Chapter 3 - Cheshire Cats

I suspect that all of this seems more than a tad unbelievable but, trust me when I tell you this, nothing is real. John Lennon was right when he wrote those lyrics for Strawberry Fields Forever; ‘Living is easy with eyes closed. 

Misunderstanding all you see’. Strawberry Field was a children’s care home as well, I wonder what Lennon knew?

Everything you have ever been taught about this world is bullshit, it is fiction. However, all I can do is connect the dots and let you form your own opinion. Circles within circles my friend, they’re all there.

I mentioned earlier seeing Ward at Leonard Cheshire’s place, well, let me tell you about Cheshire and his wife Sue Ryder. Cheshire was a war hero; a former air force pilot who won the Victoria Cross for his wartime exploits with the famous Dambusters and was someone of whom I was in absolute awe at the time.

After the war he opened a care home for the disabled. Incidentally, one of the founders was Lord Denning, the man who would write the cover-up report for the government after the Profumo scandal denying any security leaks and blaming everything on Stephen Ward. Needless to say that was a whitewash!

Sue Ryder was a member of Churchill’s wartime Special Operations Executive (SOE) and may have been involved with operations to smuggle Nazis into Britain under the guise of them being refugees. The Ryder homes have also been rumoured to have employed illegal immigrants as nurses and of covering this up by using false identities.

From 1966 to 1969, commissioned by the then Ministry of Health, research was conducted by the Tavistock Institute at all the Leonard Cheshire Homes. Yes, the self-same Tavistock Institute that had initiated the Project Monarch brainwashing programme. Don’t believe me? Try Googling Leonard Cheshire and Tavistock Institute.

Incidentally, should you be so minded as to submit a Freedom of Information request to find out the official results of this research you will be informed that to reveal this information is not in the public interest. The purpose, however, of the Tavistock involvement was, purportedly, to provide the inmates with a voice. It is ironic in the extreme then, that this voice is deemed as not being worthy enough for the public to hear.

Freedom of Information request

Another function of the Tavistock Institute was to attend to the psychiatric well-being of one Rudolf Hess post his close-up encounter with a Scottish field in 1941. Many and varied were the rumoured purposes of the Deputy Fuhrer’s Caledonian sojourn, the most frequently recounted being that he was there to negotiate a peace settlement behind Churchill’s back (I know the real reason and we will get to that in due course).

In fact when Hess flew to Britain he immediately requested a meeting with the Duke of Hamilton. Hamilton was a member of the Cliveden Set - named after Lord Astor’s Buckinghamshire pile where Christine Keeler was ‘accidentally’ seen by John Profumo swimming in the nude - which was formed by a group of toff’s that wished to negotiate a peace deal with Hitler’s Nazis. What prompted this proposal – besides a shared ideology with the Fuhrer – was the realisation that should the noise of Nazi Jackboots ever be heard marching on British pavements it would sound the death knell for their cosy inbred plutocracy. 

Another member of this, so-called, elite who desired the same outcome was the Duke of Bedford. Bedford was also known as the Marquess of Tavistock and the grateful Tavistock institute had adopted his name after he had kindly donated a building to them. An act he initiated for purely philanthropic purposes I am sure!

Given Leonard Cheshire’s wartime activities and Sue Ryder’s rumoured involvement with Nazi refugees, not to mention the fake identities of patients and the Tavistock involvement, could there have been a conspiracy to conceal a programme that experimented on the patients in these care homes for mind-control purposes? Furthermore, could they have needed these patients to supplement the shortage of subjects left by the gradual demise of the original ‘guinea-pigs’; the wounded soldiers, after the end of the war?

If you are having problems believing these allegations of mind-control then consider this nugget from the author Aldous Huxley:

“There will be, in the next generation or so, a pharmacological method of making people love their servitude, and producing dictatorship without tears, so to speak, producing a kind of painless concentration camp for entire societies, so that people will in fact have their liberties taken away from them, but will rather enjoy it, because they will be distracted from any desire to rebel by propaganda or brainwashing, or brainwashing enhanced by pharmacological methods. And this seems to be the final revolution.”

Aldous Huxley, Tavistock Group, California Medical School, 1961.

What we have here is a systematic attempt by the authorities to experiment on its own citizens, war heroes a lot of them too, and to conceal these programmes behind seemingly legitimate organisations. What happened to vulnerable kids was even worse and it strengthens my suspicions that villains such as the Krays were obtaining kids from the care homes like Dr Barnardo’s and forcing them to take part in these vile orgies. It wasn’t just the care homes though from whence they came.

The Contemporary Youth Club in Walthamstow in east London was run by a woman called Rose Finesilver. Rose, like Peter Rachman, was a Jewish refugee from Poland and, it has been rumoured, was an early handler of the Kray twins. Whatever the truth of that the Contemporary provided the local youth of Walthamstow with an oasis of calm and a haven from the streets. At least, that was the external appearance.

 

Rose Finesilver

In reality Rose was keeping an eagle eye out for any vulnerable waifs and strays that may stumble upon her refuge. Rather than providing hospitality and nurture these poor unfortunates would land up in the dubious care of Ronnie and Reggie who would then pimp them out amongst their coterie of perverts and lowlifes.

About six miles west from Walthamstow is Muswell Hill where, in January 1967, 17 year old Bernard Oliver, a young, vulnerable man with learning difficulties disappeared. His dismembered body would later be discovered in sleepy, rural Suffolk, in a suitcase, in eight pieces.

The prime suspects for this brutal murder were two doctors who would soon after emigrate to Australia, with one later committing suicide, though no arrests were ever made. However, back in London and a couple miles south of Muswell Hill on the Holloway Road events would conspire sufficiently so that the gay record producer Joe Meek became convinced that he would soon be implicated in the Oliver murder investigation after the Metropolitan Police said they would be interviewing all known homosexual men in the city.

What sparked Meek’s fear is unclear but, following a conviction for ‘importuning for immoral purposes’ in a public toilet in 1963 and having been fined £15, he had become a frequent victim of blackmail attempts. Meek is also rumoured to have attended parties held at the DJ Alan ‘Fluff’ Freeman’s flat in the East End where amongst the entertainment supplied were young boys from the Kray’s care home syndicate. 

Despite clearly being innocent of any involvement in Oliver’s murder Meek blew his brains out with a shotgun, having just killed his landlady, less than a month after Oliver went missing.

The Krays and blackmail: frequent bedfellows.

Rose Finesilver also had a reputation for liking children and teenagers to be used as pawns to get politicians and other notables into positions from whence they could be blackmailed. So I have heard, the rotund, and now very dead, politician Cyril Smith went to visit Rose when he found himself at the centre of a blackmail plot concerning his penchant for buggering young boys. The story goes that Rose admired his honesty and his crocodile tears so much that she arranged for the Krays to ‘sort’ the situation. True or not, I do not know, but given what has subsequently come to light about Smith I would err very much on the side of true.

Either way, any and all information from Rose and her Contemporary contemporaries found its way back to Mossad, the Israeli secret service.

Whilst trawling the old www I stumbled upon a photograph of Ronnie Kray and Lord Boothby at some posh do; could that be Rose Finesilver perched at the end looking very pleased with herself?

Another regular at the Contemporary was a guy by the name of Buttons, real name Peter Welsh. Now Buttons, back in the sixties, was the leader of the local Rockers – I was always a Mod myself – who had found himself a lucrative side-line as a bodyguard for Peter Rachman; or rather Rachman’s dwarf double. Buttons would go on to gain the distinction of being given permission to form the first chapter of the British Hells Angels; though one wonders if that can actually be considered an achievement?

Rachman’s connections to the Krays were many and numerous; not least due to their acquisition of Esmeralda’s Barn; a club and gambling den in Knightsbridge that enabled the twins to spread out their operations beyond their traditional East End manor.

Esmeralda’s Barn

In fact Esmeralda’s had been opened originally by one Hod Dibben, and that opens up a whole new can of worms. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

Another rumour attributed to old Rose Finesilver was that she had arranged for the shooting of the famous ex-boxer Freddie Mills over the non-payment of a debt. I don’t know if this is true or not, but Freddie, who was good friends with the Krays, did land up dead with a bullet lodged in his cranium.

This bullet wound though may well have been self-inflicted; one of the rumours that swirled around was that the police were closing in on Freddie as a suspect in the Jack the Stripper murders.

Remember the girl I told you about at the parties at Dolphin Square, Hannah Tailford? She was just one of a number of good-time-girls who landed up being strangled and dumped naked in various parts of west London. Now Freddie met his haymaker in July 1965 and as no more corpses washed up after that maybe the Old Bill’s* finest minds put two and two together and came up with five; who knows? However, if old Freddie did blow his own brains out himself then he at least had the good grace and manners to carefully place the rifle upright on the car floor and eject the spent cartridge after he had done so!

But Freddie was no murderer; how do I know? We will get to that but, suffice it to say, when it came to the time to read out Freddie’s will it turned out he was boracic lint**. Despite the nightclub, despite the TV appearances, despite the newspaper column and despite the many and numerous bouts, poor old Freddie didn’t have a pot to piss in. Just a mere £300 left. So where had it gone? Blackmail. Pure and simple.

*Old Bill: Slang expression for members of the police.

**Boracic lint: Cockney rhyming slang for skint, meaning to have no money.

The rumours had been doing the rounds for a while that Freddie had been having a gay affair with the singer Michael Holliday, who may well have been having a simultaneous gay affair with Ronnie Kray as well, and for sure Freddie and Michael were great mates. In 1963 Michael died of a drug overdose just hours after giving his last performance at Freddie’s nightclub and poor old Freddie was gutted. Whatever the truth about Freddie and Michael someone had something on Freddie and either he refused to pay up and paid the ultimate price or he took another way out.

Another link to both the Krays and to Jack the Stripper came in the form of one Cornelius Whitehead. Whitehead, who was jailed along with the Krays as an accessory to the murder of Jack ‘the hat’ McVitie in 1969, had been the pimp of a Welsh whore called Gwynneth Rees.

Gwynneth Rees

On 8 November 1963 Gwynneth was found dead near the River Thames. Once again, investigators felt Rees may have been a victim of Jack the Stripper due to her being found near the river, and because she had been strangled with a ligature and because several of her teeth were also missing.

You may be noticing a recurring death theme in these memoirs; funny that isn’t it? Prominent people + sex scandals + blackmail = death. Perhaps we should start at the beginning and work our way forward.

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - My fair lady

Thanks due to Monica Weller for her voluminous and exhaustive research into the Ruth Ellis and Stephen Ward connections

Stephen Ward first met Ruth Ellis at some point in the late 1940s. Exactly what the nature of their relationship was I was never certain, however, Ellis, who had fled from abuse at the family home having giving birth aged just 17, would go on to find some form of gainful employment by posing for nude photographs and running nightclubs. The kind of nightclubs where influential men could obtain the company of pretty young things who would, for a fee, keep them warm at night.

Influential men, of course, need to know that details of their late night assignations are going to remain secret which is why it would have been most convenient for them when Ruth became the last female in the UK to feel the warmth of the hangman’s noose as it tightened sharply around her slender neck. She had been convicted of murder.

Now Ruth had been caught bang to rights with the smoking pistol still in her hands, when she shot, and killed, her boyfriend David Blakely outside a pub in Hampstead but, when visited by a solicitor on the eve of her execution and asked what had really happened on the fateful night she stated that she hadn’t told the truth because to do so “seemed traitorous – absolutely traitorous.”

Which is an interesting turn of phrase, don’t you think? Who was she protecting and just what secrets did she take with her to her grave? I did hear a rumour that she had slept with the Duke of Edinburgh, but that could just be bullshit.

What is true though is that Stephen Ward had used his showbiz contacts to secure Ruth an appearance in the 1951 film Lady Godiva Rides Again which starred Kay Kendall, Joan Collins, Diana Dors, Jane Hart, Pat Marlowe and Gina Egan.

Following filming, in her 1981 autobiography Dors by Diana, the delightful Miss Double D recalled: “I commenced filming on location at Folkestone where I met a beautiful young girl named Jane Hart who was playing a small role…when the boyfriend arrived at our hotel I did not take to him at all: he looked devious and was something of a show-off…he found fame as a slick society doctor among the jet set…My earlier opinion of him was confirmed in 1963, however, when Dr Stephen Ward died from an overdose of drugs after it had been revealed that he was behind the Christine Keeler affair…”

Which all sounds rather a little too disingenuous to me? She may not have liked Ward but she certainly moved in the same circles, attended the same parties, utilised the same surreptitious and devious two-way mirror recording techniques and covered her tracks by employing the very same lawyer: the lady doth protest too much, methinks!

Kay Kendall was a close friend of Ward. Indeed, at the time that John Profumo first met his future wife – another actress – Valerie Hobson in 1947 she was, rather inconveniently, already married. No problem, however, as Kay Kendall was busily employed to keep Hobson’s husband off the scent by fucking him senseless. Could this deception have been arranged by Ward? Almost certainly.

Pat Marlowe was yet another friend of Ward’s. She, allegedly, had an affair with Lord Astor, before, certainly, giving birth to the illegitimate child of the famous entertainer Max Bygraves. He would then pay her £10,000 in ‘shut your mouth’ money in order that she kept schtum* about the child’s paternity.

*Schtum = say nothing - especially in circumstances where saying the wrong thing may get you into trouble.

In August 1962 Pat was discovered dead in bed from, yes you guessed it, yet another drug overdose. Barbiturates prescribed for ‘depression’ in this case.

Gina Egan meanwhile, who worked with Ruth Ellis at the Little Club in Knightsbridge, was also friends with one Vicki Martin whose flat-mate in London was Ruth Ellis. Circles within circles. Again. Gina Egan would go on to marry the Maharajah of Cooch Behar; about whom I shall reveal more imminently.

However, it is worth considering just how influential Ward must have been within showbiz circles in order that he could arrange for his girls to appear in these movies. One wonders if Ward was trying to establish himself as a show-business impresario, or, perhaps, he had employed the services of one.

Vicki Martin had been born Valerie Mewes in 1931. She first met Stephen Ward in a doorway on London’s Oxford Street when they were both sheltering from a thunderstorm, or so he claimed. He took her in and began his Henry Higgins act (ironically, the fictitious Pygmalion character Higgins operated from Wimpole Street, as did Stephen Ward, whilst its star, Rex Harrison, would marry Ward’s friend Kay Kendall), transforming her from small-town provincial girl into the hottest glamour model in London. He got her a job at Murray’s Cabaret Club and she started to pick up bits and pieces of acting work including, in 1952, an appearance in the film, It Started in Paradise with Kay Kendall, who had been in Lady Godiva Rides Again with Ruth Ellis etc.

Pretty soon she had picked up something far more valuable than a bit-part; the Maharajah of Cooch Behar.

The exotically monikered Maharajah was something of a 1950s playboy whose horse-racing colours had graced many a racing-meet up and down the country. On the day he first met Vicki he is said to have walked into the Dorchester Hotel and ordered that the entire contents of its flower shop be delivered to her.

His largesse did not stop there, however, as he also commissioned the renowned artist Vasco Lazzolo to paint her portrait. In this endeavour he was not alone as she had also been previously sketched by Stephen Ward, and indeed, Ward and Lazzolo were pals.

Both were members of the infamous Thursday Club – along with the Duke of Edinburgh and where the Kray Twins or the spy Kim Philby were prone to drop by to chew the fat with the great and the good – and Lazzolo gave evidence in Ward’s defence at his trial. In this respect Lazzolo was taking a big risk as he had been warned by Detective Chief Inspector Samuel Herbert – who also investigated the Stripper murders - that by doing so he risked being discredited, perhaps by the ‘discovery’ of some pornographic material in his studio which could lead to a subsequent prosecution.

But back to the Maharajah, who had, by now, become extremely eager to add a veneer of respectability to Lazzolo’s portrait by placing a ring on the finger of the exalted Miss Martin. Unfortunately for him his family did not share his joy at the prospect of the ensuing nuptials and they threatened to divorce him from his wealth should he insist upon - euphemism alert! - taking her up the aisle. They needn’t have worried though, for not long afterwards Vicki found she wouldn’t be going anywhere anymore.

Vicki was, it seems, as fond of a fast car as she was a fast buck. She was also rather prone to crashing fast cars too. Some estimates put her motoring misdemeanours at a staggering twelve accidents, before, on January 9th 1955, the unlucky thirteenth claimed her life when she smashed head first into a newly-wed couple in Maidenhead in Berkshire; however, if the brides maidenhead was still intact at this point is unclear!

Vicki, despite never really working, left some £2,000 in her will, which at today’s values would be worth around £45,000. Certainly a far better return than poor old punch-drunk Freddie Mills ever managed to accrue!

With Vicki that fateful night was a Canadian author, who claimed an obscure connection to the Jack the Ripper case, by the name of Terence Robertson. Robertson alleged in 1950 that he had discovered an additional victim of the Whitechapel fiend with his discovery of the case of the delightfully named prostitute Fairy Fay who had met her demise on the night of Boxing Day 1887. Fast forward five years from his ‘discovery’, to 1955, and Robertson would find himself standing before a judge claiming that he had absolutely no memory of the car accident that killed Vicki, possibly because, at an earlier inquest hearing numerous friends of Vicki’s had told the judge that she could not drive!

So just who was driving that dramatic evening remains a mystery, as do Vicki’s earlier movements on the night in question. Some claim she had been at a nightclub, some a restaurant, some even claim she had been at Lord Astor’s residence, Cliveden House, but I guess we will never know for sure. Robertson’s wonky memory would come back to haunt him with tragic implications when he landed up as another of those poor unfortunates who ‘forgets’ just how many sleeping pills they’ve already taken. It is truly amazing just how many people with secrets have difficulty sleeping!

Coincidentally, or not, Vicki’s sister Vivienne Warren would later become the second wife of pornographer-in-chief George Harrison Marks. Also coincidentally, Vivienne went to the same school as Christine Keeler. More circles within circles.

By 1955 both Ruth Ellis and Vicki Martin were dead and buried but the Dr Stephen Ward modus operandi was in full working operation. Namely, discover attractive but vulnerable women that can be seduced in order that they will do your bidding. But to what end?

One can only speculate and so that is precisely what I shall do. It is perhaps no surprise that young Vicki Martin was so drawn to fast cars as perhaps it was those that drove them that were the real attraction?

She would certainly have met a few racing-drivers via her social orbit. Her friend and flat-mate Ruth Ellis was dating – and murdering – David Blakely, who was a racing-driver. He had been introduced to Ellis by Mike Hawthorn who was also a racing-driver. Racing-drivers, at that time, frequented an appropriately named drinking-hole called the Steering Wheel Club in Mayfair where the high-flyers of the era like Stirling Moss and Graham Hill could be found. As could one Stephen Ward.

Stephen Ward was, in 1955, living in a, Lord Astor financed, flat in Devonshire Street near Regent’s Park and he would maintain his osteopathic practice at this address for many years to come. Indeed, somewhere on the world-wide-web is an old Pathe film of him in his practice treating a patient. That patient is me.

Good old Chrissie Keeler would go on to live on Devonshire Street as well. Here she is leaving her flat to give evidence against Ward in 1963.

Keeler and Paul Mann

It is interesting that the credit on the image above says that Paul Mann, the gentleman in the photograph, is also a racing-driver! According to Johnny Edgecombe* Mann was an MI5 operative. We shall return to Mann in due course.

*Edgecombe was an integral player in the Profumo scandal. He was, at the time, Chrissie’s on/off boyfriend and it was his actions that brought events into the public eye. Edgecombe had rescued Chrissie from the unwanted attentions of ‘Lucky’ Gordon; another of Chrissie’s occasional black boyfriends, who had previously held Chrissie hostage in her own flat, and who was stabbed in a club in Soho. Long story short; Chrissie went AWOL from Edgecombe who subsequently tracked her down to Ward’s Wimpole Mews abode. When Mandy erroneously informed Edgecombe that Chrissie wasn’t there he decided to convert Ward’s front door into Swiss cheese by firing numerous bullets into it. Chrissie, being unappreciative of Edgecombe’s minimalist redesign of the door, and genuinely in fear for her life, phoned Ward at Devonshire Street who, in turn, called the Old Bill. Strangely though, rather than a gaggle of Scotland Yard’s finest it would be a throng of Fleet Street paparazzo’s who descended first on the scene and suddenly the entire nation would find the names Christine Keeler, Mandy Rice-Davies and Stephen Ward indelibly stained upon their consciousness. Edgecombe, for his troubles, would serve seven years inside for – euphemism alert! - emptying his barrel into Ward’s vestibule.

Also residing in the same block of flats in Devonshire Street was a man by the name of Desmond Cussen. Now Desmond shared with Blakely and Ward a love of motor-racing, however, he also shared the affections of Ruth Ellis. He was the older, sugar-daddy, type character that Ellis had turned to when Blakely started getting a bit handy with his fists. Indeed, Blakely is alleged to have hit Ellis so hard in the stomach that she would, tragically, miscarry their unborn baby. Cussen was another former RAF man, though claims that he spent the war as a bomber pilot are wide of the mark. He joined the service in April 1945 and left that same October; a six-month stint seems very suspicious to me particularly given the time and expense involved in training him as a pilot; I suspect a cover story.

Therefore, I am inclined to believe claims that suggest that Desmond Cussen was an MI5 asset. Certainly, in 1945, MI5 did send a Major Edward James Patrick Cussen to interrogate the author P. G. Wodehouse after he was accused of being a Nazi sympathiser. So, are the two related? Could the secret services have engaged in a bit of espionage nepotism; kissing Cussen’s perhaps. I know not.

However, Cussen has been described by an ex-Home Guard member with whom he served as being “a crack shot”, so, if we throw into the mix the oft cited claim that Stephen Ward was also engaged as an MI5 operative and compare that with the ‘coincidence’ that David Blakely just happens to be buried in the same graveyard at which the Russian spy Donald Maclean’s ashes were scattered then we can concoct, at the very least, a possible synopsis for the actions of Ellis and her curious claim about not having told the truth about her motives for murdering her lover because it “seemed traitorous – absolutely traitorous.”

What if Blakely – a loud-mouthed drunk – had knowledge of, or worse still, evidence of Maclean’s treachery and had threatened to go public? Alternatively, What if Blakely was also a Russian spy or sympathiser? Maybe Ellis had knowledge of this also? Perhaps then Ellis was only acting out orders when she fired the fatal shots? Ellis may have been a Manchurian Candidate; programmed to kill and programmed to take any secrets with her down through the gallows trap-doors. Maybe crack shot Cussen, lurking in the shadows somewhere, had actually fired the lethal shots and left Ellis to take the rap believing she was genuinely responsible? She killed, or believed she had killed, to protect the integrity of the nation she loved before MI5 disposed of the bodies at a ‘friendly facility’ for redundant spooks.

Indeed one might well question why the British nation would go to the time, trouble and expense of repatriating the remains of Donald Maclean from Russia if he really was the drunken, traitorous spy that history has branded him.

So, is it even possible to programme someone to carry an act as draconian as assassinating a fellow human being? Probably not, but one significant fact in the Ellis case is that one of the shots that hit Blakely did so from a point-blank range. Meaning Ellis must have fired at least one of the kill shots. At the very least it must be difficult to rely on someone actually performing an assassination to perfection, so maybe Cussen was on hand to ensure that Blakely would die whilst Ellis had been conditioned to accept being the patsy, and then duly took the blame.

We shall return to this aspect of a potential Tavistock end-game later in our merry pilgrimage; beforehand we must prepare the groundwork.

To this end we should explore the considerable links that seem to exist between the RAF – and in particular Battle of Britain – pilots and motor-racing drivers. Perhaps these links exist simply because both professions attract adrenaline junkies with a need for speed; but maybe there is another reason? Let us investigate:

Firstly we have Squadron Leader Brian “Sandy” Lane who married the famous female racing driver Eileen Ellison in Cambridge.

Which leads nicely to Roberta Cowell who was both a racing-driver and World War II fighter pilot. Roberta was also the first known British transsexual woman to undergo sex reassignment surgery. In 1941, and still pre-op, Roberta married Diana Margaret Zelma Carpenter with whom she shared an interest in motor-racing.

Then we have Squadron Leader Tony Gaze who was one of Battle of Britain legend, Douglas Bader’s most trusted flying colleagues, offering him protection on many dangerous sorties. After the war, Gaze became the first Australian to compete in a Grand Prix and came up with the idea of turning RAF Westhampnett into what is now Goodwood racing track.

Lastly, we have Whitney Straight, an American, who was both a Grand Prix motor-racing driver and a Battle of Britain pilot. Straight, another ex-Cambridge man had had an affair with noted aviator Diana Barnato Walker, MBE, the first British woman to break the sound barrier and who was the daughter of another famous racing-driver, Woolf Barnato and the widow of Wing Commander Derek Ronald Walker who was killed in 1945.

Perhaps though, for reasons that will become apparent in due course, of even greater significance was the identity of Whitney’s brother; Michael Whitney Straight, about whom I shall quote directly from his Wikipedia page:

While a student at the University of Cambridge in the mid-1930s, Straight became a Communist Party member and a part of an intellectual secret society known as the Cambridge Apostles. Straight worked for the Soviet Union as part of a spy ring whose members included Donald Maclean, Guy Burgess, Kim Philby and KGB recruiter Anthony Blunt, who had briefly been Straight’s lover. A document from Soviet archives of a report that Blunt made in 1943 to the KGB states, “As you already know the actual recruits whom I took were Michael Straight”.

Whilst we should not forget the actress Deborah Kerr’s husband, Squadron Leader Anthony Bartley. Bartley was not a motor-racing-driver, however, he did, post WWII, move into show business, and Hollywood, becoming quite the major player in lovey land in the process. Bartley, it seems, was yet another member of Stephen Ward’s showbiz network given that Ward, and Ruth Ellis, would make up a regular awesome foursome with Bartley and Kerr at the White Hart Hotel in Brasted in Kent in the late forties.

The landlord of the White Hart was a guy called Teddy Preston who was a former naval intelligence man and it seems the pub was something of a regular haunt for many of the Battle of Britain pilots, known as the Few. The alleged Russian spies Guy Burgess and Donald Maclean would also frequent this watering hole. Another regular at the White Hart was Ruth’s husband George Ellis. George was, officially, a dentist, and an alcoholic who would regularly make a 30 mile round trip from Croydon to Brasted, by bicycle, for a tipple at the bar. A newspaper article detailing George and Ruth’s visits to the pub can be found here.

Now why would George make such a monumental and regular round trip? I suspect that George, who was considerably older than Ruth, was either acting as her handler or, alternatively, the marriage was connived specifically to provide George with a veneer of respectability. George died in 1958 – suicide, naturally enough – with what would amount to around £150,000 in modern money just sitting in his bank account doing nothing. From where did he acquire such an astonishing sum and why hadn’t he pissed it up the nearest wall? One would assume it was either payment for services received or was shut your mouth money. We will probably never know.

George met Ruth when she was working as a nightclub hostess; the Court Club in this instance of which Diana Dors and Denis Hamilton were regular patrons, naturally, and where she also met David Blakely, officially, at least, for the first time. Now whilst it is perfectly feasible to see the attraction of these drinking holes as extensions of the old-boy-networks and as an environment in which the entitled minorities could let their hair down in private, it is not quite so clear, at first view at any rate, why the manageress would need to be so thoroughly chaperoned. The only plausible explanation is that Ruth, in this role, would be overhearing hugely sensitive information and ‘they’ wanted to ensure it was not disclosed to a wider audience.

Maybe this is why George Ellis would visit the White Hart, home of the Few and managed as it was by the ex-intelligence man, to report back on his wife and her activities. There is also quite an established link between dentists and hypnotism. Was George hypnotically controlling his wife as Stephen Ward had also done?

Author MonicaWeller* who has written extensively about Ruth Ellis claims that Ruth addressed her final handwritten letter from prison “To the Few I know”; a cryptic, but perhaps telling glimpse at the reality of her situation.

*Monica Weller would like me to supply further acknowledgement to her work. You can visit her blog here, or alternatively, please buy her book here

A quick return visit to the Wikipedia account of Leonard Cheshire may prove telling:  

Cheshire had strong feelings on any crew refusing to fly (commonly called Lack of Moral Fibre in the RAF) when subject to the combat stress of Bomber Command’s sorties (many of which had loss rates of 50% or more). Even as a brilliant and sympathetic leader, he wrote “I was ruthless with LMF, I had to be. We were airmen not psychiatrists. Of course we had concern for any individual whose internal tensions meant that he could no longer go on but there was a worry that one really frightened man could affect others around him. There was no time to be as compassionate as I would like to have been.” Thus Cheshire transferred LMF cases out of his squadron almost instantaneously.

Now whilst I can understand why Cheshire acted as he did, it does reveal a clear psychological aspect of Battle of Britain pilots – and presumably motor-racing-drivers - that would remain useful outside the theatre of war. Namely that ability to think clearly, and coldly, under extreme duress even when facing potential death. Add to that an inherent ability to blindly follow orders and what you have is an extremely efficient and intelligent unit; ideal, perhaps, for monitoring, and running, a team of pre-programmed Manchurian candidates.

Consider also Cheshire’s post war care home set-up which provided Tavistock with an on-going supply of brainwashing subjects, and Stephen Ward’s relationship with Cheshire and a glimpse of the truth emerges from the years of subterfuge.

Stephen Ward was certainly capable of brainwashing people into doing whatever he wanted. True. I’ve got an uncle in Norway who could do that to his wife, usually during a party and to her great embarrassment! But not everybody is susceptible, and certainly not everybody can do it. But it does work, I’ve seen it done. Not only seen, Ward used me for that too, but I’m not going to tell you about that! (Other than that I had fun... I think).

But it is not fun for everybody, for some it has far more serious connotations.

Chapter 5

Chapter 18 - Bloodlines

Dr Richard Asher, for whom I often worked as a guinea-pig, was regarded as ‘one of the foremost medical thinkers of our times’ and was the senior physician responsible for the mental observation ward at the Central Middlesex Hospital before opening private consulting rooms at the Asher family home of 57 Wimpole Street, lived just around the corner from Ward and Asher’s wife Margaret was a professor of music. Her most famous pupil was The Beatles’ producer Sir George Martin. I don’t believe it was a coincidence that Paul McCartney would go on to live with the Asher’s when he was dating their daughter Jane.

Curiously, in 1964, Dr. Asher suddenly gave up his hospital post and, possibly, all medical activities, just as the famous Beatle moved in. 

It was whilst McCartney was living with the Asher’s that he came up with perhaps his most famous song, Yesterday, which he claims came to him, fully formed, in a dream. I don’t believe that. If you’re living with a mind-control expert and a professor of music and then dream up the most famous melody ever then that ‘dream’ is likely to have been implanted. Yesterday is proof of mind-control in action.

Hence the perpetual genealogical studies; they believe that if you can trace your ancestry back through this Stuart/Plantagenet/Merovingian line back through the ages then you may still possess the psychic gene.

This is why the Royals control their breeding like they’re some pedigree, prize-winning champion wonder-horse. They arrogantly assumed that with their ‘blue-blood’ they would have the gene; they don’t.

Of course, those that do, Ward’s people, they’ve been sleeping with all-sorts and, as a result, have diluted the gene, possibly to the point of extinction.

Perhaps a little historical diversion is called for at this point.

I was told that it all dates back to the Battle of Crecy in 1346 during the Hundred Years’ War. Up until then very few nobles were killed. They used to just take each other hostage, no big deal, the money and property was merely moved from one branch of the family to another. Nobody really took it that seriously, it was just a game to them and it meant nothing that the peasants were slaughtered; they would soon breed more sons, stupid fools, was their attitude.

But the terrain at Crecy, and the weather, meant the nobles in the British Army couldn’t get up front in time to call off the dogs, so to speak. The English archers had the time to take out their knives and axes and slaughter all the French nobles to a man. French casualties are said to have numbered 30,000, including the Kings of Bohemia and Majorca, the Duke of Lorraine, the Count of Flanders, the Count of Blois, eight other counts and three archbishops. Utter carnage. When the nobles fell off their horses their armour stuck to the mud, making them helpless, they couldn’t get up.

Crecy caused ripples that are still being felt today. Crecy and the French Revolution frightened the Establishment rigid; it was not meant to be them that got killed! Their wives could only produce so many children and only a few of these survived to reach maturity, let alone those that are born thick-as-shit, or mad, or with six fingers, or with webbed feet, or all of the above; so they began to father illegitimate children to make up the numbers.

These they kept secret, of course, but they were discretely looked after and, if they showed signs of something that could be of use, they were further helped in their careers and married into the family etc. But they mainly bred ‘extra’ children to ensure the line continued despite war and pestilence, and because inbreeding can cause impotence.

Sex is something they just do to produce heirs, to keep the bloodline going. Anything went. Hence these sex-orgies, they were to get people used to just doing it with anybody available, without flinching. This is why I know they haven’t found anybody powerful-enough to master the psychic gene, they would have used it to protect themselves from war and disease otherwise, but without it they had to just hunker-down and survive.

Tommy Cooper claimed descent from a family involved in internal and external security: a Gestapo, a KGB, a CIA, a Death’s Head SS, all rolled-up into one. That’s why he looked the way he did, ugly, as they had to breed with themselves, nobody wanting to have anything to do with them which resulted in terrific inbreeding. After Camelot they had to flee and hide very deep, that didn’t help either. They were hated. Nothing Tommy was proud of, but it wasn’t his fault.

At the time I thought Tommy’s ramblings were just the delusions of a drunkard, but my research has caused me to reconsider. I think Tommy came from a Templar family and that Camelot is actually a representation of the old Cathar fortress at Montsegur. The medieval grail romances about Arthur, Lancelot, Guinevere and Excalibur etc., therefore, are allegories of some sort that allude to this ancient, psychic bloodline.

Jesus used these abilities to perform his miracles; he was one who nature turned-up occasionally, one who had more of ‘the Force’ – to use a Star Wars analogy - than usual; the psychic force that enabled people to do mind-control. Not fully, probably, but they had to assemble a team of others to do as much as he probably could.

If we keep the Star Wars analogy thing going, as it makes it easier for me to explain, then these Jedi are extremely ancient. As humanity evolved they were gradually losing their powers, it not being easy to maintain them, and not being helped by us ‘folding-up’ our brain on the top of our head to give a lighter, more agile, unit. At first, this didn’t matter, they were so powerful it made only a small difference, but life was tough on Earth and people died too early, etc., making it hard to keep the ‘Force’ up, as you need a lot of practice to do it, and learning the theory takes time.

It got to the stage that only people with ‘leaky’ brains could do mind-control, as we had created an electrical shield around the part of the brain that is used. Ward’s people were born psychic, born with leaky brains. Ward’s leak was thought to be his eye. He had a ‘lazy’ eye that protruded quiet markedly when he was ‘controlling’ somebody. I recall seeing this several times when I was doing something that I’m not going to repeat here, so he was probably controlling me, just like he was this time with Chrissie.

I have seen Ward control Christine Keeler with my own eyes. She was standing on the other side of the street waiting for us when she walked up to this guy and started fondling his arse and balls, eying him up for all she could. He was with his wife and children and his wife went bananas! Then Chrissie got all flustered and red in the face, apologising for all she was worth and then running over the street to us. Boy, did she lay into Ward! She realised what he had done and was not amused. She wasn’t like that at all; she was a rather prudish girl, not a slag or a whore. Don’t get me wrong she loved to fuck but she was also a very nice, moral girl who would never dream of doing something like that, even if he had been alone.

This mind-control is limited, though Ward could ‘reach out’ and hear things up to a couple of miles away. I remember he woke-up in a sweat once when I was sleeping-over, and in a daze woke me and described an accident that had just occurred in minute detail; an accident that was reported in the papers the following day, the details matching exactly his recall. It was a couple of miles away and impossible for him to have heard the crash with normal hearing.

He could only directly use his powers as long as the victim was in eyesight. He couldn’t ‘listen’ to everybody, either, but seemingly only other people whose brains ‘leaked’ enough for him to read them. Ward was a funny chap sometimes, he had a weird sense of humour, often doing absolutely mad things on the spur of the moment, but I think he was inadvertently reacting to something in his head. Believe me, I know.

So this means it can take generations of breeding before somebody with a leaky-brain turns up. You can’t control it, it happens by accident. Then they must be trained, and like an athlete, kept in training.

This is why they considered it important enough to build up the ledgers. These recorded those they believed had the gene – the leaky brain – as well as those they considered ‘pure’ enough to breed with. It is, in essence, eugenics for dummies.

I also believe that this where the Battle of Britain pilots – the Few – came in. Leonard Cheshire knew from his encounters with LMF – Lack of Moral Fibre – pilots how to quickly identify those that would undertake their orders absolutely to the letter and how best to utilise these men in peace time.

They were ideal for running those like me, those that had been programmed and whose role it was to search for the ledgers or to obtain the blackmail material from compromising situations.

Remember also that it was Anthony Blunt who went around buying up and collecting as many of Stephen Ward’s artworks as he could get his hands on after Ward’s conviction. Was Ward’s art significant also, or did it serve merely to embarrass some of his more blue-blooded subjects? Could it have represented the ledgers in a pencil and water-colours format?

There are long-held rumours that Blunt was, in fact, the bastard offspring of King George V and, indeed, there is a remarkable similarity between the young Blunt and George’s son, King Edward VIII.

Now I appreciate that this rather crude mock-up is proof of nothing save a rather basic understanding of PowerPoint; however, Blunt was appointed Surveyor of the King’s Pictures in 1945 despite his description just three years later, in 1948, as being “…our Russian spy” by the then King’s private secretary.

Likewise he was made a Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order in 1956 by the Queen despite the defection to Russia in 1951 of his close friends and fellow Cambridge alumni Guy Burgess and Donald Maclean.

Indeed, even when in 1964 Blunt confessed to his espionage activities he managed to secure immunity from prosecution and publicity and an agreement from the British government that his spying would remain secret. That secret lasted fifteen years before he was exposed in Parliament.

My point is; royal bastard or not, this man’s supposedly treasonous activities were common knowledge for a very long time, therefore, he clearly either had some serious shit on somebody or he was never a spy in the first place. It is telling then that in the sixties, after Blunt’s confession, the Queen’s private secretary said to MI5 immediately prior to an in-depth interrogation of Blunt:

“From time to time you may find Blunt referring to an assignment he undertook on behalf of the Palace – a visit to Germany at the end of the war. Please do not pursue this matter. Strictly speaking, it is not relevant to considerations of national security.”

Really? Just who the fuck is the Queen’s private secretary to determine what is, and what is not, a matter of national security.

The reality is that Blunt was engaged in wiping clean the royal arse; he was securing records that showed just how close the Duke of Windsor - the former King Edward VIII and Blunt’s doppelganger - was to Adolf Hitler. Records that showed that the Duke considered the war to have been a huge mistake and that, had he still of been King, it would not of taken place.

Blunt had journeyed to the ancestral home of the Hesse family; a dynasty that spawned Prince Philip’s matrilineal ancestors the Mountbattens and who had, in 1769, appointed Mayer Amschel Rothschild to supervise the operation of their properties and tax-gathering.

The wealth of the Hesse estate provided a good living for Rothschild and, from this, he founded the Rothschild family dynasty, which became important in financing and banking in Europe.

The early fortunes of the Rothschild family were made through a conjunction of financial intelligence and the wealth of William IX, Landgrave of Hesse-Kassel. During the Napoleonic Wars, William used the Frankfurt Rothschilds to hide his fortune from Napoleon. This money then saw its way through to Nathan Mayer Rothschild, (from whose loins was spawned the line from which Victor Rothschild was born) in London, where it helped fund the British movements through Portugal and Spain. The interest made from this venture was reaped by the budding banker barons, who used it to swiftly develop their fortune and prestige in Europe and Britain. It was not long before their riches outweighed those of their benefactor, William of Hesse-Kassel.

So, in essence the Rothchilds of Hanover found themselves bankrolling Britain’s Hanoverian rulers.

As part of my research I have come across claims on the internet that suggest that Queen Victoria’s children were actually sired by Lionel Nathan Rothschild, son of Nathan Mayer Rothschild, which, whilst most likely total bollocks, would provide a tangible reason for Blunt’s trip to Germany, should evidence of this exist.

On this basis could Blunt have got the document extraction gig on the recommendation of Victor Rothschild? After all why send a traitor on such a sensitive mission? It would be like asking Jimmy Savile to babysit your kids.

The last line of the above image is interesting: ‘As a former member of MI5 and a member of the royal household, Blunt would be an ideal candidate for a mission to recover such incriminating papers’. If Blunt was only those things then that statement may have carried some validity, however, not only was he a Russian spy, he was a KNOWN Russian spy. Ergo any information retrieved would find its way back to his Soviet paymasters, who were in 1945, nominally anyway, Britain’s ally.

So the British were, quite deliberately, sending a message which was, on the face of it, a massive fuck you to the Soviet Union. They were saying that had the former king been capable of keeping his dick in his trousers and had not abdicated then the British Empire would have held out the welcome mat to its fascist cousins and fuck the 30,000,000 odd Russians that perished whilst defeating the Nazi threat.

Unless, of course, that was not quite the intention.

Chapter 19