Hungerford: One Man's Massacre

by Jeremy Josephs

The lion; savage beasts together feed.

  So hope, bearing this bitter cross, be blest,

  By Jesus;. . . 'Come, and I will give you rest. '

  The people of Hungerford had assembled in the open air because an abbey or cathedral would have been too small a venue for such a multitude, and too remote from the town. Nonetheless, to assemble on the steps of the town hall was an odd, risky choice. In fact it was a triumph, a moving, restrained and dignified occasion; so successful indeed that many people in the town wondered if it ought not to represent the end of Hungerford's formal mourning period. Was it perhaps not the appropriate time, they asked, for the work of the Family Help Unit to cease, and thus for many of the experts from outside to now be given their marching orders?

  'Of course that didn't mean that the mourning was over,' the Reverend Salt explains. 'But it was something of the turning over of a new leaf. The service gave us a definite focus. We are really called parsons - which comes from the word "persona" - the face of the community. And that was my job really, to make the community accept the situation. Because if you don't it just won't ever be possible to grow or move forwards.'

  As the Tragedy Fund edged towards the SI million mark, the composer Andrew Lloyd Webber organized a gala evening at St Nicholas's church, Newbury, not far from his home. Sarah Bright-man took the leading role in her husband's Requiem Mass. Julian Lloyd Webber also took part, playing his cello. It was the biggest single money-raising event, providing over £50,000 for the fund. At the beginning of December, however, Ron Tarry announced that the fund was to close shortly after Christmas. In the end, over £1 million was raised.

  As the months passed by, the Hungerford massacre began to fade from the public's mind. This was precisely what many of the town's residents had been hoping for for some time, as the prevalent feeling now was that of wanting to be left alone. Even so, services and ceremonies continued to take place. In February 1988 the Reverend Salt participated, together with his Bishop, in a ceremony for the dedication of a memorial plaque at Hungerford. The memorial itself formed part of a screen surrounding the church's new vestry. And then, four months later, Downing Street issued an operational note announcing the Queen's civil gallantry awards. The time had come to honour some of the many heroes of Hungerford.

  A letter from the Central Chancery of The Orders of Knighthood, St James's Palace, London, dated 8 June 1988, announced:

  The Queen has been graciously pleased to approve the award of the Queen's Commendation for Brave Conduct to the undermentioned:

  Roger Brereton (deceased), Lately Constable, Thames Valley Police Linda Constance, Mrs Bright, Ambulancewoman, Berkshire Ambulance Service

  Miss Carol Irene Hall, Air Stewardess, British Airways pic Carl Peter Lawrence Harries, Lance Corporal, The Royal Engineers Hazel Jacqueline, Mrs Haslett, Ambulancewoman, Berkshire Ambulance Service

  Michael Thomas Palmer, Supervisor, Newbury District Council David John Sparrow, Lifeguard and Attendant, Newbury District Council

  Jeremy John Wood, Constable, Thames Valley Police

  In recognition of bravery following the shooting incident at Hungerford, Berkshire, on 19th August 1987.

  The gallantry awards were presented by Prince Charles a few weeks later at a ceremony at County Hall in Oxford, at which the Prince spoke to the recipients and their families. Liz Brereton attended, together with her two sons, Shaun and Paul. Holding the award certificate and two silver laurel leaves, she made the briefest of statements to the assembled press corps: 'All I want to say is that I am very, very proud.' Did this indicate, perhaps, that eleven months after the massacre, Liz Brereton was beginning to emerge from her period of mourning? It did not.

  'Actually I used to spend quite a lot of time thinking about suicide,' Liz recalls. 'Because I was so desperate to be with Roger again. I was thinking of any possible way of joining him. But I knew that deep down I wouldn't really have done it. What would have happened to my sons - and what about the grief I would then have inflicted upon my own parents and in-laws? Still, the first Christmas without Roger was pretty terrible. I came into the kitchen and the boys came in after me and we had a good cry together.'

  On 28 July 1988 a Garden Party took place at Buckingham Palace. Both Ron Tarry and the Reverend David Salt received an invitation to attend. 'Maybe that was a reward, I don't know,' Ron Tarry would later reflect. 'My wife and I, and our younger daughter, Claire, were presented to the Queen on that occasion. We went along with the Salts. A few days before it was due to take place the Lord Chamberlain's office rang to say that Her Majesty would like to meet me. I obviously couldn't go in my old Escort, so the local garage lent me a Granada, because we had been given VIP parking in the grounds of the Palace. I found the Queen to be very informed. It was comparatively relaxed. As I was talking, I was trying to concentrate, of course, but also to savour the moment. That here I am on the Palace lawn, me, Ron Tarry from nowhere, talking to the Queen.'

  If the people of Hungerford thought that now that almost one year had passed since the tragedy, they would be left alone, they were mistaken. On the contrary, as the first anniversary of the massacre approached, it was for the media yet another opportunity to revisit the town. On Sunday 14 August 1988, just five days before the first anniversary, the BBC screened a documentary in the Everyman series, charting the plight of the grieving town. Fortunately it was a sensitive, reflective piece of television journalism. In her contribution to the programme Jenny Barnard developed the theme of the changing nature of grief: 'Well, I've now come to realize that there is a meaning to my life. And the meaning of my life is Joe. He makes life worth living. I have now started to feel that life is worth living. I used to feel guilty about actually going out and laughing. But I've got over that stage now. I know that Barney would have wanted me to have gone out and laughed and joked. But as for that awful cüché "light at the end of the tunnel", well, I can see that there is probably light at the end of the tunnel. But how far along the tunnel I am I really couldn't say. Because some days you seem as though you're way up. And on another day you're back down again.'

  Writing in the Newbury Weekly News, Ron Tarry issued a plea for self-restraint by the press: 'As we approach the anniversary of that dreadful day last year, I am sure that I am echoing the feelings of many people in Hungerford who feel that, if television, radio and the national press must mention the date they do so reverently and without sensationalizing the event.'

  It was a plea which fell on deaf ears in some quarters of the press. In fact many of the townspeople went away for the day when 19 August finally arrived. All of the town's shops closed. But wreaths placed at the Hungerford war memorial amply demonstrated that the guilt peculiar to survivors had still to be eradicated in the town. 'Sorry I could not save you,' one card read, 'but I tried to do so. I will never forget.'

  Liz Brereton also had reason to reflect on that sad day: 'Well, as for the posthumous medal and all that, I say: "Look what I had to lose to get this." They all told me that Roger died a hero. I didn't want him to be a hero. I just wanted him to be alive.'

  FIFTEEN

  'If only we knew why'

  The first anniversary of the tragedy at Hungerford was an opportunity for many in the media, not just to reconstruct the minutiae of the massacre but also to examine afresh Michael Ryan's motives. No answers had been provided in the immediate aftermath of the tragedy; perhaps they would be forthcoming some twelve months later. Many newspapers and television companies, both national and local, sent reporters and producers back to the town in the hope of achieving some new insight. In fact nothing new was uncovered.

  Thus it was that, despite diligently carrying out his duties, a reporter on the Bolton Evening News was able only to echo the theme of enduring incomprehensibility. It was a theme which was to appear in a good many of those anniversary articles. 'Twelve months of soul-searching have passed, but one question remains unanswered,' the reporter affirmed. 'Why, in God's name, did it happen?'

  '
It's actually very frustrating to be asked that question,' the Reverend Salt is now quick to retort. 'The how, why and wherefore and so on. No one has ever explained why Michael Ryan did what he did. And that's because, in my opinion, it is not something that can be explained.'

  But in an age where instant answers are available for all things, the vicar's view has not been easy to accept. Surely, people continue to insist, there has to be a compelling explanation. For many, the first line of enquiry leads them to a person who exists only on celluloid. For were not the exploits of the character Rambo in the film First Blood so strikingly similar to what actually took place in Hungerford as to be uncanny? Indeed, the Sunday Telegraph was soon asking, was Michael Ryan not 'the man who thought he was Rambo?' London's Evening Standard saw things slightly differently, more in terms of his aspirations. No, Ryan was 'the lonely wimp who wanted to be Rambo'.

  The Rambo factor certainly made good copy. In fact there was a stage when tabloid editors were vigorously competing to print the most Ramboesque headline. For within twenty-four hours of the tragedy, the Sun referred no longer to Hungerford but 'the Rambo shootings'. The Daily Mirror followed suit by insisting that the sixteen deaths were the result of 'the Rambo killings'. Both papers then proceeded to pepper their pages with sketches of semiautomatic weaponry, just in case any reader might have failed to make the Rambo connection. The Daily Star was less subtle still, covering its front page with just two things: a large picture of Michael Ryan and the word 'RAMBO' emblazoned beneath in bold type. The popular press, then, was in no doubt: Ryan and Rambo were synonymous. Michael Ryan was John Rambo.

  The truth was a lot less colourful. For it is simply not known whether or not Ryan ever saw any of Sylvester Stallone's films, including First Blood. Furthermore, academic research has yet to prove conclusively that there is a causal link between screen violence and real-life aggression. In their search for instant solutions to complex problems, many people, often with the encouragement of the media, were apparently too ready to jump to ill-conceived conclusions. It had been the same story in the previous decade, when the film A Clockwork Orange appeared. Then, researchers cited the murder of a tramp in what appeared to be a copycat crime. The incident was soon dubbed the 'Clockwork Orange murder' by the popular press, but the study omitted to point out one important fact: that the tramp's killer had never seen the film supposed to have incited him to murder.

  It came as no surprise, however, to find Sylvester Stallone leaping to the defence of his screen persona. He preferred to dwell on the concept of insanity rather than imitation. And in so doing he would not be alone. 'I carry the can for every lunatic in the world who goes crazy with a gun,' he complained. 'But it wasn't Rambo who sent Michael Ryan mad. In fact Rambo is the opposite of people like Ryan. He is always up against stronger opposition and never shoots first. Murderers are always saying, "God told me to kill" or "Jesus ordered me to kill" - so should the rest of us stop praying? There are always sick people out there who will hang their illness on to your hook.'

  For those newspapers and magazines less willing to go down the Rambo road there remained little else to proffer by way of explanation. Their watchwords were invariably the same: Ryan's rampage was 'meaningless', 'random' or 'motiveless'. Then more reflective pieces began to appear, dwelling on the precise nature of the 'loner'. For no one doubted that Ryan was that. 'Beware the man who walks alone,' warned one paper, while another referred to 'the maniac next door'.

  However, it was not just readers of the tabloids who sought an explanation of Ryan's motives. Many people in Hungerford, survivors included, did so too. Alison Chapman, herself shot at as she set out from her home with her mother, comments: 'If only he had lived long enough to tell us why. If only we knew why. But instead he took the secret of his madness to his grave.'

  The Archbishop of Canterbury appeared to endorse this notion of Ryan's insanity, in his sermon preached at the town's service of memorial and rededication. 'Sometimes violence can be understood,' he admitted. 'Oppressed peoples rising against their oppressors or the grossly deprived revolting against unheeding opulence - these things might be foreseen or forestalled. But no one could foresee this tragedy. The human mind is the most complex and delicately balanced of all created things. Wisdom cannot foresee all the consequences of its sickness.'

  Were signs of a consensus beginning to emerge? If Ryan was not the Rambo figure the tabloids might have wished him to be, was he without doubt certifiably insane? Sylvester Stallone, although not an impartial witness, had dubbed him a lunatic; survivor Alison Chapman spoke of his madness; and then, most authoritative of all, Dr Robert Runcie had described to an audience of several millions the apparent sickness of a human mind. What each person was saying, some more delicately than others, was that Michael Ryan was mad.

  Dwelling on Ryan's insanity, however, is almost as problematic as attempting to package him as the Rambo-like killer. For contrary to popular opinion, there is little evidence of insanity among the majority of mass killers. In a forty-two-case sample study by the American criminologists Levin and Fox, only around one in five killers attempted to plead not guilty by reason of insanity. And of those who did, less than half would manage to convince a jury.

  In their authoritative report Professors Levin and Fox went on to present a 'composite profile' of the multiple-victim killer. They came to the conclusion that the great majority of such killers were not insane; that, in layman's terms, they were bad rather than mad: 'He is typically a white male in his late twenties or thirties. In the case of simultaneous mass murder, he kills people he knows with a handgun or rifle; in serial crimes, he murders strangers by beating or strangulation. The specific motivation depends on the circumstances leading up to the crime, but it generally deals directly with either money, expediency, jealousy, or lust. . . Finally, though the mass killer often may appear cold and show no remorse, and even deny responsibility for his crime, serious mental illness or psychosis is rarely present.'

  The two academics were also able to identify a number of factors which, they believe, are consistent with almost every case history of an indiscriminate killer. First of all, they argue, there has been a Ufe filled with frustration. Secondly, there has been a precipitating event, such as unemployment or divorce. Then there is access to and training in the use of firearms. And finally there has been a breakdown of what is referred to as 'social controls', such as occurs when a person moves to a new town or an important relationship breaks up.

  Ryan would certainly have fitted into this model. His had been a life of frustration, as he drifted from one unskilled job to the next. And Ryan not only had access to and training in firearms, but they were the theme around which his entire life revolved, a passion which had endured for well over a decade. The problem with such a construction, however, is that large numbers of ordinary people can fall within these categories - people who do not go on to commit mass murder. While Professor Levin clearly did not have the opportunity to analyse or study Ryan's personality, he nonetheless refuses to entertain the notion of Ryan's insanity: 'I don't like the idea of insanity in these cases and it is used rarely in the US as a defence. Insanity removes the question of individual responsibility and these people are usually a lot more rational than people think.'

  Certainly Sergeant Paul Brightwell would testify to that. And yet an equally impressive selection of authorities from the world of psychiatry came to precisely the opposite conclusion. The criminologists had got it the wrong way round, they would insist. Ryan was mad, not bad.

  Dr John Hamilton, the medical director of Broadmoor, the Berkshire prison for the criminally insane, was of the opinion that Ryan was probably suffering from a form of schizophrenia and was certainly psychotic at the time he carried out the killings. He diagnosed Ryan's disorder as paranoid schizophrenia, adding that he was in all likelihood suffering from paranoid delusions too. Dr Jim Higgins, a consultant forensic psychiatrist for Mersey Regional Health Authority, and one of the country's lea
ding authorities on mental illness, agreed with this diagnosis: 'Matricide is the schizophrenic crime - that is an aphorism in forensic psychiatry. Ryan was most likely to be suffering from acute schizophrenia. He might have had a reason for doing what he did, but it was likely to be bizarre and peculiar to him. But the people who are murdered are generally part of the murderer's family or social circle, so the murder of strangers is very unusual. Ryan was, in my opinion, also likely to have been suffering from ideas of persecution. People with acute schizophrenia may believe that they are being persecuted by certain people and are entitled to shoot them.'

  Of course, mentally ill Michael' does not have the same ring about it as 'Rambo Ryan'. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that little has been said or written about the gunman's psyche. But then mental illness is always difficult to understand, and all the more daunting to contemplate in the aftermath of a massacre. Moreover, it is worth asking whether or not the psychiatrists' opinions represent the definitive view. For the truth is that there are over a quarter of a million people in Britain suffering from schizophrenia, which, in reality, is widely used as a catch-all term for many different sorts of mental disorder. And if he was indeed schizophrenic, Ryan was certainly the first, in Britain at least, to have taken it upon himself to spray bullets at each and every unfortunate soul who happened to cross his path. Such diagnoses therefore remain a matter of speculation.

  What is clearer, however, is the extent to which Ryan wove a fantasy world around himself. This emerged at the inquest with great clarity as one of the prime components in his psychological make-up. One person after another related the fantastic tales he had told. These fantasies created a lifestyle which Ryan knew very well he was never going to achieve. There was the rich colonel of Cold Ash, the nurse he had planned to marry, stories of Ferraris and Porsches which were due to come his way, trips to India and visits to tea plantations there, reports of property deals in London and a planned trip on the Orient Express. Many people had believed him, including his own mother. But every detail had been furnished by his imagination; his exploits were a tissue of lies from start to finish.