John Thomas Straffen was committed to Broadmoor in 1951 for killing two little girls. He escaped for a brief period in 1952 and murdered five-year-old Linda Bowyer. Straffen died in November 2007, having earned himself the distinction of becoming the UK’s longest-serving inmate.
Ian Brady, of course, was also incarcerated alongside Ronnie, as well as child rapist James Saunders. Nicknamed ‘The Wolfman’, he escaped for the second time in 1991 after sawing through a 1-inch steel bar in a shower room on the third floor of his wing, and running off, presumably howling into the night.
Meeting Ronnie was my one and only chance to find out why he had been considered suitably ‘insane’ to earn the maximum-security rating of Broadmoor. Of course, he had, or had had, an anti-social personality disorder of sorts, but even the medical staff at Broadmoor struggled hard to determine exactly what made up this ‘disorder’. Fumbling around, they labelled him ‘psychotic’ and a ‘sociopath’. The doctors say that Ronnie Kray had been a threat to society and, despite all the treatment they could offer, they were sure that he would re-offend should he be set free.
However, his conduct, while at Broadmoor, was exemplary. While he may had some personality defects, there wasn’t a blot in his book, and never once did he lose his temper, threaten other patients or members of staff. Indeed, Ronnie Kray was the perfect gent. And it was this perfect gent that I met when he sat down next to me, clicked his fingers to a guard, and ordered that Diet Coke. Just as in a fine restaurant, the response was, ‘Certainly, Mr Kray.’
Hoxton was so far down the social scale it was even frowned upon by people from other deprived parts of East London. Traditionally, the only ways of escaping its poverty were either through boxing or crime – and often both.
Reggie and Ronnie Kray were born ten minutes apart late on 24 October 1933, at Stene Street, Hoxton. Their father, 26-year-old Charles David ‘Charlie’ Kray Sr, was a wardrobe dealer who persuaded people to sell him clothes, silver and gold for resale at a profit. He was a gambler and spendthrift who had little influence on the twins’ upbringing. He was a deserter during World War II, and on the run from the police for 12 years, and was therefore rarely at home.
The twins’ mother was 23-year-old Violet Lee. The couple already had a six-year-old son, also called Charlie, who was born in 1926. A sister, Violet, born in 1920, had died in infancy; the family’s heritage was a combination of Irish, Jewish and Romany descent, a mixed genetic cocktail indeed.
Throughout their childhood, Violet was the dominant figure in the twins’ lives. She doted on them, always taking care to treat them with scrupulous equality. She herself had come from a very strict family upbringing. Violet’s teetotal father, John Lee, always insisted that his three daughters had to be in by 9.00pm every evening. And so, when she was just 17, she eloped to marry Charlie Kray, whereupon her father disowned her.
After giving birth to Charlie, the twins’ elder brother, Violet started to see her parents occasionally. But it was only after the arrival of the twins, who rapidly established themselves as his favourite grandchildren that she was allowed to visit her father’s house on a regular basis. The boys first attended Wood Close School and the Daneford Street School and, in 1939, the family moved to 178 Vallance Road, Bethnal Green.
Of the two, Reggie was slightly brighter and more outgoing than his twin brother. Even at an early age, he found it easier than Ronnie to talk to people. Ronnie found ways to compensate, though – either by sulking or screaming to gain attention, or trying to out-do his twin in over-blown displays of love for their mother.
According to their teachers, Reggie and Ronnie were ‘salt of the earth, and never the slightest trouble to anyone who knew how to handle them. If there was anything to be done at school, they’d be utterly cooperative… they’d always be the first to help. Nothing was too much trouble.’
Each twin would pay close attention to every move the other made. Fiercely loyal to each other, they were also the greatest of rivals. If one started a fight, the other had to join in. And it was to fighting that both would eventually turn. The influence of their grandfather, John ‘Southpaw Cannonball’ Lee, led both lads into amateur boxing, which was at that time a popular working-class pursuit for boys in the East End. By 1946, they were feared competitors and are said never to have lost a bout before turning professional at age 28.
Regaling the twins with his tales of bare-knuckle fighting in Hackney’s Victoria Park, Grandad Lee was one of the great east London characters of the inter-war years. He fought as a featherweight and had one of the hardest left-handed punches in his class. He also possessed a huge repertoire of showman tricks, which included licking a white-hot poker and walking along a line of bottles balanced upside down on their tops. Even as an old man, he kept himself fit, punching an old mattress hung up in his back yard and, on one occasion, cycling the 42 miles to Southend for a family party at the age of 75. He died aged 98 and, to Ronnie, he was simply ‘the most amazing man I’ve ever met’.
But the twins’ big problem was an inability to confine their violence to the ring. Amid the devastation of the Blitz, on the bomb sites and in burned-out buildings, they fought rival gangs of boys, and quickly earned a reputation as the toughest of scrappers. Rapidly they were learning the art of survival, which included outwitting the forces of law and order, and making the most of their passion for fighting.
So, all of the social, physical and psychological ingredients had been put in place for the Kray twins to become hardened villains from the day they were born. They came from an impoverished background; they had an absentee father, and a doting mother who came from a strict household. Her twins became effectively the sons the bare-knuckle fighter had always wanted, yet denied him by the gift of three daughters.
Despite her eventual reconciliation with her father, Violet was determined that her children would be raised in a kind and loving environment, in complete contrast to her father’s harsh regime. As a result, and despite the toughness of the area they inhabited, Reggie and Ronnie experienced a comparatively sheltered upbringing during their early years.
There is no doubt that the Kray twins adored their mother, and they continued to show their respect for her until her death in early August 1982, by always stopping off at their Aunt Rose’s house next door to clean up before presenting themselves to their mother.
This, I think, says a lot for the Kray twins, and when I met Ronnie in Broadmoor, he’d clearly made an effort with the spit and polish. Not to impress me, but this was how he had been raised to be by his mum; her old-fashioned values had been firmly imprinted on her sons, who would always look after her, and themselves, in any way they could.
The Kray twins’ first serious brush with the Old Bill came in 1950, when they beat up a 16-year-old fellow East Ender in a Hackney alleyway. Two witnesses saw the fight and named the Krays as the attackers. Their evidence was supported by the roughed-up victim, and the twins were remanded in custody for trial at the Old Bailey.
Before the trial took place, however, both the witnesses and the victim were threatened, a reminder that giving evidence against the twins was an unwise move. The case was rapidly dismissed for lack of evidence. It was a valuable lesson for Ronnie and Reggie; the power of threats backed up by violence proved how easy it was to escape justice by instilling the fear of God into anyone who crossed them.
A year later, in the summer of 1951, the 18-year-old twins were standing outside a café on the Bethnal Green Road, when a police officer pushed Ronnie in the back and told him to move along. Ronnie turned round and punched the officer in the mouth, knocking him to the pavement. The lads made their escape, but Ronnie was arrested within the hour.
Although Reggie had nothing to do with the original incident, he felt he had let his brother down badly. As a matter of honour, he returned to the Bethnal Green Road in search of the policeman Ronnie had hit. When he found him, he tapped him on the shoulder. As the officer turned around, Reggie slammed his fist into the
man’s jaw, laying him out for the second time that afternoon. A few days later, the twins appeared before a magistrate. But with a local priest speaking on their behalf, they escaped with nothing more than probation.
In the spring of 1952, the twins received their National Service call-up papers, requiring them to join the Royal Fusiliers at the Tower of London. Post-war National Service had a significant effect on many people, and on society and culture as a whole. Some National Servicemen went on to become celebrities – Bill Wyman of The Rolling Stones played rock ’n’ roll while stationed in Germany. Authors Leslie Thomas, David Lodge and David Findlay Clark wrote books based on their experiences – The Virgin Soldiers, and Ginger You’re Barmy, for example. Actor Oliver Reed, comedian Tony Hancock and Hancock’s writers Ray Galton and Alan Simpson developed their talents during conscription.
On the other hand, National Service interrupted some men’s careers. For example John Clark, a former child actor, was tired of ubiquitous recognition and feared mockery in the armed forces, so he worked in the merchant navy on a Silver Line freighter for over three years. And the Krays reckoned that National Service would interfere with their budding careers, too.
A few hours into their army career, the twins turned and walked towards the door. A corporal asked where they were going. ‘Home,’ they replied, ‘We’re going to see our mother.’ The corporal caught hold of Ronnie’s arm. Ronnie punched him on the jaw, knocking him out, and strolled out, along with his brother.
The following morning, the army came and collected them, and they returned without a struggle to their barracks, where they were sentenced to seven days in the guardroom.
They immediately decided to desert again. In the guardroom, they met Dickie Morgan, a former Borstal boy from Mile End. As soon as their seven days were up, the three of them walked out of the Tower and headed straight for Morgan’s home near London’s docklands.
If the army couldn’t tame the Kray twins, nobody could, and now, for the first time, the twins encountered a world where crime was regarded as a way of life. Through Morgan, they began to drink in clubs and bars frequented by criminals – much like Kenny Noye had done – and by the time the army caught up with them once again, they had opted to forgo the possibilities of boxing for a life of full-time villainy.
From that day on, the army and the law actively aided them. A month in Wormwood Scrubs (for assaulting a policeman) and nine months at the Shepton Mallet Military Prison (for striking an NCO and going absent without leave) only served to introduce them to a wider range of criminals from across the country.
With their sentences completed, the army discharged the twins, leaving them with the problems of earning a living. They spent a large part of the day in the Regal Snooker Hall in Mile End. The place had seen better days – gangs had their fights there, fireworks were thrown at the manager’s Alsatian, the baize on the tables was slashed. When the manager resigned, Reggie and Ronnie stepped in with the offer of renting the hall for £5 a week.
Immediately, the trouble stopped. As Reggie later explained, ‘It was very simple – the punters, the local tearaways, knew that if there was any trouble, if anything got broken, Ron and I would simply break their bones.’
Apart from maintaining order, it is to their credit that the twins redecorated the hall, moved in 14 second-hand tables and began to earn reasonable money. Their aim, however, was not merely to secure an income. With the Regal, they had found themselves an operating base. One of their first tasks was to see off threats from potential rivals. When a Maltese gang appeared to demand protection money, the twins went after them with knives, and word started to circulate about the newest arrivals in the East End underworld.
With a headquarters and a growing band of regulars who found the twins’ patronage useful, the two Krays started to flaunt their violence. In the late evenings, Ronnie would frequently stand up and announce it was time for a raid. Then, accompanied by Reggie and a crowd of followers, he would set off for a pub, dance hall or club to engineer a brawl. At the same time, small-time crooks began to find the Regal a useful place to meet and discuss and plan possible ventures.
The twins also began to operate protection rackets – ‘nipping and pensions’ as they were known – whereby pubs, cafés, illegal gambling joints and bookies would be obliged to hand over goods or money in return for protection from rival gangs.
But although the income had begun to flow in on a regular basis, the twins were still very much local villains, criminals from the East End who worked the East End. If they were going to break out from their ghetto, they needed an introduction to the wider world of organised crime in the West End.
In 1955, now aged just 22, it appeared as if their break had finally arrived. The joint bosses of the London underworld were two men called Billy Hill and Jack Comer, better known as ‘Jack’ and ‘Spot’. Between them, they had overseen the West End’s drinking, gambling, prostitution and protection rackets for more than a decade. But they fell out with each other and, after being badly cut up in a fight, Spot decided he needed some extra muscle. He called on the Krays.
Jack Comer… Jacob Colmore… John Colmore… Jacob Comacho… he was known by a multitude of names. However, ‘Jack Spot’ was his common title, with him claiming it was because he was always on the spot when trouble needed sorting. More prosaically, it was said to be a childhood alias given for the mole on his cheek.
Born on Friday, 12 April 1912 in Whitechapel’s Myrdle Street, Spot was the son of Polish immigrants, his brother a tailor and his sister a dressmaker. But if his siblings took a predictable route for young immigrants, Spot was after better money.
At 15, he became a bookie’s runner, then a year later he hooked up with a man running protection rackets on the Sunday morning stalls in Petticoat Lane. Times were tight, and the stallholders’ main concern was to prevent new traders moving in and diluting their takings. Quickly showing his aptitude for gangland procedure, Spot managed to fall out with his senior partner, fought him, and took the protection business for himself, emerging as the self-styled ‘King of Aldgate’.
He went into partnership with East End bookie Dutch Barney, then took a more direct route, acting as lookout and minder to a successful housebreaker. Arrested and admitting to 40 offences, he was merely bound over. No doubt amazed by his luck, Spot went back to bookmaking.
They say the bookie never loses – Spot made sure he didn’t. If he had a bad day at the course, he’d be off before the punters came to collect their winnings, and supplemented his takings with a fairground con called ‘Take a Pick’, where punters paid sixpence (2.5p) to pull a straw from a cup. Lucky winners (and there were few) won a piece of tat, while Spot pocketed £40 a day. Amazingly, he continued to operate successfully at the racetracks for some time, relying on the never-ending supply of mug punters, backed up by the unspoken threat of violence. Taking his ‘Pick’ game back to Petticoat Lane, he would make £50 on a good day.
In addition to the reputation he was garnering as a hard-man villain, a major part of the Jack Spot mythology centres on his protection of Jewish shopkeepers from the Blackshirts on their marches down Brick Lane. His status as friend and protector to East End Jews is certainly partly true – but he did charge the shopkeepers £10 a time. Nonetheless, it did the trick, and stallholders would be queuing up to donate money to Spot’s ‘Market Traders’ Association’; in fact, it was just another protection racket.
After a brief stint of war service in the Royal Artillery, he returned first to the East End and then west, to where the real money was. After a fight in the Edgware Road, and fearing imprisonment, he fled north. He worked as a minder around Leeds and Newcastle, helping up-and-coming gangsters beat or intimidate the old guard out of their nightclubs, gambling dens or racecourse pitches.
Back in London in the late 1940s, Spot ran the Botolph Club in Aldgate, pocketing £3,000 a week from illegal gambling. More romantically, he now saw himself as ‘the Robin Hood of the East End’, t
ravelling to Leeds, Manchester or Glasgow to beat up villains who threatened Jewish businesses. He even claimed that rabbis would advise their frightened people to call on his services. And he was still making a fortune from the races, meeting anyone who crossed him with instant and savage retribution.
The White family, who had run betting at the major southern courses for years, were harassed, attacked with knives, bottles, machetes and, finally, routed in a fight at Haringey Arena. The date was 9 July 1947. Now in partnership with gangster Billy Hill, all serious opposition had been crushed, but now Billy Hill and Jack Spot had fallen out, and this was an invitation the twins had been waiting for – and immediately they embarked on large-scale preparations for a gang war with Spot’s enemies. They collected weapons, called up their own band of ‘Merry Men’ and established a base in Vallance Road.
They heard that the opposition was meeting in a pub near Islington. After assembling their army at the Regal, the twins set off for north London. When they arrived, they found the place empty – Billy Hill had got wind of the impending battle and ordered his men to pull out.
What old-timers such as Spot and Billy Hill had long since learned was that power was wielded not through violence itself but by the credible threat of violence. The twins dealt in the real thing. Frustrated by the Islington fiasco, they sought a confrontation elsewhere, and they chose a social club in Clerkenwell Road which was the headquarters of a gang of Italians. ‘We were fearless in those days. Fighting was our game. When he got bored we would go to a dance hall or pub, just looking for a bit of bother,’ Reggie stated.
Arriving shortly after 10.00pm, Ronnie entered alone and challenged the men inside to a fight. A bottle was thrown at his head, but no one said anything. In response, he pulled out a Mauser and fired three shots into a wall. Still no one reacted, so Ronnie turned around and walked out.
Gangland UK Page 7
