By Julie Armstrong

Last updated 09:16, Saturday, 17 May 2008

I went to prison this week. I looked a murderer in the eye. And, chillingly, what kind eyes they were. What did I expect a prisoner to look like?

Stripped of their identity, they all looked much the same.

‘What’s your name?’ I heard a warder say. ‘Three,’ came the reply.

‘I’m institutionalised,’ said the long-termer. The idea of venturing beyond four walls – the permanent perimeter he knows as the norm – terrified him.

‘It’s a holiday camp,’ he told me. With no prompting.

Thirty years ago it was three to a cell sharing a bucket. Now it is hard to distinguish the prison from my old university campus.

In a civilised country such as ours, should we begrudge them this humanity? It wasn’t civilised behaviour which put them there, after all – an eye for an eye?

If we believe this then we may as well bring back the vile death penalty.

It is taking away their freedom that is the punishment, says Haverigg’s governor – not their stay.

The number of assaults within those walls in the past month – two – is an indication of its safety.

Could this be a measure of the respect shown to them?

There is the odd danger, of say finding a cellmate electrocuted in the bath.

This is of course not isolated from the outside world, but inside there is no escaping it – other than that noose around the neck.

It’s the classic nightmare of being stuck in a lift, of finding yourself in a shop when all the staff have gone home and the metal shutters are down.

We do not realise the value of freedom until we lose it. These men can see the green rolling hills beyond the gates, but can never reach them.

They have forfeited their freedom, and they have forfeited their time – and that is something they will never get back.