The atmosphere is currently particularly tense on D wing, the most restrictive in the prison. Two prisoners,
Rifhat Mehmet, serving 27 years for armed robbery, and another prisoner serving life for murder, are engaged
in a dirty protest in which they smear excrement around their cells. That means they never emerge from
their befouled cells except to see a doctor. The prisoners in D wing greet guards with torrents of abuse,
shouted through cell doors.
There is no doubt that Woodhill's inmates are among the most dangerous in Britain. The majority are
serving sentences for murder; a third have either killed or attempted to kill fellow inmates while in custody. A
notorious example is Charles Bronson (formerly Michael Peterson), a bald and heavily bearded man of
enormous strength who spends most of his time doing pressups. He was originally sentenced to seven years
for robbery in 1974 but has remained inside because of repeated attacks on prison staff and hostage taking.
During his quarter of a century in prison (he is now not due for release until 2008) he has spent most of his
time in solitary confinement and has been held in all three of Britain's special hospitals for the insane. During
a visit last week, Bronson was in the exercise pen, which he ran endlessly round liked a caged animal.
Other prisoners include Fred Low, who has twice stabbed a fellow inmate to death, and Michael Sams,
a kidnapper and murderer who also attempted to strangle a female prison visitor. Despite the massive
security at Woodhill, there have been numerous assaults on guards who at times have had to put on full
riot gear.
But the harshness of the regime at Woodhill is now attracting unfavourable attention. The Prison
"Board of Visitors", a voluntary organisation, has just sent a critical report on Woodhill to the home secretary.
It gives a warning that the prison is "in danger of becoming a dumping ground". Privately, a member of
the board goes much further, describing conditions as "inhumane and dangerous". Lawyers representing
those held at Woodhill are bitterly critical of their treatment. Michael Topolswki, a barrister, says: "What
this prison seems to be about is to give an extra dimension of punishment reserved for those who won't co-
operate." Vicki King, a solicitor from Thanki, Novy and Taube who specialises in prisoners' rights, is even
blunter: "They hate these prisoners, they don't give a toss."
Prison Service officials defend the regime in the restrictive wings on two grounds. First, if prisoners co-
operate with staff, they can progress through the system and get out of Woodhill. Second, they say,
isolating the most difficult and disruptive prisoners has had beneficial effects on the rest of the prison system.
"We are determined to show that the only way out of the Close Supervision Centre is to behave," says
the Prison Service's deputy director-general, Phil Wheatley.
What the authorities appear not to have recognised is that many of those at Woodhill will never
progress. The two most restrictive wings, A and D, have turned into long-term segregation units. The
prison's governor, Marjorie Boon, admits that she is "uneasy" about locking prisoners up 23 hours a day for month
after month. She also accepts that some of those in the CSC are not capable of changing their behaviour.
Indeed, in the past few weeks the Prison Service has at last recognised that the severity of the Woodhill
regime may be counterproductive. Changes have been introduced to bring the restricted A wing into line
with segregation units in other prisons. Prisoners are now allowed to have their own radio, training shoes,
magazines and books; these privileges have not been extended to those on D wing. The changes have not
mollified Woodhill's critics. "The psychology underlying this is totally wrong. You cannot keep people in
these conditions locked up for 23 hours a day for year upon year," said an official prison visitor.
Before Woodhill was set up a year ago, unco-operative or violent prisoners were shunted around the
country from one segregation unit to another in what became known as "the merry-go-round." The
32 men who are now at Woodhill are the most difficult residue out of a long-term prison population of
21,000, of whom 3,000 are housed in high-security prisons.
Coping with exceptionally disruptive or dangerous prisoners is certainly an acutely difficult problem. In
some countries, such as Canada, prison guards armed with shotguns and rifles patrol galleries above cell
areas. That method permits prisoners to have considerable time out of their cells and freedom of association
-- at the risk of being shot if they misbehave. Other countries resort to heavy doses of tranquillisers
and other calming drugs. Neither method is likely to be acceptable in Britain. But other approaches have
been tried with some success. The Barlinnie regime in the 1980s, the special unit in Hull in the early 1990s
and C wing at Parkhurst all provided top security in relatively tolerant regimes. Barlinnie, in particular,
provided its top-security prisoners with considerable freedom to develop skills, to study and to associate
within a secure environment. It is unclear why the regime was abandoned. The official line is that it had
outlived its usefulness.
Woodhill's harsh regime was developed during the period in which Michael Howard was home
secretary. Mr Howard was famed for the unapologetic harshness of his approach to law and order.
Woodhill may have helped to achieve the goal of making prison riots and violence less likely, but it has failed
in another of its stated aims -- persuading disruptive and dangerous prisoners to change their ways.
Most important of all, it fails to meet basic standards of humanity. As Paul White, chairman of the prison's
Board of Visitors, says: "You are dealing with humans, not animals. There has got to be more flexibility."
The treatment of Britain's most dangerous prisoners should embarrass a civilised society
The "Close Supervision Centre" at Woodhill prison is the end of the line for Britain's most violent and
disruptive prisoners. No association with other prisoners is allowed for the 14 men on the two most restrictive
wings. They are locked in their cells for 23 hours a day. Meals are shoved into their tiny cells via a hatch at
the bottom of the door. Inside each cell is a bed consisting of a mattress on a raised concrete slab, a table and
chair made from compressed cardboard, and a stainless steel toilet and sink. Whenever an individual
prisoner is allowed out of his cell for exercise in a wired cage, or for a weekly shower, he is escorted by at least
six prison officers, three on either side.