Another of the contacts from the Deaford list was particularly curious. Mrs Horace Ferguson of 31 Dover Street was the proprietress of the ‘SOS Agency’. The nature of her business was to ‘provide Guide Escorts to ladies who wish to have the company of a gentleman for dancing, dining, theatres, racing, motoring, etc. The guide escorts are men of title, ex-officers, public school and varsity men’.83 When later questioned, Mrs Ferguson was sure that Heath never actually contacted her about employment with the agency. But it is apparent that at this time he had decided to exploit, or at least explore, his greatest asset – his looks.
A photograph from 1935 shows a smart and fashion-conscious eighteen-year-old, pale-skinned, perhaps pretty rather than handsome, but it’s easy to see why magistrates were convinced by this respectable-looking young man and why women were also seduced by his sensitive features. His good looks in conjunction with his charm were a winning combination. Sydney Brock, one of Heath’s early biographers, felt that Heath’s growing awareness of these advantages resulted in a confidence that bordered on conceit: ‘He felt confident that his personality was so winning that he would be able to go on indefinitely making a mockery of the law.’84
Brock was clear what he felt was at the heart of this confidence and people’s willingness to be taken in by him. ‘If Neville Heath had been an ugly, unprepossessing fellow, would he have been treated so leniently? I think not.’
Having now evolved into a modern-day Macheath, the charming, audacious (but always gentlemanly) thief had developed a simple formula for personal advancement – robbing from the rich to give to himself. But at this point, with several constabularies on his tail, he made an effort to get back on the straight and narrow. He seems to have been encouraged by Mr Dale, his probation officer, ‘who helped him in every possible way to get a job’.
Consequently, Neville Heath – wanted man, fraudster and swindler – secured employment as a lowly assistant at the John Lewis department store in Oxford Street. In doing so, he realized that he would need to deal with the long list of petty offences he had been committing since he had appeared at Nottingham. Again, he relied on the strategy he had utilized in the RAF when faced with a situation that was threatening to spiral out of control – he wrote a letter to the chief superintendent of the CID at Scotland Yard.
8th April 1938
Dear Sir,
Before you read this letter I would like to make it quite clear that not in any way do I mean it to be taken as either being frivolous or impertinent. In view of this I beg that you submit my request for the consideration of the proper authority.
During the last few months I have been living a criminal existence. I fully realize the serious view taken of the crimes I have committed and will, for the rest of my years, do the utmost to make full reparation. I was practically forced into this life of crime by financial circumstances and the inability to secure employment. You, who know my history will surely understand the reflex action upon the mind after once having ruined a decent career. I most sincerely ask you to believe and understand that I am not by nature a criminal, nor do I enjoy leading the life it entails.
Today I have been fortunate enough to secure employment of a legitimate nature with a reputable firm and this is the reason I am asking you for leniency and understanding and a chance to make good. I am going to make a most unusual request but I am convinced that if there is a human side to justice and any truth in the saying that the police are to prevent crime and prevent the making of criminals, I am convinced you will grant my request.
I am going to request that you withhold the warrants which are issued for my arrest, until you see that I am serious and telling the truth.
I want to start work on Monday and from my salary I shall make payments to all hotels, etc. from whom I have secured credit and money by false pretences. I shall keep these payments up until all my debts are cleared.
I further promise that from this time of writing I shall undertake nothing dishonest ever again. In the event of your granting my request and in the event of my failing to keep my promise, I ask that this letter be produced and that my normal sentence when convicted be doubled.
Once again, sir, I ask you for human understanding, and in helping me to take this chance which may never come again, you will very effectively rid the world of one more criminal.
I have the honour, to be, sir
Your Obedient Servant,
Neville GC Heath
In the event of your granting my requests I should be obliged if an insertion could be made in the personal column of the ‘Daily Telegraph’, in which case I shall be only too pleased to refund the expense incurred.85
The notion of Heath being ‘practically forced into [a] life of crime’ is laughable – his protestations, of course, always pointing the blame elsewhere or on circumstances beyond his control. And offers that he will never be able to keep (‘I shall undertake nothing dishonest ever again’) are both childlike and childish in their naivété.
Heath was employed as an assistant in the fabric department at John Lewis on a wage of £2 per week, half what he had been earning with the RAF. But this sojourn as a respectable wage earner was not to last for long – thirteen days in all. It was soon apparent that his references were not bona fide, and nor was he. Heath was sacked – a substantial blow to his confidence; he couldn’t even hold down a job as a shop assistant. Despite his recent claims that he was not ‘by nature a criminal’ and did not enjoy the life it entailed, he now embraced his former life with a renewed alacrity and an increased audacity.
In June, Heath was staying at the Royal Sussex Hotel in Brighton and ran into a friend of his, Percy Masters, who was spending a few days by the sea. Masters was a bank manager and lived comfortably in Edgware. Knowing that his house was now vacant, Heath couldn’t resist. On 7 June he travelled up to Masters’ house, 42 Penshurst Gardens, and smashed a window at the back. He opened the catch and let himself in. Whilst he was there, he entertained a girlfriend, wearing Masters’ pyjamas and even sleeping in his bed. The intruders ate a meal of sardines and beer in the kitchen, the table laid with fish knives – a precocious touch. A newspaper dated 7 June was later found in one of the rooms. Heath had made himself very much at home, effectively taking a holiday in his friend’s house. When he left he took with him a selection of ‘playboy’ booty – a revolver, golf clubs, binoculars, a camera and some jewellery. At the same time he stole various clothes: a dinner suit, two lounge suits and an overcoat. He even took some of Masters’ favourite cigars.
When Masters reported the break-in to Detective Sergeant Driscoll of Edgware Police, Driscoll felt certain that this was the work of somebody who knew the house and its owner. He asked Masters if he suspected anyone who might be involved. Masters mentioned Heath’s name and it didn’t take long for Driscoll to check the Criminal Records Office where he noted Heath’s appearance at Nottingham the previous November. Heath seemed a very likely suspect indeed.
On 13 June, the golf clubs and binoculars were traced to a pawnbroker in Tottenham Court Road and Masters went to identify them. The pawnbroker described the man who had surrendered the goods and identified him as a James Bulman.86 ‘Bulman’ was traced to the Royal Sussex Hotel in Brighton. The Metropolitan Police called their colleagues in Brighton to arrest the suspect. Bulman, a.k.a. Neville Heath, was taken to London where he was charged with housebreaking and stealing property worth £51 11s. 6d. He was further charged with his fraud at Moss Bros in February. A total of ten other offences at Pevensey, Weston-Super-Mare, Leicestershire and London were taken into consideration covering a period from 19 February to 28 May 1938.
In addition to these crimes, Heath had also defrauded his own family. His uncle, Walter Barker, worked as a market gardener at Laleham. Heath had offered him a cheque for £55, saying that he had won a bet on a horse. But Barker had loaned money to his nephew before and Heath still owed him £50, so he only gave Heath £5. Needless to say, Heath’s cheque bounced. At Weston
-Super-Mare Heath had also taken £5 from an aunt, again offering her a dud cheque. Heath had no scruples, and strangers, friends and family were all fair game in his desire for personal gain. Neither his uncle nor his aunt pressed charges, but cumulatively the other crimes amounted to a career of wrongdoing. Heath was to be tried at the Old Bailey.
The two murders apart, all of Heath’s crimes followed a similar pattern, usually stealing money or property (frequently clothes) or pretending to be somebody else. None of the crimes he was actually convicted of before 1946 involved violence or threatening behaviour. He was a small-time crook, a con man with a relentless, acquisitive instinct for money and status. The gilded lifestyle he aspired to was in some contrast to the reality of his modest background – his father a hairdresser, his mother a landlady.
Whilst awaiting trial, Heath was held in Wormwood Scrubs Boys’ Prison in west London. The court commissioned a series of reports to assess what to do with him and how to plan for his future. Having failed to meet his probation commitments, could he be trusted again? Did he require a custodial sentence, or was that overly harsh? How could they rehabilitate this obviously intelligent young man and direct him towards a useful and law-abiding future? One thing was clear – despite his obvious charm and steady upbringing, the boy was patently dishonest, a liar and a thief. The court assessment was wide-ranging and included contributions from the prison governor, his probation officer, his old headmaster Mr Varnish, his parents and even his old employers at Pawson and Leaf. Generally, Heath seemed to have succeeded in convincing the various authorities that he was a good lad at heart who had gone off the rails: ‘A boy who has got himself into a hopeless mess owing to his own irresponsibility and bad management and needs a lot of help and guidance.’87
But amongst the general chorus of support, there was one dissenting voice in the assessment of the incorrigible but charming boy gone astray. The chaplain at Wormwood Scrubs saw right through the veneer of Heath’s bonhomie. ‘He says he was so completely in debt that he has become a “Raffles”,’ he wrote. ‘He is as crafty as they make ’em and I wouldn’t give much for his future.’88
But even whilst awaiting trial at Wormwood Scrubs, Heath was keen to turn the situation to his advantage. With extraordinary resourcefulness, he contacted the editor of the Daily Mirror.
Wormwood Scrubs Prison
15th June 1938
Dear Sir,
No doubt you are astounded to hear from me, but perhaps it will help to clarify the matter if I mention two articles concerning myself which appeared in headlines in your paper. Firstly the court martial of Pilot Officer NGC Heath RAF which took place somewhere around last August and the more recent impersonation of Lord Dudley last November. Now I am on remand at the above prison, awaiting trial on yet another charge.
After my trial and sentence is over, I am going to make known the most sensational story since the Baillie-Stewart Affair.
I am communicating with you because you may be interested in having the sole rights of the story. I have however definitely made up my mind not to say a word until after my trial and sentence. If you are interested perhaps you would like to send your reporter or come yourself to interview me at this address. I am allowed to receive visitors on any weekday so I’ll expect your representative one day this week. I’ll give you a rough outline of the situation and afterwards you will be able to please yourself. I should, of course, expect you to respect my confidence.
By the way, if your reporter would care to bring with him any fruit, chocolate or magazines they will be most acceptable.89
But though his misdemeanours had indeed been reported in the press, the stories appeared on page four and beyond. Even as a criminal he couldn’t make the front page. Not yet, anyway.
Heath appeared for the first time at the Old Bailey on 12 July 1938 before Sir Gerald Donaldson. In his defence he said, ‘I have no excuse for what I have done.’ Donaldson despaired of all the opportunities that the youth before him had been offered and yet had wasted so shamefully.
This is a tragic record. There were such bright prospects but now you have spoilt it all. There is only one chance for you and that is your instincts to do right. I cannot believe that you have lost all of them at your early age.90
Even at this juncture, Donaldson had highlighted a fundamental issue – perhaps the fundamental issue – at the heart of Heath’s personality. Did he have an instinct to do right? Or had he indeed lost all sense of moral compass?
He was given a custodial sentence of three years. At the age of just twenty-one, it seemed that the golden boy’s luck had finally run out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Borstal Boy
JULY 1938 – DECEMBER 1941
I shall always remember that year at Hollesley Bay Colony and (I think you know it too) I was really happy there. It’s a great pity I did not remember the many lessons I learned there, but unfortunately my memory had always been abominably short, and I’ve usually paid dearly for it . . .
Letter from Heath to C. A. Joyce, 8 October 19461
Within a fortnight of his sentence at the Old Bailey, Heath was transferred from the grim surroundings of Wormwood Scrubs to a newly opened borstal institution near Woodbridge in Suffolk, Hollesley Bay.
Hollesley Bay is perhaps most renowned today for being the open prison that Jeffrey Archer was sent to for perverting the course of justice in 2002. The press dubbed it ‘Holiday Bay’2 at the time, but even in the early months of its opening in the 1930s it had garnered a reputation as a soft option, with critics feeling it was more like a rural public school than an institution for young offenders. Heath had landed on his feet.
The Irish writer Brendan Behan happened to arrive at Hollesley Bay shortly after Heath. At the age of sixteen, Behan had been arrested in Liverpool for agitating on behalf of the IRA, who had initiated a wave of terrorist attacks throughout 1939 in Manchester, Birmingham and London including bombings at King’s Cross, Tottenham Court Road and Leicester Square tube stations. Behan recalled his time at Hollesley Bay in the period leading up to the outbreak of war in his memoir, Borstal Boy (1958), a title that had been used by Gerald Byrne for his biography of Heath published twelve years earlier.
The borstal colony, as it was called, was set in beautiful countryside, within sight of the Suffolk coast – Aldeburgh to the northeast and Felixstowe to the southwest. Much of the colony was given over to market gardens and orchards growing a rich variety of fruit and vegetables – plums, apples, cucumbers, tomatoes, greengages and even grapes and peaches, the coastal climate being favourable for more exotic fruits. There were also hives for collecting honey and grazing land for the flocks of sheep that were reared by the inmates – all the produce being later taken to market. The colony had only opened the previous May and Heath was one of the first boys to be sent there.3
Built at the end of the nineteenth century, the main buildings at Hollesley Bay were large and rambling, complete with dormer windows and a clock tower, all designed to resemble a great Tudor manor house. On arrival, the borstal boys, having travelled in chains, were unshackled and issued with a kit of blue jacket, shirt, shoes and shorts, finished with thick stockings and a woollen tie. Unexpectedly, they were also given half an ounce of Ringers A1 Shag tobacco and a packet of cigarette papers.4 This welcoming touch was very much the tone of the institution which had been established by Hollesley Bay’s enlightened governor, C. A. (‘Jack’) Joyce, a man of great integrity who was convinced in the ability of the borstal system to redirect the lives of young men who had gone off the rails, empowering them by teaching them self-respect as well as respect for others: ‘While you are here, the first thing I ask of you is courtesy to each other, to the staff and to myself.’5 Joyce stayed in touch with many of his former borstal boys, including Behan and Heath. Both found their experience at Hollesley Bay formative. From prison, Heath later remembered the profound effect that Joyce’s regime had on him. ‘You and . . . your ideals which we all worked so hard f
or once, occupy a very special corner in my long list of pleasant memories.’6
Much of the daily routine at Hollesley Bay aped the structure of a public school timetable. Four houses – St Patrick’s, St Andrew’s, St George’s and St David’s – accommodated about 100 boys, each with prefects and a housemaster. Most of the boys were between sixteen and eighteen but the colony would admit young men up to the age of twenty-three. Most were single, but some were married with children. The boys were regarded very much as delinquents rather than criminals, deserving of rehabilitation, rather than punishment. None of them were thought of as high risk and much of the time they were unsupervised and able to abscond. Few did though, so responsive were they to Joyce’s methodology.
Though the manual work could be hard – sometimes nine-hour days harvesting fruit and vegetables in all seasons – the facilities at Hollesley Bay were very comfortable. Though the dormitories in which the boys slept were basic and unheated, there were several public rooms offering a variety of leisure activities: a games room to play table tennis, darts and billiards, a radio room to listen to the wireless, a gym, a library, as well as playing fields for football and rugby. There were frequent treats – Brendan Behan nostalgically remembered teas of bread and jam, treacle duff and sweet cake and Heath was regularly able to buy the Daily Mirror, the Observer, or his beloved Daily Telegraph. The centrally heated dining room was furnished not with refectory tables, but with sociable tables for four, each decorated with bowls of flowers from the Hollesley Bay gardens. The walls were hung with colourful prints of the colonies – a subliminal suggestion, perhaps, to the delinquents that in the future they could make a fresh start in one of the British dominions.7
The colony promoted a healthy, outdoor lifestyle that suited Heath and he certainly prospered there. Food was fresh and plentiful and the coastal breeze invigorating. At Wormwood Scrubs Heath had measured 5 ft 10 ¼ and weighed 152 lb. By the time he left Hollesley Bay he was 15 lb heavier and had grown half an inch.8 His strategy whilst at borstal seems to have been to keep his head low and behave, in the hope of securing an early release. He did carting, cropping and general farm labouring as well as working with horses. He was most keen, though, to tend the colony’s show sheep, regarded as a light job for a man of his athletic build and developing strength. This he did with Fred Sams, Hollesley Bay’s shepherd.
Handsome Brute: The True Story of a Ladykiller Page 15