An extract from Bristol Beyond the Bridge - Michael Manson

`This is an extensive and commodious building,' wrote the editor of the 1825 Mathew's Bristol, Clifton and Hotwell Guide, `which for health convenience and excellent arrangement is not to be equalled in England, commanding extensive views of the surrounding countryside . . . The boundary wall (20 feet high) is built in hewn variegated marble which has a beautiful appearance'. What was this handsome construction? An hotel in Clifton? Or perhaps a new commercial citadel? In fact, the writer of the guide was describing Bristol's latest contribution to progressive thinking - The New Gaol.

Prior to 1820 Bristol's two prisons - Bridewell and Newgate - were housed in buildings most unsuited to their use. Of the whitewashed Newgate, John Howard, the outspoken eighteenth century prison reformer wrote `it is white without and foul within'. It was largely due to the pressures exerted by such selfless agitators as Howard that attention focused towards the end of the century on the national scandal of the country's prisons. But it was a slow process. Howard visited Bristol in 1774, and in spite of his public protests very few improvements were made. The appalling conditions in the Bridewell are emphasised by the fact that a cat had to be kept in the cells at night to stop rats and mice from gnawing the prisoners' feet.

However, in 1816, after a series of enquiries and reports the Corporation at last proposed that a new gaol should be built at a cost of £60,000. A piece of land sandwiched between The Cut and the Floating Harbour was chosen for the site - the vicinity today is still known colloquially as Spike Island. The building of the gaol was finished in August 1820 when the first prisoners were transported by wagon from Newgate, the Bridewell continuing in use.

Unquestionably the New Gaol was a great advance on the buildings that it superseded and was held up as a model to be emulated across the country. It was designed to hold 197 prisoners, all to be kept in single cells measuring 6 feet by 9 feet. Facilities were such (and this was unusual) that the prisoners were expected to be able to wash their hands and faces and comb their hair daily - and even bath once a month.

The water for their ablutions was to come from an inexhaustible well one hundred feet deep, the water being raised by a treadmill. The treadmill, or cockchaffer as it was euphemistically called, was a familiar feature of nineteenth century penal institutions. The New Gaol was equipped with treadmills for twenty persons - besides drawing water the treadmills were also used for grinding corn.

Both sexes were catered for in the prison - but were to be strictly segregated. The female prisoners were supervised by a matron and no male warders were allowed to visit the female prisoners unless accompanied by the matron or another female officer.

The granite gatehouse with its mock portcullis was equipped with a flat roof and a trap door specifically designed for executions. Executions were, of course, public affairs - and good crowd pullers at that. This could cause a problem as space for spectators was limited by the New Cut which was just across the road from the gatehouse. At the first public execution, in 1821, of a young lad sentenced for killing his girlfriend there was such a crush that notices had to be put up warning people to beware of being pushed into the unfenced Avon 5.

As exemplary as the prison was, by 1840 conditions had, for a variety of reasons, declined. A report by the visiting magistrates published in 1841 is reminiscent of the bad old days; much of the damage from the 1831 Riots had never been rectified, conditions were overcrowded and unpleasant, and discipline was lax.

For a start, the magistrates found the so-called inexhaustible supply of water to be undrinkable, while the much vaunted availability of baths was non existent. Many of the prisoners were poorly clothed against the winter cold and some even had no shoes or other footwear. Also, due to the smallness of the windows, the air-supply in the prison was static, the atmosphere consequently becoming stale and fetid. On the other hand many of the cells had unglazed iron windows with wooden shutters; in the winter the prisoners were compelled either to be shut in darkness or suffer the cold.

Additionally the magistrates noted that the supervision of the prison at night-time was difficult as, apart from times of a clear sky and a bright moon, the buildings were swathed in darkness. The installation of gas lamps was therefore recommended.

The magistrates had already ordered food allowances to be increased: `five ounces of dressed meat to be given twice a week, soup twice a week, and larger portions of bread when meat was not allowed'. Lest the magistrates were thought of as soft or extravagant, they felt compelled to point out that they were only meeting the requirements laid down by the Secretary of State, adding that due to this new dietary regime `far less sickness is to be found in the prison' .

And finally, with regards to security, the Justices found the prison to be grossly understaffed. There was one clerk and just six warders, or turnkeys as they were called, for both day and night duty, and only one female officer to act as matron. Not surprisingly the segregation of the sexes had proved impossible. It was even claimed that two female prisoners had become pregnant by one of the warders - who had subsequently absconded. Security being of the utmost importance, even by the time the Justice's report had been published, the number of staff had been increased to twenty-three.

With more staff, the Justices were able to operate their `new system' of discipline within the gaol. It had long been recognised that prison was not so much a place of correction but more a college of crime. `To commit a fellow creature to jail in its present state,' wrote the magistrates in 1837, `is to consign him to almost irretrievable infamy and ruin'. The `new system', however consisted of minimising the contact of fellow prisoners so that they lived in virtual solitary confinement. According to an enthusiastic report of 1841 the new arrangements were so successful that `we know of one hundred and one prisoners tried and convicted since this new system was enforced, who now honestly earn their bread by the sweat of their brow, and appear to be thoroughly reformed characters'. Indeed, no lesser an authority than the Deputy Lieutenant of the County of Cork backed up this claim by writing that `having devoted many years to the improvement of my own county gaol, and for this purpose (having) closely examined many gaols in England and on the continent, I feel confident in stating that I have seen none equal to the Bristol gaol'.

Despite this glowing report, over the following years conditions yet again deteriorated. In 1872 the Home Office complained to the Corporation that the prison was unfit for its purpose. The gaol was in such a state of decay that nothing could be done except to start building yet again. Accordingly the Corporation bought some land north of the city at Horfield Gardens but wisely procrastinated from doing anything further. Bristol was spared the expense of building another prison when, in 1878, the Home Office took over responsibility for penal institutions across the country.

All that remains of the New Gaol today - it was last used in 1883 and sold to the Great Western Railway in 1895 - is the flat roofed grey gatehouse and a few yards of wall beside the Cumberland Road.