From the outside, it looks grim . . . the inside is much worse. Crime Reporter Ben Rossington takes a tour around Liverpool’s former Bridewell, which is headed for the auction house

NORMALLY, to get inside this city centre “crash pad”, complete with all rooms en-suite, you had to be part of a select band.

Previous “guests” include hard- drinking rock stars, those who have rubbed shoulders with royalty, footballers and notable former top detectives.

Unfortunately for them, the thing Pogues frontman Shane McGowan, Royal stalker Bernard Quinn, former Everton striker Michael Branch and Det Chief Insp Elmore Davies have in common is they have all spent a night in Liverpool’s main Bridewell.

In 1991, former Merseyside Police Authority chairman George Bundred branded it “the worst jail in Britain” and long-term remand prisoners were moved out after conditions were described as “inhumane” by the European Committee for the Prevention of Torture.

Beatings were regularly dished out by the guards and police officers, and those who found themselves “checking in” for an extended stay would not wish for a return visit too often.

On Wednesday, the imposing “slammer” goes under the hammer as the police authority look to move the Grade II-listed building off their books.

Built in 1859 for an estimated £533, the authority hope to recoup £500,000 for it when it goes to auction.

Behind the heavy wooden gates and high brick walls, the noise from the hustle and bustle from the city centre drops to be replaced by an eerie quietness.

The Bridewell, on Cheapside, off Dale Street, was built in the Victorian tradition to put the fear into any one who had to spend time there, and prisoners and police alike were said to have dreaded going through the small blue door and up the three stone steps into the main reception.

Inside the custody reception, it looks as if those who worked there just simply vanished one day.

Phones sit off-the-hook, the officers’ rota hangs on the wall, and in an interview room four chairs sit around a table with a tape recorder on top.

Even the work-day diary is still open, although there must have been more to do than the list of “file nails, read magazine, eat lunch” that sits on top now.