems. “Robust”? Cruel. Imprison the homeless, transport the asylum seekers, lock them up and throw away the key. Political parties are fighting over who will be tougher on crime. Yet a punitive approach is not successful. Nearly 50 percent of prisoners reoffend within a year of leaving prison, and more than 50 percent emerge barely literate and ill-equipped to earn an honest living. Punishment is seen as preferable to taking an opportunity to educate and turn around a chaotic life. It costs almost £50,000 a year to jail someone – all that money to teach an offender an encyclopedic knowledge of drugs and additional criminal expertise. How can this happen?

In April I went to a meeting organized by a remarkable Quaker from Wandsworth, Liz Bridge. She was fired from her voluntary job as a chaplain in the local prison for giving a few pounds to an inmate who was about to be thrown onto the streets with nothing but her £89.52 exit allowance . He didn’t even have a map of Wandsworth and Clapham Common to help him get to the tube station.

Liz, one of those wonderful middle-aged, middle-class women who get things done, decided that if she could no longer help the men she had grown to love during her seven years of volunteering , she would reveal the truth about what was happening in the prisons.

She and her fellow Quakers organized a meeting at a very large church in the area, with several ex-offenders and families of inmates. The church was filled with local residents and people like me who were reduced to tears of shame at the stories that unfolded. I have visited many prisons but have rarely been allowed access to the worst wings, so I have a sanitized view of what prison is like. And God knows what I’ve seen is bad enough

Imagine, as you read this in your comfortable armchair or sitting in the sun, what it would be like to be locked up 23 hours a day, in a cell built in 1851 for one person, but which you have to share with a stranger. . Perhaps the foreigner is suffering from an uncontrollable mental or physical illness due to frequent non-delivery of medications. Medical appointments to manage his condition are usually very delayed, and being forced to appear in public in handcuffs is not conducive to his recovery.

The cell has two bunk beds, a ledge for a table and, in plain sight, a toilet that is often broken. There is only room for one chair so you have to eat the terrible food squatting on the bottom bunk or sitting on the toilet. At night, you will place a wet towel in front of the door to try to keep the cockroaches at bay. If you’re allowed outside for an hour — and sometimes you’re not — the yard will be covered in bird droppings. Your prison outfit is probably too small or several sizes too big, and rather than using the laundry in your precious hour, you’ll wash it in the small cell sink, if the faucet works. We probably wouldn’t waste time queuing to use one of the six showers provided for an average of 300 men per wing, while we would prefer to take a few gulps of air in the company of the rats in the small courtyard sordid.

There is no work or study to occupy your mind except in the kitchen, where the rats are better fed than the prisoners. (The Pentonville prison kitchen has finally been closed to combat vermin, so God knows what my friends there are eating.)

At the meeting, the ex-offenders tell us that Wandsworth is lawless and out of control. Attacks are common against the young and inexperienced (although one was met with admiration when an angry inmate shouted: “You Polish c***” and replied “No, I’m Latvian.” “Being a guard is a dangerous and depressing job. , so it is not surprising that there are half the number needed at Wandsworth. Personally, I would take anything to ease the pain of facing this existence for an indefinite period of time. One man’s testimony said he left Wandsworth mentally dead. Having shared a cell with suicidal and self-destructive men, he had learned to crush all sterile sympathy. One of the best ways to help a misbeliever is to use mediation to teach them empathy towards the victim. Prison causes the opposite: a hardening of the mind.

There are many effective ways to redirect rule breakers onto a straight path, using the kindness and respect we want them to show others, as happened with John and me. There will always be people who need to be kept in prison for their own safety and that of society, but we certainly cannot consider ourselves civilized if we treat one of our fellow human beings in this manner.

Since I completed the first version of this article, news has emerged of the findings of Chief Inspector of Prisons Charlie Taylor’s report. Yesterday he sent a notice to the Ministry of Justice, requesting that the prison be placed under emergency measures to deal with “cramped and squalid conditions”. The Quakers’ campaign had borne fruit. The embattled governor also resigned. But pressure must continue to guarantee better conditions for prisoners. What are we going to do to ensure their safety and that of us?