I recently ran writing workshops in H.M.P Leeds and H.M.P Humber through Red Ladder and the National Literacy Trust as part of their work on improving inmates’ literacy skills. My sessions focused on monologues, covering aspects such as structure, the journey their character would go on and how to hook an audience’s attention.

However, I also wanted to give them some information on the benefits of writing, and hopefully inspire them to continue to do so. Stories and storytelling are not trivial hobbies, they are an essential part of being human. They are integral to who we are, and every culture has used stories to help us understand ourselves and the world.

Furthermore, there are a myriad of wellbeing benefits to writing. Many studies now back this up and show, among other benefits, that writing can help keep our brains sharp, can also help us understand ourselves better and process difficult events.

I was unsure how well I would be received in the four sessions I ran but I was genuinely moved and impressed by the writing and talent on show. There was one inmate who was sceptical but ended up writing a powerful retelling of his childhood where ‘the streets were alive with the sounds of pain’. And another wrote a very moving piece, which he could not himself read out, about a time he was assaulted, knocked unconscious and heard his mother’s voice calling his name before coming back to consciousness. His mother wasn’t there when he came around and sadly would pass away shortly after. He never got to see her again and still hears her words, believing ‘she gave her life’ for him. There was a genuine emotional silence as it was read out, with people visibly affected.

However, one inmate really stood out. He was reluctant to share, but after a bit of encouragement, he read out what is honestly one of the best pieces of spoken word I have ever heard. It was all about his inability to control his reactions in the instantaneous moment and it was raw, heartfelt and beautiful. It was a brilliant, natural talent.

A few didn’t engage, but most wanted to stay around and listen to the others share. Those who did read were willing to be vulnerable and there was a real sense of camaraderie and support as people read their stories aloud. The power of storytelling was on full display.

I made a point of speaking to all participants individually, and so many were grateful for the opportunity just to write and share their stories. These weren’t all nice, happy stories but each one was important. The realities of their lives were laid out bluntly, and plenty of remorse, anger, and pain was brimming in them. There was also a sense that these sessions were welcome breaks from the harsh realities of daily life in a prison system under immense strain, and with violence and drugs on the wings a recurring issue.

I often think of a quote from Richard Dawkins about the staggering odds of even being born and how the potential people who could have been born instead ‘outnumber the sand grains of Arabia.’ He goes on to say how among all the variations of possible people that our DNA could have produced there would have been ‘greater poets than Keats, scientists greater than Newton’ and how we ‘privileged few, who won the lottery of birth against all odds’ are the lucky ones who made it.

It gives me pause for thought to think of this and realise how amazing it is to be alive. Yet, after my experiences in the prisons, I have extended this sentiment. For those of us who won the lottery of birth, not all win the lottery of life. Many who I spoke to told me of their hard, violent childhoods and how local criminals and gangs were their only role models. This is not to excuse or justify any crimes, nor to ignore the pain of the victims of crime, but the stories they told helped explain why they ended up on the path they had.

Many of them had never really written anything before coming to prison so any natural talent for creativity may never have found an outlet. So, when Dawkins tells us of the great poets, writers and thinkers who were never born, it now also makes me think of the great poets, writers and thinkers who were born but never had a chance to express their gifts. I’m incredibly grateful to have been present when some of them did and I hope it might make a small difference in what they do upon release.

Work like this makes Red Ladder truly special, which is why I continue to be proud to be associated with the company. They make real efforts to reach out to areas of society underserved by the arts and help empower people. I am very grateful to them for the opportunity and to Ralph Dartford from the National Literacy Trust for his guidance and assistance during the sessions. This was important work, and I could tell initiatives like this make a real difference in the rehabilitation of prisoners. That is a story we should all want to hear more of.

by Chris O’Connor