“Death is busy everywhere,” Shelley wrote two centuries ago.
Since the first human drew breath, our lives have been tempered by the fact that they will end — leaving loved ones to pick up the pieces.
It is difficult enough to deal with loss in everyday life, the Reverend Douglas Creighton tells me, yet the unforgiving walls of prison magnify the impact of bereavement tenfold.
My guide through the stark corridors of HMP Edinburgh; I speak to the minister in a small meeting room in the administrative wing of the prison.
Rev Creighton, a Church of Scotland chaplain at the facility, is keen to speak about his work improving bereavement support for prisoners here.
A former head teacher, Rev Creighton helps prisoners deal with grief in a healthy way — which he says reduces volatility and improves conditions for staff as well as inmates.
“During the pandemic, I was involved with the voluntary 999 response teams, and through that work began to feel a call to prison chaplaincy.
“It didn’t really come as a surprise,” Rev Creighton, gregarious and affable, says with a grin.
“I started in Perth in 2023 and later moved here to be closer to home.
“It’s sometimes not understood by folks in the community, but I love what I do.
“This is my parish,” he says, gesturing toward the barbed wire fences visible from the window.
Working with the charity AtaLoss and other partners, Rev Creighton tailored a programme called the Bereavement Journey, a seven week course allowing prisoners to speak about loss and grief in small groups.
“In some cases, I have seen those who have completed the programme display reduced volatility, reduced offending behavior, and reduced substance misuse while in custody,” the minister, originally from the East Neuk of Fife, tells me.
The prison’s chaplaincy team also runs the Waterfall Cafe, a space where prisoners who have experienced loss can meet with their families, maintain memories, and “grow in grief”, as Rev Creighton puts it.
“We all come [to prison] and put on a mask,” he remarks. “Vulnerability is a sign of weakness.”
Yet, at the cafe, prisoners have the space to process their grief alongside family members.
“We will soon roll out the pilot programme here to two more prisons,” the minister says.
"The prison leadership is very supportive of what we are doing because they can see the impact,” Rev Creighton tells me.
With that, I am ushered in to speak to HMP Edinburgh’s governor, a no-nonsense career jailkeep named Mark Holloway.
Mr Holloway speaks glowingly of Rev Creighton’s efforts.
“We believe that prison is a place of humanity, and people need to be treated with a human approach.
“There is already grief in being separated and coming to prison, and this is only exacerbated by loss.
“The bereavement programme has helped us to create a coordinated and joint approach.”
Prison managers have received Bereavement Care Awareness training, I am told, while Bereavement Champions have been introduced in all areas of the facility.
“There can be a lot of trauma around the notification of a death,” Rev Creighton notes. “We do it in a more compassionate way,” he adds. “I ask myself: ‘How would I want to be treated?'
“It has been a gamechanger.”
This approach has been recognised more widely, with HMP Edinburgh becoming the first jail in the UK to receive the prestigious Bereavement Mark Charter.
Bidding goodbye to the governor, Rev Creighton and I relocate to his office, adjacent to the prison’s simple chapel.
“What do you take in your tea?” he asks.
I usually have milk, but for some reason, I decide to take it black — no sugar.
Next door, Rev Creighton’s colleague, a Catholic priest, leads a Bible study. Around a half dozen men wearing purple shirts take part.
“Grief affects everyone. You’ll know that if you’ve ever lost anyone,” Rev Creighton says.
"But it is magnified here. Even during visits, family members aren’t allowed to touch each other.”
As a leaflet given to prisoners after the death of a loved one states: "Acceptance cannot be rushed and it will take time.
"Being in prison will likely hinder this process because you are separated from family and friends, and when you are liberated it might hit you all over again when you cannot find them in the places you once saw them."
I ask a thorny question.
“When I publish this story, the comments will be full of people saying that these men don’t deserve your time, that they have done horrible things and should be left to their own devices.
“How do you respond to that?”
The Reverend is proud of his job, that is crystal clear, but I am intrigued to see how he will react to this.
He pauses, and offers a measured response.
“I am a civil servant. These men have been placed in our care by the judicial system, not politicians. It is my job to take care of them.”
Is the public backlash to his work the result of a lack of compassion, then?
“I think it is less about compassion and more about a lack of understanding,” he responds.
“Their punishment is their loss of liberty. But is their [inability to process grief] fair on their families, on their children?”
Indeed, the minister contends that moulding his charges into better men has a positive impact on their relationships and families.
“I ran a parenting group called ‘Men behaving Dadly’ when I worked at Perth,” Rev Creighton adds, chuckling: “Only those of a certain age will find that funny.
“Just because these men go to jail, it doesn’t mean they stop being dads.”
As we make our way back through the warren of corridors and checkpoints towards the visitors centre at the front of the prison, I reflect on my 90 minutes behind bars.
Read more:
- Probe begins into deaths of three prisoners at HMP Edinburgh from Covid
- Abolishing prisons in Scotland : a mad idea or a missed opportunity?
- Edinburgh prison library named among UK’s best at national book awards
It is easy to write off the 900 plus men at HMP Edinburgh as criminals who are getting their just deserts.
“Throw away the key”, “get out the noose” — I can imagine the Facebook comments.
Yet, such responses deny these men their humanity and the obligation we have towards them as fellow humans.
No one should wallow in their grief alone.
And amid a crisis in Scotland’s prison system, as overcrowding increases and tensions grow, could this approach lower the temperature?
That is what Rev Creighton and Mr Holloway and their colleagues believe, and I can only hope they are right.
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