Читать книгу Bindon: Fighter, Gangster, Lover - The True Story of John Bindon, a Modern Legend - John C Bindon & Wensley Clarkson - Страница 10

Bob Fifield attended the rough and ready Henry Compton secondary modern, just off the Fulham Palace Road, with Bindon. It was a vast, Victorian, redbrick building with small windows, and during the cold winter months it looked far from inviting. Fifield’s first proper encounter with Bindon immediately cemented their friendship. ‘I was in the toilet having a fag one day with a mate who was a stocky little fella. John came in throwing his weight around and demanded a fag. But my mate stood up to him and told him to piss off, and I thought we were in trouble. But he was very friendly then. I later learned that John was always impressed by people who stood up to him.’

If Bindon didn’t want to stay in a lesson, he would just get up and leave. ‘The teachers seemed a bit scared of him, so they never stopped him. I never understood why,’ said Fifield. Bindon was regularly caned, however, and Fifield never forgot the look of defiance on his face whenever he returned from being punished. ‘He’d always have a broad smile on his face, almost as though he was saying they couldn’t beat his spirit.’

The kids from Henry Compton were feared across Fulham as hard nuts. ‘The school was the last port of call if you couldn’t get into anywhere else. We were the dregs of Fulham. They used to call it “Henry’s Holiday Camp” because you did so little work,’ recalled Fifield. Bindon certainly made his mark at Henry Compton. One time he climbed on to the roof of the school and rang the bell. ‘It was daredevil stuff, but he wasn’t scared of nothing and we all treated him like a hero after that little stunt.’

Back in class, Bindon always sat at the front. ‘He could be brainy when he wanted to be. He just wasn’t interested in many subjects like the rest of us.’ Bindon’s sense of right and wrong and his protection of the victims of bullies continued. When Bob Fifield turned up to school in Wellington boots because his family were so poor, he was teased by other boys until Bindon stepped in. ‘John saw them off and I never got bullied again, ever.’

By the time Bindon was thirteen, his only academic achievement was a school prize for art, and by this time he had grown out his traditional schoolboy haircut and managed a fully fledged ‘Tony Curtis’, which was nothing more than what was better known as a slight ‘duck’s arse’. Other kids were getting into the Teddy-boy scene, but as that would involve getting a suit made – probably at tailor’s Mr Tobias of 200 North End Road – it was impossible for a poverty-stricken family like the Bindons.

When Ciss’s father Ned died, the family were obliged to sell the terrace of houses he owned. Ciss and Dennis managed to get a flat on a brand-new, much sought-after council block called Sullivan Court on the Peterborough Road, just a long stone’s throw from their previous home. At first, everyone apart from Dennis hated the fourth-floor flat. It seemed more cramped and less private than their previous house; but it was their first true home together as a family. Bob Fifield was also one of the first people to move into Sullivan Court. ‘It was a nice place back then. Everyone knew each other and it had a real community feeling.’ There were even custom-built shops at Sullivan Court, including a laundrette, a sweet shop/newsagent, a bakery and an off-licence.

But, within weeks of moving into Sullivan Court, Bindon had one of his first ‘straighteners’. ‘John beat this coal man up quite badly after he had a row with him about helping deliver some bags of coal, which he did for a few bob,’ recalls Fifield. When word of Bindon’s victory spread around Sullivan Court, his friends gave him the nickname Biffo the Bear, after the popular Beano character, because ‘he was round and cuddly-looking, but obviously had a hell of a punch’.

Despite living in a new tenement block, all the Bindons’ old possessions still took pride of place because there was little or no money to buy replacements. The fifties might have been rocking along with a new optimism, but the Bindons were still struggling to put a meal on the table. However, that didn’t stop Dennis Bindon having big plans for his children. He worked hard at furthering their knowledge even though he couldn’t often afford to follow it through with actual cash. When Michael passed his common entrance exam and was offered a free scholarship to Westminster, one of London’s top public schools, Dennis had to turn down the opportunity because the family couldn’t even afford the school uniform and all the other expenses if Michael was to attend the school. But both John and Michael were taught from an early age that, even if you couldn’t afford a special education, there were many things you could do to educate yourself.

By his early teens, John Bindon already had two female idols – Marilyn Monroe and Brigitte Bardot. He adored the way they talked in husky, whispering voices, with bodies that rolled like the surf and eyes that sparkled naughtily. Bindon wanted to be suave and sophisticated to attract such girls. The only trouble was that he didn’t really know how to handle them. He had been kissing and cuddling and fooling around at the back of a few bike sheds, but now he was thinking about what it would be like to go the whole way. He adopted a macho walk like his tough-guy screen idol Robert Mitchum. This meant keeping his shoulders back and head held high, and it had the effect of making him seem much older than he really was. But there was one part of his anatomy that Bindon was growing extremely proud of, and which undoubtedly contributed to his obsession with dating girls. He summed it up many years later when he told one interviewer, ‘My mum used to give me a right-hander for showing it off as a kid. It was big even then!’

Bindon’s twelve-inch penis had already provoked much comment whenever he was in the showers after school sports days, and, even though he was only just fourteen, he was already spending time at local pubs drinking beer where his favourite party trick would emerge, a routine used many times in pubs across the world over the following forty years. ‘I’d hang five half-pint beer glasses on me manhood. Everyone would ask how it’s done beforehand so I’d put them out of their misery and thread my old chap through the handles of the glasses.’ He would also sometimes dip his penis in people’s glasses while saying, ‘He needs a drink!’

Not surprisingly, Bindon’s strong appearance and brash nature soon led to numerous scraps in and around Fulham, but he never lost his outrageous sense of humour. On one occasion he was having breakfast at home in Sullivan Court when he dropped something on to a plate of bacon and eggs his brother Michael was eating. Afterwards, Bindon claimed it was another man’s ear he had bitten off during a fight the previous evening. No one argued with him about the claim, and Michael was understandably upset about what he’d eaten. As one old friend said many years later, ‘That was Big John’s favourite gag, and the thing is that no one ever dared challenge him on it, in case it was true.’

But beneath Bindon’s jokey exterior still lay a highly sensitive lad. He was particularly upset about any comments relating to the size of his head, which was quite big in comparison to the rest of his body. As a youngster, he was known to have sometimes banged his own head against a wall or a door in frustration. ‘Some people reckoned John was deformed because of the size of his head and his huge dick,’ one old friend explained, ‘and he used to get very upset if he heard anyone talking about him that way.’

Some kids gave Bindon a wide berth, saying, ‘Poor old Biff, he’s a bit wonky.’ Bindon soon lashed out at the taunters and began calling himself Big Louis after a character in one of his favourite films, the original Scarface.

Other examples of Bindon’s softer side suggest a young man in emotional turmoil. His cousin Gordon Wilson explained, ‘Sometimes he got upset purely because he’d hurt someone’s feelings in the family. Once he played a practical joke on one of my brothers by pushing an ice cream into his face when he was eating. Usually we’d all laugh about it, but my brother wasn’t in a very good mood and he pushed it away and had a right go at Johnny. They both got quite angry and we all expected Johnny to say, “Shut up or shape up,” or something like that, but he didn’t say a word. Then he just looked at my mum and burst out crying. There he was, the toughest bloke I’ve ever known in my life, built like a brick shithouse, and he’s sobbing. Then he walked out of the house and my mum said someone should go and get him before he did some serious damage to anyone who happened to walk past him. He was like a tinderbox. If anyone said anything to him it would set him off.’ Eventually Gordon’s brothers found Bindon and brought him back to their house. ‘Soon they were all back laughing and joking again. Afterwards, I realised John had dropped his guard for a split second and that was why he’d cried.’ Gordon never forgot how friends of his older brothers were in awe of Bindon even back then. ‘They were scared of him. They knew his reputation and often you’d hear people saying they’d gone to get a drink and spotted Bindon in there and that had worried them. At that age I didn’t appreciate just how hard he really was.’

Every Christmas day, the Wilsons hosted a party at their house in Fernhurst Road, Fulham. Ciss always came, but usually without Dennis. ‘Parties just weren’t Dennis’s cup of tea,’ said Gordon. Indeed, Dennis was an enigma to the Wilson family. ‘He was very reserved and very shy, but he could sit you down and explain everything to you in a patient manner. He seemed to know about every subject that you talked about. He could explain why you did this and why you did that. It was always very personal and he made you feel important when he told you.’

Back at Sullivan Court, Dennis had his own den, into which no one was allowed to venture. ‘It was his escape hatch, I suppose,’ says Gordon. ‘He kept all his newspapers and books and stuff in there, and would often retreat into that room for hours on end. It was his sanctuary. I remember as a kid we wasn’t allowed in there. But I can tell you Dennis was one of the most honourable men I’ve ever met in my life, and he never showed off. He’s such a private man in many ways and I suppose Johnny’s antics over the years made him feel a little uncomfortable.’

Dennis was disappointed when John left school at fourteen without any real qualifications. He had genuinely hoped that either John or Michael would make it to university. But Bindon had learned at least one valuable lesson at school. He had become a champion of the underdog by regularly defending the victims of school bullies, and he told friends he would never stand by and watch people ‘having the piss taken out of them’. He told one pal, ‘I’ve got a useful pair of fists and I intend to use them if necessary. There’s a lot of people out there who need characters like me.’

Bindon spent the first few months after leaving school roaming the streets and dance halls. There were three main venues that he regularly visited: the Hammersmith Palais, the Wimbledon Palais and Fulham Town Hall. His social life went from strength to strength as he took girlfriends to the cinema, restaurants and coffee bars. Making love had become a regular occurrence and sometimes John would sneak a girl into the family flat on the Peterborough Estate while his dad was out in his cab and Ciss was out cleaning. On other occasions, Bindon would persuade his latest conquest to accompany him to South Park where they would have ‘a kiss and a cuddle’ behind one of the vast oak trees that backed on to the two main football pitches.

As John’s confidence grew, and the 1950s became the 1960s, he began taking expeditions further up the King’s Road, which exposed him to a new crowd of laid-back people, many of whom were in the fast-expanding media world. He even persuaded one TV producer he met to let him appear in the backing crowd for Adam Faith’s performance on 6.5 Special, a weekly dose of pop music that went out live on television at five past six every Saturday evening from the Shepherds Bush Theatre. Bindon was fascinated by celebrity guests including Billy Fury, Eden Kane, Jess Conrad, P. J. Proby and Marty Wilde with their slicked-back hairstyles, snaking hips and tight trousers. He particularly liked the rockers. They had a sort of hard-man, seen-it-all world-weariness to them, and slid about on stage before driving off home in their big American gas-guzzlers. Long hair, flower power and LSD weren’t yet on the scene.

Bindon later said that what particularly intrigued him about the stars on 6.5 Special was that they enjoyed a jar or two and seemed very happy just cruising along on a wave of rock ’n’ roll. He related to most of them because they were all working-class kids making a name for themselves. They were part of an entire generation spearheading the opening of doors into music, films, literature, screenwriting, photography and all the artistic pursuits that had once been the private domain of the wealthy. In addition, the big boys like Adam Faith, Marty Wilde and Billy Fury seemed to have the pick of the women – and that was something John Bindon definitely wanted a piece of. The groupie scene was just emerging and, when Bindon heard stories about girls throwing themselves at these rock ’n’ rollers, it filled him with envy. An endless supply of birds and booze – it sounded like heaven to a lively teenager, already proud of the size of his manhood.

But all this was cruelly interrupted when John was caught stealing crates of beer from the local British Legion club in Parsons Green, and ended up in the long arms of the local law once again. Bindon always later claimed it was nothing more than a harmless prank, but at Fulham nick they decided to throw the book at him and he ended up in a local magistrates’ court where he got three months in borstal for theft. Bindon later tried to make light of his incarceration, and even told his mates he enjoyed making mailbags while in custody. He learned how to sew, and even used a special type of stitch which he proudly announced was ‘the old mailbag stitch’. Ironically, it was while he was in borstal that Bindon discovered something he had never experienced in the outside world. A few of the other inmates were smoking cannabis, and when he tried a puff he found it rather pleasant. He especially liked the way that pot helped calm him down when he was feeling tense.

Bindon’s early criminal record is steeped in rumour and gossip, but it is clear that shortly after his release from borstal he got nicked again with a Fulham pal called Alan Stanton. This time it was for taking and driving away a car, and possessing live ammunition. He was given a one-year term inside, and while serving his time he met a bunch of other young criminals who believed the only way to make big bucks was to join the underworld full-time. Bindon and Stanton – a pint-sized character with a short temper and an intense stare – were regularly called up in front of the governor for disciplinary offences. Stanton said many years later that he was often victimised by the wardens because of his size and that Bindon regularly came to his rescue. One of Stanton’s oldest friends later explained, ‘Alan never forgot the way John helped him while they were in borstal together, and they stayed friends as a result.’

In the middle of their sentences, Bindon and Stanton were transferred by prison bus to another borstal. En route, Stanton managed to slip out of his handcuffs because he had such small wrists. He then disappeared through the window of the prison van into the middle of London. Minutes later, he stole a car and drove past the prison bus where Bindon was still sitting at the same window. Stanton’s friend explained, ‘When the screws asked where the little one had gone, John told them he had just waved at him from a passing car.’ He was caught two weeks later and his sentence doubled. Stanton – a habitual ‘bolter’ – was the only person Bindon ever allowed to call him ‘Big Head’, because they both later tried to break out of a borstal cell but changed their minds when Bindon couldn’t get his head through the window.

Back in Fulham after his release, Bindon’s fast-growing reputation as a hard man led to him working as an enforcer (debt collector) for a number of heavyweight criminals, even though he was still relatively young. There were also rumours that some local teams of blaggers used him to smash down glass screens in banks because of his extraordinary strength, although Bindon himself never hung around for the actual robberies. ‘He always said he never had the bottle for the blaggings,’ Alan Stanton later told a friend.

Less than two years later, Bindon was sentenced to another term in prison, this time for living off the immoral earnings of a prostitute, although he always claimed he did the one-year sentence for a friend and even got handsomely paid in the process. ‘John was no pimp. He just did a favour for a friend and got well paid in the process,’ explained one old pal. Intriguingly, many years later Bindon insisted he had been in love with the woman who was working as a prostitute. ‘I was infatuated with her. She was a much older woman and very attractive. I was intrigued by what she did.’

No sooner was Bindon out of borstal on that charge than he got twenty-one months for attacking three Scotsmen with a broken bottle and was sent to Maidstone Prison. A definite pattern was emerging in John Bindon’s life: he was fast becoming what the police called a career criminal.

Shortly after getting out of prison, Bindon got together with an attractive married woman called Sheila Davies. Sheila already had children and a husband – a renowned armed robber – but none of that stopped the teenage Bindon. Whenever there was a problem with any of Sheila’s husband’s friends, Bindon let it be known he had ‘once cut a geezer’s hand off’ and then delivered the hand in a box to his victim the next day. It earned him a measure of respect.

The one thing Bindon had discovered earlier in borstal which wasn’t related to crime was rugby. He started playing for a number of clubs, including the London Springboks, the Public Schools and the Law Society. Bindon was a perfectly built prop forward, complete with square shoulders, shortish legs and a propensity for violence that found the perfect outlet on the rugby fields of London. On one occasion, he also turned out for his cousin Alan’s Sunday football team when they played a team from the Metropolitan Police. Cousin Gordon Wilson remembered, ‘These coppers were known for giving a lot of stick to everyone. John was rubbish at football, but Alan got him to play purely for one reason. They had this really big ginger copper starring for them. He must have been at least six foot five and used to terrorise everyone. No one was big enough to tackle this giant. But the moment the whistle went, Johnny just ran the length of the field until he got to this bloke, then he smashed into him, knocking him over and said under his breath, “Now you know what I’m here for.” There were no more problems with that copper after that, and we won the game!’

One of Bindon’s favourite watering holes was The Britannia pub, on the corner of Britannia Road and Fulham Road, just opposite Chelsea Football Club’s Stamford Bridge stadium. Later, he even moved his lover Sheila Davies into a flat just opposite the pub. The Britannia was the sort of local pub that villains flocked to. As Fred Hayes – son of the then landlords George and Nora Hayes – later recalled, ‘One night Bindon had a row with a guy called Scotch Andy, and my old man told him to have a fight round the back of the pub instead of inside so the filth weren’t called.’ Bindon settled the fight with a flurry of right-handers and then went back to Sheila, who was more than capable of looking after herself. ‘Sheila could handle Bindon. She wasn’t afraid of him and they had a good thing going,’ recalled Fred.

Bindon said many years later that from the moment he met Sheila Davies he was only happy when they were together, and many believe she was the main love of his life. He even told one drinking pal in The Britannia that he dreamed of spending the rest of his life with her. But none of Bindon’s friends at the time expected it to last.

Occasional jobs as an enforcer only provided Bindon with beer money, so when a close pal called Johnny Gillette suggested he join him doing smudge work – photographing tourists outside Buckingham Palace – he jumped at the chance. But he found it difficult to keep his temper with many of the tourists, so he decided to try some ‘normal’ work instead. He laid asphalt, plucked pheasants and then got himself a job with an antique dealer on the King’s Road.

At work, Bindon spent the whole time counting down the hours to when he could see Sheila again. Back at the family home in Sullivan Court, he would retreat to the only bathroom and fight off angry knocks while he prepared himself for Sheila. One time he ironed a pair of trousers five times just to make sure there were no creases. The pair often spent their nights out boozing in The Britannia before retiring to the flat together opposite for bouts of steamy sex. Bindon showered Sheila with tiny gifts: a simple rose in a plastic box, French chocolates or even perfume. Some nights they would sit together in the corner of The Britannia sipping slowly on their drinks and snogging like a pair of lovesick puppies.

It was Sheila Davies who first introduced Bindon to cooking. With Ciss at home, he had never been allowed anywhere near the kitchen, but Sheila was more than happy to encourage her young lover to develop his culinary skills. Bindon eventually persuaded Ciss to divulge some of her Irish recipes, but his favourite dish of all was cassoulet with sausages and bacon. ‘He’d cook it to absolute perfection, taking hours to get it all right,’ explained one former girlfriend many years later.

By now John Bindon had a reputation for violence. Money was still so tight that he didn’t own a suit, so his brother Michael would lend him his on condition he didn’t get any blood on it …