Meet the Monty Python mischief maker arrested by SIX policemen – just for poking fun at politicians
Police in the pretty town of Faversham, Kent, have made one of the silliest-sounding arrests ever. early one recent Friday morning, six officers — yes, six — carried out a raid on the water-front home of 71-year-old John Wellard, a retired Monty Python cameraman.
John, who suffers from hypertension and tinnitus and had just recovered from a bout of vertigo, was still in his dressing gown and on the phone to his aged mother who was wishing him happy birthday.
‘My first hope was that it must be a strippergram — i’ve waited 71 years for one,’ he says gamely. ‘So when they said they wanted to search my house, i joked that: “i wasn’t expecting the Spanish inquisition!” ’ Nobody laughed. ‘i’m not sure they even got the Monty Python reference,’ he says, sadly. Then they placed him under arrest. ‘Suddenly, i realised it was serious, so i went upstairs and got dressed and called a couple of neighbours over.’
By the time he came back down, he was told he’d been ‘un-arrested’, but was still accused of something called ‘collective harassment’.
‘collective harassment all on my own? it didn’t make sense.’
Next, he was taken to the local police station, questioned for two hours (he refused to comment throughout, on his solicitor’s advice) and shown a selection of poorly photocopied but rather witty posters and pamphlets which had been distributed around town over the past few months, lampooning Faversham councillors.
‘They asked if i’d posted any through people’s doors. i said: “No comment.”’
Finally, with a great flourish, they brought out a christmas card — a Nativity scene portraying town clerk Jackie Westlake as the Virgin Mary and her husband Brian caffarey as the infant Jesus. A speech bubble read: ‘He’s not the Messiah, he’s a very naughty boy!’ [A famous quote from Monty Python’s film life of Brian].
‘They knew that i’d worked on a Monty Python production and the sergeant said: “About this christmas card then? it’s a strange coincidence.”
‘But i worked on Monty Python And The Holy Grail, not life of Brian! it’s madness. The whole thing was completely Pythonesque!’
Too true. Six policemen to arrest, unarrest and question a septua-genarian who may or may not have circulated a few satirical pictures poking fun at local politicians.
The world must surely have gone bonkers. or had a serious sense-of-humour bypass.
one poster pictured Swale Borough councillor Mick cosgrove riding a toy donkey in hot pursuit of the ‘next photo-opportunity’. Another showed Mayor Nigel Kay and other local public figures being described as ‘a growing problem in the heart of Kent’.
over recent months, they started popping up all over town — in pubs, stuck to wheelie-bins, to the inside of the fish and chip shop window (until they were ordered to be removed by the council) and slipped through letter boxes.
They made people laugh. They were a talking point.
When i ask if he’s the satirist responsible, John goes rather glinty, but refuses to be drawn.
‘i’m not even computer-literate! But who cares who’s responsible? They were just a bit of fun. can’t anyone take a joke any more?
‘ What would happen if David cameron called the police every time he popped up in an unflattering cartoon? What about Spitting i mage? Should they all be arrested?’
Next, some manila envelopes, stuffed with obsolete Venezuelan bank notes, were placed at bus stops and on park benches. Taped to each envelope was the typed note: ‘if you find this message, please return it to your councillor.’
Some claim the insinuation was that town councillors had been accepting bribes. Wellard describes it as ‘a schoolboy prank’.
Suddenly, Kent’s ‘market town of kings’ had become Midsomer Murders, J.K. Rowling’s The casual Vacancy ( about a small- town’s petty rivalries) and a Monty Python sketch all rolled into one.
Which is a shame because it’s a wonderfully picturesque place dating back to Roman times, famous for the manufacture of bricks, bombs, beer and a murdered mayor in the 16th century (watch out, current incumbent Nigel Kay!) and home to one surviving copy of the Magna carta and a Boomtown Rat, Bob Geldof.
Until 2011, there was also a thriving barge-building industry at the town’s historic creek. Which, it turns out, is t he catalyst f or all t his naughty lampoonery.
Since t he centuries- old Standard Quay boat yard closed down and a pop-up champagne bar and junk shops moved i n, devel o per s have been hovering like vultures over the creek area, keen to cram in lucrative luxury housing.
Many angry locals believe the council has given its blessing to s uch developments, despite vigorous opposition by thousands who want to preserve the town’s maritime heritage.
‘it’ll just be lots of three- storey posh housing looking across the creek at lots of posh housing on the other side,’ says Brian Pain, 65, a local boat-builder. ‘ once all the boats have gone, they’re never coming back.’ locals accuse council members of making decisions behind closed doors, privately over dinners with the developers or, even worse, in their aprons at one of Faversham’s three masonic lodges. one member is nicknamed ‘ The Prince of Darkness’. it certainly sounds rather clubby. ‘it’s a small town and they’re big fish and a lot of them have been in the pond an awfully long time,’ says Peter, 75, whom i met in the High Street. He has lived in Faversham for 20 years and won’t give his surname for fear of repercussions.
‘Since about 1842!’ says John Wellard, who is getting rather worked up now. ‘it’s always the same old faces. They regard the town as their neo-feudal fiefdom.’
A few hours here is enough to see that tensions between townsfolk and council are high, and trust is at rock bottom.
open meetings — which some members of the public have filmed — are punctuated by shouting and hurling of insults between town and council. Unfounded accusations of violence and aggression have been made by council members against a local documentary maker. Public questions at meetings are limited to
‘The councillors are big fish stuck in a very small pond’
‘It’s a schoolboy prank that made
people laugh’
a 15-minute slot before any council business is attended to, rendering them largely useless.
‘They’ve ignored us. They’ve ignored English Heritage. They’ve i gnored everyone,’ says John Wellard.
He isn’t an obvious revolutionary. An art student (maybe therein lies a clue) turned cameraman, he has worked with world-class film directors such as Ridley Scott, Alan Parker and, of course, the Pythons (‘a bloody nightmare’).
He might not like to talk about who orchestrated the anti-council campaign, but John has a lot to say about the Pythons.
‘Never again! Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones, the directors, made all sorts of stupid mistakes and poor old Graham Chapman was p*ssed all the time and couldn’t remember his lines so we had to shoot from different angles and splice it all together. It was mayhem.’
And, er, back to the posters? So who did them?
John ignores my question and busies himself showing me old pictures of him and the Pythons. For his part, boat-builder Brian Pain tells me: ‘Look, it’s small, cottage industry stuff. Just a few individuals having a bit of fun. There’s not a secret cabal producing these things. I know John’s not responsible for some of them.’
Whatever, since last Friday, John Wellard has become something of a local celebrity — the hero who stood up to the council.
Strangers have asked to shake his hand. His picture is on the front page of the Faversham Times. While I’m with him, a large cream cake is dropped off at the door by an anonymous well-wisher.
‘I’ve been amazed by the reaction. Blown away,’ he says. ‘It shows some people still have a sense of humour.’
A walk round town is enough to see he’s right.
‘It’s a joke!’ says my new friend Peter from the High Street. ‘I can’t see what the problem is. What’s he done wrong? And the Venezuelan money he put in those envelopes? A bloody joke!
‘Too bad if we’ve all got to the point where we can’t take a joke any more — particularly about politicians.’
Another local resident, Vivienne, 62, chips in: ‘They’re over-reacting, which is just silly. If you haven’t got a thick skin, don’t go into politics — everyone knows that.’
The councillors, meanwhile, are still not laughing.
The Mayor is busy at the launch of a new local ale, and the town clerk doesn’t call me back, but I bump into a glum-faced Cllr Tom Gates in the street.
‘There’s been a lot of nastiness going on,’ he says.
‘Nasty posters depicting people in rather stupid positions doing silly things. It’s hurt a lot of people — and not just councillors, but their partners, too.’
But can’t he see the funny side? Isn’t it par for the course for politicians — national or local — to attract the occasional metaphorical custard pie?
‘If they put their name to it, I could understand it,’ he says. ‘But this way it’s cowardly. And a bit underhand.’
Mike Cosgrove, the councillor pictured on the donkey, is more circumspect.
‘I do not want to comment on the specific issues, as matters relating to arrests, interviews under caution etc are operational policing matters and, therefore, the responsibility of Kent police,’ he says in an emailed statement.
‘I have lived in Faversham for 40 years and brought up a family. The vast majority of people are really nice and we work together to do the best we can.’
To be fair, while the posters were clearly just a bit of fun to puncture swollen egos, some might say the brown envelopes crossed a line.
Cindy Davis, a councillor for 18 years, had one posted through her letterbox a couple of months ago. She says she f elt ‘ personally victimised’ at any insinuation she and her fellow councillors had accepted bribes. ‘In all my years as a councillor, I have never had such nasty treatment,’ she said. Brian Pain, however, is adamant. ‘The decisions the council makes in terms of planning seem to be so one- sided and irrational that I’m not surprised people have jumped to conclusions. I’m only surprised it’s stopped at a few scurrilous leaflets.’
Frankly, given the febrile atmosphere here, so am I.
Happily, I don’t live in Faversham. So I am not heartbroken by the demise of the ancient shipyard, I will not be affected by any housing development and I haven’t had posters showing me doing stupid things in silly positions, pushed through my letterbox to upset me.
But it does seem to me that maybe, just maybe, if the local councillors had taken a few silly jokes on the chin instead of rushing off to call in the police — all six of them with their ridiculous Spanish Inquisition — the whole thing might just have blown over.
At yesterday’s local elections, 11 i ndependent candidates were hoping to shake things up a bit on the council.
For the sake of everyone who lives there, it might be time for a few new faces. If nothing else, to provide a bit more variety in the next batch of satirical posters.