One day, a nice policeman visited our school to tell us how good the police were at catching
criminals, focusing particularly on how clever they were at checking people’s shoes to see if
they matched footprints left at the crime scene. This was followed by a disastrous attempt to
make plastercasts of our shoes. I think I teamed up with Andrew Wall - we made footprints
in some soil in the playground, then filled them with plaster (don’t ask me precisely how),
which dried and then promptly crumbled to pieces. I remember being terribly frustrated. I
imagine that’s what led to me writing this sloppy, garbled mess.
I was never too keen on these pieces - you know, the ones where you have to explain
something factual that bears no relation to your own life or anything you might be even
remotely interested in. I wouldn’t even bother uploading this if it weren’t for the context of
the time it was written and what I’ve read about the police operation to track down the
Yorkshire Ripper.
Maybe the police visit was entirely innocent, would have happened anyway and was all part
of some community drive to get youngsters more engaged with seeing policemen in a
positive light. But very recently, the infamous Yorkshire Ripper - the identity of whom was
then completely unknown - had killed again, murdering 20-year-old student Barbara Leach
in Bradford on the morning of September 2nd. Though the real ripper, Peter Sutcliffe, had
lain relatively low in recent months (his previous attack had taken place in April), it appeared
to the general public that he had been very active indeed, mainly thanks to a tape sent to
West Yorkshire police in June, which purported to be from the Ripper himself. We now know
it was a hoax perpetrated by a man called John Humble. But at the time it was believed to be
genuine and threw the investigation completely off course.
It was absolutely terrifying. We lived in West Yorkshire (yes, it was also North Yorkshire, but
it’s complicated), where the majority of the murders had taken place, and the idea that an
actual, real murderer could be wandering our streets wasn’t pleasant. My parents tried to
reassure me that he only killed women, so I was probably safe, but that was no comfort. I
feared he might kill my Mum, my Gran or any other women I knew, and they feared it too. I
got the impression that none of them felt safe going anywhere alone, especially at night.
Eventually, on the strength of the evidence they thought they had, the police launched a £1m
campaign to flush out the Ripper, involving huge billboards, incessant playing of the “I’m
Jack” tape and, presumably, visits to schools.
A friend of mine once told me (and I admit I have no evidence to back this up) that part of
the police strategy was to go round schools frightening kids into realising how good they
were at catching criminals, in the hope that one of the children might suddenly put their
hand up and say “My Dad’s the Yorkshire Ripper.” If that’s true, it obviously didn’t work
because, as we now know, Peter Sutcliffe didn’t have any kids.
The sad fact is, if West Yorkshire Police had actually followed the guidelines they were
preaching to children (as explained - badly - in this piece I wrote here in my English book),
they might have caught Sutcliffe in January 1980, a full year before he was eventually
arrested, which means Marguerite Walls and Jacqueline Hill need not have died. There’s a full
account of Sutcliffe’s police interviews here, including one on January 30 1980 during which
(Sutcliffe has since claimed) he was wearing a pair of boots which would have incriminated
him. OK, there may be no good reason to believe the words of a killer, but even so, if West
Yorskhire police were going round boasting to children about how they catch thieves by
checking their shoes, I wonder why it never occurred to them to do that with any of the men
they interviewed about the Ripper murders. Especially when a footprint was one of the few
tangible pieces of evidence they had.
Strangely, this is the last piece I wrote in my English book before Christmas. It’s odd to think
they didn’t ask us to write any more stories during December (we must have been at school
another three weeks), but then again, I may well have been working on some kind of
Christmas project, like a nativity play or a special big Christmas book, which may have taken
the place of the usual English work. If I was, it’s been lost in the mists of time.
Metropolitan Police
SCIENCE 1
Sept 1979 - Mar 1980
FAIRBURN
The place where I wrote
all this rubbish
WAEN SHEPHERD
Who was this strange
little boy?
GEOGRAPHY 1
Sept 1979 - Feb 1981
The Forgotten World
John and Mick fall foul
of some extreme
potholing
Great Space Battles
Three mighty empires
take their first steps
into outer space
TOPIC 2
The one where it all
kicks off
TERM 1
A day-by-day account of
Waen’s first term at
Fairburn School
TERM 2
The birth of the 1980s -
Blake’s 7, Blondie and
battles in space
TOPIC 1
He knows the names of
all the dinosaurs
Florence Nightingale
What if Florence
Nightingale had lived in
the Year 2000?
One day, a nice policeman visited our school to tell
us how good the police were at catching criminals,
focusing particularly on how clever they were at
checking people’s shoes to see if they matched
footprints left at the crime scene. This was followed
by a disastrous attempt to make plastercasts of our
shoes. I think I teamed up with Andrew Wall - we
made footprints in some soil in the playground, then
filled them with plaster (don’t ask me precisely how),
which dried and then promptly crumbled to pieces. I
remember being terribly frustrated. I imagine that’s
what led to me writing this sloppy, garbled mess.
I was never too keen on these pieces - you know, the
ones where you have to explain something factual
that bears no relation to your own life or anything
you might be even remotely interested in. I wouldn’t
even bother uploading this if it weren’t for the
context of the time it was written and what I’ve read
about the police operation to track down the
Yorkshire Ripper.
Maybe the police visit was entirely innocent, would
have happened anyway and was all part of some
community drive to get youngsters more engaged
with seeing policemen in a positive light. But very
recently, the infamous Yorkshire Ripper - the identity
of whom was then completely unknown - had killed
again, murdering 20-year-old student Barbara Leach
in Bradford on the morning of September 2nd.
Though the real ripper, Peter Sutcliffe, had lain
relatively low in recent months (his previous attack
had taken place in April), it appeared to the general
public that he had been very active indeed, mainly
thanks to a tape sent to West Yorkshire police in
June, which purported to be from the Ripper himself.
We now know it was a hoax perpetrated by a man
called John Humble. But at the time it was believed
to be genuine and threw the investigation
completely off course.
It was absolutely terrifying. We lived in West
Yorkshire (yes, it was also North Yorkshire, but it’s
complicated), where the majority of the murders had
taken place, and the idea that an actual, real
murderer could be wandering our streets wasn’t
pleasant. My parents tried to reassure me that he
only killed women, so I was probably safe, but that
was no comfort. I feared he might kill my Mum, my
Gran or any other women I knew, and they feared it
too. I got the impression that none of them felt safe
going anywhere alone, especially at night.
Eventually, on the strength of the evidence they
thought they had, the police launched a £1m
campaign to flush out the Ripper, involving huge
billboards, incessant playing of the “I’m Jack” tape
and, presumably, visits to schools.
A friend of mine once told me (and I admit I have no
evidence to back this up) that part of the police
strategy was to go round schools frightening kids
into realising how good they were at catching
criminals, in the hope that one of the children might
suddenly put their hand up and say “My Dad’s the
Yorkshire Ripper.” If that’s true, it obviously didn’t
work because, as we now know, Peter Sutcliffe didn’t
have any kids.
The sad fact is, if West Yorkshire Police had actually
followed the guidelines they were preaching to
children (as explained - badly - in this piece I wrote
here in my English book), they might have caught
Sutcliffe in January 1980, a full year before he was
eventually arrested, which means Marguerite Walls
and Jacqueline Hill need not have died. There’s a full
account of Sutcliffe’s police interviews here,
including one on January 30 1980 during which
(Sutcliffe has since claimed) he was wearing a pair of
boots which would have incriminated him. OK, there
may be no good reason to believe the words of a
killer, but even so, if West Yorskhire police were
going round boasting to children about how they
catch thieves by checking their shoes, I wonder why
it never occurred to them to do that with any of the
men they interviewed about the Ripper murders.
Especially when a footprint was one of the few
tangible pieces of evidence they had.
Strangely, this is the last piece I wrote in my English
book before Christmas. It’s odd to think they didn’t
ask us to write any more stories during December
(we must have been at school another three weeks),
but then again, I may well have been working on
some kind of Christmas project, like a nativity play or
a special big Christmas book, which may have taken
the place of the usual English work. If I was, it’s been
lost in the mists of time.
Metropolitan Police
HISTORY 1
Sept 1979 - Oct 1981
Clarke Hall
The place and time
where it all began…
September 1679?
The Forgotten World
John and Mick fall foul
of some extreme
potholing
TERM 1
A day-by-day account of
Waen’s first term at
Fairburn School
TERM 2
The birth of the 1980s -
Blake’s 7, Blondie and
battles in space
TOPIC 2
The one where it all
kicks off
Ward’s 7
John Ward and his band
of rebels fight the evil
Federation
The Fugitive
A man runs - but who is
he? And what is he
running from?
The Flame in the
Desert
An evil fire threatens
the safety of the world