The Great New Zealand Robbery

by Scott Bainbridge

  Barry ‘Machine-gun’ Shaw came across Nash in prison and clearly formed a favourable impression of him.

  I didn’t know Nash on the outside but had a bit to do with him up in the Big House. A lot of guys gave him swish, you know—‘Who else was on the job?’ and ‘Where’s the fuckin’ loot?’, even threatening to rape his missus and kids. He did it tough but gave away nothing. Nashy was a solid con. He was fucked off at the long sentence. He had a kiddie on the way and felt bad for his wife and worried the kids wouldn’t remember who he was when he got out, and he fretted his wife might find another bloke. He said she was getting grief from some bottom-feeder cunts threatening her and he felt helpless he couldn’t do anything about it. So when I got out of the joint I went and seen her and she told me who it was so me and Gay-Gay [McGlynn] and Tiger [Collecutt] went and bricked them [beat them over the head and face with a brick]. That put an end to that.

  — — —

  Under the watchful eye of the prison authorities, Nash kept his head down and was a compliant prisoner. He requested law books and legal journals from the library, writing copious notes. He decided to seek leave to challenge both his conviction and the severity of his sentence through the Court of Appeal. Superintendent Haywood, who offered to look over it, was impressed. ‘If he had put as much effort into a legitimate choice of career, he might’ve made something of himself,’ Haywood wrote.

  Nash was granted leave to put his case to the Court of Appeal, and he was represented in this hearing by Mr J. G. Jamieson, who had been junior counsel at his Supreme Court trial. The appeal was heard in front of Justices Hutchison, North, Henry and McCarthy. The basis of Nash’s argument was that Mr Justice Finlay was acting beyond his powers in allowing the recall of Hoy to give evidence regarding the brick bolster. Although it seemed like a minor procedural flaw, it was well worth mounting a legal challenge, not least because of what was at stake. The evidence regarding the bolster was a key card in the circumstantial house of cards that the prosecution case had relied upon. Remove it and the case against Nash collapsed.

  Nash’s other argument was that his sentence was manifestly excessive. He claimed that His Honour seemed to have indexed the term of imprisonment to the dollar amount of the crime, an approach which had no basis in law.

  For the Crown, Speight argued His Honour was quite within his rights to allow him to remedy a simple mistake in the orderly presentation of the Crown case. As for the sentence, he argued that the crime had been carefully planned, had been successful and, in view of Nash’s past convictions, the sentence was appropriate and would serve its purpose as a deterrent. The court reserved its decision until 19 December 1957, when Nash’s appeal was dismissed. The Court of Appeal found that, even if the recall of Detective Hoy was a procedural error, it did not amount to a miscarriage of justice, and, rather dubiously, the court stated in its judgment that even without the brick-bolster there was still sufficient evidence of identification on which the jury could convict. On the matter of the severity of the sentence, the judges entirely agreed with the Crown argument. Nash displayed no emotion as he was led away.34

  — — —

  Nash returned to prison frustrated and in no mood to surrender the fight. He pored over his legal textbooks and was thought to have been working on taking the matter to a still higher court—the Privy Council—but he couldn’t find any legal grounds upon which to base his appeal. However, all that time immersed in study seems to have given him an idea of how he might spend his time more wisely. He availed himself of every educational opportunity on offer; library records show that he regularly requested books and study reference material on French, studying towards School Certificate, and he ordered paints, canvases and other materials available as he applied himself with equal fervour to learning to paint in watercolour.

  Nash seemed to resign himself to prison life and was a model prisoner. He was approved for work on laundry detail. Later, with a good record to date, he expressed an interest in welding and engineering. His application was looked upon with favour—no one seems to have remarked upon the fact that it had lately been supposed he was already a bit of a gun with the oxyacetylene process—and he secured a transfer to the engineering workshop, which was situated outside the walls of the main jailhouse but still within the prison compound. This job was privileged, as it gave him some degree of independence and allowed him to see the light of day, vastly different to being stuck on laundry detail inside the steamy room.

  Over time, Nash won the confidence of senior guards and became a ‘trusty’ (a prisoner accorded certain duties by virtue of having been recognised as trustworthy) and, by dint of his book learning, he became a ‘cell-house lawyer’ of sorts. Prisoners approached him for assistance with their own appeals, if only to seek an opinion over an interpretation. Nash always seemed happy to take the time to explain, or to point out loopholes and flaws.

  After achieving School Certificate French, Nash studied for his second-class Steam Winding Fireman’s Ticket. In a private letter to Detective Sergeant Schultz, Superintendent Haywood wrote, ‘Whilst Nash continues to feel aggrieved at the severity of the length of his sentence, he seems to be just getting on and serving out his time. Although he seems to have adapted well [to the prison system] he prefers to keep to himself. He has no time whatsoever for the young violent offenders, but prefers to keep time with the older hands.’

  — — —

  There was at least one person who felt seven years wasn’t enough. While he was pleased that there had been an arrest and conviction, Arthur Bockett, General Manager of the Waterfront Industry Commission, was very unhappy that only £1682 (representing the 165 £10 notes and sundry change found on Nash in Newmarket) had been returned to the commission. The rest of the money had yet to be recovered, and it bothered Bockett and the Commission Board that Nash would eventually be released once he had served his sentence. They would have no leverage with which to force him to reveal either the whereabouts of the money or the identities of his co-offenders, or both.

  The country had gone to the polls on 30 November 1957 and elected a Labour Government under Walter Nash (no relation to Trevor). Jack Marshall was now deputy leader of the opposition and returned to part-time private legal practice. In private correspondence with Marshall, Bockett wrote, ‘Nash, being the fellow I understand him to be, is probably patiently biding his time in gaol all the while satisfied in his mind he has around £18,000 stashed away someplace he can retrieve [it] when he is released. It is all very well police secured a conviction and he received just punishment, but the commission took a severe hit to the pocket, and every effort should be made to recover the outstanding amount.’

  Marshall may have commiserated, but he was without influence and powerless to help other than to offer legal advice. If he provided such advice—or whether Bockett received it from another source—it is likely to have acted as a catalyst in what happened next.

  — — —

  On 25 June 1958, Nash was summoned from his cell and brought to Warden Haywood’s office. Here, he was served with papers informing him that the State Fire and Accident Insurance Company, which had assumed the loss on behalf of the Waterfront Industry Commission, was suing him for the outstanding portion of the amount stolen, plus whatever court costs would arise from the impending civil hearing. Judgment had been entered for £18,213.19s.11d. against Trevor Edward Nash.

  Nash was understandably stunned.

  For a long time nothing happened. Then, in September 1960, Nash learned that proceedings had been issued under the Bankruptcy Act 1908 and he was to be called for Public Examination.

  At the hearing in the Auckland Supreme Court on 21 September, the judge before whom Nash appeared, Mr Justice Hardie-Boys, outlined for him the repercussions of being adjudged bankrupt and the meaning of the public examination that was being sought by Edward Carpenter, the official assignee. Nash was taken aback when His Honour asked who would be his legal representative. He asked for Mr Jamieso
n, but Jamieson couldn’t be found. The judge and the official assignee, represented by Nash’s legal nemesis, Graham Speight, were eager to proceed, but Nash refused to take the oath. This was a spur-of-the-moment refusal, but he knew enough about the law to know that this could potentially buy him time to mount a defence. The judge warned Nash his refusal was tantamount to contempt of court. A further attempt to locate Mr Jamieson proved unsuccessful and the hearing resumed in the afternoon session, with the judge reading the sections of the Bankruptcy Act that related to taking the oath. Nash still refused. The judge decided not to charge Nash with contempt of court and instead adjourned the hearing, to resume when Nash was ready to answer questions or one month prior to release from prison—whichever came first.

  For Arthur Bockett and the Commission Board in Wellington, this was a good outcome, considering the circumstances. There were suggestions of keeping Nash imprisoned indefinitely until he gave up the money or his co-offenders, but according to the law Nash had to be released without condition once he had served his full sentence. The penalty for being adjudged bankrupt was another term of imprisonment, so they had him where they wanted him.

  — — —

  Prison records note Nash returned to prison utterly dejected. According to those few he confided in, he thought the record sentence he had received was punishment enough. He also appears to have believed that after serving out his sentence he would be able to retrieve and keep whatever was left of the stolen money because he had done his time. He now understood this was not the case. Unless he revealed and gave up the remaining money, he would be bankrupted and they would seize his house and assets, leaving him nothing and making it extremely difficult to secure a job or set up a business when he was released.

  Nash was reported to have withdrawn into himself and talked to nobody. Around Christmas, Nash fought with Maria on one of her visits and told her he did not want her coming back. He had been periodically visited by his parents but now he refused to see them, too.

  Superintendent Haywood was worried and asked guards to keep a close eye on him. While it was common for prisoners to get the blues, most eventually overcame it and accepted their lot, but it seemed Nash could not snap out of it. His entire demeanour changed. He deliberately isolated himself, preferring to sit alone, away from other prisoners at lunch and break times. In the prison workshop, where he worked so diligently, he rarely spoke, and guards believed him despondent to the point where, as one put it, ‘He is so uncommunicative, I believe he is either going insane or is going to suicide.’

  Haywood himself wrote to Detective Sergeant Les Schultz that he feared it was only a matter of time before ‘something dire happens’.

  When something did at last happen, it was the last thing anybody expected.

  CHAPTER 11

  A CLEAN PAIR OF HEELS

  Dark clouds hung over Auckland on Friday 3 February 1961, with heavy rain forecast throughout the afternoon. The main topic of conversation that morning was whether the weather would permit a start in the second match between New Zealand and the Marylebone Cricket Club XI at Wellington’s Basin Reserve. While expectations of the New Zealand team’s performance had been high going into the series, it had been a reasonably uninspiring tour so far and weather had played a large part in bringing about a draw in the first game.

  ‘Following the cricket, Dutchie?’ one of the prisoners asked prison guard Cornelius Hofker as he headed into the engineering workshop at 12.30 pm.

  Hofker snorted. ‘Stupid game. Makes no sense. In the Netherlands we have too much brains to be wasting time on nonsensical games.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ the prisoner teased.

  ‘Leave him alone!’ another called. ‘It’s a gentleman’s game. That counts poor old Dutchie out.’

  The prisoners laughed, while Hofker hid his amusement behind a scowl. He was in a jovial mood. He enjoyed Friday afternoons, when he was detailed to the workshop to supervise metalwork as opposed to the drudgery of general cell-house supervision.

  Just before coming into the workshop, Hofker had helped Guard Andrew Taylor in the deployment of prisoners passing out for an afternoon work detail in the quarry. Now he was looking forward to spending the afternoon in the workshop, cutting steel on the large electric hacksaw machine, ably assisted by trusty Trevor Nash. Over the past few months, Hofker had come to enjoy working with Nash. They made a good team. Nash was about the only prisoner who took work detail seriously, and had taken the time to learn the rudiments of metal work and how to drive the electrical equipment.

  That afternoon they worked together carefully cutting lengths of angle steel and Nash intermittently carried bundles of the cut lengths outside, stacking them on a pile near the shed housing the quarry crushing machine. During the rest of the week, the steel was welded into bed frames, and the three other prisoners who were working in the engineering shop that afternoon were busy carrying the bed frames from the shop to the garage loft where they were to be stored. Nash and Hofker were the only two on the shop floor for most of the afternoon, with Guard Taylor popping in and out to assist every now and again, in between supervising prisoners returning in groups of twelve from the quarry through to the showers and back into the main cell house.

  ‘Any play in the cricket?’ Nash asked Taylor on one of his visits to the shop.

  ‘Not yet, Trev. But last I heard they thought they might get a start sometime this arvo.’

  ‘Hope so. Bartlett should hurry a few of those Pommie bastards up. Would have liked to have seen Motz there, but. Reckon he’s done enough this season to get a place.’

  ‘Ach, talk English,’ grumbled Hofker.

  ‘Oh, Dutchie, you’re a philistine.’ Taylor grinned. ‘You’ll see the light one day.’

  ‘Not bloody likely.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Nash. ‘I’ve got a bit of spare time on my hands for the next three years. I can teach you!’

  ‘It would take longer than three years to teach this old Dutchman. I can’t make tails or heads of it. Too many bloody rules!’

  ‘There’s nothing like a summer day sitting under the trees at Eden Park watching an international,’ Nash said wistfully. ‘What I would give for just one day sitting on the bank with a cold beer.’

  At precisely 3 pm, the escape alarm sounded. There was no panic. For a number of years, it had been prison practice to test the alarm at this time on the first Friday of every month. Mount Eden Police Station logged the alarm had been heard and the telephonist rang through to confirm.

  At 3.10 pm, Taylor left the workshop to unlock one of the outer doors to admit the quarry detail in to shower, leaving Hofker and Nash to finish up their work. Hofker instructed Nash to bring a bundle of angle-iron inside from a nearby open yard. Nash had made several trips and was stacking what he brought in when Hofker noticed he had brought in the wrong type.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ Nash said. ‘I didn’t hear you properly. I’ll take it all back outside and get the right stuff.’

  ‘Ah, too late in the day. Put it all in the corner and we’ll knock off. You can shift it out first thing on Monday.’

  Nash found a spot where he could stack the iron. Hofker looked up at the clock and swore. It was 3.18 pm; it was his job to sound the siren signalling the termination of work at 3.15 pm. He would get it from Haywood, part of whose success in the role of superintendent was the precision and punctuality with which he had all the systems running. Hofker rushed off to the office, less than 15 feet (4.5 metres) away from the shop floor, and sounded the siren.

  When he returned to the floor less than a minute later, Nash wasn’t there. Hofker wasn’t concerned. He figured he’d slipped away to the toilet or to tidy up outside. After Nash still hadn’t shown up a few minutes later, the uneasiness set in. This wasn’t like Nash at all.

  ‘Trev?’

  No reply.

  Nash was keen on welding and often called into the welding shop in the adjacent building when he had the opportunity. Wh
en Hofker went to see if he was there, he found the welding shop already locked up.

  ‘Shit!’ he muttered. ‘Trev? Trevor Nash?’

  Hofker raced around the building and the crusher shed calling out Nash’s name, but Nash was nowhere to be seen. A couple of other guards approached.

  ‘What’s up, Dutchie?’

  ‘Fuckin’ Trevor fuckin’ Nash. I can’t find him!’

  A small group, including several trusty prisoners, rushed around the outer compound looking for him. Guard Taylor returned and said he hadn’t let Nash back into the cell house, therefore he must still be somewhere in the vicinity. Panicking, Hofker raced back to the office to alert the superintendent.

  At 3.46 pm, the main alarm was sounded. Nash had been missing for approximately 28 minutes.

  Police didn’t respond to the alarm. It was assumed this was a mistaken repetition of the test, or a continuation. It wasn’t until Haywood placed a call through to Auckland CIB that police realised it was genuine and there was a prisoner potentially at large. Even so, they were reluctant to act. Less than a year earlier, it was thought that convicted murderer Angelo La Mattina had escaped. A mammoth manhunt involving most of Auckland’s police had tied up resources for a significant period of time, only for La Mattina to be found eight days later, starving, hiding up in an attic in the prison’s west wing.

  It was after 4 pm when Detective Sergeant Mathieson arrived at the prison with Constables Plumer and Frew. In his report, Mathieson would later write, ‘The prison was in a state of confusion and the warden could not provide any further information. I asked whether the tower guards had seen anything, but it appeared the time Nash disappeared was the time there was a change-over in shift and he must have taken advantage.’

  The prison went into immediate lockdown and all available guards started a search of the entire premises, assisted by the police, who began arriving in numbers. There were several outbuildings near the engineering workshop. One hundred and eight yards (98 metres) beyond the engineering shop and behind the quarry crusher building was the 10-foot (3-metre) barbed-wire compound fence separating the prison from the Colonial Ammunition Company, whose premises were next door to the prison. An opening where a portion of this fence had been cut and pulled apart was found. The group of police, guards and Superintendent Haywood gathered at the spot.