THE TWINS:
MEN OF VIOLENCE
KATE KRAY
Reggie and Ronnie Kray — love ’em or loathe ’em, they were Britain’s most notorious gangsters.
This book is dedicated to all the loyal friends that stood by them throughout their many years of incarceration.
Reg and Ron’s real friends for being so honest, especially, Charlie Walker and Linda Calvey.
Ronnie’s little darling — Chantel Binns.
David Bailey for the fantastic photo.
Chester Stern and Paul Field from the Mail on Sunday.
Adam Parfitt for the hard work and headaches he endured.
Thank you.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Foreword
Prologue
1 The Final Night of Freedom
2 The Managing Directors of British Crime
3 Life and Death in Broadmoor
4 Lord Boothby: The Truth
5 Secrets, Scandals and Skulduggery
6 Tributes
7 The End of an Era
8 Ron and Reg in Their Own Words
Copyright
It has been seven long years since Ron died. My life has moved on, I’ve written a number one bestseller, and I now have my own TV series on Channel 5. So when I was asked to write this book, I was very, very reluctant.
I telephoned Joey Pyle, one of Ron’s oldest friends, for some advice. Joey is a shrewd man and always puts me right. Joe told me not to write the book: leave their memories in peace.
I almost put my pen down and stopped writing that moment. He was echoing the very thoughts that had been going through my head the moment I started work. But then I sat down and thought about it. I thought about everything that had been written about Ron and Reg in the past, so much of it crap from people who had never met them — hearsay, half truths, sometimes just plain lies. Even if the twins had lived to be a hundred, they would never have managed to collect the number of minders, drivers and associates that seem to have crawled out of the woodwork. It seemed to me that everyone had had their pound of flesh from the Krays. Only a handful of people knew the real Ron and Reg. I was lucky — I was married to Ron and even seven years after his death, people still ask me questions. Were they really as vicious as everyone said? Why did they stay in prison so long? What? Why? Where? When?
So I decided to carry on with my work. I feel that if I can give an honest, no-nonsense account of what I know, then Ron and Reg Kray can be left in peace. I don’t want to glorify them like some soppy bird seeing them through rose-tinted glasses — they were vicious men, and I know that. But they were a big part of my life for a long time and if by writing this book I can put the record straight once and for all, then so be it.
I’d like to think that this will be the last thing ever written about them. Somehow I doubt it will be …
Kate Kray London, October 2000
I’d rather die standing than on my knees, begging to be released.’
Ronnie Kray
I woke up with a start. For a moment I had no idea where I was. I remember looking at the small alarm clock that stands on the bedside table. It was 3.35 am. I took a sip of water and lay back down. Then, suddenly, I saw my dad standing in front of me. He looked young. He was wearing his checked overcoat, the one he always wore when I was a child. I didn’t understand. I was puzzled because my father had died a year before. I studied my dad’s lovely face. I remember clearly asking, ‘What are you doing here, Dad?’
Dad smiled. A familiar smile. One that I had missed so much.
‘I wanted to see you,’ he answered.
I was puzzled. ‘But you are dead.’
Dad smiled and explained. He said that, yes, he was dead, but he never left me. He said that when I suddenly start thinking of him, for no reason at all, that’s when he is with me. I can’t usually see him but, he said, he makes himself felt inside my head.
I asked him, ‘How come I can see you now?’
He answered, ‘Because you are dead, too.’
At first I was shocked, then I was glad. I was with my father and I loved him.
I wanted to kiss him but I was afraid to, in case he got upset. Before his death he used to cry over the slightest little thing. But dad was happy.
‘No … no, it’s all right, nobody cries here.’
So I put my arms around him and cuddled him tight. I have always maintained that is what arms are for — cuddling.
Then I saw Ron. He looked great. He was wearing a Prince of Wales checked suit. His hair was jet black. I gasped, ‘Ron. You look brilliant. You look so young.’
He didn’t look like the Ron I knew. He looked more like the glamorous photos I had seen of him. He laughed and explained that after death, if a spirit wants to return to their loved ones, then they usually manifest themselves in the form of when they were at their happiest. In his case, it was in the 1960s. But Ron being Ron, he wanted me to pass on a message to Reggie. I promised that I would. He said, ‘Tell Reggie that I’m all right and that it is smashin’ here.’
He insisted that I got the message right. As usual.
At that point, my dad told me that it was time I went back. He said that it wasn’t my time yet. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay with Ron and my dad. They said that it wasn’t possible. I miss my dad so much and I know he loved me. I was his little girl and I remember that whenever I went out in the evening when I was a teenager, my dad would always leave the landing light on until I got home safely.
Dad smiled at me. He looked at peace.
‘I’ll leave a light on in heaven for you,’ he said.
I kissed him goodbye. Then I kissed Ron.
I opened my eyes and I was back in my bed again. I sat up in bed. I wasn’t frightened. I felt calm but wide awake.
I always knew that it would take death to free Ron and Reg. How could it have been otherwise? No criminal in the history of Britain was more famous. They were celebrities. They were friends with members of the government; even members of the royal family could be seen in their clubs.
I’ve been asked so many times, why were they never freed? The answer is simple: they got too close. Too close to the establishment; too close to becoming untouchable.