Prison Service Journal - Centre for Crime and Justice Studies · 4 ‘M ajor H’ — th el if nd...

This edition includes:

‘Major H’ — the life and times of a VictorianConvict Prison governor

David J. Cox and Joseph Hale

‘You cease to be a man’: masculinity and the‘gentleman convict’, c.1870-1914

Ben Bethell

The rebellion of the ‘basement lecturers’:The Wandsworth Prison Disturbances of 1918-19

Steve Illingworth

A forestalled campaign and a forgotten tragedy:the prison suicide of Edward Spiers in 1930

Alyson Brown

Revisiting the Borstal experiment,c. 1902-1982

Heather Shore

P R I S O N S E R V I C E

OURNALJMay 2020 No 249

Special Edition:

Understanding the Past II

Prison Service Journal Prison Service JournalIssue 249Issue 249

ContentsUnderstanding the past II Editorial CommentAlyson Brown and Dr Alana Barton

2

4 ‘Major H’ — the life and times of a VictorianConvict Prison governorDavid J. Cox and Joseph Hale

‘You cease to be a man’: masculinity and the‘gentleman convict’, c.1870-1914Ben Bethell

11

David J. Cox is a Reader in CriminalJustice History at The University ofWolverhampton and Joseph Hale is aLecturer in Criminology at TheUniversity of Wolverhampton andcurrently studying for a PhD.

Ben Bethell recently completed aPhD at Birkbeck, University ofLondon, on the ‘star class’ in late-Victorian and Edwardian convictprisons

Alyson Brown is a History Professorand Associate Head of English,History and Creative Writing at EdgeHill University and Dr Alana Bartonis a Reader in Criminology at Edge Hilluniversity Purpose and editorial arrangements

The Prison Service Journal is a peer reviewed journal published by HM Prison Service of England and Wales.

Its purpose is to promote discussion on issues related to the work of the Prison Service, the wider criminal justice

system and associated fields. It aims to present reliable information and a range of views about these issues.

The editor is responsible for the style and content of each edition, and for managing production and the

Journal’s budget. The editor is supported by an editorial board — a body of volunteers all of whom have worked

for the Prison Service in various capacities. The editorial board considers all articles submitted and decides the out-

line and composition of each edition, although the editor retains an over-riding discretion in deciding which arti-

cles are published and their precise length and language.

From May 2011 each edition is available electronically from the website of the Centre for Crimeand Justice Studies. This is available at http://www.crimeandjustice.org.uk/psj.html

Circulation of editions and submission of articles

Six editions of the Journal, printed at HMP Leyhill, are published each year with a circulation of approximately

6,500 per edition. The editor welcomes articles which should be up to c.4,000 words and submitted by email to

[email protected] or as hard copy and on disk to Prison Service Journal, c/o Print Shop Manager,HMP Leyhill, Wotton-under-Edge, Gloucestershire, GL12 8BT. All other correspondence may also be sent to the

Editor at this address or to [email protected].

Footnotes are preferred to endnotes, which must be kept to a minimum. All articles are subject to peer

review and may be altered in accordance with house style. No payments are made for articles.

Subscriptions

The Journal is distributed to every Prison Service establishment in England and Wales. Individual members of

staff need not subscribe and can obtain free copies from their establishment. Subscriptions are invited from other

individuals and bodies outside the Prison Service at the following rates, which include postage:

United Kingdom

single copy £7.00

one year’s subscription £40.00 (organisations or individuals in their professional capacity)

£35.00 (private individuals)

Overseas

single copy £10.00



Orders for subscriptions (and back copies which are charged at the single copy rate) should be sent with a

cheque made payable to ‘HM Prison Service’ to Prison Service Journal, c/o Print Shop Manager, HMP Leyhill,

Wotton-under-Edge, Gloucestershire, GL12 8BT.

17Steve Illingworth is a SeniorLecturer in History Education at EdgeHill University’


OURNALJ

Editorial Board

Dr Ruth ArmstrongUniversity of Cambridge

Dr Rachel BellHMP SendAlli Black

HMP KirkhamMaggie Bolger

Prison Service College, Newbold RevelProfessor Alyson Brown

Edge Hill UniversityGareth EvansIndependentDr Ben Crewe

University of CambridgeDr Sacha Darke

University of Westminster Dr Michael Fiddler

University of GreenwichDr Kate GoochUniversity of Bath

Dr Darren WoodwardCoventry University

Dr Jamie Bennett (Editor)HMPPS

Paul Crossey (Deputy Editor)HMP Huntercombe

Dr Ruth Mann (Reviews Editor)HMPPS

Steve HallIndependent

Professor Yvonne JewkesUniversity of Bath

Dr Helen JohnstonUniversity of HullDr Bill Davies

Leeds Beckett UniversityMartin Kettle

Church of EnglandDr Victoria KnightDe Montfort University

Monica LloydUniversity of Birmingham

Dr Amy LudlowUniversity of Cambridge

Dr David MaguireUniversity College, London

Professor Anne-Marie McAlindenQueen’s University, BelfastDr Karen HarrisonUniversity of HullWilliam PayneIndependentGeorge PughHMP BelmarshDr David ScottOpen University

Christopher StaceyUnlock

Ray TaylorHMPPS

Mike WheatleyHMPPS

Kim WorkmanRethinking Crime and Punishment, NZ

Dr David HoneywellUniversity of DurhamJackson JosephHMP Leyhill

The rebellion of the ‘basement lecturers’:The Wandsworth Prison Disturbances of 1918-19Steve Illingworth

Prison Service JournalIssue 249 1

May 2020

24 A forestalled campaign and a forgotten tragedy:the prison suicide of Edward Spiers in 1930Alyson Brown

27 Revisiting the Borstal experiment,c. 1902-1982Heather Shore

34

Heather Shore is a Professor ofHistory at Manchester MetropolitanUniversity.

34

36

Book ReviewThe Wiley Blackwell Handbook of ForensicNeuroscience Aarohi Khare

Aarohi Khare is a DoctoralResearcher at University of Kent

Cover courtesy HM Leyhill

The Editorial Board wishes to make clear that the views expressed by contributors are their own and donot necessarily reflect the official views or policies of the Prison Service.Printed at HMP Leyhill on 115 gsm and 200 gsm Galerie Art SatinSet in 10 on 13 pt Frutiger LightCirculation approx 6,500ISSN 0300-3558„ Crown Copyright 2019

Alyson Brown is a Professor ofHistory at Edge Hill University

Book ReviewThe Lucifer Effect: How Good People Turn EvilPaul Crossey

Paul Crossey is a Deputy Governor atHMP The Mount

Book ReviewThe Functioning of Social Systems as a Defenceagainst Anxiety: Report on a Study of theNursing Service of a General HospitalWilliam Payne

William Payne is a former prisongovernor and member of the PSJEditorial Board

Prison Service Journal2 Issue 249

This second special edition of the Prison ServiceJournal links to an earlier one published November2019. Many of the fascinating contributions to thesetwo editions derive from research papers given at theBritish Crime Historians Conference (Edge Hill University2018). The variety and number of the papersdemonstrated the wealth and quality of research oncrime history. The conference also celebrated thedecade since the first of those biennial conferences hadbeen held: a decade in which the study of crime historyhas gone from strength to strength. In that context wefelt it was important to bring that work to a wideraudience. Of course, it is not always possible forresearchers to attend conferences, so we followed upwith a call for interest in contributing to a specialedition of the Prison Service Journal. The total responsewas much more than we had anticipated so instead ofone special historical edition we decided to producetwo. That the editorial board of the Journal acceptedtwo editions is recognition of the importance ofhistorical work in understanding the twenty-firstcentury criminal justice system. Not that history can bemined in any straightforward and one-dimensional way,a mistake made all too often in media and political usesand abuses of history. Nevertheless, we ignore historicaldevelopments at our peril as structures, processes,philosophies and objectives have origins sometimes sodeeply embedded in the past that they can remainunquestioned and unproblematised in the present.

The editorial comment in our first PSJ edition of‘Understanding the Past’ observed briefly the risks ofignoring history. But another way to look at this is thatcriminologists, and indeed anyone with an interest whotakes the trouble to learn about how our currentcriminal justice system operates, are inescapablylearning about its history which is embodied in physical,administrative and legal structures. In this editorial wewish to highlight an approach that values theunderstanding of the past to more fully understand thepresent and which is evidenced in each of the articlespublished here. Tosh with Lang have examined thepursuit of history, its uses and social relevance at somelength. History, they state eloquently,

‘constitutes our most important cultural resource.It offers a means — imperfect but indispensable — ofentering the kind of experience that is simply notpossible in our own lives. Our sense of the heights towhich human beings can attain, and the depths towhich they may sink, the resourcefulness they mayshow in a crisis, the sensitivity they can show inresponding to each other’s needs — all these arenourished by knowing what has been thought anddone in the very different contexts of the past.’1

Ultimately, history is about human experience andhuman understanding; subjects that concern us all. Wemay not always value our rootedness in the past, butwe can see the vulnerability of those who lack roots.We must understand the foundations to build andgrow, whether that is on an individual level or asystemic one.

Beginning the edition with an individual focus,David Cox and Joseph Hale present a biographicalaccount of prisoner governor ‘Major H’. The authorsnote that, perhaps surprisingly, there are relatively fewhistorical accounts written about, or by, English prisongovernors. Drawing on contemporary prison recordsand personal journal entries, they examine the life,character and work of Major Robert Hickey, whobecame governor of Dartmoor prison in 1870. As anex-military man Hickey was a fairly typical governor forthe period but his short tenure at Dartmoor wascharacterised by a number of challenges and changes.During the 19th century prison governance becamemore structured, standardised, regulated andmonitored. This article explores Hickey’s ability (or insome instances, inability) to deliver his duties effectivelyin this period of transformation.

The following article shifts the focus from prisonofficials to prisoners themselves, albeit not thestereotypical 19th century offenders. Here, Ben Bethelldraws on biographical accounts of the so-called‘gentlemen convicts’ of the late 19th and early 20thcenturies, to analyse how and why these particularprisoners perceived themselves to be radically differentto ‘habitual’ or ‘professional’ criminals. Bethellexamines the self-perception of these men within the

Understanding the past II Editorial Comment

Alyson Brown is a Professor of History and Associate Head of English, History and Creative Writing at Edge HillUniversity and Dr Alana Barton is a Reader in Criminology at Edge Hill University

1. Tosh, J with Lang, S. (2006) The Pursuit of History. Harlow: Pearson 4th ed.


context of Victorian masculinity and the construction ofthe ‘English gentleman’. At this period, masculinitycould be understood to be defined not in terms of itsdistinction from femininity (which was seen as‘completing’ masculinity through the form of acompliant wife), but by its distinction from the lack ofself-control and mental inferiority represented by the‘criminal class’. Bethell argues that because of theseideological constructions, association with ‘inferior’groups through imprisonment was perceived by the‘gentleman convicts’ as an emasculating experience.

Another group of atypical prisoners in the early20th century consisted of those men imprisoned asconscientious objectors. Imprisoned between 1916 and1919, many of these men remained in prison after thewar ended in November 1918. Steve Illingworthdraws on contemporary source material to look at themeans of resistance conscientious objectors used toprotest at their continued imprisonment, solitaryconfinement and the restrictions placed on forms ofcommunication in Wandsworth prison, London,between September 2018 to April 1919. The protestwas unusual in that it involved collective singing andlectures, on left wing and radical topics, deliveredthrough the doors and ventilation grids of cells. Thecauses, nature and long term consequences of thisunusual example of prisoner resistance are discussed.

Whist some responses to prison regimes, likethose in Wandsworth, have taken the form of powerfulcollective action, the following article by AlysonBrown focuses on a much more individualised, harmful

and prevalent response to the ‘pains of imprisonment’.Discussing the suicide of Edward Spiers, sentenced to10 years’ penal servitude and 15 strokes of the ‘cat-o-nine tails’, she examines how this case began to raisepublic awareness and disquiet around the barbarity offlogging in the inter-war period. However, after theemergence of evidence to suggest Spiers’ suicide wasnot as a result of his fear of corporal punishment, butrather the prospect of a long prison sentence, concerndiminished and a potential campaign to abolishflogging was thwarted.

Heather Shore’s reflections on 80 years ofthe Borstal system concludes this edition. The Borstalsystem represented a dominant means of respondingto young offenders throughout the twentieth centuryyet, as Shore points out, relatively little attention hasbeen paid to it by crime historians. The idea originatedfrom the Gladstone Committee report (1895) and thesystem was perceived as being a ‘halfway house’between the prison and reformatory to provideeducation, training and healthy ‘moral influence’ overyoung offenders. The article charts the institution’sdevelopment and responses to it, from early criticismthat it offered nothing substantially different to prison,through its period of expansion and apparent ‘success’in the interwar years, to its use as an arena foracademic and political ‘experimentation’ and itsincreasing visibility in the public consciousness in thepost war period. Finally, Shore examines the demise ofBorstal, amid concerns around violence, brutality andracism in 1982.


IntroductionConsidering the importance of the role ofgovernor in the English prison system,surprisingly little has been written either by orabout such individuals.2 As Johnston comments,‘there has been little consideration of prison staffwho implemented […] regimes on a day-to-daybasis’.3 Former governors appear to have beensomewhat reticent about publishing theirmemoirs, especially those serving in Victorianconvict prisons. Whilst ‘gentlemen convicts’appear to have fallen over themselves in the rushto publish their usually anonymous andsensational memoirs in the 1870s and 1880s, littleis known about the governors under whosewatch such writers served their sentences.4 Thisarticle investigates the life and times of one suchgovernor; Major Robert John Fayrer Hickey, whowas Deputy Governor at both Portland andDartmoor convict prisons, and subsequentlyGovernor of Dartmoor prison for a period of justunder two years in the early 1870s, in an attemptto discover what such individuals did during theirtenure.5 This article, based upon contemporaryrecords which reflect Hickey’s work and character,

investigates both his life and times, with hiscareer being seen as typical for that of a governorof a convict prison; ex-military with many years ofexperience at running a tightly disciplined unit ofmen, followed by several years’ experience as adeputy governor.6 It discusses many of theproblems faced by such individuals; how togovern and maintain order over a body of oftenill-disciplined, fractious and disparate group ofoffenders, ranging from illiterate members of thelowest stratum of society to so-called ‘gentlemenconvicts’; middle-class fraudsters who had fallenspectacularly from a privileged background. It alsodiscusses the successes and failures of ‘Major H’within the wider context of a relatively newprison regime; that of penal servitude within aconvict prison, which was experiencingconsiderable change and resistance at the time ofhis appointment.

Background to the Victorian Convict Prison system

By the mid-nineteenth century, the use oftransportation (the major method of dealing with thepunishment of indictable crimes since the last quarter

‘Major H’ — the life and times of aVictorian Convict Prison governor1

David J. Cox is a Reader in Criminal Justice History at The University of Wolverhampton and Joseph Hale is aLecturer in Criminology at The University of Wolverhampton and currently studying for a PhD.

1. “Major H” is a reference to the self-penned moniker used by Hickey in a flyleaf dedication in a copy of the anonymously written prisonmemoir of a ‘gentleman convict’ (since identified as Edward Bannister Callow) entitled Five Years’ Penal Servitude By One WhoEndured It (London: Robert Bentley, 1877), owned by one of the article’s authors. The dedication reads ‘To the “Brothers Sillar” from“Major H.”, late Governor of Dartmoor, as a trifling token of the pleasure he has derived from their society and in grateful recognitionof many acts of kindness shewn him by them.’ July 8th 1880’. Hickey is referred to several times in the text of the book and wasobviously pleased to have achieved a certain amount of literary fame, as the book was a best-seller in its day, running to severaledition, and also being referred to in the Kimberley Commission Prison Report – see 1878-79 [C.2368] [C.2368-I] [C.2368-II] PenalServitude Acts Commission. Report of the commissioners appointed to inquire into the working of the penal servitude acts. Vol. I.—Commissions and report, index, p. 1276.

2. The occasional autobiographical account of a former governor has been written in recent years – see for example Duffin, C. andDuffin, H., Jail Tales: Memoirs of a ‘lady’ prison governor (Wairarapi NZ: Cumulus, 2011).

3. Johnston, H., ‘Moral Guardian? Prison Officers, Prison Practice and Ambiguity in the Nineteenth Century’, in Johnston, H., (ed)Punishment and Control in Historical Perspective (Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2008):77-94, p. 78.

4. For examples of such prisoner autobiographies, see Anon [E. B. Callow], Five Years’ Penal Servitude by one who has endured it(London: Bentley, 1877) or Anon, Revelations on Prison Life by one who has suffered (London: Potter, 1882). For further details of thelife and times of Edward Bannister Callow, see Cox, D. J., ‘Public and private perceptions of Victorian respectability – the life and timesof a ‘Gentleman Lag’, in HMP Prison Service Journal no. 232 (Special Edition, Small Voices, July 2017): 46-52.

5. The authors would like to express their gratitude and appreciation to Brian Dingle, Graham Edmondson and Paul Finegan of DartmoorPrison Museum for their invaluable help and enthusiasm whilst researching this article. Dr David J. Cox would also like to thank DrRichard Ireland for a fascinating discussion about the role of the early Victorian gaolers of Carmarthen Gaol – for further details, seeIreland, R. W., and Ireland, R. I., The Carmarthen Gaoler’s Journal 1845-1850 Parts One and Two (Bangor: Cymdeithhas Hanes CyfraithCymru/The Welsh Legal History Society, 2008 [vols. Viii and ix]), and Ireland, R. W., A Want of Good Order and Discipline: Rules,Discretion and the Victorian Prison (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2007).

6. The two main contemporary documents are Hickey’s Governor’s Journal, 1871-2 (Dartmoor Prison Museum) and Report of theCommissioners appointed to inquire into the Treatment of Treason-Felony Convicts in English prisons Vol.1 The Report and appendix(London: HMSO, 1871).


of the eighteenth century) was being questioned byboth the UK government and the Australian authoritiesin terms of cost and effectiveness. Almost 160,000 men,women and children as young as nine had been sent toAustralia to serve sentences ranging from seven years tolife imprisonment between 1787 and 1853, but thesystem was increasingly perceived to be deeply flawed athome and bitterly resented in the new and burgeoningcolony.7 Between 1850 and 1868 an alternative systemof punishment known as penal servitude wasintroduced, whereby convicted offenders would, insteadof being shipped overseas, serve their sentence withinstate-run convict prisons. They would spend a period ofseveral months in separation whilst at ‘Governmentprisons’ such as Millbank or Pentonville, followed by alonger period in associationundertaking ‘Public Works’ (hardlabour used to construct militarydefences and roads or on similarprojects to improve the publicinfrastructure) in convict prisons,before often being released onlicence if their behaviour whilstincarcerated met certainstandards.8 Their sentencesinitially ranged from three years tolife imprisonment. For those whocould not cope physically with theharsh demands of such labour, asystem of ‘light labour’ — forexample tailoring or shoemaking— was introduced and severalconvict prisons also contained an‘invalid’ wing. Dartmoor Prison(originally built to house French prisoners-of-war duringthe Napoleonic Wars) was one such prison, and it was tothis place of confinement that Major Hickey wasappointed Deputy Governor in December 1867.

Major Robert John Fayrer Hickey

Robert John Fayrer Hickey (1827-1889) was bornat sea on the East India Company ship Lady Flora on 30May 1827. The ship (captained by Lieutenant RobertJohn Fayrer after whom Hickey was named), was enroute from Bengal to Portsmouth. Hickey was the sonof an East India Company employee, and initially

followed a military path, being commissioned as aSecond Lieutenant, Bengal European Regiment (laterBengal Fusiliers, now Royal Munster Fusiliers) in June1845. On 20 August 1845 he sailed for Calcutta on theP&O paddle steamer Oriental, later beingcommissioned as First Lieutenant on 17 June 1848. Heenjoyed a successful military career, being awarded amedal and clasp after seeing action in Pegu (Burma) in1852-3, and being commissioned as Captain on 7 June1857.9 He retired from the Indian Army on full pay on 3August 1864, being made a Brevet Major.10 Like so manyof his military colleagues he seems to have soughtemployment in another highly disciplined arena; that ofa convict prison. Between November 1864 andDecember 1867, he served as Deputy Governor at

Portland Convict Prison, and inDecember 1867 he wasappointed as a Deputy Governorof Dartmoor Prison. He succeededCaptain Butt as Governor ofDartmoor Prison on 6 January1870, where he remained until 11October 1872.11 A contemporaryaccount of his appearance whenhe was Deputy Governor ofDartmoor Prison survives; he isdescribed as follows:

With his back to thefireplace, behind the Chief[Warder], stood a gentleman inmufti, who I needed not a secondglance to see was a soldierlikewise. This was the Deputy-Governor, as gentlemanly a little

fellow as ever stepped, and to whom I cannot but thinkthe duties must have been very repugnant. Exceptwhen in his office, and prisoners were brought beforehim on report, I do not think Captain H, was everknown to speak before a prisoner. He never, however,let a thing escape him, and any remark he had to makehe made to the principal warder on duty.12

The role and responsibilities of a Victorianconvict prison governor

Shane Bryans (himself a former Assistant Governorof Dartmoor Prison) recently remarked with regard to

Almost 160,000men, women and

children as young asnine had been sentto Australia to servesentences rangingfrom seven years tolife imprisonmentbetween 1787

and 1853.

7. See Godfrey, B. and Cox, D. J., ‘The “Last Fleet”: Crime, Reformation, and Punishment in Western Australia after 1868’, Australia andNew Zealand Journal of Criminology vol. 41 no. 2 (Summer 2008): 236-58 for details of the lives of the very last transportees to arrivein the Antipodes.

8. For a brief overview of the convict licensing system, see Johnston, H., Godfrey, B., and Cox, D. J., Victorian Convicts: 100 Criminal Lives(Pen & Sword, 2016).

9. British India Office pension registers Bengal Military Fund ledger of subscriptions L-AG-23-6-8/9.10. Daily News, 24 August 1864.11. Various sources give either 6 or 7 January as Hickey’s start date as Governor, but Hickey himself stated that he began on 6 January –

see Report of the Commissioners appointed to inquire into the Treatment of Treason-Felony Convicts in English prisons Vol.1 TheReport and appendix (London: HMSO, 1871). p. 19, line 642.

12. Callow, Five Years’ Penal Servitude, pp. 155-6.


the role of modern-day prison governors that ‘theintroduction of New Public Management (NPM) intothe Prison Service has made Governors far moreaccountable for the operation of their prisons. They arenow expected to achieve performance targets, deliverefficiency savings, and to compete with other prisons.’13

This article argues that whilst the responsibilities ofprison governors have undoubtedly become moredetailed and scrutinised, the role of a successfulVictorian convict prison governor was by no means aneasy task if carried out conscientiously, and that the rolehas changed in surprisingly few ways.

The governance and running of prisons becameincreasingly both more formulaic and overseenthroughout the Victorian age. Following the creation ofa Prison Inspectorate in 1835,quickly followed in 1842 by thecirculation of a series of modelrules for local prisons, governors(often then also known as‘gaolers’) began to have toaccount for their actions on aregular basis. This was especiallythe case following the creation ofa National Convict Service in1850. By 1858, a morestandardised approach to prisonmanagement was firmlyestablished in the ‘Rules andRegulations for the Governmentof Convict Prisons’ published bythe Home Office. This publicationcontained one section that dealtspecifically with the Governorsand their duties.14 As well asrequiring the governor to ‘have ageneral superintendence over the prison and prisoners’,he (and later she) was required to keep a number ofregisters or books in which every aspect of prison lifewas recorded for the information of the Directors ofConvict Prisons (an organisation in overall charge ofconvict prisons, created in 1850 under the

chairmanship of Joshua Jebb, and based at 44Parliament Street, London).15 Whilst Brixton (opened1853) and Fulham (opened 1856) both had femaleconvict accommodation which was run by a ‘LadySuperintendent’, Woking (opened 1869) was the firstpurpose-built female convict prison. This was still run bya ‘Lady Superintendent’ under a male governor (thoughin all three prisons such women were often referred toas ‘lady governors’). The first female governor in herown right was appointed at Aylesbury Borstal in 1921.

All convict prisons were theoretically due to bevisited by a director on at least a monthly basis; Hickeystates that the sole purpose of his journal was to ‘keepa copy of everything I do here connected with theprison, it is recorded for the information of the visiting

director…’16 The Governor wasalso tasked with submitting awritten annual summary to theDirectors.17 E. B. Callow wassomewhat doubtful as to theusefulness of the monthly visitsby the visiting Director; he statedthat ‘when the director is comingdown to Dartmoor it is known afew days beforehand, and theplace is prepared for his visit.Much he should not see is putout of sight.’18

As Ireland has noted, ‘AVictorian prison is supposed to bea place in which the predictableboth happens and is recorded ashaving happened…’, and it iscertainly clear from Hickey’sGovernor’s Journal entries andother contemporary sources that

routine played a large part in his activities.19 What alsoemerges is the limited powers possessed by a governorduring the period; it has been argued elsewhere thatbefore the implementation of NPM, ‘Governors wereapparently unable to make basic decisions about suchcritical matters as how many people worked in their

By 1858, a morestandardised

approach to prisonmanagement was

firmly established inthe ‘Rules and

Regulations for theGovernment ofConvict Prisons’published by the

Home Office.

13. Bryans, Shane Clive. ‘Prison governance: an exploration of the changing role and duties of the Prison Governor in HM Prison Service’(PhD thesis, LSE, 2005), p. 2. For further details of New Public Management and its effects on prisons, see Bryans, S., Prison Governors:Managing prisons in a time of change (Abingdon: Routledge, 2011), and Ferlie, E., Ashbumer, L., Fitzgerald, L. and Pettigrew, A., TheNew Public Management in Action, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), p.67. Also see Faulkner, Mary Hilary, ‘Actor-Directors: TheWorking Lives of Prison Governors’ (PhD thesis, Durham University, 2011).

14. Home Office, Rules and Regulations for the Government of The Convict Prisons (London: HMSO, 1858), pp. 6-18. Further details of therole of convict prison governors were published in 1894 – see Home Office, Standing Orders for the Government of Convict Prisons(London: HMSO, 1894).

15. Forsythe, B., ‘Women prisoners and Women penal officials 1840-1921’, British Journal of Criminology vol. 33 No. 4 (Autumn 1993):525-40, p. 535.

16. Report of the Commissioners appointed to inquire into the Treatment of Treason-Felony Convicts in English prisons Vol.1 The Reportand appendix (London: HMSO, 1871), p. 43, line 1920. Hickey’s Governor’s Journal was not written by Hickey himself but containstranscribed copies of out-letters and telegrams written by a clerk.

17. It is this summary that appears under the ‘Prisons’ section in the annual Judicial Statistics, compiled and published by the Home Officefrom 1856 onward.

18. Five Years’ Penal Servitude, p. 381.19. Ireland, The Carmarthen Gaoler’s Journal 1845-1850 Part One Introduction, p. vi.


prisons, who they were, and what money was to bespent on’, and this was also clearly the case duringHickey’s governorship.20 There was no manual or coursethat governors went on before their appointment — asHickey himself stated, ‘I learnt my duty from thegovernors under whom I served’.21

In the 1871 Report of the Commissionersappointed to inquire into the Treatment of Treason-Felony Convicts in English prisons, Hickey was calledbefore the committee to give evidence on twooccasions. This report resulted from a commission ofenquiry into the treatment of Fenian prisoners held atseveral prisons including Dartmoor, who hadcomplained that they were being treated unfairly by theBritish government whilst serving often lengthy prisonsentences. The report found mostof their allegations to be withoutsubstance, though it did makeseveral minor suggestions forimprovement of their treatment.On 10 June 1871 Hickey stateson several occasions that hispowers were strictly limited andalways subordinate to theDirectors of Convict Prisons.When asked about his powersregarding petitions by whichconvicts were allowed to pleadfor remission of their sentences,he states ‘the power of thegovernor is very limited’ (theultimate authority being theSecretary of State for the HomeOffice). He was then directlyasked, ‘Is the governor asked inevery case to forward the petition to the directors?’22 Hereplied, ‘Certainly so. If it was at all a doubtful thing Iwould forward it to the director. I could not take uponmyself to stop it’.23 He was surprisingly uninformedconcerning the powers of the Directors of ConvictPrisons; when asked this as a direct question he states,‘Well, I really cannot tell you what the power of adirector is.’24

Similarly, when asked about his powers to appointstaff, Hickey stated that his role was extremely limited;

when questioned, ‘Are they [warders] appointed on therecommendation of the governor?’ Hickey replied ‘Wellnot always, sir. They are required by the directors toappear before the governor that he may see theirfitness by appearance but their testimonials andeverything else go to Parliament Street.’25 Neither did agovernor have the power of dismissal over his or hersubordinates; they could suspend individuals, but thefinal employment decision resided with the Directors.26

With regard to medical decisions, the Medical Officerhad almost complete control of who served their timeat Dartmoor or another convict prison.27

During his time at Dartmoor, Hickey appears tohave been a fairly diligent and conscientious governor(though a harsh disciplinarian); Callow certainly had a

higher opinion of him than ofHickey’s predecessor:

The governor, Captain B[utt],was but a popinjay in office.He had as much to do withthe management of theprison as a Russian cavalrycolonel has to do with thenavigation of the man-of-warhe is, through Court interest,appointed in command of.[…Hickey] was a vigilant manhimself, and though he saidso little nothing ever escapedhim. […] Luckily Major Hlooked sharp after everythingand the discipline of the placewas kept up. It was not longbefore every man in the

prison, officers and men, had a verywholesome respect for the Major.28

Similarly, Patrick Lennon, a Fenian convict serving aterm of 15 years’ penal servitude at Dartmoor, statedwhen asked, ‘Does the governor treat you kindly andconsiderately on all occasions?’, that, ‘They do always,sir; especially this man; he is a very gentlemanly man.29

Hickey stated that much of his time was spentwalking through the prison; ‘I am constantly visiting

Neither did agovernor have thepower of dismissal

over his or hersubordinates; they

could suspendindividuals, but thefinal employmentdecision resided

with the Directors.

20. Lewis, D., Hidden Agendas - Politics, Law and Order (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1997), p. 6 (quoted in Bryans, Prison Governors:Managing prisons in a time of change p. 164).

21. Report of the Commissioners appointed to inquire into the Treatment of Treason-Felony Convicts in English prisons Vol.1 The Reportand appendix (London: HMSO, 1871), p. 21, line 726.

22. Ibid, p. 20, line 684.23. Ibid, p. 23, line 781.24. Ibid, p. 23, line 785.25. Ibid, p. 24, line 820.26. Ibid, p. 24, lines 823 and 826.27. Ibid, p. 500, line 15344.28. Five Years’ Penal Servitude, pp. 250-1 and p. 253. Callow was not still in prison at the time of Hickey’s promotion so had no direct

experience of him as Governor.29. Report of the Commissioners appointed to inquire into the Treatment of Treason-Felony Convicts in English prisons Vol.1 The Report

and appendix (London: HMSO, 1871), p. 26, line 918.


different parts of the prison or wards’, and that he alsointeracted with prisoners on a daily basis; ‘I see them ata certain time every day in my own office for thepurpose of receiving complaints from the prisoner.’ 30

He was also proud of the fact that he did make someimprovements to the lot of convicts; he tells theCommissioners that he increased the exercise timeavailable to convicts by giving an extra five or tenminutes to allow for the time spent in falling in for thedaily parade (although it was pointed out by hisinterviewer that what he had actually done was simplyto restore the exercise time to what it should havebeen).31 Lennon also pointed out that the food (alwaysan important consideration in the daily routine of aprisoner) had improved under Hickey’s governorship;when questioned, ‘In whatrespect is it better?’ he stated‘We used to get soup twice aweek, thickened with gruel; nowit is thickened with meat’. Whenfurther asked, ‘When did it beginto improve?’ Lennon replied,‘Since this present governor camehere. And the potatoes we usedto get at dinner used to be bad.Now we don’t get any bad ones.They used to be rotten. The foodis better looked after now than itever was before.’32

Hickey and Callow’s opinionof the degree of physical activitycarried out by the able-bodiedconvicts was very similar; Callowstated that ‘certainly prisoners arenot fed as free workmen earninggood wages are, and have not the same amount ofstamina and physique; but, making due allowance forall that, I do not consider the average convict atDartmoor can be said to work hard. There are someexceptions, particularly in the bog gangs.33 Hickey wassimilarly sceptical concerning the degree of difficulty ofthe labour; when asked, ‘Do you think that a convictworking here in full labour performs a hard day’swork?’ he replied ‘No, sir’ — he felt that an agriculturallabourer worked harder on a daily basis.34

The often mundane aspects of Hickey’s work asGovernor are the most immediately apparent when

perusing his Journal entries; much of his time was spentinforming other prison governors and police offices ofthe imminent arrival of convicts due for release onlicence, or contacting carriage contractors in order toarrange the conveyance of convicts and officers to andfrom Plymouth Railway Station.35 He also had numerousarguments with the suppliers of materials for convictlabour projects; for example, he frequently complainedabout the quality of leather received for use in themaking of Metropolitan Police officers’ boots:

To Messrs Warne and Co.

I beg to inform you that 290lbs of the Kip [calfleather] received from you on the 25th inst

has been rejected by a Boardof Survey, being too light forthe Service and of veryinferior quality and it hasaccordingly been returned toyou. I must impress uponyou the necessity of yourexercising great care in theselection of the Leatherdemanded for the use of thisPrison as none but the bestcan be made available forsupply to the Police, andthere has been greatdifficulty found for sometime in getting sufficient ofanything like the properquality from that which youhave sent for the purpose.36

He also had the unenviable task of informingrelatives of convicts’ deaths within custody; his letters togrieving parents appear to be somewhat business-likeand lacking in sympathy to modern eyes:

Mrs John Evans

I regret having to inform you of the death ofPrisoner Richard Evans 8778, which tookplace in the Infirmary of this Prison at 2.35pmthis day. A Coroner’s Inquest will be held on

Commissioners thathe increased the

exercise timeavailable to convictsby giving an extrafive or ten minutes

to allow for thetime spent in falling

in for thedaily parade.

30. Ibid, p. 19, line 656 and p. 23, line 796.31. Ibid, p.24 lines 832-34.32. Ibid, p. 24, lines 894-6.33. Five Years’ Penal Servitude, p. 349. Callow was classed as an invalid convict due to both his advancing years and debility, so did not

have personal experience of the degree of difficulty of the hard labour regime. ‘Bog gangs’ refers to groups of convicts sent out ontoDartmoor to clear bogs or otherwise work outside in often poor conditions.

34. Report of the Commissioners appointed to inquire into the Treatment of Treason-Felony Convicts in English prisons Vol.1 The Reportand appendix (London: HMSO, 1871), p. 22, lines 759 and 761.

35. Dartmoor Prison was (and remains) in a pretty remote location, almost twenty miles and three hours’ carriage ride from the nearestrailway station.

36. Governor’s Journal, 27 April 1871.


the body in the course of a few days afterwhich his remains will be interred in theChurchyard of the village of Princetown ateither of which you or any of his friends maybe present.37

A few of the entries are unintentionally somewhathumorous; for example, his reply to Mr A Joelconcerning the late delivery of a particular item hints ata mild desperation:

In reply to your Letter of the 15th inst. I haveto inform you that the Passover Cake sentfrom London for the use of the Jews at thisPrison was delivered here from Tavistock bythe South Devon RailwayCompany’s Carriers this day,and as the Feast is over, I begto be informed what is to bedone with the cake.38

Another of the entriesinforms us of the number ofJewish convicts serving time atDartmoor; Hickey replies to arequest for this information byReverend A L Emanuel of Portseathat ‘I beg to inform you in replyto your communication of the4th inst. [April 1871] that thereare the present time six JewishPrisoners confined in thisEstablishment.’39 As Passover wascelebrated from 6-13 April 1871,these convicts must have beenbitterly disappointed by the failure of the South DevonRailway to deliver the cake; any change to themonotonous diet would have been eagerly anticipated,quite apart from the religious significance of the itemconcerned.

Several of his entries provide additional personaland incidental information concerning individualconvicts that would otherwise remain unknown to us;for example, following a request for information abouta licensed convict from the Secretary of the NorthStafford Discharged Prisoners Aid Society, Hickey repliesthat:

In reply to your letter of the 4th inst respectingLicensed Convict Jno Smith 8101 I beg to state thatwhen he left here he quite ignored the assistance to behad from an Aid Society and stated that he was going

to his brother-in-law. He is a man in whom I should notbe disposed to place much confidence. The firstPhotograph taken of him he spoiled, he also attemptedit a second time by distorting his features, but failed.The Police certificate was received yesterday and thebalance of Smith’s gratuity was sent direct to him byreturn of post.40

From the late 1860s many convicts werephotographed upon reception and release from convictprisons. Many individuals realised that this was an easyway to be recognised in future and tried their best todistort their features or otherwise avoid having theirimage recorded for posterity. Upon release on licence,all male convicts such as Smith were required to reportto their local police station once a month and to notify

the police of any change ofcircumstances or address.Photographs and particulars ofreleased convicts were forwardedto the relevant police force.Convicts were also entitled to asmall gratuity upon release,which they usually had to obtainfrom their local police station, oras in this case, could beforwarded to them directly attheir place of residence.

Conclusion

Hickey’s tenure at Dartmoorappears to have ended suddenly;his name is summarily replacedby that of Major JamesFarquharson (formerly of Brixton

Prison) on 11 October 1872 — Hickey writes one letterand the next entry is under the name of Farquharson onthe same day.41 His removal is unexplained, but clearlygenerated a great deal of further change:

CONVICT PRISONS — The recent removals ofofficials from the Government convictestablishments at Princetown, Dartmoor, havecaused numerous other changes. MajorFarquharson is now governor at Princetown,vice Major Hickey. Captain Cookworthy, latedeputy-governor at Portland, succeeds MajorFarquharson, as governor of Brixton, and issucceeded by Mr Johnson, Captain Bell, latedeputy governor of Princetown, goes in asimilar capacity to Parkhurst. Captain Harris,

Several of hisentries provide

additional personaland incidentalinformationconcerning

individual convictsthat would

otherwise remainunknown to us.

37. Governor’s Journal, 20 April 1871.38. Governor’s Journal, 20 April 1871 (original underlining). 39. Governor’s Journal, 6 March 1871.40. Governor’s Journal, 7 March 1871. 41. Farquharson lasted less than two months before being redirected as governor of another convict prison.


late deputy-governor at Woking, proceeds toGibraltar, as governor of the convictestablishment there. The Rev. J. Francis, whohas resigned the chaplaincy at Dartmoor, aftereight years in the service, has accepted acuracy at Ross, Hereford.42

This may have been a dismissal — perhaps as aresult of the obvious enmity exhibited between Hickeyand the above-mentioned prison chaplain, ReverendJames Francis, who had complained to both theDirectors of Convict Prisons and the Home Office aboutHickey’s alleged harsh punishment of prisoners in late1870-early 1871 before resigning in 1872. Hickey wasapparently in the habit of issuing successivepunishments (usually consisting of putting the offenderon a bread and water diet) for what the Reverendregarded as a continuing single offence by often ‘half-witted’ convicts. In the Kimberley Report of 1878/9Reverend Francis stated that ‘I thought there was anunreasonable exercise of discipline, a harsh exercise ofdiscipline […] under Major Hickey there grew up thiscourse of discipline which I considered harsh’.43 Thesecomplaints, together with the Treatment ofTreason/Felony Convicts Report may have sealedHickey’s fate, although the Reverend Francis stated inhis evidence to the Kimberley Commission that thevisiting Director of Convict Prisons had clearly sidedwith Hickey; ‘the visiting director appeared to me togive his whole countenance and influence to the

governor in what I regarded from my standpoint asincorrect treatment’.44 Perhaps unsurprisingly, theChairman of the Directors of Convict Prisons, EdmundDu Cane (noted for his strict disciplinarian stance) alsosided with Hickey, indignantly remarking in his evidenceto the Kimberley Commission that it ‘was clearly a mostoutrageous thing that he should be allowed to gibbetthat governor before the public as a culprit from hisown imperfect knowledge of the matter, and inopposition to the views of those who had inquired intoit impartially’.45

Whatever the reason, Dartmoor was the last prisongovernorship held by Hickey.46 He subsequently becamea manager of a school supply company, then a directorof the Swiss Unsweetened Pure Milk Company.47 Hedied in 1889, leaving an estate of £1,120 6s 11d.

Hickey’s life was in many ways unremarkable butthe surviving records do allow us to recreate at least asmall snapshot of his time as Governor of DartmoorPrison. These give the impression of a dedicatedindividual trying to do his best in occasionally difficultcircumstances; his role was clearly defined butsomewhat lacking in authority with regard to manyaspects of the day-to-day running of the establishment,and this is reflected in his acrimonious relationship withthe prison chaplain. Both his Journal entries and theTreatment of Treason/Felony Convicts Report throwinvaluable light on a still under-researched aspect ofprison life.

42. Morning Post, 21 October 1872.43. 1878-79 [C.2368] [C.2368-I] [C.2368-II] Penal Servitude Acts Commission. Report of the commissioners appointed to inquire into the

working of the penal servitude acts. Vol. I.—Commissions and report, line 11199.44. Ibid, line 11195.45. Ibid, line 13050.46. The Tavistock Gazette, 18 October 1872 refers to the change in governorship as “A somewhat sudden change in the governorship of

the Dartmoor Prison is announced’, and then goes to state incorrectly that Hickey was to take over the governorship of GibraltarPrison.

47. London Daily News, 11 December 1880.


Reading the accounts of former ‘gentlemanconvicts’ sentenced to penal servitude in the late-Victorian and Edwardian decades, one is struck bytheir vitriolic condemnation of fellow prisonersperceived as ‘habitual’ or ‘professional’ criminals.1

Writing in 1879 as ‘a Ticket-of-leave Man’, forinstance, one memoirist ‘solemnly declare[d] thatwhatsoever things are hateful and fiendish, ifthere be any vice and infamy deeper and morehorrible than all other vice and infamy, it may befound ingrained in the character of the Englishprofessional thief.’2 Though his volume, likeothers, warned of the ‘contamination’ in convictprisons of novice criminals by seasoned thieves, ‘aTicket-of-leave Man’ experienced his own‘contamination’ not in terms of criminalpedagogy, to which he considered himselfimmune, but as a sense of defilement bothvisceral and intense. Of the ‘thief class’ at Portlandconvict prison, he observed that ‘the veryremembrance of [their] behaviour and languagemakes my flesh creep.’3 Among Portland’sconvicts, he had befriended a former factoryowner, whose wrongful conviction for arson waseventually overturned, and with whom he ‘triedto escape the contagion of the moral pestilenceby which we were surrounded.’ This man had nowreturned to ‘the society of his devoted and purewife’, but remained haunted by ‘the hideousoaths of the gaol-birds’, which, ‘a Ticket-of-leaveMan’ reported, ‘still ring in his ears and cause himto shudder at the remembrance of the pollutionwhich was forced upon him.’4 This article exploresthe nature of this and similar responses to prison

life, drawing upon John Tosh’s work on Victorianmasculinity, and on Joanna Bourke’s 2011 study ofchanging conceptions of the ‘human’.5 It arguesthat prisoners such as ‘a Ticket-of-leave Man’found their masculine status — as ‘gentlemen’,Englishmen, adult males and, ultimately, fullyhuman beings — fatally compromised byimprisonment, leading them to project onto their‘criminal’ peers that which they feared they mightthemselves become. In this way, the memoirs andarticles of ‘gentleman convicts’ allow us toglimpse the terrors emasculation held forprisoners of this kind, for in observing the ways inwhich others lacked ‘manliness’, they confrontedthe manner in which their own might be undone.

For nineteenth-century middle-class Englishmen,manliness was an ‘ideology of masculinity’ that set rigidstandards for their character and behaviour. As such, itwas premised, as Tosh notes, ‘on a powerful sense ofthe feminine ‘other’’.6 For ‘a Ticket-of-Leave Man’,however, as we have just seen, it is not middle-classfemininity that represents the Other, but rather the‘gaol-birds’ with which he contrasts this virtuous ideal.In another passage, he draws the contrast again, thefeminine arriving this time in the form of his owndeceased wife, a domestic ‘angel’ now transmogrifiedinto the celestial variety, whose memory strikes himalmost as a ghostly apparition. He recalls that whileworking one day,

I heard the vile oaths, and the disgusting andobscene language of my comrades, and Icontrasted the scene and its surroundings,with my once happy home, where I was

‘You cease to be a man’: masculinity andthe ‘gentleman convict’, c.1870-1914

Dr. Ben Bethell recently completed a PhD at Birkbeck, University of London, on the ‘star class’ in late-Victorianand Edwardian convict prisons

1. I discuss ‘gentleman convicts’ in Prison Service Journal 232 (2017), pp.40-5.2. Anon., Convict Life; or, Revelations Concerning Convicts and Convict Prisons by a Ticket-of-Leave Man (London: Wyman & Sons, 1879),

p.16; a ‘Ticket-of-Leave Man’ was a convict released ‘on licence’ to serve penal servitude’s third ‘stage’ (of up to a quarter of asentence, dependent on good behaviour). It is likely that this author also wrote a series of articles appearing in the London WeeklyTimes between November 1879 and February 1880 under the headline ‘Our Convict System by an Ex-Prisoner’, later reprinted as asingle volume: Anon., Our Convict System. By an Ex-Convict. Reprinted from ‘The Weekly Times.’ (London: J. Hutton, 1880 - a copyheld by the British Library was destroyed).

3. Weekly Times, 28 December 1879, p.2.4. Anon., Convict Life, p.25.5. John Tosh, A Man’s Place: Masculinity and the Middle-Class Home in Victorian England (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press,

1995); idem., Manliness and Masculinities in Nineteenth-Century Britain: Essays on Gender, Family, and Empire (Harlow: PearsonLongman, 2005); Joanna Bourke, What It Means to Be Human: Reflections from 1791 to the Present (London: Virago, 2011).

6. Tosh, Manliness and Masculinity, pp.3-4, p.31, p.91.


cheered and smiled upon by a bright angelwho made me, I suppose, too happy. … Myloved one seemed to be beckoning methrough the clear ether on that winterafternoon, and my greatest sorrow at thatmoment, was not … that I had disgracedmyself, and condemned myself to the filthycompanionship of thieves and murderers,[but] that I had no power to answer hersummons…7

Here, once again, it is the ‘gaol-birds’ thatrepresent the Other, and the feminine an ideal fromwhich the author is separated, for which he yearns, andwithout which he is incomplete. Such unity, accordingto Victorian gender ideology, waspossible only in the domesticcitadel of the middle-class home,where, it was believed, masculineand feminine might achieve theircorrect equilibrium.8 Hence, it iswhen he is finally reunited withhis wife that ‘a Ticket-of-LeaveMan’s’ friend is again madewhole. Moreover, it is their loss ofthe feminine, and their capacityto be made whole by it, thatseparates these ‘gentlemen’ fromtheir fellows, for whomredemption in this form isinconceivable. If imprisonmentinvolved loss of masculine status— or, in contemporary terms,‘manhood’ — masculinity isdefined here not in distinction tofemininity, which is in fact understood not only tocomplement but to complete the middle-class husband,but instead to whatever Other ‘the awful denizens ofPortland’ represent.

The othering of the ‘thief class’ came in severalforms, which together provide an index of Othersagainst which Victorian manliness was measured anddefined. According to ‘a Ticket-of-Leave Man’,members of the ‘thief class’ were ‘entirely destitute ofall manliness. They could no more stand up, selfsupported, than the ivy could rear itself like the oak.’9

Though such dependence could be thought of as anegative feminine trait, as could the lack of emotional

control ‘gentleman convicts’ often observed in theirfellows,10 these qualities might just as easily be thoughtof in terms of childishness. Indeed, during the mid-Victorian decades, masculinity was more likely to bedefined via the distinction between men and boys thanby contrasts with the feminine: as Tosh notes, ‘worriesabout immaturity counted for much more than fear ofeffeminacy’.11 This conception of manliness brings us alittle closer to the sense in which ‘gentleman convicts’observed their fellows’ loss of masculine status, andthus to the fears they held for their own. Jabez Balfour,for example, a businessman and former Liberal MPconvicted of fraud in 1896 and sentenced to fourteenyears’ penal servitude, evokes childhood punishmentwhen he recalls ‘noisy occupants’ of Parkhurst’s

punishment cells being ‘forciblydeported to a very remoteportion of the Hall’, an offenderhaving ‘profaned his manhoodand abused the gift of speech’.12

The author of an anonymousarticle published in theWestminster Review in 1878conceded that some amongthose he classed as ‘habitual’ or‘professional’ criminals possessed‘traits of unselfishness andgenerosity and some manlinessof nature’, but assertednonetheless that all suchprisoners shared

‘one mental characteristic …which cannot be better conveyedthan by the term “childishness”.It consists of a certain

impulsiveness, proneness to violent and short-livedanger from the most trivial causes, constant boastingand self-exaltation, and a total incapacity to understandthe relative value and importance of different objects.All this is accompanied by a mendacity which isastounding.’13

The latter, he added, ‘has its analogue in mostsavage races, and, as a transitory phenomenon, even insome well-brought-up children.’ A racial Other wassimilarly invoked by ‘a Ticket-of-Leave Man’ when hecompared prison life to ‘herding with ‘Zulus’’, andconvicts at Portland (unfavourably) to ‘Hindoos andZulus’.14 The Westminster Review’s correspondent

The othering of the‘thief class’ came in

several forms,which together

provide an index ofOthers againstwhich Victorianmanliness wasmeasured and

defined.

7. Ibid., pp.56-7. On ‘domestic angels’ see Tosh, A Man’s Place, p.55.8. Tosh quotes Ruskin’s Sesame and Lilies (1864): ‘Each has what the other has not: each completes the other, and is completed by the

other’; A Man’s Place, p.46.9. Anon., Convict Life, p.15. 10. Tosh, Manliness and Masculinity, p.92.11. Ibid., p.34.12. Jabez Spencer Balfour, My Prison Life (London: Chapman & Hall, 1907), p.304.13. Anon., ‘Our Present Convict System’, Westminster Review 109 (1878), p.415-6.14. Anon., Convict Life, p.115; Weekly Times, 30 November 1879, p.2.


reached closer to home for his non-English Other,asserting that ‘No practical ethnologist can fail to tracein the features of the great majority a large infusion ofblood from the sister isle. The brogue has nearlyvanished … but the lineaments and excitabletemperament remain.’15

Such remarks served to reinforce their authors’own masculine national identity as ‘Englishmen’, whileat the same time implying that the ‘criminal class’represented a lesser human type. The othering ofcriminals as subhuman cast them either as a neo-Darwinian sub-species, or as demonic entities, or simplyand most commonly as ‘brutes’. The WestminsterReview’s correspondent opted for the first of theseapproaches, noting the preponderance among convictsof ‘the ‘forehead villainous low,’ the scowlingexpression and ponderous under-jaw of brutalanimalism’, adding that the‘stealthy motions and furtiveglances of others betray amonkey-like cunning’.16

Published shortly after L’uomodelinquente (1876), the article isunlikely to have been influenceddirectly by Cesare Lombroso,whose volume appeared inEnglish translation only in 1911,but may have reflected notions ofthe criminal ‘type’ already held byEnglish penal administrators.17

Thirty years later, by the timeBalfour published his memoir,such biological positivism hadgained far wider currency. Adding the weight of hisfirst-hand experience to the opinion of ‘more than oneeminent English and foreign penologist, that convictsas a class, particularly habitual criminals, aredistinguished by certain pronounced and singulardevelopments’, Balfour recalled that upon first arrivingat a convict prison,

it is sometimes difficult for a newcomer torealize that the men among whom he isthrown … are really of the same species asthe people with whom he has mingled in

freedom. The beings who surround him seemmore like grotesque imitations, pantomimiccaricatures of real men than men themselves.They all look alike, and all are hideous. …Sitting as I did at Wormwood Scrubbs, behindfour or five hundred prisoners, it appeared tome that I was among an entirely differentspecies of human beings, ape-like, baboon-like, weird.18 Most disturbing of all were the‘abnormally protruding and overlapping’ earsof his fellow-convicts, a ‘widespread andrepulsive deformity’. A warder had ‘onceassured [Balfour] that it was positively tryingto be perched at chapel a few inches abovethe great crowd of prisoners, and to lookdown upon the ears below him. To use hisown words, “It was sickening.’’’19

‘[A] Ticket-of-Leave Man’drew not on pseudoscience butliterature for an image of thesubhuman, observing that whenset beside ‘the Englishprofessional thief’, ‘Gulliver’s‘Yahoos’ were cultivatedgentlemen’.20 Lord WilliamBeauchamp Nevill, a younger sonof the 5th Earl of Abergavennysentenced in 1898 to five yearsfor fraud, painted the ‘habitual’criminal in demonic hues: it was,he declared, ‘impossible foranyone who has not witnessed it

to imagine the furious and senseless malevolence ofthat class of convicts who have got to the hopelesslyincorrigible stage.’ These men were ‘thoroughly viciousby nature’, and ‘seem to be governed by evil passions,as if possessed by the devil’.21 For Edward Callow, arailway company secretary sentenced in 1868 for hispart in an attempt to defraud a City bank, the‘creatures in human form’ he had encountered atDartmoor were both subhuman and fiendish: ‘merebrutes in mind and demons in heart’, they ‘seem[ed] tobe a different species to ordinary men’.22 Balfour, for hispart, managed to conjure an Other that was

‘No practicalethnologist can fail

to trace in thefeatures of thegreat majority alarge infusion ofblood from the

sister isle.’

15. Anon., ‘Our Present Convict System’, p.416.16. Ibid.17. Chiara Beccalossi, ‘Sexual Deviancies, Disease and Crime in Cesare Lombroso and the “Italian School” of Criminal Anthropology’, in Disease

and Crime: A History of Social Pathologies and the New Politics of Health, ed. Robert Peckham (New York: Routledge, 2014), p.45. 18. Balfour, My Prison Life, p.215.19. Ibid., p.216.20. Anon., Convict Life, p.16.21. ‘W.B.N.’ (William Beauchamp Nevill), Penal Servitude (London: William Heinemann, 1903), pp.136-7.22. Anon. (Edward Callow), Five Years’ Penal Servitude by One Who Has Endured It (London: Richard Bentley & Son, 1877), p.208. Giving

evidence in 1879 to a royal commission on penal servitude, Callow intimated that he had been referring specifically to prisonersconvicted under the sodomy laws. Report of the commissioners appointed to inquire into the working of the penal servitude acts(hereinafter Penal servitude acts), PP 1878-79 [C.2368] XXXVII, 1, qq.11985-8, p. 954. See also my ‘Defining “unnatural crime”: sexand the English convict system, 1850-1900’, in From Sodomy Laws to Same-Sex Marriage: International Perspectives since 1789, ed.Sean Brady & Mark Seymour (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2019), pp.43-56.


simultaneously racial, subhuman, demonic and bestialwhen describing one Parkhurst convict as ‘an ill-shapednegro giant, of herculean proportions and fearfullyforbidding aspect’, notable for his ‘protruding jaw, long,ape-like arms and legs, and cruel, sunken bloodshot eyesthat gleamed with the same angry, hungry light that isalways noticeable of beasts of prey.’ This prisoner, whosegestures Balfour found ‘more suggestive of a ghoul thana man’, he contrasted with another, ‘an inoffensive oldman’ who, like himself, belonged to a ‘class of convicts’composed of men ‘who have been bankers, brokers,lawyers, merchants, and the like’.23

Among variations of the non-human, however, thebestial predominated. ‘[A] Ticket-of-Leave Man’described the ‘thief class’ as ‘cowardly brutes [whose]animal instincts have crowdedevery human feeling out of theirnature.’24 ‘The passions of many ofthe habitual offenders,’ wroteBalfour, ‘are ungovernable in theirferocity. Nothing but physicalsuffering seems to deter them. …When their passions are aroused,and that occurs easily with manyof them, they are more like beaststhan human beings’.25 Among‘the class known as roughs’,Callow believed that ‘animalinstincts and propensitiespredominate to the almost totalexclusion of any intellectual orhuman feeling… Brutes they are,and as brutes only can they bepunished and coerced, and that isby the Lash.’26 The WestminsterReview’s correspondent concurred, observing that ‘a verylarge proportion of the worst class of criminals can bedeterred only by the terror of physical pain. … They areanimals, and must be treated as such.’27 It is at this point,arrived at by degrees, that the Other stands revealedagainst which the ‘manhood’ of ‘gentleman convicts’was ultimately defined: neither female nor infantile, norracially inferior, nor even criminally subhuman, but, quitesimply, animal.

For ‘gentleman convicts’, then, ‘manhood’ equalledhumanity as much as masculinity per se. Both werethreatened, but the peril in which the former stoodeclipsed even danger to the latter. Human status and

masculine status were, of course, intimately tied. In bothscholarly and everyday language, as Bourke notes,collective humanity was referred to either as ‘mankind’ orsimply ‘man’, and the humans thus described imaginedprimarily as male.28 If to be human was to be a ‘man’then, conversely, to be in any way less than a ‘man’ wasalso to be less than human. Bourke also reminds us thatthe discursive boundary separating ‘human’ from‘animal’ was (and is) far from stable. Christian theologyposited a hierarchical Chain of Being stretching from Godto beast (and beyond, to the inanimate), along which‘man’ occupied the middle ground, forever reachingtowards God — a God who incarnated as a ‘man’ — yetin danger of descending to the level of a beast. AsBourke observes, those ‘excluded from the status of

being fully “men” might beforgiven for bitterly concludingthat they had been decisivelydemoted to “Beast”.’29 Similarly,post-Darwinian humanist thoughtdisrupted the notion of astraightforward human/animalbinary, proposing instead arelativist model in which humanand animal occupied a singlecontinuum, at one end of whichthe ‘fully human’ could be found,and at the other the ‘fullyanimal’.30 According to this view,humanity existed in degrees orvarieties, and physical humanitydidn’t necessarily confer ‘fullyhuman’ status. It was froma perspective of this kindthat the Westminster Review’s

correspondent was able to observe that ‘habitual pettythieves … are, so to speak, less human, have less reasonand self-control, and their propensities assume the formof irresistible animal instincts… They are a childish andimpulsive race, and only look to immediate results.’31

Of course, categories of human far broader thanthe petty criminal could (and still can) be denied fullyhuman status: women, for instance, to take the mostobvious example, and one taken by Bourke as herstarting point. And, although she doesn’t mentionprisoners, Bourke is also interested in slaves, anothersuch category, one with which prisoners had much incommon. As she observes, antebellum American slaves

‘The passions ofmany of the

habitual offenders,’wrote Balfour, ‘areungovernable in

their ferocity.Nothing but

physical sufferingseems to

deter them.’

23. Balfour, My Prison Life, pp.173-5. 24. Anon., Convict Life, p.14.25. Balfour, My Prison Life, pp.302-3.26. Callow, Five Years’ Penal Servitude, pp.208-9.27. Anon., ‘Our Present Convict System’, p.430.28. Bourke, What It Means to Be Human, p.2, p.5.29. Ibid., p.3.30. Ibid., p.11.31. Anon., ‘Our Present Convict System’, p.423.


‘were not simply “things” in law’, but rather ‘carefullyconstructed quasi-legal persons’: they could legally besubjected to harsh physical punishment, but could notbe murdered and could themselves be tried for murderand for other serious crimes.32 Thus, the status of theantebellum slave mirrored that of the English convict,whose judicial punishment entailed the forfeiture of fullyhuman status in the legal sense of full personhood —that is, as the subject of legal rights and duties.33 For mensuch as Callow, ‘a Ticket-of-Leave Man’ and theWestminster Review’s correspondent, writing in the late1870s, slavery would not have been an exoticphenomenon: it had ended in the British West Indies ageneration earlier in 1834, in the Southern United Statesonly in 1865, and at this juncture was still legal in SpanishCuba, where it would beabolished in 1886, and in Brazil,whose slaves were finally freed in1888. As well as penal labour,moreover, the notion of ‘servitude’encompassed not only slavery butserfdom, formally abolished inRussia only in 1861, andindentured service, whichremained a feature of Englishwage relations until the 1870s.34

For a ‘gentleman convict’,stripped of his status as ‘master ofthe house’ and exiled from thedomestic sanctuary, work might intheory have provided a means tosalvage, at least to a degree, hisbeleaguered masculine status. Onthe one hand, labour such asquarrying, brickmaking and dockconstruction, intended as bothpunitive and reformatory, wascentral to the convict prison regime. On the other, asTosh observes, a work ethic was ‘deeply inscribed inmiddle-class masculinity’, manliness and hard work goinghand-in-hand with one another.35 Of course, for a manwho had earned a living in business or the professions,and who was governed by a gender ideology thattreated occupation as the ‘authentic expression of hisindividuality’,36 the work required of him in a convictprison lacked all semblance of dignity. But though itmight be supposed that such prisoners experienced this

aspect of their punishment as degrading and humiliating,many, at least by their own accounts, took a sanguineapproach to unfamiliar tasks and, like ‘a Ticket-of-LeaveMan’, ‘resolved to make the best of it and try to do myduty.’37 As they marched to work, some perhaps tookcomfort in Thomas Carlyle’s assertion that manlypotential could find its fulfilment ‘even in the meanestsorts of Labour’.38 If strength and endurance wereforemost among the core masculine characteristicsdemanded by Victorian manliness,39 then penal labourmight at least allow these qualities to be exercised anddisplayed.

But manly vigour alone did not constitutemanliness; it was, rather, the foundation upon which theself-willed ‘independent man’ could be erected, capable

of initiative and decisive action.40

Thus, the ‘gentleman convict’who attempted to demonstratemanliness through labour and, indoing so, retain at least somevestige of his status, soon foundhimself confronted with adeformed version of themasculine ideal, which prizedbrute strength and inhumanendurance, but ensured theseattributes were shorn of theslightest capacity for independentaction. Here the ‘gentlemanconvict’ faced the appalling truthof his predicament, for thestrength and endurancedemanded of him were qualitiesbelonging not to free labourersbut to slaves. Though few werewilling to acknowledge thisdirectly, ‘One who has suffered it’,

writing in 1910 in the Hibbert Journal, was an exception,declaring baldly that ‘Imprisonment is slavery. None ofthe distinguishing features of slavery are absent.’41 Thiscorrespondent, moreover, who had been sentenced inEngland to six years’ penal servitude and then served theterm in an Australian convict prison, drew an explicitcomparison with the antebellum South, arguing that the‘slavery of imprisonment’ was in fact ‘of a more grievousdescription than the negro slavery once practised inAmerica’, insofar as ‘the negro’ could both marry and

...man who hadearned a living inbusiness or theprofessions, and

who was governedby a genderideology that

treated occupationas the ‘authentic

expression ofhis individuality’.

32. Bourke, What It Means to Be Human, p.147.33. Ibid., p.131.34. Jürgen Osterhammel, The Transformation of the World: A Global History of the Nineteenth Century, trans. Patrick Camiller (Princeton

NJ: Princeton University Press, 2014), p.698-9, pp.707-8.35. Tosh, Manliness and Masculinity, p.92.36. Ibid., p.37.37. Anon., Convict Life, p.80.38. Past and Present (1843), quoted in Tosh, Manliness and Masculinity, p.93.39. Ibid., p.87.40. Ibid.41. Anon., ‘Concerning Imprisonment. By One Who Has Suffered It.’, Hibbert Journal 8:3 (1910), p.589.


enjoy ‘the unrestricted companionship of his fellows,male and female’, and ‘within the perimeter of hisservitude … was free to come and go as he chose’.42

Like criminals, antebellum slaves were sometimescompared to children or to monsters.43 Primarily,however, the slave was regarded and treated, in thewords of Frederick Douglass, as ‘a docile animal, a kindof ass, capable of bearing burdens’.44 Many Englishconvicts doubtless felt the same. For anybody living innineteenth-century England, working animals were, ofcourse, a ubiquitous feature of daily life: country-folk andcity-dwellers alike lived with the ‘constant presence ofliving, breathing, defecating, and sometimes dyinganimals’.45 Their role in haulage and urban transportaside, horses and mules drove machinery in mills andfactories, where they were treated less as sentientcreatures than ‘living machines’.46 Moreover, due torelative cost-efficiency, their widespread use in buildingand construction persisted into the twentieth century, asdid their use in quarrying and brickmaking — tasks towhich men sentenced to penal servitude were also put.47

Indeed, some convicts found themselves employed aswhat one Portland prisoner described as ‘a sort of humanhorse’.48 According to the Irish republican and formerDartmoor prisoner Michael Davitt, giving evidence in1878 to a royal commission on penal servitude, convictsdrew stones, coal, refuse and manure, harnessed to cartsin eight-man teams; he had himself been removed froma ‘coal-cart party’ following an injury.49 Prison officialsconfirmed the practice, though the commissionappeared less concerned with its degrading characterthan with the opportunities it provided for illicitcommunication.50 Twenty years later, according to Nevill,prisoners assigned to farm parties at Parkhurst still drewmanure carts, ‘harnessed two by two to a long rope’.51

As convicts trudged at the day’s end wearily hometo their narrow cells, and contemplated theirmonotonous, unpalatable diet, calculated to meet heavylabour’s bare nutritional requirements, it would haveoccurred to some that they were fed, watered andstabled in much the same way as working animals. ‘One

who has suffered it’ again made the point explicitly,observing that ‘Horses are “spelled” when out ofbreath; not so those human beings who have given theirfellows occasion to use them as beasts of burthen.’52 Theprison cell, he wrote, was ‘really a kennel. There, whenhe is not working, the prisoner must abide: to freeze inwinter, to swelter in summer.’53 Upon finishing work, the‘prisoner can hardly crawl back to his kennel’, and‘when the key turns and he … is left locked’ inside it, by‘whatever margin … a human being is superior to abeast, by so much is that human being’s conditioninferior’.54 The sentiment echoed remarks made by JohnDillon, Home Rule MP for East Mayo, when debating thePrisons Bill in 1898: imprisoned himself several timesduring the 1880s, Dillon accused a Conservativemember of regarding prisoners ‘as a lot of stalledanimals, towards whom our only duty was to see thatbody and soul were kept together’. In this view, they‘were not human beings at all, but were like pigs, oranimals with no minds.’55

The unmanly dependence of ‘gentleman convicts’was, then, less that of women, children, or colonialsubjects, than of slaves or working animals. Thus,‘gentleman convicts’ faced the annihilation of their status,not merely as middle-class ‘gentlemen’, but as men of anydescription whatsoever. Legally, they were denied fullpersonhood; their loss of ‘manhood’ entailed a loss ofhumanity as much as masculinity; and as slaves, theircondition was little better than that of beasts of burden— or worse still, ‘living machines’. Consigned to a worldin which the human/animal boundary was distinctlyporous, they found themselves ‘herded’ indiscriminatelywith the less human, the subhuman, ‘brutes’ and ‘beasts’.‘One who has suffered it’ recalled a prison official tellingnewly arrived convicts: ‘When you pass through thesegates you cease to be a man.’56 It was this prospect thatlay at the heart of the fear and revulsion felt by‘gentleman convicts’ towards their ‘criminal’ peers. And itwas in defiance of this fate that such prisoners struggledto preserve what little remained of their ‘manliness’, anidentity premised upon a bestial Other that foreverthreatened to overwhelm it.

42. Ibid., pp.589-90.43. Bourke quotes George Canning in 1824 comparing ‘Negro’ slaves to the ‘monster’ in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, The Modern

Prometheus, first published six years earlier. What It Means to Be Human, p.146.44. Quoted in ibid., p.134.45. Clay McShane & Joel A. Tarr, The Horse in the City: Living Machines in the Nineteenth Century (Baltimore MD: John Hopkins University

Press, 2007), p.181.46. Ibid., pp.2-3, p.166.47. Ibid., p.167.48. George Smithson, Raffles in Real Life: The Confessions of George Smithson alias “Gentleman George” (London: Hutchinson & Co,

1930), p.98.49. Penal servitude acts, q.6515, q.6521, p.527. 50. Ibid., qq.2805-6, p.233.51. Nevill, Penal Servitude, pp.34-5. He claimed to enjoy this work, judging ‘carting … infinitely preferable to moping in a cell’; it had, he

claimed, been ‘proved’ that Davitt’s health ‘did not suffer’ as a result dragging stones at Portland. 52. Anon., ‘Concerning Imprisonment’, p.586.53. Ibid., p.585.54. Ibid., p.587, p.593.55. HC Deb 24 March 1898 vol.55 c.88756. Anon., ‘Concerning Imprisonment’, p.600.


IntroductionFrom 1916 to 1919, nearly a thousand people wereadmitted to British prisons for being guilty of anew crime, that of being absolutist conscientiousobjectors.1 From the start of World War One inAugust 1914 through to January 1916, the BritishArmy consisted of professional soldiers and wellover a million volunteers. By the end of 1915, thelarge number of casualties and the realisation thatthe war was going to endure for much longerthan originally expected, led to plans forconscription, where all fit men would be expectedto perform military service. The Conscription Actwas passed by Parliament in January 1916, cominginto effect the next month.2 The act allowed forpeople unwilling to take up arms to either join theNon-Combatant Corps or to stay as a civilian andundertake work of national importance. Someconscientious objectors, known as absolutists,refused to accept any of these compromises, inthe belief that the war was morally wrong andthey did not want to contribute in any way,however indirectly, with its prosecution. Typically,the absolutist would be called up to the armedforces, would refuse to accept any orders andwould then be court-martialled and sentenced tohard labour in prison. When they completed theirsentence, they would be forced to re-join theirmilitary unit and the whole cycle would start allover again. Even when the war ended inNovember 1918 the absolutist conscientiousobjectors remained in prison, with thegovernment being reluctant to release them whilethousands of combatants in the armed forceswere still required to serve.3 By early 1919, manyconscientious objectors had been in prison fornearly three years.

A large number of conscientious objectors wereheld at Wandsworth Prison in London. From September1918 to April 1919, Wandsworth witnessed ongoing

disturbances, mainly involving the large number ofconscientious objectors who were kept there. Thisarticle will explore the peculiar characteristics of theWandsworth disturbances, as well as examining theirprincipal causes and probable consequences. It will bebased primarily on contemporary sources such asnewspaper articles, letters to newspapers and thedocuments kept by the prisoners. Many of thesesources can be found in the scrapbook kept by ThomasEllison, a conscientious objector prisoner inWandsworth at this time, with the book now beinghoused in the Working-Class Movement Library inSalford.4 Other sources include prison log books,minutes of prison committee meetings and theautobiographies and biographies of both prisoners andprison officials from the period.

The nature of the Wandsworth Disturbances

Several Wandsworth Prison conscientiousobjectors refused to undertake the hard labour thatwas part of their sentence and were then punished withisolation in their cells.5

It was the next stage of protest that made theWandsworth disturbances particularly unusual. As away of defying the authorities who had imposed silentisolation on them, many protestors made every effort tomake as much noise as possible. Sometimes thisinvolved traditional forms of prison protest such asbanging crockery on cell doors or breaking windowsand gas fittings.6 More unusually, the Wandsworthprotest concentrated on producing more intelligentnoise, involving songs and lectures, often deliveredthrough broken spy-holes in the cell door and throughventilation grids. One of the most popular ‘lecturers’was Guy Aldred, a Glasgow anarchist, whose chosentopics for these ‘basement lectures’ included Karl Marx,Jesus, Women’s Freedom and the RevolutionaryTradition in English Literature. Aldred often had todeliver these lectures with his chin perched on the gas


Steve Illingworth is a Senior Lecturer in History Education at Edge Hill University

1. Rae, J. (1970) Conscience and Politics: The British Government and the Conscientious Objector to Military Service 1916-1919, London, 2012. ibid3. Daily News 20/2/19194. T. Ellison, Scrapbook (compiled between 1916 and 1920), Working Class Movement Library, 51 Crescent, Salford, M5 4WX5. Caldwell, J.T. (1988) Come Dungeons Dark: The Life and Times of Guy Aldred, Glasgow Anarchist, Glasgow, p.1656. Visiting Committee minutes for Wandsworth Prison from 23/12/18, from London Metropolitan Archives ACC/3444/AD/02/002


vent, so that his voice would carry to the other cells. Togive him a break from this uncomfortable position, theother prisoners would sing heartily left-wing songs suchas ‘The Red Flag’.7 The demands being made by theseprisoners were about having time to talk while in prisonand to be allowed to write and receive letters.8 In termsof both the actions of the protesting prisoners and theirdemands, it was a very intellectual, educated form ofprotest. Newspapers reported on the events atWandsworth with interest, as well as with a degree ofpuzzlement and amusement.9

There was disagreement at the time about howmany conscientious objectors at Wandsworth wereinvolved in the disturbances andabout how united they wereabout the tactics they planned touse. The government’s officialinvestigation into theWandsworth disturbancessuggested that just a smallnumber of agitators wereresponsible. The report, writtenby MP Albion Richardson in April1919, made a distinctionbetween conscientious objectors‘actuated by sincere Christianprinciples’ who refused to jointhe disturbances and ‘anarchists’who instigated the disruption.‘There is a considerable numberof conscientious objectors,’ thereport continued, ‘who from thefirst refused to take part in thedisturbance, and have used theirutmost effort to prevent it.’10

Home Secretary Edward Shorttsupported this belief that there was division among theprisoners, telling a delegation asking for the release ofconscientious objectors in February 1919 that he hadreceived a letter from a conscientious objector inWandsworth Prison complaining about the conduct ofothers who claimed to be men of conscience.11

It is tempting to dismiss this report as propagandaon behalf of the authorities. It would have served thegovernment well to draw a distinction betweengenuine people of conscience and ‘anarchists’ whowere intent on destroying all aspects of civilised society.The public would be likely to support tough actionsagainst those causing prison disturbances if they

thought that the protagonists were just a handful oftrouble-causers whose actions were even opposed bymany of the more moderate prisoners.

However, there is evidence apart from theparliamentary report that there were importantdivisions among the prisoners. This evidence shows thatmany conscientious objectors had mixed feelings aboutmany of the tactics used by the prisoners atWandsworth in the disturbance. When some prisonersresorted to damaging their prison cells by smashingglass spy-holes and destroying furniture, manyconscientious objectors must have reflected on whethersuch vandalism was compatible with their usual ideas of

non-violence.12 An article in ‘TheSpur’ in January 1919 revealedsome clear tactical divisionsamong the Wandsworth rebels.‘The Spur’ supported the actionsof the Wandsworth prisoners andcalled for support from the widerlabour movement, so the article’sadmission of differences ofopinion among the prisoners iscredible. Fourteen prisoners werenamed who had been on hunger-strike plus ‘five other hunger-strikers who had not previouslybeen work striking’. Also, eightprisoners were named as ‘workand discipline strikers who willnot hunger strike on principle’.13

So there were at least threedifferent groups here — thosewho would refuse to work butnot refuse to eat, those whojoined in the hunger-strike but

not the work and discipline strike and those who werewilling to take both forms of action. It was perhapsinevitable that people imprisoned for their strongprinciples should carry on upholding clear personalconvictions while in prison, with the result that therewould always be disagreement among such single-minded individuals.

According to the biographer of Guy Aldred, one ofthe leaders of the Wandsworth revolt, ‘only about athird of the C.O.s were in revolt’ in late 1918.14 Many ofthose not involved in the action actually complained tothe governor that the protesting prisoners were makingso much noise that they could not concentrate on

It is tempting todismiss this reportas propaganda on

behalf of theauthorities. It would

have served thegovernment well todraw a distinctionbetween genuine

people ofconscience and

anarchists.

7. ibid p.1698. Ibid p.1659. The Star 17/1/191910. Daily News 10/4/191911. Daily News 20/2/191912. The Spur January 191913. ibid14. Caldwell p.167


reading the books that they had now been allowed.One prisoner, Leonard J. Simms, complained about the‘Basement Oligarchy’ who were stirring up trouble,distancing himself from their actions.15 As thisinformation comes from Aldred’s biography, a sourcevery sympathetic to the protesting prisoners, it is fair tosay that there were genuine divisions among theimprisoned conscientious objectors and it would bewrong to dismiss such suggestions as meregovernmental propaganda.

Causes of the Wandsworth Disturbance

Newspaper accounts of thedisturbances at WandsworthPrison date mainly from the earlymonths of 1919. This may lead tothe conclusion that the maincause was the demands by theprisoners that they should nowbe released, as World War Onehad come to an end with theArmistice on 11 November1918.16 There was indeedfrustration during this post-warperiod that the conscientiousobjectors had not been released,expressed regularly in letters tonewspapers and in journals suchas the Labour Leader. In February1919 a deputation from theLabour Party asked for theimmediate release of 1,500conscientious objectors.17 Thegovernment’s standard responsewas that the public would nottolerate the release of conscientious objectors whileserving soldiers had not yet been released from theirduties. Edward Shortt, the Home Secretary, said that‘there could be no doubt that if men who had fought inthe war and were still retained in the Army knew thatconscientious objectors were being released anddischarged from the Army en bloc a very bitter feelingwould be roused’.18

However, frustration at not being released afterthe war could not have been the only reason for the

disturbances at Wandsworth. Although the hungerstrikes there only began on 1 January 1919, this wasjust a new tactic in an ongoing strategy of disruptionthat dated back to at least September 1918.19 In thismonth many prisoners began a ‘work and discipline’strike, several weeks before the Armistice. They refusedto do the hard labour that was part of their sentenceand as a result they were placed in solitaryconfinement, where the prisoners continued to causeas much disturbance as possible.20 Indeed, as early as1917, a medical officer at Wandsworth Prison hadcomplained about the ‘insolence’ and lack of co-operation shown by nearly all the conscientious

objectors imprisoned there.21 Soeven when the war was stillongoing, the conscientiousobjectors had never acceptedthat their imprisonment wasjustified and they had shownopen defiance of the authoritiesfor several years. Other reasons,apart from the end of the war,need to be explored to explainthese long-running disturbances.

Could it be that theconditions in Wandsworth Prisonwere worse than thoseelsewhere? At first glance it mayseem that the conditions therewere having an adverse effect onthe physical health of theprisoners. The ‘English PrisonsToday’ survey done shortly afterWorld War One said that one inthirteen prisoners at Wandsworthhad to receive hospital treatment

in the early part of the 1910s.22 This contrasts with aprison such as Northallerton where only one in 503prisoners was admitted to hospital.23 In the sameperiod, there were only two medical officers for the1,146 prisoners in Wandsworth.24

However, the figures at Wandsworth are actuallyquite typical of large prisons. Elsewhere in London atWormwood Scrubs there were also just two medicalofficers for 1,365 prisoners, a worse ratio thanWandsworth.25 At Birmingham it was a similar ratio,

There was indeedfrustration during

this post-war periodthat the

conscientiousobjectors had not

been released,expressed regularly

in letters tonewspapers and injournals such as the

Labour Leader.

15. Ibid p.16916. Brown, A. (2003) English Society and the Prison: Time, Culture and Politics in the Development of the Modem Prison, 1850–1920,

Rochester, p.16117. Copy of petition in archives of Working Class Movement Library, Salford18. Daily News 20/2/191919. The Spur January 191920. The Star 17/1/191921. Wandsworth Prison Governors’ Letter Books, from the London Metropolitan Archives ACC/3444/AD/08/00122. Hobhouse, S and Brockway, A.F. (1922) English Prisons To-Day: Being the Report of the Prison System Enquiry Committee, London, p.27623. ibid 24. ibid p.26125. ibid


with one medical officer for 499 prisoners.26 Regardingthe number of hospital referrals, a large number wasnot necessarily seen as a negative situation. Thenumber of prisoners receiving hospital treatment atWandsworth was actually regarded positively by theauthors of the ‘English Prisons Today’ report, who werenot typically making an effort to find good features ofthe prison system. They saw this as a sign of goodmedical care that provided prisoners with the treatmentthey needed, contrasting the high number of hospitaladmissions at Wandsworth with the much lowernumber at the smaller prisons, where, on average, justone prisoner in 271 was sent to hospital.27 So it can beconcluded that there was nothing particularly harshabout the conditions at Wandsworth in relation tomedical care.

At the time, the attitude of the governmenttowards conscientious objectorswas seen as a significant reasonfor the Wandsworthdisturbances. As with theSuffragettes earlier in the decade,the government responded tohunger strikes by using force-feeding. Another tactic repeatedfrom the years of dealing withSuffragette prisoners was the useof the infamous ‘Cat and MouseAct’, where prisoners werereleased from prison at a pointwhere their hunger-striking washaving very serious effects ontheir health, only to be re-arrested a few weeks later when their health improved.As with the Suffragettes, these tactics by the authoritiesresulted in some increased public sympathy for theconscientious objector prisoners. This kind of treatmentalso seems to have hardened the resolve of theconscientious objectors in prison and made them moreinclined to take part in action against the prisonauthorities. In a discussion about the Wandsworthdisturbance in Parliament on 12 March 1919, MP JHThomas said, ‘By the treatment meted out to them, theGovernment were turning many honest Christian meninto rebels’.28 So the government’s policies towards theconscientious objectors in prison could have been acontributory factor in motivating prison disturbances.

However, the most important cause of theWandsworth disturbances was probably the boost theygave to the morale of the participants. It is highly likely

that many conscientious objectors at Wandsworth tookpart in the disturbances because of the positive effect ithad on their mental wellbeing. Although they wouldnot necessarily have expressed their actions in theseterms, there is evidence that being part of communalagitation against the prison authorities created strongpositive feelings. For those campaigning for the releaseand better treatment of conscientious objectors,concerns about mental wellbeing were a high priority.Most of these ‘political’ prisoners were accustomed toworking lives and other activities where they would beinvolved in intellectually stimulating discussions,especially in the meetings related to political activism, asa member of the Independent Labour Party or the NoConscription Fellowship, for example. When they wereplaced in isolation in prison as a punishment forrefusing to do hard labour, the absence of conversation

and intellectual stimulus musthave been very difficult totolerate. An article in 1917described ‘the nerve-wrecking,soul-destroying torture’ enduredby the conscientious objectors inthese circumstances.29 A visit by aQuaker to a prison in the sameyear was designed to show thevalue of ‘human fellowship tothese lonely men’.30A chaplaincalled Maurice Whitlow wasconcerned that severalconscientious objectors inisolation appeared to be ‘nervouswreck[s]’ and suffering from

‘mental breakdown’.31

Historian Victor Bailey has suggested that therequirement that punished prisoners should be silentwas the most difficult condition for them to bear. ‘Ifsome conscientious objectors complained about thesemi-starvation diet, some the intense cold, and somethe monotony of sewing post office mailbags, allconscientious objectors bore witness to the silence ruleas the most arduous of all prison regulations.’32 Therequirement that prisoners stayed silent for most of theday — or all the time if they were being punished forbreaking prison rules — was very difficult for peoplewho had been active in political and social activitybefore their imprisonment. Most of the conscientiousobjectors imprisoned in Wandsworth had beenengaged in jobs and charitable work where intelligentconversation with other people would have been a

However, the mostimportant cause ofthe Wandsworthdisturbances was

probably the boostthey gave to themorale of theparticipants.

26. ibid27. ibid p.27628. Daily News 12/3/1929. Christian World 31/5/191730. ibid31. Daily News 30/1/191932. Bailey, V. (2019) The Rise and Fall of the Rehabilitative Ideal, 1895-1970, Abingdon, p. 25


continual feature of everyday life. Chaplain MauriceWhitlow noted that five of them had been ‘well-knownin religious, social and philanthropic work’, four wereschool teachers, three were trade union leaders andthree were artists, two of them having exhibited inLondon exhibitions.33 For these people, the lack of socialinteraction and intellectual stimulus must have beenparticularly difficult.

Nor was there any outlet for intelligent andarticulate discourse through letter writing. Prisonerswere only allowed very limited written communicationwith the outside world in the early part of theirsentence. The standard ‘letter’ read ‘Dear _____ , I amnow in this Prison, and am in ______ health. If I behavewell, I shall be allowed to write another letter in about_______ and to receive a reply, but no reply is allowedto this.’ A surviving filled-out version of this template,written by Thomas Ellison while in Wandsworth, saysthat his health was ‘good’ andthat he would be permitted towrite again two months later.34

There must have been asubstantial sense of frustrationfor educated prisoners with highlevels of literacy that they wereonly able to write three or fourwords every two months. Thecombination of being silenced interms of both pen and tonguewas particularly hard to bear.

In this context, the demandsof the protesting prisoners atWandsworth are very revealing about the motivationbehind the disturbances. Most of the demands had aclear focus on improvements that would relieve themental stress of the prisoners rather than their physicalconditions. At some point in October or November1918, the striking prisoners asked for the release oftheir leaders, who had been confined to their cells, theresumption of letters, visitors and books, plus thepermission for prisoners to talk for one or two hoursper day.35 There were no demands here for better food,sleeping conditions or facilities within the cells, itemsthat make their physical situation easier. Instead theprisoners were asking for social interaction andintellectual stimulus, things that would alleviate theirmental and emotional wellbeing.

In these circumstances, the opportunity to mixsocially with other prisoners in collaborative attemptsto defy the authorities must have been very tempting.

Even when in isolation, the prisoners seemed to enjoydevising ingenious attempts to be able to communicatewith each other. In Wandsworth many prisoners inisolation broke the spy-glasses in the door of their cells,not as a mindless piece of vandalism but ‘to push thecover round to see and to hear one another speak’.36

This feeling of communal solidarity between theprisoners and the positive effects of it on their mentalwellbeing was summed up by George Bayley, a prisonerwriting in The Spur in January 1919. Talking about thespontaneous concerts and lectures with which theprisoners amused themselves he said, ‘The feeling ofcomradeship which animates the work and disciplinestrikers is very real and deep’. He added that, whereverhe would be sent for his next sentence, ‘I will alwaysremember my Wandsworth colleagues, and stand bythem in the strike to the last ounce of fight that is inme.’37 These powerful feelings of collaboration and

mutual support, brought aboutby sharing in the disturbance,were a strong antidote to thepolicies of silence and isolationpractised by the prisonauthorities. Even if the songs,lectures and other means ofdisplaying disobedience achievedvery little in the short-term, thesecollective acts of defiance servedas an end in themselves, makingthe prisoners feel much strongermentally just by taking part.

Consequences of the Wandsworth disturbance

The most immediate consequence of theWandsworth disturbance was repression and a harshertone from the government. At first the reaction of theauthorities was to confront the conscientious objectorsat Wandsworth aggressively. A new governor, Blake,was appointed in February 1919 and it soon becameclear that his strategy was to aim to humiliate andprovoke the conscientious objectors.38 Even while hewas being shown round Wandsworth Prison prior totaking up his duties Blake had launched a verbal attackon conscientious objector prisoners. A prisoner calledHarris was ‘shouted and raved at’ by Blake, eventhough none of the prisoners knew at this point that hewas the new governor. When Harris responded ‘mildly’but perhaps sarcastically with ‘Thank you, thank you,sir’, this sent Blake into ‘a mad frenzy’, resulting in the

The combination ofbeing silenced interms of both penand tongue wasparticularly hard

to bear.

33. Daily News 30/1/191934. Original letter from archives of Working Class Movement Library35. Caldwell p.16536. Letter to The Spur by George Bayley, January 191937. ibid38. Major Wallace Blake. (1926) Quod, London, p. 17339. Daily News 10/3/1919


prisoner being taken to the punishment cells and put inhandcuffs.39 This was just the first of many instances ofBlake insulting the conscientious objectors and makinghis contempt for them clear.40 It was also reported thatBlake had paraded 50 conscientious objectors aroundthe prison, proclaiming ‘I will not have these stinkingC.O.s mixed up with respectable men.’41 Even thoughBlake denied any mistreatment of the conscientiousobjector prisoners, he did admit that he had broken theprison rules by swearing at them.42 So the immediateconsequence of the Wandsworth disturbance was forthe authorities to inflict further repression andhumiliation on the imprisoned conscientious objectorsthere.

However, this tactic of confrontation did not lastlong and by April 1919 GovernorBlake had gone, with aparliamentary investigationundertaken into his short butturbulent governorship.Although the Home Secretaryrefuted several allegationsagainst Blake in Parliament andthe prisoners were blamed forthe escalation of tension whileBlake was governor, thegovernment did start to pursue amore conciliatory line with theimprisoned conscientiousobjectors from the spring of191943. In January 1919, WinstonChurchill became Minister ofWar. He took a pragmatic viewthat the further detention of theconscientious objectors in prisonwould only exhaust and divert the resources of theauthorities, so he started to argue in cabinet that theyshould be released. On 3 April 1919 governmentannounced that all conscientious objectors who hadserved at least two years in prison should be released.44

By August 1919, all conscientious objectors had beenlet out of prison.45

It could be argued that the Wandsworthdisturbances had longer term consequences for thetreatment of conscientious objectors. Twenty years laterthe Second World War broke out and Britain introduced

conscription right from the start this time. WinstonChurchill, the Minister of War who had overseen thelatter part of the Wandsworth disturbances in 1919,became Prime Minister a few months into the secondconflict. He was determined that conscientiousobjectors would be treated more humanely than theyhad been in World War One.46 This determination wascarried through by the authorities despite the fact thatpopular suspicion of conscientious objectors was oftenas strong in the 1940s as it had been in the 1910s.47 Awider range of options was provided for theconscientious objector, enabling them to stay out ofprison. Neville Chamberlain, Prime Minister at the startof World War Two and a member of military tribunals inWorld War One, said that lessons had been learnt from

the previous conflict, such as that‘it was an exasperating waste oftime and effort to attempt toforce such people to act in amanner that was contrary to theirprinciples’.48 The Wandsworthdisturbances had been a primeexample of the consequences oflots of vain effort by theauthorities to enforce activeuniversal conscription.

Did the experiences ofimprisoned conscientiousobjectors at Wandsworth andother prisons have any impact onprison reform in the yearsfollowing World War One? Asthe first conscientious objectorswere released in April 1919 therewas an air of optimism that the

case for reform would be argued potently by this veryarticulate and vocal group of former prisoners. Thispoint was made by E. Hughes of Glamorgan in a letterto the Daily Herald on 15 April 1919. He had been inprison for three years. Hughes said that ‘over 600 menwith long practical experience of prison conditions arenow at liberty to give abundant evidence....facts can bebrought forward to show that a radical alteration isnecessary in the entire system.’49 Over the next threeyears Stephen Hobhouse and Fenner Brockway workedon compiling this ‘abundant evidence’ from their own

The Wandsworthdisturbances had

been a primeexample of the

consequences oflots of vain effort bythe authorities to

enforce activeuniversal

conscription.

40. Daily Herald 8/5/191941. Daily News 7/3/191942. Major Wallace Blake. (1926) Quod, London, p. 17643. Daily News 7/3/191944. Daily News 4/4/191945. Rae, Conscience and Politics, p.23346. Rae, Conscience and Politics, p.24047. Luckhurst, T, “The vapourings of empty young men”: Legacies of their hostility between 1916 and 1918 in British newspaper

treatment of conscientious objectors during the German blitzkrieg of 1940’ in Journalism Studies Volume 17, 2016 - Issue 4 48. Ibid p.24249. Daily Herald 15/4/1919


experiences of being imprisoned as conscientiousobjectors and from interviewing others who had seenprisons from the inside during the war. Hobhouse andBrockway published their detailed findings in 1922 in aweighty volume called ‘English Prisons To-Day: Beingthe Report of the Prison System Enquiry Committee’.50

According to Victor Bailey, the ‘radical alteration’to the prison system expected by E. Hughes ofGlamorgan did not materialise. With reference to thedecade or so following the Wandsworth disturbances,Bailey says that ‘the pace of penal change remaineddecidedly halting’.51 An example of this was thatsolitary confinement, perhaps the most hated aspect ofprison life for the conscientious objectors, was onlyabolished completely in 1931.52 However, there wereseveral significant changes to the prison system in the1920s. Solitary confinement was abolished in 1924 forall except prisoners sentenced to hard labour. The1931 reform simply extended this provision to allprisoners. From 1922 prisoners were allowed to talk toeach other and to the warders while working and thesilence rule was abolished completely in 1926.53 Bookswere allowed for prisoners and in some prisons therewere regular lectures and concerts.54 The annualreports of the Prison Commission in both 1924 and1925 talked about restoring ‘ordinary standards ofcitizenship’ to prisoners.55 In terms of both practicalmeasures and the tone of its aims, the authorities wereclearly addressing many of the aspects of prison lifethat the Wandsworth prisoners had hated so much.The fact that prison reform did make an impact in the1920s can be seen by the resistance to these changesshown by former prison governor Lieutenant Colonel

Rich in his 1932 autobiography. Rich, governor atWandsworth in the 1920s, derided the ‘impracticalidealists’ who had introduced ‘classes, visitors,concerts, lectures and similar amenities’ in the 1920s.56

The Wandsworth prisoners from 1918-19 would havebeen pleased to see that the unofficial classes, concertsand lectures they had instigated as part of their protesthad become an official part of mainstream prison lifewithin the next ten years.

Conclusion

The strong-minded individualism of many of theimprisoned conscientious objectors and the internaldivisions within this group mean that it is difficult toassign simple motives to those involved in thedisturbances at Wandsworth in 1918 and 1919.However, the actions taken were largely consistentwith the idea of defying the silence and solitude theprisoners were expected to endure. Those taking partin the disturbances did this partly as a protest againsttheir detention and the conditions of theirconfinement but perhaps mainly because thealternative, of accepting the imposed lack ofcompanionship, would have been too much for theirminds and hearts to bear. The authorities’ attempts torepress the Wandsworth disturbances failed andrebounded, so that in the end the only answer was torelease the conscientious objectors from prison aheadof the original schedule. Within a decade or so, themental and emotional punishments that theWandsworth prisoners had challenged the most hadbeen removed from the British prison system forever.

50. Hobhouse and Brockway, English Prisons To-Day.51. Bailey, V, ‘English Prisons, Penal Culture, and the Abatement of Imprisonment, 1895-1922’ in Journal of British Studies, Vol. 36, No. 3

(Jul., 1997), p. 30152. ibid53. Ibid pp.300-30154. Brown, A, ‘Class, discipline and philosophy: Contested visions in the early twentieth century’ in Prison Service Journal, March 2011,

No. 194, pp.4-555. Bailey, ‘English Prisons’, p. 30156. Rich, C.E.F. (1932) Recollections of a Prison Governor, Plymouth, p.253


There can be few documents as emotive andunsettling as a suicide note or letter. Even if thecontents are brief or matter of fact, theknowledge of what followed the writing of thatdocument is likely to make any of us reflect onthe quality of mortality. Their importance isenhanced by our awareness of the intensity andconsequences of the moments in which theywere written. When written on scraps of paperor even toilet paper, as was the case with thenotes left by Ernest Collins, a prisoner whocommitted suicide in Dartmoor Prison in 1934,the ephemeral nature of those materials seemsto increase their tragedy. Ernest Collins wasfound dead in his cell on 27 November 1934,shortly after he was informed his appeal againsta prison sentence and corporal punishment(often referred to as flogging) had beenrejected. His suicide notes make it clear he hadbeen distressed at the thought of being flogged.

‘The strain has now finished off my heart whichwas bad before and I feel if I lived through thebeating, I would die before all these years go by for Ihave felt very sharp pains over my heart to just belowthe shoulder at left at back — my head goes just likea clock before it strikes and I shake awful then. It’sno good complaining with this sentence hangingover me as I don’t say all I feel…The Policeman in myhead keep lashing me every night…My head is awfulwith all this worry and I think it might go back on meany minute. I try to hide what is really the matterwith it from the Doctor — I don’t tell him all… — Icannot rest or sleep — keep starting up feeling thelash across my body — my mind’s in agony — Godhelp me.’

The verdict of the coroner’s court was that he hadhanged himself while in ‘a state of unsound mind’.

These scant records of the last remaining hoursor minutes of someone who was about to take theirlife offer strong material for cultural history. Theassociations and judgements made about thesetragic actions at the time, and those who committedthem are reflected in the language used to describe,discuss and record them. Historically, they reveal thedarkest aspects of human experience. Occasionally,these tragic acts take on broader meaning andimportance. The suicide of Ernest Collins becamepoliticised and the central evidence in a debate,which reached into the House of Commons, aboutthe use of corporal punishment as a sentence of thecourt. Much less was said about the use of corporalpunishment by prison authorities for offencescommitted in prison. This suicide resulted in aninvestigation by the Prison Commission but failed todirectly instigate a Parliamentary investigationalthough, as I suggest elsewhere, it was animportant driver behind campaigning by the HowardLeague against flogging as a penalty of the courtwhich resulted in the establishment of theDepartmental Committee on Corporal Punishment inMarch 1937.3 Ultimately, Rose asserts, thatCommittee’s recommendations (finally implementedas a result of the 1948 Criminal Justice Act) were‘virtually the death warrant of corporal punishmentoutside prisons.’4 The ability of a prison’s visitingjustices in England and Wales to order the birch orcat (flogging) for prisoners was not affected. Thatpower was retained until 1967 (but last used in1962).

A forestalled campaign and a forgottentragedy: the prison suicide of Edward

Spiers in 19301Alyson Brown is a Professor of History at Edge Hill University

1. An earlier iteration of the ideas in this article appeared in Exchanges, the blog site of the Social History Society, on 17 September2018 https://socialhistory.org.uk/shs_exchange/suicide-and-the-fear-of-flogging/. It has been developed and used here with theirkind permission.

2. The National Archives HO144/19791.3. Brown. A. (2018) ‘The sad demise of z.D.H.38 Ernest Collins, suicide, informers and the debate on the abolition of flogging’,

Cultural & Social History Vol.15 (1): 99-114.4. Rose. G. (1961) Struggle for Penal Reform. Stevens & Sons Ltd, London, pp.211-212. In fact, consequent legislation was delayed

by the war and the recommendations of this Committee were not carried through until the Criminal Justice Act of 1948, 11 & 12.Geo.6, ch.58.


This article looks at another prison suicide thatoccurred a few years before that of Ernest Collins.There are similarities between the two, for example,they both attracted a lot of press attention because ofthe link made between the penalty of flogging andthe suicide. Indeed one article observed, whilegetting Spiers’ name wrong, that ‘No more vividexample of how a single untoward act can excite thepublic conscience could beadduced than the recent suicidein Wandsworth Gaol of JamesEdward Spires [sic].’5 On 31January 1930, James EdwardSpiers was sentenced at the OldBailey to 10 years’ penalservitude and 15 strokes of thecat-o-nine-tails for robbery withviolence. The cat-o-nine-tailswas an instrument used forflogging adults, which had nineleather knotted straps attachedto a handle and its use in theEnglish criminal justice systemhad a long history. On 3February 1930, aged only 37-year-old, Edward Spierscommitted suicide inWandsworth Prison by makinga fatal leap from his first-floorcell headfirst onto the floorbelow. He had been in prisonbefore on multiple occasionsand been the subject ofprevious press attention for hisfirst serious offence, the theftof nearly £2000 from CoventryPost Office in 1914, theproceeds of which were laterdiscovered by the police to havebeen cemented up in boxesbeneath the stairs of his uncle’shouse.6 In 1930 the Governorof Wandsworth described him as an ‘old prisoner’.7

In 1930 James Spiers died immediately as a resultof his fall due to a compound fracture of the skull. Ina morbidly dramatic way his death was reported, onmultiple occasions, with a heading ‘Dive to Death’ or‘Fatal Leap’. Early reports suggested he had actuallybeen on his way to being flogged when he plungedover the balcony. ‘ON HIS WAY TO RECEIVE HIS

PUNISHMENT’ the Lancashire Evening Postannounced 3 Feb 1930. It was the link to his sentenceof flogging that gained this tragedy an exceptionallevel of public attention. Other suicides in prison suchas that of Frederick Beeden in Wakefield Prison orWilliam Arthur Curtis in Armley Prison, Leeds,attracted a press article or two and a mention in thereports of the Prison Commission but little more,

although all prison suicides weresubject to a coroner’s inquiry.8

However, by 5 February itwas reported that his impendingpenalty of flogging was not thecause of Spiers’ suicide. TheIllustrated Police News (13 Feb1930) and others reported astatement from his wife thatSpiers had said to her, ‘I don’tmind the flogging; it’s the tenyears I object to.’ The Exeter andPlymouth Gazette (4 Feb 1930)said that he had told his wife,‘Don’t you worry, kid. If I have togo through it I am quiteprepared.’ The coroner’s juryreturned a verdict that ‘Spiersmet his death through jumpingfrom a height, and that he killedhimself during temporaryinsanity brought on by thoughtof his long term imprisonment.’9

Early coverage shows howreceptive the press was tointerpret Spiers’ suicide ascaused by fear of flogging.Some newspapers wereespecially alert to stories aboutflogging. In a few articles,Spiers’ suicide was used tocondemn flogging as primitive,‘DRASTIC TORTURES OF THEMIDDLE AGES’.10 The Daily

Herald (5 Feb 1930) quoted George Bernard Shaw, asocialist playwright, as stating that every ‘floggingjudge’, ‘ought to have two or three dozen himself tobring him to understand’. ‘It was difficult, he wenton, to speak without disgust, of a state of society inwhich such a thing was allowed.’ The Western DailyPress (4 Feb 1930) asked in a headline, ‘SHOULD‘CAT-O-NINE-TAILS’ BE ABOLISHED? It then quoted

James Spiers diedimmediately as aresult of his fall

due to a compoundfracture of the

skull. In a morbidlydramatic way his

death wasreported, on

multiple occasions,with a heading

‘Dive to Death’ or‘Fatal Leap’. Earlyreports suggestedhe had actually

been on his way tobeing flogged

when he plungedover the balcony.

5. The Sphere 22 February 1930.6. Coventry Herald 7 February 19307. Sheffield Independent 6 February 19308. For example, Sheffield Daily Telegraph 19 March 1930)9. Illustrated Police News 13 Feb 193010. Hartlepool Northern Daily Mail, 5 Feb 1930)


Cecily Craven and Marjorie Fry of the HowardLeague, a prison reform society. Fry referred toflogging as a ‘barbarity’ and ‘degrading’ andobserved, ‘I sincerely hope this terrible event mayhope to bring England into line with the many othercountries which have entirely abolished flogging as alegal punishment’.

Lieut.Col. Rich, who was Governor ofWandsworth Prison, later recalled Spiers’ death in hismemoir, Recollections of a Prison Governor.11 Richwas a supporter of corporal punishment, critical ofthe stir the case caused in the press and, it has to besaid, not sympathetically inclined to the emotivetragedy of the case at the centre of the controversy.He imagined there was ‘a perfect rush to thenewspaper offices’ to sell the story that the ‘poorfellow had been on his way to be flogged and hadtorn himself loose and committed suicide rather thanundergo the degrading performance. People fell over

themselves in their haste to write letters to the Press.’After investigation, ‘the matter whittled down,evidently, to its being the long sentence that hefunked [sic], not the ‘cat’’.

In many ways, the suicide of Edward JamesSpiers was primed to be the central case taken up byanti-flogging campaigners to drive through politicalaction on the issue. However, when the linkbetween Spiers’ sentence of flogging and his suicidebecame weak, particularly when his own wifesuggested to the coroner’s court that his tragic actwas not caused by his impending corporalpunishment but by the long prison sentence,momentum was stalled. Instead it was the case ofErnest Collins in 1934, who, according to his suicidenotes, did commit suicide because of his fear offlogging, that was to be an important part ofreformers’ campaigns and the abolition of corporalpunishment for adults.

11. (1932), Hurst & Blackett, London, p.219


Introduction Young adult prisoners have long been perceivedas a problem for both society and government.Historically, they have been over-represented inprisons and their re-offending rates are high.Recent inquiries have found that this group ofoffenders and prisoners remain a significant andongoing problem for government and haverecently been considered a neglected group inthe penal system.1 The Borstal system for youngadult offenders (17-21 years, later raised to 23)dominated the penal landscape for most of thetwentieth century. The Borstal experimentlasted for over 80 years and yet remains a blankspot in the history of criminal justice andincarceration. The institutions that sprang uphave received surprisingly little examination bycrime historians. In the decade or so before itsabolition in 1982, the system was often depictedas ‘violent and oppressive, its staff callous andcruel’.2 But in its early years, in theory, it offereda beacon of hope for young adult offenders inthe early twentieth-century custodial sector.Nevertheless, there has been no full history ofthe institution from the opening of the firstborstal in Rochester, in 1902, until the abolitionof the system in 1982. This short article willoutline the establishment and development ofthe borstal system and consider some of theenduring themes to be revisited in an ongoingsubstantial history of the borstal system. It willconsider the distinct stages of its evolution, andthe changing practices which ultimately led toits demise in the 1980s.

Setting up the borstal system

Borstal was intrinsically linked to the juvenilepenal estate, which in the late nineteenth and early

twentieth centuries was composed of thereformatory school system, the semi-penal industrialschools, and some juvenile wards in the adult prisonsystem. The reformatory schools, and what wasperceived as their general success, was key in thedebates about young adult prisoners at the 1895Prison Committee, popularly known as the GladstoneCommittee. At this Committee the problem of‘young adult prisoners’, those aged between 16 and21, was recognised. As the judicial statistics from1893 demonstrated, young adult prisoners accountedfor a significant amount of the penal population (theywere the second highest group below the 21-30 year-olds, who accounted for the largest proportion ofoffenders).3 The Committee commented on theshortness of sentences for this class of prisoner, andin contrast advocated a longer sentence to enable abetter reformatory experience. It also recommendedthat the (maximum) age of admission toreformatories should be raised from 16 to 21.

Central to this Committee, was the role of thePrison Commissioner, Sir. Evelyn Ruggles-Brice, whoreally became the architect of the new system whichwas to be aimed at those slightly older youths whofell outside the jurisdiction of the reformatoryschools. At this stage there was not yet a clearcommitment to build a separate young adult estate,but it was suggested that certain reformatories couldbe set aside for lads and girls according to age andcharacter.4 Ruggles-Brise believed that an institutionshould be established that was:

…a half-way house between the prison andthe reformatory. Situated in the countrywith ample space for agricultural and landreclamation work. It would have penal andcoercive sides...but it should be amplyprovided with a staff capable of givingsound education, training the inmates in


Heather Shore is a Professor of History at Manchester Metropolitan University.

1. Allen, R. (2013) Young Adults in Custody: The Way Forward, https://www.t2a.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/T2A-Young-Adults-in-Custody_V3.pdf

2. Canton, R. & Hancock, D. (2007), Dictionary of Probation and Offender Management. Cullompton, Willan, p. 29.3. Eighteenth Report of the Commissioners of Prisons and the Directors of Convict Prisons (1895), p. 29.4. DCP, 1895, p. 30.


various kinds of industrial work, andqualified generally to exercise the best andhealthiest kind of moral influence.5

The first ‘experiments’ were established inBedford Prison (1900) and Rochester convict prisonat Borstal village (1902), which gave the system itsname. The borstal sentence was enacted in 1908 bythe Prevention of Crime Act, aimed at youths aged 16— 21 with previous convictions and/or identified ashaving criminal habits or tendencies. As Ruggles-Bricenoted in a 1900 letter to the Secretary of State:

…the proposal is to dealsystematically with theyoung ruffian, the hooliganof the London streets, thecallous and precociousyoung criminal on whomthe present system oftreatment in prison makesno impression, and whograduates through asuccession of short localsentences into a fixedcareer of habitual crime.6

The records of the BorstalAssociation contain personalfiles for a number of former-Borstal boys.7 The earliest HomeOffice case-files date from 1908and include the records of 100or so boys who enteredRochester Borstal in the yearsleading up to the First WorldWar. Most of these boys went tothe front, and many of themdied at the front, or subsequently of injuries sustainedin combat. A deliberate policy of releasing youngprisoners to serve in the war had been instituted earlyin the conflict. In the Report of the PrisonCommissioners for 1916, it was noted:

Since the outbreak of war, about 1,000 ex-Borstal lads are known to have joined theForces. Two have been awarded the

Distinguished Conduct Medal, 91 havereceived non-commissioned rank, whilenotification of death has been received in 37cases. Including charges of desertion andminor offences, only 96 have been reportedupon unsatisfactorily. As regards the 201lads discharged direct to the Army fromBorstal Institutions this year, only 7 haveprovided unsatisfactory; the remainder, 96per cent., are doing well.8

How many boys actually went to war from theearly Borstals, and how manydied, we have yet to confirm. Inhis book, Boy Soldiers of theGreat War, Richard Van Emdennoted that of the 336 boysreleased from Borstalinstitutions in March 1915, 150were in the forces, and some600 former borstal boys wereknown to be serving overall.9 Infact Feltham Borstal would beclosed due to low numbers inFebruary 1916, presumablybecause of the declining malecrime rate during the war, andthe fact that youths were beingdiverted into the forces.10

These boys include RichardWhall.11 Richard was convictedat the Essex Quarter Sessions inJuly 1912 at the age of 17,having stolen a bicycle. He hadheld down a job as an errandboy for a while but had left hisjob after falling out with his

father, whom the records state, ‘was always swearingat him’. He had also helped his father with his boot-shining business. He received a three-year sentencein borstal, where the Chaplain described him as ‘quitea nice lad, but not robust, especially in character’.During his time in the prison he seems to haveknuckled down, and he was discharged into the careof his father in early March 1915. A week later theborstal agent, Mr. McKenna, received a letter fromRichard stating that he would prefer to join the army,

In fact FelthamBorstal would beclosed due to low

numbers inFebruary 1916,

presumablybecause of thedeclining male

crime rate duringthe war, and thefact that youths

were beingdiverted intothe forces.

5. Ibid., p. 20.6. The National Archives, Kew (hereafter TNA) TNA: HO 45/10046, letter to Sir Digby by Ruggles-Brise, dated 30 June 1900. Cited in

Menis, S. (2012), ‘More Insights on the English Borstal: ‘shaping’ or just ‘shaking’ the young-offender?’, International Journal ofCriminology and Sociological Theory, 5/3, pp. 985-998, p. 990.

7. TNA HO247, 1905-1977.8. 1916 [Cd. 8342] Report of the Commissioners of Prisons and the directors of convict prisons, with appendices., pp. 14-15.9. Van Emden, R. (2005), Boy Soldiers of the Great War. Headline Book Publishing, p. 138.10. The Times, 19 February 1916, p. 5.11. TNA: HO247/71, Case-file, Richard Whall.


and he had enlisted in the Essex Regiment. Hethanked Mr. McKenna for his help and wrote that hehoped that he approved of his actions. During 1915,Mr. McKenna kept in touch with William, receiving aletter from him in May, which noted that he’d ‘nottouched a drop of drink since he’d been in the army’.The Borstal Association wrote to William ‘for news’ inlate May and July; finally, in August, they receivednews from his parents that he’d been killed in action.A newspaper cutting from the Essex CountyStandard, with a picture of William in his uniform, isclipped to the file, and tells us that William was killedat Gallipoli on the 5th August.He was aged twenty.

The sacrifice of the Borstalboys remains a little-knownstory of the Great War thatdeserves to be remembered,although it should be said thatthe war service of these boys didnot go completely unrecognisedas we’ve seen from the 1916Prison Commission. TheCommission also receivedtestimony from the BorstalAssociation, which had kept intouch with ex-prisoners servingin the Forces, a testimony fromthe Visiting Committee ofBristol Prison, which had aModified Borstal System,commented: ‘If one fact standsout more clearly than another asa lesson of the War, it is themagnificent material of whichthe working-class of thiscountry is composed’.12

Development of the interwar borstal

The early system came under a fair amount ofcriticism, mainly that borstal was little different frommainstream prisons. However, the critics of the earlyborstal system, would be appeased in the later 1920s,when the influence of the new Prison Commissioner,the iconic penologist, reformer, and youth worker,Alexander Paterson is seen has having had aprofound impact on social policy in interwar Britain.Paterson’s modifications to borstal referred to theadoption of a ‘moral system’, which included physical

training, extended education, sports, and theintroduction of the house system — which was basedon the belief that youths should have an allegianceand identity shaped by their house, and by loyalty totheir house master — emphasising the ‘personalinfluence of the members of staff upon the boys’.13

By the mid-thirties there were eight borstals; Thetwo earliest borstals for male prisoners wereRochester, and Feltham in west London, which wasfounded in 1910. In 1909, Aylesbury Women’s Prisonbecame a borstal for girls. In the 1920s and 30s therewas an expansion of the borstal system, with the

opening of Portland (1921),Sherwood (1932) and CampHill, on the Isle of Wight (1931),and the two open borstals,Lowdham Grange (1930) andNorth Sea Camp (1935). Theseinstitutions specifically cateredfor borstal youths. Some, likethe open borstals, were purposebuilt. Others, like Aylesbury (awomen’s prison) and Feltham(an industrial school), hadprevious incarnations asinstitutions. Other types ofborstal experience wereestablished in mainstream adultprisons. Borstal AllocationCentres, also known asReception Centres, selectedtrainees for open and closedinstitutions. Unsurprisingly,open borstals were reserved foryouths who were believed tohave the most potential to

respond to borstal training. By 1946 there were threeBorstal Allocation Centres, within Wandsworth andWormwood Scrubs in London, and at Feltham borstalin Middlesex.14 There was also a purpose-built centreat Latchmere House in Kingston-upon-Thames. Therewere also Recall Centres, which according to formerPrison Commissioner, Lionel Fox, were ‘for the furthertraining of those who have to be brought back, sinceit is on many grounds undesirable for these failures tomix with the ordinary trainees’.15 The Recall Centremoved around a number of mainstream prisons up tothe Second World war, including Canterbury (1911-23), Wormwood Scrubs (1923-31), and Wandsworth(1931-40). From 1948 Portsmouth Recall Centre was

The sacrifice of theBorstal boys

remains a little-known story of the

Great War thatdeserves to beremembered,

although it shouldbe said that thewar service of

these boys did notgo completelyunrecognised.

12. 1916 [Cd. 8342] Report of the Commissioners of Prisons and the directors of convict prisons, with appendices., pp. 13-14.13. Bailey, V. (1987), Delinquency and Citizenship: Reclaiming the Young Offender, 1914-1948. Oxford, Clarendon, p. 19814. Hood, R. (1965), Borstal Re-assessed. Heinemann, p. 225.15. Fox, L. W. (1952), The English Prison and Borstal Systems. Routledge & Kegan Paul, p. 397.


the first purpose-built Recall Centre. Finally, somemainstream adult prisons also had borstal wings,including Liverpool, Wormwood Scrubs, Durham, andHolloway women’s prison.16

During this period of expansion, the borstal hasbeen argued to have been a considerable success inachieving the rehabilitation of its youthful inmates.This has been generally associated with thestewardship of Alexander Paterson, during his timeas Prison Commissioner, and in particular, theintroduction of the house system. In 1973, reflectingon the more recent fortunes of the borstal system,John Warder and Reg Wilson noted:

During the 1930’s Borstals appear to haveenjoyed outstanding success, rehabilitatinga claimed 70 per cent oftrainees. During this periodthe house-master system,promoted by AlexanderPaterson and self-consciously modelled onthe English middle-class‘Public School’ (i.e.,.private), clearly respondedto many of the needs of theoverwhelmingly working-class boys.17

However, othercontemporaries were rather lesssanguine about the training onoffer. For example, the ReverendDigby Bliss Kittermaster, who was the chaplain atRochester Borstal from 1937, kept a diary (from1938) in which he recorded his interactions with theinmates and the staff.18 As Melanie Tebbutt hasshown in her study of Kittermaster’s diary, he wasvery aware of the many contradictions of the system,and often critical of some of the rhetoric whichunderpinned it. Moreover, he was frequently

frustrated in the limitations put on his pastoral roleand wrote about the poor psychological state ofmany of the inmates as well as the punitive and oftenbrutal regime that underlay the rhetoric of public-school ideals.19

Borstal in Post Second World War Britain

The post second world war was a period whenyoung male adults were subject to intense scrutiny.As Louise Jackson as argued, between 1945 and1970, a primary object of surveillance andintervention by the police and state agencies was thewhite working-class adolescent; this is equally true ofthose young adults caught between the conflictingstates of adolescence and full-adulthood within the

Borstal system.20 It was also aperiod during which such youthwould become of increasinginterest to academicinvestigations into delinquencyand crime.21 The academic studyof Borstal youth seems to haveprovided a golden opportunityto address and measure keyquestions about crime,background and environment,and recidivism. It is nocoincidence that this was an eraof significant experimentation inBorstal institutions; Borstalinmates were a captive testgroup who could be subject to

study by various psycho-metric, bio-metric and socio-metric approaches.22 This wasn’t entirely new butpost-war growth of sociology in universities wascrucial to the contemporary understanding ofpenality.23

In this period, the social and cultural role ofborstal would also undergo some transformation. Inpart that was due to a greater visibility of the borstal

Borstal inmateswere a captive testgroup who could

be subject to studyby various psycho-metric, bio-metricand socio-metric

approaches.

16. Ibid.17. Warder, J. and Wilson, R. (1973), ‘The British Borstal Training System’, The Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology, 64/1, pp.

118-127.18. Tebbutt, M. (2019), ‘Questioning the Rhetoric of British Borstal Reform in the 1930s’, Historical Journal (in press).19. Ibid.20. Jackson, L. (2014), Policing Youth: Britain 1945-1970. Manchester University Press.21. For example, Rose, A. G. (1954), Five Hundred Borstal Boys, Basil Blackwell; Gibbens, T. C. N. (1963), Psychiatric Studies of Borstal

Lads. Oxford University Press; Stratta, E. (1970), The Education of Borstal Boys: A Study of Their Educational Experiences Prior To,and During, Borstal Training. Routledge & Kegan Paul; Hood, R. (1966), Homeless Borstal Boys: A Study of Their After-care andAfter-conduct. Bell.

22. Taylor, A. J. W. (1968), ‘A Search Among Borstal Girls for the Psychological and Social Significance of their Tattoos’, The BritishJournal of Criminology, 8/2, pp. 170-185; Kahn, J., Reed, F. S., Bates, M., Coates, T. and Everitt, B. (1976), ‘A Survey of YChromosome Variants and Personality in 436 Borstal Lads and 254 Controls’, British Journal of Criminology, 16/3, pp. 233-244;Hollin, C. R. and Wheeler, H. M. (1982), ‘The Violent Young Offender: A Small Group Study of a Borstal Population’, Journal ofAdolescence, 5, pp. 247-257

23. For example, the (later discredited) work on delinquents by the psychologist Cyril Burt in the interwar period, Burt, C. (1925), TheYoung Delinquent. University of London Press.


experience in popular culture. The Irish playwrightBrendan Behan’s, Borstal Boy (1958) stands as themost significant personal account of the borstalexperience in twentieth-century Britain. Alan Sillitoe’sThe Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner (1959),was the title story from a short-story collection, whichwould later be adapted into one of the most iconicfilms from that period. The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner wasn’t the first film to depict theexperience of borstal. In 1949, Gainsborough Picturesreleased the prison drama, Boys in Brown, starringRichard Attenborough, DirkBogarde and Jack Warner.However, the film’s depiction ofborstal youths contained littlecritique of the system, and incontrast reflected a nostalgia forthe interwar period, theessential decency of JackWarner’s Governor echoing themasters of the Paterson-eraBorstal.

Yet by the 1950s theborstal system was under strain,with more and more youthsbeing filtered into a much lessselective system.24 This may havebeen a reflection of the growingconcerns about juveniledelinquency. Post-war panicsabout youth crime emerged inBritain in the late 40s and 50s;anxieties about crime werefurther fuelled by the growth ofnew markets for teenagers andgrowing consumption by youngpeople.25 In Britain teenagerswho had ‘never had it so good’,spent their money on records,cinema, clothes and other teenage paraphernalia,much to the distrust of their elders who believed thatthis had contributed to the increase in youthdelinquency. The young adult prison population rosein the 1950s, leaving the existing system heaving

under the strain. For example, at the AnnualConference of the National Association of ProbationOfficers in April 1959, it was reported that ‘theBorstal population had risen from 2,800 at thebeginning of 1956 to 4,400 at the end of 1958, anincrease of 57 per cent’.26 New borstal institutionssuch as Everthorpe in East Yorkshire, and Wetherby (aformer Naval Base), both of which opened as borstalsin 1958, were established as a response to theexpanding numbers of inmates. Yet within a fewyears borstal would be seen as a failing institution.

By the 1960s, theincreasing pressures on thesystem would be reflected inmore critical culturalrepresentations. Between thewars absconding had been asignificant issue.27 However,from the 1940s accounts ofviolent disorder in borstalswould notably increase. Forexample, in 1945 there weredisturbances at Aylesbury girls.The Labour Home SecretaryJames Ede told the House ofCommons, ‘The disturbance atAylesbury was at the BorstalInstitution and consisted of adisplay of indiscipline by 19 girlsout of a population of 235. Theincident was dealt with byturning the fire hoses on theoffenders, who have since beenremoved to Holloway andpunished’.28 In 1949 a riot atSherwood borstal involving 200boys, resulted in the stabbing ofa warder; the previous year, inNovember 1948, a Sherwood

inmate had murdered the matron, 46 year old IrenePhillips; 21-year-old Kenneth Strickson was foundguilty and executed at Lincoln Prison in March 1949.29

In 1951 there was a widely-reported Inquiry intorioting at Portland Borstal; and further disturbances

In Britain teenagerswho had ‘neverhad it so good’,

spent their moneyon records, cinema,clothes and other

teenageparaphernalia,much to the

distrust of theirelders who

believed that thishad contributed to

the increase inyouth delinquency.

24. Fox, L. W. (1952), The English Prison and Borstal Systems. Routledge and Kegan Paul, pp. 98-99. Also, TNA: CAB/129/95, ‘PenalPractice in a Changing Society: Aspects of Future Development (England and Wales), White Paper on Penal Reform, 12thDecember 1958, p. 278.

25. Cohen, S. (1972), Folk Devils and Moral Panics: The Creation of the Mods and Rockers. MacGibbon and Kee; Muncie, J. (1984),“The Trouble with Kids Today”: Youth and Crime in Post-war Britain. Dover; Horn, A. (2011), Juke Box Britain: Americanisationand Youth Culture, 1945-1960. Manchester University Press; Jackson and Bartie, Policing Youth.

26. Grant, N. R. (1959), ‘In a Time of Change: The Chairman’s Address to the Annual Conference of the National Association ofProbation Officers, at Southport on 25th April 1959’, Probation Journal, June, p. 18.

27. Barman, S. (1934), The English Borstal System: A Study in the Treatment of Young Offenders. P. S. King. Also, for example, see HCDeb 17 February 1938 v. 331, cc.2051-3.

28. Mr. Ede, HC Deb 13 December 1945 vol 417 c764W29. Daily Mail, 20th May 1949; Hull Daily Mail, 19th May 1948; Daily Mail, 23rd March, 1949.


were reported at Hull Borstal in 1953 and 1957,Dumfries borstal in 1963, and Reading borstal in1967. In many of these disturbances allegedmistreatment of inmates by officers was cited.30

Borstal abolished

In 1965, the criminologist Roger Hood,concluded in his study of the borstal system,

Although, on the surface, the borstal systemhas made vast progress in the last thirtyyears, there is little evidence to show that ithas come any nearer to thesolution of its majorproblem — the training andreformation of the ‘hard-core’ of its population. It isto this large segment of theborstal population thatattention should bedirected, particularly as itappears to be growing insize.31

By the 1970s the failings ofthe system were becoming everapparent. The extent to which,as Hood argued, this was to dowith the difficulty of managinga large more problematicelement of the population isdebateable. Other factors alsoneed to be considered.According to Clive Emsley, thetraining ethos (Paterson’s‘Moral System’) had largelydeclined by the sixties and seventies. Increasingly,borstal more closely resembled mainstream adultprisons, with uniformed guards, and the associatedproblems such as overcrowding and poor facilities.32

By the late 1970s, the system received morenegative attention with the controversy around thebanning of the Roy Minton and Alan Clarke play,Scum. Originally conceptualized and filmed as a BBCPlay for Today, Scum was banned through thevigorous interventions of the public decencycampaigner, Mary Whitehouse. Two years later

Minton and Clarke remade it as a film. Despitebeing toned down from the original version, the filmremained highly controversial in its depiction ofviolence and bullying, not only amongst theinmates, but also by the prison warders. Whilst thiswas largely a closed world to investigators, Scumreflected the evidence of violence that hadincreasingly been reported throughout the post-warperiod. Moreover, the film showed other elementsof the borstal experience which had been lackingfrom earlier depictions. Not least of these was thelarge number of black inmates who were subject,unsurprisingly, to racism from both other inmates

and the staff. This version ofborstal was essentially a prison,the staff who ran theinstitution were portrayed as‘incompetent, uncaring andunimaginative’.33 Whilst there islittle doubt that the purpose ofScum was to directly critiquethe system, it arguablycaptured a broader politicalcritique of the borstal systemwhich would gathermomentum in this period.Within two years of the cinemarelease of SCUM, borstal wouldbe abolished by the CriminalJustice Act of 1982, andreplaced with youth custodycentres.

In conclusion, the borstalsystem is often seen as theiconic institution for youngadult justice in the twentiethcentury, for both its strengths

and weaknesses. As an institutional model it had ahuge influence, and variants of the borstal systemspread throughout the British Empire and laterCommonwealth. Borstal institutions wereestablished in India, Africa and Canada, forexample. Borstal School Acts were passed in anumber of Indian states (including Madras, Punjab,West Bengal, Kerala and Bombay). Vancouver inBritish Columbia, was home to the BorstalInstitution New Haven and the British ColumbiaBorstal Association which was established in 1948

In conclusion, theborstal system isoften seen as the

iconic institution foryoung adult justicein the twentieth

century, for both itsstrengths and

weaknesses. As aninstitutional model

it had a hugeinfluence.

30. Daily Mail, 1st January 1951. For Hull borstal disturbances see The Times, 7th December 1953 and 18th August 1957.31. Hood, Borstal Re-Assessed, pp. 217-218.32. Emsley, C. (2011), Crime and Society in Twentieth-Century England. Longman, p. 222.33. Wilson, D. and O’Sullivan, S. (2004), Images of Incarceration: Representations of Prison in Film and Television Drama. Winchester:

Waterside Press, pp. 44-5.


to help young men to ‘move away from criminallifestyles’ and which is still active as a charity today.34

In Nigeria, West Africa, a borstal system is still inoperation today.35 Indeed Alexander Paterson visiteda number of colonial borstals during his tenure asPrison Commissioner, in the interwar period.36

Borstal then, was a key experience for many youngmen and women in the twentieth century, and

remains a core experience in cultural representationsof penality. Nevertheless, we know little about thesystem beyond its earlier years, and whilst some keystudies of the system up to the 1950s and 1960sexist, there has been little scrutiny of the borstalsystem by historians.37 As currently closed archivesbecome open to the historian’s gaze, it is hoped thatthis lack will be addressed.38

34. http://www.bcborstal.ca35. Sarki, Z. M. and Mukhtar, J. I. (2018), ‘The Role of Borstal Homes in Nigeria: Reformation or Remaking Criminality?’, Journal of

Advanced Research in Social and Behavioural Sciences, 12, pp. 17-23.36. Brown, I. (2007), ‘An Inspector Calls: Alexander Paterson and Colonial Burma’s Prisons’, Journal of South-East Asian Studies, 38/2,

pp. 293-308.37. For example, see Hood, Borstal Re-Assessed, and Fox, The English Prison and Borstal Systems. For historical studies, most notable

are Bailey, Delinquency and Citizenship, and Conor Reidy’s study of the Irish borstal, Reidy, C. (2009), Ireland’s ‘Moral Hospital’:The Irish Borstal System, 1906-1956.

38. The author was recently funded by the British Academy to undertake a pilot study on the surviving borstal archives, with the aimof carrying out a longer-term project on the borstal system leading up to its abolition in 1982.

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The Wiley Blackwell Handbookof Forensic Neuroscience Edited by Anthony R. Beech,Adam J. Carter, Ruth E. Mann andPia Rotshtein

Publisher: Wiley-Blackwell (2018)ISBN: 978-1118650929(hardback) 978-1119121190(paperback)Price: £250.00 (hardback) £41.50(paperback)

‘The rise of so-called‘neurolaw’ cases is becoming morepressing in that forensicpractitioners are grappling withunderstanding the impactneuroscience is having upon theforensic field’ both for legalproceedings and rehabilitation(p.5). The premise and timely needfor a handbook of forensicneuroscience is very aptly set withthis introduction.

The Wiley BlackwellHandbook of ForensicNeuroscience (henceforth referredto as ‘the handbook’) opens withthe claim that an individual’scognitions, genetics andenvironmental factors togetherunderline their neurobiologicalmakeup and guide pro/antisocialbehaviour. Recent researchvehemently supports the idea thatoffending aetiology andpredisposition relies heavily on theinteraction of nature and nurture.Therefore, the first volume of thehandbook (both are sold together)sets out to consolidate existingpeer-reviewed research in the fieldof neuroscience relating todifferent aspects of forensicrelevance. It is crucial to note thatthe book is very self-aware in itsextent and content alike. The

authors make clear thatneuroscience research is not at alevel where they can ‘tell a paroleboard to release someone basedon a brain scan’ but not too farfrom it either (p.6).

The book is structured verywell in three parts — introduction,general neuroscience research andneurobiology of offending — withstandalone chapters discussing awide variety of topics ranging fromaggressive behaviour to offendingwith Autism Spectrum Disorders(ASD). It is important to talk aboutthe structure of the book becauseit is an immense strength of thisvolume. It could, however, use anappendix at the end of Volume 1to allow for quick-referencing andeasy lookup(s). (It is situated at theend of Volume 2).

You don’t need to have priorknowledge of the very formidablenames such as ‘anterior insularcortex’ or the ‘ventromedialprefrontal cortex (vmPFC)’ to knowhow they interact with empathy orpsychopathology. Each chapterstarts with a basic explanation ofneuroscience and then relates it tothe construct being talked about ina very accessible language. This isespecially helpful for practitionerstrying to learn more about aspecific deficit, or looking for helpwith a particular offendingbehaviour. Students andresearchers alike have so much tolook forward to and learn.

The volume successfullycombines the various authors’academic prowess and the years ofpractitioner and researchexperience that the accomplishededitors bring with them. Thismeans that the book charts outthe origins of neuroscience inforensic settings right from the

phrenology days to good oldPhineas Gage and the ‘socialbrain’. For me, the winningmoment for this section is whenthey critically examine all thecontributions made by researcherswithin the bigger context of socialimpact. For example, when talkingabout Kraepelin’s ‘influential’ workand him being the father ofmodern psychiatry, the authorsclearly recognise his role in thesupport for eugenics and racialcleansing. It is of immenseimportance to situate most, if notall, research we rely on in aretrospective lens to gauge theharm they may have caused tomarginalised communities, anduse it accordingly. Therefore, as aperson of colour, I extend mygratitude to the authors for doingthis throughout this book.

The book progresses onto keyconcepts of forensic neurosciencein Part II and looks at aggression,sexual behaviour, rewardsensitivity, emotion regulation,empathy and deception. All ofthese ideas are covered in greatdetail with an impressive numberof approaches, for example, socialfactors, neuroimaging research,genetics and personality traitinteractions. Chapters includeadvanced neuroimaging data toshow high-quality brain scans orreader-friendly diagramshighlighting the regions ofinterest, accompanied with veryclear and comprehensive captions.Each chapter comes with a handyKey Points box at the start,followed by ‘TerminologyExplained’ which is a very helpfultool for reference. In addition, thetext is substantiated with extra andrelated information in different‘Boxes’ which are very concisely

Book Review:


written. Furthermore, if you wanta swift snapshot of the chapter orwant to know more than what waslisted in the Key Points, eachchapter has an insightful‘Conclusions’ section along with‘Implications for ForensicApplications’. This can easilybecome your quick go-to guidebridging all the research discussedin each chapter along withevidence-based practicesuggestions and future directions.

The chapter on socialneuroscience of empathy madesome very insightful commentsabout distinguishing empathy frommorality. It was noted thatempathy can imply engagement inpro-social behaviours and moraldecision-making, while beinginfluenced by ‘interpersonalrelationships and groupmembership’ (p.162). They alsoillustrated that despite empathyplaying a key role in care-basedmorality development, ‘by nomeans is morality reducible toempathy and emotion sensitivity’(p.161). All other chapters in Part IIfollow similar lines of interestingresearch and approachable writingwhile discussing a plethora ofconcepts.

Part III of this volume dealswith the ‘Neurobiology ofOffending’ and delves deeper intothe underpinnings ofpsychopathology, AntisocialPersonality Disorder, offenderswith ASD, violent and sexualoffending, brain injury, adolescentoffending and alcohol-relatedaggression. These chapters discussrisk factors, possiblepredispositions to higher chancesof offending, rehabilitation needsand concept-specific in-depthresearch. The claims made arebacked by extensive evidence andshow a clear humanitarianapproach in dealing withvulnerable groups, such as at-riskyouth or individuals with ASD.

The authors make importantconnections about comorbidities in

a clinical-forensic population anddiscuss how the interactions offactors such as earlier victimisation,poverty, poor parenting andquestionable ability to form intent(in the case of ASD) might lead todebunking the monolith of the‘criminal offender’. One of thehighlights in this section was aclear statement that should act asa word of caution for peopledesigning treatment programmesfor sexual and violent offending —when you efficiently treat a sociallyunacceptable behaviour, you alsoreduce the potency of its sociallyacceptable counterpart.Specifically, in the case ofpharmacological interventions forforensically relevant sexualbehaviours, they can altertestosterone to inactive levels andeven change serotonin activity. It isimportant then to weigh out thesocial benefit costs of thesetreatments with the price beingpaid by the individual in focus.

In conclusion, this first volumeof the handbook impartsknowledge on various core aspectsof forensic neuroscience in clearand comprehensive writing styleswhich are successful in engagingboth the layperson reader andspecialised researcher. I stronglyrecommend it as a well-researchedand thorough volume and cannotwait to read and review Volume 2.This handbook is, therefore, anessential text for anyone looking toknow the current status of forensicresearch at the basic, intermediateand advanced level across multipleforensic settings. Something foreveryone!

Aarohi Khare, DoctoralResearcher, University of Kent

Classic Book ReviewThe Lucifer Effect: How GoodPeople Turn EvilBy Phillip ZimbardoPublisher: Rider books (2007)ISBN: 978-1-84-604103-7(paperback)Price: £12.99 (paperback)

Having reviewed over twentybooks for the Prison ServiceJournal, it is without doubt, thatthat this classic by Phillip Zimbardowas the book I have most eagerlyanticipated reading. It allowed meto hark back to my undergraduatedays as a Psychology student,where the Stanford PrisonExperiment was a staple referencein so many Social Psychologyessays. However, my research foressays at the time never delved into the minutiae of what actuallywent on over those six fateful daysin the summer of 1971. In fact,apart from a few press stories andthe occasional research paper thefull account has never beenpublished before. However, in thisbook, Zimbardo has recorded whathappened to an excruciating levelof detail, and I use that adjectivebecause of the difficult reading itmakes to get through those eightchapters that cover less than aweek of almost immediate andescalating abuse of power. Indeed,Zimbardo explains in the prefacethat he found it ‘emotionallydraining’ reviewing the videotapesand other records that helped himconstruct these chapters inparticular.

Zimbardo grew up in a poorSicilian family in 1930s New Yorkwhere his prejudicial treatment atthe hands of authority figures andexperience of crime, elicited aninquisitiveness into other people’sbehaviour. Having excelled inacademia, he accepted a positionas Professor of Psychology atStanford University, where with agrant from the US Office of navalresearch, he commenced the


infamous study that would makehis name and be so roundlyethically criticised.

What prompted theauthorship of this book, the firstdetailed analysis of the StanfordPrison Experiment over twenty-fiveyears after the event, wasZimbardo’s involvement as anexpert witness in the trials of USmilitary reservists involved in thetorture of detainees in Abu Ghraibprison in Iraq. The similaritiesbetween the experiment and theAbu Ghraib scandal are striking,and well laid out in the book.When, within six days, ordinarystudents, randomly assigned to theroles of prisoner or ‘guard’, wereabusing their power by committinghorrific acts of sexual humiliationon other students in theexperiment, it becomes profoundlyobvious, that a situation like AbuGhraib could occur in a much morehostile environment. The similaritybetween both situations is alsoreinforced by the photographs thataccompany each chapter; inparticular a photo of hooded andchained ‘prisoners’ in Stanfordawaiting a visit from the ‘paroleboard’ and another some twohundred pages later of a hoodeddetainee in Abu Ghraib, hookedup to hoax mains power wires.

It also becomesoverwhelmingly obviousthroughout the book that thiscould occur in any custodialsituation due to the natural powerimbalance, in the absence ofnecessary leadership, checks andbalances. Indeed, Zimbardolaments his own ‘evil of inaction’,in his identity confusing dual roleof lead researcher and ‘PrisonSuperintendent’. His participationin the experiment, prevented himfrom seeing the wood from thetrees and highlights the importantroles played by morally awareleaders in custodial settings andthose that provide external checkson prisons in this country, forexample Independent Monitoring

Boards, HM inspector of Prisons,the Prison and ProbationOmbudsman and the UNCommittee Against Torture.Similarly, Zimbardo describes anabsence of leadership or checks atAbu Ghraib.

This inaction is described asleading to a ‘banality of evil’ whichreflects the quote misattributed byJFK, namely that ‘the only thingnecessary for the triumph of evil isfor good men to do nothing.’ Italso powerfully highlights howanybody can be influencedtowards ‘evil’ by situationaldynamics that generally trumpindividual power. As an expertwitness in the case of one of theguards in Abu Ghraib, Zimbardoargued for the power of situationalfactors influencing individualbehaviour and that those guilty ofabsent leadership was where theblame for these atrocities shouldbe focused. Earlier in the book,Zimbardo interestingly relates theindividual-situational dynamic of‘evil’ to that of the medical-publichealth approach to illness (is it theindividual responsible for themedical issues related to theirobesity, for example, or thesituation of the availability,cheapness and aggressivemarketing of sugary foods).Zimbardo goes on to arguepowerfully that beyond individualpower and situational power is amuch greater systemic power(based on culture, politics,economics, religion etc) that if notchanged, will mean thatbehavioural and situation changescan only ever be temporary, andthese kind of events will reoccur.For Zimbardo, the most importantmethod for these situations tooccur is dehumanisation, wheresystems and situations allow‘others’ to be viewed as less thanhuman and some can then thinkthat they are deserving of tortureor worse. Indeed he describesexperiments where simply labellingpeople ‘animals’ rather than ‘nice

guys’ can lead to increased acts ofcruelty by subjects. This reallyresonated when considering theway much commentary take placein the public sphere on whetherthose in custody should be labelledresidents, prisoners, offenders,cons or worse.

Having waded through fairlydark reading for 90 per cent of thebook, Zimbardo does offer in thefinal chapter methods of resistingthis kind of negative conformity,including a ten step programme toresist unwanted influences. He alsoexamines ‘heroism’ as an opposingfactor to the ‘evil’ he previouslyhas described. Satisfyingly, anargument emerges that comparesthe banality of evil (inaction) to abanality of heroism, described assmall actions that inspire systemchange. Here Zimbardo outlineshow, as anyone is capable of evil,so the same applies to heroism,although he does qualify that bysuggesting that you cannotbecome a hero if your action, nomatter how great, does not inspiresystem change. At this point hehighlights how his partner at thetime happened to attend theStanford experiment on day six,realised what was happening, andmade an impassioned speech, atwhich point Zimbardo recognisedthe descent into depravity he hadfacilitated and finally ended thestudy early.

Overall, this is a fascinatingand detailed read for anyone whois remotely interested in theStanford Prison Experiment and it’sramifications for a wide range ofareas in society. Reading in greatdetail the six days of theexperiment is a shocking eyeopener for anyone who has everhad to seek ethics approval. Mostnotably from the start whenfamilies and participants aredistressed at the realistic ‘arrests’that take place in full view offriends and neighbours beforethings degenerate further. This isclearly a useful read and reminder


of how things can go wrong forthose who are practitioners andleaders in custodial settings.Furthermore, it can also be usefulfor others who study, observe,comment or critique these veryinstitutions.

Paul Crossey is Deputy Governorat HMP The Mount

Classic Book ReviewThe Functioning of SocialSystems as a Defence againstAnxiety: Report on a Study ofthe Nursing Service of aGeneral Hospital By Isabel Menzies-Lyth (1959)ISBN-13: 978-0901882066

In the late 1950s a LondonTeaching Hospital approached theTavistock Institute of HumanRelations to undertake a study. Thepurpose of the study was toexplain and help address the highrate at which nurses left theprofession, many beforecompleting their training. One ofthe outcomes of the study was thearticle, which appeared in theTavistock Institute’s journal in1959, which is the subject of thisreview. The article wassubsequently republished in avolume of selected essays by theperson who led the study, IsabelMenzies Lyth, a psychoanalyst whodied in 2008. The article, while ofseminal importance in establishingher reputation, was not all forwhich she was remembered. Shewas also behind the Tavistock’swidely respected work on thedynamics of authority andleadership. Indeed, Menzies Lyth’sobituary in The Times, publishedon 25th February 2008, noted thather reputation for the studies ofnursing ‘was embedded in a

lifelong commitment toinvestigating and supportingprocesses of change in individualsand institutions.’

The conclusions Lyth drewabout how individuals andinstitutions devise the means ofprotecting themselves against theemotional and psychologicaldifficulties of their work remain ofinterest. The value of thisretrospective review of a ‘classic’ isthe parallels that may be drawnbetween Menzies Lyth’s findings inhospitals and what may beobserved in prisons. This is not tosuggest that the literature on thisaspect of prisons is wanting,indeed there is a rich anddistinguished archive on the workof prison officers in particular.While parallels and analogies lackthe rigour of proper research, thehope is that those which may beinferred here may more than idlyamuse.

Menzies Lyth found that muchof the nurse’s anxiety stemmedfrom the proximity to intimatebody functions and the issues oflife and death. She saw thatinstead of devising methods ofcoping with the anxieties thatwould inevitably arise fromworking with ill people, nurses andhospitals devised mechanisms toavoid or displace the anxieties —principally in terms of projectionand sublimation. By avoidingrather than addressing theiranxieties, the nurses and thehospitals actually sustained andeven intensified them. This in turnaffected the quality of the worknurses and hospitals undertookand their efficiency.

The means by which anxietieswere avoided in hospitals arefeatures commonplace to manyorganisations, although they arenot always used as defencesagainst anxiety. The features Lythobserved at the London teachinghospital (features which she hadobserved as typical of other

hospitals too) included splitting-upthe nurse-patient relationship; thedepersonalisation of the individual;the use of professionaldetachment; and displacingresponsibility.

Splitting up the nurse-patientrelationship was achieved partly byrequiring different nurses to attendto different needs of one patient;and partly by the use of a rigidtask-list with each task minutelyprescribed. Diluting the individualnurse’s contact with one patientand emphasising the importanceof the technique of the task(however mind-numbing — likethe importance of ‘hospitalcorners’ on bed linen) rather thanthe contact with the patient,provided a distance. Thisnecessarily reduced considerablythe individual nurse’s scope fordiscretion — and in 1956 hercolleague Elliot Jaques hadidentified how important acorrelation there is betweenresponsibility and discretion.

The depersonalisation of theindividual, which Menzies Lythobserved as a defence mechanism,was reflected partly in the erosionof discretion and was reinforced bythe importance of uniform andhierarchy for nurses; and in wayspatients too were depersonalised.Instead of referring to patients byname even, Menzies Lyth heardsuch references as ‘the liver in bed10’. In this way the delivery ofwhat are fundamentally personalservices and care to fellow humanbeings was depersonalised.

Reinforcing the effects of thisdepersonalisation of the individualwas the importance attributed toprofessional detachment. MenziesLyth refers to it as the ‘stiff upperlip’. (Ben McIntyre, the historian,recently described this ‘Britishcharacteristic’ as essentially anunwillingness to confrontembarrassing or emotionallychallenging reality). Emotionaloutbursts — by patients as well as


by staff, Menzies Lyth noted —were not merely frowned upon butin the case of staff particularly theywere reproved.

Another telling feature of the‘defence against anxiety’ Lythnoticed was how responsibility wasdisplaced. This manifested itself ina number of ways. Oftenresponsibility was diluted byhaving a system of checks andcounter-checks — and not only insituations (such as the dispensingof dangerous drugs) but in morecommonplace decisions. Linked tothis was the tendency to ‘upwarddelegation’, again underpinned bythe restriction of personaldiscretion at the nursing level. Andcompounding this was what she

saw as the tendency to obscureresponsibility by the lack of clarityabout who was responsible fortaking decisions in themanagement chain.

In her concluding remarks inthis essay, Menzies Lythcommented that ‘the socialdefence system represented theinstitutionalisation of very primitivepsychic defencemechanisms…which facilitate theevasion of responsibility butcontributes little to its truemodification and reduction’. Shealso concluded that in spite of theobvious difficulties of the nursingtask those difficulties were notenough to account for the highlevel of anxiety and stress she

observed. She inferred that thisinversely affects patients’ recoveryrates. And finally she remarked,‘The success and viability of asocial institution are intimatelyconnected with the techniques ituses to contain anxiety.’

While the way we recruit,train, retain and support staff ininstitutions today may betteranticipate the anxieties they willexperience, the insights thisseminal essay offers may affordsome interesting reflection.

William Payne is a former prisongovernor and member of the PSJEditorial Board


Vipassana meditation is a straightforward, practical way to achieve real peace of mind and thus to lead a happy, useful life.

self-observation. It teaches us to observe the reality within ourselves at deeper levels, and enables us to dissolve tensions and unravel the knots within. In this way we can lead a more positive, balanced, happy and healthy life – full of peace, harmony and goodwill for others.

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Prison Service Journal Prison Service JournalIssue 249Issue 249

ContentsUnderstanding the past II Editorial CommentAlyson Brown and Dr Alana Barton

2

4 ‘Major H’ — the life and times of a VictorianConvict Prison governorDavid J. Cox and Joseph Hale

‘You cease to be a man’: masculinity and the‘gentleman convict’, c.1870-1914Ben Bethell

11

David J. Cox is a Reader in CriminalJustice History at The University ofWolverhampton and Joseph Hale is aLecturer in Criminology at TheUniversity of Wolverhampton andcurrently studying for a PhD.

Ben Bethell recently completed aPhD at Birkbeck, University ofLondon, on the ‘star class’ in late-Victorian and Edwardian convictprisons

Alyson Brown is a History Professorand Associate Head of English,History and Creative Writing at EdgeHill University and Dr Alana Bartonis a Reader in Criminology at Edge Hilluniversity Purpose and editorial arrangements

The Prison Service Journal is a peer reviewed journal published by HM Prison Service of England and Wales.

Its purpose is to promote discussion on issues related to the work of the Prison Service, the wider criminal justice

system and associated fields. It aims to present reliable information and a range of views about these issues.

The editor is responsible for the style and content of each edition, and for managing production and the

Journal’s budget. The editor is supported by an editorial board — a body of volunteers all of whom have worked

for the Prison Service in various capacities. The editorial board considers all articles submitted and decides the out-

line and composition of each edition, although the editor retains an over-riding discretion in deciding which arti-

cles are published and their precise length and language.

From May 2011 each edition is available electronically from the website of the Centre for Crimeand Justice Studies. This is available at http://www.crimeandjustice.org.uk/psj.html

Circulation of editions and submission of articles

Six editions of the Journal, printed at HMP Leyhill, are published each year with a circulation of approximately

6,500 per edition. The editor welcomes articles which should be up to c.4,000 words and submitted by email to

[email protected] or as hard copy and on disk to Prison Service Journal, c/o Print Shop Manager,HMP Leyhill, Wotton-under-Edge, Gloucestershire, GL12 8BT. All other correspondence may also be sent to the

Editor at this address or to [email protected].

Footnotes are preferred to endnotes, which must be kept to a minimum. All articles are subject to peer

review and may be altered in accordance with house style. No payments are made for articles.

Subscriptions

The Journal is distributed to every Prison Service establishment in England and Wales. Individual members of

staff need not subscribe and can obtain free copies from their establishment. Subscriptions are invited from other

individuals and bodies outside the Prison Service at the following rates, which include postage:

United Kingdom

single copy £7.00



Overseas

single copy £10.00



Orders for subscriptions (and back copies which are charged at the single copy rate) should be sent with a

cheque made payable to ‘HM Prison Service’ to Prison Service Journal, c/o Print Shop Manager, HMP Leyhill,

Wotton-under-Edge, Gloucestershire, GL12 8BT.

17Steve Illingworth is a SeniorLecturer in History Education at EdgeHill University’


OURNALJ

Editorial Board

Dr Ruth ArmstrongUniversity of Cambridge

Dr Rachel BellHMP SendAlli Black

HMP KirkhamMaggie Bolger

Prison Service College, Newbold RevelProfessor Alyson Brown

Edge Hill UniversityGareth EvansIndependentDr Ben Crewe

University of CambridgeDr Sacha Darke

University of Westminster Dr Michael Fiddler

University of GreenwichDr Kate GoochUniversity of Bath

Dr Darren WoodwardCoventry University

Dr Jamie Bennett (Editor)HMPPS

Paul Crossey (Deputy Editor)HMP Huntercombe

Dr Ruth Mann (Reviews Editor)HMPPS

Steve HallIndependent

Professor Yvonne JewkesUniversity of Bath

Dr Helen JohnstonUniversity of HullDr Bill Davies

Leeds Beckett UniversityMartin Kettle

Church of EnglandDr Victoria KnightDe Montfort University

Monica LloydUniversity of Birmingham

Dr Amy LudlowUniversity of Cambridge

Dr David MaguireUniversity College, London

Professor Anne-Marie McAlindenQueen’s University, BelfastDr Karen HarrisonUniversity of HullWilliam PayneIndependentGeorge PughHMP BelmarshDr David ScottOpen University

Christopher StaceyUnlock

Ray TaylorHMPPS

Mike WheatleyHMPPS

Kim WorkmanRethinking Crime and Punishment, NZ

Dr David HoneywellUniversity of DurhamJackson JosephHMP Leyhill

The rebellion of the ‘basement lecturers’:The Wandsworth Prison Disturbances of 1918-19Steve Illingworth

This edition includes:

‘Major H’ — the life and times of a VictorianConvict Prison governor

David J. Cox and Joseph Hale

‘You cease to be a man’: masculinity and the‘gentleman convict’, c.1870-1914

Ben Bethell


Steve Illingworth

A forestalled campaign and a forgotten tragedy:the prison suicide of Edward Spiers in 1930

Alyson Brown


Heather Shore


OURNALJMay 2020 No 249

Special Edition:

Understanding the Past II

Prison Service Journal - Centre for Crime and Justice Studies · 4 ‘M ajor H’ — th el if nd...

Documents

Transcript of Prison Service Journal - Centre for Crime and Justice Studies · 4 ‘M ajor H’ — th el if nd...