As a prison officer working in a high-security jail, the last sound you expect to hear at 6am is an alarm bell. Cells are locked, the wing is quiet. But in late 2018, that's exactly what shattered the morning silence. Overcrowding, a chronic issue in UK prisons, meant three men were crammed into a cell designed for one. What I found inside was a scene of brutal violence that would stay with me forever.
A System Breeding Violence
Inside the cell, one prisoner sat trembling on a top bunk. Another stood with his back to the window, his T-shirt spattered with blood. The third man lay motionless on the floor, barely conscious. The liquid streaming from his nose was brain fluid. His injuries were later likened by a doctor to those from a high-speed car crash. He survived, but the assault was a stark example of how the prison environment itself can perpetuate extreme violence.
This was not an isolated incident. When I joined the Prison Service in 2012, prisoner-on-prisoner murders were rare. Now, they are horrifyingly frequent. Between April 2013 and March 2016, there were 13 murders in prisons in England and Wales. In 2024 alone, there were eight, including two at HMP Wakefield in less than a month. The locations read like a grim roll call: HMP Wormwood Scrubs, HMP Belmarsh, HMP Bristol, HMP Nottingham, HMP Pentonville.
The violence is not confined to prisoners. Assaults on staff are now commonplace, occurring nearly every hour. Officers are being equipped with Tasers for protection, while drones deliver flick-knives over prison walls. The system I once believed in now seems to be turning inside out, failing everyone it is meant to contain and protect.
Trauma, Overcrowding, and a Lack of Support
The roots of this crisis run deep. Overcrowding is a fundamental poison. Keeping three men in a single cell is a recipe for disaster, eroding any chance of a safe, rehabilitative environment. At the same time, the men inside are often profoundly traumatised long before they arrive. In training sessions, we discussed how childhood abuse and neglect manifest in prison behaviour, but these conversations felt pointless. When prisoners are locked up for 22 hours a day, opportunities for staff to observe and support are vanishingly small.
Support for officers is equally lacking. After critical incidents—whether a murder, a riot, or a suicide—the promised wellbeing teams were nowhere to be seen in my decade of service. Peer supporters cannot function when prisons are critically understaffed. The official helpline is staffed by people with no understanding of the prison environment. We were left to cope alone with the memories of boots running, alarms looping, and red lights flashing.
The political response often feels disconnected from reality. While inquiries stress the need for governor visibility and purposeful activity like education, the government's actions contradict this. Plans are advancing to build enormous prisons holding over 1,000 inmates, where visibility is impossible, and to cut prison education spending by up to 50%. Recruitment is done online, and training is remote, despite the role's complex, frontline demands.
Is There a Way Back?
Violence in prison is not inevitable. I have seen glimpses of a better way. In one of the country's better-run jails, with a decent regime and eight hours out of cell, I witnessed two men—one of whom had attempted to murder the other—sit down for a mediated conversation. They reached an agreement to coexist, and now live on the same wing. Purposeful activity, education, and time out of the cell are transformative. I remember the buzz of a full classroom, certificates on walls, and intricate art made from matchsticks.
But these examples are becoming rarer. The gap between political rhetoric and decisive action is widening. Justice Secretary David Lammy talks of "the strongest release checks … ever," yet high-profile mistaken releases continue. The system is exhausted, underfunded, and dangerously strained.
Leaving the service, I felt a mixture of relief and bitterness. Relief to be out, bitterness that I felt I had no choice but to leave. The murders, the overdoses, the trauma—it takes a toll. The story of the prison service today is one of a system in crisis, perpetuating the very problems it is meant to solve, with the cost paid by inmates, officers, and society at large.
