There is chaos in HMP Pentonville.

A piercing alarm alerts us to what prison guards describe as an “incident.” There’s a cacophony of slamming metal doors, jingling keys, and the screams and shouts of prisoners as guards run to see what’s happened. We run after them as they make their way to where the problem is.

Cell doors and peeling, white-painted bars are about the only view as we move through this chaotic and nerve-wracking environment.

A muffled walkie-talkie tells us it’s a case of self-harm. A prisoner who’s been locked up for most of the day has carved “Mom and Dad” into his arm with a sharp object. A quick glance into the cell and the sight of blood. A prison officer crouches down to stop the flow.

The BBC was given exceptional access to HMP Pentonville men’s prison in north London at a time of major prison crisis in England and Wales.

Next week, as prisons across the country run out of cells for new inmates, the government will release some prisoners early in a controversial plan aimed at relieving the overwhelming pressure on a system teetering on the brink of collapse.

During the two days we stayed in Pentonville this week, we were confronted with the harsh reality of this crisis.

The pressure on the staff is immense. In just half a day we hear six alarms. The day before there were more than 30. Prison guards do not know where they are running behind those closed and locked doors. Blood, violence or even death are all possibilities.

Shay Dhury has been a prison officer here for almost five years and says she has never seen it this bad. She recently broke her wrists while trying to separate two gang members during a fight. She believes gang-related crime is one of the main reasons there are so many people in prison, especially Pentonville.

“They go for each other — and when two people go, others go,” she says. “It ends up with us just trying to stop the fight. Sometimes it gets really messy — stressful, yeah.”

HMP Pentonville was built in 1842 and has remained largely unchanged in structure for 180 years. Originally designed to hold 520 people in a single cell, it now has an operating capacity of 1,205, with two prisoners in each cell.

The prison is dangerously close to capacity – there are only nine beds left when we arrive. And humans aren’t the only prisoners here: mice and cockroaches are everywhere.

According to the government, Pentonville is exemplary of the challenges faced by ageing inner-city prisons, which are people from changing populations with diverse and complex needs.

More than 80% of prisoners at Pentonville are on remand, meaning they are awaiting trial. The remainder have been convicted of serious crimes including murder, rape and drug offences.

The number of remand cases in England and Wales is at its highest in 50 years – and it’s partly due to a backlog in the criminal courts. Figures from the Ministry of Justice (MoJ) show the Crown Court system has a backlog of more than 60,000 cases. The Magistrates Court has a backlog of more than 300,000 cases.

HMP-Pentonville

• It costs £48,949 to keep a prisoner at Pentonville for a year, £52.4 million for the entire population

• 57% of prisoners live in overcrowded accommodation

• People who do not receive any education or training spend only one hour a day outside their cells

• In March 2024, 104 cases of self-harm were recorded, the highest number in one month since records began.

• Between 2019 and 2023, seven suicides occurred in the prison

Source: Prison performance data from 2022 to 2023

Tom – not his real name – is in custody. His cell is tiny. It is about 2 by 1.8 metres and has a pungent smell of urine, faeces and rotten food. A bunk bed takes up most of the space. The toilet, in the corner next to the sink, is leaking and there are wet splatters on the floor.

“I told them about it for three weeks,” Tom says. “I could fix it – I’m actually a plumber – but there were no washers in it.”

Overcrowding affects all aspects of life inside. With fewer officers per prisoner, prisoners’ needs cannot always be met, meaning some, like Tom, live in cells that are not functioning properly for several weeks when repairs are needed.

Michael Lewis is serving time for drug offenses. He is 38 and has been in and out of prison for a number of years, but he hopes this is his last time.

“It’s hard to rehabilitate yourself in a place where you’re dealing with gang violence, zip code wars, drug violence and money wars,” he says, highlighting how overstretched the staff is.

“They try to do this, this, this and this – but now you want help too? So it’s hard.”

He tells me about the night he woke up to find his former cellmate trying to hang himself.

“I could tell he wasn’t dead because he was still breathing and he was still warm,” Lewis said, describing the wait until a prison officer arrived to help.

“He can’t open the door himself at night – keys and everything, security risk,” Lewis explains. “Waited for another staff member – and as soon as he came in, he saw him.

“He survived.”

“I’d rather die”

I have been to several prisons but the situation in Pentonville is the worst I have ever seen.

It seems that the staff are doing the best they can in very difficult circumstances, dealing with problems, crises and violence, but they often struggle to cope.

Sixteen people will be released next week as the government releases thousands of offenders early. Prison governor Simon Drysdale says this will ease some of the pressure and allow more people sent to Pentonville – a holding centre that serves all the courts in London – to be transferred to other prisons where more cells will be available.

“Our entire focus is on making sure we have the space and the capacity,” Mr. Drysdale says. “That takes up a lot of our thinking space and a lot of the staff’s time, and it doesn’t give us as much time as we would like to think about things like getting men into more meaningful work.”

But some prisoners at Pentonville doubt that releasing 16 prisoners will make a difference here. One, who did not want to be filmed, speaks to us as he crouches on the floor with his back against the wall.

“Nothing will ever change,” he says, sobbing.

“They don’t care about us. I’d rather die.”

If you are experiencing any of the issues raised in this story, support and advice is available through the BBC Action Line.

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