by Barrie Jones
Chapter XI. Henry recounts examples of good and bad prison warders in Portland Prison.
The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 9th April 1910, page 11.
Chapter XI
During the whole time I was at Portland, I never kept myself four months clear of a report, although I had a clean sheet on my arrival there. I can well remember a certain officer at Portland, who was truly a good man and quite different from all the rest. He had been over twenty-five years in the service and was well up to all the games practised by lags, and it would take a good man to take him down. I can remember saying something to him in the year 1900 in the separate cells, when he was engaged at the time giving me a special searching according to orders. He said something in answer to one thing I told him, and I said, “Now speak the truth.” “Speak the truth,” says he, “I never speak the truth in all my life, and I am not going to start now.” Of course, I know that was merely a joke of his, for I have reason to believe that he was one of the most truthful officers in the whole prison.
He did me a kindness, although small in its way, and I thought a great deal of it. I happened to be undergoing a course of bread and water punishment, and it was at Christmas. When he handed me my eight-ounce punishment loaf he remarked, “Look here, Williams, my boy,” says he, “you have a long sentence, and I am heartily sorry to see you on a day like this on bread and water, but hang it,” says he, “I will break the rules for once in my life.” Whereupon he immediately went to the cookhouse, which was situated 50 yards away, and brought me another loaf, although it was strictly contrary to rules, and I do believe he would have gladly given me a plum pudding if he dared. Many a time I had good advice from that man, for a man he was in the best sense of the word, but where there is to be found one good officer you will find many the reverse.
I remember one who used to take charge of parties when the regular officer would be doing night duty, and he would lose no time in reporting half the gang before the proper officer came back. This, of course, is done chiefly to show the other officer up, for even officers sometimes cut each other’s throats; that is to say, they do their best to get each other the sack, in order to make a name, so to speak. The man I am speaking of was always on the lookout for trouble. Properly speaking, he carried trouble in his pocket. I remember on one occasion a poor old warder, and one of the good sort, to give him his due, one day forgot accidentally to put the double lock on one of the cell doors, and the assistant warder happened to be on patrol shortly after, and while going around trying the doors, discovered a cell door on a single lock. Thinking to make his name quickly, he lost no time in giving information to the Senior Principal, with the result that the poor old warder was fined three half-crowns, what is called amongst officials half a sheet. This same officer was once in charge of a gang of convicts known as the special party, and they were employed in an enclosure where there were situated twelve separate boxes, and in the centre of each is a block of granite stone, fast to which is an iron hammer and ring, attached to a chain.
Each convict is employed breaking flint into dust, and as this is a dangerous form of employment they are supplied with wire goggles to protect the eyes. A convict was one day hammering away at a piece of this flint when suddenly it flew up and struck him in the eye, cutting right through the goggles, seriously injuring sight, and he had to go under an operation, but without success. When the Medical Officer made inquiries as to how the accident happened it was reported that the man did it purposely, with the intention of getting into the infirmary, but it was nothing of the kind. No man in his proper state of mind would injure his eyesight merely for the sake of a few days on hospital diet.
A few years later I met the same man at Parkhurst Prison, Isle-of-Wight; he had come back for a fresh term of penal servitude, and I could not help feeling sympathy towards him, for, sad to say, he was stone blind, the injured eye having affected the other one, and now the world is dark to him for ever. As to the truth of all this, the man can corroborate.
To be continued……