Street.
Ronnie was always admiring my brothers’ suits. So one day he told Alfie he wanted some suits made and asked him toarrange for Paul to come round to his flat and to bring some samples of material. David was there too, followed by Ronnie, Charlie and a few other members of the Firm. At that time Reggie was away.
Sitting down in Alfie’s front room, Ronnie ordered about twenty-five suits, telling Charlie to pick out two or three for himself as well some for the rest of the Firm. Paul was very pleased, thanking Ronnie and arranging fittings for the following week.
So the next week everyone was back at Alfie’s flat again. Alfie watched Paul getting the suits out of the boot of his car. He then laid them out one by one over the back of Alfie’s sofa, with the labels marking out who each one belonged to: ‘Ronnie’, ‘Charlie’, ‘Teddy’ or whoever. Paul then fitted the suits on each member of the Firm, tearing the arms out of the jackets the way tailors do and hanging each one up carefully on the dado rail afterwards. Two weeks later another fitting was arranged, at which point Paul politely asked Ronnie if he could have some money as a deposit in order to finish off the work.
Ronnie’s expression turned murderous and, picking Paul up by the throat, he snarled, ‘Don’t you ever ask me for money again. If I feel like it, I’ll send Alfie round with something for you. Now just get the suits finished!’
Ronnie and Charlie got their suits. But Ronnie never gave Alfie any money for Paul – and my brothers lost the best tailor they ever had.
CHAPTER 5
BUNGS AND BODIES
BY 1963 RONNIE had got tired of Vallance Road and the caravan round the back, and had moved into an apartment in a block of flats called Cedra Court in Upper Clapton. Our mum and dad were already living there – they had got a flat through the Freemasons. My parents found Ronnie a gaff there, number 8 on the first floor. Reggie got a flat on the ground floor. A face called Leslie Holt lived upstairs. That nice, respectable block of flats was going to see some very strange goings-on.
Ronnie was fantasising about being a legitimate businessman. Reggie was actually doing something about it, making plans to go into betting shops and restaurants – even a ‘security’ firm. The money-man Leslie Payne had really got them at it. But the first thing they needed to do was button up the police even tighter. Even if they had vague intentions of going legit, the Old Bill were all as crooked as the criminals they were ostensibly trying to catch. In those days you couldn’t run a club unless you gave a bung to the local police or they’d close you down. That’s what our dad did when he was still running the 66, all the time, just in order to stay open.
So the Krays needed my brothers all the more. They had David and Alfie running all sorts of errands. Moving people, moving guns, moving money. After we’d lost the 66, Alfie had to set Mum up in a new business, a pie and mash shop in Stoke Newington. Perhaps it was just as well, because under the new management the 66 was now the Krays’ back office, ideal for discreet meets with the Old Bill.
But these were not just the local coppers from the Upper Street nick. This was West End Central and the Yard. My brother David saw it all for himself. He was in the 66 early one afternoon when two men rang the doorbell. David let them in. He’d already been told they were coming by Ron. ‘I’ve got someone coming in tomorrow, I’ve got a meet here,’ he’d told David. So when the men asked him, ‘Anyone in?’ he knew who they were talking about. He also understood full well that they were plain-clothes coppers.
David gave them each a drink. He told them there was no one here yet, but they should wait and the Colonel would be along soon. David knew that Ron was in fact waiting in the pub over the road on Islington Green, downing drinks, watching the door to the club to see if anyone was being
Ronnie was always admiring my brothers’ suits. So one day he told Alfie he wanted some suits made and asked him toarrange for Paul to come round to his flat and to bring some samples of material. David was there too, followed by Ronnie, Charlie and a few other members of the Firm. At that time Reggie was away.
Sitting down in Alfie’s front room, Ronnie ordered about twenty-five suits, telling Charlie to pick out two or three for himself as well some for the rest of the Firm. Paul was very pleased, thanking Ronnie and arranging fittings for the following week.
So the next week everyone was back at Alfie’s flat again. Alfie watched Paul getting the suits out of the boot of his car. He then laid them out one by one over the back of Alfie’s sofa, with the labels marking out who each one belonged to: ‘Ronnie’, ‘Charlie’, ‘Teddy’ or whoever. Paul then fitted the suits on each member of the Firm, tearing the arms out of the jackets the way tailors do and hanging each one up carefully on the dado rail afterwards. Two weeks later another fitting was arranged, at which point Paul politely asked Ronnie if he could have some money as a deposit in order to finish off the work.
Ronnie’s expression turned murderous and, picking Paul up by the throat, he snarled, ‘Don’t you ever ask me for money again. If I feel like it, I’ll send Alfie round with something for you. Now just get the suits finished!’
Ronnie and Charlie got their suits. But Ronnie never gave Alfie any money for Paul – and my brothers lost the best tailor they ever had.
CHAPTER 5
BUNGS AND BODIES
BY 1963 RONNIE had got tired of Vallance Road and the caravan round the back, and had moved into an apartment in a block of flats called Cedra Court in Upper Clapton. Our mum and dad were already living there – they had got a flat through the Freemasons. My parents found Ronnie a gaff there, number 8 on the first floor. Reggie got a flat on the ground floor. A face called Leslie Holt lived upstairs. That nice, respectable block of flats was going to see some very strange goings-on.
Ronnie was fantasising about being a legitimate businessman. Reggie was actually doing something about it, making plans to go into betting shops and restaurants – even a ‘security’ firm. The money-man Leslie Payne had really got them at it. But the first thing they needed to do was button up the police even tighter. Even if they had vague intentions of going legit, the Old Bill were all as crooked as the criminals they were ostensibly trying to catch. In those days you couldn’t run a club unless you gave a bung to the local police or they’d close you down. That’s what our dad did when he was still running the 66, all the time, just in order to stay open.
So the Krays needed my brothers all the more. They had David and Alfie running all sorts of errands. Moving people, moving guns, moving money. After we’d lost the 66, Alfie had to set Mum up in a new business, a pie and mash shop in Stoke Newington. Perhaps it was just as well, because under the new management the 66 was now the Krays’ back office, ideal for discreet meets with the Old Bill.
But these were not just the local coppers from the Upper Street nick. This was West End Central and the Yard. My brother David saw it all for himself. He was in the 66 early one afternoon when two men rang the doorbell. David let them in. He’d already been told they were coming by Ron. ‘I’ve got someone coming in tomorrow, I’ve got a meet here,’ he’d told David. So when the men asked him, ‘Anyone in?’ he knew who they were talking about. He also understood full well that they were plain-clothes coppers.
David gave them each a drink. He told them there was no one here yet, but they should wait and the Colonel would be along soon. David knew that Ron was in fact waiting in the pub over the road on Islington Green, downing drinks, watching the door to the club to see if anyone was being
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