Free Me and My Brothers by Charlie Kray Page A

and the reporter behind them. It was like something out of those pre-war Keystone Kops silent movies. And it got even crazier near the Oval cricket ground in Kennington, South London, when a second police car, probably called on the radio, cut in front of Reggie, forcing him to swerve on to the pavement. It was all so stupid and irresponsible.
    The security farce continued even when we reached Long Grove. The police escort let the taxi into the hospital grounds, then parked across the drive, blocking the entrance. We simply got out and walked. But then the second police car was allowed through and it crawled behind us as we walked to Reception. What on earth did they think we were going to do? Hurl hand grenades and rush Ronnie to freedom under cover of machine-gun fire?
    At Reception, we asked to see Ronnie. The request was turned down. Instead we were shown into the Superintendent’s office. He was as charming as before, but repeated that we’d done Ronnie no favours by helping him escape: he was very sick. We agreed, but argued verystrongly that he wasn’t insane. The Superintendent listened politely, promised to consider Ronnie’s case carefully, then arranged for us to see him there and then.
    That Superintendent didn’t have long to consider the case. Within a couple of days Ronnie was taken back to Wandsworth. He was not re-certified, but he was put on tranquillizers. He hated this, but he finished his sentence without further trouble and walked out a free man about seven months later, in May 1959.
    The release date surprised us. Ronnie, sentenced to three years, had belted a prison officer, caused a certain amount of damage to others, then escaped from captivity for five months. Yet he still earned full remission and served just two years.
    Did someone blunder, I wonder? Was Ronnie diagnosed wrongly? Did a doctor or psychiatrist prescribe the wrong treatment? Was Ronnie allowed out earlier than he should have been just to keep him happy?
    And to keep us quiet?

Chapter Five
    The weight Ronnie had put on before he went back to prison had dropped by the time he came out. He looked awful: he was very pale and drawn, and his eyes had no life in them. He would spend much of the time staring into space, unaware of what was happening around him. He recognized Mum and the old man, and he trusted them, but he looked blankly at Reggie and me, refusing to believe we were his brothers.
    We’d laid on this big party at The Double R. Dozens of old friends were looking forward to seeing Ronnie again. But he refused to go and I had to apologize to everyone and make up an excuse. All Ronnie wanted to do was sit in the kitchen at Vallance Road and drink tea and smoke. Reggie would sit with him for hours and then ring me to say he couldn’t handle it any more. Then I’d go and sit with him. Poor Mum! She didn’t know what to make of it all. She didn’t understand when Ronnie would suddenly look at me strangely and say, ‘You’re not Charlie. Why do you keep coming here?’ It got worse and worse and he got more and more suspicious, even of Reggie.
    And then, inevitably, Ronnie exploded.
    We had taken him to a pub to try and cheer him up. Throughout the evening he was very strange, talking funny and making no sense at all. And if he caught Reggie or me looking at him, he’d snap, ‘Who you looking at?’
    Mum or the old man would say gently, ‘Ronnie, that’s Charlie, your brother.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Ronnie would scoff. ‘That’s what he tells you.’
    It was frightening for all of us.
    At about ten o’clock, Ronnie slammed his glass on the table and dashed out of the pub. We all looked at each other, not knowing what to do. Then Reggie and I jumped up and ran after him. We found him trying to smash a shop window with his hands.
    ‘What the hell are you doing?’ we yelled.
    But all Ronnie said was, ‘Go away. I don’t know you.’
    Luckily for us, a chap we knew – Curly King – pulled up in a car. He seemed to sense