Inside the Kray Family

by Rita Smith

  Uncle Johnny told me that a friend of his was in a motor dealer’s talking to the guv’nor when two big dockers came in looking for Ronnie. The firm had an interest in the place that probably amounted to nipping a bit of protection every week. Either way, these geezers knew that he turned up every Thursday to collect, so they told the guv’nor they’d wait until he showed, what with it being pension day. This mate of Johnny’s was no mug and took a good guess that these dockers weren’t there for a friendly chat, so doing himself a bit of good he’s made some excuse and gone and phoned up the Double R.

  Twenty minutes later a taxi pulled up, Ronnie’s jumped out and burst into the office shouting, “Where’s these fucking gangsters?” One of them was sitting with his feet up on the desk. Ronnie never even asked who he was or what he wanted, just kicked his legs down and smashed him full in the face with one of those big old staplers they used to have in offices. Split him wide open. The other geezer took off like a rabbit. Ronnie’s said, “Do what you want with him,” gone out, got in the taxi and gone back to the club. Vicious yes, but it wasn’t him who went looking for trouble – those dockers brought it to him.

  And that happened time and time again.

  Same as in the Blind Beggar one night, and this was long before the shooting. Four fellas came to give the twins a good hiding, and I’m talking about four tough guys here who were well-known villains. Did Reg and Ron bottle out? No, they locked the door so these fellas couldn’t get out, then got stuck into them. The damage they did to these four made them legends around Bethnal Green once it leaked out. Then when you’ve got a reputation like that going in front of you, you don’t have to do much to keep it up.

  You’ve only got to look at their photographs to see they weren’t too big; five foot nine or thereabouts? Twelve stone? But as they proved time and time again you don’t have to be big if you’ve got it inside you. There were fellas out there built like brick shithouses, but once word got around that the twins were unbeatable, well it was better to be on their side than to come up against them.

  Something else from their photos – not a mark on them and I don’t remember ever seeing them with as much as a bloody nose. And that’s saying something when you think how many battles they got into.

  This reputation thing – they used that in other ways and it never did them any harm. Once they got well known all over London, anything that went down that was a bit strong got hung on them. If a villain disappeared or got shot or slashed to pieces, the whisper would go round that those Kray brothers had a hand in it. Eight times out of ten it would be nothing to do with them, but a nod’s as good as a wink to a blind horse and the twins never confirmed and, better still, never denied all the rumours. They knew that the sound of their name caused a lot of fear and as far as they were concerned it could only help their empire get bigger and bigger.

  I’ve never understood the fascination people have of rubbing shoulders with villains. I suppose when you’ve been brought up among them like I was, you see them for what they really were without all the romance that gets written up in books. I’m not talking about the twins here, I’m referring to the fellas Grandad knew, and them my old man knocked about with, and of course a lot of fellas that lived local and chose a different path from me. Pick a book up today and they come over as Robin Hoods, but if you knew the truth most of them were nothing but robbing bastards who’d rip off their own granny for a couple of shillings. Not nice people at all. How nice is it to run a razor round someone’s face? Or brain damage someone with an iron bar who’s got a wife and kids to support, because they said a word out of place?

  Some of the hard men were of the old school. They gave respect and they got a lot of respect back, but too many of them frightened even me, because you never knew which way they were going to turn next, so you was always on your guard. But like I say there’s always been this fascination straight goers have with mixing with the underworld and the people in it, who are prepared to do things they couldn’t even dream of doing.

  Like with the Kentucky Club. You wouldn’t believe the punters who came in and out, every one of them looking up to the twins like they was royalty. There must have been a thousand clubs they could have gone to and had a great night out, but no, the club in the Mile End Road had a bonus as far as they were all concerned because it was run by gangsters.

  Years after, one of the firm told me that in those days they were earning good money out of Northern club-owners for nothing more than an introduction to the twins. What they’d do was make themselves busy on the phone to all these places in Liverpool or Manchester, anywhere they could get a result, and for cash up front ranging from five hundred to a couple of grand, these fellas in the firm would arrange for the owner to come to London and have a drink with the boys. Sometimes all they got for their money was a handshake from Reg and a glare out of Ron, but it didn’t matter. After that they could go home and spraunce up the truth about the time they had spent with the Kray twins. Did wonders for their business. If they were lucky they’d get a signed photo, “To my friend Jack – God bless,” and all that cobblers – stick it on the wall behind their bar and it would act as a pretty strong deterrent to local tearaways. That’s how far the Kray name had spread. Mind you, if you weigh it up these people were getting protection at cut price really.

  Anyway, this sort of excitement their name brought out in straight people must have been one of the reasons why Barbara Windsor took Joan Littlewood along to the Kentucky when she was working on the film Sparrers Can’t Sing. Course it cut both ways and Reg and Ron loved getting involved with all these actors and celebrities, so when it was suggested the club be used for a couple of scenes they were all up for it.

  When it was all wrapped up and premiered at the Empire, Reg said to me in the Kentucky, “You ain’t gonna believe this, Joey. Princess Margaret and her old man’s gonna show up at the party here afterwards.” It was true enough but it took a lot of believing that these two tearaway cousins of mine would be entertaining members of the royal family. As it turned out, they did go to the opening of the film, but then had another engagement straight after. That was the message the boys got but in my opinion somebody high up whispered in the princess’s ear and told her it would be a bad move to be seen with the Krays. Stands to reason.

  The Old Bill didn’t have nothing on the twins, or at least not enough to get them in court, but they were watching their every move and just waiting for a slip, and when it came they didn’t want the queen’s sister mixed up in it.

  It shows they were keeping them under surveillance because we were all indoors one day when Reg said, “That’s the law sitting in that motor on the corner”. So Ron said, “Watch this, I’ll have a laugh”. He made a couple of cups of tea, dug out a silver-plated tray he’d won at boxing, and took them over to these coppers. He’s tapped on the car window, give them the tea and said, “’Ere you are, boys. Warm you up a bit. And by the way, don’t nick my tray. Bring it back when you’re finished.” They didn’t know what to say. Ron’s humour was never sophisticated but you couldn’t help laughing.

  Barbara Windsor was only well known locally when she first came to the club, and I’ve got to say she was a right little head-turner. Blond hair, tidy figure, and of course that famous chest. She sent blood racing as soon as she walked in the door, but none as fast as our Charlie’s because he fell head over heels from the first minute he clapped eyes on her. He was still married to Dolly even though things weren’t going too well, but that didn’t stop him having an affair with Barbara. He thought the world of her and if he’d been free I’m sure he would have married her like a shot. But being the bloke he was, loyal and always trying to please everyone, he knocked it on the head because he didn’t want a divorce to upset his boy Gary. Shame really, he should’ve grabbed the chance for a bit of happiness while it was offered, because he didn’t have too much of that in his life.

  Then there was Reg with the girl he’d met between prison time. She wa
s very young but nice enough and a bit of a looker, but I often wondered what the pair of them had in common. Reg wasn’t the most talkative bloke in the world, but at least you could have a conversation with him. Frances, well you could sit there all night and she wouldn’t open her mouth unless she had to. So you got the impression she chose not to join in or else she had nothing she felt worth saying. I could be speaking well out of turn here because when her and Reg were on their own perhaps she was a live wire, but it’s hard to imagine. It didn’t help that Ron took an instant dislike to her and never missed an opportunity to make it plain. Must have terrified the life out of her, especially when the twins had a row with her sitting in the middle, and when they did kick off with each other it would’ve put the wind up a strong fella, let alone a slip of a girl like she was.

  Then her and Reg started rowing and it was all on one minute then all off the next. She was taking all kinds of pills for her nerves and what have you, so with one thing and another I’m surprised Reg didn’t see the writing on the wall. But he wouldn’t have a word said about her no matter how many times she took off back to her mother’s. When they was together they’d end up fighting, and when they weren’t he couldn’t get her back fast enough. Still, if he knew what love was that’s what he felt for her, and when the end came it tore the heart out of him.

  He blamed her parents and they blamed him, but who knows what lay behind it. If she’d never got mixed up with the Krays and had married some ordinary bloke, would she still be alive today? Or like Ron, did she have some sort of mental problem right from the start? You can only guess. Either way, it was a tragedy for Reg and, what people forget, just as much of one for her family.

  Looking back, it seems like there was so much going on over a short period of years, it was like they knew everything was going to come to a full stop and wanted to get the most out of what they had left, or make some sort of mark.With all the interests they had in drinking clubs and gambling clubs, they were making money hand over fist. They had coppers in their pockets and a few politicians as well.

  I was having a cup of tea with Ron at Vallance Road. The phone rang, and with him having a shave in the kitchen I picked it up, and a posh voice said, “Can I speak to Ronnie, please”. When I asked the bloke who he was he said, “It’s Robert. Robert Boothby, Lord Boothby.” I put my hand over the mouthpiece and told Ron who it was and he said, “Tell the old poof to fuck off,” which I thought was rich coming from him, though if it ever came up he always said he was “homosexual” like there was some distinction. Well, I wasn’t passing that on to a lord, so I just said I was afraid he wasn’t available, and put the phone down. Ronnie stuck his head out of the kitchen and said, “That ain’t what I said, Joe”. I said, “I know. If you want to tell him that, you phone him back, but what’s a geezer like that doing ringing you up?” He just laughed and tapped his nose. “He has his uses, don’t you worry.” I didn’t worry because it was none of my business, but I couldn’t help thinking about that call when it was splashed all over the Daily Mirror that something was going on between a top gangster and a politician.

  Like I say, the boys were making themselves busy and with money to burn they bought themselves a mansion at Bildestone in Suffolk – not far from where they’d been evacuated to when they were kids, The Brooks. Tidy old place and worth a few quid, but knowing the way they worked it probably came to them a bit the other way, if you know what I mean.

  Ron used to walk around the grounds and the village like he was Lord of the Manor. Big old coat on, flat cap and silver-topped cane. People would say good morning to him like he was gentry, and I used to think if only you knew who this geezer is. He loved the life, and if things were different back in London I’m sure he could’ve settled down to living there permanent. I think that spell in the countryside during the war stuck in both their minds and never went away.

  Then they had another taste of country living when their Mum and Dad took them up to Wisbech every summer when they were twelve to fourteen, for a bit of fruit picking. It was like a holiday and earned a few bob at the same time.

  Years later Ann and me ended up living not far from where they used to go and I happened to meet the old farmer that they worked for and he asked me in for a cup of tea. Bill Shippey – nice old boy. Well it was only natural to ask him if those little bastards had terrorized the village and turned the farm upside down, but he looked at me like I was gone out and told me no, they was polite lads and better behaved than the average cockney tearaway he had to employ. I mean he was so impressed he took the pair of them into his own house so they didn’t have to live with their parents and all the other families in the big old sheds that was the normal billet.

  After dinner and that, these two used to argue over who would do the washing up, made their own beds and run up and down to the local shop for the farmer’s missus. I thought fucking hell – we can’t be talking about the same two kids who I knew. Back home their mother had to do everything for them, even clean their shoes, so there must have been something special in the air up in the Fens.

  This Mr Shippey took to the twins so much he kept in touch with them all the years they were away until he died himself a few years ago. From what he told me, one of his proudest possessions was a jewel box the twins had sent to him and his wife when they were together in Parkhurst. He dug this box out from a cupboard and sat it on his knee while he told me the boys made it with their own hands. It was a beautiful thing and any cabinet maker would’ve been happy to put his name on it, and to be honest I looked to see if he had, because no way could my cousins have put together such a thing. I can’t remember them even knocking a six-inch nail in, let alone have the patience or talent for anything better.

  I wasn’t going to spoil things for the old chap, but this sort of caper helps the wheels go round in the prison system. You want a present for your mum or missus, get yourself half-ounce of snout and put the word out you’re looking for a jewel box, a cuddly toy or the Eiffel Tower made out of matchsticks, and in two minutes all those fellas with nimble fingers would be queuing up to flog you some of their stock. I’m not having a knock at the twins because it was a nice enough gesture to send out a present and a lot of people have proudly got these things up on the mantelpiece today. But by their own hands? No. Sorry.

  Going back to that big old mansion, my aunt and uncle spent a good bit of time up there, and when they did they lived in what used to be the gatekeeper’s cottage – right at the entrance of the gravel drive that went up to the house. Reg and Ron wanted them to give up Vallance Road and live there full time but they wouldn’t have it so they suggested buying them a place a bit nearer to London. But no – all their mates and family were in the East End and they wouldn’t budge, not even when the council decided to pull down all the houses my family had lived in for years and years.

  All the others was pleased enough to go, even Grandad, but Nanny Lee kicked up hell. Like she said, “They can pull the place down on me ’ead but I ain’t leaving”. She was a tough old girl and we could see she had it in her mind to barricade herself in, as old as she was. So in the end me, the old man and Uncle Johnny got a trailer and turned up on the day. She’s still giving it some, so my dad told her, “Mother, you either walk out or we carry you out and tie you on top of all the furniture. It’s up to you,” and she gave in. Lovely little ground-floor maisonette it was that they went to, but even when they was settled in she’d still rather have been in the other place with rats and mice flying about all over.

  I’ve said before there was always something going on with my grandparents – never a dull moment as they say. In this new place they had a little brick cubby-hole sort of thing out the front, with a flap door for the coalman to stick the coal in. I went round there one day and she’s got this flap open and she’s waving a broom handle round her head and shouting after the coal lorry that was up the road a bit. “Oi, you bastard,” she’s hollering. “Fucking well come back ’ere and I’ll up you wi
th this stick.” Ninety years old this is. I’ve said, “What’s up, Nan?” And she said, “Effing so-and-so’s short changed me on the coal and I’ll ’ave ’im”.

  Another time my old man was going to look in on her and a mate of his gave him a lift in his car. On the way Dad’s said to this fella, “Look, when we get down there don’t take any notice of my mother’s language ’cos it can be a bit strong”. The other bloke’s laughed and said, “Don’t worry, my old girl’s just the same”. True to form, as they pull up outside the maisonette she’s out there effing and blinding and carrying on. When Dad asked her, “What’s up?” she said, “This fucking hole you’ve stuck me in, I can’t get the door open.” She’d pulled the door to and locked herself out. But it was everybody else’s fault, including the house, and not down to her.

  The old man caught her cursing and swearing at some suited bloke one day. As he got closer, Dad caught the tail-end and she was saying, “I’ll give you, come ’ere threatening women”. And the bloke’s walked away a bit smartish. Now for all the old man knows, this geezer’s one of them that tries to con old girls out of their money, so while he’s asking Nanny what’s going on, he’s keeping an eye on this fella who’s gone further up the road. “Right, Mother, what’s his game? How come he threatened you?” She said, “That one-eyed bastard wants the rent money and I paid it last week”. The old man laughed and said, “Knowing you, you ain’t paid it since last year, so it ain’t the bloke’s fault”.

  This sort of caper wasn’t once in a blue moon like most families, it was every week if not every day.

  Sometimes I wonder if the twins knew exactly how they were going to end up, and with one thing and another slowly worked toward their own downfall. There they were getting along nicely, plenty of respect, plenty of dough and both living in luxury flats in Cedra Court.