The Infamy Game

We’ve mentioned a few of the Fylde and Wyre’s more famous exports before, but now it’s time to turn to the dark side, and where better to start than with the most evil man in the whole universe ever? Yes, I’m talking about John Simm, the bloke who on New Year’s Day made thousands of eight-year-old girls (and quite a few overweight middle-aged divorcees as well I suspect) burst into tears all at once when he killed David Tennant so that he could nick his role in Hamlet.


All right, not the best portrait in the world, I admit…in fact he’s got more than a touch of the Julian Clarey’s about him, but who cares? This is the Master we’re dealing with here, not the masterpiece. (Copyright Giles Brandreth Psuedo-Intellectual Jokes Inc. 1873.)
John Simm was actually born in Yorkshire, but had the good sense to escape to Nelson in Lancashire when he was only a couple of years old. Eventually he found his way to Blackpool and, at the age of sixteen, attended Lytham St Anne’s college. (That’s the same college Michelle went to, incidentally…although in her case it was a bit earlier than 1986, I have to be honest.)
His acting credentials are quite impressive, it must be said, ranging from appearances in ‘Rumpole of the Old Bailey’ to ‘Cracker’. In more recent times he’s been carving a niche for himself as temporally-challenged characters; firstly as Sam Tyler in ‘Life on Mars’ (the series that brought us the immortal – not to mention immoral – line: ‘We’re making about as much progress as a spastic in a magnet factory!” What? Don’t blame me! Blame the BBC scriptwriters for that one) and secondly taking over the aforementioned role of the Master in Dr. Who from Derek Jacobi.
But before we end up writing his entire Curriculum Vitae, let’s move on.
Now, everybody knows that Albert Pierrepoint, the last hangman in Britain, retired to Fleetwood following his final execution, don’t they?
Except that he didn’t.
He retired to Southport actually, and possibly never went near the Fylde and/or Wyre in his life.
However, the last hangman in Britain did retire to Fleetwood.
Confused? Hardly surprising really, because regardless of the numerous books, plays and television spectaculars written about Pierrepoint, he wasn’t actually the last hangman in Britain at all.
That somewhat dubious honour goes to a bloke called Harry Allen.
Let’s have a picture of Albert Pierrepoint for comparative reasons then shall we?


Hard to believe that he made a living by hanging criminals, isn’t it? Especially considering that he looks like a cross between an elderly Stan Laurel and a hamster.
Like Simm, Albert Pierrepoint hailed from Yorkshire, but had the good sense to get out before it was too late. Whilst living in Failsworth, Manchester, he ran a pub called the 'Help the Poor Struggler'. I know…sick, or what? But sadly true.
He took over the role of public executioner in 1932 from his father (his granddad having held it before him – it’s a good job nepotism wasn’t a hanging offence), but relinquished it in 1956. The last hangman of all was in fact two people, those being Robert Stewart and Harry Allen.
Both officiated at the last hangings in England, in August of 1964.
It was Harry who retired to Fleetwood, so let’s have a picture of him now as well, to avoid confusion.


Looks very dapper, doesn’t he? Apparently he always wore a waistcoat, bow tie and bowler on the job. Obviously he didn’t want the victim to be scandalised by a scruffy appearance in his last few moments.
Harry passed away in August 1992 (not long after Pierrepoint, coincidentally), which was a pity, because I can think of a number of idiots around Fleetwood who wouldn’t be particularly missed if he’d given them a demonstration of his craft from the flagpole on the Mount.