She had endured a hard life in her formative years and had dedicated herself to bringing up two children as a single parent against the odds. Arriving at local politics through the route of local union activism, she was an arch politician. Every incident that happened locally was either an opportunity or threat to her political survival and ambition. People were judged by her on the same basis. Away from the political environment, however, she had a heart of gold and an endearing vulnerability which she kept well hidden from political view.
The one trait of Councillor Gustafson that I found most frustrating, in her role as Police Authority Chair, is that she would try to please the last person she met. If we had worked through a strategy or a tricky policy on any policing matter, our agreement would only survive, in her mind, until someone spoke against it. At that point it was necessary to convince her all over again of the benefit and advantage of a particular direction.
This trait, with which I had not yet become fully acquainted, was barely disguised in our 1 November telephone conversation. I asked her if she intended to confirm my appointment the following day as I felt that the ambiguity was damaging to both me and the force. She gave me a very honest answer: ‘I don’t know, Norman, it depends on the numbers.’ This was my first, or certainly most personal, encounter with the concept of the political calculus. Some politicians don’t have intentions, they have positions that are either confirmed or altered by the whip once all the pros and cons have been counted and weighed.
David Henshaw, the Authority’s Chief Executive, had written to Maria Eagle MP asking that she provide any evidence to support her allegation, made under parliamentary privilege, that I was or had been a member of a black propaganda unit. Such evidence was required to inform the Police Authority meeting with the campaign groups and their later meeting with me. No evidence was ever provided by Maria Eagle, then or since.
The meeting between the Police Authority and the campaign groups, to which I was not invited, was a fractious affair. The campaigners were not in a position, though, to provide any hard facts as to why I should be disqualified from being appointed. Sadly, they had come to an entrenched position based upon the widespread reporting of Ms Eagle’s condemnation.
The meeting that immediately followed it was no less fractious. I gave a presentation which I stand by today. The Police Authority questioned me closely. There were political resignations in the air and a demonstration continuing outside. Notwithstanding, I was confirmed as Chief Constable of Merseyside Police and given the maximum term contract. My appointment was later approved by the Home Secretary who, at that time, had a power of veto in relation to the appointment of Chief Constables.
I wrote, again, to Maria Eagle on the following day, 3 November 1998:
I pointed out to Police Authority members, in closed session last night, that my first instinct had been to contact the representatives of the families once I became aware of the allegations that were circulating about me following your comments in the House of Commons … All I have ever wanted is the opportunity to put right the unfair comments that you have raised about my appointment. To clarify for you some obviously mistaken impression and to ease the concerns of the families … I hope you still feel there might be some benefit to hearing what I have to say in answer to any questions that you have…
Maria Eagle’s office rang to confirm that she would meet me. On 9 November, one week before my starting date as Chief Constable of Merseyside, I drove to Liverpool specifically to meet Ms Eagle. She had been unable to gain support for the meeting from the Family Support Group that she represented but she saw me herself. At the end of the two-hour meeting, at which I answered any and every question that Ms Eagle posed, she suggested a joint press release. I agreed and the statement that she drafted and issued contained the following:
Maria Eagle MP for Liverpool Garston and Chief Constable Designate Norman Bettison have had a constructive open discussion … Ms Eagle was impressed by Mr Bettison’s willingness to be open … They both agreed that the families, above anyone else, have a right to know what happened following the tragedy. They hope that a meeting can be arranged as soon as practicable.
On 10 November, I wrote again to Ms Eagle imploring her to do whatever she could to facilitate a meeting, at any venue or time of her choosing, so that I might sit down with the families. ‘It is important’, I said, ‘that they have the chance to see the whites of my eyes.’
On 12 November, four days before my start date, Ms Eagle wrote to me to say that the families had been informed of my willingness to meet and that ‘they have procedures to go through before they can be in a position to meet you; but I am encouraged by their initial response’.
On 15 November, I was in town on the eve of my debut as Chief Constable of Merseyside Police and faced a press briefing. I reinforced my desire to meet the families at that conference. I repeated the plea in the media round that was arranged by Inspector Ray Galloway to coincide with my first two days in the job.
Conscious that Maria Eagle did not represent every bereaved family in Merseyside, I wrote to other Merseyside MPs on 17 November making a similar offer to that made to Ms Eagle. I would meet the Family Support Group representatives any time, any place, anywhere, with anyone.
On 26 November 1998, ten days into the job, and frustrated by my failed attempts to reach out via third parties, I wrote directly to the Chair and Secretary of the Hillsborough Family Support Group (HFSG), Trevor Hicks and Peter Joynes. I had the letters personally delivered to the HFSG offices at North John Street, Liverpool. I pointed out that there was, since Ms Eagle’s intervention, a misconception about my role post Hillsborough. I said: ‘I very much hope that you will allow me the opportunity to meet with you and explain the realities of those events.’ I received neither an acknowledgement nor a response. It is perfectly understandable, given the claims of a trusted local Member of Parliament and the resulting media furore, that the people most hurt by the actions of South Yorkshire Police might feel reluctant to meet with me. I felt a compelling need, however, to try to explain and to address the hurt face to face.
At the time of my transfer to Merseyside Police, I was living in West Yorkshire. I became aware, early on in my Merseyside career, that Trevor Hicks, Chairman of the HFSG, owned a business which he managed from premises there. I wondered whether an informal meeting away from the febrile environment of Merseyside might be a better prospect. I therefore visited Mr Hicks’s commercial headquarters in early 1999 alone and out of uniform. The receptionist confirmed that he was in his office but, when she checked with Mr Hicks, he was busy and he declined my offer to make a future appointment at a more convenient time.
I had often seen Mr Hicks at the Taylor Inquiry back in 1989. On one occasion I found myself sitting beside him in the body of the court. We exchanged inconsequential pleasantries about the weather or the progress of the inquiry. He may not have remembered it. I don’t remember the detail of the exchange, just the feeling of being awed in the presence of a man who had lost both of his daughters in the most devastating of circumstances and who, in spite of that, managed to conduct himself with patience, courtesy and dignity in dealing with the resultant bureaucracy. I hoped, in 1999, that I might get a chance to speak again with that same Mr Hicks that I respected and who had so impressed me. This time more substantively, about spurious allegations surrounding my conduct in the aftermath of the disaster. The chance never came.
Within days of my visit to Mr Hicks’s place of business, however, I received a telephone call from Professor Phil Scraton. Professor Scraton was based at Edge Hill College close to Merseyside. As mentioned earlier, he headed up a Liverpool City Council-funded programme called ‘The Hillsborough Project’, which had, since 1990, been researching and investigating the causes of the disaster and its aftermath. He had already written two substantial books on the issues from the perspective of the bereaved families and he was in the process of publishing his third, which he had titled Hillsborough:
The Truth. Professor Scraton said that he was in close contact with the support groups and, whilst they were unwilling to meet me personally ‘at this time’, he would very much like to. I agreed and we met in my office in Canning Place, Liverpool, the headquarters of Merseyside Police. I gave him several hours of my time. He took notes and I answered all of his questions openly and honestly.
Professor Scraton and I continued to communicate and correspond for some time afterwards. The tone was friendly in that the letters are signed off as being from ‘Norman’ and ‘Phil’. In a letter to Professor Scraton on 24 March 1999, I repeated my long-held desire to meet representatives of the bereaved and asked that he do all that he could to aid that process.
On 19 April 1999, Professor Scraton wrote to me acknowledging his acceptance of the fact that, on the basis of his further research, there are no known links between my post-disaster role and the subsequent emendation of statements. ‘I have made it clear [to journalists]’, he said, ‘that I wanted any story related to your appointment to be distanced from the [current] serialisation of my book. I have refused to supply any quote on the matter.’ He said that he ‘looked forward to meeting again and it goes without saying that I wish you every success both professionally and personally’. He signed off the letter ‘Yours sincerely, Phil.’
Whilst this was an amicable exchange, Professor Scraton failed to deliver the one thing that I had asked him to do for me. He did not acknowledge or address my earlier request for his help in arranging a meeting with the families.
In that same letter, though, he set out a concern that he has repeated in more recent media interviews following the publication of the Hillsborough Panel Report: ‘[T]he word peripheral’, he said, ‘was used to describe your role post-Hillsborough. This appears to be contradicted by both the range and specifics of the tasks which you performed.’
I had talked with Maria Eagle for two hours about my post-disaster role. I spoke with Professor Scraton for longer. I have allocated two chapters of this book to describe the ‘range and specifics of the tasks I performed’. That isn’t a negligible degree of involvement. I only ever, to the best of my knowledge, used the word ‘peripheral’ in a very particular context. I said, in my recorded and published presentation to the Merseyside Police Authority at my confirmation hearing on 2 November 1998, that my Hillsborough role was peripheral to the disaster itself. I was being dubbed ‘The Hillsborough Chief’ in the local media and I intended, with that word, to convey the fact that I had no involvement with the planning or commanding of the policing operation on the fateful day.
As I became more established in my role as Chief Constable, the early controversy subsided, though it never disappeared altogether. I had demonstrated a willingness to be open and a preparedness to answer any residual questions about my connections to Hillsborough, and people seemed to accept my explanation.
I did not shy away from talking about Hillsborough if anyone was sufficiently inquisitive. A pertinent example involves the Bishop of Liverpool, the Right Reverend James Jones, who went on to become the Chair of the Hillsborough Panel.
The Bishop and I had arrived in Liverpool about the same time. There were a group of us who were contemporaries in positions of leadership at the time of a positive shift in the confidence and fortunes of the City of Liverpool and many were out-of-towners. The council’s Chief Executive and the Vice Chancellor of John Moores University were Yorkshiremen, like me. It was one of those propitious times when a number of individuals, with few cultural preconceptions or prejudices, come together and are able, collectively, to make a tangible difference. In this instance, to the fate of the city.
This collegiate focus was sustained and supported by a range of regular meetings. One of them was a church-led initiative. Founded by the Anglican Bishop of Liverpool, David Sheppard, and the Catholic Archbishop of Liverpool, Derek Worlock, who collaborated closely after the Liverpool riots of the 1980s, the Michaelmas Group met on Thursday mornings for breakfast. The membership included all the people with positions of power and authority in Liverpool. The agenda was driven by whatever was topical in the city. David Sheppard and Derek Worlock had reasoned that if something like a Michaelmas Group had existed then, the Toxteth Riots might have been averted. Their successors, Bishop James Jones and Archbishop Patrick Kelly, continued the regular meetings. The Chief Constable was a core member and I attended regularly.
Around the tenth anniversary of the Hillsborough disaster in April 1999, which was a major event in the city, Bishop James asked me to speak at the Michaelmas breakfast meeting about the legacy of the disaster, and about what remained to be done.
I provided an objective, and also compassionate, analysis of the various judicial proceedings and scrutinies that had followed the disaster. There were people in the Michaelmas Group who had perspectives of their own, drawn from local experience, and it was a lively discussion chaired by the Bishop. I wrote to Bishop James on 18 May 1999, referring back to our discussion, and enclosed copies of the Taylor Inquiry reports and the Stuart-Smith Scrutiny Report which he had asked to borrow so that he could read further into the background of the disaster and its aftermath.
I repeated my, by now familiar, request to him and to the other movers and shakers at the Michaelmas Group. I asked them to please use their influence and contacts in helping to introduce me to the families’ representatives for a face-to-face meeting. Nothing ever came of it.
The Bishop, in his later role as Chairman of the Hillsborough Panel, may have failed to recall my sympathetic third-party account of the Hillsborough legacy and my acknowledgement of the families’ long struggle at his Michaelmas Group meeting back in 1999. If he had, he might well have encouraged the Family Support Group representatives to meet me before they denounced me in 2012. He was in an ideal position to help.
By the year 2000, I had been Chief Constable in Merseyside for two years and my strategic change programme was well advanced. Merseyside Police had previously benefited from an additional annual cash grant over and above their allocation based on a national formula. The additional grant was established after the Toxteth Riots of the early ’80s and had never been rescinded. About the time that I took over, the Home Office had decided that all forces should live on their formula grant alone.
Apart from the Metropolitan Police, which has national and international responsibilities, all forces were required to move, gradually, towards the formula allocation. Some had an under-provision and were grateful for the change to the funding arrangements. Most inner-city forces, and Merseyside in particular, had a historic over-provision and needed, over three years, to reduce spending to the formula allocation. That meant three years of stripping out costs.
Merseyside was, traditionally, a very centralist and top-heavy force. That could not be sustained in light of the budgetary cuts. I therefore used the budget correction as the tipping point, or internal crisis, to facilitate a cultural transformation in Merseyside. We shifted the vast majority of our resources away from headquarters and divisions and into self-determining neighbourhood teams. This was a policing style that suited the urban ‘villages’ of Merseyside very well.
It was a popular change programme with police officers, partners on the ground and, most importantly, with the Merseyside public. It was very successful in building local resilience and a real community focus. Along with similar experiments around that time, in Leicestershire and Surrey, it was the genesis for the Neighbourhood Policing Strategy that was to spread throughout the country in the first decade of the twenty-first century. The strategy has now started to come apart in the face of severe austerity cuts, which have, ironically, driven resources back to the centre in each force.
My tenure was progressing well. There was no residual campaigning against my appointment. I was seen, generally, as a power for good on Merseyside. My various attempts to gain an audience with the Hillsborough families, however, went unanswered.
To the best of my knowledge I made only tw
o personal connections with families directly affected by the disaster and neither occasion lent itself to dialogue. The first was at a school event on the Wirral. I was regularly invited, in my professional role, to give prizes and speeches at schools, colleges and the three universities in Liverpool. Early in my tenure, I was told that one of the schoolgirls who would be involved in a presentation at a Wirral school had lost a family member in the disaster. I sent word to the headmaster, immediately, to offer to withdraw if my presence was likely to be upsetting for the girl, or for her family who would be there to support her. I was told that such action would not be necessary. I was never told which of the girls that I met that evening was the one directly affected by the disaster, nor which were her parents in the audience.
The second direct connection was with a very courteous host at a retired police officers’ function. This ex-police Inspector had a son who had been at Hillsborough on that fateful afternoon and had been in respiratory arrest for long enough to have caused permanent neurological damage. We often talk about the ninety-six in hushed tones, but we don’t bring to mind, as often as we should, those whose lives have been permanently scarred by the injuries sustained at Hillsborough. We remember the bereaved but are perhaps not as thoughtful about the carers who also live with the impact of that terrible day each waking moment. It was one such carer who sat next to me at this reunion lunch and he was hospitable and generous in ensuring that I had everything I needed. It was only afterwards that my staff officer, Martin Hill, asked me if I knew that my luncheon host was a father who had caring responsibilities for a badly injured son. I had no idea – he had never mentioned it. Martin told me that my host preferred not to talk about Hillsborough in order to keep his emotions in check. I am pleased that I did not impose upon that grief by forcing a conversation.
Hillsborough Untold: Aftermath of a disaster Page 14