Inside the Kray Family

by Rita Smith

  OK, Reg was having a few problems with Frances, but apart from that things couldn’t have been better all round. So what do they do? They decide to spring Frank Mitchell out of Dartmoor and get it spread all over the papers. Of course, the law didn’t catch up with the twins over that for a long time, but it surprised me when they ended up in court charged with murdering him that one of the blokes who put half a dozen bullets into Mitchell never even got a mention. When things started to get a bit warm he took off to Australia, but distance doesn’t usually let anybody off the hook when it involves murder. So either the law couldn’t afford the fare to go and pick him up or else all they were interested in was getting the twins behind bars. I don’t know, but it makes you think – justice is a funny thing.

  Talking of funny things, Uncle Johnny was working in a lorry depot and while him and some other fellas were having a tea break the conversation came round to families, and it came out that my uncle was related to the twins. One of the fellas – a bit leery like – said, “Them Kray twins, they’re fuck all – nothing but front”. Now Johnny might have looked like his sister Rose, but he’d never taken up with fighting like she had, so instead of taking this comment as an insult against the family, he just shrugged his shoulders and told the other bloke that everyone’s entitled to an opinion and if that was his, good luck to him. But the fella won’t leave it. He says, “Now if you want to talk about a guv’nor, a right tough geezer, I know a bloke who could do the pair of them with one hand”. “Oh yeah,” says Johnny, “who’s that then, you?” He goes, “Nah, a bloke called George Cornell.” Johnny still don’t rise. He says, “I’ll be seeing my nephews a bit later on. I’ll pass your message on. It’s bound to put the wind up them.” Next day Ronnie walked into the Blind Beggar and shot Cornell through the head.

  As Uncle Johnny said to me, talk like that was all bollocks and he’d never repeat something like it to the twins. But with the whole of East London knowing that Ronnie Kray had pulled the trigger even before the police did, this geezer with the big mouth packed his job up and disappeared thinking he might be the next.

  As far as Cornell went, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and if it hadn’t been him it would’ve been someone else. There’s a lot of people out there today who are only alive now because Ronnie didn’t happen to have a gun in his pocket when he had a go at them. They might have had a slap or a bollocking, but because of Ron’s mental state at the time, they could just as easily have got the same as Cornell.

  If Reg had known what was going to happen and could’ve talked him out of flying off the handle, it would’ve been prevented. But in my opinion if a shooting of some sort hadn’t happened that night, it would’ve been the next week or the next month because it was firmly in Ron’s head that somebody was going to die.

  There’s been a lot of old nonsense written about Cornell, like he was asking to be done what with going round saying this and that, but I don’t think he was any better or any worse than most of the blokes knocking around then. In fact my old man was friendly with some of the family, and he didn’t see much wrong in him. Same with cousin Billy and he should know because he was stationed alongside him out in Malta. Perhaps if people paint him blacker than he was it sort of justifies Ronnie killing him.

  Mind you, my Aunt Violet was getting quite a lot of funny phone calls in the run-up to him getting killed. Sometimes there was nobody at the other end, or at least nobody who said anything, and other times this person would say, “Are those two ponces there?” Or, “I wanna word with one of them arse’oles”. She passed the phone over to Ronnie one day when he happened to be there and all he did was chuck it down without speaking. He never did say to me who he thought it was, but Reg told me that right or wrong, Ron had it down to Cornell. If it was him you can only think he was pushing his luck a bit and as it turned out pushed it too far in the end.

  Same as McVitie, it depends on who you talk to as to whether he was the nasty geezer word has it, or just another villain. Like Uncle Charlie, Jack was OK when he was sober. Put a bit too much drink inside him and he was a different bloke altogether. The Kray film didn’t do him no favours what with getting Tom Bell to play his part. Good actor and all that, and it wasn’t down to him how they wanted him to put over the character, but watching the film gives the impression that Jack was this snivelling old git who didn’t know his arse from his elbow. In fact he was something like the opposite and from what I know, as game as a bagel. Not too old, well built and not a bad-looking fella, and I can’t help thinking what his family must have gone through at the time and year after year ever since. I mean that’s some funny sort of epitaph for anybody, just to be known as a murder victim and nothing else.

  I was going to say how could Reg get himself mixed up in something like that, something so bloody it makes your blood run cold to think about it. But thinking back to the way the pair of them beat that chicken to death and a few other instances, I’ve got to admit that this sort of behaviour was inside them from the start.

  A lot of things came to a head that night. Losing Frances like he did tipped Reg over the edge – no doubt about it. Then there was the pressure from the law that was closing in over Mitchell and Cornell, so with one thing and another he was living on his nerves. I mean, Ronnie didn’t give a fuck because half the time he was off in his own world, but Reg was wide awake, knew things were getting bad and couldn’t do nothing about it.

  People make a lot out of the fact that Ron was supposed to have said, “I’ve done mine, now you’ve got to do yours”. Well, according to Reg he never said no such thing and I believe him because with something like that Ron wouldn’t have to open his mouth. Reg knew he had to keep up with his brother. It goes all the way back to counting those peas on a plate – neither one of them was going to be bested by the other.

  If Jack McVitie was the weak sort of fella people have the idea he was, he would’ve laid down when the twins went for him and told them to get on with it. But talking to Reg and Ron and some of the other blokes who was there, it seems that Jack could’ve walked away and that bit of crime history might not have happened. I’m not saying he brought it on himself, but the choice was his not to hang about. Never mind that he was supposedly invited to a party. When he walked into that room Ronnie told him to fuck off out of it because he didn’t want him there. He must have had some bottle, because instead of making himself scarce, Jack walked up and down the room punching one fist into the palm of his hand saying, “You can’t talk to me like that – I won’t have it”. He got himself so wound up he punched out one of the panes of glass in the window. So he wasn’t screaming to get out until one of them pushed his head into the glass. He did it himself out of temper. Stands to reason Ron’s not going to suffer somebody showing off like that so he’s passed Reg a gun, and we all know what happened next.

  The only bit that was romanced up was him being pinned to the floor with the knife through his throat. Good reading for them that like that sort of thing, but it never happened, though Reg carving him up did, and you can’t make any excuses for that at all.

  If the twins really felt that McVitie had to be taken out of the picture there must have been a hundred and one ways they could’ve done it all nice and quiet, and nobody else involved. But typical of them they were selfish, only thought of themselves and what they wanted, so in getting their satisfaction they took all the other fellas that just happened to be there down with them. Even brother Charlie, who was in bed at the time.

  Funny – peculiar that is – Charlie got a ten and served seven for nothing more than being a Kray, while Ronnie Hart, supposedly one of the family and well involved, did a deal that got them sent down, and he walked away from it a free man. He wanted to be a gangster and should’ve paid the price.

  To be honest, none of us knew who he was when he turned up out of the blue. “Hello Reg, hello Ron – I’m your cousin.” Course they’d made a name for themselves then, otherwise he’d never have shown his fac
e, but next thing he’s taken into the firm and that was the worst thing they could’ve done. Uncle Johnny said this geezer was his mother’s sister’s boy’s boy – work that one out. But as far as all the family was concerned this bloke was no more a cousin than fly in the air. Rita’s mum, my Aunt May, couldn’t stand the bloke. Albert asked her to make this Ronnie something to eat one time and she said no and that wasn’t like her at all. When he asked her why she wouldn’t she said, “I don’t like him. I get a feeling he’s not what he makes out to be.” So what’s that if it’s not a premonition for the future?

  On top of that, according to Johnny he was nothing but a little creep. He was supposed to have gone to his grandmother’s, that would be my great aunt, and nicked some money off her that she’d given him to go and buy some shopping for her – so that’s the sort of geezer he was.

  Again Johnny reckons that he’d tried to shoot some bloke, and when Nipper Read got on to it he gave that Hart fella the choice: “You tell us what you know about the Krays or you go down, simple as that.” So he chose the easy option and shopped them. The twins never sought him out in the first place because he was nothing. He sucked up to them, played the hard man in their shadow and then turned Judas when it all went wrong.

  Compare that with people like Tony and Chrissie Lambrianou or Ronnie Bender – never laid a finger on McVitie, but kept their mouths shut out of loyalty and took fifteen years without complaint. Who says blood’s thicker than water? Still, that loyalty was about as misplaced as it could get, because when it came to the crunch the twins didn’t give a fuck about any of them. It might not have made the slightest difference but I thought they could’ve at least tried to put in a good word for their supposed mates – but no, they were going down and taking the rest for a bit of company. On the other hand those boys couldn’t complain. Like I said before, if you wanted to get involved in the underworld it was your choice as long as you were prepared for the consequences.

  When the dust had settled after the judge’s hammer came down, Charlie was in Chelmsford, Reggie in Parkhurst and Ronnie the other end of the country in Durham. All of them were Category A, which meant their movements were restricted and they had to suffer a red light on in the cell day and night. Any of us who wanted to visit had our backgrounds checked out with a fine-tooth comb before we could go on the list, and that was including Uncle Charlie and Aunt Violet – and those two were just starting a sentence of their own.

  They didn’t want to know what their boys had done; never talked about the fact that the twins had taken somebody’s life other than it was a fit-up, some sort of mistake. So they stood behind them and never missed a visit. It’s no good me saying why don’t the authorities consider the families of prisoners, because they never have, but imagine what it was like to drive north one day and south the next, rain or shine, just to keep in contact with your kids. I found it hard enough and I was only in my forties at first, but my aunt and uncle were in their sixties.

  What broke my aunt up was the fact that the twins were separated. People write that she campaigned to have things changed, but that makes out she was flying around with a placard held up in the air. That wasn’t her game because she was just an ordinary mum trying to help her boys, but what she did do was keep on and on at the Home Office for three years until they got fed up with her and put the twins together in Parkhurst.

  I mean, we all did our bit when it came down to a bit of cash or a lift to the prison, but Uncle Albert copped for a lot of it because he was right on the doorstep. He was a night worker, and I’ve seen him come home in the morning after a shift, the phone would ring and it would be Violet looking for a lift. He was as good as gold; he’d tell her to hang on while he had a wash then he’d be straight round. Did it time and time again and never complained.

  People thought she was probably delivered to the prison gates in a limo, what with what the boys had had at one time, but the truth is almost overnight any money or property they had disappeared. I can’t say they didn’t have a pot to piss in because that’s all they did have, only it had HMP stamped on the side.

  The big old mansion got sold off to pay the bills, and bits of cash they had hidden up got eaten away in no time. In fact they had to get legal aid to fight the case. They were brassic and so were their parents.

  All the capers they ever got up to were never about money. On the surface that’s what it looked like and they might have believed it themselves, but really all they aimed for was to be either famous or infamous.

  Ronnie was the worst. He liked his bit of gold and flash suits, but money to him was for giving away. One day he’d have a Rolex on his wrist and he’d say, “Look at this, Joey. Beautiful, innit?” Next day it’s gone. Somebody’s admired it and he’s taken it off and given it to them. Rings, cuff links – expensive gear. You name it – there you go, take it. I made some comment about hankies one day. Probably something like “You can never have too many” or “I’m always losing them” – doesn’t matter. Next thing he’s got me a dozen boxes of handkerchiefs. Been round the shop and stuck them on his account. Once he was away though, this generosity went more into the world he lived in than to his family, who needed it just as much.

  It’s been said, but Uncle Albert would give the shirt off his back. He was visiting Ron one time and Ron said, “Have you got any money on you?” Without thinking Albert said, “As it happens I’ve just been paid. I haven’t even opened my wage packet yet.” As he’s spoke he’s pulled this packet out of his jacket. Quick as a flash Ron’s said, “That’ll do,” took it out of his hand, got up and walked over to some geezer that probably murdered his grandmother and gave him the lot. Albert swallowed it but afterward he was fuming and told me that was it – none of them would ever get another penny out of him. And they never did, though he still dropped Violet a bit every now and then.

  What can I say about those visits? You could drive three hundred miles and get there with your eyes hanging out of your head. Two hours and you’re back on the road again and when you fall into bed all you can see is cat’s eyes flashing in front of you. And all you’ve done is talk about “How they treating you?” “Yes, the old man’s keeping well, thanks,” “They’ve put traffic lights up Kingsland Road,” “Won’t be long before you’re out,” and all that. The smallest amount of small talk, but you had to do it because they were family and you couldn’t just forget about them.

  It makes me laugh when you get people who’ve only known the twins for five minutes, writing books about all these secrets they’ve been told on visits. All the ins and outs of murder and rackets, and this one and that one. Well, I’ve got to say they’ve got rich imaginations, or Reg and Ron were acting out of character, because I visited my cousins from the day they were sent down to the day they died, and the past never came up in conversation. Not their criminal past anyway. There was always that “D’you remember?” stuff about the old days and people who’d died, but that’s as far as it went. Their world was inside those walls and they gave me the impression that the world they used to live in was all forgotten.

  I’ll tell you what is a great leveller – a prison waiting room. On one side you might have some worn-out woman wearing a coat that’s seen better days, and on the other some posh geezer, expensive suit, plum in his mouth – and neither can look up or down at the other because, like it or not, they’ve both got a con in the family. Different story outside when nobody knows, but while you’re all sitting around waiting for those gates to open, you can’t pretend.

  I was at Broadmoor one time with Ann, and as we came out this couple started to chat to us. I suppose seeing us with Ronnie they wondered what we were made of. They were proper upper crust, and on a normal day wouldn’t have given us five minutes, but because they were visiting family in a place for the criminally insane, they didn’t see the point of putting on airs and graces.

  Ron never lasted long in the ordinary prison system before he took a turn – four or five years I think. Same ol
d story – medication gets messed up then bomp – it’s all over and he’s in Broadmoor. I took Violet there one day and he must have been thinking because he said to us both, “Great Grandad died in one of these places didn’t he? And I’m going to die in here.” What can you say? “No, course you ain’t, Ronnie. You got better last time didn’t you? Give it time.” But while the words are coming out you know he’s talking sense, and of course he was proved right in the end.

  That film The Krays – who came up with the idea I don’t know, probably Reg because he was always looking for some moneymaking scheme or other. The Who singer Roger Daltrey was going to do it in the first place, but that all went pear-shaped like things do in the film game and it was no fault of his. But right or wrong his name ended up on Ron’s “Death List”. In one way it’s laughable, but he was deadly serious, and as the years went on this list got longer and longer. Even a close family friend ended up on it, and he was a respectable businessman and had done no end of favours for Ron’s mother – but wrong word and he had him marked down on that list.

  Anyway, when the film got up and running again they got us family involved. Charlie rang me up and told me to collect my old man and Uncle Johnny and get ourselves over to Cable Street, because the film people wanted us on set. They were shooting in Wellclose Square inside the Wilton, which I think is the oldest theatre in Britain. Charlie Chaplin appeared there, and as far as I know it’s got a preservation order on it and they’re going to open it again – might have done it already. My dad’s ninety years old and Johnny’s well in his seventies, but they were up for it.

  Some American tart cut our hair, then we had to suffer powder, eye shadow, lipstick – make-up like, and all that caper. You’d have thought we was the stars instead of just walk-ons. The old man said to me, “You look like Air Ball Hugget,” so I said, “Well, you look like his mate,” so that shut him up. That was OK until they took us down to wardrobe, as they call it. This was the tail-end of the day and there wasn’t much to choose from. I was all right, Johnny didn’t care, then the old man took one look and his and said, “Look at it. I wore a better suit when I was doing the fish markets.” That was it then; he’d had enough. I tried to talk him round but he said, “No. Fuck it, Joe, let’s go home.” So we all scarpered.