With Britain on the cusp of another world war the underworld was thriving, author John Worby blew the whistle in The Weekly Dispatch - Sunday 5th March 1939. Unfortunately due to age some of the text is unreadable, I will do my best to make the narrative make sense, being what is described as "sensationalist press" this article is about scams rather than armed blaggers but interesting none the less. The language used is sometimes rather amusing, straight out of a James Cagney movie!
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| John Worby. |
The Man Who Wrote This Was Beaten Up Last Week For Revealing The Truth About Britain's Gangsters!
This is the story of John Worby, tramp, author. His first book "The Other Half," created a storm. Critics said it was too grim and unhealthy. The book, however, was published. It told of the underworld of Britain.
Last week news leaked to that same underworld that John Worby had written an even more revealing book, and that this new book would warn the public of rackets now being worked successfully. A few days later, John Worby was taken to London Hospital. The gangsters he is going to expose had beaten him up.
The brutal attack only confirms the strange story he begins here - of a gang fight and the torturing of captives in a London warehouse, of new rackets, "the tapper and sucker," of exploitation of tradesmen, and defrauding the state through bogus "dole" claims; and of the rogues whose working day begins when the shady night clubs open.
As I was leaving the station I approached a rather smartly dressed young man carrying two large suitcases. "Carry your bags, Sir?" I asked. At this the stranger laughed and said "What's the matter, china? On the ribs (down and out)?" At once I knew him for one of the boys, even though his face was strange to me. "Yeah. I didn't know you were one of the boys, or I wouldn't have stopped you."
"That's ok," he replied. "Come and have a coffee with me." We went to a snack bar, and over a coffee and a pie he told me that he had just arrived from the North, where he had been living quite well, but as things were getting rather hot he had come in search of other fields.
Search For HQ.
I agreed with him in the hope of getting a night's lodgings. He asked me if I knew the pawnshops and second hand dealers. I replied that I did. "You'll come in quite useful then," he said. "I'll make it well worth your while." It wasn't long before I was carrying his empty case in search of rooms which would be our headquarters.
At last, in Victoria, we found one to his liking. This was well furnished, with a good rug on the floor. He took special care to test the springs of the bed and to examine the blankets. After taking the room and paying the rent in advance - a matter of fifteen shillings - he explained to the landlady that he had more stuff to fetch from the other room which he was supposed to be leaving.
He gave me a couple of shillings with which to buy food and the duplicate keys of the ones he had received from the landlady.
I Was The Mug.
When I arrived back at the room some half an hour later I was utterly astonished to see that it had been stripped, and that although the bedstead was there, the mattress, washstand, and chairs, there was nothing else left at all except his own two keys, lying on the mattress.
He had taken the curtains, sheets, blankets, rugs, carpets, in fact everything which he could pack into his two very large suitcases. For a moment I was dismayed, as I had never dreamed that he would rob the room which was intended to be our headquarters. In any case I had not thought I should be left holding the baby. Throwing down my keys on the mattress beside those he had left, I quitted the house as quickly as I could.
I was surprised at what had happened, and as I walked back to Trafalgar Square I made up my mind that if I ever caught this guy I would give him the hiding of his life. To be made a mug of by a guy like this was something I could not stomach. I had regarded the room purely as a convenient lodging for the night, but instead of my using him as a convenience, he had used me for one.
Next morning, while walking down the Strand, I bumped into a boy called Tony, who asked me how I was getting on. When I told him I was "on the ribs"," he said, "Well, if you want a chance of making some easy money, there's a fight on tonight between Joe's and Pete's gangs. We're raiding Pete's headquarters."
"What, the Shoreditch mob?" I said.
"Yare," he replied, "they had it off the other day. They've got about a ton of snout (tobacco) up there, and they don't intend to split." "How come?" I asked. "Well, young Mike found the gaff (premises to be robbed) and passed it on to Billy the Lemon. But Mike didn't know that Billy was in Pete's gang, so when Billy told Pete, Pete sent Slasher with Billy the Lemon and Mike to do the job and they got away with the stuff all right in a hot drag (stolen car).
When Mike asked for his whack they palmed him off with a oncer (£1 note). And when Joe got to know about this he was wild, so we're off to raid the joint tonight. Want to cash in?"
"Sure," I agreed.
Tony and I spent the rest of the day visiting the various haunts, where we picked up the boys. The news soon went round, and we were all armed to the teeth with chivs (razors), knuckle dusters, coshes, spiked rings, and glasses, which only need breaking to make a jagged edge.
The Fight.
About nine o'clock we boarded a tram for Shoreditch, and here, in a side street off Old Street, we forced an entry into Pete's house. There was no opposition, and the stuff was easy to get away with, as the drag we had arranged for was awaiting our arrival. The stuff was soon piled in and on its way to Joe's headquarters along the Thames Embankment.
I was rather disappointed, as there had been no opposition, and therefore I had not seen what I had expected to see - a scrap. Now it was only a matter of going back for the pay off. We had no sooner arrived at Joe's dive, and all nicely in the room opening bottles of beer, when a scout came in and and told us that Pete's mob was on the march.
So we swallowed what beer we could and rushed outside in the alley to cover the exits. Joe went forward to the entry, and it was only a matter of minutes before Pete advanced towards him, followed by a gang of about thirty.
"'ello Pete," said Joe. "Come for yer wooden overcoat?"
As he spoke three or four lads butted in and said, "You're going to get yours if you don't hand over that snout."
"All right," said Joe, "you got me beat with numbers," and he led them up the alleyway to an empty warehouse. As Pete's gang went through the doorway of this empty warehouse, Joe's mob surrounded them, and so taken by surprise were they that the fight, although it seemed to last for hours, was over in a few minutes.
Torture.
During these few minutes I had picked out my man and contented myself with sitting on his chest and teaching him the error of his ways, especially in getting in with a crowd like Pete's. I promised him death if he didn't reform. But he was too old to learn and remained faithful and hostile in spite of all that I said.
However, I had him so that he couldn't move and held him there while I watched writhing bodies and twisting limbs. Close beside me I could hear the dull thud of heavy boots being driven into the ribs of some unfortunate. Every moment I was expecting the slops (police) to arrive, and put an end to the war, but none came in time to save Pete's gang from defeat. They fled in various directions.
I let my man go, giving him a word of warning against being taken prisoner, as I knew what would happen to those who were caught. After all, I told myself, I had nothing on him, and there was nothing in it for me. I saw him show a clean pair of heels as he dashed out of the alleyway.
There was now only a handful of men left struggling on the floor, and these were Joe's men dragging into the warehouse the ringleaders of Pete's gang. These were anointed by pouring Sloan's liniment on the tenderest parts of their bodies. Then they applied lighted matches to the lobes of their ears and the tips of their noses, not sufficient to do any serious harm but enough to make them very uncomfortable.
However, during this operation there came the sudden shriek of a whistle, and I knew that all was up. So did the rest of the gang, and they bolted in all directions trying to escape the beams of light that came from the slops' torches. Never in my life have I seen so many coppers in action. Just when I thought of getting out, a stream of light would shine.
We were like rats in a cage. However, by good luck, my foot went through a rotten board in the floor, and while the battle with the police raged on I ripped up the floorboards and slid through into the darkness beneath. While crawling beneath the floor, trying to find a way out, I could hear the thump of heavy boots, the dull thud of a baton landing across the shoulders of some individual, and stern commands and shouts overhead.
As I crawled around in the narrow space between earth and floor I tried to find some exit, but each time I fetched up against a brick wall. However, I found a hole from which to escape by pushing out a ventilator. After a good struggle I managed to squeeze out. I was nearly through when a split (policeman) flashed his bullseye on me.
I didn't wait to be polite, but in one movement sprang forward in a rush for freedom. As I ran into the darkness, with a light streaming behind me, a flung baton hurtled past me ear. I twisted and turned, and as I dashed round a corner I grabbed at the sill of a window in an empty building and pulled myself in while my pursuer raced by.
Here I sat for some time, until at last I ventured forth again and made my way down to the river. I spent the rest of the night beneath a tarpaulin in the bottom of an empty barge.
While having a cup of coffee in a cafe one day, a guy I knew called Andy walked in, and, seeing me sitting alone, he came over and we were soon engaged in conversation. I remarked on his changed appearance.
"What racket are you in now?" I asked. "Ah, Norah and I are working the flats." "Where?" "Up the West End." "How is Norah these days?" I asked. "She's come on fine. I'm going back to the gaff in a few minutes. Want to come?"
And so, after finishing our coffee and cigarettes, a few minutes walk took us to a palatial block of flats. As we entered I said, "Surely you don't live here, do you?" "Yeah," he replied, "it's all right for a week."
He opened the door of his flat. I was overwhelmed by the luxury and taste of the appointments. We had only been there a few minutes when I noticed a big brand new typewriter. "Hullo, what's this?" I asked. "Have you gone in for a secretary?"
'Yeah, not 'arf. Norah, she's the one for 'em. Have a screw (look) at this," he said opening a cupboard. In the cupboard I counted eight typewriters of all of different makes. "How have you come by these? Are you selling these to offices now?"
"Yes," he grinned, "I've got Norah on the inside, I'm just fencing them." As we were talking the phone rang, he immediately jumped up, "more mugs, they keep ringing up," Lifting the receiver he put on a voice, "Hallo," he drawled, his voice had gone from cockney to a sophisticated drawl, "yes, at four o'clock then," he banged down the receiver.
"There you are," he said, "You better go in now." As he guided me in it was the happiest I'd seen Norah. "Hello Kid," I said, "I see you've been dumped in it all right."
She glanced up at me "Hullo, Bonzo, what're you doing here? Not carving in are you." Then her smile broadened into a grin. "I hope you'll forgive the untidiness it's the maids day off."
"Are you sure you paid the gardener?" I asked, and we all laughed. Andy, however, put an end to our mirth when he said that the representative of a well known vacuum cleaner firm would be coming to give a demonstration of the latest model to the wife in a few moments.
More Stock.
So Andy and I departed into the next room to smoke and talk while Norah got over the business. We were drinking quite heartily when we heard the bell ring, and it was not long before we heard the whine of an electric motor as it ploughed its way through the thick pile of the carpet, and the pleasant voice of a young man as he praised the maker's name.
The closing remarks of the interview were, "...we should be pleased to leave the machine here in order that you may give it a thorough trial. You see, we are so confident that it stands alone on the market." And Norah's voice, "Well, if you want to leave it, please stand it over there in the corner. The maid can see what she has to say about it. After all, she is the one who has to use it......"
After a few more remarks of this nature, and on the weather and Australia's chances in the test match, we heard the outer door closing and Norah came in to us. "Got another," she announced, "and it's a beauty." "Good work, kid," Andy said, "we need it all. Get the attachments too?" "You bet, everything."
"How long have you been on this?" I asked, "I thought you were on the furniture racket?"
"Yeah," he said, "but the last lot of HP stuff I got up in Manchester I nearly came unstuck over it." "Why, what did you do wrong?"
"Well, I didn't come quite unstuck, but nearly. You see, I paid the deposit on the stuff and had it delivered, and the next day I found a bloke to buy it. And while it was being loaded on to the van, the cart that brought it the day before pulled up next door and unloaded some stuff. I dunno what happened. I got paid on the nail before the stuff was shifted. When I saw the firm's van I just did a bunk."
"Pretty close, eh?" I commented. "A bit of slick work. So you're on the tapper (typewriter) and sucker (vacuum cleaner) racket now." "Yeah, not 'alf," he said.
"How much does this game bring in? What income tax are you paying on this gag?" "Haven't made out my returns yet. I've only been on the racket four or five weeks, but I can usually manage to get 20 or 30 oncers a week, I reckon this'll be the last haul though."
"The trouble is you've got to have so many shifts. It costs a fiver for a flat like this and then it's only good for a week. The worst of it is you can't get in without paying in advance. Mind you, it's money for jam." He poured me a noggin from a large whisky decanter. "How do you get away with it?" I asked. "Easy. It's like this. You want a fiver to start and you got to have a dame. Me and Norah went and got a good furnished flat in a flash district. I go into a tapper shop and see the geezer behind the counter."
On Approval.
I tell the bloke that I think the wife ought to pick her own and he falls for this line and offers to send a man round with one. I find I've got a business appointment to keep with my directors, just to make me look important, and he reckons to send a man round straight away. I say I won't be in but the wife will.
When the geezer comes, Norah plays her hand and does her stuff in good style and the salesman laves the typewriter on approval for ten days. The I get on the phone and ring up all the other tapper and sucker firms and make the same arrangements with them. As soon as one machine comes, I cart it off to a fence and we're always gone before the first mug starts to squeal."
No Questions.
"This time, though, I'm going to have a bit of fun. I've arranged for all the salesmen to call at two o'clock on Friday. Be around if you want to see it. I'm going to. I shall be in that room just across the way and we'll see all that's going on."
"What does your fence give you for 'em?"
"A fiver apiece all round and no questions asked."
"What's your next move ? You won't keep this up indefinitely?"
"Well, Leo wants me to chuck me hand in with them."
"What's his crowd now?"
"They're on the same racket, only they work it as a company. There's five of 'em all together, and they've all got flats. One guarantees the other for a hundred quids worth of HP and they're all gone by the time the first payments due."
"By the way, Bonzo," he asked, "what's Ralf doing these days? Got a motorbike, hasn't he? I often see him dashing round. Is he trying to muscle in on Leo?"
"Oh no! He's on a different racket altogether. Leo, Billy, and Bob are his employers now, and I think he's got a few up in Manchester too. In fact, he's got some all over England. He's got a couple of dozen sets of insurance cards which he stamps himself. When he's got enough to go on the dole, he just gives one of the boys as his employer's reference and he goes up and collects the money. It's too risky. I wouldn't touch it.
It keeps him hopping around the country, anyway. If what he says is true, he collected eight lots of dole last week. He'll come unstuck shortly."
Man In The Club.
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| A London nightclub, note the chap hiding behind a plate! |
Through the haze of smoke I saw a young man who was obviously out of his depth in this place. I could tell by his attitude that he was ill at ease but was making the best of a bad job by drinking heavily. I took the opportunity of brushing shoulders with him, at the same time saying "Sorry stranger."
"Oh, that's all right," he replied. I smiled and said, "Have a drink with me?" As we sat down at a table I could see he was anxious to find out whether it was safe for him to be in this club with such a mixture of people, so I began to play on his fears.
As I sat talking and smoking with him I told him tales of how I had seen tables upturned, faces slashed with razors and ears cut off in this place, and that it was not uncommon for a pitched battle to take place here. He asked me, with a flicker of fear, if I ever took any part in these bouts and I replied that although I never looked for trouble, I always meet it half way.
"Yes," he said, "I suppose you could. You look a pretty tough customer," glancing at my flattened nose. "In fact," he added, "it almost makes me feel at ease to be with you." I chuckled to myself; little did he realise how expensive that ease would prove to be.
I pulled out a pack of cards, saying casually, "Come on, I'll cut you an ace for a pound." At first he was rather startled, and he hesitated, but fearing to be unsociable he accepted my challenge.
He turned up the king of clubs, and I purposely picked a low card so as to encourage him. As I showed him my deuce of hearts I laughed saying, "You win." And I handed him over my pound. He hesitated about accepting it, but finally did so. "You're pretty good at this," I said, "I guess I've met my match. Come on, I'll cut you again."
Black Magic.
But he still didn't seem to want to go on, but my determination seemed to make him. Again I let him win a pound, and paid him. This stroke of luck seemed to please him so much that after shuffling the cards, I said, "By gosh mate, you're two pounds in front. Supposing we cut two pounds for a red ace and one for black?"
He considered this remark carefully, and agreed when he found that he had nothing to lose on the first cut anyway. This time I drew the black ace and he paid me a pound with a laughing remark that it was my own I was getting back. The next cut I lost.
So as not to give this man the impression that I was out for money, I asked him if he believed in black magic. "Good God no!" he exclaimed. "Well I do," I replied, "I know it exists." "How do you mean? Black magic exists?" "Well, I have in me the power of black magic. By touching those cards I can make it impossible for you to lift them off the table again."
Bluff Stuff.
He looked at me in a pained astonished way, and said, "Do you mean that I can't pick up those cards after you've touched them?" "Exactly," I replied. "I feel rather inclined to doubt you," he said.
"Well," I replied, "I'd like bet you a fiver that I can do it." "All right," he agreed, "I'll call your bluff." "No," I said, "I don't want to take your money." We had another drink and I paid no more attention to the conversation until he said, " Why, can't you do it?"
"Oh, yes," I replied, "I can do it, but I don't want to see you lose." From this reply he took it for granted that I couldn't carry out my stunt. This was the very impression I wanted him to have. So after I had tried to persuade him that I'd rather not, he said, "I'll bet you five pounds you can't."
I said, "All right, I'll take you on. But remember I didn't want to take your money and you're going to lose it." "Oh no I won't," he said, getting rather cocky, "there's no such thing as black magic in this world." I accepted his bet, even though I didn't have five pounds on me.
"Now," I cautioned, "remember what I say. I've touched those cards and bet you five pounds that you don't pick them up." He nodded and put out his hand and picked up the cards. Then he looked at me rather sheepishly, as if he wondered whether or not he had won. "Well," I said, "you've lost."
He gave me a rather sticky smile as though to say "How do you make that out?" Then after a slight pause his bewildered look left him and he said, "Lost? How?"
"Well," I said, "you picked the cards up and I bet you that you don't pick them up." This tickled his sense of humour, and he paid up, saying, "This calls for another drink." However, he seemed to feel the twinge of losing five pounds. He said, "Well, you beat me at that. What about keeping on with the aces?"
"Sure," I replied, "but I'm not much good. To give you a chance to get back your money, supposing we put five pounds on the red ace and two on the black, or the highest card of any suit?" He agreed, but this time I cut the red ace.
"What a stroke of luck," I exclaimed, as he handed me over the fiver. "I don't suppose I could do that again for twenty pounds!"
Trouble.
At this remark he smiled wryly, I could see that he was beginning to see things in a much clearer light, even though he was still drinking. And I could see that it made him feel ill at ease. So when I saw three boys huddled together in a corner discussing something, I said, "I think we'd better leave now. I see trouble brewing."
"Trouble," he exclaimed, looking round at the noisy crowd as though expecting hell to break loose at any minute. "Yes," I said, "you see those two gangsters who have just come in? They're out for trouble, and God help anybody who gets in their way."
From the look of pallor on his face and the way he pushed back his chair I could tell that he was anxious to leave. As I bid him goodbye in the street and tucked away my faithful cards which had earned me many a pound before. I wondered who would be the first mug to find out that the red ace was slightly bigger than the rest of the cards of the pack.
The further adventures of John Worby will feature in another episode of the Macabre Observer, where he will meet with a girl from Manchester, Devil worshippers and the ins and outs of the hotel racket.
