This is what it’s actually like to be a UK prison guard Hilary Mitchell speaks to an anonymous prison officer about his experience of working at a Category B mens’ prison in […]

Hilary Mitchell speaks to an anonymous prison officer about his experience of working at a Category B mens’ prison in England for nine years

My day starts early: I usually arrive at work at about 7.30. I’ll go through the security checks and scans, then grab an instant coffee in our break room while I get geared up for the 8am unlock.

Waking the prisoners up and getting them out of their cells to take them to court or to work is always a tense part of the day. I’ve seen some horrible things in the past and I can’t shake the worry I’ll be opening the door to a suicide, even though the night shift staff keep a close eye on vulnerable or depressed prisoners.

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UK prisons are so understaffed

We always include their details in our handovers, but it’s hard to get it right 100 per cent of the time. UK prisons are so understaffed; things are bound to get missed, not least because we’re often tired. We do a lot of overtime, sometimes working day and night shifts back-to-back. I missed the warning signs once and ended up cutting a prisoner down from a makeshift noose when I next did a cell inspection. Then there was the time I had to try to subdue an inmate who had just tried to harm himself. Things like that never leave you.

Read more Women with poor mental health are being imprisoned unnecessarily. Some never make it out

People don’t realise how common mental illness is in the prison system. A lot of our prisoners have personality disorders or learning difficulties, some suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and there are lots of abuse victims.

Prison tends to be the end of a road that begins with a lot of failings: we fail care leavers, fail the homeless and fail to look after vulnerable people in society. A lot of our prisoners wouldn’t be in here if the NHS had more community mental health units and staff.

Spice is another fear for officers

Then there is the worry you will open the door to someone off their head on drugs, usually Spice. Spice, which used to be a legal high, is now illegal – but we can’t seem to get rid of it. It’s a chemical compound that basically sends people into zombie-like states. I’ve been attacked by a guy who was literally frothing at the mouth on Spice. He was a well-behaved prisoner before he got into drugs.

Spice gets into the prison pretty easily along with other drugs, mobiles and booze. Most of it is thrown over the wall, or carried over by drones. Every Monday morning we do a sweep for packages, but we only tend to find about a quarter, if that.

Then there’s the corruption: prison officer pay is ridiculously low. Salaries start at as little as £17,200, frankly shit for a job where you’re at risk of violence and work long, emotionally draining and unsociable shifts. So to top up their income, some officers end up bringing the packages in themselves for various prisoners and gangs. I’m not condoning it, I’m just saying that by making salaries so uncompetitive, the Government is leaving young officers wide open to temptation. It’s not ideal.

I connect with prisoners

It’s not all fights, drugs and suicides, though. Some of it’s pretty mundane, just like any job. I get on well with a large percentage of the prisoners and some trusted inmates even help us with admin in the office. I do connect with them and we have a good laugh. And they’re creative, too. I’ve seen some of the most amazing carvings. One convicted murderer could turn bars of soap into angels with detailed feathers on their wings. Sometimes it’s easy to forget what they’re in for.

Lunchtime is always a bit of a pain. Prisoners love to complain about the food, even though we’ve got everything from vegan and vegetarian options to halal food. You do end up getting frustrated: it’s better than I used to get at school, and it’s not a holiday camp or something. Still, cutbacks mean things like meat are usually pretty bad quality, so I can sympathise to a point.

Muslim inmates have taught me about my own prejudice

We have a lot of Muslim prisoners, mainly young lads, and numbers are increasing all the time. I don’t know why. We have a few Muslim gangs in my prison who look out for other Muslim inmates, to the extent that a few non-Muslim inmates have converted so they can benefit from that protection.

I get on well with most of the Muslim inmates. They’ve taught me a lot; before moving to this prison I worked in Scotland, where the prisoner base is much less diverse. I didn’t know many Muslims back then so I was a bit prejudiced. When I started here I assumed a lot of Muslim inmates here were in for terrorism, when actually none of them were. I still feel embarrassed about that.

‘I won’t be able to do this job when I’m that age: how would I fend off drug-fuelled attacks or help subdue suicidal prisoners?’

It’s a bit sappy but I have to say one of my favourite parts of the job is seeing the benefits that various therapy and training courses bring to prisoners. We had an equine therapy course for a while: it helped angry, disruptive young inmates learn to be patient. It went well: some of the prisoners made good progress and started to really open up, but then they cut the funding.

Will I stay in this job until retirement age? No chance. Not least because they have raised the age we can get our pensions to 67. I won’t be able to do this job when I’m that age: how would I fend off drug-fuelled attacks or help subdue suicidal prisoners? Plus, with our pay set below inflation, we’re basically getting a pay cut every year. I have no idea why the Government is running this and all the other public services into the ground: it feels like the whole system is crumbling.



In an ideal world I would stay on permanently, I like my job and I care about the prisoners. But what’s in it for me? If conditions and pay don’t improve soon, I’ll leave. And I won’t be the only one.