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Villains
We Have Known BILLY HILL When I was in my early 20s, the man I most wanted to emulate was the former gang boss of London's underworld, Billy Hill. The prime reason for my admiration was that, apart from being very physical when necessary, Billy had a good quick-thinking brain. Ron and I were to become good friends with Billy over the years and I learned a lot from him. One time Ron and myself, our brother Charlie and a mutual friend, Willie Malone, were at home in Vallance Road when the phone rang. Ron took the call and it was Billy Hill. He said, "Will you come over to my flat as soon as you can?" Thinking there was some kind of trouble, Ron said, "Let's get over there as quickly as possible." Shooters in hand, we jumped in the car sharpish and Charlie drove us to Bill's flat in Moscow Road, Bayswater. Bill answered the door and invited us in. Ron said, "What's the trouble? We've brought some shooters." Bill laughed and gave us one of his smiles. "Hang on there a minute," he said, leaving us in the lounge for a moment and disappearing into the bedroom. When he reappeared he tossed £500 in brand new bank notes on to the table. "Take that few quid for your trouble and cut it up between you. I was only testing to see how fast you'd get over here, or whether you'd blank the emergency." This is just one example of his great sense of humour and smart thinking. Another time, two fellas and myself went to the 21 Rooms in the West End where two doormen in tuxedos refused us. I punched one of them on the chin , and my two friends applied the same treatment to his partner, who joined him on the ground. I suddenly realised we might be arrested for grievous bodily harm , since one of the doormen could have recognised me. I also knew that Billy Hill procured a nice few quid out of the 21 Rooms for ensuring this sort of situation didn't occur. Even though it was in the early hours, I decided the best thing to do was to confront Bill, confess all and explain the situation. He was home when we arrived, and let us in. I gave him my version of the affray and asked if he could find out if charges were imminent. To my surprise he wasn't the slightest bit perturbed that we'd floored the doormen at the club - in fact his reaction was just the opposite. He phoned the owner of the 21 Rooms and said, "This is Bill. I hear you've just had some trouble at the club? I'm ringing to let you know that I've taken care of it and you will not get any more trouble, just leave it to me." Very pleased with himself, Bill handed me £300, again in crisp new notes. "Take that few quid - it would have cost me more to arrange such a commotion to ensure my services are still necessary," he said with a big smile and a twinkle in his eye. The next day he would probably receive five grand from the owners for preventing any further incidents from happening. This is another classic example of how sharp Bill was and his uncanny ability to weigh up a situation and turn what others might view as a disadvantage into an advantage. To me he was the epitome of what a professional criminal should be. He was a smart dresser, a good host and the best of spenders. In his last days he became pretty much a recluse. Having travelled the world three times, he had seen and done almost everything. He died a millionaire at the age of 73. As a postscript to this story, I would like to think that in some ways I have come close to emulating my old friend Bill but, to be honest, I acknowledge that he stands alone: there will never be another Billy Hill.
GEOFF ALLEN Ron and I first became friends with Geoff Allen over 35 years ago. We were sitting in the Vienna Rooms, drinking coffee and enjoying the social banter, when Moiser Blueboy, a recognised villain on Jack Spot's firm, approached us. "Do you fancy a ride in the country?" he asked. "I've found a mug farmer who I'm going to take a few quid off in a crooked game of cards. He lives in Bishop's Stortford, so if you fancy going for a ride I'll give you both a few quid when I relieve the mug of his money." Blueboy was one of the best shady card players in the country so, in anticipation of our palms being greased with his ill-gotten lucre, we accepted the invitation. Also accompanying us were Sammy Ledaman and Johnny Stracey, another West End character. John drove the car following Geoff Allen, the nominated mug farmer, as he led the way in his own wheels. We drew to a halt outside number 11 Smith's Green, a quaint little cottage near Bishop's Stortford. Geoff ushered us into his cosy little habitat and the game of gin rummy commenced without further ado. Ron and I watched closely as the inscrutable Blueboy flawlessly dealt the cards. The game continued until the early hours when they called it a day. True to his word, Blueboy had come up trumps and fiddled Geoff Allen to the tune of £1,100, a substantial amount in those days. Geoff seemed to accept defeat graciously but said he wouldn't be able to pay up until the bank opened at 10 o'clock. As he had work to do he suggested we wait for him at the White Hart Inn in the centre of town, and he'd meet us there at 11 o'clock. Jubilant at the thought of our good fortune, we promptly went to the hotel and ordered celebration breakfasts all round to toast our success. The proposed hour of our meeting came and went but there was no sign of Geoff. None of us were unduly suspicious about his delay, after all he was just 'a gullible farmer'. Blueboy decided to give Geoff a call and find out why he was late, but when the farmer answered the call he said he had no intention of paying and if Blueboy made any attempt to go near the cottage, he was waiting with a shotgun and wouldn't hesitate to use it. Blueboy replaced the receiver as though it were a lifeline and he was suffering from cardiac arrest. Our ebullience subsiding like a deflated balloon, we had no choice but to return home empty handed. A few weeks later I decided to contact Geoff again. I made the trip to Smith's Green and, with no hint of trepidation, I approached the door of number 11 and knocked. Geoff Allen opened the door and, as I reintroduced myself, he interrupted and said he recalled my face from my previous visit. I told him I felt no malice towards him for what had happened and he said likewise, preferring to forget about the whole thing. He seemed to admire my nerve and as we shook hands he invited me into his cottage to discuss the possibility of doing some business together in the future. Geoff has since become a successful property dealer. He has owned and sold many mansions and Ron and I were privileged enough to have been guests at all of them before our internment. Villains
We Have Known (paperback) is available from:
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