A safe place

Jackie Macadam learns more about the work of prison chaplain, the Rev Jill Clancy.

A RECENT BBC documentary shone a light on the levels of mental health problems in HMP Barlinnie in Glasgow, though it is fair to say this is mirrored in other jails across Britain.

The Rev Jill Clancy is the only full-time chaplain employed at Barlinnie and was featured briefly on the programme ‘Inside Barlinnie’.

“We see every prisoner in their first 72 hours after admission,” she says. “I work with the guys in a supportive role – I’m there for all of them, of any faith and of none. I don’t judge – to be honest, I don’t really want to know what they are in prison for. They have been judged already – I’m just here to try to support them, spiritually as well as emotionally, through their time here.”

Jill has been a prison chaplain since 2013, initially part-time in HMP Kilmarnock when she was a parish minister, and since 2017 as a full-time prison chaplain – and across both Kilmarnock and Barlinnie prison until she became full-time solely in Barlinnie in 2019.

“It can be hard to deal with, sometimes,” she admits. “Emotionally very draining. So many of the men have had such hard backgrounds – there are so many similarities between them, so much pain.

“If you want to put it this way, there’s a ‘story’ behind all of them.

“Many of them share with me their ‘ACE’s – Adverse Childhood Experiences, and they are universal to almost all the men.

“They have all experienced things without having the kind of support systems many of us have had and so we find that their way of coping can be through taking drugs and drink.

“ So many of the men have had such hard backgrounds – there are so many similarities between them, so much pain.

“Some common causes of trauma include: abuse; losing parents; being brought up in care then left to fend for themselves when they age out; undiagnosed conditions such as ADHD (many prisoners were locked up before diagnoses of that sort were even available when they were young) and most have no way of coping with their feelings and emotions.

“I understand, of course, that many people also experience these traumatic events and don’t turn to crime as a reaction, but the men here are the ones I work with, so I have to come at it from their position.

“Even in prison there can be a substantial wait between being diagnosed with a mental health problem and receiving treatment for it,” she says. “My team can get involved at that point – we often are given referrals from other agencies in the prison, like the NHS. And the prison officers can spot when someone needs someone to talk to or someone they can trust and open up with, so they also refer to us. As well as the men themselves self-referring.

“Prison is a punishment. The loss of personal liberty can’t be exaggerated. The lack of personal autonomy, even to the point of having to get up and go to bed, decide when to eat and what to eat; it’s all a blow to the psyche. Barlinnie is 140 years old, but no matter how ‘comfortable’ a prison is, and Barlinnie has never had the reputation of being comfortable, being locked up with others and having no freedom, is a punishment in itself.

“You are so very alone in prison. For many of them, it’s the first time in months when they have been sober, ie not under the influence of alcohol or drugs. That’s when they find that they have to deal with the stuff they’ve been suppressing; the pain they’ve been trying to run from, forget about by taking the drugs and drink.

“It’s compounded by the fact that in prison, there is no one they can talk to in the way they can outside. There is no family they can grieve with; no friends they can just be themselves with. If someone has died, they often can’t go to the grave or funeral – many families don’t want someone in handcuffs at the service or the grave. When normal families can get together to reminisce, to tell stories, share a laugh about the person they’ve lost – the normal ways we all remember someone who has died – they can’t access that support. Prison is a hard place to be vulnerable.

“There is such a vast array of pain, fragility and brokenness in a prison.

“That’s where I come in and others like me. We are there as a safe place for them, to speak in confidence and without any judgement. I carry a pack of hankies in my pocket every day as I have seen many tears in here.

“Of course, I have empathy for the victims of the crimes – I can’t imagine how they might feel,” Jill says, “but I’m not there to care for the victims. I’m here to care for these men. People outside prison, hopefully, have access to other resources they can use to help them through the repercussions of a crime. My role is to care for the offender.

“Through courses like the Sycamore Tree Course, which is on restorative justice, we try to help them to work their way through the reasons they committed their crime in the first place, and ideally, give them help they can use so they don’t reoffend when they are released.

“So many of them need ‘ordinary’ life skills – things we were all taught as kids or learnt through normal interactions with others as we grew up. We try to teach them these skills; alternative ways of dealing with the stressors that in the past they have reacted to by indulging in unhealthy behaviour that has led to their incarceration,” she says.

It can be draining on Jill’s team as well, but Jill says they support each other. She also has many outside activities that help her relax and keep her occupied.

“It’s a job where you really need to leave it behind you when you walk out of the prison doors at night,” she smiles. “I exercise by going to the gym and running, I love wild water swimming and walking my dog. I also enjoy Latin and ballroom dance classes that I attend with my husband, Frank! And after 10 years I still run a choir I started when I was a parish minister.

“As a prison chaplain you also still have to play your part in Presbytery, so there are many things to keep her mind on other things, like being Interim Moderator at present and Business and Nomination Vice Convenor.

“You can’t take all that trauma and pain home with you. It would just begin to turn itself inwards. And then I’d be no use to anyone, church, family or prison.”