FDSD Islington

by John Eddleston

  Chapter 39

  Panayotis Gregoriou

  1962

  Sofronis Theodulou, a Greek Cypriot, ran his cafe from 162 Seven Sisters Road. His clientele consisted largely of other Greeks, one of whom was Costas Vassiliou.

  At some time between 6.30pm and 7.00pm on 8 August 1962, Costas parked his car close to the cafe and went inside. He was talking happily to Sofronis when he heard voices outside. Looking through the window he saw two other Greeks talking on the pavement: Panayotis Gregoriou and Demetris Michael, who worked at the nearby barber’s shop. There was, however, a problem, for Gregoriou was leaning on Costas’ car.

  Going outside, Costas said, quite calmly: ‘Don’t lean on the car.’ Gregoriou replied: ‘What are you saying? I was not leaning on the car.’ Costas simply said: ‘You were,’ but then emphasised his point by slapping Gregoriou in the face two or three times.

  A fist-fight broke out instantly, with Gregoriou throwing the first punch. Sofronis immediately stepped outside and separated the two young men, pulling Costas over to some railings at the side of his cafe. Gregoriou, meanwhile, had gone into the tobacconist’s and confectioner’s shop next door but, within three or four minutes he was back outside and this time, he had a gun in his hand, a semi-automatic.

  Sofronis was standing with his back to his cafe. In front of him, and facing him, was Costas, who was still being berated by Sofronis for fighting in the street. As a result, neither man saw Gregoriou raise the gun and start to fire.

  Witnesses would differ over just how many shots were fired. What is beyond doubt is that Costas fell to the ground, dead, and Sofronis was hit twice, though he was not badly injured. Gregoriou, meanwhile, had simply turned on his heel and run off towards Medina Road.

  Constable Peter Allen and Constable Ronald Westbury were on routine traffic patrol, when they received a message to go to Seven Sisters Road. Going directly to the scene, they pulled up outside number 162 to find a man lying face up on the pavement, not far from the kerb. As they waited for further help, and medical assistance, Constable Allen made a careful search of the surrounding area, finding four spent shell cases. His colleague, Westbury, marked the area where the body lay in yellow chalk. The ambulance arrived soon afterwards and rushed Costas to the Royal Northern Hospital, where, at 8.00pm, he was seen by Dr Joseph Schember Wismayer, who confirmed that he was dead.

  Many of the witnesses to the shooting knew Gregoriou, so the police already knew who they were looking for. They were also given his home address of 8 Bryantwood Road, Drayton Park. They believed that, sooner or later, the wanted man would return home, so two officers, Constable Robert Webster and Constable Banner were sent to wait outside the house. As extra back-up, the two officers had taken Yorick, a rather large police dog, with them.

  At midnight, a man fitting the description of Gregoriou was seen walking along, past the tube station. The two officers followed, with Yorick straining at his leash. Once they were sure that this was Gregoriou, the officers stopped him, close to the Express Dairy building, and informed him that he was being arrested and taken to the police station at Holloway.

  At the police station, a Greek interpreter, Mr Ferid, was provided, so that Gregoriou would be fully aware of what was taking place. Even before the interview started, Gregoriou exclaimed: ‘I am a small man. He hit me and I shot him.’

  Later, he made a full written statement. It began:

  I was at the place where the crime took place. A car was standing there, still. A man whom I know and who is a painter, came and stood about six or seven yards away from me. He turned towards me and said: ‘Do not bend yourself on the car [sic] . Then he came near me, got hold of me from my jacket and started hitting me.

  Sofronis, who is my relative, and who has the coffee shop there, came near us in order to separate us, but the painter continued hitting me. I show you my shin where he kicked me. Sofronis went away without separating us.

  I looked on the ground to see if there was anything as [sic] stone or stick which I could get hold of and hit him back. I saw a gun on the ground. I took it and I fired repeatedly. Then I ran away and I threw the pistol in the grass, where I showed to the police.

  This statement held two problems for the police. In the first place, the idea that Gregoriou had looked down and found a gun simply lying on the pavement, was a nonsense. They were sure that he had carried that weapon to the scene and taken it out of his pocket inside the tobacconist’s shop. The second concern was that the weapon had not been found. It was true that Gregoriou had pointed out a patch of grass, close to the Labour Exchange in Medina Road but, despite a meticulous search, no gun had been found there or anywhere nearby.

  Having made his statement, Panayotis Gregoriou was charged with murder but there was one factor that made this case rather different. As we have already seen, in the late 1950s, the law on capital punishment had been amended, so that now only five classes of murder carried a possible death sentence. One of those circumstances was murder, by the use of a firearm. If Gregoriou were found guilty of murder, he would face execution.

  Panayotis Gregoriou had been born on 9 February 1934, and had first come to England on 5 April 1961. He began working for a carburettor manufacturer at 223 Marylebone Road, at a wage of £10 10s per week, but had left there on 8 November 1961, after a minor dispute with his supervisor. For some time after that, he had worked as a kitchen porter, at a restaurant at the Elephant and Castle, at a reduced salary of £8 a week. For the last few months, he had worked for a doll-maker in Holloway. More important, however, was his mental make-up.

  Tests had shown that Gregoriou was of very low intelligence. Asked to name the prime minister, he was unable to do so. The question: ‘What is four plus four?’ was met with a blank and incredulous stare and when asked to simply repeat the digits three, six, eight, he replied: ‘Three, six and a lot of numbers.’ He was also unable to tell anyone who he worked for, or where their offices were situated. This, added to his tendency to be highly strung and volatile, would form the basis of his defence in court.

  On 1 September 1962, Gregoriou faced his capital murder charge at the Old Bailey. Mr Mervyn Griffith-Jones and Mr SA Norton prosecuted whilst the prisoner was defended by Mr A P Antoniades. Another interpreter, Mr Hassam Enver, was provided, so that Gregoriou could understand all the testimony.

  Demetris Michael had stepped outside of the barber’s shop, where he worked, a few minutes before the shooting took place. After having a brief conversation with Gregoriou, he had seen Costas come out of the cafe and remonstrate with the prisoner for leaning on his car. Demetris had stepped inside the sweet shop and stayed there, once he heard the sound of gunfire.

  Sofronis Theodulou, the owner of the cafe, said that after the first couple of shots were fired, Costas fell forward into his arms. As he slipped down to the pavement, Gregoriou carried on firing. Two of those shots hit him; one in his hand, the other in his right thigh. He was taken to the Royal Northern Hospital in the same ambulance as Costas.

  Jack Shaw owned the shop next door. He had seen the altercation between the two men, and Sofronis attempt to separate them. He too had gone out, briefly, to tell them to go away and fight somewhere else. After hearing the shooting, it was Shaw who telephoned for an ambulance and the police.

  George Constantinou had been to the Astoria cinema in Finsbury Park with two friends of his, Christopher Constantinou, who was no relation, and Evangelos Michael. They walked past the scene of the shooting, but were on the opposite side of the road. Having past the shops they heard raised voices, stopped and turned around to see what was happening. George believed that five or six shots were fired and saw Gregoriou run away afterwards. Some elderly man put his foot out to try to trip Gregoriou, but when he pointed the gun at him, the man let him pass.

  Another passer-by was sixteen-year-old Harold Witts, who was riding his bicycle down Seven Sisters Road, when he heard the two men arguing. He stopped a little further on and watched, thinking he woul
d see a good fist fight. Instead he saw Gregoriou come out of the sweet shop, put his hand under his jacket and bring out a gun.

  The post-mortem on Costas was carried out by Dr Francis Edward Camps on 9 August. He counted a large number of entrance and exit wounds on the body, including wounds on the right knee, the right hand, the back of the right forearm, the right buttock and a cluster of wounds in the back. In all he estimated that at least seven and possibly as many as nine bullets had been fired.

  The matter was now for the jury to decide. There could be no doubt that Gregoriou had brought the gun with him to Seven Sisters Road, and used it once Costas had struck him. However, they also took into account his highly-strung personality and low intelligence, and came to the conclusion that he was not totally responsible for his actions. Bearing that in mind they found Gregoriou not guilty of murder, but guilty of manslaughter. He was then sentenced to life imprisonment.

  Chapter 40

  Kenneth Halliwell,

  1967

  In 1951, two young men, both aspiring actors, met at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, in London. They had come from widely differing backgrounds.

  The youngest of the two men was eighteen-year-old John Kingsley Orton, a man who had been born in Leicester on 1 January 1933. He had not excelled academically at school, and had failed his eleven plus examination. He had, nevertheless, worked hard and, finally, gained a scholarship to RADA. The elder of the two, was twenty-five-year-old Kenneth Halliwell.

  Halliwell had not had the most auspicious of upbringings. Largely ignored by his father, he had been perhaps over protected by his mother. When Halliwell was just eleven years of age, his mother had been stung, inside her mouth, by a wasp and, highly allergic to its venom, she had tragically died.

  At about the same time, Halliwell had managed to win a scholarship, to the Wirral Grammar School, where he became a classic scholar, passing his Higher School Certificates in 1943. At this time, the Second World War was still raging and, upon leaving school, Halliwell was called up to serve in the forces. He registered as a conscientious objector and was, consequently, sent down the coal mines. In 1946, after his service was over, he returned to Birkenhead where, three years later, in 1949, his father committed suicide by gassing himself. Soon after this, Halliwell moved down to London, and entered RADA.

  Halliwell and Orton soon became close friends and, since both were homosexual, they also became lovers, at a time when such relationships were still illegal. After leaving RADA, both tried, without success, to earn a living as actors but, also turned their hands to writing. The two men wrote a number of novels together, none of which were published and, if anything, Halliwell, with the better education, acted as a tutor for his younger partner, as they lived together at 25 Noel Road, Islington.

  For a time, success eluded both men. At one stage they amused themselves by stealing and defacing books from Islington library. Caught in September 1962, they were arrested and charged with theft and damaging property. Found guilty of those offences, they received the rather Draconian sentence of six months’ imprisonment, and a fine. Orton served his sentence at Eastchurch, in Kent, whilst Halliwell was sent to Ford prison, in Sussex.

  Almost as soon as they were released from prison, Orton, now using the name Joe Orton, had a radio play, The Ruffian on the Stair, accepted by the BBC. This was in 1963, and the following year, his first stage-play, Entertaining Mr Sloane, opened, on 6 May, to much critical acclaim. This was followed, in 1965, by a second, even more successful play, Loot, which premiered on 27 September 1966, and won the Evening Standard Drama Award, for the best play that year. The roles between the two lovers had now changed dramatically.

  Halliwell, the more educated, was now overshadowed by Orton. He was unable to cope with being sidelined, and began to suffer from bouts of acute depression. He was prescribed tablets for that depression, and also to aid him sleep. Meanwhile, Joe Orton was penning yet another play, What the Butler Saw, which would surely bring him more fame and reward. Things were coming to an inevitable conclusion.

  On 5 August 1967, Orton met a friend, Peter Nolan, in the Chelsea Potter public house on the King’s Road. They talked about a number of things, but at one stage Orton said that he had found himself another boyfriend, and wished to end his relationship with Halliwell, though he wasn’t sure how to go about it.

  Meanwhile, Halliwell’s doctor was becoming increasingly concerned about his mental state, and had advised him to seek professional help, from a psychiatrist. They spoke, on the telephone, at 10.00pm on Wednesday 9 August, when the doctor rang to give Halliwell the psychiatrist’s address. Halliwell commented: ‘Don’t worry, I’m feeling better now. I’ll go and see the doctor tomorrow morning.’

  On the morning of Thursday 10 August 1967, Orton had an appointment to discuss a film script, Up Against It, which he was writing for The Beatles. A chauffeur-driven car pulled up to the flat in Noel Road, but there was no reply when the driver rang the bell. The police were called, the door forced open, and the two men were found inside; both of them were dead.

  At some time the previous night, 9 August, Halliwell had taken a hammer and rained nine blows onto Orton’s head. He had then written a short note, before taking an overdose of twenty-two Nembutal tablets. In fact, the subsequent medical examination, was to show that Halliwell had actually died first.

  The short note left by Halliwell read: ‘If you read his diary, all will be explained K.H.’ There was also a postscript: ‘Especially the latter part.’ When Orton’s diary was found, there were many references to other sexual encounters, which he had had, including many in public toilets. Halliwell, it seemed, had not only been unable to cope with his partner’s glittering success, but had also been depressed by his other affairs.

  Chapter 41

  Other Crimes

  post-1900

  (1) Amelia Sach and Annie Walters, 1903

  For some years, Amelia Sach had run a home for unmarried mothers, in East Finchley. For a financial consideration, she would attend to young ladies through their confinement and, usually for a larger fee, she would find homes for the babies afterwards. Occasionally, however, it might prove difficult to find a suitable home, and that was when Amelia called on the services of her friend, fifty-four-year old Annie Walters.

  Annie had a tried and tested method of dealing with unwanted children. She would administer a few drops of chlorodyne, a morphine-based sedative, and in due course, the babies would die from asphyxia. On the rare occasions that this failed to work, Annie would help things along by smothering the child.

  In August 1903, a lady named Galley, one of the inmates at the home, gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Amelia informed her that she had a suitable home ready, and the fee would be £30, a considerable sum in 1903 (worth about £1,700 today).

  In the meantime, the police had been alerted to the somewhat strange behaviour of Annie Walters, and the fact that a large number of children seemed to be passing through her hands. So, when she left her Islington home, on 18 November 1902, she was followed by a police officer. Stopped at South Kensington station, Annie was found to have in her possesion the dead body of Miss Galley’s child.

  Annie and Amelia were both arrested, and appeared at the Old Bailey, before Mr Justice Darling, on 15 January 1903. The trial lasted for two days, at the end of which both women were found guilty of murder and sentenced to death.

  On Tuesday 3 February 1903, Sach and Walters were hanged together at Holloway prison, by William Billington and Henry Pierrepoint. It was the only occasion in the twentieth century where two women were hanged together.

  (2) Frederick Gardner, 1905

  On Saturday 7 October 1905, Frederick Gardner was enjoying a quiet drink, at the Green Man public house, in Green Man’s Lane, when a group of men approached him, and half jokingly asked if he was going to treat them to a drink. When Gardner refused, he was attacked and beaten by the men, who then ran off. Gardner picked himself up, wiped the blood from his no
se, and went looking for the men who had assaulted him.

  Gardner went to various pubs, including the George The Fourth and The Golden Fleece, but it was not until he returned to the Green Man that he found one of them, Benjamin William Crow.

  Crow immediately asked Gardner if he were going to hit him, and Gardner said no, pointing out that he had a bad hand, but before he had even finished speaking, Crow lashed out, and struck him in the face. To defend himself, Gardner then struck Crow on the jaw. Crow fell back, struck his head on the edge of the pavement, never recovered consciousness, and was dead within a few hours. Gardner, meanwhile, not realising the extent of his opponent’s injuries, had simply gone home.

  Charged with manslaughter, Gardner appeared in court on 13 November. The first witness, Sergeant James Smith, pointed out that Gardner had handed himself into the police station, on 8 October, and had announced: ‘My name is Frederick Gardner. I had a fight with Crow. I hear he is dead. I struck the man. I did not mean to kill him; it was a drunken quarrel.’

  Dr George Madden testified that Crow had suffered from a fractured skull, and corresponding compression of the brain. The injury could easily have been caused by either a severe blow, or by Crow’s head coming into contact with the pavement, or kerb.

  Edwin Louis Berry had seen the brief altercation between the two men, and testified that the blow, which Gardner had inflicted upon Crow, was nothing more than an ordinary punch to the left of the jaw. Crow had staggered backwards, fallen and his head hit the kerb with a terrible smash.