On 25 January 2005, an inquest jury at Warrington, Cheshire, delivered a scathing verdict on the death of Sarah Campbell, who died in Styal Prison, aged 18, on the first day of her sentence on 18 January 2003. The jury concluded that the prison had failed in its ‘duty of care’ towards Sarah and listed a catalogue of specific failings that had contributed towards this. ERIC ALLISON reports.
Sarah was known to be ‘at risk’ when she entered Styal, following her conviction for manslaughter at Mold Crown Court. The prison could hardly have been unaware of her vulnerability, given that, during an earlier period during which she was remanded in custody, Sarah had self-harmed some 30 times. Indeed, a community psychiatric liaison officer at the court was so convinced that Sarah would attempt to take her own life in prison, he telephoned, wrote and faxed Styal, to warn them.
When Sarah arrived at Styal on 17 January 2003 the prison had experienced two recent deaths of women. (And a further three were to follow, in a 14-month period.) It would be imagined therefore, that prison staff would have been alert to the danger. If they were, then they expressed their concern in a callous, inhuman manner.
Because she had pleaded guilty, Sarah perceived herself to be in danger from another prisoner. She asked to go on protection in Butler House, the prison’s vulnerable prisoners’ wing. Instead, they put her down the block. (And I do not go along with, ‘segregation unit’ any more than I go along with, ‘care and control area’, or whatever namespin they want to put on their wretched prisons within prisons.) They also opened up a 2052SH Form (self-harm log) on her. Incredibly, somebody wrote on the card outside her cell, ‘R53’, meaning Rule 53 – in other words, awaiting adjudication.
The following morning, Sarah was observed and logged ‘acting strangely and bizarrely’. Help should have been at hand, in the guise of the then Deputy Governor at Styal, Mrs Jean Craven, who had taken adjudications that morning. She offered to take Sarah’s lunch into her, and presumably fulfil her role as duty governor, checking on the welfare of an at risk prisoner who had been put down the block.
In evidence, Mrs Craven admitted that she did not see Sarah’s face during the visit, only her back, nor did she bother to read the 2052SH Form which explained how vulnerable the 18-year-old was.
Later that day, Sarah was found, choking in her own blood and vomit, having ingested a huge quantity of prescribed medicine. The jury heard that there was a delay of between 20 and 40 minutes in calling an ambulance. (There was some debate as to whose responsibility that was.)
Professor Alexander Forrest, one of the country’s leading experts on toxicology, said in evidence that ‘Sarah could have taken some of the tablets on the Saturday morning’. Governor Craven ‘saw’ Sarah at lunchtime.
Of all the evidence I heard during the inquest, nothing enraged me more than that of the then ‘suicide prevention co-ordinator’ (a decent woman, according to ex-Styal prisoners, I have spoken to). She was asked by a juror (and this, apparently working class, jury asked some of the most searching questions an inquest will ever have heard), about the ‘attitude’ of staff, towards the problem of self harm in prison. She replied that, ‘Some staff thought, “If someone wants to commit suicide, what right have we got to stop them?”’ What about your Duty of Care, for starters, you unnamed staff?
It would be some consolation to the mother and friends of Sarah Campbell, and to the relatives of those prisoners who died before and after her, if lessons were to be learnt from the deaths. Judging by the flood of vulnerable people, men and women, who continue to pour into our prisons, I am not about to hold my breath in anticipation of a change of policy or practice.
Sarah Campbell had been convicted of a serious offence. She was a heroin addict, with a history of psychological problems. She took part in a criminal enterprise in which a man, who was going about his business, was aggressively verbally entreated to give her and her friend money, for heroin. The man suffered a heart attack and died. That was a tragedy for his family and a dreadful sign of the times. What happens to prisoners, when they are treated in a callous and inhumane manner is a tragedy for the whole of society. Such treatment betrays the memory of victims, past, present and future.
FRFI 183 February / March 2005
