Tag Archives: The Underworld

London Boy Movie |Luck Or Divine Intervention |

This week’s London Boy Film blog by Johnny is a real treat and a must read for all followers/fans of the blog and movie project. The story is one which will leave you asking yourself questions by the time you finish. I’ll let Johnny explain….

Luck or divine intervention ? 

London Boy Roulette table

Was Lady Luck on Johnny’s side here, or was some other force at play? You decide…

Hello guys, with a title like this one I’m betting you’re wondering if I’ve lost the plot or gone all God-like. No people, the last time I checked the plot, it was still there which satisfied me I hadn’t lost it. As for the God thing, you bet I’m a bit God like. Putting it frankly, let’s just say I’ve had some amazing experiences happen to me over the years that can’t be explained as a fluke. If I told you guys just a little about what happened to me right now, some of you may well think. “Yep, he’s lost it alright’. But, let’s see how this blog goes down with you guys before you make your mind up on anything. If all goes well and I get enough feed-back, I’ll be sure to write about them in my next blog no matter how hard some of you may find them to believe.

What I can tell you since those experiences happened, is that I don’t believe in coincidences any longer. This little tale happened to me way back when I got a Borstal sentence. I was just seventeen and already I’d been labelled by the powers that be, that I was a menace to society. Even as a kid I believed in God, I had no choice in my house. Both names God and Jesus would come out of my ma’s mouth so often, that as a kid I thought they both lived in my bedroom wardrobe. Even at seventeen the type of life I was leading I thought they wouldn’t want anything to do with me. After all as my ma would keep telling me I was a bad sinner and that God would punish me. But the difference with me was that I bloody liked the life I was leading! After I tell you this little tale, you make your own minds up and tell me what forces you think were at play? Now read on because you’re about to become the first people to learn about this side of me.

Arriving at Wormwood Scrubs at eight o’ clock in the evening is a moment in time I will never forget, it was daunting. You know that feeling of impending doom we sometimes feel; well this felt ten times worse of the worst. My first thoughts as we drove in through the gates were of dread. Back then I was always a bit of a flash bastard, big mouthed with a huge ego? Now this horrific living nightmare that I was now in, made me feel vulnerability and real fear for the first time. It was like having you’re worse nightmare come alive as a play and you’re playing the lead role. That was the time I left my adolescence at the gates of ‘The Scrubs’ I was now stepping into the big man’s world of skulduggery. For me when the shock at my arrival was over, my next thought was that I best learn quickly if I wanted to survive in this Victorian style jungle.

I had just been given a two-year Borstal sentence for terrorizing half of the south of England. Got caught and sentenced at Chichester Crown Court. But because of my age and having a pregnant common- law-wife ready to drop, the judge showed lenience by only giving me a Borstal sentence. That was a right result considering all the trouble I had caused

The after sentencing process meant going into the scrubs to be assessed. After 2-3 weeks I would be assigned to a Borstal that was supposedly suitable for me. If I had been a violent, drug-pushing criminal, I would without question be sent to a closed borstal. I was lucky and wangled it with a bit of ‘’Yes Sir, No Sir, three bags full Sir” that I got sent to an open borstal. Although our little gang had done mainly warehouses and commercial premises. What deserved us all a longer sentence was the length of time we had been at it without getting caught! In the end it required three separate police forces, each of them to work together, just to be able to catch us. Believe it or not, having three forces working smoothly with each other was a very rare thing. All because of the huge ego’s in the ranks of each constabulary. Everyone wanted the credit for bringing our little crew to mark. Which led to each force, not sharing important information with the other two. But before they sorted out their infancy, it took many meetings and debates costing the taxpayer a fortune. So they blamed my pals and me for putting that huge dent in the coffers of the three police forces financial pot. That was a hell of a lot of money wasted, but they had no choice but work with each other if they ever wanted us behind bars. I’ll always remember the old bill’s faces when they actually nicked me. It was one of shock, which quickly turned to violence after realising how young we all were. Three police forces had hired professional profilers who in turn characterised us as a gang of middle-aged professional commercial cat burglars. So you can imagine their reaction when they realised that it was just a bunch of teenagers that had been pulling the wool over their eyes for so long. But at least we kept them on their toes because we were at it seven days per week for months on end. They didn’t let us forget that either. Let’s just say that it was none too pretty when it came down to them dishing out their own version of justice.

After quickly getting over the initial aggro and with me making my mark within the Borstal population. I concentrated all my time on sorting my relationship out.

Prior to my sentencing at Chichester crown court I had been on remand for months in another Victorian shithole a juvenile centre called ford. The day after I was sentenced my first daughter Lynsey-Ann was born and boy was I proud to be a dad. It also gave me the jolt I needed to get out as quick as possible and work legally to look after them. But that jolt was short-lived because a bombshell was about to hit home, in the shape of a letter in my mail containing a ‘Dear John’. For those of you who don’t know what a DJ is? – It’s when the love of your life tells you she doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore and you’re never to see your kid again. Worse still, you’re fucked because you’re not able to do anything about it. I was devastated even more because it wasn’t just a normal girl/boy split up. I now had a family for the very first time, so that Dear John letter really hit the spot.

I suppose my thoughts on love back then were more manlike and responsible than that of a seventeen year old today. I had been brought up as an only child in an Irish run house. Up to the time I met my wife my experience about love was that it was lust in disguise. That consisted of me having regular one-night stands from when I lost my virginity aged eleven. But when I met my wife lust went out the window and for the first time ever I experienced true love. As for my upbringing there was love in my family but it was more sheltered and sensitive emotions were less shared. From the age of five I longed for a family with my own brothers and sisters. Bless her, my Ma lost her first and third child, all she ever wanted was to give me a bro or sis. The doctors warned her she was risking her own life if she got pregnant a third time. She nearly did die as well, I remember the priest giving her the lasts rights. But she was a tough little bird, all 4’ 10’’ of her, a Dublin born no nonsense type of women who just happened to have a blinding left hook.

While emotionally hurting your mind can play all sorts of tricks on you when you are powerless to do anything. This day and age, it must be similar to getting dumped by text. Anyone who does their dirty work by texting you has done you a favour because their actions say it all; they’re nothing but arseholes. There’s a fine line separating love and hate and I wandered down both paths during the first few months.

At the same time I was fast-tracking my adjustment into Borstal life. When I arrived at the Borstal the first thing I noticed there were no fences. Not that I was thinking of doing a bunk at that time, but later on into my sentence I certainly did give it a thought. Having no fences made it seem easy for me to have it away on my toes. But the borstal staff were clever and used tactics to put us off the thought of escaping. They would at least once or twice a week parade a captured inmate in front of us at reveille time. He would look dishevelled, beaten, cold, and hungry. The month in solitary confinement he was about to receive, for him would feel like heaven sent. The stunt was designed to let us know that there was nowhere to go if we ran. In fact I was on an Island with a fast flowing estuary two thirds around it with the North Sea connecting each side. That just left a small bridge to the mainland that was adjoined to a USAF Base that housed dozens of silos with a nuke in each. We at the Borstal all got a free trip around that Air base. They went out of their way to scare the shit out of us. A little show was especially put on by the Military Police. They showed us what would happen if we got caught using their base as an escape route. It was plain and simple that we’d be shot on the spot! Even though it was an open borstal it was situated in a very dangerous area and the cold war was still in progress. The quickest way off the place was to get a job on the outside farm party, then slope off during the day to a waiting car to pick you up. But I had my daughter to consider and being on the run wasn’t going to help my situation.

Normally I would only be allowed to write one letter home every fortnight. But now that I had a daughter, that entitled me to one more specifically for her. But I would use both to write to my Mrs, I would write anything I thought she needed to hear to convince her to take me back. She became my first love after meeting her when I was just fifteen. She was slightly older than me and had been married for around six months before her husband upped and left her for another bird. We got together six weeks after he had left and I became smitten almost overnight.

Basically I only started out thieving on a regular basis because I wanted the best for my soon to-be family. I was too young to collect welfare and too in love to work away up north and earn good money with my old man. After that I dismissed, or more like ignored all other alternatives that could support my family to be. Not that I realised it back then but… I was becoming one self-centred egotistical twat.

I was able to justify to myself, then my wife that it was cool for me to go out each night, clearing out a warehouse or two and living off the proceeds. I would talk bullshit to her for hours that what I was doing was the right thing to do. I now realise I was co-dependent on her, especially if I got banged-up. If I got captured I needed to know she would still be there once I got out. So getting a DJ set free all those subdued emotions I had lurking around. Unbeknown to my wife I’d been brought up in a crime-ridden society and was always on the wrong side of the fence. But all that is another self-centred story and maybe I‘ll write about it in another blog.

I couldn’t show the other inmates that my emotions were affecting me. They would have homed in on me like sharks at a feeding frenzy. But there were plenty of times when I needed to be on my own. I realise now that it was normal to cry in private, it sometimes felt better to let it all out. Similar to someone grieving a newly departed loved one. I’ve felt both at the same time many years later and I’m not ashamed to have shed a tear or two then either. What I learnt about myself is that there was a decent side to me, compassionate, loving, and understanding. I just found it hard to express it and when I did it was usually too late.

In Borstal each of the four units housing around a hundred or more inmates had what we called a Matron. To describe ours would be to say she looked like everyone’s chubby, frumpy, cuddly grandmother including a big hairy mole on her cheek. She’ll be the one that you went to when things like you’ve copped for a Dear John or had bereavement in the family. We could wail on about how sorry we felt for ourselves and how we were going to change for the better once free. Us lot change? Do me a favour, most of what we told her was complete bullshit because she was one of those that assessed us when it came to us being considered for our date of release. The Vicar was another easy touch, but only to the selected few. He’ll have about five born again Christians come through his door every week claiming to have seen the light after hearing one of his sermons. From my point of view, God didn’t favour me and Borstal just made me a better-hardened criminal. But anyway apart from his or her usage to us, we still needed someone to unload on to. But for me I couldn’t’ even try it on to become a born again Christian, all because I was a Catholic. Yes, our vicar was biased to the point of being a racist when it came down to other beliefs and religions. In his tiny self-centred egotistic mind you could only become born again if you were baptised in a Church of England (Protestant) and had listened to one of his sermons. We would take the piss some days when passing him; we’d say something like “Loved you’re semen yesterday Vicar, we all got smothered in it” He was so stupid that he thought the miss-pronunciation of the word sermon was down to our dialects.

He lived at the vicarage adjoining the Church and was married with a couple of brats. I say that lightly because his kids looked down their noses at us inmates and openly say to their father, as they toddled along with their fat arses sticking out, dressed like fucking choir boys ‘Are these the ones that are all going to hell father?’ And the fucker in most cases would agree with them by calling us the dammed! This little trumped up prick had to be related to the first vicar at Botany-bay, the Australian convict settlement. One of his daily chores was to escort the Governor through the block (Solitary) to check on the inmates to make sure they were okay. You know the usual, ‘‘what do you mean you’re getting buggered in the middle of the night by two nonce screws?” or “How on earth did you get all those bruises? Seeing that you’re not allowed to see anyone but our officers? Are you expecting the Governor and I to believe our officers are responsible for your condition?’ There was no point in complaining because it went against you as being a troublemaker. With this vicar, he was a very sick bunny mentally, but more about him later.

I was determined not to give up trying to woo my wife back. She hadn’t climbed into the sack with another geezer. I know now she was teaching me a lesson on getting my priorities right by remembering to put my family first before I thought about going out on the rampage again.

We all had a Personal Officer who would deal with the progress of our borstal training on a daily basis. If you had a problem and didn’t want too much sympathy he was the one to see. Mine was a screw called Mr Shelcock, who was just happening to be studying criminology at the time of us meeting. While being banged up in the block for breaking another inmates jaw in three places. Mr. Shelcock paid me an unannounced visit and asked me if I’d like to join him and take part in an experiment he was involved in. To start with, my first task was to write down my life story. The carrot was if I co-operated he might be able to help me obtain my dates of release earlier. I knew I was going to get a month or three loss of remission for the violence I inflicted on the other inmate. Worse still I could be transferred to a closed Borstal, so I was willing to try anything. Bearing in mind I was only seventeen I thought there wasn’t that much interesting going on in my life that deserved analyzing.

However he took me on as one of his first test case, but to the other screws it was more like head cases.

In Borstal your sentence was 6 months to 2 years, meaning you could get out after 6 months. But to be able to get that you’d had to be a Saint and there weren’t too many of those in there. The average time to earn your date of release was between 8-10 months. How the screws in each unit achieved giving you you’re dates was by keeping a close eye on you and assessing each one of us. I remember going on my first assessment with a screw called Mr. Boyton. He was the trainer of the borstal’s rugby team of which I was the captain. He was a fair geezer and not a racial bastard like the majority of the screws. He called me into his office and tells me that he has just completed my first quarterly assessment of me and that I could read it before he submitted it. In there they gave us freedom of speech to a point and if I didn’t agree with what he said about me, I had the option to air my views and opinions at a tribunal.

I passed all the major questions such as, did I have work waiting for me on my release? They wanted to find out if I was a caring person who would look after his new family. Not be one of those geezers who would piss off as soon as he was released. Would I stay straight, had I been rehabilitated? But then he puts the knife in, that my chosen occupation would be that of an armed bank robber. Then adds, “He is level enough mentally to feel emotion that would most certainly give him the ability to look after his family, no matter the cost.”

With reports like that going in about me it was looking more like I might be doing the full 2 years before getting out. So was it a Godsend to have a PO Officer who just happened to want me as his guinea pig in an experiment.

That experiment could help prove the others wrong and get me out sooner…well? We’ll say no more about that at this moment.

Being the daddy of my unit came with it tips and earners. I was on such a nice earner that I could support my family. Visiting time was very laid back, so it was extremely easy for me to pass money and jewellery out. Even though I had a ‘Dear John’ I still wanted to support my wife and daughter… and I did.

Anyway getting back to this ‘Dear John’ and my mixed emotions. Mr. Shelcock wanted to understand what made me tick with all this crap going on. Because one minute I’ll be acting normally, the next minute I’m in a massive tear-up with someone. My temper was triggered like a broken on and off switch, sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t.

As I’ve said if anyone finds out about a weakness you have, the others would home in on it and test you’re patience. I would have two one hour sessions with him, five days per week. I never had a clue what he was trying to achieve. On some occasions the sessions felt almost primitive in nature. Questions like, would I kill a duck to feed my family, fucking hell I’d rob the nearest HSBC if required. Joking aside I told him that I wasn’t a compulsive thief and all that I did was planned to a tee. Without giving him names I told him a lot of stuff that had bothered me over the years. Being an only child you gather a lot of unanswered questions while having no one to answer them for you. So I only spoke about stuff that would have no repercussions, I was very careful with what I shared. He wasn’t there to change me but to understand the criminal mind from a kid in adolescence right up to the old style gangster hood. He had watched me make my mark in the borstal ranks and then seeing me crying my eyes out at night. The fucker must have stalked a few of us before choosing the right subject to conduct his experiment.

He would sometimes bend the rules slightly especially when we were talking about personal stuff probably to gain my trust, he’d give me the odd brandy to relax me. Anyway after writing my life story, all 50 pages he noticed there was a lot in it about my anger issues. Also realised my devotion to my family was paramount over anything else. He also saw I was in a volatile situation that could go bang at anytime. My feelings were hurting even more as my wife started to be really obstinate. She wouldn’t come and visit with my daughter and she wouldn’t let my ma and dad bring her up either.

Unbeknown to me Mr. Shelcock wrote to my local probation officer. He had asked him to go round and speak with my wife about what was happening to me the longer I didn’t see my daughter. They offered her to arrange a visit for her and my daughter to see me. She knew what my temper was like and knew it could get me into a lot of trouble. So it was left to her whether she would come or not. Shelcock kept quiet about all of this until he had an answer from her. I continued with my letter writing expressing how much I loved and missed her and our baby. I would fill in every spot on those sheets of paper when writing home. I managed to get eight letters into one by writing extra small.

Being the daddy meant you never had to sort things out for yourself, you always got others to use the muscle. But I was getting angry and started to dish it out myself regardless of the comebacks. Anyway it got back to Mr. Shelcock who was none too pleased with me and gave me an order to tone it down.

A few days later I got a visit from my local Catholic priest. His parish included our borstal but he could only manage to do a service every two-weeks. That was because we only had the one Church and our self-righteous C of E vicar needed it every Sunday for a service as well as choir practice. Seeing there was only a handful of Catholics it was decided we had a Friday service once a fortnight. There was no loved lost between their vicar and our priest. What I remember the most was Father O’Brian saying in his southern Irish accent that the vicar was an unhelpful fecking ejiot.

When we spoke he gave me the opportunity to do confession, I hadn’t done one in years, so you can imagine there was a lot to be forgiven for. But one thing that did stay with me and that was when he told me to try and pray for a resolution between my wife and I. Well as far as I knew I had nothing else to try, so why not give it a go and see if God would help this sinner out. As I said earlier I would have done anything to get her back and see my daughter again.

While everyone else was in the TV and snooker rooms that night I went to bed early. I was a confirmed catholic, so I knew the routine on how to pray. Kneel, make the sign of the cross and away I went. I found that I was at it for nearly an hour because the other inmates were now making their way back to their cells. My first thought was where did all that time go? Second, where the fuck did these tears come from that were running down my face? Thirdly I felt a lot better and went on to sleep like a log for the first time in months.

Yet I still had this feeling that what I was going through was my own karma for all the wrongs I had done. Imagine that, being only seventeen and already feeling that God has given up on you. However I had nothing to lose, I had another chat with my priest, told him the outcome and he suggested I gave it another go. The same thing happened again, my knees were killing me but the time just flew by while I said my prayers.

I don’t want you guys out there to think I went all soft but let the first one of you come clean and tell me that none of you have ever prayed for something in your lifetime. After all the Mafia are all God fearing people even though they go round whacking people… I wasn’t that bad so why couldn’t I pray?

I kept it up every night until I had it down to a tee, yet nothing was happening. My letters home were being returned to me unopened. But I owed it to my little girl for me to keep trying and I did.

Then one day I got called into Mr. Shelcocks office. “I have some good news for you Mack, You’re wife has agreed to come and visit and she’s bringing your daughter. I was stunned to say the least because what I prayed for had come true. But hey’ it was probably a coincidence that Shelcock managed to work it out with my wife.

As the days got closer to her visit I prayed asking that we could sort out our differences and be given another chance to have the family I always dreamed of. On the day of the visit I hadn’t realised that Shelcock had driven from the borstal down to London and picked her up. I couldn’t believe a screw would do something such as that for an inmate. I will always be indebted to him for everything he done for me. My wife and I managed to patch things up and seeing my daughter who was now 11 months old was fantastic. Even though the visit was a closed one we only had three hours together. It felt wonderful just to hold my daughter for the first time in months.

My attitude changed so much that reports coming in about me were more positive than they ever had been. I continued to pray for my wife and kids and in one particular prayer I asked to be with them both as soon as possible. It was a tall order to pray for because I still had not been given my date of release. The following lunchtime I was in line to collect my grub from the canteen when a screw walks up to me. “Mack here’s a chitty, go to reception first thing in the morning and draw three pounds from you’re personal savings. I had no idea what it was all about nor was I going to ask. There’s one thing you learn when you are doing a Borstal sentence, don’t ever question an order, just do as you’re told.

The next morning after breakfast I got my mail in a shape of a post card. My wife’s parents had taken them both and the rest of her family on holiday to Great Yarmouth. Enclosed was the address of the caravan park so I cold write to them while they were holidaying. Anyway I finished my breakfast and a loud voice booms across the canteen area. “Mack, why are you not at reception as instructed?’’ I’m full of apologises as I run to the reception area where I hand over my chitty. I’m counted out the money then given a box that contained my civilian clothing and told to get changed. My first thoughts were that they had made a mistake and were going to release me by mistake. They’re another seven geezers all getting changed into their civilian clothing. They all seemed to know what was going on, but I felt it safer to say fuck all and just went along with it.

There I am sitting on a long bench with a bunch of geezers I didn’t really recognise apart from one who sang in the choir. About twenty minutes went by before a white mini-bus backed up to the reception area. I could see two figures inside moving around, when the back doors opened. There in front of me was a young girl with a rainbow coloured-striped jumper wearing a pair of dungarees and odd coloured shoes. The other who was the driver looked like a hippy, with bell-bottom jeans and wearing an old ‘Ban the Bomb’ tee shirt. I think if one of my daughters had brought someone like him home and introduced him as her boyfriend. I think he would have seen the front door from a different angle with the toe of my boot wedged up his arse. But they looked pretty good to me on this particular day. The screws disappeared leaving just these two to sort us out so we all climbed into the back of the mini-bus.

We are about 10 minutes into our journey when the young girl turns to face us with her guitar in hand. “Shall we all sing a song?” I said fuck all, then she starts singing that well known song ‘American pie” So there we were hurtling down the motorway singing ‘Bye bye miss American pie’ After the fourth verse I couldn’t contain myself any longer and asked the black geezer next to me ‘’Where the fuck were we going?” He looked at me with surprise in his eyes. “You mean to tell me that you don’t know where we are actually going?” abruptly I said. “Well are you going to tell me or not?” What he said next left me gobsmacked…we’ll we are all going on Christian week! Still looking none the wiser I ask him what was Christian week?

He explained that we were to meet up with Christians from all over the world at a holiday centre at a place call North Swatham. Now I knew my way about the UK like the back of my hand and I knew Swatham was very near to Great Yarmouth…and guess who was on holiday there?

I warned the black geezer to keep quiet about me not knowing about this Christian week. After all I was about to go on a holiday and I didn’t want anything or anyone messing it up for me. A few hours later we arrive at a beautiful holiday centre, we were housed in a villa with four bedrooms. There were no blankets just duvet covers and for me that would be a first for me to sleep under one. We all had supper in the main dining room where we were introduced to all sorts of people. They were all Christian folk from all over the place. We were the only inmates present and the welcome we received was amazing, especially the supper. About eight in the evening we were asked if we wanted to go to the pub. Well I was loaded wasn’t I, what with the few quid I was allowed to take, I managed to add another fifty to that. By 10pm I was half pissed and got talking to Lady Rainbow (The woman who picked us up) She sensed I wasn’t feeling right and asks me if it was the drink? I remember saying to her if she wanted to hear a story…over the next two hours I told her everything I’ve just told you guys. Including that my wife and daughter were just 12 mile down the road.

Thinking no more of it I went to bed and slept in a bed fit for a King. The following morning I was woken by the smell of bacon and eggs and made my way to the dining room. The other lads were still flat out, probably overwhelmed with their beds. Lady Rainbow comes and joins me for breakfast and suggests we go and look for my wife’s family. I was for once lost for words but managed to ask her to repeat the question. She just smiled and said, “You heard John” I explained that I had the address and knew the area so it shouldn’t take us that long to get there. She drove at twenty miles per hour all the way. I must have left a dent in the floor where I imagined it was the accelerator. Being a getaway driver I usually got out of cars going that fast. After a while we found the caravan park and amongst hundreds of caravans we found theirs. But it was too late; they had already left for the beach. It was then my Rainbow Angel suggested we take a look down on the beach. We got to the base of the pier with the beach being either side. Fuck me! It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I thought we had blown it because I couldn’t see her doing another trip down here to the coast. As we are standing there with people milling everywhere she says to me ‘’John, let’s pray” Whooo! I thought, pray yes, but only in my cell alone at night, not here on the pier. What would people think of me, what about my reputation? Then it dawned on me, this was about my wife and daughter, not my pride. We joined hands and she prayed that we’d find them. We then made our way back to the car and I suggested we leave a note on the caravan door. As we got to the camp there was a hump-back bridge and just as we went over it there were about five people walking, one pushing a babies buggy. Where they had there backs to us something told me to turn around as we passed them. My Rainbow Angel doing her usual mandatorily 20 MPH helped a great deal because I was able to focus on the group of people as I leaned out of the window. Startling her I roared STOP! STOP! JESUS CHRIST! I DON’T J Fruitfully J BELIVE IT! Yeah it’s them all right. While my Angel was doing her usual speed, I was out of that car, rolled like a paratrooper and was upright running back to my wife’s family before she could stop.

My sister-in-law screamed when she set eyes on me, “He’s escaped!” My father-in-law agreed and my wife just smiled. A smile that said how the fuck did he manage this? But the most rewarding part of out meeting was seeing my little girl in her buggy eating an ice pop.

I introduced my Angel to them all, but my family were too stunned to greet her appropriately. Angel broke the ice by telling me we only had 30 minutes before she’ll have to take me back. She could see I was gutted because we had searched and prayed for so long. She saved the day by suggesting we could come back the following morning. Thanks to her that 30 minutes was the best I ever spent with my wife. When we got back into the car, I couldn’t thank my angel enough, she was in every sense of the word a Godsend. She not only brought me back the following day, but she done it every day for the rest of that week. She would drop me off around nine in the morning and pick me up at eight in the evening. Here I was in Borstal, yet I’m on holiday in Great Yarmouth up at the bar having a few pints and making up for lost love with my wife…how the hell did that happen?

The day before we left to go back to the Borstal I asked to her check after me once I got back. She was a bit bewildered at my request, but I said she’d understand if what I was thinking was correct. She said to me, it seems you are expecting troubles when you get back John? Will it be from the other boys, perhaps them getting jealous? I’ll always remember saying to her “ No, no, not from that direction that you’re thinking of Angel”

I never told the others anything of what went on, but they smelt booze on me when I got back each night. Plus they saw me drive in and out everyday with my Angel. As per usual they put two and two together and came up with seven. They put it about that I was having a fling with her and before long the whispers got worse, even before I got back to the Borstal. But that was just hearsay and what with her being a Christian no one at the borstal would believe it anyway.

On our return to the borstal the mini-bus backed into the reception area. The biased vicar was standing there with a couple of screws to greet us with a false smile. My Angel never had a clue what was about to happen. The vicar quickly greeted her then got rid of her just as quick by giving a stupid excuse. As soon as they were out of sight the vicar points at me and tells the screws “Take it’ down to solitary” Not him or even by name, but it! How can a so-called man of God be so biased by calling me a human being a fucking it’ You don’t even call your dog it’ let alone a person? What made it worse was this fucker who was calling me an it’ was a fucking vicar, a Christian, a man who preaches the gospel and is meant to be all-forgiving. But the big question was, why? Why was I being sent down to solitary? Well I’ll find out soon enough probably the next day. So off I went to solitary and the two screws even said the vicar was out of order because there were no charges against me.

My Angel knew something was not right even with what I had told her. She had met the vicar on several occasions but she he had never seen him being so obtuse. She had a feeling that he wasn’t what he was made out to be.

Apparently the whole trip was organised by a Christian group which the vicar was part of. Each year the vicar would pick only Church of England followers, not Jews, Muslims or Catholics. In fact he hated the Catholic faith and was constantly at loggerheads with our priest. Prior to this situation when I had been in solitary it was his duty to come round with the Governor each day. This was to ask us if we were being treated okay and the vicar was there if we needed someone else to talk to that was not a screw. I had asked him on several occasions if I could talk with him, but all the bastard done was say he’ll come back later…which he never did.

Anyway getting back to the story in hand, I never slept at all on my horsehair mattress. I thought to myself, well Johnny boy just tell the truth about what happened. My Angel never said not to say anything and as far as I was concerned she helped me with my relationship. I was sure the Governor would understand because he was a devout Christian. Plus liked me a lot because of my rugby skills of which I was the captain of the borstal team and he was a fanatic.

The following lunchtime I heard the doors of the block unlock and the screws welcoming the governor and that prick of a vicar. I was in the end cell and heard every word that was said between them and each inmate.

Then the moment of truth was about to happen as the key to my cell slid into the lock and turned. I had all my kit laid out for inspection and was standing to attention waiting to be addressed by the governor. He looks at his sheet board, which shows what charge I am on. I could see the confusion on his face when he says to the screw “What is he in here for?” The screw explained that he was under direction of the vicar to bang me up. He then looks at the vicar for an explanation. The vicar started ranting and raving that I had somehow managed to put my name on the list for the trip. Then he tells him that I spent time with my wife and that I organised it all for my family to be there at the time of Christian week. He said I hoodwinked Angel into driving me to the holiday centre and that I came back each night smelling of booze.

Then the slimly shit bag says I should never have been allowed on the trip because I was nothing but a Catholic. I could see the governor was getting annoyed with the vicar because he went off on tantrum.

The governor said he would contact my angel and find out if there was any truth in what has been said. Until then I was to stay banged up unless I had something to say. I said yes sir’ I do have plenty to say and told him the whole story right from being given a chitty to collect my money right up to my angel and I praying on the pier to help find my wife. The vicar burst out and shouted “Blasphemy, you pray, how dare you say you prayed you’re a Catholic!” The vicar was off his fucking head and the governor could see the hatred within him. However he said to me he would back to see me as soon as he gets to the bottom of this situation.

It had been 24 hours since the governor paid me a visit and seeing it was a Sunday the borstal was quiet. There I was sitting on my chair having read bits of the bible (In solitary the only literature you could read was the bible.) After the beautiful week I just had I was beginning to believe a lot more than I did before I went. I wasn’t fearful of my situation because the vicar had showed his true colours by losing the plot. However I was a bit concerned about my Angel because I did ask her to check on me. Maybe I had got her in trouble or the borstal was not going to except what she had to say. It was about 6pm when I heard the main door open and the sound of a familiar female voice…yes you got it, my Angel had come to visit me with one of the other Christians from her church. She also brought her guitar along and the screws allowed them into my cell. I thanked her for checking on me but she told me the vicar had been having a go at her. He wouldn’t allow her to talk with the governor, so she drove down and knocked on his door. The funny thing was she ended up staying for dinner and then he allowed her to pop over and se me.

She told him everything about what she had done while we were away. But no one could understand how my name appeared on the list. He told her the vicar reckons I got into his office and found the list and re-typed it out including the chitty and off I went. She told the governor my version and that was that I prayed to see my wife and little girl. After all I knew nothing of their Christian week let alone get into the vicars office and find a sheet of paper and forge another with my name on it.

So there you have it, was it just a bit of luck or was it a bit of Divine intervention?

How was it I got my name on a list that only the vicar had control of, how was it this just happened when my wife and kid was on holiday. How on earth did we manage to find them after searching all day on the beach? Was it my prayers being answered or was it all a coincidence? How did so much happen in such a short time, I’ll leave you to your own opinion? I have my own ideas how this all happened and my thoughts since those days have dramatically changed. It didn’t stop me going off and becoming a well known criminal, but I suppose that was all part of God’s plan for me.

Ta la for now

Johnny

Dunpeckham book buy it !

Dunpeckham – The true crime Autobiography that the film “London Boy” is based upon – BUY IT HERE !! CLICK on the image…

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London Boy | Johnny Mack | The Assassin Part 2

London Boy, Johnny Mack is back with the highly anticipated second part to his Assassin, true crime story. Johnny talks of how he and his “Firm” go on a “Piece of Work” abroad, but things don’t always go to plan !

Assassin | Part 2 

London Boy Johnny Mack talks of a firm of villains in the 1980's and a resulting assasination

The Assassin Part 2

 

Billy was one of our team I mentioned that was doing the odd line of gear. Not that he thought I knew about his antics. When Billy was under the influence his whole persona changed. That natural aggressive look he carried around with him disappeared, as did his grunting and growling. When he had a toot he would start talking a lot, mainly bullshit to the point where no one could get a word in. As soon as the gear started to wear off he’d be back to his usual miserable self. Tony who was the other user was a really clever guy when on a bit of work. He knew electrics, especially alarms like the back of his hand. He was also an excellent getaway driver, due to his participation in the sport of rally racing.
During the years I had known them, Billy and Tony never ever seemed to get on with one another. They had worked together as a team before because of their abilities. On this job I had to be careful where I placed them within the team. The last thing we needed was Billy going OTT because no doubt there would be blood.
 
The work we were about to do was for us to crash in on a dodgy artefact deal. The story behind the artefacts was interesting yet a sad one. During World War II the Nazis had looted anything of value from the Jewish community. This was the period after they invaded Poland and began rounding up the Jews who were then shipped off to the death camps. The sad part was that it wasn’t just adults, who were sent to these camps, but women and children as well. Without going in to too much detail these particular goods found there way to Argentina after the war when the Nazi officer escaped the clutches of the allies. They had been sitting in his mountain retreat located outside the main city. When the pig knew he was on his way out through illness he instructed his son to sell them on so his offspring would be looked after from the proceeds. Though the artefacts were not officially noted as stolen; they were not the kind of things you could take down to Christies to auction off. With anything like this a legit seller like Christies or Sotheby’s would do meticulous checks on the merchandise. If by chance something came up about them, then the whole lot could be seized. Proof of ownership was a definite must on this stuff otherwise no auction house in the world would touch them.
 
Our job seemed really simple; crash in while the deal was in motion, taking both the artefacts and cash. For me, this piece of work was like taking candy from a kid. There were to be seven people in all present, three were the seller and his henchman. The other four were the buyers including a dodgy art dealer to confirm the goods were genuine. My instructions were to get in and out as quick as possible without causing too much of a commotion. Sounds easy don’t it, but from experience I’d learned that nothing is ever that easy.
 
Our contact Fred was to be on the inside representing both, the seller and the buy team. He was also going to give us the nod via a pager signal when to gatecrash the deal. His part in this deal was being the middleman, so he wasn’t allied with either the buyers or the sellers.  With a deal of this scale it would be obvious that everyone would be nervous especially the seller. So Fred had to be sure that the cash and artefacts were inside the room before we came crashing through the door. Our job was to take complete control of everybody in that room then take the lot. It would be clear that both parties especially the henchmen would be armed and professional. No doubt they were hired help who were probably ex servicemen, so we couldn’t take any chances. Billy would be with me on the inside with my other guys except for Tony; he was to be outside in the van. Like I said Billy was a nasty piece of work when it came to the crunch and I know he would stand his ground if the going got tough. He and Tony still didn’t know the score yet, so I spoke to the pair of them separately a couple of hours before the work was to happen. I also let them both know that I knew they were using and if they used while on this job, their lives wouldn’t be worth bottling. Tony was easy to talk to, but Billy was an effort because he kept insisting he wasn’t using. I just made my point and reminded him of the consequences if he used and left it at that. Billy was insistent on using the Uzi machine pistol. Having Bill in a small room with an Uzi and lets say for some reason it kicked off…I doubt anyone would come out of there alive. It took all my patience to convince him that I wanted him to have one of the 45’s. I told him I needed him at the doorway and not to shoot anyone unless it was 100% necessary. I really had to drum it into him that I wanted this job to go off smoothly without having to shoot anyone. Our advantage was to surprise them before they could go for their weapons. Apart from that it was imperative none of the goods got damaged, another reason why Billy should not have the Uzi.
 
Fred paid us a visit to make sure we had understood everything that was going down. He also reminded us that if any shooting happened, not to shoot him. When he said that all eyes were on Billy, there was a brief silence before Bill says “Why the fuck is everyone looking at me?” Fred had noticed our eye contact with Billy and said “He-does-understand-yes?’’ Fuck me; Bill was all up for shooting Fred on the spot because he thought he was belittling him. I had to roar at Billy and told him to fuck off outside or I would put a bullet in his thick skull if he carried on kicking off. Like a naughty schoolboy he sulks out of the door shuffling his feet and slamming the door behind him. Fred was not English, so now you know why we thought the name he used was amusing. After Billy left the room Fred says “Is-he-the-crazy-one-you-spoke-of?” It was then that Tony says “Only on a full moon” From the bottom of the stairs we heard Billy shout “I fucking heard that you cunt, I don’t need a full moon for you Tony.” I told Fred not to worry and explained the two didn’t see eye-to-eye and again reassured him they wouldn’t be in the same room when it kicked off.
 
Fred told me that I had to bell our firm back in London, so I drove a few miles and found a public payphone. The first thing I was asked was if Billy was behaving himself. They did not know about Billy and Tony having the odd line, but knew there was conflict between them. If they had known then they would have been booted straight off the team or worse still taken for a one-way trip. As I’ve already said these geezers were brought up on old school principles and that included not tolerating drug users.
When I arrived back after making my call the lads were getting ready for the off. We were to wear overalls and clown masks when we went in. Our personal belongings were left in our safe cars that were parked up a few miles away. Our escape route was planned to the tee and we were to split up into two groups, each using different forms of transport. At least that way if it came on top, one group would make it home. The artefacts and cash were to take another route home. Even those details I had no idea of, probably to make sure they got back okay. I suppose the less people knowing the route, increased the chance of the goods getting to their destination. And for us it was imperative the goods got back because they were paying our fee.
 
Tony set off first and parked the van up in a designated spot just up the road from the job. He to had a pager and on signal he would bring the van up to the outside once we were ready to leave the building. The remainder of us sat in the van, which was parked up in the courtyard while waiting for Fred’s signal. While we were sitting outside in our van the cleaners turned up to give the inside of the building a thoroughgoing over. This showed how professional the two firms we were working for.
Billy was playing with his gun while sitting next to me mumbling and growling. He was one aggravating bastard who could wind anybody up, especially when he starts twirling his gun on his forefinger like a gun slinger. One of the lads in the back of van snatched the gun off him and removed the magazine and the bullet in the chamber. Billy starts to complain when my pal says to him “You never even had the safety on you mad bastard” That done it for me and I went berserk by smashing Bill in the side of the head with the butt of my gun. Roaring at him I said you could have killed any one of us in the van all because you can’t sit still for half an hour. Billy surprisingly didn’t react; he just sat there nursing his head sulking like a two year old. I knew then at that moment that I should not have brought him on this bit of work.
 
It was an hour before my pager went off; a simple message telling us it was time. I started the van and made the short drive to the hotel complex where the deal was going down. As we drove in we done a 360% drive around the car parking area to make sure there was no one lurking outside. The weather was awful with rain coming down like a monsoon, which for us was perfect. The rain kept everyone off the concrete complex and the noise of it hitting the tin roofs made a deafening sound. There was to be no pausing from here on, it was straight out of the van then the ten-yard walk to the entrance of the room. Weapons drawn one of my pals and me both kicked the door in at exactly the same time. The force used to kick open the door was so fierce that it hit the inside wall and bounced straight back at us. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the door frame was busted I’m sure the door would have shut itself when it bounced back off the wall. I was the first one into the room with my two pals in tow. Billy stood just outside the now busted door keeping an eye out for police, staff etc. Now this is where this story gets weird because once we are in the room the first things I noticed was the amount of blood everywhere. There were trails of it leading into the bathroom also coats and briefcases were hanging over chairs. I heard Fred talking to someone who sounded petrified in a foreign language. Making my way to the bathroom entrance I noticed a half open briefcase full of cash and three boxes with what seemed like statues and small velvet sacks. I called out to Fred, who in turn asked me to come through into the bathroom. Now, my pals and I were totally confused. My pal says “No Fred you come out here to us” The three of us were now pointing our weapons at the bathroom doorway cocked and ready to fire. I heard clunking of metal along with a ratchet sound. My assumption was that the sound I was hearing were handcuffs being attached to a metal pipe. Fred pipes up and tells us he is coming out and is unarmed. I warned him to come out of the room backwards, arms raised. The door opens slowly and the three of us crouch down still pointing our weapons in the direction of the door. Fred emerges from the bathroom with his arms raised where I tell him to kneel keeping his hands up. My pals make a grab for Fred and push him face down on to the bed while I enter the bathroom. The sight in the bathroom made me vomit down the toilet.
Everyone was dead except for the geezer who was chained to the pipe. The dead were piled on top of each other in the bathtub and at the side lying amongst puddles of blood were an Uzi complete with silencer.
At that moment Billy comes in and sees all the carnage and is asking what the fuck has gone on. My pal says, “It seems our Fred had his own plan on dealing with this work” Bill goes into the bathroom and all we hear is him saying “Fucking hell, nice one Fred”
 
I pulled Fred up off the bed and told him to start explaining himself and what he tells us is unbelievable.
 
To find out the conclusion of this amazing story, check in next week where I’ll tell you how this story panned out.
 
Ta La for now
 
Johnny
london-boy-assassin

A Revolver never Jams !

London Boy Video

Here at London Boy web are creating a film relevant YouTube channel. Here is one of the collection, it outlines Johnny Mack, his authorship work thus far and now his upcoming, feature length, gangster movie based upon his life and autobiography “Dunpeckham”

 

Hope you enjoyed the video

Johnny Mack – The Office Part 1

 So here’s the weekly instalment from Johnny Mack talking of his life as an active member of London’s underworld. It’s a leap forward from last week’s, as Johnny is now a grown man, husband and father, with fully paid up membership to a firm he works closely with and a known “Face” in South London…..

The Criminal's form of an office, A place of business.

The Spieler. Members Only !!!

 

The Office

 

Drinking hours at licenses premises were very stringent back in the early eighties. The line of business I was in would operate out of these establishments. The criminal firms out and about the streets of South London each had their own watering holes.

These pubs would draw their curtains at the official closing time where only the locals were allowed to stay behind. This was our time for doing business and considering 90% of all criminal business was founded, delivered and completed in these places they became known as ‘The Office’’

The trouble was that the law knew the whereabouts of all these offices, which were located throughout the South London area. This meant the owners would have to pay a bribe or let the old bill have a night of their own. My office was the ‘Marlborough Head’ in Goldsmith Road just off Peckham Hill Street. The office was only a five-minute walk from my home. People would come in early to pass on their illegal wares to the likes of me. It could be anything from info on a payroll run right up to the sale of a truckload of stolen Scotch whiskey.

I had contacts for anything and everything and my reputation was sound’ which went a long way in this sort of business. If you ripped someone off in this business and you done that business in the office, then you were extremely fucked! We in the office were those that believed in honour among thieves, a rare commodity in this day and age. The trouble with this business when working out of an office of this nature, was that somehow the law always seemed to know when we were flush.

Then they would put the pressure on and if they were bent, which most were; then they would want a bung. Once you fell into that trap you would end up working for them and I’m afraid that was one trap I was avoiding.

It was dawning on the selected majority that were meant to be 100% trusted that our office had its leaks. We always knew that the place was never 100% grass proof, but we always used our loaf. But when our good pal got collard we knew using our loaf was not as fool proof as first thought.

How it happened was our good pal and business associate got grassed up on a shipment of cigarettes and copped a five stretch. Those of us that were close to him were very, very angry to say the least. The geezer had four kids and had helped every single one of our little crew in the past. So we had to safe guard ourselves and come up with a plan, to make us feel safer. After all this was our business and we needed a safe place to conduct our business from.

The Spieller

Where my pal had been nicked, I went to ground staying away from the office and stopped doing any business with anyone. I had to follow my gut feeling as it was telling me that there was danger in the air. I had always followed it and the proof is in the pudding because as you can see I’m not writing this within the walls of Belmarsh prison finishing off a 30yr stretch. Anyway back to where I left off. My cash float got smaller by the day until I became desperate. That’s not a good position to find oneself in especially in my line of work. One stupid mistake taken when desperate could mean a twenty or thirty stretch in the local hate factory.

Where I was living which was a crime-ridden housing estate, the housing authorities had decided to give the whole estate a multi-million pound face-lift. I suppose they thought by doing that it would spruce the place up and not let it resemble a ghetto. Within weeks of the decision to go ahead the whole estate had workman steaming around from block to block. Of course where there are builders there is also lots and lots of building materials. I was living in one of the newish three bedroom flats that were very roomy.

As I said I was now desperate and decided if I couldn’t go to the office, I’d make the office come to me. Unfortunately I never discussed this with my long-suffering wife. I say suffering because what I’m about to tell you all will make you understand why I used that phrase. Taking our three kids my wife went off to her mothers for the day. I knew they would be gone until the evening, which gave me 8-10 hours to start my new project. Anyway 9 hours later my wife and kids had returned and found me downstairs in the kitchen drinking a cold beer. The shock on there faces was quite funny really because after all I was only drinking a beer. But what they were shocked at was that I was smothered in white dust, which made look like a ghost, well to them it did. My wife came into the kitchen with one of those looks that say, “What the fuck has he been up to this time” My first words were. “Before you say a word sweetheart I want you to vision on what I’m about to tell you, rather than what you’ll about to see once you go upstairs.” With that she flew up the stairs with the kids in tow…I waited. I carried on waiting until I finished my beer, then I took the slow walk up the stairs to an expected barrage of insults.

Once up there the kids were running around our new opened plan flat, the only walls and doors left were my kids’ bedrooms and of course the bathroom. The rest of the flat was open and as I said before the place was roomy to start with. She had her head in her hands and asked why I had demolished our home. Quite simply I said we are about to open a spieller’ so that I can conduct business in a completely safe environment as I did in the pub. I told her it would be membership only so only the most trusted of gangsters’ could enter. We would also sell booze and start gambling sessions, where us being the house would take our 5% commission on all games. The icing on the cake was that I could pick up business with no chance of getting nicked, not like my pal.

Reluctantly she agreed, well I suppose she never had a choice, considering I had just demolished her new home. For the next two weeks I sort of helped myself to the odd pieces of building supplies that I reckoned were to be thrown away. With those supplies I built this beautiful oak and brick bar with a snug area and dance floor. The floor was raised and soundproofed with lovely hard wood flooring. The ceiling was lowered with sunken lighting. The walls were half wood slats with flock wallpaper above. In fact the whole place was a fucking dream of a drinking palace.

For security I had steel doors countersunk with 12” bolts into the walls and floors. There were two of them; one being the front door and the other was on the stairs. We had a fire escape where one end was electrified and the other had sensors. So it was an office of a kind more fitting inside Fort Knox.

We had minders, but really they were never needed because our cliental were of good stock. When we opened we had a fantastic weekend with takings hitting a tune more in line with thousands. We also had our share of complaints from the locals, which of course I had anticipated. I won’t bore you with details but the complaints stopped and every one was more than happy.

No one could enter without there membership card and that included the women. If a geezer had picked up a bird that night and tried to bring her to my club, they were refused entry. This was a simple precaution because that is what old bill would try and do to gain access. But in our club everyone knew one another including the women. After a weekend of it I was worn out and it was now time to replace furniture and turn it back into a home until the next Friday night.

So far I’ve told you about how when desperate the criminal mind can come up with some ingénues ideas or if stupid, the wrong ones. Creating my own office was the answer for me. Business was good, it was made better because business came to me first and I had first dibs. Next week I’m going to tell you about the counterfeit business that came my way. I’m sorry to those of you that were expecting more this week. But it’s important for me that I give you the complete version and that takes time…until next week take care guys

 

Johnny

Johnny Mack – The Diamond Heist part 2

Here it is everyone…. The conclusion to the exciting, £2.5M true life, diamond heist that Johnny was involved in whilst just 14 years of age! Johnny wants me to tell the fans to keep an eye out for his next exclusive, next week as it  involves large amounts of counterfeit money and a period where Johnny seriously had to get on his toes and go on the run from the old bill in London…..So here we go

Catch up here quick, if you missed the amazing Diamond Heist Part 1 blog

Hi guys !

Once again here I am writing my weekly blog about certain aspects and situations that have happened during my life as a career criminal. Some of the stories I will tell you over the next few months will come across as humorous, sad and in some parts shocking and gruesome.

When I began to write my autobiographies “Dunpeckham & Landed on the Moon” the only experience of writing I had up to that time had been monthly letter’s home from when I had been banged up in jail; my last sentence being in the mid 80’s. Being in jail back then your only means of contact with the outside world was two small pieces of lined paper issued once per month. Not like today, inmates are spoilt because they are allowed to use a phone daily to contact friends and families. Apart from that they are allowed luxuries’ such as an X-box, TV & DVD player, even a MP3 music player. If that’s not ream enough, they even get an en-suite toilet (We had to use a bucket!) and no doubt they use soft toilet paper. When I was last inside our only recreation was to watch an outdated B movie once per month in the gym. Every Sunday afternoon we had the privilege of watching a re-run of “Match of day” shown on a 24’’ black & white TV set. If you were unlucky to have a seat in the back row, then you would’ve had 300 convicts sitting in front of you jumping up and down each time a goal was scored. I couldn’t be assed watching the TV or film, so I opted to stay in my cell and get stuck in to a good book.

Getting back to my two pieces of lined writing paper, which in fact was one sheet from a school exercise book and then cut in half; so you can imagine the size of each sheet.

As time went by I became a connoisseur at cramming as much as possible into those two sheets. Sometimes it could take me as long as three months to write one letter. I suppose I could have written them over a shorter period but I am a stickler for being expressive and descriptive with my words. Little did I know back then, that today I would be sitting at a desk writing novels, screenplays and of course blogs.

After all I had left school aged 13 and English among other classes was not one of my favorite subjects. Neither was my English master, especially after I had chased that heavy-handed bastard around the classroom swinging a three foot freshly sharpened machete. Out of all the teachers from my school days, he was the one I hated the most. He was always putting me down, telling me I was useless and thick. My argument with him was I would do better if only he’ll lay off from whacking me around the head a dozen or more times each lesson. He’s probably dead now but if he was alive I would have loved to have given him a signed copy of one of my books.  And to add insult to injury I would make sure he had front row seats at the premier of “London Boy” minus the popcorn that he’d have to pay for himself.

Without sounding egotistic or giving myself a gee-up, the “London Boy script” is an absolute fantastic piece of work.  It’s coming along at such an easy pace that Lee Hutcheon (Director) and I are not getting stressed in any shape or form. It has become really enjoyable sitting down each morning to begin another page or five. When we began to co-write this script, Lee said to me as we typed in the first scene. ‘Johnny, we are going to write this script to such an exceptional standard that “London Boy” will become the foundation of a new way for making crime genre movies. Just like Guy Ritchie did when he wrote and directed “Lock stock and Snatch.” Guy took a gamble that paid off handsomely and by doing so he paved a new way for producing British crime movies. In fact he gave the genre’ a complete face-lift with the end result being the first of its kind in a new way of filmmaking. Lee Hutcheon has the same way of thinking by incorporating new and ingenious methods that will not only make the film stand out from the rest but the things he is doing have never been tried before.

The Diamond Heist Part Two

Diamonds from the Heist

Diamond Heist – Part 2 & The Conclusion to this exciting true life story of Johnny Mack – Ex-South London Gangster

Now where was I because as you must have gathered, I’ve got a bit carried away again? Oh yeah the diamonds…Yeah there we were in the rear office of the taxi firm. Tony, Boney and I with this infamous gangster (who shall not be named) accompanied by a couple of his own henchmen. As boney showed this guy one of the ten boxes containing the diamonds, I saw these geezer’s faces light up as one of them slid the box open. It’s amazing what you can find out about a person just by their facial expressions. Theses guys were trying hard not to grab hold of us and start kissing us all over. Because what they saw in that one box confirmed to me that what we had was a right little earner and it was within our grasp. The next thing that happened was one of the other geezers got out his little magnified eyepiece and lifting one of the stones to the light he began to check it. With one eye closed and the other engulfed with the eyepiece I could see the concentration on his face. Remember these stones were not cut yet, so they looked like odd shaped yellow stones. They were nothing like a cut and polished diamond, they wasn’t even transparent as a cut stone would look like. What I found out from Tony was that these geezers were checking to make sure what we had were not industrial diamonds. Industrial stones were no good to anyone unless you owned an oilrig drill. Peckham certainly wasn’t about to strike oil yet, so I was well pleased when the geezer took his eyepiece away from his face and gave a yes’ nod to the main man.

I always remember the fella rubbing his hands together when he asked to see the rest of the stones. When he saw Boney start piling box after box on top of each other, I thought he was about to catch fire through the friction of him rubbing his hands together. Tony and I stood back just watching what was going on around us. We both knew we were out of our depth with this firm because we were just kids after all. The business patter was left to Boney because 1, he was the eldest and 2, these geezers came by way of Bone’s contact with little legs, remember him? (Sunglasses and Oh my gawd x 3) Thinking back if it was left to Tony to talk about the stones such as how many carrots they would cut down too and price etc. Then leaving me to barter a deal I think we would be rich men today. But our age was against us from the very start and what gangster in his right mind would listen to a couple of kids.

The three of us had already discussed before the meet back at Boney’s flat that we were not going to hand over all the stones without first getting a lump sum. We knew it would be hard to put an exact price on them until they were cut and polished, so it was obvious we wouldn’t be coming out of there with a suitcase full of cash.

That’s the thing when you’re just a kid doing a bit of business of that kind of magnitude and that is that you have to rely on your elders. On your own and being that age we were way out of our league. So in our case we had to rely on Bone to sort everything out. Even now I look back on that night and wonder why we took all the stones to the meet. There was no need to because all of the stones were all the same size. Now I know Bone had agreed to hand them all over well before our meeting with Mr. Big & Co. What they told us at the meeting was they needed to get the stones cut and valued before they could pay out a large amount. So therefore they needed all of them, that way we would get the cash quicker. I was not at all happy with that situation and I remember only too well that Tony was of the same opinion. The main man told us a load of flannel as did Bone and the only way to keep us sweet was to give us a payment, but that wouldn’t happen until the following night.

I went home feeling really apprehensive about what had occurred at the meet. Bone knew I wasn’t as stupid as I looked because I had been involved with other gangsters. I had been getting more and more streetwise the more I was around the firm I was doing errands for. It was an apprenticeship of sorts where I began at the bottom rung of the ladder and over the years made my way up.

The following night I was sent down the road to wait for our first delivery. Standing at a predestinated spot a geezer walks past me and at the same time shoves a rolled up newspaper under my arm and calmly said “same time tomorrow.” The paper only contained around four grand, but that was a huge amount of money to me. My father was working for twenty-five pounds per week at that time which was considered good money. After that first payment I never picked up again, after that it was either Boney or Tony or because Boney or maybe Boney’s girlfriend.

Within a week Bone was driving around in a Bentley, Tony had a brand new Cortina and I drove a Lincoln Continental.

Some days Bone and I swapped motors and believe me driving a Bentley was a dream for me. Even though the Lincoln was at that time being used to drive the President of the United States about, I liked the Bentley more.

Things got hazy after that, deals were going on behind my back but I couldn’t prove it. I know Boney worked Tony so that I went without on most deals but when the shit hit the fan Bone took Tony and I for huge amounts of money. Every time I asked about the next payment I would get a hundred pound or so pushed into my hand with a promise of more to come…soon.

We went to a local steak house every night for weeks on end spending a fortune each night. Before the stones got reported stolen or lost’ Tony was giving Boney’s partner one or two or three. Her name was Linda and had a couple of kids from a previous relationship. Bone use to beat the shit out of her and mentally abuse her kids. I won’t go into detail because it still upsets me what he done to those kids. I knew Tony was shagging Linda but only because I was as well lol I bet Tony when he reads this will chuckle. There was a day when Bone was out driving his mother about and Linda was alone at home. I had been in there for a couple of hours enjoying myself when there was a knock on the door; yes it was Tony, coming round for his daily oats. I had to hide in the kitchen while Linda led Tony in to the living room and as soon as she shut the door I was out the front with no Tony none the wiser. Remember we were just kids, Tony was around sixteen and me just being fourteen. It was every school kid’s dream to sleep with a MILF but I can say this now, I was first Tony ha ha ha

Tony had to stay away because the stones were now confirmed as stolen and the top brass in law enforcement were on the case. What I found out later was that they had followed Bone and me for six weeks. They had witnessed us spending extravagantly every day & night, every move we did had been recorded. I had met a lovely looking blond girl who turned out to be a nightmare in the end. I spent most of my time with her and only saw Bone a few times per week to pick up a pittance compared to what he was pocketing. This is when Eugene Maloney tried to get in on the ride again. When Tony was about he kept trying to chat Tony in to going with him but Bone paid some plank to give him a slap. Only this time he tried it with me but he was a snake and still is, so he got told where to go.

I had no control over the money, payments etc, I had no choice but to rely on Bone for my payments (Sweetener) He fed me shit non stop, but I was getting angry now because after a little while the money dried up.

It was at this time that things began to get naughty because Boney had come and got me from home to tell me we had a meet with Mr. Big’s boys. Shows you what a coward he was, having to bring along a fourteen-year-old kid along. I sensed the moment I got into the Lincoln Continental that something was wrong. It would only be a matter of hours before I would find out exactly what that was. There had been a meeting arranged for Bone to meet these guys at a local pub in Peckham. When we got there, no one was there to meet us and after hanging around in the pub for half an hour or so we decided to call it a day. Getting back in to the car I was screaming at Boney because where I had not been given any money for ages, this meet according to him was to be a final pay off. I can remember sitting in the car arguing when a hand came round from the rear seat and grabbed Bone. Attached to that hand was a large knife, which was now pushed up against his throat. I didn’t have a chance to do anything before a gun was pushed in to the back of my neck. We were both told in a moody Scots accent not to turn around, but in those cars the interior rear view mirrors were very wide. I could see the guy quite clearly and knew who he was, but said nothing. We were warned that things had now got hot and all payments were to be suspended and that we were to go to ground. The message was to be conveyed to Tony as well who I had not seen in weeks because it had come on top about the stones going missing.

Bone had pissed himself while that knife was at his throat, though he tried to palm it off as sweat because it was a hot day. The guy got out the car and that was the last we saw him.

On our way back home I asked Bone why was it that things had got hot, after all he had been seeing these guys behind my back. He fobbed me off with another line of bullshit as I got out of the car. I couldn’t sleep that night because it was dawning on me that I had been robbed blind by Bone and this trouble we were in was down to him. The next morning I made my way to the block of flats where he lived, I had a metal pipe tucked in to the side of my jeans just in case he tried anything. My intention was to front him out about the money etc. As I approached his door I had to walk past his kitchen window and it was then that I saw an old bill known to me from our local police station. Shocked I carried on walking along the corridor not knowing what to do. I couldn’t go to Tony because I didn’t know if he was in on it and apart from that, there was no doubt he was being watched by the police. So I waited at the end of the block for the cozzer to fuck off so I could confront Bone. About an hour later he left and I made my way back down the corridor to his front door. He opened the door with that greasy weasel face of his smiling and invited me in. At first I said nothing about the cozzer being in the house and Bone was telling me all sorts of shit about Tony. Obviously trying to take the dairy off him and blame Tony for what’s gone on. I noticed on the wall a framed betting slip showing a win of thousands of pounds. No doubt this was Bones alibi to explain where all his money had come from. But the amount it showed was about ten times what I had been given and even though I was just a kid I wasn’t that stupid. It was then I asked him about the old bill, his face was a picture because he thought no one had seen the old bill leave his flat. I asked him what he was up to inviting of all people a cozzer in to his home. I found out later that he gave the cozzer a diamond probably as a bribe or something. Now it made sense why he had been slagging Tony off earlier because as I said he was trying to take the dairy off him and put it on to Tony.

I knew now he had ripped me off well and truly and picked up a stool to lump him with it. But he had a high-powered gas gun and produced from under a cushion. I didn’t fancy getting shot in the face with that, so I thought I’d have him later when he wasn’t expecting it.

The following Sunday I was walking along the road adjoining the housing estate where I lived. When all of a sudden a beautiful silver S-Type – Jaguar pulled up along side me with three of the biggest geezers I had ever seen inside. As they wound down the window they summoned me over to the car. I recognized one of them from the night in the cab office when we handed the stones over. The other two I didn’t not know from Adam. They were really friendly towards me and asked me to go for a drive with them because they wanted a chat. I remember getting in the front passenger seat and then us driving off slowly. The one in the back done most of the talking; telling me what a good boy I had been and that Bone was causing them a bit of grief by drawing attention to himself by buying a Bentley etc. I also found out how much they had paid him, which only added more confirmation that I had been well and truly ripped off. I now know they were trying to turn me against Bone, but from my reaction they soon realised there was no need to do that because I had already expressed my hatred for him. It was then I asked where we were going to because we were getting close to the Nunhead area. The guy in the front pulled the car over just on the outskirts of a housing estate. As he turned in his seat to face me, I noticed the butt end of a .38 special sticking out from his trousers. He then said to me that they wanted a chat with Tony because the old bill had been making their-selves busy. Naturally I asked why they wanted a chat with him because I had been told to give Tony a wide birth until the heat had died down. And if I go to Tony then I am taking a chance of getting myself seen at his house. I don’t think these geezers had realised how streetwise I was especially for a fourteen-year-old kid. This is when I got really worried because they then said that they needed me to go to Ton’s house and get him out of his house and in to the car. They then said that they wanted to take him down to the coast and hide him out in a flat with a bird until things cooled down. “Just a little holiday, that’s all son’’ was the words they used.

Now I had just found out that I had been skanked good and proper my Boney especially seeing the betting slip. Also I didn’t know if Tony had been part of it all and had me over as well. So there I was being asked to get Tony out of his house for him to supposedly go on a little holiday. I wasn’t your average fourteen-year old kid and I knew what their true intentions were for Tony and it wasn’t a fucking holiday that’s for sure!

I played them along and agreed to do it, even asking if I could go along on holiday with him. So they really thought they had done enough to hoodwink me in to believing what they were saying. As I got out the car the geezer in the front grabbed me by the arm. His gun was now fully exposed as he said to me; we know you have been ripped off son. But if you do this for us, we’re making sure the final payment will go straight to you. That was the carrot on the stick for me to go and do their bidding. I smiled at them and thanked them and said “Don’t worry I’ll get Tony out here in a jiffy” Where Tony lived, it was all alley ways, a bit like a maze and easy to get lost in if you were not sure of your bearings. I knew this estate like the back of my hand. Off I went making my way to Ton’s house making sure I wasn’t being followed. After knocking on the door Tony’s old man answered asking what I wanted. I quickly told him what the geezer’s in the car had said and it wasn’t rocket science to suss out what their true intentions were to be.

I could see the worry on his face as I told him. He thanked me for telling him and told me it would be best if I fucked off sharpish, which I did, leaving the main geezers waiting down the road. I made my way back to my home and it was while my dad was home from working away that I asked him if I could have a chat with him.

When I told him the truth about what I had got involved in and being out of his depth, his only advice was for me to get a job. I suppose me working would prove I wasn’t involved in a big way, which I wasn’t which was down to Bone. After working a little while I heard Tony had been nicked along with Bone. It wasn’t long before it was my turn and on my return from work one night my mother greeted me at the door. “You’re mates are in the other room waiting for you John” My heart was pounding as I entered my front room because there were two plain-clothed detectives sitting in there.

To cut a long story short they told me everything we had been up to and that Tony and Boney had been nicked. But what they wanted was the big boys, they wasn’t interested in me and as good as told me so. But I didn’t know who they were because I hadn’t been meeting them, unlike Boney who had been picking up payments from them on a regular basis. I had only seen them at the cab office and one of the others in the car when they wanted to get hold of Tony. So I wasn’t in a position to tell them fuck all, not that I would. But what I did find out was that I had been well and truly ripped off. Because they kept asking me if I knew loads of locations that Bone had been visiting, obviously meeting points to pick up the money. I knew fuck all about any of it. But when Bone got wind that the shit hit the fan, he decided to give a cozzer a diamond, the reason I am not too sure of. Maybe he was working with them or maybe he was trying to bribe them. But I found out years later that this old bill was only a PC, so why give him a stone? And apart from that where did it come from; was it the one in the kitchen or the one in the road?

I knuckled down after that and started work with the old man. I heard Tony had a result by getting a borstal sentence and I’m not too sure what Bone had got. I do know he was the grass and I’m sure he took a few of the buyers down with him. It also came to light that Bone had a mental age of fourteen, which helped him get a light sentence. Now I know why he hung out with me because he was just a kid in a man’s body.

After he got out he had the front to come back to the estate and one day I noticed him under a car repairing it. I went home and got my air gun and went back to where he was working. With his legs sticking out underneath the car he was working on, I saw his toolbox open with a huge screwdriver protruding from it. I picked it up and knelt down next to him. He sensed someone was there and called out “who’s that?” “Me you grassing bastard” I screamed and promptly shoved that screwdriver right through his leg. Screaming like a kid he struggled to out from under the car and as soon as head became visible I shot him with the pellet gun.

That was the last I ever saw or heard from him. If he did grass up Mr. Big then I imagine he is holding up a flyover now…I hope so.

 

Some of the places names and situations in this blog have been changed and altered.