A family's battle to free their son

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By Judith Moritz North of England correspondent, BBC News Michael Shields' parents insist their son is innocent

The Shields' family home is a tall, Georgian, terraced house, just off the main route into the city centre as you drive into Liverpool.

Before May 2005 it was unremarkable - just one house in a row that thousands of people passed by every day without noticing.

That all changed after Michael Shields was jailed in Bulgaria for the attempted murder of a barman and the family home became the HQ for the campaign to have him freed, as he protested his innocence.

Today it's a campaign set to continue after the justice secretary refused to pardon Shields.

When the campaign started four years ago, the signs went up first. The then-teenager's face stared out at the street below - a huge banner with his image and the text "Free Michael" emblazoned across the front of the house.

Next came the yellow ribbons, woven through the railings, and wound around the front gate.

This was a family with a cause to champion and they wanted no-one to be in any doubt of their message.

Open-door policy

It worked. Passers-by started to shout their support, motorists beeped their horns in solidarity. And the postman no longer had any need of the family's full address.

Letters, many addressed simply to "Michael Shields, Liverpool", started to arrive. The campaign started to pick up steam.

Whilst the Liverpool football fan was sitting in his Bulgarian cell, back home his family was mobilising itself.

The Shields family is a big, traditional, Liverpudlian clan of aunties and uncles, children and grandchildren.

The front door is often open, the kettle always on.

I spent many hours at that [campaign] office, sitting with the family whilst they waited for news from Bulgaria

At the centre of the campaign melee have been Shields' parents Michael Snr and Maria.

At first they and Shields' two sisters played a game of international tag, flying between Liverpool and Bulgaria, always keeping a family member near to the prison to be available for visits.

Back at the house, the rest of the family handled the media, fielding calls and doing interviews.

The campaign began to attract some high-profile support. The Liverpool FC squad sent messages and gifts. The actress Sue Johnston got involved. There was backing from the local MP and MEP, as well as from the Bishop of Liverpool, James Jones.

But it soon got too much. The house was full from the moment the family woke up until they went to bed again.

The only room that was empty was the teenager's bedroom, covered in football memorabilia - his Liverpool FC duvet and curtains just as he'd left them.

To ease the pressure, a campaign office was opened down the road from the house. It became the focal point for family, supporters and journalists alike.

I spent many hours at that office, sitting with the family whilst they waited for news from Bulgaria.

There were two appeal hearings. On both occasions, Shields' aunties sat by the phone, jumping each time it rang.

Both times, they were to be disappointed as their nephew's case was turned down.

Takeaway attack

Then, in October 2006, I was offered the chance to meet Shields for myself.

I went out to Varna, the resort on the Black Sea where he had gone on holiday after watching Liverpool win the Champions' League in Istanbul in May 2005.

At the height of the season the town is a gaudy strip of bars, restaurants and hotels fronting onto the beach.

Michael Shields was convicted of attempted murder in Bulgaria in 2005

In late autumn it was windswept and bleak. The takeaway where the attack on the Bulgarian waiter happened was boarded up.

Across town, the Varna jail was foreboding too. Surrounded by high concrete walls and barbed wire, with an imposing watchtower.

I'd arranged access inside the jail and once inside, walked through the inner courtyard past the prisoners on exercise.

Upstairs, Shields sat waiting with his cellmate, a Bulgarian man who now supported Liverpool thanks to his new British friend.

I talked to Shields for 10 minutes or so. He seemed on edge. He was about to be repatriated to a British jail, and didn't want our televised interview to put that in jeopardy.

But he was also keen to get his story across. After all the publicity, the interviews and the rallies in Liverpool, the one person who'd been silent was the man at the centre of the story.

Now that he had the chance to speak he did so quietly. He said that he was determined to clear his name and grateful for the support he'd had.

He seemed slightly embarrassed to be the focus of so much attention. He was looking forward to returning to the UK, reasoning that conditions in a British jail would be better than in Bulgaria.

Battle-weary

Back home the Shields family saw his return as a step closer to his release. They figured that it would be far easier to argue his case in his home country.

That was in 2006. Now, three years on, they are jaded and battle-weary.

I saw Maria and Michael Shields Snr again earlier this week. They were sitting at home, the banners and ribbons still up, waiting for the decision from Justice Secretary Jack Straw.

The phone rang, and they both jumped. It was a false alarm.

I asked Michael Snr how they had been coping whilst waiting for the news. He replied that he had found it as hard to deal with the British authorities, as with the Bulgarians.

He had been expecting the decision by the end of June. It was now July, and he was still waiting.

Maria and Michael Snr have spent four years campaigning to get their son out of jail.

They say that the only thing that has kept them going during all of that time is the utter certainty they share with all of their family of their son's innocence.