Doing the Business - The Final Confession of the Senior Kray Brother. Charles Kray
to mind. There were more guns around the East End that day than there ever were in the days of the Krays.
The day started at English’s Funeral Parlour, where Charlie had been laid out like a king. He had lain in state in an open coffin, well-wishers coming and going, all paying their respects. Some brought wreathes, some best wishes for the afterlife — they paid their tributes to Charlie, one and all, as bodyguards watched over the lifeless body. In fact, there were more flowers in that funeral parlour than Buster Edwards used to have at his stall just outside Waterloo Station.
One wreath was in the shape of a boxing ring — it was fashioned from red roses and white carnations, coming from Reg and his new wife, Roberta. Another said simply ‘Grandad’ and yet another came from friends on C-Wing at Parkhurst Prison. The lovely lilies came from Barbara Windsor, with whom Charlie had had a fling back in the ’60s, and her new husband Scott Mitchell.
By around 11.00am, the villains were getting nervous — the collars were becoming tight. Reg was due any time now and those suits, last worn at Ron’s funeral, were beginning to feel the warmth of the day. But Reg arrived on time and everyone could breathe a sigh of relief. It was now Reggie’s show, and all the old lags and the new kids on the block could relax and enjoy the spectacle of a true East End send-off.
Wreathes and flowers piled up on the street and on the roofs of the stretch limos, as shadowy figures in shades got ready for the drive to the church. Charlie’s coffin was brought out and placed in one of the two hearses, the other was simply there for effect. They were ready for the ride, even the hearse carried wreathes spelling out the word ‘Gentleman’, and the crowds were lining the streets and hanging out of windows, craning their necks for a glimpse of the ageing gangster. Everyone appeared to have forgotten the fact that Reg Kray was a convicted killer.
The blue Mercedes people carrier, carrying Reg Kray and a woman police officer, handcuffed together, moved slowly down Bethnal Green Road. People cheered and threw flowers as the cortège passed by, stretch limousine after stretch limousine, some 18 in all. At a leisurely walking pace and spear-headed by a white-robed minister and a mourner, dressed entirely in black and complete with top hat, the cortège approached the church. They even managed to pass the top of Valance Road, where the twins had lived with their mother, Violet, and their father, Charlie Kray Senior. Reg caught a quick glimpse of the road, but he wouldn’t have recognised it — the houses had been pulled down many years ago and the streets are now clean of crime.
Gradually they neared the church, where enormous crowds had gathered. One by one the vehicles came to a stop, one by one the gangsters got out of their limos, one by one they entered St Matthew’s Church. It was all sombre and respectful, well staged and organised. It was just what Reg Kray had wanted — now he had full control of the situation. And he would give the crowd exactly what they wanted and expected.
He waved to the crowds and smiled when he reached the church even though he was still handcuffed to the policewoman, who towered above him. He looked thin and pale as he straightened himself, brushing down his grey pin-stripe suit and straightening his tie. His hair was almost white and cut short, and he looked frail. In fact, he looked like what he was — an old man.
There was plenty of muscle at the church to keep control of the crowds and there were Hell’s Angels present in abundance. As Reg entered the church, he was greeted warmly by the mourners, friends and family — all hugging and kissing in true Mafia fashion like there were no tomorrows. At last he was seated and the show could begin.
The coffin was brought into the church by six pallbearers to the tune of Celine Dion’s ‘Up Close and Personal’, a favourite of Charlie’s. All the gold and the jewellery on display glittered and sparkled as light entered by the main doors, a spotlight on proceedings, that were by now well under way. Even some of Charlie’s old showbiz pals were there — Billy Murray, who plays Detective Sergeant Beech in ITV’s The Bill sat quietly, head down in reflection, and Charlie’s old friend and drinking partner, the actor George Sewell, sat patiently and attentively following the course of events as they unravelled. These two were just onlookers this day, extras on the set — the star of this particular performance was Charlie Kray.
The ceremony was conducted with respect and aplomb by father Ken Rimini, who had known Charlie for many years. The songs included ‘Morning Has Broken’, ‘Fight the Good Fight’ and ‘Abide With Me’ — and there were enough heavies around to see that everyone sang, but everyone! The tears flowed and everyone stared at Reg, as father Ken spoke of Charlie.
‘Many things have been said about Charlie,’ he told the mourners, ‘some true and some very untrue and hurtful. I can’t judge him. He now stands before a greater authority than this life.’
As he continued, he told of the last time that he had seen Charlie Kray — at Charlie’s son Gary’s funeral, some four years earlier. Gary, a young man who would do no one any harm and a most cheerful character, just like his dad, had died suddenly of cancer at the age of 44. ‘It broke his heart,’ he told everyone.
Reg couldn’t hold back the tears as the good father spoke of his older brother, now deceased. He laid his head on the young shoulders of his wife Roberta as he tried to take it all in — the hurt, the frustration, the pride.
Tributes were read out loud from friends and family alike. Jamie Foreman, son of Kray cohort Freddie Foreman, told of how ‘Charlie’s smile will be engrained on my heart’ and others read poems in tribute. But the finale was a recording by Reg of a poem he had written for Charlie — it rang out on the speakers in the church, filling the air with nostalgia. His voice was weak, his tone sympathetic as he spoke the words.
‘I am not there, I did not die. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am diamond glints on snow.’
A true tribute from someone who many would call a diamond geezer, freed for the day from his prison home, to pay his last respects to his older brother — a man who had died without a penny to his name, a man who had made a pitiful living on the name of Kray, a fake and a fraud and a relic of bygone days. But Charlie Kray was nothing like his brothers — he was a crook, yes; he was a criminal, yes; he was a man who would do almost anything to make a dishonest living — but Charlie Kray was a loveable rogue, a charming womaniser, a cheerful and light-hearted soul who was always welcome company in any company. And I for one will miss him.
The oak coffin was led from the church to the sounds of one of Charlie’s favourite singers and old-time pal, Shirley Bassey. The sounds rang loud and true from the speakers, ‘As Long As He Needs Me’, as Reg leaned forward and kissed the coffin. The service was over — now to meet the crowds.
As he emerged from the church, Mad Frankie Fraser yelled out three cheers for Reg Kray. Naturally enough, the crowds were eager to comply and Reg had his tribute well rehearsed and planned — well worth the 50-minute wait. A few bear hugs later and he was once again back in the Mercedes and on his way to Chingford Mount Cemetery.
The four-mile trip was a formality. The crowds lined the streets, as they had done five years earlier. The procession of cars kept in line, orderly and calm — just like a military campaign. Once inside the cemetery, more heavies were there to protect Reg from the crowds as he wandered among the graves. A glance around the family plot lead him to the grave of Frances, his first wife, who had committed suicide at the age of 23. He stopped and stroked the headstone, waiting for the photographers to catch up with him. The policewoman, still handcuffed to Reg, took it all in her stride — she did her profession proud as she showed the kind of respect and consideration that many other officers would have found difficult to handle.
Flanked by the policewoman on one side and his present wife, Roberta, on the other, Reg Kray waited for the coffin to be lowered. As Charlie was laid to rest, Reg threw a red rose on to the coffin — a last, lonely tribute. Many hugs and kisses later, Reg Kray was ready for the journey back to Wayland Prison, Norfolk.
Diane Buffini, Charlie’s common-law wife, was one of the last to leave. ‘Charlie would have loved the sunshine,’ she told reporters, as once again the shouts rang out — ‘Free Reg Kray,’ and ‘Take the handcuffs off.’
Big Paul,