A Story For Christmas Featuring Barrie Pierpoint and Shane MacGowan

kushiro · 15 December 2023

One day in 1997, after Leicester City decided they had to leave Filbert Street, Chief Executive Barrie Pierpoint was standing in a field in Aylestone, forming pictures in his mind. Above him ran Soar Valley Way, the road that leads from Glen Parva out towards the motorway. On the far side of the field, the River Soar was rolling gently along, separated from the canal by just a tiny slither of land.

'It's the perfect place for the new stadium', he thought. 'Easy access to the M1, not too far from the city centre, a beautiful spot'. It was one of several potential sites the club had identified after discussions with Leicester City Council.

As he stood contemplating the club's future, Barrie was probably unaware of it, but on that very spot, 44 years earlier, one of the darkest episodes in the post-war history of Leicester was unfolding - and it was connected to his own family history.

Around that time, Barrie's father changed the spelling of their name. It was originally 'Pierrepoint', but he decided to shorten it to 'Pierpoint', attempting to conceal the connection to a certain Albert Pierrepoint, a distant relative.

Who was Albert Pierrepoint? He was the UK's most famous hangman, who carried out the last execution at Leicester Prison in 1953, after Irishman Joseph Reynolds was sentenced to death for murdering 12 year-old Janet Warner.

This is what happened:

May 22nd 1953

The football season had just finished, and despite Arthur Rowley topping the goalscoring charts, Leicester City had yet again failed to achieve their primary objective - promotion back to Division One. It was in the following days that Jospeh Reynolds began his macabre daily ritual.

He was employed at Leicester Gas Works, just south of Filbert Street, and after work he would walk along the canal footpath to Aylestone, looking for a likely candidate. He spotted Dennis Goodger, who was on his way home to Gwencole Crescent, off Narborough Road, from the building job he was working on near the County Arms in Blaby.

The next day, and for several days after that, Reynolds returned to the same spot along the canal, and each time he saw the same man. Finally, on May 22nd, he was ready. When Goodger walked past that day, he would put his plan into action.

But Goodger didn't turn up. Fortunately for him, his job in Blaby had finished the day before. The plan was stymied.

Tragically for Janet Warner, Reynolds quickly decided to find an alternative victim. She was strangled, and her body dumped near the canal in Glen Parva.

Reynolds was soon arrested, and sentenced to death five months later. On November 17th, a scene that had been observed many times over the previous 100 years played out for the last time - a large crowd gathering outside the walls of Leicester Prison, awaiting confirmation of the execution.

Among them was none other than Dennis Goodger, who spoke to a reporter from the Leicester Evening Mail about his narrow escape. 'He was there every day at the same place. And he always asked me the time. Every day I gave the same answer: 'It's just turned five o'clock'. He used to give me a strange out-of-this-world look and I became more and more suspicious'.

At 9.10 a.m. the chief warder opened the main gates of the prison and pinned up the notice stating that the sentence of death had been carried out. 'Pierrepoint', the Mail said, 'was the executioner'. That's how people referred to him. He didn't need a first name - everyone knew who he was.

It had been nine years since the previous execution in the city, a double hanging in 1944. Albert Pierrepoint was there that day too, and he might have been busier in the intervening years had it not been for the efforts of one man. That was Dr. Arthur Colahan, an Irishman from Galway who had worked in Leicester since the 1920s. He was often called to murder trials to offer his expert opinion on the sanity or otherwise of the accused. On one particular occasion, that evidence proved crucial.

Saturday January 24th 1948

It was a huge day for Leicester City - drawn at home against Sheffield Wednesday in the Fourth Round of the FA Cup. At 2 p.m., supporters heading to Filbert Street from the city centre may not have paid too much attention to a taxi picking up two passengers at the Grand Hotel. Josef Zawadaski and his former partner Joan Mills told the driver to take them to Kitchener Road near Spinney Hill Park.

At Filbert Street, far more than the usual number of police were on duty. They had been struggling to keep order for several hours as huge numbers gathered, excited by the prospect of a Cup run, and perhaps Leicester's first visit to Wembley. Half an hour before kick-off the gates were closed, leaving thousands outside. One entrance at the Spion Kop end was then smashed and fans surged into the ground without paying. Police somehow managed to form a barrier and prevent even more getting in.

This was how Filbert Street had looked at 12.30:

Calls may have been made to Charles Street police HQ, asking for reinforcements, but just at that moment it became apparent that a drama of a different nature was unfolding across town in Kitchener Road. When that taxi arrived, Zawadski suddenly produced a gun. He shot Mills, killing her instantly, then tried to shoot himself in the head, but failed.

At Filbert Street, Leicester beat Sheffield Wednesday 2-1 with two famous goals - Walter Harrison after a '40 yard dribble' and Jimmy Haines from 25 yards. In the local papers on Monday two stories dominated - the fall-out from the shooting on Kitchener Road, and the draw for the last 16 of the FA Cup. Leicester were given a tie away to fellow Second Division side Tottenham Hotspur.

By the time Zawadski's case came to trial on March 16th, Leicester were out of the Cup. They would have to wait another year for their first ever visit to Wembley. In court, Dr. Arthur Colahan testified that at the time of the shooting, he believed that Zawadski was suffering from 'manic depressive anxiety'. His evidence was crucial - without it, Zawadski would have been given the death penalty, and Pierrepoint would have been back in town.

In fact, this was not the first time Dr. Colahan had played such a role. Before that double hanging in 1944 mentioned above, he had testified on behalf of one of the defendants, William Cowie, who was suffering, he said, from 'depressive insanity'. But on this occasion his testimony couldn't prevent a death sentence being handed down, and Pierrepoint was called for (at that time, as an assistant, with his uncle Thomas in charge shortly before he retired).

Back in 1931 Dr. Colahan had testified on behalf of Annie Robson, a Leicester nurse charged with the murder of a patient. He said he had interviewed her in prison and declared her 'insane'. The jury found her guilty, but due to her insanity, she escaped the death penalty.

So that's three occasions over a period of 17 years when he tried to save someone from the noose. It's tempting to think that, above any considerations about a defendant's state of mind, Dr. Colahan was motivated simply by an abhorrence of the death penalty. Maybe he simply wanted to save lives.

When you look at his life story, it's easy to see why that would have meant so much to him.

August 17th 1912

Long before Arthur Colahan left Ireland and came to Leicester to begin his medical practice, his brother Roly lost his life in a tragic accident on Lough Corrib in County Galway.

Roly and his friend Oswald Fisher went out in a sailing boat in windy conditions, and the vessel was quickly in trouble. A strong gust blew the boat over on its side, and the two stripped naked and dived into the water, several hundred yards from the shore.

The heartbreaking story of what happened next appeared in the Galway Express:

That's how Arthur Colahan lost his brother.

Several years later, after he moved to Leicester, he wrote a song dedicated to Roly's memory, the lyrics full of allusions to the tragedy on Lough Corrib. He called the song Galway Bay. It became a massive hit in Ireland, the UK and the USA.

This is the Leicester Evening Mail from May 1948:

Arthur Colahan died in 1952.

Now another great Irish songwriter has died, and his song, which tips its hat to the boys of the NYPD choir and to Colahan's song, is everywhere (even more so than usual).

Colahan isn't short of recognition either. This is his plaque in Prebend Street:

Rain King · 15 December 2023

Where do you find the information (and the time)?

As an Aylestone boy I found this particularly interesting and not a crime I'd ever heard of.

Edited 15 December 2023 by Rain King

zorro en españa · 15 December 2023

Kushiro - I really do enjoy your wonderful contributions on the forum. Thank you 👍

MrsJohnMurphy · 15 December 2023

Brilliant read....as always

RoboFox · 15 December 2023

Fantastic.

I had wondered whether Barrie and Albert were related as Pierrepoint is such a unusual name, but then noticed the spelling difference and thought no more of it.

Think this is the house on Kitchener Road. Hasn't changed much.

Edited 15 December 2023 by RoboFox

Spudulike · 15 December 2023

Did the boys of the NYPD Choir really sing Galway Bay? I won't bother buying any of their albums then.

Don't think that I've ever heard that song before, only the mention in Fairytale of New York. And certainly didn't know the connection to Leicester.

Great story, I enjoyed that.

kushiro · 17 December 2023

You probably know that there used to be a full Football League programme on Christmas Day. Leicester City's last ever fixture on December 25th was in 1957 - we lost 5-1 at Blackpool, with 42 year-old Stanley Matthews running riot on the right wing.

Guess who was born on that very day.

This fellow:

surrifox · 17 December 2023

Very interesting . I assumed Galway Bay was way older than that . The Pierrepoint/ Pierpoint connection was also a surprise although neither were people you’d want at a dinner party ☹️. Apparently the hangman’s services were much in demand after the trials at the end of the war , dispatching a number of Nazi war criminals

Trav Le Bleu · 17 December 2023

Get that book published!

(The one I keep telling you to write.)

Pita · 17 December 2023

Very interesting a lot of work researching that well done

kushiro · 17 December 2023

Let's not forget Kirsty MacColl.

Just like Roly Colahan, she was tragically killed in a boating accident, though the details were very different.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kirsty_MacColl#Death

I hadn't realised that shortly before that accident, she'd written a song called 'England 2 Colombia 0', using that World Cup game in 1998 as a way to tell another story about unreliable blokes.

kushiro · 21 December 2023

When 'Fairytale Of New York' first entered the charts in December 1987 and made its bid for Christmas Number One, events at Filbert Street were providing an amusing counterpoint.

On the weekend of December 5th / 6th, the single shot up from number 40 to number 19, with Shane McGowan singing this:

Got on a lucky one

Came in eighteen to one

I've got a feeling

This year's for me and you

So Happy Christmas

I love you baby

I can see a better time

When all our dreams come true

That weekend, Leicester City drew 0-0 at home to Middlesbrough, a result that left us 15th in Division Two, with just 23 points from 21 games. Our manager was Bryan Hamilton, another Irishman. His team may have been in the gutter, but like Shane, he was looking at the stars. He told the Mercury's Bill Anderson:

We can still get promotion

If we put a run together we can still go up

I saw enough positive signs to be optimistic

Sadly, Terry Shipman, playing the Kirsty MacColl role, decided to pour cold water all over Hamilton's delusions. On the Thursday after that Boro game, the Leicester chairman called him and asked if they could sit down and have a chat about the club's plight.

The next day, news broke that Hamilton had been sacked.

The following weekend, with caretaker boss Peter Morris in charge, we lost 2-0 at Oldham, and 'Fairytale of New York' climbed to number eight.

As speculation grew about who our new boss would be, we faced a blank weekend on December 19th, a consequence of the Second Division that season having an odd number of teams - twenty three. Meanwhile, Shane and Kirsty's song shot up from number eight to number two - just missing the Christmas Number One (beaten by The Pet Shop Boys' Always On My Mind).

"It was Christmas Eve, babe..."

On December 24th, the story reached its conclusion - Terry Shipman stood in front of the Filbert Street Christmas tree with our new man:

Edited 21 December 2023 by kushiro

kushiro · 23 December 2023

One final thing to say on this story, and it takes us almost back to the start. Not to Barrie Pierpoint, the man we left standing in a field in Aylestone, but his nemesis.

In Galway Bay, the song Dr. Colahan wrote in Leicester, you find these words:

The winds that blow across the bogs from Ireland
Are perfumed by the heather as they blow
And the menfolk in the uplands digging praties
Speak a language that the English do not know.

And yet they come and try to teach us their ways
They blame us just for being what we are
But they might as well go chasing after moonbeams
Or light a penny candle from a star.

When the song became a hit for Bing Crosby, those lyrics were changed to take away the political edge - it was not 'the English' who came to teach us their ways, but a more ambiguous 'the strangers'.

You can't hear those original lyrics without thinking of a struggle that raged in Ireland throughout much of the twentieth century - the struggle to fight off the influence of Association Football. The English really did 'come and teach us their ways' - introducing the game in Ireland as they did around the world. But nowhere was that influence resisted more than in Ireland. Association football was seen as a symbol of oppression, and people who took part, even as spectators, were banned from particiapting in Gaelic football, under the famous 'Rule 27' of the GAA (Gaelic Athletic Association). This presented a serious dilemma for those who enjoyed both codes.

Two of the most successful managers in Leicester's history were impacted by this dilemma, in very different ways.

Frank O'Farrell, the man who took us to promotion in 1971 before being headhunted by Manchester United, was brought up in Cork, and he knew that when he turned out for his local soccer team, he risked being ostracised by the other sport he loved. Fortunately for him, the GAA in Cork turned a blind eye.

Things were different in Belfast.

Martin O'Neill excelled at both sports - and he was aware that if he kept turning out for Distillery FC in the Irish League he risked upsetting his Gaelic football team, St. Malachy's College, holders of the Ulster GAA crown.

Martin's case became something a sensation in Ulster in 1971. In the end, a crucial semi-final for St. Malachy's was switched from the famous Casement Park in Belfast to Omagh, 70 miles away, because the Antrim GAA, in control of Casement Park, would not countenance an appearance on the ground by the man who was creating so many headlines (and attracting so many English scouts) with his fine performances for Distillery.

Shortly after that, two things happened. O'Neill left Ireland - signed by Matt Gillies for Nottingham Forest. And Rule 27 was finally done away with. It's ancient history now. Casement Park, the ground that was named after the Irish revolutionary executed for his role in the Easter Uprising of 1916, has now been selected as one of the venues for Euro 2028.

Edited 23 December 2023 by kushiro

guest123 · 23 December 2023

anyone else got a horrible cold shudder seeing the name of Barrie Pierpoint? I'd managed to blank him from my mind until this moment

kushiro · 24 December 2023

Well, this story has become a bit like an Advent Calendar, with a new perspective to open up every day.

It's surprising that it's so difficult to find details of this tale elsewehere. You often read that Dr.Colahan was from Leicester, but it's very rare to find mention of his role in capital trials, or the circumstances of Roly's death.

Roly's fellow sailor that day, who tried to save his life, was called Oswald Fisher. I posted a brief excerpt above from the article in the Galway Express in which he told what happened on Lough Corrib. Oswald was actually the son of the paper's editor, so the story was told, and published, in some detail. It's worth posting the whole thing: