Stephen Hendry today reveals how a stalker threatened to throw acid in the faces of his wife and baby.

The record-breaking snooker star was warned the pair would be attacked if he won the World Title.

Hendry opens up about the terrifying threat in his new book Me and The Table, which we are publishing extracts of today.

It comes amid a rising tide of acid attacks in the UK.

Me and The Table:

People often write to me, addressing the envelope, “Stephen Hendry, Snooker Player” or “Stephen Hendry, Scotland” and it reaches me.

My wife Mandy opens this morning’s mail. I’m just about to leave for practice but when I see the look on her face I stop in my tracks. She is as white as a sheet. “Read this,” she says, holding out a piece of paper.

As I read, my stomach ­lurches over. In a scribbled hand, the writer sends a ­warning about the 1997 World Championship. He (or she – it’s ­anonymous) claims to know where I live, and where Mandy walks with our baby son Blaine in his pram.

If I win the world title this year, the writer promises they will throw acid in my child’s face. The final sentence reads: “Black ball, black death.”

Hendry at the 1997 World Snooker Final (
Image:
Allsport)

Mandy and I stare at each other in shock and horror. “They’re just trying to wind us up,” I say. “It’s a load of rubbish. Let’s not worry about it.’

But I am worried about it. If I ­attend the tournament I’ll be away for more than two weeks (assuming I reach the final), leaving Mandy on her own, and vulnerable. It might well be a crank letter. Should I take that chance, or should I pull out of the competition altogether?

Really, there is no choice. I won’t be prevented from doing my job to the best of my ability. I will be going to Sheffield as planned. I share the news with my manager and the police. Officers investigate it, but with little or no evidence to go on they’re unable to arrest anyone for sending it.

Otherwise, we don’t publicise the fact that it’s happened.

The snooker star wrote of attack warning (
Image:
Adam Gerrard/Daily Mirror)

Even if they don’t intend to carry out their threat, they would no doubt enjoy knowing that their actions have upset me and my family. I do wonder what kind of a mind would threaten an eight-month-old baby over a game of snooker.

We keep an eye out for anything suspicious in our neighbourhood and Mandy’s sister arrives from Blackpool to spend some time with her while I’m away. Mum is around to assist, so I know Mandy is in good hands.

And yet, in the back of my mind, the contents of the letter flash in front of me. I keep wondering what will happen, if ­anything, if I win the final? I don’t have the same intensity and focus as usual, and the thought that if I do lose in the final nothing will happen to Blaine or Mandy creeps in.

I try to avoid such thoughts because in ­normal circumstances I’d never give myself any ­excuses; even a fractured elbow didn’t put me off my game. This, though, has rattled me and I go into the final without the same ­level of intensity as usual. Ken Doherty beats me and wins the championship fair and square at 18–12.

Hendry opens up about the threat in his new book

I’ve had threats before, of course. There are times when there’s been some discontent and muttered threats from audience ­members. I take no notice and, in any case, I always have John Carroll around to deflect unpleasantness.

There was an occasion when s**t (dog or human – we never delved too deeply) was sent through the post, and again Mandy had the unfortunate experience of opening the envelope. None of this is nice, but I’ve come to realise that it’s part and parcel of being in the public eye. A direct threat to my child, ­however, is something else altogether.

Before this, in 1992, a series of letters, ­photos, phone calls and even the text of a play (in which I’m the ­leading character) were received at my ­manager’s office. They’re from a woman in Manchester, and her letters are becoming more obscene, more threatening and weirder. It appeared I had a stalker.

His autobiography is out this month (
Image:
Adam Gerrard/Daily Mirror)

At first, we try to laugh it off but as time goes on we have little choice but to take this seriously. In one letter, she points out that security at snooker tournaments is very lax. Anyone could carry a gun into one of them, and shoot a player, she says. The play she sends is called The Death of the Snooker Player and in it I’m subjected to all sorts of unspeakable acts (some carried out by other snooker players) culminating in my murder.

At this point we’ve had enough. The police are called, she is quickly identified as the sender and is arrested.

At Stirling Sheriff Court she admits sending the letters and making ­obscene phone calls and is placed on probation with the condition that she seeks psychiatric help. Whether she does or not I will never discover, but she will later appear on a daytime TV show, in a programme about stalking, and say that all she wanted to do was “wish Stephen good luck”.

All I can say is that she has an ­unusual way of doing this; when she’s rearrested the following year, after turning up at Stirling Police Station posing as a lawyer in a bid to get more details about her own case, I can’t say I’m surprised.

A restraining order is served on her and luckily we never hear from her directly again.