One Incontrovertible, Unequivocal, Undeniable Fact Which Refutes the Diary

[caz]

Let me make a prediction at this point, Caz. Your very telling question (above) is deeply awkward if you believe the man was telling the truth, the whole truth, and what have you so I suspect that your question will either be totally ignored or else someone will claim that he had the diary but he didn't give it to Gray because he wanted to keep him dangling so that he had a bit of company during the long, pissed-up days of the mid-nineteen nineties.

Watch this space ...

What I'd like to know, Ike, is precisely when Mike is meant to have gone round to Anne's new home, a few days or weeks before January 1995, eagerly clutching his 'ProFF' in the form of the little red 'DAirRY', which he is ready to sacrifice in exchange for a fumble on the kitchen table. What [or should that be who?] came first, I wonder? Pass the parcel or hide the sausage? Their divorce came through on 7th December 1994, and just five days later Alan Gray was recording his latest visit to Mike, who was at the Liverpool Royal Infirmary, being treated for a severed artery, which he had sustained while attempting to break into Anne's new home. He must have been fuming at how easily a man who had always worn the trousers had been conned out of his 'ProFF' by a bit of skirt.

But more to the point, the 'skirt' must have really, really wanted that red diary, mustn't she? What kind of abused wife, who was divorcing her husband, would be prepared for one final bit of how's yer father, just to get her hands on a tiny 1891 diary, which she doesn't destroy but freely hands over to a researcher she has had relatively little to do with up until then, along with all the information needed to trace the purchase back to March 1992, when Mike first phoned Martin Earl.

If Mike was as mad as a box of frogs, he was painting his ex wife as certifiable - and people still believe him!

Love,

Caz
X

[caz]

Once again, Ike, I have to wonder why Mike would have named one of his hoaxing co-conspirators - albeit the dead one - as the person who gave him the diary.

It must have been obvious to him that Tony Devereux and his surviving friends and family members would be the first line of enquiry to help establish a provenance, and sure enough that came to pass, with Shirley eager to make contact as soon as possible to establish what they could tell her.

The only 100% foolproof way of knowing that nothing incriminating could come from that direction was if Devereux had been in the "no effing bugger alive" category, never knowing of any such diary's existence, either in physical form or the planning stages. That would not have been the case if Devereux had been in on the whole hoaxing caper, because the Barretts would have been risking everything right from the start if he had let just one word about it slip out, for instance during Janet's visit in January 1991, when she asked to borrow Tales of Liverpool: "Take it, lass, it's a good read. But bring it back on the weekend, like, because it belongs to Bongo and he might need it again for his research into whether Jack the Ripper could have been a Scouser, and what 'ave yer."

Should Janet Devereux not also be under suspicion, for having expressed an interest in a 'Maybrick' book, a year and a bit before Mike called Doreen about his diary?

Apparently, that's all it takes to see through a Maybrick hoaxer.

Love,

Caz
X

[caz]

Imagine this, dear readers, because it's not a million miles away from what some have tried to make of Martin Earl's brief encounter with Michael Barrett...

Mr Brown phones Marvin Pearl of Pet Carriers, to ask if he has in stock a sturdy cat carrier. It will be for our larger-than-average, feisty feline called Monty, for his upcoming appointment with the vet, Rupurrt Pooh. Marvin says sorry, not at present, but as soon as one comes in he will let Mr Brown know.

After a couple of weeks Mr Brown gets the call he has been waiting for, and is told that the carrier is priced at £25 but can be sent to him on approval in time for Monty's dreaded appointment. No description is given, or more likely Mr Brown is only half listening at the time, as he is busy choosing tracks for his next show at Sid Valley Radio.

What can possibly go wrong with such a simple request?

Cutting a long shaggy dog story short, the parcel from Pet Carriers duly arrives but when Mr Brown opens it, the carrier is obviously too small so he says: "Oh sugar lumps", puts it towards the back of the hall cupboard and makes a mental note to drive to the next car boot sale up the road, where he finds just what the vet would have ordered, if Monty wouldn't.

A month after the appointment, Marvin Pearl phones again, asking for his £25, as Mr Brown has had the carrier long enough. "Oh sugar lumps!", says Mr Brown to Mrs Snips [that's me, that is]. "I clean forgot about it. Cheque please!" Before Mrs Snips obliges [and she is very obliging], she rummages in the hall cupboard and lifts out the small goldfish bowl that her idiot husband was sent weeks ago by some idiot from Pet Carriers.

But of course, the intention was obviously to provide Monty with the most suitable vehicle in which to transport him to Rupurrt Pooh. It was all just lost in translation. Could have happened to anyone.

Love,

Mrs Snips
X

[caz]

I suppose the best way to get to the bottom of Marvin Pearl's business practices, and find out how the Browns could have been sent a small glass goldfish bowl if what they actually needed was a large robust carrier for Monty Brown, would be to contact Mr Pearl himself, and not trust anything claimed by the enfants terribles, or their furry sidekick.

Perhaps Palmer could then post his findings here, instead of having to hope against hope that Mr Pearl's position has been poorly interpreted, not only by that awful bit of skirt, Mrs Snips, but also by Kiefer Skinless and Jimmy Johnson & The Bandwagon.

Love,

Monty's Mum
X

[Iconoclast]

And according to Barrett's secret affidavit (for those who don't dismiss it out of hand) he states that the idea of the diary dates back to Devereux (and Devereux had Mike's copy of Tales of Liverpool, so that supports this claim) and he further states that the idea had been formulating for some time and that he had at the very least some rough notes or outline. Sounds like he's describing how many writers work. The idea formulates over many months.

With reference to Palmer's speculation above, Don Rumbelow actually asked Mike Barrett about his thoughts on the creative process at the infamous C&D Club interview. Rumbelow asks Mike about the mind of a professional writer. I remembered this moment reasonably vividly from my listening of the tape because Mike was unable to answer Rumbelow's questions and didn't appear to know what he was talking about which made me laugh. I noted Rumbelow's increasing exasperation at Mike's diversionary tactics and in the end Rumbelow gave up. I post the transcript below in case anyone would really like to understand the brilliant literary machinations that underpinned Mike Barrett's hoaxed diary of Jack the Ripper and which have so inspired Lord Algernon Orsam and his acolyte RJ Palmer.

DR: Mike, you say that you’re a professional writer, then – as a professional writer – you’ll know that one of the tricks of a professional writer is that it takes a writer a little time to get into the subject. Therefore, one of the pieces of advice you’re always given -
MB: [Inaudible] Can I ask you a question?
DR: Hang on, hang on. Is to, is to, is to delete the first paragraph or the first page. Now -
MB: - no, you don’t do that -
DR: - if you look at the dairy -
MB: - you don’t do that -
DR: - did you have a run in and – if so – did you delete, what did you actually delete?
MB: Okay, then, you want to know if I’m a writer?
DR: - no, I didn’t ask that, I asked what [inaudible] you deleted.
MB: - you said, you doubt my profession- -
KS: I said, no. I said -
MB: [Inaudible] my professionality [sic] -
DR: - I said you’re a professional writer -
MB: - right -
DR: - you told me you were -
MB: - okay, now -
DR: - so I’ve asked you, without running into [inaudible] -
MB: - you’ve asked me a question, right, can we, can we just forget the diary just for one second?
DR: - no, ‘cause that’s what -
MB: - no, just for one second, can we forget the diary?
DR: I’d rather not, I’d rather stay with it -
MB: - I’d prefer to forget the diary for sixty minutes, sixty seconds -
DR: - only on the understanding that we come back in sixty seconds -
MB: - right, fine, okay. When you want to write, you’re going to write, and when you’re going to write you’re going to write from the heart, and I mean from here, okay, so – once upon a time – Michael Barrett says, long story, [inaudible], and Robert [Robert Smith] listen to this, Robert listen to it, what’s the three best things that makes an international bestseller?
DR: You’ve already said that, yeah, we’ll, we’ll [inaudible] -
MB: Sex, religion, [inaudible] -
DR: Yeah, well, we’re not interested in that at the moment. I’m actually interested in what you wrote in the first part of the diary that you, what was your run in?
MB: What was my run in?
DR: Yes, ‘cause this piece, this deletion –
[Barrett and Rumbelow talk over one another during which Barrett appears to repeat the word ‘rendezvous’ a number of times]
DR: - so what was your run in? How did you get going? You didn’t just start on that page that we’ve actually got. What did you actually -
MB: - [inaudible], Baxendale report, Robert.
DR: We’re not, we’re not into Baxendale -
MB: - hang on, you’re not the Ripper -
DR: - [inaudible] -
MB: - he’s my publisher -
DR: - you come up here to answer [inaudible], you made yourself out as the author, we want to know what you actually put in as content, you know, a reasonable broad stroke -
MB: - what do you mean, what I put in the content?
DR: - before you run in to the text. What did you actually write?
[Barrett and Rumbelow talk over one another during which Barrett again appears to refer to the word ‘rendezvous’]
DR: There was a page you had to start with. What was page one?
MB: ‘Rendeyvous’ was the first opening word -
DR: - no, no, it’s not –
MF: - it’s hallway down the first page -
MB: - thank you very much, thanks for that, I’ve made a mistake -
DR: - no, you had to have a rendezvous.

I do hope that's cleared everything up for you all.

Ike

[erobitha]

With reference to Palmer's speculation above, Don Rumbelow actually asked Mike Barrett about his thoughts on the creative process at the infamous C&D Club interview. Rumbelow asks Mike about the mind of a professional writer. I remembered this moment reasonably vividly from my listening of the tape because Mike was unable to answer Rumbelow's questions and didn't appear to know what he was talking about which made me laugh. I noted Rumbelow's increasing exasperation at Mike's diversionary tactics and in the end Rumbelow gave up. I post the transcript below in case anyone would really like to understand the brilliant literary machinations that underpinned Mike Barrett's hoaxed diary of Jack the Ripper and which have so inspired Lord Algernon Orsam and his acolyte RJ Palmer.

DR: Mike, you say that you’re a professional writer, then – as a professional writer – you’ll know that one of the tricks of a professional writer is that it takes a writer a little time to get into the subject. Therefore, one of the pieces of advice you’re always given -
MB: [Inaudible] Can I ask you a question?
DR: Hang on, hang on. Is to, is to, is to delete the first paragraph or the first page. Now -
MB: - no, you don’t do that -
DR: - if you look at the dairy -
MB: - you don’t do that -
DR: - did you have a run in and – if so – did you delete, what did you actually delete?
MB: Okay, then, you want to know if I’m a writer?
DR: - no, I didn’t ask that, I asked what [inaudible] you deleted.
MB: - you said, you doubt my profession- -
KS: I said, no. I said -
MB: [Inaudible] my professionality [sic] -
DR: - I said you’re a professional writer -
MB: - right -
DR: - you told me you were -
MB: - okay, now -
DR: - so I’ve asked you, without running into [inaudible] -
MB: - you’ve asked me a question, right, can we, can we just forget the diary just for one second?
DR: - no, ‘cause that’s what -
MB: - no, just for one second, can we forget the diary?
DR: I’d rather not, I’d rather stay with it -
MB: - I’d prefer to forget the diary for sixty minutes, sixty seconds -
DR: - only on the understanding that we come back in sixty seconds -
MB: - right, fine, okay. When you want to write, you’re going to write, and when you’re going to write you’re going to write from the heart, and I mean from here, okay, so – once upon a time – Michael Barrett says, long story, [inaudible], and Robert [Robert Smith] listen to this, Robert listen to it, what’s the three best things that makes an international bestseller?
DR: You’ve already said that, yeah, we’ll, we’ll [inaudible] -
MB: Sex, religion, [inaudible] -
DR: Yeah, well, we’re not interested in that at the moment. I’m actually interested in what you wrote in the first part of the diary that you, what was your run in?
MB: What was my run in?
DR: Yes, ‘cause this piece, this deletion –
[Barrett and Rumbelow talk over one another during which Barrett appears to repeat the word ‘rendezvous’ a number of times]
DR: - so what was your run in? How did you get going? You didn’t just start on that page that we’ve actually got. What did you actually -
MB: - [inaudible], Baxendale report, Robert.
DR: We’re not, we’re not into Baxendale -
MB: - hang on, you’re not the Ripper -
DR: - [inaudible] -
MB: - he’s my publisher -
DR: - you come up here to answer [inaudible], you made yourself out as the author, we want to know what you actually put in as content, you know, a reasonable broad stroke -
MB: - what do you mean, what I put in the content?
DR: - before you run in to the text. What did you actually write?
[Barrett and Rumbelow talk over one another during which Barrett again appears to refer to the word ‘rendezvous’]
DR: There was a page you had to start with. What was page one?
MB: ‘Rendeyvous’ was the first opening word -
DR: - no, no, it’s not –
MF: - it’s hallway down the first page -
MB: - thank you very much, thanks for that, I’ve made a mistake -
DR: - no, you had to have a rendezvous.

I do hope that's cleared everything up for you all.

Ike

More great clarity from the master hoaxer.

[caz]

More great clarity from the master hoaxer.

It's okay, because Palmer will no doubt assure the readers that Mike had very little input in 1992, recalling even less about the process by 1999. Anne had worn the trousers, composing up to 90% of the text, including all the lines to be crossed out, then copying it into 63 pages of the photo album using disguised handwriting, between 1st and 12th April, and finally making sure the typescript would be in a form that was safe to print out and hand over. Mike mostly stood behind her with the cattle prod when she was working too slowly or taking too many tea breaks.

Anne only wore the skirt when she needed something from him - typical woman, eh? - to wit the highly suspicious and incriminating 1891 diary. But she then forgot that it was suspicious or incriminating - what an airhead, eh? - and gave it away.

Love,

Caz
X

[Iconoclast]

It's okay, because Palmer will no doubt assure the readers that Mike had very little input in 1992, recalling even less about the process by 1999. Anne had worn the trousers, composing up to 90% of the text, including all the lines to be crossed out, then copying it into 63 pages of the photo album using disguised handwriting, between 1st and 12th April, and finally making sure the typescript would be in a form that was safe to print out and hand over. Mike mostly stood behind her with the cattle prod when she was working too slowly or taking too many tea breaks.
Anne only wore the skirt when she needed something from him - typical woman, eh? - to wit the highly suspicious and incriminating 1891 diary. But she then forgot that it was suspicious or incriminating - what an airhead, eh? - and gave it away.
Love,
Caz
X

Quite right - what an utter airhead! She had been central to a huge hoax for which she could have been charged and incarcerated leaving her young daughter in the care of some branch of the family (God forbid, maybe even her dad) or social services, and yet - despite the obvious risks - she turned over all of the evidence for the purchase to researcher and relative stranger Keith Skinner (I think it was Keith) so the cheque book and the bank statement and the flaming red 1891 diary itself. Extraordinary stupidity or extraordinary confidence, I just can't decide which.

On the subject of diaries, I am currently compiling a Jack the Ripper diary on my old Amstrad word prosser in which I have Robert Louis Stevenson confessing to having been the Whitechapel fiend but I need a convincing vehicle to put it in so I have this morning sought out a book dealer who can find me the following:

‘Unused or partly used diary dating from 1885-1895, must have at least 20 blank pages’

Now, if I get desperate I am willing to accept, say, an 1896 diary because I'm certain that 'diaries' in the late Victorian period were actually what we now call 'notebooks' - that is, it never occurred to the printers to put actual dates in them. I should probably check my facts there but frankly I can't be arsed to and I'm sure I'll be proven to be right even if I did.

Oh - hold on - I know a bloke down in London who recently said he had a tiny red diary from 1891 and that it had each day of 1891 very clearly printed in it. Damn!

Oh well, if one materialises, I'll accept it anyway and then get Mrs Iconoclast to pay for it ...

[Iconoclast]

... and yet - despite the obvious risks - she turned over all of the evidence for the purchase to researcher and relative stranger Keith Skinner (I think it was Keith) so the cheque book and the bank statement and the flaming red 1891 diary itself. Extraordinary stupidity or extraordinary confidence, I just can't decide which.

Just for the record, Mr Skinner has just updated my comment, above:

"Plus - Anne went out of her way to help Shirley and me find out who the cheque was payable to enabling Shirley to trace a "Mr M Earl" somewhere in Thame, Oxford in 1995 (without the aid of the internet) - and for me to pick up the trail in 2004 and locate the advertisement in Bookdealer."

So - all-in-all - it looks like the most extraordinary confidence was oozing through the woman when she almost arrogantly provoked anyone and everyone by blatantly admitting all relevant details of the red-diary-con. For someone with not a scrap of history in the game, she was astonishingly flagrant in her advertising of the thing that Algernon Orsam cites as the principal (only?) reason he thinks Mike Barrett organised the hoax of the century. She had some gonads that woman, I'd say!

Or else she and her hubby didn't hoax anything at all and that she therefore had absolutely nothing whatsoever to fear from revealing what she revealed about the irrelevant 1891 maroon diary?

Honestly, I can't decide ...

[caz]

Afternoon Ike,

If the 1891 diary was the gift to Barrett believers that keeps on giving, could the watch be said to be the gift that keeps on 'ticking' away?

In January 1995, Mike is telling poor Alan Gray that he put the scratches in the watch himself before sending it over the water to Wallasey, on a ferry 'cross the Mersey [thank you, Gerry Marsden] or more likely in the vehicle of a trusted "friend" via the tunnel [take a bow, Eddie Lyons]. After this, Alan doesn't sound too surprised to find that Mike has given him a number for Tony Devereux's house in Fountains Road that doesn't exist.

Now you might be surprised, but faking the watch is not actually the most idiotic lie Mike ever told. There was at least some method in the madness. After all, if the scratches are old, it follows as night follows day that Anne and Mike didn't write the diary. It's as simple as that. So he has to have a plan to stop the boats - sorry - the watch.

But as the new year follows the old one, Mike continues to be Alan's flexible friend, and by September 1996 he has picked up a few more handy hints. Shame the same cannot be said for Alan, when Mike's watch story appears to have completely changed, for the benefit of Alan's shiny new paying client, Stan Dandeliver [geddit?]. Mike is now jumping on Martin Fido's 'bandwagon hoax' bandwagon, calling it predictable that a second Maybrick-related fake, like the watch, would emerge following his and Anne's fake diary.

Of course, an added advantage by 1996 is that Robbie Johnson has gone to meet Tony Devereux, so Mike can tell lies about both of them now with less fear of having his head stoved in.

Love,

Caz
X

[Iconoclast]

In January 1995, Mike is telling poor Alan Gray that he put the scratches in the watch himself ... and by September 1996 ... Mike is now jumping on Martin Fido's 'bandwagon hoax' bandwagon, calling it predictable that a second Maybrick-related fake, like the watch, would emerge following his and Anne's fake diary.

So, correct me if I'm wrong here, Caz, but you seem to be suggesting that Mike Barrett just kept on telling people whatever he thought they wanted to hear, yes? Whether his audience was big or small, he was always sensing which way the wind was blowing in that moment to see which way to swing the story to keep people listening to his bombastic nonsense? Is that a fair summary of your thinking?

And you feel he was lying whenever it suited him because he didn't think there would be any consequences to his lying?

That would be interesting as that would tally with my own personal view of Mike Barrett which is that he was a particularly lazy sod who didn't want to work and who had ideas well above his station in life and who liked - nay, craved - attention, especially of the variety which his role in the scrapbook story generated.

But as the new year follows the old one, Mike continues to be Alan's flexible friend, and by September 1996 he has picked up a few more handy hints. Shame the same cannot be said for Alan, when Mike's watch story appears to have completely changed, for the benefit of Alan's shiny new paying client, Stan Dandeliver [geddit?].

I love it!

Of course, an added advantage by 1996 is that Robbie Johnson has gone to meet Tony Devereux, so Mike can tell lies about both of them now with less fear of having his head stoved in.

One might call it the dividend of death which Mike happily cashed in whenever he had an audience to 'convince' (by 'convince', I obviously mean 'bore to death').

[caz]

On balance, I don't think Mike Barrett ever had any intention of telling the truth - never mind the whole truth and nothing but the truth - regarding what little he knew about the diary's origins.

There is no evidence that by June 1994 Mike was feeling so guilty and ashamed of his behaviour over the previous couple of years that he went to Harold Brough and tried to make amends with an honest confession to faking the diary.

On the contrary, the evidence indicates that Mike had been spending all his diary book royalties as fast as the money was reaching his bank account, with nothing to show for it but his overtly drunken behaviour. There is no sign of him making any mortgage payments and, worse, he would soon be owing Shirley his share of the expenses and legal costs involved in getting their bestseller onto the shelves in October 1993, and the monies would be taken off at source from any future royalty payments due, leaving him more skint than he ever was in 1992, when he had Anne to keep the roof over their heads, and desperately unhappy to have lost the wife and daughter who had meant everything to him - at least before the diary turned his life upside down.

Telling Brough that he had faked the diary would not have helped Mike's dire financial situation, but it might have given him some satisfaction to stick two fingers up to the diary people if they were going to bleed him dry one way or another [no royalties for anyone, so no way of screwing the expenses out of him] and hope for a reaction out of Anne in the process. When that reaction came in the form of telling Feldman she had given the diary to Mike via Tony Devereux, one might well imagine the anger and frustration Mike would have felt at being so thoroughly shafted.

So did Mike's thoughts then turn to how he could get revenge for this act of marital betrayal, while trying to save his home from imminent repossession? Is there evidence that he was hoping to sell his story to the highest bidder: How We Faked the Diary and Fooled The World, and bag himself a second bestseller?

The answer would appear to be yes. But Mike's lack of ability as a writer would inevitably let him down, and nobody in the business was willing to take a punt on him having a coherent, comprehensive, credible and evidence-based story to tell, when all the indications were that he was baying at the moon.

If anyone wants to do it for Mike today, and finally present the coherent, comprehensive and above all credible account of the when, who, what, how and why of it all, which he always failed to do, I'll be all ears, like King Charles. They now have 15 tapes and a typescript to help them describe the entire process leading up to Monday 13th April 1992, when Mike took the diary to London and waved his old life goodbye.

In the meanwhile, the 9th March 1992 double event will remain on the table as no coincidence, with someone other than Anne Barrett responsible for the handwriting in the diary.

Love,

Caz
X

[erobitha]

Have to say, that was an excellent summary of the situation Caz and is tune with how I see it unfolded also.

The thing with those pro Barrett hoaxers is that do not factor in with any logic, how humans actually behave in the real world. When you apply the context of Mike’s life to the story, it becomes rather apparent to us who do not believe it was a Barrett hoax, that our viewpoint is the most likely.

The testimonies of a proven liar to one side, Mike’s story came with zero proof he hoaxed anything. Yet, we have documented proof that electricians who drank in the same pub as Mike were at James Maybrick’s old home the exact same day Mike rings Doreen.

That evidence speaks far more truth than Mike ever could.

[caz]

Cheers, erobitha.

I often wonder what the story would be today if Mike had been better able to cope with the consequences of taking the "old book" to London on that Monday in April 1992 - regardless of how and when it came into his possession. If he had not got drunk - in both senses - on the fame and fortune that beckoned; if he had not become so abusive towards his wife by the end of 1993 that she left him, taking their precious daughter with her; if he had not spent all his diary money before going to Brough with his self-destructive story of having faked it himself; if Anne had not then responded with another one; and if Mike had not been persuaded by Alan Gray, urged on by Melvin Harris, to swear that affidavit shortly after Anne had divorced him - what would the mechanics of a modern hoax look like now, if Mike had never thought to mention the little 1891 diary to anyone, and if Anne had never been asked about it?

Might Tony Devereux have emerged as the best bet for the writing, with Mike as an accomplice at most? Would Fountains Road now be the suspected scene of the crime, with an innocent Anne being duped when Mike arrived home one day with a fake created in his friend's house? Would anyone be any closer to proving their preferred scenario and succeeding in wiping the Battlecrease witnesses off the map?

Edited to add...

What is the story if it's not Anne's handwriting in the diary? Has anyone even thought how they might move their human chess pieces round the board to accommodate such an unsettling possibility?

Love,

Caz
X

[caz]

Following on from yesterday's post, I do feel it's high time that someone - anyone - whose arguments on these boards have been based on Anne Graham's handwriting being in the diary, would actually attempt to contact her directly, so she knows what has been said about her and is given the opportunity to comment if she wishes to do so.

You never know, she might even be relieved to admit, after all these years, that it all started out innocently enough on her part, but just got out of hand when Mike insisted on doing things his own way.

She might be willing to confirm or refute some of the arguments we have made about the typescript, for example. After all, she was there and we were not.

If it's a "no comment", at least she would have been treated fairly by having a chance to defend herself.

It's not much to ask, is it, of any Barrett hoax believer who is serious about trying to get at the truth while their prime suspect is still with us?

What's the worst that could happen? Making Anne laugh out loud about the subject for the first time in years?

Love,

Caz
X