Gina Westaway, 51





Checking our list of self-harmers was one of my first duties, and I noticed that there was a "code blue" on a female prisoner yesterday evening. She had tied a ligature round her neck, and an officer went into her room and cut it off. Self-harming is an issue in our unit - in February we had 140 incidents. The women break the plastic cutlery to cut themselves, or rip up the sheets to tie ligatures. What we try to do here is to keep them busy. When I arrived at 7.30, the prisoners were having their breakfast. They are given any medication afterwards, and at nine we start moving them to their education classes or work. The ones who stay in the unit clean their cells or have a bath before going outside to the exercise yard. They have their lunch at about 11.45, and then go back into their rooms. At 1.30 we move them to education or work again, and some go to the calm room, a therapeutic place where they can have their hair or nails done, or just relax. Female prisoners are much more dependent on the staff than male prisoners. The women have specific worries about their children and families and can get quite distressed. They are in their rooms again at four, where they have a radio (and will soon have television). Dinner is at five, and between six and seven they have association time. At eight they are back in their rooms. The job is stressful, but I love it. Sometimes I wonder, looking at the prisoners, why they are here in the first place. Many of them are eventually moved to secure hospitals. They are vulnerable women with a lot of problems. If I am lucky I leave around 5.30, but I can be in the unit until 9.30.

Tufal Akthar, 23

Serving four years at HMP Cardiff

I got up at half past seven and the doors were unlocked at quarter to eight. I put down my food choices for later in the day, had a shower, had breakfast, exercised and then at 8.30, I went to work. I have three jobs: as a cleaner on my landing, as a server of food and as a "listener". A listener is someone who is trained to listen to other prisoners' problems. We can't help with anything practical, but we can give them advice on how to deal with things. Loneliness comes up the most. People when they're first here don't know what to do. We break the ice. After lunch you get two sessions for visitors - my mum came to see me today. And there are gym sessions four times a week. You come back from work at 4.30; people who serve the food are let out at 5.30, dinner is at 6, then prisoners are banged up 8. The food is OK; there's halal if you want it. I'm a Muslim, and on Wednesdays and Fridays there are facilities for worship. Boredom is the big problem. There's a library open three times a week. I read faith books; Islamic books. I'm all right.

Gerry, 45

First ever day in prison. Serving 12 months for deception at HMP Wandsworth, London

It's better than what I was expecting. I was scared. I expected it to be more austere, and that people would give me unpleasant looks. I woke up at 7.40 today, but waited until my cellmate was up before putting the telly on. He is also a first-timer, and had been advised not to speak about his crime. Some people do, some don't. We had a cup of tea and waited for somebody to open the door to let us out. I was surprised by how decent the facilities were - three individual showers, for example. I expected to be freaked out here, but feel quite matter-of-fact about it all. My cellmate is having a more difficult time, and I've been trying to calm him. He's a smoker, and I'm not. But he's sensitive to that and smokes by the window, which I appreciate. We got lunch at 12. Tuna bake, rice and broccoli. Again, it was pretty good. After lunch we were locked up. In the afternoon I was moved to another cell. The new guy I'm sharing with also smokes, but he's not so considerate. That could be an issue. I'm pretty intolerant about smoking. I've been surprised by the amount of people who have offered help - mostly prisoners. I hope to be out of here within six months. There is zero chance of me reoffending - no way am I coming back here.

Paul Saunders, 43

Search officer at HMP Whitemoor maximum-security prison, near Peterborough

I arrived as normal at eight. There was a meeting in the security department where the intelligence gathered over the past day is discussed. We know who the players are. There's a hierarchy on every wing. We do late searches and early searches, depending on the intelligence. When we search, we'll arrive at a prisoner's door or collect them from work. First, we give them the opportunity to tell us what they have. Everyone is strip-searched but we don't touch them - they remove their clothes and we search hems and seams. If the intelligence is good we ask to "squat" the prisoner. It is up to him if he squats. He will go down on his haunches so if he is what we call "cheeking" something it will fall out. It's not something we relish. It's degrading for both parties and embarrassing, but unfortunately it is warranted, given the way these individuals secrete stuff. Sometimes prisoners have items hidden higher up but we don't do intrusive searches. We can only wait and monitor them until something comes out. We always check their cell in pairs. We're not thugs; we don't go around smashing stuff. We leave the cell as we would like to find it ourselves. We usually have a little laugh with the prisoner and tell him the only thing we haven't done is make his bed.

Phil Wheatley, 58

Director general of the prison service, based in London

I arrive in the office at 7.40 to face an overflowing in-tray, which I have to go through very carefully. Within it there are difficult decisions to make and problems to examine, so I can't afford not to read through everything. Managing a service with 80,000 inmates means I can't leave things hanging around. I abandoned breakfast years ago and make do with fruit before I leave home. Once the in-tray is complete, I go into a series of back-to-back meetings. Much of my work at the moment is dealing with the overcrowding. There have been substantial increases in population, which means many of the prisoners have to move around a lot. Lunch is a sandwich at the desk, which I bring from home and eat while I work. The big things that worry me are tight resourcing and full prisons. However, much of my time is spent pointing out that there isn't a crisis in the prison service. The rate of absconds and assaults has come down and we are coming in on budget. By six, I am getting ready to leave the office. But I always carry my bleeper with me.

Paula Curtis, 24

Serving eight months for money laundering and having fake documents, HMP Holloway, London

I was pregnant when I came here in September and was put in C4, a unit for pregnant women. After my daughter Simi was born, I went to D4, the mother-and-baby unit. There are 10 of us on here, with babies ranging from newborn to eight months. Then you have to move to another prison, which takes mothers and babies up to 18 months. My day started at 6 - that's the time my baby wakes up. The officers come around at seven and say good morning; you have to be ready by 7.30 and then you have breakfast. After that, my baby goes to a creche and I have classes from nine. We can study for qualifications. My favourite class is art: I'm learning how to make a baby blanket by sewing together different patches. I'm also learning how to cook for my baby. She's my first, I want to get it right. We break off for lunch at 12, then from two you can go back to education or stay on the unit with your baby or go to the gym. The creche is nice, with toys. We have dinner about five and there are five or six choices, including vegetarian. It's not bad. At eight we go to our rooms. I have a toilet, a single bed and my baby's crib in my room, as well as a telly and a cupboard. People can send you bed covers, so you're not using prison stuff. I've got another 11 weeks to go.

Liam Bailes, 19

Serving four years for causing death by dangerous driving, at Swinfen Hall young offenders institution, Staffordshire

I've got a working-out placement, so I get a wake up call at seven and get picked up about 8.30 in the prison minibus and taken to the Acorn charity shop in Lichfield, where I work until 4.30. It's a massive relief to be out there, it speeds time up, and it's a relief to talk about different things. We get back at five, and are strip-searched on the way in. The first time it's very daunting, but by now I'm used to it. You take your top off first, put it back on, and then your bottoms, and you can get it over quickly. I'm back on the wing by 5.15 for tea, and from 6.15 onwards it's associative time: you're expected to socialise, to play pool and have a chat with your mates. After a few months I started to think there were only so many games of pool I could play so I started doing library orderly duties and mentoring other young offenders. It gave me a bit of an insight into teaching, and I think when I get out that's what I want to do. At eight we get locked into our cells. It's up to us when we turn our lights off - I usually read or watch TV until about 11. It does get lonely sometimes. If you've had bad news, or a bad day, once that door closes you think, "I wish I had someone to talk to." When I started my sentence, back in May 2005, I thought a lot about how much time I had to go, and about the accident - about being responsible for it, about what people must be thinking of me. There was no malign intent with the accident. I just didn't think about what I was doing. Since I've been inside I've always conducted myself properly, and never caused trouble for anyone else. It's the demons inside that you can't get away from.

David Bulman, 49

Father of Ronnie, a 19-year-old who died in custody while awaiting trial. Tattooed his face after the inquest

I got up at six, made a cup of tea and went immediately to the computer to see if any government bodies have responded to my emails detailing the concerns I have about Ronnie's death, in July 2005, at Castington young offenders institution. No responses today, so I started scouring the internet looking for email addresses of high-profile people who take an interest in the prison system. When our son was remanded in custody, we thought that at least he would be safe. How wrong can you be? I have another cup of tea at 11 and start writing to people who don't have email addresses. At midday I start looking up different cases of deaths in custody to see what similarities there are to Ronnie's death. Then on to the prison service's website to see the rules for checking prisoners during the night. Staff should get a "verbal or facial response", but when Ronnie was checked at 4am we know he had vomited down his shirt and would have been gasping for breath. The alarm was not raised for more than four hours. Have something to eat and start writing more letters, looking for solicitors who will apply for a judicial review and/or try and take our case to Europe. Go to bed, knowing that today's routine will continue until we get the truth about how our son died.

Kenneth Hanson, 54

Literacy mentor and laundry orderly. Serving 11 years for drug importation, HMP Garth, Lancashire

Unlocked at 8am as normal and shot down to the laundry to get the first wash on. I had breakfast at the same time; multitasking. I have one mentee on our reading programme (organised by the Shannon Trust) and he is profoundly dyslexic. He is the most challenging I have ever had. He arrives at nine and we read for about an hour. I saw him just after he arrived from HMP Leeds and I realised he couldn't read the menus. Now he can read his daughter's letters. I am doing an Open University degree in social science and I work while doing the washing. I made a decision when I received my sentence that I was not going to waste the time. I had lunch at 11.30 - jacket potato and chicken supreme - and we were back in cells at 12. Unlock was at 1.45, and I went back to the laundry. Tea at 4.30 to five and we were banged up again at five until 5.45 and free association. People played table tennis and snooker. At 7.45 we were banged up again until the following morning. I studied a bit, watched TV, did a bit of modelling, my hobby. I am Category B. Maybe at the end of March I will be downgraded to Category C. I get on with other inmates; if I have learned one thing, it is that they would really take it badly if their washing was to be mixed up. I make sure it never happens.

Duncan Hallam, 45

Doctor, HMP Lancaster Castle, Lancaster

I arrived at Lancaster Castle - which is in an actual Norman castle - at eight. I've been treating prisoners here for nearly 12 years now. I collected my keys and went through to the healthcare department, where I asked the nursing team if they'd had any problems over the weekend. There had been an assault, and the alleged perpetrator had been put in segregation. There were four other men in there: one who'd had a falling out with someone on his wing and didn't feel safe there, and three who were being punished. It was an unusual day in that only four patients had booked in, two of whom didn't turn up, and two of whom were late. Usually I get about 10. Generally, two of those will try to persuade me to prescribe opiate-based medication, and at least two will have a mental-health problem. Seventy per cent of prisoners have some mental-health issue, usually depression. You also get untreatable personality disorders; sometimes it's difficult to tell these apart from treatable psychiatric illnesses. We treat a lot of hepatitis C and smoking-related ailments. Fights do happen, so we get black eyes, bruises, bite-marks. There's the occasional allegation of rape. For me, the hardest to deal with are the patients who persistently self-harm, the ones who cut themselves, attempt to hang themselves, or swallow razors. Some have been on drugs since they were 12, and have terrible backgrounds, and you think, "This chap had no chance." I'm regularly faced with manipulative behaviour, and sometimes you have to be quite firm. Once I had a desk turned over on me, but that's the worst that has happened.

Bekir 'Dukie' Arif, 53

In the 10th year of a 24-year sentence for drug distribution, Whitemoor maximum security prison, near Peterborough

Another interrupted night's sleep; the night screw, who must wear size-18 boots, given the noise he makes, shone his torch in my face every hour. Unlocked at five to eight and I made an application for money to go on my Pin numbers, so I can make phone calls. Called to labour at 8.55, checked off the wing with a rubdown and metal detector. The work - breaking up used CDs - is about as mind-numbing as it gets. Finished work at 11.10am, checked back on wing, then exercised in a small yard - totally inadequate. Gave my lunch away, as usual, then back to work in the afternoon. Locked up until just gone five, then association till 7.10 before lock-up for the night. My big concern right now is that my daughter visited me regularly until she was 16. Then she was deemed an adult and had to be security cleared. Up to now, this has taken 19 months, which was when I last saw her. This is my own daughter, remember.

Graham Kerridge, 41

Cat C officer, D wing, HMP Wayland, Norfolk

At 8.20am we unlocked the prisoners. Once everyone was out of their cells they went off to work. Wayland has immense training facilities. You have prisoners coming in with no qualifications and leaving with Open University degrees. There are bricklaying courses, plumbing courses, everything. We then collated the prison roll to make sure no one was missing. I did my core duties on the wing, which involved making sure the cleaners were working, undertaking security searches and checking that the prisoners' parole papers were up to date. I'm the personal officer to about 12 prisoners - I got to know them personally when they first came onto the wing. Every day I sit down with one of them and help him go through his paperwork, try and facilitate visits etc.

You build up a rapport. You get to know about their family life. I f you spend time with the prisoners it makes your day that much easier. Most of the prisoners just call me Mr K and there's very rarely any trouble.

By about 11.30am the prisoners fi nished working and went to the exercise yard for half an hour. I patrolled the wings until they returned to their cells for lunch. I then went to the staff room to eat before heading to the gym. We use the same facilities as the inmates - it's a top-class gym - and it's not unheard of for offi cers to work out with the prisoners.

The prisoners came back from work at 4.30 and got locked up straight away. At 5.30 they had a recreation period where they were allowed to play snooker and watch TV, then at eight everyone went back in the cells. We collated the roll again and I went home just after eight. I enjoy my job from the time I get into work until the time I go home.

Anne Owers, 59

Chief inspector of prisons, London

I arrived to the usual flurry of emails. One was about an event I went to concerning people in prison who have learning disabilities. Another related to a trip to Poland to talk to their ombudsman and look at their prisons. We have many things in common, such as overcrowding and the challenges of monitoring the prisons. Our system is generally regarded as a model for how to do it. I looked at a letter from the west Yorkshire coroner. I gave evidence there last week at the inquest of a mentally ill young woman who killed herself. The fi gures are startling. Women are 5% of the population but account for over 50% of the self-harm cases.

Later in the day I signed off a press release for a report on Edmonds Hill Prison, Suff olk. I produce 74 inspection reports a year but only about half a dozen get any publicity. When I give a prison a good report, which happens quite a lot, I tell them that the bad news is that hardly anyone will get to hear about it. There have been huge improvements in prison healthcare, education and training, but with the population at this level I worry if it can besustained. Maybe we will look back and say this is as good as it got.

Eduard Ngienga Lukombo, 33

Asylum-seeker awaiting deportation with wife Angelina, 29, Ashley, 4, and Joshua, 11 months, Yarls Wood removal centre, Bedfordshire

We wake at seven to feed the children. I try to go back to sleep but thoughts of how we were snatched from our home in Glasgow invade my mind. A friend telephones; he is worried about the children. I try to get them to change my wife's medication - they took hers away when we came here and the replacement isn't working. Likewise my daughter's medication for eczema.

At noon I try to pray but cannot concentrate - images of us being forced into a van and taken to airport come back. We were taken off the fl ight at the last minute, but I can hear the screams of the other Congolese being forced onto the plane. My son has had constipation ever since we came here. Both children, who were born in the UK, are confused and cry all the time. This behaviour is not their habit and my wife is not able to handle the new personalities they have acquired in detention. In the afternoon I sit gazing out of the window. I get a call from my pastor who encourages me to hope in God. At 10 pm we go to bed, but my eyes stay open. The family were released at the end of last week.

Sandra M, 30

Criminal justice link worker for the Prison Advice and Care Trust (Pact), HMP Holloway, London

It's my job to offer practical and emotional support to women on their first day in prison, both women who have never been in custody before and those who are in on new charges. On a busy day we might see as many as 23 prisoners, but today was quiet - only 10.

One woman I saw was a tearful single mum who had just been sentenced to three months for not sending her kids to school, and had never been prosecuted for anything before. When she went to court she had told her four children that she was just going to the shops, so none of them knew she was in prison. When I called her oldest daughter, who was 21, they were both very upset. Like a lot of people, her idea of prison comes from Bad Girls, and she was worried that her mum would get beaten up. Then I called the woman's sister to see if she could look after the younger children.

Two of the prisoners were foreign nationals, one a Chinese woman on remand for having forged documents and one a Pole in for burglary. Neither could speak English and were very puzzled as to why they were there. So with the help of some prisoners who could speak their languages, I was able to explain the situation and make international phone calls to inform their relatives.

Alison Adams, 56

Chaplain, Glen Parva young offenders institution, Leicester

The day begins with the first person coming in, lighting a candle in the chapel, saying a prayer and checking the answerphone. You might have had a call from an anxious parent or a prisoner wanting to come and talk. A big part of the job is to do receptions - there are two of us, and one sees every prisoner as they come in. I ask them simple questions like, "Did you sleep last night?" or "Do your parents know you are here?"

This afternoon I did some music teaching. We have a band and I was struck by the development in self-esteem of one individual. He said he had not played for ages and wanted to keep it up when he got out. One played a tune he had written called Glen Parva Blues. It had us all tapping our feet. I also spent some time in the segregation unit. Sometimes they are just glad to see a face - it's not easy being isolated. I took a rosary for someone who wanted that.

We have a capacity of 808 in Glen Parva. Around 46 attended chapel on Sunday and 40-odd Friday prayers. Tonight I took Bible study. Imagine exploring the issue of forgiveness with a sex offender or someone who has committed GBH. We have some very interesting discussions. I tend to go home at about 8pm, having started at 8am. It's hard work but I love it.