by Linda Calvey
“I’ve realised that I want you Linda, and I’m goin’ to ’ave you,” he snarled. He stepped towards me and I instinctively shrank back, but at that moment a man wearing a dark coat and trilby hat walked past us. The factory horns were sounding around the East End as the working day ended. That seemed to bring Frank to his senses. He looked down at the cobbles as if it was the first time he’d ever seen them.
“Look, I’m sorry darlin’, I don’t know what came over me…” This time he was pleading with me.
“There’s no goin’ back from this, Frank. I don’t want to see you again. I told you, after I met your wife,” I spat the word, “that it was over. It’s over. You’re a married man, Frank, I won’t ever go out with you again. How could you have lied to me like that? Your poor wife, and child! How d’you think they must feel seein’ your fancy woman on their doorstep. You won’t ever see me again, I mean it.”
“I promise you I’ll leave her. I don’t love her, that’s why I couldn’t tell ya. Please believe me, Linda…” I’d shaken my head.
“You’ve done it now, Frank. Go and be a proper husband and leave me alone.” I stormed off, leaving Frank staring after me.
When I arrived home that evening, my family crowded round me, inspecting my eye and putting cold flannels on it to try to stop the bruising. It was too late. The skin around my eye was already a florid purple, and I knew I’d have the biggest black eye the next day. My stomach turned over when I realised I was meant to be going to Mickey’s mum’s house, in Whitethorn Street in Bow, for tea. I hadn’t believed it when Mickey invited me only a week after we’d met. Frank had never treated me anything like this. This was so different. This was how it should be at the start of a romance. I was excited and a little nervous to meet my new boyfriend’s family. However, I couldn’t meet them looking like this.
Brrring, brrring, brrring.
“’Ello, Bow 2936,” a woman’s voice answered.
“Hello, it’s Linda Welford, is Mickey there please?”
“I’ll just get him love… MICKEY! It’s yer girlfriend!”
Hearing that, I almost lost my nerve and put the phone down.
“’Ello Linda, sorry about that darlin’. How are you? You still comin’ over for tea? I hope you are.”
My voice wavered a little as I spoke. “Sorry, Mickey, but I don’t think I can come tomorrow.”
“Why’s that, Linda? I’m missin’ ya. I want to see ya, and so does me mum,” Mickey answered. He would never have dreamt of having a go at me because I was letting him down.
“Well, I can’t come, because Frank punched me in the face today and by tomorrow I’ll have a big black eye.” I swallowed again, suddenly feeling like my throat was dry.
There was silence for a second or two, then Mickey spoke. His voice was low, dangerous almost. “A black eye. He gave you a black eye, did he? Well, don’t you worry about it a moment longer. You come ’ere tomorrow and I’ll sort Frank out. You promise to come?”
How could I refuse?
“Yes, I promise,” I said, and hung up.
The next day, I stood outside the address Mickey had given me, one of the small terraced houses lining that part of the street. The rest was taken up with post-war blocks of flats. There were a few trees dotted along the road but it was mostly concrete. I rang the doorbell, making sure my dress was smoothed down and checking my hairpiece was intact.
A woman in her sixties opened the door. She had long grey hair twisted up in a bun, and a petite figure. She took one look at me, then hollered over her shoulder: “Michael! MICHAEL! What did ya do to this poor girl?”
I blinked before realising that she thought he had been the one to give me a shiner. Before I could say anything, Mickey’s mum ushered me along the narrow corridor that led from the street door into her small kitchen.
“You’d better come in, girl.”
When Mickey saw me, he jumped off his seat and came over, peering at my bruised face.
“Did you do this, Michael?” His mum had her hands on her hips and was glaring furiously at Mickey. I could see instantly that she was a proper East End mum, fierce and unafraid to say her piece, the matriarch of the family despite her diminutive size.
“Don’t be stupid, Mum, I wouldn’t hit a woman!”
Mickey’s dad came in to see what all the fuss was about. He was a big bruiser of a man who worked down at the docks.
“Is this what prison taught you, son? Don’t you know better than to hit a woman?” He too was glaring at my boyfriend. “Does she know you was a jailbird? You don’t have much good taste in men,” his dad added. I had to say something.
“No, no it wasn’t Mickey. It was my ex. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore, and he didn’t take it so well.”
At that, Mickey burst out laughing, just as a young woman walked in the room. She had attractive brown shoulder-length hair and a beautiful face with high cheekbones. It was Mickey’s younger sister Maureen.
“Oh Mickey, what ’ave you done? Don’t tell me you’ve given this girl a black eye, you’ve only been out of prison a week!”
“It wasn’t me!” roared Mickey. “But once I know where Frank lives, I’ll make sure he don’t do it again. You’re my girl now.”
“You haven’t covered up that bruise very well. Come on, let me put some more make-up on it, that’ll make you feel better at least.”
I looked at Maureen gratefully, and let her lead me out of the kitchen and into her room. She gently patted Revlon face powder onto the bruise, tutting as she worked.
“He’s really gone for it, ain’t he, Linda,” she said matter-of-factly.
I agreed, and we started chatting. From that moment onwards, Maureen became my best friend – and she still is today.
Later, looking a little brighter, I sat at the table eating the ham, egg and chips that had been put in front of me, wondering what Mickey really meant when he said he’d “sort it”. Something told me not to ask. At first, I wouldn’t tell Mickey where Frank worked, but he was very persistent and so, eventually, I gave in.
Mickey told me to come round to his the following Saturday, from where we’d go out to the pub together. My mum had insisted my dad drive me to his, sensing that there was something brewing.
She was right.
Dad and I hadn’t gone far when Frank jumped out at us, brandishing a gun. He pulled open the passenger door of Dad’s van, and grabbed my arm.
“You’re comin’ with me!” he shouted. Dad grabbed my other arm and started to pull as well.
“Charlie, don’t make me shoot you,” Frank spat.
I decided to take the reins. I knew that Frank would never have the guts to shoot the thing, so I turned to Dad and said, “Don’t worry, it’ll be ok, just go home.”
This was all happening in broad daylight on Commercial Road. People were hurrying to and fro right next to my gun-toting ex. No-one seemed to notice the drama that was unfolding in this busy thoroughfare. A van tooted behind us, so I jumped out and let Frank bundle me into his car.
He drove me towards Mile End, and I knew we were heading to his yard in Burdett Road. It wasn’t a nice place, this scrap metal yard, and sure enough, soon he was yanking me roughly towards the dark, damp-smelling outbuilding where he worked. Inside, there was a rough earthen floor covered in mangled bits of machinery and car doors, engine parts and other bits of metal I didn’t recognise.
“You’ll stay ’ere until you promise to go back to bein’ my girl.” He growled. I should’ve been afraid, but I knew that Frank only talked the talk, so I shrugged: “That won’t happen, Frank.”
I think he was surprised, and a bit unsettled, by how calm I was.
“You know Mickey will come for me, he knows where this yard is. Dad is probably ringing him right now,” I added, just to see the look on his face. I was getting to him.
> I looked around. It was a dank airless cave leading onto a forecourt filled with the same unfamiliar bits of cars and machinery.
Frank started pacing the floor. The sound was muffled inside the space, and so I couldn’t hear any people or motors from the road. We were entirely alone, and yet I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t even scared of him. He’d shown me what a liar and a cheat he was, and I’d lost all respect for him.
“You know my brothers will also come for you, they’re probably on their way here right now.”
He was staring at me, wild-eyed. Had I misread the situation? His fists clenched and unclenched.
I softened my voice. “Take me home, Frank, and we’ll forget this ever happened.” I knew that shouting wouldn’t help.
Suddenly, he cracked. In all honesty, I thought he’d take longer. He was even weaker than I’d thought.
“Ok, ok, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean no harm. Let’s just forget it,” he said, suddenly looking twitchy.
“That’s right, Frank, we’ll pretend it never happened,” I replied, knowing full well that this man had it coming, either from my family, or from my boyfriend, whatever I said.
Calmly, I walked back to the car. Frank dropped me at the end of my street and I ran home, phoned up Mickey to say I was fine, then ordered a taxi to take me to his mum’s.
“Get ’ere safely. I’ll be out seein’ Frank,” Mickey said.
I didn’t dare try to talk him down. If it was a member of my family who’d been kidnapped, I’d have been round there myself.
Mickey told me that he’d burst in on Frank, shouting at him that I was a young girl and I had the right to go out with whoever I wanted. There was heated talk of shooting and violence, but Mickey’s friend Sammy managed to talk the pair down, saying that I might go off Mickey in a few months anyway. It did the trick and defused the situation.
One thing was for sure: Mickey had decided that I was his woman from now on. He’d told my ex Frank in no uncertain terms to stay away. I’d met my match.
Chapter 4
Gangster’s Moll
1968-70
“I want you lookin’ a million dollars tonight, love.” Mickey smiled, peering round the bedroom door in the tiny flat we were renting above a launderette in Leytonstone High Road. I was standing at my mirror, putting on a pair of earrings he’d only recently bought me.
I looked over my shoulder at him. “Why? Who are we meetin’ that’s so special? Don’t I always look good, Mickey?” I was teasing him, flicking him a glance from the side of my eye. He sidled up to me, placing his hands on my waist and nuzzling my neck. Inside I just went to mush whenever he got close to me, and tonight was no different.
“I want you lookin’ beautiful, that’s all, but you always do anyway.”
He started kissing my neck. I batted him away, laughing, “Well, we haven’t any time for that if you want me to get my glad rags on.”
Reluctantly, Mickey let go of me, winked at me with that irresistible charm, and went to the wardrobe, picking out a brand new suit he’d just had made by his tailor in Whitechapel Road, the heart of the Jewish East End, and a place I loved to wander round at the weekends. The Jewish shops were closed on Saturdays for the Sabbath but open on Sundays, so it made a nice change to head over there, past the hoardings painted with Silks and Woollens signs, to the little boutiques sprinkled up and down the road. Groups of unemployed men would hang about, passing the time of day. Orthodox Jewish men with their ringlets and black hats would walk earnestly. There was always something going on there.
Mickey had his suits (his “whistles and flutes”, in Cockney) made by his favourite tailor. His newest whistle was grey with a white pin stripe and an expensive weave. He paired it with a lavender coloured shirt and handkerchief in his top pocket, which contrasted well with his Mediterranean looks.
“What should I wear, Mickey, is there anything in particular you like me in?” I said as I pursed my lips and applied a slick of glossy pink lipstick. I liked to wear make-up, and Mickey spoilt me, buying Guerlain and Estee Lauder. I didn’t have to make do with Ponds Cold Cream, like my mum had for all these years, because my man took care of me, he bought me everything I wanted. I knew he’d been in prison, so I had my ideas about how he could afford to spoil me like this, but I was loving it. The earrings I was wearing were real diamonds. I felt very lucky to have a man who treated me so well.
Right from the start, Mickey was open with me about what he did for a living. When his pals came round to our place, they’d all pile into the kitchen-diner while I made the tea. I’d serve it up in proper china cups to three or four hard, dangerous-looking men, sitting around my expensive country cottage-style wooden table and eating the ham sandwiches I’d prepared for them. Mickey would stand over the table and unroll a large map on it. They’d spend the next half an hour scratching their chins, sipping their tea and scrutinising the streets of London, with mutters of “Let’s try this place,” or “That one’s a possible. We should check out the post office round the corner while we’re at it.”
Mickey would draw his finger in a circle round a corner of the map and say, “I’ll go have a look at these ones, Linda will take me.” Mickey didn’t drive, but I’d learnt in my late teens, so I’d take him out in the car the following day. I knew exactly what we were going out to “have a look” at.
“Park up here, Lin,” he’d say when we were within striking distance of a bank or post office. We’d walk for a mile or two round the alleys, the backstreets, and Mickey was always deep in concentration, looking all around him and making a note of every hole in a fence that he spotted, or any dead end with a few cars parked up at the side of the road. Occasionally he’d mutter to himself, “This won’t work – not enough outs,” or “There’s a good drop-off spot.”
After a day or two of scouting out each location, the group would reconvene to share their discoveries. Over hours and hours of tea, weighing up the options and scrutinising each location in the minutest detail, they’d settle on one for their next job.
The other men’s wives knew the boys were going out to rob banks, post offices and all sorts, but they didn’t want anything to do with it. The meetings were always round our house, and I was the only woman to know the details of what they were planning in the weeks leading up to each job.
Occasionally I’d even chip in as I brought the next round of tea, and point out some possible targets I’d spotted myself. Mickey would chuckle and say, “That’s my Linda, she knows exactly what she’s doing.”
I was curious about Mickey’s work, but the main thing was that I loved him and wanted to know what he was risking each time he went out “on the pavement”. I knew he’d been behind bars before, and was well aware of the risk he could end up back in the slammer if he wasn’t careful. So it seemed only natural for me to make suggestions at their meetings and listen in on their plans.
I’ll never forget when he came back from a job for the first time since we’d been together, and presented me with a little box. I opened it to find a gold necklace finished with a heart-shaped diamond. It had been paid for out of the spoils of a security van heist, and that day, I’d spent the whole morning pacing around my kitchen, cleaning the surfaces over and over, trying to find ways to occupy myself. My heart was in my mouth by the time there was a bang on the door three long hours after he’d left. I rushed to open it, expecting what? The police? A mortician? Mickey and two of his mates piled in, laughing, joking, high as kites on the success of their raid. They scattered money everywhere, like leaves fallen from an autumn tree, and I was giddy with happiness that he’d come home to me. The worry of those hours vanished in the celebration. Seeing all that cash was quite a splendid thing.
“We did it. They didn’t see us comin’, Lin,” he grinned.
“Babe, I knew you could do it,” I smiled, kissing him, the smell of his musky, male scent melting me inside.
I wasn’t daft, I knew where the money came from, but it was all insured and no-one ever got hurt, so what was the harm in it? I was 20 years old and I’d never been on the pavement myself, so I never got to see what actually happened during their robberies. To me it was like living in a fairy tale. The money appeared on a Saturday night or a Tuesday afternoon, depending on which security vans they went after, and that was that. If I had a few hours of nerves to deal with, then so what? Mickey was charmed. He always came home to me, and that’s really all that mattered.
“Wear what you want. You will anyway, and you’ll look amazin’. As if you’d ever let me tell you what to do!” Mickey laughed and sauntered off to the kitchen.
The flat had been a distinctly unglamorous one-bedder above a steamy shop, and had seemed grotty to me when I first set eyes on it. But we furnished it well and transformed it into our own little palace. Mickey bought me heavy velvet curtains for the windows. We had a large L-shaped sofa, and we were one of the first people we knew to have a globe drinks bar – the sort that slid open to reveal the bottles.
We hadn’t waited long before moving in. It had just felt right from the moment we met, so why wait? I loved the area, the hustle and bustle, the eateries – the pie and mash shop, the pease pudding van and the whelk stall opposite the Green Man pub. One thing was for sure: we’d never starve living there.
“Come on Lin, we ’ave to get movin’, the cab’s ’ere,” Mickey called from the front door.
I’d slipped into a silk lavender dress with high heels and a fox-fur wrap around my shoulders. I saw the diamonds in my ears and on my necklace wink in the light as I turned to leave.