The Guv'nor (4 page)

My eldest sister Linda was there, because Nan had taken her in when Dad died to make it easier for Mum.

My mum's brother, Uncle Fred Campion, was there as well. He was halfway down the stairs in his underpants, hair all sticking up. What a diamond of a man. From the day my father died that lovely man bought all our Christmas presents, right up until we were grown up. He never married, just looked after Nan and Linda. Now he's an old man and things have turned round. Nan's dead and Linda looks after him. I haven't seen him for years – you lose touch as you get older, but I'll always love him for what he did for us. Anyway, when they saw the mess Kruger was in there was hell to pay. Looking back, the scenes in my head are like fast-forwarding a video, all rushing and blurry.

I'm put to bed, Kruger's taken to hospital, the police are called and, best of all, as I hoped would happen, Nan sent for her brother, Jimmy Spinks. Why he wasn't called in years ago I don't know. I suppose Mum was ashamed of becoming involved with Jim Irwin and kept what went on to herself. Now I'd let the cat out of the bag, not for myself but for my brother.

My great-uncle Jimmy was one of the toughest men to come out of Hoxton. He was about 21 stone and 5ft 9in, built like an ox, with powerful arms and shoulders, and a fighting reputation that couldn't be bettered in those days. I'll tell you more about him in a bit, but right then, when he saw for himself what had been done to
that baby, he tore straight round our flat like a raging bull. The police had already been up to the flat and Mum had talked them out of prosecuting, so I expect that smug bastard thought he'd got away with it again. That was until Uncle Jim came through the door. I learned all this afterwards. He didn't knock, he actually punched the door open.

Jim Irwin just had time to come out of the sitting-room before he was battered, semi-conscious, back in again. Now remember, Uncle Jim was twice his age, but Irwin didn't stand a chance. As he got to his feet those massive fists put him down again, then out came the cut-throat razor. Whether he would have used it we'll never know, but he was more than capable and it wouldn't have been the first time. Mum pleaded with him to give Irwin another chance. So for her sake he didn't use the razor, but told him to ‘Fuck off' there and then or he'd, as Uncle Jim put it, ‘end up with a face like mine'.

Now that was a threat because Uncle Jim's face had so many knife and razor scars that it looked like a map of the Underground. Irwin got the message. He might have been the business when it came to knocking the bollocks out of little babies, but fronted up by a real man that gutless coward went to pieces and buggered off without arguing.

Uncle Jimmy was a very tough man and in his day was the Guv'nor of Hoxton. He was what they called a ‘ten-man job', because to bring him down you would have to go ten-handed or turn up with a shooter. I've got to say I've heard that said about myself and I'm proud to think I've inherited that from him. He was a very hard man – a tearaway. He was in one of the gangs that worked the horse racing circuits, running protection. He used to mind the bookies and the number one bookmaker in that area at the time was a Jewish bloke called Lasky. Jimmy would mind all the other bookmakers on the street corners in that area. That was his block and he was a force to be reckoned with.

I looked up to Jimmy when I was a young boy. I used to love seeing him because he always gave us money and in those days there wasn't a lot about. He always had money. Jimmy was very powerful and menacing, but a loving man to all his family, and always dressed immaculately – white shirt, tie, the big hat, the Crombie overcoat, and the pinstriped suit – the typical Al Capone gangster. He was the main man. I remember when my father died, Jimmy went round all the pubs and had a collection for my mum. That was in 1953 and he raised a load of money and handed over
every penny. I think that probably helped to feed us until Irwin appeared on the scene. I don't forget things like that, even though I was only five years old.

My nan told me a story. She said her brother was down the Nile one day (a part of Hoxton named after Nile Street), when this geezer with a grudge crept up behind him and smashed him over the head with an iron railing. She thought it was one of the Birmingham mob from the Elephant and Castle, who he'd had an upset with. Anyway, Jim stayed on his feet and then knocked the bollocks out of the bloke before wrapping his white scarf round his head and walking to the hospital. When they saw the state of his head they called a priest, but Jim sent him packing, let them bandage him up, then discharged himself.

He had a run-in with the Sabini gang which got him banged up for a spell. The Sabinis were a force to be reckoned with.

They'd started in about 1910 and based themselves in the Yorkshire Grey, Clerkenwell. There wasn't an English man amongst them so they were known as the Italian Mob. Most of their business was done at the racetracks, so when Jimmy wanted to sort out a grievance he fronted up thirty members of the Hoxton Mob and headed for Brighton Racecourse. The battle that followed earned Uncle Jim, as one of the ringleaders, five years in prison. That was in 1936, which in those days meant spending your time breaking rocks, not weight-lifting, watching TV or studying for a degree. I know he changed all the names, but when Graham Greene wrote
Brighton Rock
, a lot of it was based on what happened that day.

But Jim wasn't just a tough old villain; he looked after people. I'm often told of little incidents by people that knew him, like helping an old lady across the road, then slipping her a few quid, saying, ‘There you are, mother, treat yourself,' or he would buy sweets for the local lads. Reg and Ron Kray would confirm that. Jim was in his local one day when an American film producer, noting that he looked the business, offered to take him to Hollywood to act in films with Cagney, Raft and Bogart, but he turned it down. ‘Son,' he said, ‘I was born in the East End and I'm going to die in the East End.'

And he did. He was only in his early fifties when he had a brain haemorrhage. The funeral was like something out of a film – a proper gangster's send off. There were hundreds of shiny black cars following the coffin. There were television cameras, celebrities, pop stars and almost every major villain in London. The wreaths would
have knocked your eyes out, all shapes and sizes. Jimmy Spinks was a legend.

So that was Uncle Jimmy. At the time, us kids didn't know anything about his reputation or his villainy. All we knew or cared about was that he had chucked out the bastard who had terrorised our home. If I'd known then that Irwin was only out of the way for three months, I wouldn't have been so happy, but I didn't, so I was over the moon.

It was at about this time when I had my first paid fight, and I think I was as pleased with what I earned then as I was with some later fights which earned me ten grand.

Barry came home one day with a bleeding lip and Mum said: ‘Now, what have you been up to?' Through his bawling he told her that Brian Hyams from downstairs had punched him in the face. Because Brian was older and bigger than Barry, Mum turned to me and said, ‘Lenny, go down and sort out that bully.' So down I went.

He was the same age as me but a lot bigger. Still, I steamed in anyway. Bang, bang, bang, Now he's crying, and when you're that age it's the same as a knockout. So back up I go to tell my mum. Dead proud I am. Straight away she dipped into her purse and gave me three old pennies. But, in a way, the little pat on the shoulder she gave me was worth more than the money.

Still, you couldn't buy a lolly with a pat on the back and that's what Barry, Kruger and me did. We shot round to Morgan's on the corner and got a little square ice lolly each. The owner, a mean old bugger, used to make them himself in his freezer, two sucks and they went white, but we didn't care. The three of us sat on the wall, the champion and his brothers, and sucked them to death.

Every kid passing by was collared by Barry and Kruger and dragged up to look at the tough guy who'd given Brian Hyams a bashing. They were well impressed because he was a bit of a handful, but I think most of them were even more impressed when they heard I got paid for it. So, in a minor way, I became ‘the Guv'nor' of Godwin House.

I was getting a fair reputation at school as well, but I never picked on anyone smaller than me. Come to that, I never really picked on anyone – they seemed to search me out to prove themselves tougher than me. I'd noticed that if you were a good fighter you had loads of friends – the more fights, the more friends. So I was always mixing it in the playground. Shirt-tail hanging out,
knees and knuckles grazed, and the odd bloody nose. I loved it. Suddenly I was somebody who counted.

As often happens when you're a kid, after that first fight with Brian Hyams, him and me became mates; there was Brian, Alfie Hayes and Frankie O'Leary. We did everything together. We'd be in and out of each other's flats, though none of them wanted to come near mine if they thought Irwin might show his face. We'd spend hours together and we were always trying to outdo each other – who could run the fastest, who was the best swimmer, or who was the toughest fighter.

Alfie and me got into a fight one day with a kid about four years older than us – Roger Smythe, a right handful. He wasn't going to give up and neither were we, so we took turns in belting or being belted. When Alfie got tired he'd say, ‘Come on, “Boy Boy”, your go,' and I'd steam in until I got out of breath, then we'd change over again. What a tag team! I think it would have gone on all day if it weren't for Alfie's big brother Freddie, coming round the corner and seeing Roger off.

It wasn't all fighting, though. We thought we were the business when we started a skiffle group and called ourselves The Four Lads – Barry, Brian Hyams, Alfie and me. We were terrible. I remember going to Shoreditch Carnival once and entering a talent competition. We were belting out ‘Diana' with the veins in our necks nearly bursting, seeing who could sing the highest and loudest. We came fourth – there were only three other acts. Those lovely times outside helped me cope with the horrible times indoors.

Some of the best times for me were visiting Alfie's home – the flat above ours. He had a great big, friendly family, about 13 in all. Most of them were a lot older than us, but they weren't cocky at all. I used to love being in there. Some of the sons worked in the fruit market so the place was always loaded with apples, oranges, bananas – everything you could think of.

They knew what life was like for me, so in subtle ways they all tried to make things a bit easier. They were like a second family. Being working teenagers, they often slipped me a few pennies. Rosie Hayes used to work in a petrol garage, and she'd take me with her sometimes. I think I must have been in love with her in my childish little way. Of the older ones, Billy was my favourite. He had a lot of time for me. I don't doubt he liked me for myself – I think I was a likeable enough kid – but I have a sneaky feeling that he had a fancy for my mum. They were both about the same age and I've often
wondered how life would have turned out if she had married him and not Jim Irwin.

Billy would sometimes take me down the market on a Sunday, or down Dog Lane – like the name suggests, it was a part of Petticoat Lane where dogs were sold. I'd walk up and down patting them all and choosing which one I'd buy, even though I knew I couldn't keep it. He'd take me in the café and I'd sit with his mates feeling really grown up, one of the boys. Sometimes I'd go out with him and his girlfriend Pat and it would always be great in his company. He must be sixty now and I haven't seen him for years, but I haven't forgotten him, or the others. Today, the sons who worked in the fruit market then are chairmen of the market now, even my old mate Alfie. A lovely straight family, all of them good workers, good people who brought a lot of happiness into a little kid's life when he didn't have a lot going for him.

While we were all enjoying our holiday away from our hated stepfather, Mum didn't seem all that happy. Then a bloke named Joey kept turning up. I thought, ‘Fuck me, no, not again!' But it turned out he was bringing messages from Jim Irwin asking if he could come back. It's a pity Mum didn't put it to the vote, it would have saved a lot of misery. But she went to see Uncle Jimmy and pleaded with him to lift his threat from Irwin.

‘For you, Rose,' he said, ‘I'll leave him alone, but I still want to cut his insides out for what he done to that baby.'

She showed him some letters that Irwin had written and promised that he'd changed and was sorry for what he'd done. So it was agreed that he could move back in.

So back he came and within a fortnight the beltings had started all over again.

He didn't seem worried at all about the threat of Uncle Jim coming after him again. I suppose he reckoned that Mum was so pleased to see him back that she wouldn't say a word outside the door. As for me, he marked my card with what he would class as a subtle warning. ‘Grasses are scum and they end up with their throats cut.' So I made a habit of keeping out of his way.

I remember one time I was kipping upstairs with Alfie. I used to like that, because we could stay up late and his mum always did a nice spread for a bit of supper. At about seven the next morning, his dad shouted through, ‘Make us a pot of tea, son.' Well, Alfie jumped up and I think he made a bit of toast as well, took it into his Mum and Dad, and then we sat on the end of their bed and had a bit of a
joke with them. Lovely, ordinary family life. It didn't mean anything to Alfie because it was so normal, but it made me feel all warm and sad at the same time.

It couldn't have been more different from life in our flat downstairs. On a Sunday morning, you could always tell who'd been on tea duty in our house because they'd have a great lump on the back of their head. One minute you're asleep, the next minute … whack. Now you're wide awake going ‘What … what … what?' – Jim Irwin's just knuckled you in the head. He'd just stand there ready to put another one in, saying, ‘Make the tea,' then he'd go back to bed. Spiteful bastard. I could go on and on about the beltings and vicious treatment we took off that excuse for a man, but when you're reading about it one punch is pretty much like the next. It's different when you're on the receiving end, though. I can't even say that he got tired of doing it, or that we got used to it. He didn't and we couldn't.