Chapter 6

Left in the Snow

t is hard to imagine more conspicuous bravery than that exhibited by Detective Sergeant Bill Deans.

He knew he was going to be brutally assaulted on a lonely footpath by any number of vicious criminals out of a gang of six. After he had been attacked, he knew he would be kidnapped; not only that, but he was aware that all this would be witnessed by colleagues who could do nothing to help him. He was told it would happen on a specific Friday, but it did not. Then he was told it would occur on the following Friday, but again it did not. It was only on the third Friday that he was savagely attacked and badly hurt, just as he knew he would be; he had volunteered to be a decoy. The plan – to liberate Deans after his ordeal, thwart a well thought out robbery and bring about the arrest of six professional criminals – had been meticulously set out. Nothing could go wrong.

Until it did.

Early in 1947, word had filtered to the Flying Squad from a highly placed informant that a six-man gang were observing the movements of a Mr Snell, the manager of the Kentish Town branch of the Midland Bank. They had carefully monitored his route home from the bank; they knew that he caught the Northern Line train at Kentish Town, then travelled to Woodside Park Station, Finchley. He would leave the station, walk down a footpath to Holden Road, cut through to Avondale Avenue, turn right into Argyle Road and then arrive home, in Westbury Road. It was a route Mr Snell always took, without exception.

The plan, the informant told the Flying Squad, was to kidnap the manager on a Friday evening; the gang were working on the fairly certain assumption that by then the bank vaults and strongroom would be full. Having subdued and abducted Mr Snell, the keys to the bank – the exterior doors and the vaults – would be taken from him, leaving the way open for the depositories to be plundered. But not all of the gang would be required to kidnap one man; four would carry out the snatch and two more would wait in the vicinity of the bank. Therefore it was essential to arrest all of them simultaneously. If the kidnappers alone were arrested at the scene, the other two would get clean away. Not only that; the informant knew that the organiser of the robbery would not be involved in the actual kidnap. Therefore, if he were not arrested, through lack of evidence, he would be at liberty to recruit new gang members and carry out a further robbery, details of which the informant might not know.

It was inconceivable that the Squad could let the plan go ahead, because of the danger to the unsuspecting Mr Snell; he had been seen by several members of the Squad and his frail physical appearance suggested that if the gang did indeed attack him, it could result in a fatality. What was required was a daring plan. Detective Superintendent George Hatherill of C1 Department at the Yard – which at that time included the Flying Squad – was informed of the circumstances, but the planning of this complex operation was wisely left to Detective Inspector (later Detective Chief Superintendent) Len Crawford.

Leonard William Crawford had joined the Metropolitan Police in 1927 and at the time of this investigation was on his third tour with the Flying Squad. The former Royal Navy telegraphist was now forty-five years of age and what he lacked in height – he was just under five feet ten – he made up for in toughness and guile. Amongst his commendations (which numbered twenty-nine at the time of this case) were arrests for grievous bodily harm, the capture of a violent criminal for prisonbreaking and, after he had arrested a fiercely struggling IRA man on a roof top fifty feet above ground level, the calm defusing of a row of ticking bombs.

Crawford knew that absolute secrecy was paramount. Had the plan been formed because of an inside agent in the bank informing the gang? It was impossible to say. What was needed was a decoy, someone to impersonate the bank manager; but he would have to be convincing – the gang had already seen Mr Snell on several occasions. Crawford idly looked around the Flying Squad office – it was known as ‘The Bungalow’ at the Yard – until his eye settled on one particular officer. Bill Deans bore an almost uncanny resemblance to Mr Snell.

Formerly a plumber, William Hosie Deans had joined the Metropolitan Police in 1932. Married with two children, a girl then aged eight and a boy then aged three, Deans had learnt his trade as a detective on ‘L’ and ‘P’ Divisions, collecting ten commendations along the way. One of them, awarded almost exactly three years prior to this operation, was for ‘devotion to duty, whilst off-duty, in a case of larceny dwelling’. Born in Glasgow, Deans was now aged thirty-six, five feet ten tall, slim, with a thick moustache. Crawford had no doubts regarding his colleague’s abilities; coincidentally, Deans had joined the Flying Squad on the same day that the legendary Ghost Squad had been formed, just over a year previously, and he and Crawford – and indeed most of the team around him – had been working with this secret, undercover unit, carrying out arrests and observations. Therefore Deans had all the necessary qualifications for such a risky job: knowledge of clandestine operations, guile and courage.

Crawford took Deans to one side and put him completely in the picture, in particular explaining all the attendant risks; Deans immediately volunteered to be the decoy.

First, Deans completely familiarised himself with the way home taken by Mr Snell, so that when the time came there would be no hesitation in his route and he would appear to be acting completely naturally. Next, as information came in to Crawford, so it was passed on to Deans; the gang intended to attack and seize him as he left the footpath, tie him up, bundle him into a green van and rob him of the bank keys. He would then be taken to the bank by four members of the gang, the keys would be handed to other members of the team and he would be taken to the outskirts of Chingford, Essex, where he would be dumped in a lane. To this end, the services of Detective Sergeant Pirie from ‘J’ Division were called upon – he had already assisted on Ghost Squad cases – to try to pinpoint where it was that Deans would be abandoned after the raid. Similarly, Detective Sergeant Reid of ‘S’ Division was co-opted on to the Squad for his knowledge of the area in and around the home of Mr Snell.

Then, on Thursday, 6 February 1947, the snout contacted Crawford to say that the job was on for the following day.

At midday on Friday 7 February Mr Snell was asked to report to head office as a matter of urgency. Upon his arrival he was astonished to be greeted by the chief investigating officer of the Midland Bank, plus a team of detectives who explained the plan to him. Deans was given a suit and overcoat, very similar to Mr Snell’s, plus horn-rimmed spectacles which resembled those worn by Snell – except that the lenses were made of plain glass – and a bowler hat. The hat certainly bore a strong resemblance to Snell’s own bowler, except that this one had been reinforced with padding. Finally, Deans was provided with letters showing Mr Snell’s name and address and two bunches of bank keys. The four £1 notes, the ten shilling note and the four half-crowns in his pocket were all marked. The bank’s chief investigating officer went to the Kentish Town branch of the bank to inform Snell’s deputy of what was happening, and Deans followed later, letting himself in at the side door of the bank.

It was dark as Deans left the bank, locked the door and set off towards the tube station. His departure was witnessed by two men who set off on foot following him. Their actions were, in turn, noted by Squad officers, who followed on after.

Showing Mr Snell’s season ticket at the barrier at Woodside Park Station, Deans strolled off along the footpath leading to Holden Road. He knew the two men were following him but he was reassured by the sight of Woman Detective Constable Winnie Sherwin, posing as a housewife carrying a shopping basket. No shrinking violet, Winnie could give a good account of herself in a rough-house; when an abortionist had attempted to escape over the back wall following a raid on his house, Winnie had been waiting to flatten him with a right hook. Suddenly Deans spotted a green van parking underneath the railway bridge in Holden Road; there were two men inside it. Just then, a uniformed police constable cycled by; it was quite innocent, of course, since the officer had no idea of the drama which had been intended to be played out around him, but his presence was sufficient to put the gang off.

The whole scenario had been witnessed by Crawford, overlooking the scene from a house in Holden Road. The house possessed a telephone, and this was to be used to alert the majority of the Flying Squad team, secreted well out of the way at Camden police section house. But not tonight. Deans carried on to Snell’s house in Westbury Road, opened the front door and walked inside.

One week later, the whole operation was carried out again. The same two men who had followed Deans the previous week were in the vicinity – they were William Ernest Hudson, aged twenty-four, a van driver and William Henry Stevens, aged forty-one, a labourer – but again (and for whatever reason – perhaps a dry run) nothing happened; once more Deans proceeded, unmolested, to Snell’s house in Westbury Road.

The next occasion, Friday 21 February, was a bad night. Snow had been falling for twenty-four hours and had settled. In 1947 this was nothing unusual; in fact, the snow had started just prior to Christmas and there had been a transport strike, but by the time the dispute was resolved the trains were snowed in. They had just started running again; by March, they would come to a halt once more, due to the dreadful weather conditions. It was freezing cold, so much so that the sea froze off Margate and icebergs were seen off the Norfolk coast.

Therefore it was fortunate that the train which brought Deans for the third time into Woodside Park was actually running – fortunate for the gang, that is. Deans was again aware that he was being followed. He had spotted Stevens and another member of the gang, Victor Stanley Towell, aged twenty-seven, a costermonger, on the platform at Kentish Town Station. They got on the same train as Deans and alighted at Woodside Park Station. As he set off on his lonely walk, Deans noted a third member of the gang. This was James Frederick Cunningham, a thirty-four-year-old fitter from Walthamstow. Now, as Deans approached the railway bridge, there was the green van parked underneath it.

Two of the men passed him, he heard a voice say, “Right,” and he felt a sickening blow to the back of his head, which sent the padded bowler hat spinning away. He had been hit by a sock containing three and a half pounds of wet sand; then four more blows descended on his unprotected head and he lost consciousness. It was a wonder his skull had not been fractured. The weapon, dropped in the snow, was later recovered by police.

Deans was picked up and flung into the back of the van, which roared away. The whole attack was witnessed by Winnie Sherwin and Len Crawford; but when Winnie telephoned to alert the occupants in the Squad car waiting nearby, the vehicle failed to start immediately, due to the freezing weather, and they lost precious minutes. Therefore she telephoned through to the Yard to circulate details of the van to the Squad cars at the Section House, plus other police cars in the area, adding that should the vehicle be seen, its whereabouts should be passed on to the other police cars but on no account was it to be stopped. She and Crawford were picked up and they went immediately to the area of the bank in Kentish Town, working on the assumption that the gang must turn up there. Crawford knew that as far as the gang was concerned time was of the essence; the raid had to be carried out as soon as possible before the ‘bank manager’ could be reported missing. But although there were very few vehicles on the roads in post-war austerity Britain, especially on a night such as this when the roads were treacherous with ice and snow, no trace of the van could be found. It was as though it had simply vanished into thin air.

Meanwhile, consciousness gradually returned to Deans in the back of the jolting van as it sped along. The scarf which he had been wearing was now tied over his eyes, his hands and legs were tied with rope, and as he groaned he felt something hard pressed into his side. “This is a stick-up,” he heard one of the gang say. “Keep your fucking mouth shut or it’s your lot.” Since adhesive tape had been stuck over Deans’ mouth, the directive was somewhat superfluous.

“Are you sure it’s the right bloke?” asked another of the gang, and was reassured when he was told, “He’s the geezer alright. He’s got the keys in his pocket.”

He had indeed; the gang relieved him not only of the keys but his wallet, watch, fountain pen and ring – plus the marked notes. Deans’ condition was of some concern to at least one of the gang members, who felt his pulse and heart, put his ear to his nose to ensure he was still breathing, lifted the scarf from his eyes and shone a torch into them. “He looks bad,” he said anxiously. “You hit him too hard, Jim.” He was right to be concerned regarding Deans’ condition; the policeman had received severe punishment to his skull, and the death penalty was still in place for murder.

But ‘Jim’ – James Cunningham – was unconcerned. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “No one saw us do it. We’ll make our way to the bank by cab and bus. You doodle around for an hour and then dump him.”

Two of the gang remained in the van; after some time, one of them said, “We’ll dump the bastard here. No one will find him for a while.” Deans was picked up, slung over the man’s shoulder and dropped face down in the snow. He had no idea of his whereabouts – in fact he was in East Barnet, less than two miles from where he had been kidnapped – not that that mattered to him. He had sustained severe concussion, he was starting to experience the effects of exposure to the bitterly cold weather and once more he lost consciousness. The gang member was quite right; no one would find him for a while.

Meanwhile, no trace of the van had been found and, what was more, no trace of the gang. It was now forty minutes later than their expected time of arrival at the bank, and Crawford and his team were experiencing deep concern for Deans’ well-being. Suddenly one of the suspects appeared. He looked about him cautiously, but all he could see was a courting couple, arm-inarm. Satisfied, Richard Charles Beck, a nineteen-year-old window cleaner, walked up to the rear door of the bank, produced a set of keys from his pocket and inserted one in the lock. However, not all courting couples are as innocent as they seem, particularly on this occasion, when one of the star-struck lovers was Winnie Sherwin. Beck was promptly seized and affected astonishment when he was told he was under arrest for robbery with violence. “Me?” he exclaimed. “Not me! I was passing along here when two men stopped me and told me they would give me a hundred nicker to open the bank door for them. They gave me the keys,” he added. It was not the most convincing explanation, and made even less so when he was searched and the second set of bank keys and Deans’ watch were found. A number of answers were required immediately. A police observation van was nearby and Crawford used it as a makeshift interrogation room, with spectacular results. The yard rented by Cunningham in Walthamstow was found, as was the green van, its radiator still warm; a search of it revealed the adhesive tape, and three more of the gang were impolitely requested to give the whereabouts of Deans. As a by-line to this interview, the remaining two gang members were traced to Romford and arrested.

After an hour Deans had recovered consciousness and managed to untie the ropes around his ankles. He staggered to a house some distance away, where the occupier administered first aid and summoned medical assistance. Dr Charles Mervyn Scott later told the court, “Sergeant Deans was severely shocked from exposure to the cold on a wickedly cold night and he showed signs of concussion. His condition would be consistent with blows from a sand-filled stocking.”

The gang appeared at Highgate Magistrates’ Court the following day and on 13 March they were committed to the Old Bailey for trial. Just one of the gang denied the offence, but was found guilty, and on 27 March 1947 they had the misfortune to be sentenced by the Lord Chief Justice, Lord Goddard. All were sentenced to terms of penal servitude: Cunningham and Stevens to seven years each, Hudson to five years and Beck to four years. Towell and the sixth member of the gang, Henry Edward Jones, aged twenty-eight, a carpenter, were each sentenced to three years.

As the gang were led away, Goddard turned his piercing gaze on the well of the court and said:

Stand up, Detective Sergeant Deans. The country – and London in particular – are most indebted to you for the extraordinary courage and devotion to duty you have shown in this case. You have added lustre to the already great record of the Force to which you belong. I shall make it my duty to call the attention of the Secretary of State to your most commendable conduct.

These generous words of praise were echoed by the Director of Public Prosecutions, and Deans was later awarded £15 from the Bow Street Reward Fund. Then, on 10 June 1947, Deans was highly commended by the commissioner. His commendation is worth quoting because it was an unusual citation, the wording of which I have never seen before:

For extreme courage and devotion to duty in acting as a decoy, knowing that he would be attacked by six criminals who had planned to break into a bank. He was, in fact, seriously assaulted.

Crawford and ten of the other officers involved in the operation were commended by the commissioner for what was described as ‘ability and enterprise’. Certainly in Crawford’s case, that citation seems decidedly apt.

Three months after that, Deans was awarded the King’s Police and Fire Services Medal. He was in good company; Bertie Rowswell, Norman Strange and Alberta Watts were gazetted for the same award on the same day.

Deans had been attending hospital at the time of his court appearance and afterwards returned there. In all, he was placed on sick leave for seven weeks, and although he returned to work, the effects of his injuries plagued him for years afterwards. He was presented with a silver cigarette case that Christmas by his admiring colleagues as a mark of their respect; he returned to Flying Squad duties, especially with Ghost Squad work, and on 8 February 1949 he was again commended by the commissioner ‘for devotion to duty, while off-duty, and perseverance in the arrest of a violent criminal for shopbreaking’. A week later, he was promoted to detective sergeant (first class) and was retained on the Squad. More commendations followed until his seven years’ service with the Flying Squad came to an end. He was posted to ‘P’ Division and then, two years later, promotion to detective inspector took him to ‘N’, then ‘G’ Division. Within a year came his last posting, to ‘R’ Division; industrious to the last, he notched up a total of eighteen commissioner’s commendations before retiring with twenty-seven years’ service. He enjoyed twenty years of retirement before he died at the age of sixty-nine. Were those injuries he sustained on the night of 21 February thirty-two years previously a contributory factor to his early demise?

I rather think they were.