an unlikely ex-con to his neighbours – on leaving his flat in immaculate dress he would descend the stairs on his way to the streets and whatever business he had that day. But if he passed a youngster on the way down he would stop and benignly hand him or her a wee sweetie. A far cry from prison porridge in the North-East of Scotland.
Oscar Slater was not the only innocent who lodged for years in Peterhead. The case of Paddy Meehan, the man wrongly convicted in 1969 of the murder of pensioner Rachel Ross in, coincidentally, Slater’s adopted hometown of Ayr, has many similarities to that of the German, including a celebrity supporter. In Meehan’s case, instead of Conan Doyle, TV personality and author Ludovic Kennedy led the fight to free him, supported by a group of newspaper men and lawyers. Meehan, like Slater, was involved in a possibly rigged identity parade and there were accusations of evidence being planted on him to help ensure a conviction. Even the furore in the press was similar to that which followed the death of old Marion Gilchrist. History does indeed seem to repeat itself.
The victim in the Meehan case, Rachel Ross, was a seventy-two-year-old who lived with her ex-bookmaker husband in a bungalow in the Clyde coast resort of Ayr. They were involved in bingo halls and kept large sums of money in the house, something that seemed to be known in the murky Glasgow underworld. Their home was a tempting target for any rascal bent on getting his hands on large sums of readies and the brutal murder horrified the entire country. Intruders had broken into the home of the wealthy couple and tied them up. Mrs Ross was bludgeoned heavily around the head and later died in hospital. The couple were not found in the house until twenty-four hours after the thieves had left. The detail of their ordeal made horrific reading in the press and, once again, the police found themselves under enormous public pressure to find the cruel villains involved.
Again not for the first time, in an investigation without any obvious leads, they pulled in one of the usual suspects in break-ins, Paddy Meehan. This despite the fact they were dealing with a violent incident and that Meehan, although a well-known safebreaker and burglar, was not considered a man of violence.
Meehan had been suspected of being in the area on the night of the crime. He was, but he was returning to Glasgow with a co-villain Jim Griffiths after some nefarious late-night business south of Ayr. Griffiths did have a record of violence and a pathological fear of imprisonment. Approached by the police about his movements on the night of the murder he went berserk and went on a daylight rampage through the streets of Glasgow. By the time he was cornered and killed by a shot from armed police who had chased him into a tenement flat in the west end, nine men had been shot by him, one fatally, plus two women, a child and a police officer. The officer who killed him had, as per police practice, aimed at his shoulder but the bullet ricocheted into his heart.
Griffiths, aged thirty-four, was buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave in Linn Park cemetery in Glasgow’s south-side. His life had run its course, but for Meehan the nightmare was only beginning. The saga of his wrongful conviction and eventual pardon made headlines for years and is told in detail in my book Glasgow’s Hard Men (Black & White Publishing, Edinburgh, 2002). One major difference in the Slater and Meehan cases is that in the Ayr murder the killer was found. It was established many years later that the real murderer was an infamous Glasgow low-lifer called Tank McGuiness, who eventually died in a bloody street brawl. No matter, in the late 1960s, after a dramatic and controversial trial, Paddy Meehan took that road so familiar to Glasgow’s criminals up north to Peterhead. In jail he was soon a headache to staff and governor alike. As Slater had done before him, he took every opportunity to declaim his
Oscar Slater was not the only innocent who lodged for years in Peterhead. The case of Paddy Meehan, the man wrongly convicted in 1969 of the murder of pensioner Rachel Ross in, coincidentally, Slater’s adopted hometown of Ayr, has many similarities to that of the German, including a celebrity supporter. In Meehan’s case, instead of Conan Doyle, TV personality and author Ludovic Kennedy led the fight to free him, supported by a group of newspaper men and lawyers. Meehan, like Slater, was involved in a possibly rigged identity parade and there were accusations of evidence being planted on him to help ensure a conviction. Even the furore in the press was similar to that which followed the death of old Marion Gilchrist. History does indeed seem to repeat itself.
The victim in the Meehan case, Rachel Ross, was a seventy-two-year-old who lived with her ex-bookmaker husband in a bungalow in the Clyde coast resort of Ayr. They were involved in bingo halls and kept large sums of money in the house, something that seemed to be known in the murky Glasgow underworld. Their home was a tempting target for any rascal bent on getting his hands on large sums of readies and the brutal murder horrified the entire country. Intruders had broken into the home of the wealthy couple and tied them up. Mrs Ross was bludgeoned heavily around the head and later died in hospital. The couple were not found in the house until twenty-four hours after the thieves had left. The detail of their ordeal made horrific reading in the press and, once again, the police found themselves under enormous public pressure to find the cruel villains involved.
Again not for the first time, in an investigation without any obvious leads, they pulled in one of the usual suspects in break-ins, Paddy Meehan. This despite the fact they were dealing with a violent incident and that Meehan, although a well-known safebreaker and burglar, was not considered a man of violence.
Meehan had been suspected of being in the area on the night of the crime. He was, but he was returning to Glasgow with a co-villain Jim Griffiths after some nefarious late-night business south of Ayr. Griffiths did have a record of violence and a pathological fear of imprisonment. Approached by the police about his movements on the night of the murder he went berserk and went on a daylight rampage through the streets of Glasgow. By the time he was cornered and killed by a shot from armed police who had chased him into a tenement flat in the west end, nine men had been shot by him, one fatally, plus two women, a child and a police officer. The officer who killed him had, as per police practice, aimed at his shoulder but the bullet ricocheted into his heart.
Griffiths, aged thirty-four, was buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave in Linn Park cemetery in Glasgow’s south-side. His life had run its course, but for Meehan the nightmare was only beginning. The saga of his wrongful conviction and eventual pardon made headlines for years and is told in detail in my book Glasgow’s Hard Men (Black & White Publishing, Edinburgh, 2002). One major difference in the Slater and Meehan cases is that in the Ayr murder the killer was found. It was established many years later that the real murderer was an infamous Glasgow low-lifer called Tank McGuiness, who eventually died in a bloody street brawl. No matter, in the late 1960s, after a dramatic and controversial trial, Paddy Meehan took that road so familiar to Glasgow’s criminals up north to Peterhead. In jail he was soon a headache to staff and governor alike. As Slater had done before him, he took every opportunity to declaim his
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