February 3, 2016





His crime, like that of any convicted murderer, was barbaric – the response from his society was naked barbarism. I weep for his victims, I weep for Georgia, and I weep for Brandon Astor Jones: Final reflections of a condemned man

January 25, 2016

Inside Time – my first paper as editor just gone to bed…

Inside Time logo

The National Newspaper for People in Prison

It was a ‘phew’ moment – Colin Matthews, Inside Time’s ingenious designer, pressed the button sending February’s paper to the printers today with just five minutes to the deadline. It’s been an intense few weeks. The paper, my first as Editor in Chief has a new look – a fresh look – but will still be a familiar and welcome friend on the wings and landings of our prisons when it drops in at the beginning of each month – I hope.


We have some brilliant exclusives for February – a superb first person piece from the mother of ‘Billy’ – the 14 year old boy who was the main focus of abuse as exposed in the BBC’s Panorama revelations about Medway children’s prison – an amazing piece of journalism by our reporter and researcher Paul Sullivan.


Our commissioning editor, the best-selling author Noel Smith, secured an exclusive interview with the former World Middleweight and Super Middleweight boxing champion Steve Collins – aka the  “The Celtic Warrior”,  who remains the most successful Irish boxer in professional boxing history. Our resident Diarist and Associate Editor Rachel Billington, the author of 22 novels, has written a lovely piece about a recent event at Goldsmiths which featured professional poets reciting poems written by people in prison. And Eric McGraw, who founded the paper and edited it for 25  years before graciously handing over to me, bagged an exclusive interview with the outgoing Prisons Inspector Nick Hardwick, a terrific interview well deserving its place on the cover.


Paul Sullivan will be Tweeting about the paper with links to the web version available from 1st February.  Read and enjoy!

PS – Do you know someone in prison? Are you a friend or a family member who would like to write something for Inside Time? Or are you a member of staff who would like to contribute – a teacher, an officer, a Governor? (anonymity guaranteed if requested.) If so please email me at 

September 1, 2015



My new book

My new book

So I decided to write a book… not for favour or for any other reason but to try to bring some understanding to how we become who we become. When I went to prison for life in 1984 I had no ambitions or aspirations – no notions of ‘rehabilitation’ or redemption. I was at the bottom of the deepest hole with no desire to try and climb out. I was finished and I was glad my disaster of a life was over. I never dreamed I would live again, let alone become a writer for a national newspaper or a writer of books. But the journey of life has a way of taking you on the most unexpected twists and turns. For the sake of the people who suffered because of me I wish I could go back and change things. I can’t. None of us can. And I wish I could say that writing this book has brought me some peace. It hasn’t.

Pre Order online here: Redeemable – A Memoir of Darkness and Hope – published by Bloomsbury February 11 2016

May 15, 2015

Is Joe Worthy?

landworks logo

This from the indomitable Chris Parsons who runs the Landworks prisoner rehabilitation programme at Dartington Hall in Devon. Why anyone would want to work to improve the lives and life experiences of prisoners and others on the receiving end of the criminal justice system is often a mystery to people who have no understanding or experience of the issues involved. For Chris there is not even the slightest hint of mystery in his reply to an email from concerned outsider Rupert:

From: Rupert To:

Date received: Wed 6 May 2015, 18:28

Hi Chris

Thanks for your blog…I do have a quick question, do you think the LandWorks guys are as worthy as a lot of the young lads that have not committed a crime but are struggling?



Response from Chris:


I rather like these. Difficult, even awkward questions, I think demonstrate a broad engagement with the project, drawing out a greater explanation of LandWorks…. It has to be helpful and it’s always good to be asked. Before I answer Rupert, and in the spirit of greater explanation, I want to give an answer to another commonly asked question: “I heard the prison news, have you got anyone left?”


Well, we have five men currently involved, living in the community who are on licence (having served their sentence but still under supervision for a fixed period). We also should have another four men as day release prisoners (currently held in prison while a new ministerial directive is sorted out). We expect a solution soon!


So, back to Rupert’s question… Joe is 21, living locally, joined us a few weeks ago and his story may help to form an answer or at least expose differences between him and other struggling young adults. Unlike many lads of this age he simply has not had any formative family involvement. Abandoned at seven months old, by the time he reached 18 he’d had 43 different homes. Good experiences were precious few.


Last Christmas Joe was in prison, toasting the festivities with ‘Jail House Houch’ (an illicit brew made from oranges, sugar and bread for yeast) and just about recovering his eyesight by Boxing Day! For a man who has few real friends alcohol is becoming a reliable companion. I’ve heard this before, from others…


‘Chris, I learnt at the age of twelve that alcohol numbed the pain from my parents’ beatings. It’s taken me 38 years of struggling to find resolve.’


Joe is a lovely man, bright and quickly learns new skills… born into a different family background, well who knows? But he wasn’t and, in common with many of our trainees, he has very little confidence, a deep self-loathing and really struggles with decision-making.


I don’t think many of our guys at the point of joining LandWorks consider themselves to be worthy at any level. To be honest quite a number have previously tried to end their lives. For most of us, we are some distance from rock bottom. Joe and co hover millimetres above the jagged rocks of the next crisis, struggling to find a way out. Prison is far too often the only option. I believe they are worthy. No more, no less than others – but worth supporting.


Hear Hear Chris, a lovely piece – thank you – and good luck Joe!

April 21, 2015

This Event Might Change the Way You Think About Life

HowTheLightGetsIn – Hay on Wye

Event [2]

Thursday 21 May 2015
Price: £5.00

002 image

Philosophy Session


Oliver Burkeman, Erwin James, Helen Lederer. Michael Crick hosts.

Venue: globe Hall

Fulfil your dreams and make the most of your life! So advocate headmasters, moralists and revolutionaries. Yet poet John Betjeman’s principal regret was that he did not have more sex. Is life not about goals and ambition but about the moment of being? Or is making our dreams real the only way to fulfilment?

Writer of the Guardian’s ‘This Column Will Change Your Life’ Oliver Burkeman, author of A Life Inside Erwin James, and Absolutely Fabulous star Helen Lederer, debate the best way to live.

Thursday Trailblazer All Evening Pass tickets also provide access to this event.

January 6, 2015

Wrexham Prison Watch: 1

The Ominous Plan

The Ominous Plan

A Titan sneaked in through the side door, Wrexham prison, with a projected prisoner population of over two thousand, might turn out to be the worst experiment in recent UK prison history. All the evidence from decades of academic and governmental research indicates that small prisons are the most effective in reducing reoffending. And the reasons are logical – small prisons need fewer resources, they are by definition safer and easier to control. Prisoner staff relationships are more authentic, there is a greater level of trust when people living and working in such close proximity are able to gain a better understanding of each other. On the plus side this giant prison will bring much needed employment to the region. But unless the regime is designed to focus on rehabilitative and enabling activities for the prisoners it will come at a high cost to the victims of its reoffenders.

Recently I nipped up to have a look at progress. It’s rising fast – not like a phoenix – more like a black cloud on the horizon…

January 2, 2015

My Friend Pete



Pete Postlethwaite Warrior Poet


I met Pete Postlethwaite for the first time around six and a half years ago. I’d been invited to visit the set of Criminal Justice, the BBC’s crime drama series shown over five consecutive nights in 2008. The show starred Ben Wishaw as a young man suspected of killing a girl and then remanded into prison and has to learn to cope with prison life as a vulnerable prisoner. Pete played the character of “Hooch” – an old hand on prison landings, who tries to help and guide Wishaw’s character as he learns how to survive the vagaries of wing life.

I had been a huge fan of Pete for a long long time, even before he played opposite Daniel Day Lewis as Guiseppe Conlon, Gerry Conlon’s father in the 1993 film, In the Name of the Father, for which he was nominated for an Oscar. I watched that film in a high security prison which I guess gave it extra resonance. Pete had a way of connecting with people, the common man you might say, whatever role he played. You sort of knew from the all perceiving look in his eyes that whoever you were, he would have a kind word for you. I watched all his films and programmes whenever I could. From the Brilliant Brassed Off to one of my all time favourite films, The Last of the Mohecans – he brought his own individual shine to anything he did. I saw him in Sharpe and Aliens 3. I saw him in Amistad and in When Saturday Comes – he was in so many great films – one of his best and most enigmatic roles was as Kobayashi in The Usual Suspects. That was my pal Big Rinty’s all-time favourite film. Pete was such a wonderful actor, a world famous superstar – I never thought I would ever meet him in person.

Otto Bathurst, the director of Criminal Justice had asked me along to the set to see if I could advise on the prison scenes. The set was an old military base in Surrey. The mock up prison was very good. Extras in prison officer uniforms were everywhere, so real-looking it took me a little while to relax. Otto allowed me behind the camera to watch how it all worked. It was fascinating to see a really good director working, getting great stuff from the actors. When lunchtime came Otto walked me to the catering van. As we walked we chatted about films and actors and it was then I told him that Pete was one of my favourites. “You know he’s in this?” said Otto. “No,” I said, “I didn’t.” I was surprised and then decided to chance my arm. “Don’t suppose there is any chance of meeting him is there?” I truly did not imagine there would be, but I couldn’t see any harm in asking. We turned a corner and the queue for the catering van came into view. “Yes, sure,” said Otto. “He’s over there. Come on I’ll introduce you.”

Pete had just joined the queue and we moved up behind him. Otto introduced me. “I read your stuff in the Guardian all the time,” said Pete. I was speechless. I couldn’t believe I was actually shaking his hand. “Loved your column,” he said.  I was totally star struck – but Pete was about as natural as it’s possible to be. We collected our plates of food and settled down to eat and talk in one of the mobile dining vans.

We kept in touch, mostly by phone after that – and we met up occasionally for a beer. I loved his calls, usually out of the blue – just chatting about this and that. He invited me to a couple of places he was working but I never made it. Then it looked like he was going to be working on the remake of Brighton Rock. The film location was in Eastbourne, just down the road from where I was living at the time and I thought I’d see him there. In the end he didn’t do it – he said he couldn’t get insurance for the film because he’d had cancer – “I lost a bollock to it thirty years ago,” he said, “now it looks like its coming back.” I was shocked and saddened for him. I’d spoken to his wife Jaqui a couple of times on the phone, a lovely sounding lady. And he had talked about his children, Will and Lily. It was obvious he had a wonderful, loving relationship with his family.

Much as I loved being friends with Pete, I always felt totally unworthy of his friendship. He was after all universally respected in all walks of life. How could he ever be friends with someone like I had been? The fact is he just took me as he found me and as far as I could see, seemed to like me. My feelings of being unworthy of his friendship made it hard for me to just call him the way he called me – I don’t think he knew that. I never told him. When I was getting “outed” on the internet in 2009 and finally was forced to write my apologia in the Guardian in April of that year – Pete was the first person to call me. When the Mail on Sunday printed their “exposure” of me a couple of days later, Pete again called me – “Don’t let the bastards grind you down,” he said. I so appreciated his solid loyalty. I know he had friends much much greater than I. But the esteem in which I held him was hardly less than theirs.

When he told me he definitely had cancer I was so distressed for him. I know that life isn’t fair – but sometimes you just think, “Why?” I asked him how he would feel about appearing on film for the Prison Reform Trust – PRT were filming a number of influential and well-known people about their views on prison life. Despite his condition Pete agreed immediately. “When do you want to do it?” he said.

We arranged a date and the film-maker Charlotte Rowles and I travelled up to his farmhouse in Shropshire to spend a couple of hours with him. We drove up separately. Pete met me in the car-park of one of the cattle markets in Bishops Castle, a couple of miles from his home. He’d told me on the phone, “You’ll never find it on your own.”

I waited a few minutes and then Pete arrived in his old yellow Saab convertible. Even wearing his battered flat cap and jeans he was instantly recognisable. We had a hug. “You still look like you,” I said.

As we sat waiting for Charlotte we chatted. “I’ve brought you a present,” I said reaching into my back pocket. I pulled out a horse brass sporting the image of a runner. “The Hastings Brass,” I said. I’d run the Hastings half-marathon a couple of years earlier and it almost killed me. The first five or six miles were nearly all up hill and I had hardly trained for it. When I was trying to think of something that was special to me that I could give him, the Hastings Brass was the first thing that came to mind. He smiled when I told him why I wanted him to have it. “Thanks,” he said.

Suddenly there was a shout. “Pete!” We both turned and saw a tall, portly young man standing about thirty yards away. “Pete!” the young man shouted again. Pete squinted at him trying to see if he knew him. A woman appeared behind the man. “Come on love,” she said. The young man began ambling towards us excitedly and it soon became apparent he had learning difficulties. The woman followed him, trying to calm him. Pete was totally unfazed. When the young man reached us, he grabbed hold of Pete’s arm and then hugged him. Pete hugged him back. The woman apologised, “I’m sorry,” she said, “he’s always been a bit of a handful.” Pete shook his head and smiled reassuringly. “Mum,” said the young man, “It’s Pete Postlethwaite.” The woman seemed embarrassed. “I know love,” she said, “We all know who Pete is around here.” After a few minutes the woman thanked Pete for his patience. “That’s the happiest I’ve seen him all week,” she said. Pete just smiled again and said, “It’s a pleasure.”

Charlotte arrived and we followed Pete to his farmhouse where Jacquie and Lilly were waiting for him. We made our little film and then Charlotte left. Then Pete showed me around his house pointing out things that meant a lot to him including an amazing photograph of Nelson Mandela gifted to him by a famous film director and the crown he wore when he played King Lear. We sat in his conservatory for a while drinking tea and looking out over the beautiful Shropshire countryside that he loved so much and he signed the cover of a DVD I’d brought of The Usual Suspects – “Can you dedicate it to Big Rinty please Pete,” I said. He wrote – “To Big Rinty, Kobayashi to you!” and signed it. Then I noticed a book spread open on a window shelf. I knew the book well – it was The Tibetan Book of the Dead. A friend had sent me a copy from French Guyana when I was in Wandsworth prison during the first year of my life sentence in 1985. It took me 12 years to read it properly.

It was getting dark when I said I had to leave. “Stay the night if you want,” Pete said. I was touched by his generosity. But I had work in the morning and I really had to get home. We hugged. “I’ll be in touch Pete,” I said. As I drove down the track to his farm he waved until I was out of sight. I didn’t know then it would be the last time I’d ever see him alive.

I moved to the border country to build a house. As luck would have it the property was only forty miles away from Pete’s place. I decided once I was done I would get back in touch with him and invite him to mine for tea. But four years ago today I was digging a trench for a drain and listening to the radio when the news came on. “It has just been announced that the actor…” I knew before the newsreader said his name that it was Pete.

Like many of the people at his funeral I cried openly as I fixed my clutch of wild flowers picked from his farm, which had been laid on a tray nearby for the purpose by Jacqui, into his beautiful wicker coffin. By the time the congregation had paid their respects his coffin was festooned like a warrior poet’s head dress. A sad day for a great man and for everyone who loved him.

A Spectacle of Dust: Pete’s Autobiography

August 9, 2014

Ten Years Ago Today…

Erwin James’s remarkable writings about life in prison have esta

Buy A Life Inside

Ten years ago today my Life Inside came to an end. I walked out of jail after serving twenty years to the day yet as the big gate opened to let me through there was no sense of triumph, no sense of “success” – I had a little optimism and a whole lot more hope than I had on the day I first went in. But I never saw this coming nearly five years later: The Real Me





August 8, 2014

In Prison You Exist on Dreams…

Where a Good Book might Take You...

Where a Good Book might Take You…

In prison you exist on dreams, nightmares and fantasies. When you are locked and isolated in a cell for twenty three hours out of twenty four you try to block the nightmares, enjoy the dreams and occasionally indulge in fantasies. I found this out after I was sentenced to life imprisonment and taken from the Old Bailey to Wandsworth prison in south London. With few apparent skills or abilities and almost insurmountable failings to overcome my prospects were bleak. It was impossible for me to try to rationalise my situation – or to reflect on the idea of change or personal development. The four walls contained me. I was so defeated that I lacked even the desire to be anything other than what I had become – little more than an inarticulate, ill-educated brute. The early weeks and months of my imprisonment provided no clues that a life spent in prison could ever remedy my deep-rooted inadequacies. BUT AT LEAST I COULD READ… read more

May 28, 2014

Hay Festival Event – Some Truths about Prisons


Talking to Jim Naughtie on the Today Programme last week the Justice Secretary Chris Grayling said we have “never been able to send parcels into prisons” – this is simply not true. He told Jim that prisoners have, “access to the same library services that you and I do.” This too is not true and typical of the type of political rhetoric that has been bandied about in this country unchallenged for decades and one of the main reasons our prisons generate so much failure. On Thursday 29th May I will be chairing a panel comprising of Vicky Pryce, Professor John Podmore and Professor David Wilson at the Hay Festival – please come along if you really want to know some truths about prisons.

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