Secret Squirrel
Page 7
Next week when I returned, one of my associates had a word in my ear. He said, “Make sure that you don’t fuck with the payroll. It can get you into a lot of trouble. We work on loyalty here. Don’t forget that.” As if by way of punishment, I was sent to a location on the river Thames to teach a real animal a lesson he would not forget. When I got there, he was on the upper deck of a yacht and I could see various sets of eyes around the deck. “Is this a set up?” I wondered. I was going to take no chances, so on the approach to the yacht, I grabbed a long scaffolding pole which was lying on a pile on the pier. I quickly approached the obviously prepared subject, formed a bridge with my left hand and grabbed the pole with my right hand and gave a big thrust to the pole which connected with his head. A game of human snooker. This was more than enough to drop him and to discourage his accomplices; I didn’t even have to get dirty. I was hoping that I had paid my penance and I left for home and did not return to London for a few weeks.
I know that getting picked up by a taxi and not ever showing to pick up my wages really pissed off some of my jealous colleagues and tales had spread throughout the service reaching the highest ranks. This was the reason that I was always turned down at promotion boards even though I had passed every promotion qualification, plus an external Fire Service qualification which hardly anyone else had. When I complained, I was informed that I should be more committed to the Fire Service.
It was more about that I told senior officers what I thought of them. I considered leaving and joining the police, but the previous experience of being locked up had left a nasty taste in my mouth. This choice would also not be popular with my associates, and besides I had amassed too many Fire Service qualifications to waste. The shifts were much better in the Fire Service enabling me to carry out my other lucrative roles.
I was approached by a friend of mine, who was a businessman, and he asked me if I fancied joining the Freemasons. His reason to infiltrate the organisation was to promote his business. He suggested to me that all firemen and policemen who wanted to secure promotion achieved this through joining the Freemasons. I had never considered this before, although I knew that my father-in-law was a long-time member. He used to go out regularly in an evening suit and bow tie carrying a suitcase. He was delighted when I approached him about joining the ‘brotherhood’. It took me over a year to be accepted. My friend joined rather more quickly than that. Most people joined the organisation at that time not knowing anything about it; you just paid your money and went through an initiation ceremony. I was very disappointed to learn that it was based on religious mumbo-jumbo. A group of grown men searching for secrets that were not there. The meetings were ceremonies with individuals mumbling set words in parrot fashion. This ceremony was followed by a meal and booze up. The whole thing was a money generating affair, some of it donated to good causes. Membership gave ordinary working blokes who had not achieved anything in life the opportunity to become a ‘somebody’ by wasting hours of their time learning meaningless words to recite at the ceremonies and paying their money as they rose up the ranks. This route was often taken by individuals who could not afford the venture, but did it anyway, at the expense of their families.
What made me really mad was the total hypocritical nature of the Lodges, some worse than others. During the ceremony part of the evening, it was conducted in an ‘after-you-brother’ fashion, but then at the social part of the evening it was conducted in a ‘dog-eat-dog’ fashion. People would leave the ceremony early on a feeble excuse purely to get into the function room early to reserve seats and get in early drinks from the bar. Often there were not enough seats and many ‘brothers’ were left out.
I got to the position of head steward and decided to do something about this situation. I prevented anyone, other than stewards who were about to serve the meals, from entering the dining room. This really displeased a lot of people, who complained to the Master of the Lodge. But they all came up against an immoveable object. One night, I instructed all of the stewards to serve the top table last and the past Masters on the top table were furious. They were clicking fingers and trying to attract my attention me with beckoning wiggling fingers. I went over to the Master and gave him a very forceful lecture in the principles that the organisation promoted upstairs in the Lodge during ceremonies and said that those principles applied here in my function room – and I added that any further beckoning fingers would be snapped off and shoved in their dinner. This shook the Lodge to its core and a meeting was duly organised after this particular meeting. My father-in-law, a member of some thirty-two years, loved it. It was the most entertaining meeting that he had ever attended, he said.
Soon afterwards, I resigned, totally disillusioned with the organisation. My father-in-law resigned a year later.
During my years in the Masons, I did come across many senior Fire Service officers who were open mouthed to see me. “You should have mentioned that you were a brother,” was often said to me and that attitude nurtured my dislike of the outfit.
After a while, I returned to the boxing scene but I had learned that the game was so corrupt. In addition, the undercard fighters (supporting bouts) were actually making more money than some world champions. This was because, as a champion, 15% of your fee went to your manager, 10% went to your trainer and then there was all your sparring partners plus food and hotel bills to pay and finally the highest rate of tax. There could be little left, whereas undercard fighters would be called upon at short notice to fill gaps. These arrangements would often be tax free and I knew a fighter who used to fight about twice per month and he certainly was making more money than a stablemate world champion. This guy was known as a journeyman fighter, tough as teak, but lost slightly more fights than he won. He was laughing all the way to the bank. I managed to get in on this lucrative scene, fighting mostly in London against American opponents. Whilst in London, doing various ‘minding’ jobs and associating with various hoods and their ‘molls’, I met many well-known thugs. This had unfortunate later repercussions. I was once asked to go and visit a man who owed my acquaintances a considerable sum of money. I was asked to collect what I could in cash, and if at least £2k was not forthcoming, I was to beat him to within an inch of his life. This kind of job, I did not want to do. I was in a difficult position. When I went to see this man, he knew exactly why I was there. He immediately offered me a deal that if I did not carry out my mission, then he would double my fee. I wouldn’t dare accept his offer. I decided that we would agree that I could not find him. I also warned him that if he breathed a word of our arrangement, then I would return and find him, but this time it would be personal and have more serious consequences. I advised him to disappear for a good while, because if I did not return, then others of a nastier nature would.
I soon drifted back into minding in the north east and I was asked if I could get a few ‘heavies’ for a particular Friday evening when trouble was expected at a newly opened nightclub. This I did and a mob from London duly arrived. They were in the ‘protection’ racket business and as soon as they started their moves, our welcoming party went into action. I came face-to-face with people that I had become involved in down the ‘smoke’. We looked at each other and you could see the puzzled look on their faces which asked, “Which side are you on?” Despite being in some dodgy scrapes in New York and London, to be confronted by rivals from other parts on my own turf was particularly disturbing (reminiscent of my home invasion in my youth). This gave me extra resolve and after a long skirmish, the visit from our Cockney chums ended not too successfully for them. Some of them got a really good hiding. There were to be repercussions the following weekend when three nightclubs and a car sales dealership were burned to the ground. Now was the time for me to be really careful where I went. London would be off-limits again, at least for a while.
One of the nightclubs that I mentioned earlier was owned by a very well-known comedian, actor and script writer and I had spent some enjoyable nights in his club. We u
sed to exchange jokes every time that we met. One night I took the latest outrageous girlfriend in to meet him. She had the biggest bazookas that you have ever seen and she really was a hazard to traffic, either by standing near the kerb edge or by crossing the road to the sound of jaw-dropped motorists bumping their cars into one another. The comedian cum nightclub owner made many quips about her. He said that it was a pity that she didn’t have her boobs on her back as she would be heaven to dance with. My relationship with her did not last for too long as she was constantly pissed on wine. One evening I called round to her place and she was really pissed when I got there. I used to find this a real turn-off. She went into her bedroom and stripped off completely. She then got onto the floor, doggy fashion and demanded that I give her one up the you-know-where. I really did not fancy this and I poured myself a drink contemplating my next move. Just then she let off a rasping great fart, which startled me and I backed off. “Oh, that wasn’t a fart,” she exclaimed. “Well it was a fucking good impression,” I retorted and I left, never to see her again.
Chapter Ten
Going Up the Ladder
Life in charge of the station was very comfortable and would be seen by many as a very satisfactory ceiling of your career. However, I decided to leave the comfort behind and see how much further I could progress in order to be in a position to make changes. A job came up at headquarters which now meant leaving the shift system with its four days off in eight and changing to working Monday to Friday in an office. It was a promotion and more money, however, less money when you take into account that it would prevent me carrying out my other money generating activities. It was a case of taking the plunge on this unknown pathway which may lead to other opportunities. I applied for this position and was infinitely more qualified to do the job than the other candidates, but I had the hurdle of corruption to overcome. Fortunately, I was able to convince the panel, only because the Director of Education had joined the selection panel, which normally consisted of county councillors, who didn’t know their arses from their elbows. They were directed who to select by senior officers (this system protected them from being accused of any wrong doing). I explained about the qualifications that I had amassed, which were above and beyond the other candidates who hadn’t a clue. This was enough to convince the only intelligent panel member and he was in a position to influence the others. All I needed was fairness, but this was a very rare commodity indeed at Fire Service promotion interviews. I eventually got the job and now moved to headquarters.
So, I began working in a totally different working environment, which was very rank conscious. Each rank was considered to be more intelligent and of more status in every way than the rank below. This was a perfect recipe for confrontation, however, as the old saying goes: there are more ways to skin a cat than choking it with cream. I had to be a little subtler and every change won was hard fought for and uncomfortable for many. One of my new roles was that of Staff Officer and the government minister for Fire Service matters at that time was a Lord. He visited the brigade and I got the job of looking after him and his secretary (now don’t jump to conclusions, his secretary was a bloke). When it was time for him to leave and go back to London, I took him and his secretary in the Chief’s car to the railway station. That would not normally be a problem except that I did not have a clue where the railway station was and I did not have time to ask anyone and I was not a native in the city in which I was now working. We set off in plenty of time and I was looking out for give-away railway signs, but none came up. The minister leaned forward to me and thanked me for the city tour, “But don’t you think that we should get to the station as the train is due to leave in ten minutes.” Just then, I saw the very much looked-for railway sign and I said, “Yes, just approaching now.” We got there in the nick of time and the minister thanked me profusely. Phew, what a relief.
Then came a change of Chief Officer who came from a neighbouring authority. Normally, the internal deputy would get the job and everyone would move up one rank, depending on how in favour you were. This new Chief was more forward thinking than his predecessor which made changes easier to be accepted. I worked harder than anyone else, re-examining all systems and putting forward suggestions to improve them. The Chief liked my philosophy of being the best and of course if we obtained this, then it would ultimately reflect on him. I was sent on a few more courses to the Fire Service College, which were accepted as qualifications. I did four six-week courses and two of three weeks duration, all residential (Sunday to Friday). The College was based in the Cotswolds and apart from being an excellent training establishment, the location afforded some amazing social activities – some of which were reported in the then infamous News of the World. Until then, the Cotswolds was an area that I was not familiar with, apart from remembering the old Flanders and Swann song Much binding in the Marsh. Once infiltrated, this area had a fantastic social scene and was full of single and divorced women, who seemed to outnumber the males by at least four to one. What a location to have a male dominated facility. The College was staffed by academics with a number of uniformed officers, based on terms of three-year secondments to translate the technical information given into case histories and practical exercises. After three years secondment, it was considered that the instructional staff’s practical expertise would now be out of date. Based on the information that I acquired at the College and not forgetting the cost to my authority in terms of expense and my absence attending these courses, this enhanced any arguments for change, which I used to the maximum.
The life of an Instructor at this College really appealed to me. It offered the opportunity to research any subject. At that time, pre-computer days, it had one of the finest research libraries anywhere. It also offered the opportunity of meeting other officers from all over the world and the social aspect didn’t look too difficult to put up with either.
When an advertisement came out for instruction staff at this College, I applied. It was a Home Office appointment and your salary and all expenses were paid by them. You had to have the support of your authority and Chief Officer as someone would have to replace you in your absence. In my case, the authority had to agree to a further promotion, another plus. 384 individuals applied for seven posts and about 50 were short-listed and I was one of these. This required two days away for assessment and interview. I was selected for one of these posts, due to commence in about nine months’ time. One week later, I was called into the Chief’s office and he informed me that the College had been on the phone to him. One of the College staff had been taken ill and was unlikely to return. It was felt that I could take over this post without the normal three months’ induction and study time. The Chief asked how I felt about taking up this post starting next week. I took up the offer, although it was a great shock and an upheaval. Normally, you were required to take up a four-bedroom home on the adjacent College grounds, but because of the exceptional circumstances, the College were prepared to pay me a weekly mileage based travelling allowance, which was very lucrative indeed, being tax-free and paid in cash, monthly. So, I went home, broke the news and off I went on another adventure.
Chapter Eleven
College Life
I drove down to the College one Sunday afternoon, early September. I moved my belongings into my allocated flat in the College grounds. Here I was with a bit of thinking time. Early thirties, fairly high rank, good salary, dream job – but how was I going to fit in my fighting? As far as training was concerned, the College was on a Second World War airfield with a perimeter road of 2.6 miles, therefore running was not a problem. There was a swimming pool and a gym. The only thing missing was a punch bag, which I soon remedied. All I needed was a sparring partner or two. The next morning, I reported for duty and was given an office and fitted out with an array of extra uniforms and equipment. One piece of uniform I was given was a red and green striped lanyard, worn round the left shoulder. This distinguished the College instructional staff from all other uniform
ed members. To my surprise I already had mail in my in tray. There were administrative items concerning my appointment, lists of my duties and dates and times of my contact hours with students (what I was teaching, when and where). There were also three curious letters marked “personal”. All about the same subject – “I am a member of College Staff and desperate for a man. A man to be my partner in the forthcoming Christmas Pantomime which staff put on for students.” Rehearsals had already started. This did not appeal to me at all and I ignored the letters. This did not deter the senders, indeed they were visiting far too regularly and fighting for my services (yes you are picking the vibes up correctly). I was informed that my agreement to take part would get me an invite to a very exclusive party. Food and drink, I presumed. How could I refuse? Naïve, I hear you say.
So, I agreed to be the partner of one of them. Not just because she was attractive and had a very posh sexy voice, but because she put forward the most convincing case. She accompanied me and took me around all of the offices in the College and introduced me to all of the staff. She was obviously very well respected. I was amazed at how many attractive women worked there behind the scenes. I quickly made friends with all of the instructional staff who were, like me, staying on the College premises. We would visit a different pub each night trying to visit all of the Cotswold drinking establishments. I particularly liked to hear the local country drawl. We became well known and often heard the words, “By you buggers be darn good drinkers.” After returning to the College, we would call in at the college bar, which would stay open as long as we liked. The poor barman was often nearly asleep at 4, 5 or 6am when he would plead to bring down the shutters. It quickly became apparent that one of the dangers of working here was that it was excellent training to become an alcoholic, which many did. Then there was the added danger of being caught drinking and driving which cost a few careers. Then there were the end of course functions to which all staff were invited to attend. They were often outrageous. One course which were oil workers, not Fire Service personnel, asked me to organise a do for them for which I was to receive an open cheque (money no object) to arrange the best food at the best venue, with transport and ladies if I could manage it – if not, I was to obtain strippers. Some of the local hotels used to offer known College staff free drinks as an inducement to recommend end of course functions to take place at their establishments. Some functions were so wild that they took place in farmers’ barns. These were of the stripper and audience participation variety. Men away from home for some weeks or even months could become quite randy. There were plenty of local hungry women who knew exactly when new courses were coming in and would swoop in on new arrivals to ensure their free drinks and other needs for the next few weeks. Here was danger number two: involvement with local women. College staff who were going to be around for a year or two were a particularly prized catch. There were so many social opportunities and not enough nights in the week. Little sleep during the week and a 250-mile drive home followed by a short weekend with so much to do and family to entertain, followed by a 250-mile return drive to start the madness off all over again was not a recipe for good health: danger number three.