Ian Bailey- Murderer or Just Misunderstood?

Features Assignment for College

Ian Bailey after the Supreme Court overturned the High Court decision to extradite him to France 

FIFTEEN years after the brutal murder of French film producer Sophie Toscan du Plantier outside her holiday home in Toormore, county Cork, the case remains unsolved, the community still shaken and the prime suspect continues to live just minutes from the scene of the crime. Journalist Ian Bailey was the first reporter to arrive at the house after the murder was discovered and soon became a target for Gardai. Despite a distinct lack of evidence surrounding Bailey’s involvement, his name remains a central focus in the tragic story. But who is Ian Bailey? What kind of man would lead the authorities to presume his guilt, regardless of proof?

In 1991, like many before him, British journalist Ian Bailey fell in love with the magic of the West Cork countryside during a holiday. Deciding to stay in Ireland, he got a job working in a fish factory on the pier in Schull where he he met Jules Thomas, a regular customer at the plant. Over the years, West Cork has become the second home for a number of artists, poets and literary types. Many would agree that Bailey himself had certain literary pretensions, and visions of grandeur and fame that far exceeded reality.

The journalist immediately threw himself in to the local cultural scene, flirting with poetry and music and even taking up the bodhrán for a time, it was the perfect place to foster his notions. He often used the Irish version of his name, Eoin O Baille, almost as a statement of how well he fit in with rural Irish life, however his neighbours were irritated by him and saw his adoption of Irish ways a kind of masquerade. One time employer of Bailey, poet John Montague, believed him him to be a victim of the English class system. A man who came from humble beginnings, attended the Crypt Grammar School in Gloucester “where he learned to read Latin but lost his social moorings,” and was desperate for the acceptance of the bohemian society in which he had settled, despite his modest talents.

However modest is not a word one would use to describe Bailey. One journalist who worked closely with him at Gloucester and County News Service during his early days in journalism recalled how 'he talked big and was always bursting with ideas for making his fame and fortune.' He is self assured and has a high opinion of his own work. “The tall Eoin Bailey, he chipped in his bit/with his poems on life he proved a big hit,” reads a line from one of his poems.. According to Montague, he was unable to accept constructive criticism and wanted instant fame. During his trial in 2003 he waxed lyrical about the prestige his work had gained, noting, “My poetry has been broadcast on local RTE, on County Sound [a Cork station] and I have given poetry readings, and received payment occasionally for it. I had a crowd at one point of 500 people on Cape Clear who all applauded.”

Although a certain air of eccentricity was almost a prerequisite for living in the area, the butcher’s son still stood out as a strange character. Neighbours noted his late night strolls as peculiar and an anecdote in the region goes that he has been spotted howling at the moon on occasion. Along with his alleged ‘hobby’ of destroying religious artefacts, he didn’t do himself many favours in terms of making friends. Tall and expansive, with a mop of black hair, it is clear why he may have been regarded as intimidating, especially if he had a drink taken, something which he admits to being fond of.

His lover Jules Thomas felt the brunt of his habit on a number of occasions. Intimate diaries of the journalist, which were retrieved by the DPP during the investigation, revealed detailed descriptions of the attacks and his feelings at the time. “I attacked and severely beat Jules to such an extent she sought hospital treatment….I actually tried to kill her. Two nights on she is badly hurt and walking wounded, with bruises on her face, lips and body,” he wrote. he had beat his lover so badly on this occasion that her lip was severed from her gum and required a number of stitches. This kind of ferocious violence was not a new development for Bailey. His first marriage to journalist Sarah Limbrick in 1980, ended just five years later. While Bailey claims the split was acrimonious, others have noted that it ended bitterly after years of violence. However those claims have since been disregarded.

His diary detailed a number of events, fantasies and thoughts over the course of a few years which revealed a much darker side to the journalist. “One act of whiskey induced madness, coupled and cracked, and in an act of such awful  violence, I severely damaged you and made you feel that death was near,” was another extract taken from his personal journal. Whether drink or drug induced, Ian Bailey harbours an undeniable streak of violence and malevolence that even a judge could see. During his libel trial in 2004 Judge Moran announced that he was a man capable of exceptional acts of violence and that he himself had no hesitation in describing him as a violent man.

From his arrival in the area, he had been outspoken and flamboyant, failing to display the tact of a newcomer and still that behaviour continued long after the murder. Some found Bailey to be enjoying the experience, excited by the drama and open about the suspicions surrounding his involvement. In his poem ‘The Prisoner’ which he wrote following the events, he compares his trials to those of Jesus: 'a man who slept peacefully/while his disciples panicked'. Only a few incidents flawed his case where he seemingly made confessions. Once to a fourteen year old boy as he gave him a lift home from school he said “……I went up there with a rock and bashed her fucking brains out,” though in court maintained that he had been mimicking what others had though about him. John Montague recalled the succinct summing up bailey had made of the case at one point; 'No witnesses, no murder weapon, no forensic evidence, no motive. It will take a long time.'

Fifteen years have passed since the murder and the imposing presence and confidence of Ian Bailey seem to have waned slightly. Although he gained a level of notoriety that he couldn’t have imagined, his life and career have suffered as a result. He is said to have given up drinking and his once commanding physique seems to have caved in on itself. "He looks so hounded, so harassed," says one local woman. "His hair's thinning, he stoops more now. He used to stand tall and straight, whereas now he keeps his head down, he makes himself small." Perhaps the fame he had always wanted came to fast for the wannabe poet, as a journalist he should have known that not all press is good press.