Babies behind bars; EXCLUSIVE Most babies born in prison are taken away, but in a few jails mums can keep their infants. From swimming classes to confinement, Victoria Kennedy sees what motherhood inside is really like.

Byline: Victoria Kennedy

Baby Sol giggles as mum Lucy pinches his chubby cheeks. A fish mobile dangles over his cot, a knit ted teddy from grandma sits on the bed and there's a gliVictoria Kennedy tter handpainting the four-monthold has just made.

But it's the thick white bars over the window that betray the cosy scene. Welcome to the D4 wing at Holloway Prison - the Mother and Baby Unit

(MBU). It's here, behind the thick walls and barbed wire, that up to 13 women are allowed to bring up theire babies behind bars.

The units are so rare - there are only seven in England - that most people don't even know they exist. Today there are seven children here.

It's the only part of Britain's most famous women's jail, which houses 429 criminals, where the doors aren't locked at night - for the babies' protection.

Most prison mums have their babies taken away and the women here (who can keep their babies with them for up to nine months) know they are very lucky.

"It's probably easier having a baby in here than it is outside," 32-year-old Lucky says, as she bounces Sol on her leg. She's seving a 10-year sentence for drug smuggling. "If the baby is going mental in the middle of the night then someone will come and check you're all right. You get a lot of support."

The unit immediately feels different to the rest of the jail. A sign on the front door is in child's handwriting.

In the living room the mums lounge on sofas or bean bags as they coo over their babies. A fish tank dominates one wall and baby paraphernalia is scattered around - a faded Winnie the Pooh teddy, a Monsters Inc video and a brightly coloured baby bouncer.

Just yards away some of the country's most hardened criminals are confined to solitary.

But here Lucy, 32, with baby Sol, Alona and Daniel (four months), Kate and Jason (five months) and Sarah and Kelly (six months) look like they are enjoying a coffee morning.

But there are reminders - a sign on the pinboard screams: "Mandatory drug testing, what is it?"'

Lucy is five years into her sentence after she and Scottish boyfriend Scott Campbell were caught with 16kg of cocaine in Mexico in 2004.

She got pregnant in prison in Mexico after Scott was allowed conjugal visiting rights.

"I found out I was expecting in Mexico and got brought back here when I was three months' pregnant," she says, stretching forward to turn off The Jeremy Kyle Show. "I didn't know if I'd be able to come to this unit - they've got such a strict policy.

"It's not something you take for granted. Otherwise, your baby is taken away."

Three officers, chosen because of their training with babies, watch over them at all times.

There is a creche where the children are looked after while their mums attend classes (anything from pottery to maths) or prison work. Holloway even has a swimming pool where the mums can teach their babies to swim.

Sarah, who is three years into a sentence for GBH, was on temporary day-release for good behaviour when she got pregnant.

"At first my friend was going to have her, I didn't want to bring a baby into prison. But as soon as I had her I couldn't let go at all."

Alona, 25, agrees. She has been inside a year for supplying class A drugs. She found out she was pregnant when she arrived. "I wasn't sure if I would keep it," she says. "My family wouldn't have been able to help, so I thought about having an abortion. But then they told me about the unit."

Despite the occasional baby cry, the unit is a serene place. "We're like a family, we've built that kind of bond," Lucy says. "People say the babies are so peaceful in here, but that's because we spend so much time with them. We probably get to spend more time with our babies than mums do outside because they're working."

Her words are certain to rile mothers on the outside. Surely this is supposed to be a punishment? All four women look down.

"It is hard," Lucy admits, in a rare moment of vulnerability. "Sometimes you just bawl your eyes out." They are not allowed cameras, so their baby's first smile, first crawl, will never be captured on film.

A charity takes a photo of the babies every week. There is a roof garden where they can go for air, surrounded by concrete bars.

Kate, 25, has been here for six weeks and is serving 18-months for ABH. She says: "I miss not being able to do simple things like take my older daughter to school."

Sarah also has another daughter outside. "When I got pregnant she said if the baby is going to live with you, I'm going to sit at the gate until they let me in too," the 26-year-old says.

"She's written to the governor saying please can my mum come home for my birthday."

It's shocking a nine-year-old even knows the word "governor".

Holloway makes an effort to make sure the babies behind bars are happy - as they say "the babies aren't the criminals". Every week volunteers take the babies for a walk to the park. It's important to get fresh air, and also hear normal sounds that they don't hear inside.

"Some people might say it's selfish to have their baby with them in prison but I think it's more selfish to separate a mother from her child," says Lucy.

"I know nothing could have separated me from Sol when he was born."

But don't the other prisoners get jealous? "That's one thing I've never encountered," Lucy says.

"They can't come near them but if you're walking down the corridors, the women are all like 'ah, a baby'."

Sarah chips in: "Some of them do try to fly at us though. They want to touch your baby."

The hope behind the MBUs is that while helping mother and child bond, it also teaches responsibility. It seems to work here. The fear of having their children taken away is overriding.

Kate says: "It's a good motivation. I'm never coming back here."

Although Alona, Kate and Sarah hope to leave with their babies, Lucy has two more years to serve.

It means she will be separated from Sol when he's 10 months old. "It will be hard, I know that," she says. "It's going to hurt but it's got to be done. It's best for him." She hopes Sol's dad, who will be out of prison soon, will look after him. Sol has never met his dad.

The women must go to their cells at 8pm and long evenings alone with their children and thoughts are spent dreaming of life outside.

Sarah is determined never to tell her daughter she was in prison as a baby. She is going to move to the Isle of Wight, where no one will know them. "We'll start afresh," she says wistfully.

Lucy is more ambitious: "When I get out of here, I'm going to write a book and buy a villa on a beach in Spain. Sol's going to speak Spanish and English and we'll have lots of money."

You hope for Sol's sake that she's right.

How it works

Phil Wheatley, director general of the National Offender Management Service says: "While normal prison rules apply within the Units they provide a calm environment which helps the development of the child and allows mother and child to bond.

"Crche facilities are provided so mothers can address their offending behaviour and educational needs like other prisoners.

"To obtain admission mothers must be drug free, non-violent in prison and able to look after their child without close supervision."

CAPTION(S):

INNOCENTS: Three of the jail's infants HAPPY: Sarah and her little girl Kelly FAMILY: Alona and Daniel I KNOW I'M LUCKY: Lucy and baby son Sol in prison