I am Set to Work in the Library
When I recovered from my nervous breakdown, by medical order I was given lighter employment, and went into the library. I was now the only prisoner in the building who had suffered under the hardships of the old system at Woking Prison, all the rest of those who came with me having in the interim returned to the world. In fact, I was the only one who had served over ten years.
My task in the library was to assist the schoolmistress and to change the library books twice a week. They were carried from cell to cell, and this represented the handling of over two hundred and fifty books. In addition to this, I had to be[195] “literary nurse,” whose duties were to attend to worn-out books, binding up their wounds and prolonging their days of usefulness; doing cataloguing and entry work; to print the name of each prisoner on a card placed over her cell door; to copy hymns, and to make scrap-books for the illiterate prisoners, besides other miscellaneous duties.
The library was a very good one and contained not only the latest novels, but philosophical works and books for study; also a limited number in French and German. To these were added religious works, especially poetry, and sermons for Sunday reading. I found a choice collection to help me support the Sabbath day, for the suspended animation makes a day of misery of the “day of rest.” One could not read all day without tiring, and the absence of week-day work usually made it a day of heavy, creeping depression. There are two periods of exercise, and chapel morning and afternoon. The remainder of the time the[196] prisoners are locked in their cells. Reading was my only solace; from first to last I read every moment that I could call my own. The best index of the quality of the books was that every volume was read or examined by the chaplain and his staff before it was admitted to the library. If it contained any articles on prison life or matters relating to prisoners, these were always carefully cut out.
From my observations I consider that prison schoolmasters and schoolmistresses are overburdened with miscellaneous and incompatible duties. No one needs to be told that the average prisoner is a slow learner, and that even a dull boy or girl is a better pupil than a grown man or woman plodding along in the first steps of knowledge, and who is taught, not in a class, but in a cell. Yet the schoolmaster or schoolmistress has to devote hours daily to teaching, to help in letter-writing, in the office work, in the distribution of library books, in the library work; and now that their[197] number is likewise reduced on the ground of expense, the pressure of their work is out of all proportion to the hours within which it can be reasonably performed.
I have always been fond of reading, and during my leisure hours I got through a large number of books. This was between noon and half-past one, and seven and eight in the evening, when my light had to be put out.
Newspapers Forbidden
The rules forbid that any public news be conveyed to the prisoners, either at visits or by letters. This seems to be a very short-sighted view to take of the matter. To allow newspapers in the prison might, of course, lead to cipher communications to prisoners from their friends; but no harm can possibly come of allowing information regarding public affairs of national interest to be conveyed through the legitimate channels of letters and visits. It would give the prisoners fresh food for[198] thought, and tend greatly to relieve that vacuity of mind which is the outcome of lack of knowledge of external things, and of the monotony of their lives; it would also make a pause in their broodings over their cases, which is the sole subject of their thoughts and conversations when permitted to converse at all.
How Prisoners Learn of Great Events
The lowering of the prison flag told us of the death of Queen Victoria, although we had heard several days before that she was sinking. When King Edward was dangerously ill it was talked of among the officers, and the prisoners, through me, asked that special prayers might be said in the chapel.
When Mafeking was relieved and when peace with the Boers was declared, flags were hoisted. Jubilee and Coronation days were the only occasions I remember[199] when we had any relaxation of prison rules, and then there was much disappointment, since in lieu of a mitigation of our sentences, as was the case in India, they gave us extra meat and plum pudding.
Strict Discipline of Prison Officers
I have served under three governors, each of whom was an intelligent and conspicuously humane man. They knew their prisoners and tried to understand them, but there is not much a governor can do for them of his own initiative. I consider that he who holds this responsible position should have more of a free hand, and be allowed to use his discretion in all ordinary matters pertaining to the prison discipline and welfare of the prisoners.
They were all advanced disciplinarians. The routine reeled itself off with mechanical precision. The rules were enforced and carried out to the letter. The deadly monotony never varied; all days are alike;[200] weeks, months, years slowly accumulate, and, in the mean time, the mental rust is eating into the weary brain, and the outspoken cry rises up daily—“How long, O Lord! how long?”
The officers are almost as keen as the governor in their efforts to keep things up to the mark. It is seldom they allow prisoners under their observation or supervision any slight relaxation which nature may demand, but the rules forbid. They dislike to punish a woman, and in their hearts make many excuses for the black sheep.
Their High Character
As a class, with few exceptions, the prison staff is worthy of respect and confidence, and might be trusted with any task. The patience, civility, and self-control which the officers exhibit under the most trying circumstances, as a rule, mark them as men and women possessing a high sense of duty, not only as civil servants, but as Christians.
Nervous Strain of Their Duties
The hours of work are long, the nervous strain is incessant. I could wish that those in high places showed a little more appreciation of what these faithful servants do, and were not so sparing of their praise and commendation. The small remuneration they receive can not make up for the deprivation of the amenities of life which the prison service entails. Two writers on prison life have expressed themselves in widely different ways regarding the warders and officers. One writer compares them to slave-and cattle-drivers; another expresses surprise that they are as good as they are. As, I trust, an impartial observer, I agree with the latter opinion. Experience has taught me that, in most cases, if the prisoner is amiable and willing, the officer on her part is ready to meet the prisoner fully half way—at all events, as far as circumstances and duty will permit, for the continual daily changes of duty, from[202] ward to ward and hall to hall, make it nearly impossible for any officer to acquire a true knowledge of the character of those under her charge.
It would be interesting if a trained psychologist could watch and report upon the insidious effect of the repressive rules and regulations of a prison on the more impressionable officers and prisoners. When such officers first enter this service they are natural women with a natural demeanor and expression of countenance. After a time, however, the molding effects of “standing orders” become apparent in the sternness of their expression, the harsh tones of their voices, and the abruptness of their manner.
Standing Orders for Warders
These “standing orders” may be paraphrased as follows:
“You must not do this or say that, or look sympathetic or friendly, or converse[203] with prisoners in any way. You must always suspect them of wishing to do something underhand, sly, and contrary to orders. You must never let them for a moment out of your sight, or permit them to suppose that you have either trust or confidence in them. It is your duty to see that the means of punishment devised by the Penal Code are faithfully carried out. You are not to trouble yourself about the result upon the prisoner—that is the affair of the Government.”
Any familiarity on the part of an officer with a prisoner is strictly forbidden by the rules of prison service, and the slightest manifestation of the sort would entail serious punishment on the officer. Surely this is not as it should be; on the contrary, greater discretionary power should be permitted to officers in their relations with prisoners, for the influence for good which a kind, well-disposed officer could exert upon a prisoner is incalculable. But all this possible influence for good is denied[204] expression by the spirit of mistrust and suspicion which pervades the entire prison administration. This is one of the most regrettable features of the system. No officer is trusted by her superior, and no prisoner, however exemplary her conduct, may be trusted by any one officially connected with the institution.
An officer who commits a breach of any rule laid down for her may be fined a sum varying from one to ten shillings, and if the offense is a grave one she may be discharged.
Crime a Mental Disease
When will those connected with prisons awake to the fact that the criminal is mentally diseased? Ninety-nine out of a hundred criminals, when not such by accident, through poverty, or environment, come to their lot through inherited, malformed brains. It ought to be the sacred duty of earnest men to deal kindly, intelligently, [205]and patiently with them. The prison, which is now a dreadful place of punishment and humiliation, ought to be made a home of regeneration and reformation, in which intelligent effort is made to raise the prisoner to a higher level; and this surely is not done by withdrawing all the refining influences.
I hope the time is not far off when men and women will take more of a heart interest in prisoners, and when, no matter how low they may have sunk, an opportunity to live honestly will be given them on their release; when the society against which they have sinned will treat them so kindly that for very shame they will seek to do better, and repentance shall enter into the most darkened soul. The “eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth” doctrine is not a part of the Christian dispensation. Our Lord Jesus Christ gave his last supreme lesson, as he turned toward the thief at his side on the cross, and there put an end to that old law forever.
Something Good in the Worst Criminal
There is some good to be found in the worst criminal, which, if nourished by patience and sympathy, will grow into more good. I speak from a large, intimate personal experience, for during my imprisonment it was my happy fortune to evoke kindly reciprocations from some of the worst and most degraded characters. I will cite an instance.
One day I was crossing the hall when a fight occurred. I can not describe it—it was too horrible. The crowd surged toward me, and I was being drawn in among the combatants, when one of them, catching sight of me, stepped out with a face streaming with blood, and pushed me into an open cell, closing the door after me. When I thanked her the next day she replied:
“Why, bless your heart, Mrs. Maybrick, did you think I would let them hurt a hair of your head?”
I believe I had the sympathy and respect of all my fellow prisoners, and when I left Aylesbury, my feelings were those of mingled relief and regret. I could not but feel attached to those with whom I had lived and suffered and worked for so many weary years. I knew, perhaps, more of the life history of these poor women, their inner thoughts and feelings, than any one else in the prison. In suffering, in sympathy, in pity, we were all akin. In the association hour they would bring me their letters from home to read, and show me the photographs of their children or other dear ones, while tears would course down their cheeks at the memory of happier days.
Need of Further Prison Reform
Many opinions have been written regarding prisons, but with few exceptions they are the observations of outsiders, which means, they must of necessity be to a certain extent superficial.
I have touched only a few spots of the great diseased system of prison management, but what public opinion did to ameliorate past abuses, public opinion can still do to improve the treatment of to-day’s criminal. A little over a hundred years ago there were thirty-four offenses in England punishable by capital punishment. To-day there is only one. Charles Dickens did more than any agency toward doing away with imprisonment for debt, yet last year there were no less than eleven thousand prisoners in confinement for debt in English prisons. How many of these have since joined the ranks of the criminals through loss of self-respect? What has been the effect upon their wives and families? Why is a man imprisoned for debt? Certainly not to enable him to pay it. He can earn nothing while in prison, where he is supported at the expense of the state; and if he has a wife or family, they either become dependent on the rates, or incur debts which he will have to pay[209] on his release. Again, he may not improbably lose his employment, and have to look out for another when liberated, and his imprisonment does not make it more easy, either to procure work or to perform it efficiently. The ground of imprisonment is dishonesty. But is not actual dishonesty sufficiently met by the criminal law? In what sense is the debtor dishonest? Is it meant that he has money in his pocket and refuses to pay his debts? Is it not rather that he ought to have had money? It is proved perhaps that he is earning so much per week, possibly, but how long had he been earning and how long was he out of employment before that? Has he had sickness? There have been many instances where a man was in the hospital when the committal order was made, and was seized and carried off to prison immediately on discharge. If non-payment of a debt is not a crime, why is he in prison for it? If it is a crime, why has he not the benefit of a trial by[210] jury on the ability or inability of paying his debts? And why should not the Home Office or other appellate tribunal have the power of revising his sentence? If the debtor has goods that can be seized, let them be seized; if there is money coming to him, let the creditor attach it; if it comes within the scope of the bankruptcy law, let him be adjudicated and examined on oath to every shilling that he has received or spent. But why, in the name of justice and humanity, treat him as a criminal, prevent him from earning his bread, and make him an incumbrance on the State, exposing his wife and daughter to ruin, degrading him, lowering his self-respect, and subjecting him to the taint of the prison atmosphere, without satisfactory evidence of his ability to pay at the time of committal? Several prisoners that I came in contact with were made criminals because their husbands had left their families destitute because imprisoned for debt.