Inside the Kray Family

by Rita Smith

  Whatever, they showed how much they’d grown up when half a dozen of these Maltese gangsters walked into the Regal looking to take a bit of protection money out the till. That’s one scene they did get right in that Kray film. Reg told me after that Ronnie went absolutely mad. “You should’ve been there, Joe, you’d have pissed yourself.” I thought, “He’s a bit right there, but it wouldn’t have been through laughing”. “Yeah,” he said, “Ron chased them out like a bunch of girls and he’s swinging that big sword round his head like a fucking windmill.” I could imagine. Ever since I’d seen that collection of blades in the bedroom I’d wondered how long it would be before Ron used some of it. As it was, he didn’t actually cut anybody that night, but no question he would’ve done.

  Stands to reason, pick up a knife or machete and what do you do? You have a few stabs or a swipe in mid-air and wonder how you’d hold up in a fight. Same with a gun, even if it’s only a water pistol – straight-arm; bang; somebody’s took one in the head. It’s human nature for blokes. It’s the way we were brought up with films and what have you, but usually it don’t go no further. Ronnie was a different kettle of fish and that’s why he shot that fella in the car lot up Bethnal Green Road. There was no need for it but one way or another Ronnie was going to use one of his guns against a real target instead of just looking at it in his bedroom and practising cowboy draws in front of the mirror – and I saw him do that more than once.

  This bloke’s bought a car off the dealer, and usual thing – he’s parted with forty quid, driven it down the road and it was rubbish. Thick oil in the engine, sawdust in the gear box to stop it rattling. He’s gone steaming back demanding a refund and was told to piss off. Any ordinary punter would’ve wiped his mouth and walked away – put it down to experience like. But this fella got a bit leery and threatened to bring a few of his mates back to do the dealer over.

  Back then most firms selling second-hand motors were on the fringe of the underworld, if you want to call it that, or they were connected with villains who were taking a pension out of them every week for protection. If they said they didn’t need protection then these same villains, to prove that they did, would turn up overnight and go to work with brake fluid and hammers on his stock.

  I know the twins and their little mob was into this game because they told me, and as it happens this particular car lot was under their wing. One phone call to the boys suggesting they should do something about this bloke and his threats and earn the few quid they were taking had Ronnie flying upstairs to dig out a bit of his hardware.

  In the meantime the fella with the dodgy motor must have had seconds. He was mixed up with the Watney Streeters, but even so somebody must have marked his card that somewhere along the line these Krays were involved, so he’s weighed up the options and decided to go back to the dealer and strike a deal without any trouble. Swap the banger for something else or at least get half his money back.

  The dealer’s no mug and doesn’t want to end up in the middle of a war, so at the end of the day him and this fella have just got it sorted and shook hands when Ronnie turns up. He’s so wild that somebody’s taking the piss, and so desperate to have a pop with his gun, he doesn’t even stop to ask what’s going on. Straight in – BANG – puts a bullet in this fella’s leg.

  It makes me wonder what was going on in his head at the time. A lot of people and some of the family even reckon he was good as gold until he did a bit of prison time in his early twenties, then took a bad turn when Aunt Rose died. But it speaks for itself that going round shooting a gun off in broad daylight is not what I call normal behaviour, even allowing for the way things were in the East End back then.

  So Ronnie’s walked away as calm as you like and gone back home to tell Reg what he’s done. I don’t know where Reg was when this went down, but I’m convinced Ron knew what he was doing when he went flying off on his own. He knew Reg would’ve put the block on taking a gun when a broken jaw was all that was needed. It was like Ron never looked any further than what he had in his mind. Never considered the consequences. A bit like Reg when he tipped our Rita out of her pram. “Done it, now what are you going to do about it?” OK, if you’re four years old; not so good if you’re an adult.

  Reg went up the wall and the pair of them ended up having a right barney, but as usual Reg was thinking on his feet and drove him over to some friends in Tottenham before the law arrived.

  Unless you had a bent doctor there was no way of keeping a gunshot wound quiet. Hospitals had to report anything like that to the law, and within an hour they’ve got the name off the bloke with a hole in his leg, and they came and picked Reg up. Talk about cool as cucumber – he went along with the whole business. Identity parade and all that, where he was picked out because they were like two peas then, so it’s a mistake anyone could make. Trouble was when they came to charge him he was able to produce half a dozen kosher people who’d seen him somewhere else when the shooting took place, so they had to let him go.

  Tommy Smithson was the guv’nor around those parts then and the twins were well in with him, so one way or another he straightened up everybody who was involved and they all lost their memory. I did hear that the bloke that got shot ended up getting a drink for keeping his mouth shut, but if he did it was very unusual among that crowd when the normal price of silence was being thankful that you was still breathing.

  When it all blew over and Ronnie came home, people were looking at him with different eyes and he loved it. Most of the young fellas that were hanging around them were plastic gangsters. They could have a fight when they were ten strong, and they all did a fair bit of talking about shooting this geezer or shooting that one, but when it came down to it, it takes a lot more bottle than they had to actually pull a trigger, then face ending up on a rope. Yet here was Ronnie, one of their own, and he’d done what they all liked to think they would do in the same situation – but never would – and he’d got clean away with it. So his status has gone right up and Reg’s with it.

  I can see Ron now sitting in the corner of the billiard hall, always facing the door and with a stern face on him. I used to think he was play-acting some character he’d seen in one of his gangster films, but perhaps he wasn’t. I dunno. He certainly had threat in his face. Even as a kid he had eyes that seemed to look right into you, almost as though he was reading what was going on in your head, so you can imagine what he was like when he got older.

  With Reg, though, people would look at him and wonder what all the talk was about – you know, where was the threat, because he was more open and friendly and did most of the talking for both of them. If you lived near them or came in contact with them and you went to work from nine until five, they wouldn’t bother you in the slightest. They had no interest in pushing around ordinary working people. In fact they went out of their way to do them favours. I’m not saying they were Robin Hoods or nothing, but if we’re going to talk about the bad things they got up to, that’s got to be balanced against the good.

  Some old woman had her house broken into and had a bit of money, some jewellery and a radio nicked – didn’t have tellies or videos then. When the twins heard about it they wasn’t very pleased, what with it being on their manor, as they liked to call it. They made themselves busy, put the word out and collared the young fella who’d done it. Broke his jaw and both his arms. The old lady got her radio back and more besides out of the boy’s own pockets. If it was today that thief would get a few month’s community service or be sent off on a rock climbing holiday. As it was, he got what he understood.

  Another time they happened to be driving along Kingsland Road when they spotted some woman being messed about by a crowd of drunks. They’ve backed up, got out of the motor and knocked the four of them out, then given the woman a lift home.

  I could go on and on, but you get the picture.

  Same with money, though more in their younger days than later on. If they knew of someone down on their luck – bomp – here’s a fe
w quid, don’t pay us back. I know they were copying what the old guv’nors like Timmy Hayes and Jimmy Spinks used to do, but if it meant somebody could buy a pair of shoes or some old girl a coat, it didn’t matter what their reasons were.

  People say that if they’d never been put away the streets in the East End would’ve been a lot safer, even today. I think that’s a bit fanciful. Back then life was completely different. It was closer knit and nothing much went on that wasn’t known about by the guv’nors and all the people that worked for them. Somebody got out of line the finger was easily pointed at them, and then they’d get justice without involving the law. It sounds a bit funny but years ago villainy was a business. Like the docks or the printing game, it was a closed shop and everybody knew each other. To get involved you had to be introduced by someone already in, whichever firm it was. If you wanted to join that was up to you and your own responsibility. If you didn’t you was left alone.

  Nowadays anything goes with gangsters shooting it out over drugs, and never mind the public who get caught in the middle. Today, and no disrespect to my cousins who’ve all gone now, the twins wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. They might have been pretty ruthless in their day, but nothing compared to what you read in the papers now every week.

  In the early fifties your ordinary working man never went near the West End. What was the point? It was expensive and who needed it when there was a pub or club in every street in the East End. They were downmarket, but then so were the majority of people that used them. The twins felt the same and were quite happy running the Regal that was still bringing in a nice weekly wage.

  My Aunt May used to look after the takings in an old biscuit tin and one Sunday night she said, “’Ere Joe, how would you like this every week in your pocket?” and she opened this tin. Don’t ask me how much cash was in there, but if I remember right there must have been twenty bundles and each one was like a little mattress. So obviously things were going OK and no need for change.

  Then Bobby Ramsey got the boys involved in a club up west called Stragglers, and that opened their eyes to the possibilities of getting somewhere like that themselves. They both liked the idea of fronting a place that had a lot more class than an ex-cinema. When I say they got involved, I mean as protection for the club, not on the business side. It always had a reputation of attracting a bit of trouble even in this better-class position, but once word got round that the Krays had an interest it all quietened down.

  They kept on at Charlie to keep on looking out for somewhere to open a similar club for themselves and he always said he would. But away from them two he told me it would be a waste of time. He liked the idea in principle but reckoned all the tearaways would make it a base and it would end up as just another speiler.

  Then the twins did Ramsey a favour and it all changed. He’d had a spot of bother that ended up with him getting a fractured skull from an iron bar. Well Reg and Ron took this as an insult against themselves, what with Ramsey being a friend and a bloke they looked up to, so when he was back on his feet they was only too pleased to go after the mob who’d done him over.

  From what I heard, the one bloke they did come across was a brother who’d never been involved and to be honest Ramsey could’ve done him with both hands behind his back. But no – the three of them have got stuck in and given him a good hiding, then Bobby finished him off with a sword. Out of order really, and why the three of them didn’t end up on a murder charge, god only knows. Lucky too that Ronnie didn’t shoot him because, as usual, he was carrying a loaded gun in his jacket, and that’s what done him even though he never even fired it. He still had it when the law picked him up and you didn’t even have to think about it – he was going down whatever he said.

  They tried pulling the “which one of us is which” stunt again and that did get Reg off the hook, but Ramsey got a seven and Ronnie three – so he was going to have plenty of time to think about where he was going after that.

  He wasn’t behind the door five minutes before Charlie found a place that fitted the bill for the kind of club he’d been dead against up until then. Whether he would’ve been as keen if Ron was still on the streets I couldn’t say – perhaps it was just coincidence that the two things happened at the same time. Either way, Reg and him got stuck into this house down Bow Road, and before we knew where we were they was running a very nice little drinker that wasn’t too different from some of the clubs up west. They both took to it a treat. Charlie was happy because him and his brother were hitting it off better than they had in years. At the same time what they were doing was respectable and more like a business than the Regal.

  Reg had been right upset when Ron went away, and no doubt he missed him. Unless you’re a twin yourself you can’t know what it’s like being separated from what’s part of yourself. But once he saw Ron didn’t find prison life a hardship he brightened up a lot and started to enjoy his life a bit more.

  I could be wrong but I’ve always felt that it was Ronnie that pulled Reg in the wrong direction. I don’t suppose he needed a lot of pulling, but on his own he was always a different bloke, and this was very obvious when he was walking round the tables in their Double R club chatting to people and checking they was comfortable. Ann and me used to go in there quite a lot and when I looked round at the type of people coming through the doors I really did think they’d turned a corner, and all that villain stuff was out the window.

  Right at the beginning a lot of the tearaways from the Regal thought they’d found another nice little berth, but when they saw the way it was being run it didn’t suit them and they started to drop off. I mean, you’re always going to get a bit of aggravation when there’s drink flying about, but Reg jumped on that in his usual way and the message got across.

  I even saw Charlie have a go a few times, and you didn’t see him flare up too often. He could have a fight when it came down to it, though he was never like the twins. I suppose he took after his old man in that respect and quietened down any trouble with his tongue instead of flying in heavy-handed like his brothers.

  I had my own life to lead and I never did get myself involved in all their capers, though I got the offer often enough. Reg would say, “C’mon, Joey, forget that working for a guv’nor lark. Come in with us and make yourself a few quid.” But I was never tempted. I’d like to say that I was clever enough to see where it would all end up, but who could have known that? It’s easy looking back because thinking about it all the signs were there, especially with Ronnie. He wouldn’t be happy until he killed somebody, and being so close with Reg he was going to take him down too. No, I’d seen too many fellas ending up inside and it didn’t matter how many times they told me it was no different from being in the services, I got the impression they was trying to convince themselves. So I never fell for it and steered well clear of anything that was iffy enough to merit a bit of prison time.

  So Reg and Charlie were doing well for themselves. They didn’t forget Ron and were always sticking a few quid in his prison account, but more often palming tens and twenties to him on a visit.

  With the money they were taking out of the club my cousins even branched out into gambling clubs. I thought that was a bit of a strange move considering none of the family had ever had any interest in chucking their money away on betting.

  Well, up to that time they hadn’t, and no connection with what his grandsons were doing, but Grandad Lee thought he’d have a go at backing horses. Why at that time in his life he wanted to take up that mug’s game I don’t know. He was well old then and knew as much about putting on a bet as he did about flying to the moon.

  Any rate, he’s gone down to Danny Levy’s and after a lot of picking and choosing he’s written out a slip putting two bob on some old nag to win at 15–1, so you can guess it wasn’t the favourite in the race. He sat with his ear’ole stuck to the radio, and what he’s tuned into I don’t know. Next thing he’s flying round the bookies to pick up his winnings.

  He’s said
to Levy, “Ha-ha – caught yer for thirty bob ’aven’t I?” Levy’s gone, “No you haven’t. Your horse was last – you lost.” Course, Grandad wouldn’t have that and he’s kicking up. “I won. I fucking won.” And like he’d settled all his arguments, he started throwing punches around. The bookie’s having none of it, so he says “OK, Mr Lee, that’s enough. I’m not going to pay you out because you picked a loser, and if you keep it up I’ll give Jimmy Taylor a call and he’ll soon stop you.” Taylor was a local hard man they used to bring in bad debts and what have you.

  That don’t worry Grandad and he tells him, “Fuck you and fuck Taylor. I want my thirty bob – or else!” Or else what I can’t imagine because he was well in his eighties then, but he went home anyway and waited for my father to call in. Then he started. “That fucking Jew bastard Levy – he’s caught me and he says he’s going to get Taylor to do me over.” As it happens Levy was a Jewish man but it wouldn’t have mattered if he was Chinese. Whenever Grandad got tucked up or thought he had, whoever had done it was a Jew. Never gave it a second’s thought and most of the older blokes came out with the same thing.

  Anyway, now my old man’s involved. He’s no youngster himself but he wasn’t having his dad threatened by some tearaway, so he’s gone after the bookie. Course, Levy’s all apologetic but explains that the old fella was causing a terrible ruck in his shop and he had to quieten him down. He showed Dad the printed results of the race, and that spoke for itself. Levy said he’d forget all about it, but never mentioned he’d already spoken to Taylor.

  The next day when my old man was up the road he bumps into this minder, but before he could say anything himself the other bloke says, “What’s all this about your father?” The old man explained and this Taylor, who wasn’t a bad bloke if you knew him, said, “I won’t fall out with your family. Leave it with me and I’ll get it squared off.” What he did was go back to Levy and tell him to cough up the money for the sake of peace and quiet. As he put it, “You ain’t hard up and a few shillings is fuck all to you”.