The tragic death of Rhys Jones saw Liverpool once again making headlines for all the wrong reasons – but times have changed, as Mike Chapple reports

THE August evening last year when Rhys Jones lost his life should have been one of celebration for Liverpool.

Dozens of guests from around the country and even further afield had gathered at St George’s Hall for a glittering dinner to mark the completion of the city’s new Slavery Museum.

But as Liverpool attempted to put to rest some of the wrongs of its past, a dinner guest received a message of a tragedy that was unfolding in the city.

Merseyside Chief Constable Bernard Hogan-Howe was told an 11-year-old boy had been killed in Croxteth Park.

Once again Liverpool was to find itself in the spotlight for the wrong reasons.

Liverpudlians have grown used to bearing the brunt of outrageous slander when tragedy comes to call, as in the aftermath of Hillsborough and the James Bulger murder case .

Granted, we are an emotional bunch, but hearts around here were born to be worn on the sleeve. Hence the field of flowers at Anfield after the events in 1989 and the angry mob scene outside South Sefton Magistrates four years later when little James’s killers first came to court.

Both demonstrations were treated respectively with scorn and disdain from some quarters outside Merseyside, criticisms which were considered unjust by citizens of what was already a beleaguered city. Justifiably so.

The first, in Liverpool 4, was considered mawkish – despite it being a gesture of unique spontaneity that ultimately became accepted as a natural template of grief for any number of subsequent tragedies nationwide.

The second was merely a replay of many other violent mob scenes when infamous killers had been brought to justice, the Moors murderers Ian Brady and Myra Hindley, as well as Yorkshire Ripper Peter Sutcliffe immediately springing to mind. In those instances, they were considered outlets for righteous indignation.

But our bout of public anger was judged to be the product of a demented Scouse culture hell-bent on savagery and destruction. The feeling was that the die had been cast and we just couldn’t win.

As another innocent young lad lost his life in appalling circumstances the city braced itself for more of the same.