The Crucible

I have discussed in previous posts how people in Somerset who knew what was happening to me at the hands of the trafficking gang in north Wales were approached to smear Brown and I. I was told a few weeks ago that ‘evidence’ gathered as a result of these approaches was accumulated by Dafydd et al for the purposes of being used for a ‘forensic psychiatric assessment’ to demonstrate how mad and dangerous I was and to justify my transfer to a secure psychiatric hospital. People not au fait with the mental health system may believe that this cannot happen without the patient facing a trial in Court. Sadly this is untrue. Patients can be transferred to high security hospitals, for life, from low security units on the basis of ‘evidence’ of which the patient is unaware and that has not even been demonstrated to be factual. I have documentation that demonstrates that this is what Dafydd et al were planning for me and that they spent a great deal of time and effort preparing the ground.

I detailed in my post ‘Dirty Rotten Scoundrels’ how in the autumn of 1994 Dafydd made an allegation on the basis of absolutely no evidence at all that I had thrown a rock through the glass door of his house at approx 3 am in the morning. I did not even know that I had been accused of this by the time that Dafydd had told the police that I had done it. Neither was Dafydd in his house when he claimed that the rock had been thrown. The people who were alleged to have been in the house were ‘asleep’ and found the rock the next morning. This allegation then turned up again, accompanied by no evidence at all, in an affidavit which Dafydd swore in at the High Court in Liverpool and was the basis on which he obtained an injunction against me on 3 Nov 1994. See posts ‘Dirty Rotten Scoundrels’ and ‘The Banality Of Evil’.

Since I blogged about the allegation that I threw a rock through Dafydd’s door, I have been told that no rock was thrown by anyone, that the rock was planted and that Dafydd et al knowingly told a pack of lies to the police and to the High Court.

I was well used to Dafydd, Tony Francis and others making the most extraordinary claims about me for which there was not a shred of evidence. I had, according to them, tried to stab people, tried to throttle people and had violently assaulted a whole range of other people. In 1991 Dafydd told Professor Robin Jacobson of St George’s Hospital Medical School/Springfield Hospital that I had broken into his office and behaved in such a manner that Dafydd believed that he would be killed there and then. Goodness knows when this was supposed to have happened, I certainly have no recollection of any such incident, but Jacobson faithfully recorded this as fact and sent the details in a letter to Professor Nigel Eastman of St George’s Hospital Medical School. Yet in the same letter Jacobson made it clear that he knew that Dafydd was sexually exploiting patients and that Jacobson suspected that Tony Francis was as well. See post ‘Some Very Eminent Psychiatrists From London…’.

Some two years ago I found that it had been recorded upon my medical notes that I had ‘sexually assaulted a psychiatrist’. Gobsmacked, I approached the Betsi Cadwaladr University Health Board about this. They admitted that there was no evidence that this had happened and told me that it would be removed from my records. There was no investigation into who had made this claim or how it had ever found its way onto my records and I wouldn’t be surprised if this allegation is still on my records. It was documented upon my medical records some years ago that I ‘had held a nurse hostage’ and that I ‘had been in prison for attacking someone with a knife’. No-one could tell me when and where I’d held this Angel hostage or when I went to prison, where I served my sentence or which judge sentenced me and in which court and how long my sentence was. No-one would agree to rectify my records.

I was told some months ago by an NHS whistleblower that they had witnessed psychiatric nurses gossiping and speculating about patients over cups of tea and fags and on the basis of no evidence at all had drawn the most extraordinary conclusions among a flurry of comments such ‘ooh I bet that’s what happened’, ‘he could have, couldn’t he’ and that this Angelic gossip had then been documented as fact upon patients’ records.

This is pretty much standard practice and as long ago as the mid-1980s when I first began to take an interest in such matters, I was reading case histories in journals involving patients who had been banged up in Broadmoor and other such places for decades on the basis of no more than this sort of speculation and accompanying scare stories. The first such case history that I came across involved a woman who was detained in Broadmoor for years on the grounds that a ‘packet of weedkiller’ had been found in her cabinet and that there were ‘grave suspicions’ that this lady had ‘plans to poison a nurse’. No evidence at all was presented to indicate that any such idea had crossed the patient’s mind, but that was the basis on which she was banged up for decades. I seem to remember that Dafydd’s friend Professor Robert Bluglass was involved in this case. Who knows, that weedkiller may have been planted by the Angel who was in imminent danger of being poisoned, just as that brick that I threw through Dafydd Alun Jones’s door found its way into Jones’s house.

 

I wasn’t intending to blog about the silly tales that were gathered by the paedophiles’ friends from people who knew me in Somerset as a teenager, because it is laughable and ridiculous and to be honest I’m really fed up of hearing about these ludicrous stories that were sent around about me and Brown and I want to get on with blogging about the political Mr Bigs behind the abuses on the part of the welfare services and the associated cover-ups. However, it has been pointed out to me that most people don’t read ethics journals and very few people have any idea that someone can find themselves in a high security hospital labelled ‘dangerous’ simply on the basis of allegations which have not been proved in any court and of which they may well have not even been told were made. I have also been reminded that many of the witnesses to organised child abuse were discredited by such means and I have been asked to highlight what happened in my own case.

I’m not sure of the details of all the crazy allegations that were made about Brown and I, but I have been told that some of the ‘evidence’ gathered by the paedophiles’ friends related to a saga that involved me just before I sat my A levels at Bridgwater College in June 1981.

Bridgwater College was opened in 1979 as a flagship ‘tertiary college’, one of the first in the UK. There was a technical college in Bridgwater for years and then, after the schools in Bridgwater became comprehensives without sixth forms, ‘the tech’ began offering A levels and many of the former grammar school teachers, refusing to work in comprehensive schools, decamped to ‘the tech’ to teach the sixth formers. There was much hostility between the teachers who taught plumbing, mechanics etc and those who taught A levels. The snobbery was rampant, with some of the A level teachers pretending that they were Oxbridge dons who had to tolerate manual workers in their vicinity. This division was still very obvious when Bridgwater College officially became a tertiary college in 1979. I was among the first intake of students to Bridgwater Tertiary College and we all noticed that the two cohorts of lecturers generally hated each other.

By 1979, the Bridgwater schools were in a very sorry state, although I am told that they are now much improved. The best of them was Haygrove School, but that wasn’t up to much either. Many middle class parents in the Bridgwater area sent their kids to schools in Taunton or other locations in their desperation to avoid the Bridgwater schools. I went to Chilton Trinity School and although I knew a variety of kids there well, I can’t remember anyone who actually enjoyed their time at that school. Some kids had a truly horrific time – there was a major bullying problem at Chilton – and a few kids were removed from the school by their parents for the sake of their children’s well-being and mental health. Any representation about the bullying was met by a response from Chilton that it was the child that was the problem, not the school and a small number of teachers joined in with the victimisation of certain kids.

In addition there was dreadful strife at Chilton because the staff universally loathed the Headmaster, a man called W.C. Francis, known to some of us as ‘Willie Franco’, after the Spanish dictator who was still much in the news in those days. There were demands from a whole variety of locals for Franco to resign and representations were made to Somerset Education Authority by a great many people, but Franco refused to go. Franco was Welsh and was alleged to be running a rather odd sort of mafia, involving the promotion of his fellow Welshmen working at the school. I did notice this. There were some staggeringly mediocre teachers who would suddenly be given promotion and yes, most of them were Welsh. However I suspect that what really endeared them to Franco was that they were incompetent. It was noticeable that the best teachers got nowhere and were openly treated with disrespect by some of their colleagues.

The bad feeling towards Franco was so great that most of the teachers at Chilton resigned from one of the unions – I think the NUT – because they refused to belong to the same union as Franco. He certainly was pretty awful. Chilton had a lot of kids from difficult backgrounds and a good many who were undoubtedly being abused in various ways. Although Franco professed to be a socialist – I think that he might have been a Labour Councillor as well, although he lived in the Highbridge area, not Bridgwater – he identified the kids with no home support and belittled and bullied them in public.

Willie Franco did not like me and neither did his acolytes. I never had enough money for new clothes and one day he carried out a vindictive attack on me in public, telling me that I looked appalling and I had to be one of the scruffiest people in the school. I responded that he was in no position to level such allegations at someone else, he was no snappy dresser himself. (One observation made by parents constantly was that Franco looked dreadful. He was enormously overweight, wore cheap and not in the least bit clean clothes which did not fit him and insisted on wearing an academic gown which had a massive rip in it.) Franco hit the roof and I was suspended from school and told that I could not return until I had written him an apology. I wrote the apology but ensured that I included a few lines about the hypocrisy of a man who believed that he was a socialist, ran a predominantly working class school but was suspending pupils who could not afford the uniform. I also mentioned that bullying, stealing and vandalism were rife at the school yet went unacknowledged.

Franco really went ballistic then. I was told by another teacher that I ‘had told the truth and truth hurts’ and that I should have known that. Er, in the same way that a middle aged man on a good income should have known that school girls do not control the household income and if they are not given the funds for new clothes, they won’t have new clothes.

I was then ordered to be taken to Franco’s office, in the company of a teacher to apologise IN PERSON. Franco refused to speak to me and walked out of the building when he saw me arriving. No-one could deny at that point that the chaos was the result of Franco rather than me, so I was then told that I could return to lessons.

Days later, Franco surpassed himself with regard to another pupil, one of my friends. He grabbed hold of her – she had been cheeky to him, because guess what, he had insulted her – and pushed her out of the door saying ‘you come from a disgusting family and I don’t want you in my school’. She was too frightened to go home to her parents and tell them what had happened and instead ended up in a house of sexually exploitative older men after running away and then tried to kill herself. It should have been enough for Franco to have been sacked but no, it was like a vicar or a Top Doctor caught red-handed, Franco was going nowhere.

I and my other pal had witnessed what Franco had done to our friend and we knew that the shit really had hit the fan behind the scenes after she tried to kill herself. By then, it was the summer of 1979, we had finished O levels and were waiting to begin our A levels at Bridgwater College.

When we arrived at Bridgwater College, we found that some of the lecturers were very prejudiced towards kids whom they perceived to be ‘Somerset’ (ie. working class) and that there were not many pupils from Chilton doing A levels. Most of the A level students were from Haygrove, the exam results from Chilton, Sydenham and Blake schools being so bad that their pupils were usually refused places to do A levels. I of course had also arrived at Bridgwater College with what Brown described ironically as ‘a silver tongued reference from W.C. Francis’.

Some of the teachers at Bridgwater College did fight the sack of prejudices that W.C. Francis had sent along with students like me, but others didn’t. The biggest nightmare was the A level biology teacher, Pam Sellars, who just hated us and made it clear that she didn’t want students from Chilton or indeed students with Somerset accents in her class. Sellars was such a notorious problem that some of the other lecturers actually did stand up for us as she repeatedly attacked me and certain other students. The Head of the Science Dept was a man called C.A. Street, who was left to deal with the problems caused by Sellars who, like Franco, was fully protected by Somerset Education Authority. She was as obnoxious to C.A. as she was to us, so I cannot imagine that he had an easy job. My perception was always that C.A. was very good to me. He was well aware that I was being singled out by Sellars and he did defend me.

I have been told that Dafydd et al got hold of information either from C.A. or involving C.A. and were planning to use it as ‘evidence’ to demonstrate my insanity and dangerousness. I don’t want to accuse C.A., because I don’t know if the ‘evidence’ actually came from him, or from someone else. The information that Dafydd et al seemed to have been given involved a massive row that I got into with the authorities at Bridgwater College just before I sat my A levels.

Just weeks before A levels, I was in the library at Bridgwater College with my friends and other students who were chatting and making a racket. For once, I wasn’t. I was actually revising. Unfortunately, a librarian called Molly was on duty, who was a good mate of Pam Sellars’s. Molly marched in and ordered me to leave, on the grounds that I was causing a rumpus and ‘she’d heard much about me’. I was outraged and refused to leave. The other students told Molly that I had not even been talking. Molly strutted off. Within 30 minutes, the Deputy Principal arrived in the library. He was a new appointment to the ‘flagship college’, a man called Graham Bishop. He simply walked up to me and told me to get out of the library. I asked him why and he repeated his order to get out without any explanation. I refused. He went purple, turned around and left. Within twenty minutes, a smug looking Molly arrived clutching a note, which she gave to me. It told me to go to the Principal’s office that afternoon at 4 pm.

The Principal of Bridgwater College was a man called J.C. Miles. The citizens of Bridgwater saw him as being a cut above most of them, because he wrote poetry. I don’t know much about J.C. Miles, other than that he was a philosophy graduate and must have had at least some standing in the world of FE.

When the message arrived for me to go to see JC Miles, the student who had actually been making the noise that Molly complained about went to Graham Bishop’s office and confessed. She told him exactly what she had been doing and confirmed that I had been revising and had not been involved. Bishop told her that he could see that ‘she was a sensible girl’, but ‘Sally has a background that you might not know about’. My friend did know about the ‘background’ – the background was Chilton school, W.C. Francis, my friend trying to commit suicide and prior to that my father getting so fed up with the shite academic standards at Chilton and their endless bellyaching over idiocies such as me not wearing the uniform that he had a row with them and told them that if this didn’t stop I would not be attending school, I’d study at home. Chilton told him that they would prosecute him, so he reminded them of a few laws that they were breaking. My parents were not prosecuted and I studied for my O levels at home for the final few weeks of ‘school’.

Bishop did not tell JC Miles that ‘the sensible girl’ had been to see him and had fessed up. So I arrived at JC Miles’s office later that afternoon and received a bollocking for ‘riding roughshod over Mr Bishop’, ‘abusing the library facilities’ and was told that I was now suspended from College. I started crying, because by then I was totally fed up with the constant aggro and baseless accusations from Pam Sellars and her mates and I yelled ‘but I haven’t done anything, it was Clare and she has told Mr Bishop that it was her’. JC Miles looked mortified and said ‘I wasn’t told that’. So I told him to speak to Clare and Bishop for confirmation. By now, I had missed the last bus back to my house, so JC Miles ended up giving me a lift home. He changed his approach completely, he was friendly, chatty, talked about university and poetry and we discussed Descartes. When he dropped me off, he told me to go and see him again the following week, because he would ‘take a personal interest’ in my progress.

When I next went into College, it was all over that I had been spotted by the caretaker – a friend of Pam Sellars’s – being escorted off the premises and herded into JC Miles’s car. So it was even a bigger shock when everyone found out that I hadn’t been put in prison, I had been given a lift home and had enjoyed a conversation about philosophy.

Graham Bishop never came near me again, although I did not receive an apology. I sat my A levels a few weeks later and ended up doing quite well in them. Indeed the biggest laugh of all was that I was one of the highest performers, my name appeared in the ‘Bridgwater Mercury’ and when JC Miles went to give a speech at Chilton school in September, he mentioned their former star pupil, me. I was, I understand, described by JC Miles as ‘a very nice girl’.

Now then Dafydd, WHERE did this account of my insanity at Bridgwater College come from? I had no more contact with the Bridgwater College lecturers after I was declared – ON STAGE IN FRONT OF AN AUDIENCE! – to be a ‘very nice girl’.

JC Miles is now dead, so we can’t ask him. Graham Bishop, while I was still at university I think, became the Principal of some sort of educational establishment outside of Somerset, but I can’t remember where. C.A. will have retired years ago and the last that I heard, he had moved away from Somerset.

 

Here’s a bit more context regarding why I have been asked to publicise this utter silliness.

There was at least one teacher at Chilton who was known to be abusing children. His misconduct was ignored. His wife had formerly been married to a leading light in the Tory Party in Somerset and when she was younger her difficulties were such that she had a child who was removed from her care. Her husband, would you believe, made a bet with another teacher when I was still at that school, that I would ‘end up as a prostitute, in prison or in a mental hospital’.

Can readers guess who those worms were in contact with? They knew where I had gone to university, because one of them, unbelievably, had posed as a friend to me, my father and my uncle and had kept in contact with us after I moved to north Wales. He split up from his wife after I left Somerset and remarried a truly vile PE teacher from Chilton. I was told that they were caught having sex together in the gym on one occasion. I received an e mail from this man’s daughter the other day, demanding to know why I had described her father as a ‘nasty wolf in sheep’s clothing’ on this blog. She has been given the full details behind my rationale, which I will not be publishing on this blog.

Now. Anyone want to make any more statements about me being dangerous? Or are you all going to shut up at last?

 

I have been told that there was an abuse ring operating in Somerset when I lived there. It wasn’t anything like as bad as the ring in north Wales, but I am told that there definitely was one, that it was linked with the gang in north Wales and rings in other parts of the country and the whole bloody lot of them got together when I refused to shut up about Gwynne the lobotomist and Dafydd because they feared that Brown and I would blow the whole thing open.

I mentioned on a previous post that when I was twelve, I used to visit a farm worker who lived down the lane and help him with his goats. I have been told that he was a paedophile. He never touched me or attempted to, but he did say some things that he probably should not have said to a 12 yr old. As an adult I take the view that he was probably a rather sad man and I’m not going to exaggerate any of his actions. He was however dealing in drugs and I’ve been told that some of those who visited his house were undercover officers and that I was filmed in his house. Because policing priorities were drugs, this man’s interest in me was ignored. He left Somerset when I was 14 and went to live in Wales. I have no idea where. I have been told that he had a connection to the paedophile rings in Wales and when I fell into the hands of Dafydd et al, my link to this man was known and noted.

I couldn’t imagine why this man, Stuart, would have been one of Dafydd’s gang. Stuart was a farm worker, there’d be no rich pickings for Dafydd with Stuart. However Brown has told me that gangs employ ‘spotters’ and Stuart might have been one of them. Furthermore, although Stuart never tried to molest me, the drug squad in Somerset was utterly corrupt and Brown suggested that Stuart may have been working for corrupt officers, or began working for them to save his own skin and that might be why he gave my name to the gang in Wales.

One thing that has occurred to me now that I’ve been told that info relating my time at Bridgwater College was gathered by Dafydd et al, was the horror of JC Miles and other Bridgwater big wigs at events in 1981 at the ‘Bridgwater College discos’ in the Town Hall. The discos did originate with Bridgwater College, but they also proved popular among other people, including a group of exploitative young men who began attending the discos to pick up younger girls. These young men used to hang out in a pub called the Mansion House in Bridgwater. They were in their mid-20s to early-30s and had been kicked out of polys and universities so returned to Bridgwater to impress the teenagers with their knowledge of the world. They weren’t what I would consider to be sex offenders, they were just a bit daft and pretentious, but on their heels came some really dodgy characters. Things began getting more and more out of hand at the discos, until at one, there was literally a gang bang in the bogs, held by a 15 yr old girl who was what would now be described as a victim of grooming. The gang bang turned into a violent punch-up when it was discovered that one of the men in the queue was the teenager’s ‘boyfriend’. The ensuing scene was quite something for Bridgwater, the police arrived and could hardly believe what had been going on and local people were horrified at what ‘Bridgwater College students’ had been doing. There were hardly any Bridgwater College students at the disco in question, the students had stopped attending because the events had been hijacked by roughnecks.

Poor old JC Miles couldn’t cope at all with the thought that the name of Bridgwater College had been associated with such an event and the discos were stopped. So then ‘Town Hall discos’ were held, which really were something…

 

Knowing Dafydd, I expect that he drafted a statement in which it was stated that I had organised the gang bang. Well I’m sorry to disappoint you Dafydd, but I wasn’t even there. One of my friends was, which was how I heard about it. I have been to about eight discos in my entire life. One was at Fiddington Village Hall, one was at Holford Youth Club, one was at Cannington Village Hall, one was the birthday party of a friend at Bridgwater College and the others were parties at Bangor University. So it is plain just what a life of disco-heavy excess that I have led.

 

The ‘sensible girl’ with whom I was friends at Bridgwater College went to study medicine at the Welsh National School of Medicine in Cardiff and is now a consultant surgeon. I lost touch with her after Dafydd et al came after me. There are suspicions that they nobbled her, but I have not been given evidence. She did know about, even as a medical student, serious wrongdoing at the University Hospital, Cardiff, as did the man who later became her brother-in-law, who was also a medical student at the Welsh National School of Medicine. Brown’s best friend from Haygrove/Bridgwater College became a Top Doctor as well, he went to Westminster Hospital Medical School and now works as a Top Doctor in Somerset. I really do hope that those two friends of ours did not become corrupted, they definitely were not when they entered medical school.

Another student from Bridgwater College who knew me but only vaguely – he was in the year below me – went to do medicine at Southampton and is now a consultant obstetrician/gynaecologist, Bruce Ramsay. He was friends with one of the Top Doctors who was working at St George’s when I worked there, that particular Top Doctor becoming notorious after he told one of my colleagues that ‘I don’t have sex with medical students because it isn’t a woman’s place to be a doctor, I just have sex with nurses’.

‘Ah, your life in their hands, the doctors and nurses they were wonderful.’

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I have been told that there are concerns that Bruce Ramsay may have been involved in smearing me, but I have been given no firm evidence that he did. Bruce Ramsay will certainly remember Pam Sellars, him pointing out her numerous mistakes in front of the rest of the class provided endless entertainment for her victims.

I have mentioned previously on this blog that a number of girls whom I knew at school and Bridgwater College went into nursing. I have been told that some of them knew what happened to me in north Wales and that possibly, one of them, Ruth Moore, used the information for her own benefit. Ruth’s family lived in the same village as Brown’s parents and knew Brown’s mum well. I wrote to Ruth for a few years after we left Somerset. The last letter that I wrote to Ruth was written just after I’d been forced out of my job at St George’s, when Dafydd et al were in full cry. Ruth had just got married and was living near Nottingham. Where of course I had encountered massive research fraud and wrongdoing just three years previously (see post ‘Oh Lordy, It’s CR UK’). Ruth was working as a nurse tutor by then, which was a bit weird because when we wrote to each other before I went to work for the Cancer Research Campaign Laboratories at  Nottingham University, Ruth told me that she’d had enough of nursing, that there was much wrong with the profession and that she was going to go into primary teaching. Ruth trained at one of the London hospitals which was crawling with corruption – I think it was either Hammersmith or Great Ormond Street Hospital.

Ruth is now ‘Network Manager/Lead Nurse at Staffordshire, Shropshire & Black Country Neonatal Operational Delivery Network’. That’s the Staffordshire/Shropshire/Black Country which hosted an paedophile gang with links to Dafydd and of course the Staffordshire which has the lethal, dangerous NHS. Ruth’s Linked In indicates that she’s come a long way since she received my last letter in 1991:

University of Derby, BSc Advanced Nursing Practice, 1999-01; Acting Senior Educator, Nottingham Neonatal Service, 2000-02; Mid-Trent Neonatal Network Practice Development Co-Ordinator, 2002-04.

In 2012, Ruth-less did a Masters course at Birmingham City University in the Social Care Assessment of Vulnerable Wimmin!

Would you like Brown and me to send you some of our publications on the ways in which the NHS and social care services assist and collude with the abuse of vulnerable wimmin Ruth-less?

 

Other observations re my days at Bridgwater College. At one point, one of the lecturers asked one of my friends if she’d like a babysitting job, because he had friends who wanted a babysitter. She said yes and began babysitting. After a few weeks she told me that she was really worried, because the man whom she was baby sitting for – who was married – had starting making moves towards her and had made it very clear that he expected sex as well as babysitting from her. She had decided that she was going to leave the job, but didn’t know whether she ought to tell the lecturer who had sought her out to babysit. She wasn’t under 16, but she did feel massively pressurised and she had no idea whether the Bridgwater College lecturer knew that his friend did this sort of thing. I don’t think that she did ever tell the lecturer what his friend expected in addition to the babysitting.

There was one married lecturer at Bridgwater College who had a relationship with a student, not a mature student either. JC Miles was horrified and told him to end it. The lecturer concerned didn’t like JC Miles, continued the relationship and from then on was as rude as possible in public to JC Miles. Bridgwater was a small place and the wife of the lecturer concerned was known to many staff and students and was incredibly upset about her husband’s conduct.

 

Not long after I left Bridgwater College, a new member of staff arrived who later became a big name in education. I never met her, but I heard a lot about her because Brown’s mum at one point was working as a lecturer for the summer schools at Bridgwater College and knew this person quite well. The person in question was a domestic science teacher called Maxine Room. Brown’s mum maintained that Maxine was a real problem. She was a work-place bully, she toadied to powerful people – by this time, Bridgwater College had expanded greatly, so it would be worth Maxine’s while ingratiating herself to people at the top of the organisation – and Maxine was not above lying to the senior managers for her own gain. There were also suspicions that Maxine was either having a relationship with one of her bosses or allowing him to think that she would be available for one. The thing that really pissed Brown’s mum off was that Maxine was such a princess that the whole summer school timetable had to be planned for Maxine’s convenience, Maxine refusing to work weekends or evenings. So Brown’s mum had to do those slots. Maxine also enjoyed making comments about a lady of Mrs Brown’s learning driving such an old wreck of a car.

I forgot all about Maxine Room until about ten years ago when a friend who was working at an incredibly troubled FE college in Keighley told me that the college had now been merged and was part of a super-college and the new Principal used to work at Bridgwater College. It was Maxine. I rolled around laughing and said ‘that’s the cookery teacher who was so awful to Brown’s mum’. Imagine my surprise when my friend said that Maxine was well-connected with New Labour in Westminster and was expected to end up as Lady Maxine. I got out the smelling salts at that point. The new super-college was highly dysfunctional and was mired in scandal within months but it didn’t stop Maxine. Maxine bagged another job, as the Principal of an even bigger super-college in Lewisham. It was after that when the wheels came off Maxine’s bandwagon. Maxine hit the headlines of the educational press as the first super-head of an FE college to lose her job after a truly terrible inspection report.

I googled Maxine a while ago. She was calling herself Dr Maxine Room – she shouldn’t have been, because she only had an honorary doctorate – and had of course set up her own ‘consultancy’. Upon receiving her honorary doctorate from Bristol University, Maxine gave an inspiring speech about being an inspirational Black Woman Leader who’s old mum and gran told her that education was the route to success so Little Black Maxine became a cookery teacher. Maxine’s narrative was a sort of less traumatised version of that of Constance Briscoe aka Miss Pissabed, an Inspirational Black Woman friend of Michael Mansfield’s, who was the First Inspirational Black Woman Judge in the UK who specialised in child protection and mental health and who subsequently went to prison for perverting the course of justice.

Maxine now features on the website of the Helena Kennedy Foundation, which tells us that:

Maxine is an experienced Chief Executive and strategic leader who was appointed Principal and Chief Executive of Lewisham College in September 2009. Lewisham College was awarded Learning and Skills Beacon status in 2004 and gained a Beacon Award for the strength of its links with employers in 2007.

Previously Maxine held the post of Principal and Chief Executive of Park Lane College, Leeds. Followings its merger with Keighley College in 2007, this college grew to over 38000 students.  Maxine was instrumental in instigating the merger of three colleges in Leeds to form the Leeds City College and became the Principal of Park Lane Campus, Leeds City College before moving to Lewisham. Prior to taking up the post in Leeds, Maxine was Principal of Swansea College.

Maxine has always worked in further education and is passionate about education, training and skills and equality and diversity.  She has a vast experience of the business of further education including curriculum and quality, employer engagement, community development, merger and capital build.   Maxine’s career started in teaching at Bridgwater College, Somerset and progressed to management roles there and at Filton College, Bristol before taking up the post at Swansea. As a Principal of a large inner-city college serving a diverse and multi-cultural population, Maxine represents the institution on a number of groups and Boards including the 157 Group, London Capital Colleges and is a Board member for the Northern Ballet Theatre.  Maxine is a mentor for the Black Leadership Initiative.

So it’s the usual story of Inspirational Leadership then:

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I keep forgetting one major factor whenever people tell me that what happened during my days in Somerset did matter when Dafydd et al came after me. It is that Gary Glitter lived in Somerset for a long time, he lived at Wedmore. Gary Glitter was known to be abusing children for years before the law caught up with him and it wasn’t that Gary Glitter was having sex with girls two days before their 16th birthdays either. Gary Glitter committed serious offences against girls as young as eight. I used to hear stories from Somerset about Gary Glitter having traumas and attempting suicide. I am wondering if, as in the case of George Thomas aka Lord Tonypandy, Gary Glitter’s distress was linked to enquiries about his activities with children and his fears that he was about to be caught.

Dafydd’s mate and protector Professor Robert Owen (see post ‘In Memoriam – Professor Robert Owen’) had a daughter who lived/lives in Somerset, not that far from Wedmore and Ian Dunbar, the tame Prison Service Regional Director who was used to conceal the fact that Risley Remand Centre was full of kids from the north Wales children’s homes and Dafydd’s patients when the Risley riot broke out in 1989, also lived on the Somerset levels, not a million miles away from Wedmore (see post ‘Include Me Out’).

 

 

I need to mention Bath as well. Bath was always much grander than the rest of Somerset and was inhabited by celebs, city gents and the seriously rich, long before the rest of Somerset became gentrified. Bath saw action in 1983, because it was the location of the family home of Sara Keays, Cecil Parkinson’s secretary and mistress. Parkinson resigned as Trade Secretary in Oct 1983, after it became public that Sara was expecting his baby.

Sara had been in a twelve year relationship with Parkinson and was a fully paid up Tory herself when she was unceremoniously dumped by Parkinson after she refused to have an abortion, as requested by Parkinson who had previously voted to restrict abortion rights. Sara had hoped to become a Tory MP and I think that her father, Colonel Hastings Keays, was an active Tory as well.

It was later revealed that Parkinson was going to leave his wife for Sara, but it was Thatch who persuaded him not to. Thatch banged on about Cecil’s ‘poor wife’ – well there was also a ‘poor mistress’, someone was going to get hurt unless Cecil took up polygamy which would have been rather more honourable than what he did end up doing – but it was widely suspected that Thatch was desperate not to lose old Cecil from her inner circle and wanted him back in the Cabinet again asap.

Cecil was indeed rehabilitated. On 13 June 1987 he was appointed Energy Secretary, a post he retained until 24 July 1989. One of Cecil’s Ministers at Energy was Sir Peter Morrison, who was at the time abusing kids in care in north Wales and in other locations (see post ‘These Sharks Are Crap As Well’). Cecil was then Secretary of State for Transport, 24 July 1989-28 Nov 1990. When William Hague became leader of the Tory Party in June 1997 – just over a year after Hague orchestrated the cover-up which was the Waterhouse Inquiry – he appointed Parkinson as Chairman of the Conservative Party, a post Parkinson held until June 1998. So Parkinson was Party Chairman while Ronnie Waterhouse took evidence from witnesses to the North Wales Child Abuse Scandal and called them liars and while Dafydd and the gang busted a gut to frame me for an offence and then have me transferred to Jimmy Savile’s place of employment! Cecil Parkinson had previously been Party Chairman, 14 Sept 1981-11 June 1983.

Cecil Parkinson was an active Freemason.

  • Strange but true

 

Thatch and Sara Keays believed that Parkinson was an ‘attractive, charming man’.

Cecil Parkinson

  • Strange but true

 

Parkinson might have been in need of a bit more Brylcreem, he hadn’t quite equalled Gwynne the lobotomist or Ronnie Waterhouse.

 

The Keays family went into a state of shock at their treatment at the hands of Parkinson and the wider Tory Party – they were subjected to an intense smear campaign by the Party and by the Tory-supporting press. Sara’s baby Flora was born quite severely disabled. Parkinson refused to ever see Flora and never communicated with her or sent her birthday cards etc.

At the time of the revelation of Parkinson’s relationship with Sara Keays in 1983, Parkinson made much of what he described as ‘the volume of letters in support’ that he received. As numerous members of the Conservative Party attacked Keays, Edwina Currie said ‘I feel very very sorry for Cecil and his family. Most of my thoughts on Sara Keays are unprintable. Perhaps the most polite thing to say is she’s a right cow’.

Well Edwina, I wouldn’t have gone public like Sara did, domestic scraps like that are best conducted in private, but as someone who spent a considerable time shagging John Major while you were both married to other people yet preaching monogamy to the rest of the world – ‘Back To Basics’ anyone? – and more importantly as someone who knew that Peter Morrison was molesting children and that because of this, the lives of a group of young people who were witness to Dafydd et al were destroyed to save a few reputations that were most definitely not worth saving, I’m not sure that you were in a position to denounce anyone as a cow.

Edwina was also at the scene of the crime when her colleague in the Dept of Health, Trumpers, appointed Jimmy Savile to a management position in Broadmoor, a position for which Edwina knew that Savile was unsuitable (see post ‘Socio-Political Context Of The North Wales Mental Health Services In The 1980s’). However Edwina is on record as saying that although Savile was a nasty piece of work, he did promise Thatcher’s Gov’t that he’d threaten and blackmail the Angels staffing Broadmoor into ceasing their massive fiddles and embezzling.

Why might those Angels at Broadmoor have been so uncontrollable? Er, how about the knowledge that they would have had that many of their ‘dangerous’ patients were nothing of the sort but were people who had been molested by social workers, Top Docs, celebrities and even politicians?

 

In 2002, Channel 4 made a documentary about Sara and Flora, in which Flora spoke about the father who refused to have anything to do with her. If I was Sara I wouldn’t have wasted my breath telling Flora about the old hypocrite, whatever use would a father like him have been. I’m not sure that Cecil was much more use to the children whom he fathered with his wife whom he did acknowledge. One of their daughters, Mary, developed serious drug problems and became involved in prostitution. She was found dead last year, at 57 yrs old.

 

The artist Graham Ovenden who was eventually jailed for a series of sexual assaults on children ( see post ‘The Village’) founded the movement The Brotherhood of Ruralists, some of whom were based in Somerset, including in the Bath area.

 

The MP for Bath, 1979-92, was Chris Patten aka Lord Patten of Barnes, who’s many conflicts of interest have previously been detailed on this blog. The good burghers of Bath must have seen through Patten eventually because in 1992, they voted in the Lib Dem Don Foster instead.

Don Foster’s biography is as incriminating as Chris Patten’s. Foster was born in Preston and attended the Lancaster Royal Grammar School before studying at that hotbed of paedophiles and their friends, Keele University, graduating in 1969. Foster received the Cert Ed in the same year and  received an MEd from Bath University in 1981.

Don Foster was a science teacher at Sevenoaks School in Kent in 1969, before his appointment as Avon Education Authority’s Science Project Director in 1975 and as a Lecturer in Education at  Bristol University in 1980, before being engaged as a management consultant with Pannell Kerr Forster, from 1989 until his election to the Commons.

Foster was a founder member of the Avon Liberal Democrats and was elected as a Councillor on Avon County Council in 1981. He was the SDP-Liberal Alliance Group Leader, 1981–86. Don also served as the county’s Education Committee Chairman and remained a Councillor until 1989.

Dr Death was personally known to some of the Top Docs in north Wales who were facilitating the abuse gang.

Foster was the Liberal Democrat Spokesman for Education under the leadership of Paddy Ashdown, 1992-99.

Paddy knew about Jeremy Thorpe, about Cyril Smith and almost certainly others. Paddy knew at least one person from Somerset who knew what happened to me in north Wales (see post ‘Those Who Are Ready To Serve’).

In Jan 2014 Don Foster announced that he would stand down as an MP at the following General Election.

Foster’s is a member of Amnesty and the Child Poverty Action Group, both causes which attract paedophiles’ friends and he is also a supporter of WaterAid. 

Foster was nominated for a peerage in 2015, despite having previously favoured abolition of the Lords. When accused of hypocrisy, Foster stated: ‘I want to get rid of [the House of Lords] and the only way [to do that]…is having people there who will do just that.’

Well you’re all doing a fantastic job of getting the Lords a dreadful reputation Don, but there’s no sign of it actually disappearing off the face of the earth yet. Why not invite Dafydd to join you all in there, you might as well take it to extremes. 

 

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Previous posts have mentioned that Bristol was a hot-spot for paedophiles’ friends, what with Dr DGE Wood’s family of Top Doctors being based there and Wood himself being an alumnus of Bristol University, along with Lord David Hunt, who is a Bristol law graduate and who spent a few years post-graduation involved in Tory politics in the West Country.

We should not forget that other Top Doctor, Liam Fox, who has been the Tory MP for north Somerset since 1992. Liam’s more questionable activities, including those with Adam Werritty, which no-one ever quite got to the bottom of, have featured previously on this blog. I am more interested in Fox serving as PPS to Home Secretary Michael Howard, June 1993-94. It was during that time that Michael Howard ruined Mary Wynch, after Mary had won her case against Dafydd et al  (see post ‘The Mary Wynch Case – Details’). Michael Howard must have been really impressed with Liam’s abilities, because when Howard was leader, Liam Fox was Chairman of the Tory Party, 2003-05. When the paedophiles’ friends had yet another go at imprisoning me, this time for ‘threatening to kill’. No evidence once again, just at least eight NHS staff perjuring themselves. The case collapsed on the first day of the trial. Nonetheless, the corrupt judge Huw Daniel issued a restraining order against me that was unlawful and legally invalid. He also told lies to the press and those lies were faithfully repeated in the media. Days after the case collapsed, someone forged a certificate of indictment stating that I’d pleaded guilty to ‘violent disorder’. The PNC was also unlawfully amended to show a fabricated criminal record against my name. There was an attempt to strike me off the teaching register, but a junior Minister cleared my name. He was subsequently named in the media as ‘having let paedophiles remain on the teaching register’. There has been no investigation into any of this.

Liam Fox is a member of the Royal College of GPs. With whom Dr DGE Wood has held senior office for decades.

Michael Howard is a barrister from west Wales, where a trafficking gang linked to Dafydd’s gang operated. Howard is married to the former model Sandra Paul. Who, in her heyday, socialised with many of the celebs and VIPs who were known to be utilising the services of vulnerable young people working in the sex industry. Sandra’s first husband was Robin Douglas-Home, the nephew of the former PM Alec Douglas-Home. Robin’s affair with Princess Margaret took place at the time of his split from Sandra. Robin committed suicide three years after his fling with Princess Margaret (see post ‘An Appalling Vista’). Margaret’s husband Lord Snowdon was the bisexual, drug using son of a Welsh Top Doctor. Snowdon used to visit the Caernarfon area and it is alleged that when he was younger he used the services of rent boys. When he was elderly, Snowdon’s mistress was Marjorie Wallace, the Top Doc’s wife and ‘mental health campaigner’ who’s campaigning was directed at incarcerating dangerous mental patients and ensuring that Top Doctors involved in the abuse of vulnerable people were allowed to continue unhindered. I wrote to Marjorie giving her full details of the abuses at the North Wales Hospital Denbigh in the late 1980s. I did not receive a reply. See post ‘One Dangerous Fucker’.

 

I have been told that it might be worth mentioning the names of two other people who were at Bridgwater College with me, although no-one has told me that they were used to smear me. The concern is that Neil Hamilton, Aberystwyth law graduate and the Tory MP for Tatton, 1983-97, who socialised with Sir Peter Morrison and who lost his seat after the Ian Greer Associates lobbying scandal – with which Morrison was also involved – may have encountered them. The two students were Sally Sparks and Christine Skeats, who both went to Hatfield Poly in the early 1980s, while Hamilton taught there. Christine went into teaching and I think that she is now a Headteacher in England somewhere. Christine’s mum knew Brown’s mum, they lived in the same village and it is likely that Christine might have known what was happening to me as Dafydd et al did everything possible to protect Peter Morrison…

 

I have mentioned before on this blog that I have been asked by people what the illness that I experienced which took me into the hands of the paedophiles’ friends actually was. I am of the opinion that when I was much younger, I had a fairly serious mood disorder of a stereotypical, near text-book type. It was never managed properly because the Top Doctors had no interest in treating patients, they were far too busy running a trafficking gang. It was Brown who looked after me during my bouts of severe depression, without him I would have died. I believe that I could have been up and functioning properly again years before I eventually was, but because I was caused so much distress by a bunch of gangsters, I just was never given the breathing space to recover. When I finally walked away from them – after I realised that it was only a matter of time before they either succeeded in having me imprisoned or killed me – within two years I had a PhD and I then acquired an impressive publication list as a result of six or so years working as a researcher at Bangor University. My life was destroyed all over again when I was subjected to an unprovoked violent assault which resulted in me being injured by someone whom I was told was the daughter of a Welsh barrister who was well-known for this sort of thing, ‘but her dad gets her out of trouble every time’.

My life wasn’t destroyed by the assault, it was destroyed because when I went to Aberystwyth Police Station to report the assault, the police called a paramedic to assess my injury. Unfortunately the police had seen on their computerised record that I ‘had a history of mental illness’, so the paramedic called a fucking Top Doctor and a mental health team ‘just in case’. Who refused to document my injuries and sectioned me, insisting that I be taken to the Heddfan Unit at Wrexham Maelor Hospital. Some hours after I arrived at the Heddfan Unit, the staff there sheepishly admitted that my detention was unlawful because no-one had signed the documentation and I was thus free to go. So I did. For some unfathomable reason, the Heddfan Unit then called the police, reported me missing and my mugshot appeared in the ‘Daily Post’ as an escaped patient. I was located ‘safe and well’ – I was actually on holiday – only to find that a few days later I was reported AGAIN by the Betsi as an ‘escaped patient’. I appeared once more in the ‘Daily Post’ and was picked up by the police. Because I was an escaped patient. It took me a year to get out of the clutches of the maniacs who broke the law repeatedly and maintained that I was ‘seriously mentally ill’ because I had a history of ‘violent assaults on people’ and I believed that there was a paedophile ring in operation in north Wales and that the mental health services were abusing patients. While I sat in a locked ward, a whole series of people who had been involved with the paedophile ring in north Wales were convicted as a result of Operation Pallial. The Betsi was also placed under investigation as a result of the abuse of mental health patients in Tawel Fan. When I finally got away from the clutches of the Top Doctors, I fled the area.

The barrister’s daughter who attacked and injured me in broad daylight in front of witnesses was never even interviewed.

Previous posts tell the story in detail…

The irony is that I had my first major depressive episode when I was 17 and at Bridgwater College. Everyone ignored it and it was Brown who helped me through it. Offers of ‘help’ for my ‘serious mental illness’ only began arriving thick and fast a few years later when I complained about the dreadful behaviour of Top Doctors who were running a trafficking ring. The ‘help’ being deemed to be necessary of course being a few years in Broadmoor. After all, everyone could testify that even as a teenager at Bridgwater College, I’d been quite mad…

Let’s just stop all the help shall we? It’ll be much easier all round. I was an academically able kid who went to a dysfunctional, failing school run by an utter incompetent and staffed by some at least who were abusers and I got to university against what were fairly high odds in those days. When my father heard that my name had been announced at Chilton Trinity School as a successful old pupil, he noted that I had got to university in spite of Chilton, not because of it. He was quite right. And I am still alive in spite of the dear old NHS, not because of it. A great many people received generous salaries in schools, in colleges and in their various roles in the welfare state to provide me with a ‘service’. Brown and a few other friends did virtually everything that those salaried people were paid to do.

Just after graduation, I sat in a sitting room on Anglesey with some other new graduates discussing politics. A dedicated Labour voter was in the room, a big fan of the Windbag, who stated that ‘money ought to be poured into the NHS and state schools’. The person who said that was Sarah Jenkins, who had just graduated from Bristol University. Sarah was back on her home territory of north Wales, while she waited for a place to do clinical psychology. She was renting accommodation on favourable terms from her mother’s friend, Dr D.G.E. Wood, the corrupt GP who was facilitating the trafficking ring. Sarah’s dad was Prof David Jenkins, who worked at Bangor University when the place was run by the paedophiles’ friends and Dafydd. Sarah’s mother was Sheila Jenkins, a psychiatric social worker, who was one of those abusing patients and a colleague of the paedophile gang. I was told a few years ago that Sarah ‘had gone into mental health like her mother and was helping people’.

The appalling Sheila Jenkins died a few years ago. She had a miserable last few years, after being left completely paralysed by a stroke. One day her friend went over and found Sheila Jenkins lying on the floor crying. It transpired that the ‘carers’ had been abusing her. Jenkins asked her friend ‘why can’t people just be kind to each other?’ Jenkins’s friend was also a mental health social worker, as was her husband. They had worked with Dafydd when he was illegally imprisoning victims of the paedophile ring in the dungeon at Denbigh. Those in the dungeon probably wondered why people just couldn’t be kind to each other.

As ye sow, so shall ye reap paedophiles’ friends. You’ve driven every decent person out of health and social care. These are the only ones left in the system:

 

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Get pouring, fill that trough, Sarah Jenkins needs a salary, she’s not going to be an Empowered Service User is she.

 

Investigating historical child abuse? Oh please, just give it a rest. As the Old Gits used to say on ‘The Fast Show’, ‘piss off, bugger off, sod off’.

 

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An Appalling Vista

Previous posts such as ‘A Solicitor’s Letter From North East Wales MIND’, ‘Dirty Rotten Scoundrels’ and ‘The Banality Of Evil’ gave examples of the constant lies, the forging of documents and the perjury used to secure convictions against patients who had made serious complaints about Dr Dafydd Alun Jones, Dr Tony Francis (Dr X) and their colleagues – complaints which routinely went uninvestigated but were then documented as having been thoroughly investigated but found to be groundless. Some patients who were deemed to pose a particular challenge to Dafydd and the paedophiles were completely ruined by all the ‘help’ that they received from the Top Doctors.

My post ‘Killing Floor – I Know Cos I Was There!’ introduced the story of F, a mental health patient from north Wales who was a witness to serious wrongdoing and was fitted up, assaulted by the police, wrongfully arrested, left to rot in the North Wales Hospital for a year and then fleeced of his property and denied all contact with his child. Someone who witnessed much of this was later found dead.

I can understand that people unacquainted with the practices of Dafydd et al would find accounts of what mental health patients and kids in care in north Wales had experienced and witnessed hard to believe. It was certainly easier for everyone if those relating serious criminal conduct on the part of Top Doctors with the collusion of Angels, social workers, NHS managers, the police, certain lawyers, magistrates and members of the judiciary could be dismissed as being mad, malicious or making up horror stories to gain compensation. Those involved in the criminality were everyone’s neighbours, the parents of their children’s friends and the people whom they socialised with locally.

I have mentioned before that Lord Denning, the Master of the Rolls, 1962-82, took the view that it was better that the Birmingham Six remain in prison rather than anyone admit to the enormity of the miscarriage of justice to which they had been subject. When the Birmingham Six first appealed in 1979, Lord Denning famously stated that: ‘If the six men win, it will mean that the police are guilty of perjury, that they are guilty of violence and threats, that the confessions were invented and improperly admitted in evidence and the convictions were erroneous… This is such an appalling vista that every sensible person in the land would say that it cannot be right that these actions should go any further.’

The Birmingham Six were cleared in 1991.

The medical establishment undoubtedly operated on a Lord Denning world view of ‘it is far better that we continue to maintain that there are no serious problems in the medical profession because the reality of what has been allowed to continue in north Wales alone for decades is so dreadful that the fall-out would be unmanageable if anything approaching the truth were to be admitted’.

In my post ‘Killing Floor – I Know Cos I Was There!’ about F and the possibility that he had information about serious crimes committed before he ever arrived in north Wales in 1979 – including the death of Jimi Hendrix as a result of criminal negligence – and that being the possible reason why Dafydd and Dr Tony Francis (Dr X) destroyed him, I promised to write a further post with more details re F and the stitch-up and provide details of more celeb deaths with a link to those Top Doctors who were linked to the death of Hendrix.

I mentioned that it was Top Doctor’s wife Kathy Etchingham, a former girlfriend of Hendrix, who was sufficiently outraged by the claims of another girlfriend of Hendrix, Monika Dannemann, that Hendrix had died as a result of serious medical negligence that Kathy had attempted to have Monika imprisoned and gave multiple interviews to the press trashing Monika. After Monika was found dead, Kathy simply used this as yet more evidence that Monika was a mad, lying cow. Throughout it all F maintained that Hendrix had been killed by Top Doctors and that a cover-up at a high level had followed.

Despite F seeming to know some of the circumstances concerning Hendrix’s death, F was not at all au fait with the workings of the NHS. However, I am and I noticed that when Hendrix was found in a coma – Monika always claimed that Hendrix was still alive when the paramedics arrived –  he was taken to St Mary Abbot’s Hospital. St Mary Abbot’s was located nearby, but I suspect that Top Doctors themselves would not use that hospital or allow anyone that they cared about to use it. Hendrix died in Sept 1970 and at that time St Mary Abbot’s still had an A&E/acute dept and it was there that Hendrix was pronounced dead.

By 1972 St Mary Abbot’s had lost its A&E/acute dept and was only a geriatric and psychiatric hospital. There is a great deal of snobbery in medicine and geriatrics and psychiatry are considered the pits and they were back in 1970 as well. No hospital ever wants to lose its A&E/acute services and it is when those services are threatened that Top Doctors tell patients that they will all die if the service shuts, that people write to their MPs and protest in town centres and that the BMA sends a clear message to the local MP that they will lose the next election if the closure goes ahead. If a hospital loses its A&E/acute dept, it loses kudos, funding and the best staff. It is often the first step to the long rundown to complete closure.

If St Mary Abbot’s A&E had gone by 1972 it suggests that there were very big problems in that dept because no-one was able to save it. Hospital depts don’t disappear overnight – it is preceded by years of discussion and gradual disinvestment and once word gets out that a dept is on the way out, doctors stop applying for jobs there because they know how grim the atmosphere will be and it won’t do anything for their CV either. In 1971 the transformation of St Mary Abbot’s into a dumping ground began – a psychiatry ward was added.

In the way that Top Doctors in Gwynedd had an arrangement to ensure that their own children were never taken to Ysbyty Gwynedd because paediatrics there was alleged to be so dangerous and that no relative of a Top Doc ever ended up in the North Wales Hospital Denbigh, I bet that Top Docs in London didn’t depend on the A&E in St Mary Abbot’s in 1970. It will have been for other people, particularly people who didn’t matter. Lest anyone believe that Top Docs don’t think like this, I’m happy to tell you that they do. If they think that no-one is listening, some of them will make this crystal clear. Dear old Dafydd once managed to say to me ‘you don’t matter’. What Dafydd didn’t realise was that someone else was listening to that call. (The security services were as well, but that’s because they had Brown and me under surveillance rather than Dafydd.) Hey ho Dafydd, you’re not very nice but you’re not very bright either.

Hendrix fell into a coma within spitting distance of some of the grandest, most elite teaching hospitals in London. He was taken to St Mary Abbot’s where, according to Monika, he died. When years later Monika made her allegations of serious negligence public, Kathy Ethingham and her Top Doc husband Nicholas Page didn’t inform the police, they contacted the staff who had treated – or failed to treat – Hendrix and then had a meeting with them. Where it was agreed that the witch should not be permitted to make such allegations and someone at least suggested that Monika had been responsible for Hendrix’s death herself.

 

By the 1990s Kathy Etchingham repeatedly stressed that her 1960s past was long ago and far away, but she had obviously remained in touch with at least one friend from those days, because in 1997 she invited him to the party that was held when Kathy – who had forgotten all about those days -succeeded in having an English Heritage Blue Plaque erected on the wall of the Mayfair flat that she had once shared with Hendrix. That old friend was Pete Townshend, who owned – and might still own – a house in Churt in Surrey. Kathy and the Top Doc lived in Churt.

 

In a 1989 radio interview Townshend acknowledged his bisexuality. He had recorded a song which he stated was an ‘acknowledgement of the fact that I’d had a gay life, and that I understood what gay sex was about’. However, in a 1994 interview for ‘Playboy’ Townsend said ‘in the interview I also talked about my “gay life,” which – I meant – was actually about the friends I’ve had who are gay’. Townshend later wrote in his 2012 autobiography that he at one point felt as if he was ‘probably bisexual’. Townshend also stated jokingly that he once felt sexually attracted to Mick Jagger. 

In Jan 2003 Townshend was arrested by British police in a child porn investigation. However, he was given a tip-off that the police were going to raid his home three days before they arrived. Towshend’s credit card usage to access a child porn site was traced to him through Operation Ore, the British counterpart of the US Operation Avalanche. When confronted by the police, Townshend admitted using his credit card to access a child pornography website. Townshend claimed he had accessed the child porn website for the purposes of researching a book. He has not as yet written that book. On another occasion he claimed he was researching child porn to protect his son.

Because Townshend confessed to accessing the child porn website, he received a caution and avoided a trial. Bob McLachlan, the former head of Scotland Yard’s paedophile unit, described the caution as ‘totally inappropriate’. He asked ‘Why is this rock star being given such lenient treatment when he has accepted a caution and therefore admits his guilt?’ His admission to using his credit card to access a child porn website and that he had viewed child pornography images was the central component of his guilty plea.

Townshend had access to his lawyers at all times. He avoided charges beyond a caution, as the police did not detect any images of child rape on his 14 computers. Townshend was never cleared of his offence and remained on the Sex Offender Register for five years, 2003 –08. He had to give a DNA sample, check in with the British police regularly and inform them of his movements during his Sex Offender registration. Townshend will have a lifelong criminal record for the caution.

On June 22, 2006 it was reported that Townshend had withdrawn an ‘ill-advised’ story from his blog, which depicted graphic teen sex. He told the Daily Mail: ‘I’ve taken down my story. I want to make it clear that I respect the requirements of the Sex Offenders Register without condition.’

Confusion was introduced into the Townshend case by British investigative journalist Duncan Campbell in an article he wrote for ‘The Guardian’ in which he stated: ‘(Operation) Ore has dragged big names into the spotlight – such as the musicians Pete Townshend…falsely accused of accessing child pornography.’ Campbell knew that Townshend had admitted to breaking the law and had accepted the consequences.

Duncan Campbell’s arguments against Operation Ore – initially well received – were cast under a shadow when the computer expert he used, Jim Bates of Computer Investigations, was convicted in March 2008 of falsifying his qualifications and given a six-month suspended prison sentence. As a ‘pioneer of forensic computer analysis’, Bates had until his conviction been used widely by police and prosecutors. He is no longer used as an expert witness by prosecutors.

I presume that this Duncan Campbell is the Duncan Campbell who used to write for the ‘New Statesman’. He did write some good exposes but on one occasion there were complaints from readers when a copy of the ‘New Statesman’ was published with a photo of Duncan Campbell on the cover sporting a visible nasty injury to his face accompanied by words along the lines of ‘What happened when Duncan Campbell met Scotland Yard’ [or the phrase might have been ‘The Met’]. It transpired that Campbell had not been thumped by the police, he had fallen off of his bike after he left the station.

I read the ‘New Statesman’ for years until Brown and I noticed that it was getting light on intellectual content and heavy on features advising one on the sort of wine one should have with one’s meals. When I did used to read ‘New Statesman’, I noticed that there was never a word about the abuse of kids in care or mental health patients of which I had become acutely aware by then, although the plight of a number of other cohorts having a hard time was publicised. Neither was there any admission of certain problems in the NHS which were well-known to everyone who worked within it.

Richard Webster wrote the book ‘The Secret of Bryn Estyn’, which maintained that there was no serious problem of abuse of kids in care in north Wales and that the bellyaching in north Wales was the result of hysteria, a witch hunt and Alison Taylor telling porkies. The ‘New Statesman’ published a libellous article about Alison in the wake of the Waterhouse Report which was written by Richard Webster, ‘Can A Whistleblower Be Wrong?’ Alison sued – she represented herself – and won. It was admitted by the ‘New Statesman’ that they published the article on the grounds that Alison would not be able to afford to sue them. Alison accepted a settlement.

When that article was published, ‘New Statesman’ was owned by New Labour big wig and millionaire Geoffrey Robertson.

 

It was reported in the ‘Mail Online’ that Townshend also claimed to have been sexually abused himself and gave this as a possible reason for his interest in child porn: ‘I believe I was sexually abused between the age of five and six and a half when in the care of my maternal grandmother who was mentally ill at the time. I cannot remember clearly what happened, but my creative work tends to throw up nasty shadows – particularly in ‘Tommy”.

So Townshend didn’t encounter sexual abuse throughout his long career and friendships with people who used rent boys and sexually exploited vulnerable people – it happened as a result of a mentally ill grandmother…

The reference to ‘Tommy’ will have been the Uncle Ernie scene, in which Uncle Ernie, a stereotypical dirty old man dressed in a flasher’s mac, molests a ‘deaf, dumb and blind’ boy whilst singing ‘You won’t shout as I fiddle about’. Kids with sensory disabilities are often targeted by people who sexually assault them, but their assailants are as likely to be health and welfare professionals as the Uncle Ernies of the world – Uncle Ernies don’t usually have unsupervised access to disabled kids, but Top Docs, Angels, social workers, carers, teachers and others do.

The Torygraph published an article in which Townshend maintained that he had only accessed the child porn site to demonstrate that British banks were channelling child porn profits. Which they may well be, but I’m not sure that using your credit card to access the sites yourself and join in the fun is quite the way to expose what the banks are doing. Townsend stated that ‘I felt I had an understanding, and I could help’. Which is exactly what Dr Dafydd Alun Jones said on every occasion that he was challenged after being caught doing something unacceptable.

Townshend was also quoted in the Torygraph as saying that he suffered from ‘White Knight Syndrome’. I have never heard of such a condition, but according to Townshend, it afflicts those ‘who like to be seen to be helping’. I don’t know if White Knight Syndrome will be appearing in DSM soon, but Dafydd is clearly a fellow sufferer. During every investigation into Dafydd, his explanation for whatever serious malpractice he was involved has been ‘I was only trying to help’. He even went on TV and said that after Mary Wynch won her case and accompanied it with the comment ‘I found myself in this bizarre situation’. Then bugger me if Dafydd didn’t say exactly the same thing to Robert Bluglass after I complained about him – ‘Well I found myself in this bizarre situation and I was only trying to help’.

Dafydd – take it from me, if you do not threaten women and then have them unlawfully arrested and imprisoned in psychiatric hospitals when they fail to succumb to your threats, you will find yourself in far fewer bizarre situations and you will not need to help quite so often. It’ll save you a lot of bother and it will be far cheaper for whichever organisation is stupid enough to employ you, because legal fees do mount up when Top Docs find themselves in bizarre situations and try to help in this manner.

 

Townshend was also quoted in one press report as saying that he had been accused of being a paedophile because he had a big nose. Not only is Peter Townshend’s nose not that big, but I rather suspect that the reason for the cloud of suspicion was his accessing a child porn website rather than his nose. As was said in Monty Python’s Life of Brian, ‘blessed are the big noses’ – a film which was co-authored by and starred Graham Chapman, a man who enjoyed sex with underaged boys (see post ‘Inside Information About A Hergest Unit Death’). Chapman didn’t claim to be undertaking research when he was questioned by the police, he just told them to take a running jump because he was a Top Doctor. Chapman qualified at Bart’s, which was where Dafydd’s protector Prof Linford Rees worked for years (see post ‘A Galaxy Of Talent’).

Townshend’s wiki entry doesn’t mention that caution for child porn and the five years on the sex offenders register, but it does have a great deal about his charidee work and explains that in 1974 Pete played a benefit show which was organised to raise funds for the Camden Square Community Play Centre.

The earliest public example of Townshend’s charidee work was in 1968, when he donated the use of his former Wardour Street apartment to the Meher Baba Association. The following year, the Association was moved to another Townshend-owned apartment in Eccleston Square. Townshend sat on a committee which oversaw the operation and finances of the centre.

In 1969 and 1972, Townshend produced two limited-release albums, Happy Birthday and I Am, for the London-based Baba Association. This led to 1972’s Who Came First, 15 percent of the revenue of which went to the Baba Association. In 1976 there was a further release, With Love. A boxed set of all three limited releases on CD, Avatar, was released in 2000, with all profits going to the Avatar Meher Baba Trust in India, which provided funds to a dispensary, school, hospital and pilgrimage centre.

In July 1976, Townshend opened Meher Baba Oceanic, a London activity centre for Baba followers, which featured film dubbing and editing facilities, a cinema and a recording studio. The centre also served as a regular meeting place for Baba followers. Townshend offered very economical lodging for American followers who needed an overnight stay on their pilgrimages to India. Townshend wrote in a 1977 Rolling Stone article:

Townshend also embarked on a MEFA, the Meher Baba European Film Archive, project dedicated to the collection, restoration and maintenance of Meher Baba-related films.

Townshend has been a champion of children’s charities. The debut of Pete Townshend’s stage version of ‘Tommy’ in San Diego’s in July 1992 was earmarked as a benefit for the London-based Nordoff-Robbins Music Therapy Foundation, an organisation which helps children with autism and intellectual disability.

Townshend performed at a 1995 benefit organised by Paul Simon at Madison Square Garden’s Paramount Theatre for the Children’s Health Fund. The following year, Townshend performed at a benefit for the annual Bridge School Benefit, a California facility for children with severe speech and physical impairments, with concerts organised by Neil and Pegi Young. In 1997, Townshend established a relationship with Maryville Academy, a Chicago area children’s charity. Between 1997-02, Townshend played five benefit shows for Maryville Academy, raising at least $1,600,000. His 1998 album ‘A Benefit for Maryville Academy’ was made to support their activities and proceeds from the sales of his release were donated to them.

As a member of ‘The Who’, Townshend has also performed a series of concerts, beginning in 2000, to benefit the Teenage Cancer Trust in the UK, which raised several million pounds. In 2005, Townshend performed at New York’s Gotham Hall for Samsung’s ‘Four Seasons of Hope’, an annual children’s charity fundraiser. In the same year, he donated a smashed guitar to the Pediatric Epilepsy Project.

On 4 Nov 2011, Roger Daltrey and Pete Townshend launched the Daltrey/Townshend Teen and Young Adult Cancer Program at the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center in Los Angeles, to be funded by The Who’s charity ‘Who Cares’. The launch, followed on 5 November by a fund-raising event, was also attended by Robert Plant and Dave Grohl. 

Townshend has also advocated for drug rehabilitation. In a 1985 radio interview, he said:

You’ll be delighted to know Pete that Dafydd comes highly recommended by class A drug users. As one said to me – after he’d served a prison sentence for armed robbery – ‘DA’s great, he’ll give you anything that you want, anything that you ask for. And he’ll always give you a  good for court report’.

The ‘large clinic’ to which Townshend was referring to was a plan he and drug rehabilitation experimenter Meg Patterson had devised to open a drug treatment facility in London; however, the plan failed to come to fruition. Two early 1979 concerts by ‘The Who’ raised £20,000 for Patterson’s Pharmakon Clinic in Sussex.

Further examples of Townshend’s drug rehabilitation activism took place in the form of a 1984 benefit concert, an article he wrote a few days later for the ‘Mail on Sunday’ urging better care for the nation’s addicts and the formation of a charitable organisation, Double-O Charities, to raise funds for the causes he’d championed. Townshend also sold fund-raising anti-heroin T-shirts at a series of UK Bruce Springsteen concerts and reportedly financed a trip for former Clash drummer Topper Headon to undergo drug rehabilitation treatment. Townshend’s 1985–86 band, ‘Deep End’, played two benefits at Brixton Academy in 1985 for Double-O.

In 1979 Townshend donated his services to Amnesty when he performed three songs for its benefit show ‘The Secret Policeman’s Ball’. That was of course the event at which Peter Cook performed his wonderful satire ‘Entirely a Matter For You’ in which he sent up the summing up of the judge who presided over Jeremy Thorpe’s trial. Cook’s performance included memorable lines about the  hitman not even being able to carry out a simple murder plot without cocking the whole thing up and a man with a criminal past but no criminal future…

Why am I reminded of Huw Daniel every time that I watch ‘Entirely a Matter For You?’

Townshend had been invited to perform for Amnesty by Martin Lewis, the producer of ‘The Secret Policeman’s Ball’, who stated later that Townshend’s participation had been the key to his securing the subsequent participation for Amnesty (in the 1981 sequel show) of Sting, Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, Phil Collins and Bob Geldof.

 

Townshend’s band mate Keith Moon was an old flame of Kathy Ethingham’s. I won’t recite in detail the highlights of Moon the Loon’s life here – readers will no doubt be aware of the Rolls Royce in the swimming pool,  the wrecked hotel rooms, the TVs chucked out of the window because the hotel staff were not up to Moon’s exacting requirements, the explosions in the bogs etc, but there are a few aspects of Moon’s life and death that are worth mentioning.

Keith Moon had a very serious drug and alcohol problem which by the end of his life was said by his friends to have sent him quite mad – Moon’s mates might have been describing an amphetamine-induced psychosis. Moon died in Sept 1978 of an overdose of Heminevrin, a drug prescribed to combat alcohol abuse. Heminevrin was routinely prescribed to people withdrawing from alcohol – although I’m not sure whether that is still the case. The problem with Heminevrin is – like so many drugs prescribed to people who are prone to not being particularly stable – that Heminevrin is lethal if not used properly.

By the time that Moon was given a massive quantity of Heminevrin to take home and play with, his excesses were very well known and had been the subject of much media coverage. Some very nasty things had also happened to some of the people associated with Keith Moon.

On 4 Jan 1970 Moon accidentally killed his friend, driver and bodyguard, Neil Boland, outside the Red Lion pub in Hatfield. Pub patrons had begun to attack his Bentley and Moon, drunk, began driving to escape them. During the fracas, he hit Boland. After an investigation, the coroner ruled Boland’s death an accident and Moon received an absolute discharge after being charged with a number of offences. Those close to Moon said that he was haunted by Boland’s death for the rest of his life and Moon had nightmares about the incident and said he had no right to be alive.

I’d be interested to find out how on earth Keith Moon got out of that one, even if he did feel terrible about it afterwards. As someone who was fined £60 for staring at a colleague of a paedophile gang who had unlawfully imprisoned me after encountering her in a supermarket (see post ‘Some Big Legal Names Enter The Arena’), I am confident that if I had run over and killed someone whilst pissed, I would receive a little more that an absolute discharge.

In 1973 Moon’s wife Kim, convinced that neither she nor anyone else could moderate Keith’s behaviour, left Moon and took their daughter. Kim sued for divorce in 1975. Moon’s friends stated that Moon ‘couldn’t handle’ Kim leaving him and that she was ‘the only woman he loved’. So obviously to show how much he loved her, Moon harassed Kim with phone calls and on one occasion before Kim sued for divorce, sent several heavies in pursuit of her, forcing Kim to hide in a walk-in closet after the thugs broke into her home. Kim died in a car accident in Texas in Aug 2006.

In 1975 Moon began a relationship with model Annette Walter-Lax. She begged Malibu neighbour Larry Hagman (JR of ‘Who shot JR?’ fame) to check Moon into a clinic to dry out (as he had attempted to do before), but when doctors recorded Moon’s chemical intake at breakfast – a bottle of champagne, Courvoisier and amphetamines – they concluded that there was no hope for his rehabilitation.

Hagman had a long and successful TV career in the US and in the UK. He knew many of those who hung out with Dafydd’s umbrella Linford Rees’s actress daughter Angharad Rees and her husband Christopher Cazenove (see post ‘A Galaxy Of Talent’).

Early in The Who’s career, Moon got to know The Beatles. He would join them at clubs, forming a particularly close friendship with Ringo Starr. The Ringo who was a neighbour of one of F’s friends…Moon later became friends with Viv Stanshall, a man who was networked with Graham Chapman et al and who died in odd circumstances in March 1995, before there was any chance of him blabbing in the wake of the Waterhouse Report (see post ‘ The International Language Of Screaming’). In the early 1970s Moon helped Stanshall with his ‘Radio Flashes’ radio show for BBC Radio 1, filling in for the vacationing John Peel. Subsequently, in 1973, Moon himself filled in for John Peel in ‘A Touch of the Moon’. The John Peel who went to school in Deganwy in north Wales and who was later so helpful in creating rock stars out of the offspring of the paedophiles’ friends in the run up to the Waterhouse Inquiry and the publication of the Waterhouse Report (see post ‘The International Language Of Screaming’).

In 1974, Moon struck up a friendship with the drunken git Oliver Reed of ‘I’ve got a tattoo on my penis, would you ladies like to see it?’ fame. The Ollie who wrestled naked in mud with other men, lest anyone might suspect him of having homophilic tendencies.  

Keith Moon was mates with Graham Chapman who, as well as regularly visiting north Wales with his 13 year old ‘adopted son’, used to dip his penis – presumably untattooed – in folk’s drinks in pubs near his house in Belsize Park. He didn’t receive a kick in the carregs because he wasn’t in Wetherspoons in Caernarfon, he was a zany Python within spitting distance of Hamptead, so it was OK.

In mid-1978 Moon moved into a flat in Curzon Place, Mayfair, renting from singer Harry Nilsson. (The wiki entry for Nilsson states that he died of a heart attack in 1994 at 52 years of age – which is a bit weird because I can remember when he was found dead and I seem to remember that the media reports stated that it was thought that he’d killed himself. Nilsson was a close friend of Ringo.) The singer Cass Elliot had died in the same flat four years earlier, at the age of 32. Cass’s wiki entry states that she too died of a heart attack. Curiouser and curiouser – Cass Elliot definitely choked to death, on, I understand, a ham sandwich. I wonder if someone has been busy amending wiki? Nilsson was concerned about letting the flat to Moon, believing it was cursed. Townshend disagreed, assuring him that ‘lightning wouldn’t strike the same place twice’.

After moving in, Moon began a prescribed course of Heminevrin. He wanted to get sober, but he had a fear of psychiatric hospitals – very wise – so he wanted to detox at home. Heminevrin is discouraged for unsupervised detox  because of its addictive potential, its tendency to induce tolerance and the risk of death when mixed with alcohol. The pills were prescribed by Dr Geoffrey Dymond, a Top Doctor from Harley Street. Dymond prescribed a bottle of 100 pills, instructing Moon to take one pill when he felt a craving for alcohol but not more than three pills per day.

On 6 Sept 1978 Moon and Annette dined with the McCartneys in Covent Garden, after a party. David Frost was a guest at the party – the Frost who conveniently pegged out on a cruise in Aug 2013 in the midst of Operation Pallial and the Macur Review and who’s death was followed by the sudden death of his 31 year old Miles not long afterwards (see post ‘The International Language Of Screaming’). Moon watched a film – ‘The Abominable Dr Phibes’ no less – and asked Annette to cook him steak and eggs. When she objected, Moon replied, ‘If you don’t like it, you can fuck off’. He then took 32 Heminevrin tablets. When Annette checked on Moon the following afternoon, she found him dead.

Police determined that there were 32 Heminevrin pills in Moon’s system. Six were digested, sufficient to cause his death; the other 26 were undigested when he died. Max Glatt – one of many Top Docs who has previously starred on this blog (see post ‘A Galaxy Of Talent’) – wrote in The Sunday Times that Moon should never have been given the drug.

When Moon’s friends discovered how lethal Heminevrin is in overdose they were all baffled as to why the Abominable Dr Dymond prescribed so many for him. The Abominable Dr Dymond maintained that he was ‘unaware’ of Moon’s lifestyle.

In 1978 I was a school girl in Somerset. Even I knew about Keith Moon’s lifestyle, as did my friends and I had never been to London in my life, so how the Rolls Royces in the swimming pools etc escaped Geoffrey Dymond’s notice I don’t know.

Interviews with Moon’s mates suggest that they put a great deal of trust in Dymond and his abilities to ‘look after’ Keith Moon and just assumed that the Top Doctor had made an inexplicable error. I am happy to tell Moon’s surviving friends that a lot of Top Docs detest patients a lot less twattish than Keith Moon – and by the time that he died, Moon really was a twat of the highest order who had pissed off a great many people. Whilst working in medical research and in my capacity as a patient I have heard Top Docs and their associates express such callous attitudes towards patients and follow this up with criminally negligent conduct of such a magnitude that the general public would not believe that it ever happens.  Take it from me, they help people on their way. I have heard the most shocking comments made by Top Doctors after distressed colleagues – let alone patients – of theirs have killed themselves and I know of at least three suicides of mental health patients which could have been avoided with very little effort but that effort was quite deliberately not made. When faced with someone like Keith Moon, a lot of Top Doctors really could not give a fuck.

How are you Dafydd and Keith Fearns? Is it not ironic that it was Tony Francis who committed suicide rather than me? You didn’t expect that did you? Christ almighty, all I did was complain about Gwynne the lobotomist and catch Tony Francis out on a lie and WW III was declared. To paraphrase Morrissey : ‘They bear more grudges/Than lonely High Court judges’…

 

F repeatedly told me, whilst he related anecdotes from his youth in the bosom of Ringo et al, that ‘they hated us’.

 

Another bedfellow of Kathy Etchingham’s was Brian Jones, the original leader of the Rolling Stones. F always maintained that Brian Jones was murdered. Jones died in July 1969 – he was found motionless at the bottom of his pool at Cotchford Farm. His girlfriend Anna Wohlin maintained that Jones was still alive when he was taken out of the pool but Top Doctors arrived at the scene ‘too late’ and pronounced him dead. The verdict was of death by misadventure. It was Sussex Police who stood accused of failing to investigate the allegations that Jones was murdered or to have even concealed a murder.

Brian Jones was someone else who developed drug and alcohol problems and was identifiably quite seriously mentally ill by the time that he died.

Brian Jones seems to have been treated very callously by many of those around him. When asked if he felt guilty about Jones’ death, Mick Jagger told ‘Rolling Stone’ in 1995: ‘No, I don’t really. I do feel that I behaved in a very childish way, but we were very young and in some ways we picked on him. But, unfortunately, he made himself a target for it; he was very, very jealous, very difficult, very manipulative and if you do that in this kind of a group of people you get back as good as you give, to be honest. I wasn’t understanding enough about his drug addiction.’ 

Ah well Brian Jones was manipulative unlike Mr Clean Mick, so who gives a stuff that he was treated badly and found dead in suspicious circumstances. Mick is now what Viz magazine calls a ‘shag relative’ of Rupert Murdoch ie. Mick has shagged someone that Murdoch has shagged. Or at least married. So I doubt that we’ll be reading much about any interpretation of Jones’s character other than that he was ‘manipulative’ and people ‘didn’t understand’.

 

Kathy also had a relationship with Georgie Fame. Georgie is still alive but his wife Nicolette, the Marchioness of Londonderry, isn’t. Her body was found beneath the Clifton Suspension Bridge in Aug 1993 and it was assumed that she had jumped. At the time, it was reported that Nicolette was seen on the bridge, approached someone, gave them her name and asked them to ‘raise the alarm’. Whether they did or not I don’t know – Nicolette’s body was found later. A statement was given to the media explaining that Nicolette had been under the care of an expensive Top Doctor because she was distraught at the menopause and by her children leaving the nest. As someone who has now had a menopause, I can confirm that there is no need to even bother to read the volumes of rubbish that are published by the likes of Miriam Stoppard to ‘guide one through it’, let alone chuck oneself off the Clifton Suspension Bridge, it really is not that much of a big deal if you keep away from Top Doctors recommending unnecessary things like HRT. Some people do feel bereft when their children leave home, but women are no longer put in the dustbin when that happens and a lot of them have a great time, particularly if they’re a Marchioness. I cannot help suspecting that there might have been something far more serious worrying Nicolette than the menopause and the kids moving out.

Georgie Fame’s first job was at Butlins in Pwllheli. Like Kathy Etchingham, he went to London and the age of 16 and hit the music scene.

August 1993. Just before the North Wales Police wound up their investigation into the possible existence of a VIP paedophile ring in north Wales and declared that there was no evidence of any such thing.

 

The coroner who carried out the inquest into the death of Jimi Hendrix was Lt Col Gavin Thurston. Thurston was educated at Dulwich College and Guy’s Hospital Medical School. He served in the RAMC from 1939-45 in India and NW Europe. Thurston was called to the Bar in 1952 but never practised.

Thurston came under the influence of an older Guy’s man, Percy Barnard Skeels, a solicitor of the City firm of Hoddinott & Skeels, then HM coroner to metropolitan Essex. Thurston was appointed as Skeels’s deputy in 1949. He was appointed as Westminster coroner in 1956 and occupied this post until his death in 1980. Thurston served as Treasurer, Secretary and President to the Coroner’s Society and was President of the Medico-Legal Society in 1969. He was a member of the British Academy of Forensic Sciences and for a short period a lecturer at the West London Medical School. Thurston sat on the Council of the MDU, 1960-80.

Thurston lived in Sussex and was married to Janet, another Top Doctor who specialised in community medicine. Janet accompanied Thurston to medico-legal and forensic meetings. After Thurston died, in 1982 Janet married a colleague of Thurston’s, the pathologist Professor Keith Simpson, who also spent a career investigating suspicious deaths that could prove difficult for high profile people. More details about Keith Simpson can be found in my post ‘Oh, No! It’s The Pathetic Sharks…’.

Thurston had a son, John, who was also a Top Doctor. A Dr John Thurston, an A&E Top Doctor at Joyce Green Hospital, Dartford, contributed to one of those regular BBC News Online reports regarding How Fucking Daft All The Patients Are. Top Doc Thurston was able to tell the BBC that ‘people really can be stupid’. The Top Docs are often somewhat conflicted over the intelligence of patients. Top Doctor Devakumar, one of the paedophiles’ friends who was employed at the Hergest Unit for many years, once yelled at me ‘you are stupid’ because I did insist on complaining about Dafydd. Yet Devakumar was also a signatory to the documents detailed in previous blog posts in which the BMA, MDU and many other people were told that I was a wicked genius who needed to be banged up in a secure unit asap. Perhaps I should consider myself fortunate – in one ward round Devakumar rolled up his sleeves and told a male patient that he’d fight him whenever he wanted.

‘As experienced psychiatrists we are used to patients who are aggressive to us and have training in de-escalation techniques’ wrote Dr Sadie Francis in one letter to Hempsons, detailing the problem that was me, after Hempsons had written to her and Tony Francis and them that they were ‘over-reacting’ and strongly advised them not to pursue litigation against me.

De-escalation techniques – ‘SCRAAAAP’…

 

At the time of writing, ‘The Guardian’ website features yet another article about Dangerous Psychiatric Patients attacking Top Doctors and Angels. It is a ‘global problem’ according to ‘The Guardian’.

 

Gavin Thurston was certainly Coroner to the Stars. His cases included Keith Moon, Cass Elliot, Stephen Ward (the scapegoat of the Profumo Affair – see post ‘In Memoriam – Bronwen, Lady Astor’), Judy Garland, Professor Gordon Fairley, Airey Neave, Sandra Rivett (Lord Lucan’s nanny) and Georgi Markov.

 

 

The Top Doctor who carried out the autopsy on Hendrix was pathologist Dr Donald Teare. Teare was from the Isle of Man and his father was a newspaper proprietor who also became a member of the House of Keys. Teare was educated at King William’s College on the Isle of Man and Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge. He trained at St George’s Hospital Medical School. Teare began his career as a lecturer in forensic medicine at Bart’s Hospital Medical College. He was Reader and then Professor of Forensic Medicine at Charing Cross Hospital Medical School, 1963-75. Teare was also a lecturer at the Metropolitan Police College, Hendon. He served as President of the MDU and President of the British Association of Forensic Medicine; President of the Association of Forensic Pathologists; President of the Medico-Legal Society, 1965-66. Teare was given a personal Chair in the University of London in 1968.

Donald Teare worked on many celebrity corpses and his famous cases included the murder of Beryl Evans and her baby Geraldine – for which Timothy Evans was hanged only to be posthumously cleared – and Podola (see post ‘The Discovery Of A Whole New Galaxy…’). Together with Prof Keith Simpson and Prof Francis Camps, Teare was one of the ‘Three Musketeers’, who dealt with almost all the suspicious deaths in the London area. Teare retired in 1975 and in Jan 1979 on the Isle of Man, at the age of 67.

Teare’s wife Kathleen was a magistrate in London.

The Royal College of Physicians website ‘Lives of the Fellows Online’ section informs us that Donald Teare was ‘much respected and loved – a combination not always achieved by men of distinction in medicine’. Someone’s been telling porkies then, because a read through the Royal College of Physicians ‘Lives of the Fellows Online’ reveals numerous distinguished Top Docs who were outstandingly brilliant, wonderful with patients, revered by everyone and had hearts of gold. In the cases of Top Doctors who were so obnoxious that even the Royal College of Physicians can’t pass them off as being lovely, it is stressed that they were really just very shy and no-one knew that within the complete bastard was a cuddly fluffy bunny. It was a CK Simpson who wrote Teare’s ‘Lives of the Fellows’ entry, who I suspect was Keith Simpson, Teare’s mate.

Thurston and Teare were both Top Docs to Scotland Yard and the Royal Family. Thurston was Deputy Coroner to the Royal Household.

 

I really am looking forward to reading Dafydd’s obituaries. A friend has already instructed me to pay a special tribute to Dafydd on this blog when he finally turns his toes up. When Lucille pegs out I could write a little piece along the lines of ‘together in heaven for ever’…

 

Professor Francis Camps was the son of Dr Percy William Leopold Camps, a GP and surgeon. Camps was educated at Marlborough College, followed by Guy’s Hospital. He went on to postgraduate studies at the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine and the Neuchâtel University, Switzerland. Camps took up the post of pathologist at the Chelmsford and Essex Hospital. He was Reader and then Professor of Forensic Medicine at the London Hospital Medical School; President of the International Association of Forensic Scientists; President of the British Association and Secretary General, British Academy of Forensic Sciences.

Camps worked on, amongst others, the Dr John Bodkin Adams case in 1956 where he identified 163 suspicious deaths and was an expert witness in the trial the following year. However, Adams was acquitted of murdering one of his patients, owing to lack of evidence of motive, among other uncertainties. Harriet Harman’s father Dr John  Harman gave evidence supportive of Bodkin Adams, although Harman had very little experience in the matters on which he gave ‘expert evidence’.

Camps gave evidence during the trial of John Christie in 1953, having produced a detailed and comprehensive report on the many bodies found at 10 Rillington Place. The bodies were well preserved and so much relevant information could be gleaned from their condition. His report showed a consistent pattern of attack by Christie, most of the intact victims having been sexually molested and strangled. Beryl and Geraldine Evans had alone been strangled and their bodies were exhumed to be re-examined for Christie’s trial – by then Timothy Evans had already been convicted of their murders and hanged.

The skeletal remains of Christie’s older victims buried in the back garden at Rillington Place provided less information, although it proved possible to identify the women involved. There could be little doubt that Christie had murdered them all, that Timothy Evans was innocent and that he had been wrongly executed. The forensic and witness evidence pointed to a serious miscarriage of justice, although it was contested by a series of lawyers and politicians well after the events.

Several authors, including Ludovic Kennedy, pointed out the many contradictions and errors in the Crown’s case and the innocence of Evans is now widely accepted, by the public, experts and by the Crown itself.

 

Thurston and Teare were involved in having the final say regarding a few other suspicious celebrity deaths as well.

Tara Browne died in a car crash in Chelsea in 1966 – she was a friend of Paul McCartney’s. Jane Asher was Paul McCartney’s girlfriend whose dad Dr Richard Asher’s body was found in 1969 in the basement of the family home at Wimpole Street after he had been missing for days. It was deemed that Dr Asher died by suicide. McCartney had previously lived at the Asher’s Wimpole Street home in the mid-60s. Dr Asher was an endocrinologist and haematologist with an interest in the physical fators contributing to mental illness. He was the senior physician responsible for mental observations at the Central Middlesex Hospital but for some reason in 1964 his job was given to a psychiatrist. Asher was so upset by this that he effectively gave up medicine. In my experience this sort of thing is usually a consequence of war being declared upon someone who has fallen foul of their colleagues, rather than bearing any relation to their clinical skills. Dr Asher had possible connections with Profumo via Stephen Ward.

 

Donald Teare also performed the autopsy on Brian Epstein, the manager of ‘The Beatles’ and Cilla Black. Epstein died in Aug 1967, at his home in Kingsley Hill.

Epstein’s homosexuality was not publicly known until some years after his death, although it had been an open secret among his friends and business associates. Whilst Epstein was in the Army, he commissioned a tailor to make an officer’s uniform for him that he wore when cruising the bars of London, but was arrested one night by the Military Police for impersonating an officer. Epstein managed to avoid a court martial by agreeing to see an Army psychiatrist, who learned of Epstein’s sexuality. After 10 months he was discharged from the Army for being ’emotionally and mentally unfit’. 

Epstein spent a year studying acting at RADA, but dropped out shortly after his arrest for ‘persistent importuning’ outside a men’s public toilet in Swiss Cottage. McCartney said that when Epstein started to manage The Beatles they knew that he was homosexual but did not care, because he encouraged them professionally and offered them access to previously ‘off-limits’ social circles. John Lennon was often sarcastic about Epstein’s homosexuality but no-one outside the inner circle was allowed to comment. Ian Sharp, one of Lennon’s art school friends, when talking about Epstein, asked, ‘Which one of you [Beatles] does he fancy?’ Sharp was sent a letter by Epstein’s office within 48 hours that demanded a complete apology. Sharp apologised but received a letter from McCartney directing him to have no contact with any of them in the future. Epstein went on holiday to places such as Amsterdam, Torremolinos and Barcelona or Manchester at weekends, as the attitude to gays there was more tolerant than Liverpool.

In his autobiography, Pete Best, a close associate of The Beatles, stated that one evening Epstein expressed his ‘very fond admiration’. Epstein then supposedly said, ‘Would you find it embarrassing if I ask you to stay in a hotel overnight?’ Best replied that he was not interested and the two never mentioned the incident again. There were reports of a brief sexual encounter between Lennon and Epstein during a four day holiday in Barcelona in April 1963, although Lennon always denied the rumours. Male homosexual activity was not decriminalised in England and Wales until one month after Epstein’s death.

Epstein used stimulants, usually Preludin, which did not require a prescription at the time. Lennon, McCartney, Harrison, and Starr also used it. Epstein developed dependencies on carbromal, a barbiturate-like sedative/hypnotic drug.

In 1964 Epstein was introduced to cannabis by Bob Dylan. Epstein later became heavily involved in the 1960s drug scene. Whilst the Beatles’ album Sgt Pepper was being recorded, Epstein spent his time on holiday, or at the Priory Clinic in Putney, where he tried unsuccessfully to curb his drug use. 

In June 1967, after McCartney had admitted to LSD use, Epstein defended him to the media, stating that he had taken the drug, too.

Epstein attended a traditional shiva in Liverpool after his father died, having just come out of the Priory Clinic where he had been trying to cure his acute insomnia and addiction to amphetamines. On 24 Aug 1967 Epstein asked Peter Brown and Geoffrey Ellis down to Kingsley Hill – Epstein’s country home in Warbleton Sussex – for the weekend. After they arrived, Epstein decided to drive back to London alone because an expected group of rent boys he had invited failed to arrive, although they did turn up after Epstein left. Epstein phoned Brown at 5 pm the next day from his Chapel Street house in London. Brown thought that Epstein sounded ‘very groggy’, and suggested that he take a train back instead of driving under the influence of Tuinals. Epstein replied that he would eat something, read his mail and watch Juke Box Jury before phoning Brown to tell him which train to meet. He never called again.

Epstein died of an overdose of the barbiturate Carbitral in his locked bedroom, on 27 August 1967. He was discovered after his butler had knocked on the door and then hearing no response asked the housekeeper to call the police. Epstein was found on a single bed, dressed in pyjamas, with various correspondence spread over a second single bed. At the inquest his death was ruled an accident, caused by a gradual buildup of Carbitral in his system, combined with alcohol. The Beatles were in Bangor at the time, with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Epstein had previously agreed to travel to Bangor after the August Bank Holiday. The second of two shows by Jimi Hendrix at Epstein’s Saville Theatre was cancelled on the evening of his death.

Peter Brown wrote in his memoir that he had once found a suicide note written by Epstein and had spoken with him about it. According to Brown the note read in part, ‘This is all too much and I can’t take it any more’. Brown had also found a will made by Epstein. When confronted with the notes, Epstein told Brown that he would be grateful if Brown did not tell anyone. He explained that when he wrote the note and composed the will he had simply taken one pill too many, and that he had no intention of overdosing, promising to be more careful in the future. Epstein’s doctor, Norman Cowan, was prescribing the drugs. The coroner, Thurston, told the Westminster inquest that Epstein’s death was caused by an overdose of Carbitral, and ruled it as an accidental death. The pathologist, Teare, stated that Epstein had been taking bromide in the form of Carbitral for some time and that the barbiturate level in Epstein’s blood was a ‘low fatal level’.

Bromide was famously used by Top Docs to suppress the sexual urges of men who were suspiciously gay, although Top Docs often deny this.

The Beatles did not attend Epstein’s funeral, both to allow his family some privacy and to avoid attracting fans and the media. Epstein was buried in the Long Lane Jewish Cemetery, Aintree. The service at the graveside was held by Rabbi Dr Norman Solomon, who stated that Epstein was ‘a symbol of the malaise of our generation’.

Whatever Epstein did paled into insignificance when compared to that cartel of Top Doctors.

 

It is worth discussing another Top Doctor who was called upon the investigate many suspicious deaths as well, Professor David Bowen. As Head of Forensic Medicine at Charing Cross Hospital between 1973-89 and Professor of Forensic Medicine at London University from 1977-89, Bowen investigated some 500 cases of murder and suspicious deaths.

In Feb 1983 Det Ch Insp Peter Jay, head of Hornsey CID, arrived at Bowen’s office at Charing Cross and showed him several strips of skin and four small bones which had been recovered from a house in Muswell Hill, where blocked drains had been reported. The strips had a few fine hairs and appeared to have been partially boiled; initially they were thought to have come from the skin of a chicken. But Bowen was certain they were human. Noticing indentations on the surface of the skin, Bowen remarked that it might well have come from someone who had been strangled.

On the strength of Bowen’s advice, the detective returned to north London to await the arrival home from work of Dennis Nilsen, a 37 year old civil servant with the Manpower Services Commission. ‘I’ve come about your drains,’ said Jay.

That evening Bowen was called to make an initial examination of Nilsen’s flat at Cranley Gardens, Muswell Hill and was immediately struck by its unpleasant foetid atmosphere. When he examined two plastic bin bags taken from the wardrobe he found human chest tissue, expertly dissected from the rib cage and an almost complete human torso. He also found the upper half of a second torso with arms but no hands; a decomposed skull; and the freshly decapitated head of Nilsen’s last victim. In total Bowen counted up the major parts of two bodies plus a recently dismembered one which was easily identified by fingerprints. In this case, the head had been parboiled in a stockpot which Nilsen kept on his stove. Nilsen said the other two had died in March and Sept 1982.

At his previous address in Melrose Avenue, Cricklewood, Nilsen had dismembered another 12 victims and buried them under his floorboards. To make way for newcomers as space became tight, he progressively transferred the remains to his garden, burning them on huge bonfires before crushing the residuum with a heavy roller. Bowen and a colleague identified enough bone fragments retrieved from the topsoil to establish that at least six bodies were represented. At Nilsen’s trial, the jury found him guilty on six charges of murder.

At the time, the Nilson case involved the disposal of more bodies by one man than in any other case in British criminal history.

 

I remember the media coverage of the Dennis Nilsen case well. Some of the comments in court regarding Nilsen’s ‘madness’ were very stereotypical and quite farcical and although it was clear that human remains had been found, there was much confusion and speculation over exactly how many people Nilsen was alleged to have killed. Then there was the question that everybody was asking – why were none of the men whom Nilsen was alleged to have killed ever reported missing? The conversation at the time centred around how sad it was that numerous young single homeless men had been murdered by Nilsen and no-one even missed them. Some years after Dennis Nilsen was convicted, I encountered Dr Paul Bowden, one of the ‘experts’ in the Nilsen case. Paul Bowden was one of those called upon the ‘assess’ me when the paedophiles’ friends of north Wales perjured themselves and had me arrested in early 1991. Bowden was one of those who knew about the criminality of Dafydd et al but who said nothing (see post ‘Some Very Eminent Psychiatrists From London…’). Bowden worked at the Maudsley, where Dafydd had ‘trained’ and Bowden had also worked closely with Professor Robert Bluglass, who concealed the criminal conduct of Dafydd, Tony Francis, Gwynedd Social Services et al in 1989 (see post ‘Enter Professor Robert Bluglass CBE’).

Many years ago I found the transcript of a public lecture that Bluglass had given, of a ‘my brilliant career’ type. Bluglass waxed lyrical about murderers that he had known but failed to mention that there was a dearth of evidence in some of the cases that he discussed, there was merely rumour and speculation. Bluglass discussed Dennis Nilsen – the journal in which the lecture was published  was illustrated by photos. Someone had recreated the imagined scene in Dennis Nilsen’s kitchen where he was alleged to have boiled someone’s decapitated head on the stove and for effect there were tufts of hair sticking out from under the saucepan lid. The journal was very complimentary about this touch. Now if one of Bluglass’s patients had done that for a laugh, it would have been recorded in triplicate and used as evidence as to how dangerous that patient was for years to come. In much the same way that Dafydd and Bluglass agreed that I was really quite mad and dangerous because I called Dafydd a wanker, yet Bluglass’s daughter Amanda – who fancies herself as an avant garde artist – can embroider a sampler with ‘Happy Fucking Holidays’ on it and display it on the internet. I don’t mind if Amanda Bluglass wants to do that, but it certainly illustrates that her father was moving goalposts.

Perhaps Dennis Nilsen did invite all those men back to his house, strangle them, have sex with them and then dismember them in the kitchen as alleged. Someone definitely killed someone, there were some human remains found. But beyond that no-one can be sure of anything very much because so many of the ‘experts’ involved were not only out of their depth but endemically corrupt liars as well.

 

Four years after the Nilsen trial, Bowen worked on the Railway Murders, two of which had been carried out by John Duffy and three by his close friend David Mulcahy. In 1988 Duffy had been convicted of two killings but acquitted of a third – that of Anne Lock – because of lack of evidence.

But 10 years into his sentence, Duffy named Mulcahy as his accomplice in some 25 rapes and three murders near suburban railway stations in north London, including the unsolved killing of Mrs Lock. Unlike the other two victims, she had been suffocated by a sock stuffed into her mouth. In Sept 2000 Bowen returned to the Old Bailey to testify about the tape that had bound Mrs Lock’s hands and was cross-examined on exactly how the tape had been fastened to her fingers, corroborating the story that Duffy had given. As a result Mulcahy was convicted of three murders, seven rapes and five counts of conspiracy to rape and given a whole life sentence.

David Bowen was born at Pontycymmer, near Bridgend, south Wales. After Caterham School and Garw Secondary School, Pontycymmer, Bowen completed a medical degree at University College of Wales in Cardiff and took a Master’s at Corpus Christi, Cambridge. He completed his training at Middlesex Hospital Medical School. Bowen was pretty much the same age as Gwynne the lobotomist – who also trained at the Middlesex. Bowen undertook house officer posts at the West Middlesex and London Chest Hospitals and followed them up with two years in the RMAC.

Such is the nepotism among Top Doctors that Bowen will have known Gwynne and Dafydd.

Bowen trained in clinical pathology and histopathology at the Royal Marsden Hospital and in 1957 was appointed as Demonstrator in Forensic Pathology at St George’s Hospital Medical School.

In his memoirs, Bowen recalled how a telephone call and an interview led to a job as ‘bagman’ to Professor Donald Teare. It was a ‘rare chance to gain a foothold in such a specialised sphere’ and Bowen seized it.

Bowen carried out forensic investigations into many notable cases, including the murder of Ross McWhirter who was shot on the doorstep of his north London home by the IRA in 1975; the death of the teacher Blair Peach at an anti-racism demonstration in London in 1979 and the killing of PC Keith Blakelock, hacked to death in the riots on the Broadwater Farm Estate, Tottenham, in 1985. Bowen also conducted autopsies in the wake of the IRA bomb at the Baltic Exchange in London in April 1992.

In 1999 Bowen was asked to provide a report on the case of Roberto Calvi, head of Italy’s Banco Ambrosiano and known as ‘God’s banker’ because of his close ties to the Vatican. Calvi was found hanging below Blackfriars Bridge in 1982. Bowen had been retained by lawyers acting for Italian insurers dealing with a claim by Calvi’s widow on a $4 million life insurance policy. She and her son insisted the banker did not take his own life, as the police had concluded.

Bowen believed that evidence pointed to Calvi having been forcibly taken to the bridge, possibly by boat, and to his having been the victim of foul play. In 2007 five Italians tried for Calvi’s murder were acquitted.

The Roberto Calvi case is yet another one in which no-one knows what to believe because of the very questionable track records of so many who were involved with it.

Another case of Bowen’s cases was the death in Spandau prison in 1987 of Rudolf Hess. A British consultant surgeon, Hugh Thomas, who attended Hess, sought Bowen’s opinion on the cause of Hess’s death. Bowen scrutinised two separate postmortem reports, one prepared on behalf of the Four Powers (Britain, the United States, the Soviet Union and France) and the other drawn up on behalf of Hess’s family.

The Four Powers believed that the prisoner had hanged himself using electrical cord he had found in a shed. But Bowen agreed with Hess’s son that the alleged method of Hess’s hanging left considerable doubt about the truth of the matter. Suicidal hanging, Bowen noted, usually leaves few marks on the neck or internal tissues because of the invariably short drop. In Hess’s case the autopsy had found bruising in the deeper neck tissues. Such bruising, Bowen reasoned, while unlikely to occur in a case of hanging, is, however, a feature of strangulation.

Bruising to the top of the head – again as found in Hess’s case – is also unlikely to occur in hanging. ‘Doubts must remain’, Bowen concluded, ‘on the reliability of the official statement given concerning the death of Rudolf Hess.’

As well as his London appointments, Bowen was examiner in forensic medicine at the Universities of Saudi Arabia and Colombo, Sri Lanka. David Bowen married, in 1950, Joan Davis, with whom he had two sons and a daughter. Following her death in 1973 he married, in 1975, Helen Landcastle.

Bowen will have been part of the Dafydd and Gwynne network, so once more, who would ever know whether his opinion was worth anything at all.

 

I am left with the possibility that the ‘delusions’ of F are probably as reliable as the expert opinions of the tightly knit bunch of crooks who carried out so many of the autopsies and inquests of those 60s and 70s rock stars. They managed to condemn Timothy Evans to hang, although people were told very clearly at the time that the police had forced a confession out of Evans, had written his statement themselves and that the evidence wasn’t convincing.

The other thing worth noting is that Kathy Etchingham ended up as a Top Doctor’s wife, but when she went to London she was a 16 year old runaway with a troubled background. She was also from Derby – where a paedophile ring with links to Dafydd’s gang in north Wales operated. Hendrix called Kathy his ‘Yoko Ono From Chester’. Did Kathy end up in London via Chester? Chester was a major part of the north Wales sex trafficking network.

 

There is someone who is still very much alive who could fill us all in on many of the mysteries from swinging London who, like Kathy Etchingham, dines out on her status as someone who was at the heart of it all but who experiences brain fades at very convenient moments – Michael Howard’s wife Sandra, who is the former model known as Sandra Paul.

Michael Howard was the Home Secretary who ruined Mary Wynch as she had the temerity to continue her fight after it was admitted that Dafydd did indeed have Mary unlawfully arrested and imprisoned for a year (see post ‘The Mary Wynch Case – Details’).

Sandra was the daughter of an RAF Top Doctor and seemed to have been expected to lead a rather pointless life when she was young, so she went to London and ‘became a model’. Sandra boasts of having been photographed by David Bailey and Norman Parkinson. She knew JF Kennedy, Frank Sinatra – aka Ol’ Mafia Connections – and Bob Dylan.

Like Kathy, Sandra stresses that she was never promiscuous, but Sandra did get through quite a few husbands in quite a short time before she married Michael Howard. Sandra’s first husband was the jazz pianist Robin Douglas-Home, nephew of former PM Alec. Sandra and Robin’s divorce occurred at about the same time as Robin was shagging Princess Margaret. Robin killed himself in 1968 after suffering clinical depression. Someone else whom the Top Docs didn’t manage to do much for then. After she divorced Robin, Sandra married publicist David Wynne-Morgan and once she’d finished with him, he moved onto advertising exec Nigel Grandfield. Whilst married to Grandfield, Sandra was at a charity knees up on behalf of the Red Cross when she met Michael Howard, who was at that time still working as a barrister. Howard and Sandra married in 1975.

Michael Howard began life as Michael Hecht. His mum had lived in Wales from the age of six months but his dad was from Romania. What with the UK being populated by so many bigots, Michael’s dad did what many immigrants did and changed his name. Thus Michael was able to rise to the top of a party containing even more racist bastards than the other parties.

Howard was from south west Wales and went to Llanelli Boys’ Grammar School. He then went to Peterhouse College, Cambridge. Whilst a student, Howard was part of the notorious ‘Cambridge mafia’, along with Ken Clarke et al who later filled Thatcher’s Cabinet. Howard was elected as the MP for Folkestone and Hythe in 1983.

Another Tory of that era who came from the Swansea area was Michael Heseltine. Then there was Geoffrey Howe who was born in Port Talbot, the son of a solicitor and coroner. After Bridgend Prep School, Howe went to school in England then went to Trinity Hall where he too became part of the Cambridge mafia. Howe worked as a barrister on the endemically corrupt Wales and Chester Circuit, along with Ronnie Waterhouse and so many others who concealed the crimes of Dafydd and co. Howe investigated the Ely Hospital Scandal in 1969 – conditions at the North Wales Hospital were known to be worse but there was no investigation. Howe was Solicitor General under Heath, 1970-72. Howe served as MP for Bebington on the Wirral, 1964-66, then for Reigate in Surrey, 1970-74, then for East Surrey, 1974-92.

Geoffrey Howe knew about Dafydd and Gwynne (and of course George Thomas) even before Sir Peter Morrison was elected as MP for Chester and began abusing kids in north Wales and Cheshire.

Geoffrey has turned his toes up but his widow Elspeth is still with us. Elspeth is a peer in her own right – Blair made her a People’s Peer, along with all those paedophiles’ friends. Elspeth was Deputy Chairman of the EOC, 1975-79 – so she’ll have known the paedophiles’ friends who log jammed that organisation them – and was Chair of the Broadcasting Standards Commission. Just in case anyone had thought of screening a TV expose of Dafydd et al…

Do you have anything that you wish to declare Elspeth?

Elspeth is a relative of Camilla, as in the Camilla who is married to Prince Charles.

 

Sandra Howard was interviewed by the ‘Express Online’ in 2014, to promote her novel. Sandra stressed although she drew upon her days as a 60s It Girl for her novel, she’ll never write an autobiography. No, she would never dare.

Sandra told the Express that ‘the invitation to the White House came while she was staying with the British ambassador David Ormsby-Gore and his late wife who was godmother to Sandra’s eldest child, Sholto’.

David Ormsby-Gore aka Lord Harlech was later killed in a car crash. After Lord Harlech did that stint as the US Ambassador, Ormsby-Gores have a habit of dying in unfortunate circumstances. Alice Ormsby-Gore was engaged to Eric Clapton – who was a mate of Hendrix’s – and died of a heroin overdose. Eric has since admitted that he introduced Alice to heroin, treated her appallingly, managed to give up heroin himself and left Alice wrecked. One of the Ormsby-Gores shot himself and Francis Ormsby-Gore – who lived near Harlech rather than at the family seat in Shropshire – showed every sign of having come under attack from the paedophiles’ friends. For the full details of the many suspicious deaths among the last two generations of the Ormsby-Gores and the way in which poor Francis found his life falling apart once he’d been helped by the Top Doctors, see post ’95 Glorious Years!’.

Sandra states that she ‘was invited to the White House at a time when the special relationship was extremely special,’ she says.

Sandra met Ol’ Mafia Connections when she was 20, through a friend of her first husband Robin. Sinatra introduced them to Marilyn Monroe. ‘Frank invited us to California to discuss the idea for a book about him and his music. We were with him much of the next three months. Since he was between girlfriends and looking after Marilyn I met her at social events.’

Through Sinatra, Sandra also met Ava Gardner and Ella Fitzgerald. But Marilyn made the biggest impression: ‘Marilyn had to feel loved by all and wanted by every man in the room,’ recalls Sandra of a dinner party where Sinatra insisted everyone was served ‘telly dinners on individual trays’ and she found herself seated next to Marilyn ‘feeling awash with my own inadequacies’.

Never mind Sandra, you might have been green with envy but Marilyn was found dead in questionable circumstances whilst in the care of Top Docs and the down side of Marilyn wanting to feel loved and wanted by every man in the room – or people believing this of her – was that predators like JF Kennedy and Ol’ Mafia Connections moved in on her.

 

I don’t think that F, the Hergest patient whose life was destroyed by Dafydd and the paedophiles as described in my post ‘Killing Floor – I Know Cos I Was There!’, personally witnessed the death of anyone like Hendrix or Brian Jones, but he did know people who may well have been at or near the scene.

From what F told me, his life only seemed to begin unravelling after his father died. F had begun his life of excess before then, but he seemed to have a great ability to evade the sort of consequences which other people would have experienced. On one occasion F’s car was stopped and surrounded by armed police, after a prank that he and his friends had played with a replica gun at an airport. The gun was definitely not a real one, but pretending to be conducting an armed robbery was the sort of thing that would have landed most young men in prison. F wasn’t even charged. I heard many such tales from F and in passing he used to sometimes comment that the police were always OK about it because ‘they knew my dad and everyone liked my dad’. F’s dad was a Freemason. F used to stress to me that he had no knowledge of his dad ever abusing that position, as far as he could see Freemasonry was just a benevolent charitable organisation. When F’s dad was dying, he was cared for by the Royal Masonic Hospital and after he died the Masons helped the family financially.

After F’s dad died, F’s family suffered very badly. The family business – which had been a thriving one – went tits up in a major way and his mum, who had grown up in south Africa, returned to Capetown because there was nothing left for her in Surrey.

F then found himself constantly threatened and arrested by the police in Surrey and again when he moved to north Wales in 1979. F really enjoyed his recreational chemicals so there was plenty that the police could legitimately have pursued him for, but the police did a bit better than that. F was constantly fitted up for ludicrous offences which he had not committed. By the time that I knew him, this was undoubtedly happening to F because he was being targeted by Dafydd and the paedophiles.

There was another factor in F’s life as well, a factor that I believe F had seriously underestimated – his father-in-law, who was a society dentist in Surrey and was networked to Top Docs in Harley Street. F knew that his father-in-law hated him, although F did get on very well with his mother-in-law. After he married his wife, C, C revealed to F that her father had offered to pay her not to marry him. C was quite rebellious, didn’t get on with her father anyway and although she had a very volatile relationship with F, in many ways they were incredibly close – they are now pensioners and long divorced, but they still see each other. C refused to be bribed by her father. C later told F that after they married, her father gave her what he called ‘running away money’, a sizeable sum to leave F ‘when’ she decided to do that.

C didn’t ever utilise the running away money, but there were certainly traumas. F was constantly ending up in psychiatric hospitals and some of his experiences in those in the south of England before he ever reached the clutches of Dafydd and the North Wales Hospital Denbigh were quite extraordinary. He was nearly murdered by another patient in one hospital and although he was deemed to be far too ill to look after himself, he was discharged because the doctor on duty judged that the patient who had attempted to murder him was very probably going to try it again and they couldn’t keep F safe. So he was discharged onto the streets. Which is a good deal more common than the Top Docs ever admit.

What was happening throughout this time was that F’s father-in-law was conducting a very cosy relationship with the Top Doctors who were ‘caring for’ F. F did find out about this on two occasions and had serious bust-ups with the Top Docs concerned, but F seemed to think that it had only happened on those two occasions. I suspect that it was happening systematically. F did not like Top Doctors and certainly didn’t trust them, but he had no idea of the depths of corruption in medicine, the professional loyalty that Top Docs feel towards each other which nearly always takes priority over patients’ welfare and that the Harley Street crowd are the worst of the lot. F used to comment that his father-in-law was such a greedy horrible man that dentistry was a most inappropriate profession for him – but greedy horrible people working in healthcare are not unusual. When F first told me about his ‘evil’ father-in-law, I took the view that a society dentist probably wouldn’t be overjoyed at his daughter marrying someone with F’s lifestyle so a clash was inevitable. Then a couple of people whom I knew from Bethesda met F’s father-in-law when he visited his daughter and both of these people – one of whom was a conservative wife of a local businessman – remarked to me ‘gosh, C’s father is a really unpleasant man, I couldn’t feel at ease with him’.

I never met C’s dad, but I suspect that he was the sort of cold sadistic martinet that Gwynne the lobotomist was.

F’s in-laws lived in Weybridge in Surrey, as did he before he moved to north Wales.

Geoffrey Howe was a Surrey MP and senior member of Thatcher’s Gov’t whilst Thatcher’s friend and another member of that Gov’t, Sir Peter Morrison, abused kids that Dafydd delivered. The MP for Weybridge throughout many of the years that F did battle with his father-in-law and whilst F found himself banged up and harassed by Dafydd and the paedophiles, was Sir Michael Grylls – dad of the Boy Scout Bear – who, along with Sir Peter Morrison, was involved in the lobbying scandal re Ian Greer Associates (see post ‘Always On The Side Of The Children’).

 

I know how Dafydd works and it is by using corrupt contacts within a corrupt network. I think it highly likely that F found himself fitted up in Risley Remand Centre because of some sort of deal that was done between F’s father-in-law and Dafydd. I am not going to name C here or her father-in-law, because we are talking serious organised crime and C is a potential witness. But there is someone else who I think might have played a role as well – someone who knew how corrupt Dafydd was, who didn’t like him but who was very aware of how comfortable his own life was and how difficult it would be if he crossed Dafydd’s path.

Step forward Jeff Crowther, the former psychiatric nursing manager at the Hergest Unit. Jeff came from Guildford, just down the road from F’s father-in-law and Jeff’s mother still lived in Surrey when Jeff worked at the Hergest.

Jeff: They killed your fucking wife for God’s sake and sent a thug after you. I am in hiding and none of them have ever stood trial. You might be prepared to take this sort of shit from a bunch of gangsters but I am not. Hand yourself in and fess up and whilst you are about it name everybody else involved. I do not know how any of you can live with yourselves, you knew what they were doing to people. It’s not as if they treated you any better, why do you think that Lil ‘never recovered’ once she ended up in the hands of Ysbyty Gwynedd? Just how bloody weak are you all? People DIED so that you could keep your job as an Angel and go to festivals with Gareth and Penny every summer – where you hung out with the rock star children of the paedophile gang… Was it really worth it?

Just call me The Green Green Grass of Home…

Only I don’t think that I am quite so fucking green as a bunch of dickwits who colluded with serious organised crime and I’ll be naming all of them. There was barely one person working in the NHS in north Wales who did not know something about the deaths, the organised sex abuse, the large scale drug trafficking and the en masse embezzlement of NHS funds. How about another interview with the ‘Daily Post’ then suckers, telling the world about all those vicious attacks that you have to endure from the Dangerous Psychiatric Patients? Somehow I don’t think that it’s going to save your bacon.

Perhaps John Mullen, the former CEO of the Gwynedd Community Health Trust, who allowed his staff to conduct themselves in this manner and who failed to investigate every complaint about them, would like to explain what the ‘special arrangement’ with BT that he and his colleagues had going was. A new telephone sir? Of course. Will that be On The Special Arrangement? No need to talk receipts or invoices, just tell us who wants the phone and we’ll install it – the bill will be going to the Trust, no questions asked. Because they’re all a bunch of crooks in the finance dept as well. Hefin Davies, the Chairman of the Trust, Freemason and friends with the crooks of that parish who knew those involved with the massive theft of slate at Penrhyn Quarry will also have known about the Special Arrangement…

 

 

I am still unclear as to why Capitalist Extraordinaire Martin Sorrell resigned in a hurry the other day. Sorrell began his career with Saatchi and Saatchi who have links to the paedophiles’ friends in north Wales (see post ‘The International Language Of Screaming’), but I’ve found a link between Martin Sorrell’s company WPP and dear old Ronnie Waterhouse as well. I’ve nearly finished reading Waterhouse’s autobiography and gosh Ronnie did have a lot of friends in high places, as well as a personal connection with most of the paedophiles’ friends. No wonder William Hague gave Ronnie a call and told him that he would be Chairing the cover-up. I’m planning a mini-series of Ronnie-related posts, Ronnie’s friends and relations are too numerous to be dealt with in only one post. Meanwhile, here’s a little taster.

 

Among Ronnie’s many friends was Woodrow Wyatt, the most dreadful old bigot who advised Thatch and wrote one of those ‘The View From The Bar Stool’ columns for the ‘News Of The World’, telling the working classes why the millionaire Thatch – whose friend and aide Sir Peter Morrison was raping children from north Wales whom Dafydd had delivered to him – was On Their Side.

Woodrow was the Labour MP for Birmingham Aston, 1945-55 although he was also a friend of HM the Queen Lilibet, Thatch and Rupert Murdoch. In 1959 Wyatt was returned as the MP for Bosworth in Leicestershire where he remained for many years. So he will have known about Greville Janner, Frank Beck and the Leicestershire Child Abuse Scandal. Whilst out of Parliament, Wyatt worked as a reporter for ‘Panorama’, in which in 1957 he revealed ballot-rigging in the ETU (Electrical Trades Union). It was through the ETU that Waterhouse got to know Wyatt – Waterhouse represented the ETU in court and curiously, although he lost the first big case that he did for them, he mentioned that from then on the ETU passed much work his way. In the mid-80s Wyatt played a role in the negotiations between Murdoch and the electricians’ union, aiding Murdoch’s move to Wapping. Wyatt opposed sanctions against apartheid South Africa. Like Ronnie Waterhouse, Wyatt was a good friend of Roy Jenkins. Jenkins spent years concealing the wrongdoing of Dafydd et al and in later life acted as an adviser to Tony Blair (see post ‘The Most Dangerous Man In The World – Part I’).

Wyatt’s daughter Petronella worked at ‘The Spectator’ and famously had an affair with Boris Johnson.

Woodrow Wyatt also hung out with Bertrand Russell – Wyatt conducted many interviews with Russell. Russell used to go and have tea with Woodrow and friends at Clough Williams-Ellis’s house at Llanfrothen.

 

In the late 1950s, Ronnie Waterhouse – in between dining at the Savoy (yes, even as a struggling young lawyer Ronnie was a regular at the Savoy and at Glyndebourne and of course at the Waldorf, where Ronnie’s dad used to stay when he went down to London to visit Ronnie) – was a member of a group of people who were mostly drawn from the Labour Party who imaginatively called themselves  ‘The Group’. This was to distinguish themselves from the Bow Group, which was comprised of friends of Ronnie et al – although Ronnie was for quite a while active in the Labour Party (before he became a Liberal), he was also mates with many Tories, including Geoffrey Howe.

The Group thought that they tasted success in 1960, when they renamed themselves ‘The Labour Manifesto Group’ and presented their ideas at the Labour Party Conference. Their 1960 effort was co-authored by Tony Crosland and Philip Williams. Crosland was used by Blair’s mate Ernest Armstrong to conceal child sexual abuse in the north east of England on the part of those who had strong links to Dafydd and the paedophiles in north Wales (see post ‘The Most Dangerous Man In The World – Part III’).

Ronnie stated in his autobiography that ‘two of the main moving spirits’ in The Group were Bill Rodgers and Dick Taverne. Ronnie’s proud boast is that some members of The Group became the nucleus for the Campaign for Democratic Socialism, which supported Hugh Gaitskill. They also ran off and joined Dr Death in the SDP years later. Ronnie himself left the Labour Party when Wilson became leader. Not because Wilson was a crook, but because he was dangerously left wing for Ronnie’s tastes.

 

Ronnie’s biggest lifelong buddy was of course Sir Robin Day, who was just so appalled when Lord Lambton cheerily fessed up to sharing a bed with some call girls and smoking a joint. If only Lambton been molesting kids in care and killing witnesses.

Waterhouse also knew Lord Aberconway, the 2nd Baron, of Bodnant Gardens fame. As did Bertrand Russell – the Aberconways were another family who hung out at Clough’s place and had tea with Bertrand. The 2nd Baron was one of Ronnie’s lawyer colleagues, but as Ronnie observed, Lord Aberconway was such a hopeless lawyer that the Clerk of the Court had to write the summing up and hand it to Lord Aberconway, who would then read it out.

Ronnie ingratiated himself to another north Wales family, the Pennants, who owned an estate not far from Ronnie’s turf at Holywell. The Pennants were an off-shoot of the slave trading Penrhyns of Penrhyn Castle fame. One of the descendants of the Pennants who lived near Ronnie is Antoinette Sandbach, star of this blog. Antoinette is the Tory MP for Eddisbury. Her dad was the highest ranking Freemason in north Wales throughout those years when the North Wales Police found no evidence of a paedophile gang, when Ronnie’s Public Inquiry found only a few Welsh sheep shaggers to blame and when other witnesses were found dead yet no questions were asked. Antoinette’s family have been doing favours for Dafydd and the paedophiles for years – her grandmother Geraldine was the President of the Denbigh branch of the Royal College of Midwives. Antoinette is a barrister. She won’t have dared become an historian with her ancestry. For more details of Antoinette and her proud family see post ‘News Round Up, 19 January 2018’.

 

Ever the one for keeping his eye open as to who around him it might be worth shamelessly toadying to, Ronnie was acutely aware of the presence of the Mostyn family in north Wales. Ronnie observed that Lord Mostyn was only interested in sheepdog trials – with neighbours like Ronnie I imagine that the sheepdogs would be rather better company – but Ronnie didn’t mention another younger member of the Mostyn family whom he will have known of.

Sir Nicholas Mostyn was born in Lagos, Nigeria. Sir Nicholas is a British High Court judge.

Sir Nicholas’s father was a British American Tobacco executive, thus Mostyn grew up in Nigeria, Venezuala and El Salvador. He was educated at Ampleforth College – alongside Edward Stourton. Mostyn studied law at Bristol University.

Mostyn was called to the bar in 1980 and earned the nickname of ‘Mr Payout’ after winning a number of notable cases including representing the wife of footballer Ray Parlour and winning the 1000 day marriage case for the wife of a leading City of London fund manager where no children where involved. Mostyn was retained by Fiona Shackleton in Paul McCartney’s divorce case with Heather Mills. Mostyn has been highly critical of the CSA and undertook pro bono cases involving the CSA where he thought there was an important issue of law involved. Mostyn has said:

The first CEO of the CSA who presided over so many disasters and injustices – some of which led to suicides – was Ros Hepplewhite. Being let loose at the CSA was her reward for those years of sterling service as the CEO of MIND, 1989-92, during which time Ros concealed the crimes of Dafydd and the paedophiles in north Wales as well as elsewhere (see post ‘MIND Are Out For Mental Health – Never For Themselves Of Course’).

(F received communication from the CSA in which he was accused of failing to concern himself with the upkeep of the baby whom the paedophiles had stolen from him. Because F had been bled dry, even the CSA didn’t in the end demand money off him. So then they investigated his new wife to see if they could extract any dosh out of her.)

In 2015, Mostyn was removed from a case after he went against a landmark ruling of the Supreme Court concerning the rights of disabled people (namely that they have the same right to ‘physical liberty’ as non-disabled people).

Mostyn’s bonanzas included that which he won on behalf of Sandra, the wife of Martin Sorrell, a sum of £29m. Mostyn represented Di’s brother Charles Spencer – who’s track record towards female partners is not too brilliant. After losing the right to have the case heard in a closed court session, Spencer was upset at the final settlement. Mostyn, a keen farmer, named his latest batch of seven pigs after his thoughts on the case’s High Court judge, Mr Justice James Munby: James, Munby, Self-regarding, Pompous, Publicity, Seeking, Pillock. Earl Spencer later unsuccessfully sued Mostyn.

Mostyn was the presiding judge over the highly controversial decision a few years ago which authorised an NHS Trust to deliver a child by emergency caesarean section, as the mother was judged to have lacked capacity to have consented to the operation herself. The mother was an Italian citizen who was visiting the UK and during her visit she suffered a severe bipolar episode. The child was later the subject of a care application by Essex County Council. The mother was utterly distraught and pointed to her stable home and family in Italy as the reason why to have done all this was outrageous and damaging. There was much talk of Mostyn having read the opinions of Top Docs and social workers before he made his decision. Unfortunately Sir Nicholas, they lie. If they knew what they were doing and were honest, one could come to sensible decisions on the basis of their opinions, but at the moment that cannot happen.

It was Springfield Hospital who pioneered performing Caesarean sections on women who ‘didn’t know their own minds’. Shortly after I left their clutches in the early 1990s, they performed a Caesarean on a silly young thing who worked as a veterinary nurse and who explained that she had a phobia of hospitals and did not think that she would cope with a hospital birth. She was sectioned, detained at Springfield and given a Caesarean at St George’s against her wishes. It was a disaster. She had a breakdown, couldn’t bond with the baby and over the next few months repeatedly attempted suicide. Her baby was taken into care. She sued and was told that the Top Docs had acted entirely in her best interests and lost the case. She gave an interview at a later date and explained very clearly how her life had been completely destroyed by the actions of Springfield Hospital.

From what I saw at St George’s not long before that event, the silly girl’s care on the delivery suite at St George’s would have probably been OK. A lot of the midwives there were very good, as were most of the Top Docs, although there was a lot of snobbery and casual racism among the Top Docs. One (female) Top Doc told a colleague of mine – another medical researcher – that ‘the midwives are all really thick, especially the black ones’. How bright was the researcher who repeated this in my presence, after berating me for being friends with the midwives? Er – well her boyfriend, a police officer with the Met, had just secured them  and their friends tickets to see ‘The Bangles’ in concert. The police officer had bagged tickets for the front row so that, my colleague told me, ‘the lads can look up the girls skirts’.

I say that most of the Top Docs on the delivery suite were good – most of them were and two of them were actually normal, pleasant people among much lunacy. There was however a Top Doc called Joseph who did all he could to get out of work, including declaring himself to be conscientiously against abortions. It was openly discussed by the other Top Docs that Joseph was anti-abortion because it was one less job for him. Then there was another one who was just as lazy as Joseph but more senior. He engaged me in an interesting conversation about how he went to Ronnie Scott’s several times a week and it was really great, I should try it. I was a little worried throughout this conversation because a midwife kept coming up and asking him to help with a birth because the woman had been pushing for a long while and she seemed to be in trouble. He batted the midwife away three or four times. I thought that if I stopped the conversation perhaps he would take a bit more notice of the now frantic midwife, so I went down to the other end of the ward. The jazz fan continued to sit there, chilling out, he read a newspaper and listened to a bit of music. I then noticed all hell break loose – the patient whom this man had refused to help was now in serious distress and a disabled baby was a very real possibility – WHOOPS, emergency caesarean necessary…

The midwife who’s pleas were ignored for over an hour wasn’t even black. Interestingly enough the jazz fan was, he was Nigerian.

So as long as women giving birth at St George’s managed to avoid the small number of lethal Top Docs – not that they would ever have been given any indication at all that the Doc caring for them was lethal, most patients are incredibly trusting and believe that standards in medicine are high and are robustly enforced and Top Docs always reassure patients of this – they would be OK. So I doubt that it would have been the staff on the delivery suite at St George’s who will have destroyed the veterinary nurse who didn’t know what was best for her.

It will have been Springfield. The brutal, drug-dealing, swearing, screaming Angels of Springfield who were the henchmen for the Top Docs who were concealing a sex trafficking gang, who admitted in writing that they knew that Dafydd was sexually exploiting the patients but agreed with Dafydd that I really was very dangerous when they found out that I knew at least some of what Dafydd was up to (see post ‘Some Very Eminent Psychiatrists From London’).

There was another person doing a PhD at St George’s in the late 80s/early 90s who may well have known about Dafydd et al. This man had previously worked as a psychiatric nurse at Prof Robert Bluglass’s empire in Birmingham, the Reaside Clinic. He had not been very complimentary about Bluglass – he told me that there were wards at the Reaside Clinic which were frankly dreadful but Bluglass ensured that no-one ever visited them. Bluglass concealed Dafydd’s crimes and also was called upon to ‘investigate’ the serious problems at Ashworth and blame the murders, violence and sexual abuse there on the patients rather than the staff (see post ‘Security, Security’).

So Dr Mark Roy, how about making a statement about old Bluglass and his crimes and the many other crimes that you will have gained knowledge of at St George’s, then during your stint in the Dept of Psychiatry at Oxford University – home of Prof Tom Burns and Professor Mark Williams who also concealed the crimes of Dafydd and the paedophiles. After Oxford, Mark Roy bagged himself a job at the Dept of Biobehavioural Health at Pennsylvania State University, but I suspect that Mark left there under a cloud. He is now a senior lecturer in the School of Psychology at the University of Central Lancashire.

 

As for the present Lord Mostyn – he is a young man from Chelsea who owns most of Llandudno.

 

 

The media continue to tell us all that one only has to ‘ask for help’ if one is experiencing mental distress and the fickle finger of suspicion continues to be pointed at men in particular who won’t Talk About It. Even ‘Farming Today’ on Radio 4 a few days ago had an article on male farmers who Won’t Ask For Help.

This is not what I have seen. When I lived in north Wales I knew of men who were desperately begging for help, but as with women, no help would be forthcoming. I am sure that transgender or intersex people would have had no more luck at getting any assistance from the north Wales mental health services. When I was doing my PhD there was a member of staff who worked in Bangor University who was married to a farmer. The farmer became very seriously depressed and both his wife and him begged for help from the Anglesey Community Mental Health Team. He began to talk about killing himself and said that he had thought about how to do this, he would shoot himself. After quite some time of this, the Anglesey CMHT went out to the farm, visited him, offered no help but took away his shotgun. He had another one, as his wife had told them, but they ignored her concerns. Hours later he shot himself dead.

Bridget Lloyd, the Angel who perjured herself in an attempt to have me imprisoned (see post ‘A Solicitor’s Letter From North East Wales MIND’), was a member of the Anglesey CMHT at the time.

The suicide was widely discussed at Bangor University and a lot of people who knew the dead man and his widow were very angry. It was agreed by virtually everyone that it had been sheer inexcusable negligence. I was at a university function a couple of days after the farmer’s suicide and one of his friends, another member of staff, was there, fuming volubly about the idiocy of the mental health services and saying that someone should be sued. The dreadful Professor Tom Corns, latterly of the School of English at Bangor, started arguing the toss, trotting out the line that ‘it’s difficult, looking after people like that’. What the dead man’s friend didn’t know about Tom Corns is that he is married to a social worker, Pat Corns. Pat Corns spent many enjoyable years working as a paedophiles’ friend in north Wales and knew all about the unnecessary deaths, wrongful imprisonments and the child abuse. Tom Corns’s son is a Top Doctor.

I knew a number of other men in north Wales who did try and Talk To Their Doctors but who also got nowhere. I knew one man who developed a very serious drink problem and his wife confided in me that he had begun to get violent when he was drunk. She knew why he was drinking, it was because life had now got too much for him – his mum had killed himself when he was six, his dad hadn’t been able to look after him and he had literally scavenged in bins for food. This took place in rural Gwynedd in the 1970s. Most of the villagers in the village where this family lived knew what had happened to him as a child and they also knew about his alcohol problem. Finally he went to Bethesda surgery to ask for help with his ‘nerves’. He was given a prescription for valium and sent on his way.

His drinking continued and one day he arrived at my place completely bladdered and caused trouble, but didn’t actually damage anything or anyone. I rang the police at Bethesda and explained the problem and said that this man was clearly quite desperate. The policeman stated that he knew the ‘fat bastard’ and that if I wanted him arrested he’d do so. I explained that the fat bastard actually had serious problems and so far was a nuisance but not criminal. The police told me that they couldn’t do anything.

A few weeks later I heard that the same man had been the target of a malicious allegation that he’d sexually harassed a young woman. The basis of the young woman’s allegations that he was sexually dodgy was that he was a naturist who went to nude swimming sessions at the local swimming pool. Another local person went to those nudist swimming sessions as well – a local Top Doctor. I bet that no-one called him a fat bastard when he developed mental health problems or accused him of sexual harassment. Some months later the same young woman made allegations of rape against another man. She later admitted that she had made it all up – but not until he’d been arrested and held in custody on bail. One reason that this young woman’s complaints were taken so seriously by the police in the face of no evidence was her close friendships with a number of police officers. Very close friendships indeed with a number of male police officers – who in return for sex were quite happy to fit up anyone whom she cared to point the finger at. Interestingly enough, the people whom she accused had always crossed the path of the paedophiles’ friends…

Perhaps Donna Maria Morgan would like to tell everyone how she managed to have so many deep and meaningful friendships with so many social workers and police officers in north Wales. She might also like to pay me the £500 that she owes me after bouncing a cheque on me and writing me a letter telling me not to go to the police because she’s got mates everywhere ‘who’ll vouch for me’. Presumably the same mates who vouched for her when an innocent man was imprisoned on the basis of her malicious allegations.

Donna was a good mate of Denise Baker aka Denise Baker McClearns, who was for many years married to a children’s social worker employed by the Anglesey team. Prior to that Denise lived with a coke addict, who I was told, also flogged drugs to fund his habit. It was this man – Malcolm Fox – and Denise who were named by Donna as two of those who would ‘vouch for’ her should I contact the police. Denise later embarked on a career working with mentally ill female prisoners as a member of Prof Louis Appleby’s team on his flagship project re suicide. I was told that Denise was dismissed on the grounds that she was a danger to vulnerable people. So she went straight out and landed another job with vulnerable people…

 

I don’t wish to give the impression here that it was only Top Docs, social workers and police officers who abused or exploited vulnerable people in north Wales. A few other people tried their luck as well. F was a talented artist and before Dafydd et al ruined his life, he used to paint big oil paintings on 6ft canvases. When he was living in the south of England he used to sell them for several thousand pounds each. The market was far more difficult in north Wales because there were far fewer people with high disposable incomes, so F ended up with about eleven big canvases stored in his home.

In about 1993, two business graduates from Bangor University set up a cafe in Bangor called The Fat Cat and weeks they later opened another one in Chester. They made a deal with F that they would display his paintings in the Chester cafe – F might make a sale and meanwhile the cafe would have something nice on the walls. The Fat Cat men collected F’s paintings in their van and took them over to Chester. A few weeks later, one of them, Simon, contacted F and explained that there had been a break-in at Chester – the paintings were OK, but Simon and his business partner Matthew were worried that if it happened again and the paintings were damaged or stolen, their insurance wouldn’t cover it. F explained that he didn’t have transport to collect the paintings, so Simon said that he’d return them.

The paintings were delivered to F as arranged – except that one was missing. The most valuable one. Simon stated that it was slightly bigger than the others and wouldn’t fit in the van, but they’d return it soon. F waited and waited. Then he contacted Simon and Matthew and was once more told that the painting would soon be returned. This went on for many months. Then Matthew told F that if he wanted his painting back he’d have to hire a van himself and collect it from Nottingham of all places – where Matthew had a flat. Matthew had taken the painting to his flat ‘for safe-keeping’. F told Matthew that he couldn’t afford to rent a van and collect the painting from Nottingham. Matthew told F that he wasn’t getting the painting back unless he went to Nottingham. The price tag on the painting was £6k.  F went to the police to report the theft. The police told him that it was a civil matter. A very kind local solicitor wrote to Matthew  – and waived his fee – and asked for F’s painting to be returned. Matthew wrote to the solicitor and told him that F should spend his money on a van to collect his painting ‘rather than on expensive solicitors’.

Meanwhile, I had a friend who had been invited to a party at Matthew’s flat in Nottingham. There, hanging as the centrepiece, was the stolen oil painting. Matthew freely told his guests that he liked the painting so he kept it because he knew that the owner of the painting couldn’t afford to retrieve it or indeed take civil action against him.

By the time that my friend found the stolen painting, Matthew and Simon had opened a chain of The Fat Cats across the UK, had won an award for business and had stated their ambition to be create an international chain of The Fat Cats. Up in Bangor there was a stream of former The Fat Cat staff who had been treated abominably and not paid. Then there were the people who had enrolled for The Fat Cat ‘management training programme’ who found that health and safety legislation was being routinely flouted.

A few years ago, The Fat Cat chain of cafe bars appeared in the media. The business was in difficulties and the Director, one Matthew Saunders, was having to close many of his cafes because the bank had called in his overdraft without warning. Saunders gave interviews to the broadsheets about the outrageous behaviour of Lloyds Bank who had ruined the sort of business that this country needs no less.

I had a particularly good laugh at Saunders being stuffed over by the bank, as I’m sure did those waiters and waitresses to whom he owed money. The downside is that Saunders has probably flogged the painting that he stole to keep the wolf from the door whilst he works out another way of fleecing people.

I have begun wondering though. Is it possible that Saunders may have been acquainted with the paedophiles’ friends himself – that painting was stolen just when open season was declared on F…

 

One more conundrum before I finish this post. I have previously mentioned Dafydd’s habit of crashing his car every 50 miles or so and the multiple crashes that Dafydd had whilst he was flying light air craft. Dafydd was very obviously not medically fit enough to hold a driving licence yet alone any sort of pilot’s licence. From what I understand, the criteria for a pilot’s licence are stringent. One has to apply to the Civil Aviation Authority for a Light Aircraft Pilot’s Licence. There is a list of approved medical examiners. Does anyone know who was writing Dafydd’s medical reports, because I think that as ever with Dafydd, rules have been flouted.

 

 

NEWSFLASH – Carwyn announced this afternoon at the Welsh Labour Party conference in Llandudno that he is standing down as FM. Carwyn has never taken the action that he should have over the NHS, but Carwyn is the best of a very bad bunch. Paedophiles’ friend Mark Drakeford has stated that he will be ‘talking to his family’ about standing for election as FM. Now that really is an appalling vista.

Lord Denning