There should be separate rules and privileges to meet the case of a prisoner guilty of moral lapses only, as distinguished from the habitual breaker of the laws. At present the former gets the same treatment and discipline as the habitual criminal of several convictions, and can not claim a single privilege that the old offender has not a right to ask—for example, members of both classes are limited to the same number of letters and visits. The “Star Class” is supposed to be kept separate from ordinary prisoners. It was so at Woking Prison. But at Aylesbury Prison, to which I was transferred later, they were sandwiched between two wards of habitual criminals, with whom they came continually in contact, not only in passing to and from the workshops, fetching meals, and going to exercise, but continuously. That contamination should ensue is hardly surprising. It requires a will of iron, and nearly the spirit of a saint, not to be corrupted by the sights and sounds of a prison, even when no word is spoken. It is a serious accusation against any system to say “that it produces the thing it is designed to prevent,” but such, I am convinced, is the fact as regards the manufacture of criminals and imbeciles by the present system of penalism almost the world over.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Period of Hard Labor
Routine
Having passed solitary confinement and probation, I entered upon the third stage, hard labor, when I was permitted to leave my cell to assist in carrying meals from the kitchen, and to sit at my door and converse with the prisoners in the adjoining cells for two hours daily—but always in the presence of an officer who controls and limits the conversation. My daily routine was now also somewhat different from that of solitary confinement and probation.
At six o’clock the bell rings to rise. Half an hour later a second bell signifies to the officers that it is time to come on duty. Each warder in charge of certain wards—there are three wards to each hall—then goes to the chief matron’s office, where she receives a key wherewith to unlock the prisoners’ cells. All keys are given up by the female warder before going off duty, and locked for the night in an iron safe under the charge of a male warder. When again in possession of her key she repairs to her ward, and at the order, “Unlock,” she lets out the prisoners to empty their slops. This done, they are once more locked in, with the exception of three women who go down to the kitchen to fetch the cans of tea and loaves of bread which make up the prisoners’ breakfast. At Woking the breakfast was of cocoa and coarse meal bread, while later, at Aylesbury, it consisted of tea and white bread. I am constrained to remark here that more consideration should be shown by the medical officer toward women who complain of being physically unfit to do heavy lifting and carrying. The can is carried by two women up two or three flights of stairs, according to the location of their ward, and the bread by one woman only. Each can contains fourteen quarts of tea, and the bread-basket holds thirty pounds or more of bread. To a woman with strong muscles it may cause no distress, but in the case of myself and others equally frail, the physical strain was far beyond our strength, and left us utterly exhausted after the task.
The breakfast was served at seven o’clock, when the officers returned to the mess-room to take theirs. At 7:30 a bell rang again, and the officers returned to their respective wards. At ten minutes to eight the order was given, “Unlock.” Once more the doors were opened. Then followed the order, “Chapel,” and each woman stood at her door with Bible, prayer-book, and hymn-book in hand. At the words “Pass on,” they file one behind the other into the chapel, where a warder from each ward sits with her back to the altar that she may be able the better to watch those under her charge and see that they do not speak. After a service of twenty minutes the prisoners file back to their cells, place their books on the lower shelf, and with a drab cape and a white straw hat stand in readiness for the next order, “To your doors.” This given, they descend into the hall and pass out to their respective places of work.
Talk with the Chaplain
Many of these women have their tender, spiritual moments. At such times they will beg for a favorite hymn to be sung at the chapel service on Sunday, and their requests are generally granted by the chaplain. He is the only friend of the prisoner, and his work is arduous and often thankless. He is the only one within the walls to whom she may turn for sympathy and advice. It may not be every woman who gladly avails herself of the enforced privilege of attending daily chapel. “Religion,” as a term, is unpalatable to many. But there are very few who are not better and happier for the few moments’ unofficial talk with her chaplain, be she Protestant or Roman Catholic.
It is to be regretted that his authority is so limited, and his opportunities for brightening the lives of those who walk in dark places so few. Red tape and standing orders confront him at every turn, so that even the religious training is drawn and sucked beneath the mighty wheel of the Penal Code, and there is no time for personal suasion to play more than a minor part in a convict’s life.