Read Online Me and My Brothers by Charlie Kray - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charlie Kray
Ads: Link
in his first year it seemed he would be home in time for Christmas 1958.
In one day, however, the whole situation changed. From being more or less a model prisoner without one black mark on his record, Ronnie found himself in a tiny, concrete cell in a strait-jacket. Dreams of freedom vanished.The nightmare from which Ronnie never escaped had begun.
During the year he’d been in jail, Ronnie had been a loner. He had had his place in the prison hierarchy and made sure everyone understood it, but he had made it plain that he wouldn’t cause trouble if he wasn’t bothered. Ronnie has an overpowering manner, bordering on hypnotic, and often sounds as though he’s demanding when in fact he’s merely asking. Whether this led to the problems in Wandsworth I don’t know, but a prison officer reacted badly to something he said and Ronnie snapped. The officer went down but within seconds other officers were on Ronnie who, strong as a bull, chinned a couple and they went over. An almighty fight broke out with fists flying, boots kicking. More officers, some armed with truncheons, joined in. Ronnie laid into them until they grabbed his arms and pushed them behind his back. Then they forced Ronnie’s head down and rushed him along the cell corridor into a post. Someone came running with a strait-jacket. Somehow they got Ronnie into it. Then they dragged him along to a concrete cell they call the ‘chokey’ block. They held him down while an officer injected him with a drug, then slammed the door. Ronnie was left in that cell for a week.
Then they transferred him to the psychiatric wing at Winchester Prison in Hampshire.
And a doctor certified him insane.
The family all reacted differently. I was very worried and disturbed because I realized the implications: Ronnie could be kept in jail indefinitely. Mum couldn’t believe it, but she tried to keep cool about it and was as optimistic as usual, saying everything would be bound to sort itself out in the end. The old man wouldn’t believe it. Ronnie was being clever, he said; he was getting the authorities at it, working his ticket. No way was Ronnie mad.
And Reggie? Reggie was beside himself with fury and worry. If his identical twin, the man who shared his innermost thoughts, had been officially declared a nut-case, what on earth did that make him?
The news from Winchester that spring of 1958 shattered us all and for weeks we tried to change the prison rules that did not allow us to have a second opinion. Mean-while, Ronnie was given massive doses of a tranquillizing drug called Stemetil. We were told this was to stabilize him and curb his violent tendencies. But it dulled his mind and affected his memory, and we were powerless to do anything about it. We watched him deteriorate before us to a point where sometimes he didn’t even recognize us.
Out of my mind with worry, I decided to find out just what Stemetil was. When I did, I was horrified. A Harley Street specialist confirmed that Ronnie was being treated for schizophrenia with a drug normally used for treating vertigo and vomiting! To make matters even worse he said, ‘The precise mechanisms of the action of this drug are not yet fully understood.’
It was too much to take. Reggie and I decided that Ronnie was coming out of Winchester even if we had to blow a hole in the prison wall to get him. Happily, this wasn’t necessary. A week or so later, in May 1958, Ronnie was transferred to a mental hospital just fourteen miles from London. It was Long Grove near Epsom, Surrey. And springing him from there was going to be a doddle.
The Strange Case of the Vanished Twin hit the headlines later the same month. Millions probably thought it was just another piece of Kray skulduggery, another cheeky swipe at authority, but we removed Ronnie from that hospital because we were far from convinced of his unbalanced mind. Also, we were very concerned at the bad effect the drugs were having on him.
One thing the drugs hadn’t
In one day, however, the whole situation changed. From being more or less a model prisoner without one black mark on his record, Ronnie found himself in a tiny, concrete cell in a strait-jacket. Dreams of freedom vanished.The nightmare from which Ronnie never escaped had begun.
During the year he’d been in jail, Ronnie had been a loner. He had had his place in the prison hierarchy and made sure everyone understood it, but he had made it plain that he wouldn’t cause trouble if he wasn’t bothered. Ronnie has an overpowering manner, bordering on hypnotic, and often sounds as though he’s demanding when in fact he’s merely asking. Whether this led to the problems in Wandsworth I don’t know, but a prison officer reacted badly to something he said and Ronnie snapped. The officer went down but within seconds other officers were on Ronnie who, strong as a bull, chinned a couple and they went over. An almighty fight broke out with fists flying, boots kicking. More officers, some armed with truncheons, joined in. Ronnie laid into them until they grabbed his arms and pushed them behind his back. Then they forced Ronnie’s head down and rushed him along the cell corridor into a post. Someone came running with a strait-jacket. Somehow they got Ronnie into it. Then they dragged him along to a concrete cell they call the ‘chokey’ block. They held him down while an officer injected him with a drug, then slammed the door. Ronnie was left in that cell for a week.
Then they transferred him to the psychiatric wing at Winchester Prison in Hampshire.
And a doctor certified him insane.
The family all reacted differently. I was very worried and disturbed because I realized the implications: Ronnie could be kept in jail indefinitely. Mum couldn’t believe it, but she tried to keep cool about it and was as optimistic as usual, saying everything would be bound to sort itself out in the end. The old man wouldn’t believe it. Ronnie was being clever, he said; he was getting the authorities at it, working his ticket. No way was Ronnie mad.
And Reggie? Reggie was beside himself with fury and worry. If his identical twin, the man who shared his innermost thoughts, had been officially declared a nut-case, what on earth did that make him?
The news from Winchester that spring of 1958 shattered us all and for weeks we tried to change the prison rules that did not allow us to have a second opinion. Mean-while, Ronnie was given massive doses of a tranquillizing drug called Stemetil. We were told this was to stabilize him and curb his violent tendencies. But it dulled his mind and affected his memory, and we were powerless to do anything about it. We watched him deteriorate before us to a point where sometimes he didn’t even recognize us.
Out of my mind with worry, I decided to find out just what Stemetil was. When I did, I was horrified. A Harley Street specialist confirmed that Ronnie was being treated for schizophrenia with a drug normally used for treating vertigo and vomiting! To make matters even worse he said, ‘The precise mechanisms of the action of this drug are not yet fully understood.’
It was too much to take. Reggie and I decided that Ronnie was coming out of Winchester even if we had to blow a hole in the prison wall to get him. Happily, this wasn’t necessary. A week or so later, in May 1958, Ronnie was transferred to a mental hospital just fourteen miles from London. It was Long Grove near Epsom, Surrey. And springing him from there was going to be a doddle.
The Strange Case of the Vanished Twin hit the headlines later the same month. Millions probably thought it was just another piece of Kray skulduggery, another cheeky swipe at authority, but we removed Ronnie from that hospital because we were far from convinced of his unbalanced mind. Also, we were very concerned at the bad effect the drugs were having on him.
One thing the drugs hadn’t
Similar Books
