In the space of two days, a community gathered twice to bury officers lost in the same instant — a wrong-way collision on the A66 near Middlesbrough that claimed seven lives on a single August night. PC Tom Clough, 38, a former soldier turned armed officer, died alongside his colleague PC Matthew Blades while searching for a vehicle whose cloned plates had drawn their attention; the five young men inside that vehicle perished too. His funeral on Thursday completed a pair of services that together held the weight of a profession's grief and a public's reckoning with how swiftly ordinary duty ca
Second officer killed in A66 crash laid to rest as community mourns
Seven people died in the collision: two police officers (PC Tom Clough and PC Matthew Blades) and five young men (ages 17-23) in the Volkswagen Passat.
He was so wrong about who would come.
Mark
Why were these two officers on the A66 that night if they weren't actively pursuing the vehicle?
Mimi
They were searching for it. The Passat's registration plates were cloned—fake—and that triggered an automated camera system. So Clough and Blades were out looking for it, but they weren't in an active chase when the collision happened.
Luke
That's an important distinction. The IOPC report confirms they weren't part of the pursuit itself. But we should be clear: we don't have details yet on exactly what happened in those final seconds, or why the Passat was traveling the wrong way.
Mark
The fundraiser raised over a million pounds. That's a remarkable response.
Mimi
It is. And it was set up to help both the officers' families and the families of the five young men in the Passat. Seven people died, and the community decided to support all of them.
Luke
That's worth noting—the fundraiser wasn't just for the police officers. It included the families of Cahill, Matusiak, Rae, Saddington, and Worthy. That's a choice the community made.
Mark
Clough's partner mentioned Frank, the sausage dog. That's a very human detail.
Mimi
It is. She wanted people to know he wasn't just a police officer. He was a father to Frank, and that was what mattered most to him. It's the kind of thing that stays with you.
Luke
It's a powerful way to remember someone—not through the job, but through the relationships that defined his life. Though we should note that's coming through his partner's words, not from Clough himself.
Mark
Did Clough have any sense of how many people would come to his funeral?
Mimi
He didn't think anyone would show up. He was completely wrong about that.
Luke
That's what Somerville said he used to say. We don't have his own words on it, but the contrast between his expectation and the reality—that's striking.
El Pulso
- A single head-on collision in the early hours of August 22nd erased seven lives at once — two officers and five young men — leaving families, colleagues, and an entire region in sudden, disorienting grief.
- The officers were not in pursuit; they were quietly searching for a car flagged by a camera, making the randomness of the collision all the harder to absorb.
- PC Blades was buried Wednesday in Hartlepool as hundreds of officers and residents lined the streets; Thursday brought the same gathering again for Clough, the community forced to mourn twice in two days.
- Those who knew Clough described a man who doubted his own significance yet gave everything to everyone around him — his partner, his family, and a sausage dog named Frank who was the centre of his world.
- The public raised over £1.2 million for the families of all seven who died, a financial act of solidarity that extended across both vehicles and refused to leave anyone to face the aftermath alone.
In the space of two days, a community gathered twice to bury officers lost in the same instant — a wrong-way collision on the A66 near Middlesbrough that claimed seven lives on a single August night. PC Tom Clough, 38, a former soldier turned armed officer, died alongside his colleague PC Matthew Blades while searching for a vehicle whose cloned plates had drawn their attention; the five young men inside that vehicle perished too. His funeral on Thursday completed a pair of services that together held the weight of a profession's grief and a public's reckoning with how swiftly ordinary duty can become irreversible loss.
On August 22nd, a Volkswagen Passat travelling the wrong way on the A66 near Middlesbrough struck a marked armed police car head-on. Everyone inside both vehicles died: PC Tom Clough and PC Matthew Blades in the police car, and five young men — aged 17 to 23 — in the Passat. By Thursday, September 10th, Clough's funeral was underway, the second service in as many days for officers lost in the same collision.
Clough was 38, a former soldier who had carried his sense of duty into policing. He and Blades had not been chasing the Passat that night — they were searching for it after its cloned registration plates triggered an automated camera. The distinction matters: there was no chase, no escalation, only two officers doing quiet, methodical work when the road turned fatal.
PC Blades had been buried the day before in Hartlepool, drawing hundreds of officers from across the country and residents who lined the streets in silence. The scale of that gathering foreshadowed what Clough's service would become — a community still in shock, returning to mourn again.
Lauren Somerville of the Cleveland Police Federation had spoken with Clough's partner in the days before the funeral. The family wanted people to know he was more than his rank: a partner, a son, a brother, and above all a devoted father to a sausage dog named Frank. Clough had apparently doubted whether anyone would come to his funeral. He was, by every account, wrong.
The public's response had already taken a tangible form. A fundraiser for the families of both officers — and of the five young men in the Passat — had surpassed £1.2 million, a collective refusal to let any of the seven families face the aftermath alone. As Clough's funeral proceeded, the grief was shared across police services nationwide: two officers gone in a single moment, five young lives alongside them, and a community that had already said one goodbye now gathering to say another.
On the morning of August 22nd, a Volkswagen Passat traveling the wrong way on the A66 near Middlesbrough collided head-on with a marked armed police car. The crash killed everyone inside both vehicles: PC Tom Clough and PC Matthew Blades in the police car, and five young men in the Passat. By Thursday, September 10th, PC Clough's funeral was underway—the second service in as many days for officers lost in the same incident.
Clough was 38 years old. He had served in the Army before joining the police. On the night he died, he and Blades were not actively pursuing the Passat; they were searching for it after its cloned registration plates had triggered an automated number plate recognition camera. The vehicle's occupants—Michael Robert Cahill, 23; Jakub Matusiak, 23; Theo Rae, 17; Makai Saddington, 18; and Cole Robert Worthy, 17—were also killed in the collision, according to the Independent Office for Police Conduct.
PC Blades' funeral had taken place the day before in Hartlepool, drawing hundreds of police officers from across the country and members of the local community who lined the streets to pay their respects. The scale of that gathering signaled what was coming for Clough's service: a community in shock, a profession in mourning, and a public that had mobilized to support the families left behind.
Lauren Somerville, chair of the Cleveland Police Federation, spoke about Clough's family in the days leading up to the funeral. She had spoken directly with his partner, who wanted people to understand that Clough was more than a job title. He was a partner, a brother, a son. Most importantly, she said, he was a father to a sausage dog named Frank, who was the center of his world. The family had asked Somerville to convey their gratitude for the public's support, saying it had given them strength during an unimaginable time.
Clough himself had doubted whether anyone would attend his funeral. He was wrong. Somerville recalled that he was someone who gave everything to everyone around him—the kind of person whose absence leaves a visible gap. Those who knew him described a man fully committed to his work and his relationships, someone who showed up completely for the people in his life.
The financial response from the public had been extraordinary. A fundraiser set up by the Cleveland Police Federation on behalf of both officers' families had raised more than £1.2 million. The money was intended to support not just the immediate families of Clough and Blades, but also the families of the five young men who died in the Passat. In a tragedy that claimed seven lives across two vehicles, the community's response was to ensure that those left behind would not face the aftermath alone.
As Clough's funeral proceeded on Thursday, the weight of the moment was felt across police services nationwide. Two officers had been killed in a single, sudden collision. Five young people had died alongside them. And a community that had already gathered once to mourn was gathering again, this time to say goodbye to a man who had given his everything, and who had been loved far more widely than he had believed.
Citas Notables
The family are grateful for all of the support from the public, it's brought them so much strength. Tom wasn't just a police officer, he was a partner and a brother and a son and most importantly a father to a sausage dog called Frank, who was the love of his life.— Lauren Somerville, Cleveland Police Federation chair, speaking on behalf of PC Clough's partner
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Crime & Justice