Free Once Upon a Crime by Jimmy Cryans

the Valley Road Estate. This two-bedroom home had a beautiful garden at the back with winding steps leading up from a patio to a long, well-manicured garden surrounded by pine trees and it would be ideal for James. I had managed to put a tidy sum of money by and we were able to buy all the things we needed to move straight in. Before long Christine had turned it into a beautiful home for us.
    I played football in a local league for a team that was made up mostly of villains or guys who were at it in one way or another. The captain of the team, a well-known face, came round with an envelope with £500. The boys had had a whip round, he said, to help us get back on our feet. He also had a van parked outside with a new dining suite and some of the guys carried it into the house for us. Both Christine and me were almost overwhelmed by this generosity shown to us by these so-called criminal undesirables, who also included. As well as having hearts of gold, each and everyone of those fellas could have a real row but were never anything less than gentlemen.
    I went on to meet a guy who was to have a huge influence on my life and who was a character in the truest sense of the word, Tommy Daglish. He was another Londoner, from Brixton. I was with John Renaldi one Friday evening when we entered the Wheatsheaf pub in Thatcham. Standing at the bar was a big bear of a man, dark-haired with sparkling blue eyes. He was dressed in a two-piece, dark blue, pinstripe suit, white shirt and light blue silk tie and was wearing a pair of highly polished black brogues. Before we had even been introduced he asked me what I wanted to drink and then proceeded to buy everyone in the bar a drink including the staff, paid for out of a large bundle of £ 20 notes he took from his trouser pocket. This was typical of Tommy and something he would do wherever he was.
    John introduced us and we hit it off straight away, with Tommy telling me that he was in fact ‘a Jock’ as he put it, having been born in Dumfriesshire. John pulled me to one side and told me to be very careful around Tommy as he could be a bit unpredictable especially when he had had a few, and he could be very violent at the drop of a hat, but this just fascinated me all the more.
    It wasn’t long before I saw Tommy in action. Tommy, John and myself were again in the Wheatsheaf at the bar. From our vantage point we were able to see directly into the small games room and standing at the bar ordering a drink was a well-dressed couple in their early forties. The guy was wearing a dark red blazer and collar and tie. Suddenly and without any warning Tommy let out an almighty roar as he spotted the couple. ‘You fucking slag!’ he screamed as he raced through to the games room. I was in a perfectposition to witness what followed and I couldn’t quite believe what I saw.
    Tommy threw some really vicious punches into Mr Red Blazer all the while screaming, ‘You fucking dirty, no good slag! I’ll fucking kill ya!’ I had seen other men like this and it is awesome and a bit unnerving to behold – a killing is a real possibility in these situations. John and I ran through to the bar and it was a real struggle to drag Tommy off the guy, who was lying unconscious next to his missus who had fainted.
    Once we had returned to the lounge bar Tommy casually said to the barmaid, ‘A large Vera [Lynn: gin], tonic, ice and a slice and whatever the lads are having, darling.’ With fresh drinks in hand we took a seat and I asked Tommy what the fuck was that all about? Was the guy an old enemy or a grass? It had to be something serious to provoke that kind of a reaction. Tommy replied, ‘The geezer’s a fucking redcoat, ain’t he? The fucking slag.’ I asked what he meant. ‘Look, Jim, when I was a kid my old mum took us off to Butlins for a holiday and one day this slag of a redcoat beat me up and I have fucking hated the bastards ever since.’
    ‘Do you mean, Tommy, that the fella lying