I turned to my escort as we walked together through the desolate central yard of Frank Baxter. It wasn’t the ten foot or so tall razor wire fence or the CCTV cameras in such abundance even Orwell would shiver that I found the most unsettling. It’s what was not there that threw me. Sound. Aside from the odd crackling of a guard’s radio or clanking of heavy steel on steel as doors were locked behind us, there was none. Not a whisper. Dead silence. ‘So the centre’s not full?’ I asked the juvenile j