by Lenny McLean
My leg was a bit stiff and it hurt like hell, but I could walk so I carried on with some work that had been arranged by Alex Steen. I don’t let anybody down, stabbed or not. The financier I was minding had some heavy business going down, so both sides at the boardroom meeting wanted minders along to make sure everyone behaved. So every day for five days I stood at the back of a big posh office, watching a load of suits barking and growling at each other. My leg seemed as though it was on fire, but I stuck out the week, picked up £2,000 in wages, and got home just before an abcess I didn’t know was forming burst and sent poison right through me.
I was in a bad way. I was rushed to the Mile End Hospital, and at first they thought I was going to die. I didn’t know nothing about that, though, because I was sky high. I had a box thing stuck on my arm pumping morphine into me 24 hours a day and, to be honest, if that’s what dying is about, it’s not too bad.
I had fantastic dreams, brought on by the drugs, that I thought were real. Mum and Dad came to see me while I was lying there. Tony and me went to Scotland to see Arthur, and I did Roy Shaw all over again. Me and Val had some good times, going to clubs and dances, though every now and then she was holding my hand, crying and looking older. Then I came back to earth and the surgeons were talking about amputating my leg.
I was looked after by an angel. I’ve got to give them a gee, all the nurses were angels, but Amanda Page, the sister in charge, fought and fought to save me. The poison was cleared out of my system, but gangrene had started in my leg. I remember saying to her, ‘Look, don’t let them amputate my leg. I’d sooner die. I’m Lenny McLean, the street fighter. I’m full of pride and if I’m on crutches all the mugs will be queuing up to have a pop, and I couldn’t take it.’ She called my wife over and they had a chat.
Val said, ‘Len, if that’s what you want, I’ll stand by you.’
Mandy nagged at the doctors, because they’d given up hope. The hospital was on a three-day week and there were cutbacks all over the place, so the white coats had their own problems. But that lovely girl never let go. She got them to have another go at my leg, and there is a God in heaven because, three days later, she came flying down to my bed smiling and all excited. It was funny, really, because she was always so cool and prim – you know, a proper sister.
‘Len,’ she said, ‘I’m so happy for you. The X-ray shows your gangrene has cleared.’
I felt choked up. ‘Sweetheart,’ I said, ‘how can I thank you?’
She said, ‘You just did – that look on your face is all the thanks I want.’
I gave her a kiss and hugged my Val, and I think we all had tears in our eyes.
Three weeks later, I was discharged and I sent all the nurses tights and flowers, and Mandy the biggest basket of fruit I could get from Harrods. I even joined the nurses on the picket line outside the hospital. They were trying to get a few bob extra on their wages, and I was right behind them. They deserve £1 million a week, not just for what they did for me, but for what they do for everybody.
I invited Mandy and her husband down to the Camden Palace and drowned them in champagne all night. It was lovely to see her let her hair down. Mandy, wherever you are now, I love you and I’ll never forget you – you saved my life.
I’d been out of action for about three months and, to be honest, I hadn’t given business much thought. I got in touch with Sheena Perkins and it looked like we were bolloxed for finance. Trying to drum up a bit of publicity to catch the eye of the money people, every now and then Sheena would get a bit of a spread in the newspapers. She’d stick in pictures of me and Craig squaring up, or mention a few names of the actors who were considering the script, like Michael Caine or Phil Collins. Phil had the right haircut to play me, but I think he was up for being Kenny or someone else. None of it did any harm, but it didn’t bring in any money.
From all that publicity, I was clocked by television people and invited on to a few programmes. The first one was Derek Jameson’s. Derek’s one of your own, a good mate of Reg and Ron and a lot of other chaps. He was brought up in the East End so he knows what it’s all about. I thought that show went off pretty well because he’s not a piss-taker.
Another one was with Nina Myskow, and on my way to the studios I was thinking, ‘I’ve got to watch this one.’ Backstage, before we went on, I got her to one side and said, ‘I’ve watched a lot of your shows and half the time I want to smack your arse for the way you mug people off – I’m just warning you, take the piss and I’m going to flare up.’
We go on and first thing she says is, ‘Now here is a man you wouldn’t like to meet on a dark night.’ I gave her a funny look but she didn’t start nothing.
The idea of the programme was to discuss the merits or otherwise of boxing. Alan Minter was there, and Mickey Duff the promoter. When the subject of brain-damaged fighters came up, Duff looked over at me and gave a funny smile. I thought, ‘I’d like to get up and knock that smile off your face.’ He doesn’t like me because he knows I opened the door for Frankie Warren who knocked a dent in his pension. And I don’t like him – full stop.
Now Ruby Wax … what a bastard she is. I gave her the same talking to that I’d given Nina Myskow. This was before we went on when she was polite, timid and very pleasant. In front of the cameras, she comes over like a man – big mouth and all aggressive. I was holding my own but she was getting a bit flash. So in the break I said to her, ‘Look here, you saucy fucker, pack in with the lip or I’ll pull you right over my knee in the middle of the show.’ They should stick me in the Guinness Book of Records for being the first bloke to get Ruby Wax to shut her mouth for more than two minutes!
There were a few others. Me and Joey Pyle went on Channel X and the host was Jonathon Ross’s brother. I had a spot on Danny Baker’s Londoners – he’s another one of your own – and bundles more I can’t remember.
It was all a bit of a laugh at first, but I got fed up with it after a bit. What do half those prats know about life? They’re all poncing about like they were God’s gift, treating everybody as though they’re half-wits because they haven’t been to university, and acting like it should be the greatest honour in the world to be on their poxy show. Afterwards, people look at you and think, ‘That Lenny’s making a fortune, he’s always on the telly.’ Little did they know all I got were a few glasses of lemonade and a bit of exes. Fuck ‘em, I had better things to do.
I did meet a few people, though, and got a bit of work. Jerry O’Dowd approached me and asked if I’d step in between his brother Boy George and some slags who were giving him some grief. I can’t say George is my cup of tea, but he was polite and showed me a bit of respect, so I squared his problem.
I also helped out a producer. She said, ‘You’re just the man I’ve been looking for.’
I said, ‘Steady on, girl, I’m a married man.’ I like to give the ladies a gee up.
She said, ‘No, I need someone to look after a small party we’re having.’
‘Sweetheart, I’m all yours,’ got another blush and giggle. What she wanted me to do was mind the cast of EastEnders when they had a bit of a knees up. This do was in L’Escargot in Berwick Street.
I’d been telling a pal of mine, Oggy, about this party I was going to mind. He said, ‘Len, I’d love to get in and meet all the stars.’
‘No problem,’ I said, ‘when the time comes, I’ll slip you in.’
So I was just inside the door keeping photographers out and making sure everybody behaved. The stars came in and as they went past me they’d say, ‘Cor, you’re a big fella. We’re well minded tonight.’ Dot Cotton, or whatever her real name is, gave my muscles a bit of a squeeze and went, ‘Ooo-er.’ Lovely woman. I took to her more than any of them. Some were a bit stuck up, but not her. Then up came Peter Dean who acted that silly prat in the market. He don’t say hello or kiss my arse, he just gave me his coat. ‘Hold up,’ I said, ‘don’t give me your fucking coat, hang it up yourself. Cloakroom’s over there.’ He gave me a l
ook but went and did it.
Everything was sweet and I was chatting to this one and that one, and back he came. ‘I thought your job was to keep gatecrashers out.’
I said, ‘You’re right, what’s the problem?’
He didn’t look happy at all. ‘I’ve just bumped into Peter, a bloke I used to go to school with. Well, he’s not in the business so I don’t think he should be here.’
I said, ‘Don’t you worry about Oggy, he’s with me.’
He stormed off and I thought, ‘Hello, he’s going to complain that the hired help’s getting above itself,’ but nothing more was said.
It’s funny, really. I find that actors and actresses who are well up the ladder are nearly always as good as gold. It’s the bit players and hangers on who have their noses in the air. One actor I do have a lot of time for is Chris Ellison who played Burnside in The Bill. I met him while I was minding the cast and I couldn’t help pointing out that he reminded me of Bob Hoskins. He seemed genuinely pleased. ‘I take that as a compliment, Len, but I’d rather have his money.’ He’s one of your own and though he lives down in Brighton I do meet up with him every now and then.
Reg Kray had asked me to pop down to the movie set where they were making the film The Krays just to see how things were going and keep him in the picture. I was sitting there once and up came Billie Whitelaw, who was playing Violet Kray, and she asked me ever so politely if, when she came to do the scene where she climbs into the ring, I would help her up. ‘My pleasure,’ I said. She came down and, while the camera was running, I helped her up. She did her bit and, still on camera, she went, ‘Thank you very much, Lenny.’ Beautiful woman, lovely actress, and a proper star.
The next thing I knew, the cameraman’s daughter was trying to climb up the other side of the ring. I thought, ‘Another lady in trouble – I’ll do the same for her.’ I put my hand on her arm to steady her and she went, ‘No, no, no, no, no, no, … take your hands off.’ I went mad. I called her all the names I could think of. Her old man came over and I threatened to punch his stupid head off. It was bloody chaos. The director said he would shut down filming if I didn’t leave the set. He was polite, though – he didn’t want to risk getting thumped himself.
Another time I visited the set with a very famous boxer out of the East End, Ted ‘Kid’ Berg. He was a lovely old fella, well in his seventies, but still as game as a bagel. Alex Steen was there and Charlie Richardson’s son, Lee, with his pals. None of us are a bit shy when it comes to earning a few bob, so when the film people want extras for ringside, we’re all up the front on wages. The Kemp brothers are in the ring being Reg and Ron, and we’re supposed to be cheering them on. I was giving it some, yelling and shouting, ‘Come on, Reg … come on, Ron,’ and, beside me, Ted’s shouting at me, ‘When do we get paid? When do we get paid?’ Have a look at the film. You’ll see us all there. Sadly, Ted died not long after. He was a legend and will always be remembered.
I had a lot of time for Reg and Ron Kray, and whenever I got the chance I slipped in to see them. Visiting was a bit restricted for them both, so it wasn’t too often. If they needed any favours done they knew they only had to ring Lenny. When they were out thirty years ago I knew of them and I saw them in passing, but I didn’t really know them personally. It was only since they’d been away that we became friends, after they heard of me and asked me to visit.
The first time I went to Broadmoor with Alex I didn’t know what to expect. I mean, you hear stories and don’t know what to believe. On the way in, I said to Alex, ‘Fucking grim old place this is.’ He pointed through a gateway and I looked – it was all gardens with trees, flowers and shrubs, really nice and peaceful. Inside, we got all the business. Security check, photos on computer and all that, then we were taken down miles of corridors to the visiting room. Ron was already there because they bring them through first. He was sitting down, but as we came in he stood up for us – a proper gentleman. The patients are allowed to wear their own clothes, and this man is immaculate. He didn’t have a hair out of place, his suit was nicely pressed, and you could see your face in his shoes.
We sat down. I put a cigarette in my mouth and Ron was there with his lighter. As he lit my fag I couldn’t help noticing his cuff links – gold and diamond with two ‘R’s on them. I’ve seen doctors and lawyers who were more menacing than this polite and considerate man sitting opposite us. I kept looking at him and wondering how he had had a stranglehold on London in the Sixties. He appeared to me like a man you’d let babysit your kids. All right, he knows what he did. I know what he did. But it was all kept within the underworld. The same as me really; I’ve never crossed the fence to have a go at some straight guy.
While we were talking, he said, ‘Len, do you know Roger Daltrey?’
I said, ‘Yeah, everybody does – good singer, good actor. Why, what’s the problem?’
‘Do you think you could get hold of him and bring him in to see me as soon as possible?’
I said ‘Ronnie, consider it done. What do you want me to say? You want a bit of a chat?’
‘Say nothing, Len. Just get him here so I can plunge the fucker.’ As he said that he stabbed this imaginary figure in front of him. One of the screws – or nurses as they call them – looked over a bit cross-eyed but didn’t come near us.
Alex calmed him down and asked him what it was all about, and he said, ‘You know he was going to do the Kray film before this other lot took over? Well, he’s taken a few liberties and now he’s going to get what Cornell got.’ I just said, ‘Leave it with me,’ and changed the subject.
On the way home, Alex said, ‘That business with Daltrey … I think it’s all a bit of a misunderstanding, so don’t get too involved.’
I said, ‘I already thought that myself. I think Ron gets a bit frustrated because he can’t deal personal with his own problems. I can’t go round tugging big stars so they can be murdered, but if he asks me again I’ll have a quiet word with Roger.’
So, Mr Daltrey, thank your lucky stars Big Lenny doesn’t always do what he’s asked, otherwise you’d have got your wish to die before you got old. Ron never referred to the incident again.
Sadly, Ronnie died not too long after. I wasn’t surprised really because he used to smoke 50 fags in a two-and-a-half-hour visit.
Peter and me were invited to his funeral and I’ve got to say it was a blinding send off. The church service was just like you’d want if you were seeing your dad off, but outside the miles and miles of crowds made it like being in a circus parade.
One thing that lightened the mood a bit was when the driver of our limo got himself lost on the way to the cemetery. One minute we were all in this solemn line of cars, the next we were on our own doing about 80mph out of the East End as the bloke panicked. The roof of the Bentley was covered with wreaths and flowers and we were doing a circuit of Brands Hatch. There was me, Eddie, Peter and a couple of other faces hanging on for dear life. Eddie leaned over, tapped the driver on the shoulder and said, ‘What you doing next week pal?’ The driver’s red in the face, sweating cobs and shitting himself. He goes, ‘Nothing, why?’
Eddie – dead pan – said, ‘We’re planning a blag and want a driver who knows his way about.’
Of course, we all pissed ourselves as the driver nearly burst into tears, shouting, ‘It’s all right for you to take the piss. It ain’t my bleeding fault, I’m from over the river.’
Having known Ronnie made me realise the difference between old-time villains and the toe-rags about today. I know it’s been said many times, but if men like them were still active, the streets would be a lot safer. Charlie Richardson put it in a nutshell. He said all the chaps from the old days, including himself, are like dinosaurs. Today, there are villains out there who would kill women and even babies if it helped them earn a living, and I know that the Twins or any of the others would never have been involved in anything like that.
Now Reg is a different man altogether. Polite, considerate and smart,
Reg is a live wire. His mind’s going all the time. He doesn’t want visitors who sit there talking about the old days, this club, that club, old so and so’s died. He wants to talk about what’s happening, get involved, do this deal, do that deal. On the ball all the time. Again, there’s no menace, and he speaks in that soft voice.
I once took a lovely up-and-coming actress in to see him, Sandi Carter. She’s the wife of a pal of mine who runs London’s Hippodrome. We laughed about a scene from the Kray movie. When Billie Whitelaw, as Violet, is having the twins, she’s screaming and kicking her legs in the air – well, the legs weren’t hers, they were Sandi’s. Still, it was a couple of parts in a film for her.
When I was talking to Reg on the phone one day, I told him about my book and asked him if I could take his photograph to put in it.
He said, ‘You know they won’t like it, Len.’
‘Don’t tell me, Reg, I know what the bastards are like, but if you don’t mind I’ll have a go.’
Next time I visit I’m kitted out with a camera my book man fixed up. I pick my moment and ‘click, click’ I’ve got it. No flash, very fast film.
Over comes this young screw. ‘You’re taking photographs,’ he said.
‘Who do you think I am, David Bailey?’
He looked down his nose, so I got up from the table and steered him away. I didn’t make a fuss and spoke quiet and polite. I said, ‘Look, don’t you think that man sitting there has suffered enough without you making a ruck on his one weekly visit? Go and have yourself a coffee and never mind what I’m doing.’ To give him his due, he fucked off good as gold. I wouldn’t say he was intimidated by me, he only had to blow his whistle and he’d have got us all in trouble – he just saw reason. Good man.