Three years ago Stuart Durham was a successful family man, owning his own home and helping run the car body shop business.

But, for reasons he finds difficult to explain, at the age of 42 he became addicted to heroin and ended up in prison serving a two-year sentence for fraud.

For many drugs and crime becomes a downward spiral, a vicious circle from which they find it impossible to break free.

Yet Mr. Durham, backed by his supportive family, has managed to turn his life around. And now he is helping the ex-cons who turn up every day at his home, off Ord Road, seeking advice from someone who really knows what it is like.

His story of heroin addiction is a classic one. He said: "I thought I could handle it but I couldn't. You can get caught up real easy just by trying it.'' His $800-a-day habit quickly turned ample savings into rising debt and the only way he could raise ready cash for his fix was to spend deposits given to him for jobs.

But when his customers found the work was not being done they took him to court and Mr. Durham was imprisoned for two years in 1996. He felt his sentence was harsh for a first-time offence.

"I'd never been in trouble in my life,'' he noted. "I owed around $2,000 but I've seen guys who've taken $300,000 who get the same sentence.'' Ex-heroin addict turns life around Yet Mr. Durham never ducked the fact that his problems were of his own making.

And he knew he had to kick his habit despite the huge amount of illegal drugs flying about prison.

He said: "I went through cold turkey in there. I could have gone to the medical people but they just have one orange pill for everything, so what would be the point? There's no real rehab in there.'' Instead he chose to rehabilitate himself in the only way he knew how -- by going back to work.

"There was a welding shop there but it wasn't being used,'' he said. "Within two weeks I had it up and running.'' The Westgate Correctional Facility authorities spotted he was on the mend and granted him special privileges.

He mentioned Commissioner of Prisons Edward Dyer and Westgate's Bully Williams were a big help to him as he sought to turn the corner.

"Sometimes I'd being working till nine or ten at night when most people were supposed to be back in the cell,'' he recalled.

Mr. Durham designed and made security windows for the prison.

He explained: "I saved that prison about $60-70,000 on the cost of those windows. There was a lot of breaking into stores going on with TVs and tools being stolen. In fact more stealing goes on in jail than out here.'' "I was teaching welding to six guys. We put in long hours up there, a lot of those guys had never had the chance to pull down an engine.

"They'd come to me with their homework and I'd help them. We worked on prison trucks, private cars and bikes.

"I had to start slowly, a lot of those guys couldn't even measure when they first came to me.'' And since leaving prison last year he has helped train ex-prisoners at his body shop which he runs with the family who include his 25-year-old son, also called Stuart, and niece Johnika Smith, 16.

"I've trained about six to seven guys and showed them the ropes before they go on to other jobs,'' he noted.

Mr. Durham also acts as an informal counsellor, offering advice and help to ex-cons who do not know where to turn.

He said: "Some people come here feeling suicidal. I talk to them and let them stay here. I've had people stay in the barn. My mom will feed them, we'll buy them cigarettes, and give them old clothes.

"A lot of people have nowhere to go. Their families turn their back on them.

But my Dad taught me never to turn your back on anybody.'' But Mr. Durham is in no doubt it was his family that made the difference for him.

Gladstone Smith, the brother of his mom Frances, sent him vitamins and herbs to fight cold turkey. But just as crucial was the moral support.

He said: "My family brought me back. A lot of guys in prison don't have anyone to call or to write a letter. Even if they have family, they get written off by them. Just when they really need them they turn their back.

"But my whole family stayed with me 100 percent.'' Now life is getting back to normal for Mr. Durham. He is working on the vintage cars that have been his passion since he was a teen learning alongside his father.

Paint jobs are his speciality and he picked up awards at a car and bike show in Dockyard in May.

But Mr. Durham does not just have ideas on fixing cars, he now also has views on fixing lives.

He said: "I want to tell all those guys in prison you can make it if you put your mind to it.

"Don't let nobody tell you can't do it.''