My name is Carl and I’m 68 years old. I was finally released from prison in the USA, having completed a little less than 11 years from a 14-year sentence.

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As a ‘criminal alien’ I was handed over to I.C.E. for processing. Having agreed as part of my plea deal that I would not contest the deportation, this should have been a simple process. My lawyers had led me to believe that this would take somewhere between seven to 21 days. I had the pleasure of spending 71 days in conditions that made the Federal prisons where I had served my sentence seem like heaven on earth.

It truly was like living in a primate centre, but finally, at the end of June, I was driven to Dallas airport for my flight home to London Heathrow where I would at long last become a free man. The flight home was weird. For the first time in eleven years there were no handcuffs, no guards. I could get up and walk to the bathroom or get a drink without asking for permission.

The last time I was in England was more than 25 years ago.

Due to my own stupidity, I had burnt a lot of bridges when I left for the States. I have three children all in their forties now. One, my daughter has shown far more compassion than I deserved and had made the effort to keep in contact with me during the last six years of my sentence. We would speak on the phone once or twice a month. We also emailed each other from time to time. My middle son sort of kept in touch, but anything was better than nothing and I had no right to expect anything after the way I treated them. My youngest refuses to speak to me at all, and that's his right. This was all made possible by their mother who worked hard to make sure I at least had a chance of building relationships with them upon my return.

I was returning to my place of birth with little more than the clothes I was wearing. Nowhere to live and no money. Thank God for Prisoners Abroad who had been a Godsend to me during all those years. Throughout my sentence, they sent me newsletters, books, birthday and Christmas cards. 

I had read every page of their resettlement book more times than I can remember. Whenever my anxiety levels would rise about what would happen to me, how would I survive when I got home, out would come the book. There were clear and precise instructions on what you could expect and what was expected of you. This was a two-way street, and I would be expected to play my part.

My first port of call once I arrived at the airport was Heathrow Travel Care. The people there were kind and very helpful. I was given some food and coffee, as well as an arrival pack provided by Prisoners Abroad, containing a phone and a Tesco gift card for food which was to last me a week. The people at Travel Care passed on the details of my accommodation for the first few days - a small hotel which had been paid for by Prisoners Abroad.

On Monday morning I went to see my resettlement officer at Prisoners Abroad's office. He worked hard to ease my concerns and fears of what lay ahead. None of what was going to be required was going to be easy, but his experience of the system and the plan we laid out together gave me a sense and feeling of hope for the future.

First, we worked out where I would be staying and how I would manage when it came to money until I could get my pension sorted out. When it comes to dealing with the UK Department for Work and Pensions, I soon learnt that you need to be patient, tolerant and very polite when communicating with them. They have their timetable and nothing you say or do will change that.

Making sure you have all the required paperwork and documents is very important. Having read the resettlement book, I had started the process of getting many of the documents together six months before my release. With the help of Prisoners Abroad and my children's mother I had everything in place. Just as well because it still took fourteen weeks and the additional help of Age Concern to get me my first payment.

As well as working on my pension, we were also working on my accommodation needs. Both things fell into place on the same day in September. My resettlement office had worked hard and relentlessly with the council to secure me a bedsit close to my daughter and her mother, who also helped put all this together for me. The bedsit is in a house that had just been renovated. I was moving into somewhere that no one else had lived in. I had my own bathroom that no one had ever used - it was like my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. I also had my own money, as my pension is paid every four weeks.

I am still working on getting my pension credits which will increase my monthly income, but hopefully this will come in soon. I will never be able to thank my resettlement officer and Prisoners Abroad for everything they have done for me, both during those dark days in prison and since my return.

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Offering a guiding hand

Prisoners Abroad supports people who return to the UK after prison; we find them somewhere to stay, provide grants for food and travel, and help them take the vital steps to a new life.

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