The sound was sickening: a thud, thud, thud as bodies bounced violently off the bumper. Inside Paul Doyle’s two-tonne vehicle, the scene was perhaps even more shocking.
Dashcam footage played in court this week showed the former Royal Marine screaming angrily as he ploughed into Liverpool FC supporters: “Get out the fucking way! Get out the way! Move, move, move!”
His rage grew despite the carnage in his wake. The 134 victims included a six-month-old boy splayed out on the road in his first Liverpool shirt after his pushchair was thrown in the air.
Doyle, who sobbed in court, was jailed on Tuesday for 21 years and six months. The judge, Andrew Menary KC, said his actions caused “horror and devastation on a scale not previously experienced by this court”.
The Guardian can now reveal that the father of three, described as a mild-mannered “family man”, is said to have had a history of explosive violent outbursts long before the victory parade on 26 May.
Someone who served with Doyle in the Royal Marines in the early 1990s described how he was known “really, really quickly to be an absolute live wire”.
“It was like he was on a tripwire,” the former marine said. “Everyone would say: ‘He’s got a horrendous flash to bang’ – meaning the point you get annoyed to the point you’re punching people is zero time.”
Doyle, 54, has a series of previous convictions for serious violence and other offences dating back to the early 90s. He was jailed for a year for biting off a sailor’s ear in a pub brawl in July 1993, six months after being discharged from the Royal Marines after a string of previous offences.
He joined the Royal Marines in March 1991, aged 19, after a short period in the Royal Engineers, but quickly got into trouble for violence, dishonesty and criminal damage. By the time he was discharged from the military in January 1993, he had six civilian and service convictions.
Fellow service personnel, who were unaware of these convictions, said the young recruit was known in the close-combat Yankee Company for his short fuse. “He was just out drinking with everyone and he’d just be filling people in,” said one former marine. “He had zero escalation – he was just on the tripwire.”
He said Doyle became an “outcast” in his troop before he left the Marines in 1993: “Normal people would give him a wide berth. They’re 21 years old and they’re trying to pull girls. They don’t want to be around some sort of lunatic Tasmanian devil who’s trying to knock everyone out who bumps into him.”
It is understood that Doyle was discharged by the marines after four years following the convictions, when he was told his “service was no longer required”. The Ministry of Defence declined to comment.
In the 30 years since he was released from prison in May 1995, Doyle had “taken steps to lead a positive and productive life”, the prosecutor, Paul Greaney KC, said on Friday.
He is understood to have worked previously for an NHS trust and a large UK wealth management firm before running two now-dissolved companies – one of which involved headwear inspired by the actor Vin Diesel.
Doyle, an Everton fan, lived with his wife and three sons in a smart detached home in Croxteth, 6 miles from Liverpool city centre.
Such was the ferocity of Doyle’s actions, many in the crowd thought they were in the middle of a terrorist attack. That was quickly ruled out by DCI John Fitzgerald and his team of 70 officers. The truth was more unfathomable.
“To think that it’s just somebody in a fit of rage driving over those people is incomprehensible really,” said Fitzgerald. He described the dashcam footage, which prompted gasps and tears in court, as “the most graphic and distressing” video he had seen in 20 years of policing.
“Doyle’s total disregard for the safety of others – particularly the many young children present on Dale Street and Water Street that day – is beyond comprehension. It is sheer luck that no lives were lost,” he added.
Six miles away, in a command and control centre in Bootle, the emergency services watched the horror unfold on live CCTV cameras. Simon Galley, the event commander for St John Ambulance, recalled the “shock” of seeing a trail of bodies as frantic calls came over the radio: “I couldn’t believe that something like this is happening here and now.”
Galley, who was in charge of more of 150 highly trained St John’s volunteers, said it was a “miracle” no one was killed. It was by far the biggest mass-casualty incident of his 36 years at the charity.
Over two days at Liverpool crown court, 78 of Doyle’s victims spoke of their life-changing physical and psychological injuries.
The mother of a boy who cannot be identified said he woke up crying from the nightmares, was anxious about the scar on his face and a bald patch on his head. “Before the collisions he was full of energy, curiosity and joy – a child with endless opportunities before him,” she said. “So much of that has been taken away from him.”
Many said they were “haunted” by the “spine-chilling” sight and sounds of panic, fear of crowded places and of returning to Liverpool city centre. Families described thinking their loved ones had been killed as they disappeared from view.
The mother of a seven-month-old boy said she could not forget the “terrifying image of my pram being struck and being taken by the car”. “The horror of not knowing if he was alive or dead in that moment will live with me forever,” she said, adding that the Liverpool accent – now associated with panic – triggered heart palpitations and dizziness.
Susan Farrell, 55, said she thought about that day all the time. Her daughter, an avid Liverpool fan, had been unable to watch her beloved club because “the sight of red shirts and chants are unbearable reminders of that day”.
Addressing Doyle, who sat in the dock with his head bowed, she said: “There are hundreds of people affected by that day … think of them. Don’t sit in the dock and cry for yourself.”
