Handsome Brute: The True Story of a Ladykiller (20 page)

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.
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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.
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‘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 1946
¹

W
ithin 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.
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