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paul lawson’s diamond

Gordon Cramer writes on his blog* today that Clive has had more conversations with Paul Lawson. They must be quiet affairs for Clive, these contacts, waiting for Lawson to share his memories of the Somerton Man mystery. He wasn’t known for doing that earlier in his life.

Paul Lawson: we remember his smirk when declining to answer one of Littlemore’s questions. Then his look over Littlemore’s shoulder, suggesting to the cameraman that he wrap it up.

Clive should get a job on 4Corners. This is what he had to say.

“His (Lawson’s) statement was that he was made aware that Jestyn had been collecting information on allied ship movements through Sydney Harbour and that he believed that the information on these movements was passed to Jestyn by Alf Boxall.”

from tamamshud.blogspot, many thanks GC and Clive

Jess and Alf, a bond made in intelligence heaven. He’s down there on the water at Georges Head watching ships come into Sydney Harbour and she’s doing shifts at the convalescent hospital just up the hill.

A drink at the Clifton Gardens. Something passes through their hands.

 

13 Comments Post a comment
  1. Clive #

    It must be those Brown envelopes that I leave on Paul’s table.

    July 8, 2017
  2. john sanders #

    It is certainly a breakthrough and in more ways then those details extracted from the lucid old gentleman. Not only does this give credibility to the notion that red Jessie is GF’s ‘Ron Francis’, it also, if true, implicates sevetal of the other by now mostly passed over co-respondents all of whom will have to be re-assessed as to their role in the SM sanction & aftermath.
    One such person is George Thomson’s brother Gaston who worked at HMAS Rushcutter during the relevant period, a very tall and able seaman who could well have been Alf’s conduit to Jess. There’s some suggestion of possible organized crime and a particular merchant seaman mate of the aforesaid swabbie who whilst no longer with us, is still frequently spoken fondly of amongst sydney’s well connected inner suburban, colourful businessmen.

    July 8, 2017
    • Nickname, he had to have one. Give.

      July 8, 2017
      • john sanders #

        You almost had it with the brown envelopes. Twas Bob’s bagman’ of course, ‘Mr. Sin’ no less.

        July 8, 2017
  3. I like that Clive 🙂

    July 8, 2017
  4. The Roosevelt, Sammy Lee and my old boss, Abe Saffron.

    July 8, 2017
  5. Clive #

    Well, the second Brown envelope wasn’t as fat as the first Brown envelope-it’s the cost of chocolate bars these days. Plus, on my way to see PL I was feeling a bit peckish!

    July 8, 2017
    • john sanders #

      After his 4 years of non active service he was nothing more than a polak schlymo pogo punk with an attitude. I knew people that also worked for him and who lived to regret it, but give him his jew, he really commanded a lot of begrudging respect in a short period of time. I think red Jessie’s b.i.law Gaston left us about the same time as Prosper, somewhere down Nowra way. As for SM and Adelaide f… knows. Get back to ‘Henry’ Clive and give him the old ‘ hail fellow well met’ treatment; there’s more to come and you’re the man. Good luck.

      July 9, 2017
      • roger that ..

        July 9, 2017
        • john sanders #

          It seems that Abe did nothing noteworthy during his army days, ’40/44 and spent much of that time in hospital. Gaston went to sea in ’37 and seems to have de-mobbed more-or-less honourably about ’49, although his archaeval records are surprisingly scant. Both gave a Bondi address at the time of their respective discharges and Gaston also gives big brother Preston up as NOK even though his parents were apparently still around. Can’t come up with much on Abe’s short period of mercantile seamanship in ’44’ though we might well assume ‘bottom of the harbour’ duties.

          July 9, 2017
  6. The Saffron family once owned a pub in Woollahra and two weeks into the job as cellarman I dropped a carton of Glenfiddich Malt onto the stone floor. 12 broken bottles. All in a row. Mrs S’s eyes flicked from benign to murder and back again as I told her of the loss.

    Another day, this time in the public bar. I’m behind it looking after a few regulars when three men walked in, all looking like Czechos from a le Carre novel, foreign. Skinny suits, no ties, two-days unshaven. Lean fellows.
    They walked through the door into the bar, stopped and looked around.
    One had an armpit bulge, left side. Another a wide pinkish line that stretched from under one ear to the other.
    They waited fifteen seconds then went back out the way they came in.

    July 9, 2017

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