In 2004 Erwin James, who has died suddenly aged 66, came out of jail after serving 20 years of a life sentence for murder. For six of those years behind bars, he had been writing for the Guardian, latterly a column called A Life Inside, which painted a picture of the prison world. He described his feelings on re-entering society: “All my life I had been a liar, a thief and a cheat. Now I had to face the rest of my life as a convicted murderer.”
Determined to show the public that change is possible, he shared his experiences and insights in newspapers and magazines, in talks, interviews and three books. Eventually, in 2016, he became editor of the national newspaper for prisons, Inside Time, which he described as “his dream job”.
James, along with a co-defendant, William Ross, had been convicted of two murders in 1984, the final conviction in a series of 53 – including burglary, theft, criminal damage, assault and mugging – that began when he was 10 years old. He did not expect to be forgiven, because he could not forgive himself.
In 2009, he wrote in the Guardian: “For these actions I will be eternally ashamed and, however pathetic and insufficient it may seem, I can only express my heartfelt sorrow for what I did.” Whatever his change in circumstances, his past never left him, giving him immense sympathy for those who had fallen and encouraging them to rise and make roles for themselves within society.
As an editor, he unselfishly assumed that encouragement would bring the best out of everybody and that enjoyment in work would be part of the picture. He was insistent that Inside Time, although reporting on problems in the prison service, should always leave space for hope among his predominately inmate readership, and report on positive initiatives.
Clever and charismatic, he was equally capable of leading a discussion in a prison, a meeting with one of the many charities he helped, such as the Prison Reform Trust, or, on a hot summer’s day, chairing an Inside Time conference under an apple tree. Yet his desperate start in life and the tragedies that followed would have made such a life seem impossible.
Born to Scottish parents in Somerset, he was the son of Jeanie and Erwin Monahan, a labourer. A year after his sister, Alison, was born, when James was seven, his parents were in a car crash in which his mother was killed and his father injured. “Big Erwin”, as James called him, came out of hospital “a selfish, grieving, violent drunk”. By the age of 10, Alison having been sent away to live with an aunt, James was sleeping rough. He described the story of his life in three remarkable books, A Life Inside (2003), The Home Stretch (2005) and Redeemable (2016).
James turned to crime. His first offence when still a child was for breaking into a sweet shop and he was taken into care. While James said the home, in Yorkshire, was not a bad place, there was little they could do to resolve his problems.
He ran away many times and, once allowed to leave, aged 15, became a drifter, committing crimes to survive. As his own drinking escalated and his behaviour became even more out-of-control, he and Ross carried out two robberies in which two men were killed. Greville Hallam, a theatrical agent, was strangled in his north London home in September 1982. Angus Cochrane, a solicitor, died after being mugged in the West End three months later.
James fled to France, where he joined the Foreign Legion. There he responded to the strict discipline and routine, but the values they instilled in him also increased his guilt and shame at his crimes. After spending time in Corsica and Africa, he was told that his co-accused was talking to the police. He decided to give himself up and was extradited to stand trial at the Old Bailey.
Both James and Ross pleaded not guilty, blaming each other; each were given life sentences of 14 years. This was later raised by the home secretary to 25 years, and subsequently reduced to 20 for good behaviour.
Still in his 20s and facing many years in prison, James turned to education – a part of his life previously unexplored. Combining this with a new reading habit, he progressed swiftly, gaining an Open University degree in history.
His first article was for the Independent, after he had written to the paper in 1994 about misguided reporting on prison issues. More followed, under his first two names (he dropped his surname, Monahan), including a Guardian piece on prison suicides, before his column A Life Inside began in 2000.
Alan Rusbridger, the then editor of the paper, described James’s writing as “full of humanity and insights into life inside and the purpose of prison – in theory and in practice”. A former prison governor, John Podmore, said: “He helped open the door to a closed world.”
When he was made editor of Inside Time, James wrote about what it meant to him: “As a life prisoner in the 1990s, I remember well the introduction of Inside Time into prisons. For the first time ever, it not only gave prisoners a voice but also an invaluable source of reliable information about prison issues … Over the years I was an occasional contributor: I was in prison, but I was free to think and free to write. In my wildest dreams I even imagined that if I worked hard enough at thinking and writing, one day I might make it as a journalist.”
It was in the prison education department that James met Margaret, who helped him with his writing, and they married on his release.
Education, key to James’s change, and which in childhood he had so tragically lacked, was always at the forefront of his thoughts, whether it was promoting the Prisoners’ Education Trust or talking to prisoners himself. Charities and organisations such as the Prison Reading Group, the Longford Trust, Koestler Arts, and Clean Break always knew they would find a place in Inside Time. One of his first innovations was to introduce a series called Inside Voices, where prisoners contributed their own experiences.
James was equally interested in history relating to prisons, such as a series describing the lives of 19th-century inmates, as in the possibilities of modern technology. He encouraged the paper to enlarge its online presence both outside and inside prison.
His motivation for all his work stemmed from his strong desire that nobody should lead the life that he led as a child and young man.
He is survived by Margaret, two daughters from previous relationships, and Alison.
