Читать книгу Me and My Brothers - Robin Mcgibbon - Страница 14

Reggie could have married Judy Garland. She truly loved him, fawned all over him and was always trying to persuade him to stay at her house in Hawaii. But Reggie only had eyes for Frances Shea. She was all he had ever wanted in his life and could ever hope to want: the beginning and the end of everything. Reggie was very old-fashioned in his attitude to women and he courted Frances in an old-fashioned way. He took her to the top clubs and restaurants, always making sure she had the best of everything, but he liked the less flamboyant touches, too. If they were walking down a street together, Reggie would think nothing of stopping at a florist’s to buy her a bunch of roses. It was a beautiful love affair, and the flower of their love grew and grew until it blossomed into marriage on 19 April 1965.

The wedding took place at St James the Great in Bethnal Green Road, and photographs of the happy event were taken – as a wedding present – by David Bailey, himself an Eastender, and the most famous photographer on the scene at the time. Hundreds of Cockneys turned out that sunny spring afternoon to wish the newlyweds good luck. But good luck, it seemed, was a luxury Reggie and Frances did not need. Fate had dealt them a kind hand. Although Reggie was eleven years older than his bride they were well-matched, joyously in love, and looking forward to spending their lives together. Reggie was already confiding his excitement at the prospect of becoming a father.

On the business side, too, he and Ronnie had fallen on their feet after the nightmare of the two Old Bailey trials. Gilbert France, who had rented the Hideaway club to McCowan, had told the jury the twins did not need to demand from anyone; because they were so successful with clubs he would have been happy to give them a share. And when the twins were acquitted this is precisely what he did.

While solicitors prepared the paperwork for the partnership, Reggie and Frances flew off to the Greek sunshine. Their new-found good fortune quickly brought them into contact with high-ranking officers from the Saratoga, the renowned US aircraft carrier, who took a liking to the honeymooners and invited them on board. For two impressionable Cockneys it was a rare honour, and for years afterwards Reggie treasured a specially engraved lighter, given to them as a memento of their visit.

Back in London, it was decided to give the Hideaway a new name – El Morocco. When a star-studded party was arranged to mark its opening on 29 April Reggie and Frances cut short their honeymoon to be there, with a host of current celebrities–and ‘Nipper’ Read who, for some reason, popped in for a glass of champagne. One of the celebrities was Edmund Purdom, a very well-known film star who was living in Italy. Like most of the celebrities we encountered, Edmund took to the twins, particularly Ronnie, and he would always make sure he spent some time at El Morocco when he was in London.

One night Edmund came up to Ronnie and said he desperately needed to borrow two hundred pounds. Ronnie agreed to lend it to him, but said he would have to go to Vallance Road in the morning to collect it. Ronnie always preferred the house as a meeting place, feeling that if it was not grand enough for anyone they probably were not worth knowing anyway. It was perfectly acceptable to Edmund and he arrived on time the next morning, much to Mum’s delight.

Always ready for a giggle, she asked me not to mention Edmund’s presence to a neighbour, Rosie Looker, who came in every morning to help Mum around the house. When Rosie arrived she went into the kitchen at the back of the house while the twins and I talked to Edmund in the front room. After a while I went out there and asked Rosie if she would take some tea in to the twins and their guest. I stayed in the kitchen with Mum, waiting for Rosie’s reaction. She did not disappoint us: she came running out, her face flushed with embarrassment, saying, ‘Oh, Charlie, you should have told me. I’d have put something different on.’ Mum and I laughed. It was the equivalent of coming face to face with Paul Newman today.

On 19 June that year Dolly had a baby. It was a posh affair in the exclusive London Clinic and the baby girl was wheeled into her ward in a cot fringed with lace. She was blonde and beautiful, and as I held her in my arms I knew what love was. She had marvellous laughing eyes and we called her Nancy, after the famous Sinatra song.

Ronnie, thankfully, was anxious for violence to play no part in the new operation. One night, for instance, he took care of two massively built bodybuilders – one black, the other white – with little more than a tug of the sleeve. I wasn’t in the club at the time, but I gather the two blokes started shouting and swearing and generally making a nuisance of themselves shortly after coming into the club late one night. Ronnie, who was sitting at a nearby table quietly talking with a friend, did not like their behaviour at all. After tolerating it for a few minutes he got up and walked over to the musclemen who were standing at the bar.

‘Excuse me,’ he said softly and pleasantly. ‘Could you be quiet, please? There are ladies present. They don’t like your language. Nor do I.’

Ronnie never gave anyone the chance to argue with him. He always said what he had to say and that was it. So, having said his piece, he turned and walked back to his table. His request did not cut any ice with the two unwanted customers: no sooner had Ronnie sat down than they started mouthing off again. Ronnie’s face, I was told later, was a picture: it tensed in irritation then, as the swearing got louder, it tightened and went white with anger. I had seen that look many times and, to strangers, it must have been quite frightening. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Ronnie got up again and walked over to the two hulking giants. Grabbing each by the arm, he said quietly but convincingly, ‘You’re leaving.’ And he started walking them to the door. As he bundled them into the street he said, ‘Don’t come back. You’re not welcome here.’ Then he returned to his seat and calmly carried on talking to his friend as though nothing had happened.

For Ronnie to restrain himself when so angry was remarkable. I would not have been surprised to have been told he’d laid them both out at the bar. I was pleased when I heard the story. Maybe for once he was heeding my advice.

From the early days of their club life the twins had always liked to rub shoulders with famous people and now, in 1965, they were given an opportunity to meet more big American stars, not only from the showbusiness world, but boxing, too. The chance came when they were introduced to a genial, nineteen-stone former American football star named Eddie Pucci, while he was in England as bodyguard to Frank Sinatra’s son.

Eddie, who had been connected with Sinatra for five years, was getting involved in arranging for American showbusiness stars to perform in England. As the twins knew the club scene backwards, he asked them if they would entertain the stars and generally make them feel at home. It was through Eddie we met the actor, George Raft, singers Tony Bennett and Billy Daniels, and goodness knows how many other celebrities who were household names in Britain then. The twins persuaded several to come to meet Mum at Vallance Road but none made more impact than the unforgettable Judy Garland. She was very warm and friendly and Mum adored making her feel at home. Once, we amazed the regulars at the Crown pub – just around the corner from the house – by taking Judy to a party there. The pub was packed and people were standing on chairs trying to get a glimpse of her. We were besieged by people wanting us to ask her to sing, but we told them we had brought her as a friend, not as a star. We said Judy just wanted to relax and be herself and, thankfully, everyone understood and respected her wishes. All our relatives and friends were there, and for several hours Judy sat in an armchair, drinking and chatting away about life in general and the East End in particular. We had records on all the time and some of them were Judy’s but no one asked her to sing. When we left she said it was one of the most pleasant nights she had spent anywhere because she had been allowed to be herself. I like to think she meant it.