Wimpole Muse - An introduction

Who I am is not relevant, however, there comes a time in one’s life where something so important, so intrinsic and so relevant to modern culture falls into one’s lap that you are left with simply no alternative but to react.

Now is that time.

I have been in touch with our author for a couple of years now, after I initially became intrigued with a series of, largely anonymous, comments that had been placed on websites pertaining to, or referencing, the so-called Profumo Affair. The author and I had exchanged a few emails but we had never met so you can imagine my surprise when I received a message from him containing a manuscript and a request.

I have done nothing to this manuscript save convert it into a blog format which I now present to you.

It contains detail and information about the Profumo scandal that can only have come from an insider and from someone who had an intimate relationship with the Establishment scapegoat, and mind-control practitioner, Dr Stephen Ward. However, the dirty linen emanating from this caper extend far further than a few soiled bed sheets in west London; its tentacles expand across oceans and continents to reveal fascinating insights into a range of subjects including:

The Cambridge Five ring of spies

The Process: Church of the Final Judgement

Ruth Ellis – the last woman to be hanged in the UK

The Jack the Stripper murders

The Baker Street Robbery

Furthermore our author reveals how a state-sponsored mind-control operation was initiated in the UK and across the Atlantic where it would encapsulate such luminaries as Charles Manson and David – Son of Sam - Berkowitz.

Journey with me to London’s own version of Laurel Canyon and on a trip out of your mind!

Click HERE to read on

Wimpole Muse by Wimpole Muse on Scribd

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 16 - A nailed on defence

So, let us summarise. If we follow through from Stephen Ward we can see that he was, most likely, an MI5 operative with ties to the intelligence agency boss, Roger Hollis, and who, if not an actual Monarch mind-controller, was extremely gifted at persuading women to work on his behalf. Think back to Chrissie’s claim that Ward had full control of her mind.

In addition he was connected to an international sex ring that controlled a wealth of dynamite blackmail material. Ward’s blackmail portfolio was passed on to the flamboyant celebrity lawyer, David Jacobs.  

Jacobs was well known on the London legal scene and would often attend court wearing full make-up. He had a stellar clientele including Sir Laurence Olivier, Shirley Bassey, Marlene Dietrich, Diana Dors, Judy Garland and the Rolling Stones. He had represented Liberace in his successful libel case against the Daily Mirror who famously accused Liberace of being “this deadly, winking, sniggering, snuggling, chromium-plated, scent-impregnated, luminous, quivering, giggling, fruit-flavoured, mincing, ice-covered head of mother love.”

Possibly of further significance, or equally just pure coincidence, is the fact that the actor Laurence Harvey – the original star of the mind-control movie Manchurian Candidate – was another client of Jacobs.

As were the parents of an actual Manchurian candidate: Ruth Ellis. Just why would the impoverished parents of a convicted murderer need to employ the services of the celebrity lawyer whose other clients included John Vassall, Diana Dors and Stephen Ward unless they were all bound together inextricably by shared secrets?

But perhaps Jacobs’s most famous client was Brian Epstein and the Beatles. Indeed, Jacobs’s Hove residence was the, not so glamorous, location for Ringo Starr’s honeymoon following his first wedding in 1965.

Jacobs place in the pantheon of Beatle fame, however, is preserved because of his role in the disastrous Seltaeb (Beatles backwards) deal through which Epstein and Jacobs somehow connived to give away the Beatles’ merchandising rights for next to nothing.

The lucky recipient of this enormous cash-cow was a Kings Road dandy by the name of Nicky Byrne who found himself in the fortuitous position of acquiring a deal giving him a 90/10 split, in his favour, of the royalty proceeds. Now this was a truly monumental faux-pas as unscrupulous manufacturers had quickly discovered that you could sell absolutely anything that was Beatle branded: For Byrne it was a literal licence to print money.

History, however, has been, surprisingly, generous to Epstein and Jacobs over this matter, sighting that they could not possibly have foreseen just how lucrative this fledgling merchandise business would become. Nevertheless, it troubles me slightly that the beneficiary of this massive windfall should be an already wealthy young member of the burgeoning Chelsea set.

Not just any old member of the Chelsea set either but a motor-racing-driver who had been previously in the employ of Peter Rachman in one of his nightclub ventures!

The book (Shout: The Beatles in their generation by Philip Norman) names the club in question as being the Condor Club but it was, in fact, the El Condor Club and, as just mentioned, it was owned, at the time, by Peter Rachman.

Jacobs died in 1968; dangling from a length of silk-cord tied to a beam in his garage, elegant even in death; seemingly yet another suicide victim. Numerous theories abound as to why, or indeed if, he committed suicide, but perhaps the most telling aside came from the actress Suzanna Leigh who, moments after hearing of Jacobs death, received an invitation to lunch in the post from the lawyer. Clearly if he did top himself it wasn’t a hugely premeditated event.

Rumours also abound that our old friends the Kray twins offed Jacobs for declining their tempting offer for him to mount their defence against, subsequently proven, murder charges. I know not if these rumours are true, however, perhaps another interesting defence case he took shortly before his ‘suicide’ is worth resurrecting?

An article appeared in the Daily Mail on Saturday, August 3^rd, 1968 concerning one Joseph de Havilland, a Hungarian painter and decorator, who had been discovered on Hampstead Heath crucified on a cross.

My interest was sparked by the tantalising headline ‘Man on a cross ‘black magic’’ but further investigation reveals some other intriguing nuggets and curios.

Firstly, why would our ‘celebrity lawyer’ bother taking a somewhat low-brow and trite case as this?

Well it appears our man Jacobs was himself interrogated by police on this very matter; quite on what grounds is unclear, however, the plod clearly thought of Jacobs as being someone of interest and this, apparently, was enough to pique his professional interest.

Secondly, the men Jacobs had been defending were barred, by law, from using as their defence the fact that de Havilland had asked to be nailed to the cross.

Under British law, a victim cannot consent to be injured: unless the activity which causes the injury might be considered ‘socially useful’.

What counts as ‘socially useful’ in the eyes of the law (e.g. boxing) and what doesn’t (e.g. consensual homosexual sadomasochism) remains a hotly contested issue?

Bizarre, and extreme, as that is the case for the prosecution makes for illuminating reading.

Isn’t that interesting? A man in a ‘semi-trance’ with six-inch nails hammered into his bloodless hands has done so in order that photographs of his ordeal could be taken and sold for a profit.

Interesting also that the man charged with defending the assailants should be a man who has been assigned legal responsibility for a large portfolio of sexual blackmail material and who implies, in court, that the crucifixion was part of some, unspecified, ‘black magic’.

So, what to make of this ‘defence’? We do not know what de Havilland’s motives for being crucified were; however, he seems to have been taking part in some sort of occult ritual. As a defence,  playing the black magic card seems a high-risk strategy; certainly not one designed to endear you to either judge or jury.

It appears that Mr Jacobs, legally denied the opportunity to tell the truth, has concocted the black magic tale to either divert attention away from the intention to photograph and make money from this scheme, or to obscure the sadomasochistic, homosexual aspect of the case.

The latter supposition certainly seems the more likely, particularly in light of the following.

The website from which I gleaned a lot of this information contends that shortly after Jacobs death he left ‘behind almost indecipherable notes. Notes which led to police questioning of several gentlemen, including well-known public figures, about parties which had taken place at country estates and flats across England.

Information about the precise nature of these parties has never been made publicly available.’

Just like a lot of the Ward/Profumo documents which are currently unavailable to public scrutiny until 2046. Just like the Jack the Stripper files which are to remain under lock and key until 2050. Just like the Michael X files which will remain secret until 2054.

However, we can safely deduce that the country estate mentioned is most likely Cliveden, home of the Astor family and the birthplace of the Profumo scandal, whilst we know that Peter Rachman specialised in leasing flats to prostitutes and parties took place at locations as diverse as Lord Boothby’s home, DJ Alan ‘Fluff’ Freeman’s flat and at the now infamous Dolphin Square.

So, could his death actually be connected with materials he had in his possession that he had accumulated over his career?

This article claims that some of the material – sketches by Stephen Ward – landed up in the hands of one of Jacobs’s clerks. Rather than dispose of these, as instructed, it appears the clerk took them to an art dealer. Curiously, the article also talks of a nightclub called the Paint Box which offered its clientele the opportunity to sit and ogle a nude – you could draw them too, apparently – that was run by a lady called Adele de Havilland.

Ward sketch of Adele de Havilland

Could she have been a relation of our fan of crucifixion Joseph de Havilland? Well, whilst it is, of course possible, I doubt that this coincidence will ever fly.

Pathe has a wonderful video of the Paint Box.

However, this site claims the Paint Box had been taken over by Diana Dors; a client of David Jacobs and a willing participant in the orgies organised by her then husband, Dennis Hamilton, which were attended by Stephen Ward and Peter Rachman and that pioneered the use of two-way mirrors to record the bedroom gymnastics of the party’s participants.

The Paint Box video suggests that the club was, in fact, run by Tommy Yeardye, who was a former boyfriend of Diana Dors. Given that the real purpose of the Paint Box was to bypass the laws around nude floorshows – in much the same manner as the owners of Murray’s Cabaret Club utilised – it could well be that this was a front venue for Ward to recruit potential mind-control victims.

Dors and Yeardye

Yeardye’s daughter, Tamara, who now runs the Jimmy Choo shoe enterprise, married into the powerful Mellon family which has, it seems, connections to the CIA LSD operations and to whom David Bruce, the US Ambassador to the UK at the time of the Profumo crisis, had married into. Yet more circles within circles.

With David Jacobs dead the ultimate question remains, where did Ward’s ‘evidence’ go?

Ward was connected to Dr Richard Asher who, and I have first-hand experience of this, was involved in conducting experiments on using LSD for sexual and mental conditioning on patients being supplied to him by Ward. In 1956 Asher had written an article for the British Medical Journal entitled Respectable Hypnosis extolling the virtues of hypnosis in medicine.

Asher worked in partnership with Dr Emanuel Miller who has links to Tavistock as a former leader of the Tavistock Children’s Department. Miller had previously, in 1927, opened the East London Child Guidance Clinic. I wonder now if he was involved in conditioning these children.

The third partner was Sir Raphael Cilento, a man with seeming fascist tendencies and more than a passing interest in eugenics; something which always raises alarm bells.

Eugenics is a belief in the ability to improve the genetic quality of human beings, something the Nazi’s bought heavily into, and one wonders how it was that all of the above had children that had highly successful careers in show-business. Was it coincidence, opportunity, breeding or a payoff for services rendered?

Likewise, is it pure coincidence that Richard Asher, Stephen Ward and Anthony Blunt all had fathers who were Anglican ministers? Roger Hollis, the former Director General of MI5, was the son of a Bishop. Despite this ecclesiastical upbringing Hollis was apparently denied a Christian burial and whose remains, as stated here, are actually hidden behind the wall of a church. This unmarked resting place, it is claimed, denotes the invisible mark of a traitor’s burial. Founder of the Process Church, Robert de Grimston, also came from a long line of clergymen, although his father was a humble shipping clerk. Fathers who are religious leaders are common amongst children who are mind-control victims.

As previously mentioned de Grimston was of Plantagenet stock; as are Richard Asher’s offspring thanks to their mother’s lineage.

All of which means we are now moving into the direction of what I believe this is all about, none of which I can prove of course; speculation city from here on in folks, but if you’ve stayed with me this far then hopefully you will continue to indulge me.

My own theory here is that all this was part of a possible coup for the Crown of England.

The Stuarts are the obvious choice; they are the ones who lost the Crown to the current Royals and they claim to have an Arthurian ancestry. I have a reason to say this; via ‘a reliable source’ I’ve learned there have been four possible attempts to take the Crown in the last hundred years, one was foiled by WWII and the same person involved tried again after the war. Did Stephen Ward stumble upon this?

That would have got him killed, pronto. But as ‘they’ couldn't know who else was involved or what they knew they did it in that very public and messy way to let those people know to shut up, or die.

Yes, I think Ward got too close.

Is it ironic accident, or by pure design, that the Stuarts will regain a grasp on the monarchy when Prince William becomes King? Whatever; back in the sixties that particular piece of monarchical genetic programming had yet to be engineered and the search was far cruder.

Search for what I hear you cry. For the ledgers of course! Don’t worry, all will be revealed I promise. 

Chapter 17

Chapter 23 - A Few conclusions

Roger Hollis, the DG of MI5, has been accused publically of being a Russian spy, as has Stephen Ward – he wasn’t – and the Cambridge Five; Burgess, Maclean, Philby, Blunt and one other, have been famously outed as being communists and traitors.

This other, as yet unknown, ‘traitor’ was most likely Victor Rothschild. We have already briefly touched upon the Rothschild’s and their status amongst conspiracy theorists is the stuff of legend; so need to repeat, suffice it to say, he makes an unlikely communist on the face of it.

Now I cannot honestly claim to know the true political affiliations of all of the above but they do all seem very establishment to me! Blunt continued to work for the Palace even after he confessed his treachery (remember the 1948 quote from the King's private secretary: “That's our Russian spy”, I’m guessing the emphasis was on the ‘our’ part), Ward was being funded and housed by the Cliveden Set and the Cambridge Five were supposedly recruited by the Soviets BEFORE they were employed by the secret services. How could the Reds know that they would become valuable assets with access to top secrets?

Unless the intelligence they were feeding back to the Soviets was travelling with full British approval.

An assertion that gains validity when we discover that Anthony Blunt secured his role in MI5 on the say-so of Victor Rothschild.

World War II ended because the American atom bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki changed the game. Suddenly one side had a weapon of mass destruction and a potential monopoly on the global power stakes.

This monopoly on power had previously been the preserve of the Brits and they desperately wanted to cling onto their place at the top-table. Solution. Pass on atomic secrets from your American allies to their Russian enemies so that they can develop the exact same weapon. What then ensues is a forty year stalemate while both sides debate as to who can piss the highest.

Whilst the Brits no doubt thought that this interregnum would provide them with a window of opportunity to develop weapons of its own and regain its pole-position, it also allowed plenty of time for the corporate rape and takeover of the western world. An advantage clearly not lost on Victor Rothschild and his family.

Ultimately this brinkmanship, and not to mention betrayal, could have had globally catastrophic consequences and, obviously, should evidence of it exist, in say a security box in a bank in Baker Street, then the potential to unleash hell would have been all too real.

Certainly, by 1963, and with Philby having fled to Moscow twelve years after Burgess and Maclean had blazed a traitor trail, and MI5 having been definitively told about Blunt’s treachery, then the imperative would have switched to a clean-up operation. To an operation to protect Blunt at all costs.

This is why Ward had to die.

This is why his girls had to die.

Stephen Ward was an undoubted mind-control expert, but could he really programme someone to kill; to create a Manchurian candidate?

Ward’s girl Ruth Ellis could be cited as just such an example. Certainly one of the bullets that smashed into the torso of David Blakely was shot from point-blank range and, therefore, must have been fired by Ellis.

But what then of the role of the MI5 asset and “crack shot” Desmond Cussen who was lurking in the bushes as Blakely breathed his last?

It seems likely that whoever orchestrated Blakely’s slaying did not have complete confidence in Ruth’s ability to go through with this execution and so procured an insurance policy that would lurk in the Hampstead shadows like a tramp on a grassy knoll.

Perhaps creating a programmed assassin was just a step too far?

Let us return to Ruth Ellis’s last letter from prison, the letter addressed “To the Few I know”. Ruth had been a nightclub hostess of many years standing and knew, probably, hundreds of people, prominent people; and what of her curious use of the capital F? In Britain ‘the Few’ were the airmen who thwarted the Luftwaffe in the Battle of Britain – never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed to so many by so few - and it was these self-same Few that frequented the White Hart public house in Brasted which was also frequented by Ruth Ellis, her husband George and Stephen Ward. The same White Hart public house that was also frequented by the spies Burgess and Maclean. The same White Hart public house that was run by the ex-naval intelligence officer, Teddy Preston. 

Celebrating ‘the Few’ at the White Hart

The family of the spy Donald Maclean lived in the same village as the family of the slain Ellis victim David Blakely; Penn in Buckinghamshire. Was this a mere coincidence, or could Blakely have known the truth about Maclean and his ‘spying activities’? It would certainly explain Ellis’s reluctance to provide an alibi for the shooting as it “seemed traitorous – absolutely traitorous.”

It would also explain the necessity to protect Blunt by wiping out Ward and his team. 

Perhaps the likes of Burgess, Maclean and Philby were the Stalin worshiping comrades that history tells us and they were duly sending back secrets to Uncle Joe – only they had been stitched up by the royal bastard Blunt who had seen to it that they only ever handed over exactly what the Brits wanted them too. This would certainly explain why Blunt was so protected and for so long.

Therefore, if Ruth had been recruited and trained to support a team that were ensuring that only selective information was passed on to the Soviets and Blakely somehow threatened this operation then he would have to go. Remember, it would have been absolutely imperative that the Americans never discover this deception. Better to admit that Britain had been infiltrated by Reds under the bed than that this was actually a state sponsored programme to deliberately drip-feed American atomic secrets to the Russians.

So, what if rather than a state sponsored programme to create assassins we have a state sponsored programme to create patsies – convenient victims programmed to take responsibility – that were being run by ex-RAF pilots.

Remember that top RAF Battle of Britain pilot Leonard Cheshire and his wife were in cahoots with the Tavistock Institute.

Remember also that the procurement of sexually incriminating blackmail materials was a key strand of this strategy.

Felix de Wolfe, who lived next door to Lord Franks and in the same apartment as the Process Church head-honchos, was a former RAF intelligence man. After the war he became a theatrical agent.

One of Felix’s clients was the actor Roddy McDowall who, in the mid-seventies, was arrested by the FBI over the possession, and alleged pirating, of his extensive film collection. McDowall was an avid collector of 16mm movies and would convert these movies onto video cassettes. Interestingly, McDowall purchased a large part of his collection from Errol Flynn, who, you may remember, was outed as a Scientologist by L. Ron Hubbard Jr. McDowall, ultimately, was not charged with any offence largely because, at that time, VCR’s were not commercially available and this allowed McDowall to argue that there was no existing market for his home-made copies.

Now, whilst that was certainly true, this story does primarily concern the possible pirating of movies and any associated copyright breaches, it does not mention what the nature of these movies was. McDowall does mention in his testimony that some of his ‘clients’ were introduced to him by his agent, Felix de Wolfe. It also establishes McDowall as someone who possessed the requisite technology to have been copying illicit movie materials. Snuff-movies perhaps?

Which all serves to remind me of Charles Manson’s claim that ‘Dennis Wilson gave me a $5,000 videotape, TV thing for tapes that fit only to an elite bunch (porno ring) that was worldwide.’ Could Roddy McDowall have been part of that ring?

Could, therefore, the Processeans mentor, Felix de Wolfe have been the conduit for so many of McDowall’s prominent US contacts?

The following extract comes from the actor, and de Wolfe client, Robert Lindsay’s book, Letting Go.

Me and My Girl opened on Broadway in 1985 and the above clearly demonstrates that de Wolfe had long-standing ties to the US scene. Ties that, by then, may not have seemed too impressive to Lindsay, but long-standing ties to the American show business industry nevertheless.

Snuff-movies were the reason Charles Manson gave for his ordering of the slaying of Roman Polanki’s wife and the Cielo Drive atrocities. Manson’s ‘family’ would also serve as the perfect example of willing and able patsies.

Manson, though, was likely involved in very similar operations himself, and, besides, could hardly claim to be an arbiter of morality, so why did he get the Cielo Drive gig? Probably because he gave a guarantee of causing maximum shock, horror and outrage that would incur total panic amongst middle-America.

Manson was connected to The Process: Church of the Final Judgement who also, lest we forget, produced some pretty effective stooges of their own and had been linked with both Sirhan Sirhan and David Berkowitz, who claimed that at least one of the Son of Sam murders was videotaped for the snuff market.

Manson seems to have been a Process sponsored goon employed to provide a clean-up service that ensured that any Process shaped fingerprints were well and truly wiped and to carry on on the Jack the Stripper style removal of key witnesses and to obfuscate the very high-level governmental connections operating behind the scenes.

Circles within circles; ripples across an ocean.

We should also remember that Felix de Wolfe and Robert de Grimston lived next door to Rhodes Group and Rockefeller operative Lord Oliver Franks who believed that America was still a British colony. That being the case he would also, presumably, believe that any American secrets were, in essence, British secrets that they could do whatever they liked with.

Could the Processeans have been a product of Oliver Franks murky New World Order?

[Source]

Even in 2016, a full forty years after the Son of Sam atrocities, David Berkowitz found himself being moved to a new secure institution simply for mentioning the Process in a letter. Clearly, someone is still protecting The Process: Church of the Final Judgement, but who, and why?

The bitter truth is that the Processeans, like the Scientologists, like Son of Sam, like Charles Manson, like Christine Keeler, like Ruth Ellis etc. are all the products of state sponsored attempts to suppress the masses to protect insidious regimes.

The likes of the Cliveden Set and their acolytes such as Lord Franks were ultimately believers in the supposed supremacy of the British Empire and would do whatever it took to maintain and preserve it. If this meant providing misinformation to the US, then so be it, if this meant feeding atomic secrets to the Reds, then no problem. Franks personally employed three of the Cambridge five when he was Ambassador to the US. Was he aware of their supposed communist allegiances? Of course he was. Roger Hollis would have ensured that. It would, therefore, appear likely that the actions of Philby, Maclean and Burgess were not traitorous or treacherous in the accepted sense of the term but were, in fact, actually designed to protect the Empire at whatever means. I have no doubt that they may well have passed sensitive information to the Russians, but ultimately with the connivance, and sanction, of the British secret services.

Stephen Ward, like Philby, Maclean and Burgess before him, was sacrificed to protect the higher-ups; the likes of Anthony Blunt and Victor Rothschild. How else could Blunt have remained in such exalted company and retained such high-held positions for so long after the emergence of his ‘treachery’ unless he remained an asset?

It was the evidence of this activity, and the extent of the cover-up, that was being purged from the vaults of the Baker Street branch of Lloyds Bank.

Of course, these theories are no more than speculation on my part; accumulated from information purloined from the world-wide-web, assembled by other researchers, and combined with my own experiences to form this analysis. However, I wasn’t there so I cannot vouch entirely for it.

To be fair I wasn’t there when the Stripper Killer victims met their maker, but I moved in those circles and knew all the supporting cast: I knew Ward, I knew Rachman, I knew Asher and I knew Miller.

Christine Keeler, Mandy Rice-Davies, Mariella Novotny, Vickie Barrett, John Profumo, George Harrison-Marks; all players in this drama and all friends of mine.

Robert de Grimston, Mary Ann MacLean, Felix de Wolfe, L. Ron Hubbard, DCI Samuel Herbert; none of these people entered my orbit, but I knew their type and I know enough to piece this all together. If I choose to defame, slander or libel them then I do so with the confidence that time will prove me correct.

If I am wrong then let them open the files and prove it; let the public see what the Establishment wishes to keep concealed.

Stephen Ward was, in many ways, my mentor and I his muse. Just like Chrissie and just like Mandy. He showed me the ropes; how to join them and how to climb them. If I hadn’t left for Australia I could have inherited his operation. I was his apprentice. Of course, I didn’t realise it at that time - I was just a young boy - but somebody had to carry on his work. Someone will have carried on his work. I had a narrow escape.

Stephen Ward was neither pimp nor traitor but, depending on your point of view, he was possibly something far worse. He operated a finishing school for mind-control victims.

Vulnerable young men and women who were being probed, examined, assessed and audited for one reason; to discover their weaknesses. Once they had it, you were theirs. If they couldn’t find an obvious flaw they would engineer a compromising situation and record it and use this tool to blackmail you. You were theirs.

Stephen Ward was, after all, a trained intelligence operative schooled in these dark arts. Dark arts, old as time immemorial, but refined by the sinister Tavistock Institute before being deployed by their sponsors and agents.

Let me summarise my conclusions.

The contents of the mysterious Baker Street security box contained:

Stephen Ward’s blackmail cache: The contents of which could have brought the British monarchy crashing down and severed forever the so-called ‘special relationship’ between the US and UK; it contained details, and images, of the sexual assignations of the Dolphin Square set: politicians, civil-servants, judges, clergymen, businessmen, actors, musicians, aristocrats and royalty; often with minors, often with members of the same sex and often of acts of dubious legality. It contained details that would prove that Britain was deliberately allowing US atomic secrets to be passed on to Russia. It also contained details of the genealogical ledgers that identified those who may possess the ancient, psychic gene.

The existence of this cache would lead to the downfall of both the then government and Stephen Ward. Ward made powerful enemies.

This cache, which included contributions from numerous sources, locations, photographers and cinematographers, passed through many hands after Ward’s death. It is highly likely that the lawyer David Jacobs died because of what he knew about this cache and its location, and certainly the ‘spy’ Anthony Blunt was actively pursuing it.

It landed up in the hands of Michael de Freitas, aka Michael X, who embellished it with information concerning which police officers were on the payroll, which officers were shagging which whores and the cast-lists of certain home-movies. This included details of the arrangement with DCI Samuel Herbert to bring down Stephen Ward and to dispose of the victims of the on-going snuff-movie racket, known colloquially as the Jack the Stripper murders.

These victims included Hannah Tailford; amongst whose autopsy report was a map of the Brick Lane area in the East End of London. A strange thing to be included in an investigation into the death of a west London tart methinks.

The significance though was that it provided an evidential link between the supply of amphetamines that were travelling from right to left across the capital via the west London brasses and their suppliers: the notorious Kray twins.

A supply trail that could only continue to exist, much like the Kray twins criminal empire, with the connivance of a cabal of bent coppers.

The Kray twins were not only providing the speed, however, they were also providing a ready supply of care home boys ripe for abuse, murder and potential blackmail situations.

Abuse by the likes of Lord Boothby and Tom Driberg; MP’s from opposite sides of the political floor but high profile enough to require that their misdemeanours be hushed up. Particularly as Driberg was an MI5, and possibly KGB, informer.

Boothby, meanwhile, was fucking not just young boys and gangsters but also the Prime Minister’s wife, and possibly also the Queen Mother, whilst Driberg, thanks to his stint as the William Hickey gossip columnist had his own dodgy dossiers dishing the dirt on the great and the good. All of which made these two immune from the usual blackmail threats that emanated from Ward’s cache of filth.

All of which made MI5 very twitchy. None of this could come out. Ever.

MI5, and its American counterparts the CIA, were the chief beneficiaries of the mind-control techniques that the Tavistock Institute had developed on their behalf. These mind-control victims in the UK were being handled by a clique of highly-trusted former RAF Battle of Britain pilots.

MI5 opted to primarily utilise this mind-control programme to expand its own blackmail dossiers and in so doing found that snuff-movies were a particularly useful tool for adding contacts to its ever expanding mailing list of perverts. It also learnt that the snuff-movies made for a particularly useful tool in providing trauma based imagery when ‘training’ new Project Monarch mind-control recruits.

Roman Polanski proved to be an enthusiastic participant in directing these movies after George Harrison Marks’s early efforts proved rather uninspiring.

The Americans preferred to focus their efforts onto the ‘benefits’ that LSD could bring; specifically, or so they hoped, a means to blackmail an entire generation in much the same way that religion had done up to now. That failed. As did their attempt to blackmail Kennedy when he threatened to break up their cosy regime; both Kennedy and his potential blackmailer/drug supplier, Mary Pinchot Meyer, had to die in order to keep that quiet.

Not that the Americans were slow to see the advantages of the snuff-movie either. They happily allowed Polanski to ship his operation to the west coast just as they were happy to allow The Process: Church of the Final Judgement to set up shop in New York, San Francisco and LA – after being properly financed and tooled via stop-offs at the CIA bank in the Bahamas and then Mexico. The Processeans being the ideal vehicle with which to recruit the disaffected and absolutely the last thing the public would associate with the CIA, the US government or the Establishment in general.

The Process: Church of the Final Judgement were the vanguards of a movement that was designed to bring panic and fear to the streets; to orchestrate and engineer murders and serial killers, to promote racial intolerance and division and to dispense mayhem. All so that we, the general public, willingly give up our hard-earned freedoms in the, so-called, name of personal safety.

The Process, just like Stephen Ward before them, are front-men for intelligence operations.

Things went tits-up for the snuff operation though when it became just a little too well known on the Hollywood circuit. Afraid that idle gossip may scupper the operation the Processeans were sent to approach Charlie Manson, another intelligence asset, to demand that he solve the Polanski situation. He did. And in such a way that was guaranteed to bring maximum public outrage and horror.

Rumours abound that the slaying of Polanski’s wife and friends was also captured for posterity on Super-8; to be viewed only by the select few on the sicko circuit.

In practice the intelligence agencies had themselves the perfect little set-up. Whenever you wanted some dirty work done you could send along one of your pre-prepared, pre-programmed minions; safe in the knowledge that should they be caught you could blame it all on the evil, black-magic, devil-worshipping Satanists.

This was the late sixties – by which time I was safely tucked up in the bosom of Oz – and it must have become clear to the Tavistock collaborators that what had seemed such a great idea initially was now taking a great deal of time and effort just to keep all the various plates spinning.

I guess a plan was needed to scale back on all this. By February 1971 Michael X was out of the UK and in Trinidad with an MI5 operative – the doomed Gale Ann Benson – ensconced within to keep an evil eye on his whereabouts. Meanwhile, back in the UK, MI5 were now free to launch the operation to capture any and all outstanding evidence against them.

On September 11, 1971 the Baker Street robbery commenced and the robbers left a cheeky message scrawled upon a wall: ‘Let’s see how Sherlock Holmes solves this one’.

Well, turns out you don’t need a Victorian sleuth to crack this case, just a teenage porn-star!

This is the culmination of thirty years of hard graft; the last ten getting into Ward, and the last two writing these memoirs, and all the while working rolling 24/7 shifts since 1990 and then full-time researching and writing since I became a pensioner. It almost gave me a mental breakdown.

Now I sit sipping whisky and enjoying life!

So thanks for letting me sound off. I just thought somebody else ought to know the score. Was this a weird enough story for you? If you believe me or not; that’s up to you, I can prove none of this, but one day I know I’ll be proved right.