The Prison Doctor: Women Inside. Dr Amanda Brown
As I was pulling into a parking space, I noticed an elderly lady who appeared to be struggling a bit to get out of her car a few spaces along from me. I could see that she was on her own and so I offered her a helping hand, which she graciously accepted.
She asked if I could pass her walking stick and handbag out of the car.
‘It’s my arthritis,’ she said. ‘I can walk, I just find long distances hard and it can be quite a trek across this car park.’
‘Yes, I know it can, and it’s worse on a miserable old rainy day like this,’ I said. ‘Are you here for a visit?’
‘Yes, to see my daughter, Denise. She’s been here for four years. Are you here for a visit too?’
‘No, I work here. I’m due to start at two,’ I explained.
The lady told me that she had spent the last four years as the sole carer for her twin nine-year-old grandsons, after her daughter and her daughter’s partner were both imprisoned. She didn’t tell me what their crime was, and I didn’t like to ask.
‘We’d been led to believe that they wouldn’t be given a custodial sentence, so it came as a massive shock,’ she explained. ‘It just doesn’t seem right to take a mum from her kids, but I s’pose that’s what happens if you get on the wrong side of the law.’
Sometimes women arrive in prison while their children are still at school, not for a minute even thinking they would be given a custodial sentence when they set off for court that day. They would more likely be thinking about what they would be serving their kids for tea. Similarly, there would be children up and down the country at school expecting to go home as normal, without any idea that it would be someone different picking them up. There are no tearful goodbyes, just separation, cutting through their lives as sharp as a knife.
‘I never thought I’d end up looking after young kids at my age though,’ the woman continued. ‘It’s so exhausting but I love ’em to bits. Every day of her trial, I sat listening and waiting, hoping with all my heart for a good outcome. It wasn’t to be.
‘On the day she was sentenced and led away, the only two thoughts I had were, “How am I going to tell the children?” and “How on earth am I going to cope?” I was devastated.
‘But I couldn’t just turn my back on them and say I wasn’t going to look after them.
‘The boys were only five at the time. When their mum was sent away, I picked them up from school and they came back with me. We felt invisible. I went from being their nan to their parents but there was no way they were going to go into care. They are my grandsons; I was determined that was not going to happen. Heaven forbid.’
We started walking slowly towards the entrance where the Visitors’ Centre is located next to the staff entrance.
‘How are they doing? Are you coping okay?’ I asked.
‘They’re alright on the whole I suppose, but they have definitely been affected. I know, deep down, they’re hurting. I try to reassure them as much as I can. At first, I wasn’t sure how much to tell them, and just told them that their mum still loves them but she had to go away for making a mistake. They’re a bit older now, so I try to be honest with them about what’s happening and why. But I’m never sure whether it’s too much or too little. I mean, I’m no professional.’
Many women have told me that they simply do not tell their kids they are in prison. They weave elaborate stories about being in hospital, working away from home, or joining the Army. One 63-year-old resident told me that she had told her five-year-old granddaughter that she was in Wales painting a castle for the next six months.
‘It’s just easier that way,’ they say to me. ‘No need for them to deal with the reality. It’s all very well us being here, but they have to deal with it out there. Go to school and hear people gossip. I don’t want to put them through that.’
‘You can only do your best,’ I told the lady as we walked through the car park, hoping to reassure her a little.
‘Trouble is, other people get to know your situation and the boys have been badly bullied by some of the kids at school, and on the street where we live,’ she explained. ‘Kieron still wets the bed. I’ve been into school loads of times to try and sort it out, and they say they will, but it still happens. They still get bullied.
‘They’re on a trip today with the Cubs, but I try to bring them to see her as much as I can, to keep the relationship going, but it can be hard as the visits are a bit difficult sometimes. Occasionally Kieron doesn’t want to come with us. He’s quite angry about everything. Again, between school and me, we’re doing our best to help him, but he lashes out at us and I know his behaviour is bad. As he grows up it’s getting worse. I worry that they’re going to end up going down the same road as their mum. That would totally destroy me. I think the world of them.
‘She calls us as much as possible, but it can be a struggle to know what to talk about sometimes. She’s got a job, and has done some education courses, and she seems to be doing her best to make a better life, so she can support the boys when she comes out. I hope so, but it might take me a lot of time to trust her again.
‘I try to give them a normal life as best I can but it’s hard,’ she said. ‘Money’s tight, too. I had some savings, but it’s all gone so it’s really tough now. We’ve had to use food banks before.’
‘Do you manage to come and visit much?’ I asked her.
‘I’ve only been once this month. We live over two hours away, and the petrol’s so expensive. Sometimes I just can’t afford it,’ she said.
‘Oh, that must be really hard for you,’ I said, trying to imagine how on earth she managed to cope.
‘But on the whole the kids enjoy visiting and love playing with all the stuff they have here. It feels pretty informal and I always give them two pounds each for snacks. They have to go through quite a lot of security, of course, but they always get a big hug off their mum, and I think that’s probably the best bit for them,’ she added.
‘It must be wonderful for them to have a lovely hug from Mum, and even better for her. I bet she looks forward to that more than anything else,’ I replied, knowing how comforting a loving hug can be.
As we arrived at the entrance to the prison, we wished each other a happy day and went our separate ways, but I found myself thinking about how challenging life must be for those two boys and their grandmother.
The number of visits each resident is allowed from family members and friends is determined via their status, which is based on behaviour. There is an Incentives policy in place, so if prisoners work hard, stick to the rules and exceed behaviour expectations, they can improve their status. There are three levels: Bronze, Silver and Gold. New residents go to prison on Silver and it can take them as little as eight weeks to achieve Gold status. Commendations are given out for good behaviour and with three commendations they can receive Gold, which leads to additional privileges, such as an increase in the amount of money that can be sent in, access to Avon beauty catalogues and quarterly social events. If residents get two behavioural warnings, they have a meeting with a senior officer to discuss what is going on and to see if they need additional support or help. After that meeting, if they get one further warning, there is an official review, which could lead to demotion. There is now an add-on scheme called Incentives Plus. If a resident gets five commendations in a month, they are eligible for an additional privilege, which could be access to the Vita Nova café, a free eyebrow shape at Shades of Beauty, an additional £5 from their private cash allowance, or a visit in the private family room. This system recently replaced the older IEP (Incentives and Earned Privileges) scheme, where the levels were known as Basic, Standard and Enhanced, but the premise is the same, and many still refer to the previous terminology. At Bronzefield, Silver residents can book a maximum of four visits per month, and Gold residents