by Eddie Allen
One Friday night, we were all in the local Indian restaurant just off the “blue” in Bermondsey. When I say all, I mean Sue, Al, Jane, Frank, Harry, Jane’s brother, Paul, and myself, along with three others, who ended up very much in the public eye, for one reason and another, and for these reasons will remain nameless. Al’s relationship with Jane was rather strained, to say the least. After she had confided in me with regards to how she felt, I was surprised they were still seeing each other. Her brother Paul was a nasty piece of work. He’d been pals with my cousin for yonks. During the evening, I noticed loudmouth Frank giving Jane the eye. He obviously sensed that she wasn’t keen on Al. Unfortunately for Frank, I wasn’t the only one who noticed his intentions. Frank and Jane sat opposite each other at the table. When Al went to the toilet, Frank made his move. He stretched his arm across the table, touching her hand, and leant over whispering in her ear. Jane giggled, smiling at Frank. Paul looked at Frank, his eyes full of rage and malice.
“What the fuck you playing at, pal?” Paul shouted, screwing his face up in anger. Everybody’s eyes in the restaurant focused on our table. I knew that wanker would cause trouble. Sue grabbed my hand under the table, squeezing hard in a downward motion, indicating for me to stay put. Not that I would get up anyway. I was way out of my league. At the end of the day, I was only interested in earning dough, not grief. Frank stood up, flexing his shoulders, while his chair toppled over onto the floor.
“Who do you think your chatting to, mate?” he said giving it the big-un. Paul stood up, his fist clenched, ready to lay into him.
“Sit the fuck down, you pair of plums or you’ll both answer to me. Get it?” one of the nameless quietly said. To my surprise, they both sat down, like children after being chastised by one of their parents. Al came back from the toilet, oblivious to what went on.
“Bit quiet, isn’t it?” he said, looking around the table suspiciously.
“Yeah, we was just deciding on whether we should order another couple bottles of wine or push the boat out and go for some Champagne,” Harry said, rolling his eyes smiling.
“Yeah, why not? I fancy a drop of bubbly,” Al reckoned.
Suddenly the table came to life, with everyone chatting and smiling, everything seemingly forgotten. I’d known Paul for eighteen months myself and, believe me, Frank’s card was well and truly marked, even though he never showed it during the rest of the evening. Frank was so up his own arse that he thought Paul had bottled it. At the end of the evening, Sue and I grabbed a cab home, leaving Jane and Al trying to sort out their differences. My son stayed the night round the in-laws’. Good as gold, Min and Bill were, they just loved baby-sitting their grandson. Sitting in the cab, feeling stuffed and half-pissed, my mind started thinking of my nan and wondering how she was doing. The last time I saw Nan, she wasn’t well. Now we had got our own place, she could come and stay with us for a while. I’ll write to her tomorrow, inviting her to stay.
Nan’s mental health had deteriorated rapidly over the last couple of years. Since William Charles Bennett died in 1955, she’d lived on her own in Margate. God bless her, only the previous week had we received a parcel from her. The poor love sent a fresh chicken wrapped in paper. My eyes watered with sadness when I opened the parcel; the stink filled the house for hours. She really was a top class woman, even though she’d lost the plot. I will always love her with all my heart and I know deep inside my soul that we shall see each other again when my time comes.
The following day, after posting a letter to my nan, Sue and Daniel and I spent the day shopping, buying household items and baby clothes from various shops at the Elephant and Castle centre. By the time we reached home, I was knackered. All that traipsing around shops takes it out of you. All I wanted to do was chill out in front of the box all night, with Sue. Unfortunately, my evening was already planned out for me; later that evening, I met up with Al and the boys in our usual boozer. Frank failed to show up, much to my relief. We didn’t know it at the time, but Frank had been pulled in for questioning. Apparently, his prints were found all over the Rover and he was in the process of being charged for robbery on ten counts. If only we knew we’d probably not have gone out earning that night. But, as it stands, we did. Al replaced Frank with Paul, who did the honours of nicking the wheels for the night’s exploits. Driving out of London, Al informed the three of us that we were going to do a job just outside Redhill. I pressed Al, asking him what kind of job he was referring to. His answer shocked me little.
“There’s a local sub post office in a small village, near Redhill. Monday is pension day. There’ll be shitloads of dough inside the gaff. The old boy that runs the place lives above the shop on his jack. No problems. It’ll be a piece of cake,” he reckoned, smiling.
Paul turned the Jag off the motorway towards Redhill, doing a steady sixty miles an hour, quite a contrast to Frank’s death wish antics. We quietly crawled through this picturesque sleepy village, passing a typical old village pub and convenience store, towards the far end of the village, where the post office was situated. Pulling up opposite, Paul turned the engine and lights off. We all sat there, screwing our intended target. I had a really bad feeling about this; my instincts told me that what we were about to do was far too risky. I mean it’s dead quiet; not a sound came from anywhere.
“It’s too quiet, Al. We’ll get sussed if we make the least bit of noise,” Harry whispered, expressing his concerns.
Well, I thought. I’m not the only one with reservations about the set-up.
“What did you expect, a welcoming committee? It’s bloody two in the morning! Fuck me, Harry. Would you have felt better if there was a football match taking place on the village green?” Al said sarcastically, sliding out of the Jag.
One after the other, we climbed out of the motor. Paul opened the boot, retrieving a crowbar and club hammer.
“Come on, let’s do it. I haven’t driven all this way for jack shit!” he said. He moved towards the shop’s entrance door, ramming the splayed end of the crowbar between the edge of the door and the frame. Putting his whole weight against the bar, he pushed it back towards the wall. Suddenly, there was a loud crack, followed by a splitting ripping sound. Paul went flying as the door sprang open. He released his grip on the crowbar, dropping it onto the floor. It made a loud clanging noise. The sudden noise was followed by deathly silence. We all stood there, fearing the worst. Paul lay on the floor looking up at us with his finger pressed against his lips, indicating to us not to make a sound. After a few moments had lapsed and nothing seemed to happen, it was obvious our presence wasn’t detected. The old boy must be a heavy sleeper, I thought. Thank fuck for that! All four of us entered the post office, thinking we’d cracked it. Paul pushed the door to, pulling down the blind.
At the back of the shop, the post office counter was encased in protective toughened shatterproof glass. Built into the counter and screen was a metal entrance door, with two large locks. Harry shone his torch on the door and screen.
“Fucking hell, well prepared or what?” he gasped, shaking his head in disappointment. Al looked the door over with Paul, both agreeing that it wasn’t possible to open the door without waking the whole village during the process.
“Why don’t I go upstairs and bring the old boy down to open up the door. If I shove this in his mush, he won’t refuse,” he said, pulling out a handgun from inside his jacket; I nearly collapsed with shock.
You’re having a fucking laugh, I thought to myself and my jaw nearly hit the floor when Al nodded in agreement. Harry glanced over at me, widening his eyes, frowning.
“Here we go, Ed. This is where the shit hits the fan, mate,” he said, anxiously.
Paul crept up the stairs to the flat above, brandishing his bloody gun like Wyatt fucking Earp. Suddenly, we could hear voices and bumping noises above. I wanted to run away; this wasn’t exciting anymore. What have I got myself into? Paul appeared at the foot of the stairs with this guy in pyjamas; his nose was bleedin
g. His face was pure white with fear and his eyes were pleading, while Paul pressed the barrel into the old boy’s throat. I felt sick and ashamed that I was part of his nightmare. He was carrying a large bunch of keys. Al dragged him over to the door.
“Open the door and you will live to tell the tale to your grandchildren. If you don’t, you’ll be pushing up daisies very soon, my old son,” he warned him aggressively.
The poor sod was shaking so much he kept dropping the keys on the deck. Paul snapped; his patience stretched like an elastic band. He smashed the butt of the gun across his head. The old boy dropped to his knees, holding his head and screaming in pain.
“Leave it out, Paul. There’s no fucking need to hurt him,” I shouted hysterically. He spun round, pointing the gun at me.
“You speak to me like that again, boy, and I might just forget your Al’s cousin and fucking waste ya!” he screamed, menacingly. His words and glaring evil look sent a shiver down my spine. I put my hands up, expressing my apologies and trying not to took terrified. Paul turned his attention upon the old fella, who was looking at me while kneeling on the floor, his eyes begging mine for help. I shrugged my shoulders while rolling my eyes upwards, indicating that there was nothing I could do which would help him.
“Which fucking key, pal?” Paul screamed, shoving the gun in his left cheek. The old boy fumbled about with the bunch of keys.
“These two will open the door,” he said, shaking like a leaf. “It won’t do you any good though. The safe’s on a time lock,” he added sheepishly.
Paul opened up the door, entering behind the counter. Al followed him; they both stood looking at the safe, swearing.
“This’ll do, Paul. There’s got to be about two grand here,” Al reckoned, as he flicked through a bundle of notes he took from the till. Paul grabbed all the stamps and books containing tax discs. Harry was watching outside in the village, when he noticed in the distance four sets of headlights approaching.
“We’ve got company. Must be the Filth! Quick, let’s get the fuck out of here!” Harry said, panicking.
He yanked the door open and ran towards the car. We all followed, bundling into the Jag. Paul spun the motor round, screeching and doing wheel spins with smoke billowing out from the tyres. We raced through the village at high speed, blindly driving down narrow country roads. Paul turned the car’s lights off in a vain attempt not to be seen from the distance. Unfortunately, his idea backfired. Suddenly, the passenger side of the Jag dropped into a ditch, spinning the car over onto its roof. All four of us were sprawled about the car, trying to get out and kicking the doors until they opened. We eventually climbed free from the car. Standing in total darkness trying to grasp the situation we were now in, Paul announced it was every man for himself and promptly legged it. Harry and Al followed suit, disappearing into the woodland. I looked around, trying to ascertain my best options of escaping the old Bill. I could hear the others clambering through the woods, making enough noise to wake the dead. In the distance, I could see headlights coming down the country lane towards the crocked car. On the floor, I noticed a bag. Picking it up, I realised Al had dropped the cash from the post office. Stuffing the cash inside my bomber jacket, I ran in the opposite direction to the others. My survival instincts took over. I ran back through the woods in the general direction of the post office. After a few minutes, the area was flooded with old Bill. Police cars screeched to a halt, surrounding the dumped Jag. I jumped into a ditch, covering myself over with lumps of grass and broken talons from bushes and trees. All around the area were pinpoints of light from a vast number of torches. Then I heard barking in the distance as the police combed the woodland behind the Jag. I laid under my camouflage, listening to footsteps and faint voices, followed by the occasional shout. Then I heard this voice shout out loudly, “There they are, up the top of the hill.” One of the officers relayed to the others. Suddenly, there was a flurry of footsteps and cracking of twigs, followed by barking and more shouting. The police surged into the woodland with tracker dogs, leaving me to the bugs and ants. I decided not to move until daylight. Then I heard fast running footsteps approach where I lay. My instincts told me to get up and leg it. Then I heard really heavy breathing above my head. I froze solid, holding my breath.
“You can’t escape, mate; there’s at least a hundred officers in the area looking for you. Come quietly, or I’ll set the dog on you,” the voice said confidently.
“Bollocks, you wanker!” Paul screamed. “You come anywhere near me an’ I’ll blow your fucking brains out,” he warned the officer. He then turned and ran into the wooded area where I was hiding. I could hear his crunching footsteps disappear in the distance.
“Bravo, Tango, Juliet, suspect is running northwards through woodland. Suspect is armed and extremely dangerous. Request back-up, over,” the officer said.
“Area cars 56, 23 and 67 are already on their way to the other side of the woods. We’ve made two arrests already. According to the post office master, there were four perpetrators, over,” said the police radio controller. I lay there, listening to dozens of old Bill with dogs disappear in the direction to where Paul had legged it. I pulled myself from my weedy grave, noticing the woodland and fields basking in early morning sunshine. I took a deep breath, while brushing the crap of my clothes. I trudged through the fields, keeping myself out of sight until I reached more bloody woodland. Pushing my way through bushes and brambles, avoiding piles of dung, I suddenly heard the rushing sound of cars ahead. Peering over a fence, I saw a set of traffic lights on red with a long queue of cars and vans. When the lights turned green and the traffic began to flow evenly, I jumped over the fence. Looking around I noticed, to my delight, that I was in the middle of a town centre. On the other side of the road was a train station. I tried hard to contain my excitement while walking across the road towards the station entrance. I bought a ticket to Shoreham in Kent, deciding to double-back on myself. Upon my arrival in Shoreham, I decided to have some breakfast in a near by café, gorging myself on the biggest breakfast I’d ever eaten. Well, why not? I was loaded. Leaving the café completely stuffed, I boarded a train to New Cross Gate where I jumped on a bus to the Old Kent Road…
It took some explaining to Sue where I was all night. After giving her a handful of notes, she accepted I was telling the truth. I told her not to mention the money to anyone. I’ll never forget her answer.
“Do I look bloody stupid,” she smiled. Loved a bit of dough, that girl did, and she didn’t give a fuck where it came from. The following day, I heard that Paul, Al and Harry had been charged with armed robbery and all three were appearing in court at the London sessions for committal proceedings. The case was adjourned for reports. Al and Harry were given bail, while Paul was remanded in custody. What I most expected never happened. I was cock sure one of them would grass me up, but they never did. That evening, we all went out for a drink. I was toying with the idea of telling them that I had picked up the cash, or at least some of it anyway. While we were drinking, Al asked me how I got away. I explained everything that happened and he shook his head laughing.
“Fucking old Bill reckoned we nicked two and a half grand. I told them I dropped the dough while running away. You know they’re looking for you, Ed, don’t you? That fucking Muppet Paul dropped a clanger when he pointed the gun at you in the post office, shouting out that Al was your cousin,” he said angrily.
“Oh fuck, you’re joking,” I said, feeling completely pissed off.
“All they got is a vague description from the old boy. They don’t even know your name and, being a clever boy, you left no prints in the Jag, so don’t worry. They’ve got sod all to go on,” Al reassured me.
“If the old Bill do pull you in, Ed, keep schtum. They haven’t got nish on ya,” Harry said, smiling.
“The Filth might have my prints from the Jag, but seeing as I’ve never been nicked before they wouldn’t be on any records,” I said smiling cheerfully, feeling quite smug.
“Of course, that’s why that CID bloke reckoned it’s only time before he nabs ya,” Harry stated, nodding his head in agreement.
“I’m going down, anyway,” Al said. “It came as a complete surprised to me and my brief that I got bail!”
“Same here, Al. I’ve got no chance of getting away with this,” Harry said, all dejectedly. The pair of them accepted their fate and decided to go out with a bang, arranging to do another job in Battersea for one of the top local villains. Apparently this guy owned a DIY shop for cover. He’s actually a fence for most of the villains in South London; you name it he got rid of it. However, he was getting a bit too big for his boots and had consequently upset a few lads with his greed. Our job, seeing as I had got roped into this as well, was to stage a robbery at his premises and give him a good kicking. That’s all I knew. Al, Harry and this guy Ron knew the finer details. My job was to drive them to Battersea and bring them back. For my services, I would be paid one hundred pounds on completion. I actually didn’t need the dough, but I couldn’t tell them that, otherwise I would have dropped myself in big shit!