I am afraid you will say we have no discipline in borstal – All the lads talk to each other… At dinner they make a noise like the monkey house at the zoo … They smile when they see the governor … he knows all their names and pulls their legs. The officers play games with the[m] … Discipline is invisible, not easily measured, spiritual not mechanical. Will you take fifty of your lads for a walk in the city with you, and will they all return? Can you send a dozen with an older lad to the Cathedral one Sunday evening? Will your officers take fifty away for a weekend camp in a field where they can run away at any moment? If a lad's mother is dying 200 miles away, can you send him home to see her and be sure he will of his own accord be back on Monday morning as promised? That is the measure of our discipline, and it is a strange thing as the English lad is a cussed animal.

We’re starting a new borstal at Lowdham Grange in Nottinghamshire, and we’re going to begin with a little experiment. Bill Llewellin, who's going to be the governor, will lead a party of forty boys on a route march from Feltham to Lowdham. They’ll spend six days on the road, and will sleep in halls and other places arranged by friends. Would you like to join them?