Forget You Had a Daughter - Doing Time in the Bangkok Hilton (33 page)

Chris and I managed to be alone together rather often. In

prison which, at the best of times, is not a normal environment, a female and male should never be able to be alone together for any length of time. In Durham Maximum Security Prison it should have been totally out of the question.

What kinds of idiots are running this place?
I thought to myself, when we once again managed to organise time by ourselves. One afternoon our relationship went a step beyond talking together and before I knew what was happening we were having sex.

It certainly wasn’t planned but I had a good idea what the con- sequences would have been if we had been found out. I won’t go into the details of the where and the when but we began seeing other and the sex continued.This unique and rather special rela- tionship lasted for over five months.

To be honest, I couldn’t believe it and every time I saw him I was even more astonished that it was actually happening, almost under the very eyes of the system that scrutinised my every move. I didn’t care.What else could they do to me?

I hadn’t purposely tried to get one over on the system and yet that is exactly what I was doing. Right there in the middle of the highest security prison in England, where £
20
million had been spent beefing up security, I was having an affair under all their noses. No one knew; not a soul guessed what was happening.

Affairs between staff and inmates in prison are quite common- place, although not so many were happening on H-wing. In most cases prisoners are aware of them, but tend to pretend that nothing is happening – they don’t want to know because they don’t want to grass on anyone. For a lot of the prisoners if someone has found a piece of happiness, even through sex, then it’s none of their busi- ness. The officers don’t want to know either because they will have to file a report about a colleague that basically means making another enemy (in prison prisoners and staff want as few enemies as possible) and becoming buried under a stack of official paper- work.The basic laws of duty fall under the spell of the basic law of entropy.

Chris and I got on well together and our relationship, of course, was good fun but it was also more than this; I felt real again. It had been years since I had last had sex but that was never the issue, the sex was peripheral. We were friends, and I loved having a secret, because it gave me back something to call my own. Our relation- ship and our secret were more powerful than the actual sex.And I was the one who was orchestrating it, except for its timing.

In prison, the first rule is that if you want something to remain a secret, a real secret, then you cannot afford to tell a single soul; no matter how much you think you can trust them. If you tell your best friend today, and they’re not your best friend tomorrow – something that happens with regular monotony – they won’t have your friendship, but they’ve still got your secret. So I told no one, either inside prison or out.The only two people who knew about this were Chris and myself.

Having been shipped from Holloway to Foston Hall as a result of being accused of having ‘an unsuitable relationship with a member of staff ’, the irony of what was happening did not escape me. It was exhilarating and being in a place like Durham and doing something completely taboo added to this sensation.

Following one of the first times it happened, I was told to go to reception.
Oh, my God
, I thought,
someone knows something. How did they find out?
But, of course, no one knew a thing and, in this instance, I was simply going to reception to have my photograph taken, following the introduction of key fobs with each inmate’s picture, name and number on them. Looking vaguely ridiculous and wearing a broad grin, the picture was duly taken. I’ve still got that key fob and every time I look at the photograph I’m sure the secret still shows.

On a number of occasions we were almost caught when someone came into the room. Yet Chris always remained cool while I, meanwhile, was shaking to the marrow with fear.

I did actually like Chris and I wasn’t simply having this relation- ship with him because I could, or because of the power trip.

Outside of prison we may well have had a decent go at a relation- ship, but inside we simply got on well and enjoyed it until it proved impossible to continue with it.

Around Christmas
1999
panic set in.There was no sign of my period and I thought I was pregnant. I couldn’t believe it. Was I pregnant?
In here? In Durham Prison? God, no, please, it can’t be true!
I was scared out of my wits. I could barely imagine the reaction – not to mention the headlines – if it had been discovered that I was having sex with a member of Durham’s staff.

Nervously I paced my cell, taking half steps forward and then hesitating. Wondering whether I was pregnant was absolute torture and I couldn’t eat or sleep. ‘
Jesus
,’ I thought, ‘
if you’re out there, do something
.’ I couldn’t have a baby born in prison. I mean, what would I tell the rest of the prisoners, and what would I do if I really were carrying a child?

All around me the usual signs of Durham life continued. My situation seemed completely improbable, yet it was true. Most true stories, I suppose, are those that seem so far off-the-wall that they must be true. My head was spinning.What was I going to say to the prison doctor?

‘Hello, doctor, I think I’m going to have a baby.’ ‘Fine, OK. How long have you been in prison?’ ‘Um, well… about six years.’

Finally I got the opportunity to tell Chris of my suspicions and I thought he was going to collapse. He looked about as freaked out as I felt.

‘Look,’ I said, pacing the room,‘you don’t need to worry. If I am pregnant they won’t know it’s you. I wouldn’t allow them to carry out any DNA tests or anything like that.’

He looked dazed. Despite this we continued seeing each other, hoping that it was just an oversight on my part and that my period was simply later than normal.The panic continued for weeks and, in prison, weeks are very long at the best of times. Every day

passed more slowly than the last. I think I even began thinking of names.There wasn’t a minute that went by when I wasn’t thinking about it. I lost weight dramatically.

In the meantime the rest of the girls were getting on with their sentence and I was trying my best to act normal. Most of the time I felt sick and I imagined that it might be morning sickness. Our predicament continued over Christmas that year and Chris was away from work some of that time, which made the waiting even longer. It was a dreadful Christmas.

When he returned we spoke about how foolish we were and all of the things both of us had to lose.After what seemed like an eter- nity, my period arrived and I was ecstatic. He was relieved. Both of us breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

We realised that continuing seeing each other wasn’t a good idea at all; in fact it was downright stupid, although I can’t say that I regret it. We saw less and less of each other until we stopped seeing each other alone altogether. Durham was such a difficult, horrendous place to be in that I needed something to remind me of the real world. Chris had done that for me. Even now it’s hard to believe it happened. But it did and, looking back, I wonder whether perhaps, in some small way, Chris saved my life. Or at least my sanity.

For several months before Christmas someone had been setting fires off all over the wing; black smoke billowed constantly from someone’s cell. Even though the whole place was built from con- crete and steel, it was very scary being locked behind a door when flames crackled close by.When we were not locked in our cells or at work, the doors remained open and there was no way of closing the door if you were going for a shower, so anyone could enter your cell when you weren’t around.

On Christmas morning we were unlocked at
9
.
30
and, as I emerged onto the wing around
10
, I looked around as plumes of smoke filtered across the landing. Rose West’s cell had been set on

fire and the blaze had developed ferociously.There was shouting and screaming and orders being barked; we were promptly locked back in our cells.The whole wing was locked in for the whole of Christmas Day, Boxing Day and the day after that.

Rose wasn’t in her cell at the time of the fire but Jack, her beau- tiful blue-and-yellow budgie, hadn’t been so fortunate. Although he survived he was covered in black soot, stunned and more than a little choked. It was awful to see that poor bird carried out of that cell in such a state.

Everything in Rose’s cell was turned into a black, charred mess. Her stereo had melted along with all her tapes, all her clothes were burnt, and even the plaster had fried on the walls. I doubt the arsonist was trying to kill her but they knew it would cause con- siderable damage.While the fire burned, Rose was collecting her breakfast, three floors down from her cell.

Her routine had made her an easy target. Rose would be up and dressed and out of her cell first thing in the morning. She is very orderly and fastidious and always seems to be busy. She cleans con- stantly, washes, organises things and makes tea as soon as the cell door opens. She gets hot water, milk and her cornflakes, and then fixes herself neatly before moving onto the next chore. Rose created her own regular routine of bustle, as if to compensate for the way in which her life was controlled, whilst appearing oblivi- ous to the chaos around her.

In prison you get to know people, their routines, what they prefer to wear, how they like to be spoken to and what makes them stand out; the whole process is like seeing someone con- stantly stripped bare, undressed and naked in front of you. I noticed this about Rose and most of the others. Then I realised everyone looked at me in exactly the same manner.

After the fire, Rose was put in the segregation block because that was the only vacant cell. Somewhat ironically Rose’s cell had been secured with yellow, police-crime-scene tape. Now she was the victim. No one got to use the telephone.

I was amazed to discover that Rose loved budgies. I hadn’t imagined her capable of loving feelings, but Rose doted on Jack. Sometimes he even sat on my shoulder and chewed my earring. Now he was black with smoke, trapped in someone else’s fire, inside a prison cell that held Rosemary West.A real jailbird.

After the fire Rose gave Jack away. She was traumatised by the event and I actually felt quite sorry for her. She had nothing at all in there apart from that bird.There was no life for her to live inside and there never would be outside. I felt sick that someone could go out of their way to cause someone else grief, first thing on Christmas morning. Durham suddenly seemed such a dreadfully sad place to be.And I was stuck in the middle of it all.

The fire had upset Rose terribly and much more profoundly than any of us really understood. No doubt many people will be delighted at the thought she was upset – they might even criticise me for feeling the way I felt, but in prison inmates are as you find them on the landings, or at breakfast, in the queue for the toilet or in recreation.Whoever they have been or whatever they may have done before coming suddenly becomes less important.

Writing about Rose West is difficult because to put a human element into her story seems almost disrespectful to those that died. I spent a long time on the same wing as her and could see that she did have feelings, although initially my response was almost paralysed by my knowledge of the events from her past.As the months passed in Durham, people-watching became the only activity worth spending time on. Rose West liked to sew and, before the fire, had a cell full of frilly pillows and doilies. She cleaned incessantly and liked what she always described as ‘a decent cup of tea’. She liked to cook shepherd’s pie or a pasta dish

– always something simple and ordinary; nothing with spices or anything like that. I think she probably felt safer that way. By all accounts the men who worked in the kitchen had been putting disgusting body excretions and sharp objects in her food.

In Durham we had access to a small kitchen and in there, when-

ever possible, I would make the fudge my mother had taught me to make as a child. One day I found myself transfixed as Rose, who was making some pasta, automatically turned the handles of the saucepans inwards and away from the edge of the cooker. I had been taught to do that at Girl Guides in Hollingbourne; it was for safety, an action mostly to prevent young children and babies from burning or scalding themselves. It was strange to witness Rose West, the woman charged with killing all those kids, carrying out a little act like that. It was heartbreaking. Who was she? I’m still trying to figure that one out.

‘Sandra,’ said Rose one day,‘do you know how many loaves of bread it takes to feed eight kids and lodgers?’ She always seemed concerned. I used to find that rather odd, given what she was in prison for.

Rose rarely got a visit but when she did the dogs were brought out and there was a massive security operation just for her. Rose was not allowed to use the same visiting room as the rest of the prisoners, because she was vulnerable to attack, so she was taken to another part of the prison. One of the first questions asked by anyone visiting me in Durham was about Rose and what she was really like. In the visiting room I would notice people looking around at the other prisoners, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. She is one of only a few women whose names are whispered instead of spoken.

Anytime Rose was taken off H-wing and into the open grounds, the local police were informed. Three officers usually accompanied her, and two dog handlers, while all the security systems in the prison were alerted. The male prisoners watched her while she was being paraded under guard and they screamed and bawled as she passed. Rose walked with her head down, trying to appear oblivious to anything that was going on around her.

Early one afternoon, before the fire, the guards came to deliver her to the visiting area. Because such a large operation has to be

carried out before they unlock the rest of the wing, their appear- ance had caught her by surprise.When they opened the door, Jack flew out and she had no time to get the bird back to the cell before her visit. I spent the afternoon with Sue, another inmate, trying to catch him.