Amy Le Sueur went into education with a clear vision. “The thing I love about teaching is being able to give someone a step up, regardless of their economic background, or their family, or whatever issues they’ve had,” she says.
Le Sueur had always chosen to work in deprived areas, hoping to make the biggest difference possible to young people’s lives. But after 14 years in secondary schools, she was ready for a change: a job where she could focus more fully on the teaching itself, without the pressure of ever-increasing admin and planning demands.
Moving into prison education has turned out to be the perfect solution. Teaching English functional skills at HMP Durham, Le Sueur is still doing what’s driven her throughout her career – helping people move forward in life through education – but with a drastically improved work-life balance. “It’s been great,” she says. “I can’t believe the shift in me, mentally.”
She’s full of enthusiasm for the new role she started early this year, and keen to dispel some of the misconceptions people might have about prison teaching – including the idea that it’s dangerous.
“The myth is you’re going to be around all these incredibly dangerous criminals and there are going to be fights around you, and it just doesn’t happen,” says Le Sueur.
There are also a lot of safeguards in place: “You get training in what to do if something happens. There’s always an officer in your area. You’ve got a small group and you’ve got panic alarms in the room.”
Her classes focus on using English for real-world tasks, especially those that relate to work, such as looking at job descriptions and picking out key information, letter writing and corresponding by email.
She says she has yet to meet a prisoner who had a good time at school; many left early, or struggled with what may have been a condition such as undiagnosed attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). “A huge part of my job is building up their confidence as learners who’ve had bad experiences,” she says.
But contrary to what some might expect, there’s no shortage of motivation. “The vast majority want to get something out of it,” Le Sueur says. “It can be that they don’t feel confident with reading, writing and spelling. Sometimes they say: ‘My kids are at school and I want to be able to support them’.”
The small classes in prison – hers are for a maximum of eight – are well suited to people who’ve previously become disengaged from education, as is the informality. “The way we run things is so much more at their own pace,” she says.
Le Sueur’s days start with a chat with her manager and checking who’ll be in the class – some men might be in court, or have a medical appointment. HMP Durham is a remand prison, where men go when they’re awaiting trial or sentencing, before either being released or moved to another prison, so there’s a high turnover of learners.
She fills a canteen with hot water so students can make themselves a drink with their “brew pack” of tea, coffee, sugar and whitener, and puts a Countdown conundrum-style nine-letter anagram on the board. Even reluctant learners tend to get drawn into the sense of competition to solve it first, or come up with the highest number of shorter words from the letters.
Seeing prisoners respond to the classes has been hugely rewarding. Le Sueur talks about one who struggled in school and is struggling with the prison experience, but turns up whatever is going on, his book immaculate, and is delighted when she says he’s done well.
“He comes to class because it makes his day brighter,” she says. “And you can tell he’s really proud of something, and he’s not been proud of anything for a long time.”
For some of the men, it’s their first time in prison, while others have been in and out for years. Either way, Le Sueur says, they’re not happy to be there, and she’s conscious that – whatever they have done – this is a low point in their lives.
“You can teach commas, you can teach apostrophes, but actually giving these men a small achievement that’s something to be proud of during a really hard time in their life is the essence of teaching,” she says.
“You’re there to make students believe they’re capable of success, and capable of things outside of the crimes they’ve committed and the choices they’ve made. To let them know there are other options, other avenues.”
Teaching in a prison still involves tasks such as planning lessons, marking and giving verbal feedback, Le Sueur says. “But you are given time to do it,” she adds. “You get admin time. You also have some extra time built in after lunch, before the men come in in the afternoon.” And you’re not allowed to take work home, because of data protection restrictions.
On what qualities a prison teacher needs, Le Sueur says patience and a willingness to engage and be non-judgmental. “You need to be confident enough to shut down any talk that shouldn’t be going on,” she says. “You need to be conscientious, obviously, because of all the security.” And you need to understand that sometimes, because prison isn’t easy, you’ll need to be a listener as well as a teacher.
Ultimately, Le Sueur hopes her classes will help her students find more stability when they’re out of prison, and reduce the likelihood of them reoffending. When they’re due to be released, or sentenced and moved elsewhere, she always says the same thing: “All the very best, look after yourself – I hope we don’t meet again.”
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