Inside HMP Low Moss: 'It’s like a village in East Dunbartonshire and this is the FE college that services it'

“It’s like a village in East Dunbartonshire and this is the FE college that services it.” Sitting in the bowels of Low Moss prison, in an office-come-kitchen off the corridor that connects its six workshops, governor David Abernethy’s depiction may seem foreign to some with long memories of forbidding buildings such as Barlinnie.

To all appearances, this part of the establishment does resemble a modern-day college more than a prison, that is, if one looks beyond the head-to-toe metal detector guarding entry and exit to the workshop area where prisoners work up to 35 hours a week.

This month marks four years since HMP Low Moss, Scotland’s newest jail with a daily population of around 750, was opened. Its first job was to ease overcrowding in other parts of the estate, namely, Barlinnie, which was 60 per cent over capacity when Low Moss, on the outskirts of Bishopbriggs, began taking in its first prisoners. However, it had been billed as so much more. In many ways, it is the prison service’s attempt at instilling a purposeful working culture as a priority rather than purely an ideal.

“There is an old jail saying about slow time and fast time,” says Abernethy. “Certainly televisions, telephones, these are things that were not in the prison service when I started 30 years ago, so they’ve helped just in terms of providing people with the opportunity to maintain some kind of interest in the outside world and a focus for their attention. But no matter how good the telly is, no matter how often you’re phoning the family, there is a high degree of boredom.”

Work, education and training are, therefore, “very much a part of their life in Low Moss”, according to the former Inverness Prison governor. Though conducted almost three years ago, the last official inspection would appear to bear that out. Despite a target of 35 hours purposeful activity per week not being delivered for all prisoners, the chief inspector of prisons did commend the establishment for achieving the highest level within Scottish Prison Service (SPS) public sector prisons.

“The old mail bags and fishing nets sort of thing, devil makes work for idle hands, keep people busy, we’ve moved up another level,” adds Abernethy. “We still need a bit of that because people do get bored and some people don’t want to learn new skills and aren’t interested in employment. But we’ve got a significant percentage of people who see a different future for themselves away from offending and our job is to try and help them on that journey.”

‘Unlocking potential, transforming lives’ is the slogan the SPS now abides by following a major organisational review just over two years ago. Indeed, one doesn’t have to look far to find it: the words are carved on wooden souvenirs perched on the windowsill of Abernethy’s office (individuals working in the wood machining and assembly work areas within the prison produced them). An SVQ (Scottish Vocational Qualification) level 3 in wood machining will soon be offered. “We could probably offer a four-year apprenticeship in there just with the nature of the work,” says production and services manager, George Borden, as we walk round the workshops.

“A lot of people think that in the jail we just lock people up and there is nothing happening in here. But with the technologies we’ve got – we’ve got CNC machinery – we actually match and exceed colleges and external training environments.” Products are sold through the prison service’s industries’ arm while furniture has also been made for other establishments such as Grampian and Cornton Vale. Walking through the spacious workshop, Borden taps a carver chair a couple of times as if to illustrate how sturdy it is. “B&Q don’t want it because it’s too good,” he jokes, implying it doesn’t exactly lend itself to repeat business.

After two decades as a technical instructor for the likes of Volkswagen, Audi and Porsche, Borden started out at Barlinnie before going on to spend 14 years at Edinburgh, where he ran the machine shop. A brief spell at Shotts followed before he helped to map out work within Low Moss. “It’s a totally new ethos,” he says.

“In the old days, you just pinned the tail on the donkey and put the first ten in the first workshop and then filled all the workshops. Now we’re sitting down, we’re speaking to people, ‘what do you fancy doing, here is what we’ve got, this is what you’re going to gain out of that and here is how you’re going to gain it’.”

Around 150 individuals are in the work areas this morning. “We have created the external working environment in here,” says Borden. “They’re working a 35-hour week so it’s an easy transition.” Twenty-four work in a commercial-size laundry five days a week where an SVQ level 2 in laundry operations is offered. National progression awards – in effect, a level down from an SVQ – are available in craft, joinery as well as painting and decorating. In fact, skills learned in the latter are put to use to renovate or repair cells in the residential wing, a set-up that clearly suits prison management too given money would otherwise be spent bringing in outside contractors.

Prison officers trained up as industry qualified instructors are also approved to deliver bricklaying, plumbing and cosmetology (Low Moss has a barbers with six cutting stations). Manual handling is done in accordance with the Royal Society for the Prevention of Accidents, while courses in biohazard cleaning (“that’s your dirty protests and all your blood clean-ups,” says Borden) and industrial cleaning – offering the potential to gain qualifications accredited by the British Institute of Cleaning Science – typically last two weeks.

A third bank of six prisoners is currently working through a waste management and recycling qualification available since last autumn. Three of those who went through it have since found employment on release, partly stemming from links the prison has built with companies on the outside. “Some would actually work for an employer for nothing for a while just to prove, ‘give me a chance’,” says Borden. “What we have asked is for the employers to come in and interview people and if there are any people they see with the skills they need, we’ll actually match them up and we’ll develop that for release.”

Meanwhile in the kitchen – which sees 45 men working in shifts to turn out up to 1600 hot meals a day – catering officer Vincent Rooney has eight candidates going through the SVQ training process, learning some of the basics behind food preparation and cooking over a period of up to six months. “The prison service has always been great at opening the door and just saying, ‘cheerio, we’ll see you next time you come in’,” he says.

“Now the onus is on trying to get guys and give them a life skill and a chance to make a go of it outside... They’re never going to be Michel Roux Junior but they’re going to have a level of catering and a level of understanding of it that they can then function by themselves.”

Around 70 individuals have been awarded an industry-recognised, elementary food hygiene certificate, their names featuring on two noticeboards in the corridor outside. “We used to make up our own qualifications and you’d get a certificate with the governor’s signature on it or the head of offender outcomes and the tagline was HMP Low Moss – that didn’t mean anything to an employer,” says Abernethy. “But if you’ve got something that is industry standard, then that is meaningful.”

Of course, things are not straightforward. Ruth Facchini has run the education department since the prison opened in March 2012. Around 45 individuals sit in on each of the four daily sessions, learning a mixture of core skills – literacy, numeracy and computing – creative skills, and social studies such as history and modern studies. “We have to keep the provision quite flexible because of the transient nature of the prison population in Low Moss,” she says. “Most of the courses are modular so we’re doing units and modules that you can pick up and you can join a class at any given point, really.

“It’s almost like one-to-one learning in a group setting and that is the challenge that teachers face because they have got new people joining their class every week and they’ve got lots of different abilities as well to cope with.” Given that some will be in Low Moss having been convicted of domestic abuse, a piece of work using creative writing as a means to discuss gender-based violence has just been completed. Facchini, who previously worked in Polmont and Greenock, describes the prison as “very outward looking” in its efforts to bring in other agencies to try and replicate what is being done outside its walls.

Internet access is not one of them, however. “That is being debated as we speak and there is talk that it may come in the not too distant future in a controlled measure,” she tells Holyrood. “But certainly without it, it is a huge issue for us as teachers, with more and more learning materials online, especially for prisoners that are doing Open University study. It’s hugely challenging to try and get round that.”

Then there is the small matter of engagement in various activities. “We have to sell this to prisoners as much as we have to sell it to the public,” admits Abernethy. For those who do wish to take part, places can be at a premium. Ryan, 33, who is housed in a hall set aside for remand and convicted prisoners who have never been in custody before, is in his third week of working with the Freedom Bakery, a social enterprise artisan bakery based within Low Moss.

“In that hall we’re in, there are only certain jobs like pass man reception and pass man in the hall but people have got those jobs so you can’t get a job,” he says. “I’d rather do this than any of the other ones, anyway. You’re treated normal, like a worker. You can see how it benefits people for coming out – they’ve got a skill. My girlfriend likes the cinnamon buns, so I promised I’d learn to make them.”

The first social enterprise partner of the SPS, the bakery recruits directly from the prison halls with each person put through a job application and interview process before being employed and trained to gain a vocational qualification in craft baking. Three are currently working full time, five days a week, eight hours a day, while another four are part time. Bread and cakes are sold in the prison visiting area and to restaurants, cafés and businesses in and around Glasgow. “The quality of bread that we give to them, they won’t find anywhere in Glasgow,” says Lee Macaloney, one of two bakers providing teaching.

Working within a maximum-security prison, of course, presents its own challenges, mainly that the bakery has to operate between 8am and 4pm. That said, Abernethy intimates that conversations are already taking place about how the bakery might better meet demand for same-day delivery. “Clearly, there are some logistical issues and security issues for us in terms of doing things outwith our normal day but it’s not impossible to do that,” he says.

One of those involved – “he has probably read a good five or six bakery books off his own back,” says Macaloney – was due to move up to the open estate last week. “The plan is that if someone goes up to the open we’ll find a bakery up there that will take them on while they’re out for work, so they’ll get a more realistic and broad way of seeing how other bakeries do stuff and be able to say, ‘this is how I’ve learned, it might benefit you as well’,” he explains.

It’s an approach that Low Moss is exploring in other areas as well. “We’re hoping that we’ll have our first prisoners [out] on placement here in Low Moss probably in the next two or three months,” adds Abernethy. Around a dozen prisoners are being sought as a starting point.

There is, however, the issue of scale. The Freedom Bakery, for instance, has attracted significant attention given the public emphasis those at the top of the SPS are now placing on a so-called ‘asset-based approach’. It is the exception rather than the rule as it stands within the wider prison estate, though. “Very much, they are,” acknowledges Abernethy. “It’s a small part and a relatively small number of people, but it’s an incredibly powerful message.

"What it is is that little acorn – hopefully – that the oak tree will grow from. But I think the trick for us is not to put all our eggs in one basket. Not everybody who leaves prison in Scotland in 10 years’ time is going to be a baker. We’re needing some other types of activity to support people and we have to keep a weather eye on what is happening in the community.”

As some working day-to-day within Scottish prisons will point out, though, there is a need to be realistic. Estimates suggest nearly three-quarters of prisoners across Scotland have an alcohol use disorder, with over one-third likely to be alcohol dependent. Addictions prevalence testing on reception at Scottish prisons indicated seven out of ten of those tested in 2014-15 were positive for illegal drugs. Poor mental health remains commonplace, while homelessness awaits many upon release.

Perversely, in a number of cases, finding settled accommodation in supported housing is said to hinder employment prospects as rents are often too high to be met through earnings, leaving little option but to not work and instead claim housing benefit. Similarly, attempting to continue work done in prison within a college setting can be complicated by the same so-called benefits trap. “If I’ve heard one say it, I’ve heard them all,” remarks one workshop instructor on inmates talking of setting up their own business once they leave, clearly sceptical that the harsh realities of post-release will allow it.

It is against this backdrop that the Low Moss public social partnership – a pilot project led by Turning Point Scotland with input from various public and third sector organisations – works with short-term offenders leading up to and following release. It’s an initiative that the prison service is trying to replicate in part through the rollout of throughcare support officers across the broader estate.

Waiting in the prison’s link centre to be escorted out, word filters upstairs from reception. An individual released after being held on remand appears to have returned 10 minutes later, pleading with staff to be let back in. Overcoming this type of occurrence is likely to be a measure of not only Low Moss’s success but of those working outside the prison gates going forward.