“THIS is just dead time for us,” says drugs conspirator Kris James ahead of his second Christmas behind bars as part of a nine-year sentence.

Hundreds of inmates and their guards just a few miles south in HMP Erlestoke will be denied the luxuries of the festive season as they work towards returning to wider society.

The Category C prison just outside Devizes is home to around 500 men serving stretches of between four years and life, but to claim a cell in Wiltshire they first have to prove they are willing to rehabilitate.

From members of drug gangs to fraudsters, and those convicted of violent or sexual assaults or even murders, the population of Erlestoke is often in for the long haul.

Almost two thirds are put to work every day in various roles, including cleaners, orderlies or gardeners.

With an education centre, gym and chapel on site, the focus is on engaging with offenders on every level, even providing for religions as unique as paganism with a dedicated chaplain.

Prison officers try to build a good rapport with the offenders, but there is always the lingering potential for trouble.

The week before I arrive, 50-year-old officer Tony Grant has been commissioned on bed watch after four prisoners were taken to hospital on the same day. One had taken an overdose.

“The courts judge people and we look after them,” says Tony. “We get people with such a variety of offences people might find distasteful, alarming or disturbing, but we are not interested in why they are in prison. We want to address the issues they have now.

“That is extremely challenging. Situations can develop fairly quickly but there can also be periods where not a lot happens. It is the potential rather than the act which makes it interesting.”

Having worked in high security prisons and youth offender institutions in his 12-year career, Tony prefers the positive nature of interventions in the low category units at Erlestoke.

“The general perception of prisons from people on the outside is that it is like a holiday camp, but I would challenge anyone to spend two weeks in one of our units and suffer that separation from friends and family,” he said. “It is taking control out of so many aspects of your life.

“If you are in prison and your partner isn’t there it can be a lot of strain, such as family illnesses, house repossessions, or the partner simply doesn’t want to carry on the relationship. That’s what can make it harder for people.

“I spend more time with the guys here than I do my wife, and I have to be a parent, carer, big brother, you name it. That leads into the two things we are interested in doing; reducing the risk of reoffending and protecting any future victims. We risk assess their likelihood of escaping towards the end of their sentence.”

A number of courses are on hand at the prison tailored to tackle the nature of the crimes being committed, including drug rehab, scripts, or alcohol and domestic abuse education. But not everyone is so eager to change.

“We do meet some people as an occupational hazard whose way of life historically has been around committing offences to make a living,” says Tony.

“They then view custody as simply a consequence of what can happen due to that lifestyle.

“We have to discuss alternatives with them, such as a family life, which some can find remarkably desirable. We try to steer them forwards.

“What I find is while they do not specifically know you when they arrive, with them doing what we say and us supporting them we build up that trust and, inevitably, a rapport. Then we have a good working relationship with people when you are trying to turn the ship around.

“Because of the population we are dealing with in a YOI they are a lot more reactive due to their immaturity.

“Outbreaks of violence and disturbances are more frequent because we are dealing with quite volatile young men.

“In a high-security prison you know that all you have to do is press an alarm bell to get a response of 40 or 50 officers in a very short time. In there it is a lot more black and white.

“In our environment staff prisoner relations are a lot better.

“Just the other day I unblocked someone’s sink and he said he would write to the governor to ask him to give me a pay rise. That was something small for me but had a massive impact for him.

“When you see that you know you are making a difference.”

Thirty-year-old Kris, originally from Manchester, was convicted for conspiring to sell Class A drugs in 2012 and locked away for nine years. His first stint in prison has seen him lose his partner and miss out on the whole life of his youngest child.

“The main thing that gets you in here is being away from your family; that’s the worst bit,” he said during a break from his work as an orderly.

“Some people actually want to be in here, but if you’ve got any ambition you’ll do what you can to make the best of it.

“I have got two children, aged three and 10, and it is the little things like not being able to take them to school, not being able to watch them grow.

“As soon as I came in here I thought there is no point in wasting my time while I’m inside and I might as well get some education out of it. I signed up straight away for courses and I’ve done a painting and decorating course and went on to do media and animation.

“I was a DJ and producer on the outside and made house music so that’s what I want to get back into as well as a bit of promotion work. You need to be educated when you come to jail rather than sit in your cell waiting for the time to run down.

“Christmas is the worst time, because I don’t get to wake up on Christmas Day with my kids, and can’t open presents with them.

“We miss out on Christmas altogether. The hardest part is missing out.

“My birthday was a few days ago and I didn’t feel like phoning anyone even though I had cards. You start feeling like you are just dealing with it in here and forget completely about the outside.

“My advice to people who haven’t been inside would be to think about your future. In here is not what some people make it out to be.

“You don’t want to be in here wasting your time, and there’s more to life than being in jail. This is just dead time for us.

“There’s nothing to celebrate when you are in jail. The whole thing is a lesson. It gives you time to sit down and to reflect on how you were living before you came in.

“I usually think I had been going down the wrong path and was stupid, so I’m just waiting for a chance to start again.”