The Case Of Mary Bell: A Portrait of a Child Who Murdered

by Gitta Sereny

  Dear God,

  I would like to thank you for the snow. I would like to thank you for the frost because it makes pretty patterns on the window. I would like to thank you for the springtime, and the pretty flowers. For the sunshine and the trees and the rain. I would like to thank you for the world being a lovely place because you have made it so nice. I would like to be a nun because nuns are good. But I don’t think I will be. That is all I have to say. Thank you God for everything, love May.

  “I handed it back to her,” Brenda M. said. “She put it down on the bed and picked up a storybook. After half an hour or so I turned the TV on and it didn’t work right—the picture was wrong. ‘I can fix it,’ Mary said and came across toward the TV. Then half there, she stopped, turned around, walked back to the bed, picked up the letter, and tore it up. I was sorry,” said Brenda. “I’d have liked to have that letter.”

  On the morning of Monday, 16 December, Mr. Harvey Robson finished his final speech to the jury.

  “It is . . . very easy,” he said, “to revile a little girl, to liken her to Svengali without pausing even for a moment to ponder how the whole sorry situation has come about. Although you may think that this last is the most disturbing thought of all, I believe that in the course of your deliberations you, as a Jury of this city, will be able to discover some measure of pity. . . .”

  Mr. Justice Cusack began his summing up, which was to take more than four hours, after the usual ten-minute mid-morning adjournment. The public and press galleries were unusually crowded. The Waiting Jurors’ gallery which had been set aside for the press and V.I.P.s was occupied by a large contingent of foreign correspondents, for most of whom this was the first day spent at the trial. Nonetheless, twenty-four hours later, with the unfortunate glibness of sensational press reporting, they were to discuss it knowledgeably in headlined front-page articles all over the world and describe Mary as a “bad seed,” an “evil birth,” and a “child monster.”

  . . . Don’t lump the two girls together in respect of any particular count [said the Judge]. It is quite open to you to find different verdicts with regard to each of the two girls, if you think that is right. But your approach must not be, and I am sure it will not be, to say either on the one hand, without really considering the evidence, ‘Poor little girls, we will let them go,’ or, on the other hand, ‘Nasty little girls, we will convict them’. Your task, I’m afraid, is much more detailed than that: you must consider separately what is proved with regard to each girl, and with regard to each charge in the indictment. They are charged, as you know only too well, with Murder, indeed with two Murders, and the prosecution say that each girl is guilty of those Murders. The situation is this: If any unlawful killing occurs and two people participate in it, it does not matter whose hand actually does the deed. If one person commits the act which causes the death, and the other is present and knows what is intended and what is happening and is either helping or ready to help, that person is equally guilty. Help may be given, not only actively, but by keeping a look-out; heading other people off or helping to attract or to detain the victim.

  If however, the person is there as a mere spectator and not there to help and not giving any help, that person cannot be held responsible. It may be wrong that a person should remain as a spectator to something that is to most people obviously repugnant, but it is not a criminal offense until they are participating in what is going on in some degree. . . . For the purpose of these two charges, and that is all you are concerned with, the prosecution must prove in each case that the boy who died was killed by a voluntary and unlawful act, and that the person who committed that act, or was party to it, intended at the time the act was committed either to kill, or, if not to kill, at least to cause serious bodily injury, realizing that that serious bodily injury could result in death. But of course, before you convict either of these two girls, the prosecution must prove that it was she who did the act, or was party to it. . . . Pay attention to the word “voluntary” . . . it means that what occurred was not accidental, such as might happen if a person’s hand slipped involuntarily and did injury to somebody else. Secondly, and much more importantly, if you find that one girl did kill, or participate in the killing, but that at the time she may have been so under the domination of the other girl that she had no will or mind of her own, then she would not be acting “voluntarily” and you ought not to convict her. I do not mean simply that she was persuaded, or that she was reluctant. What I mean is that she had reached a point at which she had really ceased to have an independent existence, and ceased to have an independent will of her own. . . .

  . . . . There is an alternative to Murder open to you here on each charge, depending on the view which you take of the facts. The alternative is this, to acquit of Murder but to convict instead of Manslaughter. . . . Murder requires an intent to kill or to do serious bodily injury knowing that death may result. Manslaughter does not require that intent at all. It is sufficient if there is a voluntary, unlawful and dangerous act which results in death. . . .

  The Law presumes that a child under the age of ten does not know the difference between right and wrong and is incapable of committing any criminal offence. . . . These two children are between 10 and 14. . . . The Law which applies to them is this:

  It is still presumed that the child does not know the difference between right and wrong, and it is wholly presumed that the child is incapable of committing a criminal offence, but that presumption instead of being absolute is rebuttable. That is to say, it can be disproved by the prosecution and displaced by evidence presented to you. It can be rebutted by proving that the child, though young, has reached a state of development which enables that child to distinguish between good and evil, between right and wrong, and to appreciate that it is doing wrong when it is doing so.

  By “wrong” I do not mean just being naughty, which all children are at some time. I mean wicked. Something seriously and gravely wrong. If the child does appreciate that, that child can be convicted of a criminal offence, but not otherwise.

  The degree of understanding required to make a child of this age responsible in Law is sometimes referred to as having “a guilty mind” . . . but . . . the mere fact that a child commits an act which in an adult would be a criminal offence is not evidence in itself that that child had a guilty mind. You have to look outside the act itself to see if that child had an understanding of right and wrong, an appreciation of what is good and what is bad so as to make that child responsible in the eyes of the Law. . . .

  Mary had listened attentively. She had heard the Judge say at the end of the afternoon session that he was very nearly at the end of his summing up and would hand the case to the Jury certainly by eleven o’clock the next morning.

  “What would be the worst that could happen to me?” she asked Pauline. “Would they hang me?”

  The question made Pauline feel sick. “I know I wasn’t supposed to talk about the case,” she said, “but if she asked a question like that, well, it didn’t seem right not to answer. You couldn’t not answer, could you? I said, no, they didn’t hang little girls. Yes, I liked May. I didn’t know what was wrong,” she said, “how it had happened. But there had to be something wrong—something had to have happened to her that made her do this. . . .

  “She asked me later would they send her to prison for thirty years? I said that they didn’t send little girls to prison either. But then she started talking of going home as if, you know, they’d just have to let her go home, and so I told her that they’d send her somewhere where she’d be safe and looked after. It was fairer to tell her the truth, to sort of prepare her, you know . . .

  “I know she liked me very much. I don’t know why. And I liked her. When it was all over—later—she sent me a Christmas card with a poem she wrote, but I didn’t write back. There is no future in it—no future in liking her. . . .” Pauline said sadly. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  A Christmas poem

  I looked out th
e window one night

  Oh what a beautiful sight—

  There was a shrill call, it was

  from the wall. Help! Help! Please

  let me out a squicky voice

  began to shout. I’ve ate an

  hamburger. But you’ll commite

  Murder if you don’t let me

  out.

  Tuesday, 17 December was a cold, bleak day in Newcastle. The two girls, their parents and relatives, looked pale and strained. And even Betty Bell was quiet.

  Dr. David Westbury had sat in the office of the Clerk of Assize that morning and almost all of the previous day, telephoning mental hospitals all over England in an effort to find somewhere Mary could be sent, if she was convicted. “Nobody would say yes,” he said. “At one moment I wasn’t at all sure that I wouldn’t be taking her home with me; it was incredible, quite incredible.”

  It wasn’t only the hospitals who felt they didn’t have suitable provisions or adequate security arrangements to contain this child. The Remand Centre, which Children’s Officer Brian Roycroft selected as best suited to shelter her provisionally after the trial, also said it could not have her. And it was only after barrister Peter Robinson, the Clerk of Assize,4 was asked by the Children’s Department and the police to speak to the Remand Centre on the legal position, that preparations for her care immediately subsequent to the trial, if she was convicted, could be begun. It was not deemed necessary to make any similar inquiries for Norma Bell.

  The Jury retired at 10:40 and returned at 2:15 P.M. The room was utterly silent. Norma leaned forward, her mouth as usual a little open. Mary sat straight as a rod, one finger as usual in her mouth.

  The Clerk of Assize rose from his seat just below the Judge’s dais. “Members of the Jury . . . are you all agreed upon your verdict?”

  “We are.”

  “On the first count of this indictment, do you find Norma Bell guilty or not guilty of the murder of Martin Brown?”

  “Not guilty.”

  “Do you find her guilty or not guilty of Manslaughter?”

  “Not guilty.”

  Norma began to smile and excitedly turned around to her parents. Her father laid his hand on her head and gently turned her back to face the Judge and Jury.

  “Do you find Mary Flora Bell guilty or not guilty of the murder of Martin Brown?”

  “Guilty of Manslaughter,” said the Foreman, his next words hard to hear because of Betty Bell’s immediate loud sobs, “because of diminished responsibility.”

  The Judge interrupted. “That is not guilty of Murder?” He emphasized the “Not” and “Murder.” “But guilty of Manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “On the second count of the indictment,” asked Peter Robinson, “do you find Norma Bell guilty or not guilty of the murder of Brian Howe?”

  “Not guilty.”

  “Do you find her guilty or not guilty of Manslaughter?”

  “Not guilty,” the Foreman said, and this time Norma’s father smiled, her mother began to cry, but with the discipline and good manners everyone had noticed throughout the trial, both of them shook their heads reprovingly when Norma turned to look at them and indicated for her to sit still.

  “Do you find Mary Flora Bell guilty or not guilty of the murder of Brian Howe?” asked Mr. Robinson.

  “Guilty of Manslaughter because of diminished responsibility,” the Foreman said again.

  Mr. Justice Cusack remarked briefly about Norma who—he said—he felt sure would still be dealt with, wisely, by the magistrates of the Juvenile Court for the offense of breaking into the Nursery. Then—less than ten minutes after the verdict had been passed—he pronounced sentence on Mary.

  Mary had begun to cry in a tentative sort of way when she heard the verdict, but no one touched her. Billy Bell sat, leaning forward, his chin cupped in his hands as he had throughout the trial. Betty Bell, her handkerchief already wet, sobbed and dabbed her eyes. Mary’s grandmother, her face frozen in misery and disbelief, sat motionless. Only her Solicitor, David Bryson, sitting next to her, bent down and whispered to her when she cried. Outside of this brief contact, it seemed as if there was a gulf between her and those around her. If they cried or mourned, or suffered—it was for themselves, not for her. She seemed alone.

  The child need not stand [said Mr. Justice Cusack], and I shall adress myself to the matters without specifically addressing myself to her.

  On the verdict of the Jury in this case, Mary Bell has been found guilty on two counts of Manslaughter. The verdict is one of Manslaughter because the Jury found that at the material time she had Diminished Responsibility. Otherwise their verdict would have been one of Murder. In the result it means that this child, now aged only eleven, has in fact been found to have killed two other children.

  My difficulty is to know what order should now be made by the Court.

  Having regard to the medical evidence put before me, I should have been willing to make . . . a hospital order, so that she could have been taken to a mental institution to receive the appropriate treatment . . . accompanied . . . by a restriction order . . . which would have meant that she could not have been released from a hospital without . . . special . . . authority.

  Unhappily, I am not able to make such an order because one of the requirements of the Mental Health Act is that I must be satisfied, firstly, that there is a hospital to which she could go; secondly, that she could be admitted to that institution within twenty-eight days.

  Evidence has been given to me by Dr. Westbury . . . that it has been impossible to find any institution to which she can be admitted for treatment under the Mental Health Act. . . . The responsible Government Department requires time to consider what they wish to do. No specific time is indicated.

  I make no criticisms of that Department. But it is a most unhappy thing that, with all the resources of this country, whether it be the Ministry of Social Security, or the Home Office, it appears that no hospital is available which is suitable for the accommodation of this girl and to which she could be admitted.

  All the requirements, apart from the one I have mentioned, of the Mental Health Act have been satisfied, and I am merely precluded from doing what I would otherwise do by the fact that no such hospital is available. No evidence has been put before me which would enable me, therefore, to make an order of the kind I would wish to make.

  I must, therefore, turn to other matters.

  If this had been the case of an adult, having regard to the evidence put before me, which I fully accept, that this is a child who is dangerous, I should have felt obliged to impose a life sentence for the reason that, not only did the gravity of the offences warrant it, but that there was evidence of mental disease or abnormality which made it impossible to determine the date when the person concerned could be safely released.

  It is an appalling thing that, in a child as young as this, one has to determine such matter, but I am entirely satisfied that, anxious as I am to do everything for her benefit, my primary duty is to protect other people for the reasons that I have indicated.

  I take the view that there is a very grave risk to other children if in fact she is not closely watched and every conceivable step taken to see that she does not do again what it has been found that she did do.

  In the case of a child of this age no question of imprisonment arises, but I have the power to order a sentence of Detention, and it seems to me that no other method of dealing with her, in the circumstances, is suitable.

  I therefore have to turn to what length of detention should be imposed. I say at once that, if an undeterminate period is imposed, as in the case of a life sentence of imprisonment, that does not mean that the person concerned is kept in custody indefinitely, or for the rest of their natural lives. It means that the position can be considered from time to time and, if it becomes safe to release that person, that person can be released.

  For that reason the sentence of the
Court concurrently in respect of these two matters upon Mary Bell is a sentence of Detention and the Detention will be for Life.

  The child Mary Bell may be taken out of Court.

  The feeling of relief that it was over was almost palpable in the courtroom; few had been untouched, few quite neutral, few quite objective. If there were those who felt that there was something terribly wrong, no one—aside from the few who could not and would not speak—knew what. What we felt above all was relief—a terrible gratitude that it was at last over.

  * * *

  1 February 1973.

  2 (The way Mary presents this here does not accord with the testimony given by Walter Long and John Southern. See here.

  3 His diagnosis as quoted here applies of course only to Mary’s condition then.

  4 In the recent reorganization of the administration of justice the country was divided into four circuits, each headed by a Circuit Administrator (in each case a distinguished barrister). Mr. Peter Robinson, who was responsible for much of the groundwork of this streamlining, was appointed Circuit Administrator for the North Eastern Circuit.

  PART THREE

  THE PAST

  “Take the Thing Away from Me”

  HOWEVER INURED TO violence we are in our time, violence done to a child causes a momentary pause—a stillness in our minds. And then we turn away, return to our daily life, thank God it wasn’t us, or ours: those to whom these things happen, or who cause them, are “different,” must be different.

  Horror had dawned very slowly in Newcastle in August that year. The intolerable, the unacceptable was reduced to platitudes and pushed aside: it was “they” who were to blame. “They”—the slums. “They”—the perennial weak, the inadequate.

  Unprecedented in a country famous for its murder trials and literature, the press and public not only resisted but rejected the case of Mary Bell. “I don’t want to read about it,” people said, “it’s too horrible.”