Anne Burrell is the winner of the 2025 Mike Guilfoyle Essay Prize.
It’s the summer of 1974. I am still a teenager, and an undergraduate at the University of Nottingham, studying for a degree in Applied Social Studies. This involves mandatory practice placements during the long summer vacations.
The final summer of my course, I was placed at a Probation Office in Birmingham, which served a wide and diverse area, including Handsworth - later to become infamous as a result of riots; a huge housing estate, which generated serious and organised crime (although not recognised as such at that time); and locations of all kinds in between. This was the experience which confirmed to me that I had found my tribe; and which has shaped a lifelong career. It also proved pivotal in opening my eyes to the world of criminal justice - including structural and institutional inequalities, notably the effects of institutional racism, which permeated all levels of the system (and which was a factor in riots during my time working there, as well as subsequently); and the ways in which structural inequalities play out in the lives of people brought before the courts.
I qualified as a Probation Officer in 1977, having achieved a Certificate of Qualification in Social Work - the then recognised qualification for probation. Shortly after, Home Office approval for the particular course which I undertook was withdrawn for probation practice; much later still, in 1998, probation training became separated from social work, replaced by the Diploma in Probation Studies, a qualification focused more on ‘offender management,’ and less on rehabilitation and reform.
Research over time suggests that these changes in policy and practice generated a perceived diminution in the professional role. Nevertheless, I don’t think that considerations of professionalism concerned me a great deal during my early career as a practitioner. Maybe it was the social work qualification which implicitly conferred a sense of professionalism. Maybe it was the status of being a ‘servant of the courts.’ Although the paternalistic approach of some magistrates and judges rankled at times, it nonetheless felt that probation was a respected and valued profession in the judicial setting, and more widely. Mainly, and in retrospect, it seems likely that the role was able to meet the generally accepted criteria for being a profession – that the practitioner holds specialised knowledge, skills and expertise; and has agency and autonomy over their work.
In the late 1980’s, I left probation for a time, to work in an education setting. Whilst enjoyable, I never felt at home in the way that I had as a probation practitioner. I returned to probation in 2003, when the National Probation Service for England and Wales had not long been established (2001). I didn’t realise until later that this organisational change meant that all of probation’s funding was centrally allocated by the Home Office – a precursor to the current location of the Service in the Civil Service. I was aware of an exodus of qualified and experienced staff, largely related to significant changes in probation practice, particularly the implementation of National Standards, and the associated performance measures which came into being. For many longstanding practitioners, these factors represented a fundamental shift in the culture of The Probation Service which proved untenable for their practice.
But returning from a teaching setting, I still considered that I retained considerable autonomy in my practice, and could exercise what Mawby and Worrall describe as ‘responsible creativity,’ meaning, a context in which ‘situations that verge on the edge of chaos, where things might just fall apart, professional skills are tested to keep things together’ (emphasis mine). This was a rewarding period, in a supportive team of like-minded practitioners, with an appropriate level of challenge in the work, without feeling overwhelmed by it.
All these considerations were blown out of the water by the Transforming Rehabilitation organisational restructure. This policy initiative is now recognised as a significant trauma for individual staff and for the organisation as a whole. Personally, this sense of displacement, and of loss, was not solely related to the changes of location, of team and of managers, but also since I held a split job role, and ended up working for the National Probation Service simultaneously with being employed by a privatised Community Rehabilitation Company. This situation was not sustainable, both for practical reasons, and also since it felt that my professional identity was not just being diminished, but stifled out of existence. And that, correspondingly, the principles and ethos of probation work were similarly being demolished wholesale.
I’m now working on a PhD investigating professionalism in probation, in an effort to analyse and understand what has happened to the Probation Service, and the significance of professional identity to practitioners. Amongst other things, I’ve learned that professionalism in probation can refer to a set of values which inform practice, which have remained remarkably resilient over time, and which Garland refers to as ‘the pursuit of values such as justice, tolerance, decency, humanity and civility.’ Also, that these values shape professional practice, in approaches which are humane, non-judgemental, and which recognise the impact of the structural inequalities which I first encountered as a student in Birmingham.
I retired from Probation at the end of January 2025. This was the right time to do so - although still committed to the work, the sense of dissonance at location within the Civil Service felt increasingly problematic, in terms of the constraints on what I perceive to be the professional role in probation, replaced with increased emphasis on targets and performance figures. I considered that I was losing my own sense of professional purpose and meaning – and that this reflected similar losses in the organisation itself.
Mawby and Worrall describe the Probation Service as an ‘honourable profession.’ Yet the value of probation work – and, specifically, the value of its professionalism – seems to be increasingly obscured. The strength of probation practice comes from the people doing the job, conducting themselves as professionals, with commitment and humanity – qualities which characterise the life and work of Mike Guilfoyle, who was himself an honourable man and professional practitioner, who sought to uphold those values in The Probation Service, and which must shape its future.
Author’s note: I was aware of Mike and his influence over my own lengthy period as a practitioner and as a NAPO member – especially at AGM time! In the autumn of 2020, I started work on a PhD, investigating professionalism in probation work. Mike got to know of this, and contacted me to talk about it. So, during one of the lockdowns in late 2020/early 2021, we had a very convivial meeting via TEAMS. Mike was interested, supportive, full of knowledge and concern, and, above all, kind. I hope that this essay does some small justice to him and to his values.
The Mike Guilfoyle Essay Prize is annual competition, co-hosted by the Centre for Crime and Justice Studies and Napo, that honours the legacy of Mike Guilfoyle. Mike was a dedicated probation officer and active Napo member, and this competition aims to encourage reflections on all that is valuable and important in probation.
This year’s essay question was What does professionalism mean in probation?
