Inside the Kray Family

by Rita Smith

  So young Billy knocked about with us and I’ve got to say he was a right little bastard. There was nothing that kid wouldn’t do for a dare. I’ve seen him jump off a roof twenty foot high and then be frightened to look in case he was dead.

  Another time the three of us were walking down Kingsland Road messing about like you do, then as we’re going past a shop with all the stuff outside, he runs a stick down the kettles and pans – bang, bang, bang – then picks up a big tin-plate model car and makes off with it. Of course with the noise the shopkeeper’s already on his way out and makes a grab for him. What does Billy do? He slings the motor straight at the geezer’s head. If it had hit him full on it would’ve killed him. As it was, it just caught him a glancing blow. He’s shouting, “Get the coppers. I’ve been done over.” So we took to our heels. Me and Charlie are panicking because we weren’t bad kids really and our arses are making buttons, because this is out of our league. Billy didn’t give a toss about nobody so he just ran backward making faces until we were out of sight.

  A lot gets made out of Rose supposedly saying to Ronnie that he was born to hang, but I doubt whether there was any kid didn’t get that thrown at them some time or other. It was just something that was said; tear your trousers, break a window or answer back and you was headed for the gallows. But if anybody was, it was our Billy. If you was looking for odds on which of the boys would turn out as a gangster and end their days behind the door you wouldn’t have got even money on him. Nothing slowed him down, not even when the backboard on his dad’s trailer fell on his head and knocked him spark out. An hour later he was back on the streets and up to all kinds.

  Funny thing is, later on he went in the army, done his bit for king and country in Malta and came out the other side a completely different character. He got himself a job in Covent Garden and stuck it out until the day he retired. Don’t know what changed him from the little tearaway he’d always been, but I never heard of him putting a foot wrong from that day on.

  Up the road from us was a coal shop, and as a bit of a sideline the bloke hired out barrows. Big old things – two wheelers. Because no one had a car then, if you wanted to move a bit of gear this was the only choice you had. They’re all lined up outside the shop with a big chain running through all the wheels so they couldn’t be nicked. So this geezer collared me one morning as I was passing and asked me if I’d keep an eye on these barrows and take the names and money off anybody who wanted one because he was locking up the shop and going out. It was worth a few coppers so I was up for it straight away. I was about ten then, which seems a bit young, but you have to remember that kids were older in their ways those days and some of them started proper work when they was only twelve.

  I went home, had my dinner then shot back without telling my mother what I was up to. So there I am, the guv’nor. I walked up and down like I was in charge of the crown jewels. I straightened them all, brushed out the backs and fiddled with the chain just to make myself look busy. After a bit a bloke came up and said he wanted to hire one of these but he needed somebody to pull it. Was I up for it?

  Now I was supposed to stay where I was but when he mentioned a shilling a trip I came over giddy and said I’d do it. Turned out he needed two barrows so I told him to hang on, I’ll go and fetch my cousin. Ten minutes later me and Charlie are lugging one of these things apiece from Hackney Downs to Victoria Park. We was moving his furniture and bits and pieces from one house to another, and as one hour turned into the next the two of us are counting the money in our heads and talking about what we’d spend it on.

  As time went on and his bill went from silver to note it was getting dark. As we dropped the last lot off it was half ten at night and pitch black. Young Charlie, at nine years old, was asleep on his feet and I was done in myself, but we was due for weighing out and that was all that mattered. As it happened instead of the thirty bob each we expected the fella told us to fuck off out of it, and shut the door.

  I’ll never forget turning into our street. Everybody was out looking for us because word had got round that Joe and Charlie had been taken away by some man. We dropped the barrows and run indoors expecting a right good hiding, but the family was so relieved they never thought of it. Charlie was put to bed but the old man took me and half the neighbours to go and find this bloke. If they had got hold of him they would have killed him. As it was I nearly got some fella murdered because I pointed him out as he came walking toward us and said, “That’s him”. He got a bit roughed up before I could say I’d made a mistake. My dad spent weeks going round that house but he only got the wife in and she cried every time, so he gave up in the end. But it shows you people were as aware of dodgy characters on the street as they are today.

  Listen to the old ones now and the East End sounds like fairyland. They reckon old people and kids were as safe as houses and all that, but it wasn’t any different really. They didn’t call it mugging then but a bang on the head’s the same whatever name you gave it, and kids disappeared and got murdered – but that’s all forgotten now.

  Talking of strange characters, there were some fellas that lived on our street that were odd. Not dangerous or nothing, but different. We’d see four men go in the house and next thing four women would walk out – all done up with lipstick and eyes blacked up. We’d look over their fence and the washing line would be full up with dresses and girls’ knickers. Gave us a giggle but we didn’t understand what it was all about. On the other hand we wasn’t too young to know you didn’t take the piss, because even though they was the other way – if you know what I mean – they’d smack you in the head quick as you like.

  They’d stand at the gate talking to my mum and Aunt Violet like they were real women themselves, shaking their hair and straightening their nylons. What this mob did for a living was street dancing, but dressing up was nothing to do with it because they wasn’t like a drag act or nothing, they were just naturally over the side. They’d cart a big square of wood around with them and when they was ready they’d put it down on the pavement and tap dance on it – good turns really.

  They wasn’t on their own because you’d see the same thing with flower-sellers. These men, dressed up like women, would stand on street corners singing out: “Who’ll buy my lavender! Who’ll buy my roses!” They couldn’t help it and they were harmless enough.

  One of these geezers in our street was called Air Ball Huggett and years after I was in the Double R Club with Reggie and I thought I recognized him. He had a proper suit on but his eyes were still done up with mascara and his face was powdered up – that’s what made me think. I said, “Is your name Huggett?” And when he said yes I told him who I was, and he said, “Ooh, I remember your father. Tall handsome looking man – I didn’t half fancy him.” I could hardly stop laughing but I said, “That’s nice. I’m seeing the old man next week so I’ll tell him – he’ll be right pleased.”

  Turn the telly on or open a paper today they’re all at it. And if he took any notice at all my old man would say, “What’s all that about?” Didn’t understand it and didn’t want to, so I wasn’t going to tell him that he was some geezer’s pin-up even if it was years ago. Same as with villains and delinquents. Now he’s old he wants them all strung up or exterminated, but he forgets he was no angel as a nipper, and when he got older he mixed with some tasty faces.

  He was great pals with the Sabini boys and they were terrors. The whole family was and had been for years and years. They ran protection at all the race meetings and had every copper in London in their pockets. They was into everything and I tell you they was the guv’nors – every one of them. They was called the Italian Mob and as far as business went they stuck to their own, so I’m not suggesting the old man was a gangster or nothing like, but there’s no getting away from the fact that if he had any trouble he didn’t have far to look for some heavy people to back him up. Funnily enough when the twins were in a spot of bother and up in court, the judge said to them, “Don’t go round thinking y
ou’re the Sabini brothers,” so it goes to show they were no strangers to the law. To be honest as far as the old man and his younger days are concerned we don’t know the half of it.

  There was one time though when these Italian fellas had a street battle in Vallance Road and according to the old man it was all down to him. This was when he was about eighteen or twenty and what happened was a neighbour’s missus took a bit of a fancy to him. She and her old man, who was in a wheelchair, lived round the corner with their relation Mrs Doyle, the woman who Rita saw as a ghost a couple of times. Talk about making it obvious, this bird was never out of Nanny’s house. The excuse being that she was a bit of a piano player and what with Nanny having one, she’d pop in and knock out a few tunes, but with one eye on my father.

  I’ve no idea if my dad was innocent in all this caper but either way her old man got the hump eventually and came wheeling round to the house. Well he’s having a ruck on the doorstep with Nanny and when Grandad shouts out to her what’s going on like, she’s told him that Mr Bloater’s having a go. He flies to the door and this blokes raving about there’s something going on with his wife and their son [my old man]. Anyway, to cut a long story short he said he was going to bring some mob over that night to sort it out. Grandad wasn’t going to up a bloke in a wheelchair but he said, “Bloater, I’ll give you bloater, show yerself round here an’ you’ll be fucking kipper – now piss off ”.

  Course when my dad’s come in and they told what’s been happening he said, “Oh yeah, coming mob-handed are they, we’ll see about that”. And he’s took off. He’s back indoors that night about half seven, when – bomp – a brick come through the window. Now the old man wasn’t scared of anyone, not even when he was ninety let alone at that age, so he’s gone out and fronted this gang of about ten fellas. What they don’t know is that he’s already had a word with his mate Harry Boy and with perfect timing the Sabini mob turn up from each end of the street. There wasn’t just blokes, they’d brought the women along as well and some of those big old Italian girls was right brahmas and built like wrestlers. What a ruck! That lot that thought they was going to belt the life out of a bloke on his own got the bollocks knocked out of them. Fists, bottles, coshes, you name it. Windows got smashed and the whole street was turned upside down, but I’ll tell you what, the old man never had trouble from that lot again.

  While we were in this Stean Street my Uncle Johnny got himself a big old Chrysler – American motor. First time he brought it round our place I think every kid for five miles round came to stand and look at it. Keeping them all back, Charlie and me showed it off like it was our own. As soon as Uncle Charlie clapped eyes on it, his brain must have gone into overdrive, what with always being on the lookout for something that might do himself a bit of good. I learned all this when I was older, but within five minutes he’s got Johnny talked into joining his one-man business of totting, knocking or pestering – whatever you like to call it.

  Basically, what he did was bang on doors and very politely ask if they had any broken watches, gold, jewellery or clothes they might want to sell. If they wasn’t interested he’d leave his card because he had them all printed up, and tell them he’d call back if he was passing. Of course he’s sown a seed by then, so when he’s gone they start digging out the cupboards and what have you. Two hours he’d give them then “just in passing” give them another knock and get a result. He wasn’t above getting the local paper of wherever he happened to be, study the death columns, then chase up the widows for their husbands’ shoes and suits.

  So he’s roped Johnny in and off they’ve gone – Charlie lying back on the leather, a fag in one hand, a hip-flask in the other and his feet up on the dashboard while Johnny’s driving his bollocks off all over the country.

  It only lasted a couple of months, and I can remember Johnny telling my old man that it was costing him more in petrol than what he was getting out of it, so he jacked it in and Charlie was back on the train.

  For some reason or other this Chrysler was laid up round Grandad Lee’s. Might have been that my uncle was up north driving the lorries. Either way the car sat outside the house for weeks and weeks. When he came back he called in to see his mother and his dad stuck eight quid in his hand. Johnny was a bit taken aback because the old fella wasn’t too quick when it came to putting his hand in his pocket, so he says, “What’s this? You come up on the dogs?” Grandad says, “No – I’ve sold that motor for you,” and he’s grinning all over his face like he’s done him the biggest favour in the world. Well, Johnny’s gone fucking mad, because the car was worth forty quid or more, but it was too late as it was already a done deal. He didn’t half bollock his old man. Whether Grandad was doing what he thought was a good turn or whether he was doing himself a bit of good, we never did find out.

  When it came to anything on four wheels Johnny knew everything that needed knowing – you name it, he could drive it. Even did a spell as a racing driver, and he was top notch. He did all the testing for Coopers and that goes to show how good he was. One motor he took round the track no end of times was the one Jack Brabham won the world championship in. Trouble with that machine was they designed it with Jack in mind and he was well over six foot. The seat was fixed and Johnny was five seven, so you can imagine.

  When the twins were small I can’t say Charlie and me had a lot of time for them. Fat little things they were, and the old man said they were like their mother when she was a baby.

  The Krays had moved out of our house by then, but it didn’t make a lot of difference. We still saw them every day because all of us ended up at Nanny Lee’s at some point or other. It was like a focal point for everybody and always would be.

  A big thing that was supposed to have happened to the twins was that they were seriously ill when they was about three years old. It’s reckoned that it turned Ronnie’s head so that he was never the same again, and that it made both of them a bit clingy with their mum. But they were always that way right through their childhood anyway. To be quite honest I don’t even remember it, nor does my old man, Ronnie himself or anyone else. You wasn’t allowed to be ill and if you was, none of them took any notice. If you had a headache fresh air was the answer, and if it was a stomach ache out came the bottle of castor oil and that was so bad to swallow – the thought of having to suffer a mouthful of that stuff kept you healthy.

  One year when they was only nippers, Uncle John and Auntie Maude took the pair of them down to stay with her mother in Clacton. It was only for a week to give Violet a break, but they wished they hadn’t. Johnny said they were little bastards. When they wasn’t into everything they were crying to come home – complete nightmare. He said he’d never do it again, and he never did.

  With young Charlie it wasn’t so much that his family deliberately shoved him out and sidelined him, if you know what I mean, more that those twins took all the attention, what with being cute and a bit demanding and Charlie being so quiet, they just left him to get on with it.

  One incident sticks in my mind. Young Charlie was off school with real bad toothache, and his face was twice the size it should’ve been. Why my aunt didn’t whip him round the dentist and get him sorted I don’t know. Most likely she couldn’t afford to because the National Health didn’t come in until after the war. So he’s laid on the settee all day with a wet flannel round his jaw. Like I said, a dim view was taken of any illness or skiving over a bit of pain, so when old Charlie came home he’s given him a look and told him to get off his back and go and buy him a piece of fish. A woman and a kid couldn’t argue with him when he was tanked up with beer, so young Charlie’s had to drag up Kingsland Road with tears streaming down his face. He’s come back, put the bag on the table and the old man’s opened it up, looked at the fish, then tore it all to pieces saying, “What’s this fucking rubbish you’ve got? Get back up there and get something proper.” My cousin had to set off all over again. He wouldn’t have treated the other two like that, so his attitude to his oldest b
oy speaks for itself.

  Trouble with Charlie, he was too easy-going – never caused no fuss and was always trying to please – in his own way looking for affection that never really came his way. I mean, Violet was good to him but I suppose the other two took up all of her time, and if the other one’s giving no trouble, well he’s going to be ignored.

  They say twins are close – like one person in two bodies, but you never saw a lot of that with those two, at least not as nippers. I’ve seen them get their dinner stuck in front of them, then spend five minutes counting the peas one by one or measuring off the sausages with their fingers. If one had more than the other, God help us – one or the other would throw a right tantrum. If it was their brother he’d have got a bang round the ear’ole, but them two got away with it.

  And fight? They’d get stuck into each other like they were worst enemies, and half the time they were encouraged. I suppose we all were really. It doesn’t happen today and I suppose that’s down to there being lots of other interests. But when I think about it that’s all any of us did back then. Mothers don’t want their kids having a punch-up now in case they turn into thugs or what have you, but I remember running indoors one time and telling my mother that a big boy had hit me. I wanted her to go out and tell him off. Instead she dragged me outside, went up to this boy, held me by the shoulder and told me to give him one. I gave him a half-hearted slap and she said to him, “That’ll teach you a lesson”. Oh yeah! She went back indoors and he hammered me black and blue.