I want a probation officer like you
Over the festive season I re-read a book by Mark Leech, which had not only left an indelible impression, but had greatly influenced my professional approach to working with people in and out of the prison system.
Indeed I vividly recall writing to Mark, now editor of the essential Prisons Handbook, while he was serving his last lengthy prison sentence, commenting on his achievement in recording, in such searingly memorable detail, his life story. I received an appreciative letter in reply.
Paging through the book brought back a memory of an interview I conducted when working as a probation officer. At the time, organisational resource constraints meant that prison visiting was temporarily halted, and despite strong concerns expressed by many front line probation officers that this could impact negatively on effective through-care practice. The management diktat held sway. One allocated report that came my way was to undertake what was known as a post-life sentence report (by telephone!), following the conviction and sentence of Tommy (not his real name) for the murder of his female partner.
The prosecution bundle and associated forensic reports made for disturbing reading. The suffering and harm inflicted on the victim as she struggled to defend herself, when Tommy had 'lost it' after consuming a considerable amount of alcohol, left me reeling in anticipation of what was a pre-arranged, faceless telephone interview.
The disarming normality with which Tommy explained his actions, unperturbed, it appeared, at the thought of more than a decade behind bars before he would even be considered for release, was striking. The interview was interrupted by background noises of the prison.
The jury had rejected his claim that he had 'lost control', seeing instead a previous pattern of abusive behaviour reaching its culmination in the murder. I explained that the purpose of the report was to assess his response to his sentence, review together any pertinent contextual factors related, such as alcohol, domestic violence and propensity to harm, as a prelude to further probation involvement at various states of his sentence and eventual release. I was also to assess any expressions of remorse forthcoming, or how a lack of victim empathy might be addressed during his sentence.
After an emotionally exhausting hour or so, Tommy suddenly became tearful and started to talk endearingly of his deceased partner and the life they had together before the murder. He was struggling to come to terms with his destructive anger; the enormity of her loss. He kept uttering plaintively "it's too late to feel sorry" and "she tried so hard to make the relationship work".
As our allotted time was coming to a close, I explained that the report would help to inform possible reparative interventions during his sentence aimed at ensuring any future relationships he might enter into would be made safer by the insights and learning gleaned from perpetrator-based courses.
I drafted the report and submitted it to the prison and to probation colleagues tasked with through-care contact. I recall requesting that I might retain case management responsibilities for Tommy as his home probation office. But in one of the frequent managerialist spasms, my request was brushed aside.
An ill-considered reorganisation of probation case work teams was then set in motion, resulting in Tommy's file going to what was badged as 'The Public Protection Team'. I found myself embedded in a community supervision team charged with supervising ostensibly low- to middle-risk-of-harm clients, which seemed lamentably and presciently to pre-figure the eventual ease with which the coalition government's part-privatisation of the probation service, via the Transforming Rehabilitation legislative changes, was later achieved.
I wrote to Tommy to explain that "someone" from the probation service would be in contact with. He replied much in the fashion of the letter I had received earlier from Mark Leech: an appreciative acknowledgment. But he also noted that I seemed "to understand me" and he felt able to talk about his offence in a way that a year on remand had not prepared him for.
"I do not want someone", he forcefully noted. "I want a probation officer like you!"
Mike Guilfoyle is a retired probation officer.