Category: prison

Why it matters when 42% of children sentenced have no recorded ethnicity

Author: | 30 Jan 2026

Official figures published this week raise fresh concerns about youngsters in prisons, the subject of Dame Rachel de Souza’s recent Longford Lecture, according to our recently graduated scholar, Will Pendray. Without accurate recording of ethnicity, he argues, inequality is harder to see, measure and contest, while claims of progress ring hollow

Newly released Youth Justice Statistics reveal that 42 per cent of children sentenced for indictable offences have no recorded ethnicity. For the second consecutive year, the ‘Unknown’ category is the single largest group in the data. Despite a long-term fall in the overall number of children in custody, the scale of missing ethnicity data is alarming, leaving the system increasingly unable to account for who it is sentencing, and on what basis. A decade ago, in 2014–15, just seven per cent of sentencing occasions involved children recorded as having an “unknown” ethnicity, falling to three per cent the following year.

The Ministry of Justice cautions that year-on-year comparisons should be treated carefully, citing the sharp rise in cases where ethnicity is recorded as unknown. But a change in presentation does not explain why ethnicity is now missing in more than four in ten cases, or why this gap has persisted for a second year running.

In the year ending March 2025, sentencing for indictable offences included approximately:

  • 3,800 cases where a child’s ethnicity was unknown, accounting for 42 per cent of the total
  • 3,800 involving White children (42 per cent)
  • 730 involving Black children (8 per cent)
  • 430 involving Mixed-ethnicity children (5 per cent)
  • 300 involving Asian children (3 per cent)

When nearly half of all children sentenced for serious offences fall into an undefined category, the justice system loses the ability to properly measure, challenge, or correct unequal outcomes. This matters in a system where minority ethnic children have long been over-represented at multiple stages of youth justice.

In that context, a reported fall in the proportion of Black children sentenced for indictable offences (from 11 to 6 per cent) cannot be confidently interpreted. With the “Unknown” category now so large, it is unclear whether this reflects real change or statistical distortion.

Remand – punishment without conviction

The concern deepens when sentencing data is viewed alongside the continued use of custodial remand. In the year ending March 2025:

  • almost two-thirds of children remanded to youth custody did not go on to receive a custodial sentence;
  • children on remand accounted for 44 per cent of the average custodial population, nearly double the proportion a decade ago;
  • children from minority ethnic backgrounds were over-represented among those remanded.

Remand is one of the most restrictive powers available to the courts. That it is being used so frequently, and so often without leading to custody, raises serious concerns about proportionality, particularly in a system where ethnicity data is increasingly incomplete. Previous reporting has shown that racialised outcomes extend beyond who enters custody. In 2022, the Guardian reported that Black defendants, including children, spent an average of 302 days on remand, compared with 177 days for White defendants; a difference of nearly 70 per cent.

Yet the latest Youth Justice Statistics do not provide a breakdown of average custodial sentence length by ethnicity. As a result, it is not currently possible to assess whether similar patterns persist for children sentenced today. The Ministry of Justice notes that, despite year-on-year decreases in the number of Black and Mixed children in custody, both groups remain overrepresented. What the data cannot show, however, is how far any apparent decline reflects genuine change, or how much is concealed by the continued reliance on an “Unknown” ethnicity category in official reporting.

‘When justice systems fail to record race consistently, inequality does not disappear’

International comparisons suggest this is not an isolated issue. In the United States, incomplete ethnicity data has been linked to under-reporting of racial profiling. In France, human rights organisations have criticised data gaps that make discrimination in policing and sentencing harder to challenge. When justice systems fail to record race consistently, inequality does not disappear, it becomes harder to see, measure and contest.

Independent experts and equality advocates have previously highlighted the need for greater clarity in how ethnicity is recorded in the criminal and youth justice systems. While the government has acknowledged the rise in “Unknown” ethnicity cases and their inclusion in recent statistics, further explanation is needed on:

  • why the proportion of cases recorded as “Unknown” has reached such a high level;
  • whether recording practices have changed;
  • and what steps are being taken to ensure ethnicity data is captured accurately and consistently.

Without answers, it remains unclear whether this reflects an administrative failure or a structural blind spot that has been allowed to persist. Accurate data is the foundation of fair justice. Without it, reforms risk being built on partial or misleading information. While the inclusion of the “Unknown” ethnicity category may reflect an attempt to acknowledge rising numbers, it does little to resolve the deeper problem. By obscuring who is being sentenced, the system weakens its own ability to confront inequality, and allows longstanding imbalances to continue without meaningful scrutiny.

Until ethnicity is consistently and transparently recorded, claims of progress in youth justice will remain impossible to verify, and impossible to trust.

WS Pendray’s poetry collection, Overgrown, is out now.  

Woman wearing a graduate gown carrying a large bouquet of red roses

‘If I want to change, I have to start it’

Author: | 20 Jan 2026

When our scholar Sania was sentenced to four and a half years in prison, she thought everything had ended. ‘I believed I had lost every opportunity, every bit of direction, and every part of the future I had imagined for myself.’ Instead, it has become a beginning

A year into my sentence, I moved onto the Open unit and worked in housekeeping for about six months. It was honest work but it was also the kind of job that gives you a lot of time to think. One particular day, things felt heavy. I was tired, physically, mentally, emotionally. I remember thinking, ‘I can’t do this forever. I need something to change’.

Around that time, another woman on the unit said something, when we were talking casually, that I will never forget. ‘You have so much potential. You shouldn’t waste it. Have you ever thought about doing your Master’s?’

The truth was, I hadn’t. Not seriously. I had an undergraduate degree already and had worked as a manager at Amazon before my sentence, but I had never considered going further. Yet her words stuck with me. They settled somewhere deep, right where hope had been sitting quietly waiting for a moment like this. And that was the moment the idea of returning to education was planted.

‘I definitely didn’t expect to be accepted on the spot’

One bad day at the housekeeping job pushed me to act on that thought. Instead of letting frustration spiral, I told myself, ‘if I want change, I have to start it’. So I decided to go to a university open day. I didn’t expect much. I definitely didn’t expect to be accepted on the spot. But that’s exactly what happened.

I applied for a Master’s in business computing and was offered a place immediately. Suddenly, I had something to look forward to, something that belonged to my future rather than my past. I started the course in September 2024 and finished in September 2025, just as my sentence came to an end. In November 2025, I graduated with a distinction. Even now, those words feel surreal.

‘Studying from custody came with challenges’

People often imagine Open conditions as straightforward, but studying from custody came with challenges I never expected. One of the biggest issues was timing. To attend university, I needed a ROTL (Release on Temporary Licence), but sometimes the schedules weren’t processed in time. If that happened, I simply couldn’t go out to university. Missing a lecture or a study session wasn’t just inconvenient. It could mean falling behind or having to work twice as hard to catch up.

There was also the issue of access to technology. In the Open unit, we weren’t allowed to have laptops, which meant I could only work on campus. No matter how motivated you are, that creates pressure. Assignments had to be squeezed into the hours I was physically allowed to be at university. If I missed a day, I missed my work time.

Still I kept going. I learned to make the best of what I had. I pushed through the obstacles, not because it was easy, but because it mattered. Every challenge became part of my journey rather than a reason to stop.

When I first entered prison, I felt like everything had been taken from me: my job; my freedom; my confidence; and, honestly, my sense of who I was. The Master’s degree changed that. It gave me a direction. It gave me my identity back. It reminded me that I am someone who can achieve, who can work hard, who has a future beyond my sentence. Studying became more than gaining knowledge. It was gaining myself.

‘People can take anything away from you, but they can’t take your knowledge’

My mum always told me, ‘people can take anything away from you, but they can’t take your knowledge’. I used to brush that off, but now I understand it deeply. Everything else can fall apart, but what you learn becomes something no one can ever remove from your hands.

When I was released, I didn’t just come out of prison. I came out as a graduate with a distinction. I came out with confidence and purpose. I came out feeling ready to face the world again. My Master’s degree has opened new doors for me, not just in terms of employment, but in how I feel about myself and what I believe I am capable of. It will be something I lean on every time I apply for a job, every time I speak about my journey, every time I face something difficult. I went in thinking I had lost everything. I came out realising I had gained far more.

‘Education doesn’t just pass the time. It builds you’

To anyone in prison reading this, please don’t give up on yourself. Education doesn’t just pass the time. It builds you. It strengthens you. It gives you a focus when everything feels chaotic. It reminds you that your story isn’t finished, no matter what mistakes you’ve made.

If you have the chance to study, take it. Even if it feels scary. Even if you think you’re not smart enough. Even if life has knocked your confidence out of you. Because if I can finish a Master’s degree while serving a sentence, navigating ROTLs, and working only from campus hours, you can too.

Your future is still yours. And your potential is still there, waiting.

Find out more about Longford Scholarships. Applications for 2026 close on 1 May.

‘Working with the police wasn’t something I imagined I’d do’

Author: | 7 Jan 2026

Gaining a degree is a mighty achievement. Taking that next step into graduate work is another. Our scholar Alicia has just completed a month-long, paid placement with the West Midlands Police and Crime Commissioner’s Office, organised through our Employability project. Here she reflects on what that experience has given her above and beyond her expectations.

During my placement, I worked on a project to make more trauma-informed the rooms in police stations where witnesses and victims are interviewed. The focus was on creating safer, more supportive spaces where victims of serious crimes would feel more at ease and willing to discuss often distressing and overwhelming matters with police officers. There were various aspects of the spaces urgently in need of an overhaul: to name a few, the colour scheme; the furnishings; the lighting; the temperature control; and the signage. Changing these items, I believed, would really get the spaces where they needed to be fit for purpose.

‘It helped me rebuild trust, both in myself and in the systems around me’

Working with the police had never been something I imagined myself doing, so the prospect felt daunting. I was unaware of what to expect, or how challenging it would be. I worried that I wouldn’t feel part of the team. And I hadn’t ever thought I would be given such an opportunity, particularly given my past experiences and the reality of having a criminal record.

Disclosure had always felt like a barrier, something I approached with fear and hesitation. However, this placement completely shifted my perspective. Over time, it helped me rebuild trust, both in myself and in the systems around me. It showed me that meaningful relationships between the police and people with lived experience of the criminal justice system can be restored, that reform, trust and opportunity can genuinely coexist. I gained confidence in disclosing my background and no longer seeing it as something that defines or limits me.

‘I was going outside my comfort zone’

Throughout the placement, the support I received was invaluable. Colleagues from varying departments consistently provided ongoing encouragement and guidance, helping me navigate both professional and personal challenges along the way. These included delving into subjects that were completely unknown to me, such as when researching colour theory. It was a steep learning curve.

Colour theory, I now know, is the study of how different colours influence human emotions, perceptions, and behaviour. It is based on the psychological responses colours can evoke, such as calm, energy, trust, or comfort, and how these responses can be intentionally used to shape mood, communicate meaning, and promote positive emotional experiences.

Another challenge was having to arrange meetings where I was discussing issues involved in my research with outside foundations and experts. The oral presentation exams I had done as part of my law course at university did give me some confidence in such situations, but again I was going outside my comfort zone.

One of my proudest moments came when I presented my research findings to the senior leadership, including the Chief Executive and the Crime Commissioner himself. That was something I never thought I would be given the opportunity to do – to have my findings genuinely valued by them and the rest of the commissioner’s team

‘I am definitely going to be more inclined to put forward my ideas’

As an intern I learnt about being part of a working environment, being part of a team, and a variety of research techniques. I have gained a lot of confidence as a result in my own ideas and abilities. The feedback I received solidified for me that I do not need to question myself as much as I did before. Moving forward I am definitely going to be more inclined to put forward my ideas.

Now I am looking forward to hearing what changes are put in place as a result of my work. I’d love to see that the spaces I worked on have been improved, and that the people using those spaces are feeling the benefit of something I played a part in creating. It would make me immensely proud.

The experience has also had tangible impacts on my future. Since completing my time with the West Midlands Police and Crime Commissioner’s Office, I have secured three job interviews, with my placement there playing a key role in strengthening my CV. It has built my confidence, developed my skills. That is what is possible when trust and opportunity are extended.

Roxanne Foster, our Employability Manager, who helped set up the placement, adds: ‘Alicia’s experience goes to the heart of what employability means to me. It’s not just about CVs, interviews, or job outcomes, important as those things are, but about creating opportunities that genuinely shift how people see themselves and what they believe is possible. When the opportunity arose to work on a research placement with Simon Foster, the West Midlands Police and Crime Commissioner and his team, our intention was always twofold, to contribute to important work around trauma-aware practice, and to create a space where lived experience was not just acknowledged but valued. What made this placement particularly powerful was the focus on trust, offering a supported environment where honest conversations could take place and where growth, learning and confidence were actively encouraged. We extend our sincere thanks to Simon and his colleagues Lucy Naylor and Andrea Gabbitas.’

A glass building on the campus of the University of Essex

Imposter syndrome? Not a chance. I deserve to be here too

Author: | 1 Dec 2025

Our scholar Robert reflects on stepping into his new life as ‘a student by day and a prisoner by night’. As he says, ‘the process is slow, flawed, and full of setbacks, but education is the key, the only key many prisoners ever get to use.’ 

For nine months after being arrested and held on remand in prison, I would be knocking on the education manager’s door, eager to start a course, only to be told nothing can happen until I am sentenced. So, on the day the judge handed down my sentence, my new life finally began. My mind wasn’t only on how my wife and family would take the news, but also on sending the application to the Prisoners’ Education Trust for an Access Module with the Open University. Five years later, I am writing this blog from the common room at the University of Essex.

Starting university from an Open prison, as I am, is a messy and uncertain experience. I was  determined to complete my criminology degree, which I started in prison, by studying crime on the other side of the prison’s walls. But nothing about the transition was smooth: convincing staff; sorting paperwork. Simply getting access to my emails became a daily chore. It took a lot just to keep moving forward.

Prison to campus

Stepping onto campus, leaving behind years of locked doors and jangling keys, I entered a reception hall buzzing with activity. I was greeted with balloons, posters of smiling students, gifts I might one day use, and an ID card that had me smiling. It was a far cry from the receptions of old, where a grey tracksuit and a cold jacket potato awaited and the ID card bore the face of a broken man.

Entering the lecture hall for the first time was a strange and unsettling experience. I was  noticeably older than most other students, and I felt out of place. Despite the nerves, I focused on finding a seat and retrieving my laptop from my bag. As I settled into a routine, though, the freedom of university became both liberating and overwhelming. Socially, I had to find my footing, stop feeling like an outsider.

Criminology felt personal, and in many ways ironic. My sincerity in essays and seminars led me to confront not just the system but also my own choices. Lectures on drug trafficking, organised crime and the justice system brought back daunting experiences from my past.

A weight lifted

After the first few weeks, the initial loneliness began to fade. I was talking to more people and grew more confident about speaking up in seminars. Eventually, I shared my circumstances with fellow students and lecturers, admitting I was still a serving prisoner. The moment I did, a weight lifted. I could finally exist as a student by day and a prisoner by night. I was welcomed by the community.

As time went by, my peers began asking questions, and lecturers turned to me, wanting insider perspectives. At the end of one seminar about organised crime, a lecturer asked if what we had discussed was accurate. At first, I thought it was about my well-being, but later I realised they saw value in my insight. The exchanges became meaningful. We discussed high-profile news cases, daily prison life. Only today was I asked if we still have ‘lights out’ – thanks to watching too many episodes of Porridge. For them, sitting next to someone with lived experience was a rare opportunity for further understanding.

Living proof

The education manager at my prison who supported me going to campus was outstanding. Having walked a similar path as a mature student, they understood how crucial this journey was for both of us. Being allowed to collect my laptop and my phone, along with being able to drive myself  there, gave me a sense of independence.

The prison service needs to build stronger ties with local universities, offering prisoners a lifeline out of the revolving door of repeat offending. The process is slow, flawed, and full of setbacks, but education is the key, the only key many prisoners ever get to use. It is when rehabilitation becomes more than just a buzzword, more than a politician’s slogan, and finally gives people a chance to get a worthwhile job.

In my prison, many people ask me where I am going each day. When I tell them I am off to university to finish my degree, many comment that they wish they could do the same. They are not even aware it is possible. But I am living proof.

What’s next

My university education has opened doors. Completing my undergraduate degree is just the beginning. My goal is to continue my studies at postgraduate level, build my understanding of criminology and be in a position to support change within the criminal justice system. It will be about translating what I know into what I can do.

I’m not here by luck or because of who I am and what I have done. Being from a marginalised group does not grant you a free ticket. I deserve this; I have worked relentlessly, earning  distinctions every year. Am I an imposter? Not on your nelly.

If you are looking for support to start an Open University degree while in prison, read more about our Frank Awards, and our Longford Scholarships. Or email Clare, our Scholarship Manager.

Evidence and compassion: what is needed in our post-truth era

Author: | 13 Oct 2025

Listening to Robert Jenrick giving his speech to the Conservative Party Conference as Shadow Justice Secretary and Lord Chancellor, our law scholar Chris Walters was alarmed by how many of our leaders are currently going down the road of preferring feelings to facts.

I clutched my book in one hand and my prison ID in the other as I was escorted to the HMP Wandsworth book club on an evening in 2018. The book was Post-Truth by Lee McIntyre. It’s about the increasing trend of people believing their feelings rather than the evidence. I was reminded of it while listening to Robert Jenrick’s recent address to his party’s annual conference. It’s that clear some people have continued on that downward slope, seemingly abandoning all reason.

Jenrick delivered a speech which was equal parts cringeworthy comedy routine and dystopian nightmare. No, it isn’t accurate to say (as he did) that an Albanian man avoided deportation from this country because his child doesn’t like Albanian chicken nuggets. The case in question is complex, and concerns the welfare of a child who may have additional needs. The child’s dietary preferences were just one aspect and the judge set aside the deportation so more information could be gathered. Moreover, the decision was subsequently overturned by the Upper Tribunal, which makes Jenrick’s point all the more baseless.

What really goes on in an asylum hearing

I’ve been to an asylum hearing. They are unfairly adversarial. Despite what the media would have us believe, succeeding in an asylum claim is a difficult process. Most people seeking asylum receive less than £50 a week and basic accommodation, while trying to recover from traumatic experiences, and build a strong legal case.

The representative of the Crown, the Home Office Presenting Officer (HOPO), is often not a qualified solicitor and, while they are subject to an internal code of conduct, they are not held to the same high professional standards as solicitors.  Anthropologist John Campbell writes: ‘Indeed HOPOs are not bound by a professional code of conduct which means that, regardless of what is stated in Home Office professional standards guidelines, they are not legally required to assist the court to achieve a fair decision.’

HOPOs have often been criticised for being unnecessarily adversarial. This inequality of arms, coupled with the hostile environment introduced by Theresa May, means the demonisation of asylum seekers is set above facts, evidence, and compassion.

The vital principle of an independent judiciary

Jenrick also enlisted the help of a prop wig and zero evidence to lambast ‘activist judges’. Patricia Thom, President of the Law Society of Scotland, called his words ‘dangerous and unacceptable’, going on to say: ‘It is notable that Mr Jenrick has provided no legal basis for questioning the validity of judicial decisions with which he does not agree.’

As a qualified solicitor himself, you would expect Robert Jenrick to have more respect for evidence and the independence of the judiciary. Given his words, I don’t imagine he would pass the class I study about ‘Professional Skills and Responsibility’.

His comments about ‘two-tier justice’ were more than misleading. They are unconstitutional. Although we don’t have a single written piece of paper that makes up our constitution, the UK does have one spread across statute, common law, conventions, and tradition. One of the cornerstone conventions of our constitution is that ministers must not criticise the individual decisions of judges. This is part of the wider separation of powers; it helps ensure no branch of government wields too much power.

If you want to see the result of too much executive power, take a glance across the pond to Donald Trump’s America: masked and unidentified law enforcement agents snatching people as they got about their business; ‘Alligator Alcatraz’, where hundreds of people have gone missing; and soldiers deployed to the streets against civilians. It’s a campaign driven by misinformation and denigration of the rule of law; the courts can’t even keep up. Is this the brand of authoritarianism that Jenrick, Farage, and their ilk would have here? We must reject it with every ounce of our being.

What ‘traditional values’ truly means

I wish that, in the midst of this, we could look to Labour for support but, if anything, they seem to be courting these abhorrent views. Last month they suspended refugee family-reunion applications. That means that people who have already had their asylum claim accepted cannot be reunited with their wives, husbands or children. Shabana Mahmood, the Home Secretary, has promised to ramp up deportations, which plays right into this false narrative of immigrants being the enemy.

Any flag-waving Christian patriots would do well to remember that Jesus was a refugee. If they open the Bible, they will find any number of passages teaching compassion for asylum seekers, refugees, and immigrants. My favourite is Matthew 25:36-40: ‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. […] Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did to me.’

If we genuinely want a return to our traditional values, how about the values of compassion and kindness? We stand on the precipice of a cliff. Below is hate, authoritarianism, and lies which deserve our vigorous opposition.

It’s time to reject that path. Our country’s future should be driven by law and policy which is evidence-led and compassionate, and which respects the independence of the judiciary.

Chris is a Longford Scholar studying the Diploma in Professional Legal Practice at the University of Edinburgh. He is also the Longford Trust’s fundraising manager and a trustee at the Human Rights Consortium Scotland.

 

 

 

Empty cell with sunlight shining through the window

‘The prison cell is the silent classroom of the self’

Author: | 30 Sep 2025

Before embracing education, there must be first a self-education, argues our 2025 Scholar Fedor Bryant-Dantès, studying for a BA in creative writing. Reflecting on his time in a cell, he writes of this rehabilitation process as ‘the illumination of a newly-seen self’

My experience, and similarly, that of many around me, is that each prison cell is something of a classroom. It can be the most impactful of learning environments. The prison cell is the silent classroom of the self, and it is both gratis and boundless. The only tuition fee has been my willingness to become self-aware, reflective and above all else, vulnerably honest. In a cell, my education is not delivered by rushed and tired tutors, or on pages poorly photocopied from confusing tomes, but by my ceaseless and inescapable encounters with the self; my regrets, cruelties, insecurities and fragile hopes.

So, what does it mean to experience education of the self, when the only external stimulus is isolation? Oscar Wilde, writing from Reading Gaol, understood this interrogation with more clarity, wit and verve than I could ever wish to muster. In De Profundis he declared: ‘You know what my art was to me, the great primal note by which I had revealed, first myself to myself, and then myself to the world.’ He maintained that his art was a means of understanding himself and then, allowing the world to understand him. It’s a lesson, both poetic and prophetic.

You see, in a prison cell, art is not only in painting or poetry: it is in the arduous chiselling away of false identities, the sculpting and moulding of a sincere authenticity from the raw stone of solitude. Once, I stood before that flinty surface – my soul – and began to see the outline of who I truly am.

‘Learning about oneself can feel like a revolution’

Learning about oneself can feel like a revolution more radical than any taught in academia. It is almost certainly more effective. Here, I’m not rewarded with superficially pleasing and quickly forgotten grades. Here, there are no diplomas to mount on a wall. I am both pupil and master and the day arranges itself in perpetual questions. Why did I act in anger? Why do I need them to think I’m strong? Why am I fearful of compassion? What stories have I told myself so often that I now believe them as gospel?

Long and difficult nights have been my greatest mentors. In those silent oppressive hours, my memory has unspooled like an old film reel: childhood failures, betrayals, moments of both mercy and malice. I have become adept at tracing the patterns, of mapping a terrain of my own making.

But this has not been, for me, an exercise in self-flagellation, nor a mournful pursuit for pity. Rather, it has been the forging of my resilience. Each truth unearthed and accepted is a spark. Every confession whispered to those sweating walls is a kindling. And when the gift of morning light finally filters through the narrow window, it is not simply a metaphor for new beginnings, but the illumination of a newly-seen self.

‘Our self-education is a work without precedent’

What I’ve learned to appreciate here is the undeniable art in this metamorphosis. The prisoner reduced to a barest truth is both canvas and painter. Each new brushstroke of insight, each shade of remorse or resolve, layers and builds a portrait more vibrant than any hung in galleries. Our self-education is a work without precedent – as unique and recognisable as a Modigliani or Rembrandt.

Education is rehabilitation, but education of the self is necessary, first and without equivocation. Self-education is not so much the filling of an empty vessel, but the stripping away of all that would hinder a safe departure. Self-education is an apprenticeship in honesty, and it is necessarily harsh and exacting – but ultimately liberating. For the prisoner, eventually, what greater freedom can be described than to confront one’s soul and unflinchingly to say: ‘That is who I was. This is who I will be.’

And at the conclusion of this transformation, when the outside world considers me worthy of re-acceptance, I will experience not a release but a graduation. I, who once recoiled at the perpetual closing of gates, will smile at the sound this last time. I’ll step forward having learned in that silent classroom what no syllabus could teach: that the most beneficial education is simply of the self. It is the one that turns inward and challenges self-confrontation. Bravery and honesty can help me to emerge from my current deprivation not diminished, but transcendent.

Want to know more about Longford Scholarships, or know someone who might? Contact Clare.

Painting of a red kite bird

‘I felt something I hadn’t felt in so long: real hope’

Author: | 16 Sep 2025

As we welcome 38 new Longford Scholars this month, one of their number, Beatrice Auty, tells and illustrates her story of coming across the Longford Trust. It was the moment a door opened on finding purpose through education.

Noted in my small prison calendar, given to me by the chaplaincy and which became my makeshift diary, is an entry from August 15th, 2023: ‘The Longford Trust Scholarship Event – BRILLIANT.’ On that day, I was escorted off the house block at HMP Bronzefield and taken to the library. It felt like an exciting escape from the mundane daily cycle of cleaning the wing just to earn a few hours out of my cell before lockdown resumed.

I had been looking forward to this meeting, having heard about the work of the Longford Trust. I sat in the library with one other woman, listening to Clare and Sara from the Trust, and felt something I hadn’t felt in so long after living in fear and limbo since my arrest in 2021: hope, real hope. I walked back to my cell with a renewed sense of purpose, one I knew deep down, but had left behind many years ago. I remembered that I was able to be an academic, and I was going to become a student – no longer defined by A1603EZ. That shift in identity was already liberating.

‘I sat in my cell handwriting assignments’

I decided to use my sentence as a time to study. Anything to take my mind off the grim surroundings of my cell felt hugely welcome. A few months later, after resolving some initial funding issues, I enrolled in an Open University Access Course in Psychology and Social Science. I sat in my cell handwriting assignments, using the course as a countdown, not only to my release, but to something more meaningful. It gave me structure, escape, and pride. When I received 72% on my first assignment and 96% in December, I was overjoyed. I felt a deep sense of achievement and a renewed desire to keep learning.

That kind of affirmation meant a great deal to me. I had dropped out of college without completing my A-Levels. Later, I got into law school via an entry exam but had dropped out again due to an ongoing legal case with a former employer. Though I had the potential, I had lost confidence in my ability and didn’t believe I belonged in education. Prison gave me the time and an unexpected second chance that I decided to take.

‘That moment was transformative’

Fast forward to my release: I completed the Access course with distinction. That gave me the UCAS points to enrol in a Criminology degree at the University of Westminster. After my first year, I was awarded a Longford Trust Scholarship. That moment was transformative. To have support throughout my degree, a mentor, and help finding work all feels profound. In a world that stigmatises ex-offenders, the Longford Trust provides encouragement, belief, and hope.

Since then, I’ve spoken to many people still in prison or recently released who are thinking about studying. Some have little or no prior education. I tell them: Access modules and short courses are stepping stones, and you don’t need perfect grades. What matters is desire. If you’ve found that in a prison cell, you’re already on your way. You deserve support, and the support is out there.

‘Studying gave me a new sense of self-worth and confidence’

Choosing to study while in prison takes resilience and determination. It’s undeniably harder under those constraints with limited resources, restricted time, and a harsh environment, but it is so worth it. Studying gave me a new sense of self-worth and confidence I didn’t even know I had. It enabled me to focus on something outside of myself and find joy in learning again.

I still remember the moment I walked into the library at my Open prison, printed study materials in hand, and told the officers I needed time away from my work in the gardens because I had assignments due. That moment meant more to me than a grade ever could. It gave me something bigger – it gave me identity, dignity, purpose, and a passion to keep going.

I will always be grateful to the Longford Trust for their unwavering support and encouragement. To anyone thinking about studying again: just go for it, and know you are capable.

Image: Beatrice drew this red kite illustration. She said: These birds became a powerful symbol of freedom for me during my time in prison. They would often circle above the yard, a constant reminder of the beauty that still exists in the world – the birds, the sky, and so much more.’

If you would like to know more about Longford Scholarships or our Frank Awards for serving prisoners studying with the OU, or if you know someone who might, do contact Clare or Judith.

Man with a beard in a library being interviewed on TV news

Poet Will talks about his new book on ITV News

Author: | 5 Sep 2025

Longford Scholar Will Pendray has appeared on ITV Meridian News, being interviewed about the publication of his new poetry book, Overgrown.

Will graduated with an MA in Creative Writing with Distinction from the University of Brighton in 2024.

He told the ITV reporter how the poetry in Overgrown came from the many notes he kept while in prison.

Click here to watch the full interview.

The book is described as ‘a powerful poetry collection… written through years of incarceration and personal transformation. Blending spoken word, prison poetry, and reflections on trauma and mental health, this debut collection explores how we grow, even when the world tries to bury us.

‘These are poems of memory and blood, dirt and rain, love and survival. From the weight of a prison cell to the fragile joy of fatherhood, Overgrown is a raw and redemptive journey through the cracks and quiet triumphs of a life rebuilt.’

Read the blog Will wrote for us in February 2025 – They say education is freedom. I learned that while I was locked up

Overgrown is available to buy on Amazon.Book cover

Man wearing a graduation gown with a green hood and holding a scroll

‘Not how high we climb, but where we have climbed from’

Author: | 2 Sep 2025

Our Scholar Andrew put drugs and crime behind him and chose education. He doubted his ability to do it many times but this summer graduated with a degree in psychology. If he can do it, he writes, so can you.

After a great deal of hard work, unwavering determination, and resilience, I have finally earned a bachelor’s degree in social psychology. Following yet another release from prison, I realised I was done with committing crime and the drug-addicted lifestyle it entailed.

I was no good at it anyway, as I was always getting caught. Kicking up dust in HMP Brick City was no longer where I wanted to be.  I made the decision to re-educate myself but wasn’t sure how. So, I enrolled in night school, dedicating two years to acquiring the GCSEs needed to enrol in college.

After that, I spent a year completing an access course at Norwich City College, which led me into three years of studying psychology at the University of East Anglia. Having completed my degree with a 2:1, I am now confident that with hard work, commitment and perseverance, there is nothing I cannot achieve.

Plagued by self-doubt

Throughout my journey, I experienced many highs and lows in what I can only describe as an emotional rollercoaster. At times, it felt like I was holding on by the tips of my fingers, but I refused to give up. On so many occasions, I doubted myself, wondering if I really belonged in a university setting or if pursuing a degree was even the right path for me.

Yet something inside me always made me get out of bed and keep showing up. I once said in jest to the professor, ‘my motivation far exceeds my intelligence’, not realising then how true that statement really was. Although many assignments were difficult, I was able to find the information I needed or connect with the right person who could help me complete the tasks at hand.  I often reminded myself, ‘I have not come this far just to come this far’. It always seemed to spur me on in the right direction.

Sharing my experience

During my time at the UEA, I made some wonderful friendships that have shown me another side of life. Not only have I been supported through trials and tribulations, but I have also supported my friends with the wealth of experience that comes with being a mature student. There is nothing I enjoy more than sharing my experience in order to help others better their lives. My journey has also inspired my children, on many levels. My 19-year-old daughter, who left school at an early age, is now motivated to return and pursue her education with university her goal.

A living example

Now I have a degree, I plan to work within the criminal justice system, supporting people released from prison. I know the difficulties in re-entering the community, especially if you have no family or friends to support you. It is a vulnerable time, navigating a way through hostels, probation offices, and benefits agencies. The temptation is there to resort back to old behaviour patterns.

Instead I want now to be a living example that it is possible to change, and not only that, but to build a meaningful life worth staying out of prison for. I am not a fan of looking back with remorse and regret but rather looking forward and making positive changes in day-to-day life. I like the quote that says, ‘For we are not judged by the height to which we climb, but rather the depth from which we climbed.’

Charity and goodwill

A big thank you to the Longford Trust for believing in me. The kind words from Clare, Peter and the team, and the high level of support and encouragement I received, were unparalleled. I am forever grateful to you guys, and I hope that in the future, I will be able to mentor and support scholars with the same charity and goodwill shown to me.  I am a proud Longford scholar and I hold my head high as a Longford Trust graduate.

If you are inspired by Andrew’s story to give university education a go, or know someone who could be, contact Clare at the Longford Trust; clare@longfordtrust.org 

Man smiling on green grass overlooking the sea

“I never know what he gets out of it. I get plenty”

Author: | 7 Jul 2025

Mentoring is a crucial part of our work. Every Longford Scholar is accompanied through their years at university by one of our trained Longford Trust mentors. These volunteers, who are all ages and come from all walks of life, generously give their time, energy and goodwill to supporting our scholars through what can be difficult transitions. Former journalist and lecturer Rob Campbell reflects on what mentoring means to him.

‘What did he do? Is he a murderer?’. That’s the first question friends asked when I became a Longford mentor.

Naturally I didn’t tell them, but I don’t blame them for asking. Crime is so fascinating that it dominates our headlines and, when we can’t get enough, we devour dramatized versions on television or read yet another thriller.

The reality of mentoring someone who’s done time, however, starts with parking that fascination, easily done because most offending seems too miserable and depressing to make a good story anyway.

What’s been more fascinating for me, since first meeting my mentee nearly three years ago, is how to understand the challenges faced by someone choosing the path of rehabilitation.

I’ve had to learn that while my mentee has done his time, paid his debt to society, and is officially no longer defined by an offence, there’s a hidden part of his sentence that continues.

Mentees might struggle with any or more of the following: finding self-discipline after years of being subject to someone else’s; handling fear of new friends discovering their past; difficulties in finding housing and work; trouble with past relationships.

Supportive in a crisis

Learning how to listen to any of that, effectively, has kept me on my toes. I learnt a lot from the Longford Trust’s training, and I’ve found the team always available for guidance, and very supportive in a crisis, but I’m no expert in any of these issues. I’m a retired lecturer, and my main experience of the justice system is from the press benches as a former journalist.

What I’ve learned, and am still learning, is that listening well depends on understanding your relationship with your mentee. It’s an odd one because you’re not their friend, parent, sibling, colleague, probation officer, social worker, lecturer, doctor, or grant-giver. You have no authority or leverage, and little to offer beyond a listening ear.

Listening ear

So I just listen, actively, to his ideas, plans, and worries, and it sounds serious but we have some laughs. Like when he couldn’t focus on reading in his room, with all the distractions of housemates and screens, and I asked him when reading was easier. The answer was in a cell, so he booked himself a silent study pod in the library and I felt like I’d sent him back inside. We’ve had a lot of laughs, mostly on FaceTime but also walking on the beach near his university, watching the waves, stopping for a pizza.

I may never know what he gets out of our meetings but I get plenty. There’s potentially the pride of helping him stay out of prison (and saving us all the cost) but I’ll never know. So it’s the other things that count: meeting someone outside of my usual cosy circles, admiring someone winning against the odds, and learning and re-learning the importance of listening.’

We have more than 80 volunteer mentors at present – either matched or about to be matched with scholars. Our sincere thanks to them for their commitment. Interested in becoming a mentor to someone in or leaving prison? Contact Veena at mentors@longfordtrust.org and watch our video about the value and impact of the mentoring relationship.