by train and John would continue by road. If one of us was caught, we would still have half the haul. I had no real expectations as to what the box contained – just a feeling that it would be worthwhile. As we sat in the car dividing up the contents, neither of us knew that we had just committed Scotland’s biggest ever jewel robbery. The year was 1953.
We had jewels of every description, plus American and Canadian dollars. I reached London slightly before John. Inthe early hours of the morning we started to assess what our prize was worth. We estimated a market value of somewhere around £100,000, a fortune. Early the next morning John went to Fleet Street to check the Scottish papers for reports of the robbery. Nothing. I went to my buyer with one hundred and twenty pieces of jewellery for him to look at. We bargained, I knew his style. At one point I stood up and offered to take the jewels abroad, where I would get the sum I wanted. The price went up, and up, and up. It reached £40,000. I phoned John and told him the figure. We decided to accept. Cut of the one hundred and twenty pieces, the fence bought eighty. We still had another £10,000 in foreign currency, and forty pieces of difficult to move but still valuable jewellery. We had hit the jackpot.
Back in Edinburgh, Louis Henry, Esther’s adult son, put the locked black tin box back into the glass cabinet where it was stored at night. He noticed that the keys were not in their usual place, and he assumed his mother must have them on her. It wasn’t until the start of the next business day that they both realised the keys were actually missing. An ironmonger was summoned to the shop to break open the locked box. When the lid was removed the Henrys found themselves looking at three neatly piled telephone directories. The alarm was raised. Esther Henry was friendly with half the crowned heads of Europe as well as Governnment ministers, and at least one Chief Constable of the Scottish police force. I realised that once she and the police had put two and two together, every police force in Britain would be after me. I would now become toppriority. Wooton was a known criminal associate of mine, his name would soon come into the frame. We thought it best to disappear. Loaded with money, and posing as American businessmen, we headed for the south coast for a short holiday.
Torquay is a charming seaside resort. John and I booked ourselves into a first-class hotel under assumed names. On that first evening, the main ballroom was host to a fundraising charity auction and dinner. We both mingled with the other guests, then with some brandies inside us we entered into the spirit of things. John bid £30 for a basket of fruit, which he promptly gave back to the waiter and told him to re-auction. This won a round of applause from the crowd. I successfully bid for two bottles of champagne, which I didn’t re-auction but instead had sent over to the Mayor’s table as a gift from two foreign businessmen. Within minutes we were invited to join the local dignitaries. Later that evening, I had drinks and conversation with the Chief Constable of Devon and Cornwall. We both remarked how obvious criminals were – little did he know, I was probably the country’s most wanted thief. The next day we were invited to the Mayor’s chambers for sherry. Our pictures had been taken by the local papers. At that moment we had Torquay in the palm of our hands. We could have presented dud cheques to any jewellers in town, and they would have been accepted without question.
Feeling isolated in London, my mother came down to join us. She and John took some time out and did all the usual tourist stuff – horse-drawn carriage rides and walks on the beach. That was the week of the Grand National.With plenty of money and in ebullient mood, I fancied a flutter. I was standing on my hotel balcony early one morning. In the distance was a small boy in a rowing boat. He looked so tiny – the mist
We had jewels of every description, plus American and Canadian dollars. I reached London slightly before John. Inthe early hours of the morning we started to assess what our prize was worth. We estimated a market value of somewhere around £100,000, a fortune. Early the next morning John went to Fleet Street to check the Scottish papers for reports of the robbery. Nothing. I went to my buyer with one hundred and twenty pieces of jewellery for him to look at. We bargained, I knew his style. At one point I stood up and offered to take the jewels abroad, where I would get the sum I wanted. The price went up, and up, and up. It reached £40,000. I phoned John and told him the figure. We decided to accept. Cut of the one hundred and twenty pieces, the fence bought eighty. We still had another £10,000 in foreign currency, and forty pieces of difficult to move but still valuable jewellery. We had hit the jackpot.
Back in Edinburgh, Louis Henry, Esther’s adult son, put the locked black tin box back into the glass cabinet where it was stored at night. He noticed that the keys were not in their usual place, and he assumed his mother must have them on her. It wasn’t until the start of the next business day that they both realised the keys were actually missing. An ironmonger was summoned to the shop to break open the locked box. When the lid was removed the Henrys found themselves looking at three neatly piled telephone directories. The alarm was raised. Esther Henry was friendly with half the crowned heads of Europe as well as Governnment ministers, and at least one Chief Constable of the Scottish police force. I realised that once she and the police had put two and two together, every police force in Britain would be after me. I would now become toppriority. Wooton was a known criminal associate of mine, his name would soon come into the frame. We thought it best to disappear. Loaded with money, and posing as American businessmen, we headed for the south coast for a short holiday.
Torquay is a charming seaside resort. John and I booked ourselves into a first-class hotel under assumed names. On that first evening, the main ballroom was host to a fundraising charity auction and dinner. We both mingled with the other guests, then with some brandies inside us we entered into the spirit of things. John bid £30 for a basket of fruit, which he promptly gave back to the waiter and told him to re-auction. This won a round of applause from the crowd. I successfully bid for two bottles of champagne, which I didn’t re-auction but instead had sent over to the Mayor’s table as a gift from two foreign businessmen. Within minutes we were invited to join the local dignitaries. Later that evening, I had drinks and conversation with the Chief Constable of Devon and Cornwall. We both remarked how obvious criminals were – little did he know, I was probably the country’s most wanted thief. The next day we were invited to the Mayor’s chambers for sherry. Our pictures had been taken by the local papers. At that moment we had Torquay in the palm of our hands. We could have presented dud cheques to any jewellers in town, and they would have been accepted without question.
Feeling isolated in London, my mother came down to join us. She and John took some time out and did all the usual tourist stuff – horse-drawn carriage rides and walks on the beach. That was the week of the Grand National.With plenty of money and in ebullient mood, I fancied a flutter. I was standing on my hotel balcony early one morning. In the distance was a small boy in a rowing boat. He looked so tiny – the mist
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