Free Inside the Firm - The Untold Story of The Krays' Reign of Terror by Tony Lambrianou Page B

me.
    The happiness, unfortunately, came to a standstill for a while when Karen was a year old.

     
    On 6 October 1963 I was sent away for my first term of imprisonment. I’d been arrested one night after going out drinking with Timmy Reynolds and two other blokes called Frankie Hawkey and Jimmy Cribbin. We were all walking along Bethnal Green Road, and as we turned into the top of Vallance Road we went down an alley to pass water. Two constables came along and accused us of attempting to steal a motor car. We were taken to Bethnal Green police station and charged with that offence. I was put up as the ringleader and kept in custody, while the other three were bailed out.
    At that time there was a CID officer at the station who was determined to make life as miserable as possible for my brothers and me. His name was Sergeant Gray. If he could nick one or other of us it was great, so he was in his glory when they got me. Next thing, my Jimmy, Leon and a few of our pals turned up at the police station and Jimmy threatened to bash him up.
    The arrest was on a Saturday night. On the Monday morning, Thames magistrates committed us for trial to the London Sessions, and heard our applications for bail. Timmy, Frankie and Jimmy Cribbin had no problems, but the police objected strongly to releasing me and said they believed I’d been interfering with witnesses. However, the magistrate, Donald London, said: ‘I don’t see how you can grant bail to three men and keep one in custody.’ So we were all granted bail, and subsequently stood trial. Jimmy Cribbin and I were sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment, Frankie was sent to a Corrective Training centre and Timmy received a Borstal sentence.
    I found myself first of all in Wormwood Scrubs, but within a few weeks was moved to Eastchurch prison on the Isle of Sheppey. There was a lot of trouble in Eastchurch. A laundry burned down in mysterious circumstances, so they moved about thirty of us out to different prisons. I had nothing to do with the laundry, but I wantedto get out of Eastchurch anyway – it was like a military camp. I went to Canterbury and from there was transferred to Stafford. Several months into my sentence, another con in Stafford asked me: ‘What are you nicked for?’
    I answered, ‘Stealing a car. But I don’t know how I could have stolen a car that I didn’t even move.’
    He was like a barrack-room lawyer, this guy. He said: ‘You cannot be convicted of stealing something you haven’t taken.’ I put in an appeal, and lo and behold, the Court of Appeal set me free over a misdirection of the jury. I walked out of that court in June 1964 saying, ‘Never again.’ It was Derby Day. My Dad, Pat and Leon were there for me, and we went back to the East End together to my parents’ home. I was thinking, ‘That was easy enough to get out of.’ In a way, it was like cocking a snook at the law.
     
    Chris, in the meantime, had finished his CT and married Carol, a Liverpool girl who worked in public relations and was earning a good living. Like me, Chris was anything but a stay-at-home type, and I was getting around with him. We palled up with a man called Eric Mason, a well-known villain of the time.
    Eric had just finished a seven down the Moor – seven years in Dartmoor – and as an old friend of the twins, he went to them for a little bit of help when he came out. Typically, they gave him suits, some money, all the rest of it. With two men called Kenny Bloom and Maurice King, he then went into partnership in a West End club called the Brown Derby in Kingly Street. It was a drinker and spieler, or gambling club.
    I was in the Brown Derby one night with Chris, Eric and another villain called Davy Clare when Reggie came in about ten-handed. I saw Big Pat Connolly, Tommy The Bear Brown, Tommy Cowley, Teddy Smith, Albert Donaghue and a few others. All of a sudden there was an argument. One of the boys whacked a geezer whocame in drunk. The twins didn’t