Young guys began appearing at Paddy’s door complaining bitterly about unwritten rules and restrictions that were being imposed upon their criminal enterprises. ‘We are being pushed out of business, Paddy, by this so-called firm, and there’s nothing we can do about it,’ they would say. People who broke these unwritten rules were being beaten, tortured and, in at least one case, hacked with blades.
The other ‘problem’ these feral youths imported into the West End was the sale of Class A drugs. The 1980s had seen a rise in the number of armed robberies being carried out in the UK. Several of these crimes reaped huge rewards for the villains involved. On Easter Monday 1983, a gang led by a ‘toff’ with a ‘posh’ accent carried out what came to be known as the Great Banknote Raid, in Shoreditch, east London. Six million pounds was taken from the Security Express headquarters in Curtain Road when half a dozen masked men burst in at 10.30 a.m. One of the guards was doused in petrol and warned that if he did not disclose the combination for the safe he would be set alight. The guards were then tied and blindfolded for the duration of the raid, which lasted a further five hours.
Within six months, the Security Express robbery had paled into insignificance. At 6.40 a.m. on 26 November 1983, £26 million worth of gold was taken from the Brinks-MAT warehouse on the Heathrow trading estate. Again, the guards were intimidated, and some were doused in petrol. One guard was even threatened with castration, and another was coshed and punched until he handed a set of keys over. The gang drove off with 6,400 bars of gold.
These two robberies alone netted £32 million, but their success created huge problems for the perpetrators. How were they ever going to ‘clean’ so much money? They could not give up their council flats, park up the old Ford Escort and suddenly start purchasing mansions, Rolls-Royces and private jets, because the authorities would want to know where they had acquired their new-found wealth. The obvious answer to their problem was to invest their ill-gotten gains in another criminal enterprise. Unfortunately for the British public, the only enterprise that ticked all the required boxes happened to be drugs. As a direct result of the robbers’ successes, the late 1980s witnessed the arrival of the rave culture, which was fuelled and enjoyed by revellers high on the ‘love drug’ Ecstasy. Instead of youngsters getting drunk and fighting one another, they were soon popping pills and embracing both friends and strangers.
The general consensus was that cannabis and Ecstasy were harmless social drugs rather than dangerous, habit-forming substances. However, there was so much illegal money swilling around the world of drugs that it wasn’t long before cocaine and heroin were also flooding the streets at knock-down prices. As the rave scene began creeping into the north-east, an avalanche of illegal drugs quickly followed. Cannabis, amphetamines, Ecstasy, cocaine and heroin were on sale at prices even the unemployed could afford. This influx of drugs into the area signalled the bitter end for old-school characters like Viv Graham. Drugs such as cocaine gave fools confidence, but the fools still couldn’t fight, and so they armed themselves instead. Gentlemanly conduct was pronounced dead upon the arrival of rave.
In one incident where old-school values clashed ith new, drug-induced thinking, Billy Robinson was shot. Billy, who had employed Paddy Conroy, John Henry Sayers and Viv Graham as doormen, was socialising one evening at Bentleys nightclub with friends. There he encountered a man named Alan Swindon, who, Billy had heard, was guilty of harassing a female member of the Robinson family. A quiet word was all that was needed, but Swindon, bolstered by drugs, refused to listen to Billy’s reasonable request and began issuing threats. Billy, who was more than capable of resolving the issue with a single punch, did not wish to cause trouble in the nightclub, and so he ignored Swindon’s rant and hoped he would walk away before he had to be carried out.
When Bentleys closed, Billy and his friends went to a house party in the Felling area of Gateshead. A short while later, a man approached Billy with a shotgun and opened fire. Rather wisely, Billy and others sought cover, but Billy’s leg was trapped in a door that other revellers were trying to slam shut. The gunman blasted the door, causing extensive injury to Billy’s exposed leg and minor injury to the foot and leg of another reveller. The police arrested Swindon for the double shooting, but Robinson refused to assist the police and the case was dropped but not forgotten.
Some time later, Swindon and a male friend were in Rockshots, a gay bar in Newcastle that was equally popular with heterosexuals. Both men were stabbed; both survived. The police were called, but they were unable to find out who was responsible, as anybody who may have witnessed the incident suffered bouts of amnesia. A trivial dispute had resulted in two people being shot and two stabbed.
The demand from revellers for illicit drugs gave criminals in the north-east a huge financial incentive to supply. Not only was the old-school rulebook concerning fighting torn up, but the edition concerning not grassing was also rendered redundant. As Stephen Sayers and his associates Alan ‘Fish’ Tams and David Lancaster boarded an aeroplane at Newcastle airport in April 1989, little did they know that another associate was on the phone to the police. They were informed that Sayers and Tams were in possession of a large number of Ecstasy pills, which they intended to sell in Tenerife. When the men arrived at the popular holiday destination, local police swooped before they had even left the airport. When they were searched, just a small amount of cannabis and a few pills, which were for their own personal use, were found. Nevertheless, they were arrested and remanded in custody to the not so plush Granadilla Detention Centre. They had clearly upset somebody in Newcastle, and the aggrieved had hit back by doing the previously unthinkable: he had informed on them to the police. All three were eventually released and returned to England.
As the rave scene grew increasingly lucrative for those involved in the supply of drugs, the city of Newcastle found itself besieged by villains eager to take control. They were not only selling Ecstasy. The low cost and availability of cocaine and heroin meant that they could almost afford to give these vile drugs away in the hope of saddling potential long-term customers with an addiction. As the various gangs flexed their muscles, the violence meted out was of a nature and ferocity the police had never previously known.
A popular rave club in Sunderland called the Blue Monkey was brought to the attention of a gang of drug dealers from Newcastle. An age-old rivalry exists between Geordies and Mackems, as people from Sunderland are known. It was decided, therefore, that the Geordies would take over the lucrative drug-dealing operation at the club by ousting their Mackem counterparts, but things didn’t quite go according to plan. The Geordies were forced to retreat from the club after a vicious fight, but they vowed to return. If they couldn’t control the club, then nobody would.
A few days later, the Geordies stormed the Blue Monkey club and snatched 19-year-old Darren Poole, who had been alone decorating the premises. The building was doused in petrol before being set alight. Mr Poole, who was handcuffed, watched as his handiwork went up in flames, but as the fire took hold he was bundled into a waiting vehicle and driven ten miles before being dumped. Speaking to the Newcastle Evening Chronicle newspaper, Mr Poole said of his ordeal:
I thought I was going to be burnt alive or shot. I have never been so frightened in my life. These two men suddenly appeared. One pulled out a revolver, pointed it at my head and threatened to shoot me. They then handcuffed my hands behind my back and ushered me into the main area of the club. They then handcuffed me to a railing and started dousing petrol both upstairs and downstairs. They used matches and a lighter to set it alight, and I thought they were going to leave me there. They then untied me from the railing and handcuffed my hands behind my back. They pushed me onto a car seat and one of the men sat on top of me. They were threatening me all of the time and telling me not to say anything about what had happened to the police. I am still shaking. I really thought that I was going to die.
When the club eventually reopened, the gang violence continued, and when
a man was murdered outside, the owners decided to employ a legendary fighter from Sunderland named Ernie Berwick to provide security. Following the trouble with gangs from Newcastle, Berwick was rightly cautious of anybody trying to enter the club who was not from the Sunderland area.
One evening, Billy Robinson arrived at the Blue Monkey with a group of men in tow. Berwick said that they would all have to pay to get in, to which one of Billy’s entourage replied, ‘Do you know who you’re talking to?’ Berwick explained that it was irrelevant to him who he was talking to, because the rules would remain the same: if people were not prepared to pay to get in, they would not get in. Words were exchanged between Billy and Berwick before Billy slapped him hard across the face. Berwick lunged at Billy, who tried to punch him, but Berwick ducked the incoming fist and landed a punch of his own, which knocked Billy over.
A few months later, Berwick was asked if he would have a ‘straightener’ – that is, an old-school fight, man to man, with no weapons involved – with Billy, and he agreed. The fight was arranged to take place at a gym in Jesmond that was owned by former Mr Great Britain Andy Webb. On the day of the fight, Berwick arrived at the gym alone and found Viv Graham and several others waiting for him. They seemed surprised that a Mackem would have the audacity to turn up alone for a fight in Newcastle. Viv immediately telephoned Billy to say that Berwick had arrived. Two hours later, Billy walked into the gym and shook Berwick’s hand. Always the gentleman, Billy said, ‘I want to shake your hand before this fight, and I want to shake it afterwards.’
With the formalities over, Billy, who was much larger than Berwick, took up a boxer’s stance. Berwick was aware of Billy’s punching power, and so he elected to wear him out by moving around and then, when Billy tired, going in for the kill. For the first few minutes, Berwick flicked punches at Billy, egging him on to come forward. Billy responded by throwing knockout punches that Berwick ducked and weaved to avoid. At one stage, Billy managed to grip Berwick in a headlock and rained sickening punches down upon his head. However, Berwick managed to struggle free and move around while composing himself. After hitting Billy with a barrage of right hooks, Berwick was stunned by an uppercut that put him down on one knee. Fearing Billy would begin kicking him, Berwick leapt to his feet and ran at his opponent screaming, ‘Come on!’ The Queensberry Rules were forgotten as Berwick attacked Billy in a fit of deranged temper. Viv Graham separated the fighters and grabbed Berwick while shouting, ‘Howay, Ernie, howay.’
The fight was over, but Berwick was unsure as to who had been declared the winner. Billy, true to his word, shook Berwick’s hand and hugged him. That, as far as he was concerned, was the end of the matter. As Berwick walked out of the gym, he saw Viv Graham sitting on a bench. He was quite surprised and confused when Viv began saying, ‘I don’t want any trouble with you . . .’
When they had both been amateur boxers, Berwick had fought and beaten Viv in the ring. That was the only ‘trouble’ they had ever had. Berwick genuinely had no idea what Viv was on about, and so he shook his hand and left. As Berwick was getting into his car, one of the men who had watched the fight said, ‘Viv shouldn’t have stuck that sly punch on you.’ It was then that Berwick realised that it wasn’t Billy who had delivered the devastating uppercut that had dropped him to his knees.
Berwick walked straight back into the gym, and when Viv saw him he said, ‘Billy was like a dad to me. He brought me up really. I am sorry I hit you.’
Berwick thought for a moment before replying, ‘It was only a daft punch. Forget about it.’ In keeping with the old-school tradition, the matter was then closed.
Despite the number of power-crazed wannabes and gangs that had emerged around Newcastle in the hope of controlling the drug trade, only the ‘Sayers-backed firm’ appeared to be untouchable. Flat caps and whippets had been in vogue when Paddy Conroy was sent to prison, but by the time he was released thieving smackheads and young girls on the game trying to earn money for their filthy habits were almost fashionable. Heroin is the scourge of the modern world. It turns decent young people into rodents who scavenge and steal from their own mothers to feed their disgusting habits.
‘Skinny’ Gary Thompson, who had so fiercely protested against Paddy’s arrest for allegedly wounding PC Middleton, became a victim of the heroin dealers, and the drug soon turned a once decent man into a zombie who had lost his soul and the control of his own mind. While suffering from the effects of his addiction, Thompson broke into the home of a 90-year-old war veteran named Ernest Hall. Thompson tied the elderly gentleman to a chair, gagged him, beat him and robbed him of his meagre possessions just so that he could feed his addiction. Before leaving the helpless old man, Thompson, for reasons known only to himself, turned off the central-heating system in the house. The following morning, Ernest Hall was found in freezing-cold conditions. Eleven days later, he died in hospital of pneumonia.
Thompson had been a decent sort when Paddy had known him, but heroin had poisoned his mind and the craving for that vile drug had made him commit this terrible, inhumane crime. If anybody wants to know why Paddy Conroy hates addictive drugs being sold to members of his community, they should ask themselves why a brave man like Ernest Hall had to die in such an undignified manner. Shame? It’s a fucking scandal, and anybody involved in the sale of heroin shoulders some of the blame for the diabolical crimes that their customers go on to commit.
Paddy knew the true strength of the Sayers family; he had grown up on the same streets as John Henry and his brothers Michael and Stephen. Paddy did not believe for one moment that they would be party to some of the crimes that were being committed using their name, particularly the sale of heroin, and so he decided to talk to them about what he had heard. He believed that they might listen to him and distance themselves from the numerous hangers-on that they had attracted. Paddy also believed that he owed his community a debt for the loyalty they had shown him when he was in prison. He felt that he could not stand by and allow people to sell their sons and daughters shit like heroin, and so he went to a hostel that was owned by the Sayers family, initially to speak to their father.
When Paddy knocked on the door, John Sayers senior stepped outside and asked him what it was he wanted. Paddy asked John if he would have a word with ‘his lads’, because people around them were getting involved ‘in shit’, which, in the long term, would cause problems for all decent people living in the West End and beyond. John Sayers senior looked at Paddy as if he were stupid. He then shook his head and walked back inside the hostel without saying a word. Stupid or not, Paddy was not going to stand by and allow people to sell heroin on the streets where his own children were growing up. Realising John Sayers senior wasn’t interested in the problem, Paddy decided to talk directly to his sons about the situation. It’s not known what was said when they met, but an understanding was reached before the parties went their separate ways.
As far as Paddy was concerned, the sale of heroin was no longer to be tolerated on the streets of the West End, and that was the end of the matter. However confident Paddy may have felt about the outcome of the talks with the Sayers brothers, he should have known that they, like him, would not be dictated to by anybody. On the tranquil streets of Newcastle, a storm was brewing, but neither side could possibly have foreseen the impact that conflict would have on all concerned.
In 1989, the Sayers firm was dealt a huge blow when John Henry was convicted of masterminding a terrifying armed raid on the Pritchard’s security depot in Gateshead. Security-office staff, mainly women, were compiling wage packets for the following day when the six-man armed gang smashed its way in with sledgehammers. The terrified staff were herded into a back room and forced to lie on the floor as the gang ransacked the premises. A security guard who had driven into the yard during the raid had his windscreen smashed with a sawn-off shotgun. He was then dragged from his vehicle and forced to remain on the floor while a gun was pointed at his head. When he heard an order from one of the robbers to a gunman
to blow off his legs, he managed to roll to safety under a van, where he remained until all of the cash was loaded.
Their work complete, the robbers sped off in two stolen vehicles towards the East End of Newcastle, where they switched vehicles while threatening passers-by at gunpoint. They eventually arrived at a ‘safe house’ in Heaton, Newcastle, where the up-until-then perfectly executed plan began to fall apart. An empty flat had been carefully chosen to store the money until the dust settled. However, the daughter of the flat’s owner happened to walk past the following night and, seeing lights on in the flat, thought that it was being burgled and telephoned the police. When uniformed officers attended expecting to find squatters in the empty premises, they couldn’t quite believe their luck when they discovered £350,000 in cash, two sawn-off shotguns and a machine gun. Two men, Alan Minniken and Surtees Fisher, were arrested nearby after a brief chase. Both denied any knowledge of the money and firearms in the flat.
It was, at that time, the biggest wages robbery ever carried out in the north-east. Inquiries spanning ten months took detectives to Yorkshire, Scotland and Liverpool. Eventually, John Henry Sayers, George McFadyen, Alan Minniken, Geoffrey Whelans and Surtees Fisher were all charged and later convicted of involvement in the armed raid. Sayers and McFadyen were each sentenced to serve fifteen years’ imprisonment, Minniken and Whelans thirteen years, and Fisher three years. Not all the gang members were caught. A few years later, Alan Minniken’s brother Chris ‘Kicker’ Minniken disappeared from his home without a trace. It is rumoured on Tyneside that Kicker was a member of the robbery team and that not all the gang’s money had been recovered by the police. Kicker has been missing for more than a decade now, and the police are in no doubt that he has been murdered by persons unknown.
Fog on the Tyne Page 7
