By Gareth Timmins, Founder of NOUGHT POINT ONE™
I’ve always been fascinated by the prison system. Growing up, I watched documentaries about America’s maximum-security prisons, trying to imagine what life inside them was really like.
That curiosity has a personal edge. Between the ages of 18 and 20, I went through a turbulent period. I was repeatedly arrested and eventually faced the real possibility of a custodial sentence. I was lucky to avoid it.
So when I was invited to HMP Wandsworth as a guest at its annual Hidden Heroes event, I accepted in a heartbeat. I was offered the chance to tour the prison, walk the wings, meet prisoners and speak with staff. On Tuesday 22 September, I travelled from Leeds for a two-day visit.
After checking into my hotel and getting something to eat, I took a taxi to the prison. As we approached, I felt apprehensive. I’d had too much to drink at a post-competition gym do the weekend before, and a lingering hangover had made my anxiety worse. I felt it as soon as I arrived.
I entered through the visitors’ entrance, alongside families who had come to see their loved ones. I was directed to the staff entrance to sign in and hand over my phone, bank cards and money, then returned to go through security.
I’ve spent time on secure military bases in Iraq and Afghanistan, but the scale of the security at Wandsworth still struck me. After passing through the first set of walls, there were more walls inside. I found myself trying to take in the infrastructure built around the prison and the lives taking place within it.
My guide was a fantastic woman who had worked there for years. She told me she would take me through the journey a new prisoner makes on arrival. Just as she began explaining it, a prison van entered with several prisoners on board.
Once they had gone into the main building, we followed. A young lad was having his fingerprints taken. I couldn’t help wondering what was going through his mind. Perhaps he’d been through it before. But if this was his first time, I imagined the nerves must have been overwhelming.
Around the corner was a large holding cell full of prisoners waiting to be booked in. We passed the area where they would be processed and searched before moving to another holding cell ahead of their transfer to the wings.
Then we went through a series of doors. My guide turned to me and said, “We’re about to go onto the wings.”
I felt the tension build in my chest. I needed to take a deep breath, but it felt as though there wasn’t enough air.
People sometimes assume that being a Royal Marine and spending time in war zones hardens you to experiences like this. It doesn’t. Every situation is new and brings its own emotions.
When we stepped onto the wings, I felt exposed, as though I’d been thrown in at the deep end. People were moving all around us, including behind me, and I was acutely aware of every movement. Nobody said or did anything threatening. In fact, everyone I spoke to was pleasant. But the environment was dynamic, and I felt a strong sense of unpredictability.
Seeing the cells brought home another side of prison life. I was allowed to look into one where four men were playing cards. Standing there, I thought about how much I value my freedom: the ability to decide where to go and what to do. I was only visiting, and already I knew I could leave at the end of the day and return to my hotel.
We watched the prisoners collect their food, and I had the chance to speak with a prisoner and he spoke to me candidly about his experience. It was striking to hear someone tell his story so openly in that setting.
Later, as we moved between wings, I had a feeling something was about to happen. Just as we went through the gate separating the wings, two groups came together and people began pushing and shoving.
A young female officer stood among six or seven men who were behaving aggressively. Her composure stayed with me. She held her nerve in a situation that I found intimidating simply to witness. I felt enormous respect for her and for the other staff I’d met throughout the day. This was the environment they returned to every day.
Towards the end of the visit, we spent some time in segregation. It offered another rare look behind the curtain.
By the end of day one, I felt socially and emotionally exhausted. I had only been there for a matter of hours. I kept thinking about what it must take to work there day after day.
The following morning, a taxi picked me up at seven and took me back to the prison to deliver a talk.
We held a fireside chat about my life and the fork in the road I faced when I was younger. I spoke about repeatedly getting into trouble with the police, to the point where plain-clothes officers would turn up at my house. I also shared that I couldn’t read properly until I was about 11. My life could have gone in a very different direction, and I wanted to be honest about that.
We talked about how I turned things around, what life in the Royal Marines taught me, and which lessons might be useful to staff on the wings. We explored rapid decision making, adapting to change and mental flexibility. We also discussed how the way you enter a tense situation can affect what happens next: recognising when your own posture might raise the temperature, rather than matching threat with threat, and looking for opportunities to de-escalate sooner.
Afterwards, we went to the sports hall, where I watched the Governing Governor Andy Davy, present staff awards. I was then privileged to return to E Wing before visiting Radio Wanno in the Event Space.
The team there was preparing a new initiative called Breaking Bread. Selected prisoners and officers would sit down together and share their experiences from both sides. I thought it was a fantastic idea: a chance to listen to one another, break down barriers and support rehabilitation.
I also sat down with one of the prisoners to record a piece which will then be broadcast on the prison radio station (Radio Wanno) to all the men through the cell TV’s. We spoke about my journey: being a young lad who felt lost, getting arrested, struggling to read, and how I can still find it difficult to stand up and read word for word in public.
I shared those things in the hope that someone listening might recognise a part of themselves in my story. The message I wanted to leave them with was simple: it is never too late to change direction. Much of the work that led me to where I am now began in 2017 and 2018, less than ten years ago.
I’m grateful to everyone at HMP Wandsworth for the warmth and hospitality they showed me across those two days. I came away with enormous respect for the staff and the work they do, and a deeper appreciation of the freedom I have in my own life.
It’s an experience that will stay with me for a very long time.