Eddie Richardson - The Last Word: My Life as a Gangland Boss

ONE

I REMEMBER WE GOT COWBOY SUITS ONCE

I was born three years before Hitler took Europe into the Second World War, so all my early memories are set against a backdrop of London during the Blitz. I was never afraid, I was completely unaware of the danger; to kids like me it was a huge adventure with plenty of excitement. As the bombs rearranged the area around us, we found new places to play among the rubble.

We came to recognise the noise of all the different aircraft engines, and we knew when the engines cut out on the doodlebugs that someone near us was about to cop it. If there was a local hit someone would say, that sounded like it was on Medlar Street, and wed all run round to see who had got it. I can remember when the fish shop at the top of Wyndham Road was hit and the next day we were

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playing in the crater. When a bomb landed really close, the windows of our flat would blow in. We couldnt wait to get outside to see what was happening. Wed collect lumps of shrapnel and take them to school the next day to show to our mates.

Immediately after the war, our favourite place to play was the bombed, burnt-out shell of a large printing works. We called it the thousand doors because, even though it was a shell, there were still lots of rooms and hiding places inside and whole gangs of us all had our secret dens. We could get right up to the top and look out across the city. Sometimes we would drop stones on people queuing down below for buses. Theyd curse and yell at us and sometimes the blokes would come charging like lunatics into the building, trying to find us. But we knew every inch of that place so they didnt have a hope of catching us. Theyd end up hot, sweaty and angry, and have to tear off back so as not to miss their bus.

There was only one part of the war I hated, and that was when my brother Charlie and me, and thousands of other kids from London and the other big cities, were evacuated. I had to leave my warm, loving, family home. Aged only five I was too young to understand, and too young to be consoled. I sobbed my heart out every night, and longed for my own bed in my own home in Camberwell, with my mum and my grandparents.

We werent a wealthy family, but we were very close and I grew up secure and loved. My grandmother ran a shop, and my mum helped her. It was a world where the women ran everything - they were the heads of the family. I still believe that mothers not fathers are the more natural parents to bring up children.

My grandmother, Lizzie, was a great person, very loving and warm, but she was a tough nut. She was born in Dublin, the youngest of the family, and her mother died when she was very young so she

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had to learn to be self-sufficient from an early age. Her family was Protestant, living in a strongly Catholic city, and her dad had changed the family name from Mackay to Mackie, the Catholic spelling, in order to be more accepted. But the religious difference wasnt as big a problem as it would have been in later years: at that time there were a lot of Protestants helping to fight for Irish independence.

When Lizzies family moved to London she met my grandfather, Bill Allen. Bill worked for a printer as a tradesman, applying gold leaf to the lettering on expensive, leather-bound books. My mum was the eldest of their three daughters and, as we lived with or near Lizzie and Bill all my early life, these were the grandparents I knew best. The other side, my dads lot, were part of my life, too, but we didnt see them nearly so much. My dad was the eldest boy of a huge family of thirteen kids. His father died when he was young and his mother married again, a bloke called Hummerston. So there were seven kids called Richardson and another six called Hummerston. My dad never talked about his father, apart from one thing: he used to tell us how his father had the biggest travellers funeral there had ever been on Mitcham Common. So I guess his dad, my grandfather, was a gypsy.

We used to visit my dads mother. I was really impressed because one of Dads half brothers, called Nipper although he was a giant of a man, had a train set that worked with real steam. We didnt see many toys in those days and it made a real impression on me. The Hummerstons were a big breed and quite a few of them were into boxing, including my Uncle Bill who was a police champion boxer. Dad didnt like the police and always talked about Uncle Bills boxing achievements in a way that made them sound worthless. Another uncle, Wally, was also a good boxer. Although Dad got on well with most of the Hummerstons, there was always an

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undercurrent of rivalry between them and the Richardson half of the family.

My dad, Charlie, was a big lump, just over six feet tall. He knew how to handle himself. I can remember him laying Wally out cold. It happened at a party at my grandparents house, just after the war. My Auntie Gladys, mums sister, worked at the New Zealand embassy and she brought a few of her colleagues, New Zealanders, along to the party. It was a good do: there were beer barrels with taps. Everyone got pissed, particularly Wally. He started kicking up, and by accident he kicked my grandmother. My old man said: Here, Wally, come outside. It was bucketing down with rain, and Dad threw one punch at Wally and knocked him out cold. Then he went calmly back inside as if nothing had happened, leaving Wally spark out on the pavement. I can remember the New Zealanders talking about it - they were really shocked.

Dad used to box at Blackfriars ring, which was a well-known venue. You could turn up, put your name down, and theyd weigh you and find you an opponent. It wasnt all regimented like it is today. He used to fight under the name of Charlie Binks. I dont think he got much money for it, but it was something to do and, being a bit violent, he enjoyed it.

My grandparents were never happy about their daughter, Eileen, marrying my dad, but she had fallen for his good looks. He was always very smart, dapper even, and he had a twinkle in his eyes that could charm anyone. Hed lied about his age and joined the army when he was fourteen, but got into a bit of trouble for knocking out a sergeant when his regiment was in India, so he deserted and joined the merchant navy, serving at sea for the next twenty-five years. He was aged about twenty-one when he married my mum, and she was younger. When Dad got put away for two- and-a-half years for a robbery, just a few years after the marriage,

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Gran and Granddad probably felt justified in their dislike of him.

Mum and Dad lived at first in Wren Road, Camberwell, and thats where I was born on 29 January 1936. I dont remember that place because when war broke out we moved to a flat in Wyndham Road - which cuts between Camberwell Road and Camberwell New Road - and thats where I was brought up, in Victoria Mansions. Grans shop was in the same block, on the ground floor, and she and my granddad, my Auntie Gladys and my Auntie Doll lived behind it. We were in and out of their place all the time.

Charlie, my brother, was two years older than me and then, ten years after me, my brother, Alan, was born, followed six years later by my sister, Elaine. Alan and Elaine were great kids, and Elaine has grown up into a lovely, strong woman.

There was no bathroom in Victoria Mansions so, for our weekly bath, we went up to Manor Place Baths every Saturday. Sometimes there would be queues of people waiting, although there were loads of baths. Youd have a number and when they called it you could have your bath. You couldnt just run the water from the taps yourself. If you wanted it hotter or colder you had to shout out your number and then a bloke would appear with a bucket: More hot for number thirty-seven! After the war they knocked down Victoria Mansions and we moved to Cameron House, a new block down the road. The shop moved, too, but it was still in the same road and, again, my grandparents lived behind it.