Crossman story Last week we regretted that the publication of
the Crossman diaries had been held up by Sir John Hunt and company. Richard Crossman was in the true tradition of the good-natured left-wing nut, a man whose business was professional true belief. The legacy of his diaries may be less than Olympian in its wisdom and breadth of achievement, but there will certainly be an unflagging zest. One day we'll be able to read what he had to say.
Meanwhile, there's a little story I was told two weeks ago by Peter Thompson, the ex-Broadmoor patient who was released a year or two ago and has now published his touching second book, Back from Broad moor. According to Thompson, though I take his tale with a large lump of salt, Crossman visited Broadmoor in a ministerial capacity some years ago. The superintendent, a Dr McGrath, was taking him back to his car when the minister, much impressed by the beautifully kept gardens, asked how many gardeners were needed. McGrath pointed to one white-haired old man who, he said, was wholly responsible for the upkeep. Crossman asked this gentle old fellow how long he had been in the institution. "Sixty years," was the answer. Crossman, becoming very concerned, drew the man aside to ask quietly how he came to be confined for so long. When I was a young man," he was told, "I threw a brick at a policeman and knocked his helmet off.
Crossman, it goes without saying, was shocked and observed that there were now new methods for the review of old cases. He carefully wrote down the man's name and promised to see that the case was re-examined. There were farewells, Crossman turning to walk to the official car when he was hit hard by a flying stone and the ringing words; "And make sure you don't forget!"
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