Bringing Down the Krays Page 5

  There were jellied eels and mash at Queen Mary College over the road, then it was all back to the Kentucky Club so everyone could have their photos taken with the twins. Not Lord Snowdon, sadly. Perhaps he’d been warned off. All the women, including the film’s star, Barbara Windsor, were done up in furs and diamonds. She wasn’t that famous then but soon would be. My brothers told me she was laughing that dirty laugh of hers and trying hard not to swear too much.

  Frances Shea was there with Reggie along with James Booth and George Sewell, the male stars of the film. Alfie had persuaded Victor Spinetti, the actor, to come. The singer Lenny Peters out of Peters and Lee was there, but there weren’t the really big stars that Ronnie wanted. I don’t know who he was expecting. Did he really think Elizabeth Taylor was on her way to join him and Reggie for a brown ale?

  Ronnie went mad. It was his big night. It just wasn’t big enough. They went back to Esmeralda’s Barn in Knightsbridge for even more drinking.

  In any case, the Kentucky did not last long after its turn in the spotlight. Just like the Double R, the police objected to the renewal of the club’s licence. The Kentucky closed. But pretty soon Ron took the 66 Club off our mother. He promised to buy it: ‘I’ll sort the money out later,’ he said. But of course he never did.

  Dad was too old to make much of a fight of it. Mum was heartbroken. She loved the business and she wasn’t yet forty. It was the family’s living and there were still loads of young ones to support. It would have been a nice little earner, just at the time the London club scene was booming. But now it was lost to us. And because my brothers and I were off doing our own stuff, making our own way in the world, we couldn’t badmouth the Krays too much, despite our private reservations about what had happened.

  By this time the Double R, the club in the Mile End Road, was long over (the licence was not renewed by the local authorities), but Ronnie still had the Green Dragon in Stepney and Esmeralda’s Barn in Knightsbridge. And now he had the 66. He felt safe round our mother’s and he was on the plot, in the area that he wanted, on the way towards the West End.

  Alfie told me what Ronnie used to say about Mum’s club. ‘This is perfect for us,’ he would smile. ‘A nice straight, clean little club, the ideal place to make a meet.’ His enemies didn’t know about it – it was a place no one would dream of looking for him.

  Meanwhile Alfie had got into the club scene himself as a partner in a place called the Two Decks in Rupert Court, on the south side of Shaftesbury Avenue in Soho. I never saw it, but I know he’d fitted out the place like a ship, with portholes, brass lamps, that sort of thing. And I was the one who liked boats. He got some big names in there, he told me: Danny La Rue, Frankie Howerd, Victor Spinetti, Shirley Bassey, Brian Epstein. He did well with it.

  Alfie confessed to me how much of the time he’d spend drinking away the profits in company with some serious Soho drinkers – like the painter Francis Bacon, the actor John Hurt and the composer Lionel Bart. He told me he’d never let Ronnie near the Two Decks. If he had found out about it, he would have moved in, just as he and Reggie always did. To make the point, Alfie told me the story about what happened with his tailor friend, Paul of Berwick Street.

  Ronnie was always admiring my brothers’ suits. So one day he told Alfie he wanted some suits made and asked him to arrange for Paul to come round to his flat and to bring some samples of material. David was there too, followed by Ronnie, Charlie and a few other members of the Firm. At that time Reggie was away.

  Sitting down in Alfie’s front room, Ronnie ordered about twenty-five suits, telling Charlie to pick out two or three for himself as well some for the rest of the Firm. Paul was very pleased, thanking Ronnie and arranging fittings for the following week.

  So the next week everyone was back at Alfie’s flat again. Alfie watched Paul getting the suits out of the boot of his car. He then laid them out one by one over the back of Alfie’s sofa, with the labels marking out who each one belonged to: ‘Ronnie’, ‘Charlie’, ‘Teddy’ or whoever. Paul then fitted the suits on each member of the Firm, tearing the arms out of the jackets the way tailors do and hanging each one up carefully on the dado rail afterwards. Two weeks later another fitting was arranged, at which point Paul politely asked Ronnie if he could have some money as a deposit in order to finish off the work.

  Ronnie’s expression turned murderous and, picking Paul up by the throat, he snarled, ‘Don’t you ever ask me for money again. If I feel like it, I’ll send Alfie round with something for you. Now just get the suits finished!’

  Ronnie and Charlie got their suits. But Ronnie never gave Alfie any money for Paul – and my brothers lost the best tailor they ever had.

  CHAPTER 5

  BUNGS AND BODIES

  BY 1963 RONNIE had got tired of Vallance Road and the caravan round the back, and had moved into an apartment in a block of flats called Cedra Court in Upper Clapton. Our mum and dad were already living there – they had got a flat through the Freemasons. My parents found Ronnie a gaff there, number 8 on the first floor. Reggie got a flat on the ground floor. A face called Leslie Holt lived upstairs. That nice, respectable block of flats was going to see some very strange goings-on.

  Ronnie was fantasising about being a legitimate businessman. Reggie was actually doing something about it, making plans to go into betting shops and restaurants – even a ‘security’ firm. The money-man Leslie Payne had really got them at it. But the first thing they needed to do was button up the police even tighter. Even if they had vague intentions of going legit, the Old Bill were all as crooked as the criminals they were ostensibly trying to catch. In those days you couldn’t run a club unless you gave a bung to the local police or they’d close you down. That’s what our dad did when he was still running the 66, all the time, just in order to stay open.

  So the Krays needed my brothers all the more. They had David and Alfie running all sorts of errands. Moving people, moving guns, moving money. After we’d lost the 66, Alfie had to set Mum up in a new business, a pie and mash shop in Stoke Newington. Perhaps it was just as well, because under the new management the 66 was now the Krays’ back office, ideal for discreet meets with the Old Bill.

  But these were not just the local coppers from the Upper Street nick. This was West End Central and the Yard. My brother David saw it all for himself. He was in the 66 early one afternoon when two men rang the doorbell. David let them in. He’d already been told they were coming by Ron. ‘I’ve got someone coming in tomorrow, I’ve got a meet here,’ he’d told David. So when the men asked him, ‘Anyone in?’ he knew who they were talking about. He also understood full well that they were plain-clothes coppers.

  David gave them each a drink. He told them there was no one here yet, but they should wait and the Colonel would be along soon. David knew that Ron was in fact waiting in the pub over the road on Islington Green, downing drinks, watching the door to the club to see if anyone was being dropped off or if anyone else was with them, hanging about outside.

  When Ron was sure it was just the two of them, he came in. David heard him asking them outright: ‘Got any tapes on you?’ – meaning were they wired up.

  After that David stayed out of it. Of course he did. Whether they were paying for information or grassing up someone they wanted put away, he knew it would be more than his life was worth to get involved. While the three of them talked, he busied himself behind the bar, getting ready to open the club a few hours later. They’d do all their business before then, before anyone came into the club, and the Old Bill would creep out before anyone saw them.

  That’s how it was generally. My brothers never really knew what the twins were doing at the beginning and didn’t want to know. But then of course they did know, by which time they were too excited by it, or too frightened, or both, not to do what Ronnie wanted.

  Ronnie was in the club at lunchtime another day with another couple of cops, and David saw him giving them a packet, a white envelope. They went on talking for a while
and then Ron got up, went over to the bar, put his hand in his pocket and got out a wad of notes. He pulled a few out, walked back over and put it down on the table in front of them, saying: ‘There you are, you’d better cop that as well.’

  David explained to me how it went. The police needed bodies as well as bungs. Money was lovely but the coppers had to get their books right. It was no use the Krays giving them loads of money and no one getting nicked. They’d pass envelopes of cash – but they’d also inform on anyone they wanted to see out of the way. If the Krays did a job with someone who then didn’t give them the lion’s share of the readies, a couple of weeks afterwards the former partner would find himself arrested.

  Some of the coppers out of West End Central were especially corrupt. Their line was: ‘I will help you, and I will leave you alone. If you’re going to be raided I will let you know in advance. But I need a pension for that – and to satisfy my governors, I need a body once a month.’ So that’s how it worked for the twins.

  The Krays would get whatever information they wanted from the police – who was doing well, who might be in need of a little visit, who was going to get nicked and who might be talking to the coppers about the twins’ business. It was a way of spreading fear: ‘You talk to the police about us and we’ll be hearing about it pretty quick.’ So much of their operation depended on information – and informers – which is why they were so paranoid about anyone informing on them. Having coppers on the payroll was the best insurance policy. Sometimes David would go on special meets way outside London to make the pay-offs. One day he would find himself heading for the airport with a suitcase of cash.

  David told me in detail afterwards what had happened. It was spring 1963. David was asleep at about eight or nine o’clock with a girl called Lucy on the couch at the 66 Club when there was a bang on the door. Big Pat Connolly and Charlie Kray walked in and told David he had to take some money to Ronnie in Jersey. He thought they were joking but he soon realised they were deadly serious.

  They told him to go to Vallance Road. He went there and waited for about five hours before Charlie eventually came in and said: ‘I’ve got a packet here with some money in it. And an air ticket. Keep this on you, whatever you do. Get a case and put some clean shirts in it for Ronnie’ – Ronnie liked shirts – ‘and get a cab to Heathrow. When you get to Jersey, someone will be there.’

  David couldn’t help feeling quite excited. He didn’t know exactly how much money there was in the packet but he knew it must be a lot to warrant a personal courier to take it to Ron. He caught the plane to Jersey and waited for an hour but no one turned up to meet him. He knew Ronnie wouldn’t want to be kept waiting so he started to panic. The last thing he wanted was for him to think he had absconded with the money.

  Luckily he remembered Charlie saying to someone at Vallance Road that the hotel was near a castle. David jumped in a cab, keeping close hold of the packet, and asked if there was a hotel nearby that was also near a castle.

  The cab driver said there was and took him there. Running up the steps into the reception David asked, ‘Have you got a Mr Kray staying here?’ The girl said, ‘Try the bar.’

  David walked in and saw Ronnie and Dickie Morgan sitting on a sofa with another man and a girl. He didn’t recognise either of them. Ronnie glanced over at David and said in an offhand way to the others: ‘Get David a drink, will you?’ David felt pretty furious – he’d come all this way and Ronnie was treating him as if he’d just come from down the road. But of course he didn’t say anything.

  Ronnie then asked David, ‘Have you got that packet for me?’ My brother handed it over mutely. Ron left the bar for a moment and the girl turned to David and breathed a sigh of relief, saying ‘Thank God for you, Dave!’ She gave the impression it had been an anxious wait for the money. Ronnie returned, took out a wad of notes and gave them each some cash. Afterwards when they all started drinking and talking, the man said – cool as you like – that he worked at Scotland Yard. This was some sort of high-class pay-off and David had been the courier for the money.

  So then David, Ronnie, Dickie Morgan, the policeman and the girl – a grafter who’d clearly been brought over to entertain the policeman – all proceeded to have a lot to drink in the bar, then they moved back to Ron’s room and carried on drinking there. By the end of the night, the police officer was very drunk, the girl was happy and Ronnie seemed to be OK. The girl kept saying, ‘Good for you, Dave,’ to my brother, because he had brought the money.

  Dickie and David, however, were just tired. Returning along the corridor from the bar with more drinks, Dickie, who’d had enough of the evening, slipped away to his room. David asked Ron where he was supposed to sleep. Ron kept saying: ‘We’ll sort it out later.’ David didn’t feel particularly comfortable with the situation but what could he do?

  So they all kept talking and drinking in Ron’s room for a while longer. Suddenly the copper passed out on the chair, fast asleep. Ronnie gave the copper a nudge with his foot so he slipped to the floor and Ronnie could take his seat. David again asked Ronnie where he should stay the night and this time he pointed to the girl who was lying on the bed and said: ‘Just get in there and give her one.’ David didn’t know what to do. The girl was willing and he wanted to, but he naturally didn’t like the idea of Ron being in the room while they did it.

  But the girl kept asking him, so eventually David got into bed and had sex with her. It was only when it was all over and he looked round that he saw that Ronnie had been watching the whole thing from the chair, masturbating. David felt quite sick with disgust at what he’d got involved in.

  At that stage it seemed Ronnie was bisexual, or perhaps he didn’t even know what he was. Later on he had affairs with all sorts. But at this stage it wasn’t widely known that he was gay. Certainly David didn’t know at first. To him the image of a gangster and a ‘pouf’ just didn’t go together, so it just hadn’t really occurred to him. Later, Ronnie was to take David into his confidence and tell him a bit more about his sexuality. He said he had liked women when he was younger, but that one particular experience had put him off for life. He said he’d taken a young woman back to Vallance Road with him one night. After having sex he’d fallen asleep, only to wake the next morning to find himself, the woman and the bed all covered in her menstrual blood.

  Jumping up in horror, he ran out of the room like a madman, going over to the bath-house six times that day to wash himself. He said he could not forget the disgust of that moment and how dirty it made him feel. He claimed this completely changed him, and that after that day he absolutely hated women. He said he could not even speak to his own mother for days.

  When this incident occurred Reggie was having one of his spells in prison. Ronnie told David that while Reggie was away, he had been mucking around with Teddy Smith one day. Teddy climbed on top of him and Ronnie said something changed in him and he felt different. From that point he knew he was gay. That was what he told David, anyway.

  Reggie was also difficult to read sexually. There was one night when David pulled a bird (a grafter again) and suggested the three of them went back to Vallance Road. The girl was up for having both of them and David thought Reggie wanted it too. So the girl and my brother went into Reggie’s bedroom at the back of the house and got into bed. But after David had had sex with the girl, Reggie said he’d changed his mind, and let it go. Neither of my brothers ever saw Reggie sexually with a girl, ever, before he met Frances Shea – the teenager from Hackney he went on to marry.

  Anyway, after the first night in Jersey the little group stayed at the hotel drinking for three days – though my brother insisted on getting his own hotel room on the second night. On the plane coming back there was another man and a woman, a supposed honeymoon couple, but they were clearly police. Everywhere Ronnie went, they were there watching. Ronnie insisted they all sit separately on the plane.

  Three months later, David was sent out to Jersey again but this time there were two
male officers from the Yard there. The Krays wouldn’t trust anyone. Once Ronnie met someone in a rowing boat in Victoria Park in Hackney to make sure he wasn’t wired up. All that paranoia about informers was because they depended on spies and informers themselves in other firms and in the police.

  By now there were other things going on in my brother’s life than doing errands for the Krays. That summer, 1963, David had come to see me again on the Isle of Wight to help out with the boat business – and to tell me more about the endless Kray parties in London. Along the way he fell in love. He saw a young girl walking along the boardwalk in Shanklin and that was it. She was called Christine. Meanwhile Alfie had also met his future wife, Wendy. Our mother predicted it wouldn’t last for either of them, so David said to Alfie: ‘We’ll prove them all wrong and have a double wedding,’ and they did. They both married on 26 September 1963, in Russell Square Registry Office. One after the other: David to Christine and Alfie to Wendy.

  After the ceremony my brothers put their new wives in a taxi to go shopping in Oxford Street and they went round the pub. That night we all went to Talk of the Town in Leicester Square for a big party. And for once it was without Ron and Reg who were now ever-present in my brothers’ lives.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE CEDRA COURT SCENE

  THE KRAYS’ CRAZY world was the only one that mattered. I desperately wanted to be in on it myself but I was not there yet. It was like nothing could go wrong for the Krays at this time. The Barn in Knightsbridge shut down when too many cheques bounced but the twins had the other spielers and the long firms bringing in the cash. Their ambitions were bigger than ever. Ronnie was out of his own mum’s way now, living in the same block as flats as our mum and dad, Cedra Court in Upper Clapton. It could get pretty wild there at times. The parties would attract all sorts, celebrities and villains, with people coming and going into the small hours.