Prisons & Prisoners: Some Personal Experiences

by Lady Constance Lytton

A wardress told me I might come out. I picked up my shoes and went with them in my hand to an “officer” who seemed to be the most authoritative person present. I said to her, “I find these shoes are rather small for me. Could you kindly let me have a bigger pair?” She seemed not to have heard what I said, did not look my way, but shouted past me into the air, speaking in a loud voice, very rapidly, and without any variety of intonation in a way that sounded strange and unnatural, as if she were proclaiming an edict written by another person: “It’s — no — good — complaining — about — those; they’re — the — largest — size — in — stock; you — can’t — have — any — others — so — you’d — better — make — the — best — of — them.” As soon as I realised that she was answering me I felt very curious and interested. “So that is what it means,” I thought, “being in prison.” It required no flight of the imagination, no tags of theory, to understand what the effect of this manner would be on an ordinary prisoner.

Mrs. Lawrence and I waited together in the passage. Presently a wardress came up to us with a paper in her hand and began reading out the prison rules, which we were told had to be strictly observed under pain of punishment. There were a great many dealing with a variety of subjects. She read very fast like a wooden automaton, as if she herself were weary of this too frequent job. Although I had heard of many of the rules before from previous prisoners, I could with difficulty catch the drift, and it struck me how little the ordinary prisoner would be able to glean from this hurried reading of rules absolutely new to her, framed in official language often far beyond her comprehension.

We were then led off through various corridors, taken out of doors and into another building, weighed a second time, and taken up a staircase. At the top we were told to remove our shoes and carry them in our hands. In the passage there were cells with locked gates that looked very grim, and locked doors behind them. One door opposite the stairs was open and the gate only closed. This was unlocked for us and we were ushered into a large high room. A fire burned brightly at one end and beds were ranged on either side of the walls. It was evidently a hospital ward. We were shown to the beds nearest the fire-place, on either side of it, and told they would be ours. Mrs. Lawrence came over to me and whispered, “They have put us in hospital.” The one thing on which my hopes had centred throughout that seemingly eternal day was the prospect of being completely alone at the end of it. Now that was not to be. For the first time I was taken unawares, had made no preparation for the contingency; I felt quite unnerved and could have sobbed like a child. The fact that I was to remain with Mrs. Lawrence was my only consolation.

The ward was large and high, with big windows of grained glass at either end, opened at the top by pulleys so that one could not see out, but the ventilation was perfect. There were grating ventilators as well as the windows. It was well warmed by hot pipes running the length of one wall and by a large coal fire. The furnishings of the fire-place were both comic and grimly suggestive. A cage of thick iron bars covered it, from the mantelpiece to the floor, the cage had a central gate fastened by a padlock and inside this prison was a poker chained to the side of the grate, as if it could not be trusted not to run away and escape through the iron bars of the cage. I looked round to see how much of lunacy, or violent criminality, such as were suggested by these precautions, was represented amongst the present inmates. There were ten beds in all, but only four or five occupants; most of them were already in bed—one looked extremely ill. A wardress, like a nurse, in a holland gown, came in accompanied by a 3rd Division prisoner carrying a wicker tray fitted with bottles containing drugs—the “poison-basket” I called it; it returned regularly twice a day. A dark-looking mixture was poured into a little cup and handed to me. I explained that I never took drugs and begged to be excused. “You’ve got to swallow that to-night—those are my orders, there’s no choice about it. You can ask the medical officer about it to-morrow.” I supposed that responsibility for my refusal would fall upon the wardress, so I drank it down.

We were given slippers to replace the coarse nailed shoes which were not allowed to be worn in hospital on account of the polished wooden floor. The slippers were of yellow leather, blackened by much use. They were extremely dirty, both outside and in, and I made up my mind never to wear them without the protection of a stocking. Mine were not a pair, each one had an independence of size and shape which seemed to endow them with almost human personality; but they were comfortable, and I grew strangely fond of them before the end of my time. Our beds were already made; we were each brought a night-gown of coarse, unbleached calico striped with an occasional red line and marked at intervals with the broad arrow in tar-like ink; it had long sleeves. We were also provided with a short, grey flannel dressing-gown and a small tooth-brush. We were told to undress and to tie up our day clothes in our aprons, all but the caps; these being both white and starched were treated with the utmost reverence. I discovered that this arrangement was most detrimental to the appearance of the apron the next day. Some prison rules, however trivial and apparently unimportant, are rigidly enforced, others after the first instructions are never referred to again. This was one of those, luckily, for an appearance of neatness in the prisoners depends entirely upon the cap and apron. I soon ventured upon a different plan of damping the apron over night, folding it evenly as for ironing and binding it tightly round the heating pipe whenever I could secure a share of that much sought-after luxury, for the pipe was not on my side of the ward. This device was successful to the point of giving me a ludicrous amount of pleasure. When the clothes were dealt out from the laundry once a week they looked as if they had been washed in cold water by a child, but the hot-pipe dodge soon gave them quite a presentable look. In the free world I am accustomed to sleep in flannel sheets, woollen under-clothes, and a hot bottle, also with two flannel pillows. The prison equipment was, of course, not of that order. I took off the dress, stiff petticoat, stays and neckerchief, but kept on all the rest of the day clothing and wore it under my night-gown. I also kept on the night-gown in the day time, as it was the only under-garment with long sleeves. This flagrant break of the regulations on my part was either not observed or was winked at by the authorities while I remained in hospital.

The bedsteads were of iron, the bedding much more luxurious than I had expected—two mattresses, a pillow, three blankets and calico sheets, unbleached, with red stripes, and marked frequently with the broad arrow, as was the rest of the bedding. My sheet, where turned over at the head, had a large stain, as if oil had been dropped upon it. The stain was dry, but, nevertheless, extremely objectionable to look at. I remade the bed, putting the other end of the sheet at the top, only to find that the stains were everywhere. I seem to have been specially unfortunate in my outfit on arrival, for both this sheet and my flannel shirt were more revolting in appearance than anything I saw again in the whole course of my imprisonments. In one respect I was lucky. My dress skirt, though painted here and there with the broad arrow and not new, was yet quite clean and of a convenient length; some of us had to submit to a skirt that touched the ground, an undesirable length in a place where dust abounds abnormally and no clothes brush is available, or else so short that the legs were disagreeably exposed and gave the appearance of a child’s dress. My dress shirt was quite new, had evidently not been worn before, a luxury which I much appreciated, since the sleeves were worn next to the skin and it was made of non-washing material.

At each end of the bed was a small iron shelf. At the head were kept a pint mug for water, tooth-brush, soap, towel, brush and comb. On the shelf at the foot were a Bible, prayer book, hymn book, small devotional book, called “The Narrow Way,” and an instructive book on domestic hygiene, “A Perfect Home and How To Keep It.” This contained two chapters on the necessity of perfect ventilation in sleeping rooms, the want of which gave rise to ceaseless complaints from the Suffragettes in the cells, and the attempt to instruct prisoners by means of a book, while denying them the primal need therein declared to be essential, seemed a cruel as well as a rather ludicrous form of sarcasm.

We proceeded to undress. I took down my hair, which in those days I wore puffed out round the head by means of fluffing the inner hair. The hair brush was of the size and shape of a small shoe brush, black and with black bristles which, in this particular brush of mine, were almost worn away. The comb was like a doll’s comb, exactly the size of my first finger. Though my hair was not particularly abundant, I struggled in vain for the first two days to get it completely disentangled with these utterly inadequate tools. There were no looking glasses anywhere in the prison except, so I heard it rumoured, in the doctor’s room, but I never saw it when there. I did not attempt to dress my hair, but did it up in a tight “bun” at the back of my head. This not only seemed to me most suitable for the prison cap and dress, but also I had an eye to seizing the advantages of the prison life. If one was not to have the comforts and luxuries of free, civilised existence, I thought one had better shed as many as possible of its burdens; I have always ranked hair dressing as one of these. Some ex-prisoners had told me that the hair pins we took into prison in our hair would have to suffice us till our release. Others said that more could be obtained for the asking. I very soon found out that asking for extras of this kind generally produced a refusal and often something of a scolding as well, so that I limited my requests to those which would, I thought, be of general advantage to others as well as to myself. I never saw any hair pins being given out, and by the day of my release my own supply had fallen to three. Despite this lazy decision on my part I had the greatest admiration for those prisoners who took a contrary view and who in the teeth of difficulties, such as no looking glass, an ever-diminishing supply of hair pins, and the brush and comb as described, yet managed to produce elaborately dressed heads of hair. Amongst the Suffragettes, a large proportion of them had remarkably beautiful and abundant hair, which when, towards the end of my sentence, I saw them in the exercise yard gave me an immense amount of pleasure. Some of these managed to dress their hair in puffed out and fashionable ways. Amongst the ordinary prisoners I remember one in particular who, in the way of hair dressing, excited my admiration almost to the point of awe. She could boast of no good looks, her face and her hair were of almost the same shade of pale sand-colour. Through all the week-days, whenever I saw her, a generous portion of her front hair was rolled up with bits of the thin, brown toilet paper, of which a practically unlimited supply is served out to each prisoner, and which is put to a great variety of uses. On Sunday morning the curl papers were there as usual, but on Sunday afternoon the bond-hair was made free and a glory of frizzled hair encircled and brightened her poor, tired face. This adherence to outer-world Sabbatarian tradition and conformity to the requirements of orthodox public opinion had a meaning, an artistic and moral expression almost, in prison, such as they lack when occurring in ordinary life. The good-will and neighbourliness of which, no doubt, they were the outward symbol, had met with their reward, for this woman was allowed a share in some of the more privileged duties of the prison service.

I felt very tired as I laid down in the bed, but my brain was screwed to a pitch of nervous excitement that drove away all possibility of sleep. The bed and pillow were stonily hard. My pulses beat against the pillow; the stuffing of it gave back a sort of rattling echo to every beat. A naked gas jet immediately in front of my eyes was alight all night. At a long table underneath it sat a wardress reading or sewing at her own clothes. One of the patients in a bed next but one to mine seemed to be very ill. She tossed and turned continually, as if in a high fever, and her voice sounded parched as she coughed or called out in a half delirious sleep. My distress for her grew as I watched her. The wardress took not the smallest notice of her. I kept on scheming as to how I could help her, but my courage repeatedly failed me. At last I could bear it no longer. I went up to her bed and whispered, “Is there anything I can do for you?” She answered, “I should like a little water.” I took the pint mug of white earthenware from the shelf behind her. It was empty; I took it to the wardress. “May I get that patient some water?” I asked. She nodded assent. I went to a washing-stand with two jugs and basins on it that stood against the wall opposite the entrance door. The wardress beckoned to me and pointed towards another door which led to a small vestibule giving on to a sink and lavatory. This door was kept locked in the day time, but now it was open, another door leading from the vestibule to the landing being locked at night. I drew some fresh water from the tap. The water in Holloway seemed to be like mountain water, better than any I have ever tasted in a town—I suppose because the dry air in prison combined with much dust makes one very thirsty. The prisoner thanked me most gratifyingly and told me she was very ill with influenza. I ventured to whisper before leaving her, “Are you a Suffragette?” “Rather,” came the prompt reply, and her face brightened at the word. She was a nurse, Miss Povey, of the Freedom League. The wardress herself had a hard, hacking, bronchial cough, which must have hurt her a good deal. I longed to suggest various things to her to ease it, but I had not the courage. Though I was immensely tired, all possibility of sleep seemed to go further and further from me, and I was too much on view for my thoughts to rest on my home and our people. Finally, I settled down to watching the wardress and the other prisoners, and wondering who they were and what their crimes. I had never seen many people in bed at night before. It was amusing to watch their various ways of lying and gestures, but none of them seemed to be really asleep, or only for very short spells at a time. The wardress had meals brought to her, and there would be short snatches of whispered conversation with the wardress who brought them in. It seemed to me that it must be an appalling way of passing one’s time. There was not the interest of a night nurse nor the excitement of a policeman on the beat. There was a large clock at one end of the ward above a swing door leading to a lavatory. It was an unexpected luxury to be able to watch the time.