Two nights later, around midnight, I had a pal hold his foot against a short ladder as I pushed the louvre fanlight slats above the door into the shop, then followed them in head first. The cabinet wasn’t even locked and one minute later, on my pal’s all clear, I went out the same way I went in, my hands landing on his shoulders to break my fall. A three-grand quickie! Seconds later, we were just another two pedestrians heading home.
I suppose you could have called me an opportunist villain in those early years after my marriage. I was busy enough with my fire surrounds not to go actively looking for work, but if something really sweet turned up I would be interested. In actual fact you could say that the period after my marriage was, even with the odd job I did pull, the straightest part of my life. If I’m to be honest, it was the happiest and most carefree too. In June 1969, when Margaret gave birth to my son in Rottenrow Maternity, I felt I had it all. I can still remember the first time I saw Gregory, his little face all scrunched up and two huge bruises on his cheeks where he had been dragged into the world. I made up my mind that I would stick to legitimate business from then on and I really meant it at the time.
By the end of 1969 I had bought my workshop outright and moved up a gear in production, totally phasing out the grilles and turning my attention to fire surrounds and also fitted bedroom furniture. Business was so good that, less than twelve months after Gregory was born, we left tenement life behind and moved into a nice semi in a leafy suburb of Glasgow.
Leaving Springburn was a dynamic change for us and I remember how proud I felt standing outside our new house in Bishopbriggs on the day we moved in. I remember looking up and down the street. It was quiet, clean and respectable. Yes, I thought to myself, I’ll be living the quiet life from now on. And yet it wasn’t long before I was dabbling again.
I found myself in a halfway world. I was doing well in business, yet all my pals were petty criminals and, like it or not, I kept getting involved in their schemes. It was one of the penalties of having a workshop full of tools and good transport. My pals were all on the dole and forever trying to scratch those extra few pounds that made a difference to them. I couldn’t refuse them the odd loan of tools or the use of my van when the need arose and I was always politely invited on every ‘wee bit of business’, whatever it was. Some of the stuff was so ridiculous it was hard not to laugh. I was asked for a hacksaw to cut down a ship’s bell mounted on the fourth tee at a local golf course. ‘It’s pure bronze,’ I was earnestly assured. ‘Worth a right few quid, so it is.’ Well, they could have the saw but they certainly couldn’t have me for that one. Another time they spent an entire weekend digging an enormous crater under an old electricity pylon on a quest for some mythical copper earthing block. Whatever it was supposed to be, they must have shifted several tons of earth and they still came up empty-handed. I told them that if they were prepared to work half as hard for Wimpey the builders, they could earn a fortune!
The crime scene in Glasgow had taken a dramatic change in the late sixties and early seventies with the first reports of bank robberies leaping from the front pages of the press. I read the newspaper reports of these armed robberies with great interest, noting that there was nothing subtle or difficult about them. In fact, I didn’t even consider them real ‘armed’ robberies. It was simply a case of three or four men piling into a bank brandishing pickaxe handles, throwing a bag at a teller with instructions to fill it up and dashing out again. The entire job would be over in a matter of seconds. But it was all very exciting and I admit I was impressed by the boldness of this little firm. The only thing I didn’t like about it was the money they were getting: three or four thousand pounds a time certainly didn’t seem good value to me for the risk and effort involved in these robberies. It seemed obvious that you had to get behind the business side of the counter and help yourself if you wanted to get your hands on real money.
There was no doubt in my mind that the key to success in robbing a bank lay in getting total control, which to me meant proper tools. If I was going to commit an armed robbery it was going to be a real armed robbery and that meant using guns, not big sticks! I soon got my hands on a suitable weapon – a twelve-gauge automatic shotgun – and from then on it became a question of when, rather than where. There was no shortage of targets: there was a bank on practically every street corner in those days. I only had to sort one out.
There were a few limitations I had decided on when picking a target. I didn’t want a building to overlook the bank’s windows, I didn’t want a bus stop right outside it and I wanted a good maze of side streets in the immediate area. That still left a good choice of targets and I selected a bank opposite a swing park in the south side of the city.
I’ve often been asked how you rob a bank. The answer is that there is no instruction book. The fact is you never know what will happen when you step through the door of a bank and declare yourself. You can, however, work hard on the preparations: have everything organised from vehicles to weapons and set out the getaway. If you don’t feel totally confident and completely in control, don’t do it. You must be 100 per cent certain of your abilities, be totally committed to the job and be prepared to do whatever is required to pull it off and escape from the scene.
Everything was prepared and I was ready to go ahead. All I needed now was a partner and I approached an old pal of mine – I’ll call him Andy Wilson, seeing as he has never been done or suspected of anything in his life. Andy had helped me out on the odd occasion before and I knew that he was reliable. I also knew that he was in desperate straits and would agree to anything I suggested in order to earn some money. Once I explained my plans, he leaped at the idea.
I put the first robbery down as a partial success, maybe even a good learning experience. The fact is I relied too heavily on Andy carrying out his part of the robbery. It was agreed that I would control any customers and staff while he leaped the counter and emptied the cash drawers. Everything was set up, getaway car on the corner, changeover car in place and Andy’s escape route sorted out. All we had to do was perform.
The bank appeared very quiet, with nobody coming or going for over five minutes. So in we went. There must have been some sort of hold-up (no pun intended) with the tellers because it looked as if there was a queue a mile long. About a dozen customers stood there gaping at us as we crashed in through the front door.
‘Don’t move!’ I shouted. ‘Stand still!’
I was waving the shotgun about, wondering where all these people had sprung from. Then one man started to panic, clutching a heavy canvas bag to his stomach and spinning round looking for a way out. He was infecting the others and looked likely to be a problem. I fired the shotgun into the ceiling, blasting a cloud of plaster all over the place. Everyone stood stock still, even Andy. ‘Get over!’ I shouted at him. ‘Get over the fucking counter!’
With all the noise, billowing plasterwork and gaping crowd, Andy obviously felt safer on his own side of the counter. Instead of going over the top, he threw the bag at the teller. ‘Fill it up!’ he screamed.
The teller scrambled a few bundles of notes into the bag, tossed it back to Andy and ducked down behind his counter again. I knew it wasn’t enough, but we had to leave. Time was tight and the gunshot would have attracted attention. Sure enough, outside on the pavement people were staring at the entrance of the bank and I heard a gasp when I walked out with the smoking shotgun in my hands. I got my eye on a middle-aged man in a hat and raincoat who looked a bit iffy. I thought he was a cop for a moment, but he gave me a wink and a grin when I eyeballed him. Then we were round the corner, into the getaway car and away.
I dropped Andy off as soon as we were out of sight – he would get home on public transport – and carried on to park beside a short footpath, cutting through it to get to my own car parked at the other end. I was half a mile away before I saw the first police jeep racing towards the scene. I smiled as they careered past, klaxon screaming, on their way to the scene of the crime. Wha
t the fuck were they going to the bank for? The deed was done and we were gone.
As I suspected, it turned out that the teller had only stuffed about three grand in the bag – the average take from the other robberies that had been going on. Andy was happy enough; his share of the money got him out of immediate cash problems and all he had done was turn up on the day. But I was disappointed. With all the time and money I had spent in preparation, I had been expecting more than a paltry three grand.
Still, we had pulled off an armed robbery and got clean away with the loot. And importantly, irrespective of the amount of money we had taken, I was aware that I had felt comfortable throughout the entire operation. I did hesitate for a second or two when we were confronted by the unexpected queue, but that hesitation went the moment I pulled the trigger. Control had been instantaneous and I knew that, given the right amount of time, the bank could have been cleaned out. If I decided to rob another bank, I would have to make sure that I got that time.
It didn’t take me long to decide. Within a month of that first robbery I started looking at other banks, trying to pick out one that fitted my requirements regarding location. I had no idea at the time that fate had already taken that task off my hands.
Chapter Twenty-one
A Bit of Business with Bob
Bob Ross was my next-door neighbour. He was a friendly, chatty guy, always ready with a smile and a quick quip across the garden fence. We soon became friends and often went out for a drink together at the weekend. One Sunday evening we were heading along the canal bank at Bishopbriggs on our way to Torrance village for a pint. Normally a very cheery, outgoing bloke with plenty to say for himself, Bob was uncharacteristically quiet as we strolled along.
‘What’s up, Bob?’ I asked. ‘You’re a bit quiet tonight.’
‘Aye,’ he answered, making a face. ‘I’ve got money problems. The wife’s nagging about her motor – says it’s clapped out. The house needs painting and she’s going on about a holiday. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’
‘But I thought you had a good job,’ I said. ‘I mean, I see you going out every morning in a suit and tie. What is it you do anyway?’
He seemed to hesitate a little. ‘I’ve been told not to talk about my work,’ he said. ‘Company rules.’
‘How’s that? Is it a secret or something?’ I was joking with him, but he seemed to take it seriously and I saw him turning it over in his mind.
‘No,’ he finally said. ‘It’s not a secret. But they say that you never know who you’re talking to.’
‘Well, you know me,’ I said, getting a little curious now. ‘Surely you can tell me?’
‘Aye, I suppose so.’
‘Well?’ I prompted him.
‘I’m a bullion guard with the Clydesdale Bank,’ he finally told me. ‘I deliver money to the bank’s branches every day.’ I felt a quiver rattle the entire length of my spine and took a deep breath. ‘And do you know something,’ Bob continued talking, ‘I wish I knew someone who would rob a fucking bank.’
‘You know what, Bob,’ I told him, ‘they were right.’ He gave me a puzzled look and I put my arm around his shoulder. ‘You never know who you’re talking to.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He stopped walking and looked at me.
‘I’m your man, Bob,’ I told him. ‘I’d rob a bank.’
He burst out laughing. ‘Aye, right! You’d rob a bank! That’s a good one.’ At least he’d snapped out of his depression. ‘You?’ He laughed again. ‘You couldn’t rob a bank.’
It was obvious he found the idea a huge joke. His quiet next-door neighbour rob a bank? I laughed along with him, knowing he wasn’t taking me seriously. ‘Aye, OK,’ I finally said. ‘But if you were going to rob a bank, which one would you rob?’
‘That’s easy,’ he said, still chortling. ‘The Hillington branch. It’s in the middle of an industrial estate, no shops or anything near it and the place is wide open.’
‘And when do you deliver the money?’ I asked, while he was still willing to talk.
‘Tuesday. Every Tuesday morning. That’s their day.’
‘About what time?’
‘Late on,’ he told me. ‘It’s our last drop after the Whiteinch branch, then we head back to the main office.’
‘And that’s the one you would go for yourself?’
‘Oh, definitely. Everyone on the van says that.’ Then he went quiet and put a hand on my arm. ‘You’re not serious, are you?’ He suddenly looked a little worried.
‘C’mon, Bob.’ I gave him a smile. ‘You just said you had money troubles. Ten per cent of a wee bank robbery would straighten you out, wouldn’t it?’
‘Ach! You’re kidding! You’d never rob a bank.’ He dismissed the idea with a wave and began walking again. ‘Come on, I’m dying for a pint.’
Well, I had the main details: the time and the place. I dropped the subject and we continued on towards Torrance. I was looking forward to a pint myself now.
Within a week of talking to Bob, I was out looking at the Hillington branch of the Clydesdale Bank and immediately liked what I saw. The building itself looked like a small family bungalow, almost incongruous among the factory buildings surrounding it. Set well back from the road and slightly elevated on a small grassy knoll, it was impossible to see into the bank from pavement level. Perfect. I knew as soon as I saw it that I was going to rob this bank and immediately began setting things up.
Finding a partner was no bother, Andy being the obvious choice. His money from the first job was long gone and I knew he had the taste for more. And putting the equipment together was easy: I already had my sawn-off and transport was never a problem. The smother – or clothes – would be no bother either: a visit to Paddy’s Market would easily produce suitable untraceable clothing. A long trench coat for me to hide the shotgun, a boiler suit and pull-down woolly hat for Andy and a couple of pairs of gloves were what we needed. We also needed a plan.
I’ve never been one for long drawn-out scenarios, but the Hillington job appeared to have a problem regarding the getaway. Being situated in an industrial estate on the outskirts of the city certainly had its advantages in as much as the area was quiet and out of the way. But this very isolation raised a serious problem. Theoretically our getaway would have us speeding directly towards the anonymity of the city, but it would also have us heading straight into the arms of the swiftly converging police response units. I say theoretically because, although that seemed the obvious route and I gambled the police would think the same, I had a different plan. I would be heading in the opposite direction.
Three miles away along the nearby M8 motorway lay Glasgow Airport and, while the police were racing to the bank and sealing off routes into the city, I would be heading there. At first sight this escape route appears almost suicidal: a dead-end, or at best a traffic-jamming bottleneck. If the cops put two and two together fast enough and sussed we were heading there, we could find ourselves in serious trouble. We couldn’t take the chance of checking in and taking a flight off into the blue. The nearby robbery would have sparked off an immediate alert and every passenger would be getting well checked out. It would also be too dangerous to do the classic car swap and drive out again – we would just be heading back into the area of police activity. Still, I considered the airport to be our best option and I had a plan. The Hillington bank job was on.
On the day of the robbery my accomplice John, who was also my gopher on the job, met us in a stolen car, a ringer already fitted with false plates. We loaded our gear into it – in this case my gun, our smother and two good suitcases. John then drove the car to a prearranged spot near the bank and parked it. A minute or two later we drove up and parked round the corner before transferring to the ringer, leaving my own car to be picked up by John and driven back to my workshop. This placed us only a short distance from the bank, leaving us with minimum time on offer.
It took us just seconds to move the suitcases on to the rea
r seat of the car and change into our smother. Andy wore worker’s overalls with a woolly pull-down hat, completely hiding a neat business suit, collar and tie. I wore a Paddy’s Market trench coat and scarf topped off by a wild wig. Less than two minutes later and exactly two minutes before closing time, I pulled up outside the bank. It was all very quiet and peaceful.
Four tellers gasped at me as I leaped the counter brandishing a wicked-looking shotgun, yelling at them to stand still. Behind me, Andy was closing the front door, a Yale lock making it easy for him to secure it.
By the time he appeared inside the bank, I was already herding the terrified tellers towards the door of a walk-in document vault. As I pushed the door over, I deliberately placed a thick floor mat inside the gap so they could see they wouldn’t be locked in. I didn’t want anyone getting hysterical or having a heart attack on me.
The huge standing safe was open and I began filling my bag with wads of money. Here I learned a lesson: when you take a bag on a robbery, make sure it has other bags inside it! Within seconds my sports bag was full and there was still loads of money left in the safe. What to do? I looked around and spotted a hessian rubbish bag, grabbed it and tipped its contents on to the floor. In the meantime Andy was ripping out the phones, checking the side office and toilets. The hessian bag was great. It took all the remaining cash, including a small tobacco tin I had spotted among the notes. I rattled it against my ear. A nice chunky sound – diamonds or gold coins. It sounded valuable and into the bag it went. The safe was soon cleaned out of notes and I was not interested in coins, so we were done. Or nearly done. I went back to the vault door and taped an empty Duraglit tin across the small opening I had left.
Armed and Dangerous--This is the True Story of How I Carried Out Scotland's Biggest Bank Robbery Page 22
