In the summer of 2022, 26-year-old Cherrie-Ann Austin-Saddington, a prison officer at a men’s jail, faced a critical decision. While on duty in the day room at HMP The Verne in Dorset, inmate Bradley Trengrove handed her a magazine. Hidden inside was a slip of paper with the number of his illegal mobile phone. Under the prison’s security cameras, she had to choose her next move.
“I was thinking, do I report it or not?” she recalls. “I never considered texting him—that wasn’t on my mind.” But she didn’t discard the paper. She kept it and ultimately decided against reporting it.
This was the first in a series of disastrous choices that led Austin-Saddington into a sexual relationship with Trengrove, turning her from a prison officer into a convicted criminal facing her own jail time. It’s a decision she says she’ll regret for life. Her story sheds light on her personal choices, but it also exposes deeper issues within the prison system: flaws in staff recruitment and management, and failures in safeguarding both prisoners and staff that undermine justice.
Austin-Saddington is one of many prison officers in recent years who have become involved with inmates. According to the Ministry of Justice, 64 staff were recommended for dismissal due to inappropriate relationships between March 2019 and April 2024. This number is likely an underestimate, as it doesn’t include those who resigned before being fired, non-staff workers in prisons, or those who were never caught. This trend points to a systemic problem, not just individual poor judgment.
Most cases involve female former officers in relationships with male prisoners, leading to criminal charges. In the past year alone, Austin-Saddington is among at least 10 women convicted of misconduct in public office for this reason. Examples include Linda de Sousa Abreu, sentenced to 15 months after a video of her with an inmate went viral, and Morgan Farr Varney, who received 10 months for being caught on CCTV with a prisoner. Others, like Toni Cole and Aimee Duke, were each sentenced to 12 months for their involvement with inmates. Katie Evans, barely 21, got 21 months, and Kerri Pegg, a former prison governor, received nine years for her relationship with a drug trafficker.
Inmates often start by asking for small favors that escalate, as Austin-Saddington experienced. Her case is particularly striking because she knew Trengrove was a convicted sex offender when she began the affair. She was arrested in May 2023 for trying to smuggle a Calpol syringe to him, which he intended for her to use to inseminate herself with his sperm. In February 2024, nine months after their relationship ended and over a year before her court case, she suffered a spinal stroke that left her paralyzed from the chest down. This led the judge to suspend her two-year sentence.
“Even though I avoided prison, I’m trapped in my own body for life,” says Austin-Saddington, now 29, speaking from her wheelchair at home.In Weymouth, misconduct in public office is a serious crime, and Austin-Saddington admitted guilt to it. As a convicted criminal, her account during our three-hour conversation must be viewed with that in mind. Yet, her story goes beyond just sexual misconduct; it exposes how some of the nation’s most dangerous men can manipulate prison staff to fulfill their desires, even while incarcerated.
“On the job, you hear tales of colleagues getting involved with prisoners, and you think, ‘How could they?’ I never imagined I’d become one of them, but I did,” she says, her eyes welling up. “I feel like a complete failure. I can’t deny it happened, but how did I let it happen to me?”
Austin-Saddington had long been fascinated by prisons, sparked by knowing someone in and out of jail during her youth. Too young to visit, she received letters detailing the harsh treatment he endured from staff. “I was curious about life inside and wanted to make a difference,” she recalls.
Her childhood ended early when she had a daughter at 16, becoming a single mother and missing much of secondary school. After a year in college, she spent four years in social care, finding joy in helping others despite the hard work. “It was rewarding to know I’d made someone’s day better,” she nods. But she left in 2018 when pregnant with twins at 22, too ill to continue caring for others. During that break, she reflected on her future and applied for a prison officer job after seeing an online ad. “I was confident and eager to build a career for my family,” she says.
At the assessment day, her math, English, and fitness were tested, along with role-playing scenarios with actors portraying aggressive prisoners. Online tests evaluated her personality and ability to quickly count people in images, aiming to find candidates who could manage headcounts and defuse tensions.
She received the job offer within weeks, starting in July 2019 at age 23 with a salary of about £1,800 monthly for long, irregular hours including nights and weekends. She wasn’t officially told she’d be working in a sex offenders’ prison; friends recognized the name when she mentioned her new role.
The Verne, a Category C men’s prison five miles south of Weymouth, was unlike her expectations. With a third of inmates over 60, including Gary Glitter, it wasn’t violent, and staff had little to do, often engaging in gossip and office politics. Her idealism faded as she noticed favoritism among officers and faced bureaucratic hurdles when trying to assist prisoners. “It felt like hitting my head against a wall,” she admits.
Two weeks into the job, and more than two years later…Just before she was due to meet Trengrove, Austin-Saddington found out that a prisoner on her wing, who had a history of mental health issues and self-harm, was injuring himself. “He’d been punching the door, and his hand was badly infected,” she recalls. She says the more seasoned staff made no secret of their dislike for him and advised her to ignore him. Instead, she went over their heads and reported it to the custodial manager, leading to the inmate being placed on a care plan. After that, he started to seek her out. To Austin-Saddington, it seemed harmless: he wanted to thank her for her help or share when he was having a tough day. They would talk in an office on her wing, which she notes wasn’t unusual, though most of her colleagues were male. Within days, she was summoned by the security governor—responsible for staff and prisoner safety—and informed that a colleague had reported an inappropriate relationship developing between her and the inmate. She was transferred to another wing, and her probation was extended.
Although Austin-Saddington faced disciplinary action, she says she received no guidance on what constituted inappropriate interactions. She had undergone on-the-job training at The Verne, including role-playing high-conflict scenarios, but the prisoners she encountered were not aggressive. “At The Verne, you get a false sense of security because they’re very respectful. You forget they’re also dangerous and manipulative,” she reflects.
Early in her training, she was warned that having an improper relationship with a prisoner was a criminal offense. She learned how such relationships can start, with prisoners testing boundaries. “They pick a target, then try to get close. They ask for small favors that escalate,” she remembers being told. But at the time, it felt like just another piece of information to memorize, alongside radio call signs. “You never think you’ll be in that situation. I didn’t believe a prisoner could manipulate me.”
When Bradley Trengrove arrived at The Verne in January 2022, Austin-Saddington’s life was in turmoil. She was homeless, sharing a single B&B room with her three young children after escaping what she describes as an abusive relationship. She had used her holiday time to recover from a jaw injury sustained when she was thrown to the ground. The council placed her in temporary housing next to a drug rehab center, where she faced harassment, including being spat at while in uniform. Simply getting through each day was a struggle.
Trengrove had been at The Verne for months before she even noticed him. While doing headcounts at a bricklaying workshop, he called out to her as she left, asking to borrow a copy of Farmers Weekly, as he’d heard she could help. She didn’t find the request odd—inmates often came to her for things—so she found the magazine and left it in his post slot.
After that, she started seeing him everywhere. Whenever she was handling mail or assisting with searches, he would appear. “I’d step out the door, and he’d be standing in my path, saying, ‘All right, Miss? Thanks for the magazine. Everything okay?’ It began like that,” she says.
He was well-liked by other officers, often joking with them at the office door. Sometimes, he’d comment on other prisoners, saying, “Oh, they’re all wrong ‘uns in here.” He knew how to win people over.She wondered how to change people’s perception of him. About three or four weeks after borrowing the magazine, he returned it to Austin-Saddington in person, slipping his phone number inside. He also asked her for a kiss, but she told him to leave, which he did, leaving her alone in the reading room to figure out her next move. “I was shaken and didn’t know who to trust,” she recalled, thinking back to the trouble she’d faced in her early days at The Verne. She worried that reporting him might lead to accusations against her.
Deciding to keep her distance from Trengrove, she initially downplayed the incident, thinking it might have been a joke or a setup since he hadn’t tried anything else. For a month, things were quiet until one of his friends began messaging her on Facebook, urging her to text Trengrove. Avoiding him proved impossible as he seemed to be everywhere she went.
Then, Trengrove shared gossip he’d heard about her brief relationship with another prison officer, including derogatory details about their intimacy. She was devastated by the breach of privacy and felt isolated, realizing she couldn’t trust the staff. Trengrove comforted her, calling the officer an “arsehole,” and that’s when they started texting each other.
At first, they exchanged one or two messages a day, venting about the officer who betrayed her trust. Soon, their conversations shifted to daily updates, with Trengrove complimenting her appearance. His family members also reached out to her, making her feel supported. A couple of months in, he confessed, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Austin-Saddington knew Trengrove was a convicted sex offender but noted that inmates at The Verne had varying offenses. She only had access to limited information on the computer system, showing his sentence length and main charge of rape. He claimed it was due to a relationship at age 15 with a girl six months younger, whom he cheated on and who reported him when he turned 16, saying she “stitched him up.”
Reflecting on it, she admits many would call her crazy in love, but she saw him as her only source of support and clung to it. Unfortunately, she didn’t research him online; an article from 2015 described him as “exceptionally dangerous,” sentenced to 13 years for repeatedly raping a teenage girl and engaging in sexual activity with a child, with 20 other women alleging assaults after his conviction.
After the events unfolded, police showed her his full record, leaving her in disbelief and feeling sick. At the time, his explanation seemed believable, and she accepted it without questioning, focused on the attention and support he provided. He had told her he’d be released in three months.Another lie. When I ask why she didn’t verify his conditional release date, she flinches. “I don’t know why. I was blinded.” A few weeks after he confessed his love for her, their relationship turned physical.
They would meet in the vocational workshop area. Trengrove had a job as a handyman, which came with perks: he could move freely around the workshops without raising questions. “He’d signal me if it was quiet. We’d find a spot where no one was around.” There were cameras, “but they don’t cover everything. Sometimes they’re broken. It’s quite an old prison.”
Trengrove later claimed they had sex 30 to 40 times. Austin-Saddington calls that a wild exaggeration. “I think it was maybe four or five times total. We’d spend hours together each time—two and a half, maybe—talking, being intimate, then talking more.” She insists that finding a chance without arousing suspicion made it rare.
When I ask if it felt exciting, she winces again. “Yeah, I think so. But it also made me feel sick. It was nerve-racking.” I suggest it must have been flattering to receive so much attention. “I think so,” she repeats. “A lot happened to me when I was younger that warped my thinking. I’ve been sexually assaulted several times. I feel like I have to give everything of myself because I’m not enough.” Most of the time, the sex was “quite aggressive.” Once, Trengrove removed her contraceptive IUD. “I just said yes to everything.”
After a couple of months, Trengrove’s phone broke. “He became suicidal. He said if he couldn’t talk to me, he’d start causing trouble, breaking things, hurting himself.” Austin-Saddington tells me she would have felt responsible if he harmed himself or others, so she smuggled a phone in for him.
During her trial, it came out that she had saved his number as “Husband to Be.” She looks mortified when I mention it. “It’s ridiculous.” But at the time, it made sense. She had started meeting his family and grown close to his mother. He told her he’d bought land and building materials, and showed her printed pictures of the home he planned to build for them and her children. “He was presenting me with a future. He gave me hope.”
A photo from Austin-Saddington’s social media shows she was a title-winning amateur boxer—something Trengrove insisted she stop when he wanted her to get pregnant.
The third time they were intimate, Austin-Saddington says she became pregnant. She brought the positive test to show Trengrove. “Part of me was happy, but I didn’t know what to do with myself.” He was thrilled, and his mother told her she was officially part of the family. But a few weeks later, she miscarried. The loss was difficult enough, but she also faced Trengrove’s frustration. “Bradley was fixated…””He told her he couldn’t wait until his release—he wanted a baby immediately and insisted she visit him more often. Austin-Saddington, a dedicated amateur boxer who had won regional titles, was ordered by Trengrove to give it up. ‘You need to stop boxing,’ he said. ‘You can’t try for a baby and box at the same time.’
His control over her grew stronger. ‘I was always in the wrong and needed to be punished for everything,’ she recalled. If she missed his call, he would interrogate her. He demanded to stay on the phone from the moment she left the prison gates until she fell asleep, sometimes not allowing her to go to bed until he said so. She felt compelled to obey, fearing he might harm himself or others, or report her and ruin her life if she angered him. Even from behind bars, he held all the power.
When asked if she considered leaving him, she nodded and said, ‘Many times. He convinced me he couldn’t cope without me. Plus, I needed the income for my kids and had just moved into a new flat with a lease. I felt trapped.’
In March 2023, seven months into their relationship, Trengrove’s cell was searched, and his phone was discovered. He hadn’t used a nickname for her; all their explicit messages were saved under her full name. He was promptly transferred to HMP Channings Wood, two hours away. Austin-Saddington learned of the move from his mother and resigned the same day. When she returned to The Verne to hand in her keys and uniform, senior managers met her at the gate and told her to wait for further contact.
Though her prison service career ended, her relationship with Trengrove continued. Using his mother as an intermediary, he begged her to visit him at the new prison. Since Channings Wood wouldn’t allow her on the visitor list or approve her for calls, he insisted she change her name by deed poll, which she did. His control over her remained intense, even from his cell.
On her first drive to Channings Wood, with Trengrove on speakerphone the whole way, her car broke down. In that moment, she had a sudden realization: ‘What am I doing? Why am I doing this?’ Yet, five minutes later, she was hitchhiking to reach the prison. Trengrove seemed thrilled to see her but would subtly criticize her appearance, saying things like, ‘I’d prefer your hair a different color,’ or, ‘You should wear makeup—you don’t look right without it.’ Despite being in peak physical condition from teaching boxing, he commented on her belly, telling her she was getting fat. Still, she returned, even bringing his grandmother once. ‘Many would say I was crazy in love,’ she reflected. ‘But he was my only support, and I clung to it.’
Before her fourth visit in May 2023, Trengrove instructed her to bring a Calpol syringe to inseminate herself. She agreed but had no intention of using it. Upon arrival, she sensed something was off. Each visitor was being thoroughly searched by a senior officer. When it was her turn, she was taken to a side room where five officers—both prison staff and police—were waiting. They asked if she had anything on her, and she admitted to hiding the syringe in her bra. She was then arrested on suspicion of misconduct in a public office.
‘People I’ve known for years were sharing…”Even after this, their relationship didn’t end immediately. It continued for another two weeks, with Austin-Saddington becoming increasingly reliant on Trengrove’s family for support and now also getting legal advice from his solicitor. However, when the police visited her at home and showed her Trengrove’s criminal record, she knew it had to stop. She asked his mother to tell him she wanted no further contact.
“He still found ways to reach me through his friends, their girlfriends, and even random people’s numbers,” she recalls. She received a message from his mother saying he had attempted suicide. Then, in early 2024, a bloodstained letter arrived. “It was ten pages long, saying he couldn’t live without me, that I couldn’t leave him, and that he would find me.”
Austin-Saddington shared every communication with the police, her new solicitor, and social services. She was determined to show she was now doing the right thing, especially after someone reported her to social services following her arrest. She hasn’t seen her six-year-old twins since that day in 2023.
Two months after her arrest, she started a new relationship with Jonny, the tattoo artist she had hired to ink a sleeve on her right arm. They married in November 2024, eight months after her stroke, and Jonny now serves as her caregiver. While she shares her story, he keeps their puppy quiet in the next room.
Spinal strokes, caused by interrupted blood flow to the spinal cord, are rare, especially in young, healthy individuals. The cause of Austin-Saddington’s stroke remains unknown, and she has no memory of it happening. Jonny found her on the floor, unable to move, when he visited her flat one Saturday evening. She was in a coma for nine days and can now only wiggle the toes on her right foot, with doctors advising not to expect significant further recovery.
Although relieved to have her prison sentence suspended, the media coverage of her trial has imposed another kind of punishment she didn’t foresee. “My eldest daughter saw everything, which was really tough. She struggled at school because of it, and that made me feel terrible,” she says, breaking down again. “People I’ve known for years were sharing the story, calling me a vile human being. Jonny and I were constantly receiving messages. I felt like I just wanted to stay in bed forever and never come out.”
The female former prison officers convicted in the past year were hired into a service stretched thin, with low wages being the norm. They were expected to maintain physical and emotional boundaries with the prisoners but failed to do so. They were either unsuitable for the job, poorly managed, or both. With so many similar cases recently, British psychologists are now studying sexual boundary violations in prison and probation services as a distinct issue. In a recent article, psychologists Tanya Garrett and Rosie Gray noted, “We have seen concerning cases of young female staff who become emotionally or sexually involved with male prisoners, often convicted of serious offenses, who seem to have reversed the power dynamic and used it for their own gain.”
“People don’t understand the job,” Austin-Saddington explains simply. “They’re desperate for work and will take anything. Prisons are so understaffed that I don’t think enough attention is given to the staff they have.” She was occasionally sent to cover shortages at HMP Portland and HMP Bristol, where she felt female officers were even more vulnerable than at The Verne. While at Portland, she says two different inmates tried to assault her.They tried to grab her and pull her into their cells. “In those moments, you need to know your team has your back. And when you’re dealing with problems at home, you need time off, because it’s easy for things to go wrong if your head isn’t in the right place. Not just relationships, but other things too—like forgetting to lock doors.”
‘But he didn’t hit you, did he?’: inside the coercive control courtroom
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As part of her sentence, Austin-Saddington had to complete 25 days of rehabilitation. She’s been attending therapy with the Sexual Trauma and Recovery Service and working with the domestic abuse organization Refuge. Her contact there suggested she become a mediator to help other victims of domestic abuse. Her face lights up when she shares this. “I’m really excited about that because it lets me give back. I do feel I still need to make amends.”
Her relationship with Trengrove left Austin-Saddington overwhelmed with shame and guilt. It happened when she was young, naive, and desperately needed support. Her story follows a pattern familiar to anyone who knows the warning signs of coercive control. Yet, she still blames herself for letting it happen.
It’s rare for prisoners to be prosecuted for encouraging misconduct in public office. However, after reviewing Trengrove’s messages to Austin-Saddington, the Crown Prosecution Service decided he should also stand trial. Trengrove was found guilty and received an additional two years and three months on top of his 13-year sentence. In his ruling, the judge stated, “This was a relationship of equal halves, both making the wrong decision.”
“I agree and I disagree,” Austin-Saddington responds when I mention this. “I am equally guilty. But now, with time to reflect—being in a wheelchair, I sit around a lot—I do think I was very vulnerable. He took advantage of me. He knew what he was doing.”
I ask if she believes he groomed her. She looks down, as if weighing this chance to ease her guilt a little. “Yes,” she finally says, “there was a lot of pursuing on his part. But I also did wrong. It’s one thing to say he groomed me, but I take responsibility too.”
When Austin-Saddington heard about Trengrove’s extended sentence, she initially felt guilty. “I thought it wasn’t fair—he’s getting more time, and I have a suspended sentence, that’s not equal,” she explains. “But later, when I thought about it, I was glad. I know what kind of man he is. He’s an extremely dangerous man.”
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of FAQs about the phenomenon of a prison guard falling in love with an incarcerated individual framed around your specific scenario
General Beginner Questions
1 Is this a common thing that happens
No its not common but it does happen more often than people think These relationships are a serious breach of professional ethics and security
2 Why is a relationship between a guard and an inmate considered wrong
Its a major abuse of power The guard holds all the authority and the inmate is in a vulnerable position making a truly consensual relationship impossible Its also illegal and a security risk for the entire prison
3 How could she even get to know him in that setting
Through daily repeated contact during cell checks meal distribution or work assignments Over time casual conversations can build a false sense of normalcy and connection
4 Wasnt she afraid of him knowing he was a convicted rapist
This is a key part of the paradox Sometimes a guard might develop a savior complex believing they see the real nonviolent person beneath the crime or they may feel a sense of control in the structured environment
Psychological Advanced Questions
5 What is the psychological term for this
This dynamic is often referred to as the Hybristophilia or the Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome which describes attraction to individuals who have committed serious crimes It can also be linked to a trauma bond formed in a highstress environment
6 What is Stockholm Syndrome and does it apply here
Stockholm Syndrome is when a hostage develops a psychological alliance with their captor While a guard isnt a hostage a similar power imbalance and isolation can create a bond where the guard starts to sympathize with or develop feelings for the inmate
7 What kind of manipulation might the inmate use
An inmate might use grooming tactics sharing sympathetic life stories offering compliments feigning vulnerability or making the guard feel uniquely understood and special compared to their colleagues
8 What are the potential consequences for the prison guard
The consequences are severe immediate termination loss of professional certification potential criminal charges and a permanent stain on their reputation
