The terror of a child in prison is quite limitless. I remember once, in Reading prison, as I was going out to exercise, seeing in the dimly-lit cell right opposite my own, a frail boy — minute in stature. Two warders were talking sternly to him. In my heart, I longed to believe that perhaps they were giving him some useful advice about his behaviour but I know the likelihood of this was beyond hope. One was in the cell with him, the other was standing outside. The child’s gaunt face was grey and yellowish, sickly to behold. There was in his eyes the terror of a hunted animal, vulnerable and prone to attack; upon sight of this, my heart could not help but break, overwhelmed with pity and sympathy.