Read Online The Profession of Violence by John Pearson - Free Book Online

warehouse where he was night-watchman. ‘Chunky’ the elder brother, who was in Parkhurst Gaol, had made a name for himself in a riot at Portland Borstal organized by an immensely strong young giant from Hackney called Frank Mitchell. And one of the younger brothers was already serving his apprenticeship in Borstal.
    Somehow in the midst of all this, with her straight hair, her full-moon spectacles and her text of ‘Bless this House’ on the kitchen wall, stood the eternally worried, uncomplaining figure of Richard Morgan’s mother, bringing up the two youngest boys, and cooking eggs and bacon for the unceasing traffic of ‘friends on the run’ who made for Clinton Road, snatched a few hours’ sleep on the front-room sofa, and dodged off over the garden wall before the police knocked on the door as dawn was breaking.
    At Vallance Road the twins’ actual home-life had been curiously sheltered, and Violet and her parents were an influence against dishonesty. The Lees were ‘respectable’. Here it was different, and at Clinton Road the twins found what they had always wanted – lawlessness and adventure. And as fellow deserters and friends of a youthful old lag like Richard Morgan, they had a guide to the exclusive and caste-ridden maquis of petty East London criminals.
    Previously as dedicated young professional boxers they had been ascetic to a degree – non-smoking and -drinkingand continuing to get up at six each morning for their training runs almost until the day they entered the army. Overnight this went. For the first time in their lives they smoked and drank. Instead of training spins and early nights they adopted thieves’ hours, out most of the night and cat-napping during the day. And they made their first actual money out of crime – a few pounds which was their share from a raid on a Clerkenwell dress wholesaler when they joined forces with an old-time thief from Mile End and got away with seven rolls of cloth.
    And just as Morgan introduced them to the criminals of Mile End, so they enjoyed taking him surreptitiously to the places where they were known. The fantasy of being wanted criminals on the run gripped them all, particularly Ronnie, who was to play the same game with spectacular variations in years to come.
    Now that the police were after them in earnest, they could play out this fantasy for all it was worth; the two of them, alone, uncaring, wanted by a society they despised yet always able to survive, fight back, and vanish like the Scarlet Pimpernel himself.
    They always had been natural actors – particularly Ronnie, who had inherited his showman’s instincts from Grandfather Lee, and the first night they took Dickie to the Royal Ballroom at Tottenham they had the role they wanted.
    The Royal is still one place in the East End where the young can meet, pick each other up and show off with impunity. A great barn of a place off the Kingsland Road, with brass and mahogany swing doors, and a facade that looks like mouldy marzipan, it usually boasts two separate bands, and the noise inside is deafening. In early evening it is a ballroom pure and simple, but when the pubs close it becomes something more. The noise increases, coloured spotlights flicker high above the crowd, and on hot, early summer nights, the Royal becomes a living showcase ofthe East End. In the days when the Kray twins were there, it was also a good place for fights.
    The girls and the dancing were unimportant, except for background and the sense of occasion they gave the place. The crowd was the sort of audience the twins enjoyed, and the real attraction of the Royal was as a place where the local tearaways could come ‘on show’. It was the tribal proving ground, where the self-appointed ‘rulers’ of the neighbourhood would make their ritual appearance like the young bloods of some primitive society. And just as in a primitive society, the entry of