Today in London anti-racist history: demo protesting police raids on Notting Hill’s Mangrove Restaurant, 1970.

“Mangrove, smell of hashish, swirling clouds of ashen smoke, weave in, around, away, palms like giant fingers, sounds of laughing, belly deep and penetrating, wise words and indiscretions, deep canary yellows, matted reds and browns, a tropical tapestry of colour, light and sounds.” ‘All Saints and Sinners’, Jenneba Sie Jalloh,

On August 9, 1970, a group of 150 (or 500, depending on your sources) protestors marched through the community toward Notting Hill, Notting Dale, and Harrow Road police stations to “expose the racist brutality that black people experience at the hands of the police.”

In this case, focused on the aggressive policing of the Mangrove restaurant in Notting Hill, a popular meeting place for black radicals. Police and protestors clashed during the march, and police arrested nineteen black protestors, charging them with assault, possession of an offensive weapon, and incitement to riot. The trial of those nicked was to become a celebrated victory against police racism and play an important part in the growth of black power movement in Britain.

One of the most important early centres of London’s West Indian Community was around Notting Hill. From the first days of afro-caribbean migration, the area had seen small numbers of migrants grow into a burgeoning community, despite hostility from some white locals, vigorously stirred up by fascist groups, which had climaxed in the white riots of August 1958 – which saw white crowds attack any black people they could get at – and the racist murder of Kelso Cochrane the following year.

Resistance to the racist violence from the embryonic community had been present from the first – collective self-defence had been organised against in 1958. This spirit was to grow and spread, as the main enemy of the Noting Hill black community became a racist police force.

Frank Crichlow’s restaurant The Mangrove, located at 8 All saints Road, Notting Hill, became a centre of this resistance. Crichlow had previously ran El Rio cafe at 127 Westbourne Park Road (where Christine Keeler met Lucky Gordon in the Profumo affair):

“A lot of West Indians came to the Rio and it got very popular. We opened all night. It was a coffee bar and it was kind of bohemian. We had people like Colin MacInnes, the famous writer. The Christine Keeler and Profumo affair came out of that scene.

Local whites used it and a lot of musicians used to be there as well. When the West End clubs finished they used to come and have a coffee and a meal at the Rio. It was a West Indian scene but it had a lot of mixture. It created a tremendous atmosphere until we found we were getting a lot of attention from the police.

Notting Hill police started to get a bit “busy” – framing people. You could tell it was happening. People started to come in to the cafe and tell their experiences.

One chap said he was in a nearby road and two police rushed up to him and said, “We just saw you trying car doors”. “You must be joking,” he said. “No,” they said, “We saw you trying car doors”. They arrested him and he went to court and was found guilty. He still laughs when he talks about it. He still can’t believe it. It didn’t ruin him. But some people were freaked out by that and couldn’t handle getting a conviction.

The police used the sus laws like that. It was quite common. You would be walking down the street and the next thing you would be in the police station being charged. A lot of black people got convictions that way. Some of them freaked out and they went back to the West Indies because of that.

What started to give the black community strength was places like the Rio. The Rio was a meeting place. People would work all week and at the weekend they would go to the cafes and meet and talk. It gave us the strength to keep going. But of course the Rio began to get attention from more and more police.

The basic reason was racism. A lot of officers in West London were fired up by people like [fascist leader] Oswald Mosley – the same thing is happening with the BNP now. White people who were in the race riots in 1958 and in their teens would then go and join the force and end up as police officers. There is no doubt in my mind about that. That is why I think Notting Hill has a heavy history between the black community and the police in the early days.” (Frank Crichlow)

Crichlow opened the Mangrove restaurant in March 1968, and it rapidly became a centre for the black community, attracting intellectuals, creatives and campaigners. Sammy Davis Junior, Marvin Gaye, Jimi Hendrix, Nina Simone, Sarah Vaughan, Diana Ross and the Supremes, the Four Tops, CLR James, Vanessa Redgrave, Jimmy Hill and the cast of ‘The Avengers’ all visited…

“People would be waiting outside in cars until tables were free. The place was out of this world – in just a couple of months it was pop-u-lar. The place would be packed and we’d see the police peeping through the windows…” (Crichlow)

These peeping police, though, took a dim view of this hive of activity, as always treating any fomenting alternative culture with suspicion. Any space where black people gathered at that time could expect special attention from the boys in blue. A concerted campaign of harassment at the Mangrove followed. Between January 1969 and July 1970, police raided the restaurant on 12 occasions, claiming the venue was a haven of drug use… though drugs were never found, and Frank Crichlow vocally discouraged drug consumption there.

“What started the demonstration were the raids on the Mangrove restaurant that I opened in 1969. In the first year we had seven raids. The police used to say they had information that there was cannabis in the club. We would say, “Where did you get that information from?” and they would say they didn’t have to disclose their source – end of story.

The significant thing about this was that they never found any drugs, because there was none. They used to raid the restaurant at half past ten or eleven – always on a Friday night when it was packed. They would search and everybody would leave their food, we couldn’t ask them to pay. So what the police were doing was destroying the restaurant. They didn’t want us to have too much respectability.” (Frank Critchlow)

The growing hassle of the Mangrove was a concentrated sample of the violence and repression police were visiting on west Indian community in Notting Hill and elsewhere. In response the community and allies took to the streets to protest on 9 August 1970. A demonstration was organised by a small group from The Action Committee for the Defence of the Mangrove. This included Frank Crichlow and barrister Anthony Mohipp, secretary of the Black Improvement Organisation, and several leading members of the UK’s newly-born Black Panther Party.

“It was sparked by all these raids. We called a demonstration and 500 people came out. We made speeches and marched off to the police station that was carrying out the raids.

We went to Notting Hill. R S Webb was outside the police station shouting. Then we said we were going over to Harrow Road police station. The police went in very heavy and about 26 people got arrested on small charges. Reggie Maudling was the home secretary at the time and he made a mistake. After the demonstration he said he wanted an enquiry into who had organised it. After he got the results he said “arrest the organisers” and nine of us were arrested.

That day we nearly had a race riot. I was charged with affray, carrying an offensive weapon, threatening behaviour and inciting members of the public to riot. We were looking at a lot of jail.” (Critchlow)

Nineteen people were arrested. Ten defendants’ charges were soon dropped, but support swelled for the other nine accused: Barbara Beese, Rupert Boyce, Frank Critchlow, Rhodan Gordon, Darcus Howe (who worked at the Mangrove), Anthony Innis, Althea Lecointe Jones, Rothwell Kentish and Godfrey Millett. The charges ranged from making an affray, incitement to riot, assaulting a policeman, to having an offensive weapon. C. L. R. James summoned the remaining protestors the day after the arrest and urged them to continue their fight, emphasising the seriousness of the charges against their comrades.

The Mangrove Nine trial began in October 1971. It became a political struggle. Pickets were organised outside the trail at the Old Bailey, and literature handed out to raise public awareness of the case.

Arguments focused on the ongoing police persecution experienced by the black community in Notting Hill. Police witnesses who justified their targeting of the Mangrove with descriptions of it as a “haunt of criminals, prostitutes and ponces” only corroborated the Nine’s detailing of police prejudice.

Darcus Howe and Althea Jones-Lecointe defended themselves. The other seven employed a radical civil rights lawyer to ensure there would be no friction between Jones-LeCointe and Howe’s defense and their own. Jones-LeCointe and Howe argued for an all black jury under the Magna Carta’s ‘jury of my peers’ clause. They cited trial precedents in which, for example, Welsh miners faced an all-Welsh jury. This demand also echoed calls by the Black Panthers in the United States, under an interpretation of the 14th Amendment, for all-black juries. Judge Edward Clarke, known for his distaste for political radicalism, dismissed the possibility of an all-black jury out of hand, but the Nine had already succeeded in elevating the trial to a national spectacle.

The defendants were prepared for the judge’s rejection of this demand. Howe and Lecointe-Jones’s next tactic was to vet potential jurors politically, asking them what they understood by terms “black power” and which newspapers they read. Again the judge intervened to stop this line of questioning. Nonetheless, the defence dismissed a total of 63 jurors, each defendant using their right to dismiss seven potential jurors. In so doing they ensured that two of the 12 jurors were black and, perhaps more importantly, stamped their authority on the proceedings.

Police witnesses justified their actions by labelling the Mangrove restaurant “a haunt of criminals, prostitutes and ponces”. The turning point came as Howe exposed problems with the police testimony and a police officer was ordered to leave the courtroom when he was seen signalling to other prosecution witnesses as they gave evidence.

In Jones-Lecointe’s closing speech she referred in detail to the police persecution experienced by the black community in Notting Hill.

On the last day of trial testimony, police turned over a leaflet called “Battle for Freedom at Old Bailey” to the judge, who believed the leaflet might be in contempt of the court. Constable Roger Buckley had apprehended the leaflet while on duty in the Notting Dale neighborhood on December 11, 1971. The leaflet charged that a biased judge and jury had colluded to skew the proceedings of the case against the Mangrove Nine, claiming that “the case has been a systematic exposure of police lies, the way in which the prosecution, having no evidence, tries to play on the prejudices of the jury, of the way in which the judge plays the part of chief prosecutor, attacking and obstructing the defence.” After a four-month investigation, the officer P. J. Palmes concluded that the police lacked sufficient evidence to identify the authors of the leaflet, “which in any event might be ill-advised at this stage as likely to exacerbate racial feelings.” This led Judge Clarke to drop the contempt of court charge.

A majority of the Mangrove jury were workers, and though only two of the 11 were black, it is known that the jury divided along class lines, with the middle class members inclined to believe the police and favouring conviction. It seems that some of the workers knew better and simply decided the police were liars. Eventually they compromised on the basis of agreement on acquittal on the most serious charges.

Five were acquitted of all charges. All the serious charges resulted in acquittal, and only some minor charges were upheld.

The Mangrove Trial caused a sensation at the time. Even the judge had come out and acknowledged in his summing up racism as a motive of police actions – though he tried to mitigate this by accusing the protestors as also being racist. This outraged the government and legal establishment who tried to get this comment struck out of the record…

The trial also helped to coalesce the emerging black power movement in the UK. The recently formed Black Panther Party was involved in the Mangrove protests (Notting Hill being one of its activist  centres), several of the Party’s leading lights were among the defendants, and the publicity and sense of possibilities that the trial threw up helped attract attention to the movement… Something on which here.

The Mangrove thrived despite continued harassment for two decades, until Notting Hill’s gentrification got seriously underway:
“Through the 1980s the premises were regularly raided, as All Saints became known as the frontline. In the 1987 police ‘swamp’ of the area, as part of the inner-city crime crackdown Operation Trident, the Mangrove was raided again and this time Frank Crichlow was charged with possession of heroin. To the Wise brothers, the accompanying installation of surveillance cameras and the closure of squatted ‘abandoned commercial property’ marked the start of Notting Hill gentrification: “Within days a house in McGregor Road was to fetch £300,000. The very centre of Carnival revolt in the 80s had finally fallen and the light had gone out on the last remaining shambles of an urban trouble spot.”

Lee Jasper recalls dealing with a mas band sequin crisis as the 1987 riot began: “The police were attempting to close down, fit up and destroy Mangrove and indeed the whole of Carnival. We’re on the verge of a major civil disturbance and people would be coming in and saying I don’t have any red sequins.”

In the last Mangrove trial Frank Crichlow was once more cleared of trumped up drugs charges. After that the police raided the Mangrove some more, causing further clashes on All Saints and the last big Carnival riot in 1989.

According to the Evening Standard: ‘5,000 police, almost 600 in full riot gear with shields, and some police on horseback, fought running battles with pockets of revellers after trouble was sparked in the All Saints Road area. Within seconds they had to retreat under a hail of bottles and flower pots. Uniformed officers battled in vain to contain the trouble, drafting in riot police who sealed off a section of Lancaster Road. But they came under attack from two directions as youths in All Saints Road and Westbourne Park Road began hurling missiles.’

As ‘The Mangrove: 21 Years of Resistance’ banner came down in 1991, 6-8 All Saints Road reopened as the Portobello Dining Rooms. Rastafarians were succeeded by trustafarians and the street name started to appear in more restaurant reviews than crime reports. However, then came the mid 90s crack cocaine drug crime revival. Frank Crichlow was subsequently awarded £50,000 damages.

In the run-up to the 1995 Carnival, Ma’s Café at 6-8 All Saints Road (formerly the Mangrove, the Portobello Dining Rooms and Nice, since Manor, Ruby & Sequoia, the Hurlingham and Rum Kitchen) was the scene of a scuffle involving Hugh Grant, in which the actor was ridiculed over the Divine Brown affair. An onlooker said: “He was okay but he had a bit of blood on him. I don’t think he’ll be back.”

After the demise of the Mangrove restaurant, the frontline spirit was maintained by the Mangrove Community Association office over the road until 2002, Daddy Vigo’s People’s Sound reggae record shop at number 11, the Portobello Music Shop at 13, Nation Records and the Carnival sound-systems. Following a series of Rolex robberies and ‘aristocrats on crack’ reports, Annabel Heseltine wrote in the Standard of ‘Crack, Guns and Fear’ Notting Hell juxtaposed with trustafarian Heaven W11 ‘Cool Britannia’ on All Saints: “Opposite Philsen’s Phil-Inn Station – a café frequented by local hip-swinging Rastas – young media types are strolling into Mas Café… A bakery selling walnut loaves and bagels generates a warm aroma in the direction of Tom Dixon’s gallery…” (nicked from the Underground Map)

There are some great pix of the Mangrove demo and trial here

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An entry in the
2018 London Rebel History Calendar

Check out the Calendar online

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Today in London’s history: White crowds launch Notting Hill race riots, 1958.

“There was a battle, a pitched battle, in Powis Terrace where I lived. I looked through the fifth floor window where I was, and there was a battle between black men, policemen, white yobbos and Teddy Boys. I mean, the street was alight, except for fires and that – Molotov cocktails and so on. And blood was everywhere and it was awful.”

As the ‘biggest street party in Europe’, the Notting Hill Carnival, comes round again, it’s always worth remembering its origins… With the myth of British tolerance and a somewhat blinkered view of our past as rosy and open, the Carnival is often held up as an example of the best in multi-cultural Britain, evidence of how easily and warmly the UK welcomes incomers. It’s essential even for tory leaders to turn up, parade, or at least pretend to approve. The friendliest police are wheeled out. It’s even sometimes mentioned (though not on the bbc news) that Carnival was born after the race riots of 1958, when white gangs, inspired at least if not organized by rightwing groups, launched racist attacks on Afro-Caribbean migrants in Notting Hill.

Carnival evolved in the West Indies from a heady mix of Spanish and French catholic religious traditions, mixing with dances and parades from the culture of the African slaves shipped to the Caribbean in their thousands…

West Indians migrating to Britain in the 1950s, created Carnival in its west London incarnation, however, in 1959-60 as a way of both bringing white and black communities together, and celebrating the migrant Caribbean culture that was to some extent under siege by racism from whites in Notting Hill, West London.

Notting Hill was one of the areas where the first generation of West Indians moving to Britain after World War 2 had begun to build a community.

The initial migrants from the West Indies faced a wall of racism, hostility and discrimination in many arenas in those first years; housing was one. Many landlords wouldn’t rent houses or flats to black people (the infamous sign in the front window of houses to rent being: ‘No Irish No Blacks no Dogs’). In some neighbourhoods such restrictions were less rigidly applied. Often the poorest places, the slums, where vicious landlords were willing to let run-down, rat-infested housing at inflated rents to people who had nowhere else to go…

Notting Hill had been home to the poorest for a century – migrants, casual workers, the lowest paid. West Indians found homes here…

They also found prejudice: resentment from poor white working class locals, xenophobia and fear of the other and economic competition, all fanned by a jumble of fascist groups – the White Defence League, Oswald Mosley’s Union Movement, the National Labour Party and more… all active in the area, stirring it up, provoking hatred where fear already was… For instance, from January 1958 the Union Movement held regular street corner meetings in Notting Hill, outside Kensington Park Road synagogue. “When Mosley came down to Notting Dale some people were sympathetic to his cause, that can’t be denied. He recruited some workers from the Thames Gas Board coal and coke wharf near Ladbroke Grove and local Teddy boys. Some of these were little stinkers, but we were living in uncertain times and Mosley provided people with instant solutions; scapegoating the blacks and Irish, telling people that it was their fault that we had poor housing and that they would take all the jobs.” (‘The Story Of Notting Dale’, Ron Greenwood)… Colin Jordan’s White Defence League had its base on Tavistock Road, from where a swastika flag was flown, loud militaristic music played and ‘The Black and White News’ distributed… fascists also had a base in Princedale Road.

Teddyboys proved a fertile recruiting ground for the fash; young white working class teens, a growing subculture, already well-known for violence, both between teds from different areas, against the police and authority in general, but easily also slipping into racist attacks.

Racist attitudes increased turning into violent attacks on black people through the summer of 1958: coming to a head in the last week of August. On the 24th ten white youths committed serious assaults on six West Indian men in four separate incidents. Just prior to the Notting Hill riots, there was racial unrest in Nottingham, which began on 23 August, and continued intermittently for two weeks.

The rioting was triggered by an assault against Majbritt Morrison, a white Swedish woman, on 29 August. Morrison was arguing with her Jamaican husband Raymond Morrison at the Latimer Road tube station. A group of various white people attempted to intervene in the argument and a small fight broke out between the intervening people and some of Raymond Morrison’s friends.

The following day, August 30th, Majbritt was verbally and physically attacked by a gang of white youths who threw milk bottles at Morrison and called her racial slurs such as “Black man’s trollop”, she was also struck in the back with an iron bar.

Later that night a mob of 300 to 400 white people, many of them Teddy Boys, were seen on Bramley Road attacking the houses of West Indian residents. The disturbances, rioting and attacks continued every night until 5 September, although the worst of the aggro was over by the 3rd

Crowds of white youths roamed the area every night for days, attacking any black people in the street, attacking houses where black people were living, with bricks, petrol bombs… After repeated warning from the community had failed to rouse the police to take any action against the white mobs, local blacks got together to resist the racists by force… “black men used to come from surrounding areas, like Paddington and Brixton and Shepherd’s Bush, knowing they’re going to hit this particular street, knowing the whites were going to hit this particular street, this particular night. They would come in solidarity, to fight. In other words, many black people felt, In for a penny, in for a pound.”

“lt’s decided to make a stand at Totobag’s cafe at 9 Blenheim Crescent, between Portobello and Kensington Park Road… As the tension mounts the rest of the afternoon is spent amassing an armoury of weapons, including milk bottles, petrol and sand for Molotov cocktails. Then they wait. An estimated 300 in all, men in ‘The Fortress’ at No. 9, women across the road in No. 6, with lights out and curtain’s drawn. At 10pm a white mob starts sniffing around and there’s shouts of “Let’s burn the niggers out.” At which point the top floor windows of No. 9 are opened and Molotov cocktails rain down, scattering the whites. Baron Baker says he ironically shouts, “Get back to where you come from!” and everybody charges out of Totobag’s waving machetes and cleavers. Only a few of the white rioters stick around to throw missiles back. Then a Black Maria hurtles onto Blenheim Crescent and rams the front door of No. 9. Michael de Freitas, Baron Baker, 6 other blacks and 3 whites are subsequently arrested for causing affray. With Jamaican reinforcements coming in from Brixton to counter the white attacks, the police finally get their act together. Just before things develop into out and out race war. On the Monday night they mount one of the biggest co-ordinated policing operations of the 50s. 11 radio-cars and a few Black Marias are soon in the vicinity of Blenheim Crescent. While, at the same time, a house in Bard Road, back on Latimer Road, is attacked by 50 or more white youths, in retaliation for a fire-bomb attack on Mosley’s Portobello HQ, other side of Westway. A paraffin lamp is thrown through the ground floor window setting light to a bed. Then a big black woman runs out into the street brandishing an axe and shouting ‘I’ll murder you for this!’ Whereupon the white rioters turn and run.”

The West Indian resistance finally prompted the police (who had been widely accused of turning a blind eye to the violence if not actively condoning it) to make an attempt to get to grips with the situation. They couldn’t have people organising their own self-defence – where would it end? When a large crowd of would be white rioters marched down looking for trouble, this time the police dispersed them and made 50 arrests. The night of Tuesday 2nd was said to be relatively quiet’.

Sporadic incidents continued until September 5th, and black people, who had been avoiding going out, started to venture from their homes…

‘Only a few frightened faces were to be seen among the debris of bricks, broken glass and traces of blood that littered west London. Notting Hill was deathly quiet and unnaturally deserted and police kept a low profile. Pubs, which had been packed during the riot weekend, were now almost empty…’ A month after the riots some still kept their lights out at night and whites are also wary of going out after dark.

More than 140 people were nicked during the disturbances, mostly white youths but also many black people found carrying weapons to defend themselves. A report to the Metropolitan Police Commissioner stated that of the 108 people charged with crimes such as grievous bodily harm, affray and riot and possessing offensive weapons, 72 were white and 36 were black.

In 2002, files were released that revealed that senior police officers at the time had assured the Home Secretary, Rab Butler, that there was little or no racial motivation behind the disturbance, despite testimony from individual police officers to the contrary.

In January 1959, five months after the riot, the first carnival was held indoors at St Pancras town hall in central London as an act of solidarity and defiance in response to the racist events. Black radical Claudia Jones among others, was central to organising the event which in 1965 became an annual outdoor parade in Notting Hill. But the tensions that led to the riot had one more act to play out – in May 1959, a carpenter from Antigua, Kelso Cochrane, was stabbed to death in Kensal Rise by a gang of white men. More than 1,200 people, both black and white, attended his funeral, which, in some ways more than the riots, began the process of reversing the racist feeling…

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An entry in the 2016 London Rebel History Calendar – check it out online

Today in London’s shameful history: ‘Go Down, You murderer, Go Down’. Tim Evans hangs, 1950

The case of Timothy Evans was the first major post-war miscarriage of justice to capture public attention. Of low intelligence, Evans was damned by his own, false “confession” that he had murdered his wife and daughter. The trial and – rightful – conviction of John Christie for one of these murders three years later, did not, however, bring about a pardon for Evans. It was to be many years before the judiciary and the government were to finally allow the late Timothy Evans a pardon.

Evans, 25, a Welsh van driver with an IQ of 70, was executed in 1950 for strangling his wife Beryl and his 14-month-old daughter, Geraldine, the previous year.
The bodies of the mother and child were found buried in a washroom at their flat in Notting Hill, west London, shortly after Beryl had told friends that she wanted to undergo an illegal abortion.
Three years after Mr Evans was hanged, John Christie, a neighbour in the house at 10 Rillington Place, confessed to strangling eight female victims – including Beryl and her baby daughter. He too was executed.

Evans was born in Merthyr Tydfil in 1924. It was not an easy childhood; shortly before Timothy was born his father ran off and left the family to cope by themselves. His mother remarried in 1929 and the family soon consisted of Timothy, his elder sister Eileen and a younger half sister called Maureen.
The young boy was slow in nearly all his developmental milestones and, as the victim of a tubercular sore on his right foot – something that never totally healed – he was often away from school for long periods. As a consequence, when he left school Timothy Evans was virtually illiterate and could barely read and write his own name.
The family moved to London and Evans began work as a painter and decorator for a while. He tried moving back to Merthyr Tydfil in 1937, working in the coal mines around the town, but found the job too difficult because of his foot.

By 1946 he was again living in London, in the Notting Hill area, and on 20 September 1947 he married Beryl Thorley. Within months she was pregnant, and Geraldine Evans was born on 10 October 1948.
Soon after their marriage the young couple moved into a top floor flat at 10 Rillington Place, close to Ladbroke Grove. Living in the ground floor flat of the house were John Christie and his wife Ethel.
The relationship between Timothy and Beryl was not easy: angry quarrels and occasional physical violence were part of their life together. When, late in 1949, Beryl announced that she was pregnant again, their financial situation was so fraught that an abortion – illegal in those days – was considered the only option.
On 30 November Evans turned up at Merthyr Tydfil police station, stating that his wife had died after he had given her some mixture to abort the baby. He had disposed of the body, he claimed, in a drain outside the house.

No body was ever found and Timothy Evans changed his story. John Christie, he said, had agreed to perform the abortion and Beryl had died during the procedure. The Evanses’ daughter Geraldine had been given to someone to look after but Christie, Evans claimed, would not let him see her.
A police search of 10 Rillington Place found Beryl’s body wrapped in a cloth in the wash house at the back, and alongside her was the body of Geraldine. Both had been strangled.

Clearly under stress, Timothy Evans was asked if he had killed his wife and child. He replied “Yes”. It was later revealed that much of his confession was actually dictated to Evans by police investigators, who bullied him till he confessed, and there was an almost total lack of forensic evidence. Builders who said there were no bodies when they worked in the room where the bodies were found were prevented from giving evidence.
The trial – according to the legal procedure of the day, for the murder of Geraldine, not his wife – began on 11 January, with Timothy Evans now claiming that Christie had committed the murders. Christie gave evidence against Evans. The trial lasted three days and the jury took only 40 minutes to return a guilty verdict. Evans was hanged in Pentomnville Prison, on 9 March 1950.

Three years later police uncovered a number of bodies at 10 Rillington Place, all of them women and all the victims of John Christie. At least six of the bodies were hidden under floorboards and in the wash house – Christie even used the thigh bone of one woman to prop up his garden fence. And yet the police, in their searches three years earlier, had totally missed this vital piece of evidence, just as they had missed the bodies lying almost casually around the house. It was evidence that might have saved Timothy Evans.
The motive behind the killings was certainly sexually driven, with Christie abusing the bodies after death. He admitted to the crimes and was hanged on 15 July 1953.

Amazingly, in the wake of Christie’s conviction, an inquiry into what was termed a “possible miscarriage of justice” upheld the guilt of Timothy Evans. Intense debate and a long-standing campaign by Evans’ sister – not to mention a hugely powerful exposé by journalist and writer Ludovic Kennedy – forced another inquiry in 1965.
The findings this time were clear that Evans had not killed his daughter – the death of Beryl remained a mystery and, since by now both Evans and Christie had already gone to the gallows, it was impossible to come to a firm conclusion.

As a result of the second inquiry Timothy Evans was given a royal pardon in October 1966. His conviction and execution were tragic, a man of limited intelligence being brow beaten into a series of confessions that could, ultimately, lead only to the death cell.

In January 2003, the Home Office awarded Timothy Evans’s half-sister, Mary Westlake, and his sister, Eileen Ashby, ex gratia payments as compensation for the miscarriage of justice in Evans’s trial. The independent assessor for the Home Office, Lord Brennan QC, accepted that “the conviction and execution of Timothy Evans for the murder of his child was wrongful and a miscarriage of justice” and that “there is no evidence to implicate Timothy Evans in the murder of his wife. She was most probably murdered by Christie.” Lord Brennan believed that the Brabin Report’s conclusion that Evans probably murdered his wife should be rejected given Christie’s confessions and conviction.

On 16 November 2004, Westlake began an appeal in the High Court to overturn a decision by the Criminal Cases Review Commission not to refer Evans’s case to the Court of Appeal to have his conviction formally quashed. She argued that Evans’s pardon had not formally expunged his conviction of murdering his daughter, and although the Brabin report had concluded that Evans probably did not kill his daughter, it had not declared him innocent. The report also contained the “devastating” conclusion that Evans had probably killed his wife.
The request to refer the case was dismissed on 19 November 2004, with the judges saying that the cost and resources of quashing the conviction could not be justified, although they did accept that Evans did not murder either his wife or his child.

This case is dealt with at length in “Timothy Evans” by Bob Woffinden in his 1987 book Miscarriages of Justice. A PDF of this can be found here

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Ewan MacColl wrote a song about the case:
The Ballad of Tim Evans

Tim Evans was a prisoner,
Fast in his prison cell
And those who read about his crimes,
They damned his soul to hell,
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderer,
go down.”  

For the murder of his own dear wife
And the killing of his own child
The jury found him guilty
And the hangin’ judge, he smiled.   
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderer,
go down.”  

Tim Evans pleaded innocent
And he swore by Him on high,
That he never killed his own dear wife
Nor caused his child to die.   
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderer,
go down.”  

The governor came in one day
And the chaplain by his side,
Said, “Your appeal has been turned down,
Prepare yourself to die.”   
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderer,
go down.”  

They moved him out of C-block
To his final flowery dell,
And day and night two screws were there
And they never left his cell.   
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderer,
go down.”  

Sometimes they played draughts with him
And solo and pontoon,
To stop him brooding on the rope
That was to be his doom.    
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderer,
go down.”  

They brought his grub in on a tray,
There was eggs and meat and ham,
And all the snout that he could smoke
Was there at his command.    
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderer,
go down.”  

Tim Evans walked in the prison yard
And the screws, they walked behind;
And he saw the sky above the wall
But he knew no peace of mind.   
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderer,
go down.”  

They came for him at eight o’clock
And the chaplain read a prayer
And then they marched him to that place
Where the hangman did prepare.   
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderer,
go down.”  

The rope was fixed around his neck
And a washer behind his ear.
The prison bell was tolling
But Tim Evans did not hear.   
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderer,
go down.”  

A thousand lags were cursing
And a-banging on the doors;
But Evans couldn’t hear them,
He was deaf for ever more.    
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderer,
go down.”  

They sent Tim Evans to the drop
For a crime he did not do.
It was Christy was the murderer
And the judge and jury too.   
Sayin’, “Go down, you murderers,
go down.”

 

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An entry in the 2016 London Rebel History Calendar – check it out online