Forget You Had a Daughter - Doing Time in the Bangkok Hilton (37 page)

When I arrived outside the house it took a few seconds to compose myself before heading towards the building, nestling at the heart of a quiet road.The short walk from the car to the front door, after Holroyde had dropped me off, felt as though it had taken a lifetime.The last time I stood there, in front of the frozen

hills and the endless, metallic sky, I was
25
years old, filled with

excitement at the prospect of travelling to another country. It was
10
years later, and the hills and the sky remained unchanged, although I did not.

As I stood outside that door, I had a strange feeling that I no longer belonged. Once inside I discovered that most of my fur- nishings and belongings had been either sold or stolen.The house was filthy and smelled awful. Still, I was home at last.

No one wanted me to live there, especially my parents, who wanted me to move to Scotland.A few weeks after my first visit I

returned to the house and gradually I could feel a little warmth returning, a little part of my old life coming back to me. So I have kept it, and I live here now. Part of me died in Lard Yao; perhaps being home might bring some of me back to life.

Robert Lock had made everything sound so easy.Yet I cannot put all the blame on him, although I can still barely fathom how I could have been so stupid. So I hope that Robert Lock has grown, as I have grown over the past
10
years, and I wish him well. If I had thought a little more profoundly and a little less selfishly about what I was going to do, it would never have happened.

For me, smuggling drugs was a way to get home, but I suspect that for many there are a range of feeble excuses. Most of those who agree to smuggle are, in the main, preyed on because of their youth, naivety and inexperience. Single women, in particular, are often targets for the well-dressed, attractive drug dealers. I have met people who have tried to smuggle in order to pay for medical care and surgery, to fund university, or simply to be able to buy a loved one something that they have always wanted.There are, of course, also those who do it for greed and selfishness.There are as many reasons for people smuggling drugs as there are people who do it.

The Thai government will continue to hand out stiff sentences and execute prisoners and, although I do not agree with much in their system of justice, I was a guest in their country and accept what they do, albeit with reservations. My only real complaint, now that the pain and suffering appears to be over, is that perhaps the sentences are a little too long.

I truly believe that little good comes from locking people up for years and years away from their families, without any real support, especially if they are to be released back into mainstream society. Some people will disagree. They are, of course, entitled to their opinion.

It is very easy to criticise the Thai system of punishment but, in

many ways, the system in Britain is worse than it is in Thailand. Sometimes this is easy to forget.

Part of me is stunned by the direction my life has taken over the last decade but nothing has surprised me more than my accept- ance for a university place. On days when all I could smell was the stench of rotten food and open sewers, I constantly asked myself, ‘How did I get here?’ Now, having been accepted to read for a geography degree from September
2002
, the same question comes back to me. I was supposed to begin the course one year earlier but I decided to delay it for a year so that I could, in some small way, repay my pardon, by trying to give something back to society. Since my release I have given anti-drugs and travel-aware- ness talks at schools and conferences throughout Britain. It has been a humbling experience, offering what advice I can to young people who might one day find themselves in one of the most beautiful countries in the world and be tempted to do as I did.

With gap years having become so popular amongst young people I hope that they can learn something from my own ex- periences. Perhaps, just as they are about to take a bad man up on a bad offer, they might look back at the talk I gave them and remember what a fool I was. Maybe, just maybe, my experiences might have had some kind of value and resonance.

I have also been working with a doctor from the prison in Bangkok to raise money for a hospice.There is an old building in the prison that we hope can be converted into a quiet, clean place so that terminally ill patients can be taken there to die with dignity.To die alone and forgotten, in a noisy, hot and filthy room, is a horrific ordeal that no one should have to go through. So many times I thought that that would be my fate.

Curiously, while my acceptance at Oxford became public knowledge and was received with some criticism, I seemed to cause a mild furore in the media after being recruited as an adviser to Scotland’s prisons inspector in a bid to improve conditions for

inmates.Around July
2001,
Clive Fairweather, then chief inspector of prisons in Scotland, asked me and two other ex-convicts to advise on reform, in the first programme of its kind in Britain.

My role saw me writing a report for the prison inspectorate on the benefits of electronic tagging as an alternative to custody. It was planned that I accompany the inspectorate team on their offi- cial inspection of a prison, but the media managed to put a stop to that and I stopped working with Mr Fairweather.

The fact that I was paid for two days’ work appeared to upset a number of people, including some politicians and drug campaign- ers who questioned whether I should benefit from my crime. I accept that I have no relevant academic qualifications, apart from the experience I gained through prison; however, I do believe that it is only right that any assessment of prison reform should listen to evidence from those who have spent time inside and who have an intimate knowledge of the machinations of that system.

I believe it’s time to look at alternatives to custody for those who are not a danger to the public. During my work on the tagging paper, I was impressed with the proposed reforms, which meant some offenders would be given the choice of a prison sen- tence or serving their time under curfew at home, while their whereabouts were monitored electronically. I do worry whether or not we are releasing better people back onto the streets after a period of incarceration.

Having been released from prison myself, I know what a shock to the system it is. I was one of the lucky ones who had some- where to go and a family that were prepared to support me. So many more inmates are not as lucky and the cycle of crime con- tinues. Over 95 per cent of the prison population in this country face release at some point.We’d better hope that someone some- where is planning to improve their lot.

I have served a long and punishing sentence, which I deserved, much of it in one of the toughest foreign prisons in the world, and in some of the toughest that the UK has to offer. I truly hope that

some of my experience in these environments can somehow be used to improve the penal system for those that will continue to enter it. Life in prison is not easy, nor is it meant to be, but in many instances there has to be a viable and more productive alternative. The prison system at present is unacceptable and only getting worse. The chances to provide constructive opportunities for offenders have diminished. I hope there will be serious attempts to

find solutions to the ever-increasing problems in British prisons.

Sometimes it all seems like a dream – not a nightmare – just a dream. I wish, of course, that the dream had never happened but that belongs to the past. But I can truthfully say that I am not bitter; I can’t afford to be. I am 37 years old, and still, occasionally, I find myself dreaming this life away. I have no family of my own, and I suspect I never will have. I’m like the girl with the new iden- tity, washed up on the tide somewhere, waiting to enter a new world, unaccustomed to the language and the protocol involved. But now I must deal with the future.

There remains, and I suspect that it always will, a part of me that is secretly happy that I was caught and that, curiously, I was given the time and the space to reflect on my life and on the lives of those around me. As a teenager, and as a young woman in my twenties, I harboured the notion that the world belonged to me, and me alone, and that I would take from it at will. During that time I forgot, as many of us are prone to do, that this is not the case and that, if anything, our world is simply loaned to us by others: God, family, friends, children and even strangers.

If I had never gone to Thailand and had never been caught for attempting to smuggle drugs, I might still have been living the life of a rather self-indulgent young woman who expected more and gave less in return. I doubt that my relationship with my mum and dad would be as honest, sincere and loving as it is now. For this, I am eternally grateful. I wanted my parents to forget they had a daughter; they didn’t.And I love them for that too.

When I stood at the gates outside Cookham Wood Prison, I said that I was guilty of breaking the law in Thailand and that I took full responsibility for what I had done. I am glad that I said this. I still believe it. One of my regrets is that I cannot return to the country that I grew to love so much.Thailand embarrassed me and I embarrassed it. It also saved me. It is a beautiful country, with a wonderful culture and lovely people. It gave me many moments and continues to do so.

I have tried to be as honest as my conscience and the law allows and I hope that I have not done anyone in this book a disservice. My intentions are simply to say sorry to everyone involved, espe- cially to the people of Thailand, and even the Thai prison system. I took an extraordinary risk for money and I ignored the price to be paid for smuggling drugs. I will live with the shame and conse- quences of what I did for the rest of my life.

As I write this, while the sun is shining outside my house, I realise that my experiences were actually some kind of privilege. I stare into this huge crystal ball of thoughts and dreams, nightmares and fears, and the wonderful thing is that I can see only myself, alive. I am seven years old, playing with my brother; I am a teenager annoying my parents as only I could have done; I am reckless and impulsive, trusting and selfish. I am a traveller, then a prisoner.Then, of course, I am free.

And yet… in the background I can still hear prison, the scream- ing, fighting, and the shouting. I will never be free of my past.

Acknowledgements

Sandra Gregory

I am sure that I would not have survived the long years in prison without all the true and very good friends who stuck by me, all the amazing people around the world who wrote to me, sent me parcels of chocolate, books, toiletries and cat food, and my family, who all supported me; they all, ultimately, kept me and my spirit alive. I was so very lucky in so many regards and during my years in prison, both inThailand and in Britain, rarely felt truly alone.To all these people – I am eternally grateful for your friendship and the strength each of you gave me; thank you. I would not have sur- vived the ordeal alone.

There are so many people I would like to thank personally for all their help and support but do not have the space here to do so. Gratitude is hard to express with mere words, but I know not how else to repay my debt to you all.Thank you all for your help and support and for all the letters you wrote to me and in support of me or on my behalf. Your friendship, prayers and encouragement gave me the courage to get through those years locked away.

I am grateful to so many people but would especially like to thank:

His Majesty The King of Thailand for forgiving me the crime I committed in his beautiful country and giving me back my life.

Olivia andVictoria for protecting certain persons.

Khun Tawitchai, my lawyer in Bangkok, who remained loyal and reliable for over three years and ensured me the minimum possible sentence for the crime I committed in his country. Good lawyers are hard to find, but he was surely one of them.

Jean Sharpe for being so much more to me than just an embassy representative and for the many times she ‘fought my corner’ in the ‘early years’.And to all the other members of the consular staff at the British Embassy in Bangkok.

Prisoners Abroad, who were a continual emotional and finan- cial support and offer a lifeline to any British person who finds themselves incarcerated abroad.

To Julie, who came religiously to visit me in Lard Yao. She shared my pain and helped me cope with the isolation and madness. God did indeed send you.

James and Mary Mackay and Matthew Rodger for having faith in me and winning the support of the Church of Scotland.Your confidence in me and continued friendship gave me hope and continue to do so.

All the MPs, MSPs (special thanks to Nora Radcliffe MSP), MEPs, councillors, church ministers, bishops and archbishops who supported me and pestered the British government on my behalf. Special thanks to Malcolm Bruce, Liberal Democrat MP, for his continual support and hard work throughout the years and for the Adjournment Debate he held in the House of Commons on my behalf. And, of course, to Martin Bell for supporting Malcolm that evening.Thank you both.

Warm thanks to everyone who became a member of the ‘Friends of Sandra Gregory’ support group based in my home town. Special thanks to Jackie Cox for speaking out on the record and for her support throughout the long years. Each of you shares a very special place in my memory.

Special thanks to Reverend Jim Jack for being so supportive towards my dear grandparents and for all your prayers.Thanks also to Stan and Eddie from Prison Fellowship.

Thank you, James, for being so much more than you were expected to be.You were as much of a treat as your ‘treats’.

Thank you also to Sue May, who is about to enter her second decade behind bars.The support and friendship you showed me in Durham when I was crumbling under the weight of depression helped me survive the place more than you will ever know. How you survive the massive injustice dished out to you I will never know. Stay strong my friend; the truth will prevail in the end.