John ‘The Neck’ Houchin - The Guvnor and Me: My Life with Lenny McLean

Standing at 6ft 1in and almost as wide, with a 23-inch neck, John The Neck Houchin, as he was aptly known, rose from boarding school graduate to a club bouncing brawler in the 70s and 80s, minding the roughest and toughest of Londons torrid and sometimes ungovernable dancehalls. Now 57 and living in Yorkshire, this is his first book.

I was first introduced to my dear friend, John, or Johnny boy as I like to call him, around 1986. I remember the year well because it was at the same time that I had just beaten Dave Man Mountain York in under a minute during an unlicenced fight at Woodford Town Football Club. Shortly after, I was offered a bit of work in a place called Stocks. On my first night at the club, there was this young, up-and-coming bodybuilder who they called The Neck, a nickname I am sure you would all find befitting if indeed you had ever seen a photograph of him. Unlike these other big, loud doormen out to make a reputation for themselves, the kind of troublemakers you read about daily, well, our Johnny boy was different, unassuming without a hint of bravado, softly spoken and extremely polite. Because of this, and many other attributes found in Johns personality, he and I hit it off right from the start. If we were ever working at different venues, we would make a point of popping round to see one another for a chat. This kindred spirit, born with a similar attitude and loyalty to mine, was why our friendship grew stronger overnight.

John and I ended up working some real rough houses together. The assurance that he and I would always have one anothers back was forged through combats, those of which we fought shoulder to shoulder. My reputation in London has always been remarked upon, not just because I succeeded the great Geoff Capes, and won Britains Strongest Man in 1984, but for my work as a minder and enforcer working alongside The Guvnor, Lenny McLean. Not to mention a great many other hard men that I worked with, from Coleraine to the bright lights of Londons West End. Therefore, when Johnny boy was coming up through the ranks as a well-respected minder and bodybuilding fighter himself, I immediately took him on board, and his apprenticeship began.

Johnny boy was a sharp lad and he knew when, and when not, to interject in any given situation. He would soak up every last nuance of knowledge that I threw at him and would always ask if he had done a specific something correctly. I remember one day, years ago, Johnny and I were sitting alone recalling many old memories over a nice cup of tea when one of us happened to bring up the idea of how good it would be to write a book; a book filled with the funny tales and stories from the many hours we had spent together, thoughts for years forgotten, from the far recesses of my mind. One that stands out quite prominently is the time when Johnny and I had been in a tear up with a bunch of loudmouth travelling men and, momentarily, after smashing them all up, Johnny boy snapped a pair of legs off one of the bar stools that hed been using on the men and started spinning one in each of his hands like some gunslinger from a 1950s cowboy movie.

I also remember their little Shih Tzu dog, with its lions heart. Now, without sounding paranoid, Im sure that their little Tasmanian devil of a dog had it in for me because one day it almost kept me from leaving their family home. Its laughable, I know, for a well-known hard man to be held hostage by a ball of fluff with an attitude and, if I close my eyes, I can still see Johnny boys beautiful better half, Dana, laughing hysterically as she watched on from the doorway. I spent a lot of time with John and his little family, and not just, as Johnny boy would claim, because Dana would cook and serve up a feast on my every visit. No, joking apart, while doing the doors and collecting debts together for a significant number of years, my pal John and I were inseparable. Its not often in this life you find a friend with the same morals and scruples as yourself.

Many people would come into the club and ask if John and I were brothers. This was, of course, a fantastic compliment for me, seeing as I was twelve years his senior. For me, this was invaluable ammunition to wind John up with, as I informed whoever was asking the question that John was my older brother, or maybe even my dad if I could get away with it.

John was a well-respected hard man, and he left a mark at whatever place he worked; he had strength and power with a fantastic amount of speed, especially for a man of his size. Johnny boy was also a charismatic, streetwise, and larger-than-life character. Although in life everyone moves on, and some people lose touch with one another, John and I have remained friends to this day. We regularly speak on the phone, and we are both aware that if something went a little boss-eyed for either one of us, then the other would be by his side at the drop of a hat. I felt privileged to have been asked to write the foreword for his fascinating book. Nevertheless, there is only one thing I do best with my hands, and I think you all know what that is. So, with that in mind, I have left the polishing up and finer details of this foreword in the safe hands of the writers, Lee and Anthony.

Now, sit back, and Ill let the man himself tell you the rest. A man who began life as a skinny little bullied kid from Hayes, and quickly grew into one of the most formidable enforcers London has ever produced. To me, however, he is simply my dear friend, Johnny boy, yet to you he will always remain, John the Neck.

Let us go back to the beginning, back to the year that I was brought into this world, which was 27 June 1963 in Hayes, west London. It was the year in which Bruce Reynolds masterminded the 2.6 million Great Train Robbery, and also the year our very own John, Paul, George and Ringo bust their way out of Penny Lane and found their voice, nationally. My parents were my labourer and driver dad, Maurice Houchin, and my stay-at-home mum, Valerie Bond. Bond was, of course, Mums maiden name and indeed a widely iconic name in the world of British intelligence and espionage, which brings with it a fact of some interest; my shaken but not stirred grandfather was, in fact, named James Bond a truth that served me well with my pals in the playground.

I had a strict and sometimes brutal adolescent life. I was born into a typical post-war, working-class family consisting of the five of us: me, Mum, Dad, my younger brother Michael and older sister Winifred, or Win, as we called her.

I was a little different to my brother and sister this was all apparent from an early age with the onset of my childhood asthma and an inner ear problem, causing me to behave a little wild at times. Maybe this explains the reason why I, out of the three of us, was packed off to boarding school at the innocent age of four. This decision was established by my parents, albeit with the leaden hand of my fathers totalitarian approach influencing my mother. In the sixties, this was the way of all families decision making.