Inside the Kray Family

by Rita Smith

  When they left school they did have the idea that they could make a good living in the building trade. Uncle Charlie used to say, “Fuck that for a lark,” to them, but they didn’t take any notice and got themselves fixed up with a local bloke who done roofing and other bits and pieces. I think they were bucket boys, carrying hot asphalt up ladders so the other blokes could spread it on flat roofs. Talk about black-and-white minstrels, I’d see them coming home and they’d be as black as Newgate’s Knocker. They’d have little burns on their necks, ear’oles and up the arms, so you can imagine what their mother made of that.

  Reminds me of Grandad one time. He’d been up the market and bought himself a brand new pair of white plimsolls; cost him five bob I should think and he was as proud of them as if they’d been hand-made Italian leather. This was in the middle of summer and it was blazing hot. I was outside the house talking to Nanny when we heard this effing and blinding coming from half a mile away. It was Grandad coming along pulling his barrow. When he got to the door he was so wild he couldn’t speak. He could swear though, and I thought he’d do himself an injury if he didn’t shut up. What it was, the council had retarred the road and as he walked along he sunk into it. With this black stuff being soft in the sun his shoes were covered and there was enough sticking on the soles to redo another road. Did he go on? “Them fucking bastards, they want to be fucking prosecuted.” He meant the council and he was going to sue them for every penny they had, but like everything else he forgot about it a few days later.

  Before he gave up on the idea of taking them to court he wrote to them a couple of times and that was something considering he’d never had a day’s schooling in his life. But that never held him back – he’d taught himself to read out of the newspapers, and he could write a lovely letter when he wanted.

  Anyway, the twins got fed up scrubbing themselves raw every night and knocked the asphalt job on the head after about six weeks, and that’s when my old man said he’d get them fixed up in Billingsgate Market if they was interested. They jumped at it because they didn’t only like their Uncle Joe; they had a lot of respect for him as well. He never pampered them like a lot of the others, and he never took any nonsense either. All their lives they were the same, if you gave them an inch they took a mile, because they were crafty little bastards and if ever they saw an opening they was in there. But with my old man they knew how far they could go and thought a lot of him for it.

  When they were little nippers they used to get up early and sit at the window hoping he was going to pull up in his cart and two pair horses. He usually did because most days he’d bring in a bit of fish for his mother and father and always kept an eye on them. Soon as he pulled up they’d rush out and jump in the back among all the fish boxes and ride with him to market. You never had to ask where they’d been – the fish scales all over their clothes and the stink soon told you that.

  The guv’nor or foreman down at Billingsgate had asked my dad if he knew of a young strong lad who could do with a bit of work as an “empty boy”. The old man’s said, “As a matter of fact I do – my nephew. Well, actually there’s two of them, can you take them both?” The bloke’s agreed and fixed Reg up in the haddock market and Ron in the shop over Thames Street. Now they think they’re fish porters but all they was doing really was running round picking up the empty crates and what have you. One day a buyer stopped Reg and asked him if he’d carry a few parcels of fish to his motor, and there’d be a drink in it for him. Flash a coin and either of them two would’ve stood on their heads – so that was sorted. The bloke did tell Reg that he had a bit of other business to do so he’d square up with him a bit later on.

  That came and went and it wasn’t until days later the geezer turned up, called Reg and pointing at some more parcels said, “Do us a favour again – same motor, same drink”.Well Reg looked at him and said “Same deal? You can fuck off – you never paid me last time.” The bloke must have thought Reg was a bit of a pie-can or something because he said, “You’ve got a short memory. I gave you ten bob the morning after you helped me out.” Course it didn’t take Reg more than a few seconds to work out what had happened and that he’d been stitched up by his own brother, so he went after him. They came to blows over that and had a right old barney, but at the end of the day Ron’s excuse was, “Ain’t my fucking fault if somebody wants to stick half a note in my pocket,” and he never did hand it over.

  I don’t think it was many weeks humping boxes before they gave in to their old man telling them they were mugs getting up at four in the morning, and they jacked it in. And to be truthful I don’t think they did an honest day’s work from then until the day they died.

  They did a spell on the knocker with their old man, but I can’t see either of them thought it was much of a career move. Old Charlie had the gift of the gab and he’d been at the game all his life. I reckon he could’ve talked the queen into selling the crown jewels, and then get away with only giving her a couple of quid, but the boys never had the old chat you need in the pestering lark. If they could get away with one word instead of two, that’s what you got and they were never any different. So when they put all that behind them, same as all the other bits of work they tried, they started hanging around. And when young fellas get into that lark trouble isn’t very far away.

  Our Uncle Johnny had opened up a transport café on the corner of Vallance Road and Cheshire Street, and it was a right little goldmine. Him and Aunt Maude couldn’t go wrong because there was Ind Coope and Trumans and all the breweries close by, so all the workers went there for their breakfasts. Well, this was nice and handy for the twins and they’d get in there with Bobby Ramsey and Venables, a right pair and a lot older than Reg and Ron. Course, they’d sit there and soak up all their stories about crime and violence, and I suppose they soon got the impression that the law was for mugs.

  Those boys had minds like sponges when it came to anything to do with fighting or somebody getting done over, and they was always pumping all of us about the past and what have you. They didn’t get a lot of that out of me but I’d been in the war so they wanted all the ins and outs of had I killed anyone; had I used a bayonet; what was it like to fire a gun. I don’t think I ever fired a gun in anger, but I’d spin them a tale and they lapped it up.

  Same with my old man. Like I said he’d hung around with some tasty villains and he’d be saying to them, “I see this bloke put a chain in a sock and get stuck in,” or “These fellas used to put a rusty razor blade in a potato – that way they get a terrible infected cut, but there ain’t no danger of killing them”. Their mouths would be hanging open. “Cor, Uncle Joe, did they use guns? Did you see anybody get shot?” This was Ronnie. Guns? It was like he was heading toward Cornell right from being a little kid. He had this fascination with them. Mind you, for years after the war guns were ten a penny. So many blokes hung on to them as souvenirs. If you really wanted one a word here and there would get you a dozen in half an hour.

  It was inevitable with the way their minds were working that the twins would start collecting a bit of hardware to make them feel tough guys, the same as the blokes they were mixing with. I’d call in to see my aunt and the two of them would drag me upstairs to look at their little armoury. If they thought I was going to be impressed they had another thought coming, and in fact I told them more than once having this box of gear under the bed could get them into serious trouble. To be fair it was more Ronnie than Reggie. At least in his younger days Reg was more of the old school where he’d get stuck in with just his fists. But Ron loved all them films with a bit of swordplay and chucking knives around, so it was natural he thought they were the answer in a bit of bother.

  The stuff he had – bayonets, Ghurkha knives, a sword that must have been three foot long, and then there was the guns: an old army Colt (bit like a cowboy gun), a silver pistol and an old Mauser that was so bunged up it would’ve taken your hand off if you fired it.

  What with being about eight years olde
r than they were, most of the time I must have seemed more like an uncle than a cousin, and they usually listened to what I had to say. But not over that lot, so what else could I say? Things might have been a bit slack during the war and just after when it came to firearms, but since then and the time I’m talking about, there’d been too many shootings involving coppers and the law tightened up. It had got that just being in possession meant you were guaranteed being banged up, no questions asked, and these two idiots had a few years apiece tucked under the bed.

  I read in a book only recently that the fella who wrote it reckoned that he’d been in number 178 and seen guns all over the table. My mum used to say, “Anything sticks to paper,” but what are these people on? Never in a million years would my aunt have stood for that. She turned a blind eye to a lot of what they got up to, and I think she knew a lot more than she made out, but she wasn’t a silly woman by any means and those boys would’ve got their marching orders pretty sharpish if she came across something like that.

  Nanny found a gun wrapped up and hidden in her wash basket one day, but they blagged their way out of that somehow, and with her thinking they was both angels anyway I suppose that wasn’t too difficult.

  This same geezer with the book printed that they had a minah bird that used to say “Ronnie’s a gangster – Ronnie’s a gangster”. Leave it out. Grandad would’ve wrung its fucking neck. They did have a minah bird, one they bought up Petticoat Lane or Gamages, depending on which one was telling you. Anybody else bought a bird it would do nothing but look at you all day – but things always seemed to go their way and because it was theirs it used to talk like a good ’un. It would take the piss out of old Charlie, well it didn’t really, but he seemed to think it did. He had a habit of clearing his throat – drove you mad sometimes, and the bird picked up on this and you’d hear “hrrrrm, hrrrrm” and you wouldn’t know which one of them it was coming out of.

  We used to have a couple of vicars from the Red Church in and out of our houses. They was good friends with the twins, and I think one of them had a bit of a fancy for our Rita but I never said nothing. When they’d be having a cup of tea Ronnie would say to this bird, “What’s your name then?” And he knew what it would say, else he wouldn’t have asked. “Bollocks,” it came out with. Then he’d ask again and get the same answer: “Bollocks, bollocks.” His game was to shock the pair of them but it was a waste of time really because these vicars didn’t turn a hair. They were young and thought it was hilarious.

  Then there was that dog. An aunt on my mother’s side had a German Shepherd and she wanted to get rid of it because it was biting everybody. I gave her half a crown for it and she was pleased to take it just to get rid of the nuisance. I thought she must have been handling it wrong and with a little bit of training it would be as right as rain. My Aunt May loved it from the minute she saw him, and when she asked me if it was quiet like, I told her you couldn’t find a better dog. That bastard bit everyone. The postman, the milkman, and when the doctor came we had to hold its mouth shut. Well that was right up Ronnie’s street.

  I happened to be walking past the house one day and I see him standing by the door with this Rex on a lead. I said “What are you up to, Ron, taking the dog for a walk?” And he said “No, I’m waiting here until that copper comes along, then I’m going to set this dog on to his police dog”. I said, “Leave it out, Ron. It ain’t got nothing to do with the dogs. Get inside and don’t do it.” He just stood there grinning at me, so whether he did after I was gone I don’t know. But the intention was there. He always did have a cruel streak in him right from a nipper, and if he had his way he would’ve turned that dog real nasty.

  With May and Rita it was nothing but a kitten. I’ve seen Rita dress it up in kiddies’ clothes and walk it along the street, her holding his front legs up and him walking upright on his back legs. He was clever – no doubt about it. Don’t ask me how, but they’d even trained it to bring a cup and saucer from beside the bed upstairs all the way down to the kitchen and it never broke one. Rita got a red face over this one day. They had some blokes in, decorators or gasmen or something, and while they’re all standing in the sitting room, down the stairs came Rex and he’s carefully carrying in his mouth the china potty from under her bed. Must have thought it was a giant cup. Course there was nothing in it because she never did use it, but May always put it there “just in case”.

  Ronnie turned up at Nanny’s one day with a donkey on a bit of string. He’s got this thing half-way up the passage and he’s shouting for Nanny to bring him a piece of that shiny tassel you put on Christmas trees – tinsel. Don’t ask. She didn’t have none and he was a bit disappointed so he said, “Tell you what, Nan, you can keep it if you want”. She said, “Keep it? What would I do with a fucking donkey? Take it back where you got it.” Where it ended up I don’t know.

  Then there was a Rottweiler – then a racehorse – then a couple of snakes, but I’d given up keeping track by then.

  Going back to that mob hanging about in Uncle Johnny’s café reminds me of the first serious bit of bother they got themselves into.

  I think Johnny was the only one in the family to have a motor then. In fact he was the only one for streets around. He got a phone call in the early hours from the twins saying they were in a spot of trouble. Would he come and pick them up from the nick? What with cars being few and far between then, when the law saw one driving around in the middle of the night they’d be thinking, “Hello, what’s he up to?” and give them a pull. So Johnny’s told the boys no, he’s not going to suffer aggravation just so they could get a free ride home. Get a taxi. They were a bit brassic so in the end he gave in and went and got them. When he got them in the motor and asked them what it was all about Ronnie told him that he’d chinned a copper. Well, nobody in their right mind does that without a very good reason, so what does that suggest when Ron said he had to do it because this young copper had pushed him and told him to move along when he was stood outside Pellici’s Café?

  You can imagine how their uncle took that. “So you’ll probably go down because he gave you a little shove?” Ronnie just said, “Well he was fucking asking for it”. Johnny said to Reg, “An’ how come they pulled you in as well? Did you join in?” Reg said. “No. I wasn’t even there, but when I heard Ron had been lifted I went and found the same copper and gave him another one – then I was nicked.”

  I mean I wasn’t there but I can only imagine Johnny must have shook his head and wondered where these two’s brains were. They was lucky really. They should’ve got prison time and it might have been better for them if they had – short, sharp shock, if you know what I mean. OK, you could say Ron’s reaction was a spur of the moment flare-up, but you couldn’t say the same for Reg. He’d deliberately gone out of his way to find this copper and give him a spank. What do they call it? Premeditation or something?

  As it was the old priest from up the road got up in the box and told the judge they was good boys at heart and all that cobblers, and they got away with a spot of probation. Which was the worst thing that could’ve happened because having got away with it the pair of them thought they was in Ramsey’s league and never looked back after that.

  I can remember thinking they might as well chuck the gloves out the window because once you get a conviction for violence outside the ring, nobody wants to touch you. But they had the arse’ole with all the early morning training anyway, so it didn’t worry them too much.

  About the same time Uncle Johnny got caught by a scam, that if he hadn’t been blinded by pound notes he should’ve seen coming a mile off. I walked into the café one day and I see this geezer talking to him a bit deedy [suspicious] like. It was none of my business so I left them and walked out.

  What it was, Johnny was being offered a load of tea and sugar over the side and at the right money. A few hundred quid’s worth, but he could have it for a hundred notes – cash. Aunt Maude’s brother Vic was stood there so this geezer said, “Give your
mate here the money to hold, just in case we have trouble with Old Bill when we’re doing the swap over”.

  Johnny had an old army truck then and the idea was he would drive to a quiet back street, the other bloke would meet him and they’d off-load the gear from one motor to another. Vic would stay in the café with the money, then hand it over when the deal was done. Simple enough. Johnny drives away to some place in Barking, parks up and waits – and waits. In the meantime this slippery bastard’s gone back to the café, collared Vic and told him it was all squared away and that Johnny had said to hand over the cash, and he’d be along in a bit.

  Course, Vic didn’t know any different, paid up and thought he’d helped out on a sweet little deal – until his brother-in-law came steaming back effing and blinding because the geezer hadn’t turned up. When he found out that he’d been done up like a Christmas turkey he went absolutely fucking mad.

  I was walking down Kingsland Road with Stan, a pal of mine, and my uncle screamed up beside me in his motor and he’s shouting, “You know a lot of fellas. I want something done ’cos I’ve been turned over.” Then he gave me the story. It turned out that the bloke who nicked his dough had been put up to it by Venables, a right villain. Not Shaun, who the twins knocked about with, and was involved in doing that copper, but his old man, Tommy, who made a living in the con-game. One side of his face was like a road map, what with seeing the sharp edge of a razor more than once, and he was bad news. In later years Shaun took up driving those big juggernaught lorries and when he was on a ferry he left the engine running to warm the cab up, fell asleep and was suffocated by the fumes from a dodgy exhaust.