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The prisoner

Peter Wayne is planning to catch the conscience of the Home Secretary's wife with a Robert Browning play

By Peter Wayne   May 1997

Our therapeutic community inside Her Majesty’s Prison Channings Wood is having a rough ride indeed. Opposition to any sort of change is pandemic in a prison service for the most part still staffed by grey, uninterested men with resentful attitudes derived from the prison philosophies of the 19th century.

This morning there was a prime example of the ongoing battle between thuggery and therapy. Saturdays are always short days for prisoners (or “residents” as the therapy staff now refer to us). Come 4pm, the corned beef and greasy chips have already been served and hungrily devoured, and the community is…

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