HENDRY’S FAMILY IN ACID ATTACK SCARE Who would threaten a baby over a game of snooker?
attend the tournament I’ll be away for more than two weeks (assuming I reach the final), leaving Mandy on her own, and vulnerable. It might well be a crank letter. Should I take that chance, or should I pull out of the competition altogether?
Really, there is no choice. I won’t be prevented from doing my job to the best of my ability. I will be going to Sheffield as planned. I share the news with my manager and the police. Officers investigate it, but with little or no evidence to go on they’re unable to arrest anyone for sending it.
Otherwise, we don’t publicise the fact that it’s happened.
Suspicious
Even if they don’t intend to carry out their threat, they would no doubt enjoy knowing that their actions have upset me and my family. I do wonder what kind of a mind would threaten an eight-month-old baby over a game of snooker.
We keep an eye out for anything suspicious in our neighbourhood and Mandy’s sister arrives from Blackpool to spend some time with her while I’m away. Mum is around to assist, so I know Mandy is in good hands.
And yet, in the back of my mind, the contents of the letter flash in front of me. I keep wondering what will happen, if anything, if I win the final? I don’t have the same intensity
and focus as usual, and the thought that if I do lose in the final nothing will happen to Blaine or Mandy creeps in. I try to avoid such thoughts because in normal circumstances I’d never give myself any excuses; even a fractured elbow didn’t put me off my game. This, though, has rattled me and I go into the final without the same level of intensity as usual. Ken Doherty beats me and wins the championship fair and square at 18–12.
I’ve had threats before, of course. There are times when there’s been some discontent and muttered threats from audience members. I take no notice and, in any case, I always have John Carroll around to deflect unpleasantness.
There was an occasion when s**t (dog or human – we never delved too deeply) was sent through the post, and again Mandy had the unfortunate experience of opening the envelope. None of this is nice, but I’ve come to realise that it’s part and parcel of being in the public eye. A direct threat to my child, however, is something else altogether.
Before this, in 1992, a series of letters, photos, phone calls and even the text of a play (in which I’m the leading character) were received at my manager’s office. They’re from a woman in Manchester, and her letters are becoming more obscene, more threatening and weirder. It appeared I had a stalker.
At first, we try to laugh it off but as time goes on we have little choice but to take this seriously. In one letter, she points out that security at snooker tournaments is very lax. Anyone could carry a gun into one of them, and shoot a player, she says. The play she sends is called The Death of the Snooker Player and in it I’m subjected to all sorts of unspeakable acts (some carried out by other snooker players) culminating in my murder.
At this point we’ve had enough. The police are called, she is quickly identified as the sender and is arrested.
Help
At Stirling Sheriff Court she admits sending the letters and making obscene phone calls and is placed on probation with the condition that she seeks psychiatric help. Whether she does or not I will never discover, but she will later appear on a daytime TV show, in a programme about stalking, and say that all she wanted to do was “wish Stephen good luck”.
All I can say is that she has an unusual way of doing this; when she’s rearrested the following year, after turning up at Stirling Police Station posing as a lawyer in a bid to get more details about her own case, I can’t say I’m surprised.
A restraining order is served on her and luckily we never hear from her directly again.
Me and The Table: My Autobiography by Stephen Hendry is out this Thursday (September 6) in hardback (John Blake Publishing).