BLANTYRE HOUSE, A SMALL resettlement prison near Tunbridge Wells in Kent, enjoyed a reputation for excellence unrivalled in the Prison Service. In 2000 only 8 per cent of its population re-offended, well below the 58 per cent of all adult male prisoners. It was an example of all that is best about the Prison Service. But on May 5, 2000, the Governor, Eoin McLennan-Murray, who had been praised for doing an outstanding job, was removed from his post.

Why did it happen? Essentially there was a personality clash between the governor and his area manager, Tom Murtagh.

McLennan-Murray, a quietly spoken, bespectacled man with a pleasantly open manner, was prepared to take risks, allowing prisoners to work in the community on the clear understanding that any breach of trust would result in immediate return to a closed prison. He believed that prisoners should be encouraged to take as much responsibility for their own lives as possible.

His policy was clearly successful. There had been no escapes from Blantyre House for five years. The prison easily exceeded all the targets set by the Prison Service. But the area manager was known to dislike the prison’s ethos and disapproved of McLennan-Murray’s approach to his task. Despite the lack of escapes or assaults, he ordered the governor to tighten his security arrangements and made him introduce practices more appropriate to a closed prison. McLennan-Murray said he was perfectly prepared to do this when the full staffing implications had been worked out and satisfied, but at present he did not have enough staff either to study or to implement the proposed arrangements. Murtagh declined to help him.

The Board of Visitors were so alarmed that they wrote to Martin Narey, director-general of the Prison Service, to complain that, by his bullying, the area manager was making life impossible for the governor. Narey went to the prison to see for himself. He concluded: “Blantyre House performs a valued role as a resettlement prison within the service. Its general ethos supports its special function and I am committed to protecting this.” The board was understandably encouraged by his public commitment to all that the prison was doing, a message they hoped he would pass to his area manager.

Nevertheless, Murtagh let it be known that the future of Blantyre House was being actively discussed at Prison Service headquarters. As was his habit, he excluded the governor from any discussions on the subject, leaving him to find out what was going on through hearsay.

What none of us knew was that Murtagh was planning to remove McLennan-Murray. On April 18 he began to put his plans into operation. These revolved around a detailed search of the prison on a Friday night which, by law, could be asked for only by a governor. Murtagh’s reason, which again he did not share with McLennan-Murray, was an allegation from Kent police that illegal items might be found. Eighty-four prison officers were to swamp the tiny prison, though quite why so many were needed has never been explained.

Murtagh’s next move was to replace McLennan-Murray with someone whom he had primed to ask immediately for a pre-planned full search. He put his plans to the director-general, who approved them on April 28. On May 2 Murtagh put officers from other prisons in Kent on standby to search Blantyre on the night of Friday May 5. The day before, Narey told Paul Boateng, the Prisons Minister, of the plan. Boateng raised no objection, although as the minister responsible for Boards of Visitors he could have been expected to know of their concern about the relationship between the governor and the area manager. He would also have known of similar concerns expressed to the Home Secretary by the Home Affairs Select Committee.

On the morning of May 5, Murtagh arrived at Blantyre House and told McLennan-Murray that he was being moved to Swaleside as deputy governor. He was to hand over to his successor at once and leave the prison immediately. Murtagh remained so that as soon as McLennan-Murray had left the new governor could go through the ritual of formally asking him to initiate a search as soon as possible. Any pretence that the request was spontaneous is incredible.

Soon after 10pm that night 84 officers arrived at the prison in riot gear. In addition to the main prison and every cell, they searched the chapel, the health care centre and the education centre, which were opened by force since the keys were allegedly not available. The search caused more than £6,000 worth of damage. Every prisoner was subjected to a mandatory drugs test. The Home Affairs Select Committee commented that “the demeanour of the search party created an impression of hostility”. But the prisoners, far from being hostile, offered tea and sympathy to the searchers for having their Friday night disrupted.

And the results? The search found a small quantity of cannabis, three Ecstasy pills, three unauthorised mobile phones and some unauthorised credit cards — less than might have been expected of a normal, routine search. No one tested positive for drugs. No prisoners or staff were charged with any disciplinary or criminal offences.

The incident set off a chain of events that remains incomplete. The Prison Service commissioned an inquiry into the past management of Blantyre House, which found nothing that could justify the action that had been taken. So it was ordered to look into possible financial irregularities. It could find none.