SURVIVED THE 'HOUSE OF HORRORS'

Kathleen Richards, 65, was just a teenager when she escaped the clutches of Fred and Rose West

- RACHEL TOMPKINS

As the front door opened, a man with dark hair and a wide smile greeted us. Dressed in a grey jacket and trousers, he looked respectable.

‘Have you any rooms, please?' I asked timidly.

‘Come in,’ he said, ushering us inside.

It was autumn 1977 and, aged 17, me and my sister, Deirdre, then 18, had spotted the room vacancy ad in the window of a three-storey house on Cromwell Street, Gloucester.

We'd grown up with eight siblings and when Deirdre had a baby out of wedlock, Dad had told her to leave, and Mum suggested I go with her to help her with the baby.

Now, we needed a roof over our heads, and at 25 Cromwell Street, we'd found one.

Inside, me and Deirdre - clutching her baby - walked past a living room full of children and the smell of lamb stew wafted from the kitchen.

‘I’m Fred,’ the man said. ‘This is my wife Rosemary.’

The grim-faced woman sitting in the armchair didn’t smile.

‘And this is my lover Shirley,’ he said, pointing to a girl about my age who was slim and pretty with a rounded tummy. I thought it must be a joke, but Deirdre and I were shown to our room and as we unpacked, we hoped it’d be the start of a new life for the three of us, but it wasn’t long before we began to regret ever knocking on that front door. Whenever Fred squeezed past me, his hands pawed at my body.

‘He’s a dirty old man,’ I told Deirdre. Then, a few weeks after we moved in, Fred pushed me up against the wall in the hallway.

‘Leave me alone!’ I shouted. Suddenly, Shirley appeared.

‘Fred!’ she scolded. He let go and walked away.

‘Thank you,’ I said to Shirley after he'd gone. ‘He scares me,’ I admitted.

HOSTILE HOSTESS