Sir Wilfred Lucas-Dockery, as has already been suggested, combined ambition, scholarship, and genuine optimism in a degree rarely found in his office. He looked forward to a time when the Lucas‑Dockery experiments should be recognized as the beginning of a new epoch in penology, and he rehearsed in his mind sentences from the social histories of the future which would contain such verdicts as 'One of the few important events of this Labour Government's brief tenure of power was the appointment as Governor of Blackstone Gaol of Sir Wilfred Lucas‑Dockery. The administration of this intrepid and far‑seeing official is justly regarded as the foundation of the present system of criminal treatment. In fact, it may safely be said that no single man occupies so high a place in the history of the social reform of his century, etc.
His eminent qualities, however, did not keep him from many severe differences of opinion with the Chief Warder. He was sitting in his study one day working at a memorandum for the Prison Commissioners- one of the neglected series of memoranda whose publication after his retirement indicated Sir Wilfred's claim to be the pioneer of artificial sunlight in prisons ‑ when the Chief Warder interrupted him.
'A bad report from the Bookbinding Shop, sir. The instructor says that a practice is growing among the men of eating the paste issued to them for their work. They say it is preferable to their porridge. We shall either have to put on another warder to supervise the bookbinding or introduce something into the paste which will make it unpalatable.
'Has the paste any nutritive value? asked Sir Wilfred.
'I couldn't say, sir.
'Weigh the men in the Bookbinding Shop, and then report to me any increase in weight. How many times must I ask you to ascertain all the facts before reporting on any case?
'Very good, sir! And there's a petition from D.4.12. He's finished his four week's solitary, and he wants to know if he can keep at it for another four.
'I disapprove of cellular labour. It makes a man introvert. Who is D.4.12?
'Long sentence, sir, waiting transference to Egdon.
'I'll see D.4.12 myself.
'Very good, sir!
Paul was led in.
'I understand you wish to continue cellular labour instead of availing yourself of the privilege of working in association. Why is that?
'I find it so much more interesting, sir, said Paul.
'It's a most irregular suggestion, said the Chief Warder. 'Privileges can only be forfeited by a breach of the regulations witnessed and attested by two officers. Standing Orders are most emphatic on the subject.
'I wonder whether you have narcissistic tendencies? said the Governor. 'The Home Office has not as yet come to any decision about my application for a staff psychoanalyst.
'Put him in the observation cell, said the Chief Warder. 'That brings out any insanity. I've known several cases of men you could hardly have told were mad ‑ just eccentric, you know ‑ who've been put on observation, and after a few days they've been raving lunatics. Colond MacAdder was a great believer in the observation cells.
'Did you lead a very lonely life before conviction? Perhaps you were a shepherd or a lighthouse‑keeper, or something of the kind?
'No, sir.
'Most curious. Well, I will consider your case and give you my answer later.
Paul was led back to his cell, and next day was again summoned before the Governor.
'I have considered your application, said Sir Wilfred, 'with the most minute care. In fact, I have decided to include it in my forthcoming work on the criminal mind. Perhaps you would like to hear what I have written about you?
Case R., he read:
A young man of respectable family and some education. No previous criminal record. Committed to seven years' penal servitude for traffic in prostitution. Upon completing his first four weeks R. petitioned for extension of cellular labour. Treatment as prescribed by Standing Orders: either (a) detention in observation cell for the Medical Officer to satisfy himself about the state of the prisoner's mind, or (b) compulsory work in association with other prisoners unless privilege forfeited by misdeamenour.
Treatmcnt by Sir Wilfred Lucas‑Dockery. ‑ I decided that R. was suffering from misanthropic tendencies induced by a sense of his own inferiority in the presence of others. R.'s crime was the result of an attempt to assert individuality at the expense of community. (Cf. Cases D, G, and I.) Accordingly I attempted to break down his social inhibitions by a series of progressive steps. In the first stage he exercised for half an hour in the company of one other prisoner. Conversation was allowed during this period upon approved topics, history, philosophy, public events, etc., the prisoners being chosen among those whose crimes would tend as little as possible to aggravate and encourage R.'s.
'I have not yet thought out the other stages of your treatment, said Sir Wilfred, 'but you can see that individual attention is being paid to your reclamation. It may cause you some gratification to realize that, thanks to my report, you may in time become a case of scientific interest throughout the world. Sir Wilfred Lucas‑Dockery's treatment of Case R. may haply become a precedent for generations yet unborn. That is something to lift you above the soul‑destroying monotony of routine, is it not?
Paul was led away.
'The men in the kitchen have lodged a complaint that they cannot work with C.2.9, said the Chief Warder. 'They say he has an infectious skin disease all over his hands.
'I can't be worried with things like that, said the Governor irritably. 'I am trying to decide upon Case R.'s ‑ I mean D.4.12's ‑ third stage of reclamation.
* * *
Case R. of the Lucas‑Dockery experiments began on the new régime that afternoon.
'Come out, said the warder, unlocking his cell, 'and bring your 'at.
The parade ground, empty of its revolving squads, looked particularly desolate.
'Stand there and don't move till I come back, said the warder.
Presently he returned with a little bony figure in prison dress.
'This 'ere's your pal, he said, 'this 'ere's the path you've got to walk on. Neither of you is to touch the other or any part of 'is clothing. Nothing is to be passed from one to the other. You are to keep at a distance of one yard and talk of 'istory, philosophy, or kindred subjects. When I rings the bell you stops talking, see? Your pace is to be neither quicker nor slower than average walking‑pace. Them's the Governor's instructions, and Gawd 'elp yer if yer does anything wrong. Now walk.
'This is a silly dodge, said the little man. 'I've been in six prisons, and I never seen nothing to touch it. Most irregular. You doesn't know where you are these days. This blinking prison is going to the dogs. Look at the Chaplain. Wears a wig!
'Are you here for long? asked Paul politely.
'Not this time. They couldn't get a proper charge against me. "Six months for loitering with intent." They'd been watching me for weeks, but I wasn't going to let them have a chance this time. Now six months is a very decent little sentence, if you take my meaning. One picks up with old friends, and you like it all the more when you comes out. I never minds six months. What's more, I'm known here, so I always gets made "landing cleaner". I expect you've seen me hand often enough coming round with the grub. The warders know me, see, so they always keeps the job open for me if they hears I'm coming back. If you're nice to 'em the first two or three times you're 'ere, they'll probably do the same for you.
'Is it a very good job?
'Well, not as jobs go, but it's a nice start. The best job of all is Reception‑cleaner. One doesn't get that for years, unless you've special recommendations. You see, you has all the people coming in fresh from outside, and you hears all the news and gets tobacco sometimes and racing tips. Did you see the cleaner when you came in? Know who he is?
'Yes, said Paul, 'as a matter of fact, I do. He's called Philbrick.
'No, no, old man, you've got the wrong chap. I mean a big stout man. Talks a lot about hotels and restaurants.
'Yes, that's the man I mean.
'Why, don't you know who that is? That's the Governor's brother: Sir Solomon Lucas‑Dockery. Told me so hisself. 'Ere for arson. Burnt a castle in Wales. You can see he's a toff.