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Issue 86 Autumn 2022
Michael Selby
The PROP Revolt of 1972

This revolt throughout the Prison system was curious in that its origin was obscure, and the revolt was a series of expressions of indiscipline that was pervasive but disappeared, seemingly, without trace. But it did involve me painfully.

So, what was PROP? One translation was Prisoners Right of Participation. Rumour had it that it started out as an academic exercise in the Sociology/Criminology Department of a University (name withheld) that was far too successful. It postulated that non-violent demonstrations by prisoners could alter regimes and occurred throughout the spring, a long hot summer and early autumn of 1972. The response was organised by Alan Bainton, a former distinguished prison Governor. There was pressure to deal with it by punitive harshness, but he rejected this and his method was one of patient reasonable non punitive action. Many found this unacceptable and the argument about the appropriate response raged at all levels, it certainly affected Bainton’s health.

So where was I? occupying a desk at H.Q. in Ecclestone Square, a Governor 111 with the title Staff Training Development Officer, working to the extroverted Colonel Jim Hayward in charge of Staff Training. My brief was wide ranging, at that time mainly concerned with the introduction of early computers, principally involved with nighttime sanitation. My only legacy to the service is defining a computer’s role within prisons, hence ECR, Emergency Control Room rather than merely Control Room. A significant difference that travelled all the way up to the Minister for his acceptance.

A small change, seemingly, but the result of considerable debate. So, I was interested in the reaction of H.Q. to PROP and became involved when promoted to be the Governor of Chelmsford prison in May 1972.This was a poisoned chalice. The prison was a mess, and it should not have surprised me that I was shoveled off to look after 300 London villains because it was reported to me by Leslie Portch that two senior civil servants had remarked in his hearing “there goes Selby, the most abrasive tongue in the Home Office.” It certainly confirmed to me that I was a manager rather than an Administrator. So, to Govern Chelmsford, unprepared, untrained, never having worked in a prison before, but conscious of looming PROP action.

This had been evident already in the odd prison, maintaining passive inconvenience but no violence because Allan Bainton’s response, whilst causing considerable irritation to the heavy discipline authorities, such as Wandsworth’s BOV, appeared to be working. Then it was Chelmsford’s turn in early July. The long termers in C Wing refused to return to their cells on a Saturday evening and remained out in the playing field during a warm night, quietly returning in the morning. No action, it was treated as though it had never happened. A year later when interviewing a Lifer, he told me that this night out was his most precious memory, just to see the stars and hear birds at dawn, so somebody benefited.

Return to normal? So, we thought, enough for me to take summer leave with my family in our recently acquired house in Pembrokeshire, which we still have. So off we went, leaving the Prison in the capable hands of John Williams, the D/G and George Shore, the A/G. A fortnight later, after a splendid day’s
sailing, what was it that prompted me to pause before going up to bed to listen to the 10 o’clock news?

The headline stated, “The trouble in the Isle of Wight Prisons has started in two prisons on the mainland.” So, I waited for the details and 10 minutes later, sure enough Gartree and Chelmsford were named. No phone in the house, so down to the harbour for the only available phone, but it is occupied by young ladies checking out A Level results with friends. The local Police still occupied a house, so up to the village, knock on the door, “What?” “Can I use your phone please?” “Why?” “I am the Governor of Chelmsford Prison and I’ve just heard on the news that it’s rioting,“ “Come in.” There follows a painful conversation with the Deputy Governor.

In essence, and it is now 11 o’clock, B wing and C wing have refused to go to their cells at 9 o’clock and are sitting down in their wings. The staff are in the Centre and there is a stand off but an air of foreboding, yes, Region and Head Quarters and the Police have been informed. Right, I’ll come back tomorrow. Early, the following morning, I ring again and learn that past midnight, all hell had broken loose. A hole was made in B wing’s roof and 83 were up there. C wing went on a destructive splurge and broke into the canteen. However, the staff have now retaken control and there is a total lock down. Five are still out on a separate roof but they descend three days later.

I’m packing and preparing to return, and my 12-year-old daughter returns from the village with a copy of the Times. “Look Dad, here on the front page, a photo of your prisoners on the roof”! My reaction is less enthusiastic than hers. “I know and I’m leaving NOW to deal with it.” The long train journey was through pretty countryside bathed in sunshine in contrast to my mood. I arrive in the early evening, phoned John Williams, and we sit in the lawn in gentle evening sunshine, both gripping a hefty whisky. He holds my attention with the detailed account of the last 24 hours.

I make a brief night visit, but the real task resumes at 8AM the following morning with an inspection of the damage accompanied by the Engineer. What I remember vividly, later that morning, was the Discipline
staff representatives telling me in a formal meeting, “We were frightened”. I realised that to restore confidence was a fundamental task which had to be taken firmly but gradually. Meeting the staff in full session they told me that the present regime of full lock down with only limited exercise was what they felt was ideal and should be retained. So, I recall taking a surprisingly academic tone – “let me explain the difference between strategy and tactics. Strategy is the regime that Head Office states is right for this prison, Tactics is the method we take to return to it”.

In fact, looking back, it was an astonishingly open regime for a category B Prison, impossible now. The inmates were unlocked at 7am and remained at large until 9 pm. There were workshops for morning and afternoon work, education classes, a gym (somewhat primitive), and a large grass covered recreation area including two football pitches. So, we were going to return to that, and my task was to drag the staff with me. First, though, the role of punishment and the adjudication of the 83 from B Wing who had climbed onto the roof. They were seen one by one and the Adjudication a formal process, charge, evidence and reason given for the action written down. I start at 10 in the morning and finish at 10 at night. A long exhausting day. Punishment? The word was “award," is loss of Pay 14 days and loss of Remission 14 days. Subsequently I worked morning, noon and evening, every day for 2 months, it was hard work.

This account is long enough but two events to conclude. The first was our first service in Chapel with only a dozen or so attending. The Chaplain, a cheerful Ulsterman, was strong on Faith. His sermon propounded this with enthusiasm. “In fact,” he affirmed “it should be shouted from the Roof Tops!” There was a pause and giggles from the congregation but a glare from me. Pause “I don’t mean that this to be taken literally,” ended that sermon. The second was a request by the nurses of Basildon Hospital to come and sing us Carols. Enthusiastically accepted. So early in December they came, and the Chapel was well attended. They finished with Silent Night. There was profound silence and some in tears. Somehow it appeared to close the whole incident and enabled us to start our return to a positive regime.

Before revisiting our house in Pembs a phone was installed

MICHAEL SELBY
The PROP Revolt of 1972. By Mike Selby