Diary of a trainee prison governor
 Isabel Taylor, now a junior governor |
Aged 26, and standing not much more than five feet tall, Isabel Taylor defies the stereotype of the distinctly male prison governor.
It's a job she has wanted since she was 11, and in 2005 she joined the Prison Service's intensive development scheme, a fast-track course for would-be governors. She is now a junior governor at Her Majesty's Prison Leeds, a Category B men's prison, as deputy head of offender management.
Here, she reflects on key moments from the past three years.
I've had a letter from my prison saying I've got to be there at nine o'clock on Monday morning. It's going to be a major shock, coming straight out of university.
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There's a whole new language to learn, not just acronyms, but also things that happen inside the prisons that I don't know about. I've never been faced with a group of prisoners before so I'm a bit nervous about that.
But I've always wanted to work in the prison service. I started looking into it when I was 11. Everyone always asks: "What do you want to do that for?" But it's only from the top down can you help the most amount of people, so I've got to get to the top to do that.
There's been a violent incident in another part of the prison and some of the prisoners are moved onto my unit.
|  Are you old enough to do this job Miss?  |
Until I've had a bit more training I think I'd better hang back as they are still quite aggressive.
All the prisoners are asking me how old I am because obviously I don't look my age: "Are you old enough to do this job Miss?" I just laugh and try not to give too much away about myself.
I hate this. It's horrible: tiring, hot, sweaty and smelly. The riot helmet is the worst bit because it's so restrictive - you can hardly see or hear. It's also physically exhausting because you've got all this gear on and it's quite heavy and you're trying to move at speed. If the weapon slips or your hold on the shield slips, and they're about to come crashing down on you with a weapon, anything could happen. Your skull could be fractured.
It's all gone through my head. It's just really scary. I've definitely had second, third and 24th thoughts about the job.
I went home and was in tears all last week. I just think about the things I should have done better.
 It's a career largely dominated by men |
Two nights last week I had to ring up and check I'd not forgotten to do certain things. I said to my partner: "I'm rubbish at this job".
All I get all day is abuse and I think: "What am I doing?" But I'm trying to look at the big picture and see that in a few years it will be worth it, because I'll be doing what I really, really want to do.
I was counting prisoners and I signed for how many I had, but it turned out one of them had put a dummy in the bed. It wasn't an escape attempt; the guy was trying to steal money and he'd hidden during the lunch period but he got found.
There's been an investigation. I feel so ashamed and now I'm obsessive that doors are locked behind me and I double check that I'm getting a response from prisoners. Everybody was waiting for the graduate to make a mistake and then I did. It's awful.
I've been promoted to senior officer at Deerbolt. It's really hard walking onto the wing and saying: "I'm the boss now" when I'd only been in the job for nine months.
| I have visions of my face splashed all over the Sun, with headlines saying: 'Young Governor gave prisoner licence to go out and rob old ladies' |
But I'm really enjoying it and the staff have been brilliant. I've learned a lot about being a manager and how to treat people. One of the most difficult things I've had to do is tell someone who's been here for five years that their performance isn't good enough. They didn't take it particularly well either.
Combating staff resistance has been difficult and it's made me want to give in. But I've persevered and encouraged them to just try my ideas. And it's worked. There's been one or two occasions where I've been quite stubborn and not really listened to people around me with more experience. That's been the hardest lesson to learn.
I've had to conduct my first ROTL - Release on Temporary Licence - Board, assessing whether a prisoner will go out for a day or two and then come back into the prison. I've been looking at my watch constantly, thinking: "Oh, please let him come back". Thankfully he has, but it's a scary responsibility.
I have these visions of my face splashed all over the Sun newspaper, with headlines saying: "Young Governor gave prisoner licence to go out and rob old ladies". My face is perfect for that because I look so young and it would look like they had this YTS person making really important decisions.
I can't believe how fast it's come.
 Graduating from the fast-track scheme |
It stuns me that I'm a governor. It's a bit scary because I was doing my staff development with my line manager the other day, and he was asking what I wanted to do next. I didn't know.
I've spent the past 14 years focusing on getting to this point. Now I'm here, I've got quite a lot of years left on my career. I've got to decide what to do with the rest of my life.
What I've learned since I started is don't try and hide what you are. Everywhere I've gone I've been really up front and said: "Here I am. I've only been in the job five minutes and I don't really know what I'm doing so you're going to have to help me". And so far it seems to have endeared people to me.
I've also learned people just do not take responsibility for their actions. It's made me more cynical about the way the world works. I'm not taking anything away from people who've had hard lives, but that doesn't necessarily lead to a life of crime.
I thought the prisoners would be so much more grateful for everything I did. It's really frustrating. They never say thank you.
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