Fraser Frankie - Mad Franks underworld history of Britain

CONTENTS

To all my pals, theyll know who they are, and to all my family. To Debbie Oakes, a true pal. God bless them all.

Illustrated section:

The author and publishers are grateful to the following sources for pictures reproduced in this book:

The first contact I had with Frank Fraser was through his slightly older sister Eva Brindle, to whom he was devoted, as was she to him. He had been arrested in what would become known as the Richardson Torture Trial in 1966 and she was accused of attempting to pervert the course of justice by trying to get a witness to change his statement. I dont know why she chose me as her solicitor. I had only been qualified three years and I had my own firm in Holborn. Generally speaking my clients came from North London and Clerkenwell and I very rarely ventured to South London from where Eva Brindle and Fraser came. Curiously his regular solicitor was also from North London, the almost legendary Jimmy Fellowes from Walthamstow. I have no idea why she didnt go to him.

Hers was a funny old case. The witness Bennie Coulston alleged he had been badly beaten on 18 January 1967 and Fraser had pulled out one of his teeth with a pair of pliers. Fraser denied this and Eva Brindle set about trying to prove her brothers innocence. Coulston was persuaded to make an affidavit changing his story and he was taken to a solicitor and, if I remember correctly, to the organisation Liberty to swear it was true. Somehow the police found out. Coulston said he had been paid; she denied this. The allegation was that the exact amount of money to be paid to Coulston was in a cupboard at her home. When, however, it was counted at court it was substantially more. I arranged for her to have the rogue but brilliant barrister and MP Billy Rees-Davies appear for her and, despite turning up late and claiming the court clock was fast, he did a good job. Even so she received three years. A young girl who had worked for Charlie Richardson was sentenced to six months and the man who had driven Eva around something in between. Later I was offered a defence in the Richardson trial but, when it came to it, the prosecution offered no evidence against the man.

Fraser went down in the case proper and received a ten to go with the five he was already serving for an affray at Mr Smiths nightclub in Catford. In 1969 I saw in the papers he was involved in a riot in Parkhurst prison on the Isle of Wight. I thought nothing of it. Then Eva Brindle rang me up. Defendants, as a rule, have a low expectation of an acquittal. Provided their lawyers try, in the main they are satisfied and I had tried. That was recommendation enough. Now her brother was going to be summoned with incitement to murder. Given his record he would almost certainly receive a life sentence were he to be found guilty. Would I defend him?

Today, Fraser is a small man; then getting on for forty years ago he was bigger but certainly not the bruiser I expected. The prison officers were, however, keen to point out how dangerous he was. Sit with your back to the door sos you can get out if he comes at you. And one day, Hes bad today. Weve put you in the doctors room where theres a bell you can press with your knee. Well try and get him before he gets you. It was all very reassuring but when it came to it we got on well. The only trouble I had was when I saw a witness before I interviewed him one afternoon. To be kept waiting did not fit in with his prison status which was on a par with that of Noel Coward in The Italian Job. There was also some trouble in that the tyres of my car seemed to be let down from time to time when I went to see him or other prisoners, and no I could not borrow a jack. But that was not Fraser. The trial went as well as could be expected. Fraser was acquitted of the incitement to murder but received five years for assaulting one or more of the warders.

I heard no more of him until after I gave up practice and started writing and editing a law magazine. I published Gangland in which I upset some London identities. That was smoothed over and then I received a call on my answering machine. A Mr Fraser wanted to speak with me urgently. I thought this was just about all I needed. He was perfectly polite, as indeed he had been twenty years earlier. Ive read your book. I havent bought it. Someone nicked it for me. Im writing my life story and I want you to do it for me. I told him I had something on the stocks. That was all right. He would wait until I finished it. Although my agent was dead against the idea it was an offer which, in Godfather terms, I couldnt refuse. Here was an opportunity to discover what life in Londons underworld was really like. We arranged to meet and he arrived a little late full of apologies. He had broken his arm and had to go to hospital. I told him he could have cancelled. No, an appointment was an appointment. In all the times we met I do not think he was ever late again. If I appeared five minutes late there he would be looking at his watch, I thought maybe wed made it for tomorrow, James.

Mad Frank was the first book in a series. Fraser was an incredibly easy man with whom to deal. He had amazing recall of events even if they did not concern him. I remember him telling me of a murder in Waterloo in the 1940s. February it was, he said. When I came to look it up he was a month out. Mad Frank was well received and indeed thirteen years later is still in print. One book led to another.

By then Fraser had converted himself into an entertainer. He tells a good story and has a line in repartee. He appeared in cabaret first in Hackney and then in the West End, there were appearances on the radio and television, at literary festivals, a web site, television commercials, two films. There were book signings at which he took great care to speak and joke with everyone, whilst carefully signing their books in his spidery handwriting. People wanted a photograph taken of him pretending to pull out their teeth. Would he mind? Have you bought the book, son? Yes, he had. Of course, then. He set up a tour of Londons crime spots with, for a time, his then girlfriend Marilyn Wisbey, the daughter of a Great Train Robber, sometimes doing the driving. I went on one. The punters had come from Northampton and Brighton for a tour which began at nine on a Saturday morning. When we stopped the customers crowded around him. Those who could not get near spoke with me. I asked one elderly couple from where they had come. Bath. Didnt that mean it was a really early start? Five oclock. They hadnt minded at all. They had enjoyed the tour so much when they came a fortnight earlier they felt they had to do it again.

Writing Mad Franks London we walked around his old haunts and some new ones. Wherever we went people in the street greeted him, wanted to shake his hand, have an autograph on a paper napkin; taxi-drivers hooted at him and gave him a thumbs-up. He was a genuinely popular figure.

When Virgin Books asked me to contribute to this new edition I hadnt seen Frank for a couple of years. telephoned him and we arranged to meet at Holborn tube station at 10.30 a.m. the next day. When I arrived at ten past ten I could not see him and went out on to the pavement. There he was, dapper as ever, talking to a man in a yellow jacket. Whos your friend? I asked. I dunno, he replied, Fellowd seen one of the repeats on telly and recognised me. Happens all the time.