The Profession of Violence

by John Pearson

  For a front man the twins usually chose someone they had a hold on from the past. Since he had a chance of ending up in prison, he was told to take a short, expensive holiday, settle his personal affairs, arrange to bank his share of the proceeds somewhere abroad, and then get down to work. For the next few weeks he would be busy. His job was to set up and manage a complete but fraudulent wholesale company; the success of the whole racket would depend upon the skill and credibility with which this was done. The twins had a set routine their front men followed. First, register the new company under a fictitious name; then rent a warehouse and an office and have stationery printed; finally, begin to write to the suppliers of wholesale goods. The twins would find the money for all this – also discreet employees for the warehouse. Once all the details were arranged, the ‘long-firm’ could start.

  The twins’ man would visit one of the local banks and see the manager. He would explain that he was starting a business and deposit a substantial sum of money as his firm’s working capital. During the next few days some of this money would be withdrawn and redeposited to give the bank an impression of a thriving business. With the bank behind him, the front man would then make the rounds of the manufacturers, giving his orders for the goods he wanted, and start trading.

  At this point the firm would act legitimately, paying suppliers on the dot, selling their goods cut-rate to shops and any likely customers and even placing small advertisements in trade papers. The aim was to establish instant credit. When this was done and the firm seemed to be flourishing, the twins would finally decide the time had come for their long-firm to realize its assets. Their man would be told to place maximum orders with all his suppliers. With the good name he had by now this would be easy, and when the goods had piled up in the warehouse the twins would give the order for them to ‘hit the floor’, being sold off in one grand slam. Everything would have to go, cut-rate and strictly for cash. The bargains would be remarkable – washing machines, refrigerators, crates of wine all offered at a third of the market price. In this way £30,000 or £40,000 could be cleared in a single day.

  Once the warehouse was empty, the twins’ man and his staff would disappear, drawing the last of their money from the bank and leaving the suppliers’ bills to pile up in their empty office until the police arrived. If the police ever caught the long-firm manager, he would admit nothing, and go off to prison remembering the twins and his money safely banked in Switzerland.

  There was big money in these long-firm frauds. In 1962 they cleared over £100,000 from this source alone. Before long they and Leslie Payne were talking of something more ambitious – a complex chain of fraudulent companies incorporating his know-how and their power. From there real possibilities began.

  Payne had his own accountant, a pale, nervous man called Freddie Gore. He had originally kept the books at Esmeralda’s Barn. He was a clever man and it was something new for the twins to have the advice of a trained accountant for their schemes. Gore owned a dormant company called Carston Securities. Soon it was decided that the twins required a central company of their own. Carston was ideal. Gore handled all the paperwork, revived it as the Carston Trading Company, and appointed Payne one of its new directors. Payne knew it was no use running a seedy operation. Carston soon had a well-run central office, with a receptionist and secretaries, in Great Portland Street. It had a warehouse, too, together with a trading account with the Bank of Valletta. Its file of references was impressive. ‘The Carston Group of Companies’ was ready to take wing.

  It was a grandiose idea – a perfectly legitimate company to underpin a range of unconnected business frauds. It could be used to undertake all manner of deals, in England and abroad. Carston could easily become the twins’ route into any firm in Europe.

  The spring of 1963 was a good time for the twins as they started to enjoy their public image as cockney benefactors and friends of the famous, together with their parallel success as organizing criminals. Behind the drunkenness and the disorder of their lives appeared a real sense of purpose. Now was the moment when everything seemed to boost their power. Ronnie’s madness, Reggie’s gift with people, the hidden violence, the open generosity and all their contacts through their clubs, their charities, the underground of criminals and the freemasonry of homosexuals.

  Even their ancient love of boxing came in useful. That spring they made their bow as promoters, staging a bout between Ronnie’s friend and former fellow-prisoner, Bobby Ramsey, and wrestler Roy ‘Chopper’ Levecq. That evening by the ringside of Bethnal Green’s York Hall they sat like feudal chieftains with followers and friends and famous guests. They had three former world champions – Terry Downes, Ted ‘Kid’ Berg and Ted ‘Kid’ Lewis – in the audience. Also Councillor Hare. The local press gave the usual maximum publicity.

  Now that the twins were learning to manipulate the law, the press and the social world, it was inevitable that they should turn their attentions next to politicians. Ronnie had read enough of Al Capone to realize that politicians had their uses for the criminal, but the few he met at Esmeralda’s Barn or lunching at the House of Lords did not impress him. They smelled of trouble and he kept his distance. Now through their East End charities the twins were meeting a few MPs under different circumstances. Ronnie began to see that possibly Capone was right. Even in Britain it could be useful for a gangster to have a friend or two in the Mother of Parliaments.

  The man who impressed them both was Tom Driberg, Labour MP for Barking. They met him through Joan Littlewood, who brought him to their new club one night for a drink. Reggie was particularly agreeable and chatted for some while about the changing East End. Driberg found the twins interested in his work as an MP; when he attempted to explain how MPs often worked behind the scenes alleviating hardship, they were both sceptical. Reggie mentioned that he had been trying to get a friend of his, a local man, shifted from Dartmoor to a London prison on grounds of ill-health. If Mr Driberg were sincere, perhaps he would look into the case. As a conscientious MP with an interest in prison conditions, Driberg promised to make inquiries. The Home Office examined the case and the man was moved.

  For Driberg, this was one case among several hundred that he dealt with in a working year; for the twins it opened up an avenue of possibilities. Politicians had their uses which could be exploited; the twins were good at using human frailty to make men do as they were told. Quite suddenly they saw what could be done with a discreet gangsters’ lobby of carefully fixed members in either House; for Parliament is the one place where the criminal’s two main enemies – the police and prison services – are publicly accountable. Surprising things can be achieved behind the scenes by any member willing to put the right word at the right time to an obliging civil servant, and Driberg, who was immensely influential and corrupt, proved an invaluable ally of the twins. A future Chairman of the Labour Party, who found apotheosis in the House of Lords as Lord Bradwell-juxta-Mare, he was a pederast with a sophisticated taste in perversion, and a driving nostalgie de la boue. In return for his discreet support, Ronnie would always find him boys prepared for any performance he required.

  There was something quite uncanny about the twins’ success during the summer of 1963. Suddenly there seemed no limit to what they could achieve, and they had the confidence to match. Their protection rackets were expanding; the first long-firm frauds based on the Carston Group were ready to be milked. These were the 625 Centre, a radio and television business in the East End, and Dominion Refrigeration, a carefully built-up business in Brixton specializing in electrical goods. At the same time Payne and Gore were looking out for other business, some of it from overseas and some of it legitimate. America had shown how gangsters can invest their money in straight businesses; the twins were ready now to do the same. Reggie was anxious to buy betting shops, tobacconists and restaurants, and also a demolition business. His brightest idea was to take over a security firm specializing in the transport and protection of valuables. As he pointed out, this could
be done through front men they controlled; the Kray name would be the best protection a security firm could hope for.

  There were other ways in which the twins appeared intent on following the pattern of big organizing criminals in the United States. Ronnie had read about the way American crime syndicates brought in their gunmen from another city. He flew to Glasgow several times and, introduced by Big Pat Connolly, made an agreement with the leading Gorbals gang; later that summer two Scots flew down to Heathrow and shot a member of the Kray twins’ rival gang – the Richardsons – in the legs. Similar deals followed. The twins also started to expand outside London; again they found it simple to use their name as London gangsters to move in on racketeers in other towns. The secret was to know exactly whom to squeeze. Knowledge of this sort was Ronnie’s speciality. The favours and the endless drinking bouts with lesser villains were beginning to pay off. The twins found men anxious to work for them in the provinces; they took over two big clubs in Birmingham, another in Leicester and were soon organizing similar rackets to those in London. The formula of Kray power appeared universal.

  Although Esmeralda’s Barn was now losing money, they could afford to ignore it. ‘You worry too much. Worry’s for old women,’ Ronnie told the latest manager, and put his uncle, Alf Kray, in his place. Since Ronnie was bored with the Barn, he moved his headquarters to a hotel in Seven Sisters Road; this became the place where members of the Firm could sleep and drink and have their meetings. Then Ronnie felt they needed somewhere grander to entertain their followers and guests. The Cambridge Rooms, on the Kingston bypass, seemed exactly right – a big, pretentious restaurant close enough to London and the Surrey stockbroker belt. He interviewed the manager and made it plain that he would either ruin him or join him as his partner. In time he did both, but for a while The Cambridge Rooms became the focus for the twins’ success. They staged a gala night early that autumn to celebrate their takeover, a grand Kray-style demonstration of the sort they loved. Ronnie had persuaded Sonny Liston, heavyweight champion of the world, to come as guest of honour. A telephoned message of goodwill from Billy Daniels, the singer, was broadcast over the loudspeakers, straight from Hollywood. Guests included journalists and criminals and fresh celebrities the twins were trying to impress; everything was on the house.

  The high spot of the evening belonged to their mother. Recently the twins had bought her Solway Cross, a racehorse, for a thousand guineas – a touching gesture … but an unsuccessful horse. When Ronnie offered a ‘grand raffle for charity’, Violet gave Solway Cross as first prize. The horse was won by a comedian.

  Reggie got very drunk that night but still insisted on driving the world champion to the Dorchester in the Mercedes. Later, Liston said he was more frightened during that half hour with Reggie Kray at the wheel, than at any time in the ring.

  After his recent escapades it was inevitable that Ronnie should have been impressed by Ernest Shinwell. Shinwell, son of the distinguished Labour politician, dealt in dreams; his latest was to build a brand-new township costing several million pounds in the raw bush outside Enugu in Nigeria. The idea had possibilities: there had already been long conferences about it; the Nigerian government was interested; architects had been called in; Turif International, the construction company, had been consulted. But there were big financial difficulties: investors were wary of putting money into what was later to become Biafra and Ronnie soon appeared as one of Shinwell’s last hopes of drumming up support.

  There must have been misunderstanding on both sides. Shinwell was soon giving Ronnie the big treatment, lecturing him on Africa and promising fame and riches once the town was built. He took him to the House of Lords, where he introduced him to his father as a rich young businessman with an idealist’s interest in black Africa. Lord Shinwell seemed impressed; so was Ronnie. Suddenly Enugu was his dream city and he saw himself becoming the grand young man of Africa. Shinwell arranged for him to fly out to Nigeria; an official car was waiting at the airport and at the hotel there was a delegation of Nigerian ministers and top officials to meet this strange young Englishman who had come to build them a new city. For three days Ronnie was a VIP and guest of the Nigerian government. The Minister of Health personally assured Ronnie that he would have all the help his government could give. He saw the land earmarked for what was now ‘his’ city. When asked what he would like to see he asked to look round Enugu’s gaol.

  Once they were back in London, Payne quickly set up a subsidiary of Carston to handle the financing of the new scheme; Ronnie, believing in a new life round the corner, put down the deposit on a brand-new Rolls.

  It was a shade improbable: gangsters don’t build cities, nor do penurious African politicians hand out instant fortunes. The idea of the town was viable; all that it needed now was long-term money. But it would be many years before it made Ronnie Kray the white king of Enugu. He wanted instant profits, and had no capital of his own to invest. A Nigerian contractor demanded £5,000, which he claimed was due to him under agreement. Payne, who was in Enugu, found himself suddenly in gaol. In England the twins had to find the money to get their friend released. This was not difficult, but they felt angry and betrayed – Ronnie in particular. Greatness had seemed so close.

  Joe was a boxer and an old friend of the twins. He met Ronnie one night in a Fulham Road club just after his Nigerian hopes had folded; without knowing what had happened, he tried borrowing £5 – ‘With all that weight you’ve put on, Ron, you look as if you could afford it.’

  No one laughed: most people knew the signs when Ronnie was depressed. Ronnie said nothing, gulped his drink, called for his coat and left. He had his boy with him, his car outside ready to take him to The Cambridge Rooms for dinner. The car had reached the Kingston bypass when he changed his mind and told the driver to go back. Joe was still drinking at the bar.

  ‘I want a word with you in private.’

  ‘What about, Ron?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Everyone in the club was watching now as Joe followed Ronnie into the washroom. Joe did nothing to defend himself. Ronnie used his favourite knife. Joe did not cry out. When Ronnie had finished he paused to wash his hands and straighten his tie before walking back through the bar. His car was waiting outside and he told the driver he had better hurry or they’d be late for supper.

  When he had gone and the washroom door was opened, Joe was found in the corner, conscious and ‘with half his face beside him on the floor’. The surgeons at St Stephen’s Hospital used more than seventy stitches to sew it back in place. The police spent the whole night beside his bed waiting for him to talk.

  Reggie heard what had happened straight away. He said that Ronnie must be off his head to do a thing like that. The police were waiting to pin something on the twins; once Joe or any witness from the club talked to the police, Ronnie was finished.

  ‘You’d better make sure no one does talk, then,’ said Ronnie.

  No one did, although it took Reggie and the Firm the whole night checking who was in the club and making sure that everyone understood just what was good for him. Joe knew this of his own accord. The policeman by his bedside was unlucky.

  For a long while afterwards Joe was known as ‘Tramlines’ to his friends, and that autumn Ronnie forgot his politicians and his frauds and dreams of power to begin a brief and therapeutic splurge of sadism.

  The Jonathan affair came soon after Joe’s injury. Jonathan was a hard, good-looking little man, another old friend of the twins, and one night at the Barn the twins heard he had picked a fight with a young man who was the son of one of their allies. This was an indirect challenge. Jonathan should have known better. Reggie was for caution; Ronnie worked himself into a rage. There had to be a showdown. It was 3 A.M., but Ronnie rang Jonathan, saying there was something to discuss, and he would be grateful if he would take a taxi round to Wilton Place at once.

  The Barn was closing, the gaming-room almost empty. Ronnie was in the kitchen. Jonathan was shown in. Whe
n he saw Ronnie he tried to run. Somebody tripped him and the kitchen door slammed in his face. There was a sturdy kitchen chair; Jonathan found himself dumped in it and heard Ronnie tell his brother to hold him down. Then Ronnie took a steel knife-sharpener which he had placed in the gas flame. Three men remaining in the gaming-room heard muffled screams as Ronnie branded Jonathan along each cheek.

  Soon after this the twins left Esmeralda’s Barn for good; the gold-mine was in debt, the tax-man at the door. The twins had other things to worry them. Ronnie was becoming dangerous again; Reggie was doing his lame best to keep him in control. This was hard. Sometimes he found himself involved in the excitement and needed all his strength to remind himself of where the twins’ true interests lay.

  Left to himself Ronnie would destroy all they had created. All he could think of was his enemies; all that he wanted was to murder them. Half-drugged or drunk, he spent his time trying to decide who was against him.

  In Nigeria he had been fascinated by reports of the bestialities of the local Leopard Men. He began studying them, keeping the pictures of their mangled victims carefully mounted in his scrapbook, ‘their livers and hearts removed’, according to the caption, ‘to make magic medicine’.

  One night at The Kentucky he was drinking with two boys. One of them asked how he would like to suffer the sort of pain that he inflicted. Instead of answering, he took out his favourite knife and slowly sliced across his own hand. Someone had to drive him to hospital to have it stitched.

  Reggie’s chief problem was to keep Ronnie away from the police. Argument was useless. Much time that he could ill afford seemed to be spent in keeping him amused. Business began to suffer. There was the perpetual fear that Ronnie would land everyone in some appalling situation.

  Ronnie’s depressions were the greatest hazard; afterwards his nightmares started and he could easily go berserk. Reggie did all he could to keep him happy. There were his boys and there was drink; after sufficient gin or brown ale, Ronnie could forget his troubles and doze away safely in the big four-poster he had bought for Cedra Court. He also needed people round him, especially since he now enjoyed meeting celebrities. The parties started.