Ted Heath was an aadvark shagging paedophile who never did go to the moon with Jonathan King
Ted Heath wasn’t a pedophile. Well, not unless former Tory MP Matthew Parris is an aadvark. He writes in the Times:
Cards on the table first. If Ted Heath was a child abuser, I’m an aardvark.
Why an aardvark? Is it because it always come first and being a former MP-turned bylined columnist is all about ‘me’? Why not lion? Or a bat?
Media coverage has been a discredit to journalism. This was never a story. No serious evidence was ever advanced.
Yet. The police are on a fishing expedition as we speak.
The police have behaved atrociously… If you grandstand in front of the former PM’s house, advertising nationally for anyone who thinks they might have been abused by Heath in the past half century (and it’s well known there can be generous compensation for victims) then it’s hardly surprising that from a population nearing 70 million, by no means all honest or sane, you get a handful of responses.
Not all 70 million were alive when Ted was. But point taken. The police news appeal looks like a broadcast by a self-serving, biased political party.
The photos published of Heath with Jimmy Savile hit a new low. There must be thousands of snapshots of people standing next to Savile. I remember shaking hands with him in his ludicrous gold lamé tracksuit near the start of a 1980s London Marathon.
Look out for that photo resurfacing after Parris’ career has gone to the great judge in the skies.
Doubtless there has been child-abuse in Westminster’s Dolphin Square. Doubtless there has been child abuse in (say) the nearby social housing estate of Churchill Gardens. Doubtless there has been child abuse in every populous residential development in Britain. Doubtless people have always tried to cover such things up. And it will sometimes turn out that individuals with clout or influence have used it.
It’s become a story about belief. The craven police say they will treat any claim with belief. Not doubt. Belief.
Let it be that hero of broadcast journalism, the American Ed Murrow, speaking in 1953 about the McCarthy era: “We must remember always that accusation is not proof and that conviction depends upon evidence and due process of law. We will not walk in fear, one of another. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men.”
The moment Edward Heath sat down in the first class seat next to me on the flight from Scotland to London, shook my hand and said ‘Jonathan, it is a pleasure to meet you’ I determined to flirt with him in order to find out whether the rumours that he was gay were true.
Jut promise not to sing and we’d shag you.
I was in my thirties and famous. An undergraduate at Trinity College, Cambridge, I had been lucky, in 1965, to write and sing Everyone’s Gone To The Moon, which sold just under 5 million copies. That same month in that same year Heath had been elected leader of the Conservative Party.
Don’t panic, Ted. J ‘F*ckin” K’s in your corner:
My career as a singer lasted longer than most of my Sixties contemporaries. Into the late 70s I was still having hits like Una Paloma Blanca and sold over 40 million records, although my other work, producing and naming bands like Genesis and 10cc, went on much longer. This included I Get Knocked Down But I Get Up Again which I adopted as my unofficial theme tune when, in 2000, I was arrested and convicted – I believe wrongly — on sex abuse charges.
You see, it’s all about belief.
That was when I became aware of the sex abuse allegations industry. I could not believe that one could be accused, arrested, charged and eventually convicted for crimes, when there was no evidence that they had ever taken place. I was, incidentally, acquitted of charges at a second trial, though my conviction in the first trial has not yet been overturned. I remain hopeful that one day it will be…
Yes, yes, but did you knob Ted?
Then he said ‘Jonathan, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a little nap’.
No. Ted turned off not on.
He slept with his fingers together, making a steeple that never slipped for a second.
It’s almost as if – as if! – he was faking it to escape. Or else he was pretending to be an aadvark.
He woke ten minutes before landing at Heathrow. We spoke further…
You imagine one listened more than the otehr, or pretended to.