Holloway Horrors

I was told about my father's death when I was in HMP Holloway. 
I remember being called out of the art class where H was teaching and being taken to a Senior Officer's pod. When I was in the room, they put my mother on the phone from South Africa. 
I remember the room spinning, as if I was suddenly underwater - everything felt removed. My knees gave way and I fell straight into the chair an officer had put immediately behind me.
I remember I couldn't speak. I couldn't believe it. The officer just put her arms around me and I dissolved into the empty space in my life that he had just left behind.
The kindness of the staff stayed with me. Although I was not a practising Muslim, the Muslim chaplain came and prayed and sat with me everyday. Officers on the landing checked in on me. The Governor, AD pulled out every stop to get me out and safe to deal with my trauma and my pain. I was given HDC (Home Detention Curfew) and allowed to go home.
Grief overcame me, he was so young, only 70 and losing him was like losing a limb, a substantial part of who I am. He died 4 days after his 70th birthday when he had decided to take on a new lease on life, he was going to leave SA and let someone manage his property investments there and in London and move to the Seychelles. It was like a second Life was dawning for him, he was free of people leaning on him , he had decided it was time for himself.
I remember he sounded hopeful when I rang him, from the prison phone. Staff always made sure that operationally, things ran properly, women who needed the foreign national phone cards got them on time, every week.

The door to the wing office was always open. The staff were properly trained and decent. They treated us with dignity and patience.
I remember being able to open up, for the first time ever about the pain and shame of my trial with a forensic psychologist, sitting on a bench in the rose garden.
As frighteningly ugly and awful the physical environment was, and it was, there were cockroaches and rats everywhere, we'd hear them in the walls, the place was a kind of sanctuary for women who needed respite from the world.
There were no unnecessary or ill informed adjudications, the staff were never nicking happy. You actually saw the governors on the landings. 
I'm not trying to paint a rose coloured picture of my experiences there, it was, outwardly a brutal and horrific place, but if you let it, and let some of the kindness of strangers and staff come in, it was bearable. There was no need for lodging thousands of complaints, it was a functional prison that really worked. Staff didn't step out of line, sexually, morally or emotionally. There was a real sense of respect and responsibility.
I was very sad to hear HMP Holloway was closing. I've heard that the land has already been sold and I feel for the campaign and the group who so badly want and deserve to have their memories of this awful /beautiful place enshrined, out of respect for all they lost and found.
I hope and pray that this shameless government will give us at least something back, of ourselves for all the years lost and the lives taken, for all the friendships nurtured and creativity.
Most of all, for me, for the memory of my dad, whose death still haunts me, he somehow resides behind those prison walls.

 

Farah Damji

Through the Hatch

From July 2011 until January 2016 I was part of the prison visiting team at HMP Holloway. I visited the prison every four weeks or so with a colleague representing a charity I worked for. We worked specifically with pregnant women or women who had been recently separated from babies or young children. I am a psychotherapist, but my position in the prison was not in this role, although there was an undeniable therapeutic element. 

We would run a weekly group where any woman who was pregnant or had been recently separated from a baby could attend. We would also seek out any other women who may not have attended the group and visit her individually wherever in the prison she may be. 

Some of the women we visited away from the group setting would be in shared cells. Sometimes it wasn’t possible for an officer to unlock the women. When we saw women in this circumstance, we would talk to her through the hatch of her cell door. The hatch is a small window with a flap, big enough to see the middle third of someones face when up close. I spent many hours supporting women in this scenario. Talking and listening through the hatch. 

I’m quite tall, so would have to stand with my legs wide apart and lean down a little in order to get the positioning right for the best possible chance of being of benefit to the woman.

The women were often distressed. Some had just arrived, just separated from a baby they had to leave at court or at home. Some had been breastfeeding until very recently and were trying to manage the pain of both separation and engorged breasts. 
Some were pregnant and getting to grips with the realisation that their baby may be born while they are serving a prison sentence. These were highly emotional and difficult interactions. These women desperately needed to talk and to be listened to, and all of this happened through a hatch, with me, a woman they had never met before. There would often be other women in the cell behind her talking or watching TV, and a lot of activity in the corridor behind me, officers escorting prisoners, doors and gates opening and closing. 

For that time she and I worked hard at make the most of the time we had together. It was my intention to support the woman and show compassion and kindness in this less than perfect environment. I attempted to use my knowledge and therapeutic skills to develop a short term relationship with the woman, in a way that would be helpful to her.

Through regularly being in this position I have learnt a great deal. Before I had worked in this way, I thought that it would be pretty useless to spend a short amount of time with someone in a noisy setting with a physical door between you both. Since the experience I have learned that quite the opposite to be true. Although far from ideal, it is possible to develop a good enough relationship and provide support to someone in distress with all of the limitations of the prison environment. Women have said that the contact made a positive difference to their wellbeing, which has been a great eye opener and reminder to me of the power of kindness, compassion and unconditional support whatever the restrictions of the environment. 

Those through the hatch visits were difficult, but so worth doing.

Katie 

Suffragette Diary - Friday July 16th

Diary of an unknown Suffragette held in Holloway Prison. 

I slept well but was aroused by someone ringing the bell. The Doctor was sent for. I did not know who it was. I am getting weaker. I’ve applied for the Chaplain. The wardress said to me this morning,” Get your clothes and we shall want to take your bed out.”  I wonder if they will. Miss Carwin didn’t have hers all yesterday. Part of the process seems to be to degrade us by not allowing us to wash properly. Last night I had only my drinking can of water to wash in. My wash tin leaked violently. I asked the wardress if we were not supposed to wash at night and she said, “In this part of the prison you are only supposed to wash in the morning.”

In the morning we had had about a quart of water and a little scrap of soap which was taken away. This morning I have only had my drinking can of water to wash in again and no soap. May Herbert Gladstone’s downfall be speedy. I asked the Doctor yesterday for my ointment and bandage out of my bag and they brought me my bag and let me take it out. I also took out my toothbrush and face flannel with the wardress’s permission as the Doctor said I could have any bits of linen or things of that sort which I needed for the eczema.

Yesterday he also sent me a box of ointment which I did not keep as I was having my own. Yesterday I read morning and evening prayers, lessons etc. They understand refined torture in Holloway. I do not like the Governor and should not trust him. I wish I could faint or something of that sort. How long I wonder can I live without food and without air. The Chaplain has been and says he can’t get us library books. The Doctor has been also. He seems much amused and tries to persuade us to desist. A nice fat old wardress who I take to be the Matron of the Hospital and who can smile always comes with him which is a comfort. He is going to get me some soap and water and something to sit on as they have removed my mattress and bedding.

I have just had a good wash with about a quart of hot water and soap which was brought. They brought me my mattress, pillow and rug late this afternoon. I am waiting for my sheets and blanket now and then I shall go to bed. I have read nearly all the Book of Job. I saw through the peephole which was accidentally left open, Mrs Holt White Simmons go out of the cell opposite looking ghastly. I wonder if I look likewise 4 days without food.  Miss Carwin has got 10 days close confinement. The Governor and Matron came this afternoon but to no purpose. God help me to hold out. I feel so chokey when I think of the outside world.

 

Reprinted with permission - first published on the wonderful site Suffragette Diary - We encourage everyone to visit, especially to see drawings of her cell.

Hell Hole

 

Ex Holloyway attendee.........

 

we had to strip naked......

 

would like to see ......

 

social enterprise........

 

never had a spa........

 

beauty treatment.......

 

women earning + learning....

 

give back dignity .......

 

that they took away.....

 

women in a male system.....

 

screaming all the way....

 

a hot meal.....

 

cup of coffee.....

 

flashback to Holloway...

 

 

Naked but this time I feel good.

 

Nicolette King

Charlie Kiss

Charlie Kiss, a trans man, writes about his time in Holloway when a teenage anti-nuclear protester.

I went to Holloway Prison the first time back in 1982. I wasn’t alone. I was with ‘Greenham Women’ who were anti-nuclear protestors’ This was for only four days, the end of a two-week sentence for refusing to be ‘bound over to keep the peace’. We had disrupted things in Drake Hall, an open prison because we had all refused to do the prison work and so were kept in the punishment block, thereby of course preventing anyone else from being punished which was satisfying. So, to put a stop to this, we were transferred to different prisons, I was only 17 at the time and so I was put on the borstal wing.  I remember an overbearing old ex-RAF woman officer who was clear in her lack of respect for me and was quite intimidating.

The second time I went to Holloway was in February 1983, this was for climbing on top of the the nuclear missile silos on January 1st, 1983.  I had a pretty miserable time but at least my sentence was again short, for two weeks only. The women inside were supportive of us and friendly on the whole. We listened to their backgrounds and became angry at so many injustices mostly due to poverty.

It feels strange, referring to myself going to women’s prison and being part of the Greenham cause, because that was so long ago and in the year 2002 I started transitioning to male.

But despite living in the male world now for over 15 years and doing less direct action, I will never forget my time in Holloway Prison.

I remember the awful food, the screaming and banging through the night, the splitting of matches to make them last longer, the horrible slatted windows designed so narrow that you could not put your head through it, having to choose between decent toilet paper or a packet of tobacco from the measly weekly wage, the unbearable hot temperature and the emptiness of having nothing to do all day but stare out at the red neon sign of the ODEON cinema on Holloway road. Life in prison is painfully slow, excruciatingly, agonisingly slow. I understand why prisoners call it ‘doing time’

I remember- the total lack of control in not being able to look after yourself. All responsibility is taken from you. You can’t control what you eat, how much exercise you get, the temperature, the noise around you. You are totally helpless, and I have an idea now of how crippling institutionalisation is- when you can’t look after yourself or take responsibility. The opposite in fact of what prison should be about. Rather than making the women feel worthless, they need to be given hope and practical help.

It seems to me that prison is an extremely expensive illogical exercise in making the situation worse for everyone. The prisoners in Holloway were mostly there due to reasons of poverty or drugs and a huge number had mental health issues. What possible use for society is there in locking these women up? It’s been proven time and time again that deterrence doesn’t work. What does work is helping women get back on their feet, with accommodation, helping family ties and help getting a job.  This would mean, as with men, they would be far less likely to take a risk and end up back inside again.

I describe my experiences of prison in more detail in my book ‘A New Man- Lesbian, Protest, Mania, Trans Man’ For info visit:  https://anewman.uk/

Charlie Kiss 

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

 

Two Years On

Today on Budget Day,  we remember the announcement that Holloway would be closed, delivered as part of then- Chancellor George Osborne's  Autumn Spending Review, 25 November 2015. After years of rumour, of dark days, of better days, the prison was finally to be no more.

It was announced to all staff at a meeting held in the chapel; many immediately broke tears, word went out around the prison quickly: Holloway was to be closed.

Much has been written, and more not written, about the last few months and subsequent closure of the prison. In some ways it is only now beginning to feel permanent. Women, friends and families adjusting. Organisations adapting to the change.  Staff and teams moved on to Downview, Pentonville and beyond have had their own period of adjustment and challenges. Still we hear and see people connected with Holloway who speak fondly, or passionately, or angrily of the decision to close the prison.

Many people have been actively campaigning to secure the future of the site, notably  Reclaim Holloway,  campaigning for the land, and community supports to be put in place on the site that would mean prisons were not needed. Islington Axe the Housing Act  have had protests outside the Ministry of Justice and petitioned Sadiq Kahn to bid for the land, with over 5,500 signatures. . Community Plan for Holloway run by Centre for Crime and Justice Studies have been bringing local community groups together and consulting with local people, and with Women in Prison with the women who had been in Holloway, publishing a report. 

The closure didn't just inspire campaigns for political change, but also efforts to retain the therapeutic experience of working with women in Holloway, built over decades. In June of this year, Holloway United Therapies launched. A charity who aims to provide the high quality, well recognised long term psychotherapy that was available to women inside Holloway, to women in the community affected by the Criminal Justice System. HUT is newest of the many charities women have sent up over the decades in response to Holloway. You can read about more on those, and the inspiring women on the Heritage section of this site. 

The promises that were made in that 2015 Spending Review have not -- of course -- come to pass. Women’s safety has not been improved by moving women 20 miles plus,  from North London to Surrey.  Women are now, on average, held further away from their families across the whole country,  and a result visits have gone down for women transferred.

Tragically  between the announcement and the closure of Holloway Sarah Reed died on 11 January 2016. The inquest into her death was rightly critical of the care she received; however little attention was given to the impact of the impending closure Holloway itself.  In fact, 2016 was tragically, avoidably, the worst year on record for self inflicted deaths of women in prison in England. The Inspector of Prisons himself  made the connection between the rise of self harm and self inflicted deaths to the closure of HMP Holloway. Women in Prison and Centre for Crime & Justice Studies will be releasing a report soon on the impact on women of the closure. In a year that marked the 10th anniversary of  The Corston Report, it’s hard to feel optimistic about the Ministry of Justice and what their soon to be published strategy for women might hold. Especially as they are committed to building more prisons despite all evidence of their failure. 

Closing a prison -- closing Holloway -- was a dangerous experiment from a Ministry of Justice that has shown continued poor leadership, lack of accountability and negligent management.  Currently it is presiding over nothing short of a crisis in the prison estate. Three Justice Secretary's since the announcement not even NOMS stands, in it’s place the newly created Her Majesties Prison and Probation Service.   Despite their continued failures more money is bunged the way of CRC’s the privatisation of probation under the implementation of ‘Transforming Rehabilitation’. It is nothing short of a omnishambles; provision for women in London has been particularly negatively affected. Private companies continually bailed out in ways beyond imaginable if it were the Voluntary Sector. As women's organisation are punished for opting out of onerous Payment By Results contracts that compromise their ethos and integrity. 

Holloways closure was of course linked to a plan to closure ‘Victorian Prisons in London’  which has now been abandoned.  The irony being of course the only prison they closed wasn’t Victorian, and had received it’s best inspection report.  The decision was connected to freeing up land, as part of a plan to build more housing. Then-Chancellor George Osborne also announced a £2.3bn fund would help boost the number of ‘Starter Homes’ to 200,000, “in addition to those delivered through reform of the planning system” along with the closure. None of these have been built.

Numerous letters to the Ministry of Justice to request the use of the Visitors Centre, the space that could be used well by community groups, or women’s organisations have been to no avail, and it has lain empty. Despite a comprehensively researched proposal by Prison Reform Trust.   The most use it got was Sisters Uncut successful occupation of the building.

Despite rumours that the prison was sold to overseas developers, the prison was, in fact, not open for bidding until recently. Consultations took place and Islington Council, the local planning authority, listened to what the prison meant to women, to the voluntary sector, to the community. The result of these consultations led to a generally supportive Supplementary Planning  Document, and political support from Jeremy Corbyn, Sadiq Kahn, Richard Burgon and Sian Berry backs the demands of the community for adequate housing provision, a Women’s Building and community services. However, the Ministry of Justice and the GVA (the appointed property agent) have marketed the prison -- located on public land -- as an ‘exceptional freehold development opportunity.

Two years on from the announcement of the closure of the prison, it’s time to not only look back through the prison’s heritage and history, it’s time to continue to gather people’s stories but also  now is the time to look forward.

This is why today, Holloway Prison Stories is excited to announce we will be adding a new section to our website, dedicated to supporting the understanding, vision and aims of the Women’s Building.

We are excited to be unveiling some of  the inspiring images and videos we have been working on with Reclaim Holloway, and using this space to further explore the Women’s Building.

We will be inviting submissions from people on what they want to see in a Women’s Building, how it would look, how it will feel, what needs to be there, who needs to be there, why it’s important for them that it’s at Holloway.

We have made connections with the inspiring women working on The Women’s Building in  NYC, and hope to build on the Trans-Atlantic Solidarity, to imagine and build a world beyond prison.  

We want to thank Rosa Voices from the Frontlines grant for the support in helping us work with Reclaim Holloway to bring this new section forward.  

Maureen Mansfield 

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

Postcards from Prison

Prison is a foreboding word that conjures up all manner of dreadful impressions and fear of what it might actually be like.

HMP Holloway Prison was in actual fact a community of women that had ended up there for many reasons and from all walks of life. Some for familiar crimes, some for reasons that leave you questioning how and why someone would ever end up a situation that would lead them to being incarcerated.

Initially, stripped of your belongings, (women were allowed to wear their own clothes), drug tested and photographed for your ID card, you are escorted to either the first night centre or to H1 the Health Care landing that supported those detoxing from drugs or alcohol.

I think my experience of spending time in HMP Holloway holds mixed emotions. The whole experience will leave me scarred for life and one that I will carry with me forever. Being locked in a room with women that you have never met before and having to share space with them in a double or dormitory space tests you on so many levels. One small TV, one small sink and a toilet as shared amenities. In a double room you are sleeping on top of or underneath your roommate, if they snore or you don’t get on, your experience can be unbearable. 
Getting a single room was a long wait unless your circumstance dictated it, but having a single room on a noisy disruptive landing could be just as bad. 

Getting out of your room for any form of activity becomes the focus of each day. Education, Exercise, Doctors, the Gym, visits, meal times and association were the main reasons that you could escape your confines. Personally, the gym was my saviour, somewhere you could work out your stresses and keep fit, especially relished was time in the swimming pool (when it was open and enough PEI Officers to staff the activity).

As time passed you would be able to move landings and be unlocked for longer periods of the day, D0 a workers landing was unlocked from 7:30am until 17:30pm, then moving up to D2 you would be unlocked until 20:30pm, this landing was reserved for those that would be allowed to go out on Day Release or ROTL (Release on Temporary Licence). Normally this work would be voluntary, I got to go out 4 days a week, I wanted to stay in the prison one week day in order to attend education classes. I also got permission to cycle to my workplace on the other side of London; I just had to be back by 18:30 hrs each night.

I took the opportunity to do some distance learning courses which, despite the limitations of not being allowed to access the internet, or at the beginning having limited access to a computer, did help build self-confidence and sense of achievement.

Being separated from family and children is probably the most difficult; phone calls are expensive, as are stamps on a limited budget. There were Kids Visits in the gym for 5 hour sessions once a month, other than that you were allowed 2 or 3 hour long visits a month in the visitors centre.

Your whole sentence is focussed on a single date, your release date. Your sentence is what you make of it and is really just about enduring your circumstances until your release.

The only other outlet that prisoners have is the odd completion, one run by Women in Prison, the other the annual Koestler Trust Award Scheme, inviting entries across over 50 disciplines visual and non-visual with cash prizes and an annual exhibition at London’s South Bank Centre as well as regional shows.

I documented the whole of my sentence in pictorial form by drawing a postcard a day, these were not only on show at the 2017 South Bank Exhibition curated by Antony Gormley, but are being published on a daily basis on Facebook and Instagram at postcardsfromprisondiary and on twitter at ErikaPostcards, Limited Edition prints are also available at www.recordedinart.com.

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

 

 

Achievement

26 years ago I got assaulted by a Londoner. I know absolutely nothing about the law. So I didn't know how to report him. So I wrote him threatening letters. He reported me and the woman he was living with said I was lying and once she threaten me with a revolver and told me to leave him alone. Eventually the Cops arrested me and I went to Holloway. 

On and off I went to prison. Got unemployed and I told police he attacked me. The police said "The bloody foreigners" and ignored my complaint. Eventually I went to the court with a plastic gun and threaten the judges. I got 4 years sentence. They threatened me with hospital orders, and taking my kids away.....eventually a charity called Women at Wish helped me. 

I became a writer pseudonym Starlite. Wrote poetry, comedy and true stories. True Poems "Life is a Sword, Keep Fighting", "Passion, Sex and Techonology" which is about prison. 

The Future is Promising

Starlite

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

 

Interpreting Holloway

Interpreting Holloway

I am a legal interpreter, and since I lived close by I attended many a legal visit in Holloway prison. Most of our meetings with the clients were held in the legal visits rooms at the front of the building.

Bags, phones, coats and even scarves had to be left in the lockers. Solicitors could take a laptop and folders with their papers, while I would just be allowed a pen and paper. Then it was through the bleeping gate, body search carried out, pockets checked, mouth checked for chewing gum, shoes looked at, and even tissues had to be thrown away. Finally a stamp on our hand, quite like at some festival or gig.

The legal visits area had perhaps 8-10 interview rooms, and was generally quite busy. The prisoners always had to wear a bib, like kids wear when playing team games at school during the interview. I suppose this was so that they could be easily distinguished from the female visitors.

It was only on one occasion that I was taken through almost the whole complex. We were trying to find someone for an interview and the guards were not entirely sure whether the client was in the gym, at English lessons or perhaps in the library. It did surprise me that it appeared not to be as strict and orderly as I thought a prison would be.

Walking through the yard I realised how much bigger the site was than one would expect seeing it from Camden Road, driving past or from a bus. There are several buildings with class rooms, library, swimming pool, gym and offices, and garden – though I must say Wandsworth Prison had a much nicer, very well looked after inner garden.

A number of the women I interpreted for were either victims or offenders in people trafficking and prostitution cases. One particular case involving a trafficking ring lasted for a very long time and even made it into the newspapers. Although I met several defendants in that case, I remember one young woman, in her late twenties, particularly well. I saw her several times with her solicitor. She had worked in brothels doing various functions: keeping the books of income from the various girls, organising advertisements, dealing with clients on the phone, making sure everyone got to the right place at the right time, etc. When I first saw her, not long after her arrest, she was very pale, very nervous, with huge rings around her eyes and spoke very quietly and very little. While in Holloway on remand, her appearance really improved. She stopped smoking, seemed to have put on some weight, went to the gym and also picked up English at an impressive speed. When she talked about her experience, what her role was, it made me think that she could run any kind of business very successfully, she seemed so well organised and conscientious about the business and organisational side of it.

She and others in similar situations talked about their involvement so naturally as if it was all just the norm, so much so that I had to often remind myself of the context. The back stories, why these young women got involved in prostitution, were really heart-wrenching. In prison, they had a routine; for some it was a shelter. I only saw these women on a few occasions, but I still often wonder what happened to them once released – did they return to what they used to do by getting back into the same circles, or would they have received help to be able to shift their lives?

Since Holloway closed and the women moved out to HM Prison Bronzefield in Ashford, Surrey, it has been a lot more hassle for the solicitors to arrange visits, as it is so far and the administrative systems seem also more complicated. For families to visit is also more difficult. I have never gone there as they only allow interpreters from something called the NRPSI (national register of public service interpreters) that I am not registered with.

And Holloway? It is prime land, this enormous empty site. No doubt the building cranes will move in and demolition start at some point.

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

Recollections of resistance

In the mid-1980s I was briefly imprisoned in Holloway for not paying a fine I was given at demonstration organised by the City of London Anti-Apartheid Group outside the South African Embassy. I was in and out within a couple of days as I’d been told by Greenham Common women (who knew this stuff) that if you were meant to serve a week but gave yourself up on a Wednesday they had to let you out on Friday. The staff called women who did that ‘bed and breakfast convicts’.

I lived close to the prison, so when I got out they gave me a 30p bus fare. This didn’t matter to me as I had people picking me up, but this and many other little things gave me an impression of life inside. At night you could hear women on the mental health unit in C Wing screaming; most women in there had children they were missing desperately. But what was clear even in those few days was that there was also a sense of camaraderie among the women, a spirit of getting through the terrible times together. 

In the 1990s I used to go to the prison to visit a woman who had been convicted of a murder which she denied committing. While protesting her own innocence and trying to get an appeal, she spent her time helping other prisoners with legal cases, writing poetry and plays, painting and getting involved with every creative or mind-stimulating thing the system could offer. Unfortunately, she is still inside today.

In the 2000s, my comrades and I from North London Revolutionary Communist Group demonstrated outside the prison alongside the late Pauline Campbell. Pauline’s daughter Sarah died in Styal prison in 2003, aged just 18, and from then until her own death in 2008, Pauline dedicated her time and energy to exposing the evils of women’s imprisonment. From lobbying the House of Lords to direct action, she did everything that could be done, and for those five years on every occasion a woman took her own life in prison, Pauline mounted a demonstration outside. She would go alone if she needed, but usually had a small group of supporters with her, from the RCG or the No More Prisons Group or others. Not that many though, as although reform groups and politicians were happy to speak to her, they weren’t keen on that side of her activities at all. Outside the prison, Pauline would stand in front of a sweatbox coming from court and demand it turn around and take the women inside to ‘a place of safety’ and not into the hell-hole of prison. She would stay there until physically removed by the police. Pauline was an incredible fighter.

Now in 2017, the prison is closed. That’s good. Years of suffering have taken place on that site. But that’s not the reason for the closure. The government is simply eyeing up the real estate value. And while the women of Holloway have been shipped off to Downview and Bronzefield, the latest White Paper says there will be five new ‘community prisons’ (whatever that means) for women built in addition to these.

Meanwhile, London is being ‘socially cleansed’ and there is nowhere for anyone young and working class, or even middle class, to either rent or buy that they can possibly afford. Council housing is a thing of the past. This is an opportunity to harness the spirit of all those who have fought inside and outside of Holloway, and to bring their opposition to the locking-up and mistreating of women prisoners together with the struggle for housing in London, in order to build a strong campaign for the site of Holloway to be used as social housing and resources for women, which can provide support, safety and benefit, rather than pain and suffering.

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

Raid Safe

Smoking joints in the deputy governor's flat

About 1970 I remember going with a friend to a party in the deputy-governor's flat, which was above the gothic arch which then stood at the entrance. There was a lot of grass circulating and when I commented to the deputy-governor, she said it was safer from police raids than anywhere in London.

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

The Castle

I was remanded in Holloway 1969 then sentenced to 6months - 2years borsal training and went back to B wing to await transfer to Bullwood Hall borstal. I had a ton of problems and so was drugged heavily which was fine by me then I could convince myself I was in a castle what with the middle turret condemned cell dungeons and mazes of rooms corridors and wings. Food was gross so I became a vegetarian, slop out was also gross and punishment was cleaning the toilet with your toothbrush.

 

Bullwood hall wasnt much better

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

Kindness of Strangers

 I was sent to Holloway in September 2002, I was frightened and confused at the time and suffering from mental illness, when my trial started in may 2003 I went to court that first day in the only decent clothes I possessed, black trousers and a black and white shirt. I fully expected to have to wash them out each evening for the next day. On my return to my wing that first night of the trial as I walked into my cell it was full of clothes all ironed, co-ordinated and labelled from the owners with the message 'wear this and stand proud'. I did not know half of the women who had sent down outfits, I was overwhelemed. I wore a different outfit each day of my trial, it just made me feel presentable and human for the first time in months. The clothes did not help the inevitable and correct judgement of the trial, but I have never forgotten the kindness of those women who had so little but generously shared it with me

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

Holloway Play

 


“Are you coming to play?”

Not the most obvious opening line to use in Holloway Prison - but the one I used regularly over my five years as a volunteer as I welcomed another small child into the play area in the corner of the Visitors’ Hall.

Contrary to what you might expect, the idea was not for the children to spend their whole visit in the play area. The idea was to encourage them to spend time with their mothers - or aunts, grannies or sisters - who were in prison. As no one was allowed to bring anything into the Visitors’ Hall, having a play area meant there were always toys available. Some women, as well as cuddling the little ones and braiding their daughters’ hair, welcomed the opportunity to play games and read books with their children. But there was often a time towards the end of the one-hour visit when the adults needed to talk alone and the children were getting bored. Other women got more caught up in talking to their adult visitors and the children spent more time in the play area.

The children seldom referred to being in a prison. Some hadn’t even been told Holloway was a prison. “It’s not nice when your mummy’s sick,” one little girl told me about her seemingly healthy mother.

But most children knew. When I asked one child whether she had been here before she replied “yes, but to see other relatives.” Most distressing was realising that some children spent their Saturdays visiting mummy in Holloway and their Sundays visiting daddy in Pentonville.

When the children were in the play area I tried to make the experience of the prison visit as normal as possible. Having said that, I didn’t want to make the play area more fun and enticing for the children than spending time with the women they were visiting. I found that when children were occupied, whether colouring cards for Mummy, serving “tea” out of plastic cups or building a train track, they were likely to feel reasonably content, even in such difficult circumstances. Surprisingly there was hardly ever any bad behaviour in the play area; conversely it often felt that the children were too quiet.

The times I liked best were when children from different families started playing together. One of the women said her son didn’t usually make friends easily but you wouldn’t have known that as we watched him and another toddler rolling on the play mat together in fits of giggles. I loved seeing an older child read a story to a younger one or a few children engrossed in the dolls’ house.

I remember finding some superhero cloaks in the toy cupboard and handing them out to the nearest child. He put the blue one round his shoulders and passed the pink one to a little girl saying, “This one’s yours.” It was extremely frustrating to see her take it enthusiastically. “Let’s wash the cloaks,” said the little boy pushing them firmly into the toy washing machine. As he pulled them out, I encouraged them to turn their cloaks inside out so they would show a different colour. The boy immediately switched to the red side but the girl refused the silver and stuck with the pink. My idea of gender neutral clothes was going nowhere. But at least it was the boy who did the washing!

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

I loved it

Holloway

I loved working there loads of memories good and bad. I was part of the first DST team and proud to say that Holloway had some incredible officers who worked hard and some right characters that entered our prison on sentences, there are even some prisoners that I miss.

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

Motivated & Inspired

Devastated to learn that HMP Holloway will be closing. My heart is breaking for the 100's of staff who's lives are about to change and for the 500+ women who will be losing what they sadly consider home. Holloway may be a prison but for most women it is a sanctuary from this barbaric world and lives others cannot begin to imagine. Lives filled with pain, rejection, rape, violence and suffering to which substance misuse and crime are symptoms, not causes. I feel honoured to have work with such amazing women, survivors before anything else and so sad that soon I will never be able to be touched, motivated and inspired in such a unique environment again

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

Lost in the maze of Holloway

 

I know HMP Holloway from working for a charity. At first Holloway felt quite intimidating and confusing, not because of the women residing there but because of the institution itself. Even though I had attended the key training provided by the prison I wasn’t really sure what exactly I was allowed to do - nobody had told me what the actual rules were as a member of staff or where I was allowed to go within the prison. I felt like I sneaked around the corridors waiting to be told off by an officer for being in an unauthorised area,I got lost while walking around the prison alone, feeling a slight sense of panic at getting temporarily lost. It felt like a very strange place indeed. I can only imagine how confusing it must be being a prisoner in Holloway for the first time - not being told what’s going on, not knowing what your appointments or visits are for the week or even day ahead, not knowing where you will live when you are released, even if that is tomorrow…

Slowly but surely though I started to find my way around Holloway and started to find it quite homely. It’s a bizarre micro cosmos, a world within a world. It sits right in the middle of a busy part of London, yet when you are walking around its empty corridors, it feels so far removed from the community in which it exists. It is easy to start feeling a sense of normality and every-day life in Holloway, even though the very notion of such an institution is anything but normal. Some of the women in Holloway really have made it their home, not because it fits with anybody’s idea of an ideal home but because our society has failed to provide these women with a home of their own.

So how do I feel about the closure of Holloway? Mostly sad to be honest. When the announcement was made of Holloway’s closure some women asked themselves where they will now spend Christmas. You have to ask yourself what the victory is in closing a prison if nothing is done to challenge the homelessness, poverty and abuse facing so many of the women that end up in that prison? A reduction in the overall prison population is not just about numbers, it is about challenging the inequality and unfairness embedded in our society that ultimately leads people to imprisonment. Instead of simply closing Holloway and in effect depriving some women of their home and safety, perhaps our society and government should focus on supporting women to never end up in this maze to start with?

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

Ann's story: RIP Holloway

Holloway - compared to other prisons you have to give credit to their mental health services, which other prisons don't have. Especially the Day Centre, which I found incredibly useful; a safe space, calming.

A special dog I called Hunter, everyone will miss that Golden Retriever. He mooched your biscuits and tried to tear up your work, but you only had to look into his big brown eyes and all was forgiven. I hope he won't miss all the attention we gave him.

Many prisons don't have mental health services to speak of, unlike Holloway who have helped many 'characters'.

Goodbye Holloway and God Bless you.

Ann

Copyright, Holloway Prison Stories. May not be used without permission.

"Miss, which one is normal?"

When you’re meeting a woman for the first time – a woman who is (more often than not) distressed, wanting answers, needing someone to listen to her – you have to get through the paperwork. Fill out those five forms – wait, do you have the one with the right funder logo for the right project on it? Get her to sign it – to make sure your manager can provide evidence that this face to face meeting actually happened, crucial for justifying the unit cost. Monitor the achieved outcome and write thousand-word reports every three months.

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