Other prisoners were petrified of him so to get on his good side a few decided to bake him a birthday cake. They brought it in and started singing happy birthday but he threw it on the floor and ran them. They reckoned he wasn’t a fan of victoria sponge cakes so made a black forest gateaux, brought it to his cell and started singing happy birthday only for him to grab it, throw it to the floor and ran them again. Third time they went for carrot cake but same thing happened but they didn’t run away this time and asked him what sort of cake he’d like… “I’d murder a tart” came the reply.
What a story. Wearside Jack into the mix for good measure.
The scene where he was taken in first and moved to a court session to charge him was memorable. Pitch dark, cars from the 70s and the crowd shouting ‘Die your bastard!!’ in thick Bradford accents.
I got a summer job working in Heuston Station in the 90s and one of my co-workers told me it and a number of other beauts that I haven’t heard since. I don’t remember them all but I remember it and another one about Red Adair’s Irish cousin Green Adair and a faulty set of breaks.
the press interest in her selling her stories wouldve dried up and if im being overly cynical she was protecting her interest in his pension or an inheritance