Recently I went to prison.

Invited by Only a Pavement away to support a group of women preparing to get back into work.

Of course I was apprehensive. Desperate to make some tiny difference, worried I would say the wrong thing, concerned to give false hope but also inquisitive to see a world I hadn’t seen before.

At 7.30am last Thursday, myself Jess & Bec from team Sixty Eight sat in the car park of HMP Styal practicing our presentation. En route to talk to a group of women close to release, who had shown an interest in working in hospitality. By 8am we had walked through the visitor reception, through the first lot of 30 ft barbed wire gates and through the prison entrance. Julie, an employment support officer, met us in the holding area and from there on in she walked us through what seemed like hundreds of locked doors, fastidiously unlocking and locking every door with the chained keys that sat around her waist. Eventually we landed in the education centre.

The prison was strangely beautiful. Styal is very unique. It houses around 400 women, all of whom serving different sentences for different levels of crime. The only women’s prison in the north-west in fact (compared to 13 men’s prisons). Manicured gardens, Victorian house-like buildings, blossoming trees and benches sit in a juxtaposition to the bars on windows and uniformed guards. Perhaps it was the weather that added to the tranquility, but it was peaceful. Of course, we were told of the hardship and how ‘peaceful’ wasn’t always a word to describe the prison. Chronically underfunded with year after year of budget cuts, you could feel the frustration through the smiles of the employees we met.

They spoke of how mental health played an unbelievably prominent role in why these women were in Styal. Failed by a system on the outside, often overcoming significant childhood trauma that indeed they don’t even realise they faced. Julie clearly cited that the lack of mental health support on the outside was directly linked to why so many women had got to this point. ‘No one wakes up one day and decides to commit a crime’ she said.

We met eight women in total. As expected, their initial reaction to our training room felt a little nonchalant. But this changed quickly.

Jess & Tara from Only a Pavement Away opened our session. They spoke of the wonderful employers, who had opened their hearts and minds to this unique talent pool. Down to earth, honest and factual, they quickly put the room at ease.

We then proceeded to talk about hospitality. How it was a warm and welcoming industry, a trailblazer in diversity and inclusion, one where qualifications or privilege were not required. An industry where graft, reliability and kindness would lead to progression, if wanted. As I spoke, I could only hope that the industry I loved would throw its arms around these women in the way I was selling it would.

We talked about CV writing, interview preparation, about explaining their gap, about disclosure, about trial shifts and about structuring interview questions. They were engaged, warm, fun and perhaps even excited. Eager to share the qualifications they had earned, yet brutally honest about the stigma they were all too aware they would face on the outside.

Following our session, we were shown around some of the other areas. We had the pleasure of heading to the ‘bistro’, the staff canteen, where some of our delegates were working in the kitchen. They proudly made us lattes and shared the buns they had created for a ‘Bake-Off’ later that day.

Strength, resilience, kindness and vulnerability poured from this group in spades. It made me realise how unique this talent pool of prison leavers was. Untapped in many ways. Needless to say, no single talent pool solves our recruitment crisis, but small pledges like this feel like a genuine commitment to diversity and inclusion.

We heard about how Starbucks had committed to a position for one prison leaver for every new store opening in the northwest. I thought this was brilliant. A tangible and realistic commitment.

As I sat back in my car and closed the door, I burst into tears. The stigma these women will feel when trying to find work is real. Julie’s words ringing in my head ‘All they can have is hope’.

A hope that employers will give them a shot, hope it will all be ok, hope that they can get the mental health support required.

Mainly I just hoped that hospitality could continue to keep opening doors for all.