Nick Kendellen writes (16th January 2016) :
"Leo and I stayed in touch for some years after he left the Priory in 1958 mainly through correspondence the old fashioned way ( hand written letters - remember those?). We both moved around in the mid 60's and lost contact some years later.
Accidentally, in April last year, I stumbled on an obituary in a UK journal called PressGazette . It was written on May 19th 2011 by one of Leo's journalist colleagues named John Burke-Davies followed by another by Paul Bannister and a few paragraphs by Geoffrey Seed. Leo died on May 4th 2011. I was quite saddened when I read the article and also surprised that Leo's friends from our school days seemed not to have heard anything about it.
If you Google John Burke Davies and scroll down to the headline 'Leo Clancy:' He could charm quotes out of a deaf mute' you will see the article. (Copy below)
There is much more I could say about Leo and our escapades at St. Boswells and the Priory and the numerous times we ( mostly he) ended up in the Prefect of Discipline's office after a day out."
The following was taken from the PressGazette, written by former colleagues John Burke Davies, Martin Turner, Paul Bannister and Geoffrey Seed.
John Burke Davies writes :
A funeral service was held for Leo, who died on 4 May, at West London Crematorium in Kensal Green on Friday, 13 May.
Among the mourners were two of his best pals, myself – commonly known as JBD – and Martin Turner, with whom Leo embarked on the adventure of a lifetime.
Leo made his national reputation when working for the Daily Mail, first in Manchester and later in London.
Then, in 1973, he took up an invitation to join the editorial staff of the National Enquirer in Lantana, Florida.
His remarkable talents were quickly spotted, and he was soon dispatched to India to interview a man who fluently spoke more than 40 languages.
And with his own eloquence of the English language, Leo was destined for a lucrative future with The Enquirer.
But the irrepressible Leo, who later wrote two highly-acclaimed crime novels ("Fix" and "Crack") and was destined to become Britain's answer to Elmore Leonard, had other ideas.
Together with myself and Martin we absconded from The Enquirer for an escapade in South America.
The three of us took a titanic journey throughout Central America before heading to South America itself.
It was an epic journey, fraught with danger and sheer excitement. We were arrested three times for being alleged spies. Fortunately, although Leo had a fiery temper, he also had a remarkably smooth tongue and always managed to talk us out of the trickiest situations.
I'm proud to say the three of us embarked on two memorable voyages – one down the River Orinoco and the other up the River Amazon.
I first met Leo while he was working for the Coventry Evening Telegraph in 1965 and I was working for The Rugby Advertiser.
But it was three years later when I worked for the Bristol Evening Post that I really came to know Leo. He sat opposite me working on The Post's sister paper The Western Daily Press. Martin hadn't ventured into journalism at that time but he, too, became part of the trio as we all went on to share a house.
Leo was my doyen and I owe more to him than any other man I have met in my life.
I, and anyone else who knew him, will miss his charm, his wit, his generosity and above all his friendship - knowing him was an unforgettable experience and an education.
After our South American escapade all three of us ended up working for the News of the World.
And Martin, too, still cherishes his memories of South America.
Martin Turner writes :
We arrived in Mexico in early 1974 to begin our adventure. But within a few months we found ourselves in the middle of the Amazon jungle in Columbia. It was here that we boarded a dilapidated twin-propelled plane, which was to take us on a flight to the edge of a green hell.
There was a lightning conductor from the cockpit to the tail of the plane. Once on board we noticed the seats were made of canvas and apart from the three of us, there was a group of Columbians carrying chickens in baskets, others carried bags of corn while others were carrying goats on their shoulders.
On the third attempt, the pilot, who was wearing a crash helmet, managed to get us airborne after we bounced along the runway – a field in the middle the jungle. We were stood at the back of the plane, which is just as well, because as soon as we took off, all the seats collapsed, throwing the passengers to the floor.
Once we were several hundreds feet in the air, a potential catastrophe awaited us as the clouds were black and there was flashes of fork lightning. We were in the middle of an electrical storm. One bolt of lightning struck the plane and we began to plummet towards the jungle below – so low, in fact, that we could see the tops of the jungle trees.
The pilot carried on nursing the plane through out nightmarish flight, skimming across the tops of the trees – a green hell but it held no fear for Leo.
He sat with us on the floor of the plane gently smiling at us. Eventually, we touched down at our destination - another field in the middle of nowhere. The passengers, including us, disembarked and then they surrounded the plane. They all applauded the pilot, who emerged still wearing his crash helmet, while some even sank to their knees in prayer.
Leo turned towards us with a huge grin on his face and said, 'Piece of piss, lads'!
That's just one chapter. There's no doubt it was one hell of an adventure from start to finish.
But there again – Leo was one hell of a man. We will all miss him
greatly. He really was a legend.
Paul Bannister writes :
My memories of Leo Clancy are fond ones.
He was indeed an original, a charmer, a wild man and a journo who wrote like an angel, a talent not needed at the formulaic National Enquirer when he rolled up there in 1974.
Leo and his near-incomprehensible Irish growl fascinated the office lovelies, intrigued interview subjects and disguised the fine intellect that let him assess and land even the toughest stories.
His persuasive skills also led him, emotionally overtired and stopped by Lake Worth's finest after destroying a set of traffic barricades at a reported 100 mph, to convince the responding officer that the barricades, not Leo, were the real threat to the public.
The wild colonial boy soon slipped off into the night, leaving another crumpled problem for Mr Hertz to unravel.
The Enquirer and its rigid ways were not for Leo, and he, John Burke-Davis and Martin Turner exited the paper with a set of corporate credit cards for unauthorised adventures in South America.
Before mailing the cards back Leo reportedly charged air tickets and other sundries to them, on the not-unreasonable grounds that the paper owed him comp time and severance pay.
At least two executives were left unable to decide whether to grind their teeth in fury or be relieved that after Leo's departure the building was still standing.
Leo dropped off my personal radar, surfacing only once to say he'd been driving a London bus by day and writing a novel at a table in a Notting Hill pub by night. It is a measure of a man who lived every bit of his life to the fullest, who was a shining talent and a warm-hearted human, that only a short friendship left such good memories.
Geoffrey Seed writes:
If life is a beach then growing older is nodding off and being trapped by a tide you never imagined would actually come in.
So I get phoned by Tom Hendry, ex Mirror news editor, to say our former Daily Mail colleague, Leo Clancy, has died aged 70 or 71.
Leo Clancy... in his seventies and dead? How can this possibly be?
He was his twinkle-eyed, subversive self when I saw him last – a Park Drive in one hand, a packet of Polos in the other and as rumpled as ever in a suit no charity would let hang in its shop.
Blokes wanted to be Leo's mate, women wanted to warm his bed. He could charm great quotes from a deaf mute, conjure stories from the air – and all with a lightness of touch Mulchrone himself might admire.
I left newspapers for television in 1974 and lost contact with Leo. Maybe the gods never intend hacks to grow too old. Life, tragedy, illness – this is what happens to other people, not those who report from the privileged sidelines.
It's often quite a shock to see that some who have survived the riotous, boozing, womanising ways that made them legends in their own lunchtimes have now taken to dyeing their hair grey or using walking sticks or talking endlessly about how many times they get up in the night to pee.
Thankfully, Leo – and many others – remain fixed in my memory as we all were in those wonderful, anarchic, free-wheeling days before accountants inherited the earth and we didn't care how many bridges we'd left unburned.
Br Eugene Leonard died on the 17th January 2016, in St Francis Nursing
Glasgow, Great Britain at the age of 89 years old of which 60 of missionary life
in Luxembourg, Malawi and in Great Britain.
(Reproduced from the MAfr international website).
|Nat.: G.B.||Dioc?e d'origine
Return to Top
Br John Murphy 1937 - 2015
Fr. Terry Madden, Provincial of Great Britain,
informs you of the return to the Lord of Brother Murphy.
He died on the 25th October 2015, in Glasgow, Great Britain
at the age of 78 years old of which 56 of missionary life
in Malawi and in Great Britain.
(Reproduced from the MAfr international website).
|Nat.: G.B.||Dioc?e d'origine
"Il ne faut pas que vous vous attristiez comme
les autres qui n'ont pas d'Esp?ance". Thess 4,13
Nous le recommandons instamment ?votre pri?e.
Bro Tim with carer in Nursing
(Reproduced from the MAfr international website).
He died on September 08, 2015, in Dublin (St Joseph's Nursing Home),
at the age of 88 years of which 59 of missionary life in Ghana and Ireland.
His funeral mass will take place on Friday at 11.00am
in our chapel in Templeogue
Let us pray for the repose of his soul and for his family
" I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will still live, even if he dies. " John 11, 25
|Nat.: Ireland||Dioc?e d'origine
Centre Marienthal Luxembourg
Kerry Bagshaw, who has died aged 72, was a Royal Marine officer who went on to work for the Secret Intelligence Service.
In 1988 Bagshaw became first secretary at the British Embassy in Moscow where he reported on political and military developments in the Soviet Union. He then returned to London to help to prepare Stella Rimington, the future director-general of MI5, for her historic meeting with the KGB in its headquarters and chief prison, the Lubyanka.
Ostensibly the purpose was to help the Russians come to terms with working in a democracy. The actual meeting was, Rimington later recalled, “like wild animals suddenly presented with their prey in circumstances where they couldn’t eat it.”
Between 1993 and 1995 Bagshaw managed security operations throughout Western Europe, and from 1995 to 1998 he headed a group responsible for building new relationships with Russia, central and eastern Europe and the Balkans, before becoming, in 1998, special representative to the Caspian region.
Charles Kerry Bagshaw was born on October 5 1943 in Gloucester, brought up in Buxton, and educated by the White Fathers at Saint Columba’s College, a Catholic seminary near Melrose, before joining the Royal Marines as a raw recruit in 1961.
Bagshaw saw much action in one of Britain’s bloody but forgotten colonial conflicts, the Radfan Campaign, a vicious war in the mountains between Yemen and Saudi Arabia, when the British attempted to keep a truce between tribesmen and to maintain the separate identity of Aden. In 1964, he was selected for officer training.
Bagshaw served in 45 Commando twice – and was injured both times – before serving in 40 Commando in Singapore during Konfrontasi. Having qualified as a swimmer-canoeist in 1967, he joined the Special Boat Section. In 1970 he took command of 3 Special Boat Detachment in Bahrain where his duties including training the Iranians in the techniques and skills of Special Forces.
On return from the Gulf he selected and trained Royal Marines volunteers for the Special Boat Service. One of his last missions was as part of the security guard of the Cunard liner QE2 when she was chartered to visit Israel in 1973. While mingling with the passengers, Bagshaw and other plainclothes members of the SBS carried their weapons inside their Bermuda shorts in specially made suede holsters to reduce chafing.
In 1974 he joined the Foreign and Commonwealth Office and was sent to various posts in Central and South America, and the UK Mission to the UN in Geneva, in Libya, Egypt and South Africa. From 1977 to 1979 Bagshaw was first secretary at the High Commission in Gaborone, Botswana, where he first learned about the problem of conflict diamonds, smuggled diamonds used to fund crime and Africa’s bloody civil wars.
This knowledge stood him in good stead when, in 1999, he was recruited by De Beers and moved to Johannesburg to develop and implement the diamond mining company’s worldwide corporate security strategy. In 2005 he became a consultant to Rio Tinto. Finally, from 2006 until 2010, he ran his own consultancy advising the Royal Canadian Mounted Police on all aspects of security of the diamond trade.
A gifted all round athlete and boxer who represented his school, county and the Navy, Bagshaw was an ultramarathon runner and a hill-walker. He loved to discuss philosophy and literature, and liked classical music, particularly Bach.
He was awarded the OBE in 1992 and the CMG 1990.
Kerry Bagshaw was married to Janet Bond from 1965 to 1969. He married secondly, in 1970, Pamela Slater. She survives him with a daughter of the first marriage and two daughters of the second marriage.
Kerry Bagshaw, born October 5 1943, died November 11 2015
Article taken from the Times, March 29 2016
Kerry Bagshaw: Royal Marine and intelligence officer who
was MI6’s head of station in Moscow in the 1990s when the Soviet
As MI6’s head of station in Moscow in the early 1990s, Kerry Bagshaw was among the first people to realise that the Soviet Union had imploded and that the Cold War had been won.
In August 1991, he and his family were at the British embassy’s countryside dacha when news filtered through of a coup attempt against President Gorbachev. It had been mounted by hardline members of the government opposed to Gorbachev’s programme of reforms.
Although the Intelligence Service’s prime Russian asset, the KGB agent Oleg Gordievsky, had been successfully exfiltrated before Bagshaw took up his post in 1988, signs of crisis in the Soviet union were apparent even before the fall of the Berlin Wall. By early 1989, for instance, the Soviet Union had pulled out of Afghanistan.
Yet though increased openness — glasnost— was official policy, Bagshaw was still followed by the KGB wherever he went. He was also subject to harassment, such as having cars broken into, as he worked at gathering information on Soviet intentions and capabilities.
Nevertheless, the conspiracy against Gorbachev took most Western
observers by surprise. Bagshaw monitored the situation from the
embassy and once it appeared calmer , the rest of his family was
told that it was safe to return to Moscow.
As they drove past the airport, they found themselves flanked by a column of tanks that began to roll towards the city centre. The armoured support for Boris Yeltsin, the emerging leader of Russia, who memorably stood on a tank to address the crowds, helped to ensure the coup’ failure.
Some days later, the Bagshaws were at the Bolshoi Ballet, when the audience spontaneously applauded the arrival of Yeltsin. A new era appeared to have dawned and Kerry Bagshaw returned to London to brief MI5’s Stella Rimington for a historic meeting in Moscow with her Russian counterparts, just before her promotion to director-general.
The putsch prompted one KGM officer, Vladimir Putin to resign when his superior backed it. However, the thaw did not last long. Two years later, Bagshaw’s successor in Moscow, John Scarlett, was expelled by the Russians in a tit-for-tat row. And when Bagshaw returned for a valedictory visit and went for a jog, he found the watchers once more in place.
Charles Kerry Bashaw was born in 1943 and grew up in Buxton, Derbyshire. His father managed the ambulance service and his mother was a nurse. He was educated at St Colomba’s, a seminary run by the White Fathers at Melrose, and then at its senior school, the Priory, Bishop’s Waltham.
His intent was to become a missionary, although signs that he was not destined for the priesthood came when he led a group of seminarians on a visit to Paris that finished up in the Folies Bergere. In the event, the first time he was to set foot in Africa was leaping from a Land Rover to put down a rebellion in Tanganyika.
He joined the Royal Marines as a recruit at 18, tempted by a poster in Manchester’s railway station showing a parachutist dropping on a palm-fringed beach. He was unaware that he could have applied to be an officer and any ambitions in that direction were stalled by a charge for throwing smoke grenades on to a public road. A certain disregard for authority was to become a hallmark of his career.
Nevertheless, his athleticism was prized — he was a good boxer and represented the Navy at cross country running — and went on to serve in 43, 40 and 45 Commandos. In 1964 he was posted to Aden, operating against rebel tribesmen in the arid mountains of Radfan.
When a track leading to an observation post gave way one night, Bashaw broke his pelvis and had to be helicoptered out. Two years later, by now commissioned and back in Aden, he received shrapnel wounds when the 4-tonner in which he was travelling hit a mine near the Habilayn airstrip.
In 1989, Bagshaw joined the SBS, where his training officer was Paddy Ashdown. He formed part of his plainclothes detachment that, with weapons concealed inside their shorts, mingled with holidaymakers during the QE2’s visit to Israel in 1973.
He was the first Royal Marines officer to make a Halo — High Altitude Low Opening — parachute jump, doing so on the day that his second child was born. His first marriage, in 1965, to Janet Bond, with whom he had a daughter, Tracey, ended in divorce. In 1970, he married Pamela Slater after they met at a mess ball. Formerly an events organiser, she survives him with his eldest daughter and their two daughters, Gail and Fay.
Bagshaw joined SIS (MI6) in 1974. After familiarisation visits to north and south Africa, he was posted in 1977 to Gabarone, Botswana, under cover as first security. His main remit was to monitor Russian activity in the region. Daphne (later Baroness) Park, MI6’s leading expert on Africa, became a mentor to Bagshaw, as he would afterwards be to successive generations of younger officers.
After spell at Century House, the service’s offices in Lambeth, Bagshaw was send in 1982 to Geneva. Ostensibly he was attached to the UN’s standing conference on trade and development, but SIS’s true interest was in the Soviet Bloc officials who passed through the city for summits.
His work left him time for climbing and camping in the Alps — his daughters’ first experience of a night outdoors was under a groundsheet stretched between two trees — and in his forties he taught himself to become an expert skier.
After leaving Russia, Bagshaw spent seven years in senior positions within SIS, controlling operations in Eastern Europe and forging better relations with the former Soviet satellites. He was appointed OBE in 1992 and CMG in 1998.
Subsequently he advised De Beers, the diamond mining giant, on security, relishing the opportunity in South Africa to go hunting with Bushmen. He later worked with Rio Tinto and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police before settling in Yorkshire. A runner of ultra marathons, he would cycle between is homes in England and France.
His was a character of contradictions. He was a tough loner with a sensitive spirit, a poetry-loving philosopher who enjoyed parties. After his death following a heart operation, he was buried on the fell he knew so well, his grave carved from the granite.
Kerry Bagshaw, Royal Marine and intelligence officer, was born on October 5, 1943. He died on November 11, 2015, aged 72.