Imprisonment is a terrible thing. For Bernstein awaiting hanging and dispossessed of all that he's ever loved, his anxiety is palpable.
"Have you anything to say why the court shall not give you judgment of death according to the law?"
If Charlie's appeal to the Home Secretary on the grounds of clemency fails, then all that would remain would be the absurdity of judicial murder. Pierrepoint, the Government hangman, would assess his build for the length of rope to be used for the drop. Machinery would be tested. The clock would tick. Outside the thick walls of the prison people would be coming home from work, some by bus, some on foot, some together, some alone, some laughing and happy, some preoccupied and tired, but all unmindful of Charlie Bernstein, who a few hundred yards away would be executed in the name of Justice and the British Crown. In the houses near where he used to live, the curtains on the windows would be drawn both night and day, in mourning of his passing.