Unfortunately, Smith’s unquenchable thirst for money became linked to his equally powerful political ambitions. A maintenance firm owned by him won more than 50 per cent of all the available council-housing contracts in the area. Smith soon expanded his business, setting up a PR company to support redevelopment in other cities throughout the country. This company was hired by John Poulson, an architect who paid Smith £156,000 for his work, which involved paying local councillors to secure contracts for Poulson’s pre-packaged redevelopment schemes. Poulson earned more than £1,000,000 through Smith, but the pair were eventually arrested on corruption charges and imprisoned.
It seems that everybody connected to the West End of Newcastle at that time had some form of criminal enterprise on the go, even those who were supposedly beyond reproach. In those days, the West End community was made up of undoubtedly proud, hard people who created wealth for the nation while living in abject poverty. That wealth was generated in the large industrial factories, such as Vickers-Armstrong, that lined the banks of the River Tyne, producing ships, trains, tanks and armaments. Men would work long, gruelling shifts for little more than a pittance and never complain. As long as they had enough money to put a roof over their families’ heads, food in their families’ mouths and a few brown ales in their own, they were content.
Those who lived in the West End at that time did not look upon villains as bad people. Committing crime in order to make ends meet was not considered wrong unless you were involved in unforgivable immoral acts against the old, infirm or very young. Leonard Conroy was an old-school villain who robbed post offices, stately homes and mansions throughout the UK. He knew all the notorious London villains, such as ‘Mad’ Frankie Fraser, the Kray brothers and Freddie Foreman, because of the numerous times he had been in jail. Leonard’s choice of profession meant that the police were regular visitors to his home. His children would watch in horror as officers tipped personal possessions onto the floor while searching for evidence of their father’s latest misdemeanour.
The only time the police gave the family any peace was when Leonard Conroy was residing as a guest at one of Her Majesty’s prisons. Because of all the upset and trauma this caused at the family home, Paddy Conroy chose not to spend too much time there. He preferred the stability and relative peace and quiet that his grandmother Sally’s home offered. Sally was a large, kind and wise woman who enjoyed a drink. She would often visit the numerous pubs along Scotswood Road, where she would sing for the locals.
Scotswood Road was the inspiration for the Geordie anthem ‘Blaydon Races’. It was known locally as ‘The Road of One Hundred Pubs’, but in reality there were never more than forty-six trading at any one time. The atmosphere outside those pubs was as fiery as the blast furnaces that roared endlessly at the nearby armaments factories. It is said that, along the four miles that make up Scotswood Road, every Saturday night there would be a brawl on every street corner, and on bank holidays the brawling would last into the early hours of the morning. The police who patrolled the area were hand-picked for their brawn rather than for their brains. For instance, it is said that a certain PC Elija ‘Ben’ Goulden once made an arrest in Corporation Street but took the prisoner to Pitt Street to charge him, because he could not spell or pronounce ‘corporation’.
In time, Paddy tired of flitting from his family’s home to his grandmother Sally’s, and so he moved in with her on a full-time basis. Even today, a child moving from one home into another is nothing unusual in the West End. School friends will visit a fellow pupil’s house to play and not go home for a month, if ever. It’s just the way communities are in the north-east: everybody knows everybody, and they all look out for one another.
Both of Paddy’s grandfathers had been sergeant majors in the Army. During the war, his mother’s father, Billy Bell, had been stationed at Featherston Prisoner of War camp, in Haltwhistle, Northumberland. He would often tell stories of how both Italian and German POWs would be marched from the train station through the village to the camp. During the day, the prisoners would work in the fields picking vegetables or fruit. Billy Bell claimed that they had little or no desire to escape. In fact, the prisoners were considered to be such a low risk that they were allowed to go to a dance that was held in the village hall every Saturday night. I suppose that a simple life in Northumberland was far more desirable than running away to face the horrors of war.
Paddy’s mother’s family are law-abiding, decent people who have never so much as sworn in their lives. They have never owned anything of material value, and they have never asked anybody for anything. Considering the community they were brought up in, they are unique to say the least. Leonard Conroy’s family was the total opposite. Born and bred in Belmullet, County Mayo, on the west coast of Ireland, they were extremely hard people who wouldn’t take shit off anybody. Leonard’s mother, Sally, fell pregnant with him in the early 1930s, when the county of Mayo was experiencing a baby boom. This was due in part to the massive loss of life Ireland had suffered in the late 1800s during the potato famine. The Irish were dependent on their potato crop, which had failed three years out of four, and this resulted in an estimated one million people dying of starvation or disease.
County Mayo, a non-industrial area, was particularly hard hit. The unusually high birth rate that followed the famine presented its own problems: there wasn’t enough work to employ or house all the additional people that it produced. In an attempt to resolve the issue, the Irish government built workhouses, or poorhouses, as they became known. The able-bodied were forced to work in return for a place to sleep and enough food and water to stay alive; the men broke stones, and the women knitted or washed linen in the laundry. These inhumane establishments were overcrowded, cold and damp places where violence and sexual abuse were rife.
The only true hope many of the people living in poorhouses had for a brighter future was to try to emigrate to America or England so that they could present themselves as cheap labour to be exploited in slightly better conditions. Leonard Conroy’s father had the misfortune to spend his formative years in a workhouse in Belmullet. When he learned that his wife was expecting, he decided to save his unborn child from a similar wretched existence and so acquired the means to travel to England. He and his wife eventually washed up in the West End of Newcastle, where Leonard Conroy was subsequently born. One day, Leonard’s father was walking down Scotswood Road when a bull escaped from an abattoir. Fearing innocent people would be trampled to death by the rampaging beast, Leonard’s father ran, gripped the bull in a headlock, wrestled it to the ground and broke its neck. From that day onwards, everybody referred to him as ‘Kill the Bull’.
A few years after that incident, in a similar manner, Kill the Bull accidentally snapped an off-duty policeman’s back during a melee that he was trying to break up, again on Scotswood Road. Unfortunately, the officer died later that night in hospital. Kill the Bull was convicted of manslaughter and subsequently spent several years in prison. When he was eventually released, he was advised to move out of Newcastle because of the ill feeling some of the deceased man’s colleagues held towards him. Kill the Bull refused to accept his guilt, because he had always maintained that the death was nothing more than a tragic accident. It is unclear if there were any further incidents linked to the policeman’s death, but Kill the Bull never did leave Newcastle.
Paddy didn’t bother going to school very often. In fact, the only time he ever did attend was to steal coal from the boiler room cellar. The 1970s was a decade blighted by strikes and industrial action by the then powerful unions. Homes were regularly plunged into darkness during power cuts caused by the miners striking, and the streets were often piled high with rotting rubbish because the binmen were working only a two-day week. Coal, the fuel that heated homes and cooked food, was scarce, and so Paddy and one of his sisters would steal it from school or off the railway lines, where it was used as ballast. The coal that was stolen from school would come in lumps, while the coal fro
m the railway had been ground down or crushed into a fine dust by the weight of the trains – but they were still able to use it. Paddy’s grandmother Sally would mix the coal dust with flour and make coke cakes, which she would then burn on the fire. It saved Sally a bit of money, and it gave Paddy and his sister an excuse to stay off school.
If you are born in Newcastle, you support Newcastle United Football Club. It’s like a hereditary disease that you have been destined to contract or a religion that has been drummed into you from an early age. Everybody supported ‘the Toon’ in the Conroy household, but Leonard never went to watch the games at ‘the Cathedral’, or St James’ Park, as it is more commonly known. The family were surprised, therefore, when one Saturday morning Leonard announced that he was going to watch the Toon, but they were even more surprised that nobody else was to be invited.
On that particular Saturday morning, 9 March 1974, the city of Newcastle was buzzing with excitement: victory over West Bromwich Albion in the FA Cup fifth round meant that Newcastle United had reached the quarter-finals of the prestigious competition for the first time in 13 years. Their victory was sweetened by the fact that their opponents in the next round were going to be second-division side Nottingham Forest.
Thirteen thousand of the Forest faithful travelled to St James’ Park to roar on their side against an apparently superior Newcastle team. The atmosphere created by both sets of fans that day has been described as electric. After just 90 seconds of play, Forest stunned the home crowd by scoring. Urged on by ‘the Toon Army’, Newcastle did equalise, but just before the half-time whistle Forest regained the lead. The manager’s half-time team talk must have been inspiring for the Newcastle players, as they came out for the second half full of fighting spirit. Unfortunately for them, the Forest defence stood firm and resisted wave after wave of attacks. This frustrated the Newcastle players, and after a number of niggling fouls and heavy challenges a Forest player was brought down in the area. The referee awarded a penalty kick. The Newcastle fans in the Leazes End of the ground were hysterical with rage and surged towards the pitch. Many of the younger fans in that end were crushed and, in fear of their lives, sought refuge on the pitch. To add insult to injury, Pat Howard, one of the Newcastle players, remonstrated with the referee about the penalty decision and was promptly sent off for dissent. The temperature on the terraces had been raised another few notches.
When Forest scored from the penalty kick, some of their supporters ran onto the pitch to celebrate in front of the Gallowgate End. It was one insult too many for approximately five hundred Geordies, and a golden opportunity for Leonard Conroy to set his plan in motion. ‘Come on lads! Howay! Howay!’ bellowed Leonard as he bulldozed through a line of police officers and onto the pitch. Helmets and bodies flew through the air as he was followed by legions of crazed Geordies who were baying for the Forest fans’ blood. As Leonard led the cavalry charge, ITV commentator Brian Moore said, ‘Here they come. This is what they have been waiting to do.’ The players stood and watched in disbelief as hundreds of Newcastle fans tried to reach the Forest supporters. The referee looked terrified and signalled for all the players to leave the pitch. It was later alleged that, before they could do so, two Forest players, Dave Serella and Martin O’Neill, were assaulted.
Fortunately for the Forest supporters, but not for Leonard Conroy, the club and the police had prepared for crowd disturbances. There were 70 officers on duty in the ground and 70 more outside with dogs. As a result of their forward thinking, the police were able to act quickly and arrest Leonard, which resulted in order being restored after just eight minutes. When the pitch had been cleared of marauding Geordies, the referee asked both sets of club officials if they wished to continue the game. Forest, who were winning 3–1 and playing against ten men, fancied their chances and elected to play on. The Newcastle officials, clearly embarrassed by the crowd disturbances, were in no position to argue.
With 25 minutes remaining, Newcastle United attacked the Forest defence with a vengeance. The steely resolve the Forest players had shown earlier in the game was now gone. Several players appeared unnerved and eyed the hysterical Newcastle fans with fear rather than watching the ball. Poise had been replaced with panic. Urged on by thousands of black-and-white-clad Geordies, Newcastle United piled on the pressure. With twenty-two minutes remaining, Newcastle were awarded a penalty kick, which they scored, and just three minutes later they drew level with a Forest side that was by now in complete disarray. In the last minute of the game, Newcastle legend Malcolm ‘Supermac’ Macdonald headed the ball across the goalmouth and captain Bobby Moncur scored the winner.
When the final whistle was blown, Forest manager Allan Brown was under no illusions as to who had won the game – and it wasn’t Newcastle United FC. ‘The crowd and the referee undoubtedly won the game for Newcastle,’ he said when interviewed after the match. Newcastle United chairman Lord Westwood did not hold back in his condemnation of the home fans either. ‘I was disgusted with the behaviour of a section of the fans,’ he told reporters.
Following the disturbance that Leonard Conroy had sparked, 23 fans required hospital treatment, two had suffered fractured skulls and 103 others received first aid. A number of police officers suffered minor injuries, and in all 39 people were charged with violent conduct and another 40 were ejected from the ground. Twenty-four hours later, Nottingham Forest appealed against the result, and after a meeting with the FA Cup Committee a replay at a neutral venue was ordered. The replay took place at Goodison Park, home of Everton FC. It ended in a 0–0 draw. The second replay, again played at Goodison Park, saw Newcastle United win 1–0. In the semi-final, Newcastle defeated Burnley, but their dreams of FA Cup glory, which had at one point seemed possible thanks to the actions of Leonard Conroy, were dashed when they met Liverpool in the final at Wembley and lost 3–0.
Publicly, Lord Westwood may have said that he was disgusted by the fans’ behaviour, but Leonard later claimed that it was Lord Westwood himself who had asked him to attend and stop the match if Newcastle were losing. When Leonard appeared in court, he was condemned by the judge as being ‘the architect’ of an incident that had ‘shamed the city’ and was imprisoned for nine months. He later told friends that he didn’t care about the sentence he had received, because Lord Westwood had paid him handsomely in cash on the condition that he never talk about their agreement or darken the turnstiles of St James’ Park ever again. Both men have sadly passed away since, but there is little doubt that Leonard was telling the truth; he certainly was not the sort of man who would lie to win favour.
Lord Westwood was no stranger to controversy or dodgy dealings; in 1951, he had been involved in a ticket-touting scandal after he promised FA Cup tickets to an MP. These tickets were included in a raffle before the police stepped in to stop them becoming available. Three years after the controversy surrounding the FA Cup clash with Nottingham Forest, Newcastle United were back in the news when six first-team players threatened to quit the club after their contract talks broke down. Allegations of misconduct in the boardroom were dismissed by Lord Westwood, who claimed that he and Richard Dinnis, the recently sacked manager, were being ‘knifed in the back’. In an effort to keep the dispute in-house, Lord Westwood ordered a blanket ban on Newcastle United employees, and in particular the players, discussing their grievances with the media. In 1981, Newcastle United Football Club was facing financial ruin, and so each director was urged to invest a further £16,000. Lord Westwood had financial problems of his own following the stock market crash of DCM, Europe’s leading toy company, of which he was also chairman, and so he declined to assist. He resigned from the board and died ten years later, in November 1991.
Shortly after Leonard Conroy’s imprisonment for the pitch invasion, his son Paddy was sent to an approved school after being caught shoplifting. It was hardly an offence worthy of such punishment; he had stolen a bottle of alcohol from a shop and was apprehended by an eagle-eyed policeman who had been observin
g him from across the street. Paddy did have previous convictions, so no doubt the magistrates, in their infinite wisdom, felt his crimes were heinous enough that he be denied his liberty and sent to a place where he could be taught by ‘respectable adults’ how one should behave.
It’s unclear who had ‘approved’ the school, but whoever it was certainly didn’t have standards, because it was, in the words of one former pupil, ‘hell on fucking earth’. The ‘school’s’ official title was Netherton Training Approved School for Boys. It was, in fact, no more than four small farm cottages in the middle of what looked like moorland, somewhere near Morpeth, in Northumberland. The only lessons the school taught its pupils were the horrors of sexual abuse and the pain of extreme violence.
The first day Paddy was there, he was introduced to a man the other children referred to as ‘the Major’. Apparently, he had been charged with turning the young miscreants’ lives around. Within an hour of Paddy’s arrival, the Major had ushered him into a medical room, where an elderly matron ordered him to stand in front of her. Without saying another word, she pulled down his trousers and underpants while the Major looked on, smiling, sweating and slobbering. Paddy instinctively pulled away from the depraved old hag and got dressed. ‘Get back here, boy,’ the matron bellowed, but he was having none of it and ran back to his dormitory.
Later that night, in the television room, the teacher’s pet – or bully, to give him his more realistic title – walked over to where Paddy was sitting, pointed to a comb lying on the floor and asked whose it was. ‘It’s not mine,’ Paddy replied.
‘Well, pick it up,’ the bully snarled.
Paddy told him again that it wasn’t his comb and that he therefore had no intention of picking it up. Moments later, the bully’s sidekick swaggered into the room and asked who had stolen his comb. The bully looked at Paddy and then looked at the comb on the floor beside him before nodding to his sidekick, who immediately leapt on top of Paddy. He did his best to fight back, but against two older, stronger boys Paddy’s efforts were futile. He went to bed that night nursing a black eye. Paddy’s father had slipped him a £5 note at court and advised him that if he did get sent away he could escape and use the cash to make his way home. Even though it was Paddy’s first day at the approved school, he knew that the money would be needed before too long and so, rather than give in to temptation and spend it, he had hidden it in his sock for safe keeping. Less than an hour after Paddy went to bed, the heavy, morbid atmosphere in the school had convinced him that he should escape and head home to Newcastle. He got dressed in the darkness and tiptoed out of the dormitory.
Fog on the Tyne Page 2
