Читать книгу The Twins - Men of Violence - Kate Kray - Страница 10

The Twins demanded loyalty and respect. Even after they were banged up. And they had the power to see that that loyalty was respected. Even from prison, the Krays had a very, very long arm …

Thirty years after their heyday, they had a core of followers who treated them with the respect they demanded. One of those men was Charlie. Throughout the sixties, Charlie was at their side. He is a man of his word. A proud man, and one I am proud to have as my friend. He has an air of confidence about him and you know instantly it wouldn’t be a wise move to cross him.

He is a big, broad man, and he knows how to act with everyone. He’s always suited and booted, and when Charlie is in the room you know about it — he stands out like an immovable object.

It was in the summer of 1988 when Ron asked me to phone Charlie to arrange a visit. He was such a friendly man that we clicked immediately. In those early days, I have to put my hands up and admit that I was green and didn’t know the score. I was always eager to please Ron. I tried to do all the things he wanted but it was impossible.

There was always so much to do. So many messages to deliver, so many people to see and places to go. It seemed that Ron had completely taken over my life and there was no time left for me any more.

Charlie sensed that and encouraged me to slow down. I am pleased to say that I took his advice and, since then, he has phoned me every week without fail, not for anything in particular, just to see if things are OK and if I need anything.

He loved Ronnie Kray, that was obvious, and when Ron died he was devastated. I remember when I was paying my last respects to Ron at the funeral parlour which was under siege by TV crews, journalists from all over the world and thousands of fans all wanting to see Ron for the last time. Grim-looking men with broken noses and wearing cashmere overcoats surrounded the Chapel of Rest.

Reggie had control of who was allowed in and who wasn’t. He had made a list of names in order of priority.

Obviously, Reggie went first to pay his respects. Charlie Kray was second on the list, and I was third. Unless your name was on that list, you could forget it.

Charlie arrived while I was with Ron. I had so much I wanted to tell Ron, but a gentle knock on the door broke my thoughts.

‘Sorry to disturb you, Kate, but there is a man at the door called Charlie. He said you know him.’

I was so pleased that it was Charlie; I needed to see a familiar face.

Charlie was shown into the Chapel of Rest. He looked pale and drawn — it was obvious he had been crying but he managed to keep his grief under control. He put his arms around me and hugged me tight. His huge arms engulfed me. It was a great comfort. Slowly, he peered into the oak coffin, the brass handles shining in the sunlight coming through the window.

Flowers, mainly spring flowers, were everywhere and their scent filled the air. Ron’s body looked like a cold marble statue. Charlie bent forward and gently kissed Ron’s forehead. Tears welled up in his eyes, and there was genuine pain etched on his tough face, a face that had seen many a brawl in its day. Finally, he broke down and cried.

I didn’t know how to comfort him. I just didn’t have the words. It nearly broke my heart. I’ve heard it said that tough men don’t cry. Well that day, I saw a tough man cry for his friend. The man he describes as ‘a diamond’.

Charlie has held his peace about Ron and Reg for thirty years. Even now it took some persuasion to get him to speak about the two men he respected above all others. But after Reg’s death I went to see him, to talk about the twins and reminisce about the old times. And he told me stories I’d never even heard before…

Charlie got to know the twins through two brothers — Checa and Teddy Berry. He was a good friend of the Berrys, two tough men who didn’t like the twins one little bit. It was only a matter of time before the brothers would end up having a row.

And boy, did they have a row! Ron went right into one and shot Teddy in the leg. Now normally, if you do someone in the leg, you get them to remove their trousers, otherwise the material from the trousers makes the gunshot wound go septic. Well, Ron didn’t bother with any of that. The wound turned bad and Teddy had to have his leg amputated.

Ron felt terrible — but not as terrible as Teddy! The row was over something really stupid, and it certainly didn’t warrant somebody losing their leg. Ron had just lost his temper.

The twins tried to put things straight by arranging a big party for Teddy at the York Hall up in the East End of London. It was a fantastic evening, and Ron and Reg made sure that everyone who was anyone attended. They even raised enough money to buy Teddy a pub called the Bridge House just off Bow Common Lane. Checa and Teddy took over the pub, were good hosts and the whole thing was a roaring success.

Things quietened down for a bit between Teddy and Ron. But deep down the Berry brothers still resented the twins, and in particular Ronnie. Well, it’s not surprising, I suppose — he had shot the geezer in the leg!

They barred them from the pub. Well, maybe barred is the wrong word — you didn’t really bar the twins from anywhere — but let’s just say that they made it known that they were not welcome. I suppose it was reasonable under the circumstances. Charlie didn’t really know the twins at the time. He’d seen them around, of course, and he knew who they were, but so did everybody, unless they came from another planet or something.

Then, one night, right out of the blue, Teddy changed his mind and said that the twins could come to the pub, and they would be made welcome. The Bridge House was Charlie’s local. He always drank in there, and when the twins eventually visited the pub, it was as if nothing had happened. Everyone was friends again. That’s how it often was in those days — you never knew what was going on behind the scenes.

So that’s how Charlie got to know the twins. At the time, he worked for a bloke called Micky who owned a car front, selling all kinds of cars. The twins would turn up at the front and just help themselves to whatever car they fancied — normally a Standard Vanguard for Reg and a Yank for Ron. Not that either of them could drive, of course, but they had people to drive them around anyway. So they’d turn up, help themselves to the cars they wanted, drive them around till they ran out of petrol, and just dump them on the side of the road, or in a ditch, or wherever they felt like it. Next day, you could bet your bottom dollar they’d be back at Micky’s garage helping themselves to another motor!

The twins were used to getting what they wanted, and one day they decided that what they wanted was Micky’s own motor, a rather swanky Chevrolet Impala. Of course, being Ron and Reg, Micky couldn’t say no. Later that night Charlie was driving back to the front with his boss one evening, when what should they see but a Chevvy Impala crashed into a big hole in the road, the back of the car sticking up in the air, and two blokes in suits peering down the hole, scratching their heads.

Micky did a double-take. ‘Hang on, I recognise that car.’

‘Leave it, Micky,’ said Charlie.

‘That’s my Chevvy! Someone’s crashed my fucking Chevvy!’

‘Yeah, and that’s Ron and Reg,’ laughed Charlie. ‘Believe me, you don’t want to get involved. Forget about your motor.’

Micky had no choice but to write the motor off. It proved to be one of the more sensible things he did, and from that moment on, Micky’s garage was under the protection of Ron and Reg. Sure, he had to supply them with cars, but that was a small price to pay for being under the wing of the twins. It meant that any time someone took a liberty with Micky, or threatened to do damage to his property, he made a call and it was sorted.

Sometimes, though, being under the protection of the Krays could backfire, and Charlie told me all about one time when it did. Micky had heard that some mug had threatened to trash his garage. I don’t know why — maybe Micky had done or said something to upset him — but the guy should have known better. It was well known that Micky’s car front was protected by the Krays.

The geezer was a loud mouth in a cheap suit, cussing and snarling on the car front, when who should walk out of Micky’s office but Ronnie Kray. His eyes narrowed, his fist clenched. The trouble maker didn’t stand a chance. When Ron finished, he tossed the guy to the floor, and as he walked out of the garage he turned to one of Micky’s employees and growled, ‘Clear it up.’ With that, he was gone.

The guy wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t far off. Micky panicked: ‘You heard what Ron said.’ They bundled the bleeding man into the back of one of the cars, then drove off in the direction of Victoria Park, hoping to find some bushes where they could dump the bloke.

They arrived at the park, but it was no good. There were too many people around. They had to think quickly. The guy was fading fast, and if they didn’t do something then they’d end up with a corpse in the back of the car.

By now, night was falling, and Micky’s employee was in a panic. He drove the car to the nearby Queen Mary hospital and sneaked in for a look. Good, the coast was clear. Amazingly, he managed to get the bloke into the hospital and dumped him on a trolley. He sunk his bloody hands deep into his overcoat pockets and walked towards the exit. And then he bumped straight into a nurse. She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Can I help you?’

He shook his head. ‘No, no thanks. I’ve just been visiting a friend. G’night.’ And off he hurries.

The man pulled through. He never had evidence against Ron. And Ron being Ron gave the man a new lorry for his silence …

Charlie wasn’t involved personally in that incident, but as time went on he became more and more friendly with Ronnie and Reggie, and became an integral member of the firm. If Ron had sorted someone, they’d be banned from East London, and they knew that it was more than their life was worth come back until the twins said so. It was Charlie they’d have to call up to get that permission — Charlie would then speak to Ron and Reg and come back with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. He was constantly by their side, one of their most trusted companions.

I asked Charlie what he thought made the twins so terrifying. He smiled, and said that one of the things he’d always remember them for was the absolute loyalty they felt towards each other. They would row all the time, of course, and often it resulted in a tear-up. But never in public. There was a strange link that existed between them because they were twins, and it meant that they were incredibly protective of each other. Ron never really liked Reg’s wife Frances because she laid a claim to being almost as close to Reg as he was. In turn, Reg was unbelievably protective of Frances. Charlie recalls the time that Reg drove around all the clubs in London with Frances, saying to all of the doormen, ‘If you ever let my wife into this club, I’ll kill you.’ He didn’t want her anywhere near the scenes where Ron and he carried out their ‘business’. When Frances committed suicide, Reg was absolutely devastated.

Charlie told me he’d never heard Ron ever raise his voice. I remembered Ron saying a similar thing to me: ‘Kate, if you ask politely, you’ll always get whatever you want.’ Ron was a man who always appeared to be in complete control. His favourite tipple was dark brown ale, but nobody ever saw him drunk.

But everyone knew that the twins were more than capable of following through any threats of violence that they made. Charlie recalled an evening in the Double R, Ron and Reg’s club. After a certain hour in the evening, they’d lock the doors from the inside — after that time if you were in, you were in, and if you were out, you were out. On this particular occasion, a group of half a dozen or so dockers were making a nuisance of themselves — big guys. They were boozed up, fuelled up and ready to go. Ron and Reg took them all on single-handed; Ron hit one so hard he flew into the air, slid along the floor and bashed straight into a juke box, jamming a record over and over again. The others ended up a mess on the floor.

Another time, they were in a restaurant with Oliver Reed the actor. Now Oliver Reed could be foul-mouthed. Reg and Ron were having a meal with some friends, and Oliver Reed was swearing and cussing in front of all the women who were there. Now if there was one thing Ron couldn’t stand, it was a man acting disrespectfully in front of women. He didn’t care if it was a famous actor or a dustman — he wouldn’t have it. Ron put down his knife and fork. Reg knew what was going to happen. Ron apologised to the ladies. Oliver Reed was laughing and drinking as Ron approached him. He was a big man. He stood up, and Ron upped him. Oliver hit the floor with a thud.

Reg and Ron had morals. A code of honour that never changed. If they got the needle with anyone — even a famous actor — then they sorted it. Charlie told me how after Ron shot George Cornell, he went round all the pubs telling everybody, ‘It was me. I shot Cornell.’ Charlie, along with many others, had no time for Cornell. I asked him what he was like, and he gave me all the details. Cornell was in a gang called the Watley Street Gang. They were out of Stepney, and were a right rough bunch. Cornell made his first mistake when he went on to Ron and Reg’s patch and done a geezer with an axe. After that he defected to South of the river and joined the Richardsons. Ron knew at that point it was either him or Cornell — the rest is history.

One of Charlie’s jobs towards the end of the Sixties was to look after John Pearson. He was the writer that wrote the bestselling book The Profession of Violence. It was the first book ever written about the twins; it was in their heyday, at the height of their professional career.

The very fact that somebody wanted to write a book about them really pleased Ron and Reg. It would turn them into instant celebrities, and they loved it. They let Pearson shadow them around everywhere, and it was Charlie’s job to drive them round all the clubs. But Ron didn’t really like Pearson. He needed a place to stay, so Ron put him up in ‘The Dungeon’, a dingy little basement opposite the house in Vallance Road. After a while, Ron got so sick of Pearson that he upped him, and when the book was finally published, the twins hated what he had written. That aside, though, the twins did get a twice yearly pension from that book right up until their death.

Charlie was with the twins right up to the very end. In fact, he was with them on their very last night of freedom. He told me the whole story after Reg’s death.

The twins were entertaining in the Astor club, one of their haunts off Berkley Square in Mayfair. Their guests were two very important people — the Kaufman brothers from New York who were the twins’ immediate links with the Mafia in America. Ron and Reg wanted to put on a show for them.

In a nearby bar, a great band were playing. The twins decided that it would be good to have the band at the Astor club so that they could put on some entertainment for the Kaufmans. They used their ‘influence’ to hijack the band and move them over to their club.

Part of the entourage that night were two black dancers — the Clarke brothers. Ron went up to them and said, ‘When the band play, you fucking dance, alright?’ Which is just what they did. The band kicked in, the Clarke brothers started dancing. Half and hour passed; an hour. The dancers were getting tired, but Ron’s steely gaze encouraged them to continue…

Two hours passed. The Clarke brothers were exhausted. One of them went up to Ronnie and panted, ‘Ron, we can’t dance no more.’

‘What do you mean, you can’t dance no more? You’re fucking dancers, aren’t you? Dance! And make sure you’re smiling while you do it!’

‘But Ron …’ Something in the look Ron gave him told him that it wasn’t a good time to argue. The brothers took to the dance floor once again, and started dancing with as much energy as they could, hips shaking, legs moving, arms in the air. It didn’t take long for them to collapse completely.

The next morning Charlie was back home in bed. The phone rang. He peered at his alarm clock and saw that it was seven o’clock in the morning. He rubbed his eyes.

‘The twins have been nicked.’

At first he didn’t understand what the caller was saying, but he was startled by the urgency in the guy’s voice.

‘Who the fuck’s talking?’

‘Charlie, it’s me. Checa Berry. The twins have been nicked. It’s serious. Get dressed. I’ll be around in ten minutes.’

Checa explained that there had been a dawn raid and that Reg and Ron had been nicked. Charlie was amazed — it had only been a couple of hours ago that they’d been mob-handed in the Astor club having a good old knees up and watching the Clarke brothers bop till they dropped. Charlie had given Ron a lift home at about six in the morning and dropped him at Braithwaite House where he had a flat. Even at the time he’d noticed a heavy police presence all round the East End.

‘Something’s going down,’ he’d said to Ron. ‘Maybe I should drive around the back roads.’

But Ron was on a real high. ‘Fuck ‘em,’ he laughed. ‘They’re all mugs.’

Everyone roared with laughter. I wonder if they would have laughed so much if they’d realised that that night was to be the twins’ last night of freedom …

I asked Charlie how he felt now that the twins had died. His words were so moving that they speak for themselves:

I’m glad Ron didn’t die in Broadmoor. And as for Reg, he should have been let out years ago. But at least they let him out to die. At least they were both spared the indignity of dying in prison.

Broadmoor’s gone mad since Ron’s been gone. Peter Sutcliffe, the Yorkshire Ripper, has been blinded in one eye. Ian Kay, another inmate, stabbed him in both eyes with a felt-tipped pen. Sutcliffe was on the same ward as Ron, in the very next cell. The stabbing would never have happened if Ron was still there; he just wouldn’t have allowed it. Sutcliffe wants a glass eye but Broadmoor has refused on the grounds that he could smash it up and use all the little bits of glass to cut his own wrists or cut someone else. Sounds crazy, but plausible, given the nut-cases that are there.

I don’t wish Ronnie back in Broadmoor, not for one minute. There is nothing I would have loved more than to see him back in the East End having a drink with his friends.

For me, when Ronnie and Reggie died, it was the end of an era. The end of the Swinging Sixties. End of the gangsters. End of the good life. My life. It’s just not the same any more. When the twins died, a big part of me died with them.