Nominated BEST BRITISH TRUE-CRIME PODCAST, 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, Crime & Investigation Channel's Top 20 True-Crime Podcasts, also seen on BBC Radio, Sky News, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week.
Welcome to the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast and audio guided walk of London's most infamous and often forgotten murder cases, all set within and beyond the West End.
EPISODE TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY-NINE: On Saturday 24th January 1976 at 1:30pm, in their second floor flat at 41 St Olaf’s Road in Fulham, John Park brutally murdered his heavily pregnant wife. In an act of rage which was unusual for such a calm and placid man, he would claim he murdered her over money she had given to her daughter. But was there more to this?
THE LOCATION
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The location is marked with a black coloured symbol of a bin at the middle of the markers near the word 'Fulham'. To use the map, click it. If you want to see the other maps, click here.
SOURCES: This case was researched using some of the sources below.
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT OF THE EPISODE: Welcome to Murder Mile. Today I’m standing on St Olaf’s Road in Fulham, SW6; a short walk south of the slaying of a super spy, four streets north of the dumping of the woman in red, three roads east of Lyn, Jan and the man only known as “him”, and a short dawdle from the brutality of Ronald True - coming soon to Murder Mile. St Olaf’s Road is a quiet residential street complete with two long lines of brown bricked three-storey tenements with each flat accessible by a communal door. It’s the kind of place newly-weds move into; where they kiss every six seconds, say “I wuv you” in a vomit-inducing voice and decorate it with ‘live-laugh-love’ and other heart-shaped shit. Only to twig that they can’t stand each other, scream “I hate you, you noodle dicked f**k”, flush the wedding cake down the bog, use his tux as loo paper, and then be stuck in a 20 square foot prison with the world’s worst cellmate for a very long time - aaaah love. Relationships require effort, as was proven in 1975, when John & Elizabeth Park moved to 41 St Olaf’s Road. Recently married and with a baby on the way, they were described as devoted. But with a point of friction gnawing at their souls, what began as an ordinary day would soon turn into a cruel murder. My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 249: Besotted: The Endless Love of Mr & Mrs Park. John & Elizabeth Park were two sides of the same coin. Recently, life had been a struggle for Elizabeth Mary Deevy, as being raised a Catholic in the Irish city of Kilkenny to a farmer father and a housewife mother, she lived in accordance with The Good Book. Born in 1937, as was decreed by her faith and family, by the age of 18, she married James Kavanagh; at 19, she gave birth to Margaret the first of her four children, and for almost twenty years she made-do with an unhappy union. But by 1973, for reasons she never spoke of, the marriage was dissolved. Leaving behind all but her eldest to be raised by her parents, alongside Margaret who was 18, they moved to London, although the relationship between them was often said to be sour and perfunctory. The 1970s was a dark time in Britain owing to the strikes, a recession, unemployment and a fever of anti-immigrant sentiment which rippled among the uneducated, especially against the Irish. Elizabeth was a lone woman in a world where a divorced or unwed mother was spurned. What got her through was her strength, looks and her savvy brain, as being spendthrift and frugal, as a loving mother, her priority was to send money back to her children, and to give them her last penny in times of strife. Working during the day as a cashier for the North Thames Gas Board and in the evenings as a much-loved barmaid at The Elm pub, both on North End Road, although a little sullen, her life was good… …but having been parted from her children, owing to a broken heart, what she lacked was love. Like two odd-shaped peas in an uneven pod, it was their differences which complimented each other, as where-as she was quiet, he was chatty, and as a previously married mother of four who was experienced in life, love and heartbreak, as a 43-year-old virgin, he was innocent and untouched. Born in the Scottish city of Aberdeen on 29th of December 1932, John Alexander Park known as Jack was one of six siblings to a housewife mother and a dockyard stevedore father. As a devout Protestant, John never let his beliefs override his life, therefore everyone said he was always polite, kind and fun, but as a moral man who was held by his traditional values of rarely drinking and never gambling, lying, cheating or stealing, although now his 40s, he refused to engage in sex before he was legally wed. John had had girlfriends before, several in fact, and always being pleasant and loving, the ladies liked him, and although – as a short, stocky, balding man, whose harelip was masked by a broad moustache - some suggested that he was ‘punching above his weight’ by dating a such stunner, but balancing each other out perfectly, where-as she was the brains and the beauty, he was the charm and calm. Since leaving school, John had always worked hard. In the early 1950s, he was a Leading Aircraftsman in the Royal Air Force. Demobbed, he became a bakery driver. In 1956, he became a Lieutenant in the Salvation Army (who he remained with for the rest of his life). But in 1958, with God testing his morals, it was while working for a cleaners in Aberdeen that he stole some money. “It wasn’t a lot” John said, but getting two years’ probation for theft, it was a mistake that he swore he would never make again. After two years as a stevedore at the Aberdeen Shipping Company, needing a fresh start, in November 1972, he moved to London. Lodging at the home of Mr & Mrs Hawes of 2 Rylstone Road in Fulham, he was said to be “a nice fellow, sober and clean”, who paid his rent regularly having become the manager of a Ladbrokes betting shop in Notting Hill, with a big part of his job being to investigate the cheats. It was in Autumn 1974 that Elizabeth and John first met during what was an unlikely circumstance. As a barmaid at The Elm pub, Elizabeth served drinks at the weekly meeting of the Royal Antediluvian Order of Buffaloes known as ‘The Buffs’, a fraternal order that John was part of. As “an exemplary member who never missed a meeting”, as may be expected from an all-male group getting drunk in a pub, the banter often turned bawdy with many of the men bragging about their sexual conquests. John didn’t though. Said to be “kind and respectful to women, but never inappropriate”, maybe it was his inexperience which made him go quiet in those moments, maybe he was raised better and didn’t feel that such talk was suitable for outside of the bedroom, or maybe, it was because he was in love. Trading glances across the bar; in her he saw beauty, in him she saw kindness, in each other they saw a future, and although different, many stated “they were a couple who were clearly besotted”. Within weeks, this devoted twosome moved-in together… …one year later, he brutally murdered her. Around the time they met, Elizabeth moved into a second floor at 41 St Olaf’s Road in Fulham. It was small but affordable on a single woman’s wage, it had extra space for if her daughter dropped, and needing a bit of decorating done, in early 1975, John popped in with some paint tins and his brushes. Said by older generations to be ‘courting’, that night, they shared a meal, a little wine and a lovely chat, but being unmarried, they kissed, but did nothing more to test his bubbling temptations, so instead he slept in the kitchen which Elizabeth respected. By the month’s end, they were living together, and although they slept in the same room, until married, there was never any nookie. With their loving and wholesome relationship blossoming, seeing her as ‘the one’, in March 1975, over a meal at the Steak House on Dawes Road, John asked Elizabeth to marry him, and she said yes. Having planned a Christmas wedding amidst the snow surrounded by their nearest and dearest, to cement their love forever, they bought each other engagement rings, and wore them until they day they died. By all accounts, they loved each other, they made each other smile, and they were never unkind to one another. Their neighbours never heard them shout, as John said “we never had a cross word, we always spoke if there was anything to discuss, we always talked it out to the logical points”. Which made sense, as every relationship has its troubles, and their first test as a couple was about to come. In the first week of April 1975, getting word that her elderly father was growing sicker, Elizabeth went back to Ireland as a loving daughter, and as a caring mother, it also gave her a chance to see her kids. For some couples, time apart can be a true test of their fidelity, but reuniting on 9th April at Heathrow Airport, seeing each other and jumping into each other’s arms, their love was as a strong as ever. So much so that – whether her father’s ill health played a pivotal role in her decision is uncertain – keen to change their winter wedding to a summer one, John jumped at the chance and fixed a sooner date. With just seven weeks until their nuptials, and with neither getting any younger (as Elizabeth was 39 and John was 43), keen to start a family of their own, in preparation for their first time being intimate on their wedding night, on the 12th of May, Elizabeth said she had her contraceptive coil removed. On 31st May 1975 at Fulham Town Hall, Elizabath Kavanagh became Mrs Park. As a small but charming affair with a few friends but very few family, following a little party at his ex-landlady’s home on Lillie Road, that night they went to the seaside town of Eastbourne, and for the first time, they had sex. Mr & Mrs Park were a lovely couple, described by many as “always happy and joking” and following a week’s holiday in Jersey, by the end of June, Elizabeth was excited to announce that she was pregnant. Being overjoyed at the news that they were to become parents, as often happens, their relationship would be tested not by the stress of an impending birth, but by circumstances outside of their control. As before this beloved baby was even born… …it would end in a whirlwind of anger and hate. The summer of 1975 began beautifully but ended badly. The first conflict between John & Elizabeth was over her eldest child, Margaret, who John said was “charming to everyone, but her mother. I think she tried to commit suicide by slashing her wrists. I believe she’s neurotic”. Aged 19, although she was working as a typist, John said “Margaret only turned up when she wanted something” – usually money. With a baby on the way, their frugal budget was stretched even thinner. Even with two bank accounts - hers (£650 in credit) and their joint account (with just £118), being 12 years before the statutory maternity pay was introduced meaning she would have to quit her job and receive no benefits, their financial survival was based on her savings and his wage as the manager of a Notting Hill betting shop. But as things started to go wrong, it unleashed a domino effect of little disasters. John’s job was their security, but in August, owing to what he described a “mistake with a betting slip”, as he was a fraud inspector with a criminal record for theft, he lost his job. Struggling to get another, he had to retrain as an accountant, but until he graduated, they’d be living off their dwindling savings. By the Christmas of 1975, with the couple tightening their budgets further but still doing okay, on the 20th of December, Margaret – who John said was “always sponging money from her mother” – claimed she had either lost her purse, or it was stolen. As a good caring mother, although she was eight months pregnant and needed every penny she had, Elizabeth bought her a new purse and placed inside £50. John was not happy about this, not happy at all, as £1 given to a grown woman was £1 taken from his baby’s mouth, and although he knew he couldn’t win the fight as the money come from her personal account, not theirs, all he could do was to say his piece, apologise and let it lie. And yet, it was another cruel incident, which tested their nerves. Christmas had been good, New Year had been jolly, and with Mr & Mrs Park excited for the year ahead, on Saturday 17th January 1976 at around lunchtime, being a loyal loving househusband for his heavily pregnant wife, John returned from shopping, with his arms weighed down with food and nappies. Opening the tenement door on St Olaf’s Road, what greeted him was horror, as lying on her back in the communal stairwell was Elizabeth; slightly bruised, bleeding a little and screaming a lot. It was the last of several incidents which had been sent to test their love and their faith, and although she had fallen hard on the cold concrete steps, they hugged each other tight to learn that “the baby is fine”. Like many parents, they were stressed but excited to welcome to the world their first baby, a boy… …only one week later, it wouldn’t be the birth which would kill the mother, but her loving husband. Saturday 24th January 1976 was an ordinary day. It was cold and wet with a blanket of snow. As John told the Police, “everything was alright between us. I went shopping, I came back about 11:30am. Elizabeth was up, we had something to eat, then said ‘I’m not feeling too well, I’ll go and lie down’”. Being just 10 to 14 days from giving birth, and still worried after her fall, every kick the baby made or didn’t make gave them a cause for concern. “She went to the bedroom” John said, “I was watching some horse-racing on the telly. After a while, I felt tired myself, and went to see her”. It was 1:30pm. Under the covers, lay his heavily pregnant wife, all round, swollen and groaning with discomfort. “You okay?” he asked, “yeah, I’m fine, it’ll pass” she replied, as he put an extra pillow under her head. There was nothing they could do but wait, as the little mite inside her squirmed, kicking her in the kidneys. Feeling both helpless and useless, John asked “do you want anything? Cup of tea? Toast?”, but replying “no, I’m fine”, with Elizabeth not wanting to be impolite, she suggested “why don’t you go to the pub, I’ll be fine, I’m just going to try and get some sleep”. And he could have done, but as a good man who was devoted to his beloved wife, all he wanted was to look after her, so he laid on the bed beside her. As they lay there, staring at the ceiling and chatting, “Elizabeth mentioned that she was worried about Margaret because she hadn’t heard from her in several days”. She had been a constant point of friction between them, and although they always talked it out, that day their little chat became a little heated. “I said something like ‘why don’t you have nothing to do with her’”, as with the midwife advising that she get rid of “all the stresses in her life” John worried that “since we married, we’ve spent quite a bit of money, time and a hell of a lot of worry on her”. Now they had bigger priorities; a baby, no jobs and their savings were dwindling, she shouldn’t be worrying about whether her grown-up daughter who earned a good wage as a typist was getting everything she wanted, when she wanted it. It wasn’t right. But guilt can be a cruel motivator, and given that this wasn’t their money, but hers which she had earned herself, and a decision which was almost certainly guided by a sense of regret having left three of her children behind in Ireland and with the relationship between her and Margaret a little strained, “she relied ‘Jack, I’ve got my own money and I’ll use it to help Margaret in any way I can’”. According to John, that was the spark which ignited the fire inside him. The neighbours didn’t hear any shouts, any screams, or any cries, their voices didn’t raise above a level of mild annoyance, but with the weight of the world on top of them, John said “I just went potty”. Having turned away from him, as (in her mind) their little tiff was over, “I stood”, John recalled. By the bed was a wine bottle he was keeping to fashion into a lamp, “she was crying ‘Jack, it’s my money, I’ll use it any way I want’. I picked up the bottle in anger. I’m sure I was only going to throw it against the wall, but I hit her on the head once and the bottle shattered completely, and she gave a small scream”. He had never hit her before, but for some reason, with a rage bubbling inside of him, he didn’t stop, he couldn’t stop, as having mounted and pinned her swollen body to the bed, he attacked her again. “She sort of gurgled, I panicked, and I picked up a heavy ashtray from the side and hit her over the head several times. She was unconscious, I wasn’t sure if she was dead”. Only still he wasn’t finished. “I let go of the ash tray and picked up a heavy flower vase and hit her again several times on the head”. And although he had fractured her skull, with the sharp shards of bone embedding into her brain, “I don’t know why I stopped hitting her. I can’t tell you why”, but having reached over and opened his drawer, “I went for the ties, I wanted to make sure she was dead. I got two and tied them round her neck, one at a time as tight as I could”, as he strangled the life out of her, and their baby inside of her. And there she lay, her tongue protruding, her eyes glassy and wide, her beautiful face now a mottled mix of bursting purples and seeping reds, as within her swollen bump, the baby gave its last ever kick. John stood there, in a daze, his hands dripping with her blood. “I went onto the kitchen and took all my clothes off and washed the blood off”, but not thinking, he didn’t destroy them as any killer would, he hid them in his own kitchen cupboard. “I went out with the idea of going to the police station. I wish I had. Instead I went back into the house. For some reason, I then tied her legs with her stockings. I put the pillowcase over her head so I couldn’t see the blood. I then covered her over with the big red bed cover”, and there he sat, in the kitchen, trying to watch the telly. “I made a cup of tea and tried to eat but couldn’t. I still thought I would give myself up”. But the next day, having packed a bag, and with £120 in his pocket, he fled… …at least, that’s what he said. His apprehension was simple, as being a man with no plan, he headed to Eastbourne where they had honeymooned and laid low. But not wanting to be a burden, he returned to pay the milkman, he told their friends she was staying at her younger sisters, each week he attended his meeting of ‘The Buffs’, and although he put on a good show of pretending that everything was okay, he was confused by the anger he had unleashed on the woman he loved, and the baby he would never see or hold. On the 15th of February 1976, with Helena, Elizabeth’s younger sister popping by (who supposedly she had gone to stay with), as the date of the baby’s birth had passed and no-one had heard a thing, seeing the rooms in darkness and the flat’s door locked, she called the police, and they forced the door. After three weeks, with flies having feasted on her seeping blood, her body so badly decomposed that an autopsy would prove difficult. It was a murder as violent as any the detectives had seen. With both ties biting deep into her neck, her death was due to strangulation. With no money or jewellery missing, robbery was not a motive. With her nightdress rucked up and her knickers exposed, although there were bloodstains on her crotch, there was no evidence of a sexual assault. And with defensive wounds to her arms and hands, this mother had fought to protect her unborn baby with her dying breath. The scene was as he had left it… and all that was missing was the culprit. Having alerted the banks, he was spotted on Thursday 19th February at 10:30am trying with withdraw £10 from a Lloyds Bank in Eastbourne. 20 minutes later, with DS Geggie seeing him staring at a full pint of beer at the Devonshire pub on Seaside Road, he asked “are you John Alexander Park?”, and having replied “yes”, he calmly walked with the officer to the local police station, a broken man. (end) Arrested, he confessed, and stated “I am ashamed of what I did to Elizabeth. I loved her dearly”. Tried at the Old Bailey from the 23rd to the 28th of July 1976, he pleaded not guilty to murder, but offered a plea of manslaughter by provocation, having dropped his initial story that her death was over money. In court, John would state that when he saw her in bed that day, she cruelly said to him 'do you think this is yours?' showing him her stomach. As she said it, on her face “was a hysterical and smirky look and there was an incredulous tone to her voice as though I had believed that the baby was mine”. The prosecution would pour scorn over this obvious besmirching of Elizabeth’s good name, as no-one had seen her cavorting with another man, no-one had heard any gossip about her getting pregnant by anyone but John, and in his first statement, he had never mentioned that the child might not be his. But the date of baby’s conception was problematic. As a 43-year-old Christian who had refused to have pre-marital sex with her; the facts prove they were married on the 31st of May and that she supposedly had her coil removed on the 12th of May (although her decomposition made that impossible to verify), but her hospital records would confirm that the baby was conceived between 26th April and 3rd May, at least one month before they were married. John would state “I did not have sex with her until we got married”. But if he didn’t, who did? Was she seeing someone else? Was he? Or was he too ashamed to admit that he’d had sex out of wedlock? Having retired, after less than an hour, he was unanimously found guilty of murder and sentenced to life in prison. He died in Lambeth in October 1998, and although the violence inflicted upon her didn’t match their minor tiff over money, whatever his motive truly was, they both took it to their graves. The Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast has been researched using the original declassified police investigation files, court records, press reports and as many authentic sources as possible, which are freely available in the public domain, including eye-witness testimony, confessions, autopsy reports, first-hand accounts and independent investigation, where possible. But these documents are only as accurate as those recounting them and recording them, and are always incomplete or full of opinion rather than fact, therefore mistakes and misrepresentations can be made. As stated at the beginning of each episode (and as is clear by the way it is presented) Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast is a 'dramatisation' of the events and not a documentary, therefore a certain amount of dramatic licence, selective characterisation and story-telling (within logical reason and based on extensive research) has been taken to create a fuller picture. It is not a full and complete representation of the case, the people or the investigation, and therefore should not be taken as such. It is also often (for the sake of clarity, speed and the drama) presented from a single person's perspective, usually (but not exclusively) the victim's, and therefore it will contain a certain level of bias and opinion to get across this single perspective, which may not be the overall opinion of those involved or associated. Murder Mile is just one possible retelling of each case. Murder Mile does not set out to cause any harm or distress to those involved, and those who listen to the podcast or read the transcripts provided should be aware that by accessing anything created by Murder Mile (or any source related to any each) that they may discover some details about a person, an incident or the police investigation itself, that they were unaware of.
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AuthorMichael J Buchanan-Dunne is a crime writer, podcaster of Murder Mile UK True Crime and creator of true-crime TV series. 
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