Friday, 14 August 2015

The Wath-on-Dearne Posse: The Anti-Sutcliffe Brigade Searching For Brain-Cells


The story of my life. It's all here. The abusive father and cheating, bigoted husband who drove his first wife to suicide. The archetypal wicked stepmother. The eccentric family. The lovers. The loves and hates. The celebrities who became friends. Along with a wealth of pictures. I do not hold back.

I have been in this business for 30 years, and know the laws of copyright and libel backwards. As such, my work is untouchable by the law, as I have and always stay well within it no matter what I write about. In Great Britain, there is no such law as libeling the dead. There are also ways to go about being very direct, without libeling the living and still remaining above the law. Some names have been changed, and some names omitted. There are ways of changing this if I am provoked. This is one of the benefits of being in control of one's output.

I have not seen members of my "second family" for forty years. I do not know if they are alive or dead, and quite frankly do not care one way or the other. As my book explains, my "second family" gave us "six months" when we announced our marriage. I received an "anonymous" letter, published in the book and very clearly identifiable, wherein they boasted that I would never make anything of my life. We have been married for 42 years. My "second family" have for their part suffered a veritable dichotomy of self-inflicted disasters: failed marriages, massive scandals, and two episodes involving Her Majesty's Pleasure. Do I wish to elaborate? No, but I will if provoked any further.

Why am I saying all this? Well, yesterday a message was sent to this Blog, in the wake of my revelation that I have written a book about my friendship with Peter Sutcliffe, five years before he achieved notoriety as The Yorkshire Ripper. Does it involve any of my "second family"? Absolutely not. My story ends three years before I even knew them. So imagine my surprise when I received the following message, sent to this Blog by "Anonymous":

Angela Usher: I would willingly come wirh you and know a few more who would hoin us x x 

This lady is officially my step-sister, and why she should join this argument and give the impression that she needs to augment some sort of posse baffles me. I have had nothing to do with her for forty years, and did not even recognise her when I saw her on the television not so long ago, such is the change in her appearance, and frankly not for the better. I suggest therefore that she minds her own business in matters which do not concern her--and that she learns how to spell. Indeed, throughout the series of spiels directed at me in recent days, I have rarely seen such illiteracy.

And my crime, you might ask? I requested information about a couple named John and Joyce Dickinson, who were friends of my mother back in 1968/9, when my father was putting her through a living hell. Joyce was her closest friend. She was in no way involved with The Yorkshire Ripper. All she did was provide a strong shoulder for my mother to lean against. She was a rock, an inspiration, the most wonderful friend anyone could have wished for, someone I could never praise enugh. She and John were regulars at our pub, The Mason's Arms, where Peter Sutcliffe--then aged 22--was also a regular. None of us knew back then what lay ahead. Peter supported my mother, and I am not ashamed to say that I socialised with him--or that I publicly pronounced in 1981, when all was revealed to me, that I would willingly tie the rope around his neck. There are photographs in the book of some of the protagonists in the story, and some of these pictures were taken by him. 

I last saw Pete in 1969. My mother died two years later. John and Joyce attended her funeral, which was the largest there had ever been at Wath Cemetery. Pete sent flowers. I cannot change what happened, before and since this date. 


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