A massive manhunt that gripped the United Kingdom for 18 days and left three people dead has ended with the death of the fugitive known as the Phantom of the Forest, as police confirmed that Barry Prudom, a 37-year-old former electrician and survivalist, took his own life before officers fired 21 bullets into his body in a tense standoff in North Yorkshire.
The saga began on the morning of June 17, 1982, when Police Constable David Hay, a 29-year-old father of three, stopped to check on a parked green Citroen GSX 2 at the Warren Point beauty spot in Nesbitt Forest. Hay was on a routine duty to deliver a court summons to a poacher when he noticed the unusual sight of a car at the remote location so early on a weekday. Inside, a scruffy man with curly dark hair and a tan complexion was asleep, wearing an olive green military style jacket.
Hay knocked on the window, startling the driver, and asked for his name and date of birth, jotting them down on his clipboard. As the constable turned back toward his patrol car to radio in the details, the man got out of the vehicle and fired a single shot from a . 22 caliber Beretta pistol, striking Hay in the center of his forehead and killing him instantly.
The gunman then drove away in the Citroen, leaving Hay’s body on the ground with the clipboard still bearing the name Clive Jones and a date of birth of October 18, 1944.
By 9:30 a. m. , colleagues grew concerned when Hay failed to respond to radio calls, and PC Mick Clipston was dispatched to retrace his route.
At around 10:00 a. m. , Clipston arrived at Warren Point to find the patrol car abandoned with the driver’s door open, and Hay lying dead a short distance away.
A corner of paper protruding from beneath Hay’s body revealed the blood-stained note with the name and car registration KYF 326P. The killer had taken Hay’s handcuffs and left no weapon at the scene. The investigation, led by North Yorkshire Chief Constable Kenneth Henshaw, initially focused on the name Clive Jones, but hundreds of matches nationwide complicated the search.
A breakthrough came when the Citroen was traced to a shady cash deal at a London Underground station five months earlier, where the buyer had given a bogus name, R. D. Carlyle, and described as a man in his early 30s with a northern accent.
Three days later, a farmer discovered the Citroen abandoned in a wheat field 25 miles from Warren Point, with the registration matching Hay’s note. Forensic teams found no fingerprints inside the vehicle, which had been wiped clean, suggesting a methodical suspect experienced in covering his tracks. After abandoning the car, the fugitive traveled 70 miles south into Lincolnshire, partly on foot and by hitchhiking, still carrying the Beretta pistol and a duffel bag containing a radio, binoculars, a knife, and a machete.
He hid in Laughton Forest over the weekend, an area spanning around 1,000 acres, but hunger forced him to emerge. Using binoculars, he watched an isolated cottage in Blyton Carr and broke in after dark, cutting the telephone line and forcing 75-year-old Vida Jackson to cook him egg and chips before tying her up and gagging her. He took £4 from her purse and disappeared into the night, leaving Jackson to free herself and alert police.
The gunman’s ability to evade law enforcement seemed almost supernatural, and the media began calling him the Phantom. He walked four miles south to Gainsborough, where he thumbed a lift from a husband and wife who later realized who he might be and contacted police. The driver described him as a serviceman about 30 to 35 years old with dark curly hair, a tan complexion, narrow forehead, bushy eyebrows, and a quiet reserved demeanor.
They dropped him off in Tuxford on the border of Lincolnshire and Nottinghamshire. A local gamekeeper came forward, reporting that a week earlier he had found a man living in a makeshift shelter in Laughton Forest with a green Citroen parked nearby, but the information came too late as the Phantom had already moved on.
Over the next few days, the fugitive drifted south into Nottinghamshire, entering the village of Gerton just before dawn on June 23. He made his way to an isolated cottage belonging to 54-year-old army veteran George Luckett and his wife Sylvia. At around 5:00 a.
m. , a neighbor, Rita Ward, was woken by her dog barking and saw Sylvia banging desperately on the window, her face covered in blood. Sylvia had been shot in the head and was taken to hospital for emergency surgery, while police forced entry into the cottage and found George dead inside.
Detectives reconstructed the crime, deducing that the fugitive had been trying to steal the Lucketts’ car when disturbed. He forced them back into the house, cut the phone line, tied George up, and ordered Sylvia to make him a cup of tea and a sandwich. George managed to free himself and retrieve his shotgun, but the gunman spotted him and fired through a glass door, killing him instantly.
Sylvia was shot as she tried to escape, suffering life-changing injuries. The Phantom took no money and drove away in their brown Rover SD1.
Ballistics confirmed the bullets matched the one that killed PC Hay, and the investigation widened into a cross-country operation involving forces from Lincolnshire, Nottinghamshire, and North Yorkshire. Search teams swept through Torksey, but the fugitive was already heading back towards North Yorkshire, his destination Dalby Forest, a densely wooded area covering more than 25 square miles. At 5:30 p.
m. on June 24, dog handler PC Ken Oliver spotted the stolen brown Rover parked in a lay-by. As he pulled up behind it and began to get out of his van, the driver opened fire, grazing Oliver’s nose and wounding him in the arm.
Oliver’s Alsatian charged at the attacker but was hit by a bullet, giving Oliver the chance to break away and reach a nearby cottage, where he ushered two young girls inside and warned homeowners to lock their doors. The shooter ripped out the radio from the police van and set fire to the stolen Rover before vanishing into the forest. Oliver and his dog both survived, but he was left deeply affected and eventually left the force.
Police discovered two concealed hides camouflaged with vegetation in Dalby Forest, but the dogs struggled to pick up the scent as the killer had laid false trails. An armed response unit was called in, but by the time they arrived two hours later, the trail had gone cold. Up to 450 officers were deployed to comb every square mile of the forest, with an RAF search and rescue helicopter joining the operation and road checkpoints set up to stop motorists.
Marksmen were positioned in the trees, and police sharpshooters commandeered a Forestry Commission tower as a vantage point. The search continued day and night, with residents and holidaymakers advised to leave until the suspect was captured. The number of officers rose to 800, though only a small proportion were armed, just 2% carrying pistols or rifles, many of them outdated.
Back at headquarters, PC Martin Hatton had a theory that the killer had given a false name but the date of birth was harder to invent. He found a match on the warrant list: Barry Edwards, born October 18, 1944, wanted for wounding a motorist with a tire iron. PC Ken Oliver identified the mugshot without hesitation, and police raided the address linked to Barry Edwards, uncovering his real identity as Barry Prudom, a 37-year-old former electrician.
Officers located his girlfriend Carol Francis and her mother, and over the next few hours, a clearer picture emerged of the assassin they were hunting. Prudom was born to Kathleen Edwards, a dressmaker, and Joseph Peter Corrillo, a chemist who never married Kathleen and played no role in his son’s life. Kathleen later married Alec Prudham, and Barry took his stepfather’s name.
He attended Meanwood Secondary School in Leeds, coming to the attention of police for housebreaking and theft as a teenager, but avoided jail due to his age.
He left school at 16 and became an apprentice electrician, marrying Gillian Wilson in 1965 and having two children. Prudom had a strong interest in the military and enlisted as an SAS reservist, completing a six-week training course that included firearms and survival skills, but was rejected for further service due to his dislike of authority. He saved enough to buy a small grocery shop for his wife, and everyone who knew him described him as quiet, sensitive, and caring.
He was even granted security clearance to work as an electrician at military sites across the UK, including a job helping to build an American communications base just outside Harrogate, only 200 yards from where PC David Hay would later be killed. In 1973, his mother Kathleen was mugged after visiting him, and she later died by suicide, an event that deeply affected Prudom. He worked as a contract electrician in Saudi Arabia, but while abroad, he learned his wife was having an 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇, and their marriage ended.
He later began a relationship with 17-year-old Carol Francis, and they led a nomadic lifestyle, traveling to Canada and the United States, where he bought the Beretta pistol and smuggled it back into Britain.
In May 1982, Prudom got into an argument with another driver and struck him with a tire iron, leading to a warrant for his arrest. Instead of appearing in court, he went on the run. Now the police knew who they were looking for, but Prudom continued to evade them in the low visibility of Dalby Forest.
He trudged six miles south on foot, and on June 28, suffering from blisters, he hobbled into Old Malton, a Yorkshire village surrounded by farms and woodland. People spotted him from a distance, noting his disheveled appearance, blue hat pulled low, and duffel bag with a radio aerial sticking out. He entered a newsagent and bought sweets, then went into the village post office, which also served as a small grocery shop.
The owner, Leo Burke, later said, “He bought sausage rolls, a loaf of bread, a can of pilchards, and some other items of food. He looked like a very ordinary, mild-mannered man.”
Local police had been warned to stay alert for strangers, and when Sergeant David Winter saw Prudom leaving the post office, he decided to approach him. Across the road, Constable Mick Wood noticed his colleague heading towards the man. Seconds later, Winter turned and ran, with a shabby figure in pursuit.
Two disappeared from view, followed by the sound of three gunshots. Wood ran towards the sound and found Winter lying dead on the grass, shot once in the neck and twice in the head. He was 31 years old and the father of a one-year-old daughter.
The scene was just 200 yards from the local police station, but Prudom had already escaped. Old Malton became the nerve center of the largest manhunt the UK had ever seen at that time, with reinforcements pouring in, marksmen posted on every corner, and roads sealed off.
Help came from a surprising quarter: expert survivalist and former SAS paratrooper Eddie McGee, who offered to assist the investigation as a civilian volunteer. He was an experienced tracker and had taught survival courses, and it emerged that Prudom had attended one of his courses and even bought a signed copy of his book, “No Need to Die.” The implication was concerning: the man they were hunting knew how to camouflage himself and live off the land for days or even weeks.
Chief Constable Henshaw accepted the offer, despite reservations from some senior officers. The hunt would now become a battle of wits between teacher and student. McGee’s first discovery was a goat on a nearby farm that he believed had been milked within the last 10 minutes, most likely by Prudom.
Their efforts were hampered by a constant stream of reported sightings, sometimes up to 50 a day, and every single one was followed up.
Frustration grew as no matter how much manpower was allocated to Malton, there was still no trace of the man who had gunned down two police officers, shot a husband and wife in their home, and taken an elderly woman hostage. Suddenly, a single shot rang out near the police station, and the press dived for cover, fearing an assault, but there were no further shots. Years later, it came to light that an inspector had accidentally discharged his gun into the roof of his own police car, and Chief Constable Henshaw allowed the media to believe the shot really had come from the fugitive.
Over the following days, McGee continued to track Prudom across the countryside, searching for broken twigs and disturbed spider webs. Around 80 officers traveled with him, which often worked against their efforts by disturbing potential traces. In fact, Prudom was hiding in plain sight, less than 300 yards from Old Malton Police Station, lurking behind the tennis and bowls club in a makeshift hideout built from old fence panels.
He slept there during the day under a blue tarpaulin, venturing out at night to eat tin cat food from an unlocked shed nearby. On July 3, he broke into the home of Morris and Bessie Johnson, a retired painter and decorator and his wife. When Bessie went into the dining room to prepare the evening meal, she was confronted by a man pointing a gun at her.
He asked, “Do you know who I am?” and when she replied no, she was surprised to discover it was Barry Prudom. He bound the couple and their son Brian, then untied Bessie to make sandwiches for everyone.
He told them, “Eddie McGee can’t track me, but I can track him.” He spent 10 hours with the family, eventually leaving at 3:00 a. m.
on July 4, asking Bessie to make him sandwiches, which he called his last supper. He gave Brian a United States paratrooper ring and asked him to promise to wear it, then shook hands with each of them and thanked them for their hospitality, saying, “It’s nice to meet such nice people. I didn’t realize such people existed.”
The Johnsons freed themselves after two hours and went to the police station. Officers and dogs fanned out across the village, and Eddie McGee, accompanied by Detective Sergeant Jim Kilmartin and two armed officers, picked up the trail from the Johnsons’ house. Snapped branches and a footprint led them to a derelict wooden fence propped against the wall behind the tennis and bowls club.
McGee moved closer and spotted a blue sheet protruding from the side of the makeshift shelter, then jumped back as a booted foot emerged. He signaled to Kilmartin that they had found their target, then withdrew to allow armed officers to take over. Detective Sergeant Kilmartin shouted to Prudom to give himself up, but there was no reply.
Around 70 armed officers with handguns and Armalite rifles moved into position around the bowls club.
Chief Inspector David Clarkson, protected by a riot shield, crawled across the bowling green and climbed the perimeter wall, trying to see into the hideout. As he reached forward to lift part of the covering, a gunshot rang out. Clarkson fell backwards, believing he had been fired at.
He warned Prudom to surrender again, but neither his words nor a stun grenade had any effect. Clarkson gave the order, and a deafening hail of gunfire ensued. When it ended, an officer used a five-foot pole to reach into the hiding place and check the body.
Once convinced there was no movement, the roof was pulled back to reveal Prudom’s lifeless form, a machete strapped to his chest, a gun in his hand, and 50 rounds of ammunition in his pocket. The 18-day manhunt was over.
Among the police, there was a sense of relief and celebration, but their reaction was later called into question when the postmortem concluded that Prudom had not fired at Clarkson. Instead, he had shot himself in the head. The police sharpshooters had put 21 bullets into a man who was already dead.
Brian Johnson admitted to feeling sadness when he heard the news, describing Prudom as a “lost young man.” He said, “Yeah, as soon as the shots went off, I knew they’d got him. That was it.
The end. Sort of felt sorry because I’d known him. They’re for revenge, filled him full of lead.
I think that was what happened. They shouldn’t have done that, but for revenge.” His mother Bessie added, “He wasn’t a bit like the picture.
He was very kind, actually.” Brian later confirmed he had kept his promise and has worn the American paratrooper ring ever since.
Others who knew Prudom also spoke of him warmly. Carol’s mother, Enid Francis, told the Daily Mirror, “My daughter loved him and he loved her. They had hoped to marry and it would have been with my blessing.
He was such a gentleman. Whatever Barry did, and God knows he did some terrible things in those desperate hours and days, being hunted like a wild animal, he didn’t deserve to be shot down like a stray dog. All the stories about him are not consistent with the mild-mannered man I have entertained in my living room.
I felt only sadness when he died and Carol was beside herself with grief.” Why did a man described as sensitive, kind, and unassuming turn to violence? Criminal psychiatrist Dr.
Stephen Shaw suggested that Prudom’s fascination with the military and his disappointment at being rejected for the SAS may have played a role, prompting him to play an extended cat and mouse game with the police in an attempt to prove himself. Another interpretation points to a combination of factors, including a growing resentment towards the police linked to their failure to catch the man who had mugged his mother, an event which may have contributed to her suicide.
Prudom was buried in an unmarked grave attended by eight family members. But the speculation surrounding the case did not end there. 250 miles away in Aldershot, Hampshire, detectives wondered if Prudom had been responsible for two other murders: those of 66-year-old Margaret Johnson and 44-year-old Ann Lee, both stabbed while walking their dogs a few weeks prior to the shooting of PC David Hay.
A scruffy man in an army-style jacket had been seen nearby and was known to have traveled to the area in an orange and white van. A man named Peter Fell spent 16 years in prison after falsely confessing to the double murder before being cleared in 2000, and the case remains officially unsolved. Questions were raised about the true nature of Prudom’s military connections.
PC David Hay was killed just 200 yards from the American communications base which Prudom had helped to build. The home of George and Sylvia Luckett was near a sensitive RAF installation, and PC Kenneth Oliver was wounded close to the Fylingdales early warning radar system, linked to a North American air defense center in Colorado Springs, not far from where Prudom had once camped. Margaret Johnson, stabbed in Aldershot, was the wife of Major Johnson, a former commander at the Junior Parachute Company at Browning Barracks, Aldershot, and the crime scene was close to the town’s military base.
There were also reports that officers from the Royal Ulster Constabulary had been present during the siege at Old Malton, along with two unidentified men in a camouflage army helicopter, fueling speculation that Prudom was considered a greater threat to national security. Or was he simply a man obsessed with survivalism who made bad choices after the pressure of personal tragedies? As BBC journalist Robert Hall put it, “There’s a feeling of sadness for his victims, but there’s also regret that you never heard his story.
What had happened in this man’s life to make him do these dreadful things? We felt cheated.” Whatever the explanation, it ended on July 4, 1982, and the answers died with him.
