But surely I'm not actually a jailbird?
No, I'm not! But it really was my second visit to The Verne prison. The first was described in my post Portland - and nearly clapped in irons! on 17th May 2015. This time the outcome was benign.
I was on a day trip eastwards from Lyme Regis, and I'd decided that I would sample some prison fare for lunch. Inside the prison is a café that the public can use, called the Jailhouse Café. Subject to the presence of supervisors, it is staffed by trusted prisoners who are learning catering skills as part of their personal rehabilitation process. So the chef - or sous-chef anyway - and the waiters will mostly be actual prisoners. I first heard about the place on the radio a few years ago - I think it was on You and Yours, BBC Radio 4's midday consumer programme - and had promised myself that one day I would give it a go.
Well now I have. And I'd say that it's well worth visiting. It's 'different'. And it sits on the highest point of Portland, with a stunning view over Portland Harbour.
I'd got over the awkward experience I had on my first trip to The Verne. Even so, the entrance gateway to the old fortress - reached by a zig-zag climb up a steep hillside - was as intimidating as the last time.
As you can see, it's controlled by traffic lights. Once through, you drive upwards towards the real entrance to the prison - the secure one, staffed by warders with attitude. This time nobody came out to tell me that I'd contravened prison regulations. I drove on unmolested to a public car park overshadowed by abandoned stone buildings in poor repair. I wondered why they hadn't been knocked down. There were signs of modernity too, but overall the scene wasn't exactly welcoming. The car park was clearly intended for visitors, but it had an odd feel - probably because it was, after all, inside the prison grounds. Perhaps one was being watched by security cameras. Perhaps a squad of specially-trained anti-riot officers were hidden somewhere, ready to pounce if one did something suspicious.
Undaunted, I decided to carry on, and see what the Jailhouse Café was like. It all looked a bit grey and institutional on the outside, as if this was where the prison officers got their no-frills canteen lunch.
You can see where they got the logo from! Compare that sign with my first photo.
The actual entrance was round the corner on the hidden side of the building, and seemed much more inviting.
Inside was a dog-friendly welcome, and a mini-exhibition that told you all about the Café (and its counterpart at Guys Marsh near Shaftesbury) and what the charity behind it was trying to achieve.
This notice struck a cautionary note.
Presumably they mean that when there is trouble among the prisoners - as there must occasionally be, even in a Category C prison - they are locked in their cells 24/7 and can't do their usual stint in the Café. And obviously, if they have all absconded, the same applies.
Well, what about the Café? Turning the corner, a large, bright eating area opened out, painted white, with colourful things on the walls, and a display of enticing gifts for sale on one wall. The tables and chairs might have been at home in the average prison canteen, but overall it was very pleasant. One side was all windows. This looked out onto a rear lawn, which I discovered later had that superb view of Portland Harbour.
The routine was that you found a table, studied the menu, then placed your order. A pleasant lady named Andrea explained this to me, and came over to find out what I wanted, which, being hungry, was one of their cooked breakfasts, served up till noon. Unfortunately it was by then just past noon, but my disappointment made her ask the chef if I could have a special made-just-for-me breakfast. The answer was yes, so they are certainly obliging. It may have helped that there weren't too many customers just then - though the place soon filled up. Clearly the Café was quite popular, despite its convoluted approach by road, and its prison surroundings. And so far as I could see, most of the customers looked like tourists, here like me out of curiosity, and not people visiting sons and husbands detained at Her Majesty's pleasure.
A quiet, middle-aged man brought me a plate amply covered with well-cooked items, and I tucked in.
Well, there was nothing extra-special about the ingredients, but my late breakfast was tasty and satisfying, and the tea very good. I'd come back for more on another occasion.
I wondered about the chap who had served me. Was he a prisoner? Very probably. But Andrea herself, taking orders and handling customer payments, must be a civilian employee. Sat on a nearby table were two young men. They were drinking coffee and talking quietly. There was something about them - their slightly furtive manner perhaps, their watchful eyes maybe - that made me think they too were prisoners. Hmm. I'd felt good vibes from the middle-aged man, but not from these two wide boys. I couldn't see them living honest lives on release.
Meal over, I had a look at the merchandise on display. It was an attractive collection at reasonable prices. I chose three jute bags in bright colours as gifts for my girl friends once home again.
Settling up at the till, I told Andrea that I had enjoyed the meal, and indeed the whole experience, and would doubtless come again when next on Portland. And I meant it. Then I wandered out to the rear lawn, where a loud noise was drawing a small crowd of onlookers. The noise came from two helicopters taking turns at practice-manoeuvres over a ship anchored out in the Harbour. Odd-looking helicopters they were: shaped like a conventional plane, but with a swivelling rotor at each wing tip.
I understand now that these were V-22 Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft, chiefly used by the Americans. In the lower picture, one of them is hovering over the ship. You can see how much the sea is churned up by the fierce downdraught - I wouldn't like to be directly under one!
As I drove away, I saw one or two prison officers coming up from the main part of the prison. Were they after a meal - or had those two young men been absent for too long? It must be very trying to be subject to oppressive regulations, never free to do exactly as you please. Liberty is not to be taken for granted. And not just in a prison context.
