Weakness in enforcing the rules, yielding too readily to the women’s tantrums, and letting them have their own way are soon taken advantage of by the turbulent spirits in a gaol. I had a notable experience of this much later in a northern prison, when one of Her Majesty’s inspectors. The female prison population in the north are a rough, headstrong lot, very difficult to manage, and at that time the chief matron was a timid person, who found it pleasanter to give way than to drive, and, of course, the warder staff took their tone from her. It transpired afterwards that it was the custom to let the prisoners who should have been in cellular separation collect together in parties of four or more in one of the large workrooms, where they could gossip and idle their time away for hours together, never doing a hand’s-turn of work, and thus persistently breaking the regulations. I had a suspicion that the female “side” was in bad order, and on one of my visits—I never gave notice of them, but dropped in always by surprise—I went immediately to that part of the prison. The warder who answered my bell and opened the door looked flurried at the sight of me, and I passed in quickly, to find the interior in some confusion. There was a scurrying of feet, a jangle of excited voices, and a loud banging of cell doors, clear indications that things were not all right. If I had any doubt, it was removed by the sight of the matron, who was stooping over a trap-door that gave access to the heating-chamber below, and pitifully entreating the women to “Come up all of you and be good girls.” I guessed what was wrong. It was the winter season, and the place below warm and cosy, just where such women would love to linger. There could be no doubt what was happening, and stepping across hastily I added my voice to the matron’s, bidding them peremptorily to “come up.”