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Royston Henry Shaw (11 March 1936 – 14 July 2012), also known as Roy “Pretty Boy” Shaw, Roy “Mean Machine” Shaw and Roy West, real estate investor, author and businessman from the East End of London who was formerly a criminal and Category A prisoner. During the 1970s–1980s, Shaw was active in the criminal underworld of London and was frequently associated with the Kray twins. Shaw is best remembered today for his career as a fighter on the unlicensed boxing scene, becoming an arch-rival with Lenny McLean.
THE FORMER GUV’NOR HAS PASSED AWAY BUT HIS MEMORY LIVES ON HERE AT THE CRIME THROUGH TIME COLLECTION AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL
Picture By: Jules Annan Picture Shows:Andy Jones with Roy “Pretty Boy ” Shaw’s boxing trunks and the Belt presented to Roy when he was the undisputed unlicensed British Heavyweight boxing champion between 1975 and 1981 . Roy sadly passed away 14th July 2012 . These items and other Roy Shaw material are on display at the Crime Through Time Collection at Littledean Jail Date 21st July 2012
HAVING HAD THE GREAT HONOUR TO HAVE MET AND KNOWN ROY FOR MORE THAN 30 YEARS AND HAVING ATTENDED A GREAT MANY EVENTS WITH HIM DURING THIS TIME , HE WAS CERTAINLY A VERY TOUGH AND CHARISMATIC PERSON … TO SAY THE LEAST.
UNDOUBTEDLY ONE OF THE TOUGHEST MEN I HAVE EVER MET …. TRUE GENT AND OLD SCHOOL ALTHOUGH AS MANY OF HIS CLOSE FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES WOULD WELL KNOW… ONE YOU WOULD NOT WISH TO ANTAGONISE, UPSET OR CROSS .
HERE AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL WE HAVE LONG FEATURED A NUMBER OF PERSONAL EXHIBIT ITEMS THAT ONCE BELONGED TO ROY SHAW AND USED BY HIM THROUGHOUT HIS UNLICENSED BOXING CAREER ..
THESE ITEMS WERE KINDLY GIFTED AND PRESENTED TO MYSELF DURING AN INVITED PRIVATE VISIT TO HIS HOME BACK IN THE YEAR 2000 .
THESE INCLUDE HIS UNDISPUTED , UNOFFICIAL, UNLICENSED BRITISH HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP BELT , HIS BOXING TRUNKS, TRAINING GLOVES , ORIGINAL FIGHT POSTERS ETC….. HE ALSO CONTRIBUTED A NUMBER OF PERSONALLY SIGNED PHOTO’S TO BE INCLUDED IN AND AMONGST THIS PERMANENT EXHIBITION AREA HERE AT THE JAIL…
BELOW: ROY SHAW GIFING AND PRESENTING HIS UNOFFICIAL BRITISH HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP BELT ( DATED 1975-1981 ) AND BOXING SHORTS TO ANDY JONES OF THE CRIME THROUGH TIME COLLECTION… AT ROY’S HOME BACK IN THE YEAR 2000
“LONG WILL HE REMAIN IMMORTALISED HERE AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL” … SAYS ANDY JONES, CRIME THROUGH TIME COLLECTION OWNER
BELOW ARE A COUPLE MORE VIDEO FILM CLIPS RELATING TO ROY SHAW ….ALSO BELOW THESE A FEW MORE GALLERY IMAGES OF ROY SHAW AND SOME OF THE ITEMS ON DISPLAY HERE AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL …. INCLUDING ORIGINAL FIGHT POSTERS ETC……
Picture By: Jules Annan
Picture Shows:Andy Jones with Roy “Pretty Boy ” Shaw’s boxing trunks and the Belt presented to Roy when he was the undisputed unlicensed British Heavyweight boxing champion between 1975 and 1981 . Roy sadly passed away 14th July 2012 . These items and other Roy Shaw material are on display at the Crime Through Time Collection at Littledean Jail
Date 21st July 2012
Ref: *World Rights Only*
*Unbylined uses will incur an additional discretionary fee!*
ABOVE AND BELOW : COMMEMORATIVE BRONZE FIGURINE DEPICTING COLONEL H JONES , 2 PARA ON DISPLAY IN AND AMONGST THE UK SPECIAL FORCES EXHIBITION AREA AT THE CRIME THROUGH TIME COLLECTION , LITTLEDEAN JAIL
On 2 April 1982, Argentina invaded the Falkland Islands, a remote UK colony in the South Atlantic. The move led to a brief, but bitter war.
Argentina’s military junta hoped to restore its support at a time of economic crisis, by reclaiming sovereignty of the islands. It said it had inherited them from Spain in the 1800s and they were close to South America.
The UK, which had ruled the islands for 150 years, quickly chose to fight. Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher said the 1,800 Falklanders were “of British tradition and stock”. A task force was sent to reclaim the islands, 8,000 miles away.
In the fighting that followed, 655 Argentine and 255 British servicemen lost their lives, as did three Falkland Islanders.
medals awarded to H Jones posthumously .
Rare bronze statue on plinth ( 18 inch tall ) of Colonel H Jones , now on display at Littledean Jail .
Plaque on side of Rare bronze statue on plinth ( 18 inch tall ) of Colonel H Jones , now on display at Littledean Jail .
Rare bronze statue on plinth ( 18 inch tall ) of Colonel H Jones , now on display at Littledean Jail .
Colonel H Jones memorial situated oa the Falkland Islands
Colonel H Jones memorial plaque
Colonel H Jones gravestone
Memorial , listing some of those soldiers who were killed in action during the 1982 Falklands War
Was Colonel ‘H’ a mad fool?
Last updated at 00:39 12 May 2007
Much has been written about the hero’s death that won Colonel ‘H’ Jones a Falklands VC.
Here, for the first time, is the brutally honest and vivid account of one of the Paras who fought with him.
It raises some deeply unsettling questions
My breath sounded like a storm in my ears. Surely they could hear it? They were only a dozen metres away – no distance at all.
You know you’re really scared when you think your own breathing is going to betray you.
Sliding my weapon into the crook of my arms, I inched forward on my elbows, pushing slowly, very slowly, with my feet.
The slightest sound could lead to catastrophe for our patrol. Every movement I made was carefully measured and weighed.
I was soaked to the skin, and my knees and thighs were bruised by the rocky ground I’d crawled over.
My hands were numb with cold, and the muscles on my neck and shoulders were clenched like a vice. But I had to concentrate.
There was an Argy trench directly in front of me. No enemy visible. One heavy machine gun in place. Couldn’t miss that. I was staring straight down its barrel.
Another trench 20 yards to the left. Two enemy talking – and pink toilet paper everywhere.
The dirty devils had not dug latrines, they’d just walked out of their trenches and fouled the ground in front of their own positions.
This was encouraging. It told us they’d been worn down by the wind and weather and couldn’t be bothered to dig pits in the freezing cold.
If they were similarly sloppy about sentry duty, that was good news for our lads.
Surprisingly, no one seemed to be manning the gun pointing straight up my nose. What was going on in that trench? Better take a closer look.
As I inched forward, I could hear the Argies still chatting away in a low murmur. What were they talking about? Girlfriends? Mothers? The price of penguin meat?
All that mattered was that there was no edge of alarm in their voices; no hint they’d heard anything. I didn’t need Spanish to know they hadn’t rumbled us.
One more push and I was nearly close enough to touch the ice-cold barrel of that machine-gun.
Cloaked by the mist, I lifted myself onto one knee, rifle at the ready, and peered down into the gloom of the trench.
There they were. Three of them. Sleeping like babes, tucked up nicely in their sleeping bags, counting Falklands sheep in their sleep.
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I could have killed all three before they could say their Hail Marys. This was a unit that was exhausted and couldn’t give a damn. More good news for our lads.
It was time to pull back. But as I crawled away in reverse, slowly and deliberately, I had a hunch that we hadn’t discovered all the Argy positions and decided we should look further over to the east.
There was no way that we’d let our mates run into a lead storm that they hadn’t been warned about.
They were depending on us to recce these outlying positions before we launched our attack on Goose Green.
As we began eyeballing the ground we hadn’t covered, we were ready for anything. Or so we thought.
It was Pete Myers, the youngest member of our patrol, who spotted them first, swirling around like spirits in the mist.
“What’s that over there?” he growled.
“Get down,” I ordered. We hit the ground and tried to make out what the hell we were looking at.
One thing was for sure, they weren’t spirits. These things were neighing and whinnying.
“They’re f****** wild horses,” said Steve Jones, our Welsh lead scout. At that moment, they came thundering straight for us. It was scary as hell.
“F*** it. Let’s drop the b*******,” I spat.
“No, don’t!” said Jonesy. “Just lie still and flat! They’ll run over you! Horses hate stepping on living things!”
What did he know that I didn’t? Had he been a hussar before he joined the Paras? I didn’t think so.
There was no time to argue. The herd was upon us. I looked up at them for a moment before pressing my nose to the ground and squeezing my eyes shut.
Heads and manes tossing, they charged over us, pounding the ground in every direction, filling our senses.
I opened one eye and looked up as a mustang leapt over me. I could see the blur of its legs for a split second before one of its hooves slapped into the peat inches from my head.
Then gun shots! One, two, three! The Argies must have stampeded the horses to flush us out and pinpoint our position.
We were done for – laid out in the middle of nowhere with only horse-dung to hide behind.
As the horses vanished into the darkness, I snatched up my rifle and took aim. But it was OK. The shooting had stopped.
The Argies had only been firing to scare the horses off, turning them away from their trenches.
A few relieved shouts and nervous laughter from the enemy. The sight of wild animals coming out of the dark had rattled them, too.
“Everyone all right?” A quick head check confirmed that no one had been hoof-minced.
“How did you know they wouldn’t stamp the f*** out of us?” I asked Steve. “Some ancient bit of Welsh folklore?”
“Nah,” he answered, “Grand National. You know when those jockeys come off at Beechers Brook?
“They just roll into a ball and stay still as f***, then the horses do anything they can not to put a hoof on ’em.”
“Really?” I said. “Interesting.” My heart was pounding, I’d just produced enough adrenaline to fuel a rocket, and my second in command was telling me the reason we’d lived through it was the Grand National.
Still, the Argies didn’t suspect it was us who had spooked the horses or they would have mown the grass with machine guns. God, they were sloppy.
Careless soldiering costs lives, I reflected as we made our way back to base.
Those poor devils were going to discover the truth of that within the next three hours when our lads got stuck into them. The trouble was, so would we.
FLASHBACK. December 1981. Kenya. An hour after dawn.
As I gazed out over the African plain stretching far away into the heat haze, I blinked the salty sweat out of my eyes and tried to concentrate on the view through the sight of my rifle as I searched for the enemy.
Movement was not an option. One absent-minded swat at the cluster of flies drinking on my sweat and the game was up.
We’d laid three long snakes of green parachute cord across the bush and they slithered invisibly through the landscape.
Suddenly one came to life with a rapid tattoo of tugs – a signal from one of the other lads that the enemy was advancing into our trap.
We watched them every step of the way. They were inching forward, knowing we were out there. And every second took them deeper into our ambush.
It was only an exercise. The yellow blank-firing attachments on the muzzles of our rifles showed that. The enemy were just other lads from 2 Para.
But the stakes were high. To the victor went the spoils and that meant the right to taunt the losers over free beer for weeks to come. A prize not to be scoffed at.
Then I spotted him, moving up through the scrub to the foot of the ridge we were lying on, right up with the enemy’s lead section.
It was our boss, 2 Para’s commanding officer, Colonel Herbert ‘H’ Jones.
What the hell was H doing there? He should have been back with his tactical headquarters unit conducting operations, not up with the front platoons.
Mark Sleap saw him too. Sleapy by name but not sleepy by nature, Mark was sharp as a tack and one of our top guys. As H handed out instructions to his men, Sleapy opened up.
The ambush erupted as rifles and machine guns raked the enemy. It was fast, brutal and effective. The colonel was dead. Direct hit.
He wasn’t happy. No one likes to be killed and H humped and grumped about it. “It wouldn’t have happened,” he told Mark later.
“We’d have got you lot with our artillery when we softened up your area before moving in.”
“Maybe, sir,” said Sleapy diplomatically. “But I did get you, sir.”
It was a prophetic moment, a glimpse into a future some six months ahead. Next time, though, 2 Para wouldn’t be sweltering in Kenya; we’d be freezing our backsides off in the Falklands.
ONCE again, H would be leading from the front, where he shouldn’t be, but this time it wouldn’t be an exercise. It would be live rounds and H really would be dead.
The posthumous Victoria Cross he earned at Goose Green is probably the most controversial VC of all time.
The accounts of the events surrounding his death have mostly been written by former officers and military historians.
They’re fine as far as they go, but they can’t tell it like a front-line para – or Toms as we call ourselves – and they haven’t told the whole story. But I can. I was there.
The first thing to say is that H was a cracking bloke, the best boss I ever had in the army.
He was what we called a “crap-hat” – a soldier from a non-Para regiment, and thus a stranger to the coveted red beret – but he made an immediate impact the moment he joined us.
The hard-core Toms loved the way he called battalion meetings in the drill hall and then announced:
“Right, now that you’re all here we’re going on a ten-mile run.”
All the fat HQ wallahs, drivers and officers, who normally skived off battalion runs, were trapped and H ran the life out of them.
Like any good commander, H wanted action and if there was any glory about, he wanted it for his men and not the “Booties”, the Royal Marines who led the task force sent to the Falklands after the Argentinian invasion in April 1982.
H’s distrust of the “Booties” was apparent from the moment we tried to come ashore on the night of May 21, scrambling off the converted car ferry which had brought us south and cramming into landing craft driven by the marines.
As the boats swayed and dipped in the swell, sea-sickness was only part of the problem. There was something else in the air.
Raw fear. Any minute now a fusillade from the shore might cut us into pieces.
We thought we would head straight for the beach but, instead, we went round and round in endless circles like day-trippers on a municipal boating lake.
Just in case the enemy might have any problem spotting us, the whole performance took place in the light of a near-full moon.
Boat engines throbbed, chains rattled and clanked, and friendly Booties flashed lights and called out to one another across the water.
I was not impressed – and neither was H. We heard him bellowing as he verbally castrated a few gobby marines.
When we finally got ashore, we holed up for two days on the freezing slopes of Sussex Mountain before London gave us the go-ahead for a raid on the airfield at Goose Green to the south.
H was on top form. He had plans to formulate and there isn’t an officer on the planet that doesn’t love planning.
Critics now say his plan was too complex, with lots of overlapping waves of attack. It certainly started to come unstuck pretty quickly.
On the night of May 23, we pressed through dense mist and rain towards Camilla Creek House -a sheep farm which was our initial base for the attack.
But after seven stumbling, mind-numbing, muscle-tearing miles in full kit, we were almost there when we were told to turn back.
Bad weather had grounded the Sea King helicopters that were supposed to be moving our artillery forward and Brigadier Julian Thompson, the Bootie in charge of the task force, had called the mission off.
H kicked off like a firecracker. “I’ve waited 20 years for this,” he snarled. “Now some f****** marine’s cancelled it.”
There was nothing for it but to slog back to Sussex Mountain. With the gallows humour typical of the paras, me and the lads from the Patrols Platoon started belting out a song: John Lennon’s Give Peace A Chance.
Suddenly a head popped out of the command HQ tent flap. It was H. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at us with an expression that said:
“Oh, it’s those f****** nutters from Patrols.”
H loved the Patrols Platoon – fit, aggressive soldiers whose speciality was getting up close to the enemy, acting as the eyes and ears of the regiment.
He just looked at us like a patient father with some naughty kids and never said a word.
Four days later, the battle was on for real -but there was more grief for H. On the morning of May 27, we were awaiting orders at Camilla Creek House when suddenly a melee of officers and sergeants appeared among the men. They were in a right flap.
“Move out! Move out! Away from these buildings on the double!” one of them yelled. “Grab your kit and f****** get out of here!”
It turned out the BBC had announced that we were about to attack Goose Green and, according to some of the men, had even revealed our position at Camilla Creek House.
Ironically, it turned out later that the Argy high command thought the bulletins were a double bluff, designed to wrong-foot them.
But the BBC announcement was a real jolt for H and left him wondering how much the enemy knew about his intentions.
It wasn’t his day. The chaos caused by the BBC meant that several officers failed to make a vital briefing meeting.
On top of that, the Special Forces recces that he’d been relying on to assess the readiness of the enemy were turning out to be a fairytale, while a Harrier jet had just been lost in a raid that left the enemy unscathed and on full alert.
All of which was enough to put any colonel into a spin on the eve of a battle.
Nothing travels faster in a battalion than news of the boss’s mood and the word was out. H was not a happy man.
CLICK, click. Click, click, click. It sounded like sinister insects calling out to each other in the darkness and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
For this wasn’t insects. It was our lads fixing their bayonets and preparing to advance down the narrow isthmus of land leading to Goose Green.
I was thrilled and I’m not ashamed to say it. I was a soldier and the thought of the fight to come gave me a warrior’s rush.
One or two hands reached out and briefly clasped mine as they slipped by me into the darkness. Somewhere in the gloom a young para puked up with the tension.
He got that off his chest and went on to fight like a demon.
Things kicked off around 3am when one of the lads from B Company spotted a silhouette in the middle of a field. “It must be a scarecrow,” whispered a young officer.
A scarecrow? He was on the Falklands, the place was crawling with Argies and he thought he was seeing a scarecrow.
“Hands up!” shouted one of the lads. With that, the scarecrow came to life. “Por favor?” he said and reached under his poncho for his weapon.
Two rifles and two machine guns opened up on him without a moment’s hesitation. Bullets tore through him and tracer rounds ignited his clothing, lighting him up like a Halloween pumpkin.
Soon B Company had taken out nearly 20 Argy trenches, tearing through them with machine-guns, grenades and bayonets.
It was a good start to their advance but elsewhere H’s plans were evaporating as fast as a bottle of port in the officers’ mess.
We were supposed to be receiving support from HMS Arrow, softening up the enemy positions with bombardments of huge shells at the rate of 30 a minute. This would have shortened the engagement by hours.
In the event, Arrow had fired just one shell before her gun jammed. Meanwhile, the Harrier jets we had been promised were fog-bound on their carriers.
Original painting by Gloucestershire artist Paul Bridgman… on display at The Crime Through Time Collection , Littledean Jail , along with various other handwritten and signed memorabilia from Jeffery Dahmer .
TRUE CRIME, MURDERABILIA, MAIMERABILIA, THE TABOO AND BIZZARE ARE ALL HERE ON DISPLAY AT THE CRIME THROUGH TIME COLLECTION , LITTLEDEAN JAIL, UK
HERE ARE SOME MORE HISTORICALLY INTERACTIVE DETAILS, PHOTO GALLERY (VERY GRAPHIC IN PARTS) …. AND VIDEO DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE TOUCHING UPON ONE OF THE WORLDS MOST DEBAUCHED AND EVIL KILLERS – JEFFREY DAHMER .
FROM THE HANDS OF DEATH …
Jeffrey Dahmer handwritten return address on envelope officially stamped by Wisconsin Prison System
HERE ON DISPLAY AT THE CRIME THROUGH TIME COLLECTION , LITTLEDEAN JAIL , FOREST OF DEAN , GLOUCESTERSHIRE, UK….. WE HAVE HANDWRITTEN AND SIGNED LETTERS FROM JEFFREY DAHMER AND OTHER NOTORIOUS AMERICAN AND BRITISH SERIAL KILLERS , PROVIDING AN INTRIGUING AND DISTURBING INSIGHT INTO THE MINDS OF THESE MONSTERS FROM HELL .
AS A POLITE WARNING TO ALL POTENTIAL VISITORS HERE, TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE OR TO THE MUSEUM ….. PLEASE DO AVOID A VISIT TO LITTLEDEAN JAIL IS EASILY DISTURBED, EASILY OFFENDED OR OF A SENSITIVE NATURE .AS WE ALWAYS SAY … CRIME IN ITSELF IS AN UNPLEASANT SUBJECT MATTER TO COVER AND AS SUCH IS NOT PRESENTED HERE IN A PLEASANT WAY EITHER .
Handwritten and signed (Jeff) letter sent by Jeffrey Dalmer on the 26 May 1993
CERTAINLY NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN EITHER
Jeffrey Dahmer was one of the most notorious American serial killers. Between 1978 and 1991, Dahmer killed 17 boys and men, many of whom were of Asian or African descent. However it wasn’t the body count that made him such a notorious serial killer. It was the way he tortured and raped his victims before death found them. It was also about how he dismembered his victims and practiced necrophilia and cannibalism on them.
Jeffrey Dahmer Biography
Born as Jeffrey Lionel Dahmer on May 21, 1960 in West Allis, Wisconsin to Lionel Herbert Dahmer and Joyce Annette (née Flint), Jeffrey Dahmer grew up to be a normal child. However as the relationship between his parents grew cold, so did his feelings of neglect and withdrawal. His family moved to Bath, Ohio when he was 8 year old. Uninterested in social interactions with other children from the neighborhood he was new into, Jeffrey rode around on his bicycle, collecting dead animals for dissection. Some he brought back home (like a good household cat), some he played with in the woods. At one point, he impaled a dog’s head on a stake.
When he became a teenager, Jeffrey Dahmer started to abuse alcohol. Tension between his parents escalated resulting in bitter divorce which only strengthened the boy’s feeling of abandonment. His mother took Jeffrey’s younger brother and left without a trace, leaving vulnerable Dahmer to stay with his father who left the family long time ago. Having no means to contact his mother or brother, Jeffrey felt lost and rejected.
By the time of his high school graduation, Jeffrey Dahmer was an alcoholic. He dropped out of the Ohio State University after one quarter, having failed to attend most of his classes because he was constantly drunk. Since giving him education didn’t go over so well, Jeffrey’s father enlisted his son in the army. He was a decent soldier (army medic), but his excessive alcoholism resulted in a discharge after two years in service. He felt no emotional connection to his father, so after his discharge in 1981, Jeffrey Dahmer headed for Miami, Florida to avoid living in cold weather. He continued drinking and was arrested a few months later for drunk and disorderly conduct.
Jeffrey moved in with his grandmother Shari Dahmer in 1982. She said Jeffrey was a gentle person but when he got drunk (which was often), it took four policemen to hold him down. In 1982 and 1986, Jeffrey Dahmer was arrested for indecent exposure, the latter involving masturbation in front of two boys.
Jeffrey Dahmer’s Murders
Jeffrey Dahmer committed his first murder when he was 18 years old. It was shortly after his parent’s divorce – his mother and his brother moved out and his father was on a business trip. Having the house in Bath Township, Ohio all for himself and feeling alone, Jeffrey picked up a hitchhiker named Stephen Hicks, took him to the house and killed him with a barbell because the guest wanted to leave. Once Stephen Hicks was dead, Jeffrey Dahmer smashed his bones with a hammer and buried the body in the backyard. He wouldn’t kill again for 9 years.
His second victim was 24 year old Steven Toumi. Jeffrey met him in a gay bar in 1987. Gay bars offered great settings where he could approach young homosexual or bisexual males, ask them to come over to his place for beers or offer them money to pose for photos, drug them into a deep sleep with spiked drinks, strangle or stabbed them while they were out and unleash his sexual fantasies on the cadaver. When he was done having anal sex with fresh corpses, he would dismember them with a hacksaw, usually keeping their genitalia and heads as trophies. Lean muscles would be stored in a freezer to be eaten as food. Whatever was left was boiled with acids and/or other chemicals and flashed down the drain. Sometimes, if his victim did not die instantly, he would drill a hole in the victim’s skull and paralyze the brain with boiling water or hydrochloric acid. The victim would remain alive for several days, but in a zombie like state.
While staying with his grandmother, Jeffrey Dahmer continued collecting dead animals and dissecting them in her basement which caused foul smell throughout the house. Coupled with his strange behavior and late nights, the grandmother asked him to move out. On September 25, 1988, while employed as a worker at the Ambrosia Chocolate Factory, Jeffrey moved into an apartment in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. One day later, he was arrested for drugging and sexually exploiting a 13 year old Laotian boy named Somsack Sinthasomphone. That made him a registered sex offender and landed him with one year in a work release camp and five years probation. He was released on a parole two months early, moved into a new apartment and began his most prolific string of murders. The apartment’s address is now infamous (though the building has been torn down):
924 North 25th Street
After his scuffle with the above mentioned 13 year old boy Somsack Sinthasomphone which landed Jeffrey Dahmer with 10 months long incarceration and a registration as a sex offender, Jeffrey took a hold of Somsack’s younger brother, now 14 year old Konerak Sinthasomphone and brought him home for another one of his fantasy butt sex sessions from hell. Heavily drugged and bleeding profusely out of his ass after a little rectal massage from Jeffrey Dahmer’s stiffy, Konerak Sinthasomphone escaped and was discovered wandering down the street naked in the early morning hours of May 27, 1991 by 18 year old Sandra Smith and her cousin of the same age – Nicole Childress. The teens called 911, as even though the Asian boy could not speak any English, the state he was in sent strong signals that something was not right.
Dahmer, who was 31 at the time, chased the boy down the street and got to him before the police arrived. The girls who alerted the police got in the way and halted the escort until the police arrived. Dahmer told them that the boy was his 19 year old boyfriend, that they were drinking and got in an argument so he walked out of his apartment naked and under influence. The police failed to verify the boy’s age and run a background check on Dahmer which would have revealed that he was a registered child molester still under probation. Instead, they swallowed Dahmer’s story and took both men back to Dahmer’s apartment – despite protests from the girls who called 911. The police noted strange smell when they walked inside Dahmer’s apartment, but did nothing to investigate it. As became clear later, the smell was caused by the corpse of Tony Hughes – Dahmer’s previous victim whose decomposing body he still kept in the bedroom. Had the police done their due diligence, Konerak Sinthasomphone as well as four subsequent victims would not have been murdered.
Jeffrey Dahmer’s Arrest
Encouraged by the success with Konerak Sinthasomphone whom he strangled to death, dismembered and beheaded to keep his skull as a trophy, Jeffrey Dahmer went on a killing spree almost averaging one victim per week. He killed Matt Turner on June 30, 1991, then Jeremiah Weinberger on July 5, 1991, then Oliver Lacy on July 12, 1991 and finally Joseph Brandehoft on July 19, 1991. His next victim was to be 32 year old Tracy Edwards, whom he lured into his apartment on July 22, 1991. With this bad boy things didn’t go quite the way Jeffrey would have liked, though.
When Robert Rauth and Rolf Mueller, the cops from the Milwaukee police department drove through the neighborhood where Dahmer lived, they noticed a dazed black male wandering around with one handcuff on his hand, they knew something wasn’t right. They asked Tracy Edwards what happened to him and were told that he was invited into an apartment of some weird dude with whom he watched movies, but was then drugged and the weird dude tried to handcuff him. He resisted and slipped away, so the dude threatened him with a knife. Tracy Edwards retracted to the bedroom where he saw the wall covered with Polaroid pictures of mangled bodies. There was a large blue barrel by the wall from which a horrible smell was coming out. Wielding a large butcher knife, the weird dude tried to attack him, but Tracy Edwards fought back, punched him in the face and kicked him in the stomach, affording himself a way to escape from there, though still wearing a handcuff on one wrist.
Tracy Edwards lead the police to the apartment where they were greeted by friendly acting Jeffrey Dahmer. He told them that he just lost the job at the chocolate factory (which was true) and the stress it caused made him lose temper and overreact. The police asked him to get the key from the handcuffs so they could be removed from Tracy Edwards’ hand. Jeffrey went to his bedroom, but was followed by one of the cops who noticed all the Polaroid photos of dismembered bodies all over the wall and was overwhelmed by the stench of rotting flesh coming out of the room. He proceeded to further inspect the apartment and had his attention caught by a fridge covered with more gruesome Polaroid photos. The shock came when he opened said fridge. There was a severed human head on the shelf. The officer screamed at his partner to which Jeffrey Dahmer responded by fighting his way out of there. He was restrained and apprehended.
Thorough inspection revealed three more heads and human flesh in the freezer. Several hands and a penis were found in a stockpot in a closet. Two gray-painted boiled skulls were found on a shelf in a bedroom closet. More penises were found preserved in formaldehyde. But most of all – there were hundreds of gory photos of his victims which Jeffrey Dahmer photographed while they were alive, while they were being murdered, and after they were dead. In his closet, the police also discovered an altar of human skulls and candles. Jeffrey Dahmer allegedly planned to use the skulls to build a shrine.
Jeffrey Dahmer’s Trial
Dahmer admitted to every crime he had committed. He made no excuses and blamed nobody but himself. He was indicted on 17 murder charges, but found guilty on 15. He entered a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity but the court rejected his plea on February 17, 1992 and sentenced him to 15 life terms in jail, which would add up to 957 years behind bars. The state of Wisconsin does not have capital punishment.
Jeffrey Dahmer’s Murder
Jeffrey Dahmer served his long sentence at the Columbia Correctional Institution in Portage, Wisconsin. He was murdered on November 28, 1994 while serving his time by inmate Christopher Scarver who attacked him and another inmate named Jesse Anderson with a broom stick, killing both. Christopher Scarver said he was acting on God’s command to kill Dahmer.
Christopher Scarver Handwritten envelope sent to Kenneth G Karnig , with his return address in top left corner
Above : Charles Manson seen here in open coffin after his death on November 19, 2017
Charles Milles Manson (né Maddox, November 12, 1934 – November 19, 2017) was an American criminal, cult leader, and songwriter. In the late 1960s, he formed what became known as the Manson Family, a quasi-commune in California. Manson’s followers committed a series of nine murders at four locations in July and August 1969. In 1971 he was convicted of first-degree murder and conspiracy to commit murder for the deaths of seven people, all of which were carried out at his instruction by members of the group. Manson was also convicted of first-degree murder for two other deaths.
At the time the Manson Family began to form, Manson was an unemployed ex-convict who had spent half of his life in correctional institutions for a variety of offenses. Before the murders, he was a singer-songwriter on the fringe of the Los Angeles music industry, chiefly through a chance association with Dennis Wilson, drummer and founding member of the Beach Boys. Manson believed in what he called “Helter Skelter”, a term he took from the Beatles’ song of the same name to describe an impending apocalyptic race war. He believed the murders would help precipitate that war. One of his songs, “Cease to Exist”, was recorded by the Beach Boys and renamed “Never Learn Not to Love”. It was released as a B-sided single in 1968 without Manson’s credit.
From the beginning of Manson’s notoriety, a pop culture arose around him in which he ultimately became an emblem of insanity, violence and the macabre. After he was charged with the crimes of which he was later convicted, recordings of songs written and performed by Manson were released commercially, starting with Lie: The Love and Terror Cult (1970). Various musicians have covered some of his songs. Manson was originally sentenced to death, but his sentence was commuted to life with the possibility of parole after California invalidated the state’s death penalty statute in 1972. He served out his life sentence at California State Prison in Corcoran and died at age 83 in 2017.
Above: Charles Manson painting kindly donated by Gloucestershire Artist – Paul Bridgman on display at The Crime Through Time Collection at Littledean Jail .
Charles Manson is a convicted serial killer who has become an icon of evil. In the late 1960s, Manson founded a hippie cult group known as “the Family” whom he manipulated into brutally killing others on his behalf.
Here’s some interactive information , a brief photo gallery and video footage relating to the infamous cult leader Charles Manson and The Manson Family
FROM THE HANDS OF DEATH
Here on display at the Crime Through Time Collection at Littledean Jail , Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire, UK ………..we have a number of handwritten and signed letters etc from Charles Manson and some of his disciples along with various other American and UK serial killers.
November 12, 1934 —
Also Known As:
Charles Milles Maddox, Charles Milles Manson
Overview of Charles Manson:
Charles Manson was born in Cincinnati, Ohio to 16-year-old Kathleen Maddox. Kathleen had run away from home at the age of 15 and spent the next few decades drinking too much, with periods of time spent in jail.
Since his mother couldn’t take care of him, Charles spent his youth at the homes of various relatives and often at special reform schools and boys homes. By age nine, Charles Manson had already started stealing and soon added burglary and stealing cars to his repertoire.
Manson Gets Married
In 1954, at age nineteen, he was released on parole after an unusual bout of good behavior. The next year, he married Rosalie Willis, a waitress, and they had a son together, Charles Manson Jr. (born March 1956). Even while married, Manson had continued making extra money by stealing cars. In April 1956, he was again sent to prison. After Manson had been in prison for a year, his wife found someone new and divorced Manson in June 1957.
Manson the Con Man
In 1958, Manson was released from prison. While out, Manson began pimping, stealing checks from mailboxes, and conned a young woman out of money. He also married again, to a woman named Leona, and fathered a second son, Charles Luther Manson. Manson was again arrested on June 1, 1960 and sent to the McNeil Island Penitentiary off the coast of Washington. His wife soon divorced him.
Music in Prison
Manson spent the next six years in prison. It was during this time that he befriended the infamous Alvin “Creepy” Karpis, former member of Ma Barker’s gang. After Karpis taught Charles Manson to play the steel guitar, Manson became obsessed with making music. He practiced all the time, wrote dozens of original songs, and started singing. He believed that when he got out of prison, he could be a famous musician.
Manson Gets a Following
On March 21, 1967, Manson was once again released from prison. This time he headed to San Francisco where, with a guitar and drugs, he began to get a following. In 1968, he and several followers drove to Southern California.
Manson was still hoping for a music career. Through an acquaintance, Manson met and hung out with Dennis Wilson of the Beach Boys. The Beach Boys did record one of Manson’s songs, which appeared as “Never Learn Not to Love” on the B-side of their 20/20 album.
Through Wilson, Manson met Terry Melcher, Doris Day’s son. Manson believed Melcher was going to advance his music career but when nothing happened, Manson was very upset.
During this time, Charles Manson and some of his followers moved into the Spahn Ranch. Located northwest of San Fernando Valley the Spahn Ranch had been a popular location to film westerns in the 1940s and 1950s. Once Manson and his followers moved in, it became a cult compound for “the Family.”
Charles Manson was good at manipulating people. He took pieces from various religions to form his own philosophy. When the Beatles released their White Album in 1968, Manson believed their song “Helter Skelter” predicted an upcoming race war. “Helter skelter,” Manson believed, was going to occur in the summer of 1969 when blacks were going to rise up and slaughter all the white people. He told his followers that they would be saved because they would go underground, literally, by traveling to an underground city of gold located in Death Valley.
However, when the Armageddon that Manson had predicted did not occur, he said he and his followers must show the blacks how to do it.
Manson Orders the Murders
Manson told four of his followers to go to 10050 Cielo Drive in Los Angeles and kill the people inside. This house once belonged to Terry Melcher, the man who had not helped Manson with his music career. However, Melcher no longer lived there; actress Sharon Tate and her husband, director Roman Polanski, had rented the house. On August 9, 1969, four of Manson’s followers brutally murdered Tate, her unborn baby, and four others who were visiting her (Polanski was in Europe for work). The following night, Manson’s followers brutally killed Leno and Rosemary LaBianca in their home.
It took the police several months to determine who was responsible. In December 1969, Manson and several of his followers were arrested. The trial began on July 24, 1970. On January 25, Manson was found guilty of first degree murder and conspiracy to commit murder. On March 29, 1971, Manson was sentenced to death.
Life in Prison
Manson was reprieved from the death penalty in 1972 when the California Supreme Court outlawed the death penalty. Charles Manson now serves a lifetime sentence and periodically comes up for parole.
Though he’s been in prison for over three decades, Charles Manson has received more mail than any other prisoner in the U.S. Charles Manson is currently being held in California’s Corcoran Prison.
ABOVE: A VERY EARLY POSTCARD IMAGE OF LITTLEDEAN GAOL,SPELT HERE IN THE OLD FASHION WAY .
IT WAS ALSO FORMERLY USED AS A “HOUSE OF CORRECTION “, LATER TO BECOME A POLICE STATION,COURTHOUSE AND NOW IS THE HOME OF THE INFAMOUS CRIME THROUGH TIME COLLECTION .
ABOVE: Original Victorian 3-handcuffed leather body belt and original leather bound handcuffs
ABOVE : EARLY VICTORIAN LITTLE DEAN PRISON WARDEN/GUARD TUNIC BUTTON ( A VERY RARE FIND FOR SURE )
Possibly of little significance to visitors …. however I love this item which has been recently discovered and acquired for display here . Intriguingly this early Victorian Prison Warden/Guard tunic button is worded LITTLE DEAN (AS TWO WORDS) WITH PRISON BENEATH (INSTEAD OF GAOL ) … as opposed to it’s early title as having been “Littledean Gaol”.
BELOW: ORIGINAL VICTIORAN STRAIGHT JACKET THAT WAS FOUND IN LITTLEDEAN JAIL’S ATTIC SPACE BY BUILDERS DURING RENOVATION WORK BACK IN 1986 AND SUBSEQUENTLY DONATED TO THE CRIME THROUGH TIME COLLECTION FOR PERMANENT DISPLAY HERE AT THE JAIL
CORPORAL PUNISHMENT THROUGH THE AGES AS WELL AS AN INSIGHT INTO PRESENT DAY CORPORAL PUNISHMENTS TOO, AS FEATURED AT THE CRIME THROUGH TIME COLLECTION HERE AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL
ABOVE :AN ARRAY OF VARIOUS 19TH CENTURY HANDCUFFS, RESTRAINTS AND LEG IRONS HERE ON DISPLAY AT THE JAIL .
CORPORAL PUNISHMENT IN MALAYSIA FOR RAPE, ARMED ROBBERY , DRUGS ETC
ORIGINAL EARLY 16TH- 17TH CENTURY HANDMADE OAK “VILLAGE PUNISHMENT STOCKS” RESTORED IN THE 19TH CENTURY WITH ADDITIONAL SUPPORTING IRONWORK AND PRESERVED FOR POSTERITY ….. AS CAN NOW BE SEEN AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL,LITTLEDEAN, FOREST OF DEAN, GLOUCESTERSHIRE, UK
Stocks are devices used in the internationally, in medieval, Renaissance and colonial American times as a form of physical punishment involving public humiliation. The stocks partially immobilized its victims and they were often exposed in a public place such as the site of a market to the scorn of those who passed by. Since the purpose of putting offenders in the stocks was to expose them to ridicule and mockery, passers-by were encouraged to throw mud, rotten eggs, moldy fruit and vegetables, smelly fish, offal, and excrement (both animal and human) at those being punished.
ABOVE AND BELOW : WITCHES DUCKING STOOL AND LIFTING PULLY ON DISPLAY AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL
VARIOUS EARLY VICTORIAN LEATHER BOUND WHIPS AND CAT O’NINE TAILS USED WITHIN UK PRISONS ….. HERE ON DISPLAY AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL
VARIOUS WHIPS, CAT O’NINE TAILS , BLUDGEON AND LEATHER BOUND HANDCUFFS USED WITHIN UK PRISONS HERE ON DISPLAY AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL
CLOSE-UP IMAGE OF ROUND HANDLED LEATHER BOUND EARLY VICTORIAN WHIP USED WITHIN UK PRISONS
EARLY VICTORIAN BLACK CLOTH BOUND, ROUND HANDLED CAT O’NINE TAILS USED IN UK PRISONS
EARLY VICTORIAN FLAT HANDLED CAT O’NINE TAILS USED IN UK PRISONS
CLOSE UP IMAGE OF VICTORIAN LEATHER BOUND HAND RESTRIANTS AS USED HERE AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL
EARLY VICTORIAN LEATHER BOUND BODY RESTRAINT WITH ATTACHED HAND CUFFS USED IN UK PRISONS AND NOW ON DISPLAY AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL
CLOSE UP OF ABOVE
CLOSE UP OF ABOVE
BELOW : ORIGINAL 1930’s LEATHER BODY BELT RESTRAINT COMPLETE WITH WRIST RESTRAINTS ACQUIRED FROM THE MONICA BRITTON MUSEUM COLLECTION AT FRENCHAY HOSPITAL , BRISTOL AND NOW ON DISPLAY HERE AT THE CRIME THROUGH TIME COLLECTION , LITTLEDEAN JAIL , GLOUCESTERSHIRE, UK
BELOW: ORIGINAL 1930’s LEATHER RESTRAINT STRAPS ACQUIRED FROM THE MONICA BRITTON MUSEUM COLLECTION AT FRENCHAY HOSPITAL , BRISTOL AND NOW ON DISPLAY HERE AT THE CRIME THROUGH TIME COLLECTION , LITTLEDEAN JAIL , GLOUCESTERSHIRE, UK
PRISON WARDEN INSCRIBED 18TH CENTURY TRUNCHEON AND EARLY VICTORIAN BODY RESTRAINT BELT HERE ON DISPLAY
INSCRIBED GEORGE 1ST PRISON WARDEN TRUNCHEON HERE ON DISPLAY AT LITTLEDEAN JAIL
EARLY VICTORIAN BLUDGEON USED IN UK PRISONS …. HERE ON DISPLAY AT THE JAIL WITH PRISON WARDEN TRUNCHEON AND HIATT STEEL HANDCUFFS