by Linda Calvey
Chapter 20
Barrel of A Gun
1985
By now, I was involved in most of the raids, either as a driver or toting a gun. One of my tricks was to keep a shopping trolley in the boot of the car. When the boys came rushing out with the money, they’d throw the bag into my trolley. I’d cover it with my bag or a jacket, or a loaf of bread and some groceries. With the stolen cash hidden, I’d walk casually past the store they had raided, where all hell would be breaking loose. Shoppers would be standing around helplessly, getting in the way of the members of staff rushing around and frantically calling the police.
I’d wander up, pushing the trolley, pretending I was an innocent bystander.
“Oh My God, what’s happened?” I’d ask. “Oh my God, it’s a robbery, did you see anybody?” This was the perfect way to discover if anything could link us to the crime.
No one ever gave me a second look. I’d stand there looking shocked, and all the while the loot would be hidden under my large handbag. I was bold as brass. To me, that money was insured, so no-one was hurt by us taking what wasn’t ours. The banks or post offices could claim that money back, and no-one got hurt. It didn’t occur to me that pointing a shotgun at a counter assistant, or shoving a security guard to the floor with the end of a sawn-off gun in his face, could have a traumatic impact. It didn’t occur to me that I was putting my life and my children’s world at risk. I was too clever, too careful for that.
Sometimes we even had help from the public. I was the driver on one post office job that we’d been planning for a while. As we sat in the van outside the target on the outskirts of London, an old lady walked in just as we were about to jump out.
“Oh God, she looks like my nan,” Carl said. “We can’t go in until she’s out of the way.”
“We need someone to take hostage,” Brian countered. “We can’t wait all day for the perfect person to turn up.”
“I really don’t want to take her,” Carl protested. He was spooked. We were determined to do this job, as we’d taken the time to plan it properly, watching it for weeks to discover when the fewest people would be there. Fewer people inside meant an easier raid.
But we were all becoming jittery now. “It’ll have to be her. Just tell her you won’t hurt her.”
Finally, after another couple of minutes, which seemed to drag on for hours, the men pulled on their balaclavas and ran in. I sat in the car, glancing in my mirrors constantly. Eventually they crashed back out, threw open the back doors and leapt back in, which was my cue to put my foot down. The bag was full of money.
“I wish we knew where that old dear lived, to put a couple of grand through her letterbox!” Brian shouted.
“What happened in there?” I asked as we sped away.
Carl’s face was screwed up with laughter. “We ran in, Brian shouted ‘Give him the money or the old nanny gets it’!”
“We didn’t want to frighten her, though,” said Brian, “so I put my arm round her, and whispered, ‘Darlin’, I wouldn’t hurt ya,’ and d’ya know what she said?” He was grinning on the back seat like a maniac. “She said ‘That’s alright, boy.’ Then she turned to the post office worker and demanded, ‘Give these boys the money, they must be ’ard up. Why are ya only puttin’ fivers in the bag? Give them the money’.” Brian was nearly crying with laughter. “Can you Adam and Eve it?”
I couldn’t believe it either. Sometimes, our “work” felt like an Ealing comedy. There was one post office on Ben Jonson Road that we successfully robbed three weeks running, as it came out that the cashiers had been pocketing money for themselves every time we held them up. Another time, Brian and Carl turned up to rob a South-East London security van and found some boys from North London already there, balaclavas on and guns in hand. Brian, being the gentleman he was, said, “You lads do this one.” There was a code among the robbers. It was like a private members’ club. They all knew and respected one another.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Oh my God, who’s that?” I said, as my brother Tony followed me into the hall from his bedroom in the flat in Harpley Square. I’d asked Tony if I could come to his early one Saturday morning for “discussions” with Brian and Carl. What I omitted to say was that we would be going from there to rob the post office on Globe Road. We had targeted it weeks ago and had been staking it out, looking for weaknesses, when it was busy or quiet, when the security van appeared.
Brian and Carl had set off already, and the raid would most likely be underway. I was jittery, pacing about the hallway, waiting to let them in, when the commotion started.
“Open up! Armed police!”
Nervously, I crept to the door to open it.
“FREEZE! GET DOWN!”
I was shoved back roughly, thrown to the floor by a police officer holding a shotgun. I hit my head as I fell.
“Police!”
I looked up and realised I was staring into the barrel of a gun. A tall policeman was standing over me, holding the weapon to my face, over my left eye. I felt utterly violated, and completely helpless.
“Oh my God, what are you doin’?” I screamed in real terror.
“What is this?” Tony stammered, a look of horror spreading over his face.
“POLICE! GET DOWN!”
“What for?” I shouted. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins, along with a feeling of unspeakable horror. The copper ignored me. All the excitement from the raid blew up inside me and I started to shriek uncontrollably. I was hysterical.
“Go on, shoot me, just like you shot my husband!” I screamed manically. “Or am I facing the wrong way?” Nothing was going to stop me once I’d started. I could hear Tony shouting at me to stop, to shut up, but I was beside myself. All the rage, all the hurt and grief came pouring out.
“Oh very clever, aren’t you?” sneered the copper. “Just wait till you’re all nicked.” He turned to two of his crew. “Search the flat.”
The two juniors put their guns down and headed into the bedroom. Tony’s wife had also appeared at the doorway, looking as shocked as I felt.
“Stay where you are!” the officer commanded.
It wasn’t long before they found what they were looking for, but I’d never before seen the bag they held up. It was huge, bulging with money and bank books. The officer who’d found it took a look inside.
“I reckon there’s about seventy grand in ’ere,” he whistled.
“Seventy grand?” I was confused and, by now, shaking from head to toe.
“That money’s mine!” interjected Tony indignantly.
“I may not ’ave paid me tax, but those are my savin’s for my wedding cruise.”
We were all taken to the nick. Brian and Carl had been arrested, surrounded by armed police, at the site of the robbery, and we were all thrown into cells to await our fate.
Brian and Carl were charged with Conspiracy to Rob and Robbery, while Tony and his wife Sandra (neither of whom had anything to do with it) and I were charged with Robbery.
I barely noticed what was happening. My head was reeling and something had shifted inside me. I’d thought of gun-toting as a victimless crime, because I would never have actually shot anyone. But I now realised the sheer terror I’d inflicted upon people during all the robberies we’d committed. As I sat there in a cell that stank of urine, waiting for the appointed solicitor to visit me, I had plenty of time to think. That was the first time I’d ever thought of our crimes beyond the material riches and the emotional highs. Staring into that gun, feeling the heightened fear and terrible panic, I saw what we’d done more clearly than ever. Because we never took anything personal – only insured money from security vans and post offices - we thought that we could justify it.
I have always been someone who would run after an old nan who had dropped a £1 note. If I’d seen someone stepping out of a Rolls and dropping their
wallet, I’d return their money, because that was theirs and I had no right to take it. Companies and banks had seemed different. But now the reality of our crimes was hitting home. There were people on the receiving end of our exploits. I couldn’t deny it any longer, because I’d experienced it too.
There was no going back. I will never, ever do an armed robbery again, I vowed to myself. I didn’t care that I was sitting in a cold, grey cell, on a concrete shelf that also acted as a bed, listening to Brian’s shouts from down the corridor. I didn’t care what happened to me, because I knew in that moment I was bang to rights. I deserved to go to prison for what I’d done. I thought of my children, and that’s when I felt like collapsing. Their lives had been affected already by the death of their father, and suddenly their mum was gone too. I knew that someone would step in and take in Mel and Neil, even just for the night, until I knew what my fate would be, but it didn’t stop the terrible knowledge that I’d failed them completely.
I didn’t know it, but Brian and Carl were doing a deal with the police as I sat in my cell, offering to own up to other robberies and clear the books to get me a reduced sentence. Why they did that for me I’ll never know. Men have always wanted to protect me or look after me. My sisters joke they are jealous of me, but it’s been a fact of my life. I’ve always liked men. My dad called me and my sisters his Charlie’s Angels, and the male sex always seem to have known that I like their company. I’ve lost count of the times men have offered to whisk me away, to treat me and pamper me.
I got unconditional bail – unheard of for such a serious crime – and all because of my men. Brian and Carl were sent to Brixton Prison, Carl in the ordinary wing and Brian on the Category A side, and for the year leading up to our court case, I visited Brian in between my ongoing visits to Ron.
I didn’t have the guts to tell Ron what had happened. I kept putting it off, telling him everything was fine, and smiling sweetly, assuring him I was still “his” each time I went. Unbelievably, he bought every word, though it was all a pack of lies.
My promises to Mickey burned on my brain. I’d done wrong over and over again. It wasn’t fun or exciting any longer. It was menacing and all too real. Staring up the barrel of a gun traumatised me deeply. It gave me a taste of my own medicine. I knew I was going to prison, and I knew I had to face whatever was coming with as much dignity as I could.
Later, we discovered that it was Brian’s wife who had blown our cover. She had hired a private detective, as she suspected her husband was having an affair, which, of course, he was – with me. I’d known about her as well, but I’d justified it by telling myself I was with Ron as far as things were, and Brian had a wife, so we were even and we knew neither of us would leave our partners. Me because I couldn’t, him because he still loved her deep down. It turned out that the detective had watched me and Brian for several days and seen us do a raid in Hornchurch a few days earlier. He called the police straight away, and we had all been under surveillance ever since.
While I was on bail prior to our trial, I went to see Ron. He was in Frankland, a Category A men’s jail in Durham. I was frightened of seeing him, and terrified of stepping inside that formidable place. I scuttled like a mouse through the searches, into the visiting room that looked much the same as all the others I’d been to in my time.
I confessed to Ron that I was in trouble. I’d been caught doing robberies with Brian, and it wasn’t looking good.
Ron exploded. “That no-good cunt!” he raved. “I asked him to look after you, and he’s gone and got you nicked!”
I didn’t like to remind Ronnie that my first court appearance was one I’d taken in his place, when I’d taken the blame for the money he had had stored at Nita’s.
On one of my visits to Brian he introduced me to a man called Danny Reece. I’d been leaving fruit and treats at reception for Brian, as prisoners on remand were allowed to have food sent in. He asked me if I would see Danny as well, as he didn’t appear to have any visitors. Danny was a dangerous man. He was inside for multiple crimes, and the first time I set eyes on him in the visiting room – two screws behind me, another two walking in with Danny and Brian – I was struck by how strong he looked, and how tough. He had a shaved head, tattoos and was a stocky build with dark hair.
“Listen, I’m no charity case, ya don’t ’ave to get me out of my cell,” he said, looking at Brian and me.
Brian laughed at that. “Linda, he’s as soft as anythin’, he’s just puttin’ on a front for ya.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, taking off my fur coat.
Danny turned out to need particular support that year, because his eldest son was run over and killed while Danny was behind bars. He didn’t know exactly where he’d been buried, but had the name of the cemetery. It was the same one where Mickey had been laid to rest. I promised him I’d put flowers on his son’s grave each time I was down there, and Danny was immensely grateful for that kindness. I came to see him and Brian regularly over the course of that year leading up to my trial.
As for Brian, I owed so much to him already. He was trying to save my backside, though we both knew he could only secure leniency for me, not absolution. I would sit in the horrible visiting room, wondering if Ron would find out I was there. It broke my heart to see Brian sitting behind that table, with screwed-down chairs and drab prison clothes. The place stank of male sweat, and Brian’s face was grey.
Before I could speak, he leant across the table and spoke in a low voice. “Listen, ya know when ya go to trial, it’ll come out about me and you. I will tell you now: Ron always said to me, even if you did stay with him while he was away, he would kill your son Neil when he came out. I didn’t want to tell ya, but I’ve got to.”
“Oh my God. Did he really?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I thought that by visitin’ Ron, I was keeping my boy safe.”
Brian shook his head. The sight of it chilled me to the bone. “I’ve confessed to 21 armed robberies, so I’m not goin’ to be around to protect ya when Ron comes out. You’ve got to start thinking what you’re goin’ to do.”
At that point, the screw told us visiting time was over. I was in shock, and wanted to say more, but I was ushered away. As I looked over my shoulder, Brian was being led away, and my whole world, my protection, the loveliest, kindest man since I’d known my Mickey, couldn’t help me anymore. I was alone again.
I’d been to court to support Ron on the days his family weren’t there, and I’d been countless times for Mickey, but this was different. It was my turn. My case came to trial, along with Tony and Sandra, at Southwark Crown Court, a brick Brutalist building that couldn’t have looked more foreboding if it tried. Walking into the dock was surreal. Part of me didn’t feel it was really happening. I glanced around the small courtroom: wooden walls at one end, a large crest decorating the wall above the judge’s head, the jury at the side, the barristers directly in front of me. My defence lawyer gave me a small nod and I took my stand.
I was pleading Not Guilty, so it would go to trial. I was lying under oath this time, but I had my children to think of, there was no way I could risk being found guilty and being banged up for years. What would Neil and Mel do if I was put away?
My defence lawyer hadn’t been optimistic, and I knew I didn’t really have a leg to stand on. I was terrified. I told the court I had been forced to do the robbery – a story Brian and I had concocted during a visit to him at Brixton Prison during the year before our case came to trial – but I knew that once our affair became common knowledge, my story wouldn’t stand up. By now I was desperate, and willing to say anything to avoid jail and keep my children by my side.
Naturally, it didn’t work. Sandra was found not guilty, as was right, but Tony and I weren’t so lucky. Brian had been given 21 years for multiple robberies, while Carl landed 14. Brian C got three for his part in it all. The court room had been shocked. They were long s
entences in those days, and it demonstrated how severely the presiding Judge Edwards condemned our actions. As Brian passed me, being led down to start his two-decade-long stretch, I tried to make him feel better. I whispered “A mere bagatelle, you’ll be able to do it standin’ on your head.” I wanted to cheer him up, tell him that he’d breeze through his incarceration, but when he looked at me I saw anger rise for the first time in our relationship. Later, he confessed, it was the first time he’d ever wanted to hit me.
All the men tried to play down my part in our crimes. Brian told the court he’d made me do it. Carl said the same. They were both fantastic, offering themselves up for judgement and trying to help me out of the fix we were in, but the jury saw through them and found me guilty anyway. My face froze when I heard the judgement. I stared at those people who had just condemned my children to losing their mother for years, and I just blinked. I felt nothing. Tony and I held hands as we stood there, as the judge spoke. Here was my brother, who I’d unwittingly involved in our plot by virtue of just being in his house. When the judge gave him nine years, I almost fainted. He squeezed my hand as if to tell me it was ok, he didn’t blame me, but I didn’t think I could ever forgive myself.
Then the judge came to me. You could have heard a pin drop in that court. The reporters were leaning over their benches, my friends and family hushed. I thought I might die, or faint, on the spot.
“I’ve listened to everything in this trial,” he began, “and I cannot prove what I am about to say. I believe that instead of being a small cog in this operation, you were in fact, the whole machine.”
I blinked again. How on earth did this man know? He was right, of course, I planned everything. Without me there would’ve been no robberies. Yet how could this man, this judge, possibly know?
“I believe that you, Linda Calvey, were in charge of all these men who have tried to sacrifice themselves for you.”
My head was spinning in terror. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
