Becky Gardiner: A Court Can Never Feel Safe to a Teenage Murder Trial Witness

This week, the 14-year-old witness in the Damilola Taylor murder case has stopped the trial twice. The first time, after hours of sparring with Courtenay Griffiths, the defence barrister, she pleaded with the judge to let her leave. The second time she simply stormed out, announcing: "You know what? I'm going home." The court sat in stunned silence. I was not surprised at all.

Not that I was there. Like most people, I've simply been gripped by the transcripts. But unlike most, I was there once. When I was 14 I witnessed the fatal stabbing of one boy by another outside my school. Several months later, I was standing in the witness box of the Old Bailey. Seeing a boy die in front of you is bad enough at any age, but at 14 witnessing such an event isn't half as bad as being a witness.

After the stabbing, the boy with the knife had threatened the crowd: "Say anything and you'll get the same." I believed him. I would have done anything to avoid giving evidence, but another boy made me stay.

At the police station I was questioned for hours, my statement punctuated by pleas: "If I say what I saw, I won't have to go to court, will I?" No, they promised. When the witness summons arrived I shook for an hour.

Outside the courtroom I constantly told the police that I was going to leave. I was like a naughty kid waiting outside the head's office: all puffed up bravado and carefully concealed terror. Being called in by the usher was, and remains, one of the most frightening moments of my life.

It was 1978, and no allowances were made for children in court. Sellotaped to the inside of the witness box was a small handwritten card: "Please address the judge as My Lord." I smirked. Then I looked up and there he was, an impossibly old man towering above me in a ludicrous wig. I wasn't frightened. I wanted to laugh.

What frightened me was seeing the defendant. A thug at school, he now sat opposite me, staring right at me. If he got off I was convinced he would kill me, and yet he looked so small in the dock that I couldn't bear the thought of him in prison. And there, above us all, sat his family, crying.

The cross-examination was gentle. I was asked to repeat what I had said in my statement and then, in a calm voice, the defence barrister said: "I have to suggest to you, Miss Gardiner, that you are mistaken". Hardly Courtenay Griffiths, but I was outraged. This man was calling me a liar! So, in my surliest voice, I answered: "Well then, I have to suggest to you that you are mistaken!"

When I read the Taylor case transcripts I felt desperately sad. Like me, the girl behaved as if this was some playground quarrel, and to a child in the witness box that is exactly how it appears.

Post-Bulger, things have changed. Child witnesses can give their evidence on video and be cross-examined by video link. Or, like the child in the Taylor case, they can give evidence from behind a screen. The wigs have been binned. By 2003 children will be able to be cross-examined on video, removing the need for them to go to court. In addition, the Witness Service (part of Victim Support), the NSPCC, the police and others are familiarising child witnesses with the court before the trial and debriefing them afterwards.

More could be done. The adversarial nature of cross-examination, the hostile language and the obscure rules of engagement make things difficult for a child. Screen or no screen, a system which allows a middle-aged QC to crucify a child is far from ideal. But could it ever be?

Children inhabit a different world to adults, and no amount of change to the costumes and language of the court can make it all right for a girl like this. When you're a child your world is your school, your street, your estate. The only people who matter are your peers. It is a world in which everyone knows your name and anyone can find out where you live.

In the months I spent waiting for my trial to start I saw the killer's sister every single day. How could I avoid her, she was in my year at school. We'd pass in the corridor. She'd look me in the eye. I'd look quickly to the floor. I was a grass. She was going to kill me. In the world of a child, grassing is a terrible crime, and retribution a very real threat. After the stabbing, the head teacher called me into his office. He would make sure nothing happened to me, he said. Yeah, right! When you are a child there is nowhere to hide.

It is 24 years since my trial. The boy I saw stab another was convicted of manslaughter and served three years. His sister never did a thing to me and, looking back, I can see that she was at least as scared as I was. There was no retribution. More importantly, I can now see the gravity of the crime and the enormity of the grief that followed it. So I am glad I was a witness. But this week, my thoughts are with the 14-year-old girl who stormed out of the Old Bailey.

becky.gardiner@guardian.co.uk