Prisons and Prisoners in Victorian Britain E-Book

Neil R Storey

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

Prisons and Prisoners In Victorian Britain provides an illustrated insight into the Victorian prison system and the experiences of those within it - on both sides of the bars. Featuring stories of crime and misdeeds, this fascinating book includes chapters on a typical day inside a Victorian prison - food, divine service, exercise and medical provision; the punishments inflicted on convicts - such as hard labour, flogging, the treadwheel and shot drill; and an overview of the ultimate penalty paid by prisoners - execution. Richly illustrated with a series of photographs, engravings, documents and letters, this volume is sure to appeal to all those interested in crime and social history in Victorian Britain.

Leseprobe

The gatehouse of HM Prison Wormwood Scrubs, c. 1900.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It has been my pleasure to encounter some most helpful curators and historians in the research and compilation of this book. I would like to mention the following in particular: Stewart P. Evans; Dr Vic Morgan; Dr Stephen Cherry; Robert Bell, assistant curator of the Wisbech and Fenland Museum; Stewart McLaughlin, serving prison officer and curator of the Wandsworth Prison Museum; Christine and David Parmenter; Jenny Phillips; Theo Fanthorpe; Ian Pycroft; Elaine Abel; Robert Green; Robert ‘Bookman’ Wright; the late Syd Dernley; the Galleries of Justice, Nottingham; Inverary Jail Museum; Lincoln Castle; Ely Gaol; Moyses Hall, Bury St Edmunds; Ruthin Gaol; Walsingham Bridewell; Wymondham Bridewell; Norwich Castle; Essex Police Museum; and Helen Tovey atFamily Tree Magazine. I would also like to thank my wonderful students and lecture audiences for their comments and interest in my research. Last, but by no means least, I thank my darling Molly and son Lawrence for their love, support and interest.

Unless credited otherwise, all images in this book are from originals held in the archive of the author.

A Victorian villain and rough – caught by the long arm of the law.

CONTENTS

Title

Acknowledgements

Introduction

I

The Victorian Prison

II

Prison Staff

III

Admitting the Prisoner

IV

Daily Routine

V

The County Prison

VI

The Convict Prison

VII

Punishments

VIII

Escapers

IX

Rogues Gallery

X

Some Infamous Prisoners

XI

Execution

Select Bibliography

Copyright

INTRODUCTION

The long reign of Queen Victoria saw Great Britain ascend and acquire a global empire upon which it was said the sun never set. Britain led the world with industrial innovations and industry and those who lived in this noble country, the heart of the Empire, were left in no doubt of the expectations of them to honour Queen and Flag. Whether they were of the highest or lowest social class they were expected to uphold the law as a matter of duty – it was just one of many Victorian values. There were, however, highly robust measures to keep you on the ‘straight and narrow’; woe betide you if you got caught breaking the law, for you would fall mercy to the Victorian criminal justice system, face exposure in the press and, potentially, a prison sentence.

Both the high and the low of society and all in between were, very much like today, liable to err and transgress the laws of the land, although it must be said the prison population of Victorian Britain was predominantly made up of those on the lowest incomes or with no job at all. Often the voices of these disenfranchised people are the silent majority, for they were often not literate enough to record their recollections of their time in prison. However, a dark mirror of their experiences can be assembled from the prison books maintained by the prison officials, the accounts of visitors to prisons or the experiences of prison staff – especially the prison ‘ordinary’ or chaplain – that were occasionally published in periodicals or books; their stories often spoke of the most harrowing cases.

Her Majesty Queen Victoria.

The accounts of many trials were reported with zeal and, for the more horrific cases, lurid detail in the popular and local press; the more horrific the case, the greater the column inches and illustrations. Public interest would lead to follow-up stories of what the prisoner could expect in his or her prison. These stories give a fascinating insight into the working of the prisons, from uniforms and cells to the labour a prisoner or convict would be expected to undertake as part of their daily routine. Indeed, the extended accounts of prison visitors and some of the prisoners themselves have been reproduced verbatim and at length in this book.

The Victorian age was also one of enormous change and reform in the British prison system, with both good and bad results, but they were certainly far better than their gaoler ancestors at record keeping and reports, which often give a fascinating insight into the prisons of the day. Add to this the now rare, long out of print volumes and articles written by those who had experienced prison life first-hand as guardian, visitor or prisoner, as well as access to numerous unpublished manuscripts and letters, and a poignant picture may be assembled of the character, life and experience of the Victorian prison – from both sides of the bars.

Neil R. Storey, 2010

THE VICTORIAN PRISON

Between 1837 and 1901 there were more than fifteen million receptions into the prisons of Great Britain. Those serving sentences in early Victorian prisons can be divided into two main categories. Firstly, there were those who had been tried and convicted of serious crimes and were serving their sentence in convict prisons administered by the Crown, such as the King’s Bench, Marshalsea and Fleet prisons (debtors prisons) and Newgate Gaol, or later in the national prisons such as Millbank or Pentonville, in Public Works prisons or by being transported (up to 1868). These men and women can truly be termed ‘convicts’ and their long sentences were intended to reform their character. However, by far the greatest number of those behind bars were those on short sentences of less than one calendar month for minor felonies, who were imprisoned in their county, city or borough prison or gaol that were administered locally and were not, until 1877, the responsibility or property of central government. Those serving their sentence inside these were officially termed ‘prisoners’. Their experience of prison was intended to be a ‘short, sharp shock’ to both punish the prisoner and provide a deterrence from future acts, rather than an attempt at reform.

Despite the high-profile visits and reports by prison reformer John Howard in the 1770s, which exposed the appalling conditions suffered by British prisoners, most of Britain’s prisons remained dank, unsanitary and verminous holes of misery until the 1830s, the only exceptions being the new-build prisons constructed under the Howard guidelines, such as Bury St Edmunds and Norwich City Prison.

New-build prisons that ignored Howard’s recommendations were those erected for the incarceration of French prisoners of war in the later eighteenth and early nineteenth century, such as Norman Cross (Cambridgeshire), Dartmoor (1806–9) and Perth (1810–12). Norman Cross was the first of these prisons, with work commencing in 1797, and was designed to hold between 5,000 and 6,000 prisoners. The site was surrounded by a perimeter fence and ditch and then divided into four quadrants, each containing two four-storey prison blocks that house up to 500 men sleeping in hammocks. Two regiments of soldiers were stationed in the barracks to guard the prisoners. It was known for the site to house over 7,000 men. By 1801 the conditions in which the prisoners were held had become a matter of public concern; they had insufficient clothing and instances of sickness such as fever, consumption, dysentery or typhus were often rife. There were a handful of escapes and in 1804 it was discovered that the prisoners had been involved in forgery after printing plates and related implements were discovered there. With some prisoners in a state of near nakedness, the British government provided prison uniforms of sulphur yellow colour in the hope these easily identifiable uniforms would prevent further escapes. Peace with France was declared in 1814 and all prisoners had left the garrison by June. By June 1816 most of the prison buildings were finally demolished. A total of 1,770 French prisoners of war had died at Norman Cross during their years of captivity.

After such a disastrous high-profile prison debacle, the 1770s proposals for a national convict prison were revisited, and the result was Millbank Prison. Built on land purchased from the Marquis of Salisbury at Pimlico, London, Millbank Prison was designed by William Williams in 1812 in accordance with the utilitarian principles laid down by Jeremy Bentham in the 1790s and was completed in 1821. The first prisoners, all women, were admitted on 26 June 1816 and the first men arrived in January 1817. The design of the prison was, frankly, bizarre, and highly impractical. It was constructed with six pentagonal complexes of cell blocks radiating from a central hexagon; it proved difficult to patrol and with its complicated ground plan it was claimed there were instances of warders at Millbank becoming lost in their own prison. During the early years of Millbank’s existence sentences of five to ten years were offered as an alternative to transportation to those considered most likely to reform. Later, it ceased to have a penitentiary function and became a holding centre for those awaiting transportation to the penal colonies.

The next significant step along the road to improved prisons should have been the 1823 Gaol Act. It had wide-ranging reforms, including: the introduction of regular inspections carried out by the Visiting Justices (magistrates) and quarterly reports despatched to the Home Secretary, the Visiting Justices became responsible for the appointment of staff, stipulations were put in place for the provision of female warders for female prisoners, and the three significant figures in the prison – the governor, chaplain and surgeon – were required to maintain journals recording their work. This all seemed like a valuable step in the direction of prison reform, but it had no teeth; there was simply no mechanism in place to enforce the directives of the Act.

Norwich City Prison, 1827.

General plan of Millbank Prison showing its infamous six pentagonal complexes of cell blocks, 1862.

Over ten years later, in 1835, matters finally began to be taken in hand with the appointment of five HM Inspectors of Prisons, followed by a Surveyor General of Prisons in 1844. The reports of the inspectors often revealed inhumane conditions and deep-seated problems such as the way prisons dealt with health provision, living conditions for the prisoners and issues over discipline. In some cases the problems were extreme, as this account of the inspector’s findings after his visit to Wisbech House of Correction, published in the Report of the Prison Inspectors (1853), reveals:

Number of Prisoners at time of Inspection: 26 Males 9 Females

No alterations have been made either in the buildings or in the discipline of the prison since the last inspection but the drainage was about to be improved. The ventilation is good. There has been one death; a prisoner who died from abscess on the side. The general health of the prisoners was represented to be good. There was one prisoner, a female, sick at the time of my visit.

There is still no regular schoolmaster; but the governor instructs the male prisoners and last year received a gratuity of £15 for this extra duty. The number of punishments for prison offences was – males 299, females 14. They were generally for talking, idleness or want of cleanliness. Some prisoners are still employed sorting oats but in addition to the making and repairing of prison clothes and shoes, sack making has been introduced. The clear profits on receipts for this kind of work was £8 15s 6d. The estimated value of work done for the prison was £27 14s 9d. All the provisions, fuel and other stores are supplied by contract. The net cost per prisoner, exclusive of any charge for repairs etc, was £26 10s 4d. I again called the attention of the visiting justices to the absence of any artificial light in the cells; the prisoners are locked up at dusk, and continue to pass much time in bed.

The practice of eating opium is indulged to a great extent in this district. One woman, who had been accustomed to take extraordinary quantities before she came to prison, felt the deprivation so keenly that she made an attempt to destroy herself. She had been some time in the prison when I saw her and expressed herself as feeling very thankful for having been broken of the habit, though she represented the deprivation as having, at first, ‘almost made her mad.’

The prisoners generally are of a very low standard, both as regard morals and intellect, this in some measure attributed to the free use of this drug. I found one prisoner who had been 27 times in this gaol. He is represented to be a quite well-disposed man, until he is either drunk or under the influence of opium.

The old prisons and their long-standing problems could be tolerated no more, so in a revolutionary multi-million pound programme over ninety prisons were newly built or improved and enlarged between the years 1842 and 1877. Among them were the first Public Works prisons at Portland, Portsmouth and Chatham, built between 1848 and 1856. Here the prisoners’ work was manual and hard and the hours were long; the ethos of these prisons being that criminals pay back their debt to society through hard labour. The idea proved popular with the Victorians and further Public Works prisons followed at Borstal (1874, now HMP Rochester), Chattenden in Kent (1877) and Dover (1884).

New approaches to the reform of criminals were considered from the 1820s and ’30s. One method adopted was the Silent System whereby prisoners would be locked in their cells at night and although they were allowed to mix with other prisoners for their daily employment it had to be in silence. It was believed that many convicts were habitual criminals and nothing would change them and therefore prison, although more humane than the previous century, had to put fear into the hearts of criminals to the degree they do not dare offend again. The Silent System was thought to be a vehicle whereby convicts’ wills were broken by being kept in total silence and by long, pointless hard labour. Approached with new vigour in the 1860s, Assistant Director of Prisons, Sir Edmund Du Cane promised the public that prisoners would get ‘Hard Labour, Hard Fare and Hard Board’.

Mrs Florence Maybrick experienced the ‘evils’ of serving sentence in the Silent System first-hand during her incarceration for the supposed murder of her husband, and reflected upon it in her book:

The routine of my daily life was the same as during ‘solitary confinement’. The cell door may be open, but its outer covering or gate is locked, and, although I knew there was a human creature separated from me only by a cell wall and another gate, not a whisper might I breathe. There is no rule of prison discipline so productive of trouble and disaster as the ‘silent system’ and the tyrannous and rigorous method with which it is enforced is the cause of two-thirds of all the misconduct and disturbance that occurs in prison. The silence rule gives supreme gratification to the tyrannous officer, for on the slightest pretext she can report a woman for talking – a turn of the head, a movement of the lips is enough of an excuse for a report. And there is heavy punishment that can be inflicted for this offence, both in the male and female prisons. An offender may be consigned to solitary confinement, put for three days on bread and water, or suffer the loss of a week’s remission, which means a week added to her term of imprisonment – and all this for incautiously uttering a word.

Unless it be specifically intended as a means of torture, the system of solitary confinement, even for four months, the term to which it has since been reduced, can meet only with condemnation. I am convinced that, within limits, the right of speech and the interchange of thought, at least for two hours daily, even during probation, would insure better discipline than perpetual silence, which can be enforced only by a complete suppression of nature and must result in consequent weakness of mind and ruin of temper. During the first months of her sentence a prisoner is more frequently in trouble for breach of this one rule than from all other causes. The reduction of the term of probation from nine to four months has been followed by a reduction in mental afflictions, which is proof that nothing wholesome or good can have its growth in unnatural solitude.

The silent system has a weakening effect upon the memory. A prisoner often finds difficulty in, deciding upon the pronunciation of words which she has not heard for a considerable period. I often found myself, when desirous of using unusual words, especially in French or German, pronouncing them to myself in order to fix the pronunciation in my memory. It is well to bear in mind what a small number of words the prisoner has an opportunity of using in the monotony of prison life. The same inquiries are made day after day, and the same responses given. A vocabulary of one hundred words will include all that a prisoner habitually uses.

No defender of the silent system pretends that it wholly succeeds in preventing speech among prisoners. But be that as it may, a period of four months solitary confinement in the case of a female, and six months in the case of a male, and especially of a girl or youth, is surely a crime against civilization and humanity. Such a punishment is inexpressible torture to both mind and body. I speak from experience. The torture of continually enforced silence is known to produce insanity or nervous breakdown more than any other feature connected with prison discipline. Since the passing of the Act of 1898, mitigating this form of punishment, much good has been accomplished, as is proved by the diminution of insanity in prison life.

Mrs Maybrick’s Own Story: My Lost Fifteen Years (1904)

The rival, and far more notorious method, was the American ‘Separate System’. Pioneered in Philadelphia and developed at Auburn and later at Sing-Sing, this system was partly an attempt to eradicate old lags teaching young inmates the ways of crime and partly based on the belief, strongly supported by the Quaker reformers, that convicted criminals had to face up to themselves and become reformed through solitude to contemplate their wrongs, prayer, work and religious instruction. Accordingly, prisoners would be kept in their cells on their own for most of the time. When they were let out to go to chapel or for exercise, men would be required to wear cloth masks that obscured their entire face and slot blinkers for the eyes, which directed the gaze of the convict to the ground; women were required to wear veils to obtain a similar result. Prisoners were exercised in groups connected with long lengths of chain that were not allowed to touch the ground to ensure prisoners kept their distance and did not communicate. Prisoners were not allowed visitors. To accommodate this new system Pentonville Prison was constructed between 1840 and 1842 as a model prison on the Separate System. Between 1842 and 1877 nineteen radial prisons were built in England. Other extant prisons followed suit and rapidly adapted their existing buildings with such improvements as special chapels with individual box stalls for prisoners whereby they could only see the chaplain. By 1860 about sixty British prisons had been rebuilt or were being adapted for the Separate System, which created something in the order of 11,000 separate cells. The ‘Separate System’ was practiced in many prisons until the latter half of the nineteenth century.

Exercising under the Separate System, Pentonville Prison, 1862.

The previous methods of imprisonment for young people were clearly unsuitable and often turned the children into even harder and skilled criminals; nineteenth-century prison reforms revised what should become of young offenders. Under the Youthful Offenders Act (1854) children who were under the age of 16 and found guilty of crimes could be sent to prison for a maximum of fourteen days then would be removed to Reformatory Schools for between two and five years. The Reformatory Schools were administered by voluntary bodies with aid from state grants. Punishment was an essential part of the strict regime, which included freezing cold baths, military style drills and hard physical labour. In 1861 a further Act was passed and different categories of children were included:

•Any child apparently under the age of 14 found begging or receiving alms.

•Any child apparently under the age of 14 found wandering and not having any home or visible means of support, or in company of reputed thieves.

•Any child apparently under the age of 12 whom, having committed an offence punishable by imprisonment or less.

•Any child under the age of 14 whose parents declare him to be beyond their control.

Interior of Newgate Prison, c. 1890.

In 1866 the Industrial School Act created establishments for orphans, children of convicted criminals and refractory children who would be subject to a strictly instructed basic education and training in industrial and agricultural processes. By the 1870s there were fifty industrial schools for 2,500 needy children and sixty-five Reformatory Schools detaining about 5,000 young offenders. Despite these best efforts, juveniles were still being sent to prison well into the 1890s. The Borstal system of reformatory prisons for young offenders guilty of serious or repeat offences was introduced in 1900.

Transportation of convicts had been a key feature of judicial punishment since the seventeenth century, when the first penal transports took convicts to the British colony in North America. This transport ceased with the outbreak of the American War of Independence in 1775. Thirteen years later, in 1788, the ‘First Fleet’ departed from England to found the first colony in Australia as a penal colony. In 1803, Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania) was also settled as a penal colony followed by the Moreton Bay Settlement (Queensland) in 1824. The other Australian colonies were non-convict ‘free settlements’. However, Western Australia adopted transportation in 1851 in an attempt to fill its labour shortage. It is estimated that during the eighty years of its existence, over 160,000 convicts were transported to Australia. As early as the 1830s Australia was unhappy about being a dumping ground for Britain’s convicts and began to make official moves to end penal transports to its shores. British Prison authorities could see the writing was on the wall as transportation to New South Wales terminated in 1841 followed by Van Diemen’s Land in 1852. The last convict ship arrived in Western Australia in January 1868 and with the loss of the last penal colonies a new sentence of ‘Penal Servitude’ was introduced to replace transportation and the pressure was on for major and unprecedented reform across Britain’s prisons; this came in the form of the 1877 Prison Act when, in effect, all prisons were nationalised and placed under the administration of a new central government body – the Prison Commission, with former Assistant Director of Prisons, Edmund Du Cane, the designer of Wormwood Scrubs, as its chairman.

Du Cane saw to it that by 1877 most of the worst of the local prisons had been closed down, many of them converted to new purposes, mainly domestic, many more were simply demolished and the land sold off. The 1877 Prison Act dispensed with most of the sub-standard prisons that remained and by 1878 the number of prisons in England and Wales was reduced from 113 to 69. The design of Wormwood Scrubs was mirrored in a number of the new-build local prisons of this period, including Bristol, Nottingham, Norwich and Shrewsbury.

A wide range of improvements were also enacted in the prisons as water closets and basins were removed from individual cells and replaced by ablution towers. Wire netting was fitted across open cell block corridors and raised gallery rails were both introduced as anti-suicide measures, while ancillary buildings were erected to provide new and enlarged laundries, kitchens, reception wings and hospital wards.

In 1895 the last major committee on the administration of prisons and the treatment and classification of prisoners in the nineteenth century published its findings. Chaired by Herbert Gladstone, the committee reflected the New Liberalism of the late nineteenth century and its aims and recommendations demonstrate a sincere attempt to design a prison system concentrating upon the reformation of the individual and a greater understanding of character typology and specific needs. The committee’s recommendations were incorporated into the 1898 Prison Act which led to the abolition of unproductive labour in prisons and stipulated that prisoners were to work together, learn trades and have a greater access to books. The committee’s findings also led to the creation of state reformatories for inebriates, young offenders (Borstal) and habitual criminals. Although some of its findings were adopted piecemeal The Gladstone Report remained the definitive statement on penal policy for much of the first half of the twentieth century.

PRISON STAFF

The Governor

In the early years of Victoria’s reign prison governors were, as Maria Shepherd described in Leaves from a Journal of Prison Visits (1857), ‘mere gaolers – men raised from the office of turnkey, often as ignorant and immoral as their very prisoners’; although there were exceptions, her generalisation was quite right. The award of the position had traditionally been in the gift of the local magistrates, but by the 1860s prison inspections and national regulations had pruned away much of the old guard and, as Shepherd continued, ‘Men of standing in society – men of education and ability, – chiefly chosen from amongst naval and military officers’ had taken their place. But, as ever with such appointments, it often did not depend upon what experience you had but who you knew.

‘A Ticket of Leave Man’ recalled the governor of Pentonville Prison and a particular incident which exemplified his unrelenting coldness:

This governor was a militia or volunteer officer and so, of course, stood severely on military dignity; he insisted upon a salute from everybody, officers and prisoners, whenever he made his appearance. On this September morning my sorrowing neighbour [a prisoner who shared the same landing as our author who had been greatly disappointed at getting no news of his sick wife after bribing a warder to help him] was ushered into the awful presence of the governor. He was in a nervous state and not thinking much of military tactics, when the stern voice of the chief warder called out, – ‘’Ands by your side! Heyes to your front!’

Governor: Do you know a Mrs Warner?

Prisoner: Yes, sir.

Governor: Who is she? A relative?

Prisoner: She is a friend with whom my wife is staying and she kindly nurs—

Governor: That will do. There is bad news for you. Your wife is dead.

Chief Warder: Right about face! March!

The tragic widower convict was then returned to his daily routine.

Convict Life (1879)

The Rules and Regulations to be observed in the Gaol and House of Correction for the County of Huntingdon for the year 1863 were typical and stated that the governor ‘ought to exercise his authority with firmness, temper and humanity, abstain from all irritating language, and not strike a Prisoner: he must enforce similar conduct on the Subordinate Officers.’ His duties were to visit and inspect every ward, cell, yard and division of the prison, and see every prisoner once at least in every twenty-four hours and ‘go through the Prison at an uncertain hour of the night’ at least once during the week.

It fell to the governor to ensure ‘every precaution necessary for preventing escape’ was observed and to give specific orders for the daily examination of the cells, bars, bolts and locks along with an examination of all parcels, letters and articles, brought into the prison. He was also expected to ensure proper precautions were maintained against the danger of fire and having seen to it that thermometers were placed in different parts of the prison and that a daily record was kept of the degree of temperature. The ultimate responsibility for the prison’s fabric, maintenance and all its prisoners fell to the governor; he was to acquaint himself with each one upon admission, ensure their cleanliness, monitor their visitors and ensure that the food was provided as per the dietary table.

In the smaller county prisons the governor would have far more ‘hands on’ responsibilities, often joined by his wife, who would take on the role of matron with responsibility for the female prisoners and all the prison clothing, bedding and linen. If required, she would assist in the purchase of any articles needed for her department and would report to the governor any deficiencies in the stock requisite for carrying on the prison work. The governor was expected to see each male prisoner once a day and each female prisoner once every seven days, accompanied by the matron, and would be known to assist the warders if necessary in the restraint of a violent prisoner.

Staff of Springfield Prison, Chelmsford, in the early twentieth century. Seated in the centre is the governor, standing behind him is his chief warder; to the governor’s right is his deputy while on his left is the prison chaplain and beside him the prison surgeon.

All prison governors had to maintain the prison registers, a prison log or journal and submit regular returns and reports to the Prison Board. He would not have been permitted to be absent from the prison for a single night during his appointment without written permission from a Visiting Justice. Indeed, many governors lived with their families on site, sometimes in a separate house, sometimes in part of the prison. That was until a number of outbreaks of ‘gaol fever’ or other contagious diseases occurred across the country during which not only did numerous prisoners die but also governors and members of their families; notable is the tragic case of Captain McGorrery, the governor of Springfield Gaol, Chelmsford. He and his family were not long moved into the governor’s residence inside the walls of the prison when his son William died of diphtheria, aged 7 on 2 August 1862. A week later his sister Ann contracted the same illness and died on 15 August. After the death of Ann the family moved out for a month, the house was newly whitewashed throughout and ‘due precautions taken’ to rid the house of any infestations and infections. A fortnight after their return their five-year-old daughter Mary Ann contracted scarlet fever and died on 1 October. The family then vacated the house permanently and moved to a residence outside the prison walls. After the nationalisation of prisons in 1877 all appointments were made by the Prison Commissioners and many of the old prisons were then improved or made redundant in favour of a brand new build – with the governor and his family living off site.

A convict is brought before the Governor at Millbank Prison, 1873.

The Chaplain

A concern for the souls of prisoners can be found in some of the earliest British prisons. Chaplains would usually be present to minister to those under sentence of death but it was only in 1814 that the appointment of a prison chaplain was made compulsory. In provincial prisons a local vicar would often be called upon to take on the post and perform the chaplain duties for a stipend of around £10 a year. The larger convict prisons would have their own full-time prison chaplain appointed by the Board of Visiting Justices, but he was unable to officiate until he had obtained a license for that purpose from the bishop.

Recalling his appointment as chaplain, or, as it was known in Newgate, the ‘Ordinary’, for Fraser’s Magazine in 1840, the Revd Charles Wall found the primary requirements of him, beyond his ministry to the prisoners, were for him to assay and report on the effects of public executions on those who observed them. A magistrate pointed out:

… the office we are soliciting you to fill affords the opportunity of acquiring a great knowledge of the character of delinquents in general and of the effects all the various species of punishments have on them as individuals and a body. Formerly, the authorities in the city little heeded these matters; times are now altered and a very considerable body of gentlemen are resolved to inform themselves to the fullest on the subject; their eyes are turned to you as their principal auxiliary. Will you take the office and assist them? We will guarantee your election if you will allow yourself to be placed in nomination.

Wall agreed and he was appointed the Ordinary of Newgate.

All appointed prison chaplains were clergymen of the Church of England; if a prisoner was of another faith the governor could permit a minister of that persuasion to visit ‘at proper and reasonable times’. The chaplain performed the appointed Morning and Evening Services in the prison and was expected to preach a sermon in the prison chapel on every Sunday, Christmas Day, Good Friday and on public Feast and Thanksgiving Days.

Within the separate system prison chapels had stalls rather than pews for the inmates. The prisoners looking over the tall stall fronts would only be able to see the chaplain and, if a felon condemned under sentence of death was in the gaol, he would also be seen in the pew directly in front of the pulpit. If the convict in his ‘stall’ looked around him he would only see the wooden wall of the stall beside and behind him and for his ‘ease and comfort’ was only provided with an uncomfortable ‘seat’ which was more like a ledge; it was a mere six inches wide and slanted downwards at a forty-five degree angle. The prison chaplain would be situated facing his congregation in a high pulpit and would look out on a congregation in what appeared to be upright coffins!

Every prisoner was seen by the chaplain on admission and discharge; most chaplains were kindly men offering hope if the prisoner repented his sins but they did not let the prisoners forget why they were there and pulled no punches when giving advice on how to best survive their time in captivity. In Five Years Penal Servitude (1878) the author, ‘One Who has Endured It’, recalled:

Divine service under the ‘Separate System’ in the chapel at Pentonville, 1862.

One morning the chaplain walked into my cell, and, sitting down, he entered into conversation as usual. This was the first visit I had had from him since my conviction. He watched me at work for some time.

‘I see you are not used to that work,’ said he. ‘Let me do a little and show you an easier method.’ He then took some of the strands and showed me that, by beating and rubbing them a lot together, they are softened very materially, which rendered the after work of picking them to pieces much easier. He then asked me what sentence I had received and told me there was nothing for me to do but resign myself to it. ‘You must,’ said he, ‘just consider yourself as a slave till your time is out. Every action of your life will have to be just what your taskmasters may command you to do. Try and bear up meekly and submissively. Avoid giving offence to any of the officials and remember that though your body is condemned to slavery, your thoughts, your mind and heart are free – free to commune with God, free to pray, free to praise and free to repent.’

W.T. Stead ended up at Coldbath Fields Prison (with fellow male co-conspirator Sampson Jacques) after his high-profile expose of white slavery, published in the Pall Mall Gazette as ‘The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon’. Both he and Jacques had a somewhat different experience of their prison chaplain shortly after their admission in 1886:

… in a few moments my door was unlocked, and a man with a high hat on, in appearance not unlike a ‘gent with a sporting turn,’ looked in. ‘Well,’ he said, as he scanned me from head to foot, ‘don’t you think you’ve got off very cheap?’

‘To whom have I the honour of speaking?’ I replied.

‘I am the chaplain,’ said he.

‘No,’ said I, ‘it is the sentence I anticipated, for the three months, I am told, will be up in two months and eight days.’