by John Pearson
The hospital considered his request; at the end of May, two doctors examined him. They were both optimistic about his general condition. He showed no marked psychotic symptoms now, answered intelligently and was, they wrote, ‘quiet, co-operative and mentally subnormal’.
But he still showed signs of depression. A swift return to prison could bring a recurrence of his trouble. Reggie was told that for his brother’s own good he should stay where he was a while longer. Ronnie was upset at the news. He thought he would never be released. Reggie calmed him down. He wouldn’t let that happen. He had a bright idea that ought to work; it always had done in the past.
At Long Grove the main visiting hours are on Sunday afternoon. East Enders take their families seriously; by three o’clock the wards are crammed with cockney relatives and friends. This is the high-spot of the patients’ week; the hospital provides tea and biscuits to make everyone feel at home. Not that the Krays and all their friends ever let Ronnie feel neglected. Each Sunday he always had the two visitors he was allowed. But during one visiting-time after Ronnie’s application had been rejected an extra lot turned up – two large American car-loads of them. The first car, an electric-blue Lincoln, contained Reggie and an old friend of the family called Georgie Osborne. The second, a black Ford, held several characters from The Double R. One was a safe-blower, two were ex-boxers, and the man at the wheel was known for his skill as a smash-and-grab-raid driver. Both cars parked just outside Ronnie’s block. The men in the Ford told the hospital porter that they hadn’t realized visitors were restricted to two at a time; they would wait and see Ronnie later. Reggie slipped on a light-fawn raincoat and he and Osborne walked into Ronnie’s ward.
On visiting afternoons there was always a male nurse on duty; on that afternoon there was nothing about Ronnie to give the nurse particular concern. Ronnie was quite smartly dressed in a blue suit and maroon-coloured tie; if he was still upset at the doctor’s decision, he was keeping it to himself. His brother in the fawn coat had brought a pile of holiday snaps and they were all enjoying them. The nurse had never seen Ronnie laugh so much.
At 3.30 P.M. tea was brewed up in the scullery along the corridor. Regulations forbade patients to pass beyond the ward doors during visiting hours, so one of the visitors usually fetched it. That Sunday the Kray brother in the fawn coat went. The nurse nodded to him as he passed.
Twenty minutes must have elapsed before the nurse saw anything was wrong. Young Kray was still there, laughing with his visitor, who seemed to have an endless store of snapshots. Why hadn’t his brother come back with the tea?
‘Where’s your brother?’
‘Which brother?’
‘Your brother Reggie who went out to get the tea.’
‘Reggie didn’t go.’
‘ ’Course he did. I saw him myself.’
‘He didn’t. I’m Reg Kray. I’ll prove it if you don’t believe me. Here’s my driving licence.’
‘Then that was Ronnie went out for the tea?’
‘Who d’you think it was? Thought you knew him by now.’
The nurse sounded the alarm-bell, but it was too late. The black Ford was on its way to London with Ronnie inside. Reggie had previously arranged with him to wear the same blue suit and tie, and switched the raincoat with him when the nurse wasn’t looking. The police arrived and questioned Reggie and Osborne for over an hour, but there was nothing they could do once Reggie had proved his identity. As he said to one of the police. ‘It’s not as if we actually done anything. We’ve just been sitting here waiting for a cup of tea that never came.’
The track lay to the left of the road, a good half-mile before the farm. There was an ancient wooden gate-post and the track went trailing up between the fields and the nettle-beds towards the woods. Suffolk is a mysterious county, and this was a particularly hidden part of it. Borley Rectory, ‘the most haunted house in England’, was four miles distant. Even in high summer this countryside, with its decaying manor houses and lanes that lose themselves between the banks of hawthorn and cow-parsley, seems to be keeping out intruders.
A fortnight before Ronnie’s escape Reggie had driven here towing a four-berth caravan. The owner of the farm was an old acquaintance, a London businessman the twins had often worked with in the past. He could hardly have refused them a small favour and at dusk he helped Reggie manoeuvre the caravan up the track and into the woods.
The escape was widely reported in the press; the police were combing London for ‘this violent criminal’. They said, ‘We know what type of person he is and are taking no chances.’
But Ronnie had vanished. Reggie continued working at The Double R as usual. Nearly a week after the escape, Reggie closed up his club and drove back to Vallance Road. By midnight the downstairs lights were out; soon the whole house was in darkness.
Just after one o’clock the back door opened. Reggie slipped out and scrambled over the yard wall. Then along Cheshire Street came the noise of a car starting and driving away; he had a long night’s ride ahead. First stop was Walthamstow, where Ronnie was being looked after by friends; he came out muffled in a black overcoat. They arrived at the farm just before dawn.
When they had eaten, Reggie took a torch and led his brother out to the caravan. He had to show Ronnie all he had done for him and wanted to be back in Bethnal Green before anyone noticed his absence. The caravan was where he had left it. He unlocked the door, turned on the Calor gas lights and the heater and showed Ronnie how lovingly he had prepared the hideaway – the stacked provisions and the radio, the gramophone with all his favourite records, books, beer, a small gas refrigerator.
Under existing prison regulations, any prisoner certified insane who escaped and remained at liberty longer than six weeks had to be recertified on recapture. All Ronnie had to do was to behave himself and stay out of the way for a couple of months in the caravan. Then he could give himself up; the certification would have lapsed and he could complete his sentence with a minimum of fuss. Within a year he would be free.
Reggie had everything worked out for this. One reason he had chosen this part of Suffolk was so that Ronnie would feel at home; they had lived nearby as evacuees during the war and had often been back since. But Reggie realized his brother couldn’t be left alone all day, and the third man who had travelled down with the twins was to be Ronnie Kray’s companion, bodyguard and keeper for the period of his escape. Once again, Reggie had planned things well, for Teddy was one of the few people Ronnie trusted who was also capable of handling him. A young thief, slightly older than the twins, he had grown up in Bethnal Green and had been a trusted follower of the Colonel’s in the days of the billiard hall. He was tough, single and heterosexual. Also, unlike most of the Colonel’s admirers, he had a certain vein of humour and common sense.
Sitting in the Suffolk woods in early June, Teddy had no complaints: here he was earning £15 a week in luxury and idleness. The caravan was comfortable. There was all the food and beer he wanted. And the Colonel had never been in better spirits.
‘He was a lazy bastard, but he always had been. He’d lie in bed all morning,’ and Teddy had to cook and keep the caravan tidy. ‘But Ronnie loved the country. It calmed him down, and when he was calm he was like a big child and no trouble at all.’ They would spar together and run and do exercises to keep fit. Sometimes they took long walks at night and once they borrowed a car from the farmer up the road and drove to Sudbury to the cinema. Ronnie wanted to see Dracula.
For Teddy, being with the Colonel was like being a boy again, and there was one game in particular which Ronnie never tired of – the hunting game. It was Ronnie’s idea to use loaded air rifles to make it more realistic, and since he didn’t like the thought of hurting animals he suggested they should stalk each other. Teddy was the better shot, and hit Ronnie several times before Ronnie used his cunning and caught his friend in an ambush, hitting him in the eye with a pellet. Teddy had to go to Sudbury Hospital to have it removed.
Most w
eekends Reggie arrived at the caravan with a car-load of food and drink and a few friends who could be relied on to be discreet. They had some splendid parties. Ronnie would hear all the news from home and when there were visitors he would usually drink until he dropped off to sleep where he was. Reggie organized these parties to stop Ronnie feeling forgotten, but soon they were having the opposite effect. Talking of London made him realize how much he missed it, and when Reggie and his friends drove back on Sunday night he felt abandoned and confined within the four walls of the caravan. Teddy would get him out of his moods in the end and they would start their sparring and hunting and midnight walks. Then one more weekend would arrive, another party, and the following week Ronnie’s moods were worse than ever.
For the first time now, sex became a problem. Had Ronnie liked women it would have been easier to keep him satisfied, but in the middle of Suffolk it was impossible to ensure the supply of young male ‘prospects’ he enjoyed in London, without arousing local suspicions. Reggie started bringing boys along at the weekends to keep the Colonel quiet. This was a mistake. Ronnie would always try and force the boy to stay. By Sunday afternoons terrible rows would start when Reggie insisted that the boy return with him. Jealous and frustrated, Ronnie would finally have to watch the boy he fancied driven back to London on a Sunday evening.
As usual, Reggie finally gave in. He knew that it was risky, but he let Ronnie have his night in London. It was a success. Reggie had borrowed a flat in Tottenham and the following day his mother and a few friends visited Ronnie there before he drove back to the country.
But if Reggie imagined that the Colonel would be satisfied with one visit, he should have known his brother better. He was soon clamouring for another; within a week Reggie had given in again, arranging a small party for the Colonel at a fresh address. The following week there was another, and in no time the comings and goings were being whispered round the East End. The Colonel’s legend had begun again. One evening Ronnie would turn up at Vallance Road. Another, he materialized in the middle of the engagement party for his cousin Rita, who was marrying his old friend Ritchie Smith. He even visited The Double R. This was the Colonel’s own Command Performance and the twins made the most of it. It was arranged for late at night, long after closing time, when the place had been cleared of all but the most trusted of their friends. As a special precaution a decoy car, similar to Ronnie’s, was driven to the club first and someone of Ronnie’s height and build hurried in with his collar up and face muffled. Everyone waited just in case the Law was watching. When nothing happened, Reggie had his moment of drama, lifting the telephone, dialling the number where Ronnie was waiting, allowing it to ring twice, and then replacing it. This was the signal that the coast was clear. Ten minutes later the Colonel arrived.
Soon they were famous, these fly-by-night visits of the Colonel to The Double R, a great ‘in’ secret for the ‘other world’ of London criminals, and Reggie was quick to draw maximum kudos from his now-notorious brother. Many of the top London villains were invited to The Double R after closing time to witness the Colonel’s famous reappearing act. One night Billy Hill was there. Since he had retired from his ‘kingship of the underworld’ Billy Hill had changed. Wealth and exile had softened him and he was a reserved, softly spoken figure now, blinking from behind large magnifying spectacles and giving the impression of a certain shyness often adopted by those who have withdrawn from the power game. But although he had opted out, he had a nose for what was going on and who was rising. For him to turn up at The Double R on one of his occasional visits from abroad showed that the twins were in the news again.
Charlie Kray saw what was happening and did his best to warn Reggie. Ronnie should be thinking of surrendering and getting his sentence over, but by now the twins were far too busy enjoying the situation. One night Ronnie disguised himself and walked the length of the Whitechapel Road, laughing each time he passed the policemen who were still supposed to be searching for him. Another time he put on one of Reggie’s suits and sat in a pub where the locals were used to seeing his brother.
‘Evening, Reg. Any news of Ron?’
‘No. Why? Seen him lately?’
‘Heard he’s about. Wish him luck if you meet him.’
Then Reggie had another bright idea. Through his doctor he found the name of a good Harley Street psychiatrist, and made an appointment for a Mr John Lee. Lee was their mother’s maiden name, and on the day of the appointment it was Ronnie Kray who turned up at the Harley Street waiting-room. He was well-dressed, quite calm, and he and Reggie had carefully worked out before-hand what to say.
When he saw the doctor Ronnie explained his problem. He was engaged to be married. He and the girl were very much in love, but her family had raised an objection. Some way back in his family there had been a touch of insanity and they were worried that he might go the same way. His girl-friend wasn’t worried, but could the doctor give him a test or two and write a letter saying he wasn’t mad? It would set his future in-laws’ minds at rest.
The psychiatrist was a good-natured man with a sense of humour. It was an unusual request but not unreasonable. Mr Lee seemed a normal, somewhat earnest young man. They talked for twenty minutes or so. The doctor asked various questions which Ronnie answered satisfactorily, and the doctor wrote a brief note on his headed paper giving it as his serious professional opinion that Mr John Lee of 178 Vallance Road, El, was as sane as the next man.
The letter from the psychiatrist was one reason why Reggie wouldn’t listen to Teddy when he told him that Ronnie was going mad again. During their adventures in London Reggie was seeing the Colonel he knew. But every time Ronnie returned to the caravan for a few days, Teddy saw someone different and was becoming frightened. Each trip to London now left Ronnie deeply depressed and he spent days in bed, drinking himself into a stupor. If he got up things were worse; anything in the outside world could start his fears. One day he saw someone passing down the road and spent the whole day worrying. By evening he was frantic, shouting that he had to get away to London. Teddy called in the farmer; between them they quietened him down, got him drunk and left him to sleep off his fears. They decided that until they could speak to Reggie, Ronnie and Teddy would both sleep at the farm. It would be easier to control him there if anything went wrong.
The rest of that day Ronnie seemed quite happy pottering round the farm; that evening after supper he and the farmer watched television. Suddenly the telephone rang. It was someone from the village reminding the farmer about some business he had forgotten. When he had promised to do it and replaced the telephone, he said, ‘I wish he’d leave me alone. He’s just a bloody menace, that man.’
Ronnie fell silent. They had a few drinks. Television ended, and as the farmer was going off to bed Ronnie stopped him. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘you’ve been a good friend, and I know just how you feel about that bastard getting at you on the phone. Just give me his address. I’ll kill him for you. It’s the only thing to do with scum like that.’
The farmer was no fool, and knew that Ronnie meant just what he said. That night the farmer rang a Harley Street psychiatrist he knew, explained the situation and arranged to take Ronnie to see him the next day. This time the examination was more probing than on Ronnie’s previous visit to Harley Street. They drove back to the farm in time for supper. Ronnie was feeling tired. When he was in bed, the farmer rang the specialist for his verdict.
‘I don’t know who your friend is, but he’s clearly homicidal. He shows all the symptoms of advanced paranoid schizophrenia. Get him to hospital or anything could happen.’
Reggie wouldn’t hear of it, although the farmer rang him straight away; Ronnie was convinced that once he entered any institution his enemies would get him and he would be there for life. He could still present quite a coherent front to the world in general. Teddy and the farmer were the only friends who really knew how sick he was. And so the trips to London continued. When the farmer suggested getting Ronnie medical tr
eatment, storms of resentment followed. Then for the farmer and for Teddy the problem solved itself.
The year of 1958 was a vintage one for gaol-breaks: Ronnie’s departure from Long Grove was eclipsed by that virtuoso fugitive, Mr Alfred Hinds, who earlier that year had walked out of the law courts in the Strand and never been heard of since. Hinds was a bigger fish than Ronnie Kray: the police were still searching for him, and nearly picked up Ronnie Kray instead. Somebody had seen his midnight walks from the farm and reported them to the police. There was a slender chance that this was Hinds; early one morning the Sudbury police called at the farm to check in case it were.
Ronnie and Teddy by now slept permanently at the farm. Both were in bed, but the farmer handled the police perfectly, asking them in, explaining that his guest did like walking at night, then calling Teddy to meet them. This settled things at once. No one could possibly mistake this burly young tough for the gnome-like Mr Hinds. The police departed.
But Ronnie had been listening upstairs. He had been dreading the police for weeks. His fears now seemed confirmed. No one could reason with him. Either he got away at once or he would kill anyone who tried to stop him. The farmer agreed with him, rang through to Reggie at The Double R and left it to Ronnie to beg his brother to come and take him away. This time even Reggie was convinced. By the time he came, Ronnie was worse.
‘You’re not my brother, Reg. You’re just a dirty Russian spy got up to look like him.’
‘’Course I’m Reg. You’ve known me all your life.’
‘You just look like him. You’re a dirty agent in disguise. Your police missed me this morning. You’ve come to take me off to kill me somewhere.’
‘Don’t you remember the old scar on my arm?’ Ronnie did remember, and allowed himself to be led out to his brother’s car and driven up to London. He insisted on making the whole journey in the boot.
