HOPE GIVER

Prison counsellor Lynn Robertson (above) supports men at Altcourse Prison in Liverpool. Taz is one of those men. They talk frankly to Jackie Rankin on trust, bumps in the road and hopes for the future.

LYNN

“I realised from my previous work with victims of crime that there was a massive hole – not enough is done to change the way the perpetrator thinks.

“Most of the men I work with have experienced terrible trauma themselves. They’re good people who’ve made wrong decisions in the past. If they leave prison with a different way of thinking, then we’re protecting the public.

“The prison mental health nurses are really good at recognising when someone needs my help. Not everyone is ready, or willing, but the men I work with have asked for my support.

“It’s challenging. These are grown men, yet they’ve never opened up to anyone in their lives. They’ve suppressed their emotions for so long that when they get a chance to tell someone they often cry with relief.

“I’m tough though, I challenge them to imagine how what they’ve done has affected others, but I reassure them and give them hope. I tell them we’ll have trips and falls along the way, but we’ll get there, and they’ll leave here in a better place.

“I’ve discovered my nickname is Nanny McPhee. At first, I thought it was an insult, but it’s based on a quote from the film.

Nanny McPhee tells the children: ‘When you need me but do not want me, then I must stay. When you want me but no longer need me, then I have to go.’ I can’t fix everybody, but I’ve not failed yet.”

The happiness of your life depends on the quality of your thoughts.

MARCUS AURELIUS.

TAZ

“Lynn doesn’t realise what she’s done for me. I’ve spent 28 years battling with my thoughts, I’m not fully through this, but I know now how to be happy.

I first went to prison when I was 25. I was charged with minor drug offences and eventually found not guilty; but while I was waiting to go to court, I had a traumatic experience in prison that left me mentally scarred. I turned to cocaine and alcohol to mask my pain.

I had my own business, got married and had a family. I had everything I needed, but I didn’t know how to be happy. I couldn’t tell anyone about my experience. I felt I had two lives – I was two people.

My drug use took me back to prison. I had endless counsellors before I came here but I never felt comfortable sharing my feelings. I felt worthless and dirty.

Lynn came into the prison CD shop where I was working and introduced herself. It took a while, I thought ‘I’ve heard this before’, but she didn’t rush things.

She won’t say something just to make me feel better, but she listens to my stories and turns them into positives. She knew what was in my head – I’d think ‘how can she know that?’

It’s been a year since we started our sessions and I’m now enjoying being a mentor on my wing and leaving prison at the end of the year.

I phone my father every day, he’s 80 and he worries. He says he can tell the difference in me from my voice. If I’m honest I feel excited about leaving, but anxious too. Lynn’s says not to worry, she’ll make sure I’m ready. I trust her.”

She listens to my stories and turns them into positives.