COVER
ABOUT THE BOOK
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
MAP
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PREFACE
1 COURTING DISASTER
2 15 APRIL 1989
3 ‘FINDING THEIR OWN LEVEL’
4 FROM DISASTER TO TRAGEDY
5 THE PAIN OF DEATH
6 FROM DECEIT TO DENIAL
7 VERDICTS BEYOND REASON
8 NO LAST RIGHTS
9 IN WHOSE INTEREST?
10 SANITISING HILLSBOROUGH
11 A CASE TO ANSWER
12 ENDLESS PRESSURE
13 TWO DECADES ON
14 THE TRUTH WILL OUT
15 THEIR VOICES HAVE BEEN HEARD
SOURCES AND REFERENCES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
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First published in Great Britain in 1999 by Mainstream Publishing Company
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Mainstream edition revised and reprinted 2000, 2006, 2009, 2012, 2014
This Mainstream revised edition published 2016
Copyright © Phil Scraton 1999, 2016
Map from Lord Justice Taylor’s Interim Report.
Cover image credit © Nigel Roddis
Phil Scraton has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781780578415
ISBN 9781910948019
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Dedicated to the memory of
John Alfred Anderson
Colin Mark Ashcroft
James Gary Aspinall
Kester Roger Marcus Ball
Gerard Bernard Patrick Baron
Simon Bell
Barry Sidney Bennett
David John Benson
David William Birtle
Tony Bland
Paul David Brady
Andrew Mark Brookes
Carl Brown
David Steven Brown
Henry Thomas Burke
Peter Andrew Burkett
Paul William Carlile
Raymond Thomas Chapman
Gary Christopher Church
Joseph Clark
Paul Clark
Gary Collins
Stephen Paul Copoc
Tracey Elizabeth Cox
James Philip Delaney
Christopher Barry Devonside
Christopher Edwards
Vincent Michael Fitzsimmons
Thomas Steven Fox
Jon-Paul Gilhooley
Barry Glover
Ian Thomas Glover
Derrick George Godwin
Roy Harry Hamilton
Philip Hammond
Eric Hankin
Gary Harrison
Stephen Francis Harrison
Peter Andrew Harrison
David Hawley
James Robert Hennessey
Paul Anthony Hewitson
Carl Darren Hewitt
Nicholas Michael Hewitt
Sarah Louise Hicks
Victoria Jane Hicks
Gordon Rodney Horn
Arthur Horrocks
Thomas Howard
Thomas Anthony Howard
Eric George Hughes
Alan Johnston
Christine Ann Jones
Gary Philip Jones
Richard Jones
Nicholas Peter Joynes
Anthony Peter Kelly
Michael David Kelly
Carl David Lewis
David William Mather
Brian Christopher Matthews
Francis Joseph McAllister
John McBrien
Marian Hazel McCabe
Joseph Daniel McCarthy
Peter McDonnell
Alan McGlone
Keith McGrath
Paul Brian Murray
Lee Nicol
Stephen Francis O’Neill
Jonathon Owens
William Roy Pemberton
Carl William Rimmer
David George Rimmer
Graham John Roberts
Steven Joseph Robinson
Henry Charles Rogers
Andrew Sefton
Inger Shah
Paula Ann Smith
Adam Edward Spearritt
Philip John Steele
David Leonard Thomas
Patrick John Thompson
Peter Reuben Thompson
Stuart Paul William Thompson
Peter Francis Tootle
Christopher James Traynor
Martin Kevin Traynor
Kevin Tyrell
Colin Wafer
Ian David Whelan
Martin Kenneth Wild
Kevin Daniel Williams
Graham John Wright
and to
The bereaved, the survivors, the rescuers
The Hillsborough disaster
15 April 1989
So many people have contributed to this work and it is impossible to name everyone individually. I owe immense gratitude to those who worked together on the initial Hillsborough Project, Sheila Coleman, Ann Jemphrey and, in the early days, Paula Skidmore. The Project provided a level of analysis previously not attempted, let alone realised, in post-disaster research. The team’s first report, Hillsborough and After (1990), and its second, No Last Rights (1995), were major contributions to the literature, their findings and recommendations resonating well beyond Hillsborough, to propose a new agenda in dealing with the context and aftermath of disasters.
During the 1990s I received exceptional support from my co-workers at the Centre for Studies in Crime and Social Justice, Edge Hill University, particularly Eileen Berrington, Howard Davis, Hazel Hartley, Ann Jemphrey, Margaret Malloch and Lizzy Stanley, who listened, discussed and commented on the work. Margaret McAdam’s personal empathy and sensitivity in carrying out some of the interviews with families was remarkable. My close friend and long-time academic collaborator Kathryn Chadwick never ceased to provide strength and support when most needed and has contributed as a research consultant to the most recent phase of the research. Throughout the early stages, and leading to publication of the first edition of this book, the support of the uniquely talented Jimmy McGovern was important to me but also to the families. His award-winning drama-documentary, Hillsborough, written and produced with the indefatigable Katy Jones, presented the pain of injustice to an international audience. Thanks to Mainstream, great publishers and fine people, particularly Bill Campbell, for committing to a project without knowing whether or not the ‘academic’ could ‘write accessibly’. To all at Penguin Random House, particularly Brenda Kimber, who have brought this edition so speedily to production. Special thanks to Ailsa Bathgate, who has been a patient and sharp-eyed editor throughout.
In January 2012 I was appointed by the Home Secretary to the Hillsborough Independent Panel to head its research into the disclosed documents and to take the lead in writing its report. It is important to acknowledge the work of Merseyside MPs and politicians in the region whose interventions led to the panel: Andy Burnham, Maria Eagle, Steve Rotheram and Derek Twigg. The collective endeavour of the panel, chaired by the Right Reverend James Jones, then Bishop of Liverpool, integrated the broad range of skills necessary to meet the challenge of such complex work. Personal thanks to James and to others on the panel: Raju Bhatt, Christine Gifford, Bill Kirkup, Paul Leighton, Peter Sissons, Sarah Tyacke; to the panel’s secretariat and technical support staff, particularly Matt Lewsey’s research contribution; and to the research team with me at Queen’s University: Janet Clark, Jo Doody, Shaun McDaid and Gemma Ní Chaoimh. Working to a tight schedule, it was daunting to meet the demands associated with accessing so many documents from such a diversity of sources. Katy Jones, who died suddenly in 2015, was a key member of the panel. An outstanding researcher with a sharp intellect, she was also a dear friend.
Throughout the years I have benefited greatly from the insights of, and reflective discussions with, numerous co-workers and friends: Hilary Arnott, Lilly Artz, Sara Boyce, Flair Campbell, Bree Carlton, Pat Craddock, Sheri Chamberlain, Louise Christian, David Conn, Jonathan Corke, Anna Eggert, Niall Enright, Barry Goldson, Dan Gordon, Faith Gordon, Penny Green, Ian Herbert, Paddy Hillyard, Barbara Hudson, Sue and Chris Hughes, Janet Johnstone, Karen Lee, Mark Lusby, Feargal Mac Ionnrachtaigh, Deirdre Mahon, Chelsea Marshall, Peter Marshall, Anne-Marie McAlinden, Siobhán McAlister, Jude McCulloch, Laurence McKeown, Linda Moore, Alan Morris, John Muncie, Mick North, Mahesh Patel, Tony Platt, Denise and Paul Prescott, Edel Quinn, Sue Roberts, Bill Rolston, Sheila Scraton, Neil Shanahan, Patrick Shanahan, Ann Singleton, Tony Souza, Pete Strange, Marilyn and Tony Taylor, Adrian Tempany, Mike Tomlinson, Margaret Ward, Frances Webber, Juliet Wells, Leah Wing, Ian and Margaret Wright, Tony Bunyan and Trevor Hemmings at Statewatch, Debbie Coles and Helen Shaw at Inquest, Harmit Athwal, Jenny Bourne, Liz Fekete, Hazel Waters and our great mentor, A. Sivanandan, at the Institute of Race Relations. And to Madeline Heneghan, Mike Morris and Stuart Borthwick at Merseyside Writing on the Wall. I am also grateful to colleagues at Queen’s University, particularly in the School of Law, who have supported the research.
Many thanks to Dan Gordon, Helen Spedding, Andy Worboys and all at VeryMuchSo Productions for the remarkable Emmy-nominated BBC/ESPN documentary Hillsborough. And much respect to all members of the legal teams who represented bereaved families throughout the 2014–16 inquests for their dedication in securing a just verdict.
My sons, Paul and Sean, lived with Hillsborough through much of their childhoods. Their support, understanding and insights have been and remain a significant part of my work. Thanks also to Paul’s partner, Katrin, and our granddaughter, Lotte. To Sean’s partner, Ailis, and our grandson, Cillian. The book could not have been written, completed and updated without the critical reviewing, attention to detail, love and compassion of my partner, Deena Haydon. Her knowledge and understanding of Hillsborough has been invaluable, as has her selfless support to many of the bereaved.
I thank, with utmost respect, the bereaved families and survivors with whom I have formed strong bonds. As a consequence of Hillsborough, my family and I have developed friendships that we will always treasure. The collective contribution of the bereaved and survivors of Hillsborough has been central to the completion of the book. Your resilience and dignity in sharing personal stories, reliving the traumatic experiences of the disaster and its immediate aftermath, provided the foundation on which the unswerving campaign for justice has been built. Following the 20th anniversary of the disaster it was your determination that persuaded the Government to appoint the Hillsborough Independent Panel and facilitate the disclosure of all documents held by all relevant organisations involved. It is to you – the bereaved and survivors – and your continuing struggle for justice in the face of adversity and desolation, and to the memories of those who died, that this book is dedicated.
Phil Scraton
Belfast and Liverpool
May 2016
15 April 1989. When families and friends parted on the beautiful early spring morning, the last thing on their minds, heading to Hillsborough, Sheffield, for the FA Cup semi-final between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest, was tragedy. Over 50,000 fans witnessed a crush so severe that it claimed the lives of 96 men, women and children. For thousands of Liverpool fans who entered two pens down a steep tunnel onto a decrepit and inherently unsafe terrace, the trauma of injury and survival would leave an indelible mark on their lives. All who died or survived were victims of the organisational complacency and compromised safety deeply institutionalised in the management, regulation and policing of large crowds at many sports and leisure events. The warnings of previous disasters and other close calls – even at Hillsborough – had passed unheeded as those entrusted with the safe passage of paying customers failed in their duty of care.
As it unfolded, the disaster was filmed, photographed and reported by an international media. Soccer is the country’s national sport and this was one of the three most significant club fixtures of the year. On BBC television the afternoon sports coverage was interrupted to broadcast live scenes of attempts to rescue dying fans from the pens as the match was abandoned and players left the field. Watching from the safety of home, the realisation was profound. There had been many occasions at football matches when I had experienced the compression of overcrowded terraces. A Liverpool fan who had followed the team since childhood, I knew I could have been there. With that knowledge my first instinct was to view the crowd density in the two central pens behind the goal, and the sparse numbers in the pens to each side, as immediate evidence of a catastrophic failure in managing and directing a crowd entering an unfamiliar stadium.
* * *
On 15 April each year the families and friends of the 96 men, women and children killed at Hillsborough gather on the Kop at Anfield, home of Liverpool Football Club. The annual remembrance service brings together the bereaved families, survivors and others who will never forget that dreadful afternoon in Sheffield. At 3.06 p.m. the thousands who attend fall silent. This is the moment that the match, just six minutes of which had been played, was halted by the referee. It remains the symbolic moment of death. A silence to remember loved ones, to share the pain.
Given that Hillsborough was a disaster of such magnitude it is a salutary reminder of organisations’ built-in aversion to liability, prioritising corporate interests over the public interest, that it took until 1998 for the bereaved to access the details and evidence concerning the circumstances in which their loved ones died. Nearly a decade of legal wrangling and campaigning finally brought the release to families of body files on each of the deceased. These files contained the evidence gathered in each case, the medical and witness statements. It was information that, by any definition of ‘natural justice’, should have been theirs in the first place.
To make matters worse, the entire documentation, including body files, produced by the various investigations into the disaster, was held at the headquarters of the South Yorkshire Police – the police force responsible for managing the crowd on the day. Legally, the documents and material gathered in the course of the investigations, including those into the criminal and civil liability of the police, revert to the force under investigation as the ‘property’ of its Chief Constable. Yet this was the force whose senior officers’ testimonies had been condemned by a judicial inquiry, the force whose lack of control and failure to manage the crowd effectively at Hillsborough was considered by that inquiry to be the ‘main reason’ for the disaster.
Also in 1998, hundreds of South Yorkshire Police officers’ statements, already made available to the previous investigation and inquiries, were relocated by Jack Straw, the Home Secretary, to the House of Commons Library. These, however, were no ordinary statements. Prior to their submission to the various inquiries, including the judicial inquiry, many had been transformed through a process of review and alteration, approved and part-managed by the force’s solicitors. I had uncovered this process a year earlier when gathering material in preparation for submission to a ‘judicial scrutiny’, a discretionary procedure without the statutory powers of a public inquiry, set up by the Home Secretary to consider ‘new evidence’ relating to the disaster.
My revelations exposed the extraordinary, anomalous and unprecedented procedures adopted in the aftermath of the disaster. At the time of making my submissions to the judicial scrutiny I had researched and written about Hillsborough for eight years. Although my involvement began in the days after the disaster, my relationship with Liverpool Football Club went back to my early childhood. In my teens I followed the team home and away, to European finals, to league and cup matches. By the mid 1980s I had grown weary of the often appalling treatment meted out to committed fans whose hard-earned money supported their clubs. Those entrusted with the stewardship of the game, and those managing and policing the crowds, were indifferent to the fans’ experiences. Undoubtedly soccer-related violence, dubbed ‘hooliganism’ by journalists, academic commentators, the police and politicians, was an issue. Yet, the authoritarian, universally applied ‘solution’ to a complex problem was the ‘corralling’ and ‘penning’ of fans. I was not only disillusioned with being aggressively herded and policed, I loathed the racism, sexism and homophobia that prevailed on the terraces and the reluctance by club owners and the game’s administrators to intervene.
I remained passionate about the game and identified with a club I had supported when Liverpool were in the Second Division and a mild-mannered Scot, Billy Liddell, was my hero. A week after Hillsborough I stood with my family in the ‘mile of scarves’ across Stanley Park, linking the Liverpool and Everton grounds. It was at that profoundly moving and personal moment I decided, as someone who had researched deaths in controversial circumstances and coroners’ inquests, that the disaster itself and the impending investigations should be independently scrutinised. I was angered, as were so many others, by the shameful lies about Liverpool supporters that had emerged in the press throughout the week following the tragedy.
While thousands struggled to come to terms with the enormity of their loss and trauma, Kelvin MacKenzie, editor of The Sun, published outrageous front-page allegations against those who survived the disaster under the banner headline ‘THE TRUTH’. Demonstrating that the depths of tabloid journalism could always be plumbed deeper, this deceit caused enormous suffering, exchanging compassion for vilification. Ironically, just four days after the disaster, MacKenzie had shown that ‘truth’ was not only open to interpretation, it could be the victim of fabrication. While MacKenzie took the allegations at face value, publishing them without reservation, The Sun was not alone in carrying the story. Tabloids and broadsheets joined together in a near universal chorus of condemnation of Liverpool fans. Soon, public denigration extended beyond the fans to include the city and its people. It was always my position, however, that the negative media coverage did not originate in the minds of journalists and editors. Willing conduits, maybe, but its roots lay elsewhere.
I expected the already convened judicial inquiry under Lord Justice Taylor, and the West Midlands Police investigation, to become battlegrounds for vested interests. I expected the criminal investigations would not result in corporate or individual prosecutions. I expected, as a consequence, the coroner’s inquest, despite being a court unable to address issues of liability, would be fiercely adversarial and would frustrate bereaved families determined to hold individuals and organisations to account. It was anticipation based on a decade’s research into deaths in contested circumstances, particularly involving the police. Through researching these cases I had witnessed the systemic denial of rights to bereaved families.
In September 1989 the Hillsborough Project gained funding from Liverpool City Council to research, publish and make recommendations concerning all aspects of the disaster’s aftermath. In 1990 the research team – Sheila Coleman, Ann Jemphrey, Paula Skidmore and myself – published an initial report, Hillsborough and After: The Liverpool Experience. This work provided a critique of the judicial inquiry and the media coverage, exposing for the first time the unacceptable treatment of the bereaved and survivors in the immediate aftermath. The Hillsborough Project continued its research throughout the early 1990s, culminating in publication of the book No Last Rights: The Denial of Justice and the Promotion of Myth in the Aftermath of the Hillsborough Disaster, co-authored by myself, Ann Jemphrey and Sheila Coleman.
No Last Rights was an exhaustive, in-depth investigation into the legal processes, particularly the inquests and their judicial review, together with a thorough critique of the role and excesses of local, national and international media. Making over 80 recommendations, the report concluded that the official responses to Hillsborough – the failure to prosecute or to discipline police officers, the conduct and outcome of the inquests, and attempts to pervert the course of justice – together amounted to a major ‘miscarriage of justice’. No Last Rights laid bare the inadequacies of the legal processes, particularly the inquests, in handling controversial deaths.
* * *
‘Truth’ is a small word, but a daunting concept. While supposedly investigating the ‘truth’, The Sun and other newspapers contributed to its degradation. Its use in the title of this book is a form of reclamation. I have studied and compared thousands of witness statements and relevant documents to ensure consistency and accuracy. Over the years, I attended inquiries, court cases and read transcripts in their entirety. I interviewed many of the bereaved, survivors and others directly involved in the disaster. First published in 1999, this book was written to pull together the full range of issues to have emerged from the legal processes, political debates, media coverage and – most significantly – the families’ and survivors’ experiences of the disaster and its aftermath. For the first time it revealed the process through which police statements had been subject to review and alteration, its prevalence and its impact.
In the original preface I wrote that much of the evidence held by the authorities, if not destroyed, had been buried in archives – probably for all time. It was clear from the limited available documentation that important statements and files were missing or beyond reach. Documents, including many witness statements, remained restricted, covered by legal privilege. While instructive in their review and alteration, the many hundreds of police statements I had accessed were just one element of a much deeper process to deflect blame and escape accountability. At the time I was party to representations attempting to negotiate access to missing material and was well aware that, in the days and months after the disaster, the many crucial conversations and informal meetings held behind closed doors, on corridors of influence, would not have been recorded. This was not naïve conspiracy theory. My research already had revealed just how systematic and institutionalised were the questionable procedures adopted by the senior management of the South Yorkshire Police in preparing for the inquiries and investigations.
‘Truth’ also has another dimension. My research was intended not only to establish truth in terms of context and culpability, I was also committed to discovering the truth of people’s experiences: their ‘truth’. Much of the early part of this book provides contrasting experiences of those directly involved in the disaster and its aftermath. I edited some of the most desperate accounts for obvious reasons but what is presented here leaves little to the imagination. Throughout, I retained the integrity of the statements and interviews by not quoting out of context or misrepresenting particular comments. First published in 1999, these chapters remain in their original form. Nothing has happened subsequently to challenge their veracity.
In the immediate aftermath of the 2000 private prosecution of David Duckenfield and Bernard Murray, the senior South Yorkshire Police officers responsible for managing the crowd at Hillsborough, I added a further chapter to the first edition. At this stage it appeared that, other than for individual cases – most notably Anne Williams’ relentless campaign, taken to the European Court, to uncover the facts relating to the disputed circumstances in which her son, Kevin, died – the private prosecution had closed legal avenues. Nine years later, prior to the 20th anniversary it was suggested that I should update the text in acknowledgement of the sustained campaign for truth and justice. I was hesitant. What more could I add?
At that time it was almost two decades since Hillsborough, an avoidable disaster that cost the lives of 96 men, women and children and blighted the lives of thousands – the bereaved, the survivors, the witnesses, their families and their friends. The book already had established that the tragedy was rooted in institutionalised complacency, authoritarianism and negligence in an industry that had exploited the passion and loyalty of fans with stadiums not fit for purpose, potentially lethal pens on broken terraces, poorly trained stewards and policing that aggressively prioritised crowd control above crowd safety. As the Heysel and Bradford disasters had demonstrated four years earlier, in very different circumstances, grounds from bygone eras were not only unsuitable, they were death-traps. Yet the authorities – owners, hirers, licence-givers and the police – appeared oblivious to the warnings. Disaster followed. What more could be said?
Hillsborough exposed the inadequacies of crowd safety in dangerous environments but it also revealed grave flaws in on-site medical facilities and emergency planning and response, as well as a lack of preparedness in dealing with the immediate aftermath of incidents involving mass fatalities. The treatment of survivors and the bereaved in the immediate aftermath, the insensitive handling of those searching for lost loved ones and the inhumane process of identifying the dead exacerbated their suffering. While Taylor’s judicial inquiry and the inquests had considered the circumstances in which people died on the terraces, there had been no investigation into the immediate aftermath. Hillsborough: The Truth had examined all aspects of the disaster and its consequences up to and including the private prosecution in 2000.
Yet there was more to be added, more to be said. In the 2009 edition I included a further, reflective, chapter and a new preface. In the latter I wrote that it was important to consider the issues, controversies and campaigns that had kept the disaster at the forefront of the public’s collective mind. The growth of communications technology, particularly the Internet and the consolidation of websites, had given many people the opportunity to share their personal accounts of survival and loss. Exchanges of information on dedicated Hillsborough forums provided a vast resource of considered opinion, personal experience and, occasionally, invective – the latter directed towards insensitive and opportunistic statements from those ignorant of the facts. Mobile phones had revolutionised instant communication and information exchange. Had it been available at the time, how such technology would have impacted on Hillsborough and the immediate aftermath can only be surmised but, as more recent events have shown, it would have provided an extensive evidential record.
I stated that the campaign for justice had been unrelenting. Following its success in bringing a private prosecution of Duckenfield and Murray, the Hillsborough Family Support Group had continued its support to bereaved families, organising the annual memorial service at Anfield and pursuing local and national government at every opportunity. The Hillsborough Justice Campaign (HJC) had mobilised a wide network of support based on its strong representation of survivors. Each had developed a website and provided a significant information resource. Anne Williams’ campaign led to ‘Hope for Hillsborough’. Fan-based websites with dedicated Hillsborough forums developed, most notably including redandwhitekop. A significant online resource, Hillsborough for Dummies (HFD), was published in 2008 as a direct response to misinformation about Hillsborough broadcast by the BBC. HFD provided an impersonal account focusing on the circumstances of the disaster and detailing all key events that followed. It exposed how myths regarding the causes were conceived and disseminated, and how they affected subsequent legal proceedings.
The 2009 edition’s final chapter raised issues not covered previously. It revealed the ‘endless pressure’ suffered by the bereaved and survivors, and generated by the myths of hooliganism that evolved and consolidated following the initial media coverage, particularly in The Sun. Those myths endured and, as the new chapter showed, were repeated in and reinforced by a wide range of media and academic accounts. It was a myth that connected to a sustained attack on Liverpool as a city and Merseyside as a region whose people were demonised as attracting, even celebrating, misfortune. The chapter also reflected on the status of the ‘apology’ initially given by the then editor of The Sun, Kelvin MacKenzie, only to be retracted. It also considered the significance of the case taken to the European Court of Human Rights by Anne Williams. Finally, I interviewed again bereaved families whose experiences were, and remain, central to the analysis. With great dignity they portrayed how the bereaved and survivors, their families and friends, were failed, deeply hurt and further victimised by the inadequacies of the investigations and the courts.
I concluded the 2009 Preface as follows:
Twenty years on, Hillsborough: The Truth remains dedicated to the bereaved, survivors and rescuers, and also to those who have suffered physical illness, mental ill-health and premature death. We will never know the full extent of the damaging legacy of 15 April 1989 and the institutionalised injustices that followed. What is certain is that it does not diminish over time. Nor should it.
My pessimism was short-lived.
* * *
This is the fourth and final edition of Hillsborough: The Truth. Following the September 2012 publication of the Hillsborough Independent Panel report, of which I was the primary author, I believed its content should be the final word. Its exhaustive research, extensive findings and detailed conclusions derived entirely from the disclosed documents were so powerful and revelatory that it seemed nothing further could be added. Yet it was the very impact of the report and all that followed that led to this edition. From the moment of Prime Minister David Cameron’s immediate response in Parliament, when he acknowledged the ‘double injustice’ suffered by bereaved families and survivors, the sequence of events that followed could not have been anticipated: a full investigation into all organisations and individuals against whom there could be criminal prosecutions; the largest ever investigation by the Independent Police Complaints Commission into approximately 2,000 officers from 30-plus police forces; the quashing of all 96 inquest verdicts and the ordering of new inquests; reviews of all health organisations’ arrangements for responding to and handling disasters and medical pathology; and an assessment of the potential of ‘independent panels’ in truth recovery and dispute resolution.
Adding three new chapters, this edition addresses the background to the panel’s appointment, including my own as the panel member with lead responsibility for the research, analysis and report writing. The first of these new chapters discusses the panel’s terms of reference, the principles of ‘families first’ and confidentiality, the methods used to analyse disclosed documents and the issues that arose during the panel’s work. The penultimate chapter reviews the launch of the panel’s report in September 2012, its reception and its impact. The chapter extracts the key issues from the report’s 12 detailed chapters and its 153-point summary, demonstrating what its findings add to public understanding. Picking up on the previous chapter, it shows how the media received the report and how those entrusted with progressing the new investigations and inquests have grounded their work.
On 11 February 2014, the coroner for the new inquests, Lord Justice Goldring, issued a statement affirming that the jury’s verdict would be reached ‘solely on the evidence they hear in court’. While the media could report ‘accurately and in a balanced way’ the evidence heard in court, other commentaries or publications would ‘run the risk of prejudicing the outcome of proceedings’ and therefore could not be published or broadcast. Any breach of this direction would be in contempt of court. Throughout the inquests I worked closely with the families’ lawyers. The final chapter contextualises the new inquests, focusing on the evidence presented to the court between March 2014 and January 2016, the coroner’s marathon summing-up and the jury’s verdict – beyond reasonable doubt – that the 96 had been unlawfully killed. It presents the jury’s complex narrative verdict that unequivocally exonerated Liverpool fans, while delivering severe institutional criticisms of the South Yorkshire Police, Sheffield Wednesday Football Club, the club’s safety engineers, the then South Yorkshire Ambulance Service and Sheffield City Council.
From the initial research, begun in autumn 1989, to the delivery of the panel’s report in autumn 2012 and the inquest verdicts in spring 2016, it has been my commitment to research and tell the story of Hillsborough with thoroughness, rigour and authority. It is a story contextualising the inevitability of the disaster within institutional complacency. It is a story of how those in authority sought to cover their tracks to avoid blame and responsibility. It is a story of how the ‘law’ fails to provide appropriate means of discovery and redress for those who suffer through organisational neglect and personal negligence. It is a story of how ordinary people can be subjected to the insensitivity and hostility of agencies that place their professional priorities ahead of the personal needs and collective rights of the bereaved and survivors. It is also a story of how, in the face of extreme adversity and prolonged suffering, the bereaved and survivors remained resilient, their resistance and their determination to honour those who died challenging powerful institutions, changing history and serving a wider public interest.
At the back of every police officer’s mind is the nagging worry that the next incident, however apparently insignificant, could mean injury, even death. The risk of police work is the ever-present fear of being on the receiving end of a violent attack. Statistics show that the killing of British police officers in the line of duty is rare, that the actual risk is minimal. Death is so rare, in fact, that the names of those who die remain forever inscribed in the consciousness of fellow officers. Yet these are random deaths, their very unpredictability feeding the fear: any time, any place, any officer.
In early October 1988, a 24-year-old South Yorkshire Police probationer came face to face with the reality. Alone, cut off from his fellow officers, he was subjected to a ferocious attack in the night-darkened grounds of a convent in the Ranmoor district of Sheffield. Two armed men in military fatigues, faces hidden by balaclavas, dragged him to waste ground. They forced him face down in the mud, hands cuffed behind his back, a gun to his head. His trousers were pulled down. He feared the worst. Shaking uncontrollably, expecting to die, he heard the click, saw the flash; not a gun, but a camera.
Prostrate and terrified on the ground, the young officer turned his head to see the armed men removing their balaclavas. They were laughing. Laughing policemen. He was in shock, throwing up as he tried to dress himself and regain some semblance of composure. The humiliating and degrading assault, not uncommon in military regiments, was some kind of initiation, later described as a ‘prank’. It involved a group of officers and all were based at Sheffield’s Hammerton Road police station.
As the victim of the attack underwent stress counselling, five of his colleagues, including an inspector, were suspended from duty. A damage-limitation statement from the South Yorkshire Police confirmed that no members of the public had been involved. Hillsborough MP, Martin Flannery, was unimpressed, arguing that officers were members of the public and the assault had taken place in the public domain. Further reports suggested that initiations at Hammerton Road were institutionalised and a woman officer claimed that she had been forced out by a group of officers who ‘made life hell for new recruits’.
Flannery was unhesitating in demanding that the officers face prosecution. Following an investigating officer’s report, however, the Crown Prosecution Service decided that criminal proceedings were ‘inappropriate’. Consultation between the South Yorkshire force and the Police Complaints Authority led to internal disciplinary actions against the officers. Four officers, including the inspector and two sergeants, were forced to resign. Two other sergeants were demoted and two constables reprimanded and fined.
Although the officers, in effect, had been dismissed, resigning meant their opportunities for alternative employment and their police pensions were protected. Martin Flannery, together with Conservative MP Irving Patnick, demanded publication of the police investigation’s findings. It was refused. Soon after the resignations, in early March 1989, the head of Hammerton Road, Chief Superintendent Brian Mole, was moved to Barnsley. The announcement stated that the move was ‘part of changes in the rank structure’. No reference was made to the Ranmoor incident, the disciplining of officers or the broader concern about behaviour at Hammerton Road.
Not only was the timing of Chief Superintendent Mole’s transfer coincidental, it was unfortunate. Writing in the Sheffield Star, reporter Bob Westerdale noted that the experienced officer had ‘been repeatedly praised for his crowd control at big matches at Sheffield Wednesday’s ground’. Indeed, it was under his jurisdiction that the Hillsborough stadium had been reinstated as an FA Cup semi-final venue following its suspension over problems with crowd management and ground safety in 1981. The 1987 semi-final returned Hillsborough to its former status and Chief Superintendent Mole had established the Operational Order for policing the event. He carried this through, with some modification, to the 1988 Liverpool v Nottingham Forest semi-final. That was to be his last semi-final as match commander.
Without disclosure of the documentation relating to either the disciplinary proceedings or Mole’s transfer, a direct and incontestable connection cannot be made between them. What is certain is that relieving him from his Hammerton Road duties just 21 days before Hillsborough’s 1989 semi-final denied the event the services of the most experienced match commander in the force. It also meant that his replacement, Chief Superintendent Duckenfield, took command of one of Britain’s foremost sports events with minimal appropriate professional experience. Virtually all the weight of responsibility would fall on the shoulders of the senior officers he had inherited from Mole. With the exception of names and allocation of duties, the Operational Order for the day remained unchanged. The force had given the job, at the eleventh hour, to a rookie at managing football crowds. And it had happened in the most controversial of circumstances. If Mole had offered, his services were refused, because on 15 April 1989 he was on duty elsewhere.
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At about 2.15 p.m. on an early spring afternoon at one of England’s premier football grounds the crowd massed excitedly at the turnstiles. It was a big crowd for a major cup match between a team from the Midlands and one from the North-West. The pressure built quickly around the turnstiles and fans were crushed against walls. On the terraces, close to the turnstiles, the terraces were packed. So packed that some young boys were passed over the heads of the crowd to the front.
As the turnstiles continued to supply a regular flow on to the back of the terraces, those near the front began to feel the pressure. Some fans attempted to escape the tight crush but by 2.35 p.m. it was impossible to move in any direction. Twenty-five minutes before the game was due to start the enclosure was full. There was confusion between police and ground staff over closing the turnstiles.
Outside the ground five minutes later the crowd was as tightly packed as it was on the terraces. Communication between the two areas was virtually impossible. Within minutes the position inside became serious as people in obvious distress tried to escape the awful crush. Some fell to the ground to be trodden underfoot by fellow fans unable to avoid stepping on their bodies.
With ten minutes to go to kick-off an exit gate behind the terraces was opened. Instantly the crush at the turnstiles was relieved. Through the gate, and by other means, over 2,000 people poured into the stadium, adding to the already unbearable pressure on the terraces. Some fans who squeezed in at the back found themselves squeezed out at the front of the terrace without any control over their own movements.
At 2.55 p.m. the teams ran out to a massive reception. The crowd swayed and those on the terraces stretched to catch a glimpse of their heroes. Strategically placed crush barriers prevented the swaying crowd from compressing all the way down the terrace. The metal barriers broke up the crowd. But there was one funnel where no barriers had been installed until near the bottom steps. The compression here was immense, bearing the full weight of fans up to the back of the terrace. Under the strain two barriers collapsed and the crowd went down over buckled steel.
Bodies were piled three or four deep, with those compressed against the pile unable to push back up the steps. Realisation dawned among the police, St John’s Ambulance officers and other fans that a serious disaster was taking place. Twelve minutes later the referee stopped the game and took the players from the pitch. English football’s worst crowd disaster had happened. But this was not Hillsborough 1989, it was Burnden Park on 9 March 1946.
Forty-three years and one month before Hillsborough, 33 people died and over 500 were injured at an FA Cup tie between Bolton Wanderers and Stoke City. A much bigger crowd than expected had turned up: 50,000 were anticipated but an estimated 85,000 arrived. The exit gate opened because a man trying to leave the ground with his young son picked the lock.
The Home Office inquiry, chaired by Moelwyn Hughes, criticised the police and ground officials for not realising the significance of the build-up outside the ground given the packing on the terraces inside. While witnesses to the official inquiry talked about the enclosure’s ‘capacity’, it had never been properly assessed: ‘What they mean by capacity is the greatest number that has been safely accommodated there on a previous occasion,’ stated the report.
It was estimated that the terraces were full at 2.35 p.m. but the turnstiles went on admitting fans for a further ten minutes thus projecting another 2,000 fans into already full enclosures. With these additional 2,000 fans gaining entry just before kick-off the terraces were well over capacity. The authorities were roundly criticised for their lack of strategy, slow reactions and lack of organisation.
The report ‘regretted that there was no simple exit for those who, for any reason, wanted to leave the ground, and that it was so lamentably easy to open the exit gate’. While the ‘barrierless path’ from top to bottom was not identified as a principal cause, the weight on the collapsed barriers had been immense. One of the barriers was ‘heavily rusted’.
Moelwyn Hughes made many recommendations to prevent such a disaster happening again. His suggestions focused on expert examination of terraces; the siting, strength and type of barriers; the situation and condition of the entrances; adequate facilities for exit during play; and the means for uninterrupted movement within each enclosure in the ground. He also recommended the scientific calculation of the maximum number of people admitted to each enclosure. But, the report argued, ‘fixing a maximum is of no value unless there is a method of knowing when the figure is reached or … when more want to get in than can be got in …’ It recommended ‘mechanical means’ to establish precisely the figures for each enclosure which could be then transmitted to a central point. As each enclosure filled to capacity the turnstiles feeding into it could be closed. Central co-ordination would be achieved, by a ‘responsible ground official’ and a ‘responsible police officer’ working together and using telephones to close areas and have them adequately policed and managed.