When it comes to the life of the late Labour minister John Stonehouse, everyone seems to have their own truth. We know that on 20 November 1974, he faked his own death. But biographers, dramatists and interested members of the public can and do disagree about much else – was he a “communist agent” or even a “spy”? Was he involved in a “honeytrap” and blackmailed? Did he fake his death in order to run away to Australia with his secretary, Sheila Buckley? For me, these questions are not abstract, nor are they the stuff of entertainment. John Stonehouse was my father.
Yet “entertainment” is what my father and our family’s life has become this week, with the release of John Preston’s three-part ITV series, Stonehouse. My family has been plagued for almost 50 years by false press reports, books, TV programmes and now podcasts. Stonehouse is just the latest in a long line that mixes fact with plenty of fiction.
Here is my perspective on the truth of my father’s life, having researched and written a book about it, which included examining files from the Czech archives about him. There was no honeytrap, as Preston’s drama alleges. That simply never happened. As for the alleged spying, we know that Stonehouse met people at the Czechoslovakian embassy, not knowing they were spies, to discuss the twinning of his constituency with the Czech town of Kladno and, later, to discuss the sale of VC10 planes to their airline. But I do not believe there is any evidence that he gave them useful information.
Opinions differ over whether my father was paid by Státní bezpečnost (StB) agents (for information they repeatedly complained was useless and could’ve been gleaned from newspapers). But the StB documents I’ve seen stating that the Czechoslovaks gave him money is littered with provable flaws, suggesting to me that these StB agents were not telling the truth about these alleged transfers. The truest words spoken in this drama are by the StB agent who tells Stonehouse: “You’re the worst spy I’ve ever come across.” There are no British state secrets in his file, nothing classified or confidential.
In Preston’s drama my mother, who worked all her life, is depicted as a boring domestic snoop. My sister, brother and I are shown as a cluster of weirdly silent children. When my father faked his death I was 24 and my sister 26. We’d left home years before. Preston paints a picture of Stonehouse receiving briefcases of cash to pay for a sports car, which my father never had, and a large country house. (In reality, my parents lived in a rented townhouse in Kennington.) This may all be entertaining but it’s also the re-making of history because viewers don’t have the information to distinguish fact from fiction. Preston’s get-out clause is: “This drama is based on a true story. Some scenes and characters have been imagined for dramatic purposes.” Preston will move on, but our family will be stuck with his interpretation.
The untruths had accumulated long before this ITV drama. One of the most damaging newspaper articles appeared shortly after my father was found. It said that before faking his death my father shipped Sheila’s clothes, along with his own, in a trunk to Melbourne. This led to the ubiquitous notion that Sheila was “in it from the beginning”. The police knew it wasn’t true because they interviewed the customs officer who told them the trunk never contained woman’s clothing. Only late in the Old Bailey trial did the prosecution eventually disclose the custom’s officer’s statement, which was read on the very last day.
By then it was too late. The “Bonnie and Clyde planned to run away together” narrative had become embedded in the national consciousness.
The true narrative, that my father had a lonely mental breakdown, became hard for people to accept. In 1976, men’s mental health wasn’t discussed and nobody yet knew that Mandrax, the prescribed drug my father had been overusing for years, caused depression, anxiety, paranoia, confusion, poor decision-making and an increased risk of suicide. It would be banned in the UK and US in 1984 – 10 years too late for my father.
Preston decided to explain my father’s bizarre behaviour as being that of a hapless fool. That portrayal is offensive to my family because it makes fun of a very real mental breakdown.
I think it’s time for the spy issue to be settled once and for all by a televised “trial”. The accusers could be witnesses for the prosecution and present their evidence, which an independent panel of academics and lawyers could examine. There could be an actual judge and jury. I’m confident my father would be found innocent because there’s no proof he was an agent, yet alone a spy.
In 1968, my father was appointed to the privy council because of his services to British exports. He was no hapless fool. Bring on the trial, I say. Give the man a chance to clear his name.
Julia Stonehouse is the author of John Stonehouse, My Father: The True Story of the Runaway MP
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