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Authors: John Pearson
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was left alone. Ronnie among the Guards found fewer opportunities for self-expression, weeded the barrack square and resorted to his earliest form of protest â refusing to shave or wear a uniform.
The month they spent together after this at Colchester military detention barracks marked the turning point of their military career. Until then, with an optimism that does them credit, the Fusiliers had clung to the belief that the twins were redeemable private soldier material. Now it was plain they never wouid be, and this month at Colchester was to bring them face to face with some of the toughest delinquents in the army and strengthened their resolve to get out of the army the hard way. It was now too that they began forming rather more precise ideas about their own future when they were discharged. Reggie said:
âI can remember discussing armed robbery seriously with someone for the first time at Colchester. You see, by then, Ron and I had decided that when we came out we wanted the good life and that there was only one way to get it.â
âThe Good Lifeâ â but where was it? When they had served their month at Colchester, they were back together at the Tower, and nothing was easier than to forget about the army, change into a jacket and an old pair of trousersand slip out through the Shrewsbury Gate among the tourists any afternoon. Which, very soon, they did and faithful grey-faced Dickie Morgan followed them.
From Tower Hill you can turn right into Cable Street, left up Backchurch Lane and you find yourself in Whitechapel. It was tempting, but this time the twins had no wish to be caught, and instead of turning right at the top of Tower Hill, they went left, down through the City and into the West End where their friends from Colchester had told them âthe Good Lifeâ was waiting for them. They had been told that, in the West, anyone prepared to fight could make himself an easy living. There were mugs there to be conned, ponces to be preyed on, gambling clubs waiting to be tapped, armed robberies to be executed. Provided you werenât fussy there were no limits in this villainsâ Eldorado â and the twins were not feeling particularly fussy now.
Their only problem was that this particular Eldorado was already occupied. In the 1950s the whole West End had been neatly tied up by that pair of self-styled âKings of the Underworldâ, Mr Jack âSpotâ Comer, and Mr Billy Hill. Very little happened here without their knowledge and assent and the primary interest of this double monarchy lay in the prevention of the sort of high Chicago-style villainy the twins had set their hearts on. As they soon found out, this tattered pair of eighteen-year-old army absentees had as much chance of horning in on the rich pastures of West End crime as of joining the Stock Exchange.
This hardly seemed to matter at the time. Confident of their talents and modest enough to know they had a lot to learn, the Kray twins understood that time was on their side and they were prepared to wait. In the meantime they soon found themselves one part of the West End where they were accepted and appreciated and
could
make their presence undeniably felt.
* * *
In the early fifties a large hotel off Piccadilly Circus was leading one of the strangest double lives of any eating place in London.
During the day the tea-rooms and the downstairs restaurants with their Odeon-style décor and absolute respectability were a great place for childrenâs teas and maiden-ladiesâ outings with the most reliable poached egg in Central London.
But around midnight with the aunts and school children safely in their beds, their places in the Lloyd-Loom chairs would be taken by a very different clientele. And by one oâclock the downstairs tea-room, which stayed open through the night, was transformed into an informal club â part sanctuary, part labour exchange â for half the petty thieves and
The month they spent together after this at Colchester military detention barracks marked the turning point of their military career. Until then, with an optimism that does them credit, the Fusiliers had clung to the belief that the twins were redeemable private soldier material. Now it was plain they never wouid be, and this month at Colchester was to bring them face to face with some of the toughest delinquents in the army and strengthened their resolve to get out of the army the hard way. It was now too that they began forming rather more precise ideas about their own future when they were discharged. Reggie said:
âI can remember discussing armed robbery seriously with someone for the first time at Colchester. You see, by then, Ron and I had decided that when we came out we wanted the good life and that there was only one way to get it.â
âThe Good Lifeâ â but where was it? When they had served their month at Colchester, they were back together at the Tower, and nothing was easier than to forget about the army, change into a jacket and an old pair of trousersand slip out through the Shrewsbury Gate among the tourists any afternoon. Which, very soon, they did and faithful grey-faced Dickie Morgan followed them.
From Tower Hill you can turn right into Cable Street, left up Backchurch Lane and you find yourself in Whitechapel. It was tempting, but this time the twins had no wish to be caught, and instead of turning right at the top of Tower Hill, they went left, down through the City and into the West End where their friends from Colchester had told them âthe Good Lifeâ was waiting for them. They had been told that, in the West, anyone prepared to fight could make himself an easy living. There were mugs there to be conned, ponces to be preyed on, gambling clubs waiting to be tapped, armed robberies to be executed. Provided you werenât fussy there were no limits in this villainsâ Eldorado â and the twins were not feeling particularly fussy now.
Their only problem was that this particular Eldorado was already occupied. In the 1950s the whole West End had been neatly tied up by that pair of self-styled âKings of the Underworldâ, Mr Jack âSpotâ Comer, and Mr Billy Hill. Very little happened here without their knowledge and assent and the primary interest of this double monarchy lay in the prevention of the sort of high Chicago-style villainy the twins had set their hearts on. As they soon found out, this tattered pair of eighteen-year-old army absentees had as much chance of horning in on the rich pastures of West End crime as of joining the Stock Exchange.
This hardly seemed to matter at the time. Confident of their talents and modest enough to know they had a lot to learn, the Kray twins understood that time was on their side and they were prepared to wait. In the meantime they soon found themselves one part of the West End where they were accepted and appreciated and
could
make their presence undeniably felt.
* * *
In the early fifties a large hotel off Piccadilly Circus was leading one of the strangest double lives of any eating place in London.
During the day the tea-rooms and the downstairs restaurants with their Odeon-style décor and absolute respectability were a great place for childrenâs teas and maiden-ladiesâ outings with the most reliable poached egg in Central London.
But around midnight with the aunts and school children safely in their beds, their places in the Lloyd-Loom chairs would be taken by a very different clientele. And by one oâclock the downstairs tea-room, which stayed open through the night, was transformed into an informal club â part sanctuary, part labour exchange â for half the petty thieves and
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