Manipulative as she was, Hindley didn't fool me

Acolytes and hand-maidens were always around Hindley, most shorter than her, selected as if she could tower over them

Some years ago, after long negotiations with the Home Office, I was allowed to go into Cookham Wood prison to make a BBC film on Asian women prisoners. Many of them were in for 12 years for a first-time offence. They had been forced by the men in their families to become drug mules – and then abandoned by them because of the "shame" they had brought; presumably by getting caught. I learnt much about women prisoners in general that week by listening to the hidden stories of these Asian women. One was nearly 60. The most shocking discovery was that many of them felt freer in prison than they had felt as sisters, mothers, daughters or wives.

The other shock came in realising that the tall, commanding prisoner who watched over us with cold, staring eyes was Myra Hindley. I had not recognised her because she was nothing like the sinister blonde in the only picture I had seen of her, the picture which has been implanted into every adult brain in the UK. She had brown hair, well coiffed though very brittle – it had obviously been mercilessly over-dyed for years – and a painted face with lipstick the colour of baby-pink candyfloss. Her eyes fixed themselves on whomever she was scrutinising. When you met them, there was no flicker of discomfort. She spooked me the first time this happened, on the first morning of filming. It was only half way through day two that one of my interviewees told me who she was.

I then watched her too. I remember her demeanour. It was like what you might expect of a Russian czarina, and since the prison allowed inmates exercise, jobs and hobbies, I was able to observe her relationships too. She had presence; she had status; she had power over people, including some officers who seemed not to mind what she did but were alert to the slightest lapse among other inmates, especially "outsiders" – those who didn't belong to that culture and the hierarchy. Acolytes and hand-maidens were always around Hindley. Most of them were shorter than she was, as if she selected them so she could tower over them.

One afternoon, five of my interviewees were teasing our handsome, muscular cameraman, who blushed easily. He had been filming one of them holding up her erotic paintings of couplings. Hindley and her gang walked by and suddenly the laughter froze.

Deepa (not her real name), one of my interviewees, told me in Hindi – so that the white prisoners would not be able to understand – that this group tried to coerce newcomers into lesbianism, although she wasn't sure if Hindley participated. Deepa, a very lovely 29-year-old mother of one, had been physically accosted in the shower by two prisoners who were always with Hindley.

Others said that they all had to agree to request extra medication (which prisoners are allowed) if Hindley asked for it. I have no further proof than this, but I did believe the accounts and I felt the dominance of this murderer myself.

The campaigning journalist Yvonne Roberts, who has done so much over the years for better rights for female prisoners, met her in Cookham and she confirms that Hindley "had charisma and status. She was articulate, coldly charming, [and there was] no empathy, no compassion; a slice of reason completely missing." Roberts also found out, to her horror, that Hindley blamed the parents of Lesley Anne Downey for her being at a fairground alone late at night. It was from there that Hindley took her to Brady to be raped, tortured, beaten, audiotaped. Then the pair of them joyously killed her.

This is why I never trusted Lord Longford and others who campaigned for Hindley's freedom and why, in spite of strongly held beliefs in human rights and redemption, I would not have wanted to see her released. Life in this case had to be life just as it must in the case of Rosemary West and Harold Shipman. Liberal, good, reforming values should not easily be cast aside but they can be easily manipulated by the truly heartless, one of whom I think Hindley was. The good folk who were so readily convinced that Hindley had originally been under the influence of Brady, had repented and was contrite could only have met her under well-planned conditions, well planned and controlled by her. They could not have watched her as she was in the various prisons; otherwise they might have at least wondered what they were doing clamouring for her right to be free.

The core principles of reformists are only preserved and worth preserving if believers are prepared to examine those uniquely individual instances when these principles become a violation of all that they hold dear. Freedom from prison after an acceptable period and real evidence of growth and rehabilitation or after a miscarriage of justice is something that many of us passionately believe in and fight for. That we are heard and that we have remarkable lawyers and campaigners who keep this alive even in times when the hanging-and-flogging brigade seems to be gaining the upper hand (like now under the authoritarian Mr Blunkett) makes this country great in my view. But we are no better than the shrill right if we are never prepared to consider the exceptions which must be made; and Myra Hindley was one such exceptional case.

The same difficulties and challenges will arise with the double-jeopardy rule, which the Government is planning to ease. I understand why this could seriously damage fairness in our criminal justice system, but I can also see that sometimes, rarely, injustice prevails unless this rule is waived.

I am not advocating some sort of brain numbing relativism here. Some principles are more sacred than others, and compromises here are almost always impossible. Although I understand why so many people wanted her hanged, and I would too if it was my child who had been taken from me by such unforgivable sadists, I still think capital punishment is always wrong and I am glad we got rid of it a few months before Brady and Hindley were tried. To hang them would have been barbaric. Nowadays, punishment is not allowed to be as heinous as the crime committed.

We should also be wary in the days and weeks to come that the press does not begin to believe that it can decide the fate of criminals or people it has decided are irredeemable. They must feel thrilled that one sinner, damned by them, has been sent off to hell. They will be looking for a replacement. Some newspapers, for example, have started vilifying and hounding Winston Silcott, another iconic villain who has had a ferocious image of him branded into our subconscious by relentless pursuers. Venal though he was, he has done his time, and he was cleared on appeal of the murder of PC Blakelock for which he is still, nevertheless blamed.

And no, I am not making excuses for him because he is black. The explosion of violent crime among black men is frightening. The causes are linked to racism and the lack of opportunities for these Britons, but this cannot be the whole explanation.

However, Silcott has served his sentence, and he now deserves the right to come out into society and live his life. It would be horrible if the final legacy of Hindley was to make life impossible for other lifers, even those who had tried to redeem themselves.

y.alibhai-brown@independent.co.uk