Remembrance Day
Page 31
At No. 2 Clamp Lane, a warm welcome awaited Tebbutt. Ruby, who had become anxious at Ray’s prolonged absence, embraced him, kissed him, kissed the cheque, declared she should never have forced him to confront the crazed denizens of St Giles House, praised his courage to her mother. Mother joined in the admiration society, protesting she did not know where all the money came from, and she personally was grateful to the government for her many blessings.
They celebrated with a glass of wine, home-brewed elderberry.
Ray and Ruby walked out into the garden, leaving Agnes to nurse the cat. There, leaning over the gate into Tess’s enclosure, Ruby told her husband that Jenny had phoned an hour earlier. She was with the Czech fellow, Jaroslav, and they had found a comfortable little hotel on the sea front at thing-me – Yarmouth. She had invited her mother over for the day.
‘She sounded quite keen to have me.’
Ray agreed immediately that she should go, fingering the cheque in his pocket as he spoke. Whereupon Ruby announced that she had secretly saved a little money – by coincidence, it amounted to three hundred pounds – and with that she was determined to take her poor old mother to Yarmouth. It would fulfil Agnes’s dream of seeing the sea once more.
Surely Ray could come along too, just take a couple of days off? The break and the sea air would do him good.
Ray thought that Yarker might agree, since he had put in overtime recently, cutting down those bloody poplars.
They hugged each other again, sharing their pleasure.
Ruby had even remembered to write down the name of the little Yarmouth hotel.
The Dianoya. Very quiet, Jenny said.
6
Salvation
Winter 1991
Professor Hengist Morton Embry walked from the university carpark at his usual brisk pace. Raincoat open, hands clasped behind his back, he was enjoying the crisp November air.
He found English weather pleasant. This pleasure was enhanced today by the news that the east coast of Florida was being assailed by winds of hurricane force. In the precincts of the Anglia University all was calm. The deciduous trees, planted in the sixties to offset the cheapjack architecture, shed their leaves without fuss, dropping them tidily round their roots.
Tucked under Embry’s right arm was a summary of his report on the bomb outrage at the Dianoya Hotel. He was about to present it – or rather, his case – informally to the principal of the university, Sir Alastair Stern. Embry had worked hard during his British year. He wanted this project to go through.
He wanted it to go through for academic reasons. Amour propre was also involved. And at the back of his superficial but fertile mind lay the possibility of turning the story of those involved in the IRA bombing into a screenplay for the movies. Maybe transpose the setting from England to America …
The principal’s rooms were in a renovated manor house. The house had become derelict during World War II, when the RAF had taken it over and ruined it. House and extensive grounds had sold cheaply to the university foundation during one of the periodic recessions which afflicted England.
As Embry ascended the stairs to the second floor – there was of course no elevator and the second floor was the third over here – he reflected that the theoretical basis of his thesis was not entirely sound. He recognized as much privately, while not acknowledging it publicly. However, he liked Stern and believed Stern liked him. Stern might come up with further funding. Much depended on whether Gordon Levine would also be present at the meeting. Embry was aware that the younger man had both influence on Stern and no affection for him (Embry); they had failed to hit it off in Florida the previous year.
Sir Alastair Stern greeted Embry and helped him out of his coat. Stern was a tall man with a stoop, in his sixties, silver-haired. His drooping lower lip gave him a good-humoured air which his nature did not belie. Standing discreetly by the drinks cabinet was his son-in-law, Gordon Levine. Levine moved forward to shake Embry’s hand, after which he moved back against the linenfold panelling that lined the room.
When greetings and conversation regarding mutual friends were over, Stern sank into his chair and opened the copy of Embry’s report which lay ready on his desk. Thus prompted, Embry opened his own copy, tapping it importantly.
‘It’s good of you to spare me an hour on a day like this, and I promise to take up no more than sixty minutes of your and Gordon’s time.’
‘If you could just run over your report for us …’ Stern said in his dry voice.
‘Sure thing,’ said Embry. ‘This paper is merely my preliminary summary regarding the Dianoya Hotel Explosion.’
He cleared his throat, set half-frame glasses on his nose, and commenced to speak rapidly, following the printed page with a substantial forefinger.
‘The Dianoya Hotel is No. 1 Dunes Drive, on the sea front at Great Yarmouth. It is a small private hotel, with front windows overlooking promenade, public gardens, the sandy beach, and the North Sea. It was converted from a private house into a hotel in 1922 and has since been much modernized. At the time of the explosion, July 1986, it was owned by a Mr Dominic Mayor and his second wife, Caroline Mayor.
‘Great Yarmouth is mentioned in the Domesday Book, 1086. It was an important fishing port for many centuries and is now a popular seaside resort. Its industries—’
At a slight interjection from Stern, Embry smiled, nodded, skipped that passage, and continued.
‘The Dianoya itself was a pleasant small hotel, well-recommended, and giving personal service. Its public rooms comprised a hall, a dining-room with bar extending into a conservatory, and a lounge with access to a smaller bar. On the first floor were three double bedrooms, one single, one bathroom, and a toilet. On the second floor were two double bedrooms, one single, and a toilet. The five double bedrooms were all fitted with cubicles containing showers and toilets.
‘From this it can be seen that the Dianoya could house a complement of only twelve guests at any time, although children could be accommodated in addition.
‘The third floor is given over to private accommodation, the Mayors’ apartments.’
‘Er … the explosion. The victims …’ Stern prompted.
Embry smiled broadly. ‘That’s what the report is all about, Sir Alastair. Just let me run through these ancillary points first.’
Using his finger as cursor, he read rapidly from his summary.
‘Broadly speaking, that was Section One.
‘Two, the Hotel Staff. The hotel is owned by Mr Dominic Mayor and his wife, Caroline Mayor, as stated. It is Mr Mayor’s second marriage. The Mayors have two small children and live on the premises. They take no part in the running of the hotel.
‘The hotel is managed by Dominic Mayor’s adoptive mother, Daphne Mayer – slight difference in spelling there – and her friend “Andy” – Andrew Rawlings. They also live on the premises.
‘Daphne Mayer has some assistance of a daily nature, mainly a waitress, Betty, plus a cook, and Arold and Doris Betts, two servants who live in a small converted store plus caravan to the rear of the hotel.
‘Three, the Bomb. The bomb consisted of eight pounds of the plastic explosive Semtex, manufactured in Czechoslovakia. The Semtex was probably paid for in Prague by an IRA agent calling himself Driscoll, and the delivery made via Libya. A ship, the Eksund, was loaded in a military dockyard in Tripoli. As well as the explosive, the Eksund probably contained Kalashnikov rifles, ground-to-air missiles, mortar bombs, etc., all intended for the IRA. The Eksund was apprehended at sea by French customs officers in 1987 and its crew arrested.
‘Scotland Yard anti-terrorist squads have traced such deliveries of Semtex from the Irish Republic to caches in such English towns as Manchester, Liverpool, London, and elsewhere.
‘The Yarmouth bomb was one of seven planned to detonate serially within the month of July. The other bombs were to be detonated along the south coast by timing devices of Taiwanese origin. The apprehension of two Irishmen in June led to the d
efusing and destruction of these bombs. The seventh bomb, handled by a different IRA squad, went undetected.
‘Four, the Planting of the Bomb. The Yarmouth bomb was planted by a man who signed the hotel register as Jim Donnell. He took other names when abroad, such as Tom Driscoll when “shopping” in Czechoslovakia. His real name was Patrick James Cole. Cole is known to the authorities. Born Belgonnelly, County Fermanagh, in 1950. He is unmarried.
‘He signed Mrs Mayer’s register on the night of Friday 5 July, and was given the double bedroom overlooking the Britannia Pier and the sea on the first floor, designated Room Two. “Donnell” claimed that his wife would be joining him later. No wife appeared.
‘Donnell was clearly described by both Mrs Mayer and Arold Betts. The latter saw Donnell early in the morning of the fifth from eight to eight thirty A.M., walking with another man, scrutinizing the hotel from the road outside. In Betts’ words, “He ’ung round the front, then he come and ’ung round the side”. What particularly drew Betts’ attention was the fact that Donnell photographed the hotel from the opposite side of the street. At that time, Betts described Donnell as a ginger man in his mid-thirties, wearing a heavy suit inappropriate to the season and the place.
‘Nine hours later, at five P.M., Betts saw Donnell again. This time, he was registering as a guest for one night. Betts noted that no camera was visible about his person. Mrs Mayer in Reception was asking him if he required an evening meal, which was then being served. Donnell said No. He spoke with an Irish accent. He was at that time dressed in jeans and a T-shirt bearing the legend NAPALM DEATH. The phrase forms the name of a British thrash metal group (album: “Scum”) who were playing that week in Caister, outside Yarmouth.
‘Mrs Mayer also noted the legend, and was unhappy about it, considering it out of keeping with her establishment. She noticed also folds in the clean T-shirt, indicating that it was new and being worn for the first time. Donnell was described as polite but “anxious” in his manner. He refused to allow Betts to take his suitcase up to the room.
‘Donnell was discussed by Mrs Mayer and Betts after he retired to Room Two. Betts suggested that he was up to no good, and had probably robbed a bank in Norwich. Or alternatively, that he was a private detective sent to spy on Dominic Mayor by his ex-wife, then living in Scotland.
‘Five, the Positioning of the Bomb. Although the Dianoya was badly damaged by the explosion, the Birmingham Anti-Terrorist Squad under Detective Inspector Frederick Waters has shown that Donnell installed the bomb under the toilet fitment in Room Two. This toilet fitment contains within its plastic shell a shower cubicle, washbasin, and WC bowl (unit manufactured by Brodie Originals of Oadby, Leics.).
‘Detective Inspector Waters was able to show that Donnell had fitted the bomb with timer under the lip of the shower tray.
‘The bomb was timed to explode at 1830 hours on Saturday 6 July. Which it did. The timer was of a type made in Taiwan.
‘By that time, Donnell had left the hotel and the vicinity. He is believed to be presently in Belfast.
‘Six, the Warning. At 1813 hours on 6 July, Central Yarmouth Police Station in Howard Street North received a warning of an imminent bomb explosion. The current agreed IRA code word “Shining” was given in a voice with an Irish brogue. The message was that a bomb was planted in a small hotel, unnamed, after which the caller rang off. Detective Inspector Mary Rogers, who took the call, immediately instigated an alarm system to all hotels, warning them to evacuate. Five hundred and fifty hotels, private hotels, and guest houses are registered with the Council. Before the Dianoya could be called, the bomb exploded.
‘Seven, Occupants of the Hotel. The following persons were present or staying in the hotel at the time of the explosion, in the categories of residents, guests or visitors. Drinks were being served at the bar, and snacks served in the dining-room adjacent. Persons’ locations at 1830 hours follow names and status.
‘Residents and Staff:
Dominic Mayor
Owner
Descending from suite on top (third) floor to landing on second floor
Caroline Mayor
Owner’s wife
In town with children
Daphne Mayer
Manageress
In dining-room, supervising, mixing with guests
Andrew Rawlings
Companion of manageress
In kitchens
Sally Sahir
Cook
In kitchens
Arold Betts
Servant
Location unverified
Doris Betts
Servant, wife of above
On first floor, in Room Three
Betty Obispo
Daily servant
Behind bar
‘Guests on First Floor:
Percy Fletcher
Room One
Changing clothes in room
Amanda Fletcher
Wife of above
In toilet of Room One
Kieron Cranshaw
Room Two
In bar
Shirley Williamson
Friend of above
Sunning on hotel terrace
Ruby Tebbutt
Room Three
Walking on promenade outside hotel
Agnes Silcock
Mother of above
Invalid. Resting in room
Anna Weil
Room Four (single)
On beach
‘Guests on Second Floor:
Samuel Jackson
Room Five
At Pleasure Beach
Beata Jackson
Wife of above
At Pleasure Beach
Bruno Lux
Room Six, brother of above
Snacks in dining-room
Hilda Lambert
Friend of above
Putting infant to bed
Benny Lambert
Infant of above
Ray Tebbutt
Room Seven (single)
In bar
Captain Charlie Parr
Visitor
In hallway
Jennifer Tebbutt
Visitor
In bar
Jaroslav Vacek
Visitor, friend of above
In bar
‘Eight, Damage. The blast caused considerable devastation. Room Two and its toilet – the site of the explosion – were completely wrecked, as was Room Three. The single room next door (Room Four) was also destroyed, and a hole blown in the external wall, causing the collapse of the ceiling above. Rooms Five and Six on the second floor were wrecked, together with landing and stairs adjoining. The floors of the private suite on the third floor fell in.
‘The collapse of the floors of rooms mentioned showered furniture and debris on the bar and dining-room below. Many windows were broken. A fire broke out. Structural damage amounts to many thousands of pounds. The building itself has been declared structurally unsound.
‘Slight injuries: all those persons named in Section 7 were taken to hospital and treated for minor injuries or shock, with the exception of Captain Parr. He had come to talk to Daphne Mayer and was entering the Dianoya when the detonation occurred. Parr promptly ran into the street and phoned the police from the next house. Police arrived within 4.5 minutes, ambulances within 7 minutes, two fire brigades within 7.5 minutes. Captain Parr was the first to assist the injured from the hotel after the blast.
‘Serious injuries: the following were detained in hospital for more than forty-eight hours: Betty Obispo – eye injury. Amanda Fletcher – injuries to legs, thighs and back. Kieron Cranshaw – severe head injuries. Hilda and Benny Lambert – body injuries. Ray Tebbutt – two broken legs, other minor bruising. Doris Betts – leg and hip injuries, broken arm.
‘Deaths: killed instantly: Dominic Mayor. Agnes Silcock. Jaroslav Vacek. Dying of brain and head injuries seventy-three hours after explosion: Jennifer Tebbutt.’
After Hengist Embry had read out these
names, silence fell in the principal’s room, in an instinctive token of regret.
Looking up from his paper, Embry smiled and said, ‘So to the conclusions of the Embry Report.’
‘Yes, yes, it’s the conclusions we wish to hear,’ said Stern, with a glance at his son-in-law, who sat in the shadow by the drinks cabinet.
‘OK, here goes.’ And Embry began to read once more, this time giving his words due emphasis.
‘Our unit at AUN has investigated the circumstances which led to the four persons killed being present at that particular time and place. The question we were asking was, Why these four and not others?
‘In previous times, such coincidence might be ascribed to “Fate” or “Destiny”, or some such nebulous phrase, or to the Hand of God. Our belief is that such dismissive fatalisms are inadequate for a scientific age, and should be replaced by more constructive thinking.
‘We had in mind that even more recent theories, such as Kammerer’s Seriality Theory or Carl Jung’s Synchronicity Theory, did not fulfil requirements. It was necessary to determine whether there might be a genetic disposition in the victims towards catastrophe, or whether “bad luck” – the sense that more than ordinary ill-fortune is operative in a given system – might not predispose an individual to further increments of bad luck later in life, in what we term a “circumstance-chain”; analogously to those children who, having been deprived of love in childhood, find it difficult to establish loving relationships in adult life. Where compensation is most needed it is most lacking.
‘We sought to reveal, in other words, a possible causality or linkage between mental factors and the physical world: a kind of transpsychic reality whose discovery and authentication would transform our understanding of human life – and link the spiritual with the physical.