Tag: writing

Running Up That Hill

Author: | 19 Nov 2024

As part of our Employability programme, we offer travelling scholarships to our award holders to enable them to see the world and build their skills and CVs.  This autumn two scholars attended the ‘Haven for Stories’ writers’ retreat in Umbria.  Here, one of them, Tim Kerr reflects on what he discovered.

The sun shone brightly on our final day in Umbria, piercing the Ryanair windows on the Saturday morning flight. It had rained most of the week of course, but I still squeezed in runs up and down the deserted Umbrian paths, looking over valleys bathed in mist and fog, occasional castle brick or terracotta roof poking through. The roaring wood fires and dark espressos on my return to Villa Pia would warm me back up, but the mist on the landscape would remain, symbolic of my state of writing.

I used to write more, in times where my experiences seemed more relevant, with something new to be unearthed by the process. I wrote when I was in prison. I wrote when I was released from prison. I wrote traipsing between the probation office and the DWP. Then, later on, as life settled, writing took a backseat to increasing work and further study. But like backseat drivers do, it nagged, and prompted me to apply to go on this writing retreat advertised in the Longford Trust’s Bulletin. It wanted to drown out the other backseat driver, the one who doubts.

Writer’s block

So now, I’m here, the week I’d been looking forward to for months: a retreat, away from work and with a stable internet connection. I thought I’d be free to write thousands of words a day, setting habits to make productivity gurus insist I take breather. But I couldn’t. Sure, I was sleep deprived. Stanstead was grey even under dawn light. But now I was faced with everything I’d wanted to write over the years, and struggled to pluck the most salient idea to commit to paper.

Movement, I’ve found, helps organise thoughts. And as the tutors, Alice, Elise, and Toby, explained on our first night, the writing is usually done in all the spaces where we aren’t scribing or typing. So, during a walk on the second day, through steps and jumps over puddles and branches, I discussed with Toby Bayesian statistics, medical negligence, and also my improbable and surprising life thus far. Ever the story teller, he talked about applying narrative structure to my experiences. We settled on me being arrested as the inciting incident to begin my story.

The feel of the foam mattress

Sat in the library of Villa Pia that evening, overlooking those misty hills, I tried writing about the night I got arrested: the feel of the foam mattress, the noises in the other cells, the thoughts juddering through my mind. But I was just directing words towards a memory I was no longer interested in.

I explained this to Alice in our tutorial the next day. And I came to the realisation that the point of this retreat, ‘Haven for Stories’, was not to write but to discover. Havens offer the protection to be open, and admit my utter boredom in writing about prison and drugs, the stuff I thought others wanted to read. Instead, I vowed to lean into a deep unknown: my father, who died when I was eleven, and who I know so little about. I committed to blogging this journey, as a regular writing practice, with Alice showing me the best platforms to use.

In a workshop the next day with Elise, I delved into my father as a character. Through writing exercises, I put myself in his shoes, and lived his formative years, imagining the things I never got to ask him. In a tutorial later we discussed how to research someone, including researching the places that shaped them. My trips to his birthplace, Glasgow, were mentally booked. Sadly, my knackered imagination was unable to visualise any airline besides Ryanair.

Deep and layered like lasagne

Over the week I was subsumed into Italian villa culture, thanks to Morag Cleland’s excellent staff at Villa Pia. The conversations I had with the other writers on the retreat were deep and layered, like the lasagne we had on Wednesday, which, incidentally, I learned does not have to have a tomato sauce within it. It’s just an arrangement of pasta. You can put what you like in there.

I could delve into the lives of others, and reciprocate, only possible through staying put, not reaching for my phone, persevering through every variety of carbohydrate as I slowly lost my obsession with productivity. Handy, as the sleep deprivation continued, half a tray of tiramisu at 10pm fully reflected by my mediocre Garmin sleep score.

Near the end of the week, I ran up to the highest point in the region. It was so misty I couldn’t see more than a few paces ahead of me. There was no view at the top, just turf churned up by tractor wheels. I ran back down, below the mist, and caught up with Toby again that afternoon. We now had a beginning, a structure, people and places to research. The fog was clearing. A parallel tale of my father and me. I didn’t need good writing habits, I now had motivation.

Reading aloud

On the final night, I read the work I’d developed throughout the week to the group. The other inciting incident in my life, the moment my father died, in 500 or so words. I felt privileged that I had a had an audience, and equally privileged that I could hear and be part of their work, too. Whilst writing is a solitary pursuit, the life that creates it is a team sport. I left Villa Pia with people to keep in touch with, on similar journeys, writing buddies, accountability, and maybe the odd person who will read my languid blogs.

I brought the sun home with me, and took it with me on my usual Sunday run around Hampstead Heath, the paths busy with people, priorities, dogs and prams. But the ascent of Parliament Hill was the easiest it’s ever been, my legs strong from the Umbrian valleys. I arrived at the crest, the view over the city clearer than usual. No mist, no fog, I could see where I was going. The rest of the journey would be downhill.

Our thanks to the Henry Oldfield Trust, to Villa Pia’s owner Morag Cleland, and to the writing tutors Tobias Jones, Elise Valmorbida and Alice Vincent for making our Travelling Scholarships to attend A Haven For Stories possible.

Getting my creative buzz back

Author: | 5 Nov 2024

Each year the Longford Trust offers its award-holders a travelling scholarship to widen their horizons and polish their skills alongside university so as to improve their career prospects.  This year two scholars got a chance to spend a week at a prestigious writers’ retreat in Umbria. Darren describes how time spent there inspired him to push forward as a screenwriter.

This year has been fortunate for me. After completing a Master’s  in screenwriting at the National Film and Television School with the aid of a Longford Trust scholarship, I have gone on to be selected as part of a writers’ initiative with a renowned production company, as well as other things that have me feel that I may finally have a career.

But, since graduating, I have returned home to dreary Wolverhampton, not the most inspiring of cities the country has to offer. On top of that, I really miss the writers’ room. The film school is a buzzing hive of creatives – communicating with each other on a daily basis, keeping the ideas flowing, with experienced professionals inputting gems of knowledge at every step of the way. I would spend hours in the school’s writers’ room, comforted by the tapping of keys from the numerous laptops, all bringing forth a vision from the mind onto the page.

A haven for stories

I got another chance to experience that sort of environment again last month, this time in the Umbrian hilltop village of Lippiano, at the week-long Villa Pia ‘Haven for Stories’ retreat, courtesy of a travelling scholarship from the Longford Trust. I almost did not made the flight. I realised I had forgotten my passport, the most important piece of luggage, when only thirty minutes away from Stansted Airport. Thank God for my brother-in-law!

When we landed at Perugia, I realised that I had no idea what to expect of the week. Of course, I expected to be writing, but what I’d be writing and who I’d be with, I hadn’t given any thought.

I decided on reacclimatizing my brain and getting some projects I had been putting off out of the way with the help of the three tutors Alice, Toby and Elise, all professional writers. But being as it’s been a long time since I had a real holiday, I hoped there’d be some fun in the sun along the way. There was fun, maybe, but the week was mostly devoid of sun. An astounding amount of rain poured from beginning to end. But hey, perfect weather to stay in and write!

After being picked up from the airport we arrived at the picturesque Villa Pia and were welcomed by lovely owner, Morag, and the (I think) local chihuahua cross Jack Russell called Lampo who frequents there at mealtimes. We retreaters immediately got to know one another.

A group with no barriers

Being a working-class roughneck from the Midlands, I often worry about my presence in the circles I’ve found myself in since embarking on this writing journey. But I can honestly say I felt welcomed and encouraged by the mixture of interesting people in the group. From important members of Olympic committees to ex-dealers trying to save the turtles, to heads of film companies, and current blogging sensations, I met many people on this trip who inspired me one way and another. And we were all there to write. The creative buzz was back.

Led by our established and experienced teachers we started on the Monday with talks and writing exercises to get our creative juices flowing, with an aim that on the Friday night we would all read a piece of our work at the gala. It was easy to see how intelligent and savvy our tutors were when it came to advising on our writing. Over the week I rewrote a treatment for a TV project, numerous drafts of a proof of concept script for another TV project, and the first pages of the pilot episode of a project. That was what I read out to the group at the Friday night gala.

With it being my first time in Italy, I was excited to try some authentic Italian meals and was not disappointed. Throughout the week the wonderful Villa Pia staff provided us with a lunch buffet and four-course dinner daily.  There were moments when I felt guilty, having already completed a Master’s and acquired an agent, because many of the intelligent and accomplished retreaters, much older than myself, were at the beginnings of their writing journey. At least at the beginning of taking it seriously, and had paid from their own pocket and travelled long distances to join in, whilst I was there thanks to the Longford Trust and the generous donor who sponsors the travelling scholarships.

What was really revealed

When people asked how I heard about the retreat, the conversation usually led to the revelation of me being an ex-con. I was worried about judgment from them, but felt none at all. They were intrigued about my story, and respectful of it. I felt reassured that writing was what mattered here.

The same opportunity is going to be offered to two scholars next year, too. For the lucky pair selected, I hope you get the best out of it. God willing that I can afford it. I’ll definitely be making the trip again in 2025.

 

Our thanks to the Henry Oldfield Trust and to Morag Cleland at Villa Pia, and to the writing tutors Tobias Jones, Elise Valmorbida and Alice Vincent for making it possible for our scholars to attend A Haven For Stories under our Travelling Scholarships scheme 

Hindsight is a Wonderful Thing

Author: | 7 May 2024

As he nears release, our Longford scholar Isaac Rasmussen is reflecting on the past decisions that led him from Royal Marine to prisoner. He describes how going to university is the first step on what he plans will be a career in journalism

As a serving prisoner I have done my fair share of fixating on one point in my life and asking myself where did it all go wrong? And, if I could change or take back that decision, would everything would be different. For me, the decision in question was to leave the Royal Marines.

In itself, it might not have been fatal. The problem was that no preparation was put in place to secure a seamless transition into civilian life. I fell back on the old Bootneck (Royal Marine) mantra “no cuff too tuff’’, meaning we’re always up for taking on the biggest challenges. We improvise, adapt and overcome – and approach it all with a sense of humour.

It was not long before it became apparent that this cuff was a little tougher than usual. I bounced from pointless job to no job to pointless job again. I moved up north as it had more affordable housing, and I still had friends there from the Corps (Royal Marines). But nothing filled the void the Corps had left. It was not long before I was ready to fill that gap with whatever would give me any kind of purpose and excitement, something that could happen to anyone in these circumstances, although some might be more vulnerable than others.

Preparation, preparation, preparation

I now realise, regardless of whether I decided to leave the Royal Marines or not, that if I had altered my mindset towards even the loosest of plans, I probably would not have found myself in trouble (within reason). Structure and focus in any positive direction would have prevented me from having a knee-jerk reaction to events and situations that life threw at me.  The military phrase I should have been focusing on is, “fail to prepare, prepare to fail”. It suits long-term goals infinitely better than “no cuff too tuff” which only works with short-term goals needing swift action.

I am learning, with the help of family, friends and now the Longford Trust, to balance taking risks with preparing properly.  Knowing that I will have a constant in Longford Trust from my first day of university to my release from prison and on to my first job and beyond helps to keep me grounded and concentrate on preparing for every eventuality. Through my mentor, or by engaging in the workshops and events, I can see that the Longford Trust understands where I have come from. It is a non-judgmental group of people I can count on for advice in a world that still does not quite understand the prisoner and the issues they face.

Turning Point

I now accept the decision to leave the Royal Marines had nothing to do with my subsequent failures and bad decisions. It is about how I went about things going forward. The real moral of my story is to not fixate on that single moment when you think it all went wrong. It is more likely that a pattern of events, fuelled by a pattern of behaviour, is what truly led to the negativity in your life. And the beauty of that truth is that it takes exactly same mechanism to improve things.

That means to improve your behaviour gradually over time, in regard of small events, and eventually you will see a change in your life for the better. The success can still feel as if it all happened by chance, but, if my experience is anything to go by, it didn’t. You effect the change habitually and you reap the rewards.

Education

Education is all around us. There is no such thing as useless knowledge. However, academia was never my strong suit. I always struggled in school. It was not because I didn’t understand what was being taught. I just did not really get on with the school system and so ultimately did not thrive.

Joining the Royal Marines meant that no more academia, for a while at least. But, of course, there were still things to be learnt at great pace and under great physical and mental pressure. I suffered, struggled, improved and struggled some more until I found a groove. The suffering never ended, it was me who got used to it. I even found a way to enjoy it. I have hung on to these tools.

I chose to study media, journalism and publishing because of my interest in becoming a journalist. During my time at my previous category C prison, I had ideas on studying history, but as time went on, I swayed more into the direction of studying journalism. From a logical point of view journalism offers more opportunities and different job types. Especially, with a course like the one I am on at Oxford Brookes University where journalism is grouped alongside media and publishing.  When I leave prison, that will help with as seamless a transition as possible into the job market doing something that will challenge me and keep me engaged. That is crucial to my rehabilitation.

On a personal level, I always dreamt from early childhood of somehow leaving my mark on the world. I didn’t know how, and to this day still don’t. Becoming a journalist is my way finally of finding the answer. So, here I am embarking on yet another journey in to the unknown. Studying will be a struggle, but no matter how hard it gets I know I have been here before and I am supported and equipped to get there in the end.

If you are a past or present scholar, or one of our mentors, and have a blog you want to contribute, contact Clare Lewis.

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.

Putting your money where your mouth is

Author: | 6 Nov 2023

The Ministry of Justice is promising a new Prisoner Education Service, with more resources, more apprenticeship opportunities, and even a focus on helping neurodivergent prisoners.

Longford Scholar David Shipley draws on his lived experience to ask if this pledge could help more serving prisoners turn sentences into a degrees

 

Here is the good news. In announcing the new Prisoner Education Service the Prisons’ Minister Damian Hinds (pictured) publicly acknowledged that “a forward-thinking prison system must give prisoners an alternative to the cycle of reoffending, and one of the best ways to do this is through education”. He’s right. Too many prisoners spend too many years staring at the walls of their cells. When 57 per cent of prisoners have a reading age below that expected of an 11-year old, it is little surprise that on release many are unable to find work and so turn back to crime.

But education for prisoners shouldn’t be just about reducing the £18 billion cost of reoffending. Getting time out of your cell to do something purposeful improves mental health and reduces the chances of suicide. When I was in prison, I studied Creative Writing. It not only meant I had something good to do with my time each day, but also gave me hope of a new path and career after prison.

The new Prisoner Education Service aims to make a real difference. They will be recruiting senior teachers as Heads of Education, Skills and Work, reporting to the prison governor. This is a positive decision; prison governors rarely have education expertise, so senior teachers could make a real difference.

Neurodiversity Support Managers welcome

The focus on neurodivergent prisoners is also very welcome. There’s little data, and no systematic studies have been done, but some research suggests that prisoners are 10 times more likely to have Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASDs) than the average person.

The same research suggests that a quarter of inmates have ADHD. In this context the recruitment of Neurodiversity Support Managers should be welcomed. When I spoke to the Ministry of Justice, they also confirmed that they will be procuring a new neurodiversity screening tool. This is crucial. Under the current system autism assessments are only conducted at the direction of the Parole Board and, as such, are limited to lifers and those serving Extended Determinate Sentences.

The government should move to systematically test all prisoners for ASDs and ADHD, just as we already assess literacy and numeracy. Of course, this will carry a substantial cost, but there’s no indication that the MoJ has budgeted for this.

‘There seems to be little new money available’

The final big question is how the Prison Service will deliver on these goals. The tendering process for new education providers has just begun, but there seems to be little new money available. This shortage of money is reported to have caused Serco to pull out of putting themselves forward for the new contacts.

Prison education is already desperately under-resourced. This round of tendering presents an opportunity to make a real difference to the quality, range and availability of education in prisons and unless there is substantial funding made available, it’s very hard to see how the laudable goals outlined for the new Prisoner Education Service will be achieved.

Do you feel inspired to share a viewpoint as a Longford Blog.  If so contact our scholarship manager, Clare Lewis.

 

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.

A writer & Longford scholar compare notes on how to make prisons places of reform

Author: | 28 Jul 2020

Going to prison wasn’t part of the plan. Neither for writer and filmmaker Chris Atkins nor for classics student and Longford scholar Nahshon.

Here they meet to discuss what they have learnt from their time inside…

Chris Atkins is a BAFTA nominated film maker who was sent to prison for tax fraud in 2016. I have also been to prison and had my studies interrupted. I was keen to meet Chris about his recent book A Bit of a Stretch: The Diaries of a Prisoner where he talks about his experiences living at Her Majesty’s Pleasure.  Due to the COVID-19 outbreak the interview took place on Zoom, something I was apprehensive about at first; it can be daunting enough building a rapport face-to-face, let alone in the virtual world. I shouldn’t have worried. A calm, probably brought on by our shared experiences, quickly set the tone.

Chris Atkins went into prison, as many others undoubtedly have, frightened, broken and despondent. Despite sharing those feelings with most newly sentenced prisoners, Chris Atkins was, for want of a better term, no ‘ordinary’ prisoner.

A public school, white, Oxford University educated film maker, Chris, like me, kept a diary to  process the flush of emotions that besieged him in the early stages of his sentence. A record he continued to keep in Wandsworth, his first prison.

 I, a young black student studying at a Russell Group University, also decided a diary would help me to make sense of my time behind bars. My diary was purely personal. I wrote about daily feelings and challenges. Chris, however, went further. With his background as a filmmaker he had a unique skill to bring good to an ostensibly glum state of affairs- the skill of storytelling.

It was not initially Chris’ intention to produce a dissection of the inadequacies of the UK prison system. However, early on in his sentence he began to understand just how broken the prison system was and how unconducive it is to rehabilitation.

The impact of relationships: inside and out

The focal point of the early part of our discussion was the relationships you form and maintain inside, and what effect this might have on rehabilitation.

In A Bit of a Stretch, I am struck by the times Chris received letters and his cellmate got none. I too experienced this. In fact, Chris and I both got lots of letters, which felt like symbols of true love from those we were separated from. A simple handwritten letter brings a loved one close. That said, it is quite normal for people in prison not to receive a letter in a week, even a month. A quick side note here, phone calls are extortionately priced, so some people experience long periods of silence from loved ones.

I recall one cellmate of mine expecting letters which never came. Chris and I both noted the sense of guilt we felt in these situations. At times, I would hide my letters for fear of inflicting jealousy on my fellow inmates. I need to be honest here though, staying in touch properly was by no means plain sailing for either of us. Visits were ridiculously hard to organise. For the first month or so of his sentence Chris couldn’t see his young son, despite providing all the required information.

It is often argued, and rightly so, that maintaining the relationships between friends and family on the outside is the key to rehabilitation. It is not in the government’s power to force prisoners’ families to write them letters. However, it seems perfectly reasonable to ask them not to place obstacles in the way of prisoners and their loved ones. I can tell you from what I saw, if people don’t have contact with their family and friends on the outside, there is a distinct risk they replace that need for contact with others on the inside who may not be a positive influence.  You see this with younger prisoners who can be vulnerable to older, more ‘seasoned’ prisoners.

As Chris discovered, the relationships you form in prison is a game changer. Take one cellmate, Martyn, who was one of the only reasons he was able to get through the first few months of his sentence, ‘the thin line between sanity and madness’ he called it. For those who stumble across to the latter side of the line there is scant support.

The art of listening in a ‘warehouse for the mentally ill’

Chris spent much of his sentence working as a Listener: these people were tasked with talking to seriously troubled prisoners who didn’t want to deal with officers. It often involved talking people out of suicide. Wandsworth prison, where Chris spent the first half of his sentence, was in his words: ‘a warehouse for the mentally ill’. Most of these troubled minds were ignored which could and has resulted in fatal consequences.

Take the tragic case of teenager Osvaldas Pagirys, for example. He was an 18-year-old who was arrested for stealing sweets. Despite being found with a noose on five separate occasions in prison he was largely ignored and killed himself.

Prisoners should not be babied but how can this be justice?

Time to be bold: rethinking education, work and beyond

For myself and writer Chris this is where education can offer a lifeline – not just in terms of personal happiness and safety but also as a means of staying on a generally positive track. Chris Atkins has a bold proposal,

‘If prisoners are literate, they are less likely to reoffend […] give them a month off their sentence if they pass GCSE English.’

An outlandish proposal perhaps but illustrates a potent point. It is no secret that offenders have had disproportionately vulnerable childhoods, often excluded from school. Many in prison are there because of a failure of the British education and social care systems. No crime is excusable, mine or anyone’s. However, it is to my mind not unreasonable to ask that people who were failed by the system are adequately supported by the system. Perhaps it would be excessively generous to give prisoners time off their sentence as an incentive to educate themselves, perhaps not.

There needs to be a serious rethink of how to encourage prisoners into work and away from crime.

Too often prisons are universities of crime. They don’t have to be and they shouldn’t be.

Chris and I are living proof of this. I have successfully resumed my studies; Chris has written a book and is raising public awareness of the failings of the criminal justice system. We have been able to do this with educational tools and supportive families at our disposal.

Hope drove my rehabilitation. Hope that one day I have a realistic chance of success; a stable job, a roof over my head, a family and the means to provide for them. For Chris and I there was always light at the end of the tunnel, just as there should be for every prisoner inside.

 

The power of letter-writing

Author: | 6 Apr 2020

The power of a letter in a crisis and beyond by mentor Clare Lewis

 ….like someone extending their hand out, reaching across a divide

In the current Covid-19 lockdown, a hand of friendship in the form of a letter could be an extremely simple and effective way for mentors to help break through the visible and invisible walls of isolation that surround their mentees. Especially if they are in prison.

For the past three years, I have had the privilege of mentoring James (as I am going to call him here), a talented and hardworking Longford Scholar studying inside for an OU degree. The opportunities for face-to-face meetings at the two prisons he has been in so far are limited – I aim to visit once an academic term – and digital forms of contact are not an option. Although the prison education officers are responsive to emails and willing to act as go-betweens, I feel it’s not fair to take advantage of their good nature. So, in order to maintain more regular and specific contact with James, I have taken to letter-writing.

In the footsteps of history...

We are following a path starting in Ancient India, Ancient Egypt through Rome, Greece and China. Archives of correspondence, whether for personal, diplomatic or business reasons, are also an invaluable primary source for historical research. In the 17th and 18th century letters were used to self-educate as well as offering the opportunity to practice critical reading, self-expressive writing, polemical writing, and the exchange of ideas with like-minded others.

One of the first novels, Samuel Richardson’s Pamela, was composed entirely of letters by a daughter to her parents, the epistolary method giving the novel its sense of realism. In today’s digital world letters tend to be the generated by computer, written for business reasons and arrive in brown envelopes. A handwritten letter is a luxury.

A unique personal touch….

I initiated my letter-writing with much more humble ambitions – a desire to let James know that I was thinking of him and supporting him, albeit not in person. I can only imagine how much motivation it takes to knuckle down to work when you are remote learning. Fortunately, he is an incredibly self-motivated scholar and probably doesn’t need prompts, but I hoped that a letter would help him feel connected to the wider world and more specifically to the Longford Trust network.

Whatever the intention, the impact of a letter, however brief or mundane, cannot be overestimated. A letter is capable of generating a tangible feeling. It’s as if someone has extended their hand out and reached across a divide. It is akin to a person actually being in a room with you.

Letters are also powerful tools to convey kinship and thoughtfulness. The idea that someone has taken time out of his or her day  – everyone has other stuff to do – to sit down and write, find an envelope, look up the address, get a stamp and finally post it can really boost how someone feels and lift a mood. The words go way beyond what is actually written on the page bringing the writer’s personality and voice to life, similar to reading a novel where it’s possible to create a whole visual picture as you read.

What to talk about ….

Like everyone, I can find a blank piece of paper daunting. Have I got anything interesting to say? Can I express myself well enough? What should I talk about? What would James like to hear about? But I’ve decided it is better to not worry about these things and just write, unfettered by any worries of whether it is going to be good enough, long enough, interesting enough.

It almost doesn’t matter in the end. It’s the thought that counts and the sentiment it conveys. Having said that, James does write a very accomplished letter, so I do try hard to match his eloquence!

In the context of writing to James I am sometimes unsure if I am bound by any rules of what might be considered suitable topics of conversation. Are letters subject to censorship? Can I include press cuttings? But I am confident the team at the Longford Trust can answer any questions I might have.

PS Don’t forget…..

Before writing this blog, I asked the team if they had any advice. Jacob Dunne, who moderates the trust’s secure online platform for scholars and mentors (contact him at slack@longfordtrust.org to find out more), made the excellent point that obtaining stamps can be a problem for inmates. So from now I will include a stamp in any letter I write to James.

However, I am conscious that when I write I don’t expect a response. It is something done for its own sake. So I will always include a proviso that the stamp can be used for someone else.

 

 

If you are a scholar or mentor keeping in touch by letter we provide a confidential forwarding service through our PO Box address: Longford Trust, PO Box 64302, London, NW6 9JP. We recommend letters to scholars in prison include a stamped addressed envelope.