Ralph Bulger - My Story

In my anger I blamed my wife, admits the father of murdered toddler James Bulger 20 years after his little boy's murder horrified Britain
James Bulger was two years old when he was killed on February 12, 1993
Here his father Ralph tells his version of the events for the very first time
By RALPH BULGER
PUBLISHED: 22:00, 2 February 2013 | UPDATED: 09:43, 3 February 2013
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I love to watch the damselflies skimming the water like low-flying helicopters above the ocean. Today is no exception as I sit on the river bank watching the warm summer sun glint off their sparkling turquoise bodies before I return to watch my fishing rod.
It couldn’t be more tranquil – yet it’s a stark contrast to the turbulence in my head. I’m thinking how my young son would have loved this day out, trying to spot the grasshoppers and sharing ham sandwiches and crisps with me.
I always planned to teach James to fish when he was a bit older, to buy him his own little rod and tackle box, but I never got the chance. Now, my fishing trips are when I try to make sense of everything. A small slice of peace in a messed-up world.


Devoted father: Ralph Bulger gazes into the distance as he faces the press outside Liverpool Crown Court after meeting Jon Venables' parole board in 2011
My wife Denise gave birth to James Patrick Bulger on Friday, March 16, 1990 at Fazakerley Hospital, Liverpool; from the moment I laid eyes on him, he stole my heart. I felt like the luckiest man in the world.
Despite our joy, the moment was tinged with sadness because we had lost our first baby. In June 1988, our daughter Kirsty was stillborn. I asked Denise to marry me that day, and she accepted. I am not a sophisticated or intelligent man, but I loved her, and that was my way of showing how much she meant to me.

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We married at Knowsley Register Office on September 16, 1989, the day Denise turned 22. I was 23.
It was a quiet wedding, just the way we wanted it, and we held a family party at home to celebrate. By now, Denise was pregnant again with James and I did my very best to look after her as we were both terrified of losing another baby. It was one of the happiest periods of my life.
James was a small baby with a smattering of blond hair and bright blue eyes. He was named after my dad, who died from cancer not long before, and became a lively and happy young baby, bright as a button. Even when he was just a few months old, he tried his hardest to speak to us.


'My precious son': James 'Jamie' Bulger was two years old when he was abducted and brutally murdered

Last steps: James Bulger being led away from the Bootle Strand shopping mall February 12, 1993, holding the hand of one of his killers, Jon Venables
I loved being a dad and Denise was a great mum. We led a very simple, traditional life. The grim unemployment in the region meant that nearly everyone we knew was skint, but we all helped each other out.
James had got into the habit of calling me Ralph instead of Dad because he had heard other people do so. I can still hear his little voice shouting out to me as he played in his red car.
‘Ralph, Ralph, come and push me, come and push me!’ he cried.
‘No, James, I’m your dad. You have to call me Daddy.’
‘OK, Ralph, now come and push me,’ he replied.
I would often be covered in bruises because he was so boisterous.
No one will ever know just how much James meant to me. He brought so much to all who knew him in such a short space of time.
Never in a million years could anyone have imagined what was going to happen to this most special and treasured little boy.

Friday, February 12, 1993 was bitterly cold and James was sitting on his special chair in his ‘jim-jams’ eating breakfast in front of the fire.
I had agreed to help Denise’s brother Paul fit some wardrobes at his new home that morning. She asked if I would take James with me because she was heading up to her mum’s and it would give her a break. Denise usually did some shopping on a Friday, but as far as I can remember she hadn’t planned to go out of Kirkby, our home town on the edge of Liverpool.
I was normally happy to have James with me, but on this occasion, with all the tools, I was concerned that he might get hurt. Not taking James with me that morning is the biggest single regret of my life.
It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that I walked back to meet Denise, James and her mum Eileen at Eileen’s house. It was dark and approaching teatime. I had no idea that my son had gone missing. We were not yet in an age where everyone had a mobile phone.
I remember that when I walked through the door I sensed a strange atmosphere. I couldn’t see Denise or James.
‘What’s up?’ I asked. I knew from Eileen’s face that something was wrong.
‘Ralph, the police have been on and your James is missing. There’s a message on the answerphone for you. You need to get to Marsh Lane Police Station.’
‘What do you mean? How can he be missing, for God’s sake?’

Shattered lives: Ralph and his then-wife Denise plead for their son's safe return a day after he went missing
I felt sick to my stomach, as if someone had just punched the living daylights out of me.
It seemed like an eternity before we arrived at Marsh Lane, which is in Bootle, near Liverpool docks, nearly eight miles from Kirkby. But when we did, I jumped from the passenger seat of the car and legged it in.
I blurted out: ‘Please tell me you have found him  . . . please.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, we have no news about your son yet,’ the duty officer replied. ‘Come through.’
Everyone in the police station was on high alert. I was desperate to speak to Denise because I needed to know what had happened. I also knew that I had to get out into the cold night and search for James.
I was led into an interview room where an officer said: ‘Ralph, it’s vital we get as much information as we can. I understand how you must be feeling but we are going to do everything we can to get James back to you.’
There was no doubt about it, they were taking statements from me and Denise to establish if we might have been behind James’s disappearance. I knew this would be standard practice, but I found the line of questioning harsh and unsettling.
Finally, after what must have been about three hours, the police took me to see Denise. She looked up at me and her face just crumpled as she got up to hug me.
Denise filled me in on the details as best she could, but she kept breaking down in tears. She told me she had gone shopping in Bootle with her brother’s fiancee, and James was being his normal bubbly self. But because he was not in his pushchair, he kept trying to break free from her hand to go off exploring.
They had called into A . R. Tyms at the Strand Shopping Centre where Denise usually bought her meat. She was buying chops for our tea that night.
‘I swear I only let go of him for a second and he just vanished,’ Denise sobbed. ‘I got my purse out to pay, and when I looked down our James was gone. I saw him by my side and then by the door and that was it. I ran out to find him, but I never saw him again. I’m so sorry, Ralph.’
Denise found the mall’s security office and reported James missing. They made several announcements appealing to anyone who had seen a lost little boy. Denise was getting increasingly desperate. She said that she was just running around everywhere, crying and screaming.
‘I’m so sorry, Ralph,’ she sobbed. ‘I tried everything to find him but he just went. I want my little boy back, Ralph. Where has he gone? Please find him for us.’


Murderers: Police photographs of James Bulger's killers, Jon Venables, left, and Robert Thompson
I started praying in my head: ‘Please, God, please bring James back to us and I swear I will do anything in return.’
I would have laid down my life for my child at that moment. The feeling of helplessness is possibly the worst thing of all. It’s as if you have been thrown out of a plane without a parachute.
Later, there were would be times when – quite unfairly – I blamed Denise. I was wrong. Very, very wrong. It was just part of my raging grief. I wanted to scream: ‘Why did you let go of his hand? Why did you let him out of your sight? He would still be here if it wasn’t for you.’
I am deeply ashamed of blaming Denise. She loved James with her heart and soul, and what happened that day was not her fault. It could have been any parent’s child.
The following day, the search resumed. Hundreds of people made their way from Kirkby to Bootle to help. Late in the evening, the police persuaded us that we should go home. I couldn’t rest, however, and Denise felt the same. At around 1am we returned to Bootle with Denise’s brothers and went on looking. At one point I remember trudging across a wet field. I thought about my baby James, scared and crying in the dark, and I sank to my knees and cried. I prayed with my hands clenched together.
‘What have we done to deserve this?’ I shouted out loud. ‘Just take me instead of James if you have to.’
As dawn broke on Saturday, the operation took a startling new twist. A team of technicians had worked through the night on CCTV images and we were told that James had left the shopping centre with two young boys. There was every chance they had taken him as a prank. The police were now going to concentrate on finding the boys.
I looked at Denise and smiled with relief. ‘He’s gonna be all right, Denise,’ I said. ‘He’s with two young kids – he’s gonna be all right.’

On Sunday, February 14, the senior detectives called another press conference, although Denise was in no fit state to take part. The mood was pretty grim. Publicly the police kept stressing that they had an open mind. But it was now day three and there was no sign of our baby. I probably knew deep down this was not going to end well.

Evil: Venables and Thompson caught on CCTV at the mall before luring James away from his mother
The media briefing began with a statement: ‘It is now 44 hours since James went missing on Friday,’ said Detective Chief Inspector Geoff MacDonald.
‘We have a sighting of James at around 4.30pm on Friday in the Breeze Hill area of Walton. A lady saw a small boy answering his description with two other boys. We are anxious to trace any more persons who may have knowledge of who these two boys are.’
The boys had told her they had found the child, and she was confident they all seemed to be together because the little boy seemed happy to go along with them.
After the press conference I met my older brother Jimmy and some of my other relatives to start a new search, this time in Walton, a couple of miles from the shopping centre.
Jimmy remembers what happened next: ‘We met at the car park of The Mons pub and decided to split up so we could cover as wide an area as possible. Ralph looked dreadful.
‘He was gaunt, sunken in the face and totally done in. At one stage I volunteered to go back to the police station to see if there was any news.
‘As soon as I got there I knew it was bad; the look in the officer’s eyes gave it away. Then he told me they had found a body. I remember an awful pain in the pit of my stomach. My legs seemed as if they were going to give way.
‘It was the most awful thing to have to tell your baby brother. His life was about to change for ever. When I returned, I took a deep breath and walked over to the passenger seat of the car where Ralph was sitting. “I’ve got some news, Ralph,” I said. “It’s not good, I’m afraid.”
‘Ralph leapt from the car and we walked a few yards before I just threw my arms around him and held him for dear life.
‘My heart was beating so fast as I clung to him, not wanting to say the words. “Ralph, they have found baby James. They have found him. I am so, so sorry, but he is dead. He’s dead, Ralph.”  ’
I walked into a toilet cubicle and felt a rush of nausea. My stomach was in agonising spasms and my limbs turned to jelly. I began retching but nothing came up. When I looked at my reflection in the mirror I saw a stranger. My eyes looked like they were going to pop out of my head, blazing with anger and bloodshot from tears and rage.
But most of all I could see shame and disgust. I hated myself because my son was dead. I had failed to protect my own flesh and blood.
When we got back to Marsh Lane Police Station, I just let rip.
‘Where’s my son?’ I screamed. ‘I wanna see my James now. What the f*** have they done to him? I’m gonna kill the b*******.’
‘I’m sorry, Ralph, but you can’t see him now,’ replied the officer, with great compassion.
‘Are you sure it’s him? How do you know it’s my baby?
‘We’re very sure, Ralph, and I’m so very sorry.’

Devoted father: Ralph Bulger's life collapsed when he lost his son James and calls Venables and Thompson 'evil beyond belief'
The next thing I remember I was punching the walls and I was just kicking and screaming before I collapsed and wailed like a baby.
Denise was waiting for me in the police television room, rocking gently and crying. I just held her and kissed her on the head. We were both crying together, trapped in a world of pain that no one else could ever understand. Denise was inconsolable. To hear your wife crying in such way is unbearable. It was like listening to a wounded animal.
There is no question that I considered killing myself. The only thing that stopped me from doing so was the thought that I would be letting James down once again.


A group of teenage boys was playing alongside a railway track in Walton on that cold Sunday afternoon when they spotted what they first thought was a doll or a dead cat on the track between Edge Hill and Bootle. They moved closer.
The ‘doll’ on the track was, in fact, my son. James’s body lay on the railway line, severed by a train.
The four boys screamed and ran down the embankment to Walton Lane Police Station 100 yards away. They crashed through the doors and blurted out to the desk sergeant what they had seen. The search for James was over.
His killers had brutalised him, battered, kicked and tortured him before carrying his blood-soaked body to the track and laying him across it. He was still wearing his coat, but his lower body, which was further down the tracks, was naked.
There was blood everywhere at the scene and we later learned that James suffered 42 injuries. He didn’t die during his torture but some time before the train hit him. His attackers left him to die alone.
It was thought his head might have been weighted down with bricks, and the train then carried his lower body further down the track. James’s underwear was found close by, soaked in blood. Detectives also discovered blood-stained bricks, stones and iron bars at the scene, as well as some AA batteries and a tin of blue modelling paint.
It was clear to the detectives that James had been savagely beaten around the head and body. On one cheek there was bruising, thought to have been caused by the imprint of a shoe. There was some damage to my son’s genitals and his body was spattered with blue paint.
We didn’t watch the news or read the papers. We had updates but all I kept repeating like a broken record was the same question: ‘Have you got them yet? Have you got the b******* that killed my baby?’
In homes across Liverpool, anxious parents, including the mother of a young boy called Robert Thompson, questioned their sons.
‘Is that you on that video, son?’ Ann Thompson demanded.
‘Nah, it’s got nothing to do with me,’ he replied.
As if to prove his point, Robert went to a makeshift memorial near the railway in Walton and later took some flowers. When he got home he said to his mother: ‘Why would I take flowers to the baby if I had killed him?’
At another home nearby, Jon Venables told his mother, Susan: ‘If I’d seen them kids hurting the baby, I’d have kicked their heads in.’

Tragedy: A photograph of police examining the scene on the railway where James Bulger's body was found
Jon’s father, meanwhile, asked his son about the blue paint that was splattered on his mustard-coloured coat. He said that his friend Robert Thompson had thrown it at him.
I later learned that on the Wednesday evening an anonymous woman went to Marsh Lane Police Station.
She said she was a friend of the Venables family and knew that the son, a boy called Jon, had skipped school with a friend called Robert Thompson on the Friday that James went missing. He had returned home with blue paint on his jacket.

The police set out early on the morning of Thursday, February 18. No one on the team could believe Robert or Jon could be guilty. How could two ten-year-old boys do such terrible things?
The Thompsons lived in Walton, a few hundred yards away from the railway. Detective Sergeant Phil Roberts, the officer in charge, was struck by how small and young the boy looked, neatly dressed in his school uniform. When DS Roberts explained why he was there, the boy panicked and started to cry.
Three miles away, at his home in Norris Green, Jon Venables also received a visit. His mother was not surprised when the police turned up, putting it down to Jon’s truancy. They asked for his mustard-coloured coat, which showed the outline of a small handprint in paint on the sleeve.
At the police station, the two boys blamed each other. Robert admitted having a small tin of enamel paint. But he said it was Jon who had taken James from the shopping centre.
He was asked about blood on his clothing and said it was his own. He said it was Jon who threw the paint in James’s face.
Jon was not co-operating, either, but detectives got the distinct impression that he wanted to talk – that things were causing him a lot of concern.
Jon was having lunch when his mother held her son in a tight embrace and said: ‘I love you, Jon. I want you to tell the truth, whatever it might be.’
He started to cry, and just blurted out: ‘I did kill him.’
The boy looked across the room at the detectives and said: ‘What about his mum? Will you tell her I’m sorry.’
Jon continued to blame everything on Robert. He said they found James outside the butcher’s shop.
He said it was his idea to take him, but it was Robert’s idea to kill him. They took him to the canal, where Robert planned to throw him in. James would not kneel down to look at his reflection in the water as they wanted, so Robert picked him up and threw him on the ground. This was how James had first injured his head. He said that James kept crying: ‘I want my mummy.’

Father: Ralph Bulger, pictured in Liverpool, 18 years after his son's death
Jon admitted going up to the reservoir and to the railway.
‘I can’t tell you anything else.’ When pressed why, he replied: ‘’Cos that’s the worst bit.’
But he continued: ‘We took him on the railway track and started throwing bricks at him.’
He claimed Robert threw bricks and hit James with an iron bar. Jon said he had thrown small stones, but that Robert had thrown house bricks.
When asked what he thought about what they had done to James, he cried and said: ‘It was terrible. I was thinking about it all the time.’
He described James screaming and falling down under the assault but getting up again. He claimed Robert told the helpless child: ‘Stay down, you stupid divvy.’
Detective Constable Mark Dale asked Jon why Robert had said this.
‘He wanted him dead, probably,’ he responded. ‘Robert was probably doing it for fun because he was laughing his head off.’
For his part, though, Robert refused to admit any involvement in the attack.
‘He never actually told me the truth in the end – far from it,’ said DS Roberts. ‘He lied from the minute we started to interview him.’
‘When he was charged, he had no problem with it. I suppose he knew that if he was found guilty he would have a better life than he would outside. I thought to myself, “This boy has caused so much misery and evil.” I didn’t look for the three sixes on the back of his head, but at that moment I thought he was the devil.’
On that long walk to James’s death, Thompson and Venables had plenty of opportunities to walk away from him, to let him live. But they never once showed an ounce of compassion for him, or any feeling for a little boy whose life had barely started.
They were happy to abuse, hurt and kill James, leaving him alone to be dismembered by a train. Their only concern was to cover up their crime and their only regret was that they got caught.
It may oversimplify the arguments, but that to my mind makes them evil beyond belief.

Taken from:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2272350/Ralph-Bulger--story-It-20-years-unspeakably-shocking-murder-James-Bugler-father-given-heartbreaking-account-Until-now.html#axzz2JqJqcMJi

In homes across Liverpool, anxious parents, including the mother of a young boy called Robert Thompson, questioned their sons.
‘Is that you on that video, son?’ Ann Thompson demanded.
‘Nah, it’s got nothing to do with me,’ he replied.
As if to prove his point, Robert went to a makeshift memorial near the railway in Walton and later took some flowers. When he got home he said to his mother: ‘Why would I take flowers to the baby if I had killed him?’

At another home nearby, Jon Venables told his mother, Susan: ‘If I’d seen them kids hurting the baby, I’d have kicked their heads in.’

‘He never actually told me the truth in the end – far from it,’ said DS Roberts. ‘He lied from the minute we started to interview him.