It was about a middle-aged man stuck in a dead-end job and a bland existence who daydreamed about his young secretary, was stuck in a rut in his relationship with his wife and who faked his own death by walking into the sea. The phrase, “do a Reggie Perrin” became a common phrase because of that series.
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| Leonard Rossiter as Reggie Perrin |
In that decade, the seventies, there were indeed, men who disappeared by running away from their previous life – but their situation was far from bland, and both caused a media sensation.
The first that exploded onto the world in November 1974 was none other than the most famous murder mystery in the world, with a suspect literally disappearing into thin air.
Let us delve into the past, the protagonists and the elements that led to a catastrophic situation.
Let us delve into the past, the protagonists and the elements that led to a catastrophic situation.
The Victim
The name of the murder victim was Sandra Rivett. She was twenty-nine, with a warm, engaging personality, the perfect companion for three young children for whom she was nanny while in employment for an upper-class, eccentric couple with a visceral hatred for each other and caught up in a custody battle.
The couple frequently changed nannies, which she may not have been aware of, and at the time of her death, she was the latest in a long string of employees.
The mother of two young sons herself, both were born out of wedlock, still something of a stigma at that time. Her eldest was brought up by her parents. The youngest she gave up for adoption. After this she married a Mr Roger Rivett, but the relationship broke up.
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| Sandra Rivett with her husband |
Then, on 7th November 1974, in the evening, as she descended the basement cellar of the home she worked in, an assailant subjected her to a vicious assault resulting in her murder.
Callously, her murderer placed her body in a mail sack, then launched a vicious assault on the children’s mother.
The Father
He was John Bingham, more popularly known as the Seventh Earl of Lucan. He had lost custody of his children after his wife revealed to a judge that he had a taste for dominatrix style sex. In his briefcase years after his disappearance, it was discovered that he possessed a cane and photos of women in black figure-hugging clothing.
Other than that, he was a professional gambler, called “Lucky” by his friends, had a power boat called White Migrant, a racing greyhound called Sambo’s Hangover and a friend Aspinall, who owned the club he frequently attended called The Claremont Club. Aspinall sometimes used to bring his pet tiger Tara to his club.
As a parent, John was very much hands-on and loved them very much. He could, however, not stand the sight of blood and once went queasy at the sight of his son’s bleeding knee.
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| Veronica (Countess of Lucan) and John Bingham (Lord Lucan) |
The Mother
Veronica (nee Duncan) was a young woman with mental health problems, who did very little with her children and spent most of her time in her room watching television until she came downstairs late in the afternoon with a bottle of alcohol in her hand.
In childhood, a psychiatrist described her to her mother as “a problem child”, so she did not experience much empathy growing up.
The marriage to her husband was a disaster, with her running him down in front of other people and an ex-nanny claiming he was always criticising her as a mother.
A notorious snob, she loved being a Countess, but was volatile, once throwing urine at a reporter and a glass of wine over a woman she thought was making a play for her husband at the Claremont Club.
She refused to play the part of the hostess and fall into an old-fashioned role, saying it was boring.
Perhaps her husband did not realise that by employing a nanny they could ill afford, (they had trouble paying the milk bill), he was robbing her of the role of motherhood that was rightfully hers.
Both the pair tended to live in a previous age. The nanny was relegated to the servants’ quarters.
Lucan, before the murder, resembled a Regency gentleman, leading a homosocial existence around men of his class and did not understand women.
The official Lucan story is that Lucan intended to kill his wife and waited for her with lead piping in the basement to his house, but then realised he had struck the nanny instead and put her in a mail bag.
Thinking he had killed his wife, he left the basement only to be confronted with his wife, whom he then attacked, but then stopped.
They both went upstairs to her bedroom. He went into the bathroom to wring out a towel to put on her head, but she then made her escape, running towards the pub down the road crying, “Murder, murder!” then crying out in the the pub, The Plumbers’ Arms, "He’s murdered my nanny!” (She did not say who “he” was.)
There is no point in going into the whodunnit aspects of the case as this blog is called “Disappearing Acts”. Lucan, if he did not succeed in anything else in life, succeeded in being a fugitive.
When his wife made her escape into the street he rang a neighbour, Mrs Floorman, who lived nearby, asking her to take care of the children.
· Rang his mother telling her about an “awful catastrophe…”
· Asked his mother to pick up his children
· Got into a car borrowed from a friend
· Drove to a barrister friend in Sussex who gave him sanctuary
· Wrote to his brother-in-law asking him to care for his children
The friend was Susan Maxwell-Scott, a woman who had a fridge marked Dog and asked her overnight babysitter whether she would like cornflakes or sherry for breakfast.
His car was found at Newhaven, but no one knows if this was a red herring. His friend, John Aspinall said in 1976: “What I probably would have done if he had appeared here is anything that he wished. To break your friendship is even more serious than to break the law.”
It is known Lucan had friends abroad and foreign bank accounts in Switzerland and Africa. Undoubtedly, having friends of privilege, who count themselves as above the law, helped him remain a fugitive.
His brother Hugh has stated that Bingham died in Africa in 2004. Was Lucan lucky?
Yet only two weeks after Lucan disappeared, the police thought they had found their quarry.
A British man walked across the sands of Miami, undressed, left his clothes in a pile and ran into the waves. Back in Britain, his wife announced she thought he had drowned. A month later, in Melbourne, police were excited, thinking they had found Lucan.
No, it was the man from Miami, the Labour politician, John Stonehouse. Like the previous story, his existence was far from colourless.
In childhood, a psychiatrist described her to her mother as “a problem child”, so she did not experience much empathy growing up.
The marriage to her husband was a disaster, with her running him down in front of other people and an ex-nanny claiming he was always criticising her as a mother.
A notorious snob, she loved being a Countess, but was volatile, once throwing urine at a reporter and a glass of wine over a woman she thought was making a play for her husband at the Claremont Club.
She refused to play the part of the hostess and fall into an old-fashioned role, saying it was boring.
Perhaps her husband did not realise that by employing a nanny they could ill afford, (they had trouble paying the milk bill), he was robbing her of the role of motherhood that was rightfully hers.
Both the pair tended to live in a previous age. The nanny was relegated to the servants’ quarters.
Lucan, before the murder, resembled a Regency gentleman, leading a homosocial existence around men of his class and did not understand women.
The official Lucan story is that Lucan intended to kill his wife and waited for her with lead piping in the basement to his house, but then realised he had struck the nanny instead and put her in a mail bag.
Thinking he had killed his wife, he left the basement only to be confronted with his wife, whom he then attacked, but then stopped.
They both went upstairs to her bedroom. He went into the bathroom to wring out a towel to put on her head, but she then made her escape, running towards the pub down the road crying, “Murder, murder!” then crying out in the the pub, The Plumbers’ Arms, "He’s murdered my nanny!” (She did not say who “he” was.)
There is no point in going into the whodunnit aspects of the case as this blog is called “Disappearing Acts”. Lucan, if he did not succeed in anything else in life, succeeded in being a fugitive.
When his wife made her escape into the street he rang a neighbour, Mrs Floorman, who lived nearby, asking her to take care of the children.
· Rang his mother telling her about an “awful catastrophe…”
· Asked his mother to pick up his children
· Got into a car borrowed from a friend
· Drove to a barrister friend in Sussex who gave him sanctuary
· Wrote to his brother-in-law asking him to care for his children
The friend was Susan Maxwell-Scott, a woman who had a fridge marked Dog and asked her overnight babysitter whether she would like cornflakes or sherry for breakfast.
His car was found at Newhaven, but no one knows if this was a red herring. His friend, John Aspinall said in 1976: “What I probably would have done if he had appeared here is anything that he wished. To break your friendship is even more serious than to break the law.”
It is known Lucan had friends abroad and foreign bank accounts in Switzerland and Africa. Undoubtedly, having friends of privilege, who count themselves as above the law, helped him remain a fugitive.
His brother Hugh has stated that Bingham died in Africa in 2004. Was Lucan lucky?
Yet only two weeks after Lucan disappeared, the police thought they had found their quarry.
A British man walked across the sands of Miami, undressed, left his clothes in a pile and ran into the waves. Back in Britain, his wife announced she thought he had drowned. A month later, in Melbourne, police were excited, thinking they had found Lucan.
No, it was the man from Miami, the Labour politician, John Stonehouse. Like the previous story, his existence was far from colourless.
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| John Stonehouse MP |
He had intended to leave his troubles behind and start a new life with her. Instead, he was arrested and sent to prison for seven years for fraud, theft and other crimes, including identity theft.
During his defence, he claimed a alter-ego called Markham, committed these offences. A Mr Markham, who had died, was the false identity he stole in his attempt to flee justice. It might have made entertaining listening but impressed no one. They thought it was balderdash. These shenanigans ended his role as a politician.
His prison sentence affected his health, though he married Sheila after his prison sentence, who does seem to have loved him. She did stand by him and support him through his disgrace. He must have found some solace with the birth of their child together.
Edwina Currie said in a TV interview that Stonehouse was the architect of his own downfall, a victim of his own arrogance. However, he did not do a Reggie Perrin. The fictional character of Perrin may have seemed to have been an inspiration for Stonehouse’s actions. However, it was coincidental. Stonehouse’s faked suicide was in November 1974 and Nobbs’ novel The Death of Reginald Perrin was not published till 1975!
They say that fact is stranger than fiction!
Thank you for reading,
Anne G Dilley
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