As an ex-con, I know Burnham's scheme is a reckless gamble with public safety

Within 24 hours of being released from Wandsworth Prison at the start of October, a prolific shoplifter called Michael Bogle had embarked on a crime spree.

In the space of five days he committed 11 thefts before being hauled back before the courts and jailed again.

His case is by no means unusual. According to the Ministry of Justice, more than a third of the prison spaces freed up this month by Labour’s early release scheme have been filled again within a week due, in part, to criminals being recalled.

So we can be fairly sure that dozens of the 650 prisoners who walked free yesterday to reduce the strain on our overcrowded prisons will be back behind bars before the month is out.

Is it any wonder the public are furious? What sense does it make to release criminals early, only for this crew of burglars, thieves, domestic abusers, stalkers and violent offenders to create more victims and end up occupying the very cells the Government was so desperate to empty? The wider figures are even more extraordinary: between January and March this year, 12,977 prisoners were released from custody in England and Wales.

Yet in the same period there were 13,193 recalls to prison for breaches of licence conditions – a staggering 31 per cent rise on the previous year. It means that for the first time, recalls outnumbered releases.

Our criminal justice system has become a revolving door, with the Government frantically shoving prisoners out one side while they flood back through the other.

I know something about this. In 2016, I was sentenced to five years for my part in a £2.2million tax fraud and film-finance scam. I served nearly 30 months, including nine months in Wandsworth prison. During my time inside, I met hardened, violent criminals who regarded prison as little more than an occupational hazard.

Some returned so quickly that officers joked about keeping their cells ready. These are not misunderstood innocents, but people with no intention of changing.

I also met vulnerable prisoners battling addiction, homelessness and mental health problems, who stood little chance of rebuilding their lives without proper support. And here lies the madness of this scheme: leaving prison might look like the happiest day of your life, but the reality can be frightening and disorientating.

I spent the final three months of my sentence painstakingly preparing for freedom. I needed somewhere to live, a job, bank details and a support network. I even remember worrying whether I had towels.

Yet despite all that, I was a mess when I walked through the prison gates and confronted life back on the outside.

Now imagine being told unexpectedly that you’re leaving weeks or months early, before those arrangements are in place. Where do you sleep? How do you get your medication? Who do you turn to when you have no money and nowhere to go?

For some, the only person they can call is an old criminal acquaintance. Before long they’re sleeping in a drug dealer’s den, taking drugs themselves and drifting straight back into crime. This isn’t an excuse for offending. It’s an explanation of how a disastrous policy manufactures more of it.

The Government insists early release is necessary to relieve the prisons crisis. But this is short-term thinking. And, as ever, it is the public who pay the highest price.

Whenever I argue for intelligent rehabilitation, people tell me to think of the victims. But I am thinking of the victims. Not only those who have already suffered, but the countless future victims who could be spared if we stopped this endless cycle.

Releasing prisoners without preparation, supervision or support isn’t a solution. It’s a reckless gamble with public safety.

Chris Atkins is author of A Bit Of A Stretch.