My Story

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My Story Page 12

by Ronald Kray


  Ron warned me that the news would get out because there’s always someone in any special hospital or prison establishment who will leak things to the press. He told me things could start to get difficult for me, and he wasn’t kidding. The constant travel¬ling to visit him I could handle but the pressure from newspaper reporters was something else. And, of course, I soon discovered all sorts of opportunist characters creeping out of the woodwork, trying to sell stories and make a few pounds off the backs of me and Ron. But even now, when I weigh it all up, I still think the Colonel has been worth the aggro. There is something between Ron and me that I just can’t explain. I simply know it was right, that it was all meant to be.

  Once news of our wedding plans was out, all hell broke loose. My own family were marvellous about it. Their attitude was that it was my own business, that I was a grown woman who knew what she wanted and what she was getting herself into. And if marrying Ron was what I wanted, then it was okay by them. My friends were great, too, and so was Harry, who said he would support me all the way. That was typical of him and the loyalty he’s always shown to me.

  Planning a wedding in Broadmoor is not easy and I knew that our wedding had to be held there because there was no way that Ron would get permission to be married outside the hospital. And against the background of our wedding preparations Ron’s divorce from Elaine Mildener, his first wife, was still going through. Theirs had been the first marriage ever allowed inside the hospital but it failed because of the tremendous pressures exerted on her, which I can understand. Ronnie divorced Elaine on the grounds of desertion, which they both agreed to. I’ve never met Elaine but Ron speaks well of her and I admire her, and I wish her and her family every happiness in the future.

  The divorce story appeared in some of the papers and some of the less scrupulous tabloids started carrying stories about the so-called ‘other women’ in Ron’s life. In fact, there hadn’t been any other women, not romantically speaking, just lots of friends. You see, that’s the thing about Ron and Reg, they have so many friends. When I agreed to marry Ron he gave me a book full of the names and addresses and phone numbers of all his friends. There were dozens of them and he said, ‘They’re my friends, Kate, and now they’re your friends as well.’

  Other newspapers started carrying ‘exclusive’ stories from people who claimed to have previously untold stories of life with the Kray twins when they ruled London’s underworld. Some of the claims were really outrageous and could have really upset Ron. But, once again, the ability to have a laugh and a joke about what was written gave us the strength to see it through. I’ll give you an example. One Sunday paper carried an article by a midget who claimed he had once been a hit man for the Krays. Ron hardly knew the man and was angry about the article. So I said to him, ‘What did the dwarf specialize in, Ron? Was it knee-capping jobs? Not a good choice of unobtrusive hit man, Ron … not too many gun-toting dwarfs walking around!’

  Ron saw the funny side of it. Once again, humour had saved the day. I don’t want to be critical of all of the newspapers, though. I think, for example, the Sun got it right with two of their headlines in November, 1989: ‘Kate stole Ronnie Kray’s heart with laughter’, and ‘Bride Kate keeps him smiling in Broadmoor’.

  We’d set our wedding date for 6 November 1989, and in the weeks leading up to the wedding the media attention became almost impossible. I had reporters almost literally camped out-side my front door. I talked to Ron about it and he said it would be for the best if I agreed to give some interviews. I was nervous about this because I had never done it before, but I thought that I had got nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of, and maybe if I did some interviews the press would get off my back. It didn’t work out that way, of course, but I did start giving interviews, some of which were reported fairly and others which weren’t.

  I also went on television, which again is an ordeal for anyone who’s experiencing it for the first time. I went on Derek Jameson’s chat show on Sky Television. He tried to get me going on Ron being a homosexual, but I wasn’t going to get drawn into any of that nonsense. I don’t claim that I outsmarted Mr Jameson but I like to think he realized I’m not the dumb blonde that I might look. I also did an interview for a London Weekend Television programme which was filmed. Their interviewer sug¬gested that I was marrying Ron for his money. But that must have looked a bit daft, seeing as how Ron didn’t have any and the interview was done in the back of my gold Rolls-Royce! Just before the wedding I also did an interview with the TVS programme Coast to Coast which they shot in a marina in Southampton. That was the best one of the lot because they managed to get a bit of humour into it, as well as the more serious stuff.

  Some of the women’s magazines couldn’t resist joining in all the hype. You know the sort of articles, ‘Why does an attractive 33-year-old blonde [their words] want to get married to a 55- year-old gangster serving a minimum of thirty years for murder?’ And then they would get some so-called marriage expert to analyse my motives. All the ‘experts’ had different views but along similar lines: she had a deprived childhood, she’s looking for a father figure, she’s looking for attention, she’s seeking notoriety. Not one of them seemed to consider for a moment that I might just have fallen in love.

  One ‘expert’ said I was looking for the security of marriage without all the ‘messy bits’ such as washing his socks and underpants and having to go to bed with him. Another writer even had the cheek to ask, ‘Aren’t you afraid you’ll catch Aids?’ The answer to that is no, I’m not. Because neither of us has it and both of us are faithful to each other.

  The magazines are still at it, even now. Only recently I saw a psychologist saying of women who visit male prisoners: ‘There’s an element of eroticism. Fear and danger are sexual stimuli for some people. That’s why some women are drawn irrevocably to the most dangerous, tough and violent men. They represent masculinity at its crudest and most raw.’ Honestly, Ron isn’t dangerous and he isn’t violent, but of course he’s tough. I wouldn’t want a man any other way. Anyway, that’s all I really want to say on this subject. Let’s get back to that upcoming wedding which was causing so much commotion.

  Our biggest problem, all along, had been to get the Broad-moor authorities to give us their permission. Without it there would be no marriage and I would have to continue my life being plain Kate Howard. It was important to demonstrate to the authorities that we were absolutely sincere in our feelings for each other, that this wasn’t just a ‘flash in the pan’.

  I had to go and see Dr Ferris, Ron’s specialist at Broad-moor, on several occasions. He explained to me that Ron is a chronic paranoid schizophrenic. He has an illness of the mind which can cause fairly quick and dramatic changes of mood, but it can be completely controlled by medication. He told me that Ron is not a dangerous person any more, nor is he ever likely to be again. His problems have been identified, they have subsided greatly over the years and, as long as he has his drugs, his future problems will be relatively minimal.

  None the less, Dr Ferris explained, marriage to a man like Ron would be a hard task for any woman to undertake. There would be an enormous amount of strain and worry and the stress of trying to maintain a relationship with a partner who is locked away. However, he also told me that he felt Ron would be curable in time and could, eventually, be released from Broad-moor. His first step would probably be to a less restricted hospital but he could even, in time, be released into a home environment, albeit under supervision. But he made it clear that there were no guarantees and, in any case, he was talking in the long term.

  He also put my mind - and Ron’s - at rest by emphasizing that Ron would never be sent back into a prison environment because he would not be able to cope with it any more. That’s always been Ron’s biggest worry, that he would be sent back to somewhere like Parkhurst where they wouldn’t understand his problems and where life can be cruel and stressful to anyone who isn’t fit and well. Dr Ferris said he’d had discussions with Alan Fran
ey, Broadmoor’s general manager, and they would give permission for our marriage - but he urged me to think again carefully before taking such a big step. To think not only about my feelings but also about Ron’s because his progress could be harmed if the marriage failed to survive.

  Well, I did think about it, long and hard. Ron and I spoke about it at length and we both agreed. We did want to get married and we did sincerely believe we could make it work. I told Dr Ferris this and I was pleased when he said he would give us his blessing. Ronnie was over the moon about it all, even more so when his divorce went through without any problems. We’d set the date for 6 November after meeting the chaplain at Broadmoor, who said he’d be pleased to officiate at the ceremony. Then I went and saw Terry, the catering manager at the hospital, and he said he’d take care of all the arrangements for food and drink and so on. ‘You can have what you like,’ he told me, ‘as long as you pay for it.’ Well, you can’t say fairer than that!

  I saw Mr Franey who told me we would be allowed eight guests for the wedding. Ronnie said he wanted Reggie to come and also Charlie Richardson who, with his brother, had run their gang in south London at the same time as the Krays had ruled east London. At the time, of course, they’d not been good friends but time is a great healer and over the years they’d met up in various prisons and found they got on very well. It had always been ‘business’ between them, anyway, according to Ron, never ‘personal’. And when Charlie Richardson got out of prison he started visiting Ron at Broadmoor. They’d become really good friends over the years and Ron wanted Charlie to come to the wedding. But the authorities weren’t keen and blocked it.

  Reggie was a different story. The prison authorities said it would be okay for him to be sent down from Gartree for the wedding, but then Reg got the ‘hump’ after a disagreement he’d had with Ron. It was nothing, really, just one of those silly little squabbles you get in all families. Anyway, Reg said he wouldn’t come, then changed his mind - but by then the Home Office said it was too late to make the necessary travel arrangements, so Reggie couldn’t come. Ronnie was upset about this because he thinks a lot of Reg, but we were determined it wasn’t going to spoil our big day.

  In the end the eight guests were my best friend, Sharon Denley, who agreed to be my maid of honour, Ronnie’s older brother, Charlie, and five men who’d been close to Ron for many years - Joe Pyle, Alex Stein, Wilf Pine, Paul Lake, the artist, and Charlie Smith, Ron’s best friend who was to be the best man. To take the photographs Ron wanted David Bailey, the society photographer who’d taken the pictures at Reggie’s wed¬ding all those years ago and who had taken some of the best photographs of the twins when they were at their peak. Unfortu-nately, he was working out of the country and couldn’t make it, so we had to make do with a local photographer who did the job brilliantly and took some lovely photographs.

  To make it up to me for the fact that David Bailey couldn’t take the photographs Ron arranged for me to have a photo session with Lord Lichfield, the Queen’s cousin and probably the most famous photographer in the world, at his studios in London. It must have cost Ron an arm and a leg - I didn’t dare ask how much! - but I was pleased with the results. As a matter of fact Lord Lichfield’s photographs were so good I had a job recogniz¬ing myself! And he turned out to be a really charming man who put me completely at my ease. No false airs or graces at all. Ronnie even went to the trouble of buying all the copyrights on the photos so that they belonged to me completely and wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands and start turning up in newspapers and magazines all over the world. He thinks of everything, that man.

  Having my photo taken by Lord Lichfield wasn’t strictly necessary, I know, but it was a nice touch to add to the most special day in my life.

  I bought a beautiful dress for the wedding and I got a tailor at Maidstone called Dennis Courtman to make Ron a smashing wedding suit, plus five other suits for him. I also bought him a magnificent gold watch. Ronnie bought me a gold Cartier engagement ring, studded with thirty pure white diamonds, and a wedding ring made with a circle of rubies and diamonds. He also gave me his gold signet ring with the initials RK engraved on it. I tell you, he’s the most generous man in the world. If he likes you, Ron would give you his last penny. In fact, on more than one occasion he has given away more or less his last penny to friends who’ve been down on their luck. Often he gives money away to people he doesn’t even know just because he feels sorry for them. He really isn’t the hard-hearted villain so many people make him out to be.

  I will never forget the morning of my wedding day. I looked out of my bedroom window and the front garden was full of reporters and photographers. Harry, my ex-husband, managed to keep them all at bay and how I would have managed without him I just don’t know. I collected my friend, Sharon, and we had a leisurely drive up to the Hilton Hotel at Bracknell, which is not far from Broadmoor. That was where a party had been organized for many of Ron’s friends after the wedding and I was going to spend the night there before going to see Ron the next day.

  I got myself dressed and made up, Sharon did my hair, and then we drove to the hospital. I was so nervous I thought I might not be able to go through with it and things weren’t helped when we arrived at Broadmoor and saw all the photographers and television crews with their lights. We arrived at the hospital at about four fifteen and the wedding was due to take place exactly one hour later. Sharon and I were eventually taken to the chapel and Ronnie was stood at the altar waiting for me. He looked the best I had ever seen him. He squeezed my hand and gave me a kiss and when he saw how nervous I was he tried to make me laugh. He told me that when the chaplain asked him, ‘Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?’, he was going to throw himself on the floor, shouting, ‘Don’t be silly, I’m not that mad, am I?’

  He was calm, collected and very reassuring. He kept giving me quiet smiles. The whole wedding ceremony, for me, was a complete blur, though I had a job to stop myself from crying. I was all very moving and emotional and it was lovely having people around Ron who obviously cared for him very much. Charlie Smith was a smashing best man and he gave us a wonderful wedding gift. He paid for the reception at Broadmoor - and what a reception it was. We had lobster, fresh salmon, caviar, champagne and a lovely two-tiered, heart-shaped wedding cake which had been made in the kitchens at Broadmoor. There were a hundred pink and white balloons hanging from the ceiling, with trailing ribbons, and garlands of flowers everywhere.

  I so wanted the occasion to be special because this, for Ron, was the whole day, they wouldn’t let him come to the reception at the Hilton afterwards. And it was special, a really lovely occasion that lasted for two hours. Then we had to leave. It was so sad leaving Ron and Charlie behind but, typical of my Ronnie, he just said, ‘Go and enjoy yourself, Kate.’ So off I went, leaving my new husband behind. I was really upset.

  When I got back to the hotel I was really drained but I was in for another shock. There had been a lot of cameras as we drove away from Broadmoor but there were even more waiting for us at the hotel. It was nerve-racking but, give the reporters and photographers their due, once they’d got their quotes and their pictures, they agreed to go away and leave us alone. Then I went into my second reception of the evening and met all of Ron’s long-standing friends. There must have been at least two hundred of them. They were very kind to me and made me feel really special, and we all drank a toast to an absent friend.

  Now, every night at eight o’clock I always phone Ron and this night was to be no exception. I’m never allowed to talk directly to him, just to pass a message on via the nurse on duty on his ward. Well, at eight o’clock I made my excuses to the guests at the party and went to my room to call Ron as usual. It made me laugh when the nurse on duty called out, ‘Ron, it’s your missus on the phone!’ I could hear Ronnie laughing in the background.

  We had a smashing party at the Hilton but, even though I was tired, I didn’t sleep much after it. I spent most of the night thinking about
the events of the day before. By ten o’clock the next morning I was back at Broadmoor to see my husband. It was strange signing the red book ‘Mrs Kray’ instead of ‘Mrs Howard’. It was so good to see him that morning and we had lots to talk about. I will never forget one of the things he said to me. He said that when they took him from the chapel back to his room the night before, they’d had to walk across an open court¬yard. It was the first time in twenty-three years that he’d walked under the stars. He couldn’t get over the wonder of the experi-ence. Something that we all take completely for granted had meant so much to him. I felt very humble when he told me that. A short walk under the stars at night, something that you and I wouldn’t even give a thought to, had meant everything to him.

  Since that day I have visited Ron on every possible occasion. Usually I am allowed to see him twice, occasionally three times, a week. Officially he’s allowed to have seven midweek visits a month and four visits any weekend which, compared to most prisons, is considered generous. Each visit can last up to two hours. He has his non-alcohol lager, I have coffee, and we sit and talk and talk. We never seem to run out of things to talk about.

  We often talk about Ron’s young days and his memories of Reg and his family but we rarely talk about when he was a criminal. To me, that was another Ronnie Kray, someone I’ve read about but a man who bears no resemblance to the man I am now married to. That man was dangerous, they say, but this man isn’t. They say he’s raving mad, but he isn’t. Some say he’s stupid, but he isn’t. When it comes to business, for example, he’s second to none. It says a lot for both of the twins that they’ve kept themselves going financially all the time they’ve been locked away - and none of their money, which they’ve mostly given away, has been earned through any kind of illegal venture. They still donate to untold charities and, in their situation, that takes some doing.

 

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