The Governor. Vanessa Frake
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Название: The Governor
Автор: Vanessa Frake
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Биографии и Мемуары
isbn: 9780008390068
isbn:
As the first set of gates slammed behind me, I gave myself a talking-to. Whatever I was feeling inside – nerves, trepidation – under no circumstances could I let that show. As senior officer on the wing, I needed to project an image of being in charge. To the other officers and, most importantly, to the prisoners.
Prisoners can smell fear a mile off. I once heard from a psychologist that a woman who has been raped walks differently. She takes quicker steps and has a less confident stride. They’re such slight differences you or I wouldn’t detect them. Prisoners are looking out for these weaknesses though; they search for chips in your armour, for ways to get under your skin so they can dominate. I learnt a long time ago that in order to survive working in a prison you had to wear a ‘game face’. A neutral expression no matter what. I could never let on what I was really thinking, because if they know they’ve got to you, with the insults they hurl or the violence they threaten you with, they’ve won.
The second and final door clanged shut, juddering at my heels.
My breath escaped me. Bloody hell, this place was enormous. It was the stuff of movies. Four storeys high with metal staircases taking you up the landings. Netting was strung up between the floors to stop prisoners jumping to their death. Suicides, a big part of prison life.
Because the ceiling was so high, the noise was deafening. BANG! BANG! BANG! The sound of fists on doors rung in my ears. It was almost noon, their lunch break, or association hour as we call it, and the inmates wanted letting out.
A friendly older officer approached me. He was what I would call ‘old school’, impeccable manners, no-nonsense, probably ex-army. ‘And who are you, ma’am?’ he asked politely.
I took in a deep breath. ‘I’m your new SO.’
‘Ah, right.’ He looked a little taken aback. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, thank you. And then I’ll have a tour of the wing and you can show me what’s what.’
I was right about the epaulettes. They attracted the prisoners like bees to a honeypot. Amazing really considering how small they were, a single diamond with the crown HMP on either shoulder to show I was a senior officer. But the prisoners’ beady eyes don’t miss a trick. Because the epaulettes were shiny, because they hadn’t seen me before – all of them assumed I was new to the job. Wet behind the ears. Someone they could take the piss out of, which is exactly what they did, or at least tried to do.
The conversations that lunchtime were much of a muchness and all went something a little like this: Prisoner would sidle up to me, look shifty, glancing left to right, and then when he was confident he was out of earshot from the other officers working on the wing, he’d say: ‘You’re the new SO then?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I’d reply. Playing along.
‘So here’s the thing, miss, the old SO who worked here always used to give me an extra visit.’
Lifers were allowed one visit from friends and family a month and if they were an Enhanced prisoner, i.e. if they behaved well, they would get an extra visit, making two visits per month. This particular prisoner was angling for me to bend the rules and give him one extra. Little did he know who he was dealing with. But I played along. Not just because it was mildly amusing to see what lies they spun, but because you can glean a lot from small conversations like that. Namely, who I should be keeping an eye on. It allowed me to work out who was who and who the biggest players were. If they were brazen enough to try it on with me, they were likely to be the ones dealing in contraband. And I don’t just mean drugs. Phones, weapons, cigarettes, home-brewed – or, rather, cell-brewed – alcohol. So I smiled and played along, but took note.
The questions kept coming.
‘So where have you worked before? Do you smoke?’ Checking to see if they can blag any fags off you. ‘How long have you been in the job?’ That was their favourite.
‘Oh, one or two years,’ I replied, a wry smile growing. A twinkle in my eye.
Finally, they caught on.
‘Eugh, you’re not new at all, are you?’
‘Nope.’ I grinned.
Three things I gleaned on my first day. Number one – all that dread I’d worked up had been for nothing. These men didn’t seem half as bad as I’d imagined they’d be. In fact, I’d go as far to say I felt incredibly comfortable with them. There was a ‘what you see is what you get’ sort of attitude about them. These were guys, banged up for serious crimes, yet they appeared a lot more straightforward than the women I’d dealt with.
Second thing I learnt. Both male staff and male prisoners have potty mouths. I think I possibly heard more bad language on my first day in the Scrubs than I’d ever heard. Which included homophobic and racist references. I have no idea why. Without meaning to sound sexist I think it’s just what men do – banter – they don’t see it as inappropriate. I was not impressed, but I was hopeful my presence as a female would make a difference to how the majority of staff and prisoners spoke.
Lastly, I couldn’t believe how dirty the wing was. The floor was absolutely minging and in need of a good polish. The place stunk to high heaven. D wing was crying out for a woman’s touch. Luckily for them, I’d arrived.
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