Oswald [Mosley] was transferred to Holloway [adjoining cell to wife] in the face of a public outcry … The Mosleys were moved from the cells to a cottage in the grounds of the prison. ibid.
Ruth Ellis: She had been charged with the murder of her lover, David Blakely … He was the latest in a long line of troubled relationships with men … Blakely was a violent and possessive man … ibid.
By the mid-1980s the new buildings were now finally complete. But the strange idea that criminals could be cured was discredited. ibid.
By the 1990s conditions inside were sliding out of control. ibid.
‘A lot of women who end up in prison do so because of the men they’ve got.’ ibid. Professor Tony Maden, forensic psychiatrist
80% of women are on short sentences which seem to have little effect. ibid.
The site was sold to housing … but the horrors of Holloway will never be forgotten. ibid.
Home to some of Britain’s most dangerous men. Some have thrived there while others have suffered. This is the story of Broadmoor and five of its most notorious patients told by those who worked with patients there. Broadmoor: Serial Killers & High Security, Channel 5 2021
Broadmoor: It looks like a prison but is in fact a secure mental hospital. For over 150 years it has been home to those judged too dangerous to live in the outside world. And since 2019 it has been even more secure with a new custom-built hospital complex. There is only one way in and out. ibid.
Long-term patient Peter Sutcliffe was allowed four visitors per week, and they were often pen-pals who he had persuaded to meet him in person … ‘Sutcliffe always had with him a couple of young women, different women every time, always holding and stroking his hands; it was very very strange.’ ibid. Fred Dinenage
Michael Peterson began what should have been a seven year prison sentence in 1974, but his crime on the outside would pale in comparison to the wave of violent assaults he would unleash behind bars … Bronson would turn his rage on Broadmoor itself. ibid.
Tasmania – the empire’s first juvenile prison. By the end of the 19th century over 160,000 British convicts are deported to Australia. 15,000 are children under sixteen. The British VI: Tale of Two Cities, Sky Atlantic 2012
Born in the Californian prison system Nuestra Familia is considered one of the most lethal street gangs in the world. A gang with history. Tightly wrapped in loyalty and shrouded in secrecy. You did what you were asked no questions. Outlaw Empires s1e5: Nuestra Family, Discovery 2012
A feared outlaw empire on the streets of America. ibid.
My purpose in life is to be a gang member. ibid. gangster
Nuestra Familia continues to thrive. ibid.
Born in one of the deadliest prisons in America they fought to defend their brothers. How they went from a handful of white convicts battling to protect each other to a nationwide army more than 20,000 strong. Outlaw Empires s1e6: Aryan Brotherhood
By the 1970s the Aryan Brotherhood had established itself as one of the dominant gangs in the American prison system. ibid.
San Quentin: A war was raging between the Aryan Brotherhood and their arch rivals the Black Guerrilla Family. ibid.
Over two decades the Aryan Brotherhood had expanded to prisons all across America. ibid.
President Clinton had brought in tough new crime laws. Even though in reality crime was falling. Hundreds of thousands of young black men were now imprisoned with no hope of parole, even for minor offences. It seemed to show that President Clinton cared more about the fears of white middle-class voters than he did about the lives of young black men. Adam Curtis, Can’t Get You Out of My Head VI Are We a Pigeon? Or Are We Dancer? ***** BBC 2021
You better come along with us. Cool Hand Luke 1967 starring Paul Newman & George Kennedy & Strother Martin & Jo van Fleet & Joy Harmon & Morgan Woodward & Luke Askew & Robert Donner & Clifton James et al, director Stuart Rosenberg, rozzer to Newman
You gonna fit in real good. ibid. prison governor to Newman et al
I hope you ain’t gonna be a hard case. ibid. floorwalker to new inmates
Well, sometimes nothing can be a real cool hand. ibid.
Things just never the way they seem ... It wasn’t such a hell of a life. ibid. Lucas to aunt
Luke, what went wrong? ibid. Aunt to Luke
I can eat fifty eggs. ibid. Lucas to men
You still believe in that big bearded boss up there? You think he’s watching us? ibid. Lucas to Dragline
Calling it your job don’t make it right, boss. ibid. Lucas to guard
What we’ve got here is failure to communicate. Some men you just can’t reach. ibid. governor
Where are you? Where are you now? ibid. Lucas to God
I never planned anything in my life. ibid. Lucas to Dragline
Anybody here? Hell, man, you home tonight? If you can spare a minute, ’bout time we had a little talk ... You ain’t dealt me no cards in a long time. ibid. Lucas to God
You made me like I am. And just where am I supposed to fit in? ibid. Lucas to God
I guess I’m pretty tough to deal with, huh? ... I guess you’re a hard case too. ibid. Lucas to God
Her body was a prison, her mind was a prison. Her memories were a prison. The people she loved. She couldn’t get away from the hurt of them. She could leave Eric, walk out of her apartment, walk forever if she liked, but she couldn’t escape what really hurt. Tonight even the sky felt like a prison. Ann Brashares, Sisterhood Everlasting
Hunger strikes begin in the Maze Prison October 27th 1980. Fergal Keane, The Story of Ireland s5e5: Age of Nations, BBC 2011
In 1980 the number of black men incarcerated was 143,000. In 2019 it had increased to 435,000. The Black American Fight for Freedom, BBC 2021
I set out at dawn. Her Majesty’s Prison Belmarsh is in the flat hinterland of south east London, a ribbon of walls and wire with no horizon. At what is called the visitors centre, I surrendered my passport, wallet, credit cards, medical cards, money, phone, keys, comb, pen, paper.
I need two pairs of glasses. I had to choose which pair stayed behind. I left my reading glasses. From here on, I couldn’t read, just as Julian couldn’t read for the first few weeks of his incarceration. His glasses were sent to him, but inexplicably took months to arrive.
There are large TV screens in the visitors centre. The TV is always on, it seems, and the volume turned up. Game shows, commercials for cars and pizzas and funeral packages, even TED talks, they seem perfect for a prison: like visual valium.
I joined a queue of sad, anxious people, mostly poor women and children, and grandmothers. At the first desk, I was fingerprinted, if that is still the word for biometric testing.
‘Both hands, press down!’ I was told. A file on me appeared on the screen.
I could now cross to the main gate, which is set in the walls of the prison. The last time I was at Belmarsh to see Julian, it was raining hard. My umbrella wasn’t allowed beyond the visitors centre. I had the choice of getting drenched, or running like hell. Grandmothers have the same choice.
At the second desk, an official behind the wire, said, ‘What’s that?’
‘My watch,’ I replied guiltily.
‘Take it back,’ she said.
So I ran back through the rain, returning just in time to be biometrically tested again. This was followed by a full body scan and a full body search. Soles of feet; mouth open.
At each stop, our silent, obedient group shuffled into what is known as a sealed space, squeezed behind a yellow line. Pity the claustrophobic; one woman squeezed her eyes shut.
We were then ordered into another holding area, again with iron doors shutting loudly in front of us and behind us.
‘Stand behind the yellow line!’ said a disembodied voice.
Another electronic door slid partly open; we hesitated wisely. It shuddered and shut and opened again. Another holding area, another desk, another chorus of, ‘Show your finger!’
Then we were in a long room with squares on the floor where we were told to stand, one at a time. Two men with sniffer dogs arrived and worked us, front and back.
The dogs sniffed our arses and slobbered on my hand. Then more doors opened, with a new order to ‘hold out your wrist!’