The Great New Zealand Robbery

by Scott Bainbridge

  A few nights later, late at night, George turned up and said it was time to go. Trevor gave me a polite kiss and I never saw him again. I don’t know where he went to and George never said anything more about it.

  I then had Big Al, a mean-looking Australian gangster who had beaten a murder rap in Australia and came over to New Zealand and did some safes until the time was right to go back. Well, he ended up staying in New Zealand a lot longer because it wasn’t safe to stow away on account of the Jacks looking for Nash. We ended up biding our time and left in disguise some months later, on the inaugural flight from Whenuapai to Brisbane.44

  In a summary report in late 1961, Detective Constable Brien recorded:

  Upon investigation, I ascertained Nash apparently resided in the Avondale, New Lynn, Henderson area from the time of his escape to the end of March 1961. Confidential information was received by DS Schultz of this station to this effect, and from other unconfirmed reports this would appear to be correct. Extensive enquiries however failed to completely clarify this aspect, although it is believed that whilst residing in that area, Nash, heavily disguised, was in the habit of driving an Austin A50 or A90 motor car.

  The vehicle Nash had access to came from a used-car yard connected to Parsons. It is thought Norma West was arranging new identity papers. The police heard whispers that Nash was lying low, being shifted from safe house to safe house under the protection of Tom Hartigan.

  In 1961, Tom Hartigan was near the top echelon of the Auckland criminal underworld. He wasn’t the object of particular police attention, having cleverly remained out of the firelight, preferring to conduct his businesses in the suburbs. To many, he was a congenial businessman, operating the Black Cat Bakery, employing ex-cons who struggled to obtain work because of their criminal records. But, far from being the philanthropic outfit many considered it to be, the bakery was a front for illegal activities. The night shift covered a large gambling school and was used for laundering money from shop burglaries. In addition, Hartigan oversaw several sly-grog dens, having access to a number of houses.

  As the police put the heat on the criminal underworld, Hartigan became jittery. Around this time, Parsons was panicky and was becoming unreliable. Whether it was suggested by Hartigan or whether Nash decided to of his own accord, he left west Auckland during the second week of April 1961—or so detectives decided, joining the dots many years later.

  What is known as fact is that on 11 April 1961, 23-year-old Robert Ricketts arranged to meet some friends at the Ellerslie Hotel for drinks. Ricketts had only recently moved to Auckland, having secured work as a chamber hand at Southdown Freezing Works. He knew few people but had two old school mates who worked at Dryden Perini Construction and were engaged in building part of the motorway. When Ricketts walked into the Ellerslie, he saw a large group of Dryden employees sitting together drinking and pulled up a stool to join them. He started chatting with a fellow who he thought was part of the group. This man was older than him, around 28, about 5 feet 9 inches in height, of slim build, with fairish hair swept back, a fairly long face and distinctly untanned. Ricketts asked what his particular job involved, but the fellow said he was not part of the group; he had just joined them for a drink.

  He introduced himself as Jack Daws, and he too had just moved to Auckland from Manunui, near Taumarunui, having secured a job as an engineer at Falcon Plastics working the night shift. Daws regaled Ricketts with tales of deerstalking in the South Island. Ricketts found him interesting and in the course of the conversation, mentioned he was looking for somewhere to live. Daws replied he was living in a bedsit near Grafton Bridge, but this was only a temporary arrangement. He planned on moving back to Taumarunui in a few months and had been looking for a flat in the interim. He pulled out a newspaper and showed Ricketts several adverts he had circled, saying he was going to look at a flat that evening over in Herne Bay that was available to be tenanted immediately. The conversation was overheard by a road worker named Terry Grammer, who said he was looking for a flat as well. The three agreed to lump in together, and arranged to meet later to head over and take a look.

  Ricketts picked Daws up in town outside Government House at 8 pm and they drove to 4 Albany Road in Herne Bay. Taking a quick look around, Daws said it would suit him fine. Ricketts agreed. Daws pulled out a wad of banknotes and paid the landlord a deposit up-front to secure possession, suggesting Ricketts and Grammer pay him back the next day. Daws remained there that night; Ricketts moved in the following day and Grammer the day after.

  Ricketts thought the three got along well, although they didn’t spend a great deal of time together. Ricketts and Grammer worked during the day and Daws left each night at ten o’clock in working overalls taking a packed ‘lunch’. Often when Ricketts and Grammer woke the next morning, Daws would be in the kitchen cooking them breakfast before heading to bed. It seemed an ideal arrangement. After a few weeks, though, the novelty wore thin, and Daws would show his annoyance whenever Ricketts and Grammer played their records loudly. They were young, outgoing guys, whereas Daws was older and more reserved. After a while, they found they had nothing in common to discuss. In May, Grammer moved to Canada. In June, Ricketts gave his notice and made other accommodation arrangements, too.

  A month later, there on the front page of the newspaper he was reading, was Ricketts’ old flatmate, Jack Daws—only the papers said his name was Trevor Nash and he was an escaped convict.

  ‘No, I had no idea he wasn’t who he said he was. I swear. No idea at all. He seemed straight-up, and all the stories he told about Taumarunui seemed real to me. As far as I was concerned, he was Jack Daws.’

  ‘Was Trevor Nash’s escape from prison ever discussed in the flat?’ Irving, who was interviewing him, asked.

  Ricketts thought long and hard. ‘Can’t really remember,’ he said. ‘We might have talked about it, because, to be frank, we didn’t have a hell of a lot to talk about apart from what was in the news. We probably did, yeah.’

  ‘You don’t remember what Daws might have said about Nash and the escape?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  Irving showed him a series of photographs.

  ‘Yep, that’s him, all right. Fuck! Imagine living with an escaped con all this time!’

  He agreed to repeat the information he had supplied in his statement under oath in court.

  Police made enquiries at Falcon Plastics, where Nash had claimed to be working the night shift, but management stated they only employed one person who worked at night and this was the night watchman. He had been there fifteen years, and he certainly wasn’t Nash.

  — — —

  It is believed that Nash headed home to his family in Papatoetoe each night. A continuous watch had been maintained on 8 Bridge Street for two weeks after his escape and the street was patrolled for another month or so. Detective Constable Brien felt sorry for Maria and the children and regularly called in to see her and also dropped in on Nash’s parents. In a summary report prior to the recapture, he had written, ‘They cannot assist and I believe both parties would notify the police should they ever hear anything of Nash.’

  Constable Malcolm of the Otahuhu Police Station wrote to his senior sergeant:

  At the request of Inspector Doole, Auckland Central, I have paid special attention to the Puhinui area and more especially Bridge Street where Mrs Nash lives. At no time have I noticed anything out of the ordinary. Reliable people living close handy [sic] have also kept a watch with the intention of notifying the Papatoetoe police stations if ever suspicious movements are noted. Nash is known to most people in the area and if he appeared I have little doubt that he would be recognised.

  There are a number of roads and side streets near Bridge Street. It is believed Nash drove back to Papatoetoe and parked up close by Bridge Street, creeping through neighbouring properties and in through his back door.

  Maria Nash had been playing the police all along.

  Nash had the back story for his alias c
overed: if Ricketts had ever checked the Taumarunui telephone directory, he would have found the name ‘Daws’ listed. But, if he’d gone a step further and phoned the number, the English immigrant family who answered would have told him—as they told the police—that they had never heard of Nash.

  After Ricketts left the Herne Bay flat, Nash (as Daws) remained there for a few more weeks, but he didn’t want to be solely responsible for the lease. He was becoming edgy. Gus Parsons had been his conduit to the criminal underworld, but he had distanced himself. Nash found he couldn’t make contact with him. It’s not known whether he already everything lined up or whether he contacted underworld friends to tell them he thought it was the right time to set a plan in place. By June, there were no more headlines or news articles about him. The coast was as clear as it would ever be. In mid June 1961, he telephoned his landlord and gave notice.

  If he had decided he could no longer rely on Gus Parsons, he was right. Gus’s drinking had become excessive and he was prone to shooting his mouth off more than usual. Criminal associates had begun more than ever to consider him a liability. Something had to be done—but then Gus goofed it up himself.

  Many believed Parsons was stringing Phyllis Bailey along until she received her insurance pay-out, so that he could then swindle her for all he could. But, due to bureaucratic red tape, this money didn’t seem to coming down the pipe any time soon, and nor did Mrs Bailey seem anxious to hurry things up. Parsons was fast losing patience. He wanted it sewn up for good reason. He had a new girlfriend. Neither the girl nor Mrs Bailey was aware of each other and Gus was dangerously straddling two different worlds.

  On Saturday 24 June, Parsons arrived drunk at the Star Hotel in Albert Street, a known gangster hangout. After purchasing a glass of whiskey, he staggered through to the Pink Elephant Lounge Bar and spotted Phyllis Bailey and her adult daughter talking with a fellow. Parsons saw red and pushed the fellow off his stool.

  ‘Get the hell up,’ he snarled at Mrs Bailey.

  ‘Piss off, Gus,’ she replied.

  ‘I ought to fucking kill you!’ Parsons yelled.

  A few patrons told him to go away and sober up, and he walked towards the door. But at the entrance he stopped and stood glaring at her. Bailey was unsettled and got up to leave. Parsons stalked over and she pushed him away. She returned to her seat. Parsons followed her and placed his left arm around her, squeezing her tightly.

  ‘Fuck off, Gus! You’re hurting me. Let me go!’

  In reply, Parsons dropped to his knee, withdrew his right hand from his jacket pocket and appeared to deliver a hard uppercut to her right rib area. Phyllis Bailey grunted and fell to the floor. She was winded, but then felt a sharp pain in her chest. Just before losing consciousness, she noticed blood was staining her dress. Gus Parsons stood over her, calmly wiping blood from the blade of a vegetable knife with his handkerchief.

  He was quickly arrested and said he couldn’t remember stabbing the woman.

  ‘I must have blacked out.’ He shrugged.

  He was charged with attempted murder.45 Despite sustaining serious injuries, Mrs Bailey survived and made a full recovery.

  — — —

  With Parsons out of the picture, Nash dealt direct with Norma West, the de facto of Robert ‘Jacky’ Steele. She had papers ready and had arranged an exit strategy for him. There had been rumours that Nash and Steele were seen together in Kings Cross in Sydney around this time. Detective Krahe supposedly scoured the suburb, but couldn’t find any trace of Steele. It is believed Steele slipped across the state border to Victoria.

  During Nash’s final days in Herne Bay, he made a DIY attempt to disguise himself. His hair had grown longer and he dyed it red; it was an unnatural-looking shade described as ‘carroty’. He took to wearing thick-rimmed glasses. Nash vacated his house on 22 June and drove to a rendezvous point in Remuera, where he handed the car to Percy Over, one of Parsons’ associates, who then dropped him outside Coster Motors. There, he paid £560 cash in £10 notes for a 1956 Morris van. On the purchase agreement, he wrote the name Robert West and gave his address as 10 Dryden Street, Westmere. A respectable family lived there who, when questioned, had never heard of Nash or Mr West.

  On 23 June, Nash arrived in Tauranga and booked into a motel. He headed straight to a prearranged hotel near the wharves, where he met one or two seamen from the MV Kawaroa, which had just berthed. It was due to sail on 29 June and to arrive in Melbourne on 7 July. The arrangements were discussed and a sum of money was handed over.

  Nash sat tight for four days, rarely venturing out during daylight hours. On 27 June, he drove to Central Car Sales in Tauranga and surprised Vernard Jacobson by accepting his offer for £450 without haggling. As Mr West, Nash presented the Central Car Sales cheque at Tauranga Bank of New Zealand, asking for cash in £5 notes.

  In the early hours of 29 June 1961, Nash met his contacts at a prearranged spot. There, they drove to the Port of Tauranga and he passed over a considerable sum of money. Under cover of darkness, they ushered him aboard the cargo ship MV Kawaroa and hid him in a cavity. He was told not to budge until a crewman let him out into one of the cabins, which could potentially be some time into the eight-day voyage. The skipper, Captain McIntyre, later expressed astonishment he had accommodated a stowaway, but police suspected he was in on the deal.

  Crew members knew a VIP bolter was aboard but no one recognised him. Nash stayed quiet but occasionally mingled. He told one seaman he was a transistor radio and watch salesman heading across the ditch to try his luck in Australia; they knew this was probably false, as his unconventional travel arrangements wouldn’t have come cheap and he was known to be carrying a lot of money. Two crew members admitted approaching Nash asking if he could change £5 notes for the purposes of playing Slippery Sam.46

  Shipping records showed the Kawaroa berthed in Melbourne as scheduled on 7 July 1961. Customs records show the crew disembarked, but no extra passengers. It can be presumed that at some point around docking Nash was smuggled off by a contact. He was then taken to a safe boarding house in Brunswick Street in Fitzroy, 1.2 miles (2 kilometres) north of the Melbourne CBD—just distant enough not to arouse suspicion.

  Nash had only been in Australia for five days when his luck finally ran out with the chance encounter which led to his incredible arrest.

  You wouldn’t bloody read about it.

  — — —

  The hearing into Nash’s escape from prison was held before Mr W. J. Meade SM at the Auckland magistrates’ court. At the rear of the courtroom were the three policemen who had invested so much of the past five months working long hours following up and investigating sightings. Detective Sergeant Tom Irving, who had overseen the small team of two—he was the only detective who had been involved in the team set-up that very first day to investigate the Waterfront payroll robbery—sat immediately behind Crown Prosecutor Graham Speight. Detective Constable Brien and Constable John Hughes stood at the back of the court ready to shepherd witnesses from the witness room to the box and back.

  First in the box was Robert Ricketts. He told the court how he had flatted with the accused from 11 April to early June 1961, and knew him as Jack or John Daws. He had had no idea of his true identity until he learned it from the newspaper.

  Henry Parker, the owner of the flats at Albany Road, pointed to Nash without hesitation, saying he was the man to whom he had let the flat, and who had lived there with Ricketts. The Moore sisters who lived opposite in Flat 3 confirmed it was Nash, as did James Lomas who lived at number 6. Robert Young, from Coster Motors, identified Nash as the man who had bought a Morris van from him, and Vernard Jacobson from Central Car Sales in Tauranga testified that the man from whom he had bought the same van was Nash.

  In a later summary, Brien wrote of his suspicions about the landlord Parker and the neighbour Lomas, suspecting they had known Nash’s true identity all along. Brien obtained clearance after the trial to formally interview both with a view to charging them
with harbouring a fugitive, but by the time approval was granted Lomas had shot through to Australia and Parker failed to show up to several prearranged meetings. Police chose not to pursue this further, probably because there was little or no evidence, anyway.

  Nash knew he was up against it. Upon hearing the charges read, he pleaded guilty to the escape and guilty to stealing the bicycle on which he rode away. Police were satisfied with the guilty plea to the escape; they withdrew the charge of the stolen bicycle. Easy.

  Too easy. Brien wanted another crack at Nash before he was sent down in the hope he would spill his guts about the robbery and his escape now it was all over. Nash shook his head. At sentencing he passed a handwritten letter to the magistrate, who read it to the court.

  Sir, I do not think I have the ability to make a speech on this matter at such short notice this morning. I was convicted in 1957 for breaking and entering and theft and sentenced to seven years’ imprisonment. This is an unusually severe sentence for this type of offence which, in this case, did not involve any suggestion of violence or any breach of trust. It is, in fact the usual sentence for attempted murder. After I had been in prison for two to three years I was bankrupted by the insurers of the money involved and was required to go on oath under the Bankruptcy Act.

  I declined to go on oath. The Crown then decided to leave the matter until my present sentence expired. A change in legislation a few weeks later also affected the matter.47 The result of all this was that, after I had served a seven-year term for breaking and entering and theft, I was faced with the prospect of indefinite imprisonment for refusing to give details of a crime for which I had been convicted and sentenced already.