Hardly enough material for a gallery. Leach goes on:
All these incidents were swirling around my head as I tried to fit the jigsaw together. I didn’t know what was important, what wasn’t. But I knew that somewhere there must be clues to the assassination of my pals.
Why Leach should link these harmless events to a triple murder only he knows. Surely he is not suggesting that I was somehow involved in the murders? Several people have suggested that I played a part in luring Tucker, Tate and Rolfe to their deaths. Even the police suspected me of being involved during the early stages of their investigation. I did drive to Rettendon around the same time as Tucker, Tate and Rolfe and our differences had not been resolved, but that proves nothing. The truth is I had no involvement in their deaths whatsoever and I had no idea they were going to get murdered that night.
I was disappointed when I read what Leach had written because I had always considered him to be a decent family man and, as far as I was concerned, we had never had reason to speak ill of one another. No doubt he has forgotten I fell out with his ‘good friend’ David Done because he was making him look a fool. After appearing on Hard Bastards and writing Muscle, Leach is probably a changed man from the one I knew.
Back then, he certainly wouldn’t have put his name alongside such a ridiculous quote as the one on his book’s jacket. Leach is welcome to track me to the end of the earth and he is welcome to try and destroy me, but I know he is an intelligent man and we both know that if I am in the right I don’t roll over and what he has said about me is total bullshit.
The Hard Bastards programme, or ‘Daft Bastards’ as I preferred to call it, also featured John ‘Gaffer’ Rollinson, who went on to write a book with the ingenious title of Gaffer (2003). On the cover of his book Gaffer warned: ‘If you “diss” me, I swear I will never forget, never forgive and have my revenge.’ Tame in comparison to Leach’s outburst, but equally ridiculous. Reading his book, the hypocrisy of his self-penned epitaph struck me. How could a man who describes himself as ‘a violent, selfish, lazy, pig-headed thug’, whose idea of domestic bliss was ‘to say goodbye on a Friday evening and turn up again on Monday morning, smashed out of my skull, with a load of drunken mates in tow, waking up the kids’ talk about respect being a top priority?
As the tiresome story of how hard and how wonderful Gaffer is unfolds, I again come under strong criticism. The ‘man’ who attacked me when I was enjoying a night out with my partner describes me as a ‘scumbag’ and a ‘bastard’. When writing about a man who is alleged to have attacked him in front of his wife, Gaffer says, ‘Getting my wife Wendy involved in a really vicious brawl in the early hours of the morning was against every underworld code. These scum didn’t play by any rules.’ Continuing his rant, Gaffer says that he wants to kill me. Why he didn’t do it at the Festival Leisure Park in Basildon when he had the chance, choosing instead to run away screaming, I shall never know.
His ego boosted by the fact he had recently ditched the mother of his children and started dating Tucker’s teenage mistress, he boasts, ‘When we did go into clubs, you’d see people nudging each other and saying, “That’s the fella from Hard Bastards and she’s the girlfriend of Tony Tucker, the drug baron who got murdered.”’
Funnier still, he claims to be the most dangerous man in the country and legendary in the underworld. Not being the brightest of individuals, Gaffer goes on to say that I was a police witness in the Rettendon murder case, had sold photographs of the Rettendon murder victims in death to a newspaper and was making money out of a website which featured the Rettendon murder case. When I threatened to sue Gaffer and his publisher for these totally unfounded lies, they had to suffer the indignity of apologising unreservedly in two newspapers – one a national and the other Essex-based.
These people were only playing at telling half truths and lies, while the master was telling whoppers and making a good living out of it.
For many years Dave Courtney had yearned to be famous. With stars in his eyes he had signed up as a walk-on extra at the Central Casting agency in London and had appeared on TV and in film.
On 18 June 1991, Courtney appeared in a BBC documentary called Wimps and Warriors in which he was described as a ‘Bermondsey boy’, despite the fact he has no connections with the area. It depicted him going about his business as a small-time debt collector, bailiff and poorly paid bully. He was on trial at the time and was filmed bragging outside the court after he had been cleared of assault and affray. (Although he says in a book published later that it was malicious wounding, carrying an offensive weapon, attempted murder and possessing a sawn-off shotgun.)
In one scene, Courtney – draped in tacky gold chains and dressed in ludicrous cowboy boots, leather biker’s jacket and dark glasses – is shown knocking on the door of a run-down council flat where a Mr Tommy Godson lives. Courtney and a sidekick demand £200 from Tommy, who is a frail elderly gentleman. Tommy tells the duo that he only owes £120 and he only has the money he got off the DHSS that morning to survive on.
With a cosh tucked in his back pocket for ‘security’, big Dave says to the trembling pensioner: ‘Don’t take advantage of your age because there’s people here, or I will have a chat with you around the corner.’ The pensioner tells Courtney he can’t go short as he needs the money to live on, but he is told he is a liar and if he doesn’t pay, something will be taken out of his house to cover the debt. A woman clutching a baby appears at the door and tells the old gentleman to give Courtney the money as she doesn’t want anything taken from their home. The man hands over his DHSS money, a total of £165. Courtney tells him that he wants the balance the next day and walks off with his friend, laughing. It made me feel sick watching it.
The big break Courtney had longed for came when he supplied security guards for Ronnie Kray’s funeral. He took every photo opportunity and ensured the press were given every chance to interview or quote him. On the back of the publicity created by the ‘event’, Courtney made every effort to be publicly recognised as Ronnie Kray’s successor, or gangster number one. He appeared on numerous chat shows and in documentaries supposedly examining his activities. In reality, they were little more than showcases, designed to inflate the ego of the ‘dodgy one’, as he liked to call himself. Courtney, like his heroes the Krays, became a media junkie.
He needed his fix – to read his name in the papers, hear his voice on the radio and see his face on television. Because of Courtney’s unquestionable ability to tell stories, he was given the task of writing a column for a men’s magazine called Front. To show his new employer that he had newsworthy clout, Courtney asked Reg Kray if he could visit him with the magazine’s editor, Piers Hernu. Reg was in Wayland Prison at the time and he agreed. When Courtney and Hernu arrived at the prison, they met Reggie’s wife-to-be, Roberta. Whilst waiting to be allowed into the visiting-room, Courtney mentioned to Roberta that BBC2 were making a documentary about Front magazine and a camera crew were waiting outside the prison.
Courtney and Hernu didn’t say too much more about it to Roberta and on the visit they gave Reg the impression that the proposed programme was no big deal. They were keen to point out, however, that if the programme did turn out to be damaging, it certainly had nothing to do with them. A year later, a documentary called Between the Covers was broadcast by the BBC. It told the sorry tale of Dave Courtney and Piers Hernu going into Wayland Prison to secretly interview Reg Kray. Undetectable recording devices and photographic gadgets had been secreted on the sneaky duo and they recorded Courtney and Hernu laughing and bragging as they passed through security into the visiting-room where the unsuspecting Reg Kray was waiting for them. After the visit, Courtney and Hernu were filmed celebrating their deceitful trick by cracking open a bottle of champagne on the bonnet of their car. They really thought what they had done was funny. They didn’t care that it had a devastating affect on Courtney’s ‘friend’, Reg Kray.
His parole hearing was only one month away and because Co
urtney was his visitor, the authorities believed Reg had colluded with him to break prison regulations by filming inside the jail.
The following morning, Reg was put in front of the prison governor and asked to explain himself, but he couldn’t. Reg said he knew Courtney had arranged for him to visit but had no idea he was setting him up to be filmed. The governor chose to disbelieve Reg and concluded that if he had such bad judgement in prison, he would surely make even worse judgements outside. Reg couldn’t possibly be considered for release under such circumstances. At his next parole hearing, when many thought he would be released, Reggie’s application was refused. It was to be the last parole hearing Reg Kray would have before his death.
Having dispensed of Reg Kray’s usefulness as a publicity tool, Courtney wrote his autobiography. Inevitably, he slagged me off in it and talked about trying to kill me.
This attempted murder was a reference to the knife incident on the boat in London and the invitation to a party afterwards when I had thrown his pal out of my car. If that was a genuine attempt to kill me, I am fairly confident I shall die of old age.
Courtney called his book Stop the Ride, I Want to Get Off (1999). It must have been a pretty fast ride because when he did get off I would suggest that he was still dizzy and disorientated when he sat down to begin writing. The book is not even on par with a comic; from beginning to end Courtney lies about himself and invents his involvement in events that have not even happened.
On Saturday, 31 December 1979, Courtney says that he and his friends were seeing in the New Year at a pub called The Railway Signal in Forest Hill, south-east London. Courtney’s younger brother Patrick had left the pub just before midnight to go to a nearby Chinese restaurant to purchase a take-away meal.
According to Courtney there was some confusion when his brother ordered the food, because the waiters brought his order out on a plate rather than in a disposable tinfoil tray. Courtney’s brother refused to accept the order and because of this, it is claimed that he was assaulted. Courtney says that he went to the restaurant when he heard about what had happened to his brother and a ferocious battle ensued.
One of them went to chop me. I grabbed his hand mid-air, pulled him towards me and butted him into next week. All the others are around me, hitting me when some of my mates turn up and run in fighting as well.
Then – get this – this geezer appears holding a sword, something like a sabre. I couldn’t run so I went for him, dodged inside the blade on the back swing, chinned the geezer and took the sword off him. Now it’s in my hand and they all jumped back. The bloke I’ve taken the sword off only jumped up on the counter.
Then he jumped down on me and landed right on the sword point. It went straight through him and I saw it come out of his back, smeared with blood. He slipped down off the blade and hit the deck. The waiters started going mental and grabbing knives off tables in the restaurant. They rushed at us and suddenly I was slashing and stabbing. I heard the kitchen door bang open and this fat Chef ran out screaming and carrying a wok full of steaming oil. I turned and whacked it with the sword, full belt, and spilt it everywhere. They rushed us again and we did one geezer and then another one who was rushing at me and Terry with two dinner knives in his hands and, again, it went right in deep. There was blood all over the tiles and everyone was screaming.
While all this was going on I followed the last guy into the kitchens, and he only went and got this massive chopper. We were squaring up to each other, out of the view of the others. He advanced and started swinging and I backed down the corridor until we came back out into the restaurant. He’s just seen me stab most of his friends, remember – they’re all wriggling on the floor in their own blood – and now he was trying to kill me. I am now in a real battle to the death. With swords. Me with mine and him with the steel chopper. The swords were clashing together, people in the street were at the window looking in, the restaurant diners were horrified. And then it happened . . .
He walked into the hot oil the other geezer had dropped, and cos he was only wearing little black slippers, he stopped for a second, and then started hopping about screaming. I saw my chance and took it. Ping! I did him. Last but not least the cocky bastard with the chopper got it.
Courtney claims it took the police a month to identify him, but despite the seriousness of the attack he was granted bail. Eighteen months later, Courtney says that he stood trial at a magistrates court where he faced charges of attempted murder (which were dropped), carrying an offensive weapon with intent, actual bodily harm, affray, resisting arrest and actual bodily harm to a police officer.
When I read this drivel I could imagine impressionable young wannabe gangsters squirming with glee at their brave swashbuckling hero’s exploits. Most would be too naive to know a magistrate would not have the sentencing powers to deal with such a violent attack. If the details concerning the incident had been true, the matter would have been sent to a crown court to be dealt with.
Courtney claims he pleaded guilty and was sentenced to three-and-a-half years’ imprisonment – quite remarkable when you consider the fact a magistrate would have only had the power to sentence him to a maximum of six months’ imprisonment on each charge.
It would seem Dave’s pen was mightier than his imaginary sword. Courtney says he served 18 months of his prison sentence before being released. The dodgy one then found employment as a dustman before applying to become a fireman. Courtney then claimed he appeared in court because he had accumulated ‘enough unpaid parking tickets and speeding fines to sink a battleship’. He set up a kind of criminal employment agency which earned him the title, ‘The Yellow Pages of Crime’; he worked as a DJ, became a professional boxer, fighting five bouts before ‘retiring’ (although he doesn’t appear to have been registered with any of the boxing authorities), fought 17 bouts as an unlicensed fighter and was arrested after:
I went down to Crystal Palace stadium. There was a massive athletics track event going on. I saw that the 1,500 metres was coming up to the last lap, with Olympic champion, Daley Thompson, leading. I dropped my pants so I was in my shorts and T-shirt. Then I jumped the barrier, ran out on to the track just as Daley was taking the bend, overtook him (cos he was shagged) and won the race. I ran off back into the crowd.
Courtney says disgruntled athletics fans remonstrated with him and he ended up assaulting one of them. For this, he says, he was convicted of grievous bodily and given probation. Quite a busy schedule by anybody’s standards, but Courtney’s most bizarre, almost miraculous stunt came at the end of that year.
It was the end of the year, though, which gave me the best result of my life. Tracey [his partner] had got pregnant as soon as I got out. No shock there really, we’d had a lot of making up to do, and on the 18 of December 1982 she gave birth to my boy. She was 48 hours in labour!
I am surprised Courtney was not shocked that his partner had fallen pregnant and had then given birth to their son in December 1982. The medical world would have been astounded and called it a miracle. Courtney had said that the incident in the Chinese restaurant had happened on ‘Saturday, 31 December 1979’ (which was in fact a Monday). He says that he was arrested a month later and bailed (end of January 1980).
Then, 18 months later ( July 1981), he claims he was sentenced to three-and-a-half years’ imprisonment. After 18 months, Courtney says that he was released. This 18-month stint inside would have taken him up to January 1983.
Courtney’s claim that he fathered a child born in December 1982 and prior to that had managed to work as a dustman, DJ, professional boxer, unlicensed fighter, head a criminal employment ‘agency’, apply for the fire service, accumulate numerous parking and speeding tickets and be put on probation for GBH, is, despite the dodgy one’s lack of surprise, simply unbelievable – he would have still been serving his prison sentence.
Then again, everything dodgy Dave Courtney writes about in his book is extremely unbelievable.
One evening in the late 1980s the
dodgy one says he was in a pub called The Foresters in south London, celebrating a victory in a prize fight he had fought earlier that day. ‘I was really buzzing in the pub and buying everyone drinks and champagne and generally having a laugh celebrating. Loads of pals were coming up to congratulate me, slapping me on the back and rubbing my head, that kind of thing.’
According to Dave, there was a professional hit-man in the pub watching the gaiety and he didn’t like Dave being the centre of attention. No doubt he would have preferred everyone to recognise him and say, ‘Hello, aren’t you that well-known murderous hit-man? Can I get you a drink?’ Dave says that he went to use the telephone and the hit-man started putting money in the juke box which was adjacent to it.
Dave said, ‘Do you mind not putting that on for a second while I make a quick call?’ The hit-man just looked at Courtney and continued pressing the buttons before walking off. According to Dave, Status Quo started blaring out of the speakers and so he unplugged the juke box. When Dave did this, the hit-man ran over and started shouting, ‘I’m going to fucking do you! I don’t care who you think you are, I’m going to kill you. I’ll fucking kill you!’ Any man prepared to kill for Status Quo should not be feared, he should be reported as he is obviously not well. But this was happening in Dave’s world where strangeness appears to be the norm.
Courtney said he had heard similar threats many times before, but this time he knew the man meant it. The hit-man was led away from Dave (by a very brave man from the sound of it), but later that night Dave received several phone calls warning him that the hit-man was trying to find out where he lived. Dave knew what he had to do – and it wasn’t buy the hit-man Status Quo’s Greatest Hits.
Dave decided he had to shoot him.
Wannabe in My Gang? Page 24
