Hungerford: One Man's Massacre

by Jeremy Josephs

  A deeply spiritual man, the Reverend Salt had a philosophy that was nonetheless pragmatic. His message was quite simple. It was that life had to go on. So when, the morning after the tragedy, the vicar was asked if the choir's rehearsal for their production of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice's musical Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat should continue, he immediately replied that it should. In fact one of the girls in the show was closely involved in the tragedy. She too carried on. Could it be that the prisoner-poet's assertion that 'everything's alright' was indeed the case? Not for one moment. For the reality was that in the immediate aftermath of the massacre, Hungerford was anything but all right.

  As the newspapers set about preparing their headlines that Wednesday evening, a fleet of car transporters passed through the town's darkened streets. Away went Sandra Hill's Renault 5. Away went the Playles' Ford Sierra. Roger Brereton's patrol car and Douglas Wainwright's Datsun likewise soon disappeared into the night. It was as if there was an unconscious attempt to make all evidence of the afternoon's carnage disappear. The following morning, flowers began to arrive at the town hall, where the flag flew at half-mast. Around the town, there remained traces of chalk marks where Ryan's victims had fallen, with stray bullets to be found here and there.

  If there was indeed an attempt to sweep away all evidence of the massacre, it was not to be successful. For the popular press had been out in force and was now able to report the tragedy in predictable style. The Sun proclaimed: '15 Dead and so is Mad Rambo'. In the Daily Mail it was 'Bloodbath on Market Day', while the Daily Mirror spoke of the 'Day of the Maniac'. Many photographs obtained by subterfuge were published. None of this did anything to help the feelings of the people of Hungerford. Within a few days, in the makeshift offices of the hastily established Hunger-ford Family Help Unit, the telephone was ringing with sad regularity. John Smith, the coordinator, spoke of a town on the verge of a nervous breakdown. No more cheering and chanting now.

  'What we are beginning to see in Hungerford,' the head of that newly created Berkshire Social Services unit explained, 'is the manifestation of fear, helplessness, sadness, longing, guilt, shame and anger. What we have to get across is that there is nothing abnormal about this. There is bewilderment too. We do not need specialist facilities and we are trying not to make it a medical problem. But people do need reassurance and to be told it is natural to feel this way. The stiff British upper lip is, for some people, the worst thing possible.'

  As a telegram of sympathy arrived from the people of San Ysidro, California, where James Huberty shot twenty-one people dead and wounded nineteen others in the McDonald's restaurant massacre of 1984, commentators began to plough through Britain's own criminal records. The events of 19 August 1987 were without doubt the most serious shooting incident ever to take place on British soil, even bloodier than when Jeremy Bamber had slaughtered five members of his family with a rifle back in September 1984.

  Unused to the concept of counselling, a good many of the people of Hungerford were nonetheless desperately in need of help. Not that there is anything new about feelings of grief or disorientation in the wake of a tragedy. Indeed, the condition has acquired a jargon of its own, PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder, being the name given to it. The symptoms vary from one individual to another, but two of its classic features are denial and the inability to communicate. Another is the paradox of 'survivor's guilt', whereby, far from feeling thankful for being alive, survivors suffer remorse at not having done anything to prevent the death of others. Or, they insist, the little they did do was simply not enough.

  Murder leaves behind much debris in the lives of those it has affected. Mass murder, though is different: it succeeds in spreading that debris throughout an entire community. This is precisely what happened at Hungerford. Common symptoms are depression, insomnia, nightmares and uncontrolled crying, while children wet the bed and become terrified of strangers. Before long the doctors of Hungerford were inundated with such complaints. Not one of them had ever imagined that one day their surgeries would be overflowing with sufferers from PTSD. Yet such a day had indeed arrived.

  Jenny Barnard, whose husband, Barney, had been gunned down by Ryan, reported sensations of anger and bitterness, especially during the early days: 'A few days after it happened, I just could not understand - why him? I even got to the stage where I was thinking that I could name people - it was probably irrational thinking, I know - who it could have happened to, or who it deserved to happen to. I just felt very cheated. We used to say things to one another like: "Will you still love me when I'm sixty and wrinkled?" And I got very angry and bitter thinking, well, he's not going to see me when I'm sixty and wrinkled and I won't see him.'

  Like many of his fellow citizens, Ron Tarry, the Mayor of Hungerford, was also reeling in disbelief. He had witnessed the bloodshed at the very closest of quarters, yet he found the reality difficult to digest. His own house in Sarum Way was only yards from where one victim had been gunned down, but still he struggled to believe what had happened. How on earth was it possible, he wondered, for the name of his beloved home town, with its unique and time-honoured traditions, and where he had lived peacefully since the end of the war, to have suddenly become synonymous with the very worst images of carnage and slaughter?

  'I had no idea that I was going to have this role of appearing on the television thrust upon me,' Ron Tarry explains. 'The first question I was asked on TV was, what about a tragedy fund? To be honest, I hadn't even thought about a tragedy fund at that stage. We are a small community of 5000 people where everyone knows everyone - so we were all affected. But I said that people don't want the knowledge that a tragedy fund is going to be set up; what they need is immediate help from their family and neighbours. I said that for the moment at least, money was not the priority. That was my gut reaction and, looking back, I think it was the right one. Nonetheless, the financial side of things obviously had to be addressed. And on the Thursday morning people from the Round Table made contact and said that they had some money immediately to hand - and what should they do with it? We all went to the police station. They said not to visit the families, to leave that to the social services, who are better trained at that sort of thing. But the Round Table said that they would pay for taxis, rent, TV rentals and so forth - with no red tape. I can tell you that to a lot of people that was very helpful during those first few days.'

  The town council of Hungerford could hardly boast an impressive administration. Its only salaried employee was Mrs Fowler, a clerk from Newbury, and she was part-time at that. Yet members of the council gathered spontaneously at the town hall, the focal point of the town. They had come to decide what should be done. The British public, however, had already made up its mind.

  'Before we had even asked for money,' the former mayor recalls, cheques and cash, some from children, began to arrive at the town hall. It just poured in. It was frenetic, chaotic there. But it became clear that there was going to be a need for a great deal of money, because no one was going to be able to claim on their insurance, and the Criminal Injuries Compensation Board wouldn't give a lot of money - and in any case the little they do give can take a year or two to arrive. People came in with cheques for several thousands of pounds. So we decided to open a Tragedy Fund. Barclays, Lloyds and NatWest, the three banks in the town, cooperated in setting it up.'

  Immediately, Peter de Savary, the financier who owns the nearby Littlecote House theme park, where Ryan had once worked for a few months as a labourer, contributed £10,000. Gareth Gimb-lett, the chairman of Berkshire County Council, made a personal contribution of £1000, the local authority itself adding a further £4000. Pensioners wrote in with smaller contributions: £1 here, £5 there. Hungerford's twin town of Le Ligueil, near Tours in France, wasted no time organizing a campaign of support.

  Three trustees of the Tragedy Fund were appointed who lived in the area although not in Hungerford itself and were therefore able to take a more objective view than th
ose closely involved in the tragedy.

  Following a message of condolence from Buckingham Palace, Her Majesty's private secretary wrote to Mayor Tarry on 26 August, enclosing a personal contribution from the Queen.

  Interrupting her Cornish holiday, Mrs Thatcher was soon on the scene. After flying from RAF St Mawgan in Cornwall to RAF Lyneham in Wiltshire, the Prime Minister drove the ten miles to the Princess Margaret Hospital. Having toured the streets of Hunger-ford and met some of the relatives of Ryan's victims, she was close to tears. Looking grave and shaken after these encounters, she spoke to the assembled members of the press. 'I am glad I have come,' she said. 'I had to come. It was so unbelievable and the only thing I could do was to be with the people who have suffered. I feel rather like most other people. There are no words in the English language which could adequately describe what happened.'

  While the Prime Minister was preparing for her visit to Hun-gerford that Thursday, the Reverend Salt was preparing for Holy Communion at St Lawrence's. Reading from the Book of Wisdom, he too struggled to find words which might give some comfort to the bereaved: 'The souls of the just are in God's hands and torment shall not touch them . . . Their departure was reckoned as defeat and they are going from us a tragedy. But they are at peace.'

  The vicar was not to struggle, however, to find words of praise for the role of the Prime Minister: 'I am someone who does not normally have many good things to say about Maggie. I used to think of her as being brash and tub-thumping. But that day she was not Maggie the politician; she was Maggie the human being. Whilst she met with the bereaved, I took Denis around the garden. I was criticized at the time for not being at the door to meet the PM. I said: "So what - the people who matter here are the bereaved." '

  A few days later Downing Street was again in touch with the vicar:

  Dear Mr Salt,

  Thank you for inviting me to your home and enabling me to meet some of the families who lost their loved ones in the dreadful and tragic shootings at Hungerford. I appreciate the tremendous burdens on you at present, and I know that my own visit added to them. I know so well how little words can do at times like this, but if my visit helped in any way at all I am more than grateful.

  My thoughts and prayers will be with you as you continue your work to help and comfort the families who are suffering so much.

  Yours sincerely

  Margaret Thatcher

  Mrs Thatcher also wrote to the Mayor:

  Dear Mr Mayor

  I am most grateful to you for allowing me to visit Hungerford and for accompanying me on Thursday. I was glad to be able to thank so many of those in the town who risked their lives to protect local people during those dreadful and tragic shootings. Hungerford will never forget that day. But I also know from my visit that the magnificent response of its people, and the depth of their feeling and concern for all those who have been injured or lost their loved ones, will never be forgotten either. I feel for you and all those in Hungerford as you care for those who suffer, and as you face the future together. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

  Yours sincerely

  Margaret Thatcher

  Ron Tarry was in no doubt that the Prime Minister's visit had helped a great deal: 'We were delighted that she had taken the trouble to come. I was with her throughout. I was really stunned by her, absolutely stunned. I had previously seen her as a strident parliamentarian - and she was in fact a mother, a woman interested in people and how they had suffered. I was impressed beyond words. She was very kind to the families. It was not a question of a photo-opportunity. It was just me, the local MP Michael McNair-Wilson, Denis Thatcher, the PM and the vicar. It was not a showpiece at all, because all of this took place on the lawn at the back of the vicarage. She talked about looking to the future and was superb. I had met the PM at the police station, and naturally I was keyed up. She asked me to join her cavalcade on the way to the ambulance station. My car was elsewhere, so I said we should walk, since it was only 150 yards away. Michael McNair-Wilson seemed to find the walk difficult, since he had been having dialysis. The PM was not walking with Mr McNair -Wilson but had driven on and was waiting at the ambulance station. I was, however, amazed that she noticed what I hadn't - that he didn't feel well - and she expressed concern about it. When we followed her around the fire station someone yelled that she should do something to stop people having guns so easily available, and that was the first time in Hungerford that I heard her Parliamentary voice - it was her Prime Minister's Question Time voice! But all in all it was a very moving experience. I was very emotional about the whole thing.'

  Well received as it was, the Prime Minister's visit to Hunger-ford was such that any comfort she might have been able to provide was of a transitory nature. Longer-term care was the responsibility of the Newbury division of Berkshire County Council's Social Services. Its director, Sue Lane, had been involved in the tragedy almost from the outset. This was because her department was responsible for the running of the Chestnut Walk old people's home, outside of which somebody had been killed. In fact two of her staff had risked their lives by rushing outside in an attempt to help, but only to be instructed to take cover again. Sue Lane's advice was of an eminently practical nature: 'Don't bottle up your feelings. Talk to your children and allow yourself to be part of a group of people who care. Try to take time out to sleep and rest and think, and be with your close family and friends. And remember that there are a lot of people who want to share and help.'

  By Friday 21 August, two days after the tragedy, the sharing and helping to which she had referred was to hand in the form of the Hungerford Family Help Unit. Initially based in the town hall, this was able to draw on support from a wide-ranging combination of statutory and voluntary agencies, including social workers, psychiatrists, doctors, the Victim Support Unit, the Samaritans and the widows' charity CRUSE. The precise purpose of the Unit was to provide an immediate response for people in distress, taking account of both practical and emotional needs, in addition to the planning of continuing care and counselling services over an extended period. Soon leaflets outlining the Unit's role were being printed in preparation for circulation to every Hungerford house- hold. That Friday afternoon and evening, within just a few hours of its inception, social workers started visiting families of the bereaved and those with a member who had been injured. Although the social services deserve to be complimented for acting with such rapidity, by-passing many a bureaucratic procedure, their work was not always appreciated by all. The Reverend Salt explains: 'People didn't always liaise that easily. Ron Tarry and I would try and sort them out every now and then. What we didn't want was a lot of bureaucracy being set up. And I have to say that at least half the people who were supposed to be helping were running around helping the wrong sort of people. I went into the social services offices once, to find out the addresses of relatives. All I wanted to do was to carry out my pastoral role, providing comfort and so on. But when I would be told that this information was confidential, this would really make me spit and see red.'

  The Home Secretary, Douglas Hurd, found his way to Hunger-ford on the Sunday after the tragedy. He announced that he had already summoned a meeting of senior Home Office officials to examine the whole question of private individuals keeping weapons at their homes. There was also talk of introducing an amnesty for illegally held firearms. 'We are also considering,' he said, 'the issue of allowing civilians to have automatic and semiautomatic weapons.'

  While the Home Secretary was deliberating on the issue, however, more than a dozen arms dealers from Dorset to Gateshead continued to advertise for sale, in leading gun magazines, versions of the Soviet-designed Kalashnikov assault rifle and American Ml carbine used by Ryan. In fact, Mick Ranger, the sole UK importer of the type 56 semi-automatic sold to Ryan, and who dealt directly with its Chinese manufacturers, Norinco, reported that sales of the Kalashnikov had increased significantly during the week following the massacre. He insisted that this was entirely coincident
al. Nonetheless, he had sold an additional twelve such weapons since Ryan's rampage through Hungerford.

  If some time was still to pass before such weaponry was outlawed, then there was considerably less hesitation about the withdrawal of gratuitously violent videos from public sale. Yet two days after the massacre Martins Newsagents in Hungerford High Street was continuing to display videos such as Annihilation, Wheels of Fire and Wanted Dead or Alive, all depicting violent action on their covers. While the shop's manager continued to insist that he was obliged to wait for instructions from head office before being able to remove them, the Cannon Cinema in Newbury acted on its own initiative, withdrawing the latest Mel Gibson film, Lethal Weapon.

  It was the same story at national level too. The BBC postponed the screening of certain programmes with a violent content. Michael Grade, the then controller of programmes, announced that the three-episode serial The Marksman, starring David Threlfall as a father hunting his son's killers, was to be delayed for several months. A New Zealand film, Battletruck, about a futuristic marauding gang, was likewise postponed by BBC2. It did not escape the attention of some, however, that it was the BBC which had paid 5:800,000 for the Rambo film First Blood, and that it was Michael Grade himself who had presided over its screening in September 1986. Everybody, it now seemed, was beginning to learn some lessons from Hungerford.