The summer of 1966 was supposed to be a celebration. England had just triumphed in the World Cup, a nation united in euphoria. But the joy was brutally shattered by an act of cold-blooded violence that gripped the country in horror.
Three police officers – Detective Sergeant Christopher Head, Detective Constable David Wombwell, and PC Geoffrey Fox – were gunned down during a routine stop of a van following an armed robbery. The scene unfolded with terrifying speed, a stark contrast to the celebratory mood that had enveloped the nation.
Detective Constable Wombwell, diligently recording details in his notebook, became the first target. From the passenger seat, Harry Roberts calmly produced a Luger pistol and fired. Sergeant Head, attempting to retreat to the safety of the police car, was struck down in a second volley of gunfire.
PC Fox’s fate was sealed by a fellow member of the gang, John Duddy. The senseless loss of three lives sent shockwaves through the country, turning jubilation into mourning. Thousands lined the streets for their funerals, a somber testament to their sacrifice.
A massive manhunt was immediately launched, fueled by public outrage. Rewards of £1,000 – a substantial sum in 1966 – were offered for information leading to Roberts’ capture. Posters bearing his image appeared everywhere, a constant reminder of the fugitive at large.
Adding a deeply personal dimension to the search, Roberts’ own mother, Dorothy, made a desperate televised plea. Her voice trembling with anguish, she implored her son to surrender, offering to meet him anywhere, begging him to prevent further bloodshed. It was a mother’s heartbreaking appeal to the son she knew.
Roberts, however, proved elusive. For three months, he vanished into the dense Epping Forest, utilizing survival skills honed during his time in the Army. He lived off the land, a ghost haunting the edges of society, while the nation held its breath.
The reports of his evasion were astonishing. He was spotted stealing sandwiches from a family picnic, allegedly disguised himself as a woman to alter his appearance, and even rumored to have found work in a Soho strip club. Each sighting fueled the public’s fascination and frustration.
His capture, when it finally came, was anticlimactic. Found hiding in haystacks, Roberts reportedly expressed surprise at his arrest, expecting to be shot on sight. He seemed almost…grateful to be taken alive.
Behind bars, Roberts offered a chillingly detached account of the murders. He claimed no remorse, stating they hadn’t intended to kill, only to avoid a 15-year prison sentence. He described himself and his accomplices as “professional criminals,” operating by a different moral code.
After serving 45 years, Roberts was released from Littlehey prison in 2014. The decision ignited a firestorm of controversy. Families of the victims and senior police officials vehemently protested, believing he should have remained incarcerated for life.
The debate reached the highest levels of government. Some, like then-Home Secretary Theresa May, argued strongly against his release, while others maintained it was a matter of legal process, not emotion. The case continues to be a stark reminder of the complexities of justice and the enduring pain of loss.
