It had been a lovely visit, as always. We were sitting around, and knew time was nearly up. Just as we were getting around to goodbyes, the screw from the lectern waltzed over and banged his hand down on to the table. ‘Time!’ he shouted, his hand pressed on the tabletop.
Dad didn’t look up, but nonchalantly moved his eyes to the screw’s hand. ‘All right, guv’nor,’ said Dad, his voice steady, quiet and cold.
The screw walked back to his perch in the corner.
Calmly, Dad looked across to Ronnie. They held each other’s gaze a few seconds, and in those moments there was a flicker of electricity between them. Neither of them said a word, but there was the subtlest change in atmosphere around the table, an eerie calm. I didn’t know what this meant, but Mum did, it seemed. ‘Fred,’ she said, looking worried. ‘Don’t you…’
‘Don’t worry, it’s all right,’ he said, still calm, still measured.
Time was well and truly up now. All the other visitors had filed out of the room. It was just us and the rest of the screws, but Dad didn’t move a muscle. Sure enough, the same screw started walking towards us again.
‘We should go,’ said Mum, gathering up the flask and lunchboxes.
‘Just stay there,’ said Dad. ‘No need to go just yet.’
‘I told you. Time!’ said the screw, his hand coming down on the table three times. Bang, bang, bang.
Dad ignored him and smiled at me. ‘Come here and give me a little cuddle,’ he said. I smiled back.
‘I thought I told you, Foreman,’ shouted the screw, his face reddening. ‘Time!’
‘I told you, I’m coming,’ said Dad, calm as anything. He didn’t raise his voice one bit. ‘Come on, time to go,’ he added, smiling at us.
We stood up and moved towards the door, Dad with his arms on my shoulders. We got outside, and Dad gave Mum a kiss and a hug. The same routine as always, yet something felt strange. It was as if Dad was a little bit removed from the situation, like there was something else on his mind as he went through the motions of saying goodbye. In the middle of whatever we were saying, Dad broke off suddenly.
‘Hang on,’ he said quietly, ‘I won’t be a second.’
With that, he walked back into the visiting room. Mum looked a bit alarmed, so Ronnie took her arm a second and smiled. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. Then he went after Dad.
Ronnie must have known something I didn’t. All I knew was Mum looked worried and Dad was back in the visiting room for some reason. I walked over to the door and peered into the room. On one side there were three or four wardens. Ron was looking at them but they all seemed to be looking the other way. I’ll never forget the scene that met my eyes.
Dad had gone to the front of the lectern, grabbed the guard by his collar and dragged him across the desk with one arm until their faces were level. The cocky bastard who, moments ago, had been banging his fist and barking orders was now hanging over his desk, my dad’s finger in his face, and begging for mercy.
‘I’m sorry, Foreman, I’m sorry,’ he pleaded, his arms flailing around while Dad quietly laid down the law.
I crept forward enough to hear my dad saying, ‘If you ever talk to me like that in front of my family again, I’ll break your fucking jaw.’
Even I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.
‘I’m apologising, I’m sorry,’ the screw kept repeating. He looked petrified, desperate to calm my dad down.
Perhaps the other screws thought Dad had a point and that the screw had what was coming to him, or were scared of interfering with my dad in full flow – maybe both – for they did nothing to try to stop what was happening. Even so, Ronnie was there to mind my dad’s back. They all just looked the other way as Dad seemed about to go to work.
I was transfixed, my mouth agape at the scene. I’d never seen Dad really lose it before, and it was an awesome spectacle. I was frozen, fascinated, shocked and proud, all at the same time. I wondered if Dad was about to take things further. Was he about to lay this odious, objectionable man out?
The answer was no, thankfully. After a few more strong words, Dad threw the bloke back into his chair as easily as you’d brush off a fly, then calmly walked back to where I was waiting. I took one more look at the screw slumped in his chair. He was a different man. Instead of pulling him from his perch to the floor, Dad had dragged him over it, bringing their eyes to the same level, literally showing the screw that he could not talk down to my dad. Then, when done, he’d shoved him back up to his position of authority and made a mockery of it. Before, the screw had been puffed up with self-importance and power, above us all at his lectern. Now he looked weak, defeated. Pathetic. It was the last time I ever saw him. On our next visit a new – very polite – guard was sitting at the lectern.
Then Dad was back with us, breathing just a little harder and licking his slightly curled lips. I would see that face many times again over the years, but it was that day I learned to read the signs.
After a couple of minutes, Dad cracked a smile and gave us a hug. The storm had passed.
‘Just like the old days, Freddie,’ smiled Ronnie, and they had a bit of a giggle about it. Ronnie would not have hesitated in risking getting nicked to help my dad. The sense of loyalty my father commanded was earned because he had shown the same to his friends all his life. It was and is an unimpeachable code of honour.
‘I’m going to have murders over him,’ said Dad with a grin. ‘Still…’
I’d read about my dad’s reputation, and now I’d been given a taste of how powerful he could be, and how suddenly he could switch from one mood to another. There had been no screaming and shouting, just a steely determination to take it to the edge. Dad would never let anyone disrespect him or his family. The more I came to understand my father, the more I loved him, and the more I could believe things were OK for him in prison. There was light at the end of the tunnel.
I had been in pieces, but slowly I was getting back together. My dad had made his decisions in life, and now I had some decisions of my own to make.
By now I’d been out of school for a good year and I was staring my 15th birthday in the face. I’d knocked about here and there, revisiting old mates in the Borough, I’d been down the library and looked after the house, but I was getting bored. I didn’t want to go back to school, but I knew I needed to find something to occupy my days. Mum agreed.
‘You can’t just do nothing,’ she said one day. ‘I feel terrible you’re not at school, and I’m not going to let you waste yourself.’
Thank God for those words. It wasn’t that I was wasting my life, but she was right. If she hadn’t made me have a good think, I may well have ambled along as I was for a good few years, or maybe the authorities would have caught up with me and made me go to school. Who knows? Anyway, Mum was the catalyst I needed to help me take control of my destiny.
During my time at home, I’d been watching a lot of telly, and good telly at that. It was the early seventies, and at that time British drama was at its best. We had the greatest writers in the world writing plays that were shown weekly on the BBC – earth-shatteringly brilliant people like Dennis Potter, Alan Sillitoe and Alan Plater were giving the nation programmes to really get their teeth into, and I remember being glued to every Play For Today, among other fantastic dramas.
I was still an avid cinema-goer too, and ended up spending a lot of my time thinking about the other worlds I encountered at the pictures or on the box. I suppose it made me a bit of a dreamer, which meant I was never bored. As I started to wonder what I could do with myself, I began to dream that I could do what all those people I took such pleasure in watching did: acting.
A NEW DIRECTION
Mum spoke first. ‘Jamie’s got something to ask you,’ she said to Dad. ‘He wants to talk to you about something.’
‘Oh,’ said Dad, raising an eyebrow. ‘What’s that then?’
We were at the end of a visit, and I’d spent the whole time waiting to get something off my chest
.
‘I want to be an actor, Dad,’ I said brightly. ‘I want to go to acting school.’
There was a pause. Dad looked down and licked his lips, and for a second I wondered what he was thinking. After all, my news was a bit out of the blue. I smiled and shifted in my seat, trying to gauge his reaction. The wheels were certainly turning in his head, but I didn’t know what he was thinking.
‘Now this is what you do,’ said Dad, looking at Mum. ‘Go to Ronnie Knight and get a message to Barbara. Tell Ronnie what Jamie wants to do and see if there’s anything she can do for him.’
Mum nodded and smiled at me. Ronnie Knight and my uncle Mick Regan owned the A & R, a drinking club in Charing Cross Road, and his wife Barbara wasn’t just any Barbara: she was Barbara Windsor, belle of the Carry On films and one of Britain’s most famous actresses. Good old Dad, he’d come up with a fantastic idea, just like that. I was so happy and excited. He looked at me, smiling. With his blessing and support, I suddenly felt what could have easily remained a pipedream might actually become a reality.
‘If Barbara can’t help you, then I’ll have another think,’ Dad added. ‘But try her first and let’s see. So what’s made you choose acting anyway?’
Good question. Looking back, it’s so touching that Dad came up with a plan to help me into acting before he even asked why. It’s just as well, because my answer was a touch flimsy.
‘I don’t know,’ I said quite honestly. ‘I’ve been out of school for a while now. I need some direction. I love films and I just thought I’d like to give it a try.’
‘Good,’ beamed Dad. ‘Fantastic. Let’s see what happens then, eh?’
I grinned. There was no doubt in his voice, no hint of disapproval, no attempt to sound me out. If it was what I wanted, he and Mum were right behind me, and I couldn’t have wished for a more encouraging response. I look back on that visit as the most pivotal moment in my life. A conversation that most families have around a dining table, we had in a visiting room in Wormwood Scrubs Prison. Somehow the scene sums up my life at that time – we never seemed to go about anything the way normal families did.
I’ll never forget being next to Mum as she put down the receiver after talking to Ronnie Knight. I was so excited I could barely contain myself.
‘What did he say, what did he say?’ I asked.
Mum smiled. ‘He said he’s going to talk to Barbara and see what she can do.’
Music to my ears. I hugged her. But, as always, Mum kept my feet firmly on the ground. ‘Remember, it’s a hard business, Jamie. Don’t get too excited … not just yet.’
I didn’t have time to get too excited, as the next thing we knew Barbara Windsor was on the phone. I’d met Barbara when I was younger, and speaking to her again was simply lovely. What a wonderful lady.
‘All right, babe,’ Barbara started. ‘So you want to be an actor? Listen, why don’t you come over to see me?’
At that point Barbara was in a pantomime at the Odeon Theatre at Temple Fortune, near Golders Green, and she told me to get the bus up and pay her a visit before one of the performances. Filled with expectation, I put my best suit on – a smart, navy-blue, three-piece chalkstripe I’d bought in Guvnor’s on the Walworth Road – and my beautiful sheepskin coat. The journey was interminable. I got the ‘Undie’ from Brixton to Golders Green and then took a bus to the theatre, a route worked out for me by Barbara. Then I reported to my first stage door and was shown to her dressing room.
‘Hello, my darling,’ said Barbara, bubbly and kind as ever. ‘Come in and sit yourself down. I’m just getting ready for the show.’
It was magic being a 15-year-old kid from South London and sitting backstage surrounded by all the accoutrements of the acting profession – the dressing-room mirror framed with lights; the wigs; the make-up; the cards from fans. It looked straight out of a movie. Added to that, the smell of the greasepaint well and truly got its hooks into me. As I sat there with Barbara, the other actors began to trickle in.
The room buzzed as everyone said hello and began to get ready. I’d never been backstage at a theatre before, or felt the sense of anticipation that builds in the room before a performance, but I was feeling it now. Big time. It all felt so ordinary, yet extraordinary too.
Busy though she was, Barbara chatted away while I watched her get ready for the panto, and took the time to introduce me to everyone in the show, including the DJ Ed Stewart. Wow, I thought, it’s Ed Stewart from Crackerjack, the kids’ TV show! I also met Annie Ross, the great jazz singer. Impressive woman. Endlessly smoking cigarettes, swearing freely and moaning in her gruff voice, she was the picture of glamour and decadence. It all made such an impression on me, and I’ve not forgotten a moment of it.
The time came when Barbara needed to put her dress on, and unfortunately that meant it was out of the room for Master Foreman. ‘I’ve got you a ticket for out front,’ said Barbara. ‘See you after the show.’
An usher took me to a seat at the front of the stalls and I remember vividly the feeling of hundreds of eyes on me as I was escorted past them. All the other kids seemed to be wondering who the hell the kid in the suit was, and I must say I felt a bit embarrassed and a little bit special at the same time. ‘If you need anything, just ask for me,’ said the usher before leaving me to myself.
The curtain flew open and the show began. It was Cinderella, with Barbara playing the Fairy Godmother alongside Ed Stewart as Buttons, and it was fabulous. Sure, my tastes extended further than panto at that point, but as the kids screamed and the ‘oh no you don’ts’ echoed around the theatre I was totally seduced by it all. I shouted my heart out until the curtain finally fell, and before I knew it I was being led backstage again.
‘Well, what did you think?’ asked Barbara, looking radiant after the show.
‘Absolutely fantastic,’ I enthused.
‘That’s wonderful, darling,’ she said. ‘Now, tell me what it is you want to do.’
If I’d been a little unsure of my reasons for wanting to act when I’d spoken to Dad, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind now. My visit to the theatre had blown me away. I had the bug already. I knew it.
‘I want to be an actor,’ I said with a big smile. ‘And I want to go to stage school.’
Barbara nodded. ‘Well, there’s a few to choose from. There’s Corona and Barbara Speake, both great schools, but I think you couldn’t do much better than Italia Conti. It’s one of the best, so I say give them a try.’
Sage advice. Without it I wouldn’t have had a clue where to start. Barbara explained how I should apply. I needed to send off for a prospectus, and prepare for an audition, which involved memorising a few monologues. Nerve-racking stuff for a kid who’d only been in a few school plays, but so exciting and dreamy too.
‘You’ll need an acting coach to get you ready for the audition,’ added Barbara. ‘I’ll try and find someone for you who’s round your way and you can take it from there.’
In such a short space of time, it felt like Barbara had done so much to set me on the right path. I couldn’t thank her enough.
‘Don’t even think about it, darling, it’s a pleasure,’ she told me. ‘Anything for Freddie’s son. But listen to me when I say this. Nobody will ever help you in this business. The only person who can really help you is yourself. If you want it bad enough, you’ve got to go out and get it. There’s no substitute for hard work, self-belief, energy and dedication, and once you leave here today you’re on your own when it comes to finding work.’
I listened intently. Barbara was deadly serious, and it was in those moments that I began to appreciate what a challenge becoming a successful actor would be. It didn’t put me off, though, but only strengthened my resolve to get out there and get stuck in.
When Barbara said she’d get me a cab to take me home, my heart began to sink. Everything had been so wonderful. I’d been catapulted into a strange, thrilling new world and it had all gone so quickly. I didn’t want it to end so soon.
‘Oh, I thought there was another show today,’ I said, hoping she would take the hint.
‘You want to see it again?’ said Barbara with a smile.
‘Well, if that’s all right with…’
‘’Course it is!’ She sounded delighted, and laughed a little as she turned to Annie Ross. ‘Here, Annie, he wants to stay for the next show.’
‘Oh no,’ joked Annie, a cigarette poised in her hand. ‘He’s hooked. Another one who’s been bitten by the bug.’
Barbara nodded and looked at me with a glint in her eye. ‘You’ll do,’ she said. ‘You’ll do.’
During the break between the matinee and the evening performance, Barbara wanted to do a bit of shopping, so we headed off down the high street. Barbara is a British icon, and I’ll never forget how she handled all the people who wanted to speak to her or ask her for an autograph. She was so gracious. She had a smile and a word for everyone, and I could tell from their faces how much it meant to them. I could imagine them telling their friends about it. ‘You’ll never guess who I met today – Barbara Windsor! And she was lovely!’ The public think of Barbara as one of their own and she never disappoints. I learned a great lesson in humility that afternoon, and I’ll never forget what she did for me. The memory always makes me feel emotional, and, looking back, I realise what a turning point it was in my life. Barbara, thank you. You are a star!
I saw the show again, then a cab whisked me back to Dulwich and Mum. ‘So, how’d it go?’ she asked excitedly.
‘Well…’ I began, and off I went with my story. What a whirlwind the day had been. By the time I stopped speaking, Mum was as high as I was.
The next day Ronnie Knight called up with a message from Barbara. Ronnie said how she had really enjoyed having me over, and that Mum and Dad should be proud of the way I conducted myself. Such kind words. It meant a lot to see Mum’s face light up in a way I hadn’t seen for a long time.
Dad had started the ball rolling, and now it was up to me and Mum to keep it going. Thanks to Barbara, we knew what to do next. We applied to Italia Conti and received a prospectus and application form for an audition. Mum and I sat down together and began to fill it in. On the form there was a box asking for my religion, so I put in ‘Church of England’.
Gangsters, Guns & Me - Now I'm in Eastenders, but once I was on the run. This is my true story Page 5
