Killing Floor – I Know Cos I Was There!

The title of this post is a combination of one of Jimi Hendrix’s most well-known songs and an old favourite from Max Boyce.

In previous posts I have mentioned how Dr Dafydd Alun Jones’s friends and relations, whilst insulting me, stressed that Dafydd ‘knows really famous people’ and that as those boasting about Dafydd’s celebrity friends were not exactly cultured, they will have been talking about people on TV. I knew that Dafydd used to hold ‘clinics’ in the Queen’s Hotel in Leeds which was one of Jimmy Savile’s haunts and after Savile’s death it was revealed that not only did Savile visit Bryn Estyn but that a former resident alleged that Savile was present whilst this boy was sexually assaulted by multiple men. Whilst researching for this blog, I discovered that the lecherous Top Doctor Linford Rees who protected Dafydd et al for years was the father of the 1970s actress and sex symbol Angharad Rees. Angharad was married to Christopher Cazenove who starred in ‘Dynasty’ and was mates with Joan Collins and others. Linford Rees basked in the reflected glamour of his daughter’s celebrity circle. See post ‘A Galaxy Of Talent’ for more names and details.

I have also mentioned the psych patient who used to wander around Bethesda virtually destitute, completely neglected and refused help from the mental health services who told everyone that she had been a groupie who had slept with Mick Jagger. By the time that I knew this lady in the late 80s/90s, she was in a really bad way and was dismissed by the world as a nutter. But she was being sexually exploited by a number of people who were not admitting to this and a number of her other ‘fantasies’ were undoubtedly true. Kids in care and psych patients in north Wales had such bizarre and dreadful experiences at the hands of the traffickers who were ‘looking after them’ that the uninitiated could not be blamed for disbelieving their accounts. Some of them were indeed being trafficked for sex with high profile people. Many of those being looked after had died by the time that they were 30, but some of those who survived made it back to north Wales when they were too wrecked to continue working in the sex trade.

People who have not previously spent time around nutters who then do so frequently remark upon two things that surprise them. First, that some of the most extraordinary things that nutters say turn out to be true. Second, that nutters notice and remember a great deal of what is going on around them, rather more than other people do. This is definitely true – I’m not sure why nutters are so good at observing the world around them but many nutters cannot be beaten on this, they really are brilliant at people watching.

One of those dismissed by the staff of the Hergest Unit as the biggest nutter of all was a man, F, who was interested in three things in life – Jimi Hendrix, art and the activities of Dafydd. The official narrative regarding F was that he had become psychotic when he was in his 20s after blowing his mind on psychedelic drugs and had never recovered. The only interest in F’s ‘case’ that the Hergest Unit staff ever showed was over the question of whether his psychosis was ‘genetic’ or ‘drug-induced’. F had blown his mind on drugs and was the first to admit this, indeed he was quite proud of it. What hardly anyone knew however was that F’s mental health problems – which were severe – were made much worse by his treatment at the hands of the mental health services.

The prescribing for F had to be witnessed to be believed. When I first got to know him, he was on anti-psychotic injections, medication for the side-effects of those (the ‘side-effects’ of such anti-psychotics are substantial and debilitating) and several different benzodiazepines. As the years passed F was given even more drugs. Every time that F became angry or distressed, Tony Francis (Dr X) would get out the prescription pad and another anti-psychotic would be added to the cocktail – although none of the previous drugs were ever stopped. F did throw wobblers on a regular basis – but many of those wobblers were because the mental health services were having him arrested on ludicrous charges and as ever would ignore all complaints when he gained evidence that staff had perjured themselves.

F ended up so heavily sedated that his teeth literally rotted and dropped out and he did not feel a thing. I kept telling him to go to a dentist and he would cheerily say ‘but I haven’t got toothache’. By the time that I finally persuaded F to go to a dentist, the dentist just yanked out all that remained of his teeth, saying that they were too far gone to be saved. When F asked the dentist why he hadn’t felt any pain, the dentist explained that he was on so many drugs that his pain receptors weren’t working.

Between 1982-85 when I was living on Anglesey, I knew a local man who had also benefited from the attentions of Dafydd et al – his hands were covered in scars and burns. I found out that this was because he would inadvertently burn himself with his cigarettes and not feel anything as a result of his ‘medication’. Interestingly enough, when I mentioned to the corrupt GP who was facilitating the trafficking gang, Dr DGE Wood, that I had been chatting to this man after he’d given me a lift, Wood told me to keep away from him because he was a nutter. I learnt over the following years that this man was completely harmless but had never recovered after the North Wales Hospital Denbigh Experience.

There will have been something there that Wood did not want me to know. The dangerous nutter was one of Wood’s neighbours.

‘Talk to your local GP for advice – they have a wealth of experience and play a key role in the community!’

It’s not Hendrix, it’s ‘The Kinks’ – ‘Well-Respected Man’:

‘And he’s oh, so good/And he’s oh, so fine/And he’s oh, so healthy/In his body and his mind/He’s a well-respected man about town/Running a paedophile ring so conservatively’


The attitude of Bethesda surgery towards F fanned the flames of the fire stoked by the Hergest Unit. Like many long term psych patients, F was a very heavy smoker. I and a friend spent much time explaining the dangers of smoking 60 a day to him and after many months he took an interest in giving up. He went down to Bethesda surgery and was told that his ‘nerves’ were so bad that he really should not be thinking of giving up smoking what with his schizophrenia. After this, I and the friend began the hard work all over again and after many more months I managed to persuade him to return to Bethesda surgery for advice re stopping smoking but not to the lethal idiots whom he had consulted previously. He went to see Dr Paul Nickson who, to be fair, was very supportive where helping patients to give up smoking were concerned. Sadly Paul Nickson didn’t challenge any of the other dreadful things that were happening to F at the hands of the ‘services’.

Bethesda surgery’s attitude and conduct towards F was so bad that in the end he did what many of the folk of Bethesda did – he relied upon the pharmacist in Bethesda for advice. The pharmacist who used to own the chemist’s shop opposite the surgery was fantastic. He had grown up in Bethesda and had been to school there so he knew everyone and was an incredibly nice man. He treated everyone with respect and the Hergest patients used to remark that he always called them ‘Mr’ or ‘Mrs/Miss’ – which the Top Docs certainly never did – and that this was without irony. The pharmacist knew how bloody lethal the Top Docs and paedophiles’ friends were and I wondered if he came under attack himself, because after many years of excellent service to the village he became ill, sold his business and later resurfaced as one of the pharmacists in Tesco in Bangor.

A regular scene was that of patients exiting the door of Bethesda surgery, swearing about the inadequacies of the Top Docs in there and then walking across the road to join the queue in the chemist’s shop to talk to someone who knew what they were doing. One one occasion, F entered the chemist’s shop, saw some people who weren’t locals – I think that they were tourists – and yelled out ‘I can highly recommend this man, he is better than a doctor’. The tourists looked bemused and the locals in the shop fell about laughing because the problems were well known…

Despite the constant problems that F had with Bethesda surgery, he was obliged to continue his relationship with them because none of the medication which he was being told was essential could be purchased over the counter. On one memorable occasion, F was sitting in Bethesda surgery when a new patient asked him ‘what are the doctors like here?’ and F replied ‘oh they’re all pretty good except for Mithan’, which was particularly brilliant because Dr Mithan was standing right behind him and heard every world. I was delighted, because I knew people who had really suffered at the hands of Mithan and it was about time that he knew how the village felt about his clinical skills. However, as details of this event reached the ears of other people, a number of them remarked that F had been far too generous in his assessment and stated that ‘they’re not all pretty good except for Mithan, they’re all bloody awful as well as Mithan’. Which was indeed true.

As with all the psych patients, the details of F’s Life Before Dafydd had been forgotten by the staff. He had come from an affluent family in Surrey, had gone to art school in Farnham, had been part of the 60s and 70s counter culture and had rubbed noses with some of the rich n famous. He had gone to school with Rick Parfitt of ‘Status Quo’ fame, one of his best mates had lived at St George’s Hill next to Ringo Starr and he’d trekked across Turkey, Morocco and Afghanistan. And of course he’d spent much time at festivals and other places, taking drugs in the company of other people who also rubbed shoulders with some high profile people.

What the Hergest Unit knew was that in the 1980s F had set fire to his house in Bethesda, ended up in Risley Remand Centre and then in the North Wales Hospital Denbigh for a year and was now a ‘chronic schizophrenic, resistant to medication’. (Then why was he prescribed ‘maintenance medication’ of three anti-psychotics and four benzodiazepines and constantly told that if he didn’t carry on loading himself up he’d ‘get ill’??)

What had actually happened was that F and his former wife C had been raided by the notoriously corrupt drug squad, class A drugs had been planted on F and C and at the police station C had been offered a deal if she made a statement claiming that the drugs were all F’s. Meanwhile, unbeknown to C, at the police station F had been punched in the face by an unidentified Sergeant who had walked into the loo whilst F was in there. F was charged with drugs offences, bailed and left to walk back to Bethesda. During the night, he began experiencing psychotic symptoms, which he told me that he always thought were brought on by the stress of events at the police station. F did set fire to his house, but that was after he had asked a notoriously vile wife beating neighbour – known as Til, who worked for S4C – for help, only to be told ‘well you’re not fucking getting it here’. After setting fire to his house, F went up into the hills where he was found many hours later, arrested and charged with arson and endangering life and taken to Risley Remand Centre.

At Risley, F was left in a cell for three days in the pitch dark after a screw took the light bulb out. F told me that every night he heard the screams of the other prisoners as they were beaten up by the warders. This was the ‘medical wing’ – run by Dafydd’s mates. When F was finally allowed out of the cell he met the other prisoners, who were mostly victims of Dafydd and the paedophiles. F acquired the moniker ‘mushroom boy’ and gave them art lessons.

When F told his solicitor about the assault at the police station – which had been witnessed by a PC who was too frightened to give evidence – the charges of endangering life were quietly dropped. F was charged with drug offences and arson. Dafydd then appeared – whom F had never previously encountered but F had been told by the solicitor that Dafydd was his best chance of getting out of a long prison sentence – and declared F to be ‘a known schizophrenic’, one, according to Dafydd’s notes, ‘with pleasant manners and casual attire’. Dafydd gave evidence in court that F would need to be sectioned for a year.

When F arrived at the North Wales Hospital Denbigh, the Angels told him that he was clearly ‘no longer ill’, but ‘for the sake of the courts’ Dafydd would keep him at Denbigh for three weeks and then he could go. After a matter of only days, F was sitting in the garden when he was approached by one of Dafydd’s drug patients, who sold him a huge quantity of amphetamines, which F took. F developed a drug induced psychosis. Which was documented upon his medical records. What was not documented was that F had entered Denbigh not psychotic and only became ill whilst a patient there, as a result of drugs that he had been sold and taken on the premises.

Nothing about the assault at the police station was documented.

Thus a known schizophrenic madman who had set fire to his house was created.

Dafydd didn’t visit F during the year that F spent in Denbigh. It was business as usual – F was left to rot in there along with all the other paedophiles’ victims. Whilst F was in Denbigh, he contacted ‘Release’, the drugs charity. A man from release went up to Denbigh from London, but told F that he ‘couldn’t do anything’. From the information that F provided to me, like I and many other people he was almost certainly held in Denbigh unlawfully. F won’t have known this, but ‘Release’ were linked to organisations involved with fighting for paedophiles’ rights at that time – the mid-80s – and they will have known Dafydd and the paedophiles.

After a year Dafydd visited F and told F that he couldn’t release him until he had somewhere to live. F’s wife, C, had left him – their marriage was very rocky even before the fire – and was living in Glastonbury, where among other things, she worked as a nanny for Fay Weldon. C didn’t think much of Fay and her husband – and had a few interesting things to say about them – and left their employment to work on a farm in Somerset. The house in Bethesda to which F had set fire had not yet been repaired.

Dafydd tried to persuade F to move into a ‘nursing home’ in Llandudno. This nursing home was Holyrood House, which was the subject of an expose by Esther on ‘That’s Life’ and then in the wider media in 1987. Patients were being beaten up by a henchman and a drug addict from Liverpool was responsible for ‘medication’. I was told later that it was widely believed that Dafydd was sexually involved with the ‘manager’ of Holyrood House, Margaret Richards. Someone who knew Margaret Richards told me that she was no more than a common or garden petty criminal who would shop-lift from and swindle shops in Llandudno. Margaret Richards was allegedly responsible for buying Dafydd’s suits, which would certainly explain why Dafydd’s gangster suits never fitted him.

F had no interest in living in Llandudno – although at that time, Holyrood House had not yet been exposed – and in F’s words, he wanted ‘to get back to Bethesda, to hippies, to dogs and to mess’. Dafydd refused to release F until he had somewhere to live, so F rang a mate in Bethesda who wrote to Dafydd confirming that F would be living in a house owned by him in Bethesda.

Thus F finally escaped from the North Wales Hospital. But not of course from the clutches of the psychiatric services. As was de rigueur, F was kept well dosed up with sedatives, but no helpful services at all were forthcoming – F was harassed and threatened by the Arfon Community Mental Health Team, in  particular Slob Ingham.

F was an affluent man. He had inherited a considerable amount of money from an uncle and although his relationship with C was volatile, they remained friends and by the time that they actually divorced – some years later – C was scrupulously fair financially and agreed on a generous settlement from the sale of their property. So F had enough money to purchase a house and live quite a good life – thus he wasn’t dependent upon the ‘services’ for accommodation and benefits, which was the only reason why he did not end up destitute after leaving Denbigh.

F however was incredibly lonely. C had remarried and F wasn’t spending time with his old hippy mates because he had given up illicit drugs and thus had nothing much in common with them anymore.

F was targeted by an unscrupulous woman, who was networked into the paedophiles’ friends. She had been married before and had three children from her previous marriage. Her former husband had been physically abusive to those children and had left her to live with an Angel from Ysbyty Gwynedd, who later commuted to a hospital in Milton Keynes to do agency work because it was so highly paid. The woman who targeted F was known to be absolutely desperate for another baby and basically also needed some dosh. The whole of Bethesda saw her move in on F – assisted by two of her mates who were networked into the paedophiles’ friends as well. They began a relationship and she moved into F’s house in Bethesda. She became pregnant, miscarried and then became pregnant again.

The day that his partner gave birth at the very end of 1992, F was delighted. He had been at the birth and had spent a small fortune getting everything ready for the baby. In fact he had spent so much money on his partner and her kids over the last two years that he had nothing left. He had sold his house in Bethesda and they were living in a rented house in Holyhead – which he had paid for and kitted out with furnishings, baby gear etc. That was his money gone.

The baby was about two weeks old when I heard that F was in the psychiatric ward in Ysbyty Gwynedd and had split up with the mother of his newborn baby. I had been to visit the new baby a few days before and whilst F was out of the room the baby’s mother remarked in passing that ‘I ‘feel a bit guilty because me and the kids have spent all his money’. I didn’t realise what was coming…

I went to visit F in hospital who told me ‘I have been used as a sperm donor and a cashpoint machine and now she’s thrown me out’. Over the next week it became clear that F had most succinctly summed up the situation – info from numerous sources confirmed that he had served his purpose and had now been dispensed with, penniless and homeless.

F then revealed that he had been denied access to his baby, although he had received more demands from his former partner for money. He had told his former partner that he didn’t have anything left, she’d had it all. He was told that they had heard that he had moved in with a new girlfriend and therefore she could hand money over. F’s new partner was approached in the street in Bethesda by a paedophiles’ friend who asked her for ‘money for [F’s former partner] and the baby, because she’s got nothing poor thing’. The new girlfriend responded that F had been bled dry and that no, she would not be donating to the ever hungry jaws of F’s former partner and her family.

F then explained to his new partner and staff at the Hergest Unit as well as to Drs Gareth Jones and Paul Nickson at Bethesda surgery why he was so concerned about the welfare of his baby son. He revealed that his former partner’s eldest son, a young man, had indecently assaulted at least two boys of ten whilst F had lived with the family and F was told by his former partner and her extended family not to say a word because they feared legal action. F was told by Gareth Jones and Paul Nickson that a referral would be made to Gwynedd Social Services.

F and his new partner were visited by Jo Bott, a former police officer with the North Wales Police, who was employed as a child protection officer. She was friendly and charm itself. She took details and was given the names of the only two other people outside of the family concerned who knew about the indecent assaults as potential witnesses. Some two weeks late Jo Bott returned. She told F that there were no concerns about the family, that there would be no investigation and as she left the house she threatened F’s new partner with action if she ‘didn’t leave [F’s former partner] alone’. F’s partner had not seen or communicated with his former partner since she had visited the new baby before the couple had split up.

F had not had been allowed access to his baby by his former partner since he had left the family home. He had seen his baby – because the baby’s mother gloried in pushing the baby around the village in which F and his new partner lived.

F then received a solicitor’s letter from his former partner requesting money. The solicitor concerned was Elwyn Jones, a paedophiles’ friend who had a practice in Bangor. David Jones, the paedophiles’ friend and now Tory MP for Clwyd West, worked in the same practice. Elwyn Jones was the son of Sir Elwyn Jones, the former MP for Conwy, another paedophiles’ friend. For details of Elwyn Jones, his dad Sir Elwyn and David Jones, see post ‘The Right Honourable David Jones MP’.

By this time, F’s former partner had been given a new (rented) house with the North Wales Housing Association in Bethesda. She furnished it with the gear that F had purchased whilst he lived with the family. Her teenaged daughter, M, – who was pregnant – and M’s boyfriend Martin were given a NWHA house next door. There was very nearly a revolution in Bethesda because at that time the housing list was a mile long and across the area there were young parents with one or even two children who were living with relatives after having been told that no accommodation was available.

One day on the bus to Bangor a neighbour of F’s former partner remarked to someone that she had some very expensive stuff in her house considering that she was a single mother on benefits. F was on the bus at the time and another passenger responded by saying ‘yes and there’s the man who paid for it all’.

It was then discovered that F’s former partner had ‘done a deal’ with Gwynedd Social Services – if she agreed to deny F access to his baby on the grounds that he ‘presented a danger’ to the baby, she and her daughter would be housed in the village of their choice, next door to each other. Jo Bott was involved with this deal, as was Gwynedd County Councillor Dafydd Orwig, who was a retired lecturer from Bangor Normal College, the teacher training institution which later merged with Bangor University.

F was then told by five different people that his former partner’s eldest son had moved into a flat in Bethesda with another young man, that they had offered their services as babysitters to a family with young children and allegations of sexual assault had been made against them.

F contacted the Hergest Unit staff and Bethesda surgery once more concerning the welfare of his son, to whom who he still had no access. He was told to stop worrying about his former partner and to ‘move on with his life’. He still had no access to his son.

The young man who had been accused of sexual assault moved out of the flat in Bethesda but no charges were ever brought against him or his friend.

M then gave birth to her baby girl. By the time that the baby was four weeks old, bruises were found on the baby which M admitted inflicting. M then left Martin and baby and began a relationship with another (married) man. F’s former partner stated that she would look after her granddaughter. Martin applied for custody. Gwynedd Social Services opposed him and told M daughter that if she would agree to attend the court hearing, she and F’s former partner would be given custody of the baby.  Fortunately for the baby girl, M did not bother to attend the hearing and custody was awarded to Martin, who lived with his parents in Tregarth – Martin’s family were very much more stable than M’s family.

Meanwhile F was charged with threatening a social worker – the case collapsed after the social worker admitted during the court hearing that she’d lied in her statement to the police. There was no investigation into the social worker.

M gave birth to another baby and injured that baby as well. I understand that the baby was taken into care.

F’s former partner and her family moved then away from Bethesda and I was told that she’d gone to live ‘with a friend and her family’ in Colwyn Bay.

The birth of F’s baby and the great stuffing over of F happened during the first police investigation into the abuse of children in care in north Wales.

When M and Martin’s baby was about 2-3 yrs old – so in approx 1995-96, as the demands for a public inquiry into the abuse of children in north Wales grew louder and louder – Martin was found dead in the road near Bethesda. He had been hit by a lorry and killed. His death received coverage in the local paper and Martin’s devotion to his daughter was discussed in the article. It was explained that Martin’s little girl would now be brought up by Martin’s parents. There was no mention of the struggle that Martin had endured in order to gain custody of his daughter when she was a baby.

There was no investigation into Martin’s death. He was a witness to the way in which F had been stitched up as well as to other matters involving M’s family.


The following people – and many more as well – are still alive and knew the full details behind the fleecing of F and the theft of his son and some of them colluded with it:

Jo Bott; Drs Heinersdorff, Mithan, Nickson, Gareth Jones; Slob Ingham; Jan Ingham; Keith Fearns; Tom Harney; Jackie Brandt; Dr Sadie Francis; Dr Bob Tresman; Dr Neil Cheshire; Ella Fisk; Jeff Crowther; Penny Phillips; Gareth Phillips.

A number of other people knew as well but are now dead. All the above knew that F did not ‘abandon his son’ and ‘refuse to support him’. F had been taken to the cleaners and had to spend two years living a mile down the road from where his son had been housed with a bunch of child molesters, whilst F’s new partner cleared the utility of bills of his former partner and her family (nearly £1000) because F’s former partner had kept them in F’s name after she kicked him out. F’s new partner and F then received threats and demands for yet more money. When that didn’t work, they received offers of photos of F’s baby because he was a lovely baby and if only they could see what he looked like…

If that wasn’t enough, someone then killed Martin.

F’s former partner’s first husband Dai is now married to Katherine Jones, who has stood in recent elections as the Arfon candidate for Arthur Scargill’s Socialist Party.

Now perhaps Operation Pallial would like to interview all these people about some very serious crimes committed between 1992-1996.

Furthermore invertebrates, F might have been a ‘known schizophrenic’ but he had a bloody site more guts than you lot as he ran the gauntlet of paedophiles’ friends every time he left his house – paedophiles’ friends who even found a problem with him because of his hat and coloured waistcoats of all things. As he breezily said on so many occasions ‘I’m going to make a lot of people angry today by wearing my hat’.


I have mentioned that the Hergest staff were oblivious to the details of F’s life as a young man, those details had just been lost in the clouds of known schizophrenia, untoward hats and other stupid obsessions of the Top Doctors – they didn’t actually listen to much of what most of the patients told them anyway. So they missed a great deal.


What I knew was that F had a firm belief that Jimi Hendrix had been killed by criminal medical negligence on the grounds that certain establishment figures ‘hated Hendrix’. I spent a lot of time telling F that I knew well the appalling attitudes of Top Doctors towards certain cohorts and I also knew that Top Docs were not above not looking after certain people too well in the belief that they wouldn’t last too long – it was clear that this rationale had been applied to me and a number of other people I know, including F himself – but I wasn’t sure that the same had happened to Hendrix. F maintained that not only had Hendrix been helped along his way after he’d been admitted to hospital following an overdose, but that a former girlfriend of Hendrix was concealing what had happened and another former girlfriend knew ‘the truth’ and was being slowly destroyed.

F maintained that whilst he had been in Risley after the fire, a detective from London arrived and said that he had come to interview him about Hendrix’s death. F never wavered from this story – a detective had arrived and after F had refused to discuss anything with him the detective had lost his temper, said ‘you’re bloody nuts anyway’ and he had been thrown back into his cell. Brown and I always took the view that a detective did go to see F – Risley was ridden with corruption and there were no rules there, nothing will have been documented – but it was probably someone trying to extract information about the drug scene in north Wales. Then I wondered if it was someone who was trying to ensure that the violence in the police station and the fitting up of F was kept under wraps.

But after reading a bit more about Hendrix’s death I’m now wondering whether, as F always claimed, that detective was something to do with matters Hendrix.

It is taken as a given that Jimi Hendrix died on 18 Sep 1970 after an overdose. What I didn’t realise was that there was indeed a lot of confusion surrounding the circumstances of Hendrix’s death and that two of his former girlfriends were indeed at each others throats, because one of them, Monika, alleged medical negligence so serious that it killed Hendrix. The other former girlfriend, Kathy, married a Top Doctor after Hendrix’s death and maintained that this was an outrageous allegation, outrageous enough for Mrs Top Doctor to at one point attempt to have Monika imprisoned.

Kathy has fared rather better than Monika – Monika was trashed by the media and killed herself years ago.


Kathy Etchingham was born 1946 in Derby, the daughter of an Irishman from Dublin. Her mother deserted the family when Kathy was ten years old, and Kathy was sent to the Holy Faith convent boarding school in Dublin. Returning to England, having been ‘snatched from the convent’ by her mother, she made her way to London when she was 16.

In London, Kathy became a DJ at the Cromwellian Club in Kensington and later at the Scotch of St James nightclub, in addition to working as a hairdresser. She knew musicians of the period including ‘The Animals’, ‘The Who’, ‘The Kinks’, ‘The Moody Blues’, ‘The Move’ and many others. 

Kathy met Hendrix when she was 20 in the Scotch of St James, on the night of his arrival in London in Sept 1966 and they became a couple. In 1969, she and Hendrix parted.

Monika Dannemann was a German figure skater and the last girlfriend of Hendrix. After Hendrix died, Monika married the guitarist Uli John Roth of the ‘Scorpions’.

Monika was first introduced to Jimi on 12 Jan 1969 in Dusseldorf where he was playing a concert. She spent the night with him and part of the next day and accompanied him to Cologne, where he was playing another concert. Monika returned to Dusseldorf – Hendrix spent the last night of the tour with model Uschi Obermaier. On 25 March 1969, Hendrix wrote to Monika inviting her to visit him in New York City. Monika claimed that she next saw Hendrix on 25 April 1969 at the Speakeasy Club in London, where she bumped into him. Monika stated that they spent time together over the next nine days but that she only spent one night with him.

After his Sept 1970 European tour, Hendrix began a relationship with model Kirsten Nefer. Nefer left London due to work and Hendrix took up with Monika on 15 Sept 1970 and spent the next four nights with her at the Samarkand Hotel in Notting Hill Gate, where he fell into a coma.

It is accepted that Monika was the last person to see Hendrix alive. On the evening of 17 Sept 1970, Hendrix took at least one amphetamine pill at a party. He returned to Monika’s flat and took nine of Monika’s Vesparax sleeping tablets – the recommended dose was half to one tablet. Monika claimed that one the morning of 18 Sept, she found Hendrix in a coma at her flat. She called for an ambulance which arrived at 11:27 am. Hendrix was declared dead at St Mary Abbot’s Hospital at 12:45 pm. The cause of death was ‘asphyxiation through aspiration of vomit due to a barbiturate overdose’.

Monika seemed to have great difficulty getting over Hendrix’s death, although she did marry Roth. She spent the rest of her life selling her paintings of Hendrix and enjoyed dressing up as a rock chick years after Hendrix and many of those who associated with her had died. Monika’s claim that Hendrix was her real love didn’t concern Roth – he was a massive Hendrix fan himself and accepted Monika’s loyalty to her dead boyfriend.

The one person who was seriously pissed off by Monika living on her memories of Hendrix was Kathy Etchingham. Their spat brewed away for many years without people outside the circle of Hendrix devotees – such as F – really noticing, but in April 1996 it hit the media as a result of Kathy taking legal action against Monika for contempt of court and requesting her imprisonment.

Kathy seemed to place herself in a contradictory position. She dripped with contempt for Monika on the grounds that Monika was a sad old bag who had spent decades dining out on her relationship with Hendrix and that she ought to bloody well get over it and indeed ‘move on’. Much was made in the media of Kathy’s status as a ‘middle aged Surrey doctor’s wife’ who was a great deal more sane than the deranged Monika. Yet the Surrey doctor’s wife, like Monika, made damn sure that everyone knew that she had been Hendrix’s girlfriend. Furthermore, Kathy had been Hendrix’s REAL girlfriend, as opposed to Monika the flibbertigibit who had only known Hendrix for a few days of casual sex at the end of his life.

In April 1996 Monika was found guilty of contempt of court by Mr Justice French, for repeating ‘false allegations’ against Kathy, precisely that Kathy was an ‘inveterate liar’ about her relationship with Hendrix. Monika’s 1995 book ‘The Inner Life Of Jimi Hendrix’ had quoted Hendrix as saying that Kathy was someone who would ‘cheat and lie for money’. Kathy claimed that the book was libellous and took Monika to court where Monika gave the undertaking which she later breached and saw her before Justice French in April 1996.

Kathy had asked Mr Justice French to imprison Monika. He declined to do so, but did award costs of £30,000 against Monika.


The matter was reported by the Indie on 3 April, 1996, who stated that Kathy had ‘claimed victory yesterday over her Sixties rival who was found guilty of contempt by a High Court judge’.

Kathy stated that ‘This is a victory for common sense and I am absolutely delighted. This has been an ongoing problem for me but I hope this is an end to it now. I was fed up that someone who only had a relationship with Jimi for three days claims she was engaged to him. It is absolutely bizarre that this has been going on for 26 years’.

The Indie continued: ‘The battle between the two women goes back to the Seventies. In a series of ‘News of the World’ articles, Miss Etchingham claimed that Miss Danneman did not do enough to save Hendrix after he died from an overdose of sleeping tablets. Miss Danneman wrote her libellous book in 1995 in which she quoted Hendrix as saying that Mrs Etchingham was a girl ‘who will cheat and lie for money’.

Matters moved up to a whole new level two days later when Monika was found dead in her fume-filled Mercedes Benz near her home in Seaford, East Sussex. The verdict was one of suicide.


The media’s reaction after Monika’s death were extraordinary. Was there any sympathy shown towards Monika? Not at all – a load more abuse was heaped upon her.

On 6 April 6, 1996, the ‘Daily Mail’ published a deeply unpleasant article by Edward Verity:

‘The death of 50-year-old Monika Danneman, the guitar hero’s `fiancee’, in a fume-filled car brings to an end half a lifetime of pointless fretting and grieving over a man who, if the truth be told, she hardly knew. For Kathy Etchingham, another former Hendrix girlfriend and Monika’s rival in this week’s High Court case, it means the painful reopening of old wounds at a time when she should have been celebrating her legal victory. The story of Jimi, Monika and Kathy is an extraordinary saga of obsession, jealousy, love, Swinging Sixties excess and wasted life…Monika’s version of events – long disputed by Kathy and many Hendrix fans – was given…at the inquest…The German-born blonde told how Hendrix, to whom she had been engaged for two years, came to stay at her West London flat four days before his death.

On their last day together, they took photographs and went shopping before she cooked spaghetti bolognese for dinner and opened a bottle of white wine.`There was no arguing or stress. We were talking and listening to music,’ she said. After helping with the washing up and writing his last song, Hendrix decided he wanted to go to a party on his own. Monika dutifully drove him, returning at 2.30 am to collect him. The following day she woke at 10.20 am and wanted some cigarettes. `But as Jimi did not like me going out without me telling him, I looked to see if he was awake. He was sleeping normally. Just before I was about to go out I glanced at him again and realised he was ill. I tried to wake up but I couldn’t. Then I saw he had been taking some of my sleeping tablets. He must have taken them shortly after I started to fall asleep.’

Verity continues:

‘Monika’s story is that Hendrix died at 12.45 pm that day, shortly after being admitted to hospital. She told the inquest she had never known the guitarist take hard drugs, although he had admitted trying them. `He was never sad or depressed when he was with me,’ she concluded. A verdict of accidental death was recorded and Monika stuck rigidly to her story ever afterwards, even hiring her own private investigator at one stage to prove she did all she could to save him. `What I said at the inquest is exactly what happened,’ she told the Mail in December 1993 after we revealed Scotland Yard was reopening its investigation into Hendrix’s death. `The police will find that out. There are some people who are trying to reinvent Jimi’s death. But the fact is he died accidentally. Naturally I will never forget that night, but I have nothing to hide. What certain people are saying about Jimi’s death and about me is not nice.’


So Monika seems to have been defending herself from accusations that she had been responsible for Hendrix’s death – she felt such pressure that she had even resorted to hiring a private detective to defend her position. Her comments to the Mail in 1993 seem to be quite restrained in view of the allegations that were levelled at her (some people alleged that she poisoned Hendrix). The harshest that Monika gets is to state that what some people were saying about her ‘is not nice’. If someone accused me of murder, I’d be a lot ruder about them than that.

Yet the Mail took this as a declaration of war: ‘The latter was, of course, an implicit attack on Kathy, now 49 and married to Dr Nicholas Page and living in a £400,000 detached house in Surrey surrounded by woodland. This mutual enmity is hardly surprising. For the two leading women in Hendrix’s life were as different as their contrasting versions of his death.’

We’re on familiar ‘Daily Mail’ territory here – the middle aged and middle class, the alleged value of the house provided (in Surrey as well) along with the info that it’s next to a nice woods. Probably with Tufty resident among the trees.

Whereas the deceased Monika was ‘pinched and fragile with a hippy fringe and a cascade of Born Unblonde curls’ who ‘lived like a recluse in a thatched cottage on the South Coast which she turned into a shrine to her lost love. Her paintings of Hendrix, depicted as a young god come to earth, stared down from every wall.’

But by ‘Daily Mail’ standards, doesn’t a thatched cottage on the south coast usually win hands down over a Surrey house next to someone else’s woodland? Perhaps not, if there are paintings of Hendrix inside the thatched cottage and the owner of the cottage uses the wrong brand of hair-dye.

Even the more liberal Indie couldn’t resist putting the boot into the dead Monika. An article by Mary Braid on 30 April 1996 told readers that:

‘…most press reports concluded that [Monika’s] death brought to an end a 26-year catfight. Dannemann, 50, was found dead in her fume-filled Mercedes after being found guilty of contempt of court for repeating a libel against a 49-year- old Surrey doctor’s wife…the story is more than a lifetime of eye-scratching. It is the tale of the creation of a rock ‘n’ roll myth and of the woman who built her life upon it and felt compelled to bow out when the elaborate, artificial edifice began to crumble around her….To Dannemann, [Hendrix] was not just the world’s most gifted guitarist. She considered him a prophet…She claims she soon left Germany and her job as an ice-skating teacher to follow Jimi to London. She has always claimed – despite contrary evidence – that an 18-month relationship and engagement followed. What no one can deny is that she was with him the night he choked to death on his own vomit’.

Braid geared up even more:

‘she was for ever the focus for suspicions surrounding the circumstances of Hendrix’s death. Some said she delayed calling an ambulance; a few even claimed she poisoned him. After Jimi died, Dannemann made a career of being Hendrix’s fiancee. Endless newspaper, documentary and book interviews followed with spreads in Hello! magazine at her home in Seaford, Sussex (a veritable shrine to Hendrix), and with Hendrix’s family in Seattle, as well as guest appearances at Hendrix conventions’.

Mary Braid then let’s us know who the real partner of Hendrix was and it wasn’t the deluded old slapper who, interestingly, was obviously accepted by Hendrix’s family and fans:

‘In Dannemann’s lifelong homage to Hendrix, Etchingham was always the party-pooper. Hendrix had lived with Etchingham in the late Sixties. Their relationship lasted for almost three years. He was still involved with her when Dannemann claims their love affair began. Etchingham’s mere existence was annoyance enough. But her very different view of Hendrix – troubled booze and drug-abusing man rather than serene, spiritual, drug- free demi-God – no doubt irked Dannemann more…the contrast between the women was stark – Dannemann with her Marianne Faithful fringe, a grotesque superannuated hippy chick versus Etchingham with the sleek Nineties bob and the executive suit. While Dannemann’s life seemed to freeze on the day Hendrix died, Kathy, a mother of two, had had the sense to let the Sixties go.’

Monika’s fringe obviously caused as much trouble as F’s hat. Why ever would one attribute sanity or credibility to a woman with a fringe if she was pitched against a woman with ‘a sleek Nineties bob’ and an ‘executive suit’?

I hope that the ‘Daily Mail’ don’t ever write an article about me, they’re going to find me seriously wanting.

Mary Braidy does realise that Monika’s husband was seriously pissed off with the media coverage of his late wife: ‘Uli John Roth, who lived with Dannemann for 17 years, seethes at how the newspapers depicted Dannemann as timewarp woman. “I’m speaking up for Monika because she was never very good at speaking up for herself,” he says.

Well she wasn’t a Top Doctor’s wife mouthing off to the ‘Daily Mail’ and demanding that people should be imprisoned – people who of course are sad and mad and can’t be believed but nonetheless need to be imprisoned.

Where have I encountered such logic before?

Uli Roth took the view that Monika was in a rather better position that the Top Doc’s wife in possession of the sleek Nineties bob where having knowledge of Hendrix before he died was concerned: ‘She was involved with him during the last 18 months when he went through a lot of emotional and spiritual changes…There was no one that he told as much to as he told Dannemann. And that made some people very, very jealous. He was not the psychedelic bubblehead guitar player as portrayed’.

Uli had also stated that he believed that foul play may well have been involved in Monika’s death, despite the verdict of suicide.

We are not provided with a description of Uli’s hairstyle or clothes, so we don’t know how believable he is.


It gets better. Not only is the dead nearly-imprisoned Monika nuts, but Kathy is the real victim. Mary Braid explains:

‘At her luxury home in the Surrey countryside, Kathy Etchingham answers her front door accompanied by a huge dog. She peeps out as if looking for trouble. Someone has phoned that morning accusing her of murdering Dannemann. Her large homely kitchen seems a world away from Jimi Hendrix and the far-out, blow your mind, psychedelic Sixties. There are no portraits of Jimi. Today, she is trying to rescue her 18-year-old son from Japan where he has run out of money and she is waiting for her husband, Nick, to get home from work.’

So Kathy is holed up in her country house, equipped with a drug dealer’s dog (Dafydd had a Doberman) and no doubt other security measures. Although Kathy was ‘delighted’ to have won the High Court case against the mad, sad Monika, she’s not gloating:

‘Etchingham has said little since the suicide out of respect for Dannemann’s family. But she says she does not blame herself. She could not allow Dannemann to go on repeating the libel that she was a liar and that she stole from Jimi. The Hendrix scene, she says, has its share of crazies. Dannemann’s accusations were putting her life at risk.’


How Monika’s accusations were putting Kathy’s life at risk was not explained. If I knew that someone who had had a relationship with the same man as me 26 yrs ago was preserved in aspic and enjoyed chatting about old times and flogging pictures of the former partner and I prided myself on my luxury house, my sleek Nineties bob and having ‘moved on’, I’m not sure that I’d bother to try to have her imprisoned even if she had published a book calling me a liar. I don’t think I’d be that concerned, especially if I was dismissing everyone from those times as ‘crazies’.


Once again, readers were reminded of Kathy’s superior qualities: ‘Etchingham is still remarkably girlish; with cheekbones to kill for’.

If readers seek out a photo of Kathy from this time, they will see a middle-aged woman with a boring hairstyle, not evidence of cheekbones capable of incitement to murder.

Kathy ‘was a 23-year-old hairdresser when she dated Jimi. She was another person in another time and she seldom thinks of Jimi these days, she claims. But you wonder. Because even here the past still has its pull. She cared enough to spend three years in the early Nineties investigating the circumstances surrounding Jimi Hendrix’s death. She criticised Dannemann’s account of Jimi’s death for its “inconsistencies”. And her 34-page dossier resulted in Scotland Yard reopening the case, although it was subsequently dropped.’


For someone who in no way thinks of herself and her value in terms of her status as Hendrix’s former girlfriend, Kathy certainly pushed the boat out. She even got Scotland Yard to re-investigate his death. So who was Kathy accusing of what?

Kathy retained a healthy interest in Hendrix after Monika’s death. She led a campaign to persuade English Heritage to place a Blue Plaque on the Mayfair flat which she and Hendrix shared – the Plaque was erected in 1997. Because, of course ‘she cared’.

In 1998 Kathy published a book about her life with Hendrix.

Er – this is a woman who has ‘moved on?’


After Monika’s death, Kathy told the media that ‘she only got involved in the whole Hendrix business in the early Nineties’.

So what was all that about a 26 yr long spat with Monika, who was such a pain in the bum that she needed jailing?

Kathy explained: ‘I don’t like history being altered’…it’s not right that anyone should change the character and essence of a person. Jimi was a really nice bloke but he was not a prophet…At the end he was a man who had lost his way. If you look at the footage of the final concerts you can see what LSD and cocaine do.’ Kathy believed that ‘the court case was the final blow to Dannemann’s lifelong deception’. ‘The court case established once and for all that she was not Jimi’s girlfriend’, Kathy was quoted as saying, ‘Everything was beginning to catch up with her’.


I’m not sure how a court case can establish whether someone had been in a relationship with someone else or not – was Mr Justice French resident in Hendrix’s bedroom at the time? I think that it might have been the non-stop denigration from the world’s media, the accusations that Monika was a murderer and Kathy’s attempt to imprison her that might have caught up with Monika.


Monika had received quite a kicking by the time that she was found dead. In Feb 1996, an American music magazine ‘cast doubt’ on her version of events on the night that Hendrix died and on her claims to have had a relationship with him. A hour-long documentary on Radio 4 broadcast at about the same time ‘was just as sceptical’ and a new film was ‘expected to add to the doubt’. To Steve Rodham, editor of ‘Jimpress’, a Hendrix fanzine, Monika’s life was a life wasted: ‘I think she really did believe she was Jimi’s girlfriend although there was no real evidence… Jimi was just a guitar player. If he was alive, he would have laughed his socks off about all this. He liked women, but the music always came first’.

So presumably his music was prioritised over Kathy as well…

I have discussed in detail in previous posts how the most distressing things happening to kids in care or psych patients were ignored by the professional classes or simply dismissed out of hand if anyone made a formal complaint. It was as a result of this that Dafydd and the paedophiles were able to commit such serious offences. An excellent example of professional attitudes was illustrated by an anecdote that a man who was friends with F told me.
This man lived in Bethesda but he wasn’t local. He had moved to Bethesda in about 1988 from London – he lived in a street near F. This man was, like F, ‘a known schizophrenic’ who was neglected appallingly by the Bethesda GPs. The bus that used to run between Bethesda and Bangor in the 1980s and 1990s was a very friendly bus and I heard many interesting things on that bus. One day the neighbour of F’s told me how they had become such good mates. They had both been into Bangor for groceries and as they got off the bus in Bethesda and were walking up the hill, F’s neighbour from London – who had never spoken to F before – said to F ‘God this hill will be the death of me’. So F put on a pirate’s voice – which he was regularly doing at that time – and said for a laugh ‘I’ll tell you what’ll be the death of you. It won’t be this hill, it’ll be when I slit your gizzards’. F then went into his house, completely oblivious that the man from London was terrified.
No residents of Bethesda knew at the time, but the man from London had been violently attacked in London and seriously injured and had also experienced very serious abuse at the hands of a psychiatric hospital in London, so he was a wary man. The Bethesda police however did know about this. The man from London told me that he sat in his house after the pirate incident thinking ‘bloody hell, what if he does it? He could come over and kill me’. The man from London got so worried that he went down to Bethesda Police Station and told them. The Bethesda police then went to see F and F explained that it was a joke, of course he wasn’t going to slit anyone’s gizzards and F did a demo of the pirate’s voice for the policeman.
According to the man from London, the Bethesda police then went to see him, said that they’d spoken to F and told the man from London ‘he’s completely mad and there’s nothing that we can do about him’.
The man from London spent the next few days in a state of terror. Another neighbour found out what was going on and told F. So when F saw the man from London sitting on a chair out the front on the next sunny day, F went up to the man from London, gave him a flower and related anecdotes about peace protesting hippies sticking flowers in the barrels of guns and reassured him that he really was not about to be murdered.
This story caused a certain amount of entertainment, but it was attitudes like this that enabled a people trafficking gang run by local Top Doctors to rip through north Wales for years and to even kill witnesses.
It was a PC from Bethesda Police Station who knew that F had been thumped by a Sergeant in the loo when he was arrested and framed as I described above. In spite of all that had happened to him, F was very extrovert and friendly and I witnessed him cheerily chatting to a PC from Bethesda and saying ‘you remember that Sergeant hitting me don’t you, you were the one who was there’. The PC looked a bit embarrassed and shuffled about uncomfortably. One wonders what else that PC had witnessed.
Vulnerable people were regularly harassed, threatened, assaulted, robbed, molested, made homeless and it was very often employees of the ‘services’ who did this. It was all just completely ignored. What happened to kids in care and psych patients just did not matter, even when they were found dead.


In about 1996, as the staff of the Hergest Unit was sinking amongst the chaos and dysfunction yet were maintaining their delusion that the mental health services in Gwynedd were ‘among the best in Europe’, a man from outside of the area heard many personal accounts of the activities of Dafydd and the paedophiles. An Angel who was doing a PhD with Manchester University arrived to conduct research with Hergest patients regarding treating severe mental illness ‘by talking interventions’. A number of ‘schizophrenics’ were asked if they would like to ‘talk’ to this Angel. That Angel must have had quite a surprise, because at least three of the nutters who had been selected for ‘taking treatment’ had been victims of Dafydd and the paedophiles and they will have said something about this to him.

It was a real laugh because F was selected for talking treatment. Interestingly enough F was asked by Dr Tony Francis (Dr X) if he’d like to talk about Hendrix to the Angel. F of course said yes, because he loved talking about Hendrix. However, when F met the Angel F asked him what his research was about. The Angel told F that he would interview F, then F would be given ‘therapy’ and then he would re-interview F in a couple of months time and if F’s beliefs had changed, then the Angel knew that the therapy had worked. Whereupon F told the Angel ‘well you are therefore assuming that I am wrong and you are right so I’m not going to bother to talk to you’ and left the room.

F later said to me ‘I’m fucking sick of this lot telling me that Hendrix wasn’t murdered when I know that he was’.

1996. Kathy Etchingham. Monika. The Waterhouse Inquiry.

Jeff Crowther, a psychiatric nurse manager at the Hergest Unit, later became very irked when F told him that he would never speak to anyone about Hendrix again. Then Dr Bob Tresman had a go and said to F ‘are you really telling us that people’s lives are at risk if you talk about Hendrix?’, to which F replied ‘yes’.


Before he relocated to north Wales, Tony Francis worked at Manchester alongside Dafydd’s mate Dr Bob Hobson, who had been concealing Dafydd’s wrongdoing for years (see post ‘The Mentor’). Whilst at Manchester, Francis worked with Professor Ian Brockington’s team – Brockington then took up a Chair alongside Robert Bluglass and the other paedophiles’ friends at Birmingham University (see post ‘Ian Brockington’s Mischief’).


One of the defences of Dafydd mounted by the drips at the Hergest Unit was that as well as ‘helping drug addicts’, Dafydd was ‘good at getting people Army pensions’. I described in my post ‘A Very Bad PR Man’ how I found out that Dafydd was somehow securing Army pensions for people who had been thrown out of the Army in disgrace. I only gained documentary evidence of this recently, but I knew that Dafydd was doing some rather strange things in relation to Army pensions years ago in the 1990s, as a result of a jolly little joke that F played on Dafydd.

F had also become suspicious of Dafydd’s ability to secure Army pensions for the most unlikely of people. So one evening F rang Dafydd, claiming to be a Brigadier with a brother who was a Colonel, who were both in need of Army pensions. Furthermore to add to the fun, the Col suffered from Tourette’s syndrome, the particular symptoms of which were that the Col burst into loud laughter every time that Dafydd actually said anything. Dafydd had been so highly recommended to the Brigadier and the Col by an unidentified person who had heard about Dafydd’s unrivalled clinical skills, that the Brigadier and the Col had come straight up from Aldershot to seek him out. They were staying in a B&B in Holyhead and ringing Dafydd from a public phone box.

The Col rang first. Dafydd answered and of course the Col pissed himself laughing. Dafydd slammed the phone down. So then the Brigadier rang. The Brigadier explained to Dafydd about his brother’s Tourette’s and apologised to Dafydd – the Brigadier had told his brother not to ring Dafydd, but the Col had rushed out of the room, down to the phone box and had rung Dafydd. Then the Col had returned in tears because Dafydd had hung up on him. The Brigadier told Dafydd that the Col had developed Tourette’s after serving in the Falklands – the Col was suffering from PTSD and had not been the same since Goose Green. Dafydd replied ‘interesting, interesting’. The Brigadier told Dafydd that they were desperate for help, that ‘money was no object’ and that what they really wanted was Army pensions. Dafydd responded that would be no problem at all and ‘I’m here for you and your brother’.

However the wicked old bugger Dafydd never apologised for making the Col cry.

There was a lot of background racket whilst the Brigadier was on the phone to Dafydd and Dafydd apologised and explained that he had an S4C film crew there, but he really did want to help the Brigadier and the Col. Dafydd then asked the Brigadier for his phone number so that he could ring him back once S4C had finished. F of course was in the phone box at Rachub and couldn’t give Dafydd a number, so F made a number up and the conversation continued. Then Dafydd asked for the Brigadier’s number again – on the grounds that ‘I’ve had nuisance phone calls rather similar to this one’. At which point F observed that no he hadn’t, the others were completely different and rung off.

To quote Tom Jones when he sung ‘Delilah’ – ‘She stood there, laughing’. Actually I was in hysterics, I could not believe what I was hearing.

Since F’s bit of fun that evening, I have wondered and wondered who on earth was rubber stamping all those Army pensions on the basis of Dafydd’s ‘assessments’.

I think that I might have found out who it was.

From 1996-2005 Professor Sir Mansel Aylward was Chief Medical Adviser, Medical Director and Chief Scientist of the DWP and Chief Medical Adviser and Head of Profession at the Veteran’s Agency, MoD. He was on the board of the Benefits Agency Medical Service in the 1990s.

So Mansel, why did you ever take the word of a complete idiot involved in serious crime whilst you were dishing out the Army pensions? An idiot who clearly knew nothing about Tourette’s, PTSD, Goose Green or indeed anything else, but who was ready and willing as soon as he heard the magic words ‘money is no object’?

And whilst you’re about it Mansel, the Col still wants an apology after Dafydd made him cry.

Mansel assumed responsibility for Army pensions in 1996, which was the year after Dafydd ‘retired’ and the North Wales Hospital ‘closed down’, although neither of those things happened.


Professor Sir Mansel Aylward is now Director of the Centre for Psychosocial Research, Occupational and Physician Health at Cardiff University School of Medicine. He bagged his K in the 2010 New Year Honours and was made a Freeman of the Borough of Merthyr Tydfil in 2013.

Mansel is Chair of Public Health Wales, which as explained in my post ‘The International Language of Screaming’, is a receptacle for paedophiles’ friends who have been kicked out of everywhere but whom no-one dares turn loose because of the dirt that they have on everyone else.


So how did Meri Huws manage to land so many senior jobs when she was a drunken harpie who didn’t know her arse from her elbow?


Aylward’s wife Angela was involved in setting up a company called Mediprobe, trading under the name Nationwide Medical Examination Advisory Service Ltd., which arranged for the agency’s doctors to work for insurance companies. Mansel was involved in the establishment of the Work Capability Assessment test. When he left the DWP, he headed the UnumProvident Centre for Psychosocial and Disability Research, at Cardiff University.

Aylward has been criticized for giving academic credibility to the biopsychosocial model, which was said to be the basis of the Cameron’s Gov’ts disability benefits crackdown.

I think that Angel from Manchester University who heard so much about a gang of sex offenders from the Hergest patients more than 20 years ago was working on the assumption of a ‘biopsychosocial model’. It was certainly easier than admitting that gangsters were running the public services.

Mansel is Chair of the Advisory Board of HCML, a ‘provider of rehabilitation and case management services to insurance companies and the corporate sector’ and Chair of the Bevan Commission, a group of international experts who advise the Welsh Gov’t Minister for Health and Social Services.


Image result for skeleton in the cupboard


Yesterday a promotional e mail arrived in my inbox concerning a book that the University of Wales Press thinks that I might like to purchase. I don’t think that I’ll bother, because it was my idea that was plagiarised in order to write this book – I met the author when I was still working at Bangor University and I have not forgotten her.

At the time I was interested in publishing on the role of Nonconformism on the identity of women in Wales in the 19th and 20th centuries. I was building up a reputation for publishing on new analyses of gendered identity in the recent history of Wales at the time and Brown and me were the only people doing anything like this. I had recently had a bad experience when someone else at Bangor University plagiarised my work, successfully submitted it to a grant funding body and gave the dosh to her PhD student – who had failed his PhD as a result of her appalling supervision, was having to resubmit and needed a salary whilst he rewrote – and friendlier colleagues had told me not to discuss any of my work within this woman’s earshot again.

So I was a little cautious when I received a phone call from a vicar who was trying to build an academic career as well telling me that she was working on the gendered identity of Welsh women with an emphasis on the role played by Nonconformism. Because that was exactly what I was just developing and I knew that there was bugger all published about it. However she asked if she could meet me so I sad yes. It was an interesting meeting.

This vicar claimed to have a PhD in gender theory but she didn’t seem to know anything about gender theory. Neither did she know anything about previous work on gendered identity. She was a female vicar whose idea of an interest in gender theory was, well, being a female vicar. I am sure that it would be possible to publish some very interesting work on the experience of female vicars in the Church in Wales, but I don’t think that she was going to. She then asked if she could read my data – after having asked me for elementary advice on how to collect such data. By now alarm bells were ringing loudly. Then she dropped the bomb – she was a friend of Delyth Morris.

The dreadful Dr Delyth Morris aka Duckula was a legend at Bangor University. She lied, she cheated, she plagiarised, she bullied. It was Duckula who had plagiarised my previous idea and used the resulting funding to pay the salary of the PhD student whom she had let down so badly whilst he rewrote and resubmitted.

At this point I told the ignoramus of a vicar that I would not be releasing any of my data, particularly to someone who had been sent in my direction by Duckula.

The vicar has now – YEARS later – written the book that Duckula was obviously told that I was planning, because that is the book that UWP are offering to sell me ie. ‘Women, Identity and Religion in Wales’ by Manon Ceridwen James.

Manon: after you paid me a visit with the intention of stealing my data as well as my idea, I spoke to a friend who is a sociologist of religion who knows you. He told me that you are a bloody nightmare and that I really should give you a very wide berth if you ever contacted me again.


This is not the first time that I have seen an idea of mine and Brown’s on sale by UWP. Just before I left Bangor, I e mailed a number of literature scholars in Swansea and Aberystwyth Universities and invited them to join the Madness and Literature Network which Brown established, explaining that we were interested in publishing some work in this field about women in Wales because there was no Welsh scholarship in this area. I heard nothing from any of them. So imagine my surprise when three years ago I was walking through Aberystwyth and there staring at me out of a bookshop window was a book written by one of those whom I e mailed with a remarkably similar title to the sort of suggestions that I made in my e mail. I had a quick look through the book and it was not that impressive. I told a former senior colleague from Bangor about my discovery and I observed that it wasn’t even a very good book, I don’t know why they bothered. To which my former colleague replied ‘well SHE won’t know that her book’s no good’.

No, she won’t. Like Duckula and Manon, she’s not very bright, she doesn’t know her stuff but she did hear that Brown and Baker had some good ideas so she stole them.


Manon Ceridwen James is certainly networked with the best. The book comes highly recommended by one Emeritus Professor Densil Morgan of the University of Wales Trinity St David. Densil and his toadies were ejected from the Bangor University School of Theology some years ago as a parting gift for the Oppressed from the VC just before he retired. How thankful so many people were for that after the Great Terror of Densil and his partner in crime Catrin Haf, a Great Terror that had persisted for years and ruined the life of many a colleague and student. Densil and Catrin sought sanctuary at Trinity St David’s and since their arrival most of the originals at the Theology Dept at Trinity St David’s have found jobs elsewhere. See my post ‘The Battle Of The Cowshed’ for the story of Densil and Catrin Haf, their many victims and Densil’s admiration for the forefathers of the paedophiles’ friends.

The flyer for Manon’s book tells me that Manon is the Director of Ministry for the diocese of St Asaph, Church in Wales and Honorary Canon of St Asaph Cathedral.

Manon will have learnt a few things if she’s working at St Asaph Cathedral. Such as the activities of Hugh Davies, the choirmaster and organist at St Asaph Cathedral, 1985-98, who was later imprisoned for the possession of child porn. One of Davies’s former pupils killed himself after alleging that Davies had sexually abused him. Perhaps Manon also knows the prodigious son of Geoff, the former landlord of the Douglas Arms Hotel in Bethesda. I can’t remember the name of  Geoff’s son, but he won a scholarship to Eton on the basis of his musical talents – playing the organ no less – and was featured on TV. It was in the mid-1990s, at the time of the demands for a public inquiry into the abuse of children in north Wales, at the same time as all those other talented youngsters were discovered whose families were facilitating the paedophile ring which everybody maintained did not exist.

Geoff knew a lot about corruption among professional people in north Wales. Geoff was a magistrate and a corrupt copper who arrested me in London in 1991 after the paedophiles’ friends in north Wales had perjured themselves, told me that he used to be stationed in north Wales and that he and his mates enjoyed themselves chucking local Bethesda boys in Llyn Ogwen after giving them a kicking and ‘if Geoff was on the bench we knew that we’d be OK’. See post ‘The Most Dangerous Man In The World – Part III’.

What that copper didn’t know as he did his Life On Mars bit to impress a Bird, was that this particular bird knew that his crimes were rather more serious than just chucking the local teenagers into the lake for a dip to wash away the blood. I remember local young men being found dead in Llyn Ogwen after having ‘drowned whilst midnight swimming when drunk’. Local boys didn’t go swimming in Llyn Ogwen – the outdoor crowd did, but not those young men from Bethesda. Llyn Ogwen is several miles up the valley, it is cold and wet in winter and not many of the young working class men in Bethesda who were being beaten up by Geoff’s mates in the police took part in outdoor pursuits.


One of Geoff’s regulars who could be seen in the Douglas virtually every evening was Dr Bob Tresman, a psychiatrist who worked at the Hergest Unit.


When my friend warned me about Manon Ceridwen, I am fairly sure that he told me that she had previously been the curate or vicar in Llanllechid. There was a curate or vicar in Llanllechid back in the 1990s called Manon, because I knew someone who had an encounter with her who was seriously unimpressed. Someone I knew in Rachub found Satanic graffiti on the inside of a building in the village and became very concerned. I took the view that it was probably teenagers messing around but this person maintained that there are some odd people on this earth and that it would be worth finding out what had been going on. The building with the Satanic graffiti was just three doors down from a man who was not only dealing in class A drugs but was also sexually exploiting local women on a very big scale and had a keen interest in Black Magic and Aleister Crowley, although that particular man was capable of causing quite enough damage without summoning up assistance from Satan.

The resident of Rachub who found the Satanic graffiti decided to contact the local vicar – a new female vicar called Manon. He told her of his concerns and she didn’t share them. He then explained that just doors away from the Satanic graffiti lived a man with highly problematic behaviour who also dealt in class A drugs. Manon told the caller that she really wasn’t interested in hearing about Satanic graffiti because she wasn’t a painter and decorator. No, but she was a member of the clergy of the Church in Wales and some of her colleagues had been involved with perpetrating and concealing child sexual abuse.

I am not entirely sure if the Manon who came to steal my data was the same Manon who wasn’t a painter and decorater, but Manon Ceridwen James’s mate Duckula the Plagiarist knows a great deal about the paedophile ring which operated in north Wales, because before Duckula was an academic who didn’t understand or take an interest in academic work (Duckula memorably told me that ‘Althussar was just a load of old rubbish really’ – OK Duckula, we’ll forget about him then), Duckula was a social worker employed by Gwynedd County Council…

Duckula was certainly a woman of contradictions. Duckula particularly hated the English owners of second homes in north Wales and was delighted when her daughter Gillian – Daughter of Duckula – struck up a romantic relationship with one of the few people in north Wales who did serve a prison sentence for offences involving bombs. So Duckula was keeping it very quiet indeed that she owned a second home in France. Duckula had much previous which impacted upon her role as a magistrate in Holyhead, particularly the bribery and corruption previous…


It might be worth me breaking my silence here regarding the man who benefited from the salary that Duckula raised by plagiarising my idea. I was told by another PhD student that the young man concerned knew that Duckula had nicked my work to raise a salary for him and was worried lest I found out. I had found out, but I took the view that it was Duckula who had plagiarised my work not him and I wasn’t going to blame a PhD student who was having to rewrite his thesis because of Duckula’s gross incompetence. In fact it was the English speaking sociologists in Bangor – including me – who helped Duckula’s victim rewrite and resubmit his thesis, whilst he lived on the salary raised by the theft of my idea. The young man subsequently obtained his PhD and then landed a full-time well-paid Welsh medium lecturing post at Bangor, on a special scheme which reserved jobs for Welsh speakers. I don’t have a problem with such schemes because there is a shortage of Welsh speaking academics in many subjects and I believe that minority languages are worth keeping alive.

What I did have a problem with was hearing that some months after I and the other English speaking academics had saved this young man’s career, he had told an outstanding young Polish academic that she shouldn’t be in her job because jobs at Bangor should be reserved for Welsh people.

Dr Cynog Prys needs to remember – before he leads a rendering of ‘Tomorrow Belongs To Me’ – that it was thanks to one of the leading lights in Welsh medium education at Bangor that he failed his fucking PhD and it was only the Englishers who offered to help him after that disaster.

Cynog’s uncle was Chief Exec of the Welsh Language Board and his dad is a retired social worker…

Should Cynog or Manon or anyone else who has to plagiarise other people’s ideas to get by wish to steal anymore of my work, they should feel free to publish extracts from this blog wherever they feel like. How about sharing it with your dad’s former colleagues then Cynog?


The bumph that was sent to me promoting Manon Ceridwen’s volume was accompanied by some free PR for the R.S. Thomas Centre at Bangor University. I always marvel at the irony of Bangor University housing the R.S. Thomas Centre, because although R.S. Thomas was a UCNW graduate, his diaries show that he had a very low opinion of his fellow students at UCNW and made notes about them being a bunch of Welsh plebs. As an older man, R.S. Thomas reinvented himself as a ‘Welsh nationalist’ who took a Cynog world view that the English should not be settling in Wales. R.S. Thomas was a very bad tempered vicar who spent his later years living at Rhiw and who revelled in pretending not to be able to speak English when he met English tourists who had got lost. He did not speak Welsh when he was young, he spoke English with a very plummy accent and for a long while was a vicar in I think Shropshire, but reinvented himself as Welsh later in life. He had one son who emigrated to the Far East and who didn’t seem to like his father very much.

The man in charge of the R.S. Thomas Centre is Professor Tony Brown, a retired member of staff from the School of English. Tony Brown is one of the dwindling number of former members of staff still alive who worked at UCNW when it was run entirely by the paedophiles’ friends and for their own benefit, when a major branch of the trafficking gang was working via the Student Health Centre.

Tony Brown was a colleague of Dave Nunn, the lecturer who became a Hergest patient in the 1990s after he had a breakdown. The Dave Nunn who disappeared after he told some Top Doctors who had intentions of sectioning him that he had read the farcical High Court injunction that Dafydd had served on me…

Would Tony Brown like to tell us all why the paedophiles’ friends targeted Dave Nunn?


The Welsh media are reporting that Tawel Fan, the ward at the centre of the scandal involving the serious abuse of EMI patients at Ysbyty Gwynedd may be demolished and many millions are to be spent on a new building. So the Betsi have identified the usual source of blame after yet another scandal involving the abuse of vulnerable people – it was the fault of the building. The abuse of patients at the North Wales Hospital Denbigh was going to stop when the patients were moved into a new building. The abuse of patients at Ysbyty Gwynedd was going to stop when the brand new up-to-the-minute Hergest Unit was built. For the last few years the abuse, neglect and deaths of the patients at Hergest have been blamed on that terrible building that was never any good from the day one. Which is weird, Cos I Was There and the staff were really proud of that building – the patients were given tours of it before it officially opened.

I’m not sure how many times I need to repeat this. It is not buildings that neglect and abuse patients. It is not buildings that forge documents, perjure themselves in order to secure convictions against patients who have complained or throw firebombs into other buildings to kill witnesses. It is criminals and as long as the ‘services’ are run by the remnants of a sex trafficking gang and their friends, relatives and descendants, people will continue to be abused.


Meanwhile, the Guardian is reporting once more on the thousands of Angels who have been attacked by Dangerous Psychiatric Patients. Oh well, people in the NHS unions are obviously reading this blog, so I should take it as a compliment.

More blog posts coming soon BMA, RCN, UNISON, UNITE et al…




A Possible Reason for All Those Prescriptions

Yesterday the Guardian website was running one of their regular ‘the whole nation is mentally ill and therefore the mental health services need more money’ features. The article maintained that an analysis had shown that the number of prescriptions issued for anti-depressants was extraordinarily high in ‘coastal towns’, such as Scarborough and Blackpool. This phenomenon was declared to be something of a Mystery and the article speculated on a number of possible explanations, including the fact that these coastal towns were now very run down and somewhat depressing environments to live in, or that there wasn’t much to occupy the residents. Dear old MIND chipped in with their mantra that people shouldn’t just be offered anti-depressants, they should be offered ‘talking therapies’ as well. (These would be the talking therapies that MIND has had a vested interest in promoting and lobbying for over a period of many years now and that at present in north Wales has been commissioned by the Betsi Cadwaladr University Health Board to provide, under the guise of an organisation called ‘Parabl’.)

There is however one glaringly obvious possible reason that the Guardian didn’t mention for anti-depressants being dispensed with alacrity in declining coastal towns. That is that for the last twenty five years or so local authorities have followed a policy of housing the dispossessed – including the homeless, the mentally ill and people with drug and alcohol problems – in these declining coastal resorts. Affluent people no longer take holidays in these towns – thus there was a huge number of hotels and guest houses that found themselves without trade and stayed in business only by housing homeless people back in the 80s under Thatcher’s administration. I remember the many exposes of homeless people living in ‘Bed and Breakfast’ accommodation for which local authorities were paying top whack, yet the facilities that the homeless were offered were dreadful – they were often not even allowed into their rooms between the hours of 9am and 5pm and had to wander the streets or spend their time in libraries or parks. As this begun to happen en masse, other people became increasingly more reluctant to live in these areas themselves and they gradually became ghettoes full of people having a very hard time. I used to read about this happening in England, but where I noticed it on a personal level was of course in north Wales.

For as long as I have been in north Wales, Rhyl was one of these towns. I didn’t ever visit Rhyl, but I heard from everyone else that now it was no longer a popular resort for holidaymakers, it had filled up with homeless destitute people and there was alleged to be a huge drugs and associated crime problem there. However, I did find out first hand about shenanigans at Llandudno. Although Llandudno is still popular with holidaymakers, when I spent the year of 1999-2000 working in ‘care homes’ (please see previous blog posts) I discovered the abusive scam that was Prestwood Homes – a chain of homes that were mostly located along the north Wales coast, housing people with learning disabilities and mental health problems many of whom had been transferred there from high security hospitals in England. (Please see post ‘A Very Convenient Arrangement With The Private Sector’ for details of the horrors and abuses that I witnessed at Prestwood.) Prestwood’s clients were all from England. As far as I could see Prestwood did not want local clients because local clients would have had friends, family and other connections in the area and the clients would have told them that they were being abused. Whereas at Prestwood the clients from England had no friends or family for miles, they had not ever visited north Wales before, they couldn’t navigate themselves around the area if they tried to run away – they were sectioned in this hell-hole under the Mental Health Act – and they couldn’t even pronounce local place names. They were isolated and invisible and would be visited by a tame social worker from England once in a blue moon who had arranged the ‘placement’ anyway, so was certainly not going to respond to the clients if they did catalogue the abuse that was happening. Business boomed at Prestwood. As far as I could work out it, this ‘company’ was established in the very late 90s and started off with one ‘client’ in a small house in Llandudno. But Prestwood rapidly expanded, seemed to have a constant supply of clients transported there from England and was soon operating a chain of homes. The two women who ‘managed’ these homes used to boast that when they went to ‘dinner parties in Llandudno’ (what it is to be part of high society!) they impressed everyone else with how much money they were making out of this trade in distressed people. I never found out who was the real mover and shaker behind Prestwood who had the contacts in English high security hospitals who supplied the patients that were Prestwood’s bread and butter – or rather champagne and caviar – but I’ve got a suspect in mind. After experiencing Prestwood, I began to take an interest in similar matters and I discovered that the export of dispossessed people from the metropolitan parts of England to north Wales was very big business. I was told by someone who worked in social work education in north Wales and who now has a senior role in MIND that Liverpool Council had a policy of ‘dumping’ it’s troublesome citizens in Llandudno. I was told that the people involved would be ‘counselled’ whilst they were in Liverpool that they needed to start afresh because their lives were basically a car crash and wouldn’t they like to begin a new life in Llandudno. The local authority would arrange everything for them and they would be duly despatched. I was told that after six months they then became the financial responsibility of the authorities in north Wales. Now this wasn’t just happening to one or two people, it was a movement. As Brown observed, England seemed to be exporting it’s expensive citizens who needed welfare packages to Wales. There was a figure in Plaid in the early 2000s who had noticed this as well and he spoke in public about it, but used some rather ill-advised words. He referred to Wales filing up with odd-balls and nut-jobs from England (or similar words). There was a tremendous row, he was accused of racism and was thrown out of Plaid. That man was Gwilym ap Ioan, who is a regular contributor to the political blog Jac O the North. I don’t share all Gwilym’s political views and I think that he left himself wide open to being kicked very hard by using the words that he did, but he had undoubtedly identified a problem. Some of the residents at Prestwood had committed very serious crimes – there was at least one man there who had raped and attempted to murder someone. No-one living near the Prestwood residents had any idea what their backgrounds were. The people being exported to north Wales had multiple serious problems and they were people that English authorities did not want. At about the same time there was the Blaenau Ffestiniog saga. Manchester City Council purchased a whole load of houses in Blaenau Ffestiniog and housed a high number of what they admitted were ‘difficult tenants’ there. Havoc broke out, there were brawls and fist-fights, with the new arrivals from Manchester alleging anti-English racism and the locals at Blaenau maintaining that their town had been used as a dumping ground for undesirables. One site of confrontation was the Blaenau branch of MIND. A woman from Manchester appeared in the Daily Post alleging prejudice against her because of her ‘mental health problems’ and Englishness – I seem to remember that she was alleging various acts of violence or damage to property. It appeared that the arrivals from Manchester had adopted MIND as their meeting place and there were allegations that they had ‘taken it over’ – the story ran and ran, with people from Blaenau making counter-allegations in the Post. I understand that eventually vigilante action caused the people from Manchester to leave town.

The transportation of the dispossessed to Llandudno and Blaenau was very visible, but the process had been going on quietly for some while. In the early 1990s I worked weekends as a care assistant in what was advertised as a ‘care home’ in Llanfairpwll, which was actually a little bungalow called ‘Lynnewood’. As ever it was a scam. It was owned by a man who’s nickname was ‘Christmas’, I never knew his real name. The ‘manager’ of the home was a woman who boasted about the enjoyment she gained from belittling and psychologically torturing the residents, a woman called Lynn Jones. Every tiny room in this bungalow was crammed with ‘residents’, two sharing each room. Initially most of the residents were Hergest Unit patients. Now Christmas was some sort of businessman, he had never worked in any healthcare profession. But somehow he was tapping into a supply of patients from the Hergest Unit. I discovered that Lynn Jones was a former GP’s receptionist who had scandalised the village by having an affair with one of the GPs and had then been sacked from the same surgery for theft. So it won’t have been Lynn Jones who was facilitating the arrival of the Hergest patients. However there was a problem with the Hergest patients – they were local and were telling people how badly Lynn Jones was treating them. There was a neighbour who was a retired matron who denounced Lynn Jones as a highly unsuitable woman to be entrusted with the care of vulnerable people and advised the Hergest patients to put in requests to be moved as soon as possible. I had no intention of propping up Lynn Jones’s unpleasant regime, so I stayed working at this place long enough to observe a few worrying things and then left. Before I left, one of the residents was most upset because the man whom he shared his room with, a Hergest patient, had been moved to other accommodation and a new resident was arriving – the new resident was from Rampton. How on earth did Rampton, a high security hospital in Nottingham, hear of a bed going in a bungalow in Llanfairpwll? Someone was facilitating all this and it certainly wasn’t Lynn Jones or Christmas. About a year after I left, whilst in Bangor, I bumped into the man who had been filled with horror at the prospect of sharing a bedroom with someone from Rampton. He told me that he was now living elsewhere – Lynn Jones had stolen several hundred pounds from Christmas, he’d found out and sacked her. Christmas had then sold the ‘home’ because he stated that it wasn’t profitable enough. Lynn survived to fight another day though – some six years ago I was told that there was a very abusive warden employed in the ‘sheltered housing’ owned by the North Wales Housing Association at Llangefni. It was Lynn Jones.

Lynnewood was not the only little house hidden in rural north west Wales to double up as a ‘care home’ for seriously distressed people from England. As Prestwood raked in the dosh and expanded and expanded, they established ‘homes’ on the Marina in Felinheli and then at Bodorgan on Anglesey. I have mentioned how invisible the residents at Prestwood were, miles away from family and other contacts, not knowing their way around north Wales. Well the residents at Bodorgan were even more invisible. I have described in previous blog posts how I tried to raise concerns about the abuse at Prestwood, only to be ignored and then threatened. I wrote two letters to the inspection body based at Conwy but got nowhere. I continued to hear dire stories coming out of Prestwood – including an allegation that a resident had raped a support worker but Prestwood had intimidated everyone into silence – and when I heard about the establishment of the home at Bodorgan I decided I’d have another go at alerting the authorities. It was even more bizarre this time – I was told by everyone that I approached that Prestwood did not have a home at Bodorgan. So I asked if Prestwood were now operating homes that weren’t even registered. I was told must firmly that this was not happening, I was mistaken, Prestwood did not have a home at Bodorgan. Well they did, because I knew someone who worked there. And if you went on the Prestwood website, there was a photo of the home at Bodorgan. But that home was not appearing on any official radar. Que???

So it would appear that it is possible for ‘care homes’ housing massively vulnerable people, some of whom have committed very serious crimes, who are being abused themselves, to be situated in little Welsh villages without any official record at all. There was one support worker at Prestwood who was much brighter than the others, who eventually left north Wales for a career in England. This man found out even more than I did about what was going on behind the scenes and he had a better knowledge of healthcare law so he pinpointed even more law-breaking than I did. Of course, he left his job there very quickly. Before he left he made a very interesting prediction. He told me that it was only a matter of time before someone was murdered at Prestwood – and it was so bad there that I didn’t think that was an entirely overblown prediction. So when some years later Mabel Leyshon was discovered in Llanfairpwll having been murdered, disembowelled with her entrails allegedly strewn around her living room and whoever had done this had allegedly arranged artefacts around her body in a ritualistic manner, I was interested to hear Brown observe cynically ‘well that could have been a Prestwood client’. A 17 year old boy – who continues to protest his innocence – was eventually convicted of Mabel Leyshon’s murder, but my blog post ‘Family Annihilation’ details many of the very disconcerting factors in this case. Everyone in Llanfairpwll knew this boy, they knew his family and they knew where they lived. But as I found out through my brushes with Lynnwood and Prestwood, there are some people with histories of serious criminal behaviour hidden away in rural north west Wales and their neighbours have no idea that they are there. But the various arms of the state do know that they are there even if they deny it when the likes of me try to report abuse. Someone with good connections to forensic psychiatrists in England is involved in transferring such people to north west Wales. That someone has also successfully persuaded the regulatory and inspection bodies not to look too closely at what is going on in the ‘care homes’ involved. Oh and that someone probably has links with a few compliant police officers as well – because those police officers were returning injured patients to Prestwood when they ran away without asking them why they’d run away or how they sustained their injuries. And the same someone has connections with local authorities, lawyers, GPs, the social services, indeed the whole infrastructure needed to do business. Who ever could that be?

As readers will have realised, I watched the scene in north west Wales closely for years where costly, vulnerable citizens being transported from England were concerned. But it seems to be going on in other parts of Wales too. Barmouth seems to have been a mecca for quite some while for the dispossessed from the midlands. South Meirionydd and Powys seem to have a plethora of ‘care homes’ – jobs are hard to come by in these areas, but of the vacancies that are advertised, there are scores and scores for ‘support workers’. It is the same in south Wales as well. Wales is filling up with the citizens that England does not want, because they are expensive and they need caring for. This is not a racist argument. Many of the correspondents on the Jac O the North political blog express concerns regarding the effect that this is having on the survival of Welsh language communities and others among his correspondents have an issue with what they perceive to be a Welsh Labour stronghold, the Third Sector, that is being sustained by tax-payers money, that provides services to these dispossessed people. My concerns are slightly different. Primarily that these people may be considered difficult undesirable citizens by many, but they are frequently being grossly abused in their ‘care homes’. Furthermore, the Third Sector organisations receiving dosh from the Welsh Gov’t to provide ‘services’ for these people know damn well that they are being abused but they are not uttering a word, they are totally complicit. The one bit of ‘socialising’ that Prestwood residents were permitted to do was to attend MIND drop in centres and participate in MIND activities. I know that those residents were telling the MIND volunteers what was happening to them because the MIND volunteers told me. And the same volunteers also proudly told me that they had flagged up the revelations of abuse to senior people at MIND and to managers in the NHS. To be fair, the MIND volunteers on the ground probably had no idea that their managers and people in senior positions in the NHS had a very comfy arrangement with Prestwood – and that is why no-one at all put a stop to the abuse. As for the people who own the ‘care homes’ – well Christmas didn’t make as much money as he was led to believe that he would, but that was probably because he had to sack the supply of inappropriate cheap labour when she robbed him. Other ‘care homes’ in the region are doing very well indeed if they’ve played their cards right – by employing cheap casualised labour on zero hours contracts, often marginalised people themselves who can be intimidated into not blowing the whistle or discredited if they do. And the ‘managers’ are then recruited from this pool – the managers are simply people who have been identified as being able to be relied upon to keep a lid on the whole rotten business in return for a very small pay rise. The only time that you’ll usually find anyone with a professional qualification among them is if they are someone who has been sacked from a previous job. This constitutes a con of major proportions, involving the transfer of a huge amount of tax-payers money into the pockets of completely unscrupulous people in the private and Third sectors. It also enables the Westminster Gov’t to make snotty derogatory comments about Wales being a nation with services that can’t cope, with a high proportion of people on benefit and a high level of disabled people (probably all our own fault for not leading healthy middle class lives). Of course we are having problems – England has given us the people that they do not want to look after…

Although the transport of distressed or problematic people into Wales from England has become very evident in recent years, there has been a trickle for a long while, so there must have been a few connections established between the people involved many years ago. My post ‘A Trade In People – Between London and North Wales’ describes how a family of vulnerable psychiatric patients from London were fleeced of their inheritance and tricked into buying an almost uninhabitable house in north west Wales after they asked a few too many questions about their mother’s death in Warlingham Park Hospital in the 80s. There seemed to have been a co-ordinated effort between  number of solicitors and doctors in north Wales and London to achieve this. Yet before I got to know this family, something concerning happened to me involving a house purchase. About twenty years ago I renovated a house in a village near Bethesda and put it up for sale. I thought my luck was in when I received an offer very quickly, for the price that I had initially requested – from a cash buyer. I was doubly surprised because when the person who had made the offer had come to visit the house, he had only had a very brief look around indeed and asked no questions. He came with his brother and just said that he wanted the house immediately. Furthermore he was from the English midlands and had no contacts in the area, but I didn’t think this particularly suspicious – the village concerned was a former quarrying village that was popular with hippyish people who wanted to buy a little house at a low price. The transaction took place very quickly and the man who purchased it moved in and I moved to another house in the same village. I remained very friendly with my former next door neighbour and she and her husband had offered the hand of friendship to the man who purchased my house. It became clear that this man had problems – at first it just seemed that he was chronically shy and was unable to look after himself. He was literally living on boiled onions, never had any heating in the house and never repaired anything. The house started to deteriorate, even though I’d spent quite a lot of money renovating it. The man who purchased it didn’t do any cleaning either – the widows soon were blackening with grime and mould started growing and was not removed. This man then expressed fears to another couple in the village that alien craft were landing at night nearby. It transpired that he had actually heard some noises from the bakery in the village that used to operate at night. The neighbours just concluded that he was a man with serious mental health problems who couldn’t cope – and of course there were a many such people in north Wales thanks to the dreadful mental health services. Then another woman in the village who lived alone started complaining about this man following her and staring in through her windows. This woman was another mental health patient who had been abandoned (there were an awful lot of them) who was known to be very anxious about ‘men’, so no-one actually paid much heed to what she was saying. She later left the village. Then my former neighbour’s husband died. Within days the man to whom I’d sold the house started basically sexually harassing her. He then began directly propositioning her and trying to force his way into her house. He became a very, very serious problem. She felt unable to go into her garden and started locking herself in. She traced this man’s brother back in the midlands, because as far as she knew he was still the only contact that the problematic man had. She told the brother what had been going on – and received quite a shock, as did I when I heard what my neighbour was told. The brother was very apologetic and was most concerned to hear that his brother ‘was doing it all again’. It transpired that not only did the man who purchased my house have a long history of serious mental health problems that were known to the ‘services’ in the midlands but he was also a sex offender. And it would appear that a recommendation had been made that he should move to north Wales where nobody knew him to start anew! And he could buy my house to do so!

Until a few weeks ago I had just presumed that this was simply a dreadful coincidence, although how he ever found out about my particular house for sale I did not know. But I’m now wondering whether those we know and love might have been busy. I know from my medical records and documents recently released that the north Wales mental health services had contacts within the mental health services in London – and Birmingham. As previously explained on the blog, these documents also reveal that the north Wales mental health services were stalking me when I moved to Surrey and then to London – they had a contact in the hospital where I worked in London who was accessing my mail and when I had moved house in Surrey, Alun Davies, the man who later became manager of the Hergest Unit, was writing letters to his colleagues expressing concern that he had not been able to find out my new address. By the time that I put that house near Bethesda up for sale, I was back in north Wales and had been an inpatient in Seiriol Ward at Ysbyty Gwynedd (the Hergest Unit hadn’t yet been built). I thought at that point that the mental health services had called a truce – but I now have documentation demonstrating that they hadn’t at all, they were writing to third parties explaining that they were adopting the pretence of ‘caring’ for me so as to appear in a good light before the Courts, in order to secure a conviction against me… They knew where I lived, that I was renovating houses and selling them. They knew the lot, because I was openly discussing my circumstances with them. And they knew when that house was put on the market.

The reason that I think that it might be worthwhile speculating that their well-oiled machine sent a sex offender in my direction was that the mental health services definitely had something to do with a few other occurrences regarding houses that I owned. My post ‘Disability Support’ details my experiences with two lodgers from hell, who it transpired were not only friends with each other but were also networked with some local criminals, some dodgy police officers and the social/mental health services. A few years after this, the Arfon Community Mental Health team refused a ‘service’ to someone because he was a tenant in my house. But the alarm bells really rang when I moved to Anglesey and rented out a house near Bethesda to a man called Robert Loose. After a few weeks the rent stopped arriving so I went over to see him, to find that the house had been completely trashed. It was in such a bad state that I had to install a new bathroom and re-carpet it. He received a final warning, but he was very apologetic, claimed that a party had got out of hand and promised that it wouldn’t happen again and that the rent would be forthcoming. Because I was living on Anglesey I was not in a position to witness what was happening on a day to day basis. However I had cause to return because of course the rent didn’t materialise as promised.  When I returned I found an unholy scene. The house trashed all over again – with a heap of bodies sprawled around barely conscious. I assumed that they had taken something strong but I wasn’t sure what – it was obvious that there was no point talking to any of them, including Robert Loose, in their state, so I decided that I’d approach Robert Loose when he was compus mentis and give him his marching orders. On the way back to my car I met a former neighbour who had a conversation with me that started off with him saying ‘bloody hell did you know what was going on in your house, there’s a load of junkies in there, they’re dreadful’. It turned out that the whole village knew but no-one had my number so they weren’t able to phone me. However, someone else knew what was going on as well but didn’t tell me either, although they could have traced me. That was the Bethesda Police. It transpired that not only did they know that Loose et al were using – and suspected of dealing in – heroin, but when I finally managed to evict Robert Loose, paperwork concerning charges against him – for theft – was delivered to the house that he had been renting off me. So the police knew exactly the sort of man that they – and I – were dealing with. However trashing my house twice over and owing a few hundred in rent wasn’t enough for Robert Loose. Before he moved in I’d had a new solid fuel stove installed in the house. When I returned to the house after Loose had finally gone, the stove had gone as well. The whole thing had been removed, along with the flue pipe – so presumably a few mates and a van had been roped in to assist with that. I decided that Loose had already cost me quite enough money so I went down to Bethesda Police Station to report the theft. There had been for years two policemen stationed at Bethesda who were actually very nice and I presumed that one of them would be on duty. But there was a man whom I had never seen before on duty. But he seemed to know me. I reported the theft of the stove and he refused to take the details down. I asked him why he wouldn’t and he simply said that he wasn’t interested. I pointed out that the stove had cost nearly £1000 and this was a fairly major theft by a man who was known to the police. The policeman then snarled ‘oh well I’m sure that you can claim off the insurance’. I told him that was hardly the point, but he still refused to document the theft. So I said OK, I would try and track down Robert Loose myself. And the policeman threatened me with arrest. I was threatened with arrest for ‘harassment’ if I approached a heroin user/dealer whom the police themselves had arrested for theft who had stolen something from me worth the best part of £1000. So something very odd was happening in the North Wales Police. Not among all of them, but among some of them. But that is what I have been told again and again about the alleged corruption that plagues the North Wales Police – it is not all of them, but some of them. And I know that the dodgy police are networked into the dodgy mental health services as well as the people who played a role in the north Wales paedophile ring and the local criminals – and between them they have a network stretching across the UK… Complain about the psychiatrists in north Wales – some of whom were closely associated with the people who concealed a paedophile ring – you’ll find sex offenders, criminals and heroin dealers within your vicinity… Ooh, one other piece of the jigsaw. At the time that a nest of junkies set up home in a house owned by me, I had just started teacher training – and the dreadful Keith Fearns, leader of the Arfon Community Mental Health Team, had told someone known to me that he’d make sure that ‘no decent person’ would have anything to do with me. Presumably by ensuring that I was associated with a bunch of addicts and allowing neighbours to believe that I was just ignoring what was going on. A few months after I discovered Loose and the heap of drugged to the eyeballs bodies in my house, I was told that one of those present was a young woman who had taken to drugs after the death of her baby and the subsequent development of mental health problems. Ah, so possibly a client of the Arfon Team and known to the charming Mr Fearns then…


A Trade In People – Between London and North Wales

This blog has described how documents now in my possession demonstrate that those we know and love in the north Wales mental health services were part of a network with connections across the UK, including in London and how this network was used to shaft people from north Wales who had fallen foul of the mental health services if they relocated elsewhere. My own experiences were of someone who was stalked after moving to London from north Wales. However many years ago I came across a family who had been trailed to north Wales when they moved from London. I knew these people well, they lived in the Bethesda area and they were all members of the same very vulnerable family. Their story was horrific – they realised that they had been mistreated, but they weren’t well-educated and I was never sure if they realised just how serious what had happened to them was. What they did know was that people like them never won against the medical establishment so they never even tried to achieve redress. I will refer to them using the initials A, B and C, because two of them are still alive.

The three people who moved to Bethesda from London were a young man, A, his sister B and her husband C. All three of them shared a small terraced house, lived in quite serious poverty and were said to have long term mental health problems. They were all well-dosed up with anti-psychotics. A had a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia, B of chronic anxiety disorder and C of personality disorder. They had quite a bit of trouble dealing with day to day life. The story of how they came to Bethesda was horrific. A and B had come from a family where both their mother and their aunt had been diagnosed with schizophrenia. Their father had been ferociously violent towards their mother and they were terrified of him. He died when they were in their early teens and their mum looked after them alone despite her serious mental health problems. Their mum was eventually sectioned and detained in Warlingham Park Hospital in Surrey, an institution that was eventually closed down in the wake of a scandal involving the serious abuse of patients – a number of staff were actually imprisoned. I remember A telling me about the way in which his mum was sectioned – she was forced to strip naked in front of the ‘assessing doctors’ as well as her own two children. A told me that he had never forgotten witnessing this. Whilst she was in Warlingham Park Hospital, A and B’s mum died after falling from a balcony. A and B had an older brother who seemed to have been like their father, fairly callous and ruthless. They were told by the hospital that their mum had been seen by a nurse to have climbed over the balcony and thrown herself off. A and B told me that they didn’t believe this version of events – they said that their mum had been very overweight, very unfit and would physically have been unable to climb over the balcony concerned. After the death of their mum, A and B and their brother were due to inherit the family house which was worth a substantial amount of money. But of course that took a while to sort out and in the immediate aftermath of their mum’s death, A and B were left with the problem of paying for their mum’s funeral. Their older brother had abdicated all responsibility, A was a boy of 17 and B was a girl of 15. They had attempted to ask questions regarding the death of their mother – and the hospital made them a most generous offer. The hospital offered to pay for their mum’s funeral if they agreed to go ahead with the funeral without further investigations being held. So two penniless bereaved teenagers agreed to this. There was no investigation into their mum’s death. But this wasn’t the last that A and B saw of Warlingham Park Hospital. A few months after his mum’s death, A, in his own words, ‘started crying and couldn’t stop’. He was sectioned and detained in Warlingham Park. Where he was one of the patients who was brutalised by the staff. A was given a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia – because he had threatened the staff. The staff who were assaulting him and other patients. But A wasn’t the only person in Warlingham Park – B was there as well. She’d been sectioned a few days after A. So two teenagers were now both sectioned in a hospital known to be highly abusive, in which their mother had died in suspicious circumstances a few months before. A and B were separated whilst they were in Warlingham Park and didn’t seem to have had much contact with each other at all. A was being constantly threatened with transfer to a high security hospital because he was so ‘paranoid’ and ‘dangerous’. The staff certainly knew how to elicit reactions from A. He explained to me that upon being admitted to Warlingham Park he had been interviewed and he explained in this interview that he had recently been very upset not just over the death of his mum, but because his learning disabled cousin had been subjected to a violent sexual assault by a gang of man. This has caused A to feel very homophobic and to fear gay men. A few days after his admission, A told me that he was called in for what he was told was going to be a physical check-up. The doctor conducting this ‘medical’ told A that he wanted to check his genitals – according to A, as the doctor was doing this, he said to A ‘by the way, I’m gay’. A hit him. So that was the beginning of A being constructed as a ‘dangerous patient’. That was not all. Sometime after this, A was told that the hospital authorities wanted to interview him. He presumed that it was some sort of psychiatric assessment. Upon arriving at the ‘interview’ A was greeted by senior psychiatrists from Warlingham Park and a police officer – who told him that B had made an allegation that he had raped her. B told me that this was all true, that the hospital had forced her to make that statement and that she had felt massively distressed and guilty about it ever since. A was not given access to a solicitor and all the ‘interviews’ about the alleged rape were conducted within the confines of Warlingham Park – at no time was A transferred to a police station. So PACE had been completely flouted. A held out under pressure and refused to sign the confession that was being demanded of him. A was told that arrangements were being put in place to transfer him to a high security hospital. As far as I could work out, the only thing that saved A’s neck was that the patient abuse scandal at Warlingham Park broke, a major investigation took place and the institution was closed down. A and B were both released – by this time, B had met C, who was another patient and had made plans to marry him. So A, B and C all moved back into the family home – which was now in the process of being sold in the wake of A and B’s mother’s death. A and B then discovered that whilst they had been sectioned, their older brother had been having a relationship with A’s girlfriend and he had set up home with her. He also wanted a good share of the money from the sale of their mother’s house and seemed to have laid the ground for all this whilst A and B were sectioned. When I heard all this it sounded very much as though A and B had been sectioned because too many questions were being asked about their mothers death – or that their older brother had something to do with the extraordinary sequence of events; he certainly seemed to have enjoyed a very good relationship with Warlingham Park, considering what that place had done to his immediate family.

My suspicions that something truly unpleasant had gone on were confirmed when I heard the next part of the story. After the sale of the house, an awful lot of money could not be accounted for – A and B did inherit some money, but not very much. Their older brother seemed to do very well out of the deal however. A, B and C – B and C had by now married – wanted to buy a house with the inheritance but could not afford one in London. Or indeed in most of the rest of the UK. But the solicitor who had handled the estate had told them that there was a place called Gwynedd in Wales where houses were so cheap that they would be able to afford one. This was in the mid 80s when quarryman’s cottages in Bethesda could be purchased very cheaply. A, B and C had never heard of Gwynedd and had never been outside of London, let alone to Wales. But the solicitor actually showed them a photo of a house in Bethesda that they liked the look of and seemed to be in good condition. Somebody else was very keen on the idea of them moving to Bethesda as well – their psychiatrist (who presumably had not gone to prison along with some of the nurses). A told me that this psychiatrist had told them that they would ‘all get better’ with the fresh air in Wales. A told me that he knew it was bullshit but they were homeless and they had no choice. So, relying on this solicitor, they began the purchase of the house in Bethesda. They were so broke that they couldn’t afford to come up and view the house, they just looked at all the photos and the solicitor did the rest. It turned out that their solicitor knew a solicitor in Bethesda! So they purchased the house – which took up almost all of their inheritance. They were given the address by the solicitor in London and made their way to Bethesda, with very few possessions. They were told to collect the key from the solicitors in Bethesda which they did. They then found the address that they had been given – and had quite a surprise. The house that they had purchased was not the one that they had been shown photos of. This was before the European structural funding had ben used to renovate all the houses in Bethesda and the surrounding area, and a lot of those houses were in very poor condition. The one that they had purchased was very ropey indeed. But they were in Bethesda now and the house had been purchased and they had no money left, so that was it. But something very odd happened to them after their first few days in Bethesda. C had been into a pub nearby and had been threatened and thrown out. He didn’t know why. Then days later, B had a very distressing and indeed a very odd experience. The local police arrived at the house and accused B, a young woman, of having a sexual interest in children. She was hauled off down to Bethesda Police Station and grilled. When they let her out again, A, B and C were so upset at the idea that the neighbours might think that they were unsavoury characters that they made a big diplomatic effort and introduced themselves to everyone and tried to be as friendly as possible. It worked and they made friends – they later discovered that the neighbours had been told that they were child molesters. They did not know how or why this slander had been started and they didn’t know where it had come from.

A, B and C were not child molesters but they most certainly had been abused and ripped off by a group of solicitors and doctors in London who had connections in north Wales and who all seemed to have been co-operating with each other. A, B and C had spent much of their lives in the welfare/mental health system and despite the dreadful things that had happened to them at the hands of the mental health services in London, one thing that they did when they arrived in Bethesda was to register with the doctors surgery there. After all, they were all ‘mentally ill’ and needed their ‘medication’ or who knows what might happen to them. And get their medication they did – they were all well-dosed up with anti-psychotics, even B and C who hadn’t been diagnosed with any psychotic illness. Interestingly enough, A, who had a diagnosis of schizophrenia, asked Bethesda surgery repeatedly for a referral to a psychiatrist because he had concerns about his medication. The GP concerned flatly refused to refer him – this went on for a good seven or eight years. Of course the one referral that this family were offered was to the dreadful Arfon Community Mental Health Team (please see previous posts for the catalogue of abuse and neglect that this lot inflicted upon vulnerable people). The Arfon Team got off to a flying start when they came to visit – they refused to sit down when invited because the chairs were ‘dirty’. They were indeed – because this family could not cope and no-one was helping them. After leaving this family feeling as though they were a bunch of scumbags not worthy of their precious time, the Arfon Team left again. There was a further incident in which the notorious Bob Ingham, a particularly aggressive CPN employed by the Arfon Team, threatened to hit C on a home visit. A, B and C decided not to ask for ‘help’ again. And so they lived for the next ten years or so. B and C did eventually start attending the day centre at the Hergest Unit – A refused to do so because he could not forget what had happened to him at Warlingham Park and the thought of setting foot inside a hospital terrified him. Sadly when the day centre at Hergest was closed down, C was one of the patients who died, basically of neglect. A is still alive and amazingly enough, when B hit mid-life, she did fantastically, with the help of the Hergest Unit whistleblower (please see previous posts) who befriended her and mentored her. She ended up completing a degree, came off all ‘medication’ – and was told that she’d never been ‘mentally ill’ at all, she had simply experienced serious distress after such a traumatic early life.

I haven’t seen A or B for years now – the last time that I was in touch with them, I still wasn’t sure if they realised just how serious the malpractice to which they had been subjected was. However, there were four people in Bethesda who certainly knew how serious the wrongdoing was – that was the GPs in Bethesda Surgery. They will not only have had access to the records of this family but they knew how badly they were let down by the Arfon Community Mental Health Team and they knew the dreadful conditions under which this family lived for so many years. There is a new Health Centre in Bethesda now and the GPs that this family put their trust in but who failed them so seriously are not working there – most of them are now living in comfortable retirement and one is working in England. But if ever I get the chance I’d like to ask Drs Mithan, Jones, Heinersdorff and Nickson how they managed to remain silent about this family’s history and experiences at the hands of the Arfon Community Mental Health Team in the face of their responsibilities as medical practitioners.