THE PRISON AND ITS ROUTINE
Reception of the prisoner--Cleanliness and order--The plan of the
prison--The cells--Their furniture--The diet--The clothing--Work--The
workshops--Separate confinement and association--Gratuities--Prison
offences--Complaints--Punishment cells--Visits of the chaplain--Visits
of representatives of the Churches--The gulf between visitor and
visited--The Chapel--The Salvation Army--Rest--Recreation--The prison
library--Lectures--The airing-yard--Physical drill.
Once prisoners are within the prison their condition is much more
comfortable than it had been when they were under the charge of the
policeman. When they leave the van their identity is checked and the
warrants for their detention are inspected. They are then passed into the
reception-room and are placed each in a separate box. They are taken one
by one and questioned as to certain details that are noted for purposes of
identification and for statistical records. Then comes the bath. The
prisoner removes all his clothing and an inventory of it is taken. When he
leaves the bath his own clothing has been replaced by a dress provided by
the State. His clothing is disinfected and placed aside in a bundle,
against the time of his liberation. He now receives a copy of the prison
rules, which he must obey; a Bible, which he may study; a hymn-book; an
industry-card, on which his earnings will be noted; and some other
articles; and he is passed on to prison. His life there is one of
monotonous routine whether his sentence be short or long.
The prison surprises visitors by its quiet and by the conspicuous
cleanliness which is its characteristic feature. Yet it is not surprising
that people should be able to keep the place clean and tidy, when they
have little else to do and no opportunity for making it dirty and untidy.
The cleanliness and tidiness of a prison is different from that of any
household. It is not the cleanliness and tidiness of healthy life. It is
part of the prisoner's work to keep his cell and its furniture in order.
One thing visitors cannot miss seeing, yet do not observe, though it is of
much more significance than the cleanliness they admire: the good temper
and tractability of the prisoners. That a prisoner should be clean is
wonderful; that people who have been committing breaches of the peace,
assaults, thefts, and have been generally a nuisance or a terror to the
public, should be moving about at work or at exercises quietly and
peaceably, should be so obedient and tractable that one warder can look
after twenty of them and seldom have anything to report to their
discredit, is far more wonderful. These people are sent to prison because
they cannot obey the law, but while in prison they are not rebellious; so
that it is reasonable to infer that there has been something in the
conditions of their life outside which has led them into misconduct, and
not that they are inherently incapable of behaving themselves.
The modern prison is built on a simple plan. Roughly it may be described
as two blocks of cells joined by a gable at each end and roofed over; a
well being left between the blocks and lighted from the roof. All the
cells have windows in the outer, and doors in the inner, walls. Balconies
run round these inner walls, from which access is had to the cells in each
flat. The cells in which the prisoners are confined are apartments
measuring about 10 ft. by 7 ft. by 10 ft. high. The partitions and roofs
of the cells are of whitewashed brickwork, and the floor of stone and
asphalt. Each cell has a little window in the wall near the door glazed
with obscured glass, and on the outside of these windows a gas bracket is
placed. At night the cell is lit by this arrangement, which diminishes the
amount of light and fixes its source in a corner. It is designed to
prevent any person from attempting suicide by inhalation of gas; but in
institutions where attempts at suicide are more likely to take place other
means have been found to prevent the adoption of this method. It ensures
that one hundred thousand people are inconvenienced in order that one may
be prevented from ending his discomfort. There are other ways of breaking
a walnut than crushing it with a steam-hammer.
A prison cell does not contain much furniture. The bed is a wooden shutter
hinged to the wall, so that it can be folded up during the day-time. When
not in use the bedding is rolled together and placed in a corner of the
apartment. Convicted male prisoners who are under sixty years of age are
not allowed a mattress during the first thirty days of their imprisonment;
they just lie on the board. I do not suppose that anybody imagines that a
man is more likely to lead a new life if he is made to sleep on a bare
board, than he would be if he were allowed a mattress. It is intended to
hurt, and it will hurt the more sensitive in a greater degree than those
of a coarser constitution. It is a part of the system, and will go with it
when people wake up to the fact that it is a senseless thing to set about
to irritate and annoy others.
Of late years it has been discovered that prisoners were as little likely
to escape if their cells were well lit as they would be their cells being
ill lit. The windows have consequently been enlarged and nobody has been
the loser. The cell at the best is not a place to inspire cheerfulness,
but an effort has been made to make the place less bare. Some years ago a
six-inch circle of glass was attached to the wall in many cells. The glass
was of that variety that distorts everything seen through it when it is
used for windows, and when it is silvered and converted into a mirror the
effect is peculiar.
The walls of some of the cells are decorated with a chromolithograph, such
as is given to customers as a calendar by many shopkeepers at the New Year
time. The mirror and the print, bad work and bad art though they may be,
relieve the bare, ugly walls of the cells, and indicate a consciousness
that the present system is not quite so perfect as it might be. Whether
any such mitigations (if it can always be called a mitigation to see your
face twisted out of shape and to gaze upon a sentimental chromo) are
worthy of the fuss made about them is another matter, for the main
question is not whether imprisonment should be mitigated, but--what is its
object?
In Scotland the diet prescribed is a very simple one. In quantity it is
ample for the needs of the great majority of the prisoners. Indeed, a fair
proportion receive more than they are fit to consume. The medical officer
may reduce a diet to prevent waste; or he may increase a diet, if in his
view the prisoner requires more food. As I believe that nearly every man
knows his own needs a great deal better than the diet specialist, a
request from a prisoner for more food is never refused provided he is
consuming all he gets. A request for a change of food is quite another
thing; but a man who for gluttony would gorge himself with the diet
provided for prisoners would be a curiosity.
The food is excellent in quality, but there is not much variety. There are
three meals daily. Porridge and sour milk with bread form the morning and
evening meals, and the dinner usually consists of broth and bread. This is
the ordinary routine diet, and one can understand that after a time it is
not unnatural there should be longings for a change. It is a simple diet
and is sufficient. The death-rate in prisons is small. The improvement in
the health of broken-down and habitually debauched persons during their
term of imprisonment is marked, and there can be no doubt that the regimen
saves many of them from death and prolongs their lives.
In these days the benefits of sour milk have been preached by the
scientific man, and the culture of the lactic-acid bacillus has become a
recognised industry. In the Scottish prisons the inmates have had the
advantage of its beneficent operations for many years, though they did not
know its name and would have been glad to have seen sweet milk rather than
sour. The state of their health forms a strong argument for the advocates
of the simple life, yet most of them would choose greater variety in food,
though they should die a few years earlier.
The clothing of prisoners, as regards cutting and material, resembles
nothing seen outside. The untried male is officially clothed in brown
corduroy, and when convicted he exchanges this for white mole-skin. The
surface of the cloth used to be decorated with broad-arrows, so that the
prisoner looked like a person in a prehistoric dress over which some
gigantic hen had walked after puddling in printer's ink; but this has
been discontinued.
The cut of the clothing seems to be designed to save cloth, and so long as
the prisoner is kept warm he does not concern himself about the
unfashionable character of his clothes. As for the women's dress, being a
mere man I cannot describe it; but ladies who visit the prison seem to be
agreed that it is plain and neat. It is certainly strikingly different
from anything they wear.
It is a rule that all convicted prisoners shall wear prison clothes. There
are not very many of them whose own clothing is clean enough for them to
wear, and not a few are more ragged than they need be. Whether they would
not be better employed in cleaning and mending their own clothes than in
doing many of the things they are required to do is a question that might
be considered. It certainly does not seem reasonable that because a person
has offended we should thrust upon him our hospitality to the extent of
causing him to use clothing provided by us, if he has clothing of his own
that he can decently wear. His own clothing has been placed aside while
under our care, and at the expiry of his sentence it may be handed back to
him as it was taken from him, excepting for the creases it has acquired in
the interval. It would cost more trouble to the officials to set prisoners
to improve their own appearance than to set them to break stones, and yet
it might not be a bad thing to do nothing for a man, not even to provide
him with clothing, if he can do it for himself.[2]
[2] _The Rules for Prisons in Scotland_, 1854, ordain that the Matron
"should ascertain how far those prisoners who are committed for
considerable periods are deficient in a knowledge of domestic matters,
such as cooking, washing, and repairing clothes, and instruct them in
these things. She should encourage prisoners, in their spare time, to
put their own clothes into a good state of repair before they leave
the Prison, and in some cases to make new clothes for themselves. And,
lastly, she should learn what their prospects are on leaving prison;
and with the aid of the Governor and Chaplain, do what she can to
procure suitable situations for them."
This rule is omitted from the edition of 1875, and subsequently; but
it is greatly in advance of anything that has been substituted for it.
When prisoners' sentences exceed a certain term their own clothing is
washed, and at the end of their imprisonment it is restored to them clean.
This teaches them that if they do not keep their clothing clean it will be
cleaned for them. At any rate, it does not teach them to do the necessary
work themselves; but then it is much easier to do things for some people
than to teach them to do these things for themselves.
The work provided for prisoners varies in kind in different districts, but
it has one common characteristic, which is that few could earn a living by
it outside. It has been said by those who ought to know better that the
prisons cannot undertake anything but the lowest kinds of unskilled
labour, because of the objections made by trade unions. These societies
are no more infallible in their wisdom than their critics, but they do not
adopt the foolish attitude attributed to them. Like employers of labour,
they have objected to unfair competition on the part of prisons, and quite
properly have taken steps to prevent underselling on the part of the
authorities. Prisons are not self-supporting institutions, and, in the
nature of things as they exist, cannot be made to defray the expenditure
incurred in their upkeep. Most prisoners could quite well earn the cost of
their food and clothing; but the cost of their supervision is greatly in
excess of the cost of their board. It does not take much to keep a
prisoner, but it takes a good deal to keep me and my colleagues, and that
is a necessary part of the expenditure incurred on behalf of the
institution.
The prison accounts, as published, show a profit in some departments of
prison labour, but this is arrived at by the ingenuous way of leaving out
everything but the cost of material and (if the work is not for an outside
customer) so much an hour for every prisoner engaged at it. If a
manufacturer had only these items to consider there would be fewer
bankrupts and more wealthy men; and if the price of goods were determined
on an estimate of cost which only included these items plus a reasonable
profit, it is quite clear that prison labour could undersell free labour.
The trade unions and the private employers have simply insisted on
prison-made goods being sold at prices which will not cut the market rate.
Prison labour is never so efficient as free labour, and though the
employment of prisoners to do prison work may be justified on other
grounds, it cannot be defended on an economic basis. It has often been
suggested that tradesmen who have been convicted should be allowed to work
at their trades while undergoing imprisonment; thereby they would be kept
in practice, and would be less unfitted to resume their ordinary
occupation on the expiry of their sentence; but a little consideration of
the facts will show that however desirable this might be it is not
practicable. In prison at any one time there may be a number of tradesmen,
but their occupations are very different; and in many cases they are of
such a character that even if work for them could be had it could not be
undertaken owing to the fact that expensive machinery would require to be
installed.
Even where the work is of such a kind that it could be done in prison it
cannot be obtained for other reasons. In Glasgow prison, where there are
more women than men incarcerated, a laundry was started some years ago,
and customers were invited to send in their washing to be done at ordinary
outside rates. The washing is done by hand and no modern laundry machine
is employed. The result is that the articles cleaned are not subjected to
the same strain, and are likely to last longer. Before long difficulties
arose, and it became perfectly clear that these were not due to any action
on the part of outside laundries, with which the prison was competing, but
to inherent defects in the prison laundry. No business will be successful
for long unless it keeps faith with its customers, who require to have
their work done and delivered in proper condition within a fixed period.
Sometimes there are skilled laundresses among the prisoners, and at other
times there are not. Washing may be a very simple process, not requiring
much training (although a great many occupations are considered, by those
who do not undertake them, to be quite easy, but are difficult to those
who try them for the first time), but it requires some skill to starch and
iron clothing in a satisfactory way. Customers found this out for
themselves. Work of that kind, and it seems a simple kind, is difficult to
get, not because competing firms outside put obstacles in the way, but
because the customer has no guarantee that he will have it done regularly
to his satisfaction.
The workshops vary in kind in different prisons, but they have the common
character of differing from any workshop outside a prison. The ability and
experience possessed by the managers of prisons are not the same kind as
those present in managers of workshops outside. The training has been
quite different. The outside man may be very proud of his working
arrangements, but if his balance-sheet is unsatisfactory his pride is
effectively checked. There is no such check to the satisfaction of those
who manage prisons. When one remembers that they are the sole authorised
critics of their own work, it is not surprising that its character should
differ from that produced by industrial concerns outside. As a general
rule prisoners are engaged at unskilled labour. Some of them are
associated at work, but always under the supervision of an officer, who
sees that they do not engage in conversation with each other.
Public attention has been directed to the cruelty of solitary confinement,
and nothing that has been said or written on the subject could be too
strong in its condemnation. The term "Solitary Confinement" is generally
objected to and that of "Separate Confinement" substituted for it; but the
public need not concern itself with differences which are merely
technical. The practice of rigidly enforcing silence and attempting to
prevent any but the merest official interviews or associations between a
prisoner and others will do as much serious harm under whatever name it is
called. Experience has shown that the association of prisoners with each
other in the absence of strict supervision may result in general
corruption, but rational efforts to prevent this evil can be made without
the risk of inducing a greater.
It is against the rules for prisoners to engage in conversation with one
another; and the officers are not in a position to talk much to them
except on business, even if they had the inclination to do so.
Prisoners may not be the most suitable company for each other; but, in the
case of most of them, to shut one in to no company but himself can only
result in his mental deterioration, and there can be no doubt that some
have been driven towards insanity through this treatment.
It is not an uncommon characteristic of old convicts that they show
delusions of suspicion and of persecution, and this is not to be wondered
at when one considers the narrowness of their life in prison, and the
undue importance that is apt to be placed on little things by a man who is
denied rational intercourse with others and whose natural curiosity is
repressed.
The more monotonous his life, the more his mind is compelled to dwell on
the trivial incidents that are happening around him; the more he is shut
in to himself, the greater the tendency for him to become twisted
mentally. The fresher and more varied his interest is kept in things
outside of himself the better for him and for others.
The tendency of late years has all been towards a less rigid application
of the rules which are designed to enforce silence, and there is now more
reasonable association of prisoners than ever there has been, and less
tendency when they are associated for their attention to be strained in an
effort to watch at the same time their work and the warder who is
supervising it.
When they are under supervision by a sensible person there is very little
danger of their doing or saying things that would be harmful; and as at
night they are all in separate cells, the corruption that sometimes takes
place in institutions where the dormitory system is in use is not
possible.
Amongst prisoners in Glasgow there has never in my experience been any
chance for the development of a brooding, suspicious, unhealthy habit. The
fact that so many untried prisoners are detained there, necessarily under
conditions more favourable than the convicted, has made the place one in
which the life is more varied and in which rules could be less readily
enforced than in some other establishments. There have been more
occurrences taking place under the prisoners' eyes, and they have had more
to interest them.
A good deal of the work is done in association, and that which is done in
the cells is usually engaged in by prisoners who are detained for short
terms; but even in their case they are not left alone for long periods.
Visits to them are frequent for one purpose or another, and there is no
attempt made to harass or drive them. Still, at the best, the life is not
a healthy one from the mental standpoint.
Work and good conduct are rewarded by marks. Prisoners whose sentence
exceeds fourteen days, and who are not on hard labour, may earn four marks
per day. For every six marks earned one penny is allowed as a gratuity to
the prisoner at the expiry of his sentence, and this may be paid to him on
his discharge, or he may receive it through one or other of the Aid
Societies after his liberation. Hard-labour prisoners may receive a
gratuity of one shilling a month if their conduct and work have been
satisfactory.
The Governor sees each prisoner daily in order to hear any complaint that
may arise, either on the part of the prisoner or of the warder; but the
visit otherwise is a formal one, as visits of inspection usually are. If
the prisoner has a complaint or a request to make it is examined or
attended to. Should there be a complaint against the prisoner the parties
are heard and judgment is given. There are numerous acts which are
offences in prison, and the governor has power in minor cases to deal with
them and to award punishment at his discretion; but in no case involving a
change of diet or the infliction of any physical discomfort can the
punishment be carried out until the prisoner is certified by the Medical
Officer to be fit to stand it.
The prisoner may offend in a great variety of ways, as through
carelessness breaking a dish; through idleness failing to perform his
task; through untidiness keeping his cell in an unsatisfactory condition;
he may be insolent and insubordinate towards the officers; or he may be
convicted of speaking to another prisoner or of making unauthorised
communications. The offences for the most part are trifling in character
and would not be offences outside the prison, but if the system is to be
maintained the offenders must be dealt with.
In more serious cases the offender is tried by a member of the Visiting
Committee of the prison or by a Prison Commissioner. In some cases the
conclusion cannot be escaped that offences are due more to an
incompatibility of temperament between the prisoner and those over him
than to anything else. A prisoner may behave and work well when under the
supervision of one officer, and may do badly when under the care of
another. Some people can manage those under them better than others; but
not infrequently the prisoner is neither a malicious person nor the warder
a stupid person, and yet they cannot get on together. The obvious thing to
do is to separate them; the easy thing to do is to punish the prisoner.
Sometimes assaults are made on warders by prisoners. In sixteen years'
experience I have seen very few, and the assailants were usually
half-witted creatures who had conceived a dislike, which did not seem to
be founded on any tangible reason, against the person assailed. In my
opinion these cases should never be tried in prison. Offences committed in
prison which would be cognisable by the criminal authorities if committed
outside should be tried in an open Court. I do not suggest that the
prisoner would be treated unjustly if tried in prison, but it cannot be
denied that the atmosphere is not favourable to his receiving the
impression that he is getting what he would call "a fair show"; and the
trial of a man before a Court consisting of those interested in the
management of prisons, on the complaint of a prison official, and without
the presence of any members of the general public, is not calculated to
inspire confidence.
Prisoners are at liberty to make any complaint to the Prison Commissioners
in writing, and the governor is obliged to forward it; or they may
communicate direct with the Secretary for Scotland without the writing
being seen by the prison officials. Such complaints may be referred to
those complained against for answer, and if the result is not satisfactory
a special enquiry may take place.
Each prison has its punishment cells--places for the incarceration of
unruly prisoners. Under rational management there is no use for them
except temporarily, and then only to prevent the prisoner from injuring
himself or others, or from annoying other prisoners by noise, in a fit of
temper suggestive of insanity.
It is one of the Chaplain's duties to visit the prisoners, and although it
is intended that he should minister to them spiritual consolation, that
term may mean anything in practice. A man, whether a clergyman or not, who
puts himself in a position of censor of morals to his fellows, is not
regarded by them with any degree of affection or respect, unless he does
not stop there. Few people like to be talked down to, whether they are in
prison or out of it. A superior attitude adopted towards some is more
likely to draw out their evil qualities, and to excite them to bad temper
and wrath, than to help them. I do not think Prison Chaplains in Scotland,
whether belonging to one denomination or another, are given to the
practice of assuming that with those whom they address necessarily lies
all the blame for their position. There is more a disposition to pity than
to blame, although an attitude of pity is sometimes a greater insult than
one of censure and may irritate as deeply.
There has been a growing disposition to say kind things to and of
prisoners. We may believe that more can be done by the kind look than by
the harsh word, and lose sight of the fact that pity and sympathy are two
quite different things. The fact of the matter is that nobody is able to
assess justly the amount of blame to be attached to a man for his
misdeeds, and the amount to be placed to the discredit of society; but in
few cases is anyone helped by being encouraged to believe that he is free
from blame, that he could not do any better than he has done.
Prisoners are not different from others in their tendency to put the best
construction on their own behaviour. An astonishing number are in jail
because they had bad neighbours. According to their statements, they could
get along all right if it were not for the people next door. It may be
quite true to some extent, but they are not to be helped in mending their
own conduct by attention to the faults of their neighbours. I do not
suggest that this attitude on their part, this disposition to prove how
comparatively stainless they are and how objectionable are those with whom
they have been brought in contact, is due to the ministrations of the
clergy, but merely that it affects their estimate of the ministers of
religion.
The attitude of the prisoner towards the minister is one thing; his
attitude towards the doctor, for instance, is quite another. The Chaplain
desires to be regarded as a friend of the prisoner, and that by many he is
so regarded there can be no doubt; but unfortunately, with some of them,
they seem to measure friendship by their ability to humbug the friend, and
the value of the clergyman by what they can put into him which may tell in
their favour when he estimates their character, and by what they can get
out of him in the way of material help. The Chaplain is sometimes
swindled, but so are we all; his office and his message make him a mark
for the shafts of the wicked. He sees one side of the prisoner better than
any other official, and if he has counterfeit penitents he has also real
ones. His visits may be a source of encouragement and strength to the
prisoner; but whatever spiritual effect his teaching may have--whether it
be great or little--if he has a human interest in those he visits, in so
far as his character commands respect his ministrations tend to prevent
the prisoner from sinking under the monotony of the discipline to which he
is subjected.
Representatives of various religious agencies visit prisoners. They are
remarkable for their earnestness and zeal, but there is often a fatal
difference of standpoint between visitor and visited. A girl brought up in
a slum, seeing and hearing sights and sounds which are an outrage on
decency; working for long hours to earn a scanty living; housed rather
worse than many horses and dogs; ill-taught and ill-cared for; has
transgressed the law and been sent to prison. She knows she is to blame
for doing the thing she has done in the way she has done it, but she and
those like her regard her imprisonment as in some degree an accident. It
is difficult to describe the standpoint. In a busy street where there is
a constant stream of horses and mechanical traffic going in different
directions and at different rates of speed, there is always danger to the
passenger who seeks to cross; and occasionally someone is run down and
hurt. The injured party is always to blame to some extent, and is hurt
because he has failed to estimate the danger accurately and to avoid it
successfully; but others may be to blame also. The fault is never wholly
on one side. To the girl the law resembles the traffic in the street; and
when she is knocked down she and her friends regard her as the victim of
misfortune.
That is not the standpoint of the visitor. She may have known nothing of
the trials and temptations of the poor, save what she has seen from the
outside. Hunger has never been her attendant; poverty has been unknown to
her. She has received attention and care in her early days; has not been
tasked beyond her strength; has been able to choose her own work and do it
in her own time; has been well housed and well fed; and has found it easy
to obey the law. Between the two a great gulf is fixed. Their outlook is
as different as their experience.
It is a great mistake to assume that the rich know more of the poor than
the poor know of the rich. The street-corner spouter may denounce the
luxury of the wealthy and expose himself to their ridicule. They know that
they are not as he paints them, and they laugh or sneer at his ignorance;
but they are as little qualified to judge him as he is to judge them. Each
sees the other's vices; and every visitor is as much a subject of
criticism by the prisoner as a critic.
It is as unreasonable to expect that a woman in prison will give her
confidence to a stranger who visits her, as it would be for the prisoner
to expect that the visitor would submit to her questions. One thing is
absolutely certain, and that is that visitors do not do the good they
imagine they are doing when they pass from one cell to another exhorting
the prisoners to better behaviour. They stir up the emotions of those to
whom they minister, and some of the women find great consolation and
relief in a good cry. There are those, however, who have learned to
distrust the possibility of wholesale reform of prisoners, and who single
out some one whom it seems possible to help and hang on to her, visit and
encourage her on her liberation, and have their reward in the
consciousness that they have really rendered effective assistance where it
was needed.
The ideal held up by the visitors in their advice to prisoners too often
seems impossible of attainment by those to whom it is presented. There are
some who have no ambition to live within the law, but there are many who
would rather do so if they could. Most of us have not in us the capacity
to become great saints; and to ask the ordinary person to conform to a
standard which would present difficulties to us, does not seem reasonable.
Something is gained if, though you fail to persuade a person to be good,
you can induce him to be better than he has been. Just as many have
drifted into evil courses step by step, they may be led into a better way
of living by degrees. Sudden conversions are not uncommon, but they are
not the rule. The visits to prisoners on the part of people from outside
are of great benefit; anything is that breaks the monotony of the day; and
if the visitors are receptive they may learn a good deal from the
prisoners, and may be made the better for their visit even though they
fail to make the impression they desire on those to whom they have
spoken.
There are three forms of religion recognised in prison: the Presbyterian,
Roman Catholic, and Episcopalian. A service is held once a week by a
clergyman of each of these Churches, and the Presbyterians go out to
prayers daily.
The chapel has a more or less ecclesiastical appearance, and is divided in
such a way that the male and the female prisoners do not see each other,
though the preacher can see both divisions. Most of the prisoners do not
attend religious services when they are at liberty, but some make an
ingenious distinction between religion and conduct. I remember one old
woman who had grown grey and almost blind after a long course of vicious
and criminal conduct. She was eloquent regarding a person whom she
described as being "nae better than an infidel." I replied that "at least
he had kept out of prison," and she replied, "Aye; but though I have been
a drunkard, a blackguard, and a thief, thank God I never neglected my
religion."
I do not know whether the Salvation Army representatives are more
effective as religious agents than the other visitors. Their work is
certainly better advertised, and they belong usually to the same social
rank as many of the prisoners. The religion they teach, if more
emotionally expressed, is not different from that taught by the other
visitors; but they can appeal to the prisoner more effectively because
they are better able than many others to appreciate and sympathise with
the difficulties and temptations under which the wrongdoer has fallen.
Many of those in prison are not there because of idleness. They have
worked harder in their day than the people who talk eloquently about the
dignity of labour. Neither are they there because, like the heathen, they
have never heard the message of the gospel. As a matter of fact, most of
them can never get away from the voice of the preacher for any long time,
for the evangelists are abroad nightly singing hymns and exhorting the
public in all the poorer working-class districts. They have worked hard
enough to earn money and are in prison because they have not known how to
spend it wisely. In prison they are not taught useful work, and as little
are they taught how to recreate themselves after work. Their day may be
divided into four parts: There is a time for eating; there is a time for
working; and what they do and what food they have has already been shown.
There is a time for sleeping: they go to bed early in the evening and rise
early in the morning. "Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man----"
well, it doesn't. At any rate, the inmates of the prison have not
attracted attention hitherto on account of their wealth or their wisdom.
Then there is a time left for meditation.
Every prisoner has his Bible and his Prayer Book. I am far from suggesting
that this is a provision that should not be made, but by this time it will
be generally admitted that mere Bible reading, or praying, when a prisoner
is in a measure compelled to it, are not likely to have the most
beneficial effect. It is a useful thing occasionally to be able to quote
scripture, and some of those who have spent a considerable portion of
their lives in prison have stored their memory with a large and varied
assortment of texts, which they are prepared to use when they think a
profit is to be made thereby. A profession of reformation seems to have a
more powerful effect when buttressed with texts of scripture, and an
appeal for help on the part of the penitent is more likely to succeed when
heard by the godly, many of whom are exceedingly kind to those who show a
disposition to conform to their theological standards.
Persons whose sentences exceed fourteen days may have books from the
prison library with which to beguile their time. The books provided
resemble the clothing, in respect that it is greatly a matter of chance as
to whether they suit the person who gets them. I have seen an illiterate
lad from the slums hopelessly wrestling with an elementary manual on
Electricity and Magnetism. I suppose this would be regarded as an
educational work. The library is carefully selected with the intention of
excluding all pernicious literature--certainly the sensational is passed
by--but we all differ in our ideas as to the value of books; I myself
would describe some popular works as pernicious literature; and many of
the papers that one set of people appreciate and are able to read without
apparent injury are of no use to others. The complaint which has been made
that prison libraries contain a great deal of poor stuff, and do not
contain a sufficient representation of the classic writers, leaves out of
account the fact that these classic writers are more talked about than
read. The popular novelist of to-day has a larger audience in his own
generation than ever Shakespeare had. The one writer is read during his
lifetime, the other finds his audience all through the ages. In a prison,
as in all institutions, the attempt is made to work to an average. When
the educated person appears in prison let us refrain from insulting his
intelligence by giving him books to read which he despises; but he must
remember that others are not as he is, and that they may even derive
stimulus and benefit from those works which can only annoy him.
The untried prisoner may have newspapers and magazines sent in to him as
well as books, unless, indeed, the Visiting Committee refuse to permit
this. He can choose suitable literature for himself provided his friends
are willing to send it to him, but immediately he is convicted he has no
choice in the matter. The State is his librarian; and it seems a little
absurd that the taxpayer should be charged for providing him with things
which he does not want, and which can do him no good, if he or his friends
could, at their own expense, procure him books he would enjoy.
Of late years lectures have been given to prisoners, and occasionally
concerts have been provided for them. The lectures have been on all kinds
of subjects. Some of them have dealt with travel and have been illustrated
by limelight views; others have dealt with sanitation, physiology, and the
treatment of common ailments; others have taken the form of cookery
demonstrations; and the prison audience is invariably more appreciative
than most audiences outside. They enjoy anything that breaks the dulness
of their routine life. No sensible person expects that the lectures will
make them travellers, or physiologists, or cooks, though an interest in
these subjects may be kindled by the lecturer. Few people are ever
lectured into a change of life, but anything that prevents them from
sinking into apathy, from brooding on the petty incidents that go to make
up their lives in prison, from beating against the bars of their cage, is
beneficial.
There are those who protest against making the prison too comfortable and
who seem to believe that people want to go there. There need be no fear of
this. A cage is a cage even though it be gilded, and they are few indeed
who seek imprisonment. Occasionally you have some saying they prefer the
prison to the poorhouse. I have worked in both places and wholly agree
with their preference, but that is not a testimony to the desirability of
life in prison, but a reproach to the poorhouse. Those who support efforts
to lessen the monotony of prison life are not moved by any desire that the
prisoners may have a good time. For my own part, I am not concerned to
make their lot less mechanical merely for their sakes, but for the sake of
the community of which they are a part. I believe that imprisonment has
been shown to have a bad effect on those who suffer it, and as some day
they are to be turned loose on the community, it is advisable to prevent
them being liberated in a condition that would make them more dangerous to
their fellow-citizens, or more troublesome, than they were before their
arrest.
Outside the block of cells is an airing-yard, which consists of a space
round which two narrow paved walks run. On these the prisoners take their
exercise, each walking for an hour daily for the benefit of his health;
separated by a space from the prisoner in front and the prisoner behind
him, and watched by a warder lest any conversation or sign of recognition
takes place between him and his fellows. The elderly or physically
defective prisoners walk round the inner ring, where the pace is slower.
Some of the female prisoners undergo a course of instruction in Swedish
drill. Their opinion is expressed in the name by which the exercise is
known. It is called the "Daft hour," and they enjoy it. As to its
usefulness from an industrial standpoint the less said the better. It does
no harm and it is a pleasant break in the day. In short, the prisoners are
better employed in going through the drill than in doing something worse.