Fog on the Tyne

by Bernard O'Mahoney

  As the marchers, who by this time numbered more than 200, approached the bridge, the Bull was spotted by the police, who immediately stopped any traffic or pedestrians from proceeding. The senior officer on duty that day strode onto the bridge with the Bull’s brother Billy following and pleaded with him to climb down before he fell down and killed himself, but the Bull refused. In desperation, the officer turned to Billy for help and asked him to appeal to his brother to apply some common sense, but when Billy refused to negotiate on behalf of the police he was promptly arrested for being drunk and disorderly. It was 10 a.m., and Billy hadn’t even smelt a drink.

  As Billy was led away protesting his innocence, the officer called up to the Bull and once more demanded that he come down. ‘Fuck off,’ the Bull replied. ‘I am not going anywhere.’ Realising the traffic chaos and the media attention the Bull’s protest was now creating, two other lads, Gary Baron and Joe Lowe, climbed up onto Scotswood Bridge, which also spans the River Tyne. Those concerned didn’t appreciate just how cold it could be up on top of those huge structures. The wind whistled around their heads, and soon all three of them were shaking so violently that they were barely able to talk.

  As the elements, rather than the efforts of the police, began to wear the three lads down, they decided to negotiate with the police and end their protest. ‘You have caused traffic tailbacks for miles,’ one officer shouted up at them through a loudhailer. ‘The city of Newcastle is gridlocked; it’s time for this to end. If you come down now, you will be charged with a relatively minor offence and granted bail immediately. If you don’t come down now, you may be charged with a more serious matter and kept in custody until you appear in court.’ It was Saturday, 1 April. No Geordie likes to miss his beer and football, and so the thought of spending an entire weekend in police cells was not one that they wished to contemplate.

  The two lads on Scotswood Bridge came down first and were whisked away by the police to be charged. The Bull, suspicious of any deals, particularly those offered by irate policemen, remained on the bridge for a further four hours. When he could not stand the cold any more, he climbed down into the waiting arms of several pretty pissed-off police officers. Like King George V, who had opened the bridge in 1928, the Bull smiled and waved at the crowds who had gathered to greet and cheer him. Unlike King George V, the Bull’s civic reception took place at the city’s police station. He was charged with a public order offence, refused bail and thrown into a cell to await his court appearance on the Monday morning. To his surprise, he was not alone in the cells; the two lads who had scaled Scotswood Bridge were also in residence. ‘I thought the police had promised you bail if you climbed down,’ the Bull said.

  ‘Yes, they did,’ Joe Lowe replied, ‘but when we were arrested they reminded us that it was in fact April Fool’s Day.’

  When the trio appeared in court, they were banned from going within 100 metres of the Tyne Bridge and bound over to keep the peace for a year. The first Paddy knew about the protest was when a prison officer in HMP Durham told him that presenters were discussing his case on the radio. Paddy immediately raced back to his cell and switched on a small transistor that he had. ‘Three protestors have scaled two bridges in Newcastle, which police have now closed,’ the newsreader announced. ‘Traffic has been brought to a virtual standstill, and queues into the city are currently stretching back for up to 40 miles.’ Paddy didn’t know why, but he just knew that the Bull would be one of the men who had climbed the bridges. He felt extremely proud of all three men and of his community, who had turned out en masse to protest about his conviction. Their belief in Paddy’s innocence gave him hope.

  Paddy spent every day of his imprisonment poring over the evidence against him. He felt so aggrieved by his conviction, and by the length of his sentence, that he wrote to legal eagle Lord Gifford QC and pleaded with him to take on his case:

  I am currently serving a prison sentence of five years for something which I didn’t do. I am totally innocent and feel confident that once you have read through the various documents you will accept that statement as fact. It is my firm belief that I was not given a fair trial . . . justice, in my case, quite blatantly was not seen to be done.

  Lord Gifford QC agreed to represent Paddy, and 14 long months after his conviction he appeared at the High Court in London to have his appeal heard. One point of contention was the trial judge’s decision to allow the prosecution to cross-examine Paddy about his criminal record, as he had recent convictions for dishonesty and violence, including previous assaults on police officers. In the 1980s, such information was normally kept from the jury so that their deliberations were not prejudiced. However, the prosecution argued that Paddy’s allegations of police brutality meant that he was casting doubt upon the integrity of the police witnesses, and so he was putting his own character at issue.

  Judge Percy’s summing-up of the case also came in for severe criticism from Lord Gifford QC. In particular, he had failed to point out to the jury the primary issue: had it been proven beyond reasonable doubt that Paddy had caused PC Middleton’s wound? Furthermore, the judge had failed to sum up evidence from a police officer that contradicted evidence given by his colleagues, and he had misdirected the jury on evidence relating to the knife. In addition, several months after Paddy’s trial, PC Middleton’s behaviour had been criticised by Mr Justice Potts, who was presiding over a case in the High Court in Newcastle. Mr Justice Potts said that while arresting a man for having a stolen car the officer had gone ‘too far’ with behaviour ‘wholly disproportionate’ to the offence.

  Paddy’s convictions were quashed, but his joy was short-lived: the court refused to accept that he had not been in possession of the knife. With the benefit of hindsight, one can see why that decision may have been reached. It was a blow for Paddy, because with an absolute acquittal he would have been able to claim compensation for the 14 unnecessary months in jail. To add to Paddy’s disappointment, the appeal judges said that, as it had been twelve months to the day since Paddy’s conviction for the knife, he still had six months of his eighteen-month sentence to serve. Taking into account the mandatory time off for good behaviour that all prisoners are given, they said that he still had to serve a further five days, ‘for the Queen’.

  Outside the court, the Conroy family protested vehemently to Lord Gifford QC. They pointed out that Paddy had served 14 months and not 12, as the judges had indicated, and that he should therefore be released immediately. Moments later, Lord Gifford QC was down in the cell block ordering the prison officers to release Paddy at once. Before walking to freedom, Paddy thanked his legal team, who had never doubted his innocence throughout the case.

  Lord Gifford went on to have a remarkable career as a pioneer in human rights and legal reform. He was chairman of the Broadwater Farm Riot Inquiry and the Liverpool 8 Inquiry, both of which looked at racism and discrimination. Lord Gifford represented the family of James Wray at the Bloody Sunday Inquiry and appeared for Gerry Hunter of the Birmingham Six and Paul Hill of the Guildford Four at their appeals. He is undoubtedly a remarkable man who has been driven to right some of the many wrongs that exist in the judicial system.

  Paddy walked out of the court and into the arms of Maureen. ‘I am absolutely overjoyed. My head is just dizzy,’ Paddy told reporters from the Newcastle Evening Chronicle. ‘It’s great to be back out with my family. The judge’s summing-up sent me away [to prison]. After the jury heard what he had said, there was no way I was coming out of that court. Even if I had been guilty, the sentence was ridiculous. The officer concerned had nothing more than a little cut, and I got five years.’ A murky kind of justice had sort of prevailed.

  The train journey home to Newcastle was made in high spirits. All of Paddy’s family and friends gathered at the bar not just to celebrate his release but also to toast his brother Neil and his new bride, as they had married that very day. To Paddy’s surprise, Paddy Cosgrove, the barrister who had appeared for the prosecution in his case,
was also at the bar. Paddy did not bear him any malice – the man was only doing his job – and so he joined him for a drink. To avoid any embarrassing moments, Paddy didn’t mention the case to him. Instead, they just indulged in small talk and chatted about matters in general. When Paddy arrived back in Newcastle, his brother’s wedding reception had been turned into a joint celebration to incorporate his release. Paddy did not wish to sound ungrateful, because he was touched by the support his family, friends and the local community had given him, but he wasn’t in the party mood. Paddy had been in prison for more than a year for something that he had not done, so he had a couple of drinks before heading home to Maureen.

  Paddy had eight separate outstanding complaints against Northumbria Police for alleged harassment, and so he went to see a solicitor the following morning to ask if he could withdraw them. He wanted to forget the past and get on with his life. Paddy asked the solicitor if he would seek assurances from the police that, in return for his gesture of goodwill, he would be given a little breathing space so that he could get on with rebuilding his life. Later the same day, a police inspector rang Paddy at his home and said that if he kept out of trouble there would be no need for officers to contact him. The inspector explained that he was not in a position to do deals but that if Paddy did withdraw the complaints and kept out of trouble he would ensure that he would never hear from Northumbria Police again.

  Paddy withdrew the complaints, but the very next morning his front door was kicked off its hinges by officers who said they had a warrant to search his home. Between 20 and 30 police officers had sealed the street off before storming the property. Paddy was out at the time, and so the first thing he knew about it was when Maureen rang him. Paddy raced back to his house and ran in, shouting, ‘Get out of my fucking home!’

  His old adversary Pinky stood beaming with delight in front of him. ‘Not possible, Conroy,’ he replied with a wry smile. ‘We have a warrant to search this house.’ He thrust the document in Paddy’s face and strode off into the lounge.

  Paddy was astounded when he read the warrant. It had clearly been issued to search number 115, and Paddy lived at number 113. Paddy’s home was wrecked while the police were searching it. They pulled out all the drawers, tipped up beds and even unwrapped presents that he had bought for his children. The officers didn’t find anything, but that didn’t seem to matter to them. Paddy was given a half-hearted apology and a claim form for the damage, and the officers then went next door to search his neighbour’s house. Paddy was fuming, but he told himself to remain calm. He knew that the police would want him to lose his temper so that he could be returned to prison. The very thought of Paddy being cleared of wounding a policeman and assaulting another was obviously troubling some officers.

  Paddy too was troubled about past events. He hadn’t forgotten that Pinky had been rude to Maureen outside the court on the day that he had been convicted. Paddy wanted to have words with him about it, but he knew that if he did so when Pinky wasn’t alone he would be arrested for threatening behaviour. Pinky was always cruising around the West End, making a nuisance of himself, and so Paddy knew that it would be only a matter of time before their paths crossed.

  One afternoon, Paddy was driving along Westmoreland Road when he saw Pinky parked up on the opposite side of the street. Paddy swerved across the carriageway in front of Pinky so that, when his vehicle came to a halt, he was sitting facing him. Paddy could see the blood draining from Pinky’s face as Paddy went to get out of his car. Before Paddy could do so, Pinky had engaged reverse gear, accelerated and then sped away.

  Paddy gave chase, and once he had caught up with Pinky he pulled alongside his vehicle and gestured for him to pull over. Instead of obeying Paddy’s command, Pinky applied the handbrake, and his vehicle slewed across the road. Paddy braked hard to avoid colliding with Pinky and then immediately manoeuvred forward. A group of Paddy’s friends happened to be travelling towards him in a car. They could see what was happening, and so they parked behind Pinky in order to block his escape route. Paddy got out of his vehicle and strode purposefully towards Pinky, who locked the doors and scrambled over the passenger seat in a vain effort to avoid him. Paddy managed to get his fingers into a gap in the window on the driver’s side of the vehicle, and eventually he was able to pull it completely down. Paddy reached in to grab Pinky, but the officer curled up into a ball on the back seat, ensuring that he was way out of his grasp. ‘You fucking maggot!’ Paddy shouted. ‘If you ever insult or even speak to my wife again, I will make sure that you regret the day that you were born.’ Judging by the smell that was emanating from Pinky’s car, Paddy was fairly certain that particular police vehicle would need cleaning. Pinky whimpered something that Paddy failed to understand, but he believed that he had understood his message.

  A few days after he had confronted Pinky, there was a loud and insistent knock at Paddy’s front door. Glancing quickly through the lounge window, Paddy saw that a police car was parked out in the street and that Pinky was sitting in it, staring directly at him. As Paddy flung the front door open to find out what Pinky wanted, he encountered the biggest police officer he had ever seen in his life. Before Paddy could say a word, the policeman blew a cloud of cigarette smoke into his face. ‘Paddy Conroy, I assume,’ he said. ‘You think you’re a fucking hard man, don’t you?’ He then turned, coughed up a mouthful of phlegm and spat it onto the bonnet of Paddy’s car.

  Paddy looked this mountain of a man up and down as feelings of utter contempt and hatred surged through his veins. ‘So, who the fuck are you? The village idiot?’ Paddy asked. ‘Have you come to fight me? Let’s fucking do it now then, you mug. Come through the house now, and we can sort this out in the back garden.’

  Paddy could tell by the expression on the policeman’s face that he hadn’t expected him to go on the offensive. ‘Calm down, Paddy,’ he pleaded. ‘I have only come here to talk to you.’

  ‘Get in this house now, or get out of my fucking face,’ Paddy roared. ‘And take your fucking halfwit sidekick with you.’ Paddy had really lost the plot by this stage and moved to grab the officer by the throat. The giant leapt backwards when Paddy lunged at him, then turned and ran towards the car, where his terrified colleague was revving the engine in readiness to escape. In his haste to flee, the giant had dropped a clipboard, which Paddy picked up and hurled at the vehicle as it disappeared amidst the sound of squealing tyres and a pall of blue smoke.

  In an effort to instil some form of normality into his family’s life, Paddy stopped going out down the town and for the umpteenth time threw himself once more into trying to earn a reasonably honest living. But, as always, Paddy could not control the will of others or the effect their actions had on him and his loved ones. The Sayers firm had become extremely influential in the West End during Paddy’s absence. Their street credibility had been given a boost following John Henry’s trial for a £750,000 armed robbery at a Post Office sorting depot in Sunderland. Masked men had threatened staff with shotguns and ordered them to hand over the cash before making their getaway. John Henry, who ran a fruit and vegetable shop at the time, was later arrested following a dawn raid at his home. Pleading his innocence, John Henry gave detectives investigating the case a perfect alibi. He said that at the time the robbery was committed he was being watched by members of the Regional Crime Squad. For reasons known only to the officers investigating the robbery, they refused to accept John Henry’s story or the evidence of their colleagues in the Crime Squad, and so he was placed on an identity parade, where a witness named Sloane picked him out.

  Nineteen-year-old John Sloane had earlier contacted the police from his cell at HMP Low Newton. It’s not known if Sloane’s public-spiritedness was rewarded, but his claim that he had seen a man who resembled John Henry in the vicinity of the sorting office on the day that the robbers struck turned out to be the best evidence that the police managed to gather. Sloane told detectives that he had seen a man with a mask pulled over his head sit
ting in a white van; he was also cradling a shotgun in his lap. Sloane said that moments later he had seen the man again. ‘He came across the road and was smoking a pipe,’ he said. ‘He was dripping with sweat and was shaking so much that when he went to light his pipe the match went out.’ Sloane assisted the police in producing an identikit picture of the man he claimed to have seen, and it bore a remarkable resemblance to John Henry Sayers. Having secured a positive identification from a not so squeaky-clean witness, the police charged John Henry and another man, named Kenneth Sandvid, with armed robbery.

  At the trial of Sayers and Sandvid, which took place at Durham Crown Court, postal worker Frank Bell told how cash bags at the West Sunniside Post Office had just been loaded onto a trolley when a dark blue Range Rover smashed through the depot gates. A man had then appeared, levelled a shotgun at the postal workers and taken control of the trolley. When John Henry gave evidence, he told the jury about his alibi and called members of the Regional Crime Squad as witnesses to support his account. One would imagine that testimonies of serving police officers would be accepted by the prosecution, but they were not. The prosecution claimed that the officers must have been mistaken. However, when John Henry pointed out to the jury that he had never smoked in his life, the evidence of Sloane regarding the pipe-smoking robber was discredited and both Sayers and Sandvid were acquitted on the direction of the judge.

  John Henry returned to the West End a conquering hero, and every wannabe gangster in the area made it his business to be somehow associated with him. Almost overnight, this legion of fools were claiming to be members of the Sayers firm and were stomping around the city dictating to everybody what they could and could not do. Everybody but the Conroys, that is. They were not prepared to be told, by anybody, what they could or could not do.