Bringing Down the Krays (9 page)

But Reggie wasn’t happy. And nor was Frances. As my brothers witnessed it, Reggie would take Frances out at night to some club where the Firm were – and all the talk was of villainy. She’d just stare into space. David said he thought she was just permanently terrified. Reggie would come back to Cedra Court and just leave her on her own, while he went upstairs to where Ronnie was partying.

She cried her eyes out night after night. Mad Teddy could make her laugh, and Alfie and David could cheer her up. But she hated the Firm and hated Ronnie. The Shea family knew and they loathed Reggie for it. In the end she left Reggie after eight weeks.

David caught some of the storms. One night Reggie came round to his flat with Dickie Morgan for a drink. They came knocking on the door about two o’clock in the morning. David was asleep, but he got up and found them a bottle of gin and sat down to talk. Dickie went home after a while but Reggie and David sat up together after he’d gone. Suddenly Reggie
started to cry, saying, ‘You know what, we’re going to get a lot of bird when they get us.’

David told him, ‘Look Reg, why don’t you get out of it? You’re well-known, you’ve got a few quid, why don’t you and Frances get away by yourselves?’

Reggie looked back at David, and said, ‘I can’t do it, Dave. I can’t. I’m a part of Ronnie, and he’s part of me. I know it, I can see it. If he goes down, so do I. We’re going to do lots and lots of bird. I know Ronnie’s losing it but I can’t do anything.’

He stayed that night and David took him back to Vallance Road in the morning. Reggie asked him not to say anything about what had passed between them to anyone: ‘Keep this just between us,’ he told David. But Reggie’s marriage was over before it had even started. Ronnie had made sure of that.

Meanwhile, I had met a girl of my own. Her name was Pat Reader. She came from a wealthy, influential family on the island. We decided to marry quickly. But there would be trouble ahead
.

CHAPTER 7

PUPPIES AND FLOWERS

SO WHO WERE
the Krays? Were they the loveable charity promoters the press depicted them as? Were they part of the new working-class aristocracy of pop stars and photographers? Certainly they were getting their photos taken with all the right people. The twins had always courted celebrities because they thought being in their company brought respect. Ronnie’s madness was deepening but his craving for fame was growing too.

One night Ronnie told David: ‘Come over this evening, you’re going to meet Sonny Liston.’ He was the heavyweight champion of the world, here in London on a European tour. So David went over to Vallance Road to pick him up. There were crowds of people in the street and loads of photographers. The twins wanted to be respected, not just feared. That’s what all that charity and celebrity stuff was about, all those photographs of them with boxers, singers and film stars – all that trouble to make sure the press were tipped off when there was some gift to a kiddies’ hospital. David and Ronnie went with Liston to the Grave Maurice in Whitechapel Road. God knows what he made of that.

The US big-fight game was crooked. So Ronnie asked him whether he would take a dive. Liston said: ‘I’m one of eleven kids. The gangsters put me on a pedestal. Who am I going to look after? Them? Or the mug punters?’

Then David drove Liston to the Cambridge Rooms, a pub on the Kingston Bypass that the twins had set up as a sort of smart supper club. It was a big, big party that night but the club itself didn’t turn out to be a big success. It was just another place they’d moved in on. They wanted the suburban set to come but in the end it was just the Firm. The place folded. People talk about the Kray club ‘empire’ but in fact it was more like squatting. They would just move in on someone’s business and say it was theirs, just like they did to our mum’s club. Then they would move on to the next place when they’d messed it up.

Another night in January 1964, the year before Reg married, David went to the Palladium with the Krays to meet Frank Sinatra’s son, who was over here on a British tour. The word was that Sinatra wanted him to be seen with the Krays so that people would know not to mess with him. Nineteen-year-old Frank Sinatra Junior had been kidnapped on 8 December 1963 for two days at Lake Tahoe in Nevada. His father had paid a ransom of $240,000 to secure his release. Clearly, having a perceived connection with the Krays would be an insurance against something like that happening again.

The twins never got to see the show though. Ronnie just shook hands with him, said: ‘How nice to meet you,’ and that was it. They went off to the pub. But the brothers were really working hard at the connections. Reggie wanted to manage pop
groups. Charlie Kray even took over the Sammy Lederman show-business agency, which brought American acts to London. Charlie didn’t really have a clue, though, and eventually Sammy just became another hanger-on for the twins. Some of the Kentucky Club crowd stayed loyal – the actor Ronald Fraser, Barbara Windsor, a few others.

The twins ached for the big time – and they never quite got what they wanted. But there really were some big stars in their orbit.

One night David met Judy Garland, who was living in London in 1964. There were only about ten people there that night in Madge’s (the Lion in Tapp Street, Bethnal Green, also known as the Widow’s). Judy was tiny, no bigger than about five foot two according to David. He thinks she was half-pissed at the time, but she came over and perched on his lap and started to sing along with one of the records on the jukebox. I’ve no idea why she picked my little brother but it’s a night he’ll always remember.

The way he told it, at some point in the evening Ronnie said: ‘All right, put it on,’ and lined them all up to do the dance from
Zorba the Greek
. He was obsessed with it. As I was about to find out myself, the Zorba routine got a bit irritating after the twentieth time.

Then there was Ronnie’s sentimental side. That was just as hard for my brothers to take. Neither Ronnie nor Reggie could read or write properly. They used to get Teddy Smith to do all their Christmas cards for them – about five hundred a year. A lot were to other gangsters, say in Scotland, or in prison. But
Ronnie also used to send cards to the families of those he’d just got rid of, or cut up. ‘Send her a card’ was a code Alfie and David learned to recognise instantly. Sometimes it was a bunch of flowers, or a bowl of fruit to someone’s sister or mother. They’d put the stamps on the cards and post them.

David gave me an example of this when he told me about the time when Ginger Marks got done. Ginger was a car dealer supposedly shot dead by an unknown killer in Cheshire Street, Bethnal Green, late on the evening of 2 January 1965. His body was never found. Soon after he disappeared, his wife came round to see Ronnie in Vallance Road. She said that she was really worried about her husband’s disappearance and that the children were pining for their father. She asked Ronnie if he knew what had happened to him, and he said: ‘Oh, I think he’s just gone away on business somewhere, I’m not sure.’

After telling Big Pat to ‘give her a few quid’, he looked thoughtful for a moment and then walked out into the passage. Calling Big Pat Connolly, Ron told him: ‘Walk down the Lane [Petticoat Lane was just across the road from where they lived] and buy a puppy, will you?’ When Pat got back with the puppy, Ron took it round to Ginger’s children, saying: ‘Here, this will take your mind off your dad.’ It’s as if he really believed that a puppy would make it up to them.

Ronnie could be like a kid sometimes but his mood could turn to one of extreme violence in an instant. And he could be very cunning, taking great care to hide his tracks. Alfie told me the story of one memorable occasion when he saw this first-hand.

Ronnie had ordered a chap down the East End to be cut to pieces. He needed an alibi while this was happening – so he told his inner circle, including Alfie, that they were all going to go horse-riding in Wiltshire for a couple of days. Alfie had no idea why they were going until later. It turned out that the police had got Vallance Road under surveillance, and he wanted to put them off the scent while his dirty work was being carried out. Ronnie had apparently treated the surveillance like it was all a bit of a joke. He had taken a tray of tea and biscuits out to the police, saying, ‘You must be freezing out here. Don’t worry, take your time. I’ll send someone out for the tray after.’

So Ronnie had said to Alfie: ‘We all need some fresh air, so we’re going to go to the country for a day or two.’ Alfie was told to watch they were not being followed. They were not. It was a beautiful sunny day and Ronnie was leaning his arm on the open car window as they headed towards Salisbury, when all of a sudden, a wasp flew up his shirt-sleeve and stung him on the arm.

‘Pull the car up, pull the car up,’ he screamed.

Jumping out of the car, Ronnie tore his jacket off and undid his cufflinks, effing and blinding at the wasp as it flew out and straight back into the car. Rushing into the woods, Ron grabbed a great big lump of wood, almost a tree trunk. Climbing back into the car, he started smashing the interior to pieces in his attempts to get revenge on the wasp. Eventually, much to Ron’s fury, the ‘fucking thing’ flew away, unharmed.

By this time Alfie was helpless with laughter, annoying Ron even more. ‘It hurts, you know, Alfie,’ he whinged. Determined to wind him up even further, Alfie waited a few minutes in
silence before asking him: ‘Did you read that piece in the paper about a woman being stung by a bee?’

‘What happened?’ asked Ronnie grumpily.

‘She died, Ron, she died.’

‘Get me to a hospital, Ted!’

Alfie had only been joking but it was now too late. The car had to be turned round and an emergency trip made to the nearest casualty department. By the time they got there, Ron was complaining, ‘My arm is killing me – I can hardly hold it up!’

One injection later they were back in the car.

Ronnie could be so childlike. This was why he loved Alfie and David, and he really did for a while. Because they used to lark about and weren’t as scared of him as the rest.

Ron definitely had a unique sense of humour. They’d be driving along and Ronnie would suddenly shout out: ‘Oi, bollock-chops, what’s the time?’ Or ‘Soppy-bollocks, come here!’ ‘Bonzo’ was another, and ‘Basil’. One of his favourite catchphrases was, ‘Smashing, innit?’ It was all very funny – when he wasn’t actually smashing somebody in the face.

Anyway, there was Alfie on his way to Wiltshire, with Ron and several other members of the Firm. By the time they got to the hotel, the Ship Inn at Wilton, Ronnie was getting very agitated. He wouldn’t sit down, or go to the bar where they were all having a drink. He was immediately off at the phone box in the lobby.

Several phone calls later he came back, visibly relaxed. He started smiling away and telling them: ‘It’s all done.’

‘What is, Ronnie?’

‘Don’t you worry. Just a bit of business with Charlie.’

Then he got up as if he had just thought of something and went back and phoned someone, presumably Charlie.

‘Send some flowers from Ron and Reggie,’ Alfie heard him say.

Alfie understood then for the first time why they were there. They were to give him an alibi – for a stabbing, some piece of horrible violence, revenge for something, money, a debt or even just a show of strength to someone they wanted to intimidate.

‘Lovely! Back tomorrow, ta ta,’ said Ronnie. Then, turning back to Teddy and Alfie, he said, ‘Come on, let’s go and have a drink.’

Standing at the bar they heard an upper-class voice ask: ‘Come down from London?’

Ronnie answered: ‘Horse-riding, yeah, we’re going horse-riding tomorrow.’

The man at the bar was a well-dressed, grey-haired geezer – a bit of a colonel type (but not the Colonel).

‘Funnily enough, that’s what I’m doing too. Are you going on the same ride?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, I think so,’ said Ronnie, starting to get interested. ‘You live down here?’

‘Yes,’ answered the man. ‘I’m the local magistrate.’

‘I bet that’s an interesting job, isn’t it?’ asked Ron.

‘What line of business are you in yourself?’ asked the magistrate.

‘We’re in clubs… we own clubs,’ said Ronnie.

‘That’s very nice. Well, look forward to seeing you in the morning then.’

As Ronnie walked back over to the table, he was gleeful. ‘Cor, that’s fantastic… I hope we all get nicked when we get back to London so we can sue the police… We’ve got the best alibi ever!’

An hour later, after a few more drinks, Ronnie suddenly turned round to Alfie and said: ‘What I want you to do tomorrow is smash his horse with a big stick when he gets on it so it will gallop and he’ll fall off and break his neck.’

Alfie was bewildered. ‘What are you talking about? I’m not smashing a man’s horse!’

Ron looked at Alfie with disappointment.

‘You won’t do nothing, will you?’

Two minutes earlier the magistrate had been Ron’s lucky ticket. Now suddenly he was to be ‘smashed’ as if he were of no more significance than a fly. It was at times like this my brothers realised what a complete psychopath Ronnie was becoming – if he wasn’t crazy all along.

CHAPTER 8

THE PARTY COMES TO ME

SUMMERS AT SHANKLIN
came and went. I was happy enough, busy with the boat business. I liked the winters too, with the empty beaches and only the seabirds for company. But Alfie and David would keep turning up, full of their stories from London. I got the impression sometimes that they liked the peacefulness of the Isle of Wight as much as I was pining for the action in the big city. But now I’d got Pat. And she was pregnant.

Pat wouldn’t get rid of her baby, whatever the pressure from her parents. I was proud of her for that. We would have to get married. I think that horrified her mum and dad even more.

The big wedding had to take place as soon as possible, for obvious reasons. Alfie was my best man. We married in August 1964. It was in the local newspaper. It was a fabulous wedding, no expense spared. The two bridesmaids had their dresses flown over from France. The wedding reception was held in one of the biggest and grandest hotels in Cowes. We were driven around in a huge Humber Super Snipe like the one Winston Churchill used to have.