The strange case of Croy Devenish-Phibbs

Remember the strange case of Croy Devenish-Phibbs? Nope? Didn’t think you would. Yet back in late May 2009 it – quite surprisingly – made national news.

The story started during my couple of years covering the stories behind park benches for both The Times and Time Out magazine, during which time I received a plethora of contributions from eagle-eyed readers (not to mention more surreal requests like “where can I find a reasonably priced bench on Hampstead Heath?”)

Yet nothing piqued my curiosity as much as the unresolved mystery of the 103-year old “silver surfer”, Croy Devenish-Phibbs.

One September morning, I received an email from reader Ben Spedding: “Has anyone contacted you about a plaque on a scruffy looking bench near the reservoir in Dartmouth Park?” He wrote. “It had a weird inscription, ‘Winter Devenish-Phibbs (1864-1930) liked to have everything just so’, and the plaque was at a lop-sided angle, but it’s now vanished.”

Quirky enough, I’m sure you’ll agree. But because it had vanished, there was little I could do, even on paying another visit to one of N19’s most under-rated open spaces.

Then, ten weeks later, I received another missive from a reader in south London: “I saw this inscription in a rough park in Wandsworth: ‘You’re born, you’re dying, you’re dead. If your relatives are cheap they get you a bench. Monty Devenish-Phibbs 1847 – 1910.'”

Surely the best inscription, ever, but who were these Devenish-Phibbs? One grey November morning the dog and I headed down to the park, behind Malva Close, in Wandsworth to check for ourselves. But none displayed the inscription. Monty, like Winter before him, had vanished.

Back home, I discovered Croy’s “official” website, a veritable goldmine of humour (and now, in 2014, shockingly dated in layout). I learnt that he purported to be a centenarian offering rewards for information about his family’s memorial benches.

I emailed asking him about the Monty bench, adding that the project was “a great hoax.” It took a week for his response:

“Firstly, I apologise for the delay,” he wrote. “I only access the internet during my Silver Surfer course on Wednesdays. Monty was my grandfather’s brother’s son, a notorious curmudgeon, which he claimed stemmed from his job as a children’s entertainer. His wife Modesty said that despite his grumbling, and his incessant bah-humbugging, his heart was in the right place.”

So far, so amusing. He continued: “But I’m not entirely sure what you mean by a hoax. I’m appealing for information about any Devenish-Phibbs around Britain and sending out rewards for people who pass on photographs. Winter is beginning to take its toll and three residents have died in recent weeks. There’s a rather macabre sense that The Bingo of Eternity is in session – whose number will be called next?”

Beautifully written; perfectly droll. One razor-sharp old guy, for sure. And so a regular email correspondence followed, but every time I asked who was behind all this, or to speak to “Croy” on the phone, he would brush me off with an (admittedly humorous) joke: “Gary, who runs our Silver Surfer course, has given us a very stern warning about sending phone numbers over the internet.”

No closer to unmasking him, Scooby Doo-stylee, I emailed a photographer named Nicolette Wells who had snapped a plaque for Bonnie Devenish Phibbs on Flickr (see main pic): ‘If you can read this you’re less dead than me, Bonnie Devenish-Phibbs 1899 -1942.’ She responded that she “didn’t believe any of it for a second but after numerous witty emails and a ‘reward’ I received in the post, there doesn’t seem to be any harm meant. But why might someone do a national treasure hunt?”

Who knows? And still the “sightings” continued apace – see examples from Bath and Stafford – their irreverent nature ensuring that they were removed, no doubt, whenever spied by the powers that be.

The day after my feature on Phibbs came out in Time Out it was picked up by daily tabloid Metro and other national titles, leading to a flurry of interest in unmasking the trickster, Banksy style. And yet, despite all the coverage, no-one ever came any closer to unearthing which artist was behind the curious phenomenon of the very slippery – and now, presumably deceased – Croy Devenish-Phibbs.

Read more about the (real) stories behind memorial bench plaques on Hampstead Heath and beyond here. Or have a gander at the Croy Devenish-Phibbs site here