Chapter 16

Shoot-out at Streatham

n 1967 New Scotland Yard moved from the Norman Shaw Building on the Victoria Embankment, its home since 1890, to its present accommodation in Victoria Street.

With regard to criminal investigation, DNA testing was unknown at that time; if blood or hair samples were found at the scene of a crime, the best the scientists could say when comparing them with samples taken from a criminal (who, of course, was as guilty as sin) was that they ‘appeared to be similar’. Similarly, there was no instant fingerprint recognition and no CCTV cameras to track the path taken by criminals or their vehicles. Criminals were unable to be placed at locations where they had made credit card transactions, neither could their whereabouts be pinpointed from calls made by their mobile phones, because such things did not exist.

Fortunately, when the files, records and administration were moved, lock, stock and barrel, that quarter-mile across London, they were accompanied by detectives – real detectives, who during their careers had amassed an enormous amount of knowledge of crime, criminals and criminal investigation. They relied upon speed, experience and intuition and by doing so they achieved impressive results.

In 1967, when you entered Victoria Block, the new premises in Victoria Street, and took the lift to the fourth floor, as you pushed through the double doors and turned left, you were in the long corridor housing two important crime-fighting departments on opposite sides of the corridor. On the left was the Flying Squad, which had been in existence since 1919. It was the Yard’s top crime-busting unit, filled with detectives known for their intimate knowledge of the underworld, their informants, their physical toughness and their disinclination to accept the word ‘no’ from anybody. The Squad comprised a hundred officers, split into ten squads, each under the control of a detective inspector. The Flying Squad’s chief was Detective Chief Superintendent Tommy Butler MBE, who had gained worldwide fame after the arrest and imprisonment of the Great Train Robbers. In 1968 he travelled to Canada to arrest one of the robbers, Charlie Wilson, who had escaped from prison four years previously; ten months later, Butler would arrest the mastermind of the coup, Bruce Reynolds.

On the opposite side of the corridor was C11 – the Criminal Intelligence Department, which had been formed in March 1960. They had a staff of fifty-six officers, four of whom had been posted in from constabularies in the Home Counties. C11 performed an excellent job of gathering information and providing surveillance, both human and electronic, in respect of what was known as ‘docket criminals’. The docket system comprised an in-depth folder of intelligence maintained on the very top echelon of criminals. Next was the index of lesser (but nevertheless major) criminals, and finally a nominal index of known associates of the previous two categories, plus details of less significant criminals. The top layer of criminals were known as ‘Main Index Men’.

Over the years, many officers would be posted to C11 from the Flying Squad (naturally taking their informants with them) and vice versa; in this fashion, there was a tremendous flow of top-notch intelligence between the two departments, who relied upon and admired each other. Quite often, C11 would accompany the Flying Squad on their operations, and a weapon in their armoury were the ‘Four-twos’.

The ‘Four-twos’ were motorcyclists drawn from officers in Traffic Patrol units who had shown a propensity for crime-fighting. The call-sign emanated from the motorcyclists themselves; the ‘four’ referred to the fact that they had been seconded from each of the (then) four districts of the Metropolitan Police, the ‘two’ indicated that they were restricted to two wheels. On their powerful, anonymous motorcycles, they would lead surveillance teams comprised of officers in vans, taxis and fast cars on the trail of the top-level villains whom the Flying Squad specialised in arresting. In communication by radio with each other, the ‘Four-twos’ would unobtrusively follow the quarry, holding back then expertly weaving in and out of the traffic, and pinpointing their whereabouts so that at the most propitious moment the Squad could step in and make the arrests. The ‘Four-twos’ would not, of course, become personally involved in the arrests, being content to disappear unobtrusively. Usually, that is.

It became known to C11 that a number of active robbers were meeting, usually at lunchtime, at a public house in Battersea High Street. It was simply a whisper of information, nothing more. Therefore, an experienced C11 operative and a woman companion arrived in the pub early and sat down at a table with their drinks. In this way, the C11 officer was able to positively identify no less than half a dozen known robbers. A number of vehicles used by the robbers were identified, and observations were carried out.

One man who was of particular interest was Peter Rose. Further information led C11 officers to follow Rose and another man over a period of weeks, and finally they were followed driving to Balham High Road, where a vehicle was stolen from the forecourt of a car showroom. Both vehicles were tailed, and the stolen car was left in a street close to Streatham High Road. The C11 officer in charge of the surveillance detail was Detective Sergeant Mike Purchase, and as a result of pertinent intelligence which he received he had every reason to believe that this vehicle would be used in connection with a bank robbery. However, the precise target was not known.

At lunchtime on 17 May 1968 a combined operation was under way involving C11 and officers from 4 squad of the Flying Squad (who had secreted themselves and their vehicles in the yard at Streatham police station), with Detective Inspector James William Marshall in charge. Marshall was then aged forty, and eleven years of his eventual thirty-year service would be spent with the Flying Squad and the Regional Crime Squad. He had been commended for the arrest of dangerous criminals involved in robbery with violence, officebreaking and possessing explosives and conspiracy to steal. Two months previously, the commissioner had commended him for detective ability and initiative in the arrest of a gang of active criminals for armed robbery, as had the judge at the Old Bailey and the Director of Public Prosecutions. It goes without saying that Marshall was quite used to leading from the front.

The four-man gang were on the move but they were not alone; one of the ‘Four-twos’, Detective Constable Reginald Alfred Walter George Jenkins, an officer with sixteen years service, was on their tail. He had previously seen them steal three cars and then place them at various points within a half-mile radius to facilitate their getaway. Mike Purchase was alone in an unmarked C11 car, behind Jenkins and listening to his radio commentary. Now he received the coded message he had been waiting for: “The parcel is being opened.” It meant the gang had got into one of the stolen cars, and they were expertly followed. As they approached the District Bank on Streatham High Road, three of the men, wearing caps and carrying holdalls – obviously containing robbery impedimenta and known in Flying Squad parlance as ‘Happy Bags’ – got out of the car. Jenkins had experienced great difficulty in contacting the Squad by radio; finally he got through, and the Squad cars roared out of the yard at Streatham. The High Road was a dual carriageway and, ignoring the refinements of the Highway Code, the Squad cars thundered north along the south-bound carriageway, the oncoming traffic dutifully parting to make way for them, in much the same way that the Red Sea had divided for Moses, some time previously.

As the first Squad car, containing Detective Sergeant Pat O’Brien, screeched to a halt, Jenkins heard a shot fired; the second Squad car, containing Detective Sergeant Raymond Charles Adams and Detective Inspector Marshall, had mounted the central reservation in the High Road, and the shot had been fired at them. Purchase, too, had arrived at the scene. He heard the sound of the shot, and, as he told me, “A mêlée ensued immediately behind my car”; he got out of his car to assist. Jenkins saw the three men, two of them armed with sawn-off shotguns, the third with a pistol, dashing towards him. As O’Brien jumped from the Squad car, he saw that the men were armed and started chasing them. One of the men, Michael Engelfield, turned, pointed his shotgun at O’Brien and threatened to shoot, but nevertheless O’Brien continued pursuing him. Adams and Marshall leapt from their car and commenced chasing Michael Morris, who was holding a sawn-off shotgun. Meanwhile, Jenkins had been joined by Detective Constable Phillip John Dixon Williams, a fellow ‘Four-two.’ Williams, a former member of the RAF Regiment, had previously been commended for arresting a motorcyclist for dangerous driving by the chairman of Hendon Magistrates’ Court, who described it as being “one of the most appalling and shocking cases I have ever had to deal with.”

Now Williams revved his 500cc BSA motorcycle and drove straight at one of the men carrying a shotgun but missed him and, as he drove by, a shot was fired. Williams skidded to a halt, turned his machine around and drove at Peter Rose, who ran behind a parked car and aimed his revolver at Williams. “I zigzagged as I approached him,” Williams told me, over forty years after the event. “Being in the RAF Regiment had taught me never to approach the enemy in a straight line!” Williams’ motorcycle crashed into Rose, lifting him momentarily on to the handlebars before both men fell to the ground with Williams on top, struggling to gain control of the gun. But Rose staggered to his feet and pointed the gun at Williams from a distance of two or three feet, threatening to shoot. Undeterred, Williams, a slim, six-foot athlete, leapt at Rose, a shot was fired and a tremendous struggle ensued. At that point Detective Sergeant O’Brien dashed up and used his truncheon on Rose, who during a violent tussle was also relieved of his revolver and eventually overpowered.

Meanwhile, Jenkins drove his 500cc Norton straight at Engelfield but missed, and as he turned his motorcycle round, so he was hit by a passing car and knocked to the ground. Engelfield now advanced on Jenkins, his sawn-off shotgun held at a threatening angle, but as Jenkins got up and faced him, Engelfield turned and ran. He was chased by Flying Squad officer Detective Sergeant John Stuart Northmore Wharton, a twenty-nine-year-old ex-police cadet with ten years’ service. Wharton was used to dealing with dangerous criminals; just three weeks previously, he had been commended for the arrest and conviction of two violent criminals for armed robbery. Engelfield pointed his gun at Wharton, shouted at him and was chased into a nearby block of flats; losing sight of him, Wharton climbed to the top floor, where he saw Engelfield in a corridor, his back to him and the shotgun on the floor. Wharton called out his name; Engelfield turned and went for the sawn-off, but Wharton grabbed hold of him. There was a ferocious struggle, and Wharton succeeded in restraining him until assistance arrived.

In hot pursuit of the third member of the gang, Michael Morris, were Adams and Marshall. Morris had run off through the crowded thoroughfare, pushing his way through the pedestrians and pointing his shotgun at them. Purchase, having seen that Rose had been subdued, drove his car in the direction of flight which Morris had taken. Now Morris turned, shouting that he would shoot Marshall, but still the officers continued the chase. Morris darted into the front garden of a house and disappeared from view, but as the officers approached the garden, he emerged from cover pointing his weapon at them and again shouting that he would fire. But the officers approached him from different directions so as to widen the angle of fire, and at that moment Morris, suddenly nonplussed, lowered his gun. It was quite likely that he had seen Purchase driving towards him, and since the C11 vehicle was of the same colour and size as the stolen car, it was possible that he thought salvation was at hand. If so, it was a forlorn hope. His lapse in concentration was all the officers needed to spring at him, and as Marshall lashed out with his truncheon, so Adams grabbed the gun and pulled it away from Morris, who after a struggle was overpowered and arrested.

Calm had been finally restored at Streatham High Road, where during the space of the previous ten or fifteen minutes pandemonium had reigned. As the would-be robbers were bundled into police cars and vans, there was a smell in the air of burnt brake linings from the police vehicles and cordite from the discharged firearms. Frightened shoppers in that busy thoroughfare stood in groups, talking in whispers in the way that people do when they have just witnessed something momentous. Many of the police officers stood breathing heavily, as though they had completed a rather gruelling race, as indeed, several of them had. Some had collected bruises; others cuts and abrasions. By a gracious dispensation of providence – and by exhibiting the most conspicuous bravery – none of them had been shot. Phill Williams was described by his colleagues as being ‘the luckiest man alive’. Williams himself admitted, “It was the most hectic piece of action I have ever had in my life.”

Five months later, the three men – all of whom had previous convictions – appeared at the Old Bailey. There had originally been four men in the car that drove up to the bank, but one man escaped, was later recaptured, stood trial and was acquitted.

On 25 October 1968 Peter Rose aged twenty-two, unemployed of Shillingdon Street, Battersea, was convicted of attempting to murder Williams, and for that offence, plus possessing a revolver – a Magnum – with intent to resist arrest, he was sentenced to a total of fourteen years’ imprisonment. Michael Morris aged twenty-three, unemployed of Ferndale Road, Clapham and Michael Engelfield aged thirty-five, unemployed of Dorset Road, Lambeth pleaded guilty to conspiracy to rob, possessing offensive weapons and taking and driving away a car. Each was jailed for ten years.

The judge, Mr Justice Milmo, called the officers before him and, describing Phillip Williams’ performance as ‘outstanding’, went on to say:

You arrested these gunmen when they were carrying arms, were prepared to use them and actually did so. Nevertheless, you pursued them and caught them whilst unarmed and ignoring the threats of Rose that he would fire at you, you chased him and brought him to justice. It was conduct in the highest police traditions.

The commissioner, Sir John Waldron KCVO, praised the officers, saying perhaps rather inaccurately, “This sort of thing, police do every day.” He went on to say, “This was a very courageous thing to do against a determined band of armed robbers,” adding, “They fired at us, but they did not stop us and we arrested them. What could be better?” Possibly a less ostentatious employment of his plurals, or his usage of the royal ‘we’.

But once the commissioner had got his hyperbole under control, he highly commended the officers, who later received cheques from the Chief Metropolitan Magistrate for £20 from the Bow Street Reward Fund; all except Phill Williams, who received a cheque for £25.

On 8 August 1969 Her Majesty the Queen approved awards of the George Medal to Wharton and Williams (who, it was widely thought, would receive a George Cross), with British Empire Medals for Gallantry for Marshall, Adams, O’Brien and Jenkins.

The following day, the Daily Mail proclaimed, ‘Honours … for brave police who beat gun gang’ and the Sun described the gallantry of the officers as a ‘Portrait of courage’.

Williams and Wharton were two of the personalities voted ‘Men of the Year’, and this was celebrated by a luncheon at the Savoy Hotel on 13 November 1969. Marshall later took charge of the huge robbery investigation which resulted in ‘Bertie’ Smalls becoming the first supergrass, and he retired with the rank of detective chief superintendent of ‘E’ Division, thirty years to the day that he had joined. Adams became commander of C11 Department and O’Brien retired as detective chief superintendent of ‘Y’ Division.

Phill Williams returned for a short period to Traffic Patrol, long enough to be commended by the chairman at Barnet Magistrates’ Court for tackling a drunken driver who drove off with Williams hanging on to the side of the car before he managed to climb into the vehicle and wrest the steering wheel from the driver. When civil unrest flared up in the Caribbean Britain was called upon for help, and Williams spent a three-month posting as part of ‘The Anguilla Police Unit’; then in 1975 he rejoined C11, as a ‘Four-two.’ As part of an undercover team, he took part in attempting to recover a £4,000 stolen painting; a man who drove at Williams (he was charged with Williams’ attempted murder but later cleared of that charge) was sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment for other matters, and Williams was commended once again by the Judge.

In retirement, Williams is now waiting for the fourth generation of his family to join the police, where he enjoyed every moment of his service. Now in his seventies, and still an enthusiastic traveller and skier, he told me, “If I was nineteen again, I’d be first in the queue.”

As for Mick Purchase, there were no commendations, no awards, although many of his contemporaries thought that he deserved recognition. He simply melted away into the shadows from whence he had emerged, to carry on the secretive work so necessary for so many successful operations.

Over forty years after that spectacular ambush he told me, “Some time later, other robbers identified from the Battersea public house were arrested, charged and convicted of conspiracy to rob, by again watching getaway vehicles being stolen and keeping observation on them until being put into use by the robbers. Albeit,” he added, wryly, “in less dramatic circumstances!”