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. If you are interested in becoming a mentor, contact Veena at mentors@longfordtrust.org and watch our video about the value and impact of the mentoring relationship.

Person's hand holding an academic mortar board in the air

“Anything is possible, if you try hard enough”

Author: | 24 Jun 2025

Our Frank Awards help people in prison who want to start an Open University degree. For most it is their first attempt at higher education. One of our Frank Award holders recently graduated in Global Development. At his graduation ceremony, held in the prison and attended by his family and Longford Trust mentor, he said some important words about what getting a degree meant for him that he has allowed us to share.

‘Firstly, I’d like to thank you all for coming here today. This is a very rare and special occasion with family, friends, the Longford Trust, the prison and Open University all coming together to celebrate, what for me, is a wonderful accomplishment. It really does mean a lot, so thank you all. In many ways, it is a vital reminder that opportunities here in prison are crucial and must be maintained. We change lives together. I stand here before you as a clear example that, with the right nurturing, resolution, and dedication to hard work, education is the only true form of self-rehabilitation.

I am extremely proud of what I have achieved. I am an individual who grew up on a council estate, who has made some serious mistakes in his life, but decided that I won’t let these define my future, or the person I want to be. What I am is a hardworking, pragmatic, and determined individual. I have been described as relentless and laser-focused by some, but also as a right pain in the backside by others. I wouldn’t class myself as highly intelligent, or even extremely clever. I have nothing more than average intelligence. I have nothing uniquely special about me. Well, apart from my dashing good looks and modesty, that is.

My journey can be an inspiration

But on a serious note, I came to prison 18 years ago with no formal academic qualifications as I had left school without sitting my GCSEs. I subsequently joined the British Army, which is what I had always wanted to do, following in my grandfather’s footsteps. When I left, I became self-employed and owned a number of successful businesses, as I have always been very good with finances and making money. Maybe that’s why I ended up getting involved with the wrong crowds, making regrettable decisions and, within a few years, receiving a prison sentence. It was at this point, I decided to try and turn my life around for the better, and use my time in prison as constructively as I possibly could.

I completed my GCSEs, A Levels, and then enrolled on a business degree and continue on my journey to complete a Masters in Global Development. Securing the funding was such an uphill battle, which took a lot out of me, self-funding through myself, family, friends and writing letters to charities, requesting grants and donations. Without all of these individuals, this achievement, just would not have been possible. Completing my Masters has been so fulfilling, but I am acutely aware that there are many prisoners who face similar challenges in their quest to better themselves. Many end up with brick walls in their way, so I hope that my journey can be an inspiration to these men and women, and give them hope for the future, despite the obstacles and hurdles that the system sometimes presents.

Education beyond what I dreamed possible

Notwithstanding all this, studying was one of the most rewarding times of my imprisonment. It took my level of education well beyond whatever I could have dreamed possible. I do not come from a family of academics. In fact, I am the first person in my whole family to have obtained a degree and now a Masters. I have embraced every challenge to achieve my ambitions and aspirations. I have worked, and continue to work, extremely hard to the best of my ability not just for myself, but for my family.

I am eternally grateful to my loved ones, as they are my inspiration, especially my mother and grandmother for, without their unwavering support, help and encouragement, I would not have completed this. I would also like to dedicate this achievement to my three children and my two grandchildren. Everything I do, I do it for them.

Evidently investment in my education has had a multi-layered effect, which has inspired my youngest son to follow in my footsteps. He is currently in his final year at university in Manchester. I am so proud of him, as I am of all my children.

Learn as if you were to live forever

I would also like to point out that this accomplishment has only been made possible with help of charities like the Longford Trust (amongst others) who have provided financial help and support to me along the way. I am very grateful to them for my mentor, James, for his unflinching support. He has provided me with his time, knowledge, and expertise which have been invaluable. Thank you, James.

Gandhi once said, “Live as if you were to die tomorrow, learn as if you were to live forever”. In the future, I hope doing events and discussions like this here today may motivate, enthuse, and show people both inside and outside of prison that you can still reap the rewards of hard work, and make the most out of a bad situation. Anything is possible, if you try hard enough.’

Our Frank Awards are grants for serving prisoners to cover the cost of one full module (60 credits) towards degrees at the Open University.  They are run as a joint project with the Prisoners’ Education Trust, supported financially by the Linbury Trust. To apply for a Frank Award, check our eligibility information and download the form. The closing date for OU modules starting in October is 15 August.

A good news story for prison education – and what it could be…

Author: | 9 Jun 2025

With prison education under strain, our Ambassador, journalist David Shipley, finds a new report ‘incredibly encouraging’ on the effectiveness of the in-cell education channel Way2Learn, part of WayOut TV that operates in half of all prisons

Prison education is a strange beast. Everyone seems to recognise how important it is, with research by the Ministry of Justice in 2018 having found thatpeople who had participated in education whilst in prisons were significantly less likely to reoffend within 12 months of release. Part of this may be because people who leave prison with good literacy and numeracy are more likely to find, and keep a job after release. We know, of course, that being in work is one of the most significant factors reducing someone’s likelihood of reoffending. So the Ministry of Justice, and the Prison Service, want education in prisons to be widely-available and of good quality.

Unfortunately it often falls short. Ofsted, the education standards’ body responsible for inspecting education in prisons and young offenders institutions, ‘have long been concerned about the standards of education in our prisons’.

Partly, this is due to limited budgets and the resultant challenges around hiring good teachers to work in prisons. But the environment itself is a barrier to education. Our jails are becoming less safe, with assaults up 14 per cent in the last annual figures, and serious assaults up 13 per cent. Dangerous, crowded prisons make learning hard. If a prisoner is concerned about their physical safety, they may find it almost impossible to concentrate in a lesson. Those who are worried about their safety travelling from cell to classroom may decide to stay ‘banged-up’ and avoid the risk of education entirely.

Barrier of embarrassment and shame

Another barrier to education can be shame. Around two-thirds of prisoners having literacy skills below that expected of an 11-year-old, and many dropped-out or were excluded from the education system. As a result, and unsurprisingly, they find the thought of sitting in a classroom and having their lack of education made public embarrassing and shameful. This fear alone can deter many prisoners from participating in education.

In order to address these barriers, WayOutTV created Way2Learn a decade ago. This service offers 18 scheduled courses, covering everything from music and creative writing to food hygiene and construction. There are also courses on broader skills, like goal-setting and running a business. Prisoners participate by watching the course segments and then completing and submitting worksheets to Way2Learn, where they are marked. Results got towards qualifications awarded by UWE.

‘An avenue of learning’

Now academics from UWE have conducted an impact evaluation of Way2Learn. What they’ve found is incredibly encouraging. Prison staff, prison governors and former Way2Learn students all have very positive views on the service. Way2Learn gives prisoners a sense of purpose, improving their mental health, while also developing useful skills. It also provides ‘an avenue of learning for…men who struggle to engage with more mainstream or traditional learning’.

The report  is a fascinating and encouraging document. After reading it I reflected that Way2Learn shows what the future of much prison education could be. The Prison Service is determined to increase the use of technology in our jails. More and more prisons are rolling-out in-cell ‘laptops’, which inmates can use to contact staff, email friends and family and perform prison ‘life-admin’ tasks (but not go on the internet).

Way2Learn could and should be offered on these systems, allowing prisoners to study a wide range of subjects in their cells, and removing the need for paper forms. I do hope that Prisons’ Minister James Timpson reads this evaluation . It’s clear that the prison service could do much more by working constructively with Way2Learn.

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Blocks of wood spelling out the word Trust

We need a new wave of trust in communities

Author: | 16 Aug 2024

Our scholar Andrew Morris grew up wanting to be a policeman but, he writes, his life took a very different course.  After the recent riots, he reflects on his own experience and how it has lead him to found New Wave Trust dedicated to rebuilding trust between communities and between communities and the police.

I have a catalogue of memories in my mind from growing up on the Angell Town estate in Brixton. It was the place I proudly called home, where my core beliefs took shape. It was also usually associated with deprivation and criminality (although it has long since been gentrified).

I can’t quite remember how old I was at the time, but I was taken to the West End as a young boy. I saw sweets, lights, people and in a souvenir shop a child-sized version of a police hat. For some reason I was obsessed by it. I immediately decided that I wanted to join the police.

Members of my family, usually Mum, my grandmother or my aunt, would tell me that, if I was naughty, ‘the policeman will take you away’. I knew that there could be nothing good about that and surmised in my own childlike way that wanting to be a policeman could not be all bad.  I was not yet of an age when I could possibly know the ramifications of three major factors on my future life: being black; coming from Angell Town; and wanting to join the police.

As time went on, I saw some of the injustices that coated the area where I grew up. Very often I would hear that something or other had happened, and it usually involved the police. I clearly recall listening to my grandparents talking about the Mangrove Nine, a group of activists tried and ultimately acquitted of inciting a riot in 1970 after protesting about police targeting a Caribbean restaurant in Notting Hill. Their trial, though, had happened five years before I was even born so, as I listened in to the family talk, I had no real concept then of what it all meant. But what I knew was that it was not good, and that it related to something called ‘racism’.

A window on the world

Growing up on Angell Town, our kitchen window looked on to a grassy area. What unravelled there is one of my most vivid memories of childhood. I was barely eight-years-old when, on 28 September 1985, I heard the word ‘riot’. My grandmother told me that a lady called Cherry Groce, who lived around the corner from us, had been shot by the police (leaving her paralysed for the rest of her life). That evening, as I was looking out of our kitchen window with my gran, I saw the 1985 Brixton riots spreading onto a pathway running between our kitchen and the grassy area.

I am not ashamed to admit that I was afraid. The most terrifying moment came when, for reasons that were unclear, the police entered our block and smashed the rectangular window in our front door with their truncheons. They did the same to our neighbours. Mercifully they did not then enter our homes, although I never did get my head around why the police would do what they did.

The fear that engulfed me that night was not because people were rioting. It was a fear of the police. Yet, despite this, I still had that desire to join the police.

‘My peers beat me for wanting to join the police’

Then came my juxtaposition. One day as a teenager I was bundled into the back of a police van with a friend from the estate. He had been arrested on several occasions. I, on the other hand, had not. Still, I was cuffed and beaten up by two officers who told me to ‘scream for your mum’. I didn’t scream for Mum, although I did cry out from the pain of the unjust and vitriolic assault.

I had already been given a beating from my peers because I had dared to tell them I wanted to join the police. Now it was the police being violent towards me.  The combination of the two certainly disabused me of the idea of joining the police.

Instead, my bad encounter that day with the police led me to campaign about police transgressions. I was mentored for four years in this period by Rudy Narayan, the well-known barrister and civil rights campaigner.

‘I never imagined I’d be offered a job in government service’

In 1998, when I was 21, I experienced in a single year the deaths of first my grandmother, then Rudy, and finally a lady called Arlene, who took a keen interest in my development. My way of dealing with it was to drink like an alcoholic. There followed a period of remand for a crime I had not committed, but I emerged from HMP Brixton with a taste for cocaine. A turbulent lifestyle of crime, drugs and debauchery ensued.

I somehow found the determination to leave London in an effort to kick my bad habits, but in 2007, after I had been clean for almost a year, my demons came back to haunt me. I was still displaying ‘using behaviour’. I was quick-tempered and aggressive, and that got me into trouble and led to me being handed an indeterminate prison sentence, also known as IPP.

Nearing the end of my sentence, something surprising happened. It had never crossed my mind that I’d be offered a job in government service before even walking out through the prison gates to restart my life. But I was. Towards the end of long-term sentences, there is an unwritten rule that, for the most part, you get a chance to prove yourself by being tested in an open prison, which is pretty much what it says on the tin. You aren’t locked in and could run off at any time. Therein lies the test!

I remember one day, while in an open prison, when we were invited to an employability talk in the visitors’ hall. I had nothing else to do, so went along with no expectations. Our visitor began talking about something called ‘Going Forward into Employment’. It was a government scheme. He referred to some job adverts scattered around the room and invited us to look at them.

I read one or two and I remember thinking, ‘this a pipe-dream’. But in the same moment I had a euphoric sensation. I had started to imagine myself doing one of the jobs that I had just read about. Then came the blow. ‘This scheme,’ it read, ‘is not open to life-sentenced prisoners, or this and that blah blah blah’ My elation ebbed away.

‘The governor encouraged me to apply’

When the talk came to an end, I decided to speak to our visitor. ‘How can you come and tell me what I could have won,’ I challenged him, showing him the job advert. He shifted and smiled uneasily. As I walked away, I spoke to the governor who was there. He agreed with me and encouraged me to apply anyway. So, I did, and cast my cares into the sea of forgetfulness.

Then some time later something bizarre happened. A fellow prisoner came up to me and said, ‘you’ve got an interview’. I had forgotten about the application. I thought it must be a cruel joke. How could he know before me? But prison can be like that sometimes.

Sure enough I got a movement slip instructing me that I should be at the Working Out Scheme office (WOS) at an appointed date and time. Around 10 people were interviewed for the role. I walked into a room and met two representatives. Around half-an-hour later, they were done. I was left somersaulting in my mind about what else I could have said. They gave no indication either way of how the interview had gone.

‘I am proud of you. You got the job, well done’

About two months later I had left the prison on a planned overnight stay as part of my preparation for release. When I returned on 4 July, 2019, I was met by yet another prisoner who came up to me and said, ‘congratulations’. I was in a good mood having come back from time with family and friends, so I asked cheerfully, ‘what’s happened’? Simultaneously the governor came striding up to me with his hand outstretched! He shook my hand and said something I didn’t hear too often. ‘I am proud of you. You got the job, well done’.

I had been offered a role as an Assessment Officer at the Prisons’ and Probation Ombudsman, part of the Ministry of Justice. (The PPO investigates complaints from prisoners and those detained in secure environments.) I just couldn’t believe it. I mean how often does a convict get offered a job by the same government department that had the responsibility for locking them up in the first place?

‘Sometimes good things happen’

I kept thinking that it was not going to happen, just like the countless times that I thought I’d get parole and didn’t. But sometimes good things do happen. Four months later I had a parole hearing and told them that I had been offered a job at the PPO. I got the impression that they did not believe me. Once it was confirmed by my probation officer, the panel moved on as if they hadn’t just unnecessarily impugned the little bit of integrity I had left.

But, in the end, they directed my release and I left prison on 13 December 2019 and started work at the PPO the next month. In March 2020 the country went into national Covid lockdown. I was troubled in my work. I started harbouring fears that if I did or said anything deemed to be above my station, I’d be returned to prison.  I was treading very carefully. I felt like I wasn’t really free. I suspected I was experiencing a subtle form of bullying. Psychologically I was not in a good place, but I had no one to turn to.

‘A question of trust’

Several events eventually lead me to the conclusion that, at best, unconscious racial bias was present. I spoke to my union to get advice and guidance but they didn’t do anything. What I really wanted was for a tribunal to establish the truth, but without union support, my case couldn’t be heard.

Sometimes it can feel that all I have ever known is struggle – from growing up on Angell Town to fighting the injustice of a sentence with no end. Right now, like thousands of others, I eagerly await the termination of my IPP licence. It all comes down to trust – from losing trust in the police as a young man, to losing trust in the organisation where I worked. These experiences have never properly gone away because they haven’t been remedied.

And that is what has put me on the path to studying law at university. With the support of the Longford Trust, I have recently achieved my Diploma of Higher Education. Despite some of my uncertainties, I have not given into the temptation of adopting an anti-authority sentiment. Quite the opposite. I have founded New Wave Trust, which works to build brighter futures, break down barriers and tackle issues such as the ‘school-to-prison pipeline’, and to infuse what we do with lived experience wherever we have the capacity to do so. New Wave’s patron, Jackie Malton, is a former senior police officer. We became friends while she was volunteering in one of the prisons I was housed in.

The recent events in Southport, which then gave way to a climate of fear, violence and hate-fuelled rioting, have once again brought into sharp focus the vital work that needs to be done to rebuild trust. When I was growing up the tensions were often between the police and the community, irrespective of race, culture or creed. Today we appear to be finding ourselves with pressures between communities as well as with the police. My path going forward is to tackle this by fostering a mindset of renewed hope and determination. I hope as you read this you will be inspired to do the same.

Slot machines in an arcade

My journey back from gambling addiction

Author: | 17 Jul 2024

Our 2024 graduate Sian McLear was 26 and had a successful career in finance when a night out at the bingo catapulted her into gambling addiction so strong that it ultimately saw her jailed. As she starts her post-graduate career with the Beacon Charitable Trust, the charity she credits with saving her life, she reflects on how she embraced her second chance though higher education with our help.

I can’t really pin point how or why my gambling turned harmful. I just remember going to the bingo with colleagues and having to open an online account to be able to attend. That’s when the promotions / hounding started. I had a significant win and an offer of a free bet or a stake of no more than £1. I remember thinking, ‘I’m going to win big again I will, I will’.

Before I knew it, I was secretly staying up all night playing slots on my phone while my husband was in bed asleep. I was physically incapable of stopping until every last penny in my bank account had been spent. I would then lie awake worried sick about how I was going to get all the money back.

Secrets and lies

I couldn’t tell anyone what I was doing. Just the thought of it made me physically sick. I started getting pay-day-loans and credit cards, but instead of covering the money I’d lost, I believed I’d be able to make more. So, the cycle continued. I’d got myself in that much of a mess I couldn’t see a way out of the debt which is when I turned to what I believed was the only way out: I stole money from work.

To me, though, it wasn’t stealing. I was just borrowing it and had every intention of paying it back. But when I ‘won big’ this carried on for three years on a daily basis with my mental health drastically declining. I was living a lie and nobody knew. I was having to hide my gambling and the state of my mental health from everyone around me.

‘My world fell apart’

I didn’t even want to gamble anymore. I enjoyed nothing about it, but yet I couldn’t stop. I thought about getting a new job, hoping it might help stop the stealing. I did not want to be doing what I was doing any more. It was causing me to self-harm. I hated myself and everything about me. Something had to give: on the day I found out I was pregnant with my son, I was sacked from my job and my world fell apart.

The scariest time of my life was waiting to find out when I would be going to court/prison. By this time my beautiful son George had been born. The fear of being taken away from him was terrifying. There were a couple of times I contemplated suicide. One specific time I drank half a bottle of my dad’s liquid morphine, not because I wanted to die, but because I wanted to be able to sleep and make everything go away.

I needed help but the doctor prescribed antidepressants for my addiction. As (at the time) I was pregnant, I didn’t want to take them. Thankfully, through my own efforts, I came across the Beacon Counselling Trust, a charity offering free support to those suffering with gambling-related harm. The support I received greatly helped to quell my fears and prepare for prison.

One bad choice away from disaster

I made a promise to myself that I would turn my situation into a positive one. I realised that we are all only one bad choice/mistake away from turning our lives upside down, and that it’s not the end. It does not mean this has to be our path going forward. It can be a new the start of a new beginning.

Whilst in prison, there were certainly days I felt like giving up but I knew that, if not for me but for my son, I was going to make something out of it. I decided I wanted to study, to help other people like myself and be able to make a difference.  I decided on a university degree. I was put in touch with The Longford Trust who were invaluable in guiding me through the university application process whilst I was in prison.

In fact, throughout my studies the trust has not only provided me with financial help but peer support which, to be honest, was way more valuable than the money. Having one-to-one support with someone who knew and understood my situation gave me the courage to fight my anxieties and worries.

Second chances

Four years on, I have just graduated with a BA in criminology and psychology from Liverpool John Moores University and have successfully obtained a job as an Education and Brief Intervention Lead in none other than the charity that effectively saved my life, Beacon Counselling Trust. I am now helping those experiencing what I have been through, as well as fighting to prevent it happening.

Writing this is not about wishing to share my story. What I am hoping to do is inspire others to believe in themselves. A prison sentence is not the end. It can be used to learn and grow. With the help of organisations such as The Longford Trust, there’s no stopping us.

If you or anyone else you know might be suffering as a result of the issues raised in this article, do get in touch with Gambling Aware, a national network of organisations working together to provide free and confidential support for anyone impacted by gambling.

 

The trick is to realise that it is for you

Author: | 26 Mar 2024

Longford Scholar, Darren Robert, has just graduated in scriptwriting from the National Film and Television School. Today he is in the running for a dream job at the BBC.  Here, he traces it all back to prison and daring to believe that higher education could be for someone like him – and someone like you.

There are a few things in my life that have been consistent; my mom, brother and sisters (except when my mother kicked me out), the neighbourhood I grew up in, the friends I had from that neighbourhood, being broke, and the feeling that somehow, I was going to make it out and everything would be okay. For a long time, I thought music would be that way out, but after getting locked up again at 25, after just being released at 25, whilst in the midst of working on my mixtape, I thought this music thing might not work out.

Crime was never really something I wanted to do; it was just something I fell into. Even while I was making money serving the local addicts, I didn’t really care for it. Knowing I wouldn’t be let back into the free world until the age of 28, I felt like that would be too old start all over again. Whilst lying on the top bunk letting my mind wonder, something that had been pushed to the back of my mind for some years came to the forefront. I watched my early life play out like the opening to a TV show; the journey back home from church late on a Sunday night, driving through the bleak run-down street known for prostitution that leads into my neighbourhood right next to the vicarage with the wall spray painted ‘Give me life, give me a job pop’. I always wondered who pop was, and what kind of jobs he had to offer. The whole thing became so clear to me.

At that moment I decided that I was going to write TV. But I had no idea what I was doing. I just got a sheet of A4 lined paper, wrote names in the margin and wrote dialogue. I didn’t realise I had to set the scene, or how I was supposed to lay it out. After refusing to go to education in the prison for a few weeks, as I knew I could get an extra gym session instead, the officers told me I’d be going on basic if I didn’t get down there.

‘You shouldn’t be here, you should be in university.’

So, I went down, not wanting to lose my TV, and was put into an English class. English was pretty much the only thing I was good at in school academically, though my grades didn’t prove that. When I was young my mom would make me stand in front of the heater and do my spellings while she grilled me from the settee. So, I guess I owe my reading and writing skills to her.

In this English class on this one day that I went down to education, there was a substitute teacher from the Open prison across the road. Real nice lady, very smartly dressed, I even noticed the classy Rolex she had on. She gave me a piece of work to do, which was to read a paragraph, and then write a paragraph about it. I don’t remember what it was I read or wrote but I remember her reaction to it. ‘Ughh, with writing like this you shouldn’t be here, you should be in university!’

It was strange to hear knowing that my schoolteachers most likely felt I was exactly where I belonged. I felt very encouraged by her response, and in my head, I was thinking,‘funny you say that, I was just thinking about being a writer.’

I never saw her again after that day, but I consider her a guardian angel who came to point me in the right direction. I was shipped out a few days later to a Cat C prison. When the education people came to see me about what I’d like to do whilst at their establishment, I said, ‘I want to get into screenwriting’. I didn’t think that would be something the prison would offer but I had heard about Open University and hoped there may be something I could do through them.

Plus, I thought if I could do something like that, it would keep officers off my back about going to work. The lady found me a course with Stonebridge Associated Colleges in Scriptwriting for Film, TV, Stage and Radio. I also found in the prison library two sheer assets for what I wanted to do; Teach Yourself Screenwriting, and the script in book form to Reservoir Dogs, one of my favourite films. I’ll be honest, I took the books from there and kept them for myself until I was released, because I just knew that I needed them more than anyone.

‘Me of all people, an A+, I couldn’t believe it’

When the work started coming through, I got straight to it. I put up pictures of Bafta and Oscar awards in my cell for motivation (and also manifestation) and knuckled down, although it took me a lot longer to get work done as I was writing scripts by hand and learning as I went along. The tutor was very forgiving with the time I was taking, and as there were no deadlines. I didn’t feel pressured. He also seemed to like my work. I sent the last piece of work off after my release in 2016 and was ecstatic when they sent me back a diploma with an A+ grade. Me of all people, an A+, I couldn’t believe it. But I didn’t want to stop there. I wanted to continue learning. I just knew for certain I was on the right path this time. I looked up local university courses and finally settled on Creative Writing and Film and TV Studies at Wolverhampton University, where I started in September that year.

I had never written essays before and struggled with the academic side of things, but creatively I was doing well. I was learning the craft quickly and got praise for it by my tutors. But this was mostly in the form of short stories. There wasn’t much actual screenwriting going on. Having had to repeat a year as I lacked in some work, my final year was from 2019-2020. By this time, I had grown slightly bored of the course, as it wasn’t specific to what I wanted to do. A friend and mentor of mine that I had met on a media course whilst inside had told me about the National Film and Television School and said that’s where I needed to be. He said that’s the cream of the crop. It’s where shows like Eastenders come and cherry pick their writers. He said you go there, and you complete the course, and they give you an agent. I thought I should check it out.

‘I feel like I know who I am again, and where I’m going’

I had some mental pushback, believing that a school like that probably wouldn’t want someone like me, but when I went down for the Open Day, I saw an actual Bafta and an actual Oscar award in the flesh, and I was immediately sold! I knew I had to be here. I completely forgot about the undergrad and focused on the NFTS. It was risky, as the course only accepts 10 people per year, but I didn’t care. I filled in the long application form and attached a pilot script I had written and sent it off. On my birthday that year in July, I got the email saying I was accepted, and I was over the moon. But in December I was arrested again, and in January I was sent to prison for 6 months. I was due to start in February. I was gutted. I thought it was over. But the school stood by me and allowed me to defer. I started in 2022, made the move to Buckinghamshire and got to work. I had no idea how I was going to pay for the course, or my living, but luckily landed a scholarship from the BBC which covered it.

Two years and some change later, I am now a Master of Arts, Film and Television, I have an agent and I am in the running to work on a high-level TV show. None of this could have been done without all the help along the way from tutors who work to see people making use of their talents. Ever since I made that decision to start writing, I’ve felt like I know who I am again, and where I’m going. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s definitely been worth it, and now I can look forward to the future.

I truly believe that education is the key. The trick is to realise within yourself that it is for you too. Don’t believe what you’ve been made to believe your entire life, that you belong in a box, mentally or physically. Education can and will open your mind and your life to new realities, and you can bring forth the positive lifestyle change that you desire.

Don’t be afraid, make the decision.

If you believe you could do a university degree, too, contact Clare Lewis, the Longford Trust’s scholarship manager to find out how.

Closing the Education Gap for Prisoners

Author: | 28 May 2023

Prison is often described as ‘a microcosm of society’ but that bears little resemblance to what goes on behind the walls, reports our current Longford Scholar Carolyn*, who is doing a PhD in women’s education provision in prisons. So much potential is going to waste because of the failure of prison education to provide the challenges that match the needs and hopes of prison learners.

During my induction at my first prison, like all new prisoners, I undertook initial education assessments. These are designed to provide a snapshot of ability. The prison teachers then looked at the floor while explaining to me that prison rules required me to undertake Level 2 English and Maths qualifications, despite me having been a teacher before my interaction with the criminal justice system, with a degree in English Literature, a PGCE and a Masters degree in education. My experience of education in custody was from the start characterized by frustration, inflexibility and short-sightedness.

No other accredited qualifications were available at the prison. Instead, I applied for an external course funded by the Prisoners’ Education Trust. I chose Copy Editing but, when I was transferred to a different prison, my course book was lost in the move. I was told I was unable to request new materials or take on a new course without completing the first.

Failing has no consequences

In 2021-22, Ofsted inspections were carried out in 22 prisons. Only one was deemed to be offering a decent standard of education. If similar results had been reported by the same organization for 22 schools outside the prison walls, urgent action would have been taken, new staff brought in, and ‘special measures’ imposed. In prison, such poor judgements appear to have no consequences at all.

The 2022 Ofsted report of my first prison found that the education department ‘requires improvement’ across all five of its categories. Whilst this two-word judgement captures much of my experience there, however, it does not reflect the handful of wonderful, supportive and inspiring teachers, committed to improving the attainment and prospects of their learners. If only they could be given autonomy to do their jobs, and offer basic training in any areas learners want to upskill in, real and positive change could be achieved.

The ups and downs

My second prison was at the other end of the M4.  In contrast to the first, it seemed to be an educational utopia with a much wider curriculum, including many qualifications on offer, all of which were consistently oversubscribed. I jumped at the opportunity to take the Level 2 Fitness Instructor course. And when I wasn’t in the gym, I could usually be found in the gardens doing a horticulture qualification.

When I was released from prison towards the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic, this learning became the foundation for a lockdown project to redesign part of my parents’ garden. Both of the courses I took in that second prison also arguably benefitted my mindfulness and wellbeing but still I was left wondering to what extend they had been successful and elevating in an educational capacity.

Employed as a Teaching Assistant at the second prison, my role was to support other prison learners with the Functional Skills courses (equivalent to GCSE level in English and maths). Those who made progress took pride in their achievements, but I also noticed that some made little-to-no progress. When I asked them about it, they openly explained that they failed the exams on purpose to ensure that they could stay on the course, in a warm and dry classroom, with ready access to biscuits. If they had passed it, they said, it would have automatically resulted in being timetabled to work in the gardens or kitchens.

Gender stereotyping

Like many others in prison, I experienced the disparity that exists in the regime there between the systemic dismantling of the self and the confiscation of agency on the one hand, and the expectation that I would better myself and magically emerge rehabilitated on the other. The futility and Kafka-esque routine of prison dampens motivation and aspiration. Yet prisons are teeming with untapped potential desperate to be harnessed.

As a minute 4% of the total prison population in the UK, women often feel sidelined in a prison system that is not built for them. The education arena is no different. As an education offer, hair and beauty courses cater for a tiny proportion of the female cohort, but the reality is that women in prison want to improve their circumstances as long as there is relevant opportunity. Less gender-stereotyped courses would be enthusiastically received. Accredited and practical courses such as catering and hospitality are, to be fair, becoming increasingly more available in prisons. This is excellent progress but there is still a long way to go to meet the needs of women in prison.

What success looks like

There is potential for prisons to reduce radically the cost of reoffending (standing at £18.1 billion per year, according to published Ministry of Justice figures in 2019) across the board. At the very least what is needed is a review of the current limited education offer for women and the introduction of some intelligent changes. The availability of education at an appropriate level is paramount, as is curriculum content that will support a woman to invest in a positive future on release. Access to improved digital learning tools, and also supervised access to the internet, would help to level the playing field, especially for those taking distance learning courses.

My experience of prison education was mixed but it has given me the blueprint for my research PhD – exploring women’s experiences of, and access to, education in prison. With the support of a Longford Scholarship and mentor, I am keen to begin exploring a gender-responsive and trauma-informed approach to education in women’s prisons. This would mean that women in prison have access to education opportunities to help them elevate their circumstances and live a positive future, free from crime. This could have a significant positive impact on intergenerational offending, and hence reducing offending rates for both men and women.

 (*Scholar’s name has been changed)

If you feel you could benefit from a Longford Scholarship, or know someone who could, contact Clare Lewis for details about how to apply.

 

 

How a Die Hard movie inspired me to swap prison for university

Author: | 11 Apr 2023

Alex is serving the last final years of a long sentence at an Open prison. With a Longford Scholarship, he is studying on day-release at the University of East London. For Longford Blog he describes how education had never figured in his plans, until he was in prison watching a lousy Die Hard action film on TV.

He knew he could write something better.

When I landed in prison there were two options to get paid. One was you work in the prison – cleaner, servery, painter. The other was you attend education – maths, English, journalism, IT.

Growing up in Hackney, I had seen it all. What we were taught as teenagers was – it wasn’t cool to get a job or even go to school. The cool thing was to go to prison and get fast money.

But in prison, I picked education. It was a no-brainer for me. I tried every course that they had to offer because I have always been a believer that knowledge is power. Plus, most of the courses I would have to pay for in the real world.

A Better You

I noticed, though, that a lot of prisoners wanted to work and despised education. They were scared to do something that they had never done before, or felt had no real value in their lives.

There is a huge number of people in prison who don’t know how to read or write. That lead me to write an article for the prison magazine called ‘A Better You’. It was basically giving tips on how to better yourself in custody and have something to carry out with you into the real world so your sentence didn’t feel like a big waste of time.

My light-bulb moment

I had never known what I wanted to be, and really enjoyed in my life until one day, in prison, I was watching a film, A Good Day to Die Hard. I thought to myself, ‘what the hell? I can come up with a way better script than this’. So, I put pen to paper and got creating.

I called my friends in the acting world and they sent me scripts which helped me learn about the format. They also sent me a book called Save the Cat. It really helped me out a lot because it taught me about writing a film.

Throughout my years in prison, I used to go around to the staff and ask, ‘is it possible you will let me put on a play in prison that would be really educational and helpful to others’? But I got rejected year by year.

Passion for film

Still I had a real passion for film. Something felt different this time. I knew this was my future. So I never gave up. I kept writing and I kept asking to put on a play.

When I got to Standford Hill (a category D prison) I had a big break from writing because there was so much freedom there, I couldn’t concentrate.  The courses they had were mostly manual handling (which I tried, but I knew straight away, this wasn’t for me). Or others I have already done in other prisons.

My creativity was fading, so I told my prison offender manager to send me back to a Category C prison so I could focus on my scripts. Suddenly me and a staff member got speaking. I told him I wrote screenplays and he said, ‘great, can you pull off a play in a month in the prison?’ I told him yes, then realised I had to get actors, props, sound, staging… and write a script.

Getting the green light

I gathered a group of people for a writer’s room and then went around approaching prisoners to act. And we made something that prison and prisoners had never seen before in a prison. We have carried on putting on plays and well-known film makers and industry professionals have been coming to watch and giving the prisoners words of encouragement.

Today we have a company called F.A.T.E (film art theatre entertainment), we have performed numerous plays in the prison, we have been approached to do plays in other prisons, and we have a short film in the pipeline. We are also working on a prison series with a TV director known for a TV drama series called Noughts and Crosses, adapted from a book by Mallory Blackman.

Destined for greatness

One of our main ideas behind the company is giving back. We have planned some events to raise funds for charities that help victims of crime, the sort that help keep youth off the streets and people not to re-offend. As a fundraiser, and to remind people when they are feeling defeated to keep on target, we have developed silicone wristbands emblazoned with ‘destined for greatness’ on them. Sales of these bands will be split amongst the charities we support.

Another idea in the pipeline is working alongside the Koestler Arts Award to host an annual auction event selling prisoners’ work. The money raised would be split two ways between a victim awareness charity, and the artist’s family. It would make the artist feel proud of themselves and maybe inspire them to continue their art upon release.

My main message…

So, don’t give up when you get told NO. Use that NO as motivation to better yourself. And DON’T be scared to fail.

If you feel inspired by Alex’s story to find out about going to university, contact Clare Lewis, the Longford Trust’s scholarship manager, or write to her at Freepost, Longford Trust. You don’t need to put a stamp on it.

Not just another brick in the wall

Author: | 18 May 2022

This week prisons and the justice system have been in the news. Firstly, a joint justice inspectors’ report found recovery from the pandemic at ‘unacceptable levels in some areas’, whilst education is too often neglected. Today, MPs have called for urgent action to strengthen people’s access to high-standard education whilst in prison.

Our Director Peter Stanford, who gave evidence to the House of Commons Committee has written for Longford Blog:

There are some pressing, damaging problems that face us as a society where readily achievable solutions are hard to find, or else hotly contested.  Thankfully, that is not the case when it comes to tackling the staggeringly high number of prisoners who reoffend within 12 months of release. Depending on which figures you use, the current rate is between 40 and 60%.  We know a good part of the answer.  So the only real question is why are we not acting on that knowledge.

Today’s report, Not just another brick in the wall: why prisoners need an education to climb the ladder of opportunity, from the Select Committee on Education on prison education once again confirms that a decent, well-funded education system in our prisons has enormous potential to change lives, cut reoffending, reduce the cost to the taxpayer of prisons, and make us all safer.  But this message is nothing new or surprising.

In 2015, for example, I was a member of the panel working under Dame Sally Coates on a report on prison education. We handed Unlocking Potential, our recommendations, to the then Secretary of State for Justice, Michael Gove, in 2016 and he promised, in public, to implement them ‘without hesitation, repetition or deviation’.

Yet, as the Select Committee’s report sets out, next to nothing has happened about the vast majority of Coates recommendations. So it makes them all over again.

Will it be different this time round?  Well, I have faith that, if you say something sensible often enough, eventually someone will listen.  I therefore agreed to appear before the committee in April 2021 to offer once again the perspective of the Longford Trust from its work supporting young serving and ex-prisoners to go to university.

At the end of my session, I was asked by the committee chair, Robert Halfon, what I would most like to see change.  At the risk of repeating myself, I said supervised internet access for serving prisoners so they can benefit from all the life-changing opportunities that distance learning with providers like the Open University offers.

And the Select Committee makes that one of their main recommendations. It also backs another long-standing wish of the Longford Trust – that student loans should be available not just to serving prisoners with six years or less to go on their tariff (the so-called Six-Year-Rule), but to all who can demonstrate that higher education studies would improve their prospect of rehabilitation.

On this second point, though, a junior minister at the Department for Education is reported as having told the Select Committee that the government did not want to give student loans to prisoners, ‘who have no prospect of paying those loans back’.

Does he think that prisoners never come out, never go on to use the educational qualifications they have undertaken while inside to get well-paid jobs?   More than 80 per cent of Longford Scholarship award-holders, all of whom receive student loans, do precisely that.

Evidently not, which dampens hopes that this Select Committee report will succeed where others before have failed in focussing minds on improving prison education. But we will continue unceasingly to argue the case because we know from experience that it is unanswerable.

Education changes lives for the better, in prison as everywhere else.

photo by Dom Fou Unsplash

Turning a sentence into a degree: one scholar’s remarkable story

Author: | 9 Mar 2022

Turning a prison sentence into a university degree is what Longford scholars do. Second chances and a personal approach are at the heart of what we at Longford Trust do. A scholar is supported both financially and with a one-to-one trained mentor to help achieve their potential.  

More than 80% of scholars successfully graduate and get a degree-level job. Increasingly, scholars take advantage of Longford employability training and support. 

Applications for 2022 scholarships are open for 2022/23 academic year (see below for more)

One scholar who joined last year has written for Longford Blog about her journey to university….

There’s plenty written about what people lose when they go to prison. We lose our homes, our jobs, our families, every bit of normality that we may have ever had. Coming to prison at the age of 19 changed everything for me. Alongside the crushing realisation that I’d lost everything, I distinctly remember thinking about something else on my first night in a prison cell – what could I possibly do with my life in a new world void of opportunity?

Fast forward to the age of 20, I was working on the induction unit. A group of fresh-faced criminology students from a local university entered the wing as part of a prison tour.

I remember that feeling – the feeling that they were just like me but were totally different. All the doors that were closed to me were wide open for them.

They asked me questions about my time in prison, eager to know what life was like in our hidden world. When they left, I couldn’t shake the realisation that I would never have that kind of opportunity again. That feeling stayed in my head for months, serving as a constant reminder that my life had finished before it had started.

A year later, I was working as a Peer Advisor in the same prison. I was asked to conduct a talk for a group of first-year criminology students in the visits hall. I was immediately reluctant as I was sick and tired of being wheeled out as a reliable performer, ready to speak highly of the prison to any visitor in a suit at the drop of a hat. Persuaded by the promise of a sausage roll and a biscuit, I gave in and delivered the talk.

For once, I was honest about prison.

Honest about the inequality and deprivation that has filled our prison system to the rafters. I was honest about the reality that prison is a profitable method for throwing away everyone that society doesn’t want to see. For every ‘proper criminal’, there are another 50 women with the type of trauma histories that could keep you awake at night for the rest of your days. New to the world of criminal justice, the group of students were blown away by my stories and the simple fact that our prison system does not work.

The head lecturer of the group approached me just as the students were leaving. He asked about my release date, insisting that I should be at university. I still had three years to serve, so he suggested that I should start university as soon as I was eligible for open conditions. There was a continuous trail of communications between myself, the university, my family and the prison. There were so many challenges from every direction, and so much red tape that I never believed it would come to fruition.

I was given my ‘open status’ (where I could leave the prison on day release for study or work) in September 2020, just one week before the start of the course.

Walking into the lecture theatre for the first time….

felt just as unfamiliar and frightening as walking onto the wing for the first time. As terrifying as it was, I somehow felt like I was at home. I started to relax as soon as I realised that I wasn’t really that different from everyone else in the room.

I would learn that my experience would end up being an asset instead of holding me back.

I came across The Longford Trust whilst trying to find financial support during my first year of university. Though I was too late to apply for that year, I became a Longford scholar in my second year at university. It was incredible to know that there were other people on the same exciting journey as me. The Longford Trust partnered me with the perfect mentor. We now meet every two weeks and discuss all things criminal justice.

There have been plenty of challenges.

I often say that studying at university whilst in prison is akin to climbing Mount Everest whilst walking backwards and wearing flip flops.

Though this is the case, I’d recommend my journey to every single person in my situation. The opportunities that have been available to me since the start of my university experience are beyond what I ever thought possible. Alongside my studies and research, I work as a part-time lecturer. I am fortunate enough to be able to offer a rare insight into our world and educate prison staff about the important things that you’d never find in a textbook. To even consider what my life was like four years ago is truly unimaginable now.

I’ll end this blog with a short message of advice to every single person in prison. There are people waiting to hear your story. There are opportunities out there that are beyond the reach of the prison education department. There are people out there that are waiting to support you at every stage of your journey.

Believe in what you want to do, whatever that is, and stay tremendously interested in it.

It is only by running head-first at your passion that you’ll make your future what you want.

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Have you got plans to study a uni degree? Are you close to release or recently released? preferably in your 20s/30s, check out our 2022 application here: https://www.longfordtrust.org/scholarships/the-longford-scholarships/ 

 The closing date is 5th June 2022.