Being a probation officer is hell. Britain’s prisons are more broken than you know
An ex-case worker paints a picture of public servants doing a vital (and often horrifying) job, undermined by cuts in funding and staffing
A Murderer’s Guide to Cleaning sounds like a lurid thriller – until you read the subtitle, And Other Stories From My Life as a Probation Officer. In the book we meet characters such as Steve, who spent hours meticulously scrubbing the blood off the kitchen tiles after he killed his wife; Chantelle, who sang obscene songs through a speaker in her daughter’s playground; and Barry, a sex offender who… well, you don’t really want to know what Barry did.Steve, Chantelle and Barry are all real cases – with their names changed – whom Elizabeth Baxter tried to help as a probation officer. During her 25-year career, Baxter worked tirelessly with murderers, sex offenders, rapists, arsonists, fraudsters and burglars, seeing them at her office, in prison, at their homes or in court. The idea was to stop them reoffending, or to help get them a life outside prison. And she really loved her job.
But the fact is that probation officers don’t get a very good rap. “I wanted to raise the profile of probation officers,” she tells me now, over lunch at a restaurant in Kings Cross, “because they don’t get portrayed well or even accurately on television or film. I’ve never seen a good one, nor have any of my colleagues.” They are invariably portrayed as incompetent – “like Diane Pemberley in The Outlaws, or Janice in Back to Life, who just ate biscuits” – or simply as someone minor criminals report to in order to prove they are still wearing their ankle tag.
As of March 2025, there were approximately 5,636 full-time probation officers in the UK, responsible for supervising 241,540 offenders. Yet despite being an intrinsic part of the justice system, most people are barely aware of the work of the Probation Service, until something goes wrong. As Baxter says, “Things working isn’t very newsworthy, is it?”
A good probation officer is a cross between a counsellor, social worker, careers adviser and police officer. And the Probation Service, says Baxter, used to be “a quietly competent pillar of the criminal justice system”. It worked. All was going well until then-justice secretary Chris Grayling stepped in and part-privatised it in 2014. The service was split in two: one part remained in the public sector (the National Probation Service) and was responsible for high-risk offenders, and 70 per cent was privatised, creating Community Rehabilitation Companies – these contracts were primarily won by multinational companies, which would be responsible for supervising offenders deemed to be of low or medium risk. The change sparked near-universal condemnation.
Privatisation was a disaster,” Baxter writes. “Experienced officers were made redundant. Staff were overstretched and underqualified, risk assessments were not carried out properly, and the categorisation of high versus low-risk offenders was routinely muddled… To cut costs some junior staff were left supervising up to 200 offenders [instead of 60].” The previous regime of regular face-to-face contact with offenders was replaced by one phone call every six weeks. And inevitably, neglected prisoners are more likely to reoffend. The Ministry of Justice is now employing AI to “predict” the risk of reoffending.
The system was renationalised in 2021, but, Baxter says, it has never recovered. Poorly paid and overworked staff left in droves, and it was difficult to replace them. According to leaked official documents, the shortfall in staffing stood at 10,000 as of September 2023.
When the caseloads were manageable, Baxter felt she was really helping. “Manageable” was when she was full-time, with a case load of 30, could see offenders once a week and she “could really get [her] teeth into it”. Towards the end, she was working part-time and had 60 on her books. She had a breakdown and left in 2015.
Baxter says her new book is about “those halcyon days before privatisation, when officers had the time and experience to make a difference”. And in many cases, she really did make a difference. A measure of success was if her clients didn’t reoffend, but in some cases Baxter was able to achieve a lot more.
Stella, for example was charged with threats to kill, possession of an offensive weapon and criminal damage. She lived with a violent man with whom she was in an abusive relationship, and she had endured a rough upbringing: her mother was an alcoholic, her father died when she was 12. But after several meetings with Stella, Baxter could see she was “a good egg” with potential; in court, she pleaded for probation instead of a prison sentence. Stella received an 18-month probation order. Shortly after Baxter began working with her, Stella started volunteering with a women’s centre, then enrolled on a computer skills course, took GCSEs, got her first ever job (as a receptionist), got married and ended up training to be a social worker.
And there are smaller, less tangible successes. Sometimes Baxter was a lifeline – the only consistency in an offender’s chaotic world. Once, in the visiting area of a prison, she recognised a man who was there with both his father and his son. “Three generations of criminals and they were all inmates in the same prison,” says Baxter. “And I’d been the probation officer or youth offending team officer for all of them, at one time or another, and they said that I was the most consistent person in their lives.
“But they were all in prison – so I thought, ‘Well, it didn’t work then, did it?’ But they all said it had worked, because they were there for only minor offences; it could have been much worse. I felt oddly pleased – it was quite a strange feeling.”
Baxter’s entry into the probation service was not a conventional one. It happened after she was arrested for possession and supply of a class A drug. She was the only child of quiet, conventional, conservative parents. They read The Daily Telegraph, lived in a council estate and her father worked in the local factory. After Baxter left school, she became a dental nurse and moved into a flat with friends.
But her life changed one night after a party where she met two men who turned out to be drug dealers and persuaded her to steal some anaesthetic from the dental surgery where he worked. She was terrified by the idea but, feeling intimidated, took some out-of-date phials of anaesthetic and gave them to the men. A week later she was arrested.
Baxter was suddenly faced with an offence serious enough to send her to prison. Before her court sentencing, she met the probation officer who had been assigned to write a pre-sentence report on her. His name was Mick, and he was a kindly man who could see how scared she was, and he told her he would recommend that she not be sent to prison.
The magistrate gave her a two-year probation order, and she reported to Mick regularly. He told her his was the most rewarding job in the world, and she decided to join him and became one of his “projects”. She enrolled at university and got the qualifications needed to join the Probation Service. Shortly afterwards, she was assigned her first murderer.
Steve” killed his wife after spending a day in the pub together. They had returned home drunk, had an argument, and he had grabbed the frying pan and beaten her to death with it. He cleaned up until the kitchen was spotless. Then he called the police. It was a first offence and he was sentenced to life with an 18-year tariff. Baxter was assigned to see him regularly, after his previous parole officer retired, and visiting him in jail for the first time, she asked him to describe what happened.
Steve was matter-of-fact and showed no obvious remorse about the murder, but went into great detail about the cleaning process, describing how he used Ajax and Flash spray, and made some Persil into a paste for the grouting on the tiles. Baxter noticed that his cell was spotless, too. She saw him regularly for three years. When pressed, he admitted that he regretted killing his wife but said that the relationship was toxic, and that he was relieved she was gone.
Baxter noticed how he never looked at her, that he hated loud noises, and she was struck by his obsession with cleanliness. She thought he might be autistic, and arranged for him to be assessed. She was right. “Of course, being autistic doesn’t mean someone will be violent, but the diagnosis provides context for his actions,” she says.
Steve ended up serving 21 years, three more than his 18-year tariff because, in Baxter’s words, “he didn’t do well in parole hearings – didn’t show any remorse”. When the next parole hearing came up, Baxter wrote in her report that it was due to his autism that Steve was not capable of displaying remorse in the traditional sense, and that she thought his risk of reoffending was low.
Steve got parole, but will remain on licence until his death. Baxter continued to see him for another eight years, making it 15 years in all that she worked with him. He gave up alcohol, never reoffended, and during their meetings continued to talk about cleaning. Baxter says he was the most boring man she ever met. “He’s 72 now and lives in a sheltered housing complex.”
Baxter says she has never felt physically threatened by any of her clients except once, when she was in court and a parole application was denied, and the inmate whispered in her ear, “I’ll kill you when I get out.” She says: “Occasionally when I was sitting across the table from a rapist I might feel uncomfortable, but you have to brush it aside.”
The threat is real for today’s probation officers, 76 per cent of whom are women: last year, a 35-year-old man, Ryan Gee, stabbed his probation officer, a woman in her 30s, during an appointment at the probation office in Preston, Lancashire. In January, Gee was jailed for life for the premeditated attack, with a minimum term of 16 years
Sometimes the job would get to Baxter, though. The worst way it manifested itself, she says, was a sort of paranoia; seeing potential sex offenders everywhere. She says: “In front of our house there’s a play area with a lovely tall hedge around it. Loads of kids play there, and I was constantly on the phone to the council, asking them to cut the hedge down in case there were paedos hiding in it. My husband would tell me not to be ridiculous, and I’d say, ‘It’s a safeguarding issue – that hedge shouldn’t be there.’”
Did the council cut the hedge down? “No, I think they thought I was a bit weird,” she laughs. “I hadn’t realised how strange my life was until I left.” She had a lot of therapy after she stopped working for the Probation Service; she thinks everyone....(missing)
Baxter is married with two children, and her husband is known as Tom in the book. She writes amusingly about him, particularly how he is the most untidy man she’s ever met. Has he read it? “Not yet. I just hope he’s not cross. He’s such a lovely man, but he does think he’s perfect.” She has just found out that the book is to be adapted for television. She will be involved in writing the script and is enjoying the idea of her husband “being publicly humiliated on telly”.
It was a really well-functioning service that has never recovered,” Baxter says. “Lots of experienced officers left. I think there were 14 in my office, and six of us went off sick and then left. So there is a huge deficit of experience now. It was catastrophic.”
If she could make changes, what would help?
“More staff is key. There is a recruitment drive going on now.” However, recruits are increasingly younger: you can now apply to become a probation officer from the age of 18 if you have five GCSEs. “I think it would really help to recruit older people. They used to come from all walks of life, with different backgrounds, some from university, some ex-criminals, some victims – all had a social conscience and wanted to help people. I would focus on recruiting people who want a second career.” The new intake, she says, is “lots of young white women. A friend of mine who trains them said nearly everyone is called Hannah or Emma”.
What makes a good probation officer? “Someone who listens and really takes it in. Because you might hear one story one week and then by the next it’s totally changed – you need to remember what they said so you can challenge the difference. “And somebody who isn’t too easily shocked. I think you need to be a bit cynical, and still think the best of people. Because I do believe people can change.”
A Murderer’s Guide to Cleaning: And Other Stories From My Life as a Probation Officer by Elizabeth Baxter (Oneworld, £18.99) is out on April 16
An ex-case worker paints a picture of public servants doing a vital (and often horrifying) job, undermined by cuts in funding and staffing
A Murderer’s Guide to Cleaning sounds like a lurid thriller – until you read the subtitle, And Other Stories From My Life as a Probation Officer. In the book we meet characters such as Steve, who spent hours meticulously scrubbing the blood off the kitchen tiles after he killed his wife; Chantelle, who sang obscene songs through a speaker in her daughter’s playground; and Barry, a sex offender who… well, you don’t really want to know what Barry did.Steve, Chantelle and Barry are all real cases – with their names changed – whom Elizabeth Baxter tried to help as a probation officer. During her 25-year career, Baxter worked tirelessly with murderers, sex offenders, rapists, arsonists, fraudsters and burglars, seeing them at her office, in prison, at their homes or in court. The idea was to stop them reoffending, or to help get them a life outside prison. And she really loved her job.
But the fact is that probation officers don’t get a very good rap. “I wanted to raise the profile of probation officers,” she tells me now, over lunch at a restaurant in Kings Cross, “because they don’t get portrayed well or even accurately on television or film. I’ve never seen a good one, nor have any of my colleagues.” They are invariably portrayed as incompetent – “like Diane Pemberley in The Outlaws, or Janice in Back to Life, who just ate biscuits” – or simply as someone minor criminals report to in order to prove they are still wearing their ankle tag.
As of March 2025, there were approximately 5,636 full-time probation officers in the UK, responsible for supervising 241,540 offenders. Yet despite being an intrinsic part of the justice system, most people are barely aware of the work of the Probation Service, until something goes wrong. As Baxter says, “Things working isn’t very newsworthy, is it?”
A good probation officer is a cross between a counsellor, social worker, careers adviser and police officer. And the Probation Service, says Baxter, used to be “a quietly competent pillar of the criminal justice system”. It worked. All was going well until then-justice secretary Chris Grayling stepped in and part-privatised it in 2014. The service was split in two: one part remained in the public sector (the National Probation Service) and was responsible for high-risk offenders, and 70 per cent was privatised, creating Community Rehabilitation Companies – these contracts were primarily won by multinational companies, which would be responsible for supervising offenders deemed to be of low or medium risk. The change sparked near-universal condemnation.
Privatisation was a disaster,” Baxter writes. “Experienced officers were made redundant. Staff were overstretched and underqualified, risk assessments were not carried out properly, and the categorisation of high versus low-risk offenders was routinely muddled… To cut costs some junior staff were left supervising up to 200 offenders [instead of 60].” The previous regime of regular face-to-face contact with offenders was replaced by one phone call every six weeks. And inevitably, neglected prisoners are more likely to reoffend. The Ministry of Justice is now employing AI to “predict” the risk of reoffending.
The system was renationalised in 2021, but, Baxter says, it has never recovered. Poorly paid and overworked staff left in droves, and it was difficult to replace them. According to leaked official documents, the shortfall in staffing stood at 10,000 as of September 2023.
When the caseloads were manageable, Baxter felt she was really helping. “Manageable” was when she was full-time, with a case load of 30, could see offenders once a week and she “could really get [her] teeth into it”. Towards the end, she was working part-time and had 60 on her books. She had a breakdown and left in 2015.
Baxter says her new book is about “those halcyon days before privatisation, when officers had the time and experience to make a difference”. And in many cases, she really did make a difference. A measure of success was if her clients didn’t reoffend, but in some cases Baxter was able to achieve a lot more.
Stella, for example was charged with threats to kill, possession of an offensive weapon and criminal damage. She lived with a violent man with whom she was in an abusive relationship, and she had endured a rough upbringing: her mother was an alcoholic, her father died when she was 12. But after several meetings with Stella, Baxter could see she was “a good egg” with potential; in court, she pleaded for probation instead of a prison sentence. Stella received an 18-month probation order. Shortly after Baxter began working with her, Stella started volunteering with a women’s centre, then enrolled on a computer skills course, took GCSEs, got her first ever job (as a receptionist), got married and ended up training to be a social worker.
And there are smaller, less tangible successes. Sometimes Baxter was a lifeline – the only consistency in an offender’s chaotic world. Once, in the visiting area of a prison, she recognised a man who was there with both his father and his son. “Three generations of criminals and they were all inmates in the same prison,” says Baxter. “And I’d been the probation officer or youth offending team officer for all of them, at one time or another, and they said that I was the most consistent person in their lives.
“But they were all in prison – so I thought, ‘Well, it didn’t work then, did it?’ But they all said it had worked, because they were there for only minor offences; it could have been much worse. I felt oddly pleased – it was quite a strange feeling.”
Baxter’s entry into the probation service was not a conventional one. It happened after she was arrested for possession and supply of a class A drug. She was the only child of quiet, conventional, conservative parents. They read The Daily Telegraph, lived in a council estate and her father worked in the local factory. After Baxter left school, she became a dental nurse and moved into a flat with friends.
But her life changed one night after a party where she met two men who turned out to be drug dealers and persuaded her to steal some anaesthetic from the dental surgery where he worked. She was terrified by the idea but, feeling intimidated, took some out-of-date phials of anaesthetic and gave them to the men. A week later she was arrested.
Baxter was suddenly faced with an offence serious enough to send her to prison. Before her court sentencing, she met the probation officer who had been assigned to write a pre-sentence report on her. His name was Mick, and he was a kindly man who could see how scared she was, and he told her he would recommend that she not be sent to prison.
The magistrate gave her a two-year probation order, and she reported to Mick regularly. He told her his was the most rewarding job in the world, and she decided to join him and became one of his “projects”. She enrolled at university and got the qualifications needed to join the Probation Service. Shortly afterwards, she was assigned her first murderer.
Steve” killed his wife after spending a day in the pub together. They had returned home drunk, had an argument, and he had grabbed the frying pan and beaten her to death with it. He cleaned up until the kitchen was spotless. Then he called the police. It was a first offence and he was sentenced to life with an 18-year tariff. Baxter was assigned to see him regularly, after his previous parole officer retired, and visiting him in jail for the first time, she asked him to describe what happened.
Steve was matter-of-fact and showed no obvious remorse about the murder, but went into great detail about the cleaning process, describing how he used Ajax and Flash spray, and made some Persil into a paste for the grouting on the tiles. Baxter noticed that his cell was spotless, too. She saw him regularly for three years. When pressed, he admitted that he regretted killing his wife but said that the relationship was toxic, and that he was relieved she was gone.
Baxter noticed how he never looked at her, that he hated loud noises, and she was struck by his obsession with cleanliness. She thought he might be autistic, and arranged for him to be assessed. She was right. “Of course, being autistic doesn’t mean someone will be violent, but the diagnosis provides context for his actions,” she says.
Steve ended up serving 21 years, three more than his 18-year tariff because, in Baxter’s words, “he didn’t do well in parole hearings – didn’t show any remorse”. When the next parole hearing came up, Baxter wrote in her report that it was due to his autism that Steve was not capable of displaying remorse in the traditional sense, and that she thought his risk of reoffending was low.
Steve got parole, but will remain on licence until his death. Baxter continued to see him for another eight years, making it 15 years in all that she worked with him. He gave up alcohol, never reoffended, and during their meetings continued to talk about cleaning. Baxter says he was the most boring man she ever met. “He’s 72 now and lives in a sheltered housing complex.”
Baxter says she has never felt physically threatened by any of her clients except once, when she was in court and a parole application was denied, and the inmate whispered in her ear, “I’ll kill you when I get out.” She says: “Occasionally when I was sitting across the table from a rapist I might feel uncomfortable, but you have to brush it aside.”
The threat is real for today’s probation officers, 76 per cent of whom are women: last year, a 35-year-old man, Ryan Gee, stabbed his probation officer, a woman in her 30s, during an appointment at the probation office in Preston, Lancashire. In January, Gee was jailed for life for the premeditated attack, with a minimum term of 16 years
Sometimes the job would get to Baxter, though. The worst way it manifested itself, she says, was a sort of paranoia; seeing potential sex offenders everywhere. She says: “In front of our house there’s a play area with a lovely tall hedge around it. Loads of kids play there, and I was constantly on the phone to the council, asking them to cut the hedge down in case there were paedos hiding in it. My husband would tell me not to be ridiculous, and I’d say, ‘It’s a safeguarding issue – that hedge shouldn’t be there.’”
Did the council cut the hedge down? “No, I think they thought I was a bit weird,” she laughs. “I hadn’t realised how strange my life was until I left.” She had a lot of therapy after she stopped working for the Probation Service; she thinks everyone....(missing)
The final chapter of the book is titled “What probation is like now”. Though Baxter left the service more than 10 years ago, she spoke to current probation officers for their experiences on what conditions are like today. “With little public interest,” Baxter writes, “it is beholden to the whims of the political party of the day, and has been subject to regular, sweeping changes. Today, it’s limping along, chronically understaffed, hollowed out, and increasingly unsafe.”
It is poorly paid, comparatively. The starting salary for a 37-hour week as a probation officer is £26,474; marginally above the equivalent of minimum wage, £24,454. She shows me a graph recording overall public sector pay increases from 2010 to 2024: for health workers it is 32 per cent, local government 35.7 per cent, police 39 per cent, and for the probation service, 11 per cent.
It is poorly paid, comparatively. The starting salary for a 37-hour week as a probation officer is £26,474; marginally above the equivalent of minimum wage, £24,454. She shows me a graph recording overall public sector pay increases from 2010 to 2024: for health workers it is 32 per cent, local government 35.7 per cent, police 39 per cent, and for the probation service, 11 per cent.
It was a really well-functioning service that has never recovered,” Baxter says. “Lots of experienced officers left. I think there were 14 in my office, and six of us went off sick and then left. So there is a huge deficit of experience now. It was catastrophic.”
If she could make changes, what would help?
“More staff is key. There is a recruitment drive going on now.” However, recruits are increasingly younger: you can now apply to become a probation officer from the age of 18 if you have five GCSEs. “I think it would really help to recruit older people. They used to come from all walks of life, with different backgrounds, some from university, some ex-criminals, some victims – all had a social conscience and wanted to help people. I would focus on recruiting people who want a second career.” The new intake, she says, is “lots of young white women. A friend of mine who trains them said nearly everyone is called Hannah or Emma”.
What makes a good probation officer? “Someone who listens and really takes it in. Because you might hear one story one week and then by the next it’s totally changed – you need to remember what they said so you can challenge the difference. “And somebody who isn’t too easily shocked. I think you need to be a bit cynical, and still think the best of people. Because I do believe people can change.”
A Murderer’s Guide to Cleaning: And Other Stories From My Life as a Probation Officer by Elizabeth Baxter (Oneworld, £18.99) is out on April 16
And what’s wrong with younger people applying to train as probation officers. It’s actually offensive to say young people do not have a “social conscience”, or that all current probation officer trainees are “called Hannah or Emma”.
ReplyDeleteI won’t be reading this exaggerated fictional rubbish by a relatively invisible probation officer who actually left probation over 10 years ago. I’m sorry, as a probation officer I just cannot support this or books like it. There’s a growing trend of “ex probation officers” (usually ones that jumped ship or were not very good) writing books about probation, and it raises serious concerns about respect for client confidentiality, honest and ethical standards.
Someone was always going to do something like this at some point, but it is still disappointing to see what feels like a lack of regard for the potential harm written into these pages.
By the author’s own account she left the probation service over 10 years ago, yet these fictionalised practice stories drawn from old memories are now being presented in a way that blurs professional boundaries, and it’s likely to prompt even tighter confidentiality expectations for the rest of us.
It also leaves a bad taste that something so sensitive is being packaged as a commercial product at £18.99 a copy. What we’re seeing is an ex-probation officer claiming authority while potentially straying into ethical grey areas around client confidentiality, all wrapped up in what feels like a cash-driven publication.
Nothing wrong with younger people training as probation officers, but you do need an overall mix of age, sex and background experience which has been disappearing as the role loses pay and credibility. The author didn't say young people do not have social conscience, rather it was cited as a quality in the context of people who entered late in their careers, or with differing backgrounds eg ex criminals.
ReplyDeleteI think she did say that. Typical “I’ve been doing it for 25 years” attitude. How about live and let live!
Delete“However, recruits are increasingly younger: you can now apply to become a probation officer from the age of 18 if you have five GCSEs. “I think it would really help to recruit older people. They used to come from all walks of life, with different backgrounds, some from university, some ex-criminals, some victims – all had a social conscience and wanted to help people. I would focus on recruiting people who want a second career.” The new intake, she says, is “lots of young white women. A friend of mine who trains them said nearly everyone is called Hannah or Emma”.
forthcoming TV adaptation? Lots of Emma’s and Hannah’s to pick from for leading roles … Emma Stone, Emma Stone, Emma Thompson, Emma D'Arcy, Hannah Waddingham, Hannah Einbinder, Hannah Dakota Fanning …
ReplyDeleteflim flam, misdirection & faux outrage. Many people write books based upon their life experiences, many change names to protect identities (with varying degrees of success) & most fiction books are based upon real-life events or offer social commentary. Do we condemn Len Deighton or Michael Dobbs or Ken Loach for bringing stories to the reader/viewer? And being published in close proximity to acheson's words in the same paper, it raises the profile of probation in a positive way... maybe even offering some leverage in the pay dispute? (although its doubtful the unions will grasp that concept).
ReplyDeleteI'm just grateful that baxter has raised the following important & unfiltered messages (all of which have appeared on this blog, which is a great, albeit niche, read). She's managed to elevate them into the public domain via a mainstream journalist in a mainstream newspaper. Its more than the fucking unions have achieved, and how much do you give them every year in subs? More than a single £18.99 payment, I'll wager.
* the fact is that probation officers don’t get a very good rap. “I wanted to raise the profile of probation officers”
* despite being an intrinsic part of the justice system, most people are barely aware of the work of the Probation Service, until something goes wrong.
* the Probation Service used to be “a quietly competent pillar of the criminal justice system”. It worked. All was going well until then-justice secretary Chris Grayling stepped in and part-privatised it in 2014.
* Privatisation was a disaster... Experienced officers were made redundant. Staff were overstretched and underqualified, risk assessments were not carried out properly, and the categorisation of high versus low-risk offenders was routinely muddled
* inevitably, neglected prisoners are more likely to reoffend. The Ministry of Justice is now employing AI to “predict” the risk of reoffending.
* Poorly paid and overworked staff left in droves, and it was difficult to replace them.
* “With little public interest... Today, it’s limping along, chronically understaffed, hollowed out, and increasingly unsafe.”
* It is poorly paid, comparatively... She shows me a graph recording overall public sector pay increases from 2010 to 2024: for health workers it is 32 per cent, local government 35.7 per cent, police 39 per cent, and for the probation service, 11 per cent.
Sorry for giving an opinion. What I may pay in subs is my business, thanks.
DeleteSpot on. Probation is almost unseen and unheard, this is refreshing.
DeleteApologies for expressing an opinion too, but critiquing privatisation while publishing paid narratives about vulnerable probation clients (priced at £18) raises a serious ethical question around confidentiality and consent. One example of this kind of work who seemed to crack that dilemma is Going Straight by Bob Turney.
ReplyDeleteI’m sure it’ll be an interesting read for some, and probably a nice little earner too after 25 years of abysmal probation wages!! I think everyone will be writing a book now!!
Btw - not all “recruits” are “young white women”, without “social conscience” or “named Emma and Hannah”. C’mon let’s do better than that!!
I have mentored many young females with excellent inter personal skills and I have asked for their guidance when clients talk about Love Island or Instagram….we learn from each other all the time and the good probation officer also accepts that no one knows everything and that sometimes we are wrong…….
ReplyDelete